Recently, KC accused me of having a bit of attitude about “her side of town”. Huh! Why would I harbour any attitude about a place with community street art on every corner, schmancy ergonomic-slash-architecturally-designed-slash-homeopathic playgrounds and macrobiotic oxygen-enriched offerings at the school canteen? Particularly since on my side of town, the closest is we get to art is someone graffitiing a picture of their dick on the bus shelter, our only playground is an empty lot with the burnt wreck of a Holden Commodore and the school tuck-shop proudly serves sausage sandwiches dipped in batter and then deep-fried in lard…
Yes, as you can plainly see from my opening paragraph, there *is* no attitude. Not. A. Jot.
But since KC is my dear friend and, as a rule, I try not to hold her place of residence against her, I attempted to placate her a little. I admitted that I thought my last trip to her side of town (see “The People Puzzle“) had quite possibly inspired the purchase of my first pair of Birkenstocks.
“Well, now you’d definitely fit in there much more than me,” KC said.
Her words hit me like a slap. In desperation, I struck out.
“Oh yes, you in your Doc Martens and… and… your Nazi sympathies!” I blurted, which is exactly the kind of free-form association that would make the marketing department for Doc Martens splutter into their soy-decaf-frappucinos.
And then, feeling bad that I had accused her of something so terrible, I admitted to her how my husband had recently tricked me into becoming a Nazi.
You see, we had just started to watch Valkyrie on DVD when my husband went into the next room to refill his wine glass. Since the film’s opening scene has a song in German where soldiers of the Third Reich swear an oath to their Führer, I read out the English subtitles to him. But instead of being grateful when he came back into the room, he was laughing, saying “Ha, ha! You just swore allegiance to Adolph Hitler!” and then sat shaking his head for the rest of the film muttering “My wife, the Nazi!” and tutting a lot.
“I’m the tutter-er ’round here!” I felt like shouting, thinking how he recently taught our first-born how to simultaneously battle with light sabers and pretend to poke a poo through the plughole (see “The Shower Scene“). But I didn’t, because I felt ashamed at how easily I had fallen prey to an evil ideology and thinking that’s how people must have felt after they’d camped out overnight for tickets to see The Phantom Menace only to see Jar Jar Binks on the big screen.
KC was not very sympathetic when I told her my tale of woe. She instead muttered something in German which sounded like she was calling me a Nazi – but when I typed “You are a Nazi” in Google Translate just now and saw the translation in German, I realised that she must have been saying something else all together. Probably something far worse. Like “You bought Paris Hilton’s self-titled debut album!”.
For the record: people in KC’s part of town would never be caught dead listening to Paris Hilton on their ipods. As for my side of town? Well, we don’t even own ipods and instead rely on the blaring stereos of the cars doing donuts in the car park for our musical entertainment. I consider it nature’s jukebox.
Don’t forget the saucers of petals at park entrances and the incense candles on street corners. That cannon pointing threateningly as you enter the Burgh isn’t there for nothing. You should see the looks we get when we tell people that we rent not own. Notes are taken.
NDM, while Tomkat are in town filming you could go up to Crown Towers and ask Mr Grand Wizard Thetan to de-Nazi you. Careful he doesn’t Scientologise you at the same time though.
You and KC should definitely think about renting over this side of town – rents are so much cheaper, leaving you with much more disposable income to develop a crack addiction.
hhmmm….methinks that cooking pies from scratch with fresh, organic vegies from your own garden may just get you at least a day pass to ‘the other side’…i don’t know that you’re quite as trashy as you make out, NDM???
Don’t you dare dispute my bogan credentials, mystery v, or I might just have to start slaggin’ off the city you live in.
Why NDM! You’re nothing but a FauxGAN!!!
Cranking up the AC/DC and doing donuts in the Love Bus has no credibility whatsoever when you’re doing it in birkenstocks…..
KC! Honestly! You can’t go premiering my “Faux-Gan” tag before I do!
Ooh, you northern suburbs nazis are swift and exacting in your cruel and heartless revenge!
Dear NDM,
I think your fan base says more about your bogan credentials than you would like. I happen to know that a respectable number of your devoted readers hail not only from Melbourne’s northern suburbs but also from organic northern “Canbrah” and from Sydney’s Newtown latte strip.
KC and MM may have street art on every corner, but here in northern Canbrah we live next door to a State highschool whose latest musical production was “Aida” and within walking distance of a Saturday morning grower’s market…
My dear. Why of course you’re approaching motherhood with trepidation if you read my blog. I apologise for any nightmares I’ve given you. Remember: it doesn’t have to be *this* way.
As for that fan base of mine, they’re more Faux-GANS – wannabe bogans – than I’ll ever be. Give that KC a flanny and a pack of Winnie Reds and she’s swearin’, fightin’ and fartin’ like a true local. And that’s why I love her so. Clearly.
Hah! So your husband is funny like you too? I can only imagine the fun you both have.
On to more serious things. The movie… Is it terrible? Tom Cruise in an eyepatch? Tom Cruise saying “Heil Hitler” ???
Oh, my husband isn’t funny. I make him funny through the power of my writing. (Actually, he’s much funnier than me – but he has to actually work all day to keep me in champagne and chocolates so doesn’t have time for a blog).
As for “Valkyrie”, I honestly forgot he was “Tom Cruise”. And I think his Scientology vows got him out of any “Heil Hitler!” lines in the script.
I’m silenced by the brilliance of this post.
Though I too was tricked into bein a Nazi at the tender age of 8 after doing a report on my German heritage. You know, blond, blue-eyed German girl being forced by her tormentors to this day she was a Nazi. I knew I should have done the report on the Irish or Polish part.
I’m sorry to have brought up such painful memories for you, faemom. Do you think we should start an online support group for People Unfairly Accused Of Being Nazis?
Somehow, I think my friend KC will be joining too.