Sydney Individuals, continued
Aug. 20th, 2023 10:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
highlyeccentric1. Picture a real estate agent. Go on. Now, I picture two kinds of people: a miscellaneous human, and a Real Estate Agent. The miscellaneous type may be any gender, and is most often found in letting agent roles. The Real Estate Agent may be a letting agent, but only as a starting point. They are most archetypically a man, in a sleek but slightly-too-shiny suit. This weekend's Individual was in a chequered suit, probably individualised rather than uniform. It fitted well, and when *his* jacket vents popped a bit at the back it looked like "aha, I spend time on a stationary bike", not, like... whatever it looks like on me, which is: bad. He was however wearing a white shirt which wasn't even remotely HOPING anyone would button it to the collar, hence, open vee, with a gold cross.
He was a slim Anglo guy, hence, this whole Lewk looked... actually a bit odd on him. He did not have the sprouting chest hair, his cross was not heavy enough, etc, to keep up with his Inner West peers who had set the Lewk. He seemed to have exactly the standard demeanour for the job, so, more power to him (but less positive for me: what one WANTS in a letting agent is someone with no ambition to move up to sales).
2. Woman at the corner café near the flat that Mr Estate Agent showed me (attempt #3 to see said flat). She seemed to be in her mid to late 60s, with a knit top with a ruffly neckline. She was on good terms with the café owner, but so was *literally everyone else*, including, by attempt 3 to visit this flat, me. But most fascinatingly, she was on first name terms with a local pidgeon. The café owner would try to shoo him out of the shop, but she would keep feeding him scraps. At one point, he sat on her shoe. She told me she knew him by his missing toe. She proposed to bring bird seed next time.
3. The producer for the Packemin Productions run of Les Miserables in Parramatta, Neil Gooding, who came out front of the curtain at 7.35 (7.30 scheduled start) to say hi, everyone, we're supposed to start the show, but the Matildas have gone to a penalty shoot-out against France, and given all the phones that are out right now including mine (ie, his), well! He ended up giving relay commentary, based on what was fed up to him from the orchestra pit, for the benefit of people who didn't have good enough streaming and/or didn't understand soccer. The specific subtype of soccer commentary that is "for theatre nerds who want to know a, who is winning and b, how soon will the show start" is a rarely called-for niche.
A three-tier auditorium of theatre nerds, delayed 35 minutes for women's soccer. Truly unprecedented: not only would that not happen for most women's sport, it would neither happen for the socceroos (meh) nor any men's sport at which Australia excels (theatre nerds hold grudges back to high school, damnit).
3b. These neighbours of ours? Literally, if they were living in the signal box they're closer to us than most of the suburb is. I recognised the primary accused party: I've seen him around, and I've also seen people hop fences although I couldn't swear that I saw HIM hop a fence, I've seen plenty of people hop fences in this area. But I've seen plenty of people lurk, beg, and miscellaneously shout at the sky as well as jump fences. I couldn't say where I've seen Mr AJP, but I've definitely seen him.
It's just... honestly it's all a bit OOF. He and his co-accused, through their lawyer, deny being in the signal box that night. The state train corp apparently knew SOMEONE was living in the signal box. It's going to be... messy, I think, is the best description of what's going to play out here. Messy and perhaps not even reported on further, unless it provides good clickbait. I only found out about this through Transit Twitter, which is hardly the cutting edge of news and current affairs.
He was a slim Anglo guy, hence, this whole Lewk looked... actually a bit odd on him. He did not have the sprouting chest hair, his cross was not heavy enough, etc, to keep up with his Inner West peers who had set the Lewk. He seemed to have exactly the standard demeanour for the job, so, more power to him (but less positive for me: what one WANTS in a letting agent is someone with no ambition to move up to sales).
2. Woman at the corner café near the flat that Mr Estate Agent showed me (attempt #3 to see said flat). She seemed to be in her mid to late 60s, with a knit top with a ruffly neckline. She was on good terms with the café owner, but so was *literally everyone else*, including, by attempt 3 to visit this flat, me. But most fascinatingly, she was on first name terms with a local pidgeon. The café owner would try to shoo him out of the shop, but she would keep feeding him scraps. At one point, he sat on her shoe. She told me she knew him by his missing toe. She proposed to bring bird seed next time.
3. The producer for the Packemin Productions run of Les Miserables in Parramatta, Neil Gooding, who came out front of the curtain at 7.35 (7.30 scheduled start) to say hi, everyone, we're supposed to start the show, but the Matildas have gone to a penalty shoot-out against France, and given all the phones that are out right now including mine (ie, his), well! He ended up giving relay commentary, based on what was fed up to him from the orchestra pit, for the benefit of people who didn't have good enough streaming and/or didn't understand soccer. The specific subtype of soccer commentary that is "for theatre nerds who want to know a, who is winning and b, how soon will the show start" is a rarely called-for niche.
A three-tier auditorium of theatre nerds, delayed 35 minutes for women's soccer. Truly unprecedented: not only would that not happen for most women's sport, it would neither happen for the socceroos (meh) nor any men's sport at which Australia excels (theatre nerds hold grudges back to high school, damnit).
3b. These neighbours of ours? Literally, if they were living in the signal box they're closer to us than most of the suburb is. I recognised the primary accused party: I've seen him around, and I've also seen people hop fences although I couldn't swear that I saw HIM hop a fence, I've seen plenty of people hop fences in this area. But I've seen plenty of people lurk, beg, and miscellaneously shout at the sky as well as jump fences. I couldn't say where I've seen Mr AJP, but I've definitely seen him.
It's just... honestly it's all a bit OOF. He and his co-accused, through their lawyer, deny being in the signal box that night. The state train corp apparently knew SOMEONE was living in the signal box. It's going to be... messy, I think, is the best description of what's going to play out here. Messy and perhaps not even reported on further, unless it provides good clickbait. I only found out about this through Transit Twitter, which is hardly the cutting edge of news and current affairs.