The Rodd and the Gunn

 

I have had a revelation.  I love Rodd & Gunn.

Having grown up on the Gold Coast, the mega-mall style Pacific Fair was a part of my adolescence, like every other kid on the Coast.  Usually we’d be hanging around the movies or the video games, but sometimes we’d venture into the indoor-outdoor boulevards of the rag trade.  Of the many shops I remember from when I was a kid, Rodd & Gunn is still there.

When I was kid, this shop served as a bit of a joke.  It was like the kind of place your great grandfather might go to buy a poo-coloured jacket with shiny leather elbow patches.  I used to look at it in disgust.

Tastes change over time, and oh how mine have changed.  Rodd & Gunn – expensive as it is – has a style that appeals to me immensely, and you can tell the clothes are quality.  Given that I’ve never got any money, and have never had any, I dress in the wardrobe that has been bought for me over the years.  Thanks to either the GFC, or the Prime Minister (or probably both), I’ve been able to buy the style of clothes I like.

If clothes are an expression of who we perceive ourselves to be (or who we’d like to portray), then it’s nice to finally be able to say a few words.

Southport

 

I’ve been wanting to write this blog entry for a long time, but I just haven’t ever made time for it.  This entry isn’t following the flow of my life (thank God, you say) – it’s separate.

The topic here is quite simple: Southport.  And how I love it.

There are a lot of jokes about Southport.  That it’s the best place on the Coast to go if you want to get stabbed, get rolled by a junkie or a 12 year old pregnant chick, or meet someone who sees Jesus, talks to Jesus, or is Jesus.  While it might be true that there are more scary, scab-infested crystal meth addicts around at night than there are ‘normal people’, and that security guards need to patrol outside Australia Fair (a shopping centre) in case Jesus and all of his friends get a little too aggressive, it’s only a small part of Southport.

What I like is the fact that I can live so close to school, a hospital, a couple of shopping centres with cafes and restaurants, and a public library, but still live in a quiet leafy street that feels like outer suburbia.

Here are a few of the others reasons why Southport is so great:

• The choice between the organic sourdough bakery called Sol Breads or the delicious Italian bakery called Pandoro – all within walking distance,
• The little comic shop with the guy who looks like the fleshed-out human version of the Simpsons’ comic book guy,
• The grungy basketball court with the chainlink fence behind the charity shop in a scene that looks so New York it’s comical,
• The BWM dealership that works with coffee so much better than it does with cars,
• The towers of Southport Central that slice into the sky and create great angles for photography (though I’ve never taken pictures),
• The small backstreets that take you back a few decades, even though you weren’t around then,
• The organic bulkfoods shop that sells everything for a rediculously low price – and the aloof, sarcastic hippy who runs it,
• The outdated nature of the public library despite its modern architecture, and the cute guy who works the loans desk (because it’s such a cliche),
• The dog-friendly park less than 5 minutes away from home that sits on the water and has a great view of Surfer’s Paradise,
• The bell tower at the boarding school, which can be just barely heard in the middle of the night, if you’re awake,
• Ichi Ban Boshi – the best tantan ramen for $12 you’ll ever eat, and
• The Courthouse hotel.  The place where doctors, lawyers, medical students and everyone else go for a beer on a Friday.

Yeah, Southport is a pretty great place.

Shift in Season

 

There is so much that I know, and all it has done up until now is show me how much I don’t understand.  This is not a bad thing, however.  I guess what it really shows is that I’m now able to ask questions.  If you have no knowledge, you ask no questions, because in your mind there’s no more road to discover.  You can’t even see a road.

Exams are coming up shortly, and I’m not worried.  You may take this to mean that I’ve been dilligently studying, but you’d be wrong.  I don’t yet know the ins-and-outs of the gastrointestinal system, or the endocrine system, or the reproductive system.  I’m comfortable in my knowledge, but there’s still so much I don’t understand.  But in my few years as a student, there has been a sort of mantra that has been drummed into me:

know what you know, and know what you don’t know.

It might – without too much thought - sound a bit like an innane double-barrel, but over the last few years I have learned to identify what I do know, and where my gaps in knowledge are.  So even though I haven’t studied yet, I know I’ll be able to direct my week of study before exams to where it’s really needed.  Now I know the questions to ask.

***
It’s autumn, now. 
I love autumn not only because it means winter is one step closer – and I love me a winter! – but because it doesn’t actually feel like a real season to me; autumn feels like a period of limbo, but one that actually moves forward, just really slowly.  To me, autumn is a transition, not a season.  The same can’t be said of spring.  Spring on the Gold Coast is a wild card – it can be hot and dead and hang in the air like a wet towel, uncomfortable and oppressive.  Or it can be violent.  Of course, I love the violent side.

The transition isn’t limited to the length of the day, or how the light seems to change from being blinding hot white to warm and syrupy, but it extends to me, too.  During autumn, I seem calmer.  While I still may not accept the world around me, I tend to be able to accept myself more during this season.  It feels a bit like being on a sedative – like a benzo or pot.  I feel mellower.  Quiescent.  And I like it.

***
As I said, the world around me still kicks on, and we all have our grievances.  There’s still that acidic little part where we bitch and moan about things that don’t really matter to us, not that we even care.  It’s just something we do.  I’ve had a few of those, including some annoyances at school and a homophobic patient who alienated everyone in his life willing to help.  These things ultimately don’t matter; I just need to make some noise about things, and I’m sure I’m not alone. 

In general – I’m cool.  Calm.  Nothin’ major happening and I’m all good with it.  It’s this season, see.  It’s the shift in season.

 

Seeya, kids.

Walkabout

 

Sometimes, people you see on a daily or semi-regular basis can appear to you as two-dimensional.  Especially if you only know them in a professional capacity.  Sometimes, you can learn things about these people that makes you realise that there  is actual depth and dimension there.  They do in fact have a life outside of the one you know.

Today I discovered one of the women I study with has great artistic ability, and celebrates her indigenous Australian heritage using canvas and acrylic.

Check out Karen Taylor’s art here.  Read the stories.

Go walkabout.

The Autopsy of Rice

 

While only one and a half days into the challenge (see post below), we had already lost a comrade.  Oriental noodle man has lost his battle, as he accidentally ate proper food on his second morning of the challenge.

It is now day three, and both remaining competitors are going strong.  I would upload a photo of the challenge, but basically it would just be me with a bowl of rice.  Not extraordinarily exciting, I’m afraid.

In non-rice related news, I have just endured a 3.5 hour long autopsy symposium at uni, which didn’t involve us looking at any bodies, just people talking about looking at bodies.  This was in preparation for when we go to view an actual autopsy much later in the year.  Basically, it just served as yet another distraction in my life of non-medicine related activities.  At least I got to beat my personal best on the iPod game Vortex.  Small victories.

Anyway, rice is going well.  I seem to be missing out on an inordinate amount of free food this week, but as my competitor pointed out, the food was mostly shit anyway.

In short – I feel ricey.

(almost) 3 down, 5 to go (unless we cut the game short to get boozed-up on Friday afternoon).

 

Cheers,
Doctor007 or ‘the-guy-who-smells-vaguely-like-a-Chinese-restaurant’.