well, gee, would you look at the date…
Monday, April 25th, 2005
it must be time for me to post again.
Went to Hamilton with the choir. Came back again. Exhausted. Nothing to see here, move along.
I’m so over ANZAC day. Have been ever since school. No disrespect to anyone who actually fought in the wars we’re celebrating (are any of them still alive?) but can somebody explain to me why we’re celebrating war at all?
I’ve got a midsemester test tomorrow. I should be studying. Instead, I’m blogging. Woohoo.
(This post is a bit incoherent and random, isn’t it? I’ll try to get better as I go along.)
I was asked something recently that got me thinking. What is it that I admire so about the 19th century European gentlemen you read about in Sherlock Holmes or Jules Verne? Let’s see…
Being a 19th century gentleman(*) in 21st century Australia is not about Class. Upper Class is about being born into privilege, inheriting money, connections, perhaps a job from parents rather than earning it themselves. Ich. Martin has not much respect for this kind of “success”. Lower Class is about whingeing about the Upper Class (that is, people who have X but don’t deserve X or haven’t earnt X), without doing anything about it yourself. Martin has not much respect for this kind of “misfortune”.
(*) or lady. Gender is irrelevant. But since I’m thinking mainly about myself, and since I’m male, we’ll talk about gentlemen.
Being a “gentleman” is about style. It’s about dressing up to go to the theatre. It’s about standing up and offering an elderly passenger your seat on the tram. It’s about holding the door for the person behind you.
It’s about looking into someone’s eyes and smiling when you shake their hand, and saying “pleased to meet you”. It’s about being genuine and honest when talking to people, and not just following the Toorak Socialite pattern of conversation: “Well, I haven’t seen you since we were at Timbertop together. How are you doing with yourself? That’s wonderful! Well, I have to run back to Trinity to organise the ball. We must meet again!”. (yeah, right.)
It’s about respect for yourself; respect for others; respect for traditions (even when you’re trashing them). It’s about dressing up by wearing a top hat or furs, not by flashing a boob on national television. It’s about splurging occasionally on an Italian silk shirt. It’s about looking good not out of vanity, but out of respect for yourself. It’s about caring for yourself with good food and exercise, not with a fashionable gym membership, a tanning salong and a Brazilian wax. (ouch.)
It’s about going to an expensive restaurant every so often. It’s about drinking expensive drinks in moderation, rather than the cheapest beer they’ve got, by the keg. (Although a $350 drink with gold leaf garnish is pushing even my budget.)
It’s about knowing what’s proper. It’s about wearing a hat and gloves when you go out sometimes. It’s about having a sense of humour; and being able to laugh at yourself. It’s about being generous; realising that building an enormous Victorian mansion with a ballroom effectively obliges you to host balls.
It’s about realising that a “ball” is not a university event at a nightclub with free Kahlua, but an occasion to dress up, meet people, hold conversations, and dance. That means there needs to be enough quiet and not-too-dark space to actually hold conversations. There needs to be enough light to admire what people are wearing.
It’s about taking compliments humbly, but not self-deprecatingly. It’s about giving more compliments than you receive, and giving them honestly. It’s about noticing a lady’s new hair, top, or shoes, and commenting on it. (Everybody loves being complimented on their appearance. Even if they say they don’t.)
It’s about the combination of style and substance. All style and no substance makes Frank Abnagale Jr - any bank in the country will cash a piece of paper you’ve embossed with the words “this is a cheque… no really!”, but you’ll still feel unsatisfied. All substance and no style and you might as well blend in with the rest of the homogeneous crowds in Melbourne - walk around for a day in torn jeans, rubber thongs and a rugby jumper with the collar turned up to see what i mean. But the combination of both is what makes a 21st century gentleman. It’s what we mean by “gallantry”; “chivalry”; “gentlemanly conduct”. That’s what I’m talking about.
