i am my own wife

By chance of timing I acquired 2 tickets to see 'I am my own wife' at the Drama Theatre of the Opera House. Not so much a play or a monologue, the show is performed by Jefferson Mays who uses the slightest intake of breath or change of posture to transform from one of his 30 characters to another, giving each the opportunity to tell their story.

The stories they tell are of the real-life main character, Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, an 80 year old transvestite whose colourful life was quietly lived ~ to the public, at least ~ in Eastern Germany through WWII and into the start of this new millenuim. The uncovering of her story was like discovering a perfectly kept piece of antique furniture hidden in the back corner of a cluttered tinker's shop and with it the letters of it's previous owner, written over half a century ago ~ telling of war, gaol, opression, underground parties, corruption, and discos.

She wears a simple outfit of black head-scarf, black dress and stockings, and clumpy orthopedic shoes ~ also black ~ and a string of white pearls. This is, therefore the costume of each character, save one other costume during the performance. In the performance, during a description of this outfit, it becomes a character in it's own right, but then only shows itself to the audience when being used by it's owner as she reaches absent-mindedly to her chest where the pearls fall. On all of the other characters their own manarisms and personalities overpower the visual sensation of the costume. It wasn't something I even thought of at the time, but is so fantastic to me that a barking German soldier, or threatening Neo Nazi was able to get away with wearing such an outfit. Is there something more philisophical in this? A rose by any other name? A man in any other frock ... ?

One great line that stands out for me was when Charlotte is introducing the basement of her museum to the jounalist ~ and writer of the show ~ Doug Wright. It was here she had held parties for her friends, artists and celebrities during the Cold War. She is explaining the mechanisms of the Eddison machine and the saphire-tipped needle which gives the clear sounds, when she walks over to the wooden table in the middle of the room. "If I could put this needle to the table, what stories it could tell."

I wish I knew the actual line, but I'll paraphrase for lack of memory.

elephant

We walked the beautiful procession between Tamarrama and Bondi Beach for last year's sculpture by the sea. We left it until the last weekend so we missed most of the Newtown Festival in favour of some fresh air, a little exercise and art. It was a great day. I think we'll try to plan ahead this year though, to avoid the crowds.

no tooth fairy

Am feeling fine now after having an eventful day at the dentist yesterday. In the morning I went and had a root-canal treatment on my lower left 5 ?? then had to return in the afternoon for an extraction of lower left 7! I wasn't sure if they were going to take the wisdom tooth out next to it as well, but they decided against that, and now I'm really keen for the wisdom to come up in place of the huge hole in my gum. My jaw is still a bit sore when I move it ~ particularly side-ways, or if I yawn or smile ~ because he really put a lot of pressure on my jaw getting that molar out. Otherwise I was just feeling quite shaky and exhausted after the operation, I think due to the adrenalin that was injected into my jaw during the anesthesis process. Should be fine after another good sleep.