Tuesday, April 7, 2009

My Serioso

In recent times, otherwise known as -since I got into internet radio - I have happened cross a number of turns of phrase which I have adopted into my own lexicon. I like the way they sound. Phrases such as 'back in the day', 'excuse me', 'just sayin' and 'Do You Understand' are just a few examples of biting yet satirical quips that I can be sometimes heard saying now...

...Admittedly I'll kinda drop the volume on my voice because few times that I have uttered them, people have looked at me like I'm a 'douche'.

Of all the phrases that I have encountered, on my Alistair Cooke-like exploration of Americana via the interweb, the term 'serioso' I have come to regard with the most affection. I first heard this term on an episode of my perennial favorite podcast 'Keith & the Girl' (www.keithandthegirl.com) when the Girl (a.k.a. Chemda) used it to describe her boyfriend of something like seven years, Keith.

When I first heard it I had been my own relationship but a short time after being tossed out of a 7 year marriage and I was not quite sure how I was to refer to my own 'serioso'. I find the term partner rather sterile. There's not a great deal of warmth in it.


Partner in what? Imagine that, at a dinner party, making introductions. 'This is my partner in co-habitating...this is my monogamous sexual partner...we engage in consensual intercourse...occasionally'

Likewise the terms 'girlfriend' and 'boyfriend' doesn't cut it for me either. I'm 33 for Christ’s sake! Imagine me, making introductions like Skippy Handelman from Family Ties to a group of adults. 'This is my girlfriend guys! Later on we're gonna go make out over in the corner and maybe she'll wanna touch mah ding dong!'

One word...Douche!

To me, the term 'serioso' has an urbane affection about it, a kind of 30 something appropriateness that isn't stupidly child-like nor is it as a bland as a cardboard soufflé.

It's a kind of hip, warm New York-ism, (kudos to Chemda), that I find appealing...I love New York. Of course down here in backwards-conservative Adelaide, Australia dropping the phrase among friends doesn't get me very far. I get those same looks of derision...


Here however, on this page, I have the freedom to describe my wonderful serioso on my terms and I couldn't give a toss who it puts off...except maybe my small but very important readership.

So - my serioso...

I love her.

It's as simple as that. She is the single most important person in my life, my best friend, my muse, my confidant.

Our relationship has been a tumultuous one - the result of a lot of things happening around the time we started seeing one another. But the tumult has faded and I find myself in a rather happy place in terms of our relationship.

My serioso has an romantic, old world way about her - the product of several generations of farming women who lived hard, raised family in tough circumstances and had to be self reliant a lot of time. These women were principled women of a proud Germanic/Scottish heritage who often put their family, their children before themselves.

I often refer to her as my Barossa lady. The Barossa Valley in South Australia is where she grew up. The Barossa Valley is lush and green, a wonderful melting pot of Eastern European influences that prides itself on its wine, it's food and it's country living. My serioso is the product of that heritage. Women knew how to cook then - really cook. Recipes have been passed down through generations as sort of sacrosanct treasures; however they have been quite bettered by the newer generations.

My serioso once told me that her grandmother used to make a German tea cake like no other Barossa lady on Earth. We've had some in a café or two up there and it's been good...something special even. But it never has stacked up to the one my serioso's grandmother used to make.

My brother once described my serioso as looking a little bit like Joan Jett from back in the day, say around the time of that movie 'Light of Day' she did with Michael J. Fox, though I think my serioso looks way hotter. Besides, Joan Jett is kinda old now. My serioso is tall, stately, with long legs, equally long hands. She has a wondrous smile that can light up a room.

My serioso never appears more sexier to me than when she is standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom applying her make-up or doing her hair. She performs this unconscious pout when she's checking out her application of the lip stick, her handiwork with the heating wand or how a new blouse, dress, scarf or item of jewelry and it does look hot. She hates me looking at her when she's in fashionista mode. However if I fail to give her a 250 word appraisal on how a particular item looks, when she wants it, I hear about it - alot 

Bless her f@#^ing heart...

Like the older Osbourne sister, who declined to be filmed for the reality television series 'The Osbournes' my serioso - similarly - won't allow me to post pictures here or anywhere else on the interweb. And I can understand her point.

She, like a lot of people, doesn't trust the internet, its whole invasion of privacy thing. Given my recent, shitty experience with iTunes - again - she has a point.

But that is not to say that she doesn't completely discount the internet’s attraction. I often get home, late at night after an afternoon shift at the hospital to find my laptop lying on the couch - battery completely discharged (smile through clenched teeth). When I plug it back in and boot it up to make sure that it hasn't crashed out completely (because bloody Vista SP1 still has a tendency to do that!!), I find internet windows still open for online cosmetics stores, IKEA, Laura Ashley, Janesce, curtains, drapery, clothing...

It seems that the whole invasion of privacy thing doesn't extend to online shopping.

But there is no doubting her sense of style and grace when it comes to decorating a space. We have similar tastes and that is gold dust given the challenges we encountered merging our respective collections of furniture. I have invested in a number of items of antique furniture that are of a mixed Victorian/early 1920's persuasion while she, my serioso has gravitated towards some French provincial chic. Somehow they work together. We're furnishing our home with new curtains presently. And these are not cheap fabrics we're looking at either. Though it may cost a frigging fortune, however, I can be confident that the final result with nothing short of stunning.

As a mother, my serioso is exquisite. She has a firm but gentle way with my son which - most of the time - stops him short if he's out of control. She is tender in an almost ethereal way and can bring calm to the house that exudes warmth and love.

As a woman she is passionate...in more ways than one...

My serioso is a woman in the truest and bestest sense of the world. She possesses an old world femininity and loves to be a lady whilst being fiercely independent and self sufficient. I don't mind saying that she, often times, leaves me for dead. She has the ability to bring clarity to a situation where I have lost mine. She is inherently logical and can see her way through a problem much better than I can. And she is a fascinating conversationalist - something I don't appreciate nearly as much as I should. She has an emotional strength that can sometimes come across as being a little unforgiving, but she also has a vulnerability that lends itself to much emotion.

In the end, my serioso is my companion and my best friend. And I love her...

Just to be completely random here, I commented to my brother-in-law the other day that I thought that a noticeable amount of sexism has crept into the lead up to Father's Day (which is celebrated here in early September). During the lead up it seems that television, radio and print has served up a steady stream of advertising for hardware stores.

So much so that I got pissed off with it.

To me it's akin to advertising steam irons or washing machines for women. It's saying to men 'all you're good for is doing things around the house - even though we spend our time bitching and complaining about all the things that need to be done around the house on every other friggin' weekend of the year. 'Here's a drill...now go drill something'.

Role Reversal Ladies - all you're good for is standing at an ironing board - even though we spend our time bitching and complaining about all the crumpled shirts and trousers that need to be done on every other fricken weekend of the year.

Here's a $350 iron...now go press!

See what I mean?

Where are the advertisements for package deals on the PS3 or the X-Box 360! Where are the advertisements for say a weekend for Dad and his mates to go paintballing or hang gliding for the afternoon!! And, actually, where are the advertisements for Dad to have a session with a masseuse, where aromatherapy is involved, a bit of a manicure - hell even a bit of a facial!!! (Did I just go too far then??)

Those advertisements aren't there because the advertisers and corporations (read hardware chains) don't want Dad's to have any fun on Father's Day. They would rather the population be simply conditioned towards purchasing power tools. Well I have news for them...


(I myself don't mind the odd excursion into the hardware store and I can handle numerous power tools but...)

...Father's Day should be about big boys’ toys - X-boxes, Playstations, a flight in an old war bird or even a session at a day spa! NOT power tools, socks, friggin' cook books written by sporting hacks or Peter Brock tributes.

(Addendum - April 7th 2009 - I actually wrote this around the time of Father's Day 2008 but since I haven't posted for a while and I was stuck for updated content).

I got a nice bottle of aftershave and a DVD of my current, favorite TV show...

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