Shriya NevatiaRemembering the community bus trip to the gallery
October 29th 2006 10:47
Yesterday I went on the community bus to the city. I sat next to Doris who poked me with her knitting needles and asked a lot of penetrating questions about my life, I found it quite aggravating.
Marion told me a story about how her father used to keep deer’s legs in the fridge so that he could stamp their feet in ink and recreate the way they move.
After the president of the Historical Society parked the bus, we looked at all the costumes in the Arts Centre, including Melba’s dress and Kylie’s sequence brassieres which was fantastic. The couples went off by themselves while the rest of us singles formed a herd and walked around together.
I’m not used to viewing art with other people and having to deal with their opinions, I’m used to being alone with my thoughts, which is like being part of The Borg, which is like being connected to local government email system with all the little voices telling you what to think.
The herd had fish and chips for lunch, even Lady Petticoat because she’s such a sport. Actually Lady Petticoat sat in the sun with the others and ate her fish and chips while I had chips only, grazing by myself in the shade because I’m paranoid about the sun. They all regarded me contemplatively because I was being a Strange Emily.
Later on Lady Petticoat fell over and wanged her head on a concrete wall, which gave me the horrors. It only took her a minute to get up and go striding ahead. She’s such an excellent member of the community and one of the most composed people I have ever met.
I was looking at a photograph in the gallery of a man clinging with joy to the roof of a speeding car and a man came over and stood behind me, breathing heavily on my neck like some great ambitious stag. I chose to ignore him and he eventually moved on. The gallery was exactly like the Serengeti Plain; we were all tracking each other, walking in each others prints, trying to understand some unknowable natural pattern. I was looking at the image of the Australian family having a picnic and eating out of a box marked Pal dog food when we had to get back on the bus.
I sat up the back with Marion’s friend from Queensland; neither of us spoke, except when she unexpectedly yelled out, Carn the Lions!
Marion told me a story about how her father used to keep deer’s legs in the fridge so that he could stamp their feet in ink and recreate the way they move.
After the president of the Historical Society parked the bus, we looked at all the costumes in the Arts Centre, including Melba’s dress and Kylie’s sequence brassieres which was fantastic. The couples went off by themselves while the rest of us singles formed a herd and walked around together.
I’m not used to viewing art with other people and having to deal with their opinions, I’m used to being alone with my thoughts, which is like being part of The Borg, which is like being connected to local government email system with all the little voices telling you what to think.
The herd had fish and chips for lunch, even Lady Petticoat because she’s such a sport. Actually Lady Petticoat sat in the sun with the others and ate her fish and chips while I had chips only, grazing by myself in the shade because I’m paranoid about the sun. They all regarded me contemplatively because I was being a Strange Emily.
Later on Lady Petticoat fell over and wanged her head on a concrete wall, which gave me the horrors. It only took her a minute to get up and go striding ahead. She’s such an excellent member of the community and one of the most composed people I have ever met.
I was looking at a photograph in the gallery of a man clinging with joy to the roof of a speeding car and a man came over and stood behind me, breathing heavily on my neck like some great ambitious stag. I chose to ignore him and he eventually moved on. The gallery was exactly like the Serengeti Plain; we were all tracking each other, walking in each others prints, trying to understand some unknowable natural pattern. I was looking at the image of the Australian family having a picnic and eating out of a box marked Pal dog food when we had to get back on the bus.
I sat up the back with Marion’s friend from Queensland; neither of us spoke, except when she unexpectedly yelled out, Carn the Lions!
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