A flashback...

On New Year’s Eve 1999 my blonde hair was streaked with blue and I was dripping. I was also somewhat anxious. I didn’t completely understand it, but I could pick up on the building anxiety of my parents and their friends as midnight beckoned ever closer. There was a hint of it behind their eyes when they smiled. It became harder to detect as empty wine bottles began to spring up all over the place, but it was still there. I wasn’t watching them all night, though. For most of the Eve I was busy trying to impress Amanda and Kelly by bagging/wrestling/competing with my younger brother Mark. It was fun and at the time it was all that really mattered to me. Next year I’d start school, become a teenager and get a Nintendo 64 – I knew these things, Y2K didn’t factor. Still, that night, for the first time in my life, I didn’t sleep.

We got to the Reed’s house at 6.30 for dinner. I probably ate some sausages and picked at my salad in a picky way. Mark probably did so in a lamer way. Kelly always made sure our drinks were refreshed. She was a really good host like that. In terms of monitoring our sugar intake on the other hand... Maybe not as good. Mark and I drank a fair amount of coke at the Reed’s place.

Upstairs the TV was always on. The four of us sat infront of it for a while, either playing car racing games or watching DVDs. We caught an erotic scene of an SBS movie late one night which was incredibly awkward. Mark probably didn’t get it though. The box helped pass the time somewhat, it must’ve been about 10.30 by the time we’d become sick of it (for the second time). We tried our hand at pool – Mark and Amanda v Kelly and I – but I don’t think we finished the game. Probably fluked three balls in over half an hour.

A tall person approached with blue hairspray so we grabbed towels and raced outside. Moments later I was looking at myself in a reflective window, thinking that blue really was more becoming on me than it was on Mark. Next we jumped in the spa. We played a game where one person hid two small discs somewhere in the spa and the person who didn’t find one lost. That person had to grab a nearby saucepan and wooden spoon (I’m not sure why they were nearby) and bang the two together as they walked a lap around the decking proclaiming that they were a loser.

We jumped out of the spa as adults approached with sparklers and party poppers.

FIVE! (Gee it’s cold...)

FOUR! (Hey Mark’s making a cool pattern with his sparkler. I should do a better one...)

THREE! (Dad looks really drunk...)

TWO! (I wonder if a plane will fall on us?)

ONE! (Is Amanda looking at me? Ooh, she is! Better smile)

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

A couple of party poppers hesitantly popped and everyone paused. Nothing. Then: clonk! clonk! clonk! “Daaaaale’s a loserrrr, he smells baaaad”. Mark had gotten the saucepan and wooden spoon and was marching about like a drummer boy. And he was outplaying me. Touche Mark, touche, I probably thought. Amongst other things.

Eventually everyone got tired and found places to sleep. I’m not sure why I didn’t. I could put it down to deep contemplation about what might have happened, or I could put it down to drinking too much coke. Either way, I thought a lot that night. A lot of it was “this sucks, why am I not sleeping?”, but that wasn’t all. I think it was the first time that I took stock of where my life was at.

I’m glad it happened after the activity and general fun-ness of the night though. Kids that age shouldn’t have to think like that, they’d miss out on too much if they did.

Anyway, that was the night of December 31, 1999. When the world waited with baited breath and I was a kid with blue hair.

On January 1, 2000, I did a fair bit of sleeping.

Dale.

The Troupe

I’m trying to remember my dreams (see two posts ago) for my scriptwriting subject at uni. Well, I haven’t been writing them down but one has stuck with me for its sheer oddness. You know how that happens every now and then? You get that one dream that makes you go “huh?” and consider the possibility that your subconscious could somehow be experimenting with recreational drugs? I had one of those.

In my mind’s eye (sidenote – why do minds only have one eye? Why can’t they have two like us? What if the circumstances arose that they would require depth perception? Our minds would be screwed!) I’m walking down a downward sloping alley in a metropolitan area with a group of about twelve to fifteen people. These people are a mish-mash of people from school and a handful of friends. I’m not sure what we’re doing in the city or where we’re headed, but for whatever reason everyone seems enthusiastic and energetic. I can’t rule out that there wasn’t high five-ing and that playful kind of gentle shoving. It all seemed very slow motion and music video-ish (with no music).

I’m at the head of the group as we approach the end of the alley of friendly pushing when something catches my eye and I get an idea. What I see is a big empty room that would normally be closed off by a really wide roller door. The room is bare but for what looks like a row of changing room stalls along the back wall. The heights of each door vary, but dream Dale doesn’t notice that. He’s too busy enjoying slinking into the room, kind of dancing his way towards one of the stalls. The others watch for a second before cottoning on to his fantastic idea and dancing their way into the room too. Before long each of the stalls contain people flailing their arms around, jumping up and down, making dancing facial expressions and having the times of their lives. There are a throng of people, who couldn’t fit in the now crowded stalls, dancing in front of them too. By this stage music has mysteriously filled the air, as if brought on by the impromptu dancing.

That continued for a while before eventually the music died out and people started to make their way out of the strange room. High five-ing and chest bumping etc definitely happened as everyone was exiting, and I turned to the nearest group of people with a sudden revelation:

“We can be called the Parma Dancers!”

It made sense to those people, but I’m now stupefied about where it came from. I don’t think we in any way were dancing like parmigianas or in tribute to them. Because how and why would you do that? I’m pretty sure it’s not possible (but I would love for someone to prove otherwise!).

Anyway, that was my dream. Any psychoanalysts feel free to go to town on it. :)

Dale.