Blok M update, June 2005

Status report

There are bad months, there are really bad months, and there’s June. Not that June itself is to blame, far from it - indeed, it’s the intermittent spells of wild debauchery down the Blok that have kept the Reveller sane this month. No, the reasons are tediously technical. After arduously recoding all the web pages there’s a SNAFU when the London server goes completely doolally and shuts down the site. When it comes back on line, all the interactive content has gone walkabout. Sorting out this fine mess wastes more than a week of precious writing time.

The other ‘gotcha’ in June is the Reveller ending one job, and starting a new one - with all the uprooting and hassle that this entails. That’s the bad news. The good, no, the really good news, is that the Reveller’s new job is just five minutes down the road from Blok M.

But back to the Blok. June is bustin’ out all over, goes the old song lyric - and so, by golly, are some of the girls in My Bar! Indeed, the place is pretty well packed most nights with a new crop of eye-poppingly buxom girls. Well, not exactly new in the sense that they’re young. "Mutton dressed as lamb" is a commonly-overheard comment from the old lags, as the floozies strut past them at the bar. Sad to report, a fair number of them are a bit sombong and obviously think they’re doing the bar a great favour by gracing it with their presence. Even more sinister is that some of them are asking for really loopy amounts of money, and throwing very nasty tantrums when told to get real. They will not last long.

June has also seen a shift in the Reveller’s early evening drinking habits. Top Gun, after returning to favour and being successfully rehabilitated, once again goes completely apeshit with the music - driving the Reveller across the road and into Sportsmans for a bite and a beer. A steak and a salad, served up with a beaming smile by those lovely waitresses, and an effusive greeting from Paulus, the boss, works wonders to calm the frazzled nerves. When he settles his bill and strolls out into the street, the Reveller is a happy camper ready to take on the world - or at least, the Wild Things in My Bar.

D’s Place is still going strong with the early evening trade, and is a pleasant place to start off a night on the Blok - but many of the guys, and a lot of the girls, don’t bother with the upstairs bar any more. The music’s been brought under belated control and the staff are as charming and attentive as ever, but it’s become a characterless, rather boxy little space that’s neither a real disco nor a serious bar. It’s been tampered to death.

A rose by any other name

One of the guys dropped the Reveller an email the other day asking why he calls the girls ‘Sweet Young Things’, as he prefers the expression ‘lbfm’. Well, it’s a matter of personal taste. ‘lbfm’ is a bit too crude and coarse for the Reveller - it reduces the girls to sex objects. ‘Sweet Young Things’, on the other hand, is more pleasant sounding. It describes them well - they’re certainly young, and invariably sweet - but there’s a touch of irony in the expression as it implies innocence, an attribute that the little darlings most assuredly do not possess!

One of the themes of the Blok M web site is that the girls are a marvelous bunch of individuals who deserve respect as people, and appreciation as characters. And the great thing about the Blok is the variety of fauna you can find - both girls and guys. Sure, there are hardbitten girls who are on the game for all the money they can make, just as there are guys who only see the girls in terms of bangs per buck. It takes all sorts to make a world - or as the French say, vive la différence!

The Wizards of Oz

One quiet evening the Reveller is chatting to his good friend Captain Birdseye, who, as has been mentioned many a time in the Chronicles, possesses the most depraved mind in Blok M and has an endless supply of the most tasteless jokes and anecdotes on the planet. "Tell me, are you a typical example of Australian manners and humour?" ventures the Reveller, after listening to a really sick anecdote that quite puts him off his beer. "Nah," comes the reply, "there’s many a lot worse than me". Shaking his head in disbelief, the Reveller just can’t conceive of further depths of degradation.

A week or so later the Captain thrusts a book at the unsuspecting Reveller as we call up our first beers of the evening in Top Gun, and tells him that it’s arguably the most important guide for any non-Aussie to read if he wants to understand antipodean life and culture. It’s The Traveller’s Tool by Sir Les Patterson, better known as Barry Humphries.

Now this is not a volume for the squeamish. It’s guaranteed to offend just about everybody. Apart from being the vilest scatological piece of sick writing the Reveller has ever clapped his eyes on, it combines sexist vulgarity with the crassest ethnic stereotypes imaginable, and savages just about every religious sensibility you can think of. If this summary doesn’t put you off, perhaps you’d like to read Sir Les at his appalling best - click this link for a sample from his chapter on food, A nibble down under.

Sir Les is a cruelly brilliant caricature of the Aussie male at his appalling worst and his loveable best. But strip away the stereotypes and the clichés, and you’ve got a pretty good idea of what makes the guys down under tick. Looking around him one night down the Blok, the Reveller realises that much of the flavour of the place is directly due to the Aussie contingent. A greater bunch of beer-swilling, back-slapping, happy-go-lucky fornicators it’d be hard to find anywhere. For sheer joie de vivre and great bonhomie, they’re the best. The Reveller raises his glass and salutes all his Oz mates, past and present, and the many readers down under who are regular visitors of the Blok M web site. Cheers, and good on yer!

Mafia speak

The crop of Mafia-themed books, films and TV drama series that the Godfather spawned has led to many actual (and quite a few pseudo) Mafia expressions entering our beloved language. And as he finishes watching Jane Austen’s Mafia!, a mildly funny spoof starring Lloyd Bridges, the Reveller realises that some of the clichés in that, and other, movies could be applied to Blok M.

So here are a few translations:

"Your friend is my friend."
- I’ll take both of you.

"Omerta!"
- Don’t call or SMS me.

"You are for the long sleep."
- I want an all-nighter.

"You do not show respect."
- You’re asking for silly money.

"Here is an offer you cannot refuse."
- I’ll buy you a nice new handphone.

"He sleeps with the fishes."
- He likes to go with Indramayu girls.

The Empire Strikes Back

A recurring theme in the Chat Rooms is the bullshit that the girls feed the guys - false names, ages, origins, history, crises - and so on ad infinitum. Indeed, we all agree that it’s part of the game and one of the eternal joys of social life down the Blok. We like swapping yarns about the latest whoppers, and having a good laugh at the ingenuity displayed by some of the more creative Sweet Young Things.

But as one of our correspondents in the Chat Rooms has rightly pointed out, the girls don’t have a monopoly on bullshit - we guys do pretty well, too. So the Reveller has spent a few evenings down the Blok collecting some of your favourite chat-up and bullshit lines, and thrown his own penn’orth into the mix.

With the help of the Reveller’s carefully crafted list you too can be a silver-tongued rascal and sweep the girls off their feet with your wit and charm!

Tax relief

Now believe it or not, some serious and weighty matters are discussed by the guys in the bars - at least, that is, until they’ve passed the alcoholic Lagrangian point beyond which babble and incoherence set in. One night we’re talking about the announcement of yet another draconian government edict aimed at taxing expats, and considering allowable expenses that might be claimed by the Blok M regulars.

Captain Birdseye, a generous and philanthropic soul, reckons his Poverty Alleviation programme would be a really good tax break. Yes, he’s saved many a Sweet Young Thing from the desperation of poverty, and kept many a family above the rice line.

Another of our group reckons that half the house building in the kampongs of Indramayu is financed by his noble and generous contributions to the girls, so he’s going to claim a tax break for his Rural Development programme.

The Reveller scratches his head for a moment, then he has the answer - he’ll claim Educational Foundation status for tax purposes, as he’s helped so many able but impoverished girls through high school and college, and broadened their knowledge of English language and culture.

Security

The Reveller is pleased to report that there’s been a noticeable cleaning up of the Pelatehan taxi scam - there are fewer rust buckets lining the street in the early hours of the morning, and the touts are less aggressive than they used to be. This is good news indeed, but the ‘waiting time’ payment is still crazy - several guys report that they’re now expecting 50,000 rupiah for the short haul down to Lintas Melawai! Walk down the street, and you’ll get that same journey for 5,000.

The road, however, is still badly pitted and potholed. One memorable evening the Reveller’s taxi pitches into the huge hole between Everest and Top Gun, and there’s a very nasty metallic noise as the suspension takes a walloping and his head slams into the roof of the taxi.

My Bar has set up a cloakroom just inside the entrance where the Sweet Young Things can deposit their bags, and beefed up security at the door. The other bars, however, are just as lackadaisical as ever. Perhaps the managers believe that their places are protected by invisible force-fields, or that the pixies will magically prevent anything Nasty happening.

Epilogue

June has come and gone, and it’s been a good month all round down the Blok. My Bar is doing a roaring trade most nights in the disco, but the upstairs hasn’t taken off as hoped. The Oscar upstairs development hasn’t caught on, either. As the Reveller pointed out quite some time ago, these expansions will only succeed if new blood can be drawn into the Blok - the existing clientele just isn’t large enough to fill all the available space.

Chugging home in his regular bajay one end of the month evening, the Reveller reflects that the Blok is a marvellous support mechanism when you’ve got a slew of problems and headaches to sort out. Because whatever mood you’re in when you go into the Blok, you can be pretty sure to come out of it with a smile and a sense of the greater balance of things. Yes, the answer to the question of life, the universe and everything isn’t 42 - it’s Blok M.