5 Dec 2006<\/p>\n
Work Christmas Party (or Soap, Tuna, Shampoo and Danny Zuko)<\/span><\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n I went to my work Christmas party on Friday night \u2013 at a venue called Discovery, which is the major nightclub in Mitchell Street, Darwin. Firstly, the theory behind the design of this club alludes me. There are four levels with steep staircases structured throughout the room. In fact, the toilets are situated in an area where one is compelled to descend 20 \u2013 30 steps. Now, while I’m no architect or safety expert, I would think loading young people up on hard liquor and sending them up and down stairs all night, may not be among the better thought-out safety plans in recent years.<\/p>\n So work had the venue booked out from 5pm till 9, when the doors were thrust open to the public. The music, up until this point was quite enjoyable, with many an old chestnut getting a spin on the turntable and while, given the choice, I’d have scheduled a different repertoire, I had no complaints.<\/p>\n It had been some time since I’d partied in a nightclub proper \u2013 I’m more of a pub man these days (or, preferably \u2013 a barbie at home with friends).<\/p>\n As the public trickled in, I began to notice how nearly everything had changed in the several years I’d been absent from such venues. In my day, all girls liked to dance and normal blokes would only ever venture to the dance floor when they were trying to pick-up these dancing girls. You would troll the periphery of the floor, trying to spot likely contenders before approaching the DJ (who sat in a booth up the back, out of the way, playing records). You’d stamp out your cigger in a flash of sparks and say something like<\/p>\n “Hey mate \u2013 you got any Bruce Springsteen?”<\/p>\n “Whats that? ‘Glory Days’? \u2013 Yeah mate, that’ll be good. Tah”<\/p>\n Then you’d go down, grab the girl and hit the dance floor \u2013 usually singing along to the Boss as you shuffle your feet and swing your arms \u2013 every so often even in time with the beat. It was great fun \u2013 sometimes there were even two boys and two girls, who formed a square and swapped smiles \u2013 but remained at all times, facing the opposite sex. With the one exception of the radical dancer, who sometimes twisted round and did a 360 degree turn, where the brave could check out the whole room in a single snazzy move! (I personally avoided such prima donna displays of arrogance for fear of actually catching my own reflection in a darkened window or mirror). Only very late at night was it acceptable that a man may dance in the absence of female company \u2013 with the added stipulation that Jimmy Barnes must be belting out “Khe Sanh” at the time!<\/p>\n These days however, this is apparently no longer the case. I sat and watched bemused as the procession entered the darkened step-riddled den of danger.The girls are still all good \u2013 as pretty as ever, maybe even more so, now that they wear less. But the “Blokes” these days???!!!<\/p>\n From the top \u2013 there are all manner of messed-up hairdo’s, in all sorts of colours \u2013 some even had stripes and what appeared to be leopard spots!<\/p>\n These dudes have no end of synthetic muck strewn throughout their follicles and, I am reliably informed, have spent up to an hour to prepare for this “look”. In my day, and personally, this is still the case \u2013 I’d hop in the shower, wash with a bar of normal soap, wash my hair with “normal” shampoo, jump out, dry off \u2013 spray a bit of deodorant and a splash of aftershave. Then check the mirror \u2013 and now \u2013 because my hair was all messed up, I’d grab a comb and run it over the top of my scalp \u2013 to make my hair neat. That’s the end \u2013 now I’m off to the club.<\/p>\n These new young fellas actually try to mess their hair up even more than is natural and then slop product all over their skull to keep it that way! I must admit that I do hold these fellas in some contempt \u2013 as their habits are affecting my simple life. I shop for myself (I hate it with a passion, but I do it) and the three things I continually have the most trouble obtaining are Normal Soap, Tuna in Brine and Shampoo for Normal hair!<\/p>\n When I first moved out of home, I lived with a mate \u2013 he bought a box of soap, I still don’t know the brand but I recognise the box. It was an orange box and had half a dozen bars of soap in him \u2013 I believe it was Peach flavoured, or some such thing \u2013 it was just soap. Then, a few years later, they did away with the orange box of peach soap, so I looked at where it used to be and found a green box \u2013 Melon flavour. No worries \u2013 good as gold. Recently they took away the green, melon soap and replaced it with all these other things I am totally unfamiliar with. Things like Shae Butter and Honey, Ying Yang and Oatmeal and Aloe Vera. I took a punt \u2013 it’s only soap after all. Never purchase anything that involves Shae Butter! I still have no idea what it is \u2013 but I do know this \u2013 it stinks! The whole bathroom stinks of this ugly soap’s heady perfume. I finally got through the 6 bars recently \u2013 I have no more idea what the hell on earth yingyang is, than I know about Shae Butter, so I’ve gone with the Aloe Vera (which I understood to be some type of burns treatment?). So I’ll have to see how that turns out.<\/p>\n Similarly, I hold these metrosexual lads responsible for the fact that it takes me 25 minutes to find the single bottle that says “Shampoo for Normal Hair”, hidden among the thousands of specialty shampoos. For Dyed Hair, for Dry Hair, for Greasy Hair, for Long hair, for Permed hair, for Dandruffed hair, for Coarse hair, for Fine hair, for Extra Strength hair, for Damaged hair, for Shiny hair. It seems I’m the only fella in the entire Territory that has nothing special about my hair that needs specific chemical attention!<\/p>\n I’m also convinced these same delicate hombres are the reason I can’t find the single can of “Tuna in Brine” hidden among the multi-coloured tins, packets and bags of Tuna in Spring Water, Tuna in Olive Oil, Tuna with Chilli, Tuna with Lemon Grass, Tuna with garlic and chives, Tuna with Sweet chilli and Dill, Tuna with a hint of curry\u2026\u2026. The damn fish came from the salt water, jam him in a tin with it and sell the bastard \u2013 if I want gourmet delicacies with it, I’ll throw ’em in the sanga myself!<\/p>\n So, in march the product laden, moisturiser soaked modern clubmen in all their glory. The polo or golf shirt seems to be a common fashion favourite among these lads. There are some forty percent of the polo-set who seem to fancy they may be Danny Zuko of ‘Grease’ fame, for they insist on constantly flipping the collar up on their pastel-pink Ralph Lauren. I fancy I’d like to see a confrontation between the leather clad T-Birds and these angry-golfers, I’d tip the dainty new boys would be in a spot of strife. Every now and then I hear a distant musical note that I recognise \u2013 this is hard going because the “MC” (who was once a simple player of songs), has insisted on blasting a thumping backbeat over the top of every song he plays. This bloke, like many of his ilk, is a slightly built, thirtysomething ponce with a shaved head, which is obviously a vain attempt to assist in the denial of his hastily balding pate. He stands perched, front and centre on the stage, like some rock star, with a set of headphones clasped round his listeners and the mandatory two finger support to the ear and a determined headbob, meant to inspire the throng. I’m not sure how or when the humble DJ migrated to the entertainment headliner, but I suspect this little gem of evolution may have coincided with the change of initials \u2013 from DJ to MC. Again, pretty much in line with the evolution (or regression) of men to make-up-wearing girly-boys.<\/p>\n I watched a tall, slim blonde slink past me and pose on the edge of the floor, announcing her arrival. She was an absolute stunner \u2013 but had a boyfriend. Now this boyfriend was something to behold \u2013 or so he thought. He was a well built six foot bloke in jeans and a red tee-shirt and as he strutted closer to the floor, he began to move. He walked straight past Blondie and out onto the floor on his own, where he commenced his performance. He did some kind of tangle-footed two-step that involved essentially keeping his arms close to the body like a cowering praying mantis, while his feet remained close together, though in constant motion and included many an arrogant turn. His mouth remained half agape so’s to allow him a better view of himself as he writhed around on the floor, not unlike Ricky Martin. It was only when he’d finished this indulgent display of self admiration that he managed to pry his eye’s from his own body and look up in search of praise. All the while, Blondie stood alone, looking bored and sipping a drink \u2013 I wouldn’t have been surprised if she ditched her smoke in a shower of sparks, cupped her hands and yelled out to MC BaldyBoy \u2013<\/p>\n “Hey \u2013 you got any Bruce Springsteen???!!!”.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" 5 Dec 2006 Work Christmas Party (or Soap, Tuna, Shampoo and Danny Zuko) I went to my work Christmas party on Friday night \u2013 at a venue called Discovery, which is the major nightclub in Mitchell Street, Darwin. Firstly, the theory behind the design of this club alludes me. There are four levels with steep … Continue reading Work Christmas Party (or Soap, Tuna, Shampoo and Danny Zuko)<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-19","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p5K3B8-j","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.onthewallaby.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.onthewallaby.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.onthewallaby.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.onthewallaby.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.onthewallaby.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=19"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.onthewallaby.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21,"href":"https:\/\/www.onthewallaby.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19\/revisions\/21"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.onthewallaby.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=19"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.onthewallaby.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=19"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.onthewallaby.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=19"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}