Blok M diary, July 2005

Dog days

Yes, it’s been a long hot month. Nothing earth-shattering has happened down the Blok, but there have been distant rumblings - rumblings of a more literal nature as far as the bands in Oscar are concerned. It seems they’ve reverted to the low-grade, loud-noise howlers that they used to hire, which is a great pity as they’d made real improvements in their music over recent months.

Top Gun is a mystery wrapped in an enigma. No-one seems to know who the owner is, or who’s in charge on any given evening. There are persistent rumours that it’s for sale, or is likely to be in the near future, but no one can confirm or deny this. Captain Birdseye and the Reveller have kept up their crusade against loud music early in the evening, and consequently no longer get the effusive welcome they used to receive on going into the place. But as we philosophically observe one evening, they need us more than we need them.

Everest is reported to be doing well this month, perhaps because they’ve sorted out the timetabling clashes between the live music and the major sports events on the big screen TV. The Reveller has had a couple of very pleasant sessions in the downstairs bar, which is a good place to sit and relax as it’s definitely mellowed over time.

D’s Place downstairs continues to thrive, and there’s always a good crowd of early evening regulars chatting the hours away over their beers. The upstairs is reported to be doing fairly good trade, but the Reveller hears very disparate comments about the place. Some guys think it’s great - others have given it up as a bad job. Some complain that there aren’t  as many cute SYT’s as there used to be - others say the girls are as pleasant a bunch as ever. The Reveller hopes that the upstairs bar picks up momentum, but is personally giving it a miss until they sort out the VIP room - which is one thing that nearly all the punters do agree on. It’s widely condemned as a waste of good revelling space.

More bullshit lines

The Reveller’s mailbox has continued to receive a stream of bullshit lines - his thanks to all the unsung heroes who’ve shared their nuggets of wisdom and experience! Here are the latest offerings:

• Of course I don’t want to meet your younger sister, you’re the only one I want to be with.
• No I didn’t ignore you - it’s just that I forgot to turn my phone on again after today’s important meeting. (To wife explaining why you didn’t return her call at 1.30 am)
• I work for the visa section of the Australian embassy.
• No honestly I’m not disappointed at all, I really love Wonderbras.
• I just go there for the beer and the sports on TV. (To wife)
• Of course we’ll meet on Monday, yes, Plaza Senayan, a handphone absolutely…now don’t spit it out!
• All the children in my family have blue eyes it’s an absolute certainty that any child of mine would have them too. What’s that, no condom? Well if you insist then.
• Honestly I’d really like a back rub - it’s just I’ve got bad sunburn, sorry.
• Of course I remember you, you’re unforgettable, I never had a night like that, you’re so special to me.
• I understand you’re a barmaid, I appreciate you’re not like the girls out there, I know you’re not a butterfly, of course not - we could just meet for dinner, that’s all.
• A massage! Can you get them here? I thought this was just a bar. (In Melawai Hotel 6th Floor)
• Have you any kiwi in you? If not, would you like some? [will need some explaining!]
• Honestly, all girls like it this way!
• No, I’m not married, I’m in town for business and haven’t checked into the hotel yet - how about we go to the Melawai Hotel for the evening?
• I only came here tonight because I knew YOU would be here.
• Get as close as you can, then close your eyes and inhale deeply through your nostrils (loud enough so she hears you - not sniffing like a dog, though - but savouring like a connoisseur - and say, as you exhale slowly, "Ummmm, that’s nice". No matter what she says, your response is, "Thank you!"
• My wife doesn’t understand me. (Corny, but still surprisingly effective.)

Chat Rooms

Business is booming in the web site’s chat rooms, and every day sees more guys - and even a few Indo girls - joining the membership list. There’s a lot of animated, and sometimes quite hilarious, discussion going on, and of course a lot of practical information and advice flowing from the old hands to the tenderfoots who are new to the Blok and its ways.

Everyone’s welcome in the chat rooms, and - unlike most forums on the web - you can read and leave your own postings without having to become a member. So come on guys, have a look and go with the flow! Click here for a short cut to the forum.

From bars to verse

My good friend David Jardine has acquired the status of a local landmark, so long has he lived and flourished in Jakarta. But as well as being a lifelong socialist and a local historian of note, it’s not widely known that he has a poetic streak in him. He modestly claims to be a mere scribbler of doggerel, but his little ditty about Jakarta deftly captures the feel of the old place, and the Reveller is very pleased to present it here for you.

Ode to Jakarta

Up and down Sudirman go the roiling ranks
Metro-Minis, Kopajas, occasionally the tanks
In and out of Senen they jump the steamin’ queue
Heading out to Grogol through the noxious brew.

Along the way in old Blok M, vendors by the score
Taxi drivers, conductors, now and then a whore
Look in at the Top Gun, D’s Place, Oscar’s too
Sixth Floor and Lintas, to name a famous few.

Go to Doctor Budi should you get the clap,
N.S.U. or syphilis, goddamn rotten rap
Be careful with your partner, there’s a lot of it about
To strike the the Aus, the Pom, the Nip, the Frog, the Kraut.

David Jardine, 1998

While we’re in a poetic mood, here’s a little poem by George Orwell that’s so relevant to Blok M it’s worth quoting in full:

When I was young and had no sense
In far-off Mandalay
I lost my heart to a Burmese girl
As lovely as the day.

Her skin was gold, her hair was jet,
Her teeth were ivory;
I said, “for twenty silver pieces,
Maiden, sleep with me”.

She looked at me, so pure, so sad,
The loveliest thing alive,
And in her lisping, virgin voice,
Stood out for twenty-five.

Epilogue

July ends not with a bang but a whimper, to echo the memorable words of T S Eliot. It just fades away, and as we slide into August it might never even have happened. In these intercalary dog days Blok M is a theatrical backdrop, a painted scene against which we actors strut our parts and deliver our lines.

As the Reveller chugs home in his regular bajay one night and reflects on the sights and sounds of the dying month, he hears distant echos and sees dim phantoms in his mind’s eye - and for some reason, a line of poetry lodges in his consciousness: "ancestral voices prophesying war". For we live in turbulent times, and Jakarta is a slumbering social volcano.