Another morning of duvet cocooning and I’m ready to do my laundry at my new friend’s thrift shop. We tried on almost everything in the store, including things she had put aside for me, and things she had taken out of storage. It was lots of fun, and I bought a genuine 50s velvet wiggle dress that I can’t stop thinking about.
Amanda and Pete invited me out, but I was already on my way to a lecture on birds. Yes, it’s 8pm and I’m on my way to a lecture on birds. It’s a monthly science lecture night at a pub, and I didn’t get to choose the topic. It was a small theatre with a bar, everyone had beers and was chatting. Everyone looked normal. It wasn’t until the presenters got on stage that something started to feel a bit weird.
“Give us a cheer for peer reviewed studies and credible evidence!”
This wasn’t regular geeking out, it was religious enthusiasm. I guess I’m spoilt by the fact that in Australia there is much less religion, and science doesn’t need to prove itself.
During question time, a large man asked a question in a booming southern accent; “What’s yer thoughts on the connection between structural plumage colour and parasites in brown-headed cowbirds and the implications for sexual selection?”.
The crowd cheered. I looked around for someone to give a Tim look to, but everyone was in on this. Even though I was enjoying it, I must’ve looked like the frostiest bitch.
The lecture finished and I headed over to an alien dive bar. Think the futuristic decay of Abe’s Oddysee. The cab driver refused to let me out, and said I must have the wrong address. “This is a rough neighbourhood”, he said. I told him I’d get out to check, and as I did a man stepped out and guided me to the door. He waved to the cab driver, who rolled away very slowly. The bar was filled with round booths under flickering neon lights, and the cocktail menu was flashing in green block text on an old IBM. We sat in a dark corner and talked about the weight of pianos and the uses of five legged chairs.