in defiance of drudgery

bad dreams come real time

2012-01-11T16:27:00.000-08:00

Jack

2011-12-11T02:44:00.001-08:00

Sabrina the Vigilante Road Expert - Part 1 and 2

2011-10-03T05:45:00.000-07:00

As the true inventor of the multi-coloured elastics belonging to the braces of the teeth of mostly white middle class children and mums re-entering the workforce, you’d think Sabrina Fredrickson’s fortune would be made. While her creation has gone global, her name remains an obscurity, unknown to anyone but her employer and colleagues at ‘Hold tight we’ll fix your bite dentistry and orthodontics’ where she has worked since 1998, a week after her mother had said “you’d make a great dental nurse Sabrina” over charred barramundi and some soggy potatoes.

In the period beginning in1999 and ending in 2001, Sabrina assisted orthodontist Dr Philip Joseph secure 623 sets of braces onto 623 sets of teeth. Dr Joseph would sit his patients in the chair, put on his facemask and get to work without so much as a hello. His reputation was so good that anyone who had work done by him was referred to as post-Joseph.

Sabrina’s job was to clean up the mess and by day’s end she was left with far less resolve than when it began. Sabrina was sick of playing second fiddle to the Marcel Marceau of mouth care. During a three-week bout of heinous ulcers she contracted following a shared meal with close friend, Guinevere, Sabrina watched the film Spiceworld on repeat.

Sabina watched the film so many times she began to lip sync the words while watching it. She loved Ginger Spice so much she almost burst. Geri Halliwell made Sabrina feel better about her own red curls and freckly face – forever the butt of schoolyard jibes. At that point in her life, Sabrina was only three years out of high school. Some mornings she’d wake up wishing she were still a student. Subconsciously Sabrina missed the cloistered environment that school once provided. A year earlier, Sabrina had actually found herself in school assembly wearing an outdated summer uniform after one of her dreams morphed into real life. How she had managed to get a concession bus ticket, let alone get on the bus remains a mystery. While it was the most embarrassing moment of her life, the schoolyard was far more peaceful than she remembered. The taunts of her tireless tormentors Michaela Ross and Fraya Ginsberger: “ginge minge” and “Sapphic Sabrina” had been replaced by a collective silent eyeballing.

It was while she was on the couch, completely lost in the ludicrous film that she came up with the invention that should have made her famous but didn’t. The Spice Girls were forever encouraging people to spice up their lives. For Sabrina this was too general, she wanted to take it further. She didn’t see it encapsulating her area of work or her interests. Colour permeated everything the Spice Girls did and Sabrina wanted to bring some of that colour back into the area of dentistry and orthodontics. It was in Sabrina’s attempt to apply this axiom to her work that mouth spice was finally realised. The spices were one hundred times more durable than regular rubber bands and could be personalised by the wearer.

A reputable dentist, Phillip was losing clients left and right as a result of his horrific lack of social skills. Despite pleas from his wife to attend AA – Aspergers Anonymous (which did not limit itself to only those with a definitive diagnosis of Aspergers Syndrome but welcomed all “people who feel they make others uncomfortable”), Phillip robustly refused, believing he was suffering nothing more than the pains of existentialism. When Sabrina arrived at work with her invention one Monday morning, Phillip was beside himself. The thought of wooing his clients back into the consultation room with oral accoutrements was a joyous one.

Sabrina went on her first overseas trip in 2002 to South East Asia to locate a supplier. She wanted to create a sustainable micro-business enterprise that would see a local community benefit financially and socially from the venture. She was determined for her invention to be as ethical as possible and after a week in Cambodia had found the perfect partnership. On her return, Sabrina was greeted with the most awful news. Phillip, being the complete degenerate he was, had patented the idea while Sabrina was away.

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“‘4TEASN’ ? What kind of a number plate is that you fucking poser?” Sabrina uttered as a hoon in a shiny white holden raced in front of her 3 door bubble car after dangerously cutting in at the traffic lights. Sabrina wasn’t sure what his number plate actually meant. Who was he trying to tease? He was driving an outdated generic car minus modifications and had a baby capsule in the back. Sabrina had clocked off work early and decided to follow 4TEASN given he had so erratically drawn attention to himself. It was a weekday afternoon and traffic was fairly heavy so even though 4TEASN skirted in and out of the traffic, Sabrina was still close behind. After fifteen minutes of stalking, he turned off at a mega mall. Sabrina followed him into the car park. In her periphery vision Sabrina saw 4TEASN park and get out of his car. 4TEASN looked like a white version of Spinner Bell, a character in one of Sabrina’s favourite television shows, The Wire. His clothes were oversized and he had a bald head that was secretly hiding his receding hairline.

If it weren’t for the white Spinner Bell (WSB), Sabrina wouldn’t be caught dead in such a big car park. Once she was certain he’d left for the shops, Sabrina opened her dashboard. Out sprung three drawers containing her most prized tools. Feeling around the top shelf she grabbed a packet of matches. Her black hooded cape was under the passenger seat. She put it on as she slowly got out of the car. With the hood down just far enough to cover her eyebrows, Sabrina crept across the car park over to 4TEASN. With hands cupped to her face, she looked through the car window into the back seat. Not only was there a baby capsule but there was a booster seat in there as well. Could this guy get any hotter, thought Sabrina to herself as she walked around the car, inserting and snapping off a matchstick into each keyhole remembering not to forget the petrol cap.

In the years since Phillip had patented her mouth spice idea as his own and set up a practice in Paris where he didn’t have to actually talk to his patients because he couldn’t speak French, Sabrina had been putting much of her energy into road vigilantism. Once a slight interest, road safety had become increasingly important to her. In fact, it was taking over her life. She had neglected Friday night zumba for five weeks running and her emergency food cupboard was almost empty bar a packet of two minute noodles and a trial pack of Special K.

If she wasn’t attaching braces to teeth under the watchful eye of Fred, Phillip’s less morally bankrupt replacement, she was on the road, scouring the streets for a situation in which she could lend a hand. Sabrina had recently had to put some restrictions on her own personal patrolling and had limited herself to areas within a twenty kilometre radius of her home. A week earlier, she had done so much driving that she had spent her entire wage on petrol and witches hats and was unable to pay her internet bill. If there was an emergency road situation outside of the radius and Sabrina by happenstance was there, then this rule did not apply.

Jumping back into the car, Sabrina put the matches away. She pulled the velvet hood over her face and tilted her chair back so she could listen to her favourite podcast This American Life while waiting for white stringer bell to return. The podcast saddened Sabrina. The story was of American Soldiers coming home for a break in a tour of duty in Iraq only to find that the life they left behind is the only one they can now identify with. With tears streaming down her face and clogging her vision, Sabrina could just make out the big balding figure across the car park. Under his arm was a rice cooker. Sabrina felt better about match sticking the guy’s car. Can’t drive, can’t even cook rice she thought. She didn’t even care to see what happened next, she’d wasted enough time on him.

Jumping back into the car, Sabrina put the matches away. She pulled the velvet hood over her face and tilted her chair back so she could listen to her favourite podcast This American Life while waiting for white stringer bell to return. The podcast saddened Sabrina. The story was of American Soldiers coming home for a break in a tour of duty in Iraq only to find that the life they left behind is the only one they can now identify with. With tears streaming down her face and clogging her vision, Sabrina could just make out the big balding figure across the car park. Under his arm was a rice cooker. Sabrina felt better about match sticking the guy’s car. Can’t drive, can’t even cook rice she thought. She didn’t even care to see what happened next, she’d wasted enough time on him.

Turing left out of the car park, Sabrina headed back into civilization. Passing the strip mall featuring nothing but wedding dress shops, crusty take-away joints and a dingy public bar, Sabrina caught sight of the woman of the take-away. Hidden in what looked like a floral bed sheet with armholes, the woman smiled joyfully through a huge gap in her front teeth. What wonders modern dentistry could offer this woman, Sabrina thought. Sabrina’s eyes left the road for a short second at the sight of the toothless woman. As she returned them to the road, now darkening with the rest of the day, the car in front of her swerved and made a U-turn at four way intersection. Edging forward at the lights, she sped to the next safe turning spot. Now on the other side of the road, Sabrina could see the culprit up ahead. She made it her mission to chase the driver down. Given that Sabrina was morally opposed to speeding of any kind, it was at times difficult for her to actually find the drivers she despised so much.

It was a good ten minutes before she was behind the U-turner as they slowed down at a set of red lights. Hitting the horn, Sabrina left her hand there for the duration of the lights. At traffic lights, like when doing the dishes, time seems to slow. For a long, drawn out two minutes, there were cars everywhere, all eyes fixed on the driver in front of Sabrina. What could he have done they must have thought, to warrant such an aural onslaught?
This public humiliation was too much for him. He put the hazard lights on, swiftly got out of his car, and half-in, half-out he twisted to face Sabrina in the car behind.
“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” he shouted into the headlights, which Sabrina had on high beam to add insult to injury. He was a slight character with unusually flabby jowls for someone of such size.
“You did a U-turn at a four way intersection!” Sabrina shouted back in reply. Her hand had become numb and much to her chagrin she had had to remove it from the horn.
“I went the wrong way”, said the jowly man.
“That is no excuse, you could have killed a dog or even a person”, retorted Sabrina.
“Imagine that, you went the wrong way and you also killed a dog or a person!” She added.
“But I didn’t kill anything”, exclaimed the man, amid beeping horns alerting him to the fact the lights had now changed to green. He shook his head, frustrated, got back into the car and sped off. Sabrina was not sure whether this man would be changed as a result of her intervention. The least, she hoped, was that he thought twice before attempting a similar turn again.

Sabrina had not expected so many jobs in the one night. The chase of the jowly man had taken her ten kilometres outside of her self imposed radius. On her drive back home, it was difficult for Sabrina not to hop out and direct traffic at the blacked out set of lights at the corner of Hunt Street and Bloomingdale Parade. Uncharacteristically, she momentarily sped up to bypass the chaos, making it far easier to brush aside what she had seen. It was just a blur, Sabrina told herself, and it could have been anything! Instinctively, she knew it wasn’t just anything but a legitimate road issue. However, this thinking was one of the only tactics Sabrina had found that helped to control her vigilantism.

By the time Sabrina had hit the freeway, her podcast was almost over. The mousy sounds of Ira Glass, the program’s host was addressing listeners, encouraging them to attend a live recording of This American Life to be held in Chicago the following week. Sabrina downloaded the podcast weekly, though had been slack of late and was now listening to back to back episodes she had not yet heard. That live version Ira was talking about would have already been recorded by now, she thought. Ira was the voice Sabrina heard more than anybody else’s and secretly he felt a bit like home to her. As the show ended, she stopped off at her favourite Chinese take-away to eat some fried vegetable dumplings and her favourite steamed greens.

Gloria Chung ran The Noodle Queen and was the daughter of the restaurant’s matriarch, 80 year old Lien Chung, who nightly sat quietly overseeing the whole operation, immersed in the Chinese daily newspaper. Lien had gold teeth that looked like grills. When she smiled, the world was brighter instantly. Though Sabrina couldn’t understand anything Lien said to her, she was very sure she had a severe lisp. The lisp was genetic and undoubtedly exacerbated by the grills. ‘Why didn’t I invent grills instead of bloody mouth spice’ thought Sabrina to herself as she sat down to her dumplings with soy sauce with chili inside. Grills were attractive to all markets and were actually cool – even the oldies like Lien would consider getting some.

RIP blogs - not quite so fast

2011-10-03T00:10:00.000-07:00

I was reading this article last week on the sad decline of the blog. As I was reading I thought to myself, 'fuck, that's me! I haven't blogged in the time it's taken my ex-partner to have a baby. Something just must change!' I'll have you know that, unlike the blogger of the article, I have not become a profligate renovator nor had any children. I have however, been to New York and Montreal and recently bought an aqua bicycle.

The Green Vegan Cake

2010-11-27T01:31:00.000-08:00

Each week, my babe and I get a box of surprise organic vegetables from our friend Kurt(his little business knock knock organics could deliver weekly surprises to your doorstep too if you like). When I say surprise I mean that sometimes I open the box, see something and very often think to myself, "good god what is that?" Quite often I have to figure out what it is using google because there is just no other way! How strange to think that up until that box-opening moment, some vegetables I had not ever laid eyes on my entire life.

Google is a much harder search tool when you have no idea of the name of the thing you are wanting to know about. Many months ago in the box was what looked like an incredibly hairy but monstrously sized ginger. It was not until I searched "vegetable that looks like large hairy ginger" - sifted through porn sites claiming hot redhead pussy that I found out what this ginger-on-testosterone was - Jerusalem Artichoke! Now that you know, it's good to use like you'd use a potato. Don't, whatever you do, treat it as a large ginger because it does not taste like a large ginger at all.

Now, getting to the green cake. Last week's box had another special:

Okinawan potatoes/purple sweet potatoes!

Unlike the monstrous ginger - this one I'd seen before. The question last Saturday was: "what are we going to do with these purple sweet potatoes they are going off!"

When things start getting a little soft - people notice it less when disguised in cake/sweetie/smoothie form. While the green tinge of this cake was not at all in the original recipe found here - if you substitute the ordinary sweet potato for their purple cousin, somehow - you will get a green (not purple? I hear you ask - I KNOW, beats me too!).

We made this recipe a little simpler, mostly due to the fact we did not have the right things.

This is our more simplified version of this recipe - so that if you want THAT EXACT GREEN CAKE you must do whatever I say.

CAKE BATTER

(it looks disgusting like this but bear with me)

3 cups wholemeal flour
1 1/4 cups caster sugar
1 tablespoon baking soda
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 1/2 taspoons ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
2 large purple sweet potatoes (that other recipe uses sweet potato from a can - gross!)
1 cup water
1/4 cup flaxseed oil
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
2 teaspoons vanilla essence (or the imitation variety)

BUTTER CREAM

2/3 cups vegan margarine
4 cups icing mixture
1/4 cup soy milk
2 teaspoons vanilla essence

METHOD
1. Boil and mash the potatoes

2. Preheat oven to 180 degrees. Lightly grease 2 x 8 inch cake pans. For the batter whisk togeher flour, sugar, baking soda, spices and salt. Add sweet potato, water, oil, vinegar and vanilla. Whisk until you form a smooth batter.

3. Evenly divide cake batter between pans. Bake for 30-35 minutes or until toothipick/sharp object comes out clean. Allow cakes to cool for 15 minutes. Transfer to wire rack, let them cool for 10 minutes, remove from pans and allow to cool completely before even thinking about icing it.

yes, each side of the cake should look like a dirty pool in winter

4. For the icing, in a large bowl beat margarine with an electric mixer (don;t waorry, we just used an egg beater) for 30 seconds. With the beater going add sugar, milk and vanilla and beat for a further 2 - 3 minutes or until fluffy.

4. To assemble cake, place once cake layer on serving platter. Spread the filling evenly on first layer and place the other layer on top. Frost the sides and top layer of the cake. Top it with whatever you like - we found beautiful rose buds! Also our cake seemed to lose its filling as it was squished and absorbed by the two greedy layers of the cake, but perhaps you might be luckier? Maybe if you actually have an egg beater that could help with fluff-factor and prevent such disasters from occurring.

See, not so bad looking!

What a find

2010-10-30T20:29:00.000-07:00

I was trolling through the internet - looking at cats up for adoption and I found Catherine Zeta Jones - just there - waiting to be picked up at the RSPCA in Yagoona.

The Turd

2010-08-08T00:21:00.000-07:00

I work in a small hospital. It doesn't cater to major trauma or organ replacements but it has 200 beds or so mainly devoted to geriatrics and those recovering from new knees, hips or the unfortunate fall. These are mostly geriatrics also; geriatrics as idiosyncratic as possibly imaginable of course. Anyway, back to the trauma. Last week we had a trauma of our own - the trauma of the turd.

Sitting at my desk cluttered with to-do lists, half written referrals and my squeezy stressball brain I like to take with me to ward 1B to help families better understand why their favourite person has again forgotten which receptacle is for bodily fluids, Sybille is motioning hysterically as she recalls her rather frightening encounter with the infamous turd.

The work toilet opposite the office is discreetly marked with the letter f and some other wording that makes anyone not working there think it's not actually a toilet. There are two cubicles where of course you can never shit in peace because the law of averages at 9am means that most other people have had their breakfast and raced to work also without having enough time to digest properly. Next to the toilets are two shower cubicles in case you really want to spend more time at work than you really have to.

"It was just there right in front of me in the shower" Sybille says aghast, about to erupt in hysterics, her face twisting into its catching and cheeky grin.

"What was?" I ask as I swivel around, pen in mouth, squeezy brain in hand.

"A shit, a shit in the shower."

Given that there were two toilets next to the shower cubicle it seemed very difficult to contemplate someone getting them mixed up. Or being unable to take an extra step next door to dispose of their wares. Of course any number of my current patients I can imagine making this simple error, but a staff member, surely not!

What an image I thought, a little turd greeting bathroom goers directly opposite the bathroom door! I chuckled inside all day and told everyone I could about the event. Of course the cleaners were called in quick smart and the turd banished. But who could have done this? Obviously we all hoped that none of us could be that gross and nonchalantly shit in the shower. Of course it wasn't any of us. Most of us laughed hysterically for the next week recounting the story as collectively we tried to piece together the story or imagine a culprit. My manager is in the process of purchasing swipe card access to the toilet so that nobody can just come in off the street and shit in our shower.

A week later, the turd long gone and forgotten I went into the bathroom. I flushed. The water, instead of the usual disappearing act started to rise and rise and rise. Anxiety stricken that I might have to call someone to assist me with the awkward aftermath of an overflowing toilet bowl it stopped, close to overflowing, and retreated back into the bowl. Thank christ I didn't have to call Ned the head of security and fire safety. He was on my interview panel - I would have had to leave the job if he saw me in this state with an overflowing toilet bowl and red cheeks. To be sure it was now working I stupidly flushed it again. Of course it wasn't and we had an anxiety encore. Again it didn't spill over but it was closer this time and there were very nearly some tears. While the water retreated once again I heard a very loud gurgling. It sounded a bit like soup when you leave it on the stove to simmer and it pops at the top and sounds slightly sexual.

Anyway I walk into the next cubicle. No sign of the origin of the gurgles. Uh Oh. The shower? Surely not. I step into the shower cubicle and I see it. The turd is back! But it's not just a turd, it's a whole lot of them. The shower is teeming with turds! I knew it was too wacky a story to believe - someone shitting in the staff shower. There was no secret shitter - it was coming up from the floor! It was a cumulative turd that belonged to - how awful to think - all of allied health!

the choir

2010-07-31T04:21:00.000-07:00

Last week I went to see my mum sing in her choir. Here they are singing two songs. They're singing at Nutcote - the home of May Gibbs - famous Australian children's author (remember snugglepot and cuddlepie?). Her home is now a mini-museum, and you can have a look at it just the way it was when she was there. It's pretty incredible. My year two teacher Ms Turner (3rd singing sensation from the right) - is on the Nutcote board so the choir always gets a gig. This one's in celebration of Christmas in July. My mum Antoinette's on the end at the right with the sharp hair.

snow trip

2010-07-22T06:15:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I took my first ADO and went to the snow with the people I love the most. We had a flat tyre on route and once an incredible Japanese man and his son stopped to help us put on the spare, we were off again. We eventually made it after taking a roundabout trip through Yass that added 100kms to the journey. It didn't matter because we got to meet Rhonda the service station lady who doubled as a local information hotspot. She couldn't really help us or read a map very well but it didn't matter really. We bought three lolly bags and some pringles and were very satisfied. We made it by nightfall and I had the worst vegetarian risotto anyone could possibly imagine to top it off.

Brooke bought her babe Bonnie a camera for her birthday which coincided with the snow trip so obviously couldn't turn it off the whole weekend. It was my first ever trip to the snow and while I didn't ski - it's incredible to be immortalised on film in a cumbersome waterproof onsie. I don't understand the end credit either. Director's in-joke I imagine.

tell you a secret

2010-07-13T06:04:00.000-07:00

oldies

2010-06-07T04:54:00.000-07:00

I haven't said much about my new job. This is partly due to time constraints and partly due to ethical and confidential-type issues (I guess that didn't stop me in my last post where I name and shame my boss' boss - whoops). While I do occasionally accidentally (I mean lazily) drop a first name in recounting to close friends the joys and frustrations of my daily interactions with all kinds of people usually over 80 I try and keep work talk to a minimum. I do want to keep my job for a bit longer so I can go overseas because I still haven't done that yet. The people I come into contact with everyday make such great subjects for this blog that I'm finding it increasingly difficult not to share anything. Like how many people have the opportunity to meet an 87 year old ex meteorologist who's spent the last 10 years of her life driving a 1970s combi van around the country only to stop off at her daughter's to look after her dying german shepherd?

Gender and the new job

2010-05-31T01:37:00.001-07:00

So I haven't been blogging for ages. This is due to a few reasons. One of these reasons is that for me at the moment in my life, nothing is as exciting as freaks and geeks or the drums (topics I have already covered sufficiently on this blog) besides the other reason which leaves me with such little time to actually write about it. That other reason is my new job. I now have 8 hours less everyday to sit on the internet, watch the x files, experimental jam-make or write on my blog. It's ok though because as far as jobs go I've found a bit of a dream job. For me this means working in geriatrics and there being a pool pretty much next door - satisfying my swimming obsession while also my interest in aged care. Last week one of my clients, 2 weeks post total knee reconstruction hobbled all the way to my office to drop off the most amazing card and the most incredible chockie/earl grey tea combination you ever did taste. That was pretty cute. My second favourite story is this doozy:

something new for learning

2010-05-14T23:44:00.000-07:00

Don't put jerusalem artichoke in your tea because it's only pretending to be ginger.

2 incredibly embarrassing things

2010-04-29T07:03:00.000-07:00

Two incredibly embarrassing things I've done tonight are:

1. Clicked and looked through each and every picture in this History of Hotties homage to past Cleo Bachelors of the year. How someone who pulls out their dick at an award ceremony can obtain this somewhat prestigious title is beyond me (see winner 2009). This outrage was somewhat tempered when I saw that the 1999 award went to a voracious skivvy wearer (Anthony Field - Blue Wiggle).

2. After not watching much television and switching it on again yesterday I seemed to have somehow been blind to the meteoric rise of Justin Bieber. He doesn't look dissimilar to Shane from the L Word - and when I saw thousands of screaming girls on the television for a moment I thought perhaps The L Word Convention had been rescheduled. I thought I might actually have the opportunity to take a picture of Tina Kinnard with her ugly open toed shoes. Alas this was not to be. In working out Justin Bieber was not Shane from the L Word I spent maybe half an hour watching all the video clips and interviews I could find. How he has thousands of young babes screaming their lungs out beats me - he's not half as cute as Sam Weir (John Francis Daley) from Freaks and Geeks:

Tales from Bourke Street Bakery

2010-04-23T00:21:00.001-07:00

good life things

2010-04-06T21:41:00.000-07:00

For the last few months my time has been spent diligently applying for jobs - and crossing my fingers that I get an interview. I've had four big panel interviews so far and in the last three I have been second best. In two cases they've even called my referees and put me on an eligibility list. All I can imagine is that this is my professional equivalent of being the understudy in a play - learn all the lines and if the favourite is sick, you can have a turn. But the star is never sick and I never seem to get a turn! While all this is very promising and there's no scoffing at being second favourite when you're just starting out in the search of the perfect job it really is a bit heartbreaking coming up second best all the time.

While I am trying to make sure this never happens to me again by spending countless hours speaking and giving adequate eye contact to myself in the mirror in preparation for yet another interview - I am also indulging in a bunch of good life things. Good life things are those things/places/events/people/ideas/books/music that makes even the notion of being (pretty much) jobless and (pretty much always) second best so much easier to deal with. I don't have that much time to think about having no money/security/career when I'm busy making my life better with these things:

1. THE DRUMS

The drums burst into my world only last week. Can you believe it? I don't know how I missed their track 'I felt stupid' in which they offered me the key to their collective heart. Even though I didn't take it when it was first on offer I have taken it now. Jonathan Pierce - the lead singer with a swagger that reminds me of a less depressed Ian Curtis with a whole lot more love for himself is something pretty special. Not that I love him or anything - frankly I saw the clip 'best friend' and I couldn't believe what an amazing fashion/dance combo he has got going on. I have been wearing my jeans with their cuffs up for ages and now everyone will probably think I stole it from Jonathan. I have been dancing non stop and my body kind of hurts a bit.

Anyway before totally loving the drums I did a little bit of reading - just in case they were tools and did things outside of these little gems that made them less likeable. From what I found - all I could do was love them even more! Jonathan was raised by religious folk and he used to sneak secular music into his home in his late teens. And then in an interview with The Music Fix when asked if one of their readers was to stay with the Drums for the weekend what would it be like he answered:

"We would probably take them to this cafe by our house every morning where we get coffee and smoke cigarettes. And then we would walk around Manhattan all day long doing nothing but drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. Then we would maybe go out for a bit to say 'Hello' to some cool friends of ours, and then come back to the house and try to watch a movie before we fall asleep."

Saying "hello" to some cool friends of Jonathan! It sounds at once so exciting and sweet.

2. X-Files Season 1

I remember being petrified by the X-Files theme song as a kid. Season 1 came out in 1994 when I was ten. I remember that for years it was my dad's favourite television show - and on occasion if it wasn't too scary we'd watch it together. I am still kind of petrified by the theme song but now since it's on dvd I can fast track through the theme song no problems. For a show I took so seriously for so long - it's great to have an adult eye with which to view it. Scully's huge clothes make her look even smaller than she really is and she's hidden in monstrous blouses for most of season 1, except when she's getting ready for the bath, which seems to be quite often. Mulder is so serious and more sensitive than I remember. The politics of the show obviously are much more obvious to me now that I watch it - and there's a bunch of anti-war, anti-government, feminist messages within this first series that make the series that little bit more interesting. Oh and early nineties fashion - so amazing.

3. Freaks and Geeks

Freaks and Geeks is an amazing, incredibly hilarious comedy/drama sensation that aired on NBC in the states in 1999/2000 but was canceled after only one season. It was created by Paul Feig and produced by the now relatively well known Judd Apatow. It helped jump start the careers of people like James Franco, Linda Cardellini, Busy Phillips and Seth Rogen. The show, set in the school halls of 1980s American suburbia is well written, outrageously funny, fantastically acted and an absolute delight.

I have no idea how such an incredible series was not a hit - and so did the thousands of dedicated fans who led a campaign to have the series' unaired episodes aired in 2000 and then released to the world on dvd so it can be relived forever as it should be. I'm so sad I didn't encounter it as I should have - as a 15/16 year old geek having a hard time in high school. Right now I'm consuming the series slowly as I know there's only one. I have a dvd box set but it's in NTSC format so everything is in very classy black and white. You can watch the entire series online and the first section of the pilot episode here.

4. BSB - Bourke Street Bakery (The Marrickville one)

Bourke Street Bakery is so great that now there are a few in different places. My new favourite place is the Bourke Street Bakery on Mitchell Street in Marrickville. Why? Well they make the best coffee and really lovely bread. The women that work there and make the coffee are really lovely and their coffee is even better than their manners (I know, hard to believe right?). I usually like the soybean and linseed loaf but my last trip to bsb saw the discovery of the millers sourdough - pretty much the most amazing addition to my weekly diet in months. Sensational as both bread AND toast. Recommended for lunch on millers sourdough is a sandwich of tomato, basil, avocado (and haloumi too if you feel like some cheese).

5. Dorothy Porter

Dorothy Porter is an amazing Australian Poet - who sadly died in 2008. Two of her verse novels - The Monkey's Mask ad El Dorado have added some real magic to my life of late. Porter's poetry is rich and inviting. An open lesbian poet - her novels are filled with strong and beautiful women. The film version of the Monkey's Mask makes interesting viewing especially after reading the book - Susie Porter's always got her pants off!

6. The Shrimps

I play basketball on Tuesday evenings in a division 2 open women's competition. I was once a child basketball prodigy and hoped that one day I could play for the Opals. I gave up when I was 15, depressed and addicted to Terrys chocolate orange. Obviously I was destined to do two degrees and become everyone's second favourite person. Anyway, after seven years of not playing, I joined a team a year ago and have been enjoying playing for fun ever since. I have also - in the past year - redeveloped some of those old skills and feel pretty good about my game. In my first season playing again - I invited my friends along to my grand final. Ten of them came and along with my my mum cheered us on and (even though we lost the game) were inspired to start a team themselves, after seeing what fun it can be.

So these wonderful friends of mine - all of them quite small, most of them never having played before - decided to start their very own team in the division 6 competition held on a Thursday night. They called themselves the Shrimps - had singlets made (complete with Shrimps lettering and a picture of a basketball) and jumped into their competition with excitement and anticipation. I was delighted to be their 'coach' - and after lots of mini-training sessions, some pre-game instructions and almost 2 seasons of learning on-the-job/court - my team of battlers are now making it to double figures and are a force to be reckoned with. I feel so great when I watch the shrimps - they get so exited just getting the ball in the hoop. It's like mini-ball but for grown ups.

favourite things

2010-03-29T23:58:00.000-07:00

going gaga on spring break

2010-03-24T17:34:00.000-07:00

I find it really unfortunate that women in incredible positions of power - like Lady Gaga here can say such stupid things. When the masses love you, the babes love you - and you've got possibly the biggest stage on which to shout the most extraordinary messages to inspire something in young girls (a feminist consciousness perhaps?)you open your vacuous mouth and essentially compare being a feminist with not liking men or cars or beer. What an incredible moron.

These ogling drunk wankers on spring break look incredibly like they epitomise this "American male culture, and beer, and bars and muscle cars" Gaga speaks with such fondness of and they are possibly THE MOST FRIGHTENING CREATURES I HAVE EVER SEEN.

special

2010-03-07T20:39:00.000-08:00

So there's a person in my life to whom I am related that deserves her own blog, her own youtube channel and her own television series. She is incredible - although the kind of incredible that is akin to seeing someone do a shit and write a text message at the same time. I'm not actually sure she can read - so am hoping she misses this post. I found her recent joining of facebook group NRNRH (no root, no ride home) - simultaneously the most horrific and hilarious piece of information I've received via the interweb today. Perhaps more so because it lies on the auspicious date of the 8th of March - International Women's Day. A day for celebrating and acknowledging the continued need to fight for women's rights issues the world over. Definitely not a day to adopt offensive man-utterances thought up by some 16 year old chump who most likely doesn't even own a car in which to execute such disgusting demands.

you wrote her a poem? Mum are you serious?

2010-03-05T22:12:00.000-08:00

So yesterday I had two job interviews. The first I successfully completed in my pyjamas and without a bra. Over the telephone from an Adelaide hotel room void of windows (but still the perfect haven for some serious babe-loving) - I couldn't see the concerned and most likely conservative faces of the three stiffies on the conference call from Concord Hospital's Social Work Department but I could feel it through the phone lines. I felt matching pant suits and I felt pearls and condescension.

I don't think that they'll choose me. I asked them to repeat a question and to stop speaking so quickly and I laughed at a wanky question about quality improvement when I was supposed to be serious. But who can be that serious without their bra on and their hair so unkempt and with no natural light?

The afternoon was better - although flying in a plane with my interview clothes on was difficult - I wondered what the others in row 23 up the back of the plane thought of me with my pin stipes and my brown shoes from hurlstone park vinnies. I wanted them to know that I don't often look like a conservative stock broker. I wanted to tell them if I got any of the jobs I'd promise never to wear the combo again. I wanted them to know that in my bag I had a pair of boat shoes I bought for 12 bucks at the best salvation army store in Adelaide according to Dawn. I wanted them to know I wasn't a stiffie and as soon as I finished the next interview at 4 o'clock, I was going to put on my boaties and my checkered shirt and go eat vietnamese with my mum in marrickville.

So, the second interview. My mum was waiting in her smart car with her latest crime novel, biting her non-existent fingernails (I felt like a kid again, being picked up and dropped off, but I assure you, this was a once-off, I'm almost 26! I can do it myself!).

Mum: How'd it go?

Me: (amid quickest ever costume change) It was great. I think the boss lady has a sense of humour. I'd go so far as to say we developed a rapport - I reckon she's an amazing feminist crusader.

Mum: What's her name?

Me: Helen (second name)

Mum: Oh Helen, she's lovely!

Me: Oh my god, you know her?

Mum: yes, I once wrote her a poem?

Me: omg are you serious? Like for valentines day?

Mum: We worked together and I wrote her a poem and read it out at her farewell.

Me: bloody hell - well I hoped she put my "I've also picked up a lot of passion for working with oldies from my MOTHER WHO IS A CLINICAL NURSE CONSULTANT IN DEMENTIA CARE" together with the photocopy of my birth certificate with YOUR FULL NAME on it.

If that nepotist connection plus my incredible interview skills aren't enough to land me this one - then I really don't know what will.

Fulla

2010-02-17T07:51:00.000-08:00

A long time ago, my friend Munch stole this Fulla the Muslim barbie notebook from a variety store in Newtown. I remember it was only priced at 70 cents but because we had made such a find (we found the last Fulla notebook in the entire store) - she thought it was priceless and refused to pay. Like the expensive camembert she would steal from marrickville metro it sat comfortably in her double ds until we reached the safety of the street.

Years later (now) I was walking down my old street and what do I see inside this strange shop, part haberdashery heaven part dollar dazzler but a Fulla the Muslim barbie terry towelling hooded beach robe! I thought our discovery in the variety store was a fluke - but Fulla is HUGE in places Barbie and her tan and her blonde hair and her ugly pink van and her ken and her beach parties is a no go zone for the girl kids.

There are amazing ads for Fulla on the television. According to her Wikipedia page Fulla "loves" fashion - although the woolly number she changes into briefly in this one is UG-LY. So, Fulla doesn't have any sleeveless numbers - but surely she needs a bit of a pullover makeover.

If you buy a Fulla - she costs around ten bucks and can even be bought with accessories(like her favourite cereal - corn flakes!)

What's so great about Fulla? She's totally queer. Look at her and what the girls want to do with her!

Fulla, Fulla, waiting for Fulla
She will soon be by my side
and we'll sit in the flowerbed
I can tell her my deepest secrets
and they are safe with Fulla

Maybe secrets like you want to kiss the real life version of Fulla in the flowerbed like those babes in the incredibly true adventures of two girls in love.

obscure obscenities. new loves and agoraphobia

2010-01-02T15:31:00.000-08:00

Agoraphobia:

I don't really have agoraphobia - fear of crowds/big open spaces - but I'm yet to find a word to explain how I feel when I go to gigs that have a bit of a 'cool' vibe. I'm actually quite good at making conversation with acquaintances and friends on sticky dancefloors with strangers so close to me that if it was my bedroom I'd have to ask for my pillow back. Instead of the anxiety that goes with agoraphobia - in its place is a hyped up overconfidence that makes talking about absolutely anything potentially the most exciting thing in the world. I don't necessarily think I'm not cool (I've read the beauty myth, I did a whole year of gender studies, I know this is all ridiculous) but I get a (possibly unnoticeable to others but significantly present for me) pang of discomfort. Like belonging to whatever crowd requires much more than I have brought with me. I don't necessarily want to belong or fit but organic feelings often overpower more theoretical understandings of performing socially. This is a bit sad, because for the most part, I like to think I'm not affected by trite things like 'in crowds', fashionista indie kids, or people who really need glasses and can have whatever cool ones they like. If I dance I'm not affected. I don't care - I'm dancing! When I start thinking about the insecurities that often lie behind aesthetic projections I'm unaffected also - but at a gig the cool vibes can be almost too overpowering - leaving you with little time for such incredulous self-engagement. Leaving me feeling not only out-of-place but completely guilty because I'm too smart to feel this way!

Although if I feel this way - then fuck, most people possibly less self-critical than me must have this also - and the whole room is full of fake fuckers who should just all share their insecurities. I might even look sweet in my three dollar checkered shirt from the cat protection society? Someone might be writing on their blog about not fitting in - after being at the same gig as me. Thus meaning I may have been in the crowd that they had felt a non-part of. See - it's all in my head. Everyone is totally cool.

Faggot:

Enough of that. I also got called a faggot from a car window on route to amazing music show in the city. I found this awful yet particularly humorous at the time. I was unfazed - one because I'm a queer woman and faggots do not have hips that would pretty much allow a baby to just fall out and also because of how ridiculous it is to yell out faggot to someone you confuse for male walking with a babe. What does this achieve - the babe might leave the 'faggot' for the truth tellers in the cheap toyota?

New Loves:

PONY TAIL! Due to aforementioned uncool factor - I had my head in the sand and had not felt the magic spirit that enters your body when in the presence of this great band. Quite possibly the most epic show I have ever been to.

more tv babes

2009-12-19T17:01:00.000-08:00

In reminiscing over the tv babes of yesteryear I completely forgot the tv babe of my (current) dreams. While Peep Show has been around since 2003 - I discovered it only recently and have devoured all of it multiple times over. Dobby - tv babe of the moment first appeared in series 5. Dobby is a nerdy girl gamer with a penchant for dungeons and dragons, real-life historical re-enactments with swords in the woods and Mark, even though he's a tubby nerd. I actually love her.

ice cream

2009-12-15T23:49:00.000-08:00

TODAY I LOOKED AT MY RESULTS AND I GOT FIRST CLASS HONOURS! Holy shit - I also have a job interview on Monday at Bankstown Hospital. If I don't get this - I'll still be first class - and I can have a ruffled head of hair at some other place of employment. Anyway - far more interesting is the ice cream.

Today I was driving along Parramatta Road. For those of you not from Sydney - it's huge, long, three-laned and straight. Imagine this - you're driving, or walking on the other side of the road and in the corner of your eye there is someone with an ice cream. If you can tell someone's eating an ice cream - the ice cream is pretty much almost intact. If someone was eating an ice-cream but were just eating what was left of it (i.e. the cone) - you wouldn't notice that the person was even eating an ice cream. It could be any number of things ranging from a muesli bar, a croissant to a sausage roll. Basically most of the ice cream still needs to be on the cone for a passer by (like me in my speedy car) to notice it.

Point of this story. How do you get FIVE BLOCKS FROM THE MCDONALDS ON A STINKING HOT DAY and still be eating a recognisable ice cream? Surely this is beyond the realms of scientific possibility? This woman was nowhere near finishing her ice cream and was literally a kilometre away from where she obviously purchased it. I can't work out a) why it hadn't melted all over her or b) why she was so slow. Surely it doesn't matter but it was pretty weird - what was she doing with her ice cream for the four blocks before I saw her skimming the top of the ice cream with her (possibly tiny) tongue?

long johns

2009-12-13T19:00:00.000-08:00

One of my 'things to make you feel better' from a few week ago were crisp white things. I found some amazing brand new crisp white long johns in the summer hill vinnies on friday with those bottoms that are elastic rather than just unfashionably wide like trousers and I didn't buy them and now I don't feel better. They were for boys and had the pouch with the hole - like it's just so difficult to take off your pants with sleepy eyes or something to do a wee. Anyway - this put me off buying them at the time but right now these silly pants are taking up far too much of my thinking time and it's fucking ridiculous. Six dollars for peace of mind AND something crisp, tacky, useless and white. I bought a slurpee instead that day and now the slurpee is gone. The pants would still be here. I think maybe I need to go back.

sideways baby

2009-12-01T18:22:00.000-08:00

On Monday night I had a pretty amazing dream - one, unlike most of my dreams, that can be recounted and sounds somewhat like a story rather than a slipshod mess of crap nobody will understand no matter how exciting it was to me at the time. Anyway so this dream was one of those dreams where real life meets dream-land life and it's like hyper-life-fun-times but only momentarily, unless of course you dream about your friends dying or something awful. Then it's hyper-real while simultaneously also being hyper-shit. I have had many of these - often in wake-life too actually. That's when you see arseholes you might prefer stayed in your mind - or things like that.

In hyper-dream time - you wake and for about half a minute or so you have to decipher which bits are from your mind - and which bits remain true in the real world. On Tuesday morning when I woke up for 30 seconds I believed I had a baby - but then I realised I did not actually have a baby. Thank christ too because I would have had a hard time with joint custody given that the father was the dude from Sideways (Paul Giamatti) and he lives in America. I was giving advice in my dream to a friend - about possibly having a child/not having a child and making fun of her decision to have some in the future, like I didn't want them. And then somehow I bypassed the fact I was super pregnant with the sideways guy's baby (although I do not remember him in the picture until after the baby was real and outside of my body) - and after I had hung up the phone thought to myself holy shit what a hypocrite I am - making fun of people wanting kids when I've just popped out the sideways baby. So I sent my friend a text message "oh god i'm such a fuckwit, here's me making fun of your situation when I just had the baby of the guy from sideways."

Indeed I was not quite sure how to look after this baby, and much like a bicycle - I kept leaving it in the pram chained to poles. It was always there when I suddenly remembered that I was probably meant to be breastfeeding it - which when I did it just vomitted all the time and I had to keep apologising to people for its spew-mouth. After a while I got to really like the baby - I was really excited by it - although at the same time kind of annoyed I had this life-long connection to Paul Giamatti because I really didn't know him very well at all. And when I woke up I was a little bit sad that the baby was gone but happy that Paul wasn't on my back about when he could see the kid. I did briefly check my phone though in the 30 seconds of hyper-confusion post wake-up. No messages sent.

CORRECTION

2009-11-28T21:10:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I missed out one of the most important television babes of my life. Lynda Day was the gutsy but grumpy editor of the student newspaper The Junior Gazette on the BBC series Press Gang that ran from 1989-1993. I may have only been 5(6,7,8,9) when this show went to air but this love was real.

babes from the television/cougars

2009-11-21T19:47:00.000-08:00

On friday night my babe and I went to visit my friend Vicki for dinner. She made an amazing tempeh stir fry and I made a chocolate and beetroot cake for the after dinner sweetie time. It went really well with the new choc mint flavour ice cream from the freezer. When will you get to talking about the babes on television? What is this post even about? Well it begins with a recollection I had at this dinner about my mum's good friend Margaret. When I was about ten (obviously I realised this much later) I had a crush on Margaret. Margaret is now pushing sixty - next year in fact. So when I was ten, she was pretty much a forty five year old cougar. When she would come to visit I would set up a cubby house in the sun room - to be out in the open so I could impress. In my ten plus years of life I had also realised that being sick = ATTENTION. So sometimes I'd even set up a bed in the sunroom and pretend to be sick/asleep/or both in the hope she'd come over and be nice to me. Maybe pat me on the head or something. Obviously at this point it wasn't a sexual crush - I just wanted to be near her. If she gave us presents, I'd make sure I sticky-taped a note to the back - "from margaret" giving the impression it was wholly meant for me. Point of the story? This reminded me of the very strange obsessions I had as a kid with the most unlikely and mostly much older fictional tv babes.

The thing with television babes is that they can be much much older than you in real life at the time the show was aired - making the thought that you loved them at age twelve more than a little bit gross, given that the character was your mother's age (i.e. Sam Ryan Silent Witness 1996-2004/ages 40-48). On the flip side these characters also live in this timeless limbo, remaining that same babe waiting for you to catch up to an age reasonable enough to legitimately declare your fictional love/obsession to others without fear of stare bear eyes or unrelenting slaps in the face.

These were the fictitious women I adored:

Caitlin Ryan - Degrassi Junior High

Caitlin Ryan wore the coolest headbands and had this husky voice that I thought was pretty sweet. She was a little bit homophobic and for a moment thought that Miss Avery had a lesbian crush on her and would dream about Miss Avery seducing her with her enormous pony tail. When Miss Avery touched her on the shoulder Caitlin thought it was a come-on and was like 'get off me'. By the end of the episode, Caitlin's badly informed understanding of lesbians is sorted out and she's amazingly open minded. At the time I saw this show I was in primary school and Caitlin was in Junior High. My crush wasn't such a bad thing. I looked up to her. In 2004, when I was 20 and living in my first share house I remember watching the whole series all over again. It felt weird having a crush on a character that was probably only 15. Although it was still there a little bit. When Degrassi was given its modern incarnation in 2001 with Degrassi: Next Genderation - Caitlin Ryan was still there - this time as a teacher - and one in her 30s and my love was rekindled and not so weird anymore.

PC Debbie Keane

PC Debbie Keane was on one of my past favourite shows of all time The Bill from 1995 until 1998. I crushed on her pretty hard from the ages of 11-14. I can still see her face if I close my eyes and I didn't even have to google her name that's how much I loved her. Although her real name - Andrea Mason - is not the same Andrea Mason I was linked to when searching for her bio. The Andrea Mason I found is a key member of the Family First Party here in Australia. Obviously someone's made a mistake - if this was my Andrea Mason she would have totally been eliminated from the list of babes due to bad political persuasions.

Professor Sam Ryan

Irish actress Amanda Burton played crabby forensic pathologist Sam Ryan in Silent Witness from 1996, when I first loved her, to 2004 - when things got so fucked up that her life was in danger and she had to relocate due to too many crooks. Silent Witness was the kind of show that was made by its main character - when she left, it felt like a bit of a break up. There was no way they could keep this show going. When they did without Sam, I was really sad, because no red haired big eyed belle pathologist replacement could ever capture my heart the way Sam did.

Anna Forbes

Daniela Nardini played Scottish babe Anna Forbes in This Life from 1996-1998. This Life was a hit British series popular with hipster twentysomethings about hipster twentysomethings sharing a house in London. When this show aired on the ABC I was a 12 year old nascent lesbian with an undercut who caught glimpses of this show when i was meant to be in bed. I loved what I saw and couldn't wait for the day I could buy my own bottle of wine, drink it all, smoke all those cigarettes while drinking the wine - just like that babe Anna Forbes. My video store has everything - so last year I borrowed both seasons and sat on my beanbag and watched the episodes back to back for weeks, over and over. It was like this show was made just for me - and like my post last year - if I could magic any fictitious character into this world, it would without a doubt be Anna Forbes.

This American Life

2009-11-17T20:28:00.000-08:00

I think maybe this is my favourite This American Life yet. It's from Valentine's day this year - and it's not even cheesy which is pretty cool, given it's always full of cheesy crap and bad presents and declarations of forever love that is probably a lie. As always the voices are clangy and endearing and the stories super cute. My favourite of the 3 - maybe the transgender 8 year olds who become besties in a hotel room after they meet at a conference and the amazing openness of the parents who love them.

Listen to episode 374: Somewhere Out There here

Things to make you feel better this week

2009-11-02T03:55:00.000-08:00

1. Despicable Dogs by Small Black (Track 19 of Pitchfork's best new tracks - Go listen) - if you look at yourself in the mirror while you listen, it's a bit feel good. Like if it was a movie it would just be you in slow mo looking real cute and maybe you'd get heaps of fan mail, even though in real life, the light's not that good.

2. If you have siblings, they are, most likely much nicer than my sister, who's nearly 18, and actually also a giant girl and this afternoon called me a gaylordian. Count yourself lucky there is only one of her in the world - and she's not related to you.

3. On the food front - make a pie. It's going to be hot tomorrow, so perhaps make the pie after then. What kind of pie? Well, you should probably put in the pie spinach, mushroom and pinenuts. Pumpkin and some caramelised onion make it possibly even better but obviously the less time you have, less ingredients is best. Maybe make layers. You can go alphabetically or just mix them all together. Either way - your week will be better with pie.

4. Crisp white anything. Maybe it's just me, but crisp white new things are pretty great. Usually undergarments but this can extend to new white tee shirts and skivvys in the winter-time. It must be noted that this never extends to pants. Maybe this week buy yourself a new white singlet or some undies. Have a long bath, be all clean. Then put it on - maybe jump into bed with a book and a wine. You only stay crisp for a while - first wash, it's all over so enjoy it while it lasts.

5. If you've just finished a social work degree and spent the last week drinking your body weight in coopers green and acid tripping in level 62 city penthouses - sleeping will make you feel amazing. As will clandestinely doing some yoga workouts in your room.

best story of the month

2009-10-15T20:05:00.000-07:00

I like to do the shopping at strange hours because I don't like waiting too long to pay woolworths because if I'm there too long I think a little bit too much about how awful it is that I'm giving them my money. I don't usually encounter too many little children after 9:30pm and stare bear eyes are pretty much avoided. It's nice to not have to reassure parents who apologise profusely about their terribly gendered parenting that left little emily confounded enough to ask why the man has boobs.

Anyway - my last late night shopping experience ended with a story that is my favourite of the moment. I was packing my boot with food and out of the darkness pops this face - and then a body - and slightly later, in a quizzical and soft-spoken Korean accent, this man with a jerry can asks me politely "where is the petrol station?" Being where we were - my old hometown of ten months and favourite place for the shopping - I told him, that at this hour, the one within walking distance would be closed. So I ordered him into my car so we could search together - assuming a man with a jerry can could not possibly be bad. We spoke about our lives in the five minutes it took to get from Marrickville to Enmore. He lives in the next suburb to me, has been in Australia only six months and right now sells computers on ebay. He has a plan to study economics at university but not yet because his plan has changed and he's going to set up a shop first so he can pay his own way. I told him it was awful that education wasn't free and when I went through an orange light he got a bit scared for a moment. I said he needs to go through more so next time his car won't run out of petrol and he won't need to have to hang out with bad drivers like me. He chuckled and when we got to the petrol station he bought me a diet coke.

The when I let him off at his car he told me about his other job at the car wash and offered to clean and polish my car for free - he got out his iphone and with its light examined the outside of my very dusty car and explained how amazing it'd be with a polish.

stevie loves her

2009-10-11T20:36:00.000-07:00

me or cat power?

2009-10-07T22:55:00.000-07:00

Erin: Do you love me more than you love cat power?

Charlotte: Let me just say this, I wouldn't kiss her.

2009-10-03T21:47:00.000-07:00

I love how book dedications to author's babes are always a little bit in-joke-no-one-gets-it-but-the-babe-oh-how-sweet and nobody can just come out and be plain and simple and say what we all know everyone is trying to say and that is 'thanks for fucking me throughout this arduous ordeal and keeping me in you life because I'm a fucking moody asshole sometimes'.

good death

2009-09-28T23:13:00.000-07:00

I've got the week off uni - well those that attend more than I do say that everyone has a week off, but I like to think I live in a world uninhabited by sydney uni kids who love shopping and looking like babes more than my friend Nay loves the dumplings at Chinese Noodle Restaurant, even taking into account the ridiculously bad service.

The week off is actually a week of research and writing on death and dying in old age - which for me is a bit of a secret love (perhaps not so secret now that it's all over the internet and my 7 followers now know that my life is not just full of bad dreams and corny babe stories). In between baths, baking and new addiction to yacht's song psychic city that is constantly on repeat - I'm fashioning my own version of this one - should I not die pre-retirement age from too much swimming:

masterchef nightmare

2009-09-20T22:48:00.000-07:00

Celebrity Masterchef is, I imagine, after being exposed to the regular version, where big names cook some food on the television and their food is then eaten by a bunch of fat men who are apparently also good at cooking. Unlike the original - which made celebrities out of ordinary people who just happened to like making nice flans, the new competitors must have already been made famous by something else. I think a good idea would be, now that the originals are celebrities in their own right (thank you Daily Telegraph Op Eds) for channel ten to just repeat the originals. Every couch potato would cry their beady eyes sick.

Masterchef - the celebrity version has not even begun on the television and I did not even watch it when it was on (although I did once catch a glimpse and was horrified at the lack of food for people like me who like carrots over cows) and I am still in a state of pure horrified shock that I recently had a DREAM ABOUT CELEBRITY MASTERCHEF. Masterchef provides the viewer - this one anyway - with a banquet of bad taste and each episode the cultural equivalent to a dish of gastro-inducing sat-in-the-sun-too-long-mi-goreng. While I assume this was partly fuelled by an engagement with it at a cultural level in my conscious life, insofar that I shy away from fanatic fans and lament the declining interest in the written word - the fact that I was out of control in dreamland means I'm partly ok with it. Also the crux of the dream deserves to come out - purely because it involved a combination of chronic nausea and Lisa Curry Kenny.

Nausea and Lisa Cirry Kenny!? Are you serious? Yes - I am totally serious. And sickened! How on earth this amazing Australian ex-swimmer and big teethed endorser of all things uncle tobys entered my subconscious is beyond me - but in the masterchef of my mind, she was the star. A star with guts - often outside of her body in this case - who never gave up. In this one episode - she was cooking spaghetti in an enormous cauldron and each time she tried to add an ingredient, smell her creation or take a little taste - she vomited in the pot. Everyone was checking whether she was ok or wanted to stop but she just kept cooking and vomiting in her dishes. That's pretty much all I remember but I feel perhaps the symbol of the vom redeems me for letting such insidious pop trash enter my mind in the first place.

gender bender OR JUST GOOD AT SPORTS?

2009-08-18T20:12:00.000-07:00

I shouldn't really be surprised at this article I found this morning. The Herald aren't particularly good at doing anything more than regurgitating some facts and pandering to long-outdated but sadly endemic ideas about lots of things - particularly gender.

So, what's going on? A South African 18 year old runs really fast and because of her "physique and powerful style" she's a 'gender bender'? I am assuming this is a more fuzzy way of saying "man" but with the added implication of 'there is no way any 'normal' woman athlete could look like this or run this fast and because she's really amazing this is worrisome and undermines traditional understandings of female ability (i.e. NOT AS GOOD AS MEN) so therefore she couldn't possibly be one.'

What the fuck is an 'entire' woman anyway? This seems fairly arbitrary to me - what about if a woman has had a mastectomy, or has no legs - is she still entirely female then? What about if she's had her appendix out? Oh my god this has opened up a complete can of worms. I am amazed they even have a para-olympics. Surely noone can be whole if they have any kind of limb missing. What about short hair?

I wonder if similar things have happened in male sports? I don't think I have ever come across anything similar. Has ever an undernourished marathon runner displayed some feminine qualities - like not being real buff or maybe wearing some 'un-masculine' pink running shoes? Did he have to take off his pants and undergo such scrutiny to prove he truly deserved to race in the marathon with the 'real' men? I don't think so.

It's disgusting that the IAAF, like most of mainstream culture, instead of being challenged by difference is petrified by it. Rather than Semenya being seen as a powerful and talented woman challenging stereotypical and false notions of idealised femininity because she excels at something - she's seen as harbouring too much of something regarded as intrinsically masculine - power - and is by definition immediately labeled non-woman.

Even though these sentiments are not overtly stated - the subtle ideas that seep through should make anyone with half a brain vomit in their mouth and perhaps want to take it directly to athletics headquarters to spill on the source of these ridiculous and offensive concerns.

And we live in a supposedly post-feminist (western?) world? Surely not.

what to do in the day time?

2009-08-07T20:28:00.000-07:00

Because I have essentially had an eight-thirty-ish to four thirty-ish day 'job' since the 6th of April I have pretty much forgotten what the daytime looks like let alone what you're supposed to do in it. What to do now that I am not solving the problems of ex-cons, 87 year olds who refuse to stop climbing on their roof or amputees who, on your last day, invite you to their home and make sure you know their "impotence problems" will prevent any of your orifices from being attacked over "coffee not scotch on the rocks?"

new legs

2009-07-29T01:05:00.000-07:00

I am finishing my second placement in almost one week and right now I'm slowly reducing my caseload so nobody misses me too much. Of course, this is highly unlikely as my role at the moment with my longer term patients is limited to making inspirational cds for the gym or bitching about the current hospital under-staffing crisis. So right now I have 3 key clients - who collectively between them, have only two legs. Today, my completely legless man said that with his new ones he's actually a good two inches taller than he used to be - something he made sure about - just so he could be taller than his wife. While his newish legs are sweet - we did discuss the need for cooler shoes.

um, you're fucked

2009-07-13T02:14:00.000-07:00

Deputy Director of Social Work to me:

"I can't help but notice your hair Erin. Don't get me wrong, it's great hair but do you have a brush?"

Yes I'll just brush those curls right out of my head shall I.

brace position

2009-07-05T23:48:00.001-07:00

At any mention of my ex girlfriend my current girlfriend gets in the brace position and gently rocks back and forth with her arms crossed over her chest. She also responds similarly when I wear any kind of hat - obviously both things so distasteful to her she is reduced to implicit non-verbal cues to stop them.

what I did when the scenesters were dancing

2009-06-19T21:22:00.000-07:00

Eat burgers and chips, drink fizzy with my babe in a dark deserted creepy street in my wheels overlooking a body of water that was really just a flooded park.

And you know what. I've never been so satisfied - on most levels (oh, except the family of dysfunction, the absence of boots and the 3 hour uncontrollable crying session I had in front of Westmead Hospital's deputy director of Social Work on Thursday after I was abused on the phone) in my whole life.

Oh for those who perhaps wonder - why the excitement you goose, seriously it's just a burger. Some context for this revelation - which has, of course, been realised many times over.

About this time last year I was dumped from barcelona on the internet and I thought oh my god this is the most fucked thing anyone can ever do to another human you fucked idiot. Despite this logic I spent much too long being sad for the loss of something that, in hindsight, was probably as bad for me as eating a bowl of shit everyday for breakfast.

And now I just eat rice porridge with poached pears for my breakfast. And it tastes real nice.

Oh no!

2009-06-07T18:37:00.001-07:00

RIP LTLYM
Thanks for making me realise that encouraging banners really can be encouraging.

OMG HOW FUCKED IS THIS?!

2009-06-01T05:53:00.001-07:00

Ok so it's all well and good to have a little jive to some music when you're small and full of beans right? I did it all the time as a kid to the opening theme of sesame street and occasionally when I was allowed the luxury of staying up to watch endless hours of gumby videos. But when you can thrust your hips like these kids can before you can even go to the toilet by yourself AND ALSO HAVE PARENTS WHO FILM and THEN UPLOAD FOR THE WORLD on the INTERNET videos of you doing it (possibly by force too might I add, see mini Shakira at 1:52 as reference point) there is possibly some kind of problem?

what I know now that I did not know before

2009-05-30T21:59:00.000-07:00

How cufflinks work

It's pretty strange to think that for so long I only had a very vague idea about how and what cufflinks were or what the fuck to do with them. Yes, in the grand scheme of things, knowing how cufflinks work really won't inhibit my development or render me any less or more boring than I may be already. Cufflinks do not feature heavily in my life - obviously because up until now I did not really know how they functioned or what use they could be to me. But the fact that I've been 'ok' not knowing - and for so long not even considering or attempting to find the answer makes me think about all the other things I don't know but never bother trying to find answers to. Anyway back to the links of the cuffs - I always knew they had something to do with the cuffs of shirts - no shit - but was always was baffled as to what the point was when shirts came with buttons. I mean did you un-sew the buttons or something I remember thinking to myself. I used to think about cufflinks and their purpose quite a bit, especially when my friend Munch would buy our mutual friend Manoj some swish silver set of them every birthday. The sickening thing is I NEVER KNEW HOW THEY WORKED - and never sought the truth and this WORRIES ME. Like I really was going to go on not knowing for the rest of my life - and it was only by chance, and not inquisitive investigation
- when my mum gave me a beautiful shirt that had TWO BUTTONHOLES on the cuffs that I finally worked it out.

charlotte and the theatre

2009-05-19T21:41:00.000-07:00

kurt

2009-05-15T00:07:00.000-07:00

Kurt Vonnegut is pretty much my favourite man-writer. His politics are pretty great and I feel that perhaps Miranda July has kind of body snatched him, or he her - so he can live forever. Possibly not but they both remind me of the other and I cannot choose my favourite.

2009-05-01T01:57:00.000-07:00

In keeping with theme of le blog.

I went to the doctors today - just a follow up. But, for the record, no STIs, no cervical cancer and no glandular fevers. Just in case you know, you might have fucked me or something. Anyway - I finish hearing my good news and rock up to the counter to sign off on my bulk bill. The lady has two names up on her screen:

"you must be andrew?"

"nope, the other one"

ahhh.

also - I cried at my supervisor today because being a student social worker is pretty emotional, actually.

cecil and jordan in new york

2009-04-24T19:11:00.001-07:00

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Last night I went to a little warehouse show in marrickville - a mini-festival of musical love organised by people who love what they do and sharing it even more. My friends Kell and Lia play together in a little band called moonmilk. They muck around on casios and violins, they loop things and make amazing sounds with their voices. They experiment live with ideas and sounds that create a magical space where it's ok to leave your body for a little bit before picking it back up when their set is over. This made me think about New York - the number of spaces like these in Sydney are rare in comparison. My recent discovery of yet a second stimulus package in my bank account together with an understanding that there are ridiculously priced tickets going at the moment - have me pretty seriously considering a trip. This together with the first story in this great collection of comics from Gabrielle Bell - about Cecil who follows droll film-maker boyfriend Jordan to New York but decides her life is far more interesting after she transforms herself into a rickety chair has only inspired me more. I bought this book because I have pharyngitis and glands the size of golf balls and they're really sore and if I can spend $18 on penicillin I thought I could legitimise buying this for roughly double that. And because the doctor said they were "seriously impressive." So far it's actually amazing - a little like MJ but in pictures.

oxymoron?

2009-04-24T15:59:00.000-07:00

I sat next to an obese dietitian at a meeting on wednesday. She ate more cheese and biscuits than I did.

Surely she can't be taken seriously? Even so - I fucking love that shit.

hi how are you?

2009-04-21T01:34:00.000-07:00

Today has been a pretty great day:

I met my first client today. His name is Vince. I have been reading my practice standards and ethics handbooks but for fucks sake does anyone actually read this plus Vince is a really common name. If he says anything funny I will be sure to document it. So far - not much.

I just drove home through the rainy rain to discover a daniel johnston t-shirt in my letterbox via america. I put it on with my work pants but think it looks better with jeans. It's amazing how such little things can make the world a nicer place momentarily. For five minutes I didn't even think about these weird swollen lymph nodes I discovered yesterday while bored in traffic jam of doom. I didn't even think about how absolutely frightening it is that we're having Howard-esque lies being fed to us about self-immolating asylum seekers either. Thank you DJ.

birthdays

2009-04-11T17:57:00.000-07:00

It's a pretty fine birthday when any or all of these things happen:

Your mum buys you 'The Rock'N'Roll Vegan: Slaughter-free recipes for pop-cultural revolutionaries' from a woman she once heard on the radio. Even though you might indulge in cheese, milk chocolate and that gluten free bread that stupidly has both egg and milk in it. Not only is the book self-published but there is a special feature at the bottom of every page. it is the CATCAT section. CATCAT = cool album to cook along to. While some of the suggestions are horrid, 'Nick's shrooms' look a real treat and Fugazi is recommended cooking music.

You think you are going on intimate gallery hopping picnic times with a beautiful woman and despite her outfit of choice being a little 'dressy' - you don't really think about it too hard. Then on route you are supposed to stop at a friend's return from the wilderness gathering and instead there are a gazillion of the most amazing people in the world with balloons being sneaky and surprising you with a huge cake and embarrassing photographs.

You find on your pillow a package containing the most beautiful but kitschy patterned jumpers in the universe and you're so excited that you probably don't even need a surprise picnic to make it any better. But it would still be pretty nice.

I love you but I think I am too old

2009-04-08T06:32:00.001-07:00

So I started my second placement this week and as part of orientation I was having a flick through some patient files and came across the file of a recently deceased oldie. On one page a doctor had done a mini-mental exam with him (this tests a bunch of things but is essentially a little quiz with questions and drawing and readings to determine capacity, cognition, that kind of thing). His answer to the question "write a sentence" made me smile pretty big.

things to make you feel better

2009-04-02T05:42:00.000-07:00

- Miranda July's No one belongs here more than you

- If you are worried about your weight (which, by the way you shouldn't be, you're beautiful!) you can drink as much diet coke as you want because there are pretty much no calories in there

- Anything by Charles Bukowski - all his characters are so much more bitter and self deprecating than you will ever be

- If someone just killed your heart go to the beach - preferably a beach pool - and jump in. For a spilt second, possibly more, you won't even think about it because you'll be too busy struggling for the surface and recovering from chilly onslaught. For a prolonged memory lapse - do some laps.

- Same effects as above can be achieved by doing crosswords - the harder the better, because they take ALL DAY

- Cheese and spinach triangles, picky vegans, soy flat white (big one)

- The Mighty Boosh - Season 2 Episode 6: The Nightmare of Milky Joe

- Corduroy pants, on you, not anyone else

passion pits?

2009-03-28T20:04:00.000-07:00

I really like this song. It was recommended to me by new fave music-giver and also on the internets. I am having a depressing Sunday - no real reason, just the grumps. I also miss those ginger cakes real bad but know a cup of tea and a ginger snap will make me feel much better.

quickie

2009-03-21T03:13:00.000-07:00

In pursuit of the dollars - I said yes please to some survey work that is part of a five year funded project being run by my faculty along with the department of housing and universities and tafe. It's centred in the housing estates in the matraville/maroubra areas of Sydney - which if you have no idea - is a great locale for public housing really. It's near the beach and there's pretty sweet access to shops and transport. So blah blah - anyway most people say no - even though it is their ideas, likes, dislikes, and suggestions which will be those underpinning what the project focuses on improving. Yes so this post is not about data collection, the benefit of putting sunscreen on your neck AS WELL as your face so you do not look like crazy person at the end of the day when de-brief is happening BUT about amazing man in a wheelchair in a unit we visited whose story pretty much was the best thing I have ever heard. Definitely in the last month.

So what the fuck happened? He was visiting a brothel ("being entertained" he told us - ps I don't have a huge issue with this guy seeing a sex worker - like somehow he's more entitled to this sort of service than others - but I am also quite perplexed about my ideas and where they came from although I really have not dedicated enough time to it) and someone stole his wheelchair from outside. Some cops then had to drive him home and he was given a replacement wheelchair. On the side of the wheelchair was the brand: quickie. I laughed so hard inside.

Skim

2009-03-13T19:14:00.001-07:00

The latest in a long line of procrastination tools I have at the ready is Skim, a comic I took with me to the beach and read with the wind in my ears and half naked ladies lounging about on rocks obscuring my peripheral vision. This 142 page black and white stunner comes courtesy of Japanese Canadian lady cousins Mariko Tamaki and Jillian Tamaki and is popping with all the right things: teen angst, lady teacher crushes, witchery, suicide and stereotypical preppy bitches with faux concern for worthy causes. If this was a film and I was Margaret or David, I'd probably give it five stars.

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K and J

2009-03-06T17:58:00.000-08:00

Along with my Dexter obsession (I have not posted about this because I spend too much time downloading and watching dexter to fathom even explaining my addiction) I have developed a mini-obsession with M83, in particular the song Kim and Jessie. There's something about those other-worldly pangs - almost guttural, that excite me. I know they've been around for ages, but like most things, I seem to catch on much later than most(another example: developing a tolerance for coffee at age 23).

Kim and Jessie make me want to learn to roller skate pretty desperately.

Audrey

2009-03-02T02:54:00.000-08:00

This is my kitten Audrey. I've had her almost one month now and she's pretty cute. That's me in the picture - and she's so tiny she makes me look like Andre the Giant circa 1987/Wrestlemania III. She's probably 7 weeks old now - and the size you'd normally be able to take them home. A lovely friend of mine rescued little Audrey from the streets of Kings Cross where one of her kind hearted by nutty clients was throwing her from heights that make even me a little bit dizzy. She's a tough kid from the streets young Audrey and like me, loves vegemite. Heaps.

sad island

2009-02-28T15:56:00.000-08:00

You know when you feel like shit and you wonder how on earth anyone has the energy to go to the shops or do anything(for example, other things could include work, university, exams)? I always feel like it's just me and that there is no way that anyone could possibly hurt as much as me (partly because I am a prima donna, partly because nobody ever told me that they felt some sad inside as well). Anyway one day a long time ago, during some sad event, probably a break up, which is not as bad as a death of course - I told this to my friend Vicks. I said: "Vicks I feel like I am on a sad island and there are sharks circling the island trying to keep me sad forever."

She explained to me that there are probably lots of people on the sad island with me, but I was probably too wrapped up in the sadness (and they in theirs) to realise and that once well again, we'd all get on a cruise ship and go back to life post-sad but with the benefit of insight and experience which would, ultimately be so much more amazing. She drew this picture for me, and everything was suddenly much better.

picnics

2009-02-23T12:50:00.000-08:00

I went to a picnic last Friday with some of Charlie's work friends in Glebe by the water. We stayed for maybe 2 hours and I was wearing current shirt of choice which looks like it was fashioned out of a tea towel. It's green and it's one of those things, like certain films or eggplant, that you either hate or love. I love it so it doesn't really matter if you hate it because I am the one wearing it. Anyway, point of the story, (again linking in with theme of this blog) I hear back that after we made our exit one of the girls piped up: "Charlotte's boyfriend is so lovely." And you know what - she is so onto that shit.

zine

2009-02-20T00:13:00.000-08:00

I made one and I think it's ok for a first try.

I am making more copies soon and will gladly send you a copy if you would like one. Just comment with a name and an address and I will send.

awful

2009-02-16T23:15:00.001-08:00

In November I wrote about how moving it was to attend the fundraiser my friend Lisa and her mum had organised to raise awareness for motor neurone disease, a condition her mum Laraine had been diagnosed with at the end of 2007. She died last wednesday and today farewells were said in a soul-less but super gadgety crematorium. I cried quietly when Lisa read the eulogy we penned together on Sunday sitting in my car in the rain overlooking the beach. One day she won't be broken - and when this times comes, we're going to dubbo zoo in a mini-van.

santi

2009-02-14T23:09:00.000-08:00

man pads

2009-02-12T05:57:00.000-08:00

Sir incident #3456237899

Location: undisclosed oxford street pretentious indie venue

Nice Bouncer: "Sir can i have a look in your bag?"

Me: "Sure, look here are my man pads and my man tampons"

butt

2009-01-18T06:24:00.001-08:00

So last week sometime I was at my friend richard's house. It's also my friend Nay's house and my friend Viv's house. Anyway I was hanging out with Viv because Richard had decided to go out and Nay's friend Alice (who I have met heaps of times and always pretends like we've never met) came over and they were hanging out in Nay's room talking about things I probably wouldn't understand because we don't share any friends so it would be stupid to even give a shit.

This post is really to talk about an amazing discovery I unearthed in Richard's room. It was BUTT magazine - well even better really, it was a book that contained the best of five years of the magazine. A butt anthology! I have never, since I read ghost world for the first time a few years ago been so engrossed in anything. It's also a little strange because it's full of penises and rimming and man babes - expected I know - but strange that I love it the way I do. It's a very simple concept and quite quirky in its content and approach. Lots of great interviews with obscure celebrities. Lots of things I know now I did not know before. I also for a brief moment wanted to fuck a cub - the human kind. Also I did not know that grizzly bear front man was a faggot did you? Anyway - I am obsessed with this magazine and hope to perhaps create a sister magazine. One that could focus on the lady babes. Perhaps it will be called Fanny and have a tagline something along the lines of 'oh what a mouthful' and I could take equivalent photo of that posted above.

I also miss my friend Munch very much. She lives in India now and I will not see her for an age. We have decided that to keep the friendship healthy we will collaborate, in blog form, and document our respective experiences. I will most likely take inspiration from butt magazine. Munch will probably retell her dream of breastfeeding on public transport. I'll buy a digital camera and take photographs. It'll be great. It will be called trans continental indo-australian magazine (even though it will be a blog).

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Fulla

2009-01-15T02:23:00.000-08:00

This is Fulla the muslim barbie. I still have her, well the pad not the real fulla doll which I really wish I could actually find - I refuse to write it it because I never want to have to throw her away. Munch and I found her in Newtown Variety in 2006. As you can see she was cheap - but Munch with her kleptomania skills did what she used to do with the camembert all the time at marrickville metro woolies and put it down her top. I feel bad that we stole fulla but she's pretty much the most amazing thing to adorn any notebook I've ever seen.

ohh nine

2009-01-11T15:55:00.000-08:00

I was waiting so long for the new year to arrive - for the abortion that was 2008 to leave me alone for a little bit. It's now 12 days into that new year and I think perhaps it will be the best. Oh eight was pretty much that. ohhhh eight how you frustrated me.

This year I have finally decided to quit smoking. It's early days but I have had two smoke free days and I shared half an emergency with charlie on friday's full mooon because the both of us have cabin fever and went completely bonkers. I think going from pack a day smoker to nothing is a bit hardcore but I'm determined if also stupid. I have been without my own place for about a week and a half now and have been staying with charlie and lisa housesitting for Lisa's flatmate who is off eating croissants in Paris. They have a psychotic cat called sass who is sitting right next to me and bites even when you're being nice to her. I think perhaps she is autistic like me and this is why she likes me the most. I can tell this because she has not drawn any blood.

The floor of my flat is almost bright blue - when I chose the colour I do not think I chose this one but it's a bit wacky and makes my home look like a giant swimming pool. (On a side note smoking has been replaced by desire to swim pretty much all the time. I have goggles and an ugly one piece and everything). I went home last week to gather some things and was a bit shocked. If I was slightly religious I'd have a great time pretending to walk on the water but I'm not so forget I even mentioned it. My mum is moving in with me temporarily tomorrow because my sister's a pretentious little sociopath with an electra complex and my dad's a bit of a moron. This will be testing but she bought me an amazing new bed and a burgundy couch and I have promised to cook amazing meals for her for the rest of my life as repayment.

What else. Last week I made a zine - it's a first and is part wrestling homage, part mini biography, part cynical self absorption. I don't want to think about Gaza anymore so I just wallow in holiday bliss, penniless but with my limbs intact. How glorious. Yuck.

I'm also heading off to London at the end of the year and plan to stay at least one year, possibly more. I have always wanted to wear knits at christmas time and have decided 09 is the time for this to actually happen. Fingers crossed skills shortage is still short.

time

2009-01-04T20:33:00.000-08:00

It's the holidays. I had a dysfunctional christmas with my family. I got a fan for my house for the summer and some underpants and some books. I also ate some gravy so as not to cause too much fuss. this was as close to meat as I have gotten since I tried to eat an oyster a month ago but only really sucked on the end of it and spat it back in the shell.

Anyway - this post is really about an amazing book I stumbled across - a book that had been passed around my little clique of people for far too long before it got to me. It's gutwrenchingly sad although the sadness is brought about by the protagonist's own choices - choices severely limited by a conservatism and a projected normailty we still see today.

I read a comic earlier this year - I don't think I ever really explained the story because I was just so excited to have found it that I never went into any details. The comic details the story of the narrator's father whose sexual shame (an obvious gay man, with wife and kids) so plagued him that he suicides in his 40s.

James Baldwin's Giovanni's Room deals with this same concern - and traces the story of David, a maybe/soon to be wed American travelling in Paris who meets Italian Giovanni in a seedy queer bar. While David acts on impulse and loves (temporarily but whole heartedly) Giovanni - he is plagued by a world he desperately wants to be a part of. A world of routine and predictability. A big fat lie, but where everything else but love is easy. I think perhaps the most interesting thing about this book, something I cannot quite grasp as I could not do the same, is the heartwrenchingly sad decision David makes to leave Giovanni. It's an interesting look at how culture and politics and tradition seep into our most intimate interactions. Maybe not interesting but debilitatingly depressing.

MJ

2008-12-30T16:43:00.000-08:00

new fave

2008-12-21T20:23:00.001-08:00

I found a bunch of amazing old magazines in a shop full to bursting with antique all sorts. Woman's Realm is amazing. My copy ends week of February 25, 1961 and adorning the cover is a babe with a baby. What magazines these days pay per letter published? A guinea, my lord.
My favourite letter for the Ed:

Music for Mum

When my two sons bought a record-player, I visualised hours of agony being forced to listen to all the latest "pop" songs. Now, to the family's amusement, I am the one who slips off to the record shop every afternoon, and secretly saves out of the house-keeping money to buy one of the newest "pop" records.

Mrs. L. W. Bootle, Liverpool

Rebel. Rebel.

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wrestleMANIA!

2008-12-17T21:15:00.000-08:00

Oh of course the wrestling is corrupted by babes and love triangles and terrible beach hair but quite possibly a contender for favourite film of the year featuring some bodyslams and backbreakers and heaps of swearing. Awesome. Come January I let you know.

I'm looking for

2008-12-13T17:46:00.000-08:00

1. My grey t-shirt, not the american apparel one, but the cheap one with the neck everyone but I hate with a passion.

2. A new housemate. If you are allergic to carpet, this place might just be for you. Why? Because there is no carpet! There will be, very soon, some sweet varnished paint action and rugs for the cold but not just yet. If you like dancing this place might also suit because dancing is better on the concrete really. Also if you like pancakes without eggs - I think perhaps it is the perfect pad? Tell your friends, go on.

3. Penelope Walker. Where are you?

be fri

2008-12-01T14:18:00.000-08:00

So four years ago I had an obsession with meeting people on the internet - because I needed more cool people in my life and the internet was where it was at. It seems friends of friends is the way to go these days but this was in 2004, before facebook and myspace prevented people from attending parties, doing any homework or remembering books were ok to read sometimes. Even if just on the weekends.

I met Munch on the internet, she said 'cunt' more than I did, taught me how to smoke a bong and was the cleverest and wittiest person I had ever met. She'd write the great American novel if she wasn't Indian. I am sure of it. We spent the first two years joined at the hip, and occasionally I'd go home and shower. We ran a student newspaper together, fought heaps, yelled a lot, smoked too much and laughed more than we actually spoke. Most of the time anyway. We yelled passionately and often and when there was crisis she was there - culprits and crisis-creators were often labeled with our favourite words and imaginary bottles would be broken theatrically over their invisible heads. Sometimes we'd dance and steal cars that weren't ours and drive them interstate.

Yesterday was the beginning of a new time. She left forever on a jetplane - in part for love and in part to become famous and write the great american novel that's not really american at all but more post co, coming of age lesbian love story set in an Indian shopping mall in the not so distant future. I think maybe it's the story of our friendship for the globalised next generation, but I don't want to think I am really this influential.

I have had a few teary moments at airports in my time. None as emotionally draining as this. It was anti-climactic - the plane was delayed five hours and I was ready for the tears to come by 4 in the pm. They came closer to seven and unlike other teary moments, where I feared my world might be ending as that plane left (and it did) the hugs and the tears were not so much for the missing of the past but for what my future might be without a star ingredient.

who are you?

2008-11-26T18:49:00.000-08:00

I'm still procrastination central right now but I'm also experiencing this bizarre feeling of nonchalance where I think perhaps before mainly the feelings of sadness and hurt liked to lurk. It's weird, but I think we tend to construct ideas about people in our heads and in our hearts and then gradually, when we take a giant leap back, these ideas and false consciousnesses unravel and that person becomes themselves again. They seem different - like bizarrely different and there's a moment where you think to yourself, hang on, who the fuck are you?

In other news, I can listen to YLT again without vomiting in my mouth.

idiots

2008-11-25T22:59:00.000-08:00

babes

Prop 8

2008-11-25T18:01:00.000-08:00

It's 2008 and amid all the Obamamania and accompanying election excrement, I mean excitement - the rights for queer men and women were again quashed, shat on and taken away. It cost them $40 million too did you know. There's a great article here in the The New Yorker.

sir?

2008-11-24T23:26:00.000-08:00

I'm often mistaken for a boy - it happens perhaps on average a couple of times a week. I used to mind it, like when I was 15 and some kid asked his mum why that boy had clips in his hair. That boy was me and I actually had no idea what one did with hair as short as mine, and the clips were to emphasise the confused girl underneath it all. Now I like it - you're just an idiot really. What 24 year old boy child doesn't have some sweet mustache going on somewhere. Some mistakes aren't that noticeable, like when I squeeze through the friday/saturday night crowd at the oxford art factory (do not ask)and I get a "sorry buddy" and a brotherly slap on the shoulder from a bumpee. How sweet.

I did an exam last week and at the last minute was bundling all the booklets together - copying the guy beside me, who it turns out put his green one on top of the beige which was NOT THE RIGHT WAY to do it and I hear this patronising "you've nearly got it right, sir." It took me about 3 seconds to realise this guy was looking me in the face and I was the sir with the inability to put the booklets together. Gosh how silly of me.

Yesterday I got into a real scuffle - like one that boys, real boys, real stupid boys have with equally stupid, or misunderstood other boys. I think perhaps it was at this point I wished that people, or stupid boys who like to fight, had more brains. I was walking out of a shop and some idiot dude walks into the same shop, not around me, but right at me which excuse me is retarded, like I'm going to move, I was here first and it's ridiculous that you'd have the audacity to think I'd move for you because it's actually, for both of us, a real waste of time. The other way is quicker and less fraught with awkward sidestepping. The idiot dude decides that it's still ok to walk at me and not around me - so I politely say "the other way." Big shot mishears me and repeats his misinterpretation, thus solidifying its realness in his equally stupid brain - "get out of my way?, did you say get out of my way?"

"no" I say, "I just said other way, you should probably just go behind me"

I continue to walk down the street and behind me I hear a bunch of expletives - my favourite of all - "cunt." Ouch man, I'm hurting so much. I walk for a while and then I'm shoved in the back by this idiot, pulled up by my shirt and not being one to prepare for such incidents, on king street, in the daylight, at the bus stop (um, and actually no-one cares) - wasn't all that sure what the next move was. I pushed him away, looked at him like he was completely bonkers (he had stupid pants on anyway) called him "buddy", said "I'm not up for anything" and just hoped that he didn't punch me in the face. And then I got all big and turned and walked away. And he did nothing because he was just a fucking pussy-man. But I think perhaps out of all possible endings this would be my favourite. I'm convinced if I didn't look like wheels from degrassi, he probably wouldn't have said a thing or tried to get his bash on. The world doesn't look so nice anymore.

procrastination

2008-11-23T19:09:00.000-08:00

I watched the devil and daniel johnston again the other day. Procrastination central of course. Working with an early psychosis intervention team and mental health crisis team for the past 3 months made it even more confronting and amazing than the first time I was in awe over this man.

beach heroes

2008-11-23T18:17:00.000-08:00

I took the day off prac on friday to go to the beach and be lazy. Instead local lady lee-anne had a major slip and broke her leg just as two (very capable) social work students were coming back for their cucumber sandwiches. It was like police rescue, all saints and blue heelers all at once but for real. I held a saline drip and we convinced lee-anne it was a ok to be off her face because the drugs were free and it hurt heaps.

It's probably one of the most intense moments I've encountered - being there and taking charge of someone who is in so much shock and pain they cannot really do anything but hope that you can help them out. The world just stops and you don't care about anything or anyone - just this person with the hurting. It's like humans aren't so terrible after all. Or perhaps it is only in times of crisis that we ever really get all selfless and shit. I don't know. You'd hope not.

a disappearing number

2008-11-19T19:02:00.001-08:00

Last night was a scene from a film. I think perhaps if it could be directed by anyone - it'd be a toss up between MJ, Woody Allen and Michel Gondry (obviously we all know who MJ is because I'm OBSESSED). It would be a film about oddballs and lunatics, of ad hoc gatherings and amazing people.

I went to the theatre. I was taken to the theatre. I did the driving. The show was A Disappearing Act and it was quite possibly the most creative, visually electric play I have ever seen. Performed by London Theatre Company, Complicit, it was like going on a holiday, but not really. I think that we underestimate the value of live shows sometimes - the ability they have to suck you out of your world, if only for a moment. Apparently, according to London press it's one of the most intelligent pieces of theatre of the past 20 years. I'm not so well versed on what makes people jizz in theatre land - but this one is pretty fun to watch - even if its grating protagonist is a bit of a fuckwit.

So - back to the film. The viewing of the play would probably be the beginning - the fun part would be when the NIDA wankers behind the babes talk really loudly before the play about what work they plan to get and whose dick they are going to suck to get to the top. One of them would probably suggest Baz, the other would respond and note that doesn't work so well because he's already tried that with Tom Cruise and only landed a job in an ad for the church of scientology. Maybe some simultaneous whispering of the word "wankers" would come in at this point.

Ok so the film progresses, from romantic comedy to arthouse because it follows no genre template because MJ and MG would never do this. Two glasses of red post midnight occurs in a pub full of people that the main characters may have seen at the same pub some hours before the film was set. The thrilling part is the rain that comes and never leaves. The two babes decide to flee the confines of the seedy establishment and they run into the pouring rain without umbrellas in that this is a film so running in the rain is not stupid but romantic and so very smart kind of way. But have you ever seen Anna from this life with an umbrella. I don't think so.

In the pouring rain, wading through puddles and dodging over filled gutter spills, 3 anarchists on bikes and a dog race past. They open up a gallery space and take the two wet ones inside and offer them red wine from a cask. They all drink and smoke cigarettes together in recycled clothes from a bin of dry ones. One of the five says how cinematic it all feels, another, possibly the character playing me, talks about how she might write about it on her blog tomorrow.

Sub-plot may include a phone call from a desperate best friend about to flee the country in a week and a half and an awkward moment with a moody housemate woken up by the answering of the phone call from desperate best friend.

this life

2008-11-16T02:28:00.001-08:00

Um, so if I fail my exam tomorrow - it's because I can't get enough of This Life. It's odd to think I was 12 years old when this first screened and at the time it was directed at people the age I am now. I think I might just love the television series to dvd phenomenon. The character Anna Forbes also makes this show unmissable. If she was real, it'd be even better.

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the past is a grotesque animal

2008-11-12T17:40:00.000-08:00

LTLYM

2008-11-09T23:53:00.001-08:00

Ok so there's this amazing website - it's called learning to love you more. I do their assignments all the time - sometimes because I lack the imaginative brain I really should have been born with but also because it's pretty much my favourite way to vent. It's also my favourite time-waster and procrastination tool.

Today I have more imagination than usual - I am humiliated and humiliation has seemingly brought out an imaginative-cum-cathartic streak in me. I could not find an assignment worthy of my feelings, nothing which could adequately let me let go - to vent disgust and spite and humiliation all at the same time. I was in the car today with my best friend Munch - and we both remembered at the same time, Assignment #44 (both of us are ltlym groupie bitches with nothing better to do than complain endlessly). Assignment #44 is perfect because you know what - it's a "make your own ltlym assignment" assignment. Amazing - absolutely! My favourite one someone else has put up is this one "Write or type an encouraging or inspiring message on a dollar bill." That one was from Caroline from Oregon. She put up a picture of 4 bills and my favourite one is the dollar bill with the "you are better" in typerwriter lettering down the middle.

Munch: I know how about this one "plan the funeral for a dead relationship"

Erin: Oh my god this is brilliant. Maybe describe would be better than plan because with planning you can't say much mean stuff because you probably just get into caskets and catering and how many people you'd invite.

Munch: Yeah and if you describe it, you can incorporate all that stuff anyway - plus you can get a bit whacked if you feel like it.

Erin: True. I think mine would be pretty short. Only my friends would come. Thinking about it now I'd probably not want to waste money on it. Maybe we could just dump the dead relationship in an abandoned building and light a fire and then dance around it like they do in that MGMT video clip.

Munch: Then I'd do a wee on it.

I can't actually be bothered doing the assignment right now because Women on the verge of a nervous breakdown on the dvd machine is much more enticing.

why didn't anybody tell me

2008-11-08T18:44:00.000-08:00

that there's an hour of wrestling on channel nine ever saturday at one o'clock?

Surely this is my best discovery yet.

babe

2008-11-05T17:11:00.000-08:00

sense re: the life

2008-11-03T18:11:00.000-08:00

Brooke: I can't believe it's fucking November. It's fucking November. It's time to get the fuck over it.

Erin: Yes. Let's have a fag.

sads

2008-10-31T22:02:00.000-07:00

About this time last year my oldest friend (not old as in old, but the one I have held onto the longest - we met in year seven and she was one of the few who didn't mind that I had an undercut) Lisa's mum was diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease. MND I had never heard much about but is possibly one of the most horrible diseases you could think of. MND is a neurological disease that basically attacks the neurones (nerves) that provide the stimulus to our muscles that enable us to move, breathe, eat and drink. All forms of MND are fatal and on average life expectancy post diagnosis is just over two years. The grossest thing is that cognition is not affected at all - and while the mind remains alert - the body and its functions fade.

Last night I went to a fundraiser dinner for the family - Lorraine (Lisa's mum) had organised it to raise funds for the MND foundation, which only gets 20% government funding but provides essential home care for those with MND - providing all things from breathing equipment to respite. Lisa read Lorraine's speech - as she is now unable to talk - and through the tears her words were beautiful. My friend has a 50/50 chance of developing MND herself - and the pang in my heart was big.

The night was wonderful and I found it sad that it's not until something horrendous happens that you realise just what a supportive, amazing set of people there are in your life - whose life you've changed and who have loved you for always. Lorraine gripped her notebook and every time I saw her she was furiously writing - thanking people for coming and telling them that no she couldn't have a drink from the bar, but if she could, would have a double scotch on the rocks.

Tiger my friend

2008-10-30T18:09:00.001-07:00

cute.

desperation

2008-10-28T06:55:00.000-07:00

is rummaging through your ashtray to find an old cigarette worthy of finishing and then smoking it

oh. my. goodness.

busy

2008-10-27T18:14:00.000-07:00

Yeah, so with the Houston Pro only 2 weeks away, I'm finding everything a little stressful at the moment. This is my regime - it's pretty hard but carrying heavy things can be fun if you don't like to read. I find that the most useful exercise is the one where I carry the huge sack of sand - it looks a bit like a massive beanbag but it's not. I recommend it if you're into procrastination like I am. You know you're good at it when you have legs like mine.

bad student

2008-10-26T21:09:00.001-07:00

lecture on grief and dealing with dying:

amazing hippie psychologist cum madwoman lecturer Jessica: Has anyone seen a dead body? What's it like?

lame student: It's like they're not alive

Jessica: sure, but what else

Another lame student: Um, well they're not a person anymore are they

Jessica: No, they're not.

Christian leaning moron mature age student: Well, I think it's that their spirit, their soul has gone, I really do.

Erin: Um, no maybe it's that their heart has stopped beating and they're all stiff and people don't usually look like huge stiffies when they're alive.

Jessica: is that erin being facetious? erin are you being facetious?

Erin: Yes.

Living Dolls

2008-10-25T22:32:00.000-07:00

I don't think I can find a better example of parents living through their children than this film - nor one which is as addictive as it is sickening to watch. Also - if you watch the rest - look out for the Alabama queens with the camp southern drawl who run the coaching school. Possibly the most grotesque characters in the history of the world?

my audition for american idol

2008-10-23T04:30:00.001-07:00

this blog is protected

2008-10-21T05:16:00.000-07:00

but you can read it anyway

lies

comedy of errors

2008-10-21T04:42:00.000-07:00

So...last week I crashed my car. Today I scratched the rental I was provided with as a temporary replacement. I really wish the credits would just roll so I can go to the toilet - it's not funny anymore.

PS - the replacement isn't even a car, it's a bloody spaceship. no wonder this happened.

act three

2008-10-20T01:03:00.000-07:00

superman, he breaks my heart.

hands up if you're a babe

2008-10-17T23:44:00.000-07:00

yeah.

celebrity love

2008-10-16T19:35:00.000-07:00

Miranda and Calvin.

but no more.

wikipedia tells you EVERYTHING.

clive of india

2008-10-16T19:07:00.000-07:00

I think I've probably said this before but prac's great because I can drink free tea all day whenever I want. I also have unlimited access to morning coffee biscuits and jatz. This is beside the point. Today the usual nerada tea bags had been replaced by a strange orange-paper-covered tea bag I have never seen before. They are 'Clive of India' teabags and there's a little picture of a naff looking colonial invert with a eighteenth century man-bob. I assumed instantly that it must be Clive, Clive of India. From further research he seems like a right prat, an early rupert murdoch with a penchant for monopolising and colonising but who it seems was more prone to smashing heads. I'm unsure his connection to the tea but I did feel a bit sick just then drinking it.