well, gee, would you look at the date…
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.
April 29th, 2005 at 2:41 pm
Martin,
I agree with your post on what it takes to be a gentleman. I haven’t really stopped to think about it all at once recently (only piecemeal).
As for what’s the point of ANZAC day, I would have to disagree. I think the “Lest We Forget” motto is a worthy one to live by (despite its original origins as an outcry against self-glorification in the wake of war (Kipling)).
Unfortunately, the implementation and politics thereof can be disappointing. For example, until recently not allowing family members to march in the colours of lost ones (IIRC), the outcry over the Turkish inclusion this year, etc.
But anyway, I too am procrastinating
May 10th, 2005 at 11:34 pm
Hmmm “Lest We Forget” is an interesting one… because if there is a point to Australia’s (what seems like) endless holidays in honour of wars we’ve fought in, then it should be to say, “well, here we are, remembering, lest we forget how horrible war is”; rather than (as seems to be constantly shoved down our throats) “hooray, lest we forget that people died to preserve our freedom” (what a terrible American cliche) “and let’s all promise to each other that we would in a heartbeat die to save Australia’s freedom ourselves”… as if Australia’s freedom is, or has ever been, in any danger at all from anyone except the incompetent arse-lickers in Canberra intent on using anything they can get their hands on as an excuse to curb our freedoms, increase their power, and generally improve the financial prospects of the Kerry Packers of this world…
Particularly when none of the wars we celebrate (with, at a large stretch, the exception of the second world war) actually had any influence, potential or actual, on Australia. Particularly when Australians were only ever dispendable cannon-fodder for at first the British and later the Americans.
pah.
(and boo to you, for awakening the bitter, angry cynic in me :-P)
To set the record straight, I have deep respect for the experiences of any man or woman of any nation who has seen combat. I have no problem with honouring veterans, nor with memorial days. However, I do think the focus of any “celebration” (for want of a better word) should be mourning, not idolising the dead; respecting, rather than congratulating the surviving veterans; and commemorating the end of a war, rather than gloating over a victory.
The bitter, angry cynic in me finds solace in the fact that many high-profile surviving veterans share this opinion.
May 11th, 2005 at 12:26 am
We are in agreement then
Perhaps an initial misinterpretation/lack of clarification…
Ne’er a truer word were spoken:
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
May 11th, 2005 at 12:29 am
Or more originally:
http://homepage.mac.com/bmulligan/classics/latinlyric2003/texts/Hor.carm.3.2.pdf