Delay No More

We all have our ‘in jokes’, be they with our family, friends or in extreme cases, our country.

Back in high school, I particularly remember having an argument with a classmate over foreign films. She had seen the beginning of a French comedy “Bienvenue chez les Schtis”, and didn’t find it funny. I explained that it was a parody of French provinces and villages. All of a sudden she was outraged, calling the film ‘racist’ because it didn’t cater to a Western audience. I can only hope that she doesn’t get too severely beaten up on her first trip overseas.

On a recent voyage to Hong Kong, I visited G.O.D.- a store selling everything from clothes, stationary to furniture and cameras. Here, the slogan “Delay No More” was emblazoned across almost everything.

Whilst walking behind some young, loud and well coiffed Chinese Americans, I overheard one ask the other:
‘What does Delay No More mean? Why is it everywhere?’
‘Isn’t it obvious Nate? It’s a political slogan telling Honkies' to get moving, you know? Like motivate them.’

“Delay No More” is actually a homonym for “Fuck your mother” in Cantonese. The joke is on you buddies.

“Where are you from? I just can’t place your accent.”

I’m an Aussie who travels a lot. Unfortunately when I do, I tend to unconsciously adopt people’s accents. I have been mistaken for a Pom or Yank more times than I can count. My brother calls me pretentious but I just can’t help it.

It gets worse when people think I’m mocking their accent. I used to talk to my French ex like zis. I’ve tried regaining my accent by repeating “G’day mate how’s it going?” over and over again, but it just sounds contrived.

The upshot is, I can convincingly pretend I’m a tourist when those pesky people in the city try to coerce me into buying some dodgy credit card. When a telemarketer calls, je ne parles pas l’anglais.

If you have this problem, how do you counter it without sounding like a bogan?

Getting Base for Spencer Tunick

I woke up at 2am to wash my hair, make sure there wasn’t a thing out of place on my body and pick out a pair of seamless underwear. Spencer Tunick was in town to shoot The Base, giving me and over 5000 others permission to bare all in public without being drunk or getting arrested.

From 4-6am, I laid my head on my friend’s lap squashed between a spooning gay couple and a cross legged tattooed couple. Sleep was futile. As people pressed against my body and trod on my toes I attempted conversation with my friend.

“Wow these joggers are up early. That iThing looks chunky on his arm. I have one of those inch long ones for running, you know? Nanos?

“ Shuffle daahhhling” says the man next to me, lifting his head from the crook of his tattooed lover’s neck where I assumed he was sleeping.

At 6am Spencer was welcomed with thunderous applause and cat calls. When the call came to undress we did so hurriedly. I was already bare whilst my fully clothed friend was yanking at her bracelet as the cast of the Full Monty times one thousand shimmied past. She wasn’t the only one with difficulties as people painfully yanked out their Prince Alberts or nipple piercings.

In the forecourt, we posed standing, lying down, with our arms up, with our heads to the sky, occasionally waving at the tourists, the media, helicopters and flipping the bird at the ferries that came too close. Then came the big moment in the spirit of Mardi Gras. Spencer wanted us to cuddle and to kiss someone. Not wanting to make our friendship awkward, we opted to embrace the German men in front of us.

“ Can I have your number after this if my phone hasn’t been stolen?” asked one.

My last pose was in the concert hall inside the Opera house. This time, I was facing the camera dead centre.

“I want all of you to face a different direction and drape yourselves!” yelled Spencer.

I perched myself uncomfortably on the seat and armrests lying on my side facing my friend who was doing the same. Then wham, the flamboyant guy in front of me decided to drape himself over my arse.

“ Lift your right arms right up in the air, wow that’s weird!”

Supporting the gay community was definitely worth it, even though I needed a mountain load of intravenous coffee afterwards. It’s amazing how some people can overcome their fears to morph into a sea of human flesh, all for the sake of art.

Any of you who were here today, or have previously experienced a Tunick moment, please feel free to share it. There are more stories and pictures at the unofficial Spencer Tunick Experience website http://thespencertunickexperience.org/oldindex.htm