(I was thinking of dropping in on one of several house parties there, but got sidetracked by running into two old friends outside the Café Nova, which was a pleasant surprise.)
The tram to Brunswick St. was packed. Bonus points go to the fashionably-dressed mario type who spent the entire tram trip voluminously spitting on the floor; and I do mean voluminously, dribbling rivulets of saliva onto the ground as conspicuously as he could in between spitting loudly; the floor beneath him looked like someone cleaned out a bird cage onto it. I wonder whether he was suffering from some medical condition, or whether he was just doing so to show his contempt for society and/or what a macho-man he was.
On the way back, walking up Brunswick St., I realised that Fitzroy has turned into Prahran; everywhere I went, I could hear the muscular thump of house music. Mind you, we're probably behind the curve here; in Prahran, they're probably into more fashionable things than house music, like NME '70s-Revival Rock or daggy 1980s top-40 hits or cunnilingus-themed rap songs or something.