Le Bon David and The VeloDrone are brainstorming, in the office.
The VeloDrone: We need a new direction.
Le Bon David: Did we have an old direction?
The VeloDrone: Good question. We seemed to spend all our time avoiding angry, opinionated, jealous and manipulative contributors. And picnics.
Le Bon David: You have to admit we were successful, especially at avoiding Freud's picnic.
The VeloDrone: Nevertheless, I think it's time to take control. Let's choose someone we both admire and ask them to write an article for Velosophy.
Le Bon David: Excellent idea. I suggest Albert Einstein.
The VeloDrone: Yes! Didn't he get the Nobel Prize for discovering the Law of Photogenic Effect?
Le Bon David: I don't think so, Vello. He wasn't especially photogenic. Perhaps you mean the Law of Photoelectric Effect?
The VeloDrone: Perhaps I do. But David, I must take issue with you. Einstein was very photogenic. Haven't you seen that famous photograph of him riding his bicycle?
Le Bon David: I have. But do you know, when I first saw it I thought it was a photo of a lady.
The VeloDrone: A lady! What about his large moustache?
Le Bon David: The sun was shining down very brightly. It could have been a shadow on his lip. It was his windblown hair that made me think he was a lady.
The VeloDrone: For heaven's sake David, I'm going to google him right now and see if you are right......
He googles.
The VeloDrone: Oh, really! He's wearing an old man's cardigan and old man's trousers! I can't see how you made such a mistake.
Le Bon David: No, nor can I now. Not a word of this to Albert. Although it might be rather tricky if he brings it up.
Showing posts with label trousers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trousers. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Doctor Brown Behaves
Le Bon David was feeling a little uncomfortable. He was sitting in the front row, and Doctor Brown was beginning to misbehave.
He had already forced David to take a bite of his banana, and lick an indeterminate substance from a very large spoon.
Now he seemed to be inviting him to get up and dance. David knew that at perfomances such as these it was better to play along. He stood up graciously and allowed himself to be waltzed on the spot in front of his seat. But when Doctor Brown tried to gve him a big smoochy kiss, David drew the line, and sat down. Wait till I tell Vello about this, he thought. He won't believe it.
Now Doctor Brown had produced a Princess magazine. He read out a line, then asked the audience a simple question. No one was willing to chance a reply. David, finding the wait intolerable, called out the answer. Doctor Brown threw a green olive at him. I must not answer any more questions, thought David, no matter how much I feel impelled.
Doctor Brown, having thrown dripping handfuls of green olives at various members of the audience and driven three of them out of the room, decided to do some puppetry. Oh good, thought David, I do like puppetry. And he craned forward in his seat. But Doctor Brown's puppets were invisible. No matter how intricately he appeared to be manipulating them, David could see nothing but Doctor Brown's patterned trousers in the space where he was directed to look.
For an empiricist, it was thoroughly confusing.
He had already forced David to take a bite of his banana, and lick an indeterminate substance from a very large spoon.
Now he seemed to be inviting him to get up and dance. David knew that at perfomances such as these it was better to play along. He stood up graciously and allowed himself to be waltzed on the spot in front of his seat. But when Doctor Brown tried to gve him a big smoochy kiss, David drew the line, and sat down. Wait till I tell Vello about this, he thought. He won't believe it.
Now Doctor Brown had produced a Princess magazine. He read out a line, then asked the audience a simple question. No one was willing to chance a reply. David, finding the wait intolerable, called out the answer. Doctor Brown threw a green olive at him. I must not answer any more questions, thought David, no matter how much I feel impelled.
Doctor Brown, having thrown dripping handfuls of green olives at various members of the audience and driven three of them out of the room, decided to do some puppetry. Oh good, thought David, I do like puppetry. And he craned forward in his seat. But Doctor Brown's puppets were invisible. No matter how intricately he appeared to be manipulating them, David could see nothing but Doctor Brown's patterned trousers in the space where he was directed to look.
For an empiricist, it was thoroughly confusing.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
At Their Feet
Pliny and her mum went to a Lunch Hour Concert yesterday. They had spent so long having lunch that the only place they could get two seats together was on the front row. The front row is good for some things though. You get a direct and close up view of the performers' legs and feet.
The Adelaide Chamber Legs and Feet played two beautiful and seasonally appropriate pieces, the first being the Serenade for Strings by Elgar and the second being the Serenade for Strings by Tchaikovsky. Legs and Feet, understandably, like to have two of everything.
Elgar's Serenade was about a river. The Legs and Feet dipped their toes in and played. All in all there were thirty four Legs, and thirty four Feet. The Feet were a variety of ladies' and gentlemen's Feet. The ladies' Feet were clad in flat black shoes, flat glittery shoes, or high heeled gold strappy sandals. Between the sole of the sandal and the big toe of the right Foot of the first violin, a tiny hair floated, lyrically. The gentlemen's Feet sustained heavy black shoes of varying degrees of pointedness. All the feet swayed serenely as Elgar's river flowed to its lilting conclusion.
Tchaikovsky's Serenade was a slow introduction to trousers. What infinite variety is to be found in human trousers! Even when they are all of necessity black. There were rhythmic and energetic trousers of every possible length, up to and including the length at which they may no longer be called trousers, but lightly skipping Capri pants. At the other end of the scale were trousers that were so long and muted that the shoes were hardly visible. During the Serenade, the tiny hair which had been under the toe of the first violin, disappeared and reappeared on the trousers of the second violin, in a wistful mood.
I have not yet mentioned the skirts, at least one of which was very Russian in character. With skirts, in the spring, come visible Legs. These were very white and exhibited a great purity of tone.
When it was over the Legs and Feet got a standing ovation from a man in a red jumper, and a decent clap from Pliny and her mum. It was good sitting on the front row, said Pliny's mum. I loved seeing the face of the cellist, it was so expressive.
Face? wondered Pliny.
The Adelaide Chamber Legs and Feet played two beautiful and seasonally appropriate pieces, the first being the Serenade for Strings by Elgar and the second being the Serenade for Strings by Tchaikovsky. Legs and Feet, understandably, like to have two of everything.
Elgar's Serenade was about a river. The Legs and Feet dipped their toes in and played. All in all there were thirty four Legs, and thirty four Feet. The Feet were a variety of ladies' and gentlemen's Feet. The ladies' Feet were clad in flat black shoes, flat glittery shoes, or high heeled gold strappy sandals. Between the sole of the sandal and the big toe of the right Foot of the first violin, a tiny hair floated, lyrically. The gentlemen's Feet sustained heavy black shoes of varying degrees of pointedness. All the feet swayed serenely as Elgar's river flowed to its lilting conclusion.
Tchaikovsky's Serenade was a slow introduction to trousers. What infinite variety is to be found in human trousers! Even when they are all of necessity black. There were rhythmic and energetic trousers of every possible length, up to and including the length at which they may no longer be called trousers, but lightly skipping Capri pants. At the other end of the scale were trousers that were so long and muted that the shoes were hardly visible. During the Serenade, the tiny hair which had been under the toe of the first violin, disappeared and reappeared on the trousers of the second violin, in a wistful mood.
I have not yet mentioned the skirts, at least one of which was very Russian in character. With skirts, in the spring, come visible Legs. These were very white and exhibited a great purity of tone.
When it was over the Legs and Feet got a standing ovation from a man in a red jumper, and a decent clap from Pliny and her mum. It was good sitting on the front row, said Pliny's mum. I loved seeing the face of the cellist, it was so expressive.
Face? wondered Pliny.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Mismatched Perceptions
At the Friday Lunch Hour Concert we were treated to more Bartok, and some lessons in the mysteries of alternative perceptions.
Leone Buyse and Michael Webster, a married duo from America, played flute and clarinet. They were dressed impeccably and played, in a fine polished style, the Choros No 2 by Villa-Lobos, a conversation between street musicians, who rarely listen to one another and play in mismatched tonalities. You could tell it was meant to be amusing, even if you knew little about mismatched tonalities. Next Leone played Bartok's Hungarian Peasant Suite, which sounded remarkably Scottish.
An elderly lady with orange hair was dozing on my left when I sat down. Another lady sat down on her right. They didn't know one another, but a short conversation ensued, in which I learned, firstly, that the orange-haired lady was in the habit of coming to the concerts because it was nice to sit down, and secondly, that the other lady was a volunteer at the Science Centre, and had been running late. The orange-haired lady then said something about a tarantella. So, it was established that she was capable of speech. However, at the end of the concert when I stood up and began to squeeze past her legs, she uttered a series of inarticulate squeaks, as a mouse would. I'm just saying ..... weird. I know I hadn't stepped on her feet.
Lastly, there was the case of the trousers. Did you notice, said my mum, Michael Webster's trousers? They were shaped at the bottom to fit over his shoes. Like military trousers. I wondered if they had a piece that went under his foot to hold them down. You don't see trousers like that here. They must have been American trousers.
I was astounded by this observation. For if I had noticed anything at all about Michael Webster's trousers it was that they were particularly unremarkable. I could not believe I wouldn't have noticed that he was wearing peculiar American military style trousers of a kind unknown here. But she had. And although we had been sitting side by side, she'd had the advantage of a direct view while I'd had the disadvantage of the hypotenuse. Unfortunately the trousers had vacated the stage by then, so it was impossible to resolve.
Leone Buyse and Michael Webster, a married duo from America, played flute and clarinet. They were dressed impeccably and played, in a fine polished style, the Choros No 2 by Villa-Lobos, a conversation between street musicians, who rarely listen to one another and play in mismatched tonalities. You could tell it was meant to be amusing, even if you knew little about mismatched tonalities. Next Leone played Bartok's Hungarian Peasant Suite, which sounded remarkably Scottish.
An elderly lady with orange hair was dozing on my left when I sat down. Another lady sat down on her right. They didn't know one another, but a short conversation ensued, in which I learned, firstly, that the orange-haired lady was in the habit of coming to the concerts because it was nice to sit down, and secondly, that the other lady was a volunteer at the Science Centre, and had been running late. The orange-haired lady then said something about a tarantella. So, it was established that she was capable of speech. However, at the end of the concert when I stood up and began to squeeze past her legs, she uttered a series of inarticulate squeaks, as a mouse would. I'm just saying ..... weird. I know I hadn't stepped on her feet.
Lastly, there was the case of the trousers. Did you notice, said my mum, Michael Webster's trousers? They were shaped at the bottom to fit over his shoes. Like military trousers. I wondered if they had a piece that went under his foot to hold them down. You don't see trousers like that here. They must have been American trousers.
I was astounded by this observation. For if I had noticed anything at all about Michael Webster's trousers it was that they were particularly unremarkable. I could not believe I wouldn't have noticed that he was wearing peculiar American military style trousers of a kind unknown here. But she had. And although we had been sitting side by side, she'd had the advantage of a direct view while I'd had the disadvantage of the hypotenuse. Unfortunately the trousers had vacated the stage by then, so it was impossible to resolve.
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