tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67484442882111509962024-03-07T16:55:01.725+11:00Parramatta YankeeJoe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.comBlogger837125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-50135968062918613592018-09-02T16:16:00.000+10:002018-09-02T16:16:36.881+10:00Atop Mt Victoria in Devonport ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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With the days left in New Zealand dwindling to a few I'm suddenly walking around town with a camera. This was taken yesterday from the top of Mt Victoria. My home for the past 7 months is in the far right quadrant of this photo taken on my iPhone.Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-26592852447989285252018-08-12T17:18:00.000+10:002018-08-13T10:12:05.294+10:00IFFM 2018 Day 2: Bollywood Dance Competition<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the day's many brilliant competitors.</td></tr>
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Clearly the fix was in.<br />
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Forecasters called for a brutal winter's day in Melbourne yesterday but only light, intermittent rain fell on Melbourne during the <a href="http://www.iffm.com.au/" target="_blank">Indian Film Festival of Melbourne</a>'s outdoor events in <a href="http://fedsquare.com/" target="_blank">Federation Square</a>. Call it luck, call it poor forecasting -- I'll go with the sheer force of Mitu Bhowmick Lange's will, who oversaw the proceedings as usual, and who was safely inside adjacent <a href="http://fedsquare.com/venue-hire/deakin-edge" target="_blank">Deakin Edge</a> theatre later in the day when skies turned surly and rain bucketed down. I pity the rain that threatens Mitu's carefully planned festival. <br />
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This year's <a href="http://www.iffm.com.au/telstra-comp.html" target="_blank">Bollywood Dance Competition</a> took place on a different stage than previous competitions, but the mood was typically joyous as competitors strut their stuff. <br />
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Earlier in the day, Indian acting icon Rani Mukherjee raised India's flag a few days before India's Independence Day.<br />
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There are many familiar faces at each year's festival, but few are as ready for their movie-star closeup as <a href="https://www.facebook.com/puneet4uall/">Puneet Gulati</a>'s.<br />
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On the subject of familiar festival faces/movie stars: Multi-talented Bollywood fixture <a href="https://www.instagram.com/malaikaarorakhanofficial/?hl=en">Malaika Arora Khan</a> once again brought her glamour to the Bollywood Dance Competition. I genuinely don't know if I could remember dance moves with a gaze like hers looking up at me. Fellow judge and Bollywood bigwig <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0012541/" target="_blank">Nikkhil Advani</a> is beside her<br />
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Photographer/model/actual beauty pageant winner <a href="https://www.starnow.com.au/luciahou1">Lucia Hou</a> once again captured the action at Federation Square in an outfit befitting motorcycle royalty. <br />
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Mitu chats with judge <a href="https://www.yashrajfilms.com/about-us/the-professionals/avtar-panesar">Avtar Panesar</a>, a VP at Yash Raj Films and an early advocate of bringing Bollywood to Australia.<br />
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<br />Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-61152705344218683922018-08-11T10:10:00.000+10:002018-08-11T10:40:09.292+10:00A sublime soul punch: Tabrez Noorani's 'Love Sonia' opens IFFM 2018<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An IFFM opening night tradition was continued by Freida Pinto, Richa Chadda, Mrunal Thakur and Tabrez Noorani</td></tr>
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Up late writing the following reaction to Tabrez Noorani's 'Love Sonia', which opened the <a href="http://www.iffm.com.au/">2018 Indian Film Festival of Melbourne</a> last night with a soul punch. Just as I knew would happen, I awoke with it still vibrating my brain like fireworks behind my eyelids. A simply phenomenal -- and shockingly NECESSARY -- masterwork by all involved. A full day of <a href="http://www.iffm.com.au/masterclass.html" target="_blank">panel discussions</a> awaits today so I'll keep this post short. First, what I posted to <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BmTLjeJlv9F/?hl=en&taken-by=joe_writer" target="_blank">Instagram </a>from a rented room in Elwood in the early morning hours:<br />
<blockquote>
It would be easy to focus solely on the physical effects wrought by #IFFM2018 festival opener #LoveSonia: visceral rage, a galloping pulse long after house lights reveal tear-reddened eyes, an acidic longing for justice in a hellscape of wickedness and perversion. Twenty minutes into this film my nerves were shot ... and that was only the preamble. Director and story creator Tabrez Noorani’s approach is unrelenting, sometimes traumatic, as haunting as the obliteration of innocence in a young girl’s eyes. These effects are real, but they do not matter. No, what MATTERS, and what arms this hypnotically horrifying film with a righteous hammer, is that it connects moviegoers to the plight of sex trafficking victims around the world like live wires on exposed flesh — the resultant shock and public awakening could (and mother-of-all-things-holy SHOULD) save lives. Every facet of this film — acting, writing, directing, the works — is a pinnacle of an art form too often vapid and shameless. However difficult ‘Love Sonia’ may be to sell to a pap-addicted public, it left me in furious awe of director @tabreznoorani and the almost mystical performances of its cast. That @mitulange and @iffmelbourne allowed audiences in two packed cinemas to interact with its stars @therichachadha, @freidapinto and staggering newcomer @mrunalofficial2016 is why I flew from NZ to attend IFFM. Thank you Mitu, and thanks to all responsible for ‘Love Sonia’.</blockquote>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjETjjQollXw1_yf4h5TysI3spx2jOQig9mv6VA2kJsk4u1cKdtQ22zhtWpfn2bG2iNB_n3qLb5qB_XDMU5INH9wNiQFGJ9HlvELtEBqoFN1lJ0FJtN-ms0F_rI9OM2GF8OQoQr7fnkXNY/s1600/IFFM2018_060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1075" data-original-width="1600" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjETjjQollXw1_yf4h5TysI3spx2jOQig9mv6VA2kJsk4u1cKdtQ22zhtWpfn2bG2iNB_n3qLb5qB_XDMU5INH9wNiQFGJ9HlvELtEBqoFN1lJ0FJtN-ms0F_rI9OM2GF8OQoQr7fnkXNY/s640/IFFM2018_060.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mrunal Thakur, Tabrez Noorani, Freida Pinto and Richa Chadda introduce a film that several said barely scratches the surface of sex trafficking. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhHqvOJfeKuBf90jg5spkuh7I7vl9u2uhQHbzdAqSaFoB3PgXkphhXDbkbrYIqYZdJ6fzwiH_ePDkFAbMhiWfP0Ly_6ZjTtTZnJEPopjhpzi0vIuzmBeW_7IJhNNS4-ie6Jwwu6Cofbzc/s1600/IFFM2018_062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1540" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhHqvOJfeKuBf90jg5spkuh7I7vl9u2uhQHbzdAqSaFoB3PgXkphhXDbkbrYIqYZdJ6fzwiH_ePDkFAbMhiWfP0Ly_6ZjTtTZnJEPopjhpzi0vIuzmBeW_7IJhNNS4-ie6Jwwu6Cofbzc/s640/IFFM2018_062.JPG" width="616" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After fielding questions from both of the cinemas that screened 'Love Sonia' last night, Freida Pinto remains radiant as she leaves.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Y9j3eP1GM6gGtlHhc8ODnKaAGLtwJt5pgKlPf7f-mFNW-1rqHZs1OZtxx2Gg8fRjcVPubHWlQCOhp49D6rQnptd48IO9t97ElmurCez0vEPXkTDB4GGf99yPQ-fBMmfIxquvCL-3vs4/s1600/IFFM2018_063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1422" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Y9j3eP1GM6gGtlHhc8ODnKaAGLtwJt5pgKlPf7f-mFNW-1rqHZs1OZtxx2Gg8fRjcVPubHWlQCOhp49D6rQnptd48IO9t97ElmurCez0vEPXkTDB4GGf99yPQ-fBMmfIxquvCL-3vs4/s640/IFFM2018_063.JPG" width="569" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bollywood heartthrob Vicky Kaushal escorts Richa Chadda from the cinema.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CtHfkxaU35S3OOvI3YWDKtlbobH9vrC-zkKmU73GKbiGkd6j7ITZFY6jxu_6JWMKg17Usp_cko50U8KJCPUnbNLxKdRk4_BSqZynSnxaqoGzoZkYJkInNHJeH_e006kRq-2OoWIW7Qw/s1600/IFFM2018_064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1422" data-original-width="1600" height="569" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CtHfkxaU35S3OOvI3YWDKtlbobH9vrC-zkKmU73GKbiGkd6j7ITZFY6jxu_6JWMKg17Usp_cko50U8KJCPUnbNLxKdRk4_BSqZynSnxaqoGzoZkYJkInNHJeH_e006kRq-2OoWIW7Qw/s640/IFFM2018_064.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After praising director Tabrez Noorani's film as 'the most disturbing film I have ever seen', world-renowned director Rajkumar Hirani walks out with a beaming Noorani. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYuBV_8UXu-0CVzWWUtizJt1Y9X5xDJpAd4Slzl1IFZ1bydidauZdq8Jriy7GwTTBkdELVAg8hSZOMI8p6IxIfPQ0-jzImM81hCNQMDMosm6npzT0bu11hGbSBoEx7YR2LtHv32tDN0kk/s1600/IFFM2018_065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1481" data-original-width="1600" height="592" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYuBV_8UXu-0CVzWWUtizJt1Y9X5xDJpAd4Slzl1IFZ1bydidauZdq8Jriy7GwTTBkdELVAg8hSZOMI8p6IxIfPQ0-jzImM81hCNQMDMosm6npzT0bu11hGbSBoEx7YR2LtHv32tDN0kk/s640/IFFM2018_065.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mrunal Thakur. As Freida Pinto said while introducing the film, she's the next big thing -- for all the right reasons. </td></tr>
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Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-2231974628615747572018-08-10T13:18:00.004+10:002018-08-10T13:41:35.025+10:00Melbourne, August morning.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQbbzF9bENG9kZHfZkaPxwQuamEhdKEeBWRfOBuhEIcP-jioCGBe5s04qHrbjKiCZ-gTW6Ut6UOwjGp0Bn8dHwhcDbrLVYwKFu-OxZDJWNkLIC0SrwnlhhxlPz64grNnj9Sh5XUcUCZ4/s1600/Aug18_030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQbbzF9bENG9kZHfZkaPxwQuamEhdKEeBWRfOBuhEIcP-jioCGBe5s04qHrbjKiCZ-gTW6Ut6UOwjGp0Bn8dHwhcDbrLVYwKFu-OxZDJWNkLIC0SrwnlhhxlPz64grNnj9Sh5XUcUCZ4/s640/Aug18_030.JPG" width="640" height="413" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1032" /></a></div>Flew into Melbourne last night. Picked up by Jamie McLellan. We polished a bottle of Honey Jack and nearly choked from laughter. After a stop at <a href="https://www.davewrightandthemidnightelectric.com/">Dave Wright</a>'s <a href="jimmythesaint.com.au/">Jimmy the Saint</a> I made it to level 46 of 55 Collins for the opening press conference for the <a href="http://www.iffm.com.au/">2018 Indian Film Festival of Melbourne</a>.<br />
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As I wrote on Instagram: Why does a place feel like home only after I've left it?Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-55246034459349604942018-08-05T07:14:00.000+10:002018-08-05T07:39:02.919+10:00Mount Cambria Reserve, Devonport<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfrWNwHzPllKgfBgVqbQGyZDsHzF0rckIarREHIOdJLFvUcsQ6t_C97YjP9G3TvWEaYiFEV09rI1cicDDf3N_R-QD17T6WPcM7LAKVNZS4T5qFrZvEcsqB3XCT180d4xrOTS-xHqhp5r4/s1600/MtCambria2_PAN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfrWNwHzPllKgfBgVqbQGyZDsHzF0rckIarREHIOdJLFvUcsQ6t_C97YjP9G3TvWEaYiFEV09rI1cicDDf3N_R-QD17T6WPcM7LAKVNZS4T5qFrZvEcsqB3XCT180d4xrOTS-xHqhp5r4/s640/MtCambria2_PAN.jpg" width="640" height="88" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="219" /></a></div>Perfect winter's day yesterday (drizzling and chilly this Sunday morning, i.e., the usual) so I walked around Devonport with a hobo's countenance. This panoramic shot was taken within <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Cambria">Mount Cambria Reserve</a>, about 5 minutes from my flat. Per a local history website:<blockquote>Mount Cambria was a scoria cone, and was quarried away from the 1920s onwards. The scoria was used for roading, garden walls and ship's ballast. The site became the Devonport Council depot, and in the 1990s was replanted and converted to a park which won a national award in 1992.</blockquote>Mount Cambria is one of approximately 48 volcanoes that make up the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Auckland_volcanic_field">Auckland volcanic field</a>. From my second-story deck I've can see <a href="https://www.doc.govt.nz/parks-and-recreation/places-to-go/auckland/places/maungauika-north-head-historic-reserve/">North Head</a> to the east and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Victoria_(Auckland)">Mt Victoria</a> to the west (Mount Cambria is behind).<br />
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As you pan from left to right: The remnants of Mount Cambria form the left frame, followed by a busy <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waitemat%C4%81_Harbour">Waitematā Harbour</a> (note the massive container ship heading west towards the Auckland dockyards) in the distance. Mt Victoria then rises in the middle of the shot before the right frame is formed by Mount Cambria trees. <br />
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Here's a closer look at Waitematā Harbour from Mount Cambria Reserve:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBOAVV42_eAkkHzTX7TPkFq12vPWrYXO4Z0UA34NzK2KqAAkOvjegqLnQmNTZHcGy1xlVzoCwNSN8VUz2r6zDlAmJiMr9no7uOQiy2xpuYltlhPbkLAU8ufKQTY0qNpDc1p9JdK2-G-c/s1600/Aug18_010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBOAVV42_eAkkHzTX7TPkFq12vPWrYXO4Z0UA34NzK2KqAAkOvjegqLnQmNTZHcGy1xlVzoCwNSN8VUz2r6zDlAmJiMr9no7uOQiy2xpuYltlhPbkLAU8ufKQTY0qNpDc1p9JdK2-G-c/s640/Aug18_010.JPG" width="640" height="360" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="900" /></a></div><br />
The quarried out Mount Cambria and Mount Victoria rising behind:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4tF0kQUS0Ks3WMThgCDl9TO3zW-J0_zmgpnZ5Db0MUfygLHWcLQFZLti9hlv0QUdMyVXhif2WD7mAR4-dDhu2x8bkWZlSeDDgWRoUMcqjxRtmh0f99RI5WELGh3fTgNxqu2KsC1I-wKA/s1600/Aug18_011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4tF0kQUS0Ks3WMThgCDl9TO3zW-J0_zmgpnZ5Db0MUfygLHWcLQFZLti9hlv0QUdMyVXhif2WD7mAR4-dDhu2x8bkWZlSeDDgWRoUMcqjxRtmh0f99RI5WELGh3fTgNxqu2KsC1I-wKA/s640/Aug18_011.JPG" width="640" height="449" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1123" /></a></div><br />
Volcanic rock quarried from Mount Cambria was used to build footpaths within the reserve:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-xV5V4p8EZm2dAECbFMuuj5_Qa_kEnSCwQKw65lla6WF1zmOUcSG4RI803CvBSAEPxwwKfxFDzEH4XIx6Wl8F7gq4n8i0_U4w2tOQFV9YC2Hl-CnwPJSPiSmuAOuAn1YD8zayyxF-QCg/s1600/Aug18_012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-xV5V4p8EZm2dAECbFMuuj5_Qa_kEnSCwQKw65lla6WF1zmOUcSG4RI803CvBSAEPxwwKfxFDzEH4XIx6Wl8F7gq4n8i0_U4w2tOQFV9YC2Hl-CnwPJSPiSmuAOuAn1YD8zayyxF-QCg/s640/Aug18_012.JPG" width="640" height="426" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1066" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsMyDfz0a2u8e46IlGaTjx4CX4U7PAmyEFUBQOuNt_PctaZ1SCFq98TYhZPJDMnnwIzsyeLHeZOvfz43knHpQdJfWGz4MT8bg3fHWVSZhzrC_7i0d2r5BVvUBFBCxqYKnfAIniwNj122o/s1600/Aug18_013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsMyDfz0a2u8e46IlGaTjx4CX4U7PAmyEFUBQOuNt_PctaZ1SCFq98TYhZPJDMnnwIzsyeLHeZOvfz43knHpQdJfWGz4MT8bg3fHWVSZhzrC_7i0d2r5BVvUBFBCxqYKnfAIniwNj122o/s640/Aug18_013.JPG" width="640" height="426" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1066" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW2IBUVwVLENfVXPvpZY56EdGZxtTEsWiltoeJU_AKt5JRewp1BK0Urk_c34tovjlpfgFAJN1eSJeONKbq9wSknsDOSqrAOZINBGnYXpos_RT3l0MqKjvxYOBk9iw3lJs8xTmnWbkTlqo/s1600/Aug18_014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW2IBUVwVLENfVXPvpZY56EdGZxtTEsWiltoeJU_AKt5JRewp1BK0Urk_c34tovjlpfgFAJN1eSJeONKbq9wSknsDOSqrAOZINBGnYXpos_RT3l0MqKjvxYOBk9iw3lJs8xTmnWbkTlqo/s640/Aug18_014.JPG" width="640" height="480" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a></div><br />
Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-52569600281277841392018-08-04T06:00:00.000+10:002018-08-04T06:00:28.187+10:00Another dusk ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif9wvC1pwBuWlhRHWhKRzV2ZoHAe0jwrnGtLIqxleZX_Vnw8oaGSSxGqeird_Vqr8LMSvC3ZKPFM_0HNfMK78Ie1xDVhunze7Axmz3lriDu6S8qJ1byEAcv-OUJlTuu7hI-OxySWQe6wc/s1600/Deck_Dusk_Aug18_PAN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif9wvC1pwBuWlhRHWhKRzV2ZoHAe0jwrnGtLIqxleZX_Vnw8oaGSSxGqeird_Vqr8LMSvC3ZKPFM_0HNfMK78Ie1xDVhunze7Axmz3lriDu6S8qJ1byEAcv-OUJlTuu7hI-OxySWQe6wc/s640/Deck_Dusk_Aug18_PAN.jpg" width="640" height="140" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="351" /></a></div>... and last night's front deck view.Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-8045997041002012302018-07-27T11:23:00.000+10:002018-07-27T11:32:09.114+10:00An Auckland commute: Devonport to Newmarket<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwvTugK_vV5PDQjwPWPn5vmH5mH7fcQIkNB9hSE8PPbmOuTQGxQ6ZWa_PpLRmY8PWO-_vT2yOUCMC2EaXkXe1ZgEEvnjpX0Mg0zUuPbe2w-azKN6JF9FSVgzFKbwN2wpxZmKa7VTL8ecs/s1600/Apr18_005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwvTugK_vV5PDQjwPWPn5vmH5mH7fcQIkNB9hSE8PPbmOuTQGxQ6ZWa_PpLRmY8PWO-_vT2yOUCMC2EaXkXe1ZgEEvnjpX0Mg0zUuPbe2w-azKN6JF9FSVgzFKbwN2wpxZmKa7VTL8ecs/s640/Apr18_005.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Almost 6 months since I moved from Melbourne to Auckland yet very little has been documented. Outside of a pair of trips to the States in April and May and a visit to New Zealand's spectacular South Island in March, the bulk of my NZ experience has been in Devonport, where I live, and Newmarket, where I work. The above shot shows the view of a sunrise behind North Head from the bottom of my street as I walk to Devonport's ferry wharf. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTf3uMwc-3OQlw_oE_Tf0X1u7Q8dtu8S2CWzQODJsntYx9IFYHW-1yejnr2x6VYOtBB-9tQukssjo0oziQXlkWb23HdT-5QDvcDIcGVG0Y7BpVUngSiwXG_OBOluv2T6ucijiOeijm3BU/s1600/March18_012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1199" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTf3uMwc-3OQlw_oE_Tf0X1u7Q8dtu8S2CWzQODJsntYx9IFYHW-1yejnr2x6VYOtBB-9tQukssjo0oziQXlkWb23HdT-5QDvcDIcGVG0Y7BpVUngSiwXG_OBOluv2T6ucijiOeijm3BU/s640/March18_012.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Unless it's raining I'll sit outside on the ferry and enjoy views like this of the ferry wharf.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGw_0Y7ehV3AcoR0vBPN8SZ8QM8-C1sPUngKJ8qktxYhafzS7LOc7hVhR2IRtcavpYvwl7ESkGeIzlqzHESRzxY5Ak83_96MJUEdYm7BadzHsY83trz0Law_s0JEDQoxSZOj-h4hI1-sY/s1600/Feb18_05.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1138" data-original-width="1600" height="455" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGw_0Y7ehV3AcoR0vBPN8SZ8QM8-C1sPUngKJ8qktxYhafzS7LOc7hVhR2IRtcavpYvwl7ESkGeIzlqzHESRzxY5Ak83_96MJUEdYm7BadzHsY83trz0Law_s0JEDQoxSZOj-h4hI1-sY/s640/Feb18_05.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>A ferry approaching Devonport's wharf. It's a 10-minute ride across Waitematā Harbour to Auckland's CBD, seen here in the distance. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyYMKRJiRjPYvM1ox9l4mtqBtXk6SJjrL_PsnByCDclL7ZnswZCgzD1f9jKUTQ5P1iwmUveMc2QJ0IhBkRv816M79OaRSPENBn2mrMyd14BStqLdpjksCbLN3G18rNVdfZRbqa0p_H0PM/s1600/Feb18_42.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyYMKRJiRjPYvM1ox9l4mtqBtXk6SJjrL_PsnByCDclL7ZnswZCgzD1f9jKUTQ5P1iwmUveMc2QJ0IhBkRv816M79OaRSPENBn2mrMyd14BStqLdpjksCbLN3G18rNVdfZRbqa0p_H0PM/s640/Feb18_42.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Ferry prep.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ07ekRBfTStdHwAo0_qjSB5Mya0XYEM7DslkW4EB-2TgvKV7rWHF-LP4Gvm8tUGEhJqZhA8_jBspzVfYaib1ufpL0YcdiFZXjpbo-NM4WjN8iZEjyx2e6i5R5OSdUGsOdDOQWTVkN_uQ/s1600/Apr18_010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ07ekRBfTStdHwAo0_qjSB5Mya0XYEM7DslkW4EB-2TgvKV7rWHF-LP4Gvm8tUGEhJqZhA8_jBspzVfYaib1ufpL0YcdiFZXjpbo-NM4WjN8iZEjyx2e6i5R5OSdUGsOdDOQWTVkN_uQ/s640/Apr18_010.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Approaching the ferry terminal in what's called Commercial Harbour. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo53YTMC1yDHy28NKb9CIBWiiOBnIeOEulxVaylGn08BV_9vRcYlkv9Oac-SMuaCmvbObtnSlzMAwfOoFjIMlgS1yexKn4PEBF5gb9ly8ilBmYuE6tlUKAkPdiCWJX5VderBF4mksNk-M/s1600/Feb18_07.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo53YTMC1yDHy28NKb9CIBWiiOBnIeOEulxVaylGn08BV_9vRcYlkv9Oac-SMuaCmvbObtnSlzMAwfOoFjIMlgS1yexKn4PEBF5gb9ly8ilBmYuE6tlUKAkPdiCWJX5VderBF4mksNk-M/s640/Feb18_07.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>The ferry terminal is located in Britomart, which gets its name from a Royal Navy gunship that first surveyed Waitematā Harbour in 1841. Depending on the time, weather and my mood, I can either take a 10-minute train ride to Newmarket or partake in a 40-minute walk. If I walk, I'll usually take a route that includes the <a href="https://www.newzealand.com/int/feature/auckland-domain/">Auckland Domain</a>, a remarkable reserve that includes the <a href="http://www.aucklandmuseum.com/">Auckland War Memorial Museum</a>, shown here.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsT9Fkj8vpTqOworiqhQpbDZ8NRhLtJvD6A1-LSmXpjcDKzSOs47Ya98cip09tlnJMSkbo7DS5LbE3fGvP291YeR16mV8zpYAwmrguQi0BjvfflkIRwvPbDFM1Sj3mvM4G5F4PVc9C1KI/s1600/March18_001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsT9Fkj8vpTqOworiqhQpbDZ8NRhLtJvD6A1-LSmXpjcDKzSOs47Ya98cip09tlnJMSkbo7DS5LbE3fGvP291YeR16mV8zpYAwmrguQi0BjvfflkIRwvPbDFM1Sj3mvM4G5F4PVc9C1KI/s640/March18_001.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Another walking route goes through Auckland University and allows this view of the <a href="https://www.skycityauckland.co.nz/sky-tower/">Sky Tower</a> ...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqqQj5kksjnbOgC-C6c2fuUq8p4YVCJt7iuMqwHhUu6CKnyqaPkgjzas-jxhlqzXcpg8JIe0f-y0Uh1f_QAar90R7L6ra_jbQ95Heb1h8HU9z6T4dMVxaQADcrNeguB2LQaQTOZCX8GQ/s1600/March18_015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqqQj5kksjnbOgC-C6c2fuUq8p4YVCJt7iuMqwHhUu6CKnyqaPkgjzas-jxhlqzXcpg8JIe0f-y0Uh1f_QAar90R7L6ra_jbQ95Heb1h8HU9z6T4dMVxaQADcrNeguB2LQaQTOZCX8GQ/s640/March18_015.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>... and another section of Auckland Domain.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhliD1BiTMBlV-73utjoJ3PMUFcYH-uGX25haT-vL_VmbWfhIxQ0UAdcDr0ft1JX59EOr2NMH7WhAooSbaVrDECbWee8M8a3hBVAHx0GPaf-a7sd8X3g4PcSL6Ud6aotqXeae56zWDSPww/s1600/March18_020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="1600" height="473" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhliD1BiTMBlV-73utjoJ3PMUFcYH-uGX25haT-vL_VmbWfhIxQ0UAdcDr0ft1JX59EOr2NMH7WhAooSbaVrDECbWee8M8a3hBVAHx0GPaf-a7sd8X3g4PcSL6Ud6aotqXeae56zWDSPww/s640/March18_020.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>My Newmarket office is on the 4th floor of the building bathed in early morning sun in this photo.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYfccGMZDNSohqgu9TmSlmsxMY0VtdPaW4W7uQxtuRTfbYgYRMjy5RNDA2r46iuPI_lwnGcAAwPRncVCvQPKgqDH_g7enuK1ALwIjAcvnNTarQ63Nh_CvIKjnI8BSB5QWCIBs2j0E7aFU/s1600/June18_025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="1600" height="453" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYfccGMZDNSohqgu9TmSlmsxMY0VtdPaW4W7uQxtuRTfbYgYRMjy5RNDA2r46iuPI_lwnGcAAwPRncVCvQPKgqDH_g7enuK1ALwIjAcvnNTarQ63Nh_CvIKjnI8BSB5QWCIBs2j0E7aFU/s640/June18_025.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Newmarket train station.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEW8wkzsy9azw7nyXT5apy_jjFSet7D84FQbzAiA6WvL1GCRPKG0JH725SVylH15LdfN_gu17Rp3zjj8N6s1xy9N3O8J9EuQPZobyYueyaLxKtcct6A4Yd83igijchopR825tN7V8Ubc/s1600/Apr18_011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEW8wkzsy9azw7nyXT5apy_jjFSet7D84FQbzAiA6WvL1GCRPKG0JH725SVylH15LdfN_gu17Rp3zjj8N6s1xy9N3O8J9EuQPZobyYueyaLxKtcct6A4Yd83igijchopR825tN7V8Ubc/s400/Apr18_011.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>Along a wooded track in yet another section of Auckland Domain.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mfP0rFUvMgPRlGIuNypOu-HhSWP6vcB5RjgckmyqjOmIcm_2rJYqxWW0pXpkoOReY5qVEOpQE8Hv8485lWKsiXU93onHkxIRSd0TFvLmdfvqRbzfOAY77xWQ2pscVbHXogmvXnFfDj4/s1600/June18_010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mfP0rFUvMgPRlGIuNypOu-HhSWP6vcB5RjgckmyqjOmIcm_2rJYqxWW0pXpkoOReY5qVEOpQE8Hv8485lWKsiXU93onHkxIRSd0TFvLmdfvqRbzfOAY77xWQ2pscVbHXogmvXnFfDj4/s640/June18_010.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>On occasion, massive cruise ships are docked at Commercial Harbour. This shot shows one being guided by tugboats out of Waitematā Harbour.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXm19pUhgXoK2uy5ob52n8jkjxZQtc-tVJ3PKbQiX4fvkGFgTw9UWkx4qXIZEFHjktscFL9YEeLMISVgLZpvkI96-qDOCFzwwJTxYdAKJ_kwCpbI4EmKTqASI2J8Z1_DoJ9LDJXKqcx0/s1600/Apr18_012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1163" data-original-width="1600" height="465" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXm19pUhgXoK2uy5ob52n8jkjxZQtc-tVJ3PKbQiX4fvkGFgTw9UWkx4qXIZEFHjktscFL9YEeLMISVgLZpvkI96-qDOCFzwwJTxYdAKJ_kwCpbI4EmKTqASI2J8Z1_DoJ9LDJXKqcx0/s640/Apr18_012.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>On-board a Devonport ferry looking back at Auckland and the Harbour Bridge.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQlKWyNd2qdQiOWJSL4m5fKusouCz9UnhhGE97i_KlS9lJUMq8x9xNysr7kJRRTb5YZcJWj6hgJCR6Xq131jfFlO3QC9TrKFvY2qK-Q62Vd2pvSfRZBD4l9QLAetyG02HZUXfsY31MTJ4/s1600/March18_035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1187" data-original-width="1600" height="475" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQlKWyNd2qdQiOWJSL4m5fKusouCz9UnhhGE97i_KlS9lJUMq8x9xNysr7kJRRTb5YZcJWj6hgJCR6Xq131jfFlO3QC9TrKFvY2qK-Q62Vd2pvSfRZBD4l9QLAetyG02HZUXfsY31MTJ4/s640/March18_035.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Sunset at Devonport ferry wharf.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNj12W4xY7O-ai0kyybII2a72tDo_OH4ui_7XyjwQ7BahRN7tDF7_hgczcpBa_QVBw9jRhjyMvr5LtIqKhSTPNNczdgsTyArkvjfwPcTukPTHMROtiuOg4fuMr25QDfCdSe2eYSsnlTmk/s1600/March18_037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="1600" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNj12W4xY7O-ai0kyybII2a72tDo_OH4ui_7XyjwQ7BahRN7tDF7_hgczcpBa_QVBw9jRhjyMvr5LtIqKhSTPNNczdgsTyArkvjfwPcTukPTHMROtiuOg4fuMr25QDfCdSe2eYSsnlTmk/s640/March18_037.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Walking along the foreshore in Devonport at dusk.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQ1QDCf8GmCi5lLvxWEWuC9HyEAP8rC-IU9orE8eXUw9uhfEuEdD8waYKVo428jw5e80C_pZp8PE2ZLSyMqDERit4YEkXfZmpl4Ra865LZ8cVCcF2ReX6GxNFnE5EAgVPBAL-hQcf9fo/s1600/March18_040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1506" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQ1QDCf8GmCi5lLvxWEWuC9HyEAP8rC-IU9orE8eXUw9uhfEuEdD8waYKVo428jw5e80C_pZp8PE2ZLSyMqDERit4YEkXfZmpl4Ra865LZ8cVCcF2ReX6GxNFnE5EAgVPBAL-hQcf9fo/s640/March18_040.JPG" width="603" /></a></div>My housemates Theo and Jasper in our Devonport doorway.<br />
Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-53963220860251056902018-05-24T09:06:00.002+10:002018-05-24T11:05:46.704+10:00RIP Viola Wilson<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTuge_wez5pAtxx_1jb0ou25gi1QZrMauCb7ykgHSsTeeYrTsQZULlLMI7qVL4zoQEK1JzhD2BvtzBbsefl736LpEkBaSsDPTRurRgskG6ndYxdoCOQTDxEKwC8iGvfsujXVIKcvZjT8/s1600/viola2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="566" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTuge_wez5pAtxx_1jb0ou25gi1QZrMauCb7ykgHSsTeeYrTsQZULlLMI7qVL4zoQEK1JzhD2BvtzBbsefl736LpEkBaSsDPTRurRgskG6ndYxdoCOQTDxEKwC8iGvfsujXVIKcvZjT8/s320/viola2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vi, MB, Patty & Barbara</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Before #metoo, before #timesup, before the past few generations of women were born into a world where at least lip-service was paid to equal rights between the sexes, there was the Prudential crew. (I doubt they called themselves that, but it's how I thought of them.) <br />
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In 1985, my sophomore year at Seton Hall University, I started working 4pm-8pm weekday shifts as a claims processor at Prudential Insurance. The sprawling offices in suburban NJ were mostly empty when my colleagues and I arrived but we'd catch full-timers at the end of their workdays. It was then I met Vi Wilson, Di Alviggi and Carolyn Jennings, among many others, many of whom remain close after these many decades. Vi, Di and Carolyn were claims supervisors. Not necessarily mine, though over time I probably reported to one or more of them. All three were hilarious. Not joke-telling hilarious ... every-word-out-of-their-mouths hilarious. How many office jobs can you think back to and the first thing you remember is laughter? That's Prudential in the mid-80s for me. (Along with data input computers yellowed by cigarette smoke ...)<br />
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If my memory recalls laughter, my consciousness understands how lucky I was to have been managed by women like those three very North Jersey mothers. Yes, their personalities guided their interactions with those they managed, but so did an ironbound dedication to hard work and responsiblity. These women could have led armies, built cities, governed countries. Something tells me weren't expected to pursue 'careers', yet they shined in an environment perhaps viewed as too 'in the trenches' for men with university business degrees and entitled expectations.<br />
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The Pru Crew wore competency like a discounted Macys blouse, showed buckets of compassion to those who struggled to keep up, but busted balls when circumstances demanded that balls be busted. Three decades have passed since I was introduced to this crew and I've since worked in offices around the world. The more insecure male managers I've encountered, the more testosterone-laden horseshit I've had to stomach, the more privileged I've felt to have entered the professional workforce under the tutelage of outstanding teachers like Vi, Di and Carolyn, who would have laughed themselves hoarse if you referred to them as 'pioneers' even though, in hindsight, that's exactly what they were, even in the '80s. <br />
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I'm undoubtedly being presumptuous but I think their collective ethos could be summed up thusly:<br />
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Be good at your job. Just don't take it so f*cking seriously.<br />
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In 1987 I got to know Mary Beth, Vi's youngest daughter, who also worked at Prudential. Springsteen made us friends but shared experiences as co-supervisors in a South Jersey office in 1989 made us blood brother and sister. At a house she bought and stamped with her good taste in South Jersey I met her sisters Patty and Barbara and of course got to witness Vi outside of the office, always at the center of a gathering, always the furiously loyal matriarch. I left Prudential for good in 1989 but was blessedly adopted by the Wilson clan, seeing them on holidays and birthdays. MB moved to Freehold in 1998, making it easier for the 'Normas', as they called each other, to congregate, and I was lucky to break bread and drink wine and <b>laugh like hell</b> with them over the years. <br />
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Sometimes, I even got referred to as 'Norman'. An honorific I surely did not deserve.<br />
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The last time I saw any of the Normas was at MB and Charlie's wedding in 2006. Viola passed away last week at the age of 94. Though it's been almost 12 years since I've shared her company I feel her loss tremendously. She was one person with the force of ten who claimed a spot in my heart many years ago. Like Vi sitting lakeside in her beloved Maine, I'll always have memories of her to reflect upon, and rescue me from my overly serious self.<br />
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RIP, Big Norma.<br />
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(photo courtesy of MB's Facebook)<br />
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Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-90890769461870578422018-01-08T13:31:00.003+11:002018-01-08T13:36:38.754+11:00Surprise, surprise ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqToAii9CBXNptV87bxXGf3FWPYq5hn2zXUviE_VOgULuHovLZ1S7aAqf0vmFu5aWX6IdC-X4Ans8atK364HlNjfn0NYN6fOqIKc1eVaP8DKxG4us-jl_efPaZWXuErPBpK8ixtMjyj4s/s1600/Party_01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="976" data-original-width="1600" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqToAii9CBXNptV87bxXGf3FWPYq5hn2zXUviE_VOgULuHovLZ1S7aAqf0vmFu5aWX6IdC-X4Ans8atK364HlNjfn0NYN6fOqIKc1eVaP8DKxG4us-jl_efPaZWXuErPBpK8ixtMjyj4s/s640/Party_01.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>My friend Dave, from <a href="https://www.davewrightandthemidnightelectric.com/" target="_blank">Dave Wright & the Midnight Electric</a>, asked a few days ago if I'd be free to help with a 'project' on Sunday (yesterday). I said of course. He picked me up at 1:00. As we pulled onto a nearby street he said his wife Effie and their twin girls were at a park around the corner from my place. He asked if I wanted to say hello. I said of course. We parked and walked over to them -- one of the girls, Memphis, ran up and hugged my legs -- and after saying hello to Effie and the other twin Sophia, Dave tilted his head in the direction of picnic tables about 10 metres away. I looked that way and saw a good 2 dozen friends: Dave had organised a surprise goodbye picnic. <br />
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'Shocked' doesn't begin to describe my mindset. Later on in the day it occurred that I'd never been the recipient of a surprise party. Ever. It was like getting tossed into a pool of ice blocks. My friends, of course, melted those blocks instantaneously and embraced me in a hold that kept me from running back to my place and reclaiming my hermit throne. <br />
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Amid the colossal spread of food and booze everyone had brought, there was even a beautiful goodbye gift: <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYhbklH64wp5dk82H8ItANy6bXN4FcvBSrg2FWaOGS0W2PQX3x_9b9dmXYebVqANZ7UWUu19bmI0dA6GHKusumIEDSKoFKvkEdNlnKVxXAwfHtGduKkbItq3xK6snoFODHkjNPQDoD5Y/s1600/Party_02.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1026" data-original-width="1600" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYhbklH64wp5dk82H8ItANy6bXN4FcvBSrg2FWaOGS0W2PQX3x_9b9dmXYebVqANZ7UWUu19bmI0dA6GHKusumIEDSKoFKvkEdNlnKVxXAwfHtGduKkbItq3xK6snoFODHkjNPQDoD5Y/s640/Party_02.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Oh ... why the goodbyes? I've taken a job in Auckland. Rented a place in an Auckland suburb called Devonport. Moving at the end of the month. <br />
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After Dave presented the gift and said several kind words I coughed up thanks and tried to express appreciation for the collection of people I've been lucky to call friends here in Melbourne. When Aradhna and I moved to Victoria in December 2007 we knew no one -- literally, no one -- in Melbourne. Bit by bit we began to make friends, mostly through her work, but for me the dam burst after Springsteen's 2014 tour of Australia and New Zealand. I found my Southern Hemisphere kin. <br />
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Who are, and always will be, brothers and sisters for life. <br />
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Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-40361829901418008512017-12-25T10:16:00.001+11:002017-12-25T10:26:52.890+11:00Christmas morning, 2017.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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What's more illusionary than Christmas morning? Sun doesn't care. Birds don't care. Trees rustle in a breeze like any other morning. It's pure human fantasy, albeit a mega-hyped one more aligned with Capitalism than Christ, for most. After the exultations of childhood it requires practice, for rituals only become so through dogged persistence and resistance to change.<br />
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Two things greatly lacking in my life.<br />
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Gave myself a gift yesterday. Watched a favourite film from the '70s, Mel Brooks' 'Blazing Saddles'. There's a scene where Cleavon Little and Gene Wilder convince the threatened townsfolk of Rock Ridge to build a fake version of their town for marauders to destroy. It all goes well until Slim Pickens kicks one of the buildings over -- and discovers there's no structure behind the facade. <br />
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Kinda like playing Christmas songs on Christmas morning when there's no family, no tradition, no celebration. No joy. Just the voices of Elvis, Nat King Cole, Mathis, Sinatra and Stevie Wonder accompanying the usual cacophony of what-if, what-should-be, what-a-fool-I've-been, what-am-I-doing, where-am-I-going ...<br />
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Before a Vince Guaraldi song comes on and something cracks. Not, as Leonard Cohen sang so beautifully, a crack where the light gets in. There's a bit of time travel, a memory of sitting before a bank vault-sized TV set at the house on 20 Dayton Road, the smell of my mother's perfume, my little brother in his pajamas, my father's footsteps upstairs, Charlie Brown and Linus and Lucy, a passageway that fills with water and threatens to pull me under, a torrent of torment that will wash away only when my heart beats its last.<br />
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In this self-made setting Christmas is a day of reckoning. No wife, no kids. Coupla cats, who are laying peacefully beside me now, but without a tree adorned with ornaments to destroy even they get shafted by my hermit-like existence and resultant Christmas morning facade. I've learned -- hell, I've been taught by professionals -- to live in the present, appreciate the little things. But Christmas is big. Too big for cognitive massaging. It's one day of the year my mind wants to believe in the whole enchilada, swallow it down whole. But we reap what we sow, as the cliche goes. A life of solitude isn't rewarded on a day of giving. Nor should it be.<br />
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Here's something I posted on Facebook two days ago: 'Just played secret Santa for a country Victoria bloke who dropped his wallet on a Balaclava sidewalk. $9 to mail it to him after finding no other means of contact. Judging by the battered state of a condom wrapper found tucked inside, the guy's overdue for a bit of luck ....'<br />
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If I'm willing to help a stranger, the least I can do is try and help whoever may be reading this, whether it be friend, foe or someone in-between. 'Help' is probably too strong a word, for I'm not sharing anything you don't know. However, like every Christmas fable, hymn, carol, movie and TV show Christmas episode ever made, there's a moral tacked onto this tale:<br />
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You got people around you? Love them. Let go of the cynicism. Make the illusion of Christmas real. Knock on a neighbour's door, shake his or her hand, give their kids chocolates and a smile. Visit family and make this the year their bullshit doesn't get under your skin. Enjoy the stories, laugh at the jokes, even if it requires an extra glass of wine.<br />
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More than anything, do the one thing I find impossible: Love who you are. And do that every motherfucking day of the year.<br />
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If this blog post has made you sad ... don't be. If it reads like a call for help ... it isn't. All that I can truly call upon from this hunk of junk I call myself is honesty. My blessings are many, my burdens few. Love someone today. A lot. And wish them a heartfelt Merry Christmas.<br />
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'Cause that's what I'm wishing for you.Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-31801788227409029102017-12-23T08:20:00.001+11:002017-12-23T12:33:06.626+11:00Dave Wright & the Midnight Electric Christmas Spectacular @ Grandview Hotel 15 Dec 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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2017 was a busy year for <a href="https://www.davewrightandthemidnightelectric.com/">Dave Wright & the Midnight Electric</a>, so it was fitting they ended it with a packed Christmas Spectacular at Fairfield's <a href="https://web.facebook.com/grandviewfairfield/?rf=124953910900641&_rdc=1&_rdr">Grandview Hotel</a>. <a href="http://pbsfm.org.au/node/602">Myles O'Neill Shaw</a>, stalwart host of <a href="http://pbsfm.org.au/">PBS 106.7 FM</a>'s <a href="http://pbsfm.org.au/5feethigh">5 Ft High and Rising</a> on Saturday mornings, spun a mix of alt-country Christmas tunes. <a href="https://mastwyk.bandcamp.com/">Ben Mastwyk</a> played a set of acoustic country that've packed 'em in at any Texas honky tonk. The <a href="http://www.thewoodlandhunters.com/">Woodland Hunters</a> followed with a righteous blend of Hank meets Hendrix before DWME sent Santa scurrying back up the chimney with a six-string roar. Dave later said he thought the band's never sounded better.<br />
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Amen to that, chooch.<br />
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The set was a scorcher. Kicked off with 'Coming Home', the opening track of 2017's <a href="https://davewright.bandcamp.com/album/hwy-3" target="_blank">HWY</a> album. Three cuts from 2014's <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/album/the-lucky-country/id932874399" target="_blank">Lucky Country</a> -- 'Hang Me High', 'Into the Big Blue' and 'Father' -- got the crowd singing along before Dave introduced the new 'Hazelwood' with a thought for the families of those left unemployed by that Victoria town's shuttered power station. Fan favourite 'Streets of This Town' led into an elegaic 'Avenues of Honour before 'Drinking Days' knocked everyone on their asses. The next two songs were the evening's emotional high points: a raucous, prayerful 'Terry & Jenny' followed by a merciless 'Blacktown'. A rare one-two of very different driving songs -- 'Happiness' and 'HWY' -- closed the main set. Dave begged for unnecessary patience before an unrehearsed full-band cover of Tom Petty's 'Crawling Back to You' led into a celebratory final trio of 'Sweet Caroline', 'Rain' and 'Lucky Country'.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXsuvjiqKktv15tL_2rH4C1NXzHRs3I3FaukBAKIQqfp0pV8rORw7qZi4ZJ1PxfRaX7o1HPB_zgHTPHqEqEWzS0yDFaG_S4mMSOBGNtr2CMtZD7iZqhSlL6IzQLb3qohTANcmyPi0O0GE/s1600/DWME_16Dec_01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1086" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXsuvjiqKktv15tL_2rH4C1NXzHRs3I3FaukBAKIQqfp0pV8rORw7qZi4ZJ1PxfRaX7o1HPB_zgHTPHqEqEWzS0yDFaG_S4mMSOBGNtr2CMtZD7iZqhSlL6IzQLb3qohTANcmyPi0O0GE/s640/DWME_16Dec_01.JPG" width="434" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben Mastwyk knows how to wear a cowboy hat. His <a href="https://mastwyk.bandcamp.com/album/mornin-evenin" target="_blank">Mornin, Evenin</a> LP's a cracker, too.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben picks the first winner of a gift from beneath the DWME tree with help from a relaxed Dave and Santa's loveliest elf, Dave's sister-in-law Nicky. That's Myles between the laptop and Christmas trees on the right.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Woodland Hunters played songs off their latest release, <a href="https://thewoodlandhunters.bandcamp.com/album/lets-fall-apart" target="_blank">Let's Fall Apart</a>. A great band, with ample swagger.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A much more formal Dave helps Andrew Tanner of Woodland Hunters pick another winner.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DWME's set of songs spotlighted the guitar chops of Mr Robert Barber. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daryl Johnson does his Benmont thing ...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rock and roll may be festive in December only. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The DWME family was out in full force: Rita, Piera, Aggie, Rebecca, Mary, Jamie and Stew.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWkJuwNw6rA5MiW696sessNA00uwf2PTsX8KPLKfZAjAhWGYmXTV7E_ldF324wf0bfv2BU73jmKV1pviL8vJdn5yv3jL9sLFk8GS1TL974UA2HzC0wdf6P1vuf2oGpREdnYm59-O9q4U/s1600/DWME_16Dec_23.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1232" data-original-width="1600" height="493" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWkJuwNw6rA5MiW696sessNA00uwf2PTsX8KPLKfZAjAhWGYmXTV7E_ldF324wf0bfv2BU73jmKV1pviL8vJdn5yv3jL9sLFk8GS1TL974UA2HzC0wdf6P1vuf2oGpREdnYm59-O9q4U/s640/DWME_16Dec_23.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rebecca was a lucky -- and happy -- winner.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaiBpzttoFQR2BssasB0l4CzUsYsgEhbO5g8dxz8Iwkwex5p9G9qe_9C7UsFU6_q6WFB9FCJwUWufyRbavIb2lUsDE3UQfScTTizx58_0OAf4pI5-7cBh0HkDLRyDiikmaooz8p74O5aE/s1600/DWME_16Dec_25.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1171" data-original-width="1600" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaiBpzttoFQR2BssasB0l4CzUsYsgEhbO5g8dxz8Iwkwex5p9G9qe_9C7UsFU6_q6WFB9FCJwUWufyRbavIb2lUsDE3UQfScTTizx58_0OAf4pI5-7cBh0HkDLRyDiikmaooz8p74O5aE/s640/DWME_16Dec_25.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best-dressed Santa and a dramatically lit elf.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQN2r9Fi2pdVOo8HBaQlRTqVRlLb16KkWP6FbMO9fEAdMPiiRfKcg408JiOCiee2UUwhyphenhyphen4V3_E4hyphenhyphenrcGEDyG3N-5OgtpnmIQa5FK0N8ZsziMNahMLTSyX47CaWGnvO_a2lxdcRj_S-a8/s1600/DWME_16Dec_29.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1245" data-original-width="1600" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQN2r9Fi2pdVOo8HBaQlRTqVRlLb16KkWP6FbMO9fEAdMPiiRfKcg408JiOCiee2UUwhyphenhyphen4V3_E4hyphenhyphenrcGEDyG3N-5OgtpnmIQa5FK0N8ZsziMNahMLTSyX47CaWGnvO_a2lxdcRj_S-a8/s640/DWME_16Dec_29.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dave Wright & the Midnight Electric.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cosy Grandview was high energy, both on-stage and off.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJS-JHHMo2VQMbqK6GSl0-7M8LQQJpWPNFGmFUNCAuIioNrYoXWp_qAlpmdjInxUGzGSFa96ammpirnzTHzSSUOZQbFuVtlMhfdH_G0sRhMh_QCQqrN6MS4qCxqURgIu8E27dqTd87eG0/s1600/DWME_16Dec_39.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1176" data-original-width="1600" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJS-JHHMo2VQMbqK6GSl0-7M8LQQJpWPNFGmFUNCAuIioNrYoXWp_qAlpmdjInxUGzGSFa96ammpirnzTHzSSUOZQbFuVtlMhfdH_G0sRhMh_QCQqrN6MS4qCxqURgIu8E27dqTd87eG0/s640/DWME_16Dec_39.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Electric horns: John Bryant and Anthony Foon.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKD0Jk3mc_upqfyrnxhLt1pyAajw1MlBel3MFj-_3xkCw0yXMiRGkpWF0hW_3ti3ILtWfaHPt8CYJWSmUcLmCEGujGV0VIxyH-g0AgaHlBbovyA3J83fTerO2oWhH8wUyeTtFd8dAXBOY/s1600/DWME_16Dec_27.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1562" data-original-width="1600" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKD0Jk3mc_upqfyrnxhLt1pyAajw1MlBel3MFj-_3xkCw0yXMiRGkpWF0hW_3ti3ILtWfaHPt8CYJWSmUcLmCEGujGV0VIxyH-g0AgaHlBbovyA3J83fTerO2oWhH8wUyeTtFd8dAXBOY/s640/DWME_16Dec_27.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone's a winner.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZ2SDKgzfnhLZFdFCXAMMtNLjmULLuitylgU6Q7x0aEDT8xpf8PqkCeBW4euOCb4Tyh3I1vEImwHsHnpyK43ukws8XE0v6U1LhjqZG-AJbt1Ba2vuX0hGc7g6Kt3zyX2Bw5-MFhm5DDw/s1600/DWME_16Dec_33.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1321" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZ2SDKgzfnhLZFdFCXAMMtNLjmULLuitylgU6Q7x0aEDT8xpf8PqkCeBW4euOCb4Tyh3I1vEImwHsHnpyK43ukws8XE0v6U1LhjqZG-AJbt1Ba2vuX0hGc7g6Kt3zyX2Bw5-MFhm5DDw/s640/DWME_16Dec_33.JPG" width="528" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Gov'nor.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4JAnSvT1Exj_MeAvBQ14JFvT8oisAu3ifdDlvi6FxTAFe9dlAjjMvWbQ1LLKwJ4nGE3z8gJeBIQiZWi2nzbL0sYhCY6k5Fwc9yvN2_cvkCWfUeRa09bGgIQMaubglutzVvI5IvjAnUSM/s1600/DWME_16Dec_37.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1201" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4JAnSvT1Exj_MeAvBQ14JFvT8oisAu3ifdDlvi6FxTAFe9dlAjjMvWbQ1LLKwJ4nGE3z8gJeBIQiZWi2nzbL0sYhCY6k5Fwc9yvN2_cvkCWfUeRa09bGgIQMaubglutzVvI5IvjAnUSM/s640/DWME_16Dec_37.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">May everyone have a merry Christmas ...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMq8IkTCp0_fRqJpu2Lmu_FA9cIxM731ee32XnLurmBGjcY0EQyaOU6C4CArQvSjCuamdlQb2Hzl6iDkPfOIwTnBs1JJ9-O30TxK_v0WZDmWDLOj-QuUY_vWGQfpuCmKSdIAIbgIziHHg/s1600/DWME_16Dec_41.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1232" data-original-width="1600" height="493" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMq8IkTCp0_fRqJpu2Lmu_FA9cIxM731ee32XnLurmBGjcY0EQyaOU6C4CArQvSjCuamdlQb2Hzl6iDkPfOIwTnBs1JJ9-O30TxK_v0WZDmWDLOj-QuUY_vWGQfpuCmKSdIAIbgIziHHg/s640/DWME_16Dec_41.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... and a very happy new year.</td></tr>
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Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com1429 Heidelberg Rd, Fairfield VIC 3078, Australia-37.783285000000006 145.01722410000002-63.30531950000001 103.70863010000002 -12.261250500000006 -173.6741819tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-84714780371748630402017-12-14T03:18:00.001+11:002017-12-14T03:18:36.415+11:00RIP Pat DiNizio<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UNZbP3ZVem4" frameborder="0" gesture="media" allow="encrypted-media" allowfullscreen></iframe>Saw the <a href="https://officialsmithereens.com/" target="_blank">Smithereens</a> many times in the late '80s -- most memorably a <a href="http://stoneponyonline.com/" target="_blank">Stone Pony</a> show broadcast live on WNEW-FM before which Edward Natoli and I visited a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palace_Amusements" target="_blank">Palace Amusements</a> overrun with crack dealers -- but my favourite <a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/pat-dinizio-smithereens-singer-dead-at-62-w513988" target="_blank">Pat DiNizio</a> anecdote occurred when the band opened for Squeeze at Jones Beach. 'We're the Smithereens!' cried DiNizio. Silence. 'We're the SMITHEREENS!' he cried again, eliciting weak applause. 'We're the FUCKIN' SMITHEREENS!' The Long Island crowd went wild. A band that good shouldn't have had to work so hard to be appreciated. Maybe DiNizio's passing at 62 will bring long-overdue acclaim. RIP to the pride of Scotch Plains, NJ.<br />
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<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DHYkYYikewU" frameborder="0" gesture="media" allow="encrypted-media" allowfullscreen></iframe>Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-84704740019304506672017-12-08T05:47:00.001+11:002017-12-08T05:47:38.515+11:00Devonport ferry ride, Auckland NZ, 6 Dec 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNKoOUT0fULfKLcXWstEDKwN3WIw6XxaJmSY3ikZgxwT3z2CVQfEXLGkbXxsm8foraw8gtxDs-jsEykpEPZRHsKUGwkwtORv0bY7Z8WgyF2fX0vguXBxkZ4vgiasnD2BAuGLzvwIkDFHw/s1600/Dec17_010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="989" data-original-width="1600" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNKoOUT0fULfKLcXWstEDKwN3WIw6XxaJmSY3ikZgxwT3z2CVQfEXLGkbXxsm8foraw8gtxDs-jsEykpEPZRHsKUGwkwtORv0bY7Z8WgyF2fX0vguXBxkZ4vgiasnD2BAuGLzvwIkDFHw/s640/Dec17_010.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZBGVqEFjqaUq9zfB6TwJN2-tYx8PjLCXVmRcLkXt6ARlQmjotCyIw9U3BDvtmEqlgWYnjsJJ_tDhfkyb65DDg3s7rRxVVKsaHoWvbAoq0kyUpKX9-mrqPjyV3CHDOKUlMxpRfcDWLeU/s1600/Dec17_020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1097" data-original-width="1600" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZBGVqEFjqaUq9zfB6TwJN2-tYx8PjLCXVmRcLkXt6ARlQmjotCyIw9U3BDvtmEqlgWYnjsJJ_tDhfkyb65DDg3s7rRxVVKsaHoWvbAoq0kyUpKX9-mrqPjyV3CHDOKUlMxpRfcDWLeU/s640/Dec17_020.JPG" width="640" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcSq-sto3K7oDDBDGX_Fc8E6-_-QaFpU_sgOdc2jX0EZ_kWUryF0YaCg4yj8rD_ovISkE68JqeAme2EZRwdUMzVHjzFpVefFLP8qmBJXGRlrHQfrwyL3NkENKlUUPDm7wljVN-PtiWivs/s1600/Dec17_021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1600" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcSq-sto3K7oDDBDGX_Fc8E6-_-QaFpU_sgOdc2jX0EZ_kWUryF0YaCg4yj8rD_ovISkE68JqeAme2EZRwdUMzVHjzFpVefFLP8qmBJXGRlrHQfrwyL3NkENKlUUPDm7wljVN-PtiWivs/s640/Dec17_021.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-59208614668247138642017-10-24T08:54:00.001+11:002017-10-25T23:59:54.008+11:00Adiós / Au revoir / Ciao / Zàijiàn / Tạm biệt / Alvida Intrepid<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RuwY60MqhVxdOe3HC2ejY4TIWmd0fbvmk9pVRy7QjbeNclZ4SCYsUpMmiJdYCbCX5UzRMdqAJVEZ9o1EpahW9RdNzTdMHA4R1KKAaqXa0Lpr2gKfyYQzrBRZdrIJiIKxDS5Q9bbhEHo/s1600/Oct17_25.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RuwY60MqhVxdOe3HC2ejY4TIWmd0fbvmk9pVRy7QjbeNclZ4SCYsUpMmiJdYCbCX5UzRMdqAJVEZ9o1EpahW9RdNzTdMHA4R1KKAaqXa0Lpr2gKfyYQzrBRZdrIJiIKxDS5Q9bbhEHo/s400/Oct17_25.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>When I first landed an editorial gig in April at a respected travel company my brain bubbled at the prospect of writing about a universally loved subject. Beats the hell out of waxing poetic about OTC antacids or sleep apnea devices, both subjects of credulous creativity in my professional past. It was inevitable that the novelty of describing small group travel destinations would wear off; what wasn't inevitable was a growing appreciation for the culture of <a href="https://www.intrepidtravel.com/au">Intrepid Travel</a>'s corporate office in Melbourne's CBD, and a genuine respect for the people I got to call colleagues. <br />
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This photo (left) was taken Friday night in the 'beer garden' section of the Intrepid office, which inhabits the entire 7th floor of a Collins Street highrise. At 4 pm on Fridays the company provides a fridge-full of beer, cider and wine in its vast kitchen area, to which the beer garden is adjacent. The gentleman beside me is Mark Hewitt, of the Ringwood Hewitts (sorry for that, mate). When I joined Intrepid's brochure team I'd been freelance writing for years and was still doing overnight shifts as an Uber driver but had not held a full-time office gig since a comically bad stint with Optus in North Sydney in 2007. Fair to say I was trepiditious about fitting in as a rusty 51 year old. To use one of Mark's favourite expressions, 'this fuckin' guy' was as helpful and patient as anyone I've ever worked with, regardless of the field. I thanked him in front of the team on Friday, my final day at Intrepid, and I'm thanking him again on my goddamned blog because everyone should be as lucky to have a guy like this beside him/her when you feel like a bridge troll in an office full of young, smart and disturbingly attractive men and women. <br />
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Parramatta Yankee was once a means to show people back home what life was like in Australia but I stopped doing that when my life became something I disliked. So consider this a throwback post. Here's a chronological look at my first experience as a Melbourne CBD Working Boy, starting with a South Melbourne sunrise snapped in April (below) and ending with photos from my final day on Friday.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-DRq8-gUIYz8N3pLAANWPmWiBDBKBsveidcWJo2xlklcNDGXJ9upgbc1zTxiUcNtxDGm9qqsh_92bBwyIdH5AVdheeGgmn_J8iEZ_6-ZlmRBkZYh6ErvHWTCE5eYKfdi9oIFxp9vS2xM/s1600/June17_10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1175" data-original-width="1600" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-DRq8-gUIYz8N3pLAANWPmWiBDBKBsveidcWJo2xlklcNDGXJ9upgbc1zTxiUcNtxDGm9qqsh_92bBwyIdH5AVdheeGgmn_J8iEZ_6-ZlmRBkZYh6ErvHWTCE5eYKfdi9oIFxp9vS2xM/s400/June17_10.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As I was still Ubering in April I'd park in South Melbourne, have a coffee and chin wag with Dave at <a href="http://jimmythesaint.com.au/" target="_blank">Jimmy the Saint</a>, and walk to the Intrepid office on Collins Street. One morning the sky over Southbank, which sits across the Yarra River from Melbourne's CBD, glowed cotton-candy pink. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHBIq9xVcs-czJPEIQVTs7dOMfYTxAirP95a1uaWGi1I9nDAKuup5PoP40Ax7x9rW347uetZdhF-6uhKPhX27eYmjH-c2aZikLbziYs9bEYGvJBFZkZd0I-ttLZFSA0ZHrE2WBIfT_-bk/s1600/June17_21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1272" data-original-width="1600" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHBIq9xVcs-czJPEIQVTs7dOMfYTxAirP95a1uaWGi1I9nDAKuup5PoP40Ax7x9rW347uetZdhF-6uhKPhX27eYmjH-c2aZikLbziYs9bEYGvJBFZkZd0I-ttLZFSA0ZHrE2WBIfT_-bk/s400/June17_21.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piano man Julian and I became fast friends even before he invited several folks from Intrepid and I to a Sunday afternoon lunch at he and his wife Meera's home in Clayton. Neesha, their oldest child, is propped upon Meera's lap, while Lucy, one of the Outstanding Humans of Intrepid, sits alongside.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA6wvBINVfSUlurpsCzcnKjVcvnjUy-iqlJK7FtElFV7nFRh4st5cTuVr7ftcDJt1zO-5VZgRe65KKUssSeM7Cl2zRVIjzD7TnGY8OVlMRkmxD09A30om8_HZz_0KIXmUAaeLpD45oOzk/s1600/Aug17_03.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA6wvBINVfSUlurpsCzcnKjVcvnjUy-iqlJK7FtElFV7nFRh4st5cTuVr7ftcDJt1zO-5VZgRe65KKUssSeM7Cl2zRVIjzD7TnGY8OVlMRkmxD09A30om8_HZz_0KIXmUAaeLpD45oOzk/s400/Aug17_03.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After realising working 9-5 and leasing a car for Uber was a hamster wheel of financial futility, I returned the car and began taking the train to Flinders Street Station and walking to the office near Spencer Street on the western edge of the CBD. On this morning, menacing clouds gathered over the CBD.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWTgLdZAEaJI8FW32WtWwzWpyis4k1dpeisZbTCl2WlrcDaESzKAhoHk3iqrFxKQrar_D99pjzcg9SdEtByP1l2SPDqA0xDS4vI62MXKnq7VUrTSzkYhI58qeWLSe5Kc58vqJpdolS16M/s1600/Aug17_65.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWTgLdZAEaJI8FW32WtWwzWpyis4k1dpeisZbTCl2WlrcDaESzKAhoHk3iqrFxKQrar_D99pjzcg9SdEtByP1l2SPDqA0xDS4vI62MXKnq7VUrTSzkYhI58qeWLSe5Kc58vqJpdolS16M/s400/Aug17_65.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning view of the pedestrian bridge to Southbank.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCStl2x_WNQEVkzhMkfXoXeY77NL_-X-6NFdvFNP8_YZusW7j43cSee4dDWDEJahumlq6EtRrhuN5L96SxhUsvUJce0Xz9DUla7FpD4PcvFu0xWN8alktO2J72saOX6slF7GQxLMfyQZ4/s1600/Sept17_15.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCStl2x_WNQEVkzhMkfXoXeY77NL_-X-6NFdvFNP8_YZusW7j43cSee4dDWDEJahumlq6EtRrhuN5L96SxhUsvUJce0Xz9DUla7FpD4PcvFu0xWN8alktO2J72saOX6slF7GQxLMfyQZ4/s400/Sept17_15.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steps of the <a href="https://museumsvictoria.com.au/immigrationmuseum" target="_blank">Immigration Museum</a> on Flinders Street painted in support of the Yes vote in Australia's ridiculous (non-binding) referendum on marriage equality. Here's hoping Aussies do what their gutless representatives cannot: acknowledge the rights of fellow citizens to marry the partner of his/her choice. Pretty fucking simple.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgioI87TBMC1GSN6gncLzIt8I908qwkOzQ7AU5Hbic9xkHv4SQoAPnrDGOyAqkOH2glm6pgtNoFAdY2JDuBndCyBqKlvL2CyGXOqOmOs0nFFS4_dLkMbgua2jvLfjxgFqkw1bWHa7OoIZ0/s1600/Sept17_08.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgioI87TBMC1GSN6gncLzIt8I908qwkOzQ7AU5Hbic9xkHv4SQoAPnrDGOyAqkOH2glm6pgtNoFAdY2JDuBndCyBqKlvL2CyGXOqOmOs0nFFS4_dLkMbgua2jvLfjxgFqkw1bWHa7OoIZ0/s400/Sept17_08.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If a Southern Cross train was about to pull out of Flinders Street as my Sandringham line train arrived (perhaps the most Melbourne-centric collection of words I've ever typed) I'd hop on to save a few minutes. Here's the view looking north at the CBD, featuring a prominent Immigration Museum.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimksi6kJ-4InxHBW-_vmklXCE73G0iISDLi-wcpIbHVDlXaJR1AkiHNrRgoNdCH1bgf6-1BgCgJRphhgApD9uMWyHhHBUlLIM-EVziFxyQJ5jvehO2rnBTXbVr4EFgeXKP3Oo5gLblsOY/s1600/Oct17_01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimksi6kJ-4InxHBW-_vmklXCE73G0iISDLi-wcpIbHVDlXaJR1AkiHNrRgoNdCH1bgf6-1BgCgJRphhgApD9uMWyHhHBUlLIM-EVziFxyQJ5jvehO2rnBTXbVr4EFgeXKP3Oo5gLblsOY/s400/Oct17_01.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A new chi-chi restaurant seems to pop up on Chapel Street every week, but every now and then I'd get off the train at Windsor and determine a beer and (chicken) burger were necessary and head to the nearby hipster-free <a href="http://www.burgersofmelbourne.com.au/parlour-diner-windsor/" target="_blank">Parlour Diner</a> for a healing dose.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6XC9TK15NT49nWBkyUWEgf_E9SyvP0utClZevlODKiqCneELwMpkM3ekR89b2ynwKICBcEqPNFljo3izjEMx2ieyzgvrvF_z8Z4IXt-YCJEVRPym_YWwxY7t3j4oZVjPo7Pb5wyPITs/s1600/Sept17_10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6XC9TK15NT49nWBkyUWEgf_E9SyvP0utClZevlODKiqCneELwMpkM3ekR89b2ynwKICBcEqPNFljo3izjEMx2ieyzgvrvF_z8Z4IXt-YCJEVRPym_YWwxY7t3j4oZVjPo7Pb5wyPITs/s400/Sept17_10.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the subject of healing doses ... while full-time colleagues are seemingly happy with Friday beers, my fellow contractors and I expanded the range to include spirits. In this case, the favourite spirit of Liz, the woman in the 'Home Is Toronto' sweatshirt, whose workspace was opposite my own.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZPrOogI8kD2iGAAhDx1jd6SzO-eg-OyL9vVL5fhadPioAdcDE1bqjKyod-M2JLCg3B8tDSlgVNd51v75tyj3O-RfKIufp1UnwdP0Ggy4eAv5BU7D5u55TcU3Q8I37QFQvMgO8GgTby1s/s1600/Sept17_12.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZPrOogI8kD2iGAAhDx1jd6SzO-eg-OyL9vVL5fhadPioAdcDE1bqjKyod-M2JLCg3B8tDSlgVNd51v75tyj3O-RfKIufp1UnwdP0Ggy4eAv5BU7D5u55TcU3Q8I37QFQvMgO8GgTby1s/s400/Sept17_12.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking back to my St Kilda East apartment through a moody <a href="http://www.portphillip.vic.gov.au/alma_park.htm" target="_blank">Alma Park</a>. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-g31secxc8Bvh7Oc1OtYy9rpWKbE7E2D1v3a8cRRtIoq74hnABf3O6tzhxdy3mEuGAGkKxh6O5NAsQdItFMSELU-nthgVJlPcofkyvFZaF1_0hLAlJpn5seZggZSz5X5mYqPqqEY9wwg/s1600/Oct17_05.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1210" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-g31secxc8Bvh7Oc1OtYy9rpWKbE7E2D1v3a8cRRtIoq74hnABf3O6tzhxdy3mEuGAGkKxh6O5NAsQdItFMSELU-nthgVJlPcofkyvFZaF1_0hLAlJpn5seZggZSz5X5mYqPqqEY9wwg/s400/Oct17_05.JPG" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exceptionally ordinary apartment buildings on Flinders Street.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5a6llt3HNdiaKhoaPdzSysXDydcECb9mENvIkK5MWNppmcCHkhvV6ke6MJnnhxIV7rhg2VjqQ0kju3ZhSTceY8dBWGZkYClykqb4gkfNLc8R1Kj804rt_fUq-JTvZcomL5iqMZKF6pKk/s1600/Oct17_10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="978" data-original-width="1600" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5a6llt3HNdiaKhoaPdzSysXDydcECb9mENvIkK5MWNppmcCHkhvV6ke6MJnnhxIV7rhg2VjqQ0kju3ZhSTceY8dBWGZkYClykqb4gkfNLc8R1Kj804rt_fUq-JTvZcomL5iqMZKF6pKk/s400/Oct17_10.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As I've lived in proximity to Australia's finest bagels for ten years in Balaclava, I was hesitant to visit a bagel shop near the office favoured by my colleagues. After overcoming my bias I quickly became a fan of NJ-native Zev's shop, called <a href="http://www.5dimebagel.com.au/#cafe" target="_blank">5 and Dime Bagel</a>, especially when I went in one day and he was wearing a t-shirt reading 'Boonton Coffee Co'. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwXYd0oaXbp4ecG35UOBZnkPpcSL3VdL5X1D0NnGFweC0s9jiL_ZO6zTvf-8vFnIzsu90kxuYOTZ_-VG8dMWUm1OrzKF2VNbsBRTJrJ6S55qoSValkjfRL3RmKFVjNx_PkUroWhpTBLkc/s1600/Oct17_03.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1135" data-original-width="1600" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwXYd0oaXbp4ecG35UOBZnkPpcSL3VdL5X1D0NnGFweC0s9jiL_ZO6zTvf-8vFnIzsu90kxuYOTZ_-VG8dMWUm1OrzKF2VNbsBRTJrJ6S55qoSValkjfRL3RmKFVjNx_PkUroWhpTBLkc/s400/Oct17_03.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To celebrate the conclusion of a successful 'brochure season', Intrepid organised an afternoon of lawn bowls at the <a href="https://www.citybowls.org/" target="_blank">Melbourne Bowls Club</a> in Flagstaff Gardens. Thanks again, Belinda.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA3_fm5U6QnWkupKQ9-fZJWF9vEUtEDgE6N_BEHwhn3kat-1Ehw8Cdhz_TQ3RhxWcHWMG1b3hkgu0S4uKTxMyPZgNKTB0b3JzWhEdNJ8W2WsZs6aiy460rAsqp45UC6ZtZYwB-C9DhFUE/s1600/Oct17_15.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1168" data-original-width="1600" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA3_fm5U6QnWkupKQ9-fZJWF9vEUtEDgE6N_BEHwhn3kat-1Ehw8Cdhz_TQ3RhxWcHWMG1b3hkgu0S4uKTxMyPZgNKTB0b3JzWhEdNJ8W2WsZs6aiy460rAsqp45UC6ZtZYwB-C9DhFUE/s400/Oct17_15.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Friday the rising sun glowed bright down Fulton Street as I began a final morning commute.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNibBfiVMAxbm7YdNbGyK_bpx80-wAlqcnuQ_w3FYhYopRwcxNKUDOSN3aDXi6H_-Ci822plHN4G3Z5diHrPZGnMJ59OWLE1L_s99DrLn6EmWhxSTzjmWWUxUbXkkkJf2TLGZAMwKgVFk/s1600/Oct17_17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1097" data-original-width="1600" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNibBfiVMAxbm7YdNbGyK_bpx80-wAlqcnuQ_w3FYhYopRwcxNKUDOSN3aDXi6H_-Ci822plHN4G3Z5diHrPZGnMJ59OWLE1L_s99DrLn6EmWhxSTzjmWWUxUbXkkkJf2TLGZAMwKgVFk/s400/Oct17_17.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My last morning as first (or second) into the office.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdb4OKs5NzV3uPF24nG3R_wbtexXVkKnAH0qYzboXXjRr-jSeLFF-xQmhk3ppuWg8QmKPJiAHQ-qEMvdT9mpyeOHG13_7onKrXOeyU3Rts0J1kgSQjm2d_B4idQ6oh8RoJzAlyXQxyJE/s1600/Oct17_19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1485" data-original-width="1600" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdb4OKs5NzV3uPF24nG3R_wbtexXVkKnAH0qYzboXXjRr-jSeLFF-xQmhk3ppuWg8QmKPJiAHQ-qEMvdT9mpyeOHG13_7onKrXOeyU3Rts0J1kgSQjm2d_B4idQ6oh8RoJzAlyXQxyJE/s400/Oct17_19.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I could write a few thousand words about 'Tin of Win', a Friday tradition of the Intrepid marketing department. For the purposes of this blog post, however, I'll stick to the basics: If something good happened during a workweek, we'd jot it down on a slip of paper and shove it in a tin. At around 4:30 the dept would gather, drinks in hand, pull random slips from the tin, and read them aloud. On my final day I was humbled by both the quantity and subject matter of many of those slips of paper, especially this one -- kudos to whoever perfectly described my 'generally marketable voice-over-voice'.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmAt5Dck5SS3WGtvXkbfAosU6i_lbCELc_N14UAkTu_5WHvyi3pBjQsI9ISFKyL3b4-RYOybr1KUsK3j58Vv4k1VtPdPWgY_lB-KYxq6e2geTEQ7E5r01bQdjdbTRBAuEMGpvSxBOlMQ8/s1600/Oct17_20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1176" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmAt5Dck5SS3WGtvXkbfAosU6i_lbCELc_N14UAkTu_5WHvyi3pBjQsI9ISFKyL3b4-RYOybr1KUsK3j58Vv4k1VtPdPWgY_lB-KYxq6e2geTEQ7E5r01bQdjdbTRBAuEMGpvSxBOlMQ8/s400/Oct17_20.JPG" width="294" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amen. (Thanks, Cluny.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiny_ETsOd1eTTluM5LClMUHmwN1b4WR5PLbXh9pklsVCZbb3luLZThw_xKfeyVQE22ydhzP3yDicqlgo7BUV3bvvQCHvdc_VVe-Q3r03nFD49f9JSqzdmIO6k68HTWnnnVf00jWTiofxQ/s1600/Oct17_22.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1375" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiny_ETsOd1eTTluM5LClMUHmwN1b4WR5PLbXh9pklsVCZbb3luLZThw_xKfeyVQE22ydhzP3yDicqlgo7BUV3bvvQCHvdc_VVe-Q3r03nFD49f9JSqzdmIO6k68HTWnnnVf00jWTiofxQ/s400/Oct17_22.JPG" width="344" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dusk view in the beer garden. Outstanding Humans of Intrepid Pippa, Emily and Justin are barely visible in foreground shadow.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7JKtT60e0W6gF9YRLoDHJxOQXV7ecsm5P0F-72cf7bWP8ZOHSiG3swsKYD-5yr7tzHz6Mn6sT9kNUy3n_TxMkzPFqyqslHaDCx9bJcdkYneMD_oTESennwuJElUDlTo-PX203qpMk1nE/s1600/Oct17_21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="827" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7JKtT60e0W6gF9YRLoDHJxOQXV7ecsm5P0F-72cf7bWP8ZOHSiG3swsKYD-5yr7tzHz6Mn6sT9kNUy3n_TxMkzPFqyqslHaDCx9bJcdkYneMD_oTESennwuJElUDlTo-PX203qpMk1nE/s400/Oct17_21.JPG" width="207" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Saturday morning I pulled this, a departing gift from Home Is Toronto Liz, from my backpack and placed it in a place of prominence. I'll do the same with memories of my six months at Intrepid. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-32436347706214892912017-10-08T19:56:00.000+11:002017-10-08T21:01:18.990+11:00RIP Tom Petty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Laying in bed, <a href="http://www.tompetty.com/news/tom-petty-1950-2017-1758086">Tom Petty</a> songs playing in my head …<br />
<br />
It’s six days since news broke on Monday morning about Petty’s demise from cardiac arrest at the age of 66, which a few hours later became a dismaying death watch after initial reports proved premature. The official announcement, which came Monday night, said he passed surrounded by family, friends and bandmates. Comforting, but way too fucking soon.<br />
<br />
The usual social media testimonials followed, and touring bands covered Petty classics that were quickly uploaded to YouTube. Couple of decent articles recounted his musical journey from Gainesville, Florida to 80-million-record-selling rock icon. He and the Heartbreakers had concluded a critically lauded 40th anniversary tour only a week earlier at the <a href="http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/music/la-et-ms-tom-petty-hollywood-bowl-20170922-story.html" target="_blank">Hollywood Bowl</a>. As if everything that needed to be done had been done and once he was back in his Malibu home his heart finally said, well, I’m done too.<br />
<br />
Like many I’ve been listening to his music all week. And last night, like every night since he died, I was laying in bed, Tom Petty songs playing in my head, when that chronic condition boiled down to a thought that got me out of bed to make a benign observation: Petty was his songs. Absolutely nothing more, and nothing less. My brain is stuck on a 24-hour Petty loop because there’s nothing to short-circuit the jukebox. His songs are the beginning, middle and now, sadly, end. There have been videos and tours and cameo acting appearances but his legacy cannot be pinned to a particular epoch – his songs are timeless – or endeavours extraneous to songwriting – every Petty video featured the same look of bemusement at everything around him – or concert tour – his laconic off-stage demeanour was identical to the one he brought to hundreds of honky tonks, clubs, theatres, arenas and stadiums. No ever-changing personas (other than a <a href="http://www.travelingwilburys.com/history" target="_blank">Wilbury</a> name not taken by <a href="http://www.georgeharrison.com/" target="_blank">George</a>, <a href="http://royorbison.com/roy-orbison-official-biography/" target="_blank">Roy</a>, <a href="https://www.bobdylan.com/" target="_blank">Bob</a> or <a href="https://jefflynneselo.com/" target="_blank">Jeff</a>). No makeovers. No on-stage histrionics. No gossip-rag romances. <br />
<br />
Just a lifetime of songs written to be heard and destined to be cherished. <br />
<br />
In an industry designed to build up and tear down, Petty cheekily grinned his way through setbacks and trudged along like a shaggy haired, guitar-slinging tortoise. Of course he suffered personal losses and battled substance abuse and band crises – hell, the Heartbreakers’ second bass player and main backing vocalist slowly killed himself with drugs. In a scenario impossible to imagine in a typical ego-larded rock band, original bass player <a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/music/features/heartbreakers-bassist-ron-blair-on-his-life-with-tom-petty-w506782" target="_blank">Ron Blair</a> rejoined the Heartbreakers just before <a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/howie-epstein-dies-20030225" target="_blank">Howie Epstein</a> OD’ed in February 2003. There’d been no banishments or war or words between Petty and Blair, who’d known each other since they were teens, as he’d known guitarist <a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/music/features/heartbreakers-guitarist-mike-campbell-on-life-with-tom-petty-w506780" target="_blank">Mike Campbell</a> and organ player <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benmont_Tench" target="_blank">Benmont Tench</a>. They’d come out of Florida and conquered the world. All remarkably unassuming. All pitched in service to the songs. All prominent in forging a sweet noise called Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. <br />
<br />
In my current place of employment there’s a full-fledged, café-style coffee machine in a large kitchen. On Wednesday or Thursday I was walking to my desk with a fresh cup of coffee when Petty’s ‘Here Comes My Girl’ started playing in my mind. Instead of walking directly to my desk I turned down a hallway to hear more of it. In my head, the brainwave equivalent of goosebumps crackling in my skull. The enormity of his death was sinking in, but it had taken days. This song had bubbled up, loosened memories and feelings along the way, and now demanded airtime in my workday consciousness. It was startling. I had to fight back tears before returning to my desk.<br />
<br />
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‘Here Comes My Girl’ is off Petty’s third album <a href="https://www.allmusic.com/album/damn-the-torpedoes-mw0000191271" target="_blank">Damn the Torpedoes</a>, released in October 1979. I was 13, soon to be 14. I bought the album the following spring and can remember sitting in my NJ bedroom listening to it repeatedly along with <a href="http://brucespringsteen.net/" target="_blank">Springsteen</a>’s <a href="https://www.allmusic.com/album/darkness-on-the-edge-of-town-mw0000191913" target="_blank">Darkness on the Edge of Town</a> and <a href="http://brucespringsteen.net/" target="_blank">Elvis Costello</a>’s <a href="https://www.allmusic.com/album/this-years-model-mw0000189632" target="_blank">This Year’s Model</a>, which had both come out in ‘78. All dark albums, all brilliantly produced <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jimmy_Iovine" target="_blank">(Jimmy Iovine</a> manned the boards for Torpedoes and Darkness), but I wasn’t listening to these records – I was inhabiting them. When Torpedoes vinyl laid on my turntable and the needle eased into its groove I left suburban NJ with a crackling snare and entered track 1, ‘Refugee’, a sun-drenched space adorned in signature Heartbreakers’ flash: Tench’s oceanic organ, a soaring Campbell solo, Blair’s blue-collar bass, original drummer <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stan_Lynch" target="_blank">Stan Lynch</a>’s no-bullshit fills. My 14-year-old ears were locked onto Petty’s voice, of course, a voice as tricky and mysterious as the ghosts lurking in my hormone-mad mind. Yes there was a ‘Refugee’ video but in pre-cable, pre-MTV days it was relegated to late-night clip shows. Petty’s only solid form stared at me from that red album cover. He lived and snarled and wailed in a 3-and-a-half-minute ransom note, ‘Right now it seems real to you / But it’s one of those things you’ve got to FEEL to be TRUE …’ The song was a hit, an instant classic, a radio staple of my youth, Petty’s ticket out of critic’s darling hell to platinum-selling rock stardom.<br />
<br />
But then came track 2. ‘Here Comes My Girl’ kicked off with a smouldering Campbell ricochet riff that curled to the ceiling like pool hall smoke. Petty’s voice followed in a similar register, like he’d just woken to the bottom of a tumbler beside an ashtray brimming with lipsticked butts, an Elmore Leonard loser laying out his plight on page one. While a few cheesecake posters hung on the walls of my wood-paneled room – anyone remember Charlene Tilton from the tv show Dallas? – my 14-year-old passions were relegated to the Yankees, Rangers, Knicks, Giants ... and rock and roll. ‘Here Comes My Girl’ was about as raw a love song I'd ever heard, yet still melodic and compelling and <strong>hopeful</strong> to a kid oblivious to the delights of the opposite sex. It's little wonder it was the conduit to a sadness that nearly brought tears in a silent office building, a galaxy away from a NJ bedroom on a sticky summer night in 1980 – Petty’s voice a time-traveling force:<br />
<blockquote>
You know, sometimes, I don't know why,<br />
But this old town just seems so hopeless<br />
I ain't really sure, but it seems I remember the good times<br />
Were just a little bit more … in focus</blockquote>
Then, as Petty’s voice climbs and gains speed, the chills came. <br />
<blockquote>
But when she puts her arms around me,<br />
I can, somehow, rise above it<br />
Yeah man, when I got that little girl standing right by my side,<br />
You know, I can tell the whole wide world, and shout it,<br />
<br />
HEY, here comes my girl, here comes my girl,<br />
Yeah, she looks so right, she's all I need tonight</blockquote>
A little while later Petty's voice again mimics his lover's and he sings with frantic vulnerability:<br />
<blockquote>
And then she looks me in the eye, says, "We gonna last forever,"<br />
And man, you know I can't begin to doubt it<br />
No, because this feels SO GOOD and SO FREE and SO RIGHT,<br />
I know we ain't never goin' change our minds about it</blockquote>
Who else in 1979 could have sung ‘Here Comes My Girl’? Maybe<a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/the-father-of-punk-joey-ramone-1951-2001-20010524" target="_blank"> Joey Ramone</a>. Maybe <a href="http://www.davidbowie.com/" target="_blank">Bowie</a>, in high irony. Definitely <a href="http://www.pattismith.net/" target="_blank">Patti Smith</a>, whose Springsteen-penned, Iovine-produced ‘Because the Night’ was all over the radio at the time. No, nobody could have sung this song but Petty because no one could get inside its complicated skin like Petty. Almost 40 years after its release the song stopped my old, broken body in its tracks in a Melbourne, Australia high-rise, called me from someplace far away and long gone, literally rippled my flesh like a cypress tree falling into a Florida swamp, gifting me a joy as strong as the one that once did battle with a morose teenager sprawled like a corpse in suburban NJ, trapped in a heavenly prison of Heartbreakers sound. <br />
<br />
Laying in bed, Tom Petty songs playing in my head …<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>AFTERWORD</strong>: Here's the 'Here Comes My Girl video. It's TP and Heartbreakers goofing around while lip synching. An abomination. Play it, hear it, but be sure to keep your eyes closed. <br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/n4nPa35CZPI" width="560"></iframe><br />Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-62040544151651320912017-10-01T11:23:00.002+11:002017-10-01T11:25:02.886+11:00Carmen Yulín Cruz: American Heroine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWx4OEnqF6WrqpP_2D-9-18thdZluIidLf9mfcBOmTQQYWEayRSWhyphenhyphenqVs4S3h90Lh7r76exvbQuaKiM6c8y2v4hfdgVZ8aK0cFxHVw6uELSdcgJ8eQnnpeeoCVFG_Owf6M15jwtepliAg/s1600/sanjuanmayor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWx4OEnqF6WrqpP_2D-9-18thdZluIidLf9mfcBOmTQQYWEayRSWhyphenhyphenqVs4S3h90Lh7r76exvbQuaKiM6c8y2v4hfdgVZ8aK0cFxHVw6uELSdcgJ8eQnnpeeoCVFG_Owf6M15jwtepliAg/s640/sanjuanmayor.jpg" width="640" height="359" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="673" /></a></div>There are two types of people in the world: Those who do because it's in their blood, and those who do only if they directly benefit. This is a photo of Carmen Yulín Cruz, mayor of San Juan in hurricane-ravaged Puerto Rico. She's spent the past 10 days watching the people of her city suffer while urgent pleas for assistance from the United States, of which Puerto Rico is a territory, have been achingly slow to gain traction. As shown here, Mayor Cruz isn't asking for help while doing nothing -- it's fair to say wading chest-deep in sewage-contaminated water is the opposite of nothing. Meanwhile, President Pussy Grabber, possibly contaminating New Jersey water with homemade sewage while teetering atop a gold-plated toilet on yet another country club getaway, mobile phone in his tiny hands, Oompa-Loompa face turned ochre with narcissistic rage and constipation, has discerned that the only personal benefit from this tragedy is signalling to his white-nationalist base via another shameless Twitter rant that Puerto Ricans 'want everything done for them'. There is no more abominable creature on the planet than someone who sees human suffering, has the means to remedy it, and chooses to scapegoat those in need for political gain. He's specifically targeted Mayor Cruz, of course, because nothing gets under a bloated racist's skin like a strong, brown-skinned woman. While Carmen Yulín Cruz inspires with her courage, President 'Some Nazis Are Nice People' drills down through ever deeper levels of human depravity.<br />
Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-81573773330662623052017-09-03T19:19:00.000+10:002017-09-03T19:39:18.667+10:00RIP Mr Natoli<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7PCGmeoZBwyZabc1qzcMIe-PwrfrlSFVF5aeSmyMtCCQsiC2iArwnMJ_mQwM8x88fvN0lm1UYfRd3f-uqKXritLV_Q-9Y1oJu5xiGX9dAKBqKVggsKheOc0Jw-hU9TGpcr_h9n6yo6r0/s1600/Cardinal3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="736" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7PCGmeoZBwyZabc1qzcMIe-PwrfrlSFVF5aeSmyMtCCQsiC2iArwnMJ_mQwM8x88fvN0lm1UYfRd3f-uqKXritLV_Q-9Y1oJu5xiGX9dAKBqKVggsKheOc0Jw-hU9TGpcr_h9n6yo6r0/s400/Cardinal3.jpg" width="273" /></a></div>If the first half of my life was a rope, it would consist of three strands: the Walls (dad side), Whites (mom side) and Natolis (extended family side). A mere three blocks away, the Natoli house at 4 Fairfield Road was a mirror image of the one my father and brother and I inhabited at 20 Dayton Road. As in, built by the same homebuilder and common throughout our suburb, but literally flipped: their living room was on the left, ours on the right; their upstairs master bedroom on the right, ours on the left; etc. This would have doubtlessly passed for distinctive style back in the 1960s but it was a less precious age, when a neighbourhood where kids could be set loose (unsupervised!) to play and work out their hellacious and best-left-unspoken urges held more sway than square footage or designer faucets or imported paving stones – any ostentatiousness, really. Where we grew up it was okay to stomp through a front garden while shooting hoops in the driveway, a regular occurrence at 4 Fairfield in the late ‘70s/early ‘80s. Just as our suburban streets were playing fields for kickball and running bases, yards were expected to be explored and exploited, not roped-off like rich men’s domains. <br />
<br />
Now, as I’m writing this on the sad occasion of Mr Natoli’s passing at age 86, I must point out his pronounced affinity for a lush, properly mowed lawn. It was no secret. Everyone knew Mr Natoli adored his fairway-like side yard, a rarity in the evenly apportioned properties of our North Jersey suburb. Edward and/or Gene, his twin sons whom I’ve known since they both attended my second – aged two – birthday party, may have more to offer on the subject but I never once heard Mr Natoli complain about the damage our most recent touch football game may have done to his hallowed turf. That’s not to suggest he would have held his tongue if he felt aggrieved. Just the opposite. Mr Natoli was blunt when necessary but never harsh. He was suitably gruff but quick to smile. In other words, a Jersey City guy. He was like most of the adults of my childhood – men and women who grew up with much less than their kids, who’d perhaps avoided outright hardship but carried memories of want rather than privilege. They built middle class lives they were proud of and took pleasure in but would never take credit for. If the kids were OK and the house was paid for and you could spend a couple weeks down the shore in the summer, what was there to complain about?<br />
<br />
The Cardinals. I’m sure Mr Natoli could find something to gripe about regarding his beloved Cardinals, but as St Louis has long been one of baseball’s most successful franchises, even that potential angst would have been tempered by an appreciation that he wasn’t a Mets fan. (Had to toss that in, Edward.)<br />
<br />
I imagine to Mr Natoli I was akin to a minor player on a cheesy sitcom, a one-note-Johnny who’d pop by unannounced, utter a few catchphrases, and exit quickly. For me, of course, those cameos at 4 Fairfield were more meaningful, as they invariably meant speaking with Mr Natoli, seated in a chair near the kitchen, and Mrs Natoli, either on a couch facing a TV or in a chair near the front door. I can literally – and I mean literally – hear Mrs Natoli saying ‘Oh, hiya Joe!’ in her Irish/Jersey voice, followed seconds later by Mr Natoli’s burly ‘Hello Joe’. Mrs Natoli would ask about my brother Kevin and niece Amanda, Mr Natoli would ask about work, I’d sit on the couch and reel off details about my needlessly complicated life, looking at photos of the twins and oldest daughter Mary on the walls, those photos crowded later by in-laws and grandkids. They’d listen patiently, Mrs Natoli asking questions, Mr Natoli offering advice. They were polite, but caring. (I could always tell the difference.) The house at 20 Dayton and the Natolis’ may have been designed on the same drafting table but this ritual, this comforting routine of speaking with Mr and Mrs Natoli before walking upstairs to cajole Edward out of his wood-panelled cave, this FEELING of a house completely given over to the affairs of family, was something I craved. This isn’t a knock at the home my father provided Kevin and I, and I’m not claiming to have been the Judge Reinhold character on ‘Seinfeld’ swooning at the feet of Jerry’s parents, but I genuinely craved the feeling of genial entanglement that hit me the moment I walked into 4 Fairfield. It was something I could rely on, even when I couldn’t rely on much else, and I sheepishly soaked up as much as I could with each visit.<br />
<br />
Adding to this dynamic was a slightly Shakespearean subplot involving Mr Natoli’s sister Anita and my uncle Mike, long ago my godparents before an acrimonious divorce. I am the oldest son of Mike’s oldest brother Joseph Patrick Wall (‘Pat’ to everyone, including Mr Natoli) and it sometimes felt like Edward and I – best friends for nearly 30 years until I moved to Australia in 2006 – were the Romeo and Juliet of the Natoli/Montagues and Wall/Capulets. Did I ever get this feeling from Mr or Mrs Natoli? Hell no. We may live in an age where even the most miniscule of grievances are encouraged to bubble to self-absorbed surfaces but Mr Natoli was an honourable man. I might have heard dribs and drabs of my godparents’ marital demise but never from Anita’s protective older brother. Just like it took me many decades to understand and appreciate the quiet dignities of my dad, I can think back to the options before Mr Natoli during those years and admire his selflessness, his old-school intolerance for petty nonsense, his class ... his fatherly-ness.<br />
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As my interactions with Mr Natoli were limited mostly to those living room encounters I don’t claim a deep understanding of his history, but I can relate a pair of anecdotes that long ago cemented my respect for him. Probably the most memorable was the result of, shall we say, <i>liberal </i>restrictions enforced at 20 Dayton. During some gathering that probably involved a critical Rangers or Knicks game, a bunch of us put away copious amounts of alcohol before my dad got home. (Unbeknownst to me, Edward and another lifelong friend – Rich Manhardt – spent large chunks of the evening sharing a bottle of unspecified spirits in my backyard.) My last memory of Edward on this evening was watching him jump up and down in the front yard of a neighbour’s house down the road in what I later learned was an attempt to snag a St Christopher medal he’d gotten stuck in a tree. Sometime later, after everyone had left and my dad had gotten home, came a knock at the door. I was upstairs in my bedroom but heard my dad answer. Mr Natoli’s voice boomed like the thunder of a vengeful god. My dad, knowing nothing about what had taken place but always poised to defend his dopey oldest son, spoke calmly to Mr Natoli, who was concerned we’d all been doing drugs. A lot of foolish behaviour got displayed at 20 Dayton over the years but drug use was never one of them. I went downstairs and squeaked my ignorance. The two men at the door shook hands and Mr Natoli left. It turned out Edward had walked the three blocks back to 4 Fairfield, staggered into the living room where Mr and Mrs Natoli were watching TV, and hit the carpet face-first. Who could blame Mr Natoli for storming to my house to find out what had happened? It’s what a dad did. A caring dad. The only kind that mattered.<br />
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Anecdote #2 took place a few years before that. One Halloween Edward and I and a couple of neighbourhood kids (Edward’s brother Gene may have been with us – my memory is less reliable than Trump’s moral conscience) were trick-or-treating after dark and got mugged by a group of older kids. Those ratbags weren’t after wallets (we had no money) or sneakers (we wore Sears best) or electronic devices (there were no electronic devices) – these lowlifes stole our pillow cases full of candy. Crime was exotic in our neighbourhood then and all I remember is running away from the creeps, swinging my lumpy pillow case at them like a knight in Hershey’s army, until I got back to 20 Dayton, winded and bewildered. An embarrassing defeat got turned on its head during a phone conversation with Edward, who relayed how he’d returned to 4 Fairfield and told his dad what happened and Mr Natoli had immediately set out in pursuit of the candy thieves. I don’t recall the precise details of what happened next but I DO remember how goddamned good it felt to hear Edward relay how his old man went out and meted justice to the douchebags who’d considered us easy marks. <br />
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This is the sort of story I wish I could share with Edward and Gene and Mary and Bill and little Anita and Michael and Nicole and everyone else back in NJ over a bottle of fine whiskey. Mr Natoli, an Italian-American who married an Irish-American, is a man for whom Irish wakes were first conceived. There’s so much I don’t know about his life. Yet I know the more I learned, the higher I’d lift my glass in salute.<br />
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All my love to Mary, Gene and Edward. All my everything to Mrs Natoli, Mr Natoli’s wife of 55 years. Hope you read this someday, Mrs Natoli, and know how much you and Mr Natoli have meant to me over the years. Truly wish I could have attended his services. Please know I was there in spirit. <br />
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Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-90646079926213821562017-08-27T18:55:00.003+10:002017-08-29T08:59:05.313+10:00Sunday at the Stony Pony V, The Local Taphouse, St Kilda<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was a kid, the satisfying crux of Christmas was its ritual. Going up to the attic on some ethereally ordained date. Bringing down boxes from another lifetime, before my parents divorced, like an elementary-school-aged mayor unsealing a time capsule every December. There'd be an NFL game on TV, grey sky outside, maybe a flurry or two skipping through bare branches. It being the '70s we had an artificial tree, and it being the only kind of tree we knew, my brother Kevin and I never thought we were missing anything. That tree was crap but I loved every one of its forever mangled, color-coded branches that fit like gnarly pipe cleaners into a green-spray-painted stump. When that tree was upright and adorned with lights the size of XXL eggs I'd stare at it like baby Jesus himself looking up at a sea of wino-looking faces gobsmacked by the kid with a shiny halo around his lumpy skull.<br />
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What's this got to do with listening to Asbury Park rock and roll, raising money for charity and drinking the finest craft beer in Melbourne? Nothing, except that as I ponder my motivation for holding five Sundays at the Stone Pony, I realise I'm never happier than the moment I step back from the Local Taphouse's rear wall and gaze upon our pseudo Stone Pony banner hanging exactly as it does in that shitty little brick building on the corner of Ocean Avenue and Second Avenue in Asbury Park. So much of my former life is gone forever but for a few hours the Pony breathes life into my adopted hometown of St Kilda, as far from New Jersey as you can get without boarding a spacecraft. When the first notes of Southside Johnny's 'This Time It's for Real' scream through the speakers I can smell the Atlantic Ocean and sense the ghosts of Palace Amusements and the Casino on the Asbury Park boardwalk of my youth. <br />
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I'm going to miss that. Because the magnificent Stone Pony banner that my friend and 'Sunday at the Stone Pony' colleague Piera made back in 2014 will never again grace the Local Taphouse. I'm done trying to tap into whatever fellowship Springsteen's appearance on these shores the past 3 out of 4 years has created. The people have spoken. They don't care. That's life.<br />
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We raised a little over $1000 for<a href="https://www.lifeline.org.au/" target="_blank"> Lifeline Australia</a> at Stone Pony V but that was due to the obscene generosity of a handful of attendees -- I'm looking at you, Stewie -- and a large contingent of colleagues from the Intrepid Group who boosted attendance numbers that would have otherwise depressed the fuck out of me.<br />
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I wouldn't bother to post about something so wildly successful except for the two women who never, and I mean never, fail to humble me with their selflessness and undaunted spirit. I've already mentioned Piera -- her spiritual sister and rock and roll troubadour is Mary. To me they're literally the finest people I've come to call friends during my ten years in Melbourne.<br />
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They're two of the finest humans you'll ever meet. They're both genuine Chris Cornell fans and were devastated by his suicide back in May. We never discussed it but held matching opinions that a suicide prevention organisation would benefit from another Sunday at the Stone Pony. They're shown above speaking about the need to raise awareness about suicide, their experiences as teachers working with vulnerable students, firing people up to throw a couple extra bucks into the coffers. <br />
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Thank you both. It's been a good run. And thanks to everyone who's come over the years.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last-minute silent auction preparations.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A small portion of silent auction items.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary and Piera even arranged for exclusive Stone Pony V t-shirts to be made.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selena, Jamie, Piera, Stew and Carly ... legends all.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Wonder Twins and a Big Galoot. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dear -- and exceptionally photogenic -- friends Ashmin and Rose.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One last group photo in front of the almighty Stone Pony banner.</td></tr>
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<br />Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-86400678667328020542017-08-27T10:17:00.003+10:002017-08-27T10:17:57.696+10:00Rally for Marriage Equality, Melbourne CBD, Saturday 26 Aug 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In the absence of actual leadership, the conservative national government in Australia has chosen to spend over $100 million on a NON-BINDING postal plebiscite to determine if same-sex couples should have the same right to marry as heterosexual couples. This gutless dereliction of elected duty will result in the usual <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-08-21/advocates-slam-anti-lgbti-poster-on-melbourne-street/8828566">knuckle-dragger hatred horseshit</a> but Melbourne yesterday flexed its progressive muscle with a marriage equality rally and march that drew over 15,000 to the CBD.<br />
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(If you're a registered Aussie voter and have questions regarding the postal plebiscite, <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com.au/2017/08/15/marriage-equality-postal-plebiscite-what-you-need-to-know_a_23077619/">read this</a> and share.) <br />
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I arrived at the State Library of Victoria at 12:30 and watched the crowd swell around me. From 1:00 - 2:00 a procession of speakers rallied the gathering of 'Yes' voters somewhat unnecessarily ... it's the great swath of the easily distracted who'll neglect to participate that need a fire lit under their asses. Got family and friends you believe would vote 'Yes' but may forget to return their form? Harangue them. As an American ex-pat who watched self-proclaimed 'cool kids' declare their lack of intention to vote for Hillary Clinton because ... oh, who the fuck cares 'because' ... there's a price to be paid for not pushing back with vehemence against the dark forces among us. <br />
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At the very least, this foolish plebiscite is a chance to tell right-wingers to go fuck themselves. <br />
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Always a plus.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMyEB1GPW_s3c57Wpw4Ca9XWrshZPby5a1vCLzqz3_xOqohrqba2J9RaSNOK8YbIl2rfF6kLHg9PxvRughisLOGb6R8F0YnpHYUV0hTO2zP5hk8lbv6F-hYbNob7gwSDRDLwcLbrYtaX8/s1600/Aug17_50.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1118" data-original-width="1600" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMyEB1GPW_s3c57Wpw4Ca9XWrshZPby5a1vCLzqz3_xOqohrqba2J9RaSNOK8YbIl2rfF6kLHg9PxvRughisLOGb6R8F0YnpHYUV0hTO2zP5hk8lbv6F-hYbNob7gwSDRDLwcLbrYtaX8/s640/Aug17_50.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking towards Little Bourke Street from in front of the State Library of Victoria.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTblp7SjTLX-XfTJDEOm6L1wm_FgLP3t3hGsqI9HSsjnK9Znu2pbhS0vvfjpuHAHEvT69YM-YrjRmGq3jgmHj6BXFaiF20xoEC_bcJW52nJ5G46ZM871KnWHG5694GP9DmNFkgmjHJpuc/s1600/Aug17_55.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1061" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTblp7SjTLX-XfTJDEOm6L1wm_FgLP3t3hGsqI9HSsjnK9Znu2pbhS0vvfjpuHAHEvT69YM-YrjRmGq3jgmHj6BXFaiF20xoEC_bcJW52nJ5G46ZM871KnWHG5694GP9DmNFkgmjHJpuc/s640/Aug17_55.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking towards La Trobe Street.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vIxsHDCbn7BcJSYmP0N6f-Rb70nQ5zrWHfueuG6WZ2fz7IC_FmjIqI479QIobge-r1WBieKBBIbGg7EWH1qmWK-e5g5Fwap17sQOTNDQhl9krI3ho7v11BFNS9c2BBY7DuuyE8tW05c/s1600/Aug17_52.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vIxsHDCbn7BcJSYmP0N6f-Rb70nQ5zrWHfueuG6WZ2fz7IC_FmjIqI479QIobge-r1WBieKBBIbGg7EWH1qmWK-e5g5Fwap17sQOTNDQhl9krI3ho7v11BFNS9c2BBY7DuuyE8tW05c/s640/Aug17_52.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Estimated crowd size: 15,000</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOm-tll7HowesnXSJgyO7TVnYyXjmdctKkHdiT7iwHejnugwS5xewJH0oAhPHQLrzPSw6pVQedeuL8_e6Q2CCrhkCpciojDhL1rDj58G4RjsEdHPoSFvtjalCIy3UuzxIZwHB8sssgLD8/s1600/Aug17_56.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1291" data-original-width="1600" height="515" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOm-tll7HowesnXSJgyO7TVnYyXjmdctKkHdiT7iwHejnugwS5xewJH0oAhPHQLrzPSw6pVQedeuL8_e6Q2CCrhkCpciojDhL1rDj58G4RjsEdHPoSFvtjalCIy3UuzxIZwHB8sssgLD8/s640/Aug17_56.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The march began down La Trobe Street. I don't know why a man chose to wear purple dinosaur pajamas. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjlR3NJN8kPHGvHz7PKKZ2XuQrIhOYRRkBdyAn2_eTz-_CFmM-j_BfVc1YwGBUmawetEknuaPYkk4KtqkJLoAmLb-jStk-O5AdfVhWsiWz4ezhoT-SREMbAMixYmcGVFJaI8NLFHghMBk/s1600/Aug17_57.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1084" data-original-width="1600" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjlR3NJN8kPHGvHz7PKKZ2XuQrIhOYRRkBdyAn2_eTz-_CFmM-j_BfVc1YwGBUmawetEknuaPYkk4KtqkJLoAmLb-jStk-O5AdfVhWsiWz4ezhoT-SREMbAMixYmcGVFJaI8NLFHghMBk/s640/Aug17_57.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back up La Trobe Street.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYc2So3KN-OPI8AQDXOiQd_ilmbHWJzEQfhYv_uLBg-cFcOoE-9eLbf6WphkR5qSNbkkPSRWsbv6RIZXGHbQtRFZSIbwh1KNJz6Le57a5QchP350YzQ0aYlX_e_LMHv6mTDn-HnfWEeeU/s1600/Aug17_58.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1171" data-original-width="1600" height="467" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYc2So3KN-OPI8AQDXOiQd_ilmbHWJzEQfhYv_uLBg-cFcOoE-9eLbf6WphkR5qSNbkkPSRWsbv6RIZXGHbQtRFZSIbwh1KNJz6Le57a5QchP350YzQ0aYlX_e_LMHv6mTDn-HnfWEeeU/s640/Aug17_58.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After turning onto Bourke Street, we then turned onto Swanston to return to the library and walked past this fire truck. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8luCUwDBFa2NIMaS-XWteLs4JnHxCvZuE3diZjtFG6KSjTdjHofuo5dU-45fhn3M7OGAEE4Cn8GRSeIH-Bm6MzLj49DZdVQBWwIJ0paSDmfODz-uB0ACSzLKXpRXVxyj4FKFGVsaqQE/s1600/Aug17_59.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8luCUwDBFa2NIMaS-XWteLs4JnHxCvZuE3diZjtFG6KSjTdjHofuo5dU-45fhn3M7OGAEE4Cn8GRSeIH-Bm6MzLj49DZdVQBWwIJ0paSDmfODz-uB0ACSzLKXpRXVxyj4FKFGVsaqQE/s640/Aug17_59.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sign of the day in front of the library. It's time Australia got on the right side of history and joins the list. If you're a registered voter in Australia, you can help make it happen.</td></tr>
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<br />Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-77050532943337166722017-02-10T09:26:00.000+11:002017-02-10T09:26:10.283+11:00Springsteen in Sydney, night 1, 7 Feb 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWh-Dbk9mvhT6jIaT0e7PtWYX-jYJzkoKKNFUqMmJw-8zL3vraqTTrCcL7AwlX4TcHiGvsXflPKOWEl6UvVY0URU2-q9dlFU-EWTHf8ndkkIFg7ApDjHlK54UvuHWskrCqMDONAqDogkc/s1600/Sydney1_60.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWh-Dbk9mvhT6jIaT0e7PtWYX-jYJzkoKKNFUqMmJw-8zL3vraqTTrCcL7AwlX4TcHiGvsXflPKOWEl6UvVY0URU2-q9dlFU-EWTHf8ndkkIFg7ApDjHlK54UvuHWskrCqMDONAqDogkc/s640/Sydney1_60.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
From my report on <a href="http://www.backstreets.com/setlists.html">Backstreets</a> from the first of two nights at Sydney's Qudos Bank Arena:<br />
<blockquote>
A commonly held perception of Australia's two largest cities — by Aussie blokes, at least — is that Sydney's the girl you'd take to Vegas, Melbourne's the one you'd take home to momma. Following a torrid show in Melbourne Saturday, Tuesday's first of two in Sydney had Bruce and the band seemingly poised to sweep Australia's glamour capitol off its feet with a grand gesture or two.<br />
<br />
Nope. What we got were three hours of steel and smoke, heart and bone. Another fat-free extravaganza included one Aussie tour premier — Little Richard's "Long Tall Sally" — and 27 tried-and-true scorchers. Sydney was soaked by massive rainstorms throughout the day, so temperatures were manageable outside, but by the time Bruce swung the "Wrecking Ball" the pit radiated with bouncing, perspiring bodies. It may not have been the most youthful of crowds, but tonight's energy was intense on the floor and in scattered chunks throughout the 21,000-capacity arena.</blockquote>
Pro photographer <a href="https://twitter.com/ReneBackstreets?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor">Rene van Diemen</a> took the photos that appear with my report. Here are some I took myself.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJS1mjFU5UMp1mSAIXCAUlLRteBaPHzhVTpPWFkEJTtpbrNz3LOB-rL5j8ETFXUPTd1xpFbKsNDML-_HbG9Jxylm9ycI3bJ3T1ksewF2UkTqvN-64pvjmGk8bUpl8P3xCsRUMxXvTxEYE/s1600/Sydney1_01.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJS1mjFU5UMp1mSAIXCAUlLRteBaPHzhVTpPWFkEJTtpbrNz3LOB-rL5j8ETFXUPTd1xpFbKsNDML-_HbG9Jxylm9ycI3bJ3T1ksewF2UkTqvN-64pvjmGk8bUpl8P3xCsRUMxXvTxEYE/s640/Sydney1_01.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New York City Serenade.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZz8AvKM10gn99qvQPW0-byjXUSwLNqGxUUF0gi7EOqkaOwfheOtUGjFd4sU5P3p5P23CiAg0YnZEq2LWFpjK36WOHr5qHO_pcYOJh9GfWGLbOSCludp2OfQgb5FD-GIwkf8pk34M4iag/s1600/Sydney1_02.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZz8AvKM10gn99qvQPW0-byjXUSwLNqGxUUF0gi7EOqkaOwfheOtUGjFd4sU5P3p5P23CiAg0YnZEq2LWFpjK36WOHr5qHO_pcYOJh9GfWGLbOSCludp2OfQgb5FD-GIwkf8pk34M4iag/s640/Sydney1_02.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">American Land.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQ3QR8rMLww4fe8hEGhgr21NF8S8PwcU2HaF4zvsldsTUou9AUcyrKdKT_OGukhUJHUaZXUct0QJCWtVjZFZV6VuG-Lh5Fix5PsHRTiCzJ67VZITrUw1lpiGF6CS1WmP8MlIYWmru0WQ/s1600/Sydney1_04.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQ3QR8rMLww4fe8hEGhgr21NF8S8PwcU2HaF4zvsldsTUou9AUcyrKdKT_OGukhUJHUaZXUct0QJCWtVjZFZV6VuG-Lh5Fix5PsHRTiCzJ67VZITrUw1lpiGF6CS1WmP8MlIYWmru0WQ/s640/Sydney1_04.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out in the Street.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-r_olUiHjwuVVB2_KnRIn9VnceTer7yGMCoUvdjny05HclAKmJtTF3cbSXuWCGjQPQs8gzK1-wHrWCbQevWgjAadkqa7qW_crsiuVGC2aDNy5qDIzHwz3hvHH10fvw-e7BLGQJXGRjA8/s1600/Sydney1_05.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-r_olUiHjwuVVB2_KnRIn9VnceTer7yGMCoUvdjny05HclAKmJtTF3cbSXuWCGjQPQs8gzK1-wHrWCbQevWgjAadkqa7qW_crsiuVGC2aDNy5qDIzHwz3hvHH10fvw-e7BLGQJXGRjA8/s640/Sydney1_05.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Love Will Not Let You Down.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWscdk226zBIPYFwbrxGuQlacG3jrrKszh_gmXWU7AfF9Mz82MXItYMjlpOeAR8s7wuUppSGVjlFQsI4mJ60Z5BDbVfAyxGSv6o1kPX_XfF0g0KVkHJqfZkHvWiCJTLNRR1-B3KSR3nDQ/s1600/Sydney1_10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWscdk226zBIPYFwbrxGuQlacG3jrrKszh_gmXWU7AfF9Mz82MXItYMjlpOeAR8s7wuUppSGVjlFQsI4mJ60Z5BDbVfAyxGSv6o1kPX_XfF0g0KVkHJqfZkHvWiCJTLNRR1-B3KSR3nDQ/s640/Sydney1_10.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hungry Heart.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpf0s2aWtDsUli7Fjr8SFGAhdTcB2ttCpxCuQN7c5NV-EJ-d7fQ0wOhP1FOt5gP4LH19UQMtRIM9RFzdd0Gr4LtmMKsl0f7Rkg7A91_8PKoSO-dTpX8MqfzoO6VIGtJlchmQ687kusyc/s1600/Sydney1_15.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpf0s2aWtDsUli7Fjr8SFGAhdTcB2ttCpxCuQN7c5NV-EJ-d7fQ0wOhP1FOt5gP4LH19UQMtRIM9RFzdd0Gr4LtmMKsl0f7Rkg7A91_8PKoSO-dTpX8MqfzoO6VIGtJlchmQ687kusyc/s640/Sydney1_15.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hungry Heart.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-ffMV5Im3iiIpuAyo5SlY3LdnG7-TMHBNaFcUXZMUvbvTh-qSm1pyTY2C9Q8OFvckdXnmP_oKl-eu_ZYJ_BhcJZe95N76reg3wSmO0OskUcSyJNldaekwRiFgGmtPZSOSf4n9P5Cp4I/s1600/Sydney1_20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-ffMV5Im3iiIpuAyo5SlY3LdnG7-TMHBNaFcUXZMUvbvTh-qSm1pyTY2C9Q8OFvckdXnmP_oKl-eu_ZYJ_BhcJZe95N76reg3wSmO0OskUcSyJNldaekwRiFgGmtPZSOSf4n9P5Cp4I/s640/Sydney1_20.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">American Skin (41 Shots).</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrow6l2wQaPqot1EKuig18YhOvcJ8xbDMHU9qR4GiH7RZAStXRzDKA1hMsdUWI_5bPbaLbhmA_wowLDHN6ZepkSCo6r4-4Ir7Y0Q-JJk_Gs5ryAhsRFxWW0Tc6BBiVepuXZK2jpWuRQxU/s1600/Sydney1_25.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrow6l2wQaPqot1EKuig18YhOvcJ8xbDMHU9qR4GiH7RZAStXRzDKA1hMsdUWI_5bPbaLbhmA_wowLDHN6ZepkSCo6r4-4Ir7Y0Q-JJk_Gs5ryAhsRFxWW0Tc6BBiVepuXZK2jpWuRQxU/s640/Sydney1_25.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Promised Land.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE9hfn01JUAsa9Hnid8kckK-cfah922NDdWAX0n2YEkbMYfqn-zvSeujNwqehav16Fbqnnawf_YX2coCDDkeegnvB9VlsFbXYSrbMqcoz2y17Q5aDlK-lWAD9CjA1jdpVHG92YqciX9Ks/s1600/Sydney1_35.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="604" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE9hfn01JUAsa9Hnid8kckK-cfah922NDdWAX0n2YEkbMYfqn-zvSeujNwqehav16Fbqnnawf_YX2coCDDkeegnvB9VlsFbXYSrbMqcoz2y17Q5aDlK-lWAD9CjA1jdpVHG92YqciX9Ks/s640/Sydney1_35.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary's Place.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk-S7hR8VqSyuwTwJh3dpWUVqLEpgC3mmx0ihriQMLx8YlSyrM_xMken5cdx3fucCm9LJk-qPcSk6OELQVq215xonY7IdrL6-tM7UdARCrF8RDnvs22iRaxmQBChhaK83U-ioqFWWOxxg/s1600/Sydney1_45.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk-S7hR8VqSyuwTwJh3dpWUVqLEpgC3mmx0ihriQMLx8YlSyrM_xMken5cdx3fucCm9LJk-qPcSk6OELQVq215xonY7IdrL6-tM7UdARCrF8RDnvs22iRaxmQBChhaK83U-ioqFWWOxxg/s640/Sydney1_45.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's the One.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzk8Kq0xcoF6M1WjdW0LqWeJyyMYqzbTF5vxSzovad2kV0Ub9K9NKIf5lR5ySQ3BHA5sOyv5lX7Bft1vqfI6xolKkxcyCZvcj6Hh9JIL-O-qsjwR-XFVpiKWVc9dvuxCIIkCMStUiOAjY/s1600/Sydney1_50.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzk8Kq0xcoF6M1WjdW0LqWeJyyMYqzbTF5vxSzovad2kV0Ub9K9NKIf5lR5ySQ3BHA5sOyv5lX7Bft1vqfI6xolKkxcyCZvcj6Hh9JIL-O-qsjwR-XFVpiKWVc9dvuxCIIkCMStUiOAjY/s640/Sydney1_50.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thunder Road.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-2nhJJhLHP7GXfRCMc479TlkfY7scF5zFjvGbwthe2d4lm25D17IdDEJ2N7ZuWXsWrF06owNv0_apgmaAC5h08q__KPmJg5oCQUPPI0pOybnXdBGegEFkEx4AWWcccqyD0PDVF_37hE/s1600/Sydney1_65.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-2nhJJhLHP7GXfRCMc479TlkfY7scF5zFjvGbwthe2d4lm25D17IdDEJ2N7ZuWXsWrF06owNv0_apgmaAC5h08q__KPmJg5oCQUPPI0pOybnXdBGegEFkEx4AWWcccqyD0PDVF_37hE/s640/Sydney1_65.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thunder Road.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2d7LqZSdrHRd7F-AMKOQUOM9xY_roJCJBvtUkh_wQM7MsDUaHD3zzeUOX9KkWNot30H67hpQatLo05AodFMzZkqKbVhl43_Gi3CamsPxm1szYm_wL_Ttv0oFhPAA-e8L1IHfmXF3T4Ls/s1600/Sydney1_70.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2d7LqZSdrHRd7F-AMKOQUOM9xY_roJCJBvtUkh_wQM7MsDUaHD3zzeUOX9KkWNot30H67hpQatLo05AodFMzZkqKbVhl43_Gi3CamsPxm1szYm_wL_Ttv0oFhPAA-e8L1IHfmXF3T4Ls/s640/Sydney1_70.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jungleland.</td></tr>
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<br />Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-7833984566749175432017-02-06T22:44:00.000+11:002017-06-23T11:13:46.623+10:00A Melbourne scorcher, a Richmond riot ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRzkIDOlO9fstHPGKOJbaBzOGRv86oW8UAFK2LfOZgRNxvFMTTDwYZ4QplYh6yTKAtFTiP_AqqVxsb3H94Xxt0nfUD6FdFzj33YdARIuVu8Jz6xCQwlLihoHJjgQ0N05XX8Md7LPOhO-Q/s1600/IMG_5869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRzkIDOlO9fstHPGKOJbaBzOGRv86oW8UAFK2LfOZgRNxvFMTTDwYZ4QplYh6yTKAtFTiP_AqqVxsb3H94Xxt0nfUD6FdFzj33YdARIuVu8Jz6xCQwlLihoHJjgQ0N05XX8Md7LPOhO-Q/s640/IMG_5869.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>My report and photos on a heartstopping second Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band show in Melbourne Saturday night may be found on Backstreets <a href="http://www.backstreets.com/setlists.html" target="_blank">here</a>. Here's the first two paragraphs:<br />
<blockquote>I am drinking blessedly cold beer in a noisy venue called the Corner Hotel down the road from AAMI Park. It’s a little past midnight, 90 minutes after Bruce Springsteen and Jake Clemons took their final bows together, the last two E Street Band members to leave AAMI’s stage. The Corner is ripe with good-looking men and women in summer clothes and boozy grins. A DJ is spinning a mix of hip-hop and obscurities, typical hipster soundtrack. A space for dancing before the DJ is vacant. Suddenly, like wolves howling at the scent of blood, a ‘Whoa – oh – oh – oh – oh’ ‘Badlands’ chant arises. The DJ, aware of a need to appease the howlers, drops the needle on ‘Hungry Heart’, Max’s drums popping like the fireworks that ended this second and final Melbourne show. People in River Tour 2017 t-shirts converge on the dance floor from every corner of the bar, a full-throated “Got a wife in kids in Baltimore, Jack …” obliterating all other sounds. </blockquote><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4LiTtbwJGkeVzLpNy1w4R0UeWikVmMcOo3B9liFhyBuoZUnfur0z2rA-eRuQeZDe8FRQmGN6hw5kuHHlH2x3cGC4lXpyPoJqgGBZTE5UZEVk75LY7BLno8BILCl-TGOXZG4FIL1ht_kA/s1600/Melbourne2_160.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4LiTtbwJGkeVzLpNy1w4R0UeWikVmMcOo3B9liFhyBuoZUnfur0z2rA-eRuQeZDe8FRQmGN6hw5kuHHlH2x3cGC4lXpyPoJqgGBZTE5UZEVk75LY7BLno8BILCl-TGOXZG4FIL1ht_kA/s400/Melbourne2_160.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before joining the throng I snapped this photo of the maelstrom.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<blockquote>The DJ wisely follows with “Dancing in the Dark” before setting loose a force he clearly doesn’t understand: “Born to Run”. I join the writhing, jubilant throng and behave in a manner better suited to a Misfits mosh pit. My cohorts and I scream words of longing and desperation like we’re possessed by the Jersey Devil itself. We smash into one another, screaming to the ceiling, laughing with joy. We’re not drunk. We’re not seeking attention. We’re at the mercy of a lingering force too raw to be tamed. A young blonde I’ve never seen before throws her arms around me, a temporary Wendy holding on for dear life, both of us charged by nearly three hours of a superhuman Springsteen. “Tramps like us!” we shout, free and wild, wanderers in a blast zone searching for survivors of the E Street apocalypse, “Baby we were born to run!” Temporary Wendy kisses me as we part, the DJ fades the song, and our wolfpack disbands. The whole experience surreal, a dream, a possession. But it happened, and none of us will ever forget it.</blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaRSGgEmYUdXhfQWpDELSZXIW9UMzH9RNwOxOvlgLyYJETtSE_Ix64-9lAUif5Mf9qSI-IQXJNSPV1SM3NsVorYiivp65uEqjkY_w1gppiBygNivFfm5bJUS5F0l95UaJwc2OdxFoOzOA/s1600/Melbourne2_025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaRSGgEmYUdXhfQWpDELSZXIW9UMzH9RNwOxOvlgLyYJETtSE_Ix64-9lAUif5Mf9qSI-IQXJNSPV1SM3NsVorYiivp65uEqjkY_w1gppiBygNivFfm5bJUS5F0l95UaJwc2OdxFoOzOA/s640/Melbourne2_025.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWqGbaeWDW7soHT1NwnBtIJLVga0yUf5-DLyI5184ehrzWloojYIB2vbsDqRrTk1jgvKxxu-lQhKaSut5haQmfWxE-bNBjlzlyOUn8G-t8fzbYqz_BV4i1GkNjH2ZOvXc-XL7NgdtvKY/s1600/Melbourne2_040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="401" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWqGbaeWDW7soHT1NwnBtIJLVga0yUf5-DLyI5184ehrzWloojYIB2vbsDqRrTk1jgvKxxu-lQhKaSut5haQmfWxE-bNBjlzlyOUn8G-t8fzbYqz_BV4i1GkNjH2ZOvXc-XL7NgdtvKY/s640/Melbourne2_040.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdQ_1soB8ZMwCsIjj396nGtSllyd-Bw9hDC2nstawyIWT5GCpVk36IH8IG03cR0bUdEQjWAXuqIpDsdoruJJ14S5ggXVlT2XoRNKcbE2VjbAz-Dc73WyN9V8EDUZpRSur9rwdDmbV0Fo/s1600/Melbourne2_053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="447" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdQ_1soB8ZMwCsIjj396nGtSllyd-Bw9hDC2nstawyIWT5GCpVk36IH8IG03cR0bUdEQjWAXuqIpDsdoruJJ14S5ggXVlT2XoRNKcbE2VjbAz-Dc73WyN9V8EDUZpRSur9rwdDmbV0Fo/s640/Melbourne2_053.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih1fDtw-VeHPKlaXlvAnNbgvCcah_jNkA7gdPZX48a8i91hOdCfWylIQqPSgpzT9wTg3tAS0v4ORFwXyaZBjBByNWILCMDfg-ImzAOBKkGEc9c_fgOmNud72aS1uefZfxUl7Fg037UnHo/s1600/Melbourne2_060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih1fDtw-VeHPKlaXlvAnNbgvCcah_jNkA7gdPZX48a8i91hOdCfWylIQqPSgpzT9wTg3tAS0v4ORFwXyaZBjBByNWILCMDfg-ImzAOBKkGEc9c_fgOmNud72aS1uefZfxUl7Fg037UnHo/s640/Melbourne2_060.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-30851769231204735082017-02-04T11:16:00.000+11:002017-02-04T11:31:22.203+11:00Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band, AAMI Park 2 Feb 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIjNJVSX50hu0k7Dk96h8ywp0f02tvtke3PMZDhiJ0LI5M9xOtMiNwHhC-FYDBvfYTDfqDqM8UY9t3asdpXPxnDrKac9ZoT4SN6QzxsiS4VwAE6op7UNZp1TpKJsPUZqzmcCBE8KOASs/s1600/Melbourne1_075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIjNJVSX50hu0k7Dk96h8ywp0f02tvtke3PMZDhiJ0LI5M9xOtMiNwHhC-FYDBvfYTDfqDqM8UY9t3asdpXPxnDrKac9ZoT4SN6QzxsiS4VwAE6op7UNZp1TpKJsPUZqzmcCBE8KOASs/s640/Melbourne1_075.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Here's the intro to my <a href="http://www.backstreets.com/setlists.html">Backstreets</a> report on the first show of a 2-night stand in Melbourne:<br />
<blockquote>
Sixteen songs into an at-times-shambolic first stadium show of this Australian tour, Bruce Springsteen leaned heavily on his mic stand above the pit of Melbourne's AAMI Park and spit out four words that tied up the state of our world in a tight, profane bow: "Shit is fucked up." He repeated those words in a cartoon voice — "shitisfuckedup, shitisfuckedup" — at least temporarily shrugging off the burden of progressive spokesperson here on "Mary's Place" and confessing to an adoring crowd that on this cool summer night "the E Street Band needs some Aussie spirit." </blockquote>
The report includes photos by the fantastic <a href="https://twitter.com/ReneBackstreets?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor">Rene van Diemen</a> but I took many myself. Here's some of 'em.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjgOT81zks4rhYMJdW7tnsY8hJtN8J_K9CEfOq1Ff6Kk5ACsThFExyoWInUtAMeAsTA9Q6gSK69G450aD8lSpC19XzinZ41AvMcnuZw9J04UW8Q6XDmdvOrPeLzk2d8JWQ5rNt4QpU6Pk/s1600/Melbourne1_005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjgOT81zks4rhYMJdW7tnsY8hJtN8J_K9CEfOq1Ff6Kk5ACsThFExyoWInUtAMeAsTA9Q6gSK69G450aD8lSpC19XzinZ41AvMcnuZw9J04UW8Q6XDmdvOrPeLzk2d8JWQ5rNt4QpU6Pk/s640/Melbourne1_005.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trump-induced opener 'Don't Hang Up' by The Orlons had the band, if not a befuddled audience, in hysterics.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Ck8qE3WojkMrikJVXGqEnppUWa9-N9-a6_X2sXu_7DH4NcIO-gyAvKuxQfCpY5SB9Fp-01MkyPKPpS6phcH8vOwTsCwoGgV3sOsF4thTwblmK_3_g3l7XppQVx58txRgcUxsBqBNbEM/s1600/Melbourne1_007.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Ck8qE3WojkMrikJVXGqEnppUWa9-N9-a6_X2sXu_7DH4NcIO-gyAvKuxQfCpY5SB9Fp-01MkyPKPpS6phcH8vOwTsCwoGgV3sOsF4thTwblmK_3_g3l7XppQVx58txRgcUxsBqBNbEM/s640/Melbourne1_007.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUpdMrtL25vd_Go_xweDBJC2POnmIoKtudhoJXHZx5RD-Gzwk_hyphenhyphenCfUOKCMIHl-30jLvwPv0yFPmgjEANd7LNuZHfQ85N_7G4TcRMPe7WHVNXAw7KQtZ3YfHVV_ysK0HprBctmtg7KzcU/s1600/Melbourne1_008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUpdMrtL25vd_Go_xweDBJC2POnmIoKtudhoJXHZx5RD-Gzwk_hyphenhyphenCfUOKCMIHl-30jLvwPv0yFPmgjEANd7LNuZHfQ85N_7G4TcRMPe7WHVNXAw7KQtZ3YfHVV_ysK0HprBctmtg7KzcU/s640/Melbourne1_008.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"It just ... takes ... two ..."</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'NYC Serenade'</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44VFgAanJoOAUcDLvkGoIGbUIHxoJO4z-KHPEMOibswrmqF3Fm7RIHAqop28i_BHgWljE4ie3DYrBUpaV5rax4W9FeR7exT7JlUhzMdqMEtMvULRbjkSpkGzzbFAGB7SIHgN8WUJHK88/s1600/Melbourne1_024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44VFgAanJoOAUcDLvkGoIGbUIHxoJO4z-KHPEMOibswrmqF3Fm7RIHAqop28i_BHgWljE4ie3DYrBUpaV5rax4W9FeR7exT7JlUhzMdqMEtMvULRbjkSpkGzzbFAGB7SIHgN8WUJHK88/s640/Melbourne1_024.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Johnny 99'</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyQw_PEP8XIvLJVs8INEAmJYG5-qITpUN3sxhhqIUgm9wex0IF34GydT-BnWrxtISIqWtyRFFcwjg5uMi-2-RpjAHecHD7Nwl_Q5vSmMyeqBDRqxLjSaBI2V_Ul_g0IeAaAnOijTuPwOg/s1600/Melbourne1_026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="353" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyQw_PEP8XIvLJVs8INEAmJYG5-qITpUN3sxhhqIUgm9wex0IF34GydT-BnWrxtISIqWtyRFFcwjg5uMi-2-RpjAHecHD7Nwl_Q5vSmMyeqBDRqxLjSaBI2V_Ul_g0IeAaAnOijTuPwOg/s640/Melbourne1_026.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Death To My Hometown'</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'The River'</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Mary's Place'</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Darlington County'</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nils sings a verse of 'Darlington'</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Long Walk Home'</td></tr>
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Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-88939755031786339122017-02-01T14:31:00.002+11:002017-06-23T11:29:22.138+10:00An Adelaide Odyssey ... or how I drove all night to see Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Funny thing, desire. Makes a man do things that jeopardise his very survival for a chance at the ephemeral, the mysterious, the eternal. The proverbial golden ring, or in the case of my seven-year-old self, an actual golden ring, available on the Palace Amusements merry-go-round (not the Casino carousel across Ocean Ave) in the Asbury Park of my childhood. Forsaking banks of Skee Ball and two (two!) funhouses and a Ferris wheel and bumper cars and a sea of pleasure machines, I’d plunk my bony ass on an undulating wooden horse, hang onto a grimy pole with my right hand while the left reached for a metal ring, hoping it glistened gold so I’d get a free ride. ‘Round and round went the painted ponies, neglected but proud, Kingsley Avenue stretching outside open carousel doors like a drifter's dream, calliope music crashing like the Atlantic Ocean beyond the boardwalk. Each rotation the same: Grab a dull, dirty ring, toss it in a wooden box, sink onto your yo-yo’ing horse, perk up as your chance came again, tighten your grip on the pole, reach for another ring … <br />
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And it’s golden. In your palm. Nicked, faded, possibly germ-ridden, but who cared? A golden ring. You possessed it. It possessed you. Your heart swelled, your horse shone, your little brother went green with envy (or was it all that salt water taffy?). The carousel stopped and you showed a shaggy-haired attendant your prize and ran back to your lucky horse before some jerk grabbed it and the awful music rose and the horses lurched to life and you rode until your grandfather's voice called to get your ass in the Buick parked on Lake Avenue, down where boring grownups rode giant peddle-boat swans for fun. <br />
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A man never stops dreaming about that golden ring. I snagged one the other night. All because I drove all night to see <a href="http://brucespringsteen.net/" target="_blank">Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band</a>. <br />
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Let me clarify: I literally drove all night. After deciding Sunday afternoon to make the trip I waited until just after midnight to depart my St Kilda home. Free of desire’s spell I can’t explain the necessity of that detail, which set me off at exactly 12:11 am on an 8-hour, 735 km (457 mile) trip onto an empty highway cloaked in a darkness comforting only to vampires, goths and the consciences Senate Republicans. <br />
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Desire frees the mind of frivolities like self-preservation, of course, so I cranked up the 1978 Agora (“Cleveland boys!”) concert and headed northwest out of Melbourne to Adelaide, city of churches and in roughly 18 hours’ time the only place in Australia this ex-pat could stand and sing in solidarity with those back home trying to save the USA from its darker, meaner, stupider self. The night’s blackness an apt metaphor for the Bannonites in charge, a gradually lightening sky like the chipping through of detainees from unjust cells. I arrived in Adelaide at 10:30 am, tired but alive. <br />
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Picked up my ticket at the box office, got a number at the GA line, grabbed breakfast at Central Market, did roll call, had a beer with friends Jamie, Carly and Laurel at the InterContinental Hotel, then went to the beach for a cleansing, baptismal swim. Back at the arena for 5:00 roll call, greeted old friends and made new ones in line, got a good spot in front of Steven in GA, drank a few adult beverages and rejoiced when the house lights darkened at 7:52. <br />
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Desire born of impotence may sound impossible but when you’re a US citizen living in Australia as the principles of your country are being savaged by a Corrupt Orange Fascist you feel useless, alone, unarmed, frustrated and ANGRY.<br />
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When someone travels across shark-infested waters to give voice to that anger and frustration it’s like free money. When that someone is Bruce Springsteen you get in your car and drive all goddamned night. <br />
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Just as the woman (and men) who marched in protest to our new ‘grab them by the pussy’ president on the eve of the tour opener in Perth gave that concert the urgency of a movement, the throngs who spontaneously rose in resistance to Trump’s Muslim ban on Sunday across the US offered the world at large proof Americans are willing to fight this new regime. As I waited outside the Adelaide Entertainment Centre on a sprawling GA line I was confident we'd hear fighting words on this warm summer night ... just as thousands of Aussies knew they'd be shaking their asses to the greatest rock and roll band on Earth.<br />
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We both got what we came for. For as well as expressing solidarity with those fighting injustice back home, Springsteen was a force of nature bent on devastating the cheaply made trailer-park-Trumps of this world. We got:<br />
-- Another hypnotic ‘NYC Serenade’ <br />
-- A double accordion, fire & brimstone, ‘go fuck yourself’ version of ‘American Land’ that began with this statement:<br />
<blockquote>
Tonight we want to add our voices to the thousands of Americans who are protesting at airports around the country the Muslim Ban and the detention of foreign nationals and refugees. America is a nation of immigrants and we find this anti-democratic and fundamentally un-American.</blockquote>
-- Bruce forgetting the second verse of 'Ties that Bind', laughing, then going to the whip like a jockey in deep to the syndicate, "NO MAN CAN BREAK the ties that bind ..."<br />
-- Drop-dead versions of <i>Darkness</i> gems ‘Something in the Night’ and ‘Racing in the Street’<br />
-- The refitting of singalong favourite ‘Trapped’ into a cathartic protest anthem dedicated to detainees. For a rarely played song the band was exceptionally tight, Max's high-hat the song's epoxy, the crowd blowing it all apart with each hollered chorus. <br />
-- Bruce tossing his guitar a good ten feet in the air to end 'Glory Hands'; it landed in Kevin's hands in perfect sync to the music<br />
-- Jake Clemons squeezing his hands as Springsteen sang 'Hold tight to your anger ...' during a blowtorch 'Wrecking Ball'<br />
-- About the most intense song pairing you'll ever hear at a rock show. The ground beneath the Adelaide Entertainment Centre is no doubt still smouldering days after 'Youngstown' was followed by 'Something in the Night'<br />
-- Ralph Kramden playing Roy’s piano while Ed Norton shared vocals with Springsteen during a gorgeous ‘Brown Eyed Girl’. Yeah, read that again. It happened. I’ve got photos to prove it. Bruce was understandably skeptical about bringing them up as he (rightfully) didn't think Aussies would get the joke but it didn't matter, 'cos everyone onstage tore up 'Brown Eyed Girl' -- even Norton!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bang ... zoom!</td></tr>
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(An aside: I grew up watching late night staples 'The Odd Couple' and 'The Honeymooners' on New York City's WPIX, channel 11, from 11 pm to midnight. When I moved to Australia I made sure the DVDs for every one of the episodes of both shows came with me. Call it preventative medicine. Cheaper than inpatient treatment at a mental hospital.)<br />
-- After mistakenly repeating the musical intro to 'Murder Inc' Bruce smiled and shouted at Steven, "That's right. Do it again, boys." Steven, as he did throughout the night, laughed.<br />
-- Max thundering along to Roy and Charlie's river of keys (my notebook reads 'Roy motherfucking Liberace' ... don't think that needs explaining) during 'Racing in the Street'<br />
-- Wedding-song ballad ‘If I Should Fall Behind’ stripped down to primer in an acoustic version that by its conclusion had an arena-full of fired-up folk resting their heads on Springsteen’s chest, hearing his heartbeat and his heartbeat only<br />
-- A hipster-beard-free Garry W Tallent<br />
-- An energetic (by Aussie standards) Adelaide crowd and downright volcanic GA<br />
-- Monstrous versions of foundation songs ‘The River’, ‘Badlands’, ‘Thunder Road’, even ‘Dancing in the freakin’ Dark’. Strong bones = Sound body. Ask any doctor.<br />
-- A giddy Richie Sambora standing beside Steven and peppering 'Shout' with big-hair guitar licks. He was slow to leave; Bruce walked back to the mic after showing him off, gestured to the floor and said 'just the band' to no one and everyone, before launching a jubilantly revived ‘Rosalita’ that closed out a magic night just before 11:00<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roy lit like a Spielberg film as he opens another surreal 'NYC Serenade'. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Listen to your junk man ... "</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4hUQzTDdvqq1jCwSG3_-T-ZWoK5JO37P_E_ujlDZxbZEtmb4KgWAZyw6p-z873kDgHUqKkCfxJsLj6Xjwc5im6__dtVW7ZMCinfE_PjuNoVke4DBRS2udMcNmnPFyJYL2_BGHg9tjGU/s1600/Adelaide_023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4hUQzTDdvqq1jCwSG3_-T-ZWoK5JO37P_E_ujlDZxbZEtmb4KgWAZyw6p-z873kDgHUqKkCfxJsLj6Xjwc5im6__dtVW7ZMCinfE_PjuNoVke4DBRS2udMcNmnPFyJYL2_BGHg9tjGU/s640/Adelaide_023.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"He's singing ..."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU00NLcWa9CWYOueZXIiP2E25OsZpPHOQLOfjduQ_hniRRK7LKjRb9RXfWdy2h_xLETh_O9Sde9q101kX6EjSGY3njsD6TL5_rlKs3XXmIKZxsc7LfDtCgQ4BmBb0IN7kvj_gyd31kfZM/s1600/Adelaide_022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU00NLcWa9CWYOueZXIiP2E25OsZpPHOQLOfjduQ_hniRRK7LKjRb9RXfWdy2h_xLETh_O9Sde9q101kX6EjSGY3njsD6TL5_rlKs3XXmIKZxsc7LfDtCgQ4BmBb0IN7kvj_gyd31kfZM/s640/Adelaide_022.JPG" width="434" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beardless Garry.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAjr-jDSpNxPWB32DRONRuGHN0i-ggTGsP4jjxIMDra6bzH7XV2zDSRCSIgvNUrJnelqfH24yh2M36eErqmqEEEnZY6BGEz9ZEatOUP5BQKuQOdTmsnBsWMiXKUAjzFTOtWN9ZvRPTZoU/s1600/Adelaide_025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAjr-jDSpNxPWB32DRONRuGHN0i-ggTGsP4jjxIMDra6bzH7XV2zDSRCSIgvNUrJnelqfH24yh2M36eErqmqEEEnZY6BGEz9ZEatOUP5BQKuQOdTmsnBsWMiXKUAjzFTOtWN9ZvRPTZoU/s640/Adelaide_025.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bruce getting EVERYone's attention during 'American Land'. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTHEnDQx2HnOOVZGgeQ5Maxa5WBtP3r6W5lmPbbek6LoeRJKGEwvmMab6k7Y9vNsAt1ioQP6vz5yOLbCy6s5GuphCkj2lGGNHzrpEKoskA4eT76oCYW1O2qRubd5d-JYHpaf5wZ9OqwE/s1600/Adelaide_026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTHEnDQx2HnOOVZGgeQ5Maxa5WBtP3r6W5lmPbbek6LoeRJKGEwvmMab6k7Y9vNsAt1ioQP6vz5yOLbCy6s5GuphCkj2lGGNHzrpEKoskA4eT76oCYW1O2qRubd5d-JYHpaf5wZ9OqwE/s640/Adelaide_026.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A five-song stretch of 'American Land', 'The Ties That Bind', 'No Surrender', 'Land of Hope and Dreams' and 'Trapped' was a loud, crackling five-gun salute to the words of support Springsteen offered Muslim ban protesters. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTsAQ844Jf0yO_y7x_32e4ypmwFVDQv5q8iKoWgqVMhCLI1zNYeoAOTxujNgpZ618LBviOEu9I5bGKNz9_NfNjdzXERV7TBeXL7tWVEnPhGmUhrXh4i-YNNURmpLvidgEJE1xk20p_6I/s1600/Adelaide_033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTsAQ844Jf0yO_y7x_32e4ypmwFVDQv5q8iKoWgqVMhCLI1zNYeoAOTxujNgpZ618LBviOEu9I5bGKNz9_NfNjdzXERV7TBeXL7tWVEnPhGmUhrXh4i-YNNURmpLvidgEJE1xk20p_6I/s640/Adelaide_033.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That Springsteen has to remind folks that "this train CARRIES IMMIGRANTS" during 'Land of Hope and Dreams' is as ludicrous as Dylan having to sing "the answer, my friend, is blowing METAPHORICALLY in the wind" or Jagger singing "I can't get no ... SEXUAL satisfaction".</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1I42NUch2FE9cnAcVoGGTZnwvXGm8ux0ZXfPtOA3aRskE2GWXWeSGzwCx018XQzUHij-p2751iDrEmjcM6V1QXwul5ahPa-VGsP4lle7uS1CZxNpFx2SiwR6sDhh04S_4bVc0otcyXo/s1600/Adelaide_035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1I42NUch2FE9cnAcVoGGTZnwvXGm8ux0ZXfPtOA3aRskE2GWXWeSGzwCx018XQzUHij-p2751iDrEmjcM6V1QXwul5ahPa-VGsP4lle7uS1CZxNpFx2SiwR6sDhh04S_4bVc0otcyXo/s640/Adelaide_035.JPG" width="608" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Can you feel the spirit?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNEwlWS9WsgdiQi78k-MnwRxsAwbGb9PvOYd2dwad-Cg3BwqdQOMv2AtUc9qsCKRZmglxGz_F4Vm4NGUZ_QtQn32qc6IL9JfAPfAnjpPYnipB1F2Tu_Cna81jj2WQwE25289gVCXfgcmI/s1600/Adelaide_036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="532" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNEwlWS9WsgdiQi78k-MnwRxsAwbGb9PvOYd2dwad-Cg3BwqdQOMv2AtUc9qsCKRZmglxGz_F4Vm4NGUZ_QtQn32qc6IL9JfAPfAnjpPYnipB1F2Tu_Cna81jj2WQwE25289gVCXfgcmI/s640/Adelaide_036.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3qdQpi-DW684V9duk6o2Iy2LVw11W9ffhnqkXFtYqpr8AU0c05wS_5fSYSoJdS27qp0vFCGkLNPzB8Zi9x3uiueMHLQcnXgt4YMLLV6f8HUNIgBSUNBMPMNj65P5xD34EtL5ErmGXK4w/s1600/Adelaide_037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3qdQpi-DW684V9duk6o2Iy2LVw11W9ffhnqkXFtYqpr8AU0c05wS_5fSYSoJdS27qp0vFCGkLNPzB8Zi9x3uiueMHLQcnXgt4YMLLV6f8HUNIgBSUNBMPMNj65P5xD34EtL5ErmGXK4w/s640/Adelaide_037.JPG" width="540" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"The time slips away, and leaves you nothing mister but ... boring stories of ....."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju9h13APUJAV_d9O2Cd-plEBH1qq8qdcw8Xj-HdD6f_K1KkURLWyCZ47qJd48jkRm9MXIMlz7fy6n5jtNLGbCir9RuQm4YVFX_cvXwRu6MdnSOqHMbEV6I-NzKTVVyMMqcUImUms5VVYA/s1600/Adelaide_040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju9h13APUJAV_d9O2Cd-plEBH1qq8qdcw8Xj-HdD6f_K1KkURLWyCZ47qJd48jkRm9MXIMlz7fy6n5jtNLGbCir9RuQm4YVFX_cvXwRu6MdnSOqHMbEV6I-NzKTVVyMMqcUImUms5VVYA/s640/Adelaide_040.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Glory Days' booty shake.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXuho-w9Mkb7K99-GLEGKbxiVJYZdW9cv10JaaGMex8oEcvI0uRaAhwOn9VtQJlHOzS24yicegB5JkQ6lvRB2tsyGCkvjKCZk-l7fccnkqifjUGtY-XVC0mwlEn8o5ACUgx0K_aPChIZ4/s1600/Adelaide_039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXuho-w9Mkb7K99-GLEGKbxiVJYZdW9cv10JaaGMex8oEcvI0uRaAhwOn9VtQJlHOzS24yicegB5JkQ6lvRB2tsyGCkvjKCZk-l7fccnkqifjUGtY-XVC0mwlEn8o5ACUgx0K_aPChIZ4/s640/Adelaide_039.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steven gets his picture taken.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_09jwlK56mswU7Y9CBUdummss6xxyRHil2F3CoUVRDztQWqoOnM1bS3RJMNO28kVV47Jnc45mSuEG_yIfmv0GT9HOpijiO56oleXfuaO1oejsvC3F2OlSvk7CtZr969GMkvcAvLyJC4/s1600/Adelaide_041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_09jwlK56mswU7Y9CBUdummss6xxyRHil2F3CoUVRDztQWqoOnM1bS3RJMNO28kVV47Jnc45mSuEG_yIfmv0GT9HOpijiO56oleXfuaO1oejsvC3F2OlSvk7CtZr969GMkvcAvLyJC4/s640/Adelaide_041.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fresh from an Adelaide surf.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG4T45Wfn5_WAPe0-ZZhSsLPdN0V32Svl4xalo9biwOcAMjQDFbLPiUMeh8iQ5Hqy8G4ie2tpcOBeZC_GdEOauMru6B3258kVlH6Xi2SySdenUHxH3adSm0Gv8m-2YtHOJ59NQM7mTCDc/s1600/Adelaide_042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG4T45Wfn5_WAPe0-ZZhSsLPdN0V32Svl4xalo9biwOcAMjQDFbLPiUMeh8iQ5Hqy8G4ie2tpcOBeZC_GdEOauMru6B3258kVlH6Xi2SySdenUHxH3adSm0Gv8m-2YtHOJ59NQM7mTCDc/s640/Adelaide_042.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"C'mon and take your best shot ... let me see what you've got ..."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5684CAbgcAXYBXeI5yX_alMxecqaB3JSXuf7mLJP_UpQ1ZVLy5kBQy6ktKA0PxrNpwkXLD5-YK1S-xkpyH_G9ftI7RQTb7J8YKmwzzGN1EIJWDqacICoHI6dZvEyOy9SxQ1qGuPhJq8Q/s1600/Adelaide_075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5684CAbgcAXYBXeI5yX_alMxecqaB3JSXuf7mLJP_UpQ1ZVLy5kBQy6ktKA0PxrNpwkXLD5-YK1S-xkpyH_G9ftI7RQTb7J8YKmwzzGN1EIJWDqacICoHI6dZvEyOy9SxQ1qGuPhJq8Q/s640/Adelaide_075.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Without question the strangest Bruce Springsteen photo I've ever taken. And I've taken a lot of photos of Bruce Springsteen.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCCWAp8g6W1A8IGS-XM_uxDgtssbYJlDeBN73KqjAkTMuXc-wQM1txo3TTveCNvV76F6pxRGHGujfK843DxhWCilB16ogC7fZ2bTqZjQUlGfR-OZcVdeuonQKVDd4BZ8VK5nuQirN-Yg0/s1600/Adelaide_076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCCWAp8g6W1A8IGS-XM_uxDgtssbYJlDeBN73KqjAkTMuXc-wQM1txo3TTveCNvV76F6pxRGHGujfK843DxhWCilB16ogC7fZ2bTqZjQUlGfR-OZcVdeuonQKVDd4BZ8VK5nuQirN-Yg0/s640/Adelaide_076.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When 'Norton' became a bit too exuberant sharing vocals during Van Morrison's 'Brown Eyed Girl', Bruce indelicately pried the mic from his hands and looked like he wanted to kick his ass back to Canarsie.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSTB_muKbabETOXKOB8flty01Mc2o6eyfxR4Fzg_Re4z1_bvPiHfHhqE_-FpkA6t-PKoYp7dDH6LMv3iAF3RJ-Q1Z2pcVZHvgO0YwcTkH9D_ln43VzjIZSrHxlAbW5GgMcpE3CoJ10Jyg/s1600/Adelaide_077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSTB_muKbabETOXKOB8flty01Mc2o6eyfxR4Fzg_Re4z1_bvPiHfHhqE_-FpkA6t-PKoYp7dDH6LMv3iAF3RJ-Q1Z2pcVZHvgO0YwcTkH9D_ln43VzjIZSrHxlAbW5GgMcpE3CoJ10Jyg/s640/Adelaide_077.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How's this for a photo caption: Steve Van Zandt plays his guitar while Ralph Kramden plays Roy Bittan's piano during 'Brown Eyed Girl'. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmPNeTyLSLrecYgPj3KIuyXaS9zfGVuOjeDLdV3o7-_KB0x5RDB1XUkc6cyKESzqP55Ko4t7sKSzDIJjMUUO8G5X-iEYGYcQ-qeC8zF95ZpJiAEErXwncuyihlaMg9OWHSTuybl-6wi4/s1600/Adelaide_078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmPNeTyLSLrecYgPj3KIuyXaS9zfGVuOjeDLdV3o7-_KB0x5RDB1XUkc6cyKESzqP55Ko4t7sKSzDIJjMUUO8G5X-iEYGYcQ-qeC8zF95ZpJiAEErXwncuyihlaMg9OWHSTuybl-6wi4/s640/Adelaide_078.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alice, Trixie, Ralph ... all we need is Mrs Manicotti from downstairs. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFlL647vpiNp_96tq0KIxy4PMIe319xJPycGd8qbpqJ9QmyYQ_euCxEhI96wT2hWahDjGywWECX8T1VGmZVovEwXXgTMFiXuY0OgGAZ63BHBLuJVhe23RfZnRS_TA5bGt4uu0549GzD4/s1600/Adelaide_080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFlL647vpiNp_96tq0KIxy4PMIe319xJPycGd8qbpqJ9QmyYQ_euCxEhI96wT2hWahDjGywWECX8T1VGmZVovEwXXgTMFiXuY0OgGAZ63BHBLuJVhe23RfZnRS_TA5bGt4uu0549GzD4/s640/Adelaide_080.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Tonight my baby and me we're gonna ride to the sea ... and wash these sins off our hands."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0CTzJ0iW_VBPVOxie0D8ycOo7909wHexpPZE94dVuBUca0lY6FkEtL38emkTVIrzLJNU38dHMJ54d47G1PrmizuGCC2CSW4u8UIzI-Q9HQA_F1z72YEAu7m5aGtjzzffO0TC-sBwMYCc/s1600/Adelaide_081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0CTzJ0iW_VBPVOxie0D8ycOo7909wHexpPZE94dVuBUca0lY6FkEtL38emkTVIrzLJNU38dHMJ54d47G1PrmizuGCC2CSW4u8UIzI-Q9HQA_F1z72YEAu7m5aGtjzzffO0TC-sBwMYCc/s640/Adelaide_081.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nils about to set fire to the stage during 'Because the Night'. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCMbXx803N1PnXKW90jFKm54J5GP7-4y9XtTpKsvFhD5WqXpfj_6AVVAZvFQoTh-3apqOIa9bqDTr3hbuGr-ClLFbRXyzstAuoJMSvqgVH3utDMNUIRx4BjR9CzCB79ksKpoJ-gwuG9CQ/s1600/Adelaide_082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCMbXx803N1PnXKW90jFKm54J5GP7-4y9XtTpKsvFhD5WqXpfj_6AVVAZvFQoTh-3apqOIa9bqDTr3hbuGr-ClLFbRXyzstAuoJMSvqgVH3utDMNUIRx4BjR9CzCB79ksKpoJ-gwuG9CQ/s640/Adelaide_082.JPG" width="450" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When you've been lucky enough to have heard 'Thunder Road' across so many years, in so many places, and still get a chill at the opening harmonica ... well, all you can do is roll down the window and let the wind throw back your hair.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidaf__VlYpe6gUT7ktlUAz-_KzJdXUArFvfntRj5sJ76xOiqsWa4XqP44COqa4iad9JuzWMvhdy7hESV9h2JXIhFoYE5Nnl0G7jlp4oNC8VUyMTrNRzP9I0UVvE_YTpxuStNpxqvm7WwE/s1600/Adelaide_085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidaf__VlYpe6gUT7ktlUAz-_KzJdXUArFvfntRj5sJ76xOiqsWa4XqP44COqa4iad9JuzWMvhdy7hESV9h2JXIhFoYE5Nnl0G7jlp4oNC8VUyMTrNRzP9I0UVvE_YTpxuStNpxqvm7WwE/s640/Adelaide_085.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I loathe speculating about Bruce's state of mind -- the 'Born to Run' book has given us more insight into the man's psyche than we ever could have expected, or deserved -- but it seems to me enough time has passed since Clarence's passing and Bruce is back to playing 'Thunder Road' with abandon, rather than as an ode to the Biggest, Baddest Blood Brother of them all.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PfSC0heL8NiFf4LzalC8-RjWm16axDo3F0m9uIR0JFNeH5Wo5F54DF8oan8jnBb0p9NKXnLRdfraF3RIG0PXOIxZsoxHYvCTjial3pRiQPgHUi2iN_O0oDjyQm_mtZDKElZGOTcIijQ/s1600/Adelaide_086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PfSC0heL8NiFf4LzalC8-RjWm16axDo3F0m9uIR0JFNeH5Wo5F54DF8oan8jnBb0p9NKXnLRdfraF3RIG0PXOIxZsoxHYvCTjial3pRiQPgHUi2iN_O0oDjyQm_mtZDKElZGOTcIijQ/s640/Adelaide_086.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Much of that is due, of course, to the miracle that is Jake Clemons.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQpniKt7KykSEaVmjpJVqliViEpO0aSLokfWZPCbv8tQt9VnfJr-nHDfuU0vGI5c0BPEQRLz2VwYW1SQmq1lFYOERyoAseX-GMGRkqQQftzDgSMakQDmTxaXXq6XC-eLxsjBWSNbpPms/s1600/Adelaide_087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQpniKt7KykSEaVmjpJVqliViEpO0aSLokfWZPCbv8tQt9VnfJr-nHDfuU0vGI5c0BPEQRLz2VwYW1SQmq1lFYOERyoAseX-GMGRkqQQftzDgSMakQDmTxaXXq6XC-eLxsjBWSNbpPms/s640/Adelaide_087.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Former Bon Jovi lead guitarist Richie Sambora joined the band for 'Shout'. When he wasn't laughing hysterically Steve led him through the song by tapping his arm when Bruce was about to stop.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jake driving the young girls wild during 'Shout'. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SpongeBruce Springsteen. (<i>sorry</i>)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKlKdOw1FoR5e9Zd3Bn_kTS5VHLynSE9qvVHlB874uS8Py5OOM2Myjg2RUaq9Ju1jWrwQbG8ZCJfaE2eynJt_xV9GYZxE_-VUXhk0DV03hf3ueZAqFrJ7YsqN3zJ-sxOR7C4U5ult5Jg/s1600/Adelaide_165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKlKdOw1FoR5e9Zd3Bn_kTS5VHLynSE9qvVHlB874uS8Py5OOM2Myjg2RUaq9Ju1jWrwQbG8ZCJfaE2eynJt_xV9GYZxE_-VUXhk0DV03hf3ueZAqFrJ7YsqN3zJ-sxOR7C4U5ult5Jg/s640/Adelaide_165.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steve drapes Bruce with the 'Boss' cape and announces his exit from the building ...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDAO8A1JFjUNbcKLzaNte5xpL44jbYKmQLsN835jIXER8J5EGnG0jgV6JUpNicXV6lFNfawADntLaYNab7hKRobM_ERJOg97CwIcMOoPXiO6ZnWTeecBHt_dw77VVwBRP30O10_u7c61s/s1600/Adelaide_166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDAO8A1JFjUNbcKLzaNte5xpL44jbYKmQLsN835jIXER8J5EGnG0jgV6JUpNicXV6lFNfawADntLaYNab7hKRobM_ERJOg97CwIcMOoPXiO6ZnWTeecBHt_dw77VVwBRP30O10_u7c61s/s640/Adelaide_166.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... but campy Springsteen doesn't go far. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Rosalita'. Like it was written yesterday.</td></tr>
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Normally the show is everything but for me Monday’s Adelaide concert was the magnificent, soul-restoring, sweat-inducing, voice-like-Paul-Robeson-creating centrepiece of an unforgettable 43-hour odyssey. After the show I went with a friend to West Beach to reminisce about this golden ring of a night with sand between my toes and smell of salt water in my lungs. Eventually slept for five hours at a rest area roughly 50 kms outside of Adelaide, and after brushing my teeth and tossing bottled water on my face I was driving back to Melbourne at 9:30 am on a bright, sunny highway.. <br />
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The long ride neared its end at 6:30 pm Tuesday in you-can’t-make-this-shit-up fashion: With early evening sunshine turning the landscape orange I hit a rise on the Western Highway that offered a pristine view of the Melbourne skyline. At that exact moment, and I mean exact moment, Max’s drum intro to ‘Born in the USA’ pierced my weary brain, the version on the <i>Chapter and Verse</i> retrospective packing a modern technology wallop. Sleep-deprived, sand-covered, the number 247 in black ink on my left (driving) hand, a song that touches a deeper place when the people you love and the place that created you are so far away was re-born as I hurtled toward my adopted hometown. I bellowed the lyrics of Springsteen’s greatest fighting song and was shocked when tears started to fall, rage turned to relief by a welcome, unexpected, blessed blast of rock and roll hope. <br />
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‘Rock and Roll the fear away’ read a sign in Adelaide’s GA section, a sign Springsteen pointed to, nodded his head and smiled. You see, that’s the kind of wisdom a man must drive all night to receive … and live long enough to make real. <br />
<br />Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-61448263801924084302017-01-24T10:29:00.000+11:002017-01-24T10:37:52.721+11:00Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band, 22 Jan 2017 Perth Arena<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVm2Ax2LtB4rTHuugigmqPhcqd2RxpKD57VMNrGMPCMiPrBtGW5CAB4-ebsCb5m5YWgvghw4p_jiB3Msq8MrarH5NfbwqmFzkCYjatu9hF_L9fbH0QKh-_DoXt7vSMu1Uf9bjJplLxEuU/s1600/Perth1_10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVm2Ax2LtB4rTHuugigmqPhcqd2RxpKD57VMNrGMPCMiPrBtGW5CAB4-ebsCb5m5YWgvghw4p_jiB3Msq8MrarH5NfbwqmFzkCYjatu9hF_L9fbH0QKh-_DoXt7vSMu1Uf9bjJplLxEuU/s400/Perth1_10.jpg" width="267" height="400" /></a></div>Didn't think I'd find myself here in Perth for the opening shows of <a href="http://brucespringsteen.net/">Springsteen</a>'s Summer Tour 2017 of Australia yet here I am, writing from the hills overlooking Western Australia's capitol city in the spectacular home of friends Heather and Peter.<br />
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Sunday night was the tour opener. My review on the <a href="http://www.backstreets.com/">Backstreets magazine</a> site may be found <a href="http://www.backstreets.com/setlists.html">here</a>. Here's the intro paragraph: <br />
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<blockquote>And on this night in a city either protected or cursed by the tyranny of distance, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band took the Perth Arena stage at 7:55 pm and went to battle. A great shadow had passed over the world since they'd last gathered under New England stars in September. Over the course of a herculean media blitz for his Born to Run autobiography, Bruce had let fly with wilting opinions about the man now ensconced in the Oval Office, had performed acoustically in support of the Hillary Clinton campaign and farewelled President Obama and his staff with a private show at the White House. All of this however, had been done on someone else's stage. Tonight, from the mighty bastion of E Street, the cannons were aimed squarely at the forces of hate and division back in the States. The bombardment lasted 3 hours and 25 minutes, victory declared on the jubilant faces of Aussies who'd come for a River show but got gobsmacked instead by a rock 'n' roll reckoning.</blockquote><br />
I had a good seat just 6 rows from the GA but the lack of a telephoto lens meant no close-up photography. Here's a few I salvaged. Should have better ones tomorrow night when I'm in the pit. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XZ2TErQniszlr2zZA3-lSx1quZd5upCi__U0w1LnNo8j7-f7vohetQg1qbY-IHDv19OEAHx4XOEzJIh5iIfw52MdEDmCaEioCKCWj9mfW4Z8nyzE46QAJeeKrawny5qXKTaJDUMepBk/s1600/Perth1_12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XZ2TErQniszlr2zZA3-lSx1quZd5upCi__U0w1LnNo8j7-f7vohetQg1qbY-IHDv19OEAHx4XOEzJIh5iIfw52MdEDmCaEioCKCWj9mfW4Z8nyzE46QAJeeKrawny5qXKTaJDUMepBk/s400/Perth1_12.jpg" width="400" height="329" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBLUbEroOEWi4TW4sRN-H0_8OKUaTj7MdEHlM5UMWMxI6fA-zdkKhsyKyjQKcGza7_6s6JPWoPdhQK1Ui_1xqNZrMVNtmb4_3a_re7LTiXbro7yXopqo87ewZj8tn2Rh_95l8Gc3vBcU/s1600/Perth1_13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBLUbEroOEWi4TW4sRN-H0_8OKUaTj7MdEHlM5UMWMxI6fA-zdkKhsyKyjQKcGza7_6s6JPWoPdhQK1Ui_1xqNZrMVNtmb4_3a_re7LTiXbro7yXopqo87ewZj8tn2Rh_95l8Gc3vBcU/s400/Perth1_13.jpg" width="400" height="260" /></a></div>Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6748444288211150996.post-71087866266444350562016-08-09T13:12:00.003+10:002016-08-09T14:49:36.262+10:00Sunday at the Stone Pony 4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs9BeC3SOxQ3ChgPTadvz4mIB8cCHtHDcoVdYsVBT_jpPr8eDZhBT7kzn-nqiPPG2Nxz-dFxM4irCxznPKFirtWtoqZXKJWQBW2UM9gZUAQ632VGgTUSTDCmBwnbxc1FgaCVRNeIJrns8/s1600/SP4_15c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs9BeC3SOxQ3ChgPTadvz4mIB8cCHtHDcoVdYsVBT_jpPr8eDZhBT7kzn-nqiPPG2Nxz-dFxM4irCxznPKFirtWtoqZXKJWQBW2UM9gZUAQ632VGgTUSTDCmBwnbxc1FgaCVRNeIJrns8/s640/SP4_15c.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>And so we gathered for the fourth time on a Sunday afternoon in the seaside suburb of St Kilda in Melbourne's south to celebrate the legendary sounds of Asbury Park and raise money for a worthy cause -- in this case the <a href="http://www.rainbownetwork.com.au/">Rainbow Network</a>, which provides essential services to the Victorian LGBT community.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ImYWhYmN5QqwSyQqk0yA1UoXClm-twx3QOpZneNoXCjNOB2MZ9H0HcNDVOeuxuCX15o-OLgb7kd7_bO3L91aA6-Ehgf9QGcAeZwRtc9cbBiuNd6HD4bQAFq6HeQLbq2Z-0bQlVUdSd0/s1600/sp4_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ImYWhYmN5QqwSyQqk0yA1UoXClm-twx3QOpZneNoXCjNOB2MZ9H0HcNDVOeuxuCX15o-OLgb7kd7_bO3L91aA6-Ehgf9QGcAeZwRtc9cbBiuNd6HD4bQAFq6HeQLbq2Z-0bQlVUdSd0/s200/sp4_2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The original purpose of these gatherings was to evangalise music I grew up with that was synonymous with Bruce Springsteen, i.e. Southside Johnny & the Asbury Jukes, Gary US Bonds, Little Steven, etc. (on this occasion the playlist was dominated by live songs from Springsteen's current 'The River' tour). Like any preacher I wanted as large a flock as possible to gather and listen and spread the gospel of the range of bands that played the <a href="http://stoneponyonline.com/" target="_blank">Stone Pony</a> in Asbury Park back when it was the center of a bluesy, horns-based musical sound when disco dominated US airwaves. <br />
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But a funny thing's happened over the course of four Sunday at the Stone Pony's ... I no longer care about the size of our crowd. Only the quality.<br />
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And on this latest Sunday we had spectacular quality. <br />
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All told the group of people featured in these photographs raised $865, with the Local Taphouse generously contributing an additional $50. <br />
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Thanks to everyone who attended. If there's an SP5 I'm thinking it'll be by invitation only. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw3evWm6JuOe-SzN4FAPmxPdJhe4Emx0OcaVAy9rIHAT1TEGx8ZpKEVg_bBUALsOfMA1XFjndIf_bfFwbZMvxsvurITGMl0j8_oPX6BmABw4VRZI6G-5vog4F6cErsBNqRWoC8UXiMHeI/s1600/SP4_05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw3evWm6JuOe-SzN4FAPmxPdJhe4Emx0OcaVAy9rIHAT1TEGx8ZpKEVg_bBUALsOfMA1XFjndIf_bfFwbZMvxsvurITGMl0j8_oPX6BmABw4VRZI6G-5vog4F6cErsBNqRWoC8UXiMHeI/s640/SP4_05.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As always, nothing happens without the tremendous contributions of Mary (left) and Piera (right). Their generosity and spirit cannot be adequately celebrated. Piera's holding the arm of Carly, who flew in from Sydney to join our soiree. Piera's friend Pauline rounds out the foursome.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-WSbA763ZB_tvNXBeFjf7RohyIyyulC7P1vVeQn4DmeXD-4whC23HFdpQHmN9U7FqyvkUdy_v14SCxcHg5Z52i0SYrV5umcMy0S5ladPEcyISXyL1BJzxSqljFCEP5DXD_eQLxdBvFH8/s1600/SP4_06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="449" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-WSbA763ZB_tvNXBeFjf7RohyIyyulC7P1vVeQn4DmeXD-4whC23HFdpQHmN9U7FqyvkUdy_v14SCxcHg5Z52i0SYrV5umcMy0S5ladPEcyISXyL1BJzxSqljFCEP5DXD_eQLxdBvFH8/s640/SP4_06.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If there's a more beautiful smile in Melbourne than Maria's I've yet to witness it. Here she stands beside the day's best dressed man, Jamie, while Rebecca inhales an item off the Local Taphouse's food menu. Somehow, she manages to remain glamorous.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpC4VXfk9TCSXTIzJelzTZpsHHPamSXQv0D1Uv8WYZAjUPXCgU3p5svVskSR8xu1V6h91yBEPP2NK4ct-jBc_gaimLBizy-ILdUCZ_quJJ4HuQ2rSleOL6DhqG16eABF5h2uflhTeDtc/s1600/SP4_07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpC4VXfk9TCSXTIzJelzTZpsHHPamSXQv0D1Uv8WYZAjUPXCgU3p5svVskSR8xu1V6h91yBEPP2NK4ct-jBc_gaimLBizy-ILdUCZ_quJJ4HuQ2rSleOL6DhqG16eABF5h2uflhTeDtc/s640/SP4_07.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Highlight of the day was the appearance of Dave and Effie Wright's twin daughters Sophia and Memphis. Here, Mary prepares Memphis for a lifetime of wise choices.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFH0q05Fn_G7L3LiGg7dZsubjtwXvpbslDhyiPOgCBcDCHKi2tsj9YjPP0FLwH0-YD6hHaRGhfM-Dn-Sy7PkpuvNIpvmDVo43I8XWKTA8KBGwm7NM03WCst7xihrPdytMcrUXyJQDlFxY/s1600/SP4_08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFH0q05Fn_G7L3LiGg7dZsubjtwXvpbslDhyiPOgCBcDCHKi2tsj9YjPP0FLwH0-YD6hHaRGhfM-Dn-Sy7PkpuvNIpvmDVo43I8XWKTA8KBGwm7NM03WCst7xihrPdytMcrUXyJQDlFxY/s640/SP4_08.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dave holds Sophia while Mary & Piera fuss over Mem.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZrSteQhTpT7k4PUWWnVVDy7KKXMO8tOhGfW0sCUOucsLtZEtGDtWcC1Yl9-hOs4WeadIF72-sRWo8ZezSAUNDJqIM2ECLHI11kwx3V8_oxI6mR38rL3xc2slRlphCNtsx6eHSDgl8CEE/s1600/SP4_09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZrSteQhTpT7k4PUWWnVVDy7KKXMO8tOhGfW0sCUOucsLtZEtGDtWcC1Yl9-hOs4WeadIF72-sRWo8ZezSAUNDJqIM2ECLHI11kwx3V8_oxI6mR38rL3xc2slRlphCNtsx6eHSDgl8CEE/s640/SP4_09.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard (left) traveled with his partner Eden (who's not in this or any other non-group photos, unfortunately) to attend SP4. Rita's flashing a perfect smile beside him while Maja focuses on artwork in the arms of mum Sara.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJZgoPhsd_S9yuxANLm1KNg1mg3bdz5ukQKSXry4M4JT6yI-RCTfEYj3iEI5x35hh-WpKOVtE7GoERlK1SY_aNx-PSnPe_ljlSm0hw1yeFuXwsqYiVP55ktRwh0C4HiPePGwJzSoLPyA/s1600/SP4_10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="471" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJZgoPhsd_S9yuxANLm1KNg1mg3bdz5ukQKSXry4M4JT6yI-RCTfEYj3iEI5x35hh-WpKOVtE7GoERlK1SY_aNx-PSnPe_ljlSm0hw1yeFuXwsqYiVP55ktRwh0C4HiPePGwJzSoLPyA/s640/SP4_10.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sophia shoots a look that says "I may be a toddler but I know a photo of me sitting on a bar is NOT dignified" while Stewart shows off the day's most appropriate hooded garment.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7VwiAwA-ePiXm_vGJOScyq9Jpytme1XrVmmMmpzWql-f6FsnSiCmtA7QndHOalcdtQhYuqq8K8X2WOv0gbqR5rMUxMLoZvLxNlh-m4-vnaCj8OLG445ABqvVCuN4L_veVqLMOfBnrl0/s1600/SP4_16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="439" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7VwiAwA-ePiXm_vGJOScyq9Jpytme1XrVmmMmpzWql-f6FsnSiCmtA7QndHOalcdtQhYuqq8K8X2WOv0gbqR5rMUxMLoZvLxNlh-m4-vnaCj8OLG445ABqvVCuN4L_veVqLMOfBnrl0/s640/SP4_16.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunday was Dave's actual birthday but Stewart and Michael had recently celebrated theirs so a group cake was arranged and devoured.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPHgu0tH2Aor3qXUELW_3Nf6ugSqV9Ak6HetrK3ASYQWcaO-kIKXi3zXAz5NQ9eV5CKvmcxJXXW7svgMTRPWd0KT7ZqsjxCAZ4T1xgsCTwEMlDHYObkQ-X_OJnbtnnFQtO3gb9EcHjAI/s1600/SP4_12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="451" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPHgu0tH2Aor3qXUELW_3Nf6ugSqV9Ak6HetrK3ASYQWcaO-kIKXi3zXAz5NQ9eV5CKvmcxJXXW7svgMTRPWd0KT7ZqsjxCAZ4T1xgsCTwEMlDHYObkQ-X_OJnbtnnFQtO3gb9EcHjAI/s640/SP4_12.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Legends. All.</td></tr>
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'Til next time.Joe Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434678660300036717noreply@blogger.com1