Tonight we have our annual French meal, as part of the Tour de France obsession I share with my brother-in-law and now my daughter, and which is secondarily tolerated/shared by my sister and my husband, Clokes.
We have our French wines, our non-French cheeses (fuck that, they're too expensive and no one ever really loves them anyway. Let's face it, compared to a King Island Quintriple Brie or a good old Castello Bleu, you can't beat that?)
They are doing main, I am doing dessert and in about ten minutes (as soon as I've finished my Internet Ablutions) I'll decide whether it will be cherry clafoutis or tarte tartin.
This year I'm dressing in yellow. Need to pop to the op shop to try to find something that will complement my yellow cardigan. I told Clokes I am wearing 'as all yellow as possible' and he said: Great, I'll wear my red, white and blue striped top (that we got at 'Tomy [sic] Pony' in Hong Kong. Not Polo and not Tommy Hilfiger - a kind of blend, you know. He knows I hate him wearing those 'fucking polo tops' but he also knew I couldn't say anything because he'd mentioned the tri-couleurs. Smart.
It was quite the big week. I had four teaching gigs, including a new school (primary) and then secondary schools. Thursday was a big day, taught back to back 8.40am to 1.30pm with an hour off in the middle which was cannibalised by me driving home in between, grabbing some fruit, refilling my water bottle, going to the toilet, offloading some materials from first sessions and getting back in the car. I know you love these details; I'm here for you.
Then yesterday I spent ages online working out which Melbourne Writers Festival sessions to go to. The last few years nothing has interested me but this year, fuck. There are HEAPS so I have booked for a bunch of sessions and if I go to the Trivia Night and the Closing Party (unlikely) I'll attend 16 sessions over the ten days or whatever it is, mostly two weekends. Man.
I also might have some writerly news in the next couple of weeks. Not to do with the book, but something short storyish. I've been shortlisted in a local thing which is a big deal, with a wide-circulation. Publication is 'likely but not - as yet - definite' so I am excited, I have cracked a bottle of The Widow to celebrate the shortlisting, but I'm trying to keep it low-key until I have confirmation.
But likely to be published? They wouldn't say that unless it was, er, likely, would they?
Better go and look at the recipes. This was my week, how was yours? What are you reading? Are you happy? Are you wearing yellow? How is the weather? Any holidays on the horizon? What do you think of the POLITICS AT THE MOMENT? Or should we not go there. It is quite the exhausting subject and as I've demonstrated above, it's possible to live in the light and keep things happy.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Sunday, July 14, 2013
I'm back, and talk about feral
1. I have a dreadlock and while that in itself is pretty rank, what's even ranker is I didn't realise until yesterday. YESTERDAY. This is a thing that's as thick as a sausage and is so tightly bound up it makes that section of my hair look a full 4 inches shorter.* Today I intend to get in the shower with plenty of conditioner and a wide-tooth comb. And take care of it. I promise.
2. I have no clean underwear. Which means I own precisely 15 pairs of undies.
3. I just realised both my bras need a wash too. And I'm teaching in two days. And I've already done three loads of washing. Maybe I can wear my sports bra.
4. My bowels were bad for a full ten days then they started to go to normal, very quickly. The good thing is that I didn't drink alcohol for that time. The bad thing is I couldn't try the Tuna Tartare and artichoke salad until yesterday.
5. I didn't get sunburned which is good cause I'm getting a thingy cut out on Friday from my back. It's the second thingy, it's not a bad thingy, just one of those basal cell thingies.
6. We watched the Tour every night on the Eurosport station. Commentators Carlton Kirby (come to think of it, I didn't get to see what he looks like.) To google...
Hey, exactly what I imagined.
And Sean Kelly, we did see. He is hilarious and made us laugh every time he was on.
That's Sean on the left below, he rocks when he speaks and does not have eye contact with anyone other than the road when he talks. We love him. On the right hand side is the unintelligible someone else who does interviews and then there's a really annoying girl who gets flirty eyes with the spunky riders, especially Marcel Kittel.
Princess loved sprinter Sagan last year but has dropped him to go for Kittel. I think this is partly because Sagan has a bad facial hair situation going on, and partly because Kittel looks like this:
Princess: He's a hot Aryan. I love him.
Come on, she's 16. This is to be expected, I suppose.
The other big thing was we realised that Cadel's chin cleft is angled which is very disconcerting. I am still hopeful he will 'do something' but Princess has moved on.
So tonight we have to make do with SBS, and two hours later. It's going to be tough but I'm determined. This week is mountain week and it will be exciting and then on Saturday we have our usual TdeF meal with my sis and bro-in-law all the talk is chamois and sticky bibons, who is pottier (Carlton versus Phil Liggett) and who has the calves which can best be compared to the size and hardness of frozen chickens (probably Andre Greipel.) We will eat, I think, duck cassoulet, eat some French cheese and drink some French wine. Dessert is undecided but I will let you know, bien sur.
* I had dreadlocks in my early 20s for a period of about 6 months. I just stopped brushing my hair and kept washing it and they started. I thought I'd have to get them cut out when I was sick of them but in fact managed to comb them out. It took all day, in sessions, and much patience. When I told this to Princess she almost gagged and physically recoiled when I made her touch my dreadlock.
P: OH, you were one of those people.
Me: I was one of those people BEFORE those people existed.
P: Those people have always existed, Mum.
2. I have no clean underwear. Which means I own precisely 15 pairs of undies.
3. I just realised both my bras need a wash too. And I'm teaching in two days. And I've already done three loads of washing. Maybe I can wear my sports bra.
4. My bowels were bad for a full ten days then they started to go to normal, very quickly. The good thing is that I didn't drink alcohol for that time. The bad thing is I couldn't try the Tuna Tartare and artichoke salad until yesterday.
5. I didn't get sunburned which is good cause I'm getting a thingy cut out on Friday from my back. It's the second thingy, it's not a bad thingy, just one of those basal cell thingies.
6. We watched the Tour every night on the Eurosport station. Commentators Carlton Kirby (come to think of it, I didn't get to see what he looks like.) To google...
Hey, exactly what I imagined.
And Sean Kelly, we did see. He is hilarious and made us laugh every time he was on.
That's Sean on the left below, he rocks when he speaks and does not have eye contact with anyone other than the road when he talks. We love him. On the right hand side is the unintelligible someone else who does interviews and then there's a really annoying girl who gets flirty eyes with the spunky riders, especially Marcel Kittel.
Princess loved sprinter Sagan last year but has dropped him to go for Kittel. I think this is partly because Sagan has a bad facial hair situation going on, and partly because Kittel looks like this:
Princess: He's a hot Aryan. I love him.
Come on, she's 16. This is to be expected, I suppose.
The other big thing was we realised that Cadel's chin cleft is angled which is very disconcerting. I am still hopeful he will 'do something' but Princess has moved on.
So tonight we have to make do with SBS, and two hours later. It's going to be tough but I'm determined. This week is mountain week and it will be exciting and then on Saturday we have our usual TdeF meal with my sis and bro-in-law all the talk is chamois and sticky bibons, who is pottier (Carlton versus Phil Liggett) and who has the calves which can best be compared to the size and hardness of frozen chickens (probably Andre Greipel.) We will eat, I think, duck cassoulet, eat some French cheese and drink some French wine. Dessert is undecided but I will let you know, bien sur.
* I had dreadlocks in my early 20s for a period of about 6 months. I just stopped brushing my hair and kept washing it and they started. I thought I'd have to get them cut out when I was sick of them but in fact managed to comb them out. It took all day, in sessions, and much patience. When I told this to Princess she almost gagged and physically recoiled when I made her touch my dreadlock.
P: OH, you were one of those people.
Me: I was one of those people BEFORE those people existed.
P: Those people have always existed, Mum.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Gone fishing, back later.
What a good week to just fuck off and get away. Stay well all, stay warm you southerners, stay away from politics and stay away from inferior vodka.
Friday, June 14, 2013
West Wing and Game of Thrones
So. At the end of a week which has seen twitter (and the wider world) mired in a series of yuck after yuck after yuck stories, it's time to feast all eyes on what TV I've been distracting myself with. (That has to be the worst-written sentence in the history of the world.) We are also watching MasterChef (no surprises there.)
Sorry about the captions being centred. They look horrible but I can't be fucked working out how to just have the text under the pic. Works for the top one, not the bottom and I can't be buggered spending more time on it. Have a great weekend. Stay safe, don't read the fucking papers, don't get depressed. Keep it together, we'll be fine.
Sorry about the captions being centred. They look horrible but I can't be fucked working out how to just have the text under the pic. Works for the top one, not the bottom and I can't be buggered spending more time on it. Have a great weekend. Stay safe, don't read the fucking papers, don't get depressed. Keep it together, we'll be fine.
 |
| It's something about his voice. The way he articulates his words, managing to sound very high-born but filled with pathos at the same time. Not saying I fancy him but he is one of my fave characters. How could he not be? |
 | |||||
| The way Josh walks, his backpack, the side-looks he gives people when he's tired. I also love Toby so much. |
Tuesday, June 04, 2013
Too much and nothing
I have nothing much to say. I'm sad about Turkey, some of the footage coming out is depressing, but images of protesters cleaning up Taksim and people leaving food and drink for people in heaps around the city, they were inspiring and heart-warming pictures. I hope the people prevail, that's all I can say. While Turkish police are some of the hottest dudes I've ever seen and their uniforms are so cool, they are fucking brutal. I'm wondering where the military is, and what they make of it. Historically, the army steps in when the government strays too far from the principals of Ataturk, there have been a few coup d'etats. But I'm not sure whether the current government has made legislative changes and reduced the power of the military. It's something I've not kept up with over the last ten years or so.
I am writing. I'm struggling to think about writing a book review, something I've promised myself I'll learn to do and then do one properly.
I'm reading High Sobriety by Jill Stark. It's literally sobering. When it was recently critiqued on the First Tuesday Book Club Show or whatever-the-bloody-hell-it's-called-now, 3 out of the 5 panellists hadn't had a drink since finishing it. So that was Marieke H, the young guy on her right, and I think it was Sophie Cunningham? Can't remember. The only two who didn't say they'd taken a break were Jason Steger and Jennifer Byrne. That's not to say Steger didn't take a break, he just didn't indicate one way or the other. Byrne put her hand up and said nothing had changed with her.
Last night I went to a local reading thingy, it's a pretty cool soiree affair once a month where a couple of people read and then they have open mike. This is the second I've been to and I enjoyed it again and it's the closest thing to an old-style literary salon I think I could ever be part of. The atmosphere is very warm, open and welcoming - none of the snobby exclusivity that you can find in any world. Nevertheless, I think it's pretty brave of me to rock up on my own, there's a whole table of people having food and drinks beforehand, and I just insinuate myself onto the end of the table. Thank god the organiser recognised me (from last time) and smiled at me and said hi. So high school, so pathetic. I am a true introvert and while if you met me I'd not seem it, I am rawther reserved. But the lure of the evening and being there outweighed - again - the promise of sticking out like a sore-thumb loner. Most times I'm happy to be a loner (as much as anyone with three children and a husband can be one) but some times, the 15-year-old schoolgirl that lives on inside of me just wants somebody to sit with.
I've listened to a couple of open mike people. Really, there's no microphone, just people sitting around a table, no more than 10 or 12. I've read my stuff in front of workshops and groups before. I like reading my stuff (let's face it, anyone who wants to write and get published also probably has the ego to read aloud in front of strangers). This is something that 15-year-old inner schoolgirl would not be able to comprehend. Read aloud? Voluntarily?
So I may work up to it. Let you know.
I'm not teaching at the moment, there's a bit of a lull for a month or so. Which is good and bad. Bad because no money but good because time to write. I'm working on number two, there is little constipation; this is something that has been with me in essence since end of 1999/through 2000. That's a a while. It's like an affectionate homage to Turkey (the love letter to Turkey is another project, a (gulp) memoir. Ha.) I have struggled with the form and structure of it, but think I am getting there.
The family is fine, things are fine. Muddling along. We head to Bali at the end of this month which will be nice, despite catching a stupid segment on Leigh Sales last night about violence to Australians in Bali. I have never watched Leigh Sales apart from the youtube clip of her interviewing Tony Abbott. I thought she was reasonable quality and that her show would therefore be of reasonable quality. The Bali piece was crap. What the hell. No wonder I don't watch tv other than sitcoms and reality stuff.
So we started watching MasterChef last night. The whole battle of the sexes was predictably sick-making. And of course there were the predictable hate-making personalities, as well as the usual array of hat-wearing tools. It's a bit of fluff I like to watch.
We have about three Game of Thrones to catch up on, as well as we need to finish our latest run-through of Seinfeld. We are almost at the end where Jerry and Elaine are just so over everything, George is shouting a lot and Kramer is... the same. Princess and I are watching West Wing too (me re-watching, she watching for the first time.) I love that show. There's not one bad character apart from lispy short-haired girl, but she goes soon.
I am writing. I'm struggling to think about writing a book review, something I've promised myself I'll learn to do and then do one properly.
I'm reading High Sobriety by Jill Stark. It's literally sobering. When it was recently critiqued on the First Tuesday Book Club Show or whatever-the-bloody-hell-it's-called-now, 3 out of the 5 panellists hadn't had a drink since finishing it. So that was Marieke H, the young guy on her right, and I think it was Sophie Cunningham? Can't remember. The only two who didn't say they'd taken a break were Jason Steger and Jennifer Byrne. That's not to say Steger didn't take a break, he just didn't indicate one way or the other. Byrne put her hand up and said nothing had changed with her.
Last night I went to a local reading thingy, it's a pretty cool soiree affair once a month where a couple of people read and then they have open mike. This is the second I've been to and I enjoyed it again and it's the closest thing to an old-style literary salon I think I could ever be part of. The atmosphere is very warm, open and welcoming - none of the snobby exclusivity that you can find in any world. Nevertheless, I think it's pretty brave of me to rock up on my own, there's a whole table of people having food and drinks beforehand, and I just insinuate myself onto the end of the table. Thank god the organiser recognised me (from last time) and smiled at me and said hi. So high school, so pathetic. I am a true introvert and while if you met me I'd not seem it, I am rawther reserved. But the lure of the evening and being there outweighed - again - the promise of sticking out like a sore-thumb loner. Most times I'm happy to be a loner (as much as anyone with three children and a husband can be one) but some times, the 15-year-old schoolgirl that lives on inside of me just wants somebody to sit with.
I've listened to a couple of open mike people. Really, there's no microphone, just people sitting around a table, no more than 10 or 12. I've read my stuff in front of workshops and groups before. I like reading my stuff (let's face it, anyone who wants to write and get published also probably has the ego to read aloud in front of strangers). This is something that 15-year-old inner schoolgirl would not be able to comprehend. Read aloud? Voluntarily?
So I may work up to it. Let you know.
I'm not teaching at the moment, there's a bit of a lull for a month or so. Which is good and bad. Bad because no money but good because time to write. I'm working on number two, there is little constipation; this is something that has been with me in essence since end of 1999/through 2000. That's a a while. It's like an affectionate homage to Turkey (the love letter to Turkey is another project, a (gulp) memoir. Ha.) I have struggled with the form and structure of it, but think I am getting there.
The family is fine, things are fine. Muddling along. We head to Bali at the end of this month which will be nice, despite catching a stupid segment on Leigh Sales last night about violence to Australians in Bali. I have never watched Leigh Sales apart from the youtube clip of her interviewing Tony Abbott. I thought she was reasonable quality and that her show would therefore be of reasonable quality. The Bali piece was crap. What the hell. No wonder I don't watch tv other than sitcoms and reality stuff.
So we started watching MasterChef last night. The whole battle of the sexes was predictably sick-making. And of course there were the predictable hate-making personalities, as well as the usual array of hat-wearing tools. It's a bit of fluff I like to watch.
We have about three Game of Thrones to catch up on, as well as we need to finish our latest run-through of Seinfeld. We are almost at the end where Jerry and Elaine are just so over everything, George is shouting a lot and Kramer is... the same. Princess and I are watching West Wing too (me re-watching, she watching for the first time.) I love that show. There's not one bad character apart from lispy short-haired girl, but she goes soon.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Excited for Gatsby
There are spoilers below.
*
I'm just going to say fuck you to the reviewers and critics who really just want to bag Baz, bag the movie, say that Leo's too old, say that there's too much of the party scenes, say what the hell is Beyonce's voice doing in there in a soundtrack to a movie set in the '20s jazz age. Sometimes people just like to be picky for the sake of being able to say: yeah, I didn't like it.
Well, I'll say fuck you and also point out the following:
1. This is Baz Luhrmann we're talking about here. No, he doesn't do subtle or atmospheric in the way the Scott Fitzgerald purists would like. And, er, check out Moulin Rouge's soundtrack (Christina Aguilera), and Romeo & Juliet's soundtrack (um, a Prince song), and er the way he directed those movies, with occasional jerky contemporary roaring in your face SFX and camera work. Then come back and complain about the over-the-topness and I'll poke you in the eye.
2. Movies are always an interpretation of a book, and by all accounts this is a good one. Even Professor Paul Giles says it's a good movie and he's an American 20C Literary dude at the University of Sydney. Also, Giles Hardie rates it highly in The Age and had good rebuttals to the criticisms. And if you come back and complaining, saying those two people must be the same cause they're both called Giles, then I'll poke you in the eye again.
3. I wonder how closely a lot of the critics have read the book. I wonder if they have even read the book or if they are just spouting off. Some people say the book is 'humourless.' Oh my god, people are idiots. And for people who say that there are no likeable characters in the movie, and that Daisy is a drip and even Nick is contemptible for not helping Wilson's wife when she gets punched in the nose by Tom: read the book. They are none of them super sympathetic characters except I reckon Gatsby does become sympathetic probably because you're so damn sorry that everyone was happy to go to his parties and drink his booze yet no one went to his funeral, and also you find out what he did (or it is heavily intimated) to realise his dream of being rich and trying to get Daisy. He also has a scrap of honour because he said he was driving the car to protect Daisy. And Nick is on track to developing and maturing because he breaks off with Jordan properly and doesn't leave her hanging.
4. Baz does 'love' well, and if the Daisy and Gatsby scenes are anything like the Romeo and Juliet fishtank scene, well, yeah. That does it for me.
Sorry for the aggression, I won't really be angry if anyone comments here but I'd love some feisty discussion, fo sho.
*
I'm just going to say fuck you to the reviewers and critics who really just want to bag Baz, bag the movie, say that Leo's too old, say that there's too much of the party scenes, say what the hell is Beyonce's voice doing in there in a soundtrack to a movie set in the '20s jazz age. Sometimes people just like to be picky for the sake of being able to say: yeah, I didn't like it.
Well, I'll say fuck you and also point out the following:
1. This is Baz Luhrmann we're talking about here. No, he doesn't do subtle or atmospheric in the way the Scott Fitzgerald purists would like. And, er, check out Moulin Rouge's soundtrack (Christina Aguilera), and Romeo & Juliet's soundtrack (um, a Prince song), and er the way he directed those movies, with occasional jerky contemporary roaring in your face SFX and camera work. Then come back and complain about the over-the-topness and I'll poke you in the eye.
2. Movies are always an interpretation of a book, and by all accounts this is a good one. Even Professor Paul Giles says it's a good movie and he's an American 20C Literary dude at the University of Sydney. Also, Giles Hardie rates it highly in The Age and had good rebuttals to the criticisms. And if you come back and complaining, saying those two people must be the same cause they're both called Giles, then I'll poke you in the eye again.
3. I wonder how closely a lot of the critics have read the book. I wonder if they have even read the book or if they are just spouting off. Some people say the book is 'humourless.' Oh my god, people are idiots. And for people who say that there are no likeable characters in the movie, and that Daisy is a drip and even Nick is contemptible for not helping Wilson's wife when she gets punched in the nose by Tom: read the book. They are none of them super sympathetic characters except I reckon Gatsby does become sympathetic probably because you're so damn sorry that everyone was happy to go to his parties and drink his booze yet no one went to his funeral, and also you find out what he did (or it is heavily intimated) to realise his dream of being rich and trying to get Daisy. He also has a scrap of honour because he said he was driving the car to protect Daisy. And Nick is on track to developing and maturing because he breaks off with Jordan properly and doesn't leave her hanging.
4. Baz does 'love' well, and if the Daisy and Gatsby scenes are anything like the Romeo and Juliet fishtank scene, well, yeah. That does it for me.
Sorry for the aggression, I won't really be angry if anyone comments here but I'd love some feisty discussion, fo sho.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
I'm back.
Hong Kong was great. I'm really tired. I have to go to bed now and teach early tomorrow.
I have no news other than that (ie no booky news) and it makes me want to swear heaps.
Maybe I'll just leave it that I won't say when I have no news, I'll only say when I do.
How are you all?
I have no news other than that (ie no booky news) and it makes me want to swear heaps.
Maybe I'll just leave it that I won't say when I have no news, I'll only say when I do.
How are you all?
Friday, May 17, 2013
Friday
The UGGs are on, and so is the cardigan. Melbourne's gone cold.
Today I taught at a girls' school - a group of Year 8s - and it was fantastic. They were great, I was great. Sorry, can't help the hubris but you gotta own it, don't you? When I finish a session that's gone well (I'd say 99% of them) it's like I imagine a stand-up comedian coming off stage after nailing a show. The high is immense; the feel-good of having done good work, connected with the audience, gotten the laughs where you wanted to, had them thinking where you wanted them to.
At Year 8 we teeter on the edge of explicit stuff, keeping it just this side of confronting. We keep it to the theoretical in a way, and try to deal with what they are facing, realistically, in their lives now and within about 6 months or so. Some will be starting to be sexually active, most won't. Some will have partners they kiss and cuddle with, some won't. For me, today the session was more about 'what's it like growing up to be a woman?' and what are some of the things we have to think about. It's good to get their opinions and responses, invite them to think about what some of the choices they might have, and might have to make. Body hair is a simple one. How do they feel about shaving and waxing? At that age, it's not quite about vulvae yet, it's about legs and armpits. It's not about us standing up and telling them what's what either.
One question that I ALWAYS ask groups when oral sex comes up with (or we bring it up): Is oral sex 'real sex'?
And no one ever puts up their hand to agree.
They don't count it as real sex, which it isn't if you think real sex is only intercourse. But then, I ask them, how do gay or lesbian couples have real sex? If you only count it as penis in vagina sex, then how do other people lose their virginity? If they don't have a life-time of penis > vagina sex.
Interesting questions, all of them.
*
And in other news, there is no other news. Let's call it publisher three has asked for an extra week. Publisher one (the one who LOVED it and is now in turmoil with the 'internal stuff') my agent hasn't reported anything from, other than that she was trying to find out if there was still any hope for my book. She doesn't hold much hope herself, she said, but there's still a chance, I guess, we haven't had a no. Publisher two is one from the original group who passed and apparently has been asking again. So that's it. No YES, one sniffing, one asking for more time (do not know if this is a good sign or a bad sign)
FUCK
and one silent.
silencio
silencio
I am as understanding and at ease as Naomi Watts in Club Silencio in Mulholland Drive. The good thing is: wine, fish & chips tonight, plenty of writing time over the weekend and into next week AND then next week also, me and old chicken-foot Clokesy head off to Hong Kong for five days. Nice.
And GO CATS. Geelong and Collingwood play tomorrow night. 3/5 of our household is COLL; 2/5 are pro-Geelong people. Interesting.
Today I taught at a girls' school - a group of Year 8s - and it was fantastic. They were great, I was great. Sorry, can't help the hubris but you gotta own it, don't you? When I finish a session that's gone well (I'd say 99% of them) it's like I imagine a stand-up comedian coming off stage after nailing a show. The high is immense; the feel-good of having done good work, connected with the audience, gotten the laughs where you wanted to, had them thinking where you wanted them to.
At Year 8 we teeter on the edge of explicit stuff, keeping it just this side of confronting. We keep it to the theoretical in a way, and try to deal with what they are facing, realistically, in their lives now and within about 6 months or so. Some will be starting to be sexually active, most won't. Some will have partners they kiss and cuddle with, some won't. For me, today the session was more about 'what's it like growing up to be a woman?' and what are some of the things we have to think about. It's good to get their opinions and responses, invite them to think about what some of the choices they might have, and might have to make. Body hair is a simple one. How do they feel about shaving and waxing? At that age, it's not quite about vulvae yet, it's about legs and armpits. It's not about us standing up and telling them what's what either.
One question that I ALWAYS ask groups when oral sex comes up with (or we bring it up): Is oral sex 'real sex'?
And no one ever puts up their hand to agree.
They don't count it as real sex, which it isn't if you think real sex is only intercourse. But then, I ask them, how do gay or lesbian couples have real sex? If you only count it as penis in vagina sex, then how do other people lose their virginity? If they don't have a life-time of penis > vagina sex.
Interesting questions, all of them.
*
And in other news, there is no other news. Let's call it publisher three has asked for an extra week. Publisher one (the one who LOVED it and is now in turmoil with the 'internal stuff') my agent hasn't reported anything from, other than that she was trying to find out if there was still any hope for my book. She doesn't hold much hope herself, she said, but there's still a chance, I guess, we haven't had a no. Publisher two is one from the original group who passed and apparently has been asking again. So that's it. No YES, one sniffing, one asking for more time (do not know if this is a good sign or a bad sign)
FUCK
and one silent.
silencio
silencio
I am as understanding and at ease as Naomi Watts in Club Silencio in Mulholland Drive. The good thing is: wine, fish & chips tonight, plenty of writing time over the weekend and into next week AND then next week also, me and old chicken-foot Clokesy head off to Hong Kong for five days. Nice.
And GO CATS. Geelong and Collingwood play tomorrow night. 3/5 of our household is COLL; 2/5 are pro-Geelong people. Interesting.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
The bad thing about sharing a bed is that
when the other person wakes you up with their sharp chicken foot at 5am, and then does it again, and again, and then when you are really awake they start breathing really heavily and then snoring, that's all not even the worst thing. The worst thing is that you can't turn on the light to read and then hopefully fall back to sleep.
Oh no.
You have to get up and leave the bed, go out into the chilly house.
You can't make a coffee because it'll wake up two of the three children.
So you tell yourself you might as well work.
But in other news, how were those Geelong boys last night?
Oh no.
You have to get up and leave the bed, go out into the chilly house.
You can't make a coffee because it'll wake up two of the three children.
So you tell yourself you might as well work.
But in other news, how were those Geelong boys last night?
Saturday, May 04, 2013
So I wore my puffy orange today.
I need to get a better pic, or at least one with a femme instead of an homme.
Or should that be puffy Orange? It seems it needs a capital. I had a quick coffee meeting with my business partner, in a cafe about half-way between our houses. She squeezed me in between basketball practices and I squeezed her in between dropping Princess over at her grandmother's to go to the opera and me cleaning the house in a frenzy.
No reason for the cleaning, apart from the house being a fucking brothel of mess and clutter and even, yes even dirt that has somehow blown in through the windows and coated the window sills.
I'm not a house-wifely person. Some are and that's fine, but I'm just not. I put it off as long as possible: I light scented candles, move piles around rooms, pick dog hair and human hair off my socks while sitting on the couch until just the day before my period is due I go into a frenzy. it's like I think I'm going to have a baby or something and I have to nest. The cleaning (and the resentment I feel against any and all who live in this house with me) feeds my hormone-rage until I'm in a state, saying fuck a lot in my head, having whole conversations where I blast someone, and then I have to take myself to bed to have a lie-down and read, and then drink wine far too early. And probably eat a whole bowl of chips (but not the whole packet: see, I've left some in the bottom - this is how I let myself off.) This is if this occurs on a Saturday, say. Like today.
I have no publishing news. I have no news about anything other than I dashed off a short story yesterday and am working on revising others. There are some writerly deadlines coming up for writing things that I would like to submit for. Teaching is going well. Home life is fine. I'm a bit overwhelmed with reading options at the moment. Probably because I keep buying books and then can't decide and then skip around and can't settle.
So. That's about it. I hope I bleed soon, I'm feeling rawther rotten. Bluddy hormones.
Friday, May 03, 2013
Happy Satire Friday
This is nice:
From this page
THE SOIN: Gillard Cures Cancer in Spare Time, Approval Rating Plummets
by CAMERON SMITH, April 24, 2013
Federal Labor reached a new low in the polls this week with the unmarried, female, atheist, red-haired immigrant Prime Minister’s approval rating dropping almost 10 percentage points after it was announced she had successfully developed a cure for cancer. Pundits have suggested this slump is most likely a result of the highly successful scare campaign run by the Opposition, highlighting the flaws of such a move.
When questioned at a press conference as to whether she saw any meaning in this slump, Ms Gillard responded: “Fuck them. Fuck the lot of them. They deserve Abbott, those fucking hyper-critical sheep. I mean seriously, he hasn’t even got a platform to run on; all he’s done is criticise every single fucking move we make and then failed to meet us halfway when we try to actually govern the country for you fuckwits. I give up. Enjoy your dial-up internet and corporate overlords. I’m moving to New Zealand.” Gillard’s press team later issued a correction to this statement, clarifying Ms Gillard had actually mean to say, “No”.
Liberal Party members were quick to criticise this outburst by the Prime Minister, pointing out that they had in fact already developed their own alternate plan for curing cancer, utilising an existing radiotherapy technique that is fractionally faster and only has a failure rate in the mid-range double digits. Shadow Health Minister Peter Dutton prepared a speech to be read by more popular party member Malcom Turnbull, but was stopped at the door by spin doctors who were concerned it might actually look like a policy.
Broadcaster and philosopher Alan Jones used his radio program to raise the concern that curing cancer was little more than a jaded attempt by Federal Labor to reduce the ratio of staff to patients in public hospitals. “They’re just trying to run away from their commitment to increase the number of beds and doctors in public healthcare. Typical Julia at it again,” said Jones, somewhere in the middle of a two hour rant detailing the excessive lint on his socks and the high price of roasted chestnuts.
Nationals spokesman Barnaby Joyce unleashed a particularly virulent attack on Labor’s new plan to cure all cancer, stating, “It just doesn’t apply to the common person on the street, does it? I’m sick of the Labor party overlooking real, everyday problems like stopping those bastard asylum seekers from fleeing war-torn dictatorships, and instead pandering to fringe issues like cancer. I’ve never even known anyone who’s had cancer, but I sure as hell run into asylum seekers on a daily basis, and this has got to stop!”
When stopped in the street for comment, average bricklayer Joe Citizen, “Well, at first I thought curing cancer was a good policy, but Turnbull just seemed so sure that this was a ridiculous plan that just pushes us further into debt. I mean he wouldn’t have had Tony standing next to him nodding so assuredly if they weren’t right, eh? And God knows I haven’t got the free time needed to actually look into the merits of the policies of the people who govern our country, so I guess I’ll just take their word for it.”
Major pharmaceutical companies have also played a key role in the success of the Liberal’s smear campaign, running a series of ads depicting the average, working doctors who will be affected by this policy, played by a number of paid actors standing in farmland, wearing Akubras. Pfitzer spokesman and part-time boogeyman John Watkins explained, “Well, it just worked so well for the mining companies, and no one even noticed that miners don’t actually walk around farmland all day wearing Akubras, so we figured we’d give it a go too. These days people’ll swallow any old drivel as long as it’s on TV, just look at The Project!” The campaign has been highly successful.
The Liberal Party is expected to launch their new advertising campaign, “Stop the boats, not the cancer” early next week, in time for Labor’s next leadership spill.
(Tony Abbott was approached for comment in relation to this piece, but was unavailable due to a prior commitment of laughing maniacally at the gullibility of the average voter.)
From this page
THE SOIN: Gillard Cures Cancer in Spare Time, Approval Rating Plummets
by CAMERON SMITH, April 24, 2013
Federal Labor reached a new low in the polls this week with the unmarried, female, atheist, red-haired immigrant Prime Minister’s approval rating dropping almost 10 percentage points after it was announced she had successfully developed a cure for cancer. Pundits have suggested this slump is most likely a result of the highly successful scare campaign run by the Opposition, highlighting the flaws of such a move.
When questioned at a press conference as to whether she saw any meaning in this slump, Ms Gillard responded: “Fuck them. Fuck the lot of them. They deserve Abbott, those fucking hyper-critical sheep. I mean seriously, he hasn’t even got a platform to run on; all he’s done is criticise every single fucking move we make and then failed to meet us halfway when we try to actually govern the country for you fuckwits. I give up. Enjoy your dial-up internet and corporate overlords. I’m moving to New Zealand.” Gillard’s press team later issued a correction to this statement, clarifying Ms Gillard had actually mean to say, “No”.
Liberal Party members were quick to criticise this outburst by the Prime Minister, pointing out that they had in fact already developed their own alternate plan for curing cancer, utilising an existing radiotherapy technique that is fractionally faster and only has a failure rate in the mid-range double digits. Shadow Health Minister Peter Dutton prepared a speech to be read by more popular party member Malcom Turnbull, but was stopped at the door by spin doctors who were concerned it might actually look like a policy.
Broadcaster and philosopher Alan Jones used his radio program to raise the concern that curing cancer was little more than a jaded attempt by Federal Labor to reduce the ratio of staff to patients in public hospitals. “They’re just trying to run away from their commitment to increase the number of beds and doctors in public healthcare. Typical Julia at it again,” said Jones, somewhere in the middle of a two hour rant detailing the excessive lint on his socks and the high price of roasted chestnuts.
Nationals spokesman Barnaby Joyce unleashed a particularly virulent attack on Labor’s new plan to cure all cancer, stating, “It just doesn’t apply to the common person on the street, does it? I’m sick of the Labor party overlooking real, everyday problems like stopping those bastard asylum seekers from fleeing war-torn dictatorships, and instead pandering to fringe issues like cancer. I’ve never even known anyone who’s had cancer, but I sure as hell run into asylum seekers on a daily basis, and this has got to stop!”
When stopped in the street for comment, average bricklayer Joe Citizen, “Well, at first I thought curing cancer was a good policy, but Turnbull just seemed so sure that this was a ridiculous plan that just pushes us further into debt. I mean he wouldn’t have had Tony standing next to him nodding so assuredly if they weren’t right, eh? And God knows I haven’t got the free time needed to actually look into the merits of the policies of the people who govern our country, so I guess I’ll just take their word for it.”
Major pharmaceutical companies have also played a key role in the success of the Liberal’s smear campaign, running a series of ads depicting the average, working doctors who will be affected by this policy, played by a number of paid actors standing in farmland, wearing Akubras. Pfitzer spokesman and part-time boogeyman John Watkins explained, “Well, it just worked so well for the mining companies, and no one even noticed that miners don’t actually walk around farmland all day wearing Akubras, so we figured we’d give it a go too. These days people’ll swallow any old drivel as long as it’s on TV, just look at The Project!” The campaign has been highly successful.
The Liberal Party is expected to launch their new advertising campaign, “Stop the boats, not the cancer” early next week, in time for Labor’s next leadership spill.
(Tony Abbott was approached for comment in relation to this piece, but was unavailable due to a prior commitment of laughing maniacally at the gullibility of the average voter.)
Friday, April 26, 2013
The Pillars of Creation
I don't quite know why, but this makes me sad. Look how beautiful they are, and to think they are probably gone. At least this is one thing that we can't blame the humans for. It's just the universe and how it works. Text is taken from facebook page The Universe
The pillars are active star forming regions in the Eagle Nebula, 7,000 light years distant; the largest of the pillars has a height of about 40 trillion kilometres (4 light years). They consist mainly of molecular hydrogen and dust. These pillars will be destroyed fairly soon either by gradual erosion from the strong stellar winds from new born stars within and around the pillars or from supernovae nearby blowing away the remaining gas and dust.
Scientists discovered a cloud of hot gas believed to be a shock wave from a supernova and thought to hit and destroy the pillars in 1,000 years’ time. As the light from the pillars takes around 7,000 years to reach Earth, the pillars likely have already been destroyed; we see the pillars as they were 7,000 years ago.
This image was taken in 1995 by NASA's Hubble Space Telescope and highlights the pillars where new stars are thought to be forming.
http://www.sun.org/images/
http://www.nasa.gov/
Image credit: NASA, Jeff Hester, and Paul Scowen (Arizona State University)
The pillars are active star forming regions in the Eagle Nebula, 7,000 light years distant; the largest of the pillars has a height of about 40 trillion kilometres (4 light years). They consist mainly of molecular hydrogen and dust. These pillars will be destroyed fairly soon either by gradual erosion from the strong stellar winds from new born stars within and around the pillars or from supernovae nearby blowing away the remaining gas and dust.
Scientists discovered a cloud of hot gas believed to be a shock wave from a supernova and thought to hit and destroy the pillars in 1,000 years’ time. As the light from the pillars takes around 7,000 years to reach Earth, the pillars likely have already been destroyed; we see the pillars as they were 7,000 years ago.
This image was taken in 1995 by NASA's Hubble Space Telescope and highlights the pillars where new stars are thought to be forming.
http://www.sun.org/images/
http://www.nasa.gov/
Image credit: NASA, Jeff Hester, and Paul Scowen (Arizona State University)
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Um, what am I missing?
Weapon of mass destruction definition from wiki: A weapon of mass destruction (WMD) is a weapon
that can kill and bring significant harm to a large number of humans
(and other life forms) and/or cause great damage to man-made structures
(e.g. buildings), natural structures (e.g. mountains), or the
biosphere in general. The scope and application of the term has evolved and been
disputed, often signifying more politically than technically. Coined in
reference to aerial bombing with chemical explosives, it has come to distinguish large-scale weaponry of other technologies, such as chemical, biological, radiological or nuclear.
Boston bombing suspect faces death penalty over weapon of mass destruction charge.
Boston bombing suspect faces death penalty over weapon of mass destruction charge.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Via Mr E. Just to get the bad taste of Australian politics out of our collective mouths, and make us cry
The Crickets Have Arthritis
Shane Koyczan | poet
It
doesn't matter why I was there, where the air is sterile and the sheets
sting. It doesnt matter that I was hooked up to this thing that buzzed
and beeped every time my heart leaped like a man who's faith tells him
God's hands are big enough to catch an airplane, or a world. It doesn't
matter that I was curled up like a fist protesting death, or that every
breath was either hard labour or hard time, or that I'm either always
too hot or too cold. Doesn't matter because my hospital roommate wears
star wars pajamas, and he's 9 years old. His name is Louis, and I don't
have to ask what he's got.The bald head with the skin and bones frame
speaks volumes. The gameboy and the feather pillow booms like they're
trying to make him feel at home because he's going to be here awhile.
I manage a smile the first time I see him and it feels like the biggest lie I have ever told, so I hold my breath cos I'm thinking any minute now he's going to call me on it. I hold my breath because I'm scared of a 57 pound boy hooked up to a machine because he's been watching me and maybe I've got him pegged all wrong, like maybe he's bionic or some shit. So I look away like just I made eye contact with a gang member who's got a rap sheet the length of a lecture on dumb mistakes politicians have made. I look away like he's going to give me my life back the moment I've got something to trade. I damn near pull out my pack and say, "Cigarette?"
But my fear subsides in the moment I realize Louis is all show and tell. He's got everything from a shotgun shell to a crows foot and he can put them all in context. Like, "See, this is from a shooting range", and "See, this is from a weird girl". I watch his hands curl around a cuff-link and a tie-tack and realize that every nick-nack is a treasure and every treasure has a story, and every time I think I can't handle more he hits me with another story. He says, "See, this is from my father" "See, this is from my brother" "See, this is from that weird girl" "See, this is from my mother". Took me about two days to figure out that weird girl is his sister, it took him about two hours today after she left for him to figure out he missed her. And they visit every day, and stay well past visiting hours because for them that term doesn't apply. But when they do leave, Louis and I are left alone. And he says, "The worst part about being sick is that you get all the free ice cream you ask for." And he says, "The worst part about that is realizing there is nothing more they can do for you." He says, "Ice cream can't make everything okay."
And there is no easy way of asking, and I know what he's going to say but maybe he just needs to say it, so I ask him anyway. "Are you scared?" Louis doesn't even lower his voice when he says, "Fuck yeah." I listen to a 9 year old boy say the word fuck like he was a 30 year old man with a nose-bleed being lowered into a shark tank, he's got a right to it. And if it takes this kid a curse word to help him get through it, then I want to teach him to swear like the devil's sitting there taking notes with a pen and a pad. But before I can forget that Louis is 9 years old he says, "Please don't tell my dad."
He asks me if I believe in angels. And before I realize I don't have the heart to tell him, I tell him, "Not lately." and I just lay there waiting for him to hate me. But he doesn't know how to, so he never does. Louis loves like a man who lived in a time before God gave religion to men and left it to them to figure out what hate was. He never greets me with silence, only smiles and a patience I've never seen in someone who knows they're dying. And I'm trying so hard not to remind him I'll be out of here in a couple days, smoking cigarettes and taking my life for granted. And he'll still be planted in this bed like a flower that refuses to grow. I've been with him for 5 days and all I really know is that Louis loves to pull feathers out of his pillow, and watch them float to the ground. Almost as if he's the philosopher inside of the scientist ready to say, "It's gravity that's been getting us down."
The truth is: there's not enough miracles to go around, kid. And there's too many people petitioning God for the winning lotto ticket. And for every answered prayer, there's a cricket with arthritis. And the only reason we can't find answers is because the search party didn't invite us, and Louis, right now the crickets have arthritis. So there is no music, no symphony of nature swelling to crescendos, as if ripping halos into melodies that can keep a rhythm with the way our hearts beat. So we must meet silence with the same level of noise that the parents of dying 9 year old boys make when they take liberties in talking with heaven. We must shout until we shatter in our own vibrations, then let our lives echo and grow, echo and grow, grow distant. Grow distant enough to know that as far as our efforts go, we don't always get a reply.
But I swear to whatever God I can find in the time I have left, I'm going to remember you kid. I'm going to tell your story as often as every story you told me. And every time I tell it I'll say, "See, there's bravery in this world. There's 6.5 billion people curled up like fists protesting death, but every breath we breathe has to be given back. A 9 year old boy taught me that." So hold your breath, the same way you'd hold a pen when writing Thank You letters on your skin to every tree that gave you that breath to hold. And then let it go, as if you understand something about getting old and having to give back. Let it go like a laugh attack in the middle of really good sex, the black eye will be worth it. Because what is your night worth without a story to tell? And why wield a word like worth if you've got nothing to sell?
People drop pennies down a wishing well, so the cost of a desire is equal to that of a thought. But if you've got expectations, expect others have bought your exact same dream for the price of a 'hard work, hang in, hold on' mentality. Like, I accept any challenge so challenge me. Like, I brought a knife to this gun fight, but the other night I mugged a mountain so bring that shit, I've had practise. Louis and I cracked this world wide open and found that the prize inside is we never lied to ourselves. Never told ourselves that we'd be easy or undemanding. So we sing in our own vibration, and dare angels to eavesdrop and stop midflight to pluck feathers from their wings and write demands that God's hands take the time to catch you. So, even if God doesn't, it wasn't because we didn't try.
I don't often believe in angels, but on the day I left Louis pulled a feather from his pillow and said, "This is for you." I half expected him to say, "See, this is the first one I grew."
Shane Koyczan | poet
The Crickets have Arthritis by Shane Koyczan
I manage a smile the first time I see him and it feels like the biggest lie I have ever told, so I hold my breath cos I'm thinking any minute now he's going to call me on it. I hold my breath because I'm scared of a 57 pound boy hooked up to a machine because he's been watching me and maybe I've got him pegged all wrong, like maybe he's bionic or some shit. So I look away like just I made eye contact with a gang member who's got a rap sheet the length of a lecture on dumb mistakes politicians have made. I look away like he's going to give me my life back the moment I've got something to trade. I damn near pull out my pack and say, "Cigarette?"
But my fear subsides in the moment I realize Louis is all show and tell. He's got everything from a shotgun shell to a crows foot and he can put them all in context. Like, "See, this is from a shooting range", and "See, this is from a weird girl". I watch his hands curl around a cuff-link and a tie-tack and realize that every nick-nack is a treasure and every treasure has a story, and every time I think I can't handle more he hits me with another story. He says, "See, this is from my father" "See, this is from my brother" "See, this is from that weird girl" "See, this is from my mother". Took me about two days to figure out that weird girl is his sister, it took him about two hours today after she left for him to figure out he missed her. And they visit every day, and stay well past visiting hours because for them that term doesn't apply. But when they do leave, Louis and I are left alone. And he says, "The worst part about being sick is that you get all the free ice cream you ask for." And he says, "The worst part about that is realizing there is nothing more they can do for you." He says, "Ice cream can't make everything okay."
And there is no easy way of asking, and I know what he's going to say but maybe he just needs to say it, so I ask him anyway. "Are you scared?" Louis doesn't even lower his voice when he says, "Fuck yeah." I listen to a 9 year old boy say the word fuck like he was a 30 year old man with a nose-bleed being lowered into a shark tank, he's got a right to it. And if it takes this kid a curse word to help him get through it, then I want to teach him to swear like the devil's sitting there taking notes with a pen and a pad. But before I can forget that Louis is 9 years old he says, "Please don't tell my dad."
He asks me if I believe in angels. And before I realize I don't have the heart to tell him, I tell him, "Not lately." and I just lay there waiting for him to hate me. But he doesn't know how to, so he never does. Louis loves like a man who lived in a time before God gave religion to men and left it to them to figure out what hate was. He never greets me with silence, only smiles and a patience I've never seen in someone who knows they're dying. And I'm trying so hard not to remind him I'll be out of here in a couple days, smoking cigarettes and taking my life for granted. And he'll still be planted in this bed like a flower that refuses to grow. I've been with him for 5 days and all I really know is that Louis loves to pull feathers out of his pillow, and watch them float to the ground. Almost as if he's the philosopher inside of the scientist ready to say, "It's gravity that's been getting us down."
The truth is: there's not enough miracles to go around, kid. And there's too many people petitioning God for the winning lotto ticket. And for every answered prayer, there's a cricket with arthritis. And the only reason we can't find answers is because the search party didn't invite us, and Louis, right now the crickets have arthritis. So there is no music, no symphony of nature swelling to crescendos, as if ripping halos into melodies that can keep a rhythm with the way our hearts beat. So we must meet silence with the same level of noise that the parents of dying 9 year old boys make when they take liberties in talking with heaven. We must shout until we shatter in our own vibrations, then let our lives echo and grow, echo and grow, grow distant. Grow distant enough to know that as far as our efforts go, we don't always get a reply.
But I swear to whatever God I can find in the time I have left, I'm going to remember you kid. I'm going to tell your story as often as every story you told me. And every time I tell it I'll say, "See, there's bravery in this world. There's 6.5 billion people curled up like fists protesting death, but every breath we breathe has to be given back. A 9 year old boy taught me that." So hold your breath, the same way you'd hold a pen when writing Thank You letters on your skin to every tree that gave you that breath to hold. And then let it go, as if you understand something about getting old and having to give back. Let it go like a laugh attack in the middle of really good sex, the black eye will be worth it. Because what is your night worth without a story to tell? And why wield a word like worth if you've got nothing to sell?
People drop pennies down a wishing well, so the cost of a desire is equal to that of a thought. But if you've got expectations, expect others have bought your exact same dream for the price of a 'hard work, hang in, hold on' mentality. Like, I accept any challenge so challenge me. Like, I brought a knife to this gun fight, but the other night I mugged a mountain so bring that shit, I've had practise. Louis and I cracked this world wide open and found that the prize inside is we never lied to ourselves. Never told ourselves that we'd be easy or undemanding. So we sing in our own vibration, and dare angels to eavesdrop and stop midflight to pluck feathers from their wings and write demands that God's hands take the time to catch you. So, even if God doesn't, it wasn't because we didn't try.
I don't often believe in angels, but on the day I left Louis pulled a feather from his pillow and said, "This is for you." I half expected him to say, "See, this is the first one I grew."
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Going a bit mad here
So no news on publishing front. It seems that my work is defo 'under consideration' but there are unforseen delays. My agent can't tell me more, and I can't tell you more either.
People, it's been 11 weeks since my thing was first sent out and while people are saying I have a bright future ahead of me and that I have an amazingly strong voice, fluid writing style, am a 'great writer' that I'm a real find etc - there are elements in play, obviously that I don't know about. Probably stuff like: yeah, but we can't sell a book like that OR oh another family saga? yawn OR Hmmm. This doesn't work so I can't sell it. Oh well.)
People, it's been 11 weeks since my thing was first sent out and while people are saying I have a bright future ahead of me and that I have an amazingly strong voice, fluid writing style, am a 'great writer' that I'm a real find etc - there are elements in play, obviously that I don't know about. Probably stuff like: yeah, but we can't sell a book like that OR oh another family saga? yawn OR Hmmm. This doesn't work so I can't sell it. Oh well.)
I am being calm and still and centred, as much as I can. But I've had a few dreams. In one, there was an email from my agent telling me this particular publisher who loves it had passed on it with regret. Another one where they made an offer and I couldn't get to a computer to read the email. Then other types of dreams, non booky ones but clearly anxiety dreams. In one, someone was wearing the exact same jacket I got in LA - a Calvin Klein orange puffy jacket, but so light, as light as air. I couldn't believe this person had my jacket. Otherwise I'm sleeping so well.
I'm also going a bit mad in other ways too. These flight benefits I've got at the moment are temporary and so 'to feel like I'm making the most of it' I've booked a trip to Hong Kong for me and Clokes next month for our anniversary and also a day trip for me to Brisbane to attend a writing workshop at the end of this month.
I'm walking every day and we have a new lead for the Gigi. I swear, she's 8 years old and has never walked well on a lead. I know now, because we got last pick of the litter, that she is the bad egg. She's a beautiful girl and lovely-natured and sociable; never shown any aggression BUT she is pig-headed and dominant and wants to walk out in front, thinking she is in charge. So I have one of those extendable/rectractable jobs which makes me feel like she's a fish on the end of my line and sometimes I have to reel her in, and sometimes I give her her head. It's working well. So P and me are walking every day and it's making me fitter and this, along with my stopping milk in coffee and 'avoiding wheat especially pasta' I am feeling really good and energetic.
Shit is happening overseas and at the moment, it's hard to filter it out, or filter it at all. Shit is happening here too. Tony Abbott is getting positive headlines to do with same-sex marriage? WTF is Gillard doing? Why oh why won't she go there? I don't get it. I bet personally she's okay with it. Good on NZ for doing it. I've said it before but really: NZ is the place to move to if things get too bad here.
And then the ANZAC thing is coming up again as it always does every year but this year it's making me sweaty in the armpits because I have a work in progress (my Turkish novel) that is concerned with Gallipoli and I'm thinking there'll be so many people trying to capitalise on next year being the 100 anniversary of the Gallipoli Campaign. I was there at ANZAC Cove for the 75th anniversary. I shook Bob and Hazel's hands (his: limp; hers: firm and friendly.) I feel I have so much material in my head, so many things I could write/can write but MAN it's hard to settle.
I need a list, and a plan. I have a new fascination with all things airline too. Did you know that on some of the Gulf State airlines you can take a falcon on board with you? As long as it's hooded, and tethered and only in Economy, you can travel with it on your arm. Limit of 6 per cabin though, on Qatar. This stuff is real in the world and it blows my mind.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Well, the news is still bad
but TGIF.
And while I'm here, check this out. I love it. I've been seeing photos around the traps of earth and her lights, eg Berlin below and how east and west still show a differentiation because they tend to use different light globes:
These pics are all credited to a Cmdr Hadfield. And now here's a clip of him - yes, he's an astronaut - doing an experiment for some school kids up in space. It's great and made me think that if I'd been a kid seeing this, it would have been one of the most fantastic things in my life. Maybe it still is.
And while I'm here, check this out. I love it. I've been seeing photos around the traps of earth and her lights, eg Berlin below and how east and west still show a differentiation because they tend to use different light globes:
These pics are all credited to a Cmdr Hadfield. And now here's a clip of him - yes, he's an astronaut - doing an experiment for some school kids up in space. It's great and made me think that if I'd been a kid seeing this, it would have been one of the most fantastic things in my life. Maybe it still is.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Friday, April 12, 2013
TGIF
Oh, isn't it loverly? Melbourne's weather has been brilliant lately, those gorgeous rich tones of colour and the sun low in the sky when I go for my walks. Just beautiful.
Went to a launch last night, at Readings in Carlton. It was Krissy Kneen, she of the Furious Vaginas blog. This is her third book (I think) and I've read the other two, a memoir and then a trio of connected novellas. Her stuff is full-on, I suppose you'd call them pornographic, especially the last book Triptych. She writes beautifully though and with sincerity so there is nothing louche or lewd or lascivious; not negatively anyway. And she is really prolific, they seem to be published at a rate of one a year. Or more?
Just dropped P and her friend at a party. I'm tired, so I'll have a shower and go and read in bed. Wait for the text: Mum can you come and get us. Lucky they are only ten minutes away.
Happy weekend. Go Cats.
Went to a launch last night, at Readings in Carlton. It was Krissy Kneen, she of the Furious Vaginas blog. This is her third book (I think) and I've read the other two, a memoir and then a trio of connected novellas. Her stuff is full-on, I suppose you'd call them pornographic, especially the last book Triptych. She writes beautifully though and with sincerity so there is nothing louche or lewd or lascivious; not negatively anyway. And she is really prolific, they seem to be published at a rate of one a year. Or more?
Just dropped P and her friend at a party. I'm tired, so I'll have a shower and go and read in bed. Wait for the text: Mum can you come and get us. Lucky they are only ten minutes away.
Happy weekend. Go Cats.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
I'm back
It was great. I got to see and learn a lot and walked sooo much. Since getting back my blister has healed (heeled) and I've kept up my walking with P, and taking the Gigi too. I caught up with a friend yesterday who I hadn't seen for months - we were at risk of dissolving our friendship over a kerfuffle from last year and I'm glad it seems smoothed over. Maybe going to a book launch tonight - I think I should. Never been to one before and it's for a book I'd like to buy, by an author I'd like to meet/see, whose two other books I enjoyed reading.
I'm also planning some other trips, possibly HK with Clokes for our anniversaire next month and then also possibly something with Princess in September. Remember that ad: Tahiti looks nice? Anyone been to Tahiti? I don't think I've ever met anyone who has. We have a family trip to Bali in the middle of the year, it was already booked and paid for last year before this 'travel opportunity' came up.
The writing: hmmm. Still waiting to hear. There is one of the Big 6 publishers who 'loves it' and who had a 'really positive reader report' (whatever the fuck THAT really means) and wanted to pass it around others in the pub house to read. This means she will be championing the novel and hoping to garner support for it from the PR and marketing people, and whoever else, like other editors. This IS exciting, but after nine weeks of pulling at the skin around my nails and telling myself to be patient, calm and 'that it will all turn out, you'll see' it's getting a little old. Then there's a second publisher who my agent V gave the thing to only recently, by way of a second round. This person is from a large independent (all these publishers are Australian btw) and she was keen to read it and said she would be quick about it. Also my agent thought this person would love the ms. I haven't heard any response from that one (let's call her Second) and nothing more from the previous one (let's call her First). When I met my agent last week - which was a thrill and great - she told me she was expecting to hear from First that same week. Last week. We met on Tuesday. SO, nothing since but since nothing is not a NO, then nothing is OK.
The family were happy with the shopping I brought them. A billion shirts for Clokes, lots of sports stuff for our son (you know, baseball caps and basketball tops). Bags for the girls (I kind of failed at guessing what they'd like but the other day I sent mum home with a funky metallic backpack and little metallic bag on a long strap. She was pretty happy.) The girls took a backpack each and so I'm left with four. Two that I got for myself, and two that are leftovers. Maybe my niece would like one. Then I got lots of tops, and a pair of jeans for myself (I can't remember if I already wrote this.) Shoes. Books.
It's the second week of the holidays and I can't wait for next week when I get the house back to myself. I can't write like this, so I'm wasting too much time on the Internet, watching the Kardashians at night with Princess (AND Clokes, he likes Bruce Jenner. So do I actually) and managing to slowly tidy up after exploding back into the house on Saturday with my travel stuff. Also managing to slowly tidy up my study. I realise I have too much stuff and not enough space so it's become an out-of-control zone where work stuff competes with writing stuff and it's just a hideous mess. I'm out of control with book buying too. Some people have addictions, well I have a few and buying books is one of them. I suppose there are worse things.
The weather in Melbourne is gorgeous. All is well with the world. Life is good.
I'm also planning some other trips, possibly HK with Clokes for our anniversaire next month and then also possibly something with Princess in September. Remember that ad: Tahiti looks nice? Anyone been to Tahiti? I don't think I've ever met anyone who has. We have a family trip to Bali in the middle of the year, it was already booked and paid for last year before this 'travel opportunity' came up.
The writing: hmmm. Still waiting to hear. There is one of the Big 6 publishers who 'loves it' and who had a 'really positive reader report' (whatever the fuck THAT really means) and wanted to pass it around others in the pub house to read. This means she will be championing the novel and hoping to garner support for it from the PR and marketing people, and whoever else, like other editors. This IS exciting, but after nine weeks of pulling at the skin around my nails and telling myself to be patient, calm and 'that it will all turn out, you'll see' it's getting a little old. Then there's a second publisher who my agent V gave the thing to only recently, by way of a second round. This person is from a large independent (all these publishers are Australian btw) and she was keen to read it and said she would be quick about it. Also my agent thought this person would love the ms. I haven't heard any response from that one (let's call her Second) and nothing more from the previous one (let's call her First). When I met my agent last week - which was a thrill and great - she told me she was expecting to hear from First that same week. Last week. We met on Tuesday. SO, nothing since but since nothing is not a NO, then nothing is OK.
The family were happy with the shopping I brought them. A billion shirts for Clokes, lots of sports stuff for our son (you know, baseball caps and basketball tops). Bags for the girls (I kind of failed at guessing what they'd like but the other day I sent mum home with a funky metallic backpack and little metallic bag on a long strap. She was pretty happy.) The girls took a backpack each and so I'm left with four. Two that I got for myself, and two that are leftovers. Maybe my niece would like one. Then I got lots of tops, and a pair of jeans for myself (I can't remember if I already wrote this.) Shoes. Books.
It's the second week of the holidays and I can't wait for next week when I get the house back to myself. I can't write like this, so I'm wasting too much time on the Internet, watching the Kardashians at night with Princess (AND Clokes, he likes Bruce Jenner. So do I actually) and managing to slowly tidy up after exploding back into the house on Saturday with my travel stuff. Also managing to slowly tidy up my study. I realise I have too much stuff and not enough space so it's become an out-of-control zone where work stuff competes with writing stuff and it's just a hideous mess. I'm out of control with book buying too. Some people have addictions, well I have a few and buying books is one of them. I suppose there are worse things.
The weather in Melbourne is gorgeous. All is well with the world. Life is good.
Tuesday, April 02, 2013
OK funsters
I am in Orange County, at a place called Costa Mesa or Cosa Mesta, I'm not sure which, I think the former. I'm on the hotel computer paying like FOURTEEN CENTS AND MINUTE FFS so have to be quick, even though I've checked email, facebook and twitter and you, my friends, all three of you, are next on the list.
So it's Monday. The flight was pretty ok but not business class, long story, but basically every fucker in Sydney decided to fly to Los Angeles. We got in, I decided not to go on my tacky Hollywood tour. I knew I'd be so tired and not just that, but after 4.5 hours of bussing around, prolly with my head asleep against the window and dribbling onto myself, then I had to meet P's friend for a walking tour and THEN have dinner.
As it turned out, I ditched the tour, went on the crew bus to the hotel. My bag was last out of the carousel thingy, fark. At least it arrived, the boy I was sitting next to, his didn't. P and I got to the bus - a tired crew including the 4 people who flew the plane - all sitting there patiently waiting for us. I found a seat next to a girl not wearing flight attendant gear - she was a pilot. SHE WAS A PILOT and we chatted for the bus ride. It was great to ask her questions like: Did you always want to be a pilot? and How do you become a pilot? I'm serious. As we pulled away the captain looked over and asked me if my bag had turned up. It's like they all knew about me and my sitch. On the plane, as we were flying through the night and my resolve to go on the tour started to dissolve, I had flight crew coming up to me and saying things like: So I hear you're getting little lukewarm on the tour, harden up! and So you're thinking not to do the tour, I thought that was ambitious myself.
We got to the hotel, settled in and then went and picked up a hire car at the John Wayne airport. Drove into LA and parked at the Concert Hall, the place where they used to have the Oscars, the Dorothy Chandler Centre which was where P was going to the Opera. Cinderella. It was funny watching him approaching overdressed LA women to see if they were scalping tickets. One woman said: I'm selling it because I don't like an empty seat next to me. ? She went from $200 to $100 to $50 in about 60 seconds.
So he went in and Scott and I went off on our tour. We saw buildings, we walked Broadway, we went to 4 places and had wine, beer, Prosecco and then finally a margherita. Hmmmm. Then P and I got the car and drove to Hollywood Boulevard and parked about three times, jumping out to see the stars, trying to find Marily. Saw everyone but. Saw Bette Davis twice within about 20 metres. Weird. Went to Grauman's Theatre and saw the handprints in the cement. It was great, I mean really. The traffic was light so we could drive and park, there were people out and about, walking, clubs, tacky souvenir stores etc.
Then we got on the freeway and drove home and I was so tired my eyes felt like they were underwater, with that shimmery almost passing out feeling. Like when they give you a general anaesthetic. Got back to the hotel and showered and almost went to sleep on top of the covers on my back. I never go to sleep on my back.
*
This morning up at 8, breakfast. Then drove to a shopping centre down towards Newport Beach, called Fashion Island. It's not an island, it's a very bland kind of sterile shopping centre. But they had a book shop and I stocked up, also got some other stuff. Then to Newport Beach, and to Balboa Island. This was trippy because it was so OC, and we had Balboa Bars and saw a frozen banana stand, not quite like the Bluth's one, and the weather was lovely. Then I drove back home, we returned the car to John Wayne airport and caught the shuttle back to our hotel. On it were two Southwest (or Northwest) pilots, can't remember but one had a leather bomber jacket and a normal tie and the other one had a FUCKING AMERICAN FLAG TIE. Anyway they were like fanboys talking to P about the A-380 and the one with the bomber jacket was saying how a Qantas pilot had shown him around one - All I wanted to see was the flight deck but he showed me everything! It's nice to see people obsessed with things.
We had a rest and then walked to a place near here called South Coast Shopping Plaza and I went mental in a place called Ross Dress for Less - designer gear and great stuff for really cheap. Then we went to an Italian restaurant and ate and drank ourselves silly - then walked home dragging these huge shopping bags.
We leave early for NYC tomorrow. I have packed all my shopping into a spare bag and will leave here. I have my business class outfit 'laid out' (oh, there are some stories about my footwear and blisters) and then tomorrow night, we will be in Brooklyn, oh yeah.
Got to go, so tired, and need sleep. Probably won't check in again until home.
So it's Monday. The flight was pretty ok but not business class, long story, but basically every fucker in Sydney decided to fly to Los Angeles. We got in, I decided not to go on my tacky Hollywood tour. I knew I'd be so tired and not just that, but after 4.5 hours of bussing around, prolly with my head asleep against the window and dribbling onto myself, then I had to meet P's friend for a walking tour and THEN have dinner.
As it turned out, I ditched the tour, went on the crew bus to the hotel. My bag was last out of the carousel thingy, fark. At least it arrived, the boy I was sitting next to, his didn't. P and I got to the bus - a tired crew including the 4 people who flew the plane - all sitting there patiently waiting for us. I found a seat next to a girl not wearing flight attendant gear - she was a pilot. SHE WAS A PILOT and we chatted for the bus ride. It was great to ask her questions like: Did you always want to be a pilot? and How do you become a pilot? I'm serious. As we pulled away the captain looked over and asked me if my bag had turned up. It's like they all knew about me and my sitch. On the plane, as we were flying through the night and my resolve to go on the tour started to dissolve, I had flight crew coming up to me and saying things like: So I hear you're getting little lukewarm on the tour, harden up! and So you're thinking not to do the tour, I thought that was ambitious myself.
We got to the hotel, settled in and then went and picked up a hire car at the John Wayne airport. Drove into LA and parked at the Concert Hall, the place where they used to have the Oscars, the Dorothy Chandler Centre which was where P was going to the Opera. Cinderella. It was funny watching him approaching overdressed LA women to see if they were scalping tickets. One woman said: I'm selling it because I don't like an empty seat next to me. ? She went from $200 to $100 to $50 in about 60 seconds.
So he went in and Scott and I went off on our tour. We saw buildings, we walked Broadway, we went to 4 places and had wine, beer, Prosecco and then finally a margherita. Hmmmm. Then P and I got the car and drove to Hollywood Boulevard and parked about three times, jumping out to see the stars, trying to find Marily. Saw everyone but. Saw Bette Davis twice within about 20 metres. Weird. Went to Grauman's Theatre and saw the handprints in the cement. It was great, I mean really. The traffic was light so we could drive and park, there were people out and about, walking, clubs, tacky souvenir stores etc.
Then we got on the freeway and drove home and I was so tired my eyes felt like they were underwater, with that shimmery almost passing out feeling. Like when they give you a general anaesthetic. Got back to the hotel and showered and almost went to sleep on top of the covers on my back. I never go to sleep on my back.
*
This morning up at 8, breakfast. Then drove to a shopping centre down towards Newport Beach, called Fashion Island. It's not an island, it's a very bland kind of sterile shopping centre. But they had a book shop and I stocked up, also got some other stuff. Then to Newport Beach, and to Balboa Island. This was trippy because it was so OC, and we had Balboa Bars and saw a frozen banana stand, not quite like the Bluth's one, and the weather was lovely. Then I drove back home, we returned the car to John Wayne airport and caught the shuttle back to our hotel. On it were two Southwest (or Northwest) pilots, can't remember but one had a leather bomber jacket and a normal tie and the other one had a FUCKING AMERICAN FLAG TIE. Anyway they were like fanboys talking to P about the A-380 and the one with the bomber jacket was saying how a Qantas pilot had shown him around one - All I wanted to see was the flight deck but he showed me everything! It's nice to see people obsessed with things.
We had a rest and then walked to a place near here called South Coast Shopping Plaza and I went mental in a place called Ross Dress for Less - designer gear and great stuff for really cheap. Then we went to an Italian restaurant and ate and drank ourselves silly - then walked home dragging these huge shopping bags.
We leave early for NYC tomorrow. I have packed all my shopping into a spare bag and will leave here. I have my business class outfit 'laid out' (oh, there are some stories about my footwear and blisters) and then tomorrow night, we will be in Brooklyn, oh yeah.
Got to go, so tired, and need sleep. Probably won't check in again until home.
Friday, March 29, 2013
My itinerary MEL-SYD-LAX-JFK-LAX-SYD-MEL
Sunday early morning we fly to Sydney. Unless something called 'loads' are light and this means connecting flights may be cancelled, if that happens we might fly to Sydney tomorrow night so we are already there and it's less stressful getting up there early in the morning.
Around 11 we fly Sydney to LAX. Arrive there, still Sunday morning around 6.30am.
I get picked up outside a hotel at the airport to go on the
LOS ANGELES CITY &
HOLLYWOOD BUS TOUR.
I bet it will be quite shouty but that's ok. I'll be EXCITED.
I am already excited.
Then I have to get dropped off in Hollywood and catch a train Downtown to meet Scott, who will take me on a walking tour of the Downtown area. Apparently this is old LA with some cool buildings. Meanwhile, my friend P is going to the Opera, a matinee that starts around 4pm. Before that, he will have taken both our bags to the hotel and slept (because he will have worked on the flight over - he's a hostie. I thought I explained all this to you. Keep up, jeez.)
Then P will come and meet me and Scott Downtown (not sure why it's capitalised) and we will probably have something to eat. He will have picked up our hire car already and so after that we drive back to the hotel which is is ORANGE COUNTY.
I love The OC, I would like to get a t-shirt for Princess cause she would enjoy that ironically.
Then the next day (so this is Monday) we drive to Newport Beach. Again, OC territory although I looked up and most of the location shots from the OC aren't in, er, OC. So I'm unlikely to see the pier that Seth and Ryan rode/skated down, or the lifesaver box that Marissa sulked in. Maybe Balboa Bars don't even exist...
OH FUCK THEY DO
This is more exciting than the Hollywood tour.
OK, so we shop. I look for shirts for Clokey, and some shoes for me. And t-shirts. And maybe a bag.
Then back to the hotel. That's Monday.
Tuesday - early wake up call like 5.30am, we go to airport, fly to NYC. We arrive at 5.10pm. I don't get the time, it's a 5-hour flight but we waste a whole day. Never mind. I meet the agent that night for a drink at a funky sounding beer and ale spot in Brooklyn. Not sure about dinner, it's a bit like a date... see how we go. Meanwhile P has GONE TO THE OPERA. AGAIN. This time it's Faustus at the Met. I really didn't want to go. We stay at the hotel in Brooklyn.
Wednesday - we get up early, have breakfast. Plan is to walk across Brooklyn Bridge, go to SoHo to where the High Line is, and walk along that. It's an old railway line, that's elevated, and has been turned into a park.
I will also try to have a hotdog as per m_m's recommendation and P wants to go to a poster shop. To buy a poster I guess.
We have a 3.15pm call to room and have to make a 6.30pm flight back to LA. We arrive back in LA at 9.30pm.
Thursday - we don't have any plans yet. Maybe shopping at the Mall thingy near the hotel. Thursday night we have a very late flight back to Sydney, then to Melbs.
So happy Easter everyone, and I hope to have some news when I get back. Some things seem to be moving a little...
Around 11 we fly Sydney to LAX. Arrive there, still Sunday morning around 6.30am.
I get picked up outside a hotel at the airport to go on the
LOS ANGELES CITY &
HOLLYWOOD BUS TOUR.
I bet it will be quite shouty but that's ok. I'll be EXCITED.
I am already excited.
Then I have to get dropped off in Hollywood and catch a train Downtown to meet Scott, who will take me on a walking tour of the Downtown area. Apparently this is old LA with some cool buildings. Meanwhile, my friend P is going to the Opera, a matinee that starts around 4pm. Before that, he will have taken both our bags to the hotel and slept (because he will have worked on the flight over - he's a hostie. I thought I explained all this to you. Keep up, jeez.)
Then P will come and meet me and Scott Downtown (not sure why it's capitalised) and we will probably have something to eat. He will have picked up our hire car already and so after that we drive back to the hotel which is is ORANGE COUNTY.
I love The OC, I would like to get a t-shirt for Princess cause she would enjoy that ironically.
Then the next day (so this is Monday) we drive to Newport Beach. Again, OC territory although I looked up and most of the location shots from the OC aren't in, er, OC. So I'm unlikely to see the pier that Seth and Ryan rode/skated down, or the lifesaver box that Marissa sulked in. Maybe Balboa Bars don't even exist...
OH FUCK THEY DO
This is more exciting than the Hollywood tour.
OK, so we shop. I look for shirts for Clokey, and some shoes for me. And t-shirts. And maybe a bag.
Then back to the hotel. That's Monday.
Tuesday - early wake up call like 5.30am, we go to airport, fly to NYC. We arrive at 5.10pm. I don't get the time, it's a 5-hour flight but we waste a whole day. Never mind. I meet the agent that night for a drink at a funky sounding beer and ale spot in Brooklyn. Not sure about dinner, it's a bit like a date... see how we go. Meanwhile P has GONE TO THE OPERA. AGAIN. This time it's Faustus at the Met. I really didn't want to go. We stay at the hotel in Brooklyn.
Wednesday - we get up early, have breakfast. Plan is to walk across Brooklyn Bridge, go to SoHo to where the High Line is, and walk along that. It's an old railway line, that's elevated, and has been turned into a park.
I will also try to have a hotdog as per m_m's recommendation and P wants to go to a poster shop. To buy a poster I guess.
We have a 3.15pm call to room and have to make a 6.30pm flight back to LA. We arrive back in LA at 9.30pm.
Thursday - we don't have any plans yet. Maybe shopping at the Mall thingy near the hotel. Thursday night we have a very late flight back to Sydney, then to Melbs.
So happy Easter everyone, and I hope to have some news when I get back. Some things seem to be moving a little...
Thursday, March 21, 2013
A few things this week
I FUCKING LOVE SCIENCE facebook page is administered by one person and that person is a young woman. She has just started a twitter page, and this is what 'outed' her gender. Predictably, the flood of comments have been along the lines of 'Wow a chick, sexy' / 'You're a hottie!' / 'I can't believe you're a girl. And you are cute too!!!'
I know I was guilty of something similar myself a couple of years ago when Alex was commenting on another blog. A few of us thought she was a guy because she always talked about science and tech stuff and seemed really really smart (and she is) - her mentioning getting drunk and getting into fisticuffs when she was younger also I think cemented our ideas, it did mine, so that when it was revealed Alex is female, I was embarrassed and felt like a tool.
So I can understand that default thinking: guys are good at and talk about maths, science, technology. but it's changing, and this is fantastic. What's not changing are the comments - sexist comments - that are proliferating when something like this happens. It's a shame and it's disappointing and I wish it didn't happen. They are being challenged on twitter and facebook and even in the mainstream media but it just makes other young women out there [probably] think: Yeah, so why would I put myself out there, you cop this shit.
So instead of people focusing on this
and this
it's all about this
Jake Woollard
Elise Andrew
-
@Elise_Andrew now that I already guessed. Anyway, you do a really important job, and I just wanted to say thanks. -
@Elise_Andrew@godswallop Cause us English women know nothing of the sciences & should be good cottage pie makers?
Jake Woollard
Vee's Ramblings
and this
Elise Andrew
EVERY COMMENT on that thread is about how shocking it is that I'm a woman! Is this really 2013?
* Check IFLS facebook and twitter. Have a look at the difference in comments and responses, compare when she was on facebook as just a genderless sciencey person and now that she's on twitter with a pic and a name and a gender and all that comes with that. I'd love it if this turned out to be a science experiment, a la all this interest and news is generated, it puts the IFLS stream in the main, and then it's revealed that it's a nerdy dude whose thesis is on sexism in science or something like that. How awesome would that twist be? Somehow, I don't think that's what's happening. BUT IF IT WAS?
Oh PS, I also meant to say: I'm going to LA and New York on the Easter weekend. Just came up, all random and spontaneous, decided yesterday that yep, Imma going. Moved a few appointments, it's the first week of the school holidays so I wasn't teaching. It's a whirlwind 6-day trip, flying biz class which is a little bit excellent and spesh, and plan to walk the Highline in Soho and do some shopping in LA (and maybe one of those tacky Hollywood bus tours that drive past famous people's houses. I've always wanted to do that.) So yeah. I'm also going to meet my agent, so that's exciting too.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Reading material for the weekend
Yesterday I found this site, it's a collection of 150 great articles + essays across a range of topics. You can browse by topic or by author. It's terrific.
The Electric Typewriter
Also this took my fancy this morning, via The Art of Manliness. I haven't looked at the website properly but this collection of vintage photos that show male affection was interesting.
Vintage male affection --- 'when real men hold hands'. This reminds me of a post I did a few years ago, about a photo of Geoffrey Rush and theatre man Neil Armfield holding hands during the preparation of the production Exit the King. I thought it was a lovely photo, really lovely, and challenges our cultural thinking about male-to-male affection.
Here's the pic again:
Have a great weekend.
The Electric Typewriter
Also this took my fancy this morning, via The Art of Manliness. I haven't looked at the website properly but this collection of vintage photos that show male affection was interesting.
Vintage male affection --- 'when real men hold hands'. This reminds me of a post I did a few years ago, about a photo of Geoffrey Rush and theatre man Neil Armfield holding hands during the preparation of the production Exit the King. I thought it was a lovely photo, really lovely, and challenges our cultural thinking about male-to-male affection.
Here's the pic again:
Have a great weekend.
Monday, March 11, 2013
WTF?
Just saw this link via facebook.
The media campaign against the Government revealed
This is unbelievable. I haven't read it all or closely but wanted to share ASAP.
The media campaign against the Government revealed
This is unbelievable. I haven't read it all or closely but wanted to share ASAP.
Friday, March 08, 2013
Couple of Amanda Palmer vids for the long weekend
I see this blog sometimes as a depository for stuff I like and want to collect. That way I can keep all sorts of good things in the one place. So even though you might have seen this stuff like ages ago, I am holding it up by the corner and dropping it here.
And
And then if you're at all interested in seeing her TED Talk, well here that is too:
And
And then if you're at all interested in seeing her TED Talk, well here that is too:
Thursday, March 07, 2013
Because I want to push Ms Knightley off the top of the page
New genetic evidence suggests that the most recent male common ancestor of all men (down the male line) is twice as old as we thought. A DNA sample from a deceased African-American was recently submitted for genetic analysis. Astonishingly, his Y chromosome was found to be completely unlike any other that's been analyzed so far - so different that when it's included, his DNA pushes Y chromosome Adam back to 340,000 years ago. That is actually BEFORE anatomically modern humans evolved.
Taken from I Fucking Love Science
Sunday, March 03, 2013
Anonymous comments
I've changed my settings to allow only people with google sign-in accounts to comment because I was getting spammed heaps which is simply a bore.
The other option was something like 'registered users including open-ID account' but I think that's for private blogs and I don't want this to be private.
SO, anyone who has trouble commenting (all five of you) let me know and I'll, I dunno, probably change it back. But the spam is getting worse.
*
Saw Anna Karenina tonight. Wow, the clothes; wow, the set. Wow, Keira's crooked teeth and strangely inflating upper lip (in one scene, it was almost disappeared; the second half of the movie, it was plumped). BUT we enjoyed it. I especially enjoyed the beautiful costumes and jewels:
And Levin, dear Levin:
The other option was something like 'registered users including open-ID account' but I think that's for private blogs and I don't want this to be private.
SO, anyone who has trouble commenting (all five of you) let me know and I'll, I dunno, probably change it back. But the spam is getting worse.
*
Saw Anna Karenina tonight. Wow, the clothes; wow, the set. Wow, Keira's crooked teeth and strangely inflating upper lip (in one scene, it was almost disappeared; the second half of the movie, it was plumped). BUT we enjoyed it. I especially enjoyed the beautiful costumes and jewels:
And Levin, dear Levin:
Saturday, March 02, 2013
Blog love
There are two new blogs that I've found in the last few months. Both are women, both are writers.
The first is AWineDark Sea, written by a woman called Sarah Toa. She lives somewhere in WA, not in Perth, not in Fremantle, but somewhere she describes as 'Down South'; and place beachy and boaty and fishy. Her photographs are beautiful and so is her prose. Her life seems fantastic, and I mean that in the true sense of the word: it seems ethereal and other-worldly to me, sitting here in the city on the south-east coast. She seems to be in some exotic locale, a place so far away as to be in another country, and in my mind she is. I LOVE how my imagination constructs such an 'over there' positioning for her, and it seems ye olde worlde too, with her tales of sea-faring and fishing and gruff, salted men who probably have beards and don't like to talk too much.
A WineDark Sea
The other one is also about location as well as words for me. Dianne Gray lives in another spot in this country that holds a lot of mystery for me. She lives in far north Queensland (I think) and at the moment has just received delivery of a 100-year-old Rugby Union Club building, to be fixed-up and made habitable on her home property. To see the photos of the house site, with sugar cane (I guess, it is so. This ignorant land-lubber/city-slicker doesn't really know) is, again, thrilling. Even though I have never met Dianne and I have never been there, it's a vicarious pleasure and it's deep and quite inexplicable really.
Dianne Gray
The first is AWineDark Sea, written by a woman called Sarah Toa. She lives somewhere in WA, not in Perth, not in Fremantle, but somewhere she describes as 'Down South'; and place beachy and boaty and fishy. Her photographs are beautiful and so is her prose. Her life seems fantastic, and I mean that in the true sense of the word: it seems ethereal and other-worldly to me, sitting here in the city on the south-east coast. She seems to be in some exotic locale, a place so far away as to be in another country, and in my mind she is. I LOVE how my imagination constructs such an 'over there' positioning for her, and it seems ye olde worlde too, with her tales of sea-faring and fishing and gruff, salted men who probably have beards and don't like to talk too much.
A WineDark Sea
The other one is also about location as well as words for me. Dianne Gray lives in another spot in this country that holds a lot of mystery for me. She lives in far north Queensland (I think) and at the moment has just received delivery of a 100-year-old Rugby Union Club building, to be fixed-up and made habitable on her home property. To see the photos of the house site, with sugar cane (I guess, it is so. This ignorant land-lubber/city-slicker doesn't really know) is, again, thrilling. Even though I have never met Dianne and I have never been there, it's a vicarious pleasure and it's deep and quite inexplicable really.
Dianne Gray
Friday, March 01, 2013
So, Mercury
I used to take notice of astrology stuff years ago, when I had crushes on people and wouldn't have minded having some sort of romance in my life. Also when things were difficult personally, with my marriage and the aftermath of that implosion. Also when my mum was sick in the early days, and Princess was little and every day I felt I was running a marathon. I would look at my star sign and look at other ones and how they combined, how they supposedly attracted and repelled. Once my life became better, I wasn't interested in astrology. Kind of how I see religion.
But the one thing I retain from those long-ago years was that when Mercury goes into retrograde, shit gets weird. And when I started 'feeling' things, for example not getting replies to emails from three different places where I expected a response, I thought:
I wonder if Mercury is in retrograde.
And google told me that yes it is.
So anything to do with things working, mechanically, technologically, communications, phones, emails, fax machines (if people still use those), negotiations - things slow right down, things don't work, things misfire, things get lost, things don't happen for whatever reason.
So I'm keeping this in mind as I reach for even more patience than my innately stoic nature gives me.
IT. WILL. ALL. BE. FINE.
But the funny thing is, I went to a few websites and of course all the start and end dates of the retrograde periods for 2013 were different which means that while we are in retrograde now there is not clarity about when it will end. Funny. Hilarious.
But the one thing I retain from those long-ago years was that when Mercury goes into retrograde, shit gets weird. And when I started 'feeling' things, for example not getting replies to emails from three different places where I expected a response, I thought:
I wonder if Mercury is in retrograde.
And google told me that yes it is.
So anything to do with things working, mechanically, technologically, communications, phones, emails, fax machines (if people still use those), negotiations - things slow right down, things don't work, things misfire, things get lost, things don't happen for whatever reason.
So I'm keeping this in mind as I reach for even more patience than my innately stoic nature gives me.
IT. WILL. ALL. BE. FINE.
But the funny thing is, I went to a few websites and of course all the start and end dates of the retrograde periods for 2013 were different which means that while we are in retrograde now there is not clarity about when it will end. Funny. Hilarious.
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