heatwaves

The Editors of NTAR have been hearing a lot of complaining lately.

These complaints have been made by various sorts that begrudge the lack of a “real summer… man” this year in Adelaide.

Complaints on buses, complaints in elevators, complaints at Cibo. Complaints just about everywhere.

Now, before we get started with this post, NTAR  would firstly like you all to shut the fuck up. Do this first before you jinx our town with an apocalyptic weather event such as those recently occurring in Queensland and Western Australia.

NTAR would secondly like to remind you how bad Adelaide summers can be… the pinnacle of such badness of course being the heatwaves.

So, before you run your mouth off again unchecked, counter it with “oh at least I still have a house” or maybe “oh well better that, than say… being washed away in a cyclone the size of Britain”. If neither of those tickle your fancy, just read this blog.

For those unseasoned, Adelaide heatwaves are outrageously shit.

The general rule according to the Bureau of Meteorology in SA is any 5 days over 35 is classified as a heatwave. Now we at NTAR can tell you this happens quite frequently in Adelaide during the months of November to March. My memory suggests this has happened on two separate occasions during these months for the last 6 or so years. The fact we have not had one at all this summer is therefore a blessing.

You will see on the above map that just about every other city of importance in adelaide doesnt get that hot, Adelaide just fucking roasts.

Just how blessed we are in 2010/2011 cannot be understated. After 3 days of 38 degrees and above it becomes impossible to cool down a poorly designed Adelaide home without super duper refrigerated air conditioning. After 4 days of 40 and above birds begin dropping out of the sky, and on the 6th or 7th day pensioners begin filling morgues. On the 8th day rail lines buckle, roads melt and the Glenelg beach resembles the sulphur baths of Hades.

Don’t muck about you young fit people of Adelaide… when you are older and are no longer sporting a low v-neck t-shirt, thongs and super tight pink shorts you too will be clamouring at the automated doors of the Housing Trust like the zombie horde begging for naught but a cool breeze and a callipo.

In 2009/10 Adelaide had a 45 degree day. Now this was not entirely bad in itself, but when it is surrounded by 5 days either side of it at 38 degrees or above… you can again begin to understand just how shit these mofos actually are.

Government Departments have started heatwave action plans which include gathering all the old people up and placing them in cool rooms or… zipping them up into pre-purchased body bags.

Sport and all outdoor activity stops. Tradesmen also stop and public buildings are opened up to the homeless.

Schools once closed early if the day went over 36. This has happened so regularly in the last decade it had to be been changed to 56.

Private schools no longer let students take their ties off either. Heatwaves are god’s punishment for masturbation it would seem.

When Rob Lucas and that crook Olsen privatised the electricity, power would be cut off during heatwaves in an entirely random fashion. All you could do was lie on the tiles of your bathroom floor armed with a windex spray full of water and the ETSA outages phone number on redial. The canny would spray real windex in their eyes and ultimately get a free night at the hospital, but unfortunately the medicos have cottoned on to this now so eye related injuries are banned from the RAH during such waves of heat.

Mattresses would be pulled outside to escape the ever increasing walls of thermal dynamics and sleeping patterns would drastically change. Pillows were stored in freezers, wet towels placed over one’s head while fans strategically placed and set to the all powerful “1”.

Beer would not stay cold, fridges thrummed and heat creating entertainment devices were turned off. No more Starcraft in your jocks. Far too hot for that.

So you would just sweat and sweat and sweat.

Then of course be expected the next day to go to work or school or whatever.

The following night just as you were cooling down on your mattress by the burnt roses in your backgarden, the thunderstorm would come… and you would awake, soggy and wet… and be forced to sleep on the floor lest your bedding grow mould.

As you can see they are terribly shit. Nothing good at all occurs in a heatwave.

Grade: F -

Adelaide’s Conservatives

Sometime last week current opposition leader Isobel Redmond MP told the Advertiser, or the The Shizer as it is affectionately known, that she was reinventing herself to get in touch with young voters.

The newspaper labelled this as a step to the left. Obviously, this is because they believe all young people are left wing. They obviously do not know Adelaide and her numerous private schools.

This same day we decided to return to blogging and as a result selected Adelaide’s Liberals as our first topic for 2011!

Now, we can all agree that Adelaide is no West End of Brisbane.  Neither a Newtown of Sydney, nor a Brunswick of Melbourne.

Of course there are some radical parts of the Port (contained within a 50 metre radius of the communist paraphernalia shop) and there is also one lesbian bar somewhere in the backstreets of Thebarton. And we shant forget the trendy street in Croydon that sells $20 steak sandwiches.

But these examples do not add up to a southern socialist paradise. Rather, it must be agreed by all Adelaide’s political animals, that Adelaide’s political conservatism far outweighs any radical fringe.

To further support this claim NTAR points to the fact Adelaide has produced a vast number of heavy hitting Liberal Party MPs who became actors on the national stage. If you compare this to the insipid bunch of ALP and Greens MPs who have travelled to Canberra every other week over the last three decades you soon get our point.

As much as we would like to point to a protégé of Mick Young or the spiritual successor to Clyde Cameron… we can’t. One of Don Dunstan’s soldiers was Premier Mike Rann himself… that should go some way to explain just how out of the ordinary Don was. In fact Catholic conservative Don Farrell has stolen his moniker, which should show all how litte regard the current batch of ALP hacks have for Messiah Dunstan. I mean Penny Wong didn’t support Gay Marriage for some time… really…

Nevertheless, we can find many Tory groundshakers who shaped this country from little old Adelaide. And no, that will not follow with a Vanstone joke.

Yes... i think i could eat that...

Names that spring to mind faster than the race card does to our home grown conservatives would be Nick Minchin, Alexander Downer, Robert Hill, Amanda Vanstone and we hate to say it… Christopher Pyne.

Of course many of these heavyweights shuffled off their mortal coil of relevance following the election of Comrade Krudd. But the fact is during the Howard years a large proportion of Cabinet power was located in little old Adelaide.

Now we are reliably informed that there are two factions inside the South Australian Liberal Party that currently revolve around the mega personalities of Christopher Pyne and Nick Minchin. These are known as the “Wets and Dries” respectively. This factional alignment is generally reflected nationally as well.

It must be said however that we much prefer the names and byzantine operations of the Labor Party factions… for example: Labor Unity, Old Guard, New Guard, Progressive Left Unions and Sub-branches, Catholic Right, Socialist Action, Workers First and the People’s Chardonnay Army who hate Romans.

These make sense.

“Wets and Dries” do not. They connote sex and let us face it… if we are going to get fucked by conservatives we would prefer a wet one.

Now the Wets organise themselves predominantly out of the eastern and hill face suburbs. They listen to classical music, read English poetry and spend their lives attempting to maximise one’s liberties within a free market. They can be observed walking up and down the Norwood Parade or smoking cigarettes with Chris Pyne out the back of his electorate office. They exclusively attend private schools.

Yes, Mr. Pyne smokes and we also remember when the Parade was too ethnic for Conservatives.

The Dries however are a much more insidious bunch who appear from the umbral realm whenever Nick Minchin decides to move his Senatorial office. He does this you see to get access to Liberal Party branch member lists.

These people hate society and in particular, the politically correct…and we all know who they are (THE ABC!). The dries are locked in an unholy battle with anyone who benefits from the public purse… except of course the politicians and staffers that work for their faction. They are full of hate towards others and most importantly the Wets.

A psychologist would explain this pathological hatred as a result of their public school education where they were radicalised by bad haircuts, goths and multiculturalism. Those that did attend private school were radicalised by overseas aid budgets. Either or, they are truly horrifying people.

Compared to their State counterparts, the Federal Liberals from Adelaide are veritable bunch of statesmen and stateswomen. The cesspool of state talent of which Rob Lucas, Iain Evans, Vicki Chapman, Martin Hamilton-Smith and Stephen Marshall float to the top, look like the remnants of a Frat party at 3am. Whilst everyone is out having sex or snorting lines of cocaine, this bunch of sociopaths are still in the kitchen talking about Land Tax and how such communist policies stole their inheritance.

It should send shudders up the spines of anyone with a semblance of social normalcy.

But nevertheless on the whole the Liberals from Adelaide are a decent sort and could be considered to do Adelaide proud, if that sort of thing tickles your fancy.

This is excluding of course Corey Bernardi who is the spawn of Satan.

Look of fear

 

Grade: C -

PS – Because we attended public schools we actually know little about the machinations within the Liberal Party other than what we learned during our years at Adelaide University. We may have much of this wrong and we would love to be corrected or informed.

Please post in our comments section below.

Lotsa love – Eds.

the marijuana capital of australia

Adelaide was once known as the marijuana capital of Australia.

Adelaide was the Tijuana to your Salt Lake City, the Golden Triangle to your Singapore customs desk… the Jimi Hendrix to your DC Talk.

Adelaide was the stoner capital of the southern hemisphere.

This well deserved infamy was attributed to the fact at one point, South Australia was the only place where growing a small crop of marijuana was not a criminal offence. We might be wrong here… i.e. Nimbin regional council may be a exception, but we can’t be bothered finding out (stoner talk disclaimer).

In fact, according to the law at the time, getting caught growing 10 indoor hydroponic plants and around 43 hectares of outdoor plants would only result in a $150 fine. This meant everyone was doing it (true story).

Parents, uncles, guitar teachers, uni students, neighbours, the Italians next door, the Vietnamese at Virginia, Rostrevor College boys or the Catholic Seminarians at Morialta Conservation Park (we never figured that one out) … everyone … yes everyone was in on it.

As an inquisitive youth it was almost impossible not to “spot a crop” whilst standing on your backyard fence. Similarly, it was difficult to not find yourself exploring sheds at a friend’s houses and finding large plantations of “tomatoes” where the BMX pumps should be.

As we grew older, pot was much easier to obtain than alcohol. Meaning many misspent teenage years were spent eating pizza, playing N64 and piking on bean bags as opposed to drinking redbull, glassing strangers and date rape.

The first rental properties such youth leased were filled with Bob Marley memorabilia, some even thought they were the reincarnation of Tupac. But of most relevance… everyone owned Cypress Hill’s Black Sunday album.

Pot was cheap. Pot was good, but most of all pot was easily sourced.

As a result of this historical moment , most 20 something South Australian men now have a basic understanding of the botanical sciences matched with a keen interest in gastronomy. This latter trait only relates to finding the best late night “I’m too stoned to cook – munchie food recipe” however.

In the name of science, NTAR reviewed many such recipes and we are happy to reveal the answer is without much further ado; frozen green beans dipped in mayonnaise.

Try that Poh!

Marijuana’s proliferation was so epic it was never mulled with Tobacco. Marijuana was available in such large amounts it was possible to bury yourself in it, literally.

South Australian’s could cast disdain at east coasters mediocre expensive deals and their outrageously poor attempts to get blasted. When they did meet eastern folk would often ask the South Australian gurus about their weed… cost, species, favourite rapper and so on. These east coasters were often amazed right up until they were outrageously stoned as a result of sharing a cone with an Adelaidean.

Southside represent yo.

Bucket bongs, gravity bongs, apple bongs, chocolate mud cakes of doom, 25 foot peace pipes, hot knives, trombones (not forgetting the other brass section instruments) were all used and reviewed extensively by Adelaide youth.

Even standing around a conflagration of immense size, while listening to Black Sabbath was also trialled as a means to get wasted at one widely attended memorable party.

For the record all that occurred in the latter case however were terrible headaches and complaints from the neighbours.

Getting stoned in such momentous fashion became a boyhood pursuit of many public school kids. Many aimed to design the most outrageous, pain inducing delivery mechanism possible. Stealing equipment from high school science labs was critical to this and so too was giving them awesome manly names such as “The defibrillator”, “Bubble and try-to-speak”, “Gandalf’s gambit” and “Craig’s hot sister”.

Of course some of us grew old and moved on to work, others moved on to Class A manufactured drugs and other more unfortunate types developed long term mental illness. Some are still at the Adelaide Uni Bar balcony right now, stuck in time, buying pints and sharing pipes with dreadlocked doods wearing Pantera t-Shirts.

Eventually in much the same way most fun things are stopped, successive conservative Governments came on the scene set out to destroy the notion of Adelaide being the marijuana capital of Australia. Politicians even used this term. If Mike Rann and Mick Atkinson were the number 1 and number 2 enemies of Cheech and Chong , Anne Bressington was their Svengali.

Everyone was too stoned to realise what was happening and it was all far too late.

Today it is now easier to buy a bong in Sydney or Melbourne. Who would have ever thought that in the hazy days of the 90s? Talk about overkill.

Adelaide as the marijuana capital of South Australia disappeared faster than a packet of Tim Tams in a share house fridge.

Grade: E -

Ky Chow

Today, Ky Chow is a very popular Chinese restaurant in the true Cantonese fashion that is located on Gouger St, Adelaide.

But once upon a time some years ago Ky Chow was located further up the street in a far less palatial setting. The toilet was  not only androgynous but it also shared its space with numerous sacks of rice.

Nevertheless, even with such a poor combined waste management/food storage operation Ky Chow never failed to attract a crowd.

Getting a seat back then was hard on any night. It was small and there was little room.

But Ky Chow knew this and would stay open longer than any other eatery, often letting people sit for a midnight meal after Friday night drinks.

The menus were of the “dead sea scrolls manky laminated” form, and butcher paper adorned the wall in both Cantonese and English, notifying honourable diners of specials.

You could never go wrong. The food was always good.

Then all of a sudden Ky Chow was gone. Like a Ninja disappearing in a cloud of smoke, Ky Chow vanished leaving behind Ying Chow, T Chow and Chow Chow. We often wondered which Chow came first, but were far too busy eating to ask.

None of these other faux Chows were ever as good as Ky Chow so… this was a nadir of sorts in the Adelaide Cantonese scene. (OK well T Chow is pretty good too but that it is not important for this story).

Many hung their heads in shame on Friday night wishing they never scared the gentle spirit of Ky Chow away.

But then about three years ago we heard the mystical night warrior Ky Chow was returning. The family had recovered from some sort of mystical battle with an ancient demon/dragon of the 4th Century and were back in Australia looking for a venue.

A boy did they find a good one.

Bigger, cleaner, classier and downright awesome-O Ky Chow was back, now a seasoned veteran of the multi dimensional spirit wars raging across the asian collective sub-consciousness.

Facebook events were created, incense being offered to elders, bookings were being taken a month before opening and the bloke with the glasses must have been laughing with the biggest buddha grin when he realised how much money he was going to make.

Kind of like those Animes with the big miscoloured eyes and maniacal mouth.

Three years on it is still hard to get a table without booking. But when you do chance it, the bloke with glasses gazes at his arcane scrawlings before scanning the room, gazes again, scans room, gazes, gazes, gazes, scans and the finally nods his head in a humble asian fashion before ushering you to a table as a horde of international students descend on your being to set cutlery and napkins.

Crouching Tiger Hidden Visa.

Most diners will order the salt and pepper squid, steamed prawns, bok choy, sweet and sour crispy beef and eggplant hot pot.

And of course, not forgetting the orgasmic rapture that is the crispy skin duck. You should always order a serve of duck. Maybe two.

NTAR eds have seen numerous faces melt with delight as they first taste a ducky morsel bathed in the special garlic vinegar following repeated protestation about not wanting to eat Anseriformes.

Just HTFU and try it we say.

Ky Chow is the #13th most popular thing out of a total of #64 things to do in Adelaide according to Lonely Planet for a good reason (#279th out of #5415 in the Pacific!).

But you should ignore this post and forget you ever heard about Ky Chow, so it is easier for the Eds and their friends to get a table.

Grade: A

The Southern Redbacks

If you thought this whole “parlous state of Australian cricket” was a relatively new phenomenon you obviously have never followed the fortunes of the South Australian Cricket Association (SACA) team, the Southern Redbacks.

There is a saying in the Australian Cricket Community that once you get your baggy blue you get your baggy green. This means if you play for New South Wales (NSW), you will soon play for Australia. Well if you get your baggy red today (South Australia’s cap colour), you would be lucky to get a cold drink of your choice from a drinks cart.

Also known as the West End Redbacks, these chaps have not won a single professional competition from any of the now numerous forms of the game since 1995-1996. The fact they are sponsored by a South Australian beer that is the gastronomical equivalent of rancid horse piss should set your alarm bells ringing early. We think they recently did something of note in that god awful thing they call 20/20 last year, but really… performing with a bat for 20 overs is hardly special.

So in short, they currently suck big ones.

Now don’t get us wrong, South Australia has produced and fostered some wonderful cricketers; Charlie Grimmett holds the State record for wicket taking in the 20s and 30s, The Chappell brothers are International legends, David Hookes was a master who knocked a century off 30 something balls, Spin King Terry Jenner schooled Shane Warne and even Sir Garfield Sobers flew in to play for SA. Of course we should not forget Sir Donald Bradman himself pulled on the SA Whites late in his career knocked 369 in one game and retired on a corner in Kensington.

But the last four of note to make the big game in Australia have been Shaun “Can’t be bothered anymore” Tait, Darren “Boof” Lehmann and Greg “Undercut” Blewett. They each have had something special but not enough to cement a long term spot in the country’s best 11.

Then of course there was Jason “not actually from SA” Gillespie.

Current Redbacks Captain Michael Klinger is from Victoria. He joined the Redbacks in 2008-2009. This speaks for itself.

Lastly the rather large Mark Cosgrove was dumped from the team because he dumped too much food in his gut and lays of the cardio. He is now in Tasmania (TAS) cutting a swathe of runs in Boon-esque fashion. 150 odd just the other week. This one will hurt the SACA for years to come.

If you have ever been to Adelaide Oval and watched a game you will know how magical it is. In fact KG Cunningham thinks it is so magical he is going to have is ashes spread there.

If you have ever played amateur Cricket in SA you will know how much the sport is cherished and loved here. Our love goes right back to the 1890s where NSW, VIC and SA formed the Sheffield Shield competition. SA won the competiion in it’s second year. The fact Western Australia and Queensland and perhaps TAS have sat above SA in rankings over the last years is just salt in the wound.

The Redbacks are a shame that needs to be turned around and turned around quick.

Grade: E

Cibo

When Cibo first came on the scene it was THE uber cool cafe to take that cute asian international student you spent most nights thinking about whilst procrastinating.

Cibo had an upstairs, downstairs and outstairs. It also had the very cool hole in the wall on Rundle Street where you didn’t actually have to set foot in the cafe to buy your coffee.

Not to mention very good cannolis.

Cibo now however, can be found at Burnside Village, various corners of the CBD and if it is to be believed … Port Wakefield truck stop. All across Adelaide Cibo serve up a lukewarm form of exceptionally milky and outrageously weak coffee sourced from Rio Coffee on Nelson Terrace to elongated lines of the bourgeoisie and international students.

Money cannot buy class. But it can buy shit coffee.

We are informed Queensland now have their own Cibo(s) where banana benders can also engage in all manner of cafe lifestyle wankery like us Adelaideans.

Much the same as the Starbucks of the States people sit on pouffes blogging about fixies on  their communal apple mac and sipping coffee. The also nibble on cakes and of course in true Adelaide fashion, stare at whoever enters.

The red and white decor oozes modern minimalist charm and the dark green uniforms with red embossing ooze communist dictatorship. It is this “bringing two worlds together” aspect that has served Cibo well… that and an Italian name.

If you have never seen a Cibo before you are not missing out. You are also clearly not from Adelaide so please find the evidence here: http://www.ciboespresso.com.au/

There you will see people happily drinking coffee from paper cups (FAIL), doods with Ducati jackets stirring in sugar (FAIL) and full frontal cyclist bulge (FAIL).

If there is one thing worse than drinking shit coffee it is doing so while trying to avoid man bulge.

On any given Sunday you will see an endless line of man bulge in red lycra. If you don’t, Cibo will probably give you your money back.

Grade: E

(For those who like man bulge – Grade: A+)

Mike Rann MP

The Honourable Mike Rann MP has been South Australia’s Premier since 2002. He has been leader of the South Australian Labor Party since 1924.

Mike Rann’s electability however, is beginning to wane like his eyelids do when he is viewed from the side. This is because Adelaide voters, like most of Australia’s electorate inevitably tire of a Government and think “Fuck it … let’s vote for the other people”.

This is neither complex nor unsurprising. They have been doing it for a while. This is the dilemma of there only being two political parties actually viable of forming Government.

Some of these people will dispute their simplicity and claim erudite knowledge about this Government’s fallings. These are typically expressed in the AdelaideNow comments sections as follows:

“Something, something … ICAC”.

As a result it is almost universally agreed that Mike Rann’s leadership is now at a terminal stage. Mike Rann however would disagree. His pale wrinkled hands now grip tighter to his State Admin Centre express elevator handle bars than ever before.

NTAR does tend to have sympathy for Mike Rann. Editors have preferenced him and his inbred colleagues from the western suburbs over other equally inbred people from the eastern suburbs (and rural regions) for more than just the aforementioned simplistic reason mentioned above.

NTAR believes if you actually look at the things Mike Rann has done away from the spotlight of deadbeat Ministers, a swarm of party hacks and the interests of ethnic developers, Mike has done a reasonable job.

Hospitals given their perpetual parlous state have been well funded, Child Protection and Disability have been given copius amounts of dollars in comparison to the former Olsen Government and infrastructure goes up like Parliament House waitresses on the Office of the Black Rod.

Mike Rann has done a good job and this is due to his iron fist.

Well wrinkly pale fist.

Shouting “I am from South London”  at whoever could hear, Mike Rann MP would cause his enemies to submit through sheer will and the fear of his relationship to the Kray brothers.

Mike Rann was free to “Get tough on the Bikies”, name hospitals Marge and boycott pissant television shows like Today Tonight.

This is because Mike Rann MP had the backing of the two most powerful Labor men in South Australia; Don Farrell and Mark Butler. He now only has the former and good looking softly spoken “we need a new approach” Jay Weatherill is waiting in the wings.

Nonetheless the Ceremonial Mace of the Lower House is still in his grasp as usurpers hound his heels.

The decision is his.

NTAR prefers to stay neutral in this battle but as stated earlier does have a soft spot for Mike and truly despises the wicked spivs of the East.

Grade: B -

the gawler line

The Gawler Line is a cannonball run through the Northern Suburbs on a set of soon to be electrified train tracks that finishes in the not so country town of Gawler.

This train line runs through the bogan heartlands of Salisbury and Elizabeth and as well the dereliction that is Munno Para Downs and Davoren Park. There are many other places of suicide inducing suburban madness scattered along this train line that weaves through industrial outskirts, seemingly endless container storage facilities, military bases and fields of dried grass.

Gawler in comparison to these monuments to human misery, is a rather quaint little place with a top rate bakery. But the fact residents of Gawler must traverse through this outer suburban land of purgatory is cause of repeated protestation.

Therefore many Gawler residents opt for the express train that only delivers their person ten minutes faster, yet avoids places like Smithfield Plains and Chidda. This works for the city workers but not the university students and pensioners that must make this trip post 9am.

Instead they must brave the train with 16 year old mothers pushing prams, all manner of drunkards, graffiti writing or scratching gangs, racists and perpetrators of domestic violence.

Picking your seat and in fact picking your carriage well on the Gawler line is therefore a skill one must quickly develop. Staying away from doors and inward facing seats is a must to avoid those who hop on looking for a fight. So too is staring blankly at the floor for the whole 55 minutes and not engaging in the Adelaide past time of staring at other people. Staring at other less than desirable forms of human life, unlike most other parts of Adelaide, will result in you either swilling from a dole bludger’s goon bag or making eye contact with a toothless teen wielding his latest purchases from the reject shop in grubby hands. Either way your mouth or eyes will end up feeling violated.

The wisest and most seasoned Gawler Line experts insert their headphones, place on sunglasses both in summer and depths of winter and stare at a random point in space like a returned US Iraqi veteran. Staring out the window is hard thing when they are all scratched to buggery by children with high quartz content rocks writing their incorrectly spelt (sic) tags such as “Maymed” and “Revuw”.

In the three years an NTAR editor rode this highway to hell memorable experiences included smoking cones with 12 year olds in-between carriages, suffering a drunken and failed attempt at pickpocketing, giving a statement to police as a witness to an act of domestic (transport) violence and sharing blue fairy floss with a whale sized recipient of Newstart allowance.

He also had many opportunities to walk various blondes with regrowth as long as their skulls to their cyclone fence surrounded homes in order to listen to 2-Pac and play x-box, but in his typical chivalrous manner declined.

The Gawler Line is one of those experiences you should certainly not miss… even though while you are experiencing it… you certainly wish you were not.

Kind of like rimjobs.

Grade: D +

staring

One of the problems with living in Adelaide is that whenever you step outside of your front door you are liable to bump into someone you know. This chance multiplies if you use public transport to commute or eat lunch outside of your office in the CBD. This probability then becomes a rule if you head to the Central Markets to buy some fruit and vegetables on a Saturday.

NTAR labels this the “Adelaide dilemma”.

For example; the lead editor of NTAR is neither likeable nor popular and … he has only had a handful of miserable girlfriend experiences. Yet despite this general failure at life, the Adelaide dilemma strikes so often he prefers to spend most of his spare time grinding for gold in World of Warcraft, as opposed to having to shave and pull on some clothes to appear somewhat respectable.

As a result of this mathematically proven expectation, Adelaideans forever gaze around scanning the crowd for people they know. This may not be purely an Adelaide phenomenon; those learned sorts have described it as being a form of psychological conditioning known as “small town syndrome”. It is therefore probable that Adelaide is one fucking big country town.

All it takes is one trip to a civilisation on the eastern seaboard before an Adelaidean realises this behaviour is not mirrored elsewhere. The Adelaidean wanders down George St in Sydney staring at each person walking by and soon realises they are not being stared back at. One would hope at that point, this individual reaches the logical conclusion about the size or, nature of Adelaide. Yet a more probable reaction is the Adelaidean declaring: “Sydney is full of snobs”. Repeating this sort of behaviour in New York City is liable to get the Adelaidean stabbed or reported to the Police for suspicious behaviour.

Following stitches, arrest and return to Adelaide, he or she then proceeds to stare at everyone who walks past and breathes a sigh of relief when those people stare back at them in an equally Adelaidesque fashion. They do the same when they enter cafes, bars or places of public interest. This is because there is no doubt whatsoever a face in the crowd was either;

• in one of your tutes,
• caught your bus,
• was/is a C-Grade Celebrity
• was a former clarinet player in your band, or
• waited in line at the STD clinic with you a week ago.

NTAR writers have bumped into people at weddings, funerals, football matches and even urinals. I personally have heard two people I know have a discussion in a public toilet whilst I sat laying a number two.

The rule of three degrees of separation applies forthwith.

An incident most Adelaideans would relate to is getting so drastically pissed on Rundle Street the night before they forget just who it was they bumped into upon rising. Taking solace in absolute faith of the Adelaide dilemma occurring, a quick scan of your phone the next morning reveals the various re-acquaintances that occurred. Adelaideans then remembered they would have promised to “catch up sometime”, but invariably, do not.
You see, promising to “catch up” with people you randomly bump is another form of psychological conditioning in response to the Adelaide dilemma.  Whilst you have no intention of ever wanting to see this person again, you know there is a high chance that you will see them again if they continue to consume pizza, beer or watch movies at the cinema. So Adelaideans exchange pleasantries until the next time the chaos theory brings these two objects trapped within space and time together.
Not all is bad however, the benefit of this is being able to recognise and have repeatable perving opportunities over a number of years. It etches into your brain like the Wednesday TAB form guide.

Good and bad; the Adelaide dilemma is a double edged sword.
Whilst it certainly sounds unbelievable, the chances of having a car accident on the road with your former university lecturer whose car boot is filled with gay porn DVDs is not impossible … in fact, it is remarkably high.

Grade: C

the adelaide parklands

Adelaide’s parklands are a tract of green space that the surround the City Square, the CBD and the suburb of North Adelaide. In effect they form what is known in city planner circles as a “green belt”. First planned by Colonel William Light, a pseudo town planner cum military strategist and the founding father of Adelaide; Adelaide’s parklands have been here since day one.

A popular story informs that Light wanted to ensure there was enough space between the city and potential enemy artillery emplacements. Assuming of course someone would want to go to war with Adelaide, Adelaide’s population could then engage in guerrilla warfare in and around the cities’ manicured lawns. NTAR is not sure if this is correct and nor does NTAR have the time to find out. But NTAR is aware that many environmental groups discredit this claim and purport Light was in fact an early conservationist. It is more than plausible that neither of these claims are correct. Evidence being the fact Adelaide’s parklands are filled with foreign plants and landscaped gardens as opposed to say, the natural South Australian environment and ammunition caches.

Nevertheless, Adelaide’s Parklands are popular places for the urban elite to picnic, walk dogs, run the corporate cup and come night time … drown gay university lecturers and rape female students. The parklands appeal to all manner of tastes.

Not all is peachy however. The urban elite are particularly defensive of their parklands when outer suburban bogans visit to use this communal South Australian asset. The parklands due to their size and worthwhile usable space are used for all manner of events from the Fringe Festival, the Clipsal 500 car race, Equestrian events, Music Festivals and Bocce. The cultural battle between artsy fartsy events and bogan proletariat events means the parklands truly are … the people’s parklands.

This is much to the chagrin of North Adelaide residents who believe the parklands are their backyard. Residents of North Adelaide being entirely wealthy except for the four housing trust homes housing some 23 Bosnians, have been seen measuring decibels at outside concerts. This does not include high art events however, where they are front row on their picnic blankets sipping Adelaide Hills Semillon.

A little known fact is that whenever anyone who does not live within 5km of the parklands enters the parklands themselves, a secret network of alarms set off in North Adelaide to remind the Doctor’s wives to stay indoors and finish their embroidery. NTAR has a credible source that pin points this big brother-esque surveillance regime at the feet of Councillor Ann Moran.

As a result of this bloodless class warfare in the parklands it is no surprise that various democratic exercises see the Parklands as a vexing political issue as well. The lead editor of NTAR was bemused one day to find a pamphlet in his North Adelaide post box one day calling for “an end to all commercial activity in the Adelaide parklands”. NTAR’s editor found this extreme Trotskyist-Enviro positioning via pamphleteering amusing not just for its picture of a bespectacled man/woman printed on non-recycled paper. Lead Editor found this considerably more funny when one considered this hairy radical wanted to end the Southern Hemisphere’s biggest annual hippy clusterfuck; Womadelaide.

Of course, most of this shit ends around Mad March and Adelaide’s Parklands go back to hibernation. Solely used by joggers, closeted homosexuals and possums for their various past times.

As a result NTAR labels Adelaide’s parklands as an uncut gem waiting for someone with the requisite vision to make them an Australian icon. Not quite a pass, not quite a fail.

Grade: C -