Walter Wallace - Chapter 9

Lucy Blues was sitting in the back seat of a Channel 8 limousine. Her hands had fallen limp at her sides, her neck slung to the left, her head resting against the window and her mouth hanging open. She snored rather loudly and twitched occasionally. In her dreams she was running across a long grassy plane. Long in the distance she had a goal. Something she was heading towards. She had no idea how close or far it was; only that it was glorious to run through this field. She felt light as a feather; able to cover huge distance with each bounding step. Her heart raced and instead of growing tired she felt stronger by the second. The grass was soft on her toes, but suddenly it shook like an earthquake and she tripped and fell flat on her-

“We’re here, Ms Blues.” It was the rushed girl.

Lucy was disorientated and took in a deep breath as she straightened up in her seat. “Wha- Where?” she said dreamily.

“At his house,” the girl said, “Walter’s house. Don’t get out just yet.” Lucy was about to open the door and get some fresh air. It was a clear summer night and the stars were out with a half moon. The rushed girl slid across the seat and began to tidy up Lucy’s dishevelled hair. “There are cameras outside and they are hungry. Walter isn’t at home. Nobody can find him. They are desperate to keep the show rolling. They are going to come back to you and, I’m sorry, but you look like shit.”

Lucy let the girl brush her up and imitated some of the facial exercises the girl gave her in an attempt to wake up. The girl had no mirror and Lucy didn’t ask for one as they eventually decided to open the door. The feminist and the comedian who were sitting opposite the other two hopped out first. The feminist in a foul mood apparently after Walter turned out to be a male and because the comedian had been making snide remarks about it the whole way to his house.

It was a mild stroke of luck that the feminist, who looked shabby at the best of times and terrible right now, exited the vehicle before Lucy and gave her a few extra points in the looks department by comparison. But Lucy was starting to come back to life after the blinding flashes of the cameras receded from her vision. Why did she care how she looked? If she looked tired and unwilling they would avoid putting her on camera; she could go home.

She was now leaning against the outer wall of Walter’s apartment with an assortment of other guests. The media circus that had set up camp was almost sickening to see, let alone to be a part of. There were 5 metre high flood lights illuminating the parking lot, as if they were preparing for an amateur street brawl – no holds barred. Cameras and microphones were pointing in all directions and headsetted individuals were racing everywhere. No one had any idea where Walter was and Lucy secretly hoped he wouldn’t show up so that the whole fiasco could come to an end promptly. How long could they keep this up before people started changing the channel?

“Well I changed the channel the moment I saw the result,” said the man in front of the camera, as if reading Lucy’s mind and answering her question. He was a chubby individual who was apparently a neighbour of Walter’s. “I mean he is a nice person and all, but if he is the happiest in the world then we have a real crisis on our hands. I mean surely he isn’t as happy as me. I have a family. I have a better apartment – he basically lives in the janitor’s closet. I’ve never seen him driving, or wearing nice clothes or-”

“Thank you Mister…uhh?” the presenter, Manny Holdsworth – son of the famed hannel 8 figurehead - said in an attempt to cut this man off.

“Cowan,” the man said proudly, trying to reassert himself after being interrupted.

But the presenter had already pivoted away from this man to face the camera directly, “I think the mysteries of Walter Wallace and his happiness may be rather complex. We will keep searching for the answers here, but for now we will be heading back to the studio with you, Tony.”

The presenter relaxed and let out an irritable moan, “This shit is never gonna end.”

“I don’t appreciate being cut short like that!” exclaimed a red faced Mr Cowan.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” Manny began sarcastically. “Try not telling people to switch off the TVs because the new hope is a fraud next time you want to brag about your shitty car to an international audience. We are trying to work here so please clear off, Mister…?”

“Cowan,” he said in subdued anger.

Lucy stood, light headed in the circle of special guests. She wanted to return to her dream; to run away with that endless energy. Now she felt she could barely stand, and any fresh air was drowned out by the clouds of cigarette smoke emanating from the circle. The rushed girl was organising the group like a sheep dog arranging its herd. They were passed on to Manny one by one for more empty comments but not before a few more neighbours and the doorman were interviewed. These people also had similar doubt-inducing stories, including one about Walter regularly drying a wet two week old newspaper on the buildings ventilation system.

“Well you may be right, Tony,” Manny said, taking a lead in from the studio, “We have heard from the neighbours and the doorman. They didn’t have too many niceties to say. But it may be testament to the resolve of Walter to be so happy with neighbours like Mr Cowbell.” Manny was perhaps stepping over the line but nobody seemed to care anymore. It seemed as though everybody wanted this to end – even the home viewers – but all were compelled by some indescribable force to push forward. “So now we are going to talk with the lovely Ms Blues, the creator of this device. Without her, this whole scenario would not be possible. We will see what she has to say in the face of some recent doubts about the authenticity of the result.”

If Lucy wasn’t already feeling terrible than this was not about to help her cause. She had a stroke of luck though, because she was not there to hear this introduction. She was halfway down the street, having managed to slip the watchdog eye of the rushed girl and ran as fast as she could just as she had in her dream. But, unlike her dream, she was running on the coarse asphalt, her clothes and high heels restricted her, the dark street continued on into and endless abyss and she was fast running out of energy. She stumbled as one of her high heels gave way, grazing her knee. She got back up and kept running. She had to keep running. If she tripped as she did in her dream then she would fall and wake up from this nightmare into something even worse. Or maybe she would wake up in the dream again. And as the temptation of the thought passed over her, whether by will or pure exhaustion, her body gave up. She fell onto the harsh concrete and passed out.

Fan Rant Tennis

SIX

I love all sports but tennis has to be one of my favourites. It has so many unique features that give it a unique postion in the sporting world. Here a few of the reasons why I love it.

Scoring: Tennis games can go on forever (literally). You could win 1000 points but not even end up with one on the scoredboard. That is because in tennis you have to win to win. I know that sounds obvious, but think of most sports. Usually you can start off on a hot streak and then rest on your laurels, wait until the clock runs out. But in tennis you have to win the last point of the game, set or match to win it. Technically no match is ever over if you can win half the points and if you win the next point you are still in with a chance. The games leading to sets to matches mean that a lot of hard work can often render little reward. Losing a set 7-6 is in essence the same as losing 6-0

Psychology: It is this cool scoring system which gives way to the next cool factor in tennis. The strength of any player’s game lies in the mind games that he is playing with himself and with his opponent. The scoring means that there are certain points that become so critical and someone has to win them. A break point is a rare chance to gain a massive advantage. A set point even bigger. And a match point that isn’t taken in the fourth set of a grand slam final and ends up with a loss in five sets? That’s a killer.

The other side of the psychology is the mano e mano nature of the sport. It is one guy out there (or girl but women’s tennis sucks) versing another. They have no coach pep talk at halftime, no strategic advice. They just have themselves and a racquet (or 20). If you ever watch a match with Lleyton Hewitt you can witness the strange mental effects of momentum swings, self doubt, missing a crucial point, or firing up when all looks lost. Then you watch Roger Federer or Rafael Nadal and you see the benefits of having an insurmountable self belief. They face the big moments with strength and poise and relish any chance to crush an opponents will. Sometime they will go toe to toe with the strengths of an opponent to mess with their heads just like a ju jitsu specialist standing and striking with a boxer.

Live: I also recently witnessed how much fun tennis can be to watch live. It is a different atmosphere to most sports I have ever seen. The way the crowd will remain silent during a point and then fire up once the point is won is strangely respectful. It also has that feel that most sports do when you see them in real life. TV seems to water down contact and speed in every sport and the speed and power of the shots in tennis are no different.

Whether it is straight sets win 6-0 6-0 6-0 or deuce 15 in the 10th game of the fifth set. You gotta love tennis.

- Eden

N.B. Since writing this both Nadal and Federer have lost and I probably won't watch the Australian Open final anymore...

What a weirdo

Being Australia Day and all I think we should celebrate this great country. We are blessed with the freedom of expression and the choice to do a lot of things in life that many other countries don’t permit. Sure you could say we are enslaved by the monetary system and fed propaganda from “free” media but I am just talking in the non conspiracy sense. We can choose religion, way of life, people, jobs, study, blog subject, etc and even if it isn’t perfect it is better than just about any other societal system to date.

But how come in this freedom I still feel like a complete weirdo so often. There are always situations where I am simply too scared or embarrassed to do non harmful activities. Examples:

The other day I was walking home from the station and I saw a busker playing a mean violin and I decided to give him the $2 in my pocket. But I didn’t want to just walk past and only enjoy his playing for 5 seconds so I stopped and watched him. It was interesting to see an instrument that I have never seen played well up close; more so because I have only recently started playing music myself. But I found myself feeling awkward and eventually blushing a little as everybody else walked past.  “What a weirdo!” They all said to me telepathically. They stared at me with snide, scoffing expressions, even though my back was turned and I couldn’t actually see any of them. After about 30 seconds it was too much for my fickle self esteem and I gave the guy the $2 and left saying, “That’s awesome,” with a thumbs up. I walked off thinking of a different life in which I stayed til he finished the song and then we spoke for a few minutes about cool stuff and I left enlightened and free.

Other situations where I have felt a similar cheek flushing sensation have included doing stretches at the station in the morning. In reality everyone should use this valuable spare time to warm up and limber up and loosen up - Everybody should up themselves. But instead we stand hunched and staring vacantly at the ground. I only do vague stretching where it could be debated that I am even doing anything, all out of the ordinary for fear of…for fear of what? Some person I have never before and may never again meet will think I am a weirdo.

Kids dancing around at a party like fucking idiots. Out of time and uncoordinated while I stand with the other adults smiling and rigid. Why don’t we express ourselves more after that fateful period in which we feel the burning glare of a crowd’s silent disapproval? Does it exist? Should it exist? Should it matter? I took a shit the other day in a public toilet and I stopped myself from making too loud a fart sound or too frequent a plopping sound because someone might hear it. They are in a toilet! Who gives a fuck if they hear it?! I take longer and shit with less efficiency because the steady flow is interrupted. I am in cubicle and can’t be seen…I mean why don’t I just let rip?

I’m going to go ahead and shoulder at least 50% of the blame in all these cases, but the other 50 goes to the people who conspire in their silent groups to stare at me and judge my every move, my every air drum or obscure T-shirt. But then again, aren’t I just as guilty? I will stare at a goth for as long I think I can without them looking back. At the bar I work at, once someone gets up and dances it is the first step towards being cut off for drinking too much alcohol.

In the end I guess I just need to stop giving a shit about other people. As long as I am not hurting them then I am sweet, but I should also make sure they aren’t hurting me. It’s my choice. Now off to the tennis.

- Eden

NB This was meantto be posted yesterday but I had technical issues. I will still try and make 7 blogs in seven days.

Indifference

I find myself at the moment in a strange position emotionally. From a young age I have journeyed through a natural shyness, older brothers that bullied me a little bit, a general fear of failing or appearing bad at something. All of this has lead me to be fairly averse to showing too much emotion. It could only take a super funny joke, or a day at the football get me to sway from the middle and express some joy.
On top of this I have spent the last few years learning practices such as meditation and yoga that have helped me quell any negativity and maintaining a positive attitude in most situations. This practice has also improved my expression of positive emotion a little bit but I still generally only emote through sarcasm, backhand compliments and faceless blogs.

I have been quite proud of this for most of my life. It gives me that centred calm that helps me stay rational and make important decisions under stress. It’s helping me become a man! But that centred calm could also be called an emotional vacancy and I am starting to crave a little more liberation with my true feelings. I think another contributing factor was missing out on sex for so long.

The only time I can really let loose is with alcohol but I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t let this be my only outlet. I don’t want to become dependant on any substance and alcohol fuelled nights rarely ended well.

So now I have to ask myself: Is it a benefit or a hindrance that I can be so unfazed by so many things. Sure it helps me take a risk or do a dare but it also encourages a caged soul. I guess it is important to consider the fact- ahh you know what, who cares…

Failing Health

I have always been quite proud of my health. I have long been working on the assumption that if I let my body heal itself then my immune system will just get stronger and stronger. This coupled with a healthy diet and regular exercise will keep me out of the nurse’s office. If I ever got mildly sick on those rare occasions I would refuse to take medicine or to break from routine. I would simply let my body deal with it and learn how to beat the disease. The final line of defence is a strong mind. Any sign of a cold would just be a morning cold. Past 12pm? Day cold. Three days in? Third day of a day cold.

But third day of a cold is really just a cold. In the last year things seemed to take a turn for the worst. I found myself getting sick much more than in recent years. I was more susceptible to the cold and my mind of steel was cracking much too easily.

I started to search for reasons. I shaved my head and therefore was not protected by my mop of curly hair.  It was an extra cold year. Irregular sleeping patterns. There were plenty of reasons that were out of my control. But really if I am going to accept those reasons then I am giving away half of my defences – My mind.

The other side of the argument is the things I can control. I stopped taking cold showers. I stopped going for regular runs. I stopped yoga. I stopped meditating. I pretty much just let my body live on the glory of its past and expected no different. If my body is a bit underdone then I can always rely on my mind. But it's off fighting its own losing battle and in the end I lose my mind-body confidence and get sick.

One thing I will still always stick to is not taking medicine (unless it's really serious). I know that this will cost me if I don’t step up my game but uh, yeah that’s about it.