#76 - Go On A Date

Everyone makes mistakes for which they should not be judged and in a haze of optimism I agreed to go to a singles night back in June at the Regatta Hotel, Toowong.  It was pitched at the 25-45 year old age bracket.  The 40-45s were over represented, some folks were clearly in their late fifties and there was a smattering of thirty-somethings.  When I say smattering I mean my two gal pals and I and two other chaps.  

The two chaps who befriended us seemed innocuous, nice enough and kept our company for the 2nd half of the evening.  It literally was the second half because some of the singles had moved to the room next door where a significant rugby match was being televised.  Personally football is not a passion of mine but compared to the singles event let's just say that I was cheering on someone's team, yelling at the mesmerising plasma screen.  One of our newest friends, let's call him Charles appeared to take a little bit of a shine to me.  Towards the end of the evening he requested my company on a forthcoming occasion, his work party in a couple weeks time.  Considering his polite demeanour and gentlemanliness I accepted the invitation and we exchanged phone numbers.

Over the course of the evening it turns out that my gal pal works at the same company as Charles.  And the workplace in question?  Coca-Cola Amatil.


Fast forward to August 13, I arrive at the venue, the Brisbane Exhibition and Convention Centre in suitably prescribed after five attire.  The ladies were dressed to kill and some of the fellas went to the trouble of suit and tie.  Pre-dinner drinks were served - all Coca-Cola products of course - and after the necessary preamble we made our way into the Great Hall, greeted by red carpet!  


The tables were set with all the trimmings to be expected from a multi-million dollar world dominating company.  Two massive screens were suspended from the ceiling broadcasting Coca-Cola tv advertisements from the 1960s and 70s through to the naughties.  I'm ashamed to admit that I remembered quite a few of them.  Every person had a silver Coca-Cola yo-yo gifted to them in a little black box, commemorating 125 years of Coca-Cola beverage market supremacy.

There were awards given out on the night for folks who had completed a significant amount of years at the company.  Among them, there were employeess who had dedicated 15, 20, 25, 30 years and, astoundingly one chap who started working for Coca-Cola in 1971.  Forty years of continuous service.   Imagine!

Proceeding the awards we were served a delicious but not over-the-top 3 course meal and for the first time in literally a number of years I had a Coke!  It seems marketing actually works.  

Now for some daggy bits.  There was an entertainer who was yo-yo mad.  He knew all the yo-yo tricks, in fact too many.  And to think he would actually spend a significant amount of time practising them with all the different types and sizes of yo-yos that he had on stage with him on this particular evening.  There was even a yo-yo competition between about ten or so Coke employees who were summonsed on to stage and televised on the massive screens in the Great Hall.  Meanwhile, my date Charles entertained me with not one but two 3 minute videos on his phone of an SES helicopter which had landed on the tarmac at his workplace.  It was difficult to pick which of the giant yo-yo and the helicopter was worthy of my attention, so I stole a brand name bottle opener instead, slipping it into my handbag.  It was my way of rebelling.

Dinner was over and it was time for ripping up the dance floor.  

Not my date, but damn he should have been

I spent most of the rest of the evening getting my groove on and snacking on dessert and chocolates in between songs.  The cover band was great, at least as great as cover bands can be.  They really were true professionals.


Out of respect for Charles, I won't say how the date panned out but suffice to say I haven't been in contact and I declined his request for further dates.   However I had a good time at the party and spent some time getting to know my date both on the night and in between our first and last meeting, on 3 or 4 outings.  There was nothing, literally to base a potential friendship or relationship on with Charles.  Having said that I am grateful for having met him and given the opportunity to spend a small amount of time getting to know him.  He is not the one for me so for now I have released him back in the wild so he can meet his perfect match.

#34 - Buy a Pair of Crocs

For years they were the subject of my ridicule... and they will continue to be for they truly are a remarkably U N A T T R A C T I V E  shoe.  However I had to find out what all the fuss was about and I can state with absolute certainty that Crocs offer unforeseen comfort.  For $50 a pair they'd want to offer something.  Given they are irrefutably repulsive they also offer one of the greatest known contraceptives to humankind.   Aint nobody gettin' lucky wearing a pair of these!

Crocs are a little bit like a car crash.  You know you shouldn't look, partially out of respect for the victim and partially because the moment you do look you know that you will be horrified by the abhorrent scene.  


Stepping inside the Crocs store in the Queen Street Mall, Brisbane I was jolted by the range of styles, which you can view at the Crocs website.  Alongside the original Crocs, which I promptly ignored, were sparkly slip ons, high heels, faux deck shoes, shoes in animal print with bright colours and sensible designs.  

I ran my eyes over some of the Crocs and even tried on a few, sans inspiration.  After a short while I rested my eyes on a cheeky pair of red sailor shoes for near on $60.  Sixty dollar for plastic shoes?!  I had plastic shoes in the 80s as a kid, they were all the rage and they weren't $60.  More like $6 and from K-Mart to boot!  I slipped them on and walked around a little in the store.  They were indubitably agreeable and a happy halo encompassed my feet.  However, hesitation ensued momentarily.  Did I really want to offload such an expense for a pair of plastic shoes??? 


After pausing, reconsidering and recalculating I convinced myself to proceed nonetheless to finalise my purchase.  The checkout was busy with tourists so I entertained myself by glimpsing around at the surroundings and there on display on the Sale! stand were these little beauties.

Allow me to recapitulate my cohorts, these Crocs are off the hook when it comes to comfort,  versatility and convenience.  A casual little pair of rubicund ballet flats, they are suitable for work (casual Fridays) and play, jeans and skirts.  And for a paltry $30 I am more than happy with my frugal bargain spotting.

I love the reactions from my friends to whom I have announced "I bought some Crocs".  Typically the response has been a loathesome "urgh God, you didn't did you?"  But when I reply "yep!" and shove my foot in their field of view the reaction changes from disgust to curious animated delight.  It seems most of us are oblivious to the full range of Crocs footwear, understandably so.  They haven't exactly promoted themselves as fashionistas in the field of haughty hoofers.

Suitably chuffed with the purchase they are now a favourite of mine.  I believe I have unravelled the mystery of why so many had to rush out and buy the most hideous looking shoes at the height of their popularity. The comfort sought in a shoe is available in Crocs footwear, however don't wear them to impress for you will be disappointed...

#93 - Visit The Big Pineapple and #94 - Visit Ettamogah Pub

Global Financial Crisis or GFC as a substitute or weakened version of calling the current 'economic tough times' a recession is as effective as calling a spade a shovel.  We all know it's a spade, why don't we just call it a spade?  And what's with the pack of cards reference?  When the Global Financial Crisis is finally over, and the pendulum swings again in favour of economic not-so-tough times are we going to refer to the state of the economy as hearts?  Diamonds?  No.  More likely we'll just say it's ace, and rightly so.  Not so ace is the closure of the Sunshine Plantation aka The Big Pineapple on Queensland's Sunshine Coast.  It went into receivership in 2009, however enjoyed many years of success as a tourist attraction after it was opened in August 1971. 

I don't recall the first time I went there, as a youngster with my family.  I was too young, naive and inexperienced to appreciate the kitsch candour of Pineapple: Big.  As an adult I was looking forward to pinapple this and that.  Pineapple pencils, pineapple stickers, pineapple coffee, pineapple post-its, other pineappley tacky tourist tidbits and of course pineapple lumps.  Not to be.  Oh well.  Just one thing though, why is the Big Pineapple website still up and running??  It's false advertising man and now that I know about it, I want to ride on the Nutmobile!!!  The website also boasts of leisure wear.  Does that mean pineapple yellow velour tracksuits in anyone else's book?? 

Next stop on this road trip was Ettamogah Pub.  It really should change its name to Ettabogan Pub.  Check out their car park:

There was beer guts and goatees everywhere!... and that was just the women.  This place was swarming with wall to wall bogans of every description and yes, there are bogan sub-cultures within bogan sub-cultures.  These were your Car Enthusiast Bogans.  Also present, Biker Bogans.  I dare not photograph them though.  Not unless I was willing to get my norks out.  They probably haven't seen fully clothed women in a long time, what between the topless bars and the wet t-shirt competitions.  I'm sure that if I requested a photo the response would have resulted in polite gentry tete-a-tete, such as "sure luv, just show us yer tits", which is bogan for "sure luv, just show us yer tits".  Bogans are known for calling a spade a fu*ckin' spade, unlike ill-named Global Fried Chicken in the example above.


With beer in hand we're on the verandah upstairs when the car club collectively decided to call it quits and revved up their engines. A number of clientele peered curiously over the verandah at the ruckus below.  I entertained myself with the decor de la bogue.  The sign on the ladies - sorry, I should say 'sheilas' -  proudly displayed its extensive vocabulary with half a dozen names for 'toilet' including but not limited to: thunderbox and dunny.  Classy.


Why must we resort to the cringe-worthy stereotypes of Australians like the blue singlet wearing, beer-guzzling larrikin type for a laugh when Australians are, by definition so much more diverse?  Ocker culture, thankfully appears to be fading, lost in the blend of more interesting, substantial cultures, replaced with a broader sense of 'Australian'.  Naturally, our 'Australian-ness' has earned us a reputation on the world stage and is one of the reasons why visitors have selected Australia as a preferred destination both temporarily and permanently.  The Ettamogah pub embodies its fair share of Australia that international visitors come to see and the novelty hasn't worn off.  Yet.   

I'm left wondering if the tourist icon, once basking in its splendour will suffer the same fate as the Big Pineapple as the world grows weary of crocodiles, koalas and cans of Fosters.