Olivia, Viola, Malvolio. Oh my!

Lots of people have an opinion on Shakespeare. Mostly what they think is fairly non-complimentary (unlike bar nuts. They're complimentary), lots of "I never like all that Shakespeare mumbo-jumbo" or the irony of "it's all Greek to me." And then there are those who think that all we should teach the kiddies is Shakespeare because it is a 'classic' and therefore worthy of the classroom. (Thank you Miranda Divine. I kinda hate you too, just so you know.)

Teaching The Bard is challenging, and interesting, and difficult, and fun. Getting a bunch of Year 9 kids to read a scene from R&J and go "ah, I get it!" is joyous. Having the ratbags of Year 10 perform a scene from Macbeth in original language, but the context of surfer gangs a la Bra Boys is elating. Having Year 8 guys say "Miss, that sounds dirty" about Kat and Petruccio's Sting conversation, and assuring them that indeed they are interpreting it correctly - in the dirtiest way possible. (Funny thing is, the new Child Protection Policy, Keep Them Safe explicitly states we are not supposed to speak to students using double entendres or sexual innuendo. How is it POSSIBLE to teach Shakespeare without these, my favourite features of the English language?)

Every English Teacher and Shakespeare fan has a different favourite. Some like the tragedies, with the blood and guts and gore and raped women with no hands and no tongue. Some like the comedies that aren't funny at all, they're just called comedies because not everyone is dead at the end. One my colleagues likes Henry V  for the epic speeches. Another likes R&J for the epic love story.

And my favourite is Twelfth Night.

It has all the usual golden moments of mistaken identity and twisted genders, disguises and deceptions, suspension of disbelief as small crowds stand directly behind someone, unseen and unheard. Shafts of double entendres (can we make 'shafts' the official collective noun for double entendres? any other suggestions?). A slightly unrealistic storyline, based on shipwrecks and true love. And a subplot about punishing the puritanic do-gooder for being a party pooper.

One of the drawbacks about living in West Bubblefuck, as I have bemoaned before, is the general wasteland of culture that we have. Our cinema is almost strictly a diet of blockbusters and romcoms. Previous to this year, the theatre scene has really only consisted of the local musical and dramatic societies murdering the scripts of modern classics. But since the opening of our very own theatre, the wasteland is beginning to look a little more colourful.

And one of the blooming cactus flowers was the touring production this, my favourite Shakers play, done by none other than Bell, Australia's most fabulous Shakespeare company. I saw the show last night, and LOVED it.

Bell always does wonderous things with context and modernisation. Created as a play, within a play, it is set within the context of Black Saturday. They have incorporated modern songs, sung a Capella or accompanied by acoustic guitar. Performed around an enormous pyramid of donated clothing, in which they find all the required props and costumes to create the story, and distract them from the devastation and loss and grief that has burnt through their lives.

As usual, they have imaginative dramatic devices to get around doubling-up actors (little bit of mime, little bit of half-worn costume... and a bell) and quick escapes by helicopter (tiny little model on a fly, dressed in miniature costume). The greatest uses of boxes since my brother and I made our baby brother a bat cave for Christmas out of a fridge box, used as disguises, as armour, as a gaol...

With a star turn from the very delightful and hysterical Ben Wood (last scene camping it up as a butch Emcee in NUTS production of Cabaret... OK, he has done other stuff since, but that was the last time I saw him on stage), I was privileged to have seen this production. If it comes near you (and it is pretty much going EVERYWHERE), you should go see for sure!

NB/ How can this be the FIRST post I have made about theatre? When I have been such an addict to the stage for such a long time? Evidence of the cultural wasteland, I suppose...

Supercoach Strikes!

Previously on TMM, I have proclaimed my desire for coaching success. Living up to the self-given moniker of Supercoach has been somewhat eluding me this year. Despite a tea,mlist that on  paper looks tighter and more skilled than last year, the Mighty U14s were not really living up to their name either.

The West Bubblefuck Soccer Fraternity have also been conspiring against me, penalising me three points for fielding an unregistered player. Named Connor McKillop. Who the hell is Connor McKillop, you may ask...? As do I. I have never met nor heard of anyone of this name. Let alone written his name on my team card. And I said as much to the President of the West Bubblefuck Soccer Association, in an email. Funny thing when the Pres is running for election as a local member, seems very willing to be of prompt assistance in such matters. And three points were reinstated. Victory tasted pretty sweet.

And then today...

There is a fair amount of daylight between us and first place. And not a a whole lot of room behind us to third. So playing #1 today was going to be a pretty big deal.

The Supercoach pre-game speech was about confidence. About not worrying about what we DON'T have today. A striker away at City To Surf. A star midfielder not shown up at all - only to turn up three minutes before kick off with a raging case of tonsillitis. A sweeper wearing borrowed boots because he left them on the bench at home (honestly, who does that??!?). But rather, thinking about what we DO have. Good teamwork, high skill and pace. Rep quality players. Last time we played top of the table, we choked. Sure, we didn't lose (score 1-1) but the boys (and girls) in maroon had only 9 players on the park. I reminded the M.U14s that we play best when we think we can win.

The first 25 minutes, they played with mighty effort. They moved the ball around, they called, they passed, they peppered the goal. But in the last 5 minutes, they began to think that their efforts were wasted. They stood flat on their heels, waited too long to receive passes, too many touches before getting the ball away. It was infuriating to see.

Half time was a blessed relief, as the Nemesis Team began their counter attack. My Supercoach sidekick took the reins in the half-time speech. All about increasing the energy in the centres, and lifting the midfield. I spoke about intensity and energy and hunger. The boys had some more specific things to say about using some more physicality in the tackles and setting up through balls.

My boys in green and gold started the second half valiantly. Weight in their toes, lots of communication. Great passing, good trust.

And a very tidy little goal about midway through the second half.

They didn't suffer their usual over-confident counter-attack after their goal this week. They kept tight, kept together, kept the intensity. One striker rolled his ankle right in front of their goal. My sweeper got his calf kicked, right behind his enormous shin pads.

But my rookie defensive midfielder made his very first non-foul free throw. And my never-played-a-team-sport-before everywhere man put some beautiful passes through, with some accuracy and power. The superskilled trusted the kids with less experience. They talked and ran and dived and tackled and the keeper did some beautiful saves.

I came home a Supercoach. I have had this warm feeling in my belly, that only beating the top of the table can give.

And is if by some divine intervention by the deities of Disney, or some fantastical coincidence, D2: Mighty Ducks is on Channel 7 this afternoon. Coach Gordon Bombay, such an inspiration!

What Whedon did next

Joss Whedon can't seem to get a break. He is a master auteur of the television medium, especially in cult dramas with a comic twist. Buffy was a televisual masterpiece. A perfect example of a kick-arse female protagonist, who is successfully juggling identity, puberty, relationships and the responsibility of being a superhero. Fight scenes, monster make-up, morality tales of sex-before marriage, with some killer one liners and brilliant concept episodes. Like "Hush", which had hardly any dialogue in it at all. And "Once More With Feeling", the musical episode. Now while I don't really understand how US television networks operate, this show was dumped by one network and picked up by another. It ran 7 seasons in total, and pretty much finished up when star Sarah Michelle Gellar didn't sign up for an 8th season.

Angel is the darker, ever-so-slightly inferior spin off. I never thought it had the same depth as Buffy but it was pretty addictive television nevertheless. It was cancelled by the network at the end of the 5th season despite high ratings, allegedly because Joss pushed the execs for a renewal, and they canned the show instead.

Firefly was a hybrid sci-fi western with witty dialogue and characters to fall in love with. It was so popular in DVDs and less-than-legal downloads that the feature film Serenity was released in cinemas. Despite Whedon's plans for the show to run for 7 years, the network cancelled the show about mid-way through the first season.

And next? Dollhouse. Starring Eliza Dushku, the premise of this show sounds a little naff. It is based around a corporation that hires out humans to the uber-rich at highly inflated prices for whatever the client desires. The bodies are filled with the memories and skills from the library of minds. And while I am a hardcore Whedon fan, I found it a little tricky to emerse myself into this one early on, I was eventually won over. I think the reason I had difficulty is because the characters don't ever have the same personality from episode to episode, except in flashbacks. I mustn't have been the only one that thought that, because as Season 1 went on, the characteristics of the protagonists began to shine through.

Central to Dollhouse, as with the other 3 shows, are the ideas of mind control and the ultimate power of corporations, and of feminism and feminine strength. The presence of Big Brother (1984 George Orwell style, not reality television social experiment style) is constant and sinister.

Unfortunately, during its 2nd season in the States, this show has been canned too.

Food memories

I don't usually blog about food. I leave that to the truly culinary gifted, such as Eat-Tori (second plug of the day...) while I usually harp on about what I have seen or read or heard or had a minor meltdown about. But here goes...

Sometimes the blogs on SMH incite another little piece of naval gazing. This one here hints a little bit at MasterChef. Food memories, cooking from the heart. Cue the tears from the emotionally strung out reality contentstants. You will see no mention of the word "journey" in this blogpost...

Anyway, Julie Dupliex reckons that someone can tell a great deal about a person from their 10 most important dishes from their life.

So in no particular order, here is my food history.

1. Lasagne - Robust and rustic, thick rich meaty sauce, creamy bechamel (or the lighter version, ricotta cheese). Golden melty cheese on top. In the Levy tribe, there is always mushrooms in the mix, and sometimes layers of thick green spinach between the blankets of pasta. Mmmmhhh.

Always my favourite, ever since I was a kid. Always the dish I booked in for birthdays. My coming home meal when I was at uni. The best thing to do with left over bolognese sauce is to shove it in between some sheets of pasta and bake it off some more.

2. Carrot Cake - My mother makes The Best Carrot Cake In The Universe. Dense and most and fruity. Smothered in lemony cream cheese icing, and topped with whole pecans. At my 21st birthday, (the kind of occasion where there is usually more of a focus on booze than cake - it isn't unheard of for three quarters of a cake to be flyblown and dried out when all and sundry awake, dry mouthed and bleary eyed the next morning) one particular friend of mine came up to me, with infectious glee in her face and voice, exclaiming "This is my fourth piece of cake!!!"

At my recent 30th celebrations, there were 2 cakes. On the eve of the party, Mum made a big cake for those peeps that were already there at the coast house - there was about a dozen of us. We cracked open the bottle of port given to my parents when I was born to be drunk at my 21st but of course, we were all a bit distracted by being maggoty at that party to drink aged port. (There was another bottle, but my godfather chose to drink that when he was housesitting once. Thanks dude.) Turns out Mum's carrot cake goes great guns with 35 year old port.

3. Malai Kofta - Otherwise known as Dog Turds. Us Levys, once again showing how classy we are. The Indian takeaway on the other side of the headland served some truly delicious curries. And curry is another specialty of my mother's - at my 21st (it was a truly great party - hence the stories) she cooked an enormous spread of curries. Because we had a Cowboys & Indians party. Indian... geddit?

Anyway, this takeaway joint was a Friday night special. And knowing how fried I feel on a Friday after a week at the Boy Factory I can understand why my parents went to Take Away Friday nights, what with them both being teachers too.

This place (and no, I can't even remember its name) did a mean mango chicken, and a killer vindaloo. But the highlight was always the Malai Kofta. Potato and almond dumplings in a pale sauce. It was always the first dish to be finished, the one where the last dumpling was divided meticulously with a micrometer screwgauge. Sometimes when I go for Indian, I will order it, even if it is not on the menu. And most times they are very accommodating, surprised at the whitey with the knowledge of this subcontinental delight. But none of them ever quite live up to the Friday night ones from Newport.

4. BSR - Not that this particular dish is a favourite. In fact, I could hardly say that I liked it very much at all. But for 2 year (98-99) as a resident and then another (07) as a tutor, I lived in Baxter College. And almost every night I was served Brown Shit & Rice. It would have a different label each night - beef & black bean, chicken casserole, pork stirfry. But the same MSGy taste, overcooked vegetable matter and a brown gravy, with chewy meat. I'm really selling it, right?

5. Chicken Pad Thai - Living in the eastern suburbs of The Big Smoke means that I was spoilt for choice when it came to Thai restaurants. The Tums Thai pad thai is pretty close to take-away perfection. In a small concretey little joint, with about a million Thai people behind the counter, churning out dozens of perfect meals every half hour. They only have about 10 tables, with uncomfortable plastic or metal chairs, designed to have you not seated for very long, so you don't take up too much time.

Their pad thai is sweet, but not too sweet. None of that revolting, mysterious 'red' sauce that other places have. Their tofu is so good that even hard core carnivores would climb over a T-Bone to have some of these deep fried squishy chunks of joy. I have never been to Thailand, but I have been told that this noodle dish tops the stuff you get on the streets of Bankok.

6. Marinated drumsticks, fried rice and baked sweet potato - Not exactly a conventional combo, but with the salty of the bacony rice, the garlicy, mustardy, chilli-y soft flesh of the drumsticks and the candied crunch of the kumera. My boyf-at-the-time used to cook this in our sharehouse in my early 20s. I think I have improved on his recipe (in my opinion, which of course is all that matters), and it was a fantastically cheap hangover lunch in my share house in London. Made me very popular with the housemates, in front of hours of surfing music video channels.

7. Omelette wraps - In the days of Working For Da Man (because a family owned small advertising company is pretty much the closest I got to Corporate Whoring), there was a little cafe across the road that served Campos coffee, and broke up the morning commute with the best brekky wrap I've ever had. Feather light omelette, chunks of chevre, fresh spinach and a sprinkle of mint leaves, then squished to crunchy perfection in the sandwich press. Entirely addictive.

And now that I am no longer in the Big Smoke, I have to make my own brekky wraps. And I think I have just about perfected it. It is essential NOT to forget the mint leaves. They tend to counter the salty cheese, and that sticky dryness that can sometimes be left behind by spinach. I like to call them Socceroo Wraps - they got me through the early mornings of this year's World Cup. Plus, they have that whole Green & Gold thing going.

8. Apple & Raspberry Macadamia Crumble - The Urban Family is a beautiful thing. Family dinners at The Palace Street Palace were rare, but always enjoyable. Each of us took a course, making for quite a feast of fairly disjointed dishes. An Asiany smoked salmon salad. A vegie pasta dish. And my crumble. I found a similar recipe on the AIS website, which is all healthy dishes for sporty types. So of course, my version has a wee bit more sugar, a smidge more butter and sweeter, redder berries. I don't tend to like crumbles that are too floury or cakey - and this one is oatey and nutty instead. This dish has been a hit with the Urban Family, with the Flesh & Blood family, with the A Team and new found friends on other other side of the world.

9. Chocolate Brownies - There wouldn't be a Summative Identity List Of Food for me with no mention of chocolate at all. These puppies were served at an inner-west housewarming, based almost on a Marie Claire recipe. After much begging, the devine hostess emailed me the recipe and I need to try hard not to bake them every week. So so buttery. So so rich and tasty. And again with the Macadamia motif.

As a part of The Carrot & The Stick motivation plan with my HSC classes, I have been known to bring in brownies as motivation (read: bribery). Usually I just use a WhiteWings packet mix, takes 3 minutes to stir and only costs a few bucks. But one week I went all out and made the premium quality, from scratch brownies. And they said they liked the cheap ones better. Part of me was a little miffed. Part of me thought 'Sweet, that is easier'

10. Danne's Supreme Pizza - I like homemade pizza better than shop bought. Don't get me wrong, Dominos does some tasty stuff with cheese and dough. The independents do even better with antipasto on woodfired bread. But so long as I can be arsed (or I get some lovely person/parent to do the sous cheffing chopping for me) to do the chopping for me, home mades are the shit. I like mine on thin & crispy base (and Bazaar does one perfectly thin & crispy enough for me), and they have a combo of salty bacon, squishy vegies (capsicum, zucchini), olives and cheese. The heroes are the sweet potato (there it is again) and goat's cheese (and another recurring star!). But the secret ingredient is the drizzle sauce  - herbs, chilli and garlic marinated in olive oil, and drizzled around the top of the pizza right before cooking. Aww yeah.

So that is the history of me in food. I didn't include bevareges of great importance. That is another list for another day. Have you got a food history for the sharing?

Opining on Opining.

Everyone blogs for a different reason. A very wise friend told me that, and she blogs about food. I tend to blog as a vent for the opinions that I can't seem to restrain, whether the world wants them or not. One of my star Year 12 boys said to me recently, "Miss, do you have an opinion about EVERYTHING? Maybe we need to get you a notebook so you can write it. Or maybe you need one of these blog thingys."

Thanks boys. Maybe I'll do that...

You got to know when to hold 'em... Or "On Happiness"

Caution: This post is bound to contain a shedload of mixed metaphors. I haven't even written them yet, but I just know they are floating under the surface. See? There is one already. How can a metaphoric shedload of metaphors, float metaphorically under the non-specified metaphoric surface.

Yes, get on with it!

Sometimes life is tops and awesome. There is love, there is time for playing, there is boozy nights and movies and finding joy in your work and getting full rested nights of sleep. Usually in those snapshot moments, it is difficult to pinpoint, difficult to state explicitly "Right now, right at this moment in time, I am Happy."

Those Perfect Moments (tm) are always easier to pinpoint retrospectively. And in 20-20 hindsight it is so easy to see how grounded you once were. How tethered you felt to your own existence, to your own destiny. How in those moments, the future, the present and the past seem so crystalised, so enlightened, so clear.

Usually the tail of those Perfect Moments (tm) is something totally out of your own control. Increased workload. Bad weather. The potential love of your life telling you that his hopes and dreams are diametrically opposed to your own.

I have always thought that ultimate happiness and fulfilment was a gamble. You need to risk something of yourself in order to gain fully. You need to put yourself out there to love and be loved in order to truly reap the rewards. At some point, you have to put all your chips into the middle of the table, put all your money on the cards you have in your hand. But unlike in gambling, where there is only one winner, I have always seen the potential for an everyone-wins kind of hand. Like both players have a royal flush in hearts.

And I know that goes against the rules of poker. I know that in the card game, there is only one winner. And the danger is that if you push all your chips out there, that your opposition will take all your brighly coloured chips, and your Rolex, and the deeds to your house, and your life savings, as well as your dignity, self-respect and potential to love again, and he will bound giddily away never to be seen from again.

Herein lies the gamble, the risk.

But imagine if your opponent didn't do that. Imagine he (and I use that gendered pronoun loosely, feel free to sub in the gender of your own choosing) also pushed in his chips, his life-savings, his emotional guard, his fears and prejudices and previous heartbreaks. And you both laid your cards on the table, to reveal matching, incedibly high scoring yet even hands.

And you all lived happily ever after.

That might happen one day, right? I guess I am kind of looking for a little reassurance that the crazy Viking cloud ship, with the puffin on the prow, is floating towards some kind of direction. Or at least has a tether somewhere to the ground so that it might not float on forever and ever without stopping. And I am hoping the universe might get back to me on that some time soon.

... An Indulgence anyway

I said, "Winter peddys. It's a bit of an indulgence, really"

The Hungry One thought I said "Paddy the Ninja is a bit of an indulgence."

I thought he said "Patting the ninja is a big of an indulgence.

All are now held to be universal truths.