Is nostalgia a dirty word?
Last night I saw Woody Allen's new movie. Apart from the tedious opening pastiche of street scenes in Paris, set to some music, and apart from the distracting Allen mimcry of Owen Wilson's speech patterns, pacing and vocal quality, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the appearances of Ernest Hemingway when the Owen Wilson character slips back to the 1920s and comes across various famous artists and writers who were hanging out in Gay Paree in the early 20s.
'Have you ever shot a charging lion?' was arguably one of the best lines in the movie, and one of the best scenes was when Wilson and Marion Cotillard (who played lover and muse of Picasso) slipped back to her favourite era which was the belle epoque, and where they stumbled across Toulouse Lautrec, Paul Gauguin and Matisse who were all sitting around moaning that the best time to have lived and been an artist was the renaissance.
Another wonderful scene showed Adrien Brody as Salvador Dali in a cafe talking about rhinoceroses, then joined by surrealists Man Ray and Luis Bunel. Marvellous stuff.
But back to Hemingway.
I'm still reading the Carlos Baker biography of Hem and am up to page 700 or so. It is riveting. A previous biography was by Jeffrey Meyers and it was good but not this good. A lot of people seem to have decided Hemingway really just wasn't a very good writer or person or both. I just can't accept this, it's too black and white and doesn't give credence to the fact that some of his writing was genius and some of his characteristics as a man were admirable. But he was flawed. Fascinating and flawed. And so terribly clumsy and accident-prone, and for such a robust healthy strong men, vulnerable to illness, like chest colds and infections. He also suffered amoebic dysentery once in Africa when three inches of his large intestine dropped out of his body. He had 150 bowel movements a day and had to wash his prolapsed intestine with soap and water and push back into his body. He shot himself by accident while trying to wrestle a shark onto his boat. He was almost shot in the head by a friend who accidentally discharged her gun while he was bending down tying his shoe lace. He had skylights fall onto his head, he had several car accidents, lots of concussions, and I'm not even up to the plane crashes yet (x2) or the suicide. He got skin infections, knee problems, eye infections and ulcers. He managed to keep off the booze at various times, particularly when his last wife Mary had an ectopic pregnancy and he had to look after her and be kind. But when his writing was going badly or not at all he became mean and miserable.
Some of the things he said are funny and sharp, like A man can't really be a good writer unless he's had syphillis.
But saying that 'The best writing is certainly [done] when you are in love...' makes me wonder. Hmmm, and when you are in love you have a long-suffering wife to care for you and the house, yes?
He believed you'd lose it if you talk about it (but then seemed to let all and sundry read his stuff before it was finished. In Paris int he early days he would breakfast at Cafe Dome and read his stories to 'anyone who would listen'. '... he was willing tobe ruthless with himself or with anything or anybody that got in the way of the perfection of his work.')
Zelda Fitzgerald (who Hemingway hated) commented that "I notice in the Hemingway family you do what Ernest wants."
He really only kept a couple of friends to the end including Ezra Pound; he burned people constantly via scathing telegram, letter or by including them in his books either thinly veiled as a fictional character or in non-fiction form under their own names.
But what I admire about his writing is this. '[His] technique was matched by his higly innovative stule - the most influential prose in the 20th century. The short words, limited vocabulary, declarative sentences and direct representation of the visible world appealed to the ordinary as well as the intellectual reader. He prided himself on his purity of expression and suggestive simplicity. [His] style was characterized by clarity and force. He stressed the function of the individual word, wrote five simple sentences for every complex one, used very few similes, repeated words and phrases, emphasised dialogue rather than narration. He expressed his violent themes in limpid, focused, perfectly controlled prose... His style was precise and exact, yet hightly connotative; sparse and bare, yet charged with poetic intensity.'
In Woody's movie, Hemingway's 'typecast' essence was captured with several remarks, especially the ones about writing the 'one true sentence', but the delivery was kind of tongue in cheek, but gentle, not in a 'he was a real dickhead' way. I was surprised by the absence of James Joyce though, he was there hanging out with his family in Paris in 1922 as well but perhaps he wasn't one of the rabble rousers; he and Nora, maybe they ate dinner went home and kept to themselves?
After the movie ended we sat in the cinema talking about it. My mum, my sister, my daughter and me. My mum said that she missed Woody, meaning seeing him acting as male lead. I said I didn't. I've had my fill of him, and I actually prefer it now that he is using 'surrogates' for himself. It was good, though, that the Owen Wilson character didn't have the typical Allen eccentricities and tortured egocentricities and hypocondriac tendencies that were Woody's 'specialty' in the late '70s and through the '80s. Even in Hannah and Her Sisters, where Allen plays a role, the Michael Caine character is Woody'istic in his lust for his wife's sister and his childish inner musings and self doubts. No, I've had enough of all that really, you can always watch the dvds of the old movies.
I wonder now whether he'll do a New York movie that's like a swan song too? I can't imagine how he could come up with an homage that is more poignant and more successful that this Paris one, but I can't wait to see what comes next.
I don't care if nostalgia is suspect. While it may be the opposite of the realism you find in many contemporary movies or novels, I love its softness and blurriness. Its comfort.
Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
Monday, October 31, 2011
Friday, September 03, 2010
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Saturday Special
I very rarely write about music. It's mostly because I don't really have it in my life much. I have to remember to listen to music, or to turn the radio on. In the car, now I am commuting 45 mins each way to work three days a week, that's an hour and a half a day I could be listening to music. But I don't. It crowds me, my space shrinks, and I feel I have little enough space as it is. For my thoughts, you see. I like it to be just me and my thoughts. I spend this driving time thinking about stuff, mostly my writing at the moment, and at the lights, I grab bits of paper - old shopping lists, petrol receipts - to scribble an idea or a note. I've always done this. I possibly have more bits of paper in my possession than I do hairs on my head. And that's saying something.
But recently there's been a couple of musical items in my world that have spurred me to present here.
The first is the couple of articles I've read in the paper about Ry Cooder. I didn't read the articles, oh no no no. Boring. But just seeing his name, and the connection for me with the soundtrack to Paris, Texas, was evocative enough to stir me into action.
I remember the impact Paris, Texas had on my when I first saw it. It's a lovely movie. Lovely. And a big facet of that enjoyment was the haunting soundtrack by Ry Cooder.
A sample:
The link between this movie and another of my favourite movies (not for musical reasons, for story reasons) is Natassja Kinski, who was Polanski's Tess.
Another beautiful movie, and a good book too.
Finally, the second musical snippet for this weekend. Last night, I was moaning about having to go and see the Painters and Dockers at their first-gig-in-20-years gig. Just like the old days of seeing bands in pubs, I found a spot at the back where I could watch, my friend D bopped up the front. I wonder if she got knocked and sprayed when the old rockers did crowd surfing and stubby shake-ups. I left before the end, but I enjoyed. To see Colin on drums (he was someone we knew, he dated a friend/s) and to see Paul Stewart with the same energy and charisma I remember from the old days, was a treat. He was still rocking the Hitler 'tache too, which was strangely appealing and sexy. He flashed a brown eye, opened his shirt and let his ample gut come out to play. And, yes, the crowd was mostly old bags and dudes like me. A few flashback familiar faces from the '80s, and in that way, a weird intersection with the '80s diaries I'm publishing here.
The songs were good and loud but while I had earplugs in my bag, I didn't need them because I am pretty deaf already. The volume was just right for me. I'm sure there's a reason for that. The stage was in a different place - it's years since I was there last.
The big trumpets were good, Die Yuppie Die was a favourite with the crowd, Basia, All Men Are Bastards is something D and I used to sing to each other back then, and Nude School. It was fun and nostalgic and then I walked up the street and was in bed by 1am. Nicely done.
Live on a Daddo tv show. Worth watching.
Soul Child - fantastic live video. This was me out at night in the '80s. This is what it was like, all you young thangs. So nostalgic. Love it!
And while on the subject of music nostalgia, I am particularly pleased to have found this on youtube. I've looked before and never found it.
I'm in it. Look carefully, and you will see me.
You just won't know it's me. Mwahahaha.
But recently there's been a couple of musical items in my world that have spurred me to present here.
The first is the couple of articles I've read in the paper about Ry Cooder. I didn't read the articles, oh no no no. Boring. But just seeing his name, and the connection for me with the soundtrack to Paris, Texas, was evocative enough to stir me into action.
I remember the impact Paris, Texas had on my when I first saw it. It's a lovely movie. Lovely. And a big facet of that enjoyment was the haunting soundtrack by Ry Cooder.
A sample:
The link between this movie and another of my favourite movies (not for musical reasons, for story reasons) is Natassja Kinski, who was Polanski's Tess.
Another beautiful movie, and a good book too.
Finally, the second musical snippet for this weekend. Last night, I was moaning about having to go and see the Painters and Dockers at their first-gig-in-20-years gig. Just like the old days of seeing bands in pubs, I found a spot at the back where I could watch, my friend D bopped up the front. I wonder if she got knocked and sprayed when the old rockers did crowd surfing and stubby shake-ups. I left before the end, but I enjoyed. To see Colin on drums (he was someone we knew, he dated a friend/s) and to see Paul Stewart with the same energy and charisma I remember from the old days, was a treat. He was still rocking the Hitler 'tache too, which was strangely appealing and sexy. He flashed a brown eye, opened his shirt and let his ample gut come out to play. And, yes, the crowd was mostly old bags and dudes like me. A few flashback familiar faces from the '80s, and in that way, a weird intersection with the '80s diaries I'm publishing here.
The songs were good and loud but while I had earplugs in my bag, I didn't need them because I am pretty deaf already. The volume was just right for me. I'm sure there's a reason for that. The stage was in a different place - it's years since I was there last.
The big trumpets were good, Die Yuppie Die was a favourite with the crowd, Basia, All Men Are Bastards is something D and I used to sing to each other back then, and Nude School. It was fun and nostalgic and then I walked up the street and was in bed by 1am. Nicely done.
Live on a Daddo tv show. Worth watching.
Soul Child - fantastic live video. This was me out at night in the '80s. This is what it was like, all you young thangs. So nostalgic. Love it!
And while on the subject of music nostalgia, I am particularly pleased to have found this on youtube. I've looked before and never found it.
I'm in it. Look carefully, and you will see me.
You just won't know it's me. Mwahahaha.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
i could have been a contender...
***
[Post redux number 1. This from 27th July, 2005.]
From the time when I used to put a lot of effort into posts, and because it was so time-consuming, didn't care about capitalisation. Sorry Perseus. If it offends thine eyes, look away now.
***
someone told me I needed to write poetry, to unleash the beast, so to speak. i think my beast does better in prose.
however…
this is dedicated to the people who drew me here and have kept me here thus far
[i hope you don’t mind awful poetry written on the trot]:
the punchy wit of tough ms fits
the mind labyrinthine of baps la nadine
the pastries all puffy of uber-friend fluffy
the deep red haze of schizo roguemaze
the little boy lost of cotton socks
the smart-aleksdom of you know who [I have a soft spot for aleks]
and there’s a new one on my list, mike who really likes bikes
and believe it or not, the mystery man who really made me check out blogging
[saving him to the end of this piece so i can show you a magic trick]
here I was, thinking I don't have much to offer in the way of fame and fortune. i am no actor, director, no tv writer, no cool and popular girl with curly hair and “a rack that won’t quit” [can’t get that image out of my head, for some reason]. i don’t have a link to a pirate glossary on my site [LOVE that pirate glossary, i covet it]
i sat and thought and realised i do have something to offer, i could tell you the ways in which I have been so close to everlasting bigness, but always with a no cigar result.
i have said here that i am an observer. the cool stuff doesn’t happen to me, but sometimes it happens around me.
here are the ways that I have almost started the stop-watch on those warholian 15 minutes:
childhood
when i was a kid i met Happy Hammond
.
he had a side-kick called Joffa Boy, and it was in the late ‘60s it must have been. [they could have put me in their tv show, but didn't]
when i was a bit older i used to play with the two brothers who now run the globe skateboarding empire [one of them was a complete prick and used to try to make me give him a hand job]. they're now in the top whatever rich bastards in australia, you know that list. [one of them could have become my childhood sweetheart, then dated me, then proposed, then married me. now i could be living in a $10M mansion in hawthorn.]
early adulthood, say 19/20 years oldabout 20 years ago my girlfriend and I went to a nightclub in the city because
mel gibson was appearing there with that virginia somebody chick who was in mad max two with him. he was up and coming, and young. we went and huddled in dark corners, drinking beer and watching him at a table being surrounded by sycophants. we were about to leave [boring] when we saw him get up from the table and walk to the men’s. we positioned ourselves outside and when he came out, my friend went up to him. this is what happened. she put her hand on his arm – “mel”, she said
“yes,” he said [very shyly and kind of coy, it was weird]
“can I kiss you?” she said
“I guess so,” he said.
so she kissed him on the cheek, he kind of did the blush thing and said “thanks.”
we went screaming out of the place, ran up the stairs still screaming, up the street, into the car and screamed all the way home. whenever we stopped at a traffic light, we would look at each other, and scream again. [he could have noticed me, instantly fallen in love with me, and married me. then it would be me with 25 children, saggy tits, and mel for a hubby]
the next one is about michael hutchence. the same girlfriend from the mel experience and I saw them at some dive in waverley. we were there to see the support act and stayed to “see what the next band were like.” hutchence kept taking my friend’s porkpie hat [yes they were in way before britney did them] off her head and wearing it. [he could have taken my hat off my head, and then married me] [even though i wasn't wearing a hat]
now i'm about 23 or something
i have been on tv twice. once in a video clip for huxton creepers [onscreen perhaps 3 secs]. coincidentally my grade 5 boyfriend was in that band, and he is now also in this band
[he also could have married me, and now i'd be a rock-chick-wife]. but he's a pisshead so maybe that's not such a good fantasy.
the other time on tv was This is Your Life. but it wasn't me, but a school friend. you know the drill; as one of those people who tells a funny story about the famous person they went to school with, and then they cutaway to the famous personage in question and they are laughing with a fond look in the eye. well, in my case, the camera showed the famous person sitting on the couch just after I told my witty bit, and she squinted her eyes and looked confused. she didn’t recognise who I was. [she couldn't have married me, i accept that. but we could have become best friends and she could have taken me to the swanky parties]
miscellaneous
there is a very, very minor big brother contestant who parks his saab outside my house. bet he didn’t have a saab before he went on. no way.
my grandfather met Price Phillip, and Alfred Hitchcock [they could have adopted me]
my godmother is daughter of a famous australian artist [he could have given me a painting, just one would have been nice]
my mum’s friend met spike milligan [he could have given me a job. or married me]
my dad’s second cousin is helen garner [she could have requested to see her 3rd cousin twice removed, and asked to see the three or four unfinished books i have lying around
my dad went to school with hostage dude doug wood [he could have marr... no maybe not]
my mum went to school with pixie skase. she could have become my second mother and then i could have stolen chris from her and... no maybe not
i once stayed in the house of a roadie of van morrison’s [ either could have married me. except i met neither]
i once burned a hole in molly meldrum’s leather jacket [um, pass] [that was on purpose]
i once did the same to the denim jacket of a rrr radio announcer [er, hip radio dj dude] [the burn was an accident] [i did love him at the time, but, wasn't to be] [now i think he's a dick]
i met gary ablett at a book signing, he blessed my child [I was pregnant at the time] [and i was married, so he couldn't marry me, just as well i guess]
my cousin met the king of spain [my cousin could have invited me along on the yacht so that I could have met the king of spain]
so with all these connections you’d think I’d be a natch to be up there with the celebs.
but alas, I’ll just have to make do with my fantasy world here. and my real world. which is real.
ps the mystery man is andrew landeryou. I can summon him at will
“andrew come and comment on my blog!”
just wait and see, he will appear…
[Post redux number 1. This from 27th July, 2005.]
From the time when I used to put a lot of effort into posts, and because it was so time-consuming, didn't care about capitalisation. Sorry Perseus. If it offends thine eyes, look away now.
***
someone told me I needed to write poetry, to unleash the beast, so to speak. i think my beast does better in prose.
however…
this is dedicated to the people who drew me here and have kept me here thus far
[i hope you don’t mind awful poetry written on the trot]:
the punchy wit of tough ms fits
the mind labyrinthine of baps la nadine
the pastries all puffy of uber-friend fluffy
the deep red haze of schizo roguemaze
the little boy lost of cotton socks
the smart-aleksdom of you know who [I have a soft spot for aleks]
and there’s a new one on my list, mike who really likes bikes
and believe it or not, the mystery man who really made me check out blogging
[saving him to the end of this piece so i can show you a magic trick]
here I was, thinking I don't have much to offer in the way of fame and fortune. i am no actor, director, no tv writer, no cool and popular girl with curly hair and “a rack that won’t quit” [can’t get that image out of my head, for some reason]. i don’t have a link to a pirate glossary on my site [LOVE that pirate glossary, i covet it]
i sat and thought and realised i do have something to offer, i could tell you the ways in which I have been so close to everlasting bigness, but always with a no cigar result.
i have said here that i am an observer. the cool stuff doesn’t happen to me, but sometimes it happens around me.
here are the ways that I have almost started the stop-watch on those warholian 15 minutes:
childhood
when i was a kid i met Happy Hammond
.
he had a side-kick called Joffa Boy, and it was in the late ‘60s it must have been. [they could have put me in their tv show, but didn't]
when i was a bit older i used to play with the two brothers who now run the globe skateboarding empire [one of them was a complete prick and used to try to make me give him a hand job]. they're now in the top whatever rich bastards in australia, you know that list. [one of them could have become my childhood sweetheart, then dated me, then proposed, then married me. now i could be living in a $10M mansion in hawthorn.]
early adulthood, say 19/20 years oldabout 20 years ago my girlfriend and I went to a nightclub in the city because
mel gibson was appearing there with that virginia somebody chick who was in mad max two with him. he was up and coming, and young. we went and huddled in dark corners, drinking beer and watching him at a table being surrounded by sycophants. we were about to leave [boring] when we saw him get up from the table and walk to the men’s. we positioned ourselves outside and when he came out, my friend went up to him. this is what happened. she put her hand on his arm – “mel”, she said
“yes,” he said [very shyly and kind of coy, it was weird]
“can I kiss you?” she said
“I guess so,” he said.
so she kissed him on the cheek, he kind of did the blush thing and said “thanks.”
we went screaming out of the place, ran up the stairs still screaming, up the street, into the car and screamed all the way home. whenever we stopped at a traffic light, we would look at each other, and scream again. [he could have noticed me, instantly fallen in love with me, and married me. then it would be me with 25 children, saggy tits, and mel for a hubby]
the next one is about michael hutchence. the same girlfriend from the mel experience and I saw them at some dive in waverley. we were there to see the support act and stayed to “see what the next band were like.” hutchence kept taking my friend’s porkpie hat [yes they were in way before britney did them] off her head and wearing it. [he could have taken my hat off my head, and then married me] [even though i wasn't wearing a hat]
now i'm about 23 or something
i have been on tv twice. once in a video clip for huxton creepers [onscreen perhaps 3 secs]. coincidentally my grade 5 boyfriend was in that band, and he is now also in this band
[he also could have married me, and now i'd be a rock-chick-wife]. but he's a pisshead so maybe that's not such a good fantasy.
the other time on tv was This is Your Life. but it wasn't me, but a school friend. you know the drill; as one of those people who tells a funny story about the famous person they went to school with, and then they cutaway to the famous personage in question and they are laughing with a fond look in the eye. well, in my case, the camera showed the famous person sitting on the couch just after I told my witty bit, and she squinted her eyes and looked confused. she didn’t recognise who I was. [she couldn't have married me, i accept that. but we could have become best friends and she could have taken me to the swanky parties]
miscellaneous
there is a very, very minor big brother contestant who parks his saab outside my house. bet he didn’t have a saab before he went on. no way.
my grandfather met Price Phillip, and Alfred Hitchcock [they could have adopted me]
my godmother is daughter of a famous australian artist [he could have given me a painting, just one would have been nice]
my mum’s friend met spike milligan [he could have given me a job. or married me]
my dad’s second cousin is helen garner [she could have requested to see her 3rd cousin twice removed, and asked to see the three or four unfinished books i have lying around
my dad went to school with hostage dude doug wood [he could have marr... no maybe not]
my mum went to school with pixie skase. she could have become my second mother and then i could have stolen chris from her and... no maybe not
i once stayed in the house of a roadie of van morrison’s [ either could have married me. except i met neither]
i once burned a hole in molly meldrum’s leather jacket [um, pass] [that was on purpose]
i once did the same to the denim jacket of a rrr radio announcer [er, hip radio dj dude] [the burn was an accident] [i did love him at the time, but, wasn't to be] [now i think he's a dick]
i met gary ablett at a book signing, he blessed my child [I was pregnant at the time] [and i was married, so he couldn't marry me, just as well i guess]
my cousin met the king of spain [my cousin could have invited me along on the yacht so that I could have met the king of spain]
so with all these connections you’d think I’d be a natch to be up there with the celebs.
but alas, I’ll just have to make do with my fantasy world here. and my real world. which is real.
ps the mystery man is andrew landeryou. I can summon him at will
“andrew come and comment on my blog!”
just wait and see, he will appear…
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
500th post - extendo version
Gee, it seems an age since I started blogging. I have to say, I do put less into it now than I did then. Back then, sometimes I even drafted my posts, spell-checked and everything. I would spend hours putting stuff together, looking for pictures, putting a lot of thought into what I was writing.
Now, it's become more of an online journal rather than an online "let me tell you what I think about everything in the world."
My life has changed a bit over the course of 500 posts, since that first post on a Wednesday in June, 2005. I got engaged, got married, created a blended family with my man Clokes. Made him start blogging - he had two going at one stage: Capeman and Clokeeeeeey. The name Capeman was inspired by him having a Ferrari party for his birthday and wearing a Ferrari flag as a cape. Clokeeeeey is all about Collingwood football playing David (is it David?) Cloke.
Princess has grown up; from a wonderfully assertive and precociously bright seven-year old to a wonderfully assertive and precociously bright almost-13-year old.
In that time we have moved house three times. From St Kilda to Caulfield South, from Caulfield South to Bentleigh and from Bentleigh back to St Kilda (via 3 months overseas.)
In that time I've completed my postgraduate diploma and gotten a Master. Remember those days? I think that was my blogging apex when the frenzy was most dedicated. Work avoidance is always a huge motivator to blog for me.
I've started publishing my bad '80s diaries here as well. What started as laziness (ie it was all there pre-written, I didn't have to think about what to write) has turned into a little bit of sunshine for some readers, and for me, quite a cathartic endeavour. I read somewhere that Helen Garner burned all her diaries. I don't know if I could bring myself to do that, but if I ever do, it'll be knowing that they still exist on another plane.
Also in that time my mother had a full remission from cancer. It was a happy day. The happiest of days, because she had been working so hard at getting well for 7 years. That day I wrote about the news on my blog and all the comments that people made were so heart-warming and loving. I printed them all out and gave her a hard copy. I just had to share with her what these kind-hearted "strangers" had written.
And that brings me to these "strangers."
I have met some wonderful souls through blogging. For me, someone who is shit at small-talk face-to-face but pretty good at blathering on with words, it had been a truly satisfying way of connecting with people. I have had my spats - there was a guy called Mike who was into bikes. I got into a fight with him over comments he made about Jewish people - that was it. End of acquaintance. And again, a guy called Jaded DJ. We got into a spat as well, but I can't remember what that was about. Maybe it was a case of an argument that was unnecessary? Anyway. Water under the bridge. I got involved in a bit of a bitchy thing against Steph at Ms Fits' blog, which I wasn't proud of. She was good-natured about it and we kissed and made up and there were no hard feelings and when she shut down her blog she said some very lovely things about me. She was the bigger person in that exchange, and I - I was just carried along with the pack. It made me realise something about myself, about human nature.
Steph is one of the people I miss. I also miss Fits. I miss I'm Not Craig, even though he be still around a little, and we have met and shall meet again so I don't mourn him in the way I do others. I miss Fluffy big time, I miss Rowena (she's not completely gone, but not blogging anymore.) I miss BEVIS, even though he's twittering, so I still get a bit of him. D-Stah is still around a bit, on Facebook, and she is one blogger I loved and met, she is great. I miss LadyCracker. I miss SUBLIME but she is still around a bit. Pomgirl went back to Engerlund, she was nice. And Krankiboy, he's very sporadic so I don't check his blog much. (Actually, looks like he might be back. He's started writing again. Oh happy days. Now for a return of the Wizard!)
Another fight I had was with Cotton, a precious candy-boy. And Roguemaze was good while he lasted, but he's off being a movie star.
Possibly one of the people I miss most is Gianluca di Milano.
As for where I read now, I thought I'd list my blogroll. It's not complete, but these are the places I go for a browse most days. It's the best way I can think of acknowledging my current Blogworld affections; my daily toe-tip into bloggy goodness.
Another Outspoken Female
Sherrif
Desci
M_M
Alabama
Perseus - BUT HE'S NOT WRITING AT THE MOMENT AND SHOULD BE SOUNDLY WHIPPED!
Sublime-Ation
Pirate Elaine
groverjones
gullybogan
Super Kawaii Mama - fashion blog
Tokyo Undressed Be warned, NSFW.
TWO CAN ANNE
squib - she's stopped her blog which is a bugger because I'd just found her really.
Lisa D-Cup - an American blogger who is married with three kids and lives - I think - in Georgia. She and her husband have been through hard times. With the recent financial shit in the States they went bankrupt, lost their house and car etc. Hard times. But she has a fantastic spirit, great sense of humour, she pulls no punches (what does that mean, anyway?), she is direct and raw about all things in life, and she is very inspiring. If you've had a hard day, go and read her archives. And she is never, NEVER woe-is-me. Tough gal.
Living and Teaching in Malaysia - this is my good friend Jo, a friend from way back in real life. Her blog is private so I'm not linking. She is another tough cookie, doing her best for herself and her kids. I really admire Jo, she is all about working out herself and life and not shying away from it. Her blog is open and honest and I think she is the bees' knees.
[mystery site] - this is my number one love-spot. This has been like my secret lover and I haven't wanted to share them with anyone, so I haven't linked them. It has ironically replaced RYWHM in my heart, ironic because the demise of RYWHM and TSSH (a blog I visited occasionally but never commented on, it was too scary) occurred simultaneously/connectedly in ways that remain quite mysterious to me, and kind of sinister. And my dirty little secret is that I think I like it even better than RYWHM. It's remained fresh and interesting and varied and sycophant-free. Unless I'm the suck. Probably. Most of the characters from there have no personal blogs themselves which is just as well otherwise I would never get off this fucking machine. For real.
Over the next little while, I'm going to redux some of my favourite posts. Along with diaries, of course.
Now, it's become more of an online journal rather than an online "let me tell you what I think about everything in the world."
My life has changed a bit over the course of 500 posts, since that first post on a Wednesday in June, 2005. I got engaged, got married, created a blended family with my man Clokes. Made him start blogging - he had two going at one stage: Capeman and Clokeeeeeey. The name Capeman was inspired by him having a Ferrari party for his birthday and wearing a Ferrari flag as a cape. Clokeeeeey is all about Collingwood football playing David (is it David?) Cloke.
Princess has grown up; from a wonderfully assertive and precociously bright seven-year old to a wonderfully assertive and precociously bright almost-13-year old.
In that time we have moved house three times. From St Kilda to Caulfield South, from Caulfield South to Bentleigh and from Bentleigh back to St Kilda (via 3 months overseas.)
In that time I've completed my postgraduate diploma and gotten a Master. Remember those days? I think that was my blogging apex when the frenzy was most dedicated. Work avoidance is always a huge motivator to blog for me.
I've started publishing my bad '80s diaries here as well. What started as laziness (ie it was all there pre-written, I didn't have to think about what to write) has turned into a little bit of sunshine for some readers, and for me, quite a cathartic endeavour. I read somewhere that Helen Garner burned all her diaries. I don't know if I could bring myself to do that, but if I ever do, it'll be knowing that they still exist on another plane.
Also in that time my mother had a full remission from cancer. It was a happy day. The happiest of days, because she had been working so hard at getting well for 7 years. That day I wrote about the news on my blog and all the comments that people made were so heart-warming and loving. I printed them all out and gave her a hard copy. I just had to share with her what these kind-hearted "strangers" had written.
And that brings me to these "strangers."
I have met some wonderful souls through blogging. For me, someone who is shit at small-talk face-to-face but pretty good at blathering on with words, it had been a truly satisfying way of connecting with people. I have had my spats - there was a guy called Mike who was into bikes. I got into a fight with him over comments he made about Jewish people - that was it. End of acquaintance. And again, a guy called Jaded DJ. We got into a spat as well, but I can't remember what that was about. Maybe it was a case of an argument that was unnecessary? Anyway. Water under the bridge. I got involved in a bit of a bitchy thing against Steph at Ms Fits' blog, which I wasn't proud of. She was good-natured about it and we kissed and made up and there were no hard feelings and when she shut down her blog she said some very lovely things about me. She was the bigger person in that exchange, and I - I was just carried along with the pack. It made me realise something about myself, about human nature.
Steph is one of the people I miss. I also miss Fits. I miss I'm Not Craig, even though he be still around a little, and we have met and shall meet again so I don't mourn him in the way I do others. I miss Fluffy big time, I miss Rowena (she's not completely gone, but not blogging anymore.) I miss BEVIS, even though he's twittering, so I still get a bit of him. D-Stah is still around a bit, on Facebook, and she is one blogger I loved and met, she is great. I miss LadyCracker. I miss SUBLIME but she is still around a bit. Pomgirl went back to Engerlund, she was nice. And Krankiboy, he's very sporadic so I don't check his blog much. (Actually, looks like he might be back. He's started writing again. Oh happy days. Now for a return of the Wizard!)
Another fight I had was with Cotton, a precious candy-boy. And Roguemaze was good while he lasted, but he's off being a movie star.
Possibly one of the people I miss most is Gianluca di Milano.
As for where I read now, I thought I'd list my blogroll. It's not complete, but these are the places I go for a browse most days. It's the best way I can think of acknowledging my current Blogworld affections; my daily toe-tip into bloggy goodness.
Another Outspoken Female
Sherrif
Desci
M_M
Alabama
Perseus - BUT HE'S NOT WRITING AT THE MOMENT AND SHOULD BE SOUNDLY WHIPPED!
Sublime-Ation
Pirate Elaine
groverjones
gullybogan
Super Kawaii Mama - fashion blog
Tokyo Undressed Be warned, NSFW.
TWO CAN ANNE
squib - she's stopped her blog which is a bugger because I'd just found her really.
Lisa D-Cup - an American blogger who is married with three kids and lives - I think - in Georgia. She and her husband have been through hard times. With the recent financial shit in the States they went bankrupt, lost their house and car etc. Hard times. But she has a fantastic spirit, great sense of humour, she pulls no punches (what does that mean, anyway?), she is direct and raw about all things in life, and she is very inspiring. If you've had a hard day, go and read her archives. And she is never, NEVER woe-is-me. Tough gal.
Living and Teaching in Malaysia - this is my good friend Jo, a friend from way back in real life. Her blog is private so I'm not linking. She is another tough cookie, doing her best for herself and her kids. I really admire Jo, she is all about working out herself and life and not shying away from it. Her blog is open and honest and I think she is the bees' knees.
[mystery site] - this is my number one love-spot. This has been like my secret lover and I haven't wanted to share them with anyone, so I haven't linked them. It has ironically replaced RYWHM in my heart, ironic because the demise of RYWHM and TSSH (a blog I visited occasionally but never commented on, it was too scary) occurred simultaneously/connectedly in ways that remain quite mysterious to me, and kind of sinister. And my dirty little secret is that I think I like it even better than RYWHM. It's remained fresh and interesting and varied and sycophant-free. Unless I'm the suck. Probably. Most of the characters from there have no personal blogs themselves which is just as well otherwise I would never get off this fucking machine. For real.
Over the next little while, I'm going to redux some of my favourite posts. Along with diaries, of course.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
when i was very young
i knew this family. back then, they looked like any other kids but they were called lady emma, lord alexander* and boppy. don't ask me about the boppy thing; he was the youngest, he was fat and that's what people called him.
their mother was lady mary montagu, aka mad mary as the geelong'ites used to refer to her. behind her back, or in front of her, i don't know.
one summer all of the following things happened:
1. i went to the circus with them twice. the first time, there was a bit where they got a volunteer from the audience, put the kid on top of one of the circus horses, tied a "safety" harness around his waist, which was attached to a rope, which then was fed up through a metal hook at the top of the tent above the sawdust ring. they got the horse to go around faster and faster and the kid got scared, from memory, but then the punchline was that they pulled the kid off the horse, hoisting him up by the rope around his waist. then the clowns ran on and "helped" him down to safety and in the process "accidentally" dacked the kid, so there he was in his undies, with the audience laughing at him.
nice. anyway, we left the circus, talking about how mean it was and what bastards they were and then boppy hatched a plan. we would go to another show, he would volunteer to be the sucker kid, it would all unfold as before, except when his dacks got pulled off, he would be wearing his bathers underneath, and the joke would be on the clowns. geddit? genius. we thought we were so smart, we were going to have the last laugh. on clowns, for godsake. ashton's circus clowns. real clowns!
so, we went to another show. boppy had his red speedos underneath. he was out of his seat and running down to volunteer before they'd even really selected him from the crowd. he was up on the horse, beaming fatly. it all went to plan, they hoisted him up, he was ready, he put up a show of fighting them a bit when they dacked him, but then he stood up, so pleased with himself -
ha, you fuckers, i'm wearing my bathers, nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!
except he didn't say that. that's just what we were all thinking, us who were in on it.
except, only problem was the clowns didn't realise. the bathers just looked like red jocks. the crowd didn't realise our victory either. so poor boppy still got laughed at, and came sheepishly back to his seat, calling out to no one and everyone they're my bathers! BATHERS!
2. i went around to their beach house one day to watch television. there were no parents there that i remember. i was probably about 10 or 11. emma was a little younger? boppy about 8. and alex was a bit older than me. say 12.
we sat in the lounge room, i don't remember who else was there, but i do remember alex took off all of his clothes, was lolling about, moving about the room, bending over in front of the tv to change the channel, so i got a really good look at his arse and balls. and i just sat there and didn't know what to do. so, i just pretended there was nothing wrong with him being nude and walking around like that, and posing.
so, there you go. next thing, his son is one of michael jackson's alleged victims.
* Alexander Charles David Francis George Edward Wiliam Kimble Drogo Montagu
their mother was lady mary montagu, aka mad mary as the geelong'ites used to refer to her. behind her back, or in front of her, i don't know.
one summer all of the following things happened:
1. i went to the circus with them twice. the first time, there was a bit where they got a volunteer from the audience, put the kid on top of one of the circus horses, tied a "safety" harness around his waist, which was attached to a rope, which then was fed up through a metal hook at the top of the tent above the sawdust ring. they got the horse to go around faster and faster and the kid got scared, from memory, but then the punchline was that they pulled the kid off the horse, hoisting him up by the rope around his waist. then the clowns ran on and "helped" him down to safety and in the process "accidentally" dacked the kid, so there he was in his undies, with the audience laughing at him.
nice. anyway, we left the circus, talking about how mean it was and what bastards they were and then boppy hatched a plan. we would go to another show, he would volunteer to be the sucker kid, it would all unfold as before, except when his dacks got pulled off, he would be wearing his bathers underneath, and the joke would be on the clowns. geddit? genius. we thought we were so smart, we were going to have the last laugh. on clowns, for godsake. ashton's circus clowns. real clowns!
so, we went to another show. boppy had his red speedos underneath. he was out of his seat and running down to volunteer before they'd even really selected him from the crowd. he was up on the horse, beaming fatly. it all went to plan, they hoisted him up, he was ready, he put up a show of fighting them a bit when they dacked him, but then he stood up, so pleased with himself -
ha, you fuckers, i'm wearing my bathers, nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!
except he didn't say that. that's just what we were all thinking, us who were in on it.
except, only problem was the clowns didn't realise. the bathers just looked like red jocks. the crowd didn't realise our victory either. so poor boppy still got laughed at, and came sheepishly back to his seat, calling out to no one and everyone they're my bathers! BATHERS!
2. i went around to their beach house one day to watch television. there were no parents there that i remember. i was probably about 10 or 11. emma was a little younger? boppy about 8. and alex was a bit older than me. say 12.
we sat in the lounge room, i don't remember who else was there, but i do remember alex took off all of his clothes, was lolling about, moving about the room, bending over in front of the tv to change the channel, so i got a really good look at his arse and balls. and i just sat there and didn't know what to do. so, i just pretended there was nothing wrong with him being nude and walking around like that, and posing.
so, there you go. next thing, his son is one of michael jackson's alleged victims.
* Alexander Charles David Francis George Edward Wiliam Kimble Drogo Montagu
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
some nostalgia
i remember seeing this on tv when i was a kid.
the song has never left me.
i am amazed to find this on youtube.
the power of the almighty tube.
awesome.
the song has never left me.
i am amazed to find this on youtube.
the power of the almighty tube.
awesome.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
what's your 10-20?
breaker, breaker, you copy?
before blogworld there was another universe where the youth of yesteryear could go to congregate and make contact with strangers
it was cb-land
cb-land was peopled by:
truckies
sleazebags
spotty skateboarders
and psycho-freaks
perhaps some of these categories were not mutually exclusive.
one of the catalysts for cb fever was smokey and the bandit. i just have to show you a picture here. this was the best movie. oh we laughed. oh we cheered.
which one is better? in the second one, bo "bandit" darville is doing a peace sign. i'm torn.
this movie was the bomb for kids of my age. it was funny, it was fast and it was fuck-you to authority. the other thing that got it all going was the convoy song, which was the coolest song in those days. all the kids knew all the words, and it was on the radio constantly.
my cousins jack and michael were into cbs and had their own rig. mike was also into skateboards. mike and I are the same age, and coincidentally I was also into skateboarding, having arrived at this interest via another route [see globe boys, 27/7/05].
jack was a couple of years older, he was into cars. and not in the way that most 14-year-olds are into cars; like when they hyperventilate over a spoiler or talk about them endlessly or look at them in magazines. jack didn’t talk much, but he was lucky his dad had a fleet of vintage cars in their huge garage down on the peninsula. so jack grew up tinkering with and tootling in a rolls royce, a bentley, an mg, a napier and a jaguar. jack was a legend in his own time – he once drove my old volkswagen beetle up oliver’s hill from frankston, where the clutch had gone, to their place in mt eliza. with no clutch. he is a man of few words and the only compliment i ever remember receiving from him was that i was the only chick who could drink him under the table. i think it was a compliment.
there are many cousin stories – the petrol bomb in the tunnel underneath the road that crosses from mornington highway to mt eliza; riding a bicyle along the scratchy bottom of their swimming pool, the mad neighbour who got an axe in his head as they played games running past while an adult was chopping wood, my auntie who had a cartoon poster hanging in her kitchen, of a witch-like woman, and underneath was written “FUCK HOUSEWORK” in an olde english-style font. my uncle who seemed a permanent resident on a stool around the corner of the kitchen bench, who sat there drinking his rum, not participating in the maelstrom of children and dogs around him, other to occasionally yell at one of his sons “ it’s fuckinG! Not fuckin’ FUCKING."
he really didn't like it if you dropped the 'g'. he was very scary.
my dad tells a story of uncle james retiring to bed after christmas lunch with a magnum of champagne.
but i digress.
my cb handle was de lotus, which i now know is some bizarre hybrid of a motor vehicle that i obviously concocted. i learnt the lingo, i memorised all the letters – alpha, bravo, charlie etc. i would spend hours on the thing, adjusting the squelch, freaking out when a man’s voice came on, prefering to chat to high-voiced pre-teen boys. i think they were boys.
at this time, wherever we drove in our green holden station wagon, when we saw a truck we would put our arms out the window and do the ‘pull the horn’ thing. it was so sadly exciting when the truck would sound their big belch. i wore Crystal Cylinder surf/skate wear, these really cool thongs called slats [that had a base of straw and the thong bit was covered in velvet] and liked to eat sunny boys. in those days kids wore white zinc on their faces in summer and everyone had board shorts. i was into the beach boys, even though this was the ’70s. Man.
i realise that my addictive personality has embraced blogging much as it did cbing. cb was a brief affair. i wonder about blogging. i am busy, i have a real life. but still, still, i dally and i day dream about posts, i make notes and i keep a file of ideas. tell me this is normal. come on, i have bared my soul. now you know i liked the beach boys and thought a de lotus was a real car.
be kind.
before blogworld there was another universe where the youth of yesteryear could go to congregate and make contact with strangers
it was cb-land
cb-land was peopled by:
truckies
sleazebags
spotty skateboarders
and psycho-freaks
perhaps some of these categories were not mutually exclusive.
one of the catalysts for cb fever was smokey and the bandit. i just have to show you a picture here. this was the best movie. oh we laughed. oh we cheered.
which one is better? in the second one, bo "bandit" darville is doing a peace sign. i'm torn.
this movie was the bomb for kids of my age. it was funny, it was fast and it was fuck-you to authority. the other thing that got it all going was the convoy song, which was the coolest song in those days. all the kids knew all the words, and it was on the radio constantly.
my cousins jack and michael were into cbs and had their own rig. mike was also into skateboards. mike and I are the same age, and coincidentally I was also into skateboarding, having arrived at this interest via another route [see globe boys, 27/7/05].
jack was a couple of years older, he was into cars. and not in the way that most 14-year-olds are into cars; like when they hyperventilate over a spoiler or talk about them endlessly or look at them in magazines. jack didn’t talk much, but he was lucky his dad had a fleet of vintage cars in their huge garage down on the peninsula. so jack grew up tinkering with and tootling in a rolls royce, a bentley, an mg, a napier and a jaguar. jack was a legend in his own time – he once drove my old volkswagen beetle up oliver’s hill from frankston, where the clutch had gone, to their place in mt eliza. with no clutch. he is a man of few words and the only compliment i ever remember receiving from him was that i was the only chick who could drink him under the table. i think it was a compliment.
there are many cousin stories – the petrol bomb in the tunnel underneath the road that crosses from mornington highway to mt eliza; riding a bicyle along the scratchy bottom of their swimming pool, the mad neighbour who got an axe in his head as they played games running past while an adult was chopping wood, my auntie who had a cartoon poster hanging in her kitchen, of a witch-like woman, and underneath was written “FUCK HOUSEWORK” in an olde english-style font. my uncle who seemed a permanent resident on a stool around the corner of the kitchen bench, who sat there drinking his rum, not participating in the maelstrom of children and dogs around him, other to occasionally yell at one of his sons “ it’s fuckinG! Not fuckin’ FUCKING."
he really didn't like it if you dropped the 'g'. he was very scary.
my dad tells a story of uncle james retiring to bed after christmas lunch with a magnum of champagne.
but i digress.
my cb handle was de lotus, which i now know is some bizarre hybrid of a motor vehicle that i obviously concocted. i learnt the lingo, i memorised all the letters – alpha, bravo, charlie etc. i would spend hours on the thing, adjusting the squelch, freaking out when a man’s voice came on, prefering to chat to high-voiced pre-teen boys. i think they were boys.
at this time, wherever we drove in our green holden station wagon, when we saw a truck we would put our arms out the window and do the ‘pull the horn’ thing. it was so sadly exciting when the truck would sound their big belch. i wore Crystal Cylinder surf/skate wear, these really cool thongs called slats [that had a base of straw and the thong bit was covered in velvet] and liked to eat sunny boys. in those days kids wore white zinc on their faces in summer and everyone had board shorts. i was into the beach boys, even though this was the ’70s. Man.
i realise that my addictive personality has embraced blogging much as it did cbing. cb was a brief affair. i wonder about blogging. i am busy, i have a real life. but still, still, i dally and i day dream about posts, i make notes and i keep a file of ideas. tell me this is normal. come on, i have bared my soul. now you know i liked the beach boys and thought a de lotus was a real car.
be kind.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
i'm hungry
who’s killing the great chefs of europe was a movie that impressed me muchly when i was young. it was about food, it featured several beautiful european cities, and best of all it had jacqueline bisset* in it.
bits that I remember:
* the bombe alaska that exploded
* the pressed duck
that’s it. and the chefs were being assassinated one by one, dispatched in the manner of their signature dish. hence, whichever chef it was who did the pressed duck had his head crushed in a, yep you guessed it, a duck press.
the bombe alaska was jacqueline’s signature dish, plus I seem to remember she was a tv cook? [a forerunner of today’s tv chefs]. and the murderer had planted a real bomb somehow in it while she was cooking on camera. not sure how that happened come to think of it, because i think she made it from scratch on-air.
anyway this movie perhaps sparked my interest in all things food.
while thinking about preparing a list of 10 turn ons and offs all to do with food, I realised it was too one-dimensional and would be an absolute insult to food to take such a simple approach. food demands better treatment. what you find sexy in someone I can just about squeeze into ten, but not food. no, THAT’S serious.
therefore I have taken a different approach and made groupings:
items I truly love, though not necessarily on their own
oysters – tasmanian not sydney rock. the latter can be too high in toxins.
ice cream – current fave is the streets traditional choc chip
mangoes
blue castello cheese
danish feta cheese
spring onions
red onions
real bagels
good olives, be they kalamata, green, stuffed, etc. cannot stand spanish olives.
blueberries
avocado
cherries but only from a certain tree on the mornington peninsula
good italian cheese, like Grana Panado or Parmigiano Reggiano
[see this cheese place]
red chillies
greek-style yoghurt, plain, thick and creamy
tinned RED salmon. forget pink, and medium-red or whatever it is.
almost all vegetables except not that fond of okra
continental parsley
freshly-made popcorn
heavy-duty, grained or sour-dough bread
garlic
vodka [oh sorry, that’s not a food. luckily I am creating a subgroup of alcohol. food and alcohol go together. just like alcohol goes with talking, sitting, watching tv, going out, having fun with friends and family. breathing.]
now some subgroups:
processed foods I love:
* kettle plain chips
* potato gems
* flakey sea salt
foods I love which require some preparation:
baked beetroot
nicely cooked fresh fish [white flesh] or salmon. but the fillets, not the steak cut.
mushrooms cooked in butter with a little salt
now the neutral foods:
I know you’ll think I’m crazy but I am not that partial to pizza. sorry.
also curly parsley. it’s alright, but prefer the flat-leaved.
another one you won’t believe. chicken breast. to me it’s just the rubbish part of a chicken.
cereal
some meals I love:
> soft poached eggs on good toast
> spaghetti marinara [a really good seafood pasta is to be had here]
> a really good salad is hard to find when out, the best are made at home. they are heaven, for example salade nicoise, or a green salad with fetta cheese [danish] tossed through, a good rice salad…
> soups of all descriptions. love them with some cheese stirred through.
> Turkish food
> Japanese food
> Italian food
> a roast chicken with all the trimmings. [yes, and use of the indefinite article ‘a’ here DOES mean one whole one for myself. No only joking, I will share. You can have all the breast. Just an aside, one of Nigella “Use heaps of oil and butter, don’t worry about your hips, thighs and tummy, but I’m a goddess with a beautiful face so it doesn’t matter if I happen to be fat” Lawson’s mini-recipes is this:
> cook some plain spaghetti which you toss through all the scrapings and herbs and hot fat that you find at the bottom of your roasting pan once the chicken is cooked. You take out the chicken first obviously. Add some parsley and salt, or not. Eat. I have done this once. Gloriously decadent, but again, not something you do every week. [Or month. Or year even.]
> bagel with cream cheese, smoked salmon, capers and thinly-sliced red onion. oh my god, if I could, I’d be getting a stiffy right now.
> bolognaise sauce cooked my way on pasta or sometimes on rice. with a dollop of greek yoghurt. it is heaven. sheer heaven.
> a good steak – mignon or porterhouse [a rare treat]
> a tray of vegies baked in the oven with whole garlic in the casings and lots of olive oil. then tipped over rice. sea salt. eat.
> the best pasta – spaghetti, olive oil, garlic and parsley. and the variations, a bit of blue grenadier and chilli. or some prawns. or some flaked fresh salmon.
> a good spaghetti carbonara. definitely a rare treat but so decadent.
carbs in order of preference [these are my friends] :
1st best-friend = pasta
2nd best-friend = rice
3rd best-friend = bread
4th best-friend = potatoes
restaurants I want to eat at before I die:
flowerdrum
food I want to try before I die:
haggis
truffles in some form
fugu
what I don’t need to eat before I die [ie, ever]
witchetty grubs
deep fried tarantula [ I was considering it before I saw it on Survivor. That made up my mind]
honeyed ants/grasshoppers
and finally the hates:
> bad potato or pasta salads, you know the ones with the cheap mayonnaise. I just will not eat them.
> the orange part of scallops.
> badly-cooked eggplant
> badly-cooked rice
> offal of most descriptions
> margarine/soft spread butter
>overcooked pasta
PS You’ll notice an absence of sweets. I also appreciate a good baked cheese-cake, plus other desserts. And there is no chocolate listed. That is because desserts don’t rule my life. For me it is savoury all the way.
And finally, the faithful companion to food:
martini – vodka only. gin makes me cry. plus a tiny bit of dry vermouth, shake and pour into the largest martini glass available. there have to be as many olives on the tooth-pick as you can get on. I have found four is usually the max. and they have to be stuffed. the can’t ever be stone ones.
wine – usually white
champagne - not too cheap but to tell the truth i can't taste the difference between the really expensive stuff and the $15 bottle
beer – just the local stuff
coffee – espresso or percolated or plunged. café au lait is wonderful. heat the milk in a pan and add to the strong coffee. this is the only coffee I have with sugar and it has to be partnered with a sweet pastry of some sort. for me, coffee is never, ever of the instant variety. I can do without. yes, I’ll put up with the headache, thank you very much.
* check here for jacqueline's impressive movie list. she was a '70s darling with this one being the best one.
** check here for a nice site on movies that feature food. something that really appeals to moi. though they could have included the thief, the cook etc, chocolat, oliver, 9 1/2 weeks, Tess of the d'Urbevilles.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
impressionable minds
does anyone remember karen black?
i am having a nostalgia trip these ten minutes. i was sitting here thinking about scary movies and she came to mind.
i HATE horror movies. i can't watch them without barricading myself behind something or someone. i KNOW it's a movie, I KNOW that just out of shot there were cameras, director, set crew and the coffee runner picking his nose.
but i still have absolutely NO trouble suspending my disbelief. in fact, the belief is all there. [unlike theatre, which i don't like. i like movies because i guess it is so escapist]
i am the person who could not watch the ring. i couldn't even get through the first two minutes. i had to turn it off. then i was pissed off that i had rented this thing and couldn't watch it. so i turned it on again, muted the volume, watched a bit while fastforwarding it so i knew what was coming, then would rewind a watch it first with no volume, then again with very very low volume.
i watched the whole thing three times - once fast forward and then again twice. it's a good way to desensitise yourself. it's also a good way to fuck up any kind of sequencing and flow.
the earliest movie i remember that scared the shit out of me was by all accounts a disney-type comedy with don knotts. it was called the ghost and mr chicken. he had poppy-out eyes, and big lips. from memory he was a reporter and spent the night in a haunted house [to get the scoop?] the scene i remember was seeing the portrait of lady so-and-so hanging above the staircase in this grand house. during the scary sequence when mr chicken is running out of the house after being spooked by organs etc, he runs past the portrait and she has shears sticking out of her chest, and there is blood oozing down. freak out!!
then there was a series in fairly rapid progression when i was just on the cusp of womanhood so about 10/11/12] -
jaws - it was so full on. i read the book too and that was pretty scary
sybil - my MOTHER took me to see this. i don't know why. she was studying psychology at uni then and perhaps thought it would be good bonding? maybe she had a professional interest. scenes that are burned into my psyche:
sybil's mother molesting her with a crochet hook
sybil wetting her pants while tied up to something and seeing the puddle forming on the ground
sybil jumping around her shrink's office, flitting from one personality to the next
mum has since apologised. actually i think she says that i asked to be taken, and that she had no idea what it was about
next one was tommy. i saw this with my cousin, and it was so freaky weird. my young brain could not process it. images that are seared into my memory:
tommy [roger daltrey] being put in a sarcophagus with needles by tina turner
someone's uncle singing a song about paedophilia called something like "fiddling about"
probably the worst of the lot was trilogy of terror. it was on tv and completely freaked my brother and me out. i don't know how old i was, but i was too young. or maybe not. the worst scene for my delicate brain was when this tribal doll came to life and started chasing karen black around her apartment, trying to kill her with this tiny knife. it would be thrusting the knife under doors, etc, until she tried to drown it [didn't work] and then i think burned it and the smoke possessed her and she became evil:
from this:
to this:
actually she used to look pretty evil even before she would get possessed.
i know i haven't mentioned the exorcist. yes it was scary and i even did a book review on it in year 9. but there are lots of other scary movies that have freaked me out, but these are the top handful that i will never ever forget. and never ever let my daughter watch until she is 25.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
stupid things i have done
starting with today - this is unbelievable. i walked into an art shop in prestigious high street, armadale and had a look around. i saw some paintings, one large one [woman in muted tones] with picasso signed in the bottom left corner, and a couple of smaller ones as well [abstract]. prices were $600 odd for the larger one and around $450 for the smaller ones. then i saw a couple of monet water lilies, for around $400. they were signed too.
i went and asked the sales assistant, prefacing my question with a rider, "i know this must be a silly question" and then asked whether they were real. she laughed [not at me, i don't think] [no!!!]. and said "no, they're not". I thought she was joking with me. Because you see, i thought my question was stupid because either a] they were so not real or b] they were so obviously real. so either way i looked like a dick for asking.
i said to her, "are you serious?" [meaning, are you telling me they are NOT real]
this is really bad, i know.
she said they are copies, but done in oils, so it's like having a print but you have the texture of the paint.
i guess part of my problem was they weren't [to me] famously recognisable pieces. i guess that would be too pathetic, to have a copy of say starry night or weeping woman in your lounge room.
you're right, there is NO EXCUSE
but do you see what i mean when i say stupid?? i can't believe it myself, and i know i will lose all credibility over this.
in my own defence, sometimes i think my brain doesn't work very well for normal everyday type stuff like money and paying bills and sometimes the simplest human interactions, but is more suited to the complicated stuff, like writing a thesis. come on, i'm a scholarship girl, and i got 3 h1s last year. i'm bright, aren't i??? i got 98% in english in hsc. i blitzed the police entry examination [but didn't get further because i'm too blind]. i know enough about politics and sociology and psychology and theology and a few other -ologies to be able to hold my own in a conversation.
but i can be really stupid.
other stupid things i have done [this doesn't even include the stupid things i have said]:
really bad driving #1driven my car over the edge of a car park and then realised and stopped when it was virtually teetering and then had to get engineers from the office to come and solve the problem of how to get it back where it was meant to be
really bad driving #2backed a car over edge [again] of carpark thingy up near warburton. got out of almost teetering car in panic with daughter out of baby seat, and a nice man fixed that as well
the cameraput brand-new canon slr camera on roof of car, and drove off
the lemon tartdid same with a lemon tart [20 years apart]
the horse ridinginsisted on my first horse-riding outing at the age of 7 that i DIDN'T need to be led by the son of the riding school operators, and i NEEDED to turn my plodding horse around to enter that wood where all the adults are jumping over that fallen log. then DIDN'T let go and fall from my bolting, non-jumping horse until i was FORCED to let go by having a low-hanging tree branch wack me in the forehead. then i fell on a log with a broken branch which went into my leg, cutting my jeans. wouldn't let anyone look at it, got up behind one of the adults, who took me back to the "ranch" where i burst into tears when i saw my mum. she took me up to the house, got my jeans off me. i remember seeing a hole in my leg. doctor eagle who worked on sundays stitched me up [12 of them] but i my mum reckoned he was drunk after sunday lunch, because he did such a bad job. mum still apologises about not getting me plastic surgery. i don't care. it's a good story.
the rats
bought my daughter pet rats in an effort to stave off her demands for a puppy. we were living in our funky st kilda apartment at the time and couldn't have a dog. i think they became traumatised one day when i vaccuumed in the sunroom and then something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. i looked and one rat was in the exercise wheel, only it was sped up like in a movie, mentally spinning until the wheel tipped sideways and the rat got caught, wriggled out and then was into the plastic igloo like lightning. they were timid after that, and bit my daughter and then me, so they had to go.
the hanging harvey errorthere was a competition at one of the early shopping centres when i was about 6 or so. it wasn't chadstone, but another one, one of the early 'lands', can't remember which one. the idea was if you got chosen you had to stand up on the stage, and whoever could blow up a balloon and be the first to pop it by blowing only, could choose whichever game they wanted, from the vast and exciting array on display. yes, mousetrap was there. yes, i wanted it. badly. so badly that i blew and blew so so so jard and fast that when i won the competition, a combination of stage fright and the dizzy spins made me say the wrong thing. hanging harvey. i have never gotten over it.
this is just a quick list, there are certainly more but this is enough for now
i went and asked the sales assistant, prefacing my question with a rider, "i know this must be a silly question" and then asked whether they were real. she laughed [not at me, i don't think] [no!!!]. and said "no, they're not". I thought she was joking with me. Because you see, i thought my question was stupid because either a] they were so not real or b] they were so obviously real. so either way i looked like a dick for asking.
i said to her, "are you serious?" [meaning, are you telling me they are NOT real]
this is really bad, i know.
she said they are copies, but done in oils, so it's like having a print but you have the texture of the paint.
i guess part of my problem was they weren't [to me] famously recognisable pieces. i guess that would be too pathetic, to have a copy of say starry night or weeping woman in your lounge room.
you're right, there is NO EXCUSE
but do you see what i mean when i say stupid?? i can't believe it myself, and i know i will lose all credibility over this.
in my own defence, sometimes i think my brain doesn't work very well for normal everyday type stuff like money and paying bills and sometimes the simplest human interactions, but is more suited to the complicated stuff, like writing a thesis. come on, i'm a scholarship girl, and i got 3 h1s last year. i'm bright, aren't i??? i got 98% in english in hsc. i blitzed the police entry examination [but didn't get further because i'm too blind]. i know enough about politics and sociology and psychology and theology and a few other -ologies to be able to hold my own in a conversation.
but i can be really stupid.
other stupid things i have done [this doesn't even include the stupid things i have said]:
really bad driving #1driven my car over the edge of a car park and then realised and stopped when it was virtually teetering and then had to get engineers from the office to come and solve the problem of how to get it back where it was meant to be
really bad driving #2backed a car over edge [again] of carpark thingy up near warburton. got out of almost teetering car in panic with daughter out of baby seat, and a nice man fixed that as well
the cameraput brand-new canon slr camera on roof of car, and drove off
the lemon tartdid same with a lemon tart [20 years apart]
the horse ridinginsisted on my first horse-riding outing at the age of 7 that i DIDN'T need to be led by the son of the riding school operators, and i NEEDED to turn my plodding horse around to enter that wood where all the adults are jumping over that fallen log. then DIDN'T let go and fall from my bolting, non-jumping horse until i was FORCED to let go by having a low-hanging tree branch wack me in the forehead. then i fell on a log with a broken branch which went into my leg, cutting my jeans. wouldn't let anyone look at it, got up behind one of the adults, who took me back to the "ranch" where i burst into tears when i saw my mum. she took me up to the house, got my jeans off me. i remember seeing a hole in my leg. doctor eagle who worked on sundays stitched me up [12 of them] but i my mum reckoned he was drunk after sunday lunch, because he did such a bad job. mum still apologises about not getting me plastic surgery. i don't care. it's a good story.
the rats
bought my daughter pet rats in an effort to stave off her demands for a puppy. we were living in our funky st kilda apartment at the time and couldn't have a dog. i think they became traumatised one day when i vaccuumed in the sunroom and then something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. i looked and one rat was in the exercise wheel, only it was sped up like in a movie, mentally spinning until the wheel tipped sideways and the rat got caught, wriggled out and then was into the plastic igloo like lightning. they were timid after that, and bit my daughter and then me, so they had to go.
the hanging harvey errorthere was a competition at one of the early shopping centres when i was about 6 or so. it wasn't chadstone, but another one, one of the early 'lands', can't remember which one. the idea was if you got chosen you had to stand up on the stage, and whoever could blow up a balloon and be the first to pop it by blowing only, could choose whichever game they wanted, from the vast and exciting array on display. yes, mousetrap was there. yes, i wanted it. badly. so badly that i blew and blew so so so jard and fast that when i won the competition, a combination of stage fright and the dizzy spins made me say the wrong thing. hanging harvey. i have never gotten over it.
this is just a quick list, there are certainly more but this is enough for now
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
clothes I have loved
I had the idea a while ago to write a memoir of some clothes and accessoires that I have known and loved in my time. These are all departed from my life now, and so I miss them and sometimes think of them. Not all of them appear in photos of my good self, and so for a lot of them, they have to live on in my memory.
childhood
teen years
childhood
- lime-green, v-knee colonial jeans
- t-shirt with my name printed on it
- my dolly cut [ok, not clothes or accessory, but still a fashion statement and much mourned]
- denim runners [methinks there was some sort of orange trim as well]
- brown, checked miller shirt [with pearl buttons]
teen years
- treads - they were pale and navy blue, and were really heavy to wear around the Royal Melbourne Show when I was about 12
- slats - these were cane-soled "thongs" which were square and cluncky and the toe strap piece was covered in black velour. so 1975.
during the '80s
- emerald green mohair cardigan
- black, suede floppy duran duran ankle boots
- pink floral pink cross-over "housecoat" dress [loved that so much, still want it now]
- bright orange cotton knit baggy jumper [button neck] teamed with lime-green, tight baseball style pants with PADDED KNEES
- bali shirt, purples, pinks, maroons and greens batik-y print. Wore it and wore it. Cost about $4. Then my sister wore it and wore it. Wonder if she still has it? The colours NEVER faded either. tres amazant.
- fake placcy-leather type cowboy boots that I inherited from my mum. They were well worn when I got custody, then I wore them and wore them. They smelt like shit and so did my feet when they'd been in them
adult - early '90s
- black shirt with cut glass buttons, really large lapels and cuffs
- white, high-heeled shoes, with laces [it was in japan - that's my excuse. an OL wannabe]
I might add to this list as things come up, but my biggest clothing or accessoire regret is a fine red wool dress that my mum gave me. It had been hers from the '70s and it had the best neckline and the red was just perfect [red is my colour you know] and the only thing was it was too long [like floorlength almost] so she let me have it taken up and i took it to japan, and then a friend brought it back here to Aus for me [to help me, so i didn't have to carry heaps of stuff, nor send too much] and it... never... made... it. My mum was really upset and disappointed in me, and that upset me. As it was months if not more than a year before i was able to talk to the friend, and my memory is so bad, it was never established what happened to it.
enough said.
hot water bottles next time...
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