what? you think i don't fish?
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
day 2 of the holidays
1. yesterday was good. i wrote a lot. i'm working on the opus i have been working on very sporadically since 1999.
i.
will.
finish.
it.
2. the brownlows were boring, boring, boring. i knew they would be, but i had to see for myself. first and last time i watch them.
3. i was going for richo. what a spunk. WHAT A SPUNK!
4. there was one girl that i saw in a shocker frock. it was a backless number, red with black lace that looked like tatts all along the top of her rump. she was a little heavy for that frock, if you ask moi.
5. highlight was strauchanie. i love him. he is the funniest. he is the best.
6. today was good until i found headlice in 2 of the 3 children. well, the hairdresser found them. so i am up to my elbows in cheap hair conditioner and it's so fucking awful. maybe i need a glass of wine now.
7. we are going to the movies tonight. the boys will see wall-e, and us girls will see something called wild child. sounds... great. no really. the girls are pumped.
8. i am still enjoying the geraldine brooks book. next one will be the people of the book, i think. is this a good choice or should i go back to the beginning and read in chrono order?
9. i'm having a manicure tomorrow. it's just so decadent. i've never been a manicure person, but i am trying to be now. they just do it so much better than a nut trying to do it at home.
10. i'm realising some new visitors to this blog are, like, really young. i'm wondering where they've come from, and why they read. it's nice, but i don't really get it. i'm so boring to anyone who's hip.
11. i haven't managed any writing today, but plan to get back to it tomorrow.
12. go cats.
i.
will.
finish.
it.
2. the brownlows were boring, boring, boring. i knew they would be, but i had to see for myself. first and last time i watch them.
3. i was going for richo. what a spunk. WHAT A SPUNK!
4. there was one girl that i saw in a shocker frock. it was a backless number, red with black lace that looked like tatts all along the top of her rump. she was a little heavy for that frock, if you ask moi.
5. highlight was strauchanie. i love him. he is the funniest. he is the best.
6. today was good until i found headlice in 2 of the 3 children. well, the hairdresser found them. so i am up to my elbows in cheap hair conditioner and it's so fucking awful. maybe i need a glass of wine now.
7. we are going to the movies tonight. the boys will see wall-e, and us girls will see something called wild child. sounds... great. no really. the girls are pumped.
8. i am still enjoying the geraldine brooks book. next one will be the people of the book, i think. is this a good choice or should i go back to the beginning and read in chrono order?
9. i'm having a manicure tomorrow. it's just so decadent. i've never been a manicure person, but i am trying to be now. they just do it so much better than a nut trying to do it at home.
10. i'm realising some new visitors to this blog are, like, really young. i'm wondering where they've come from, and why they read. it's nice, but i don't really get it. i'm so boring to anyone who's hip.
11. i haven't managed any writing today, but plan to get back to it tomorrow.
12. go cats.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
ode to geelong and other sundry matters
in the old blogging days, there used to be regular haiku around these here parts.
last night, while at the mcg, i was finding it hard to concentrate on the game. i was reminiscing in a blasphemous way about the geelong footy of the late '80s and early to mid '90s, about how it seemed more exciting (a certain ablett factor?), more thrilling, more watchable.
it was a beautiful, balmy night. i have never been at a night game in short sleeves before. the showers held off, and i was more enamoured by the circumstances than the game.
we were sitting near a lot of dog fans, and while i don't begrudge success for certain victorian teams (western bulldogs, st kilda, even hawthorn) it was a little annoying when they were chanting their bulldogs thang.
i took photos of my old man with his little spiral notebook, jotting down the scores at the end of each quarter. that's another difference to the old days. back then, he had his quad-colour bic biro, and each colour represented a quarter, and he would meticulously record not only the goals and behinds, but at which minute mark they occurred. he would have those notebooks somewhere, i'm sure. but now the game's too quick, i guess, for him to keep doing that. you blink and you miss something. but still, gary the younger is a joy to watch. the way his speed bursts out of him.
the only real negative of the night were the seagulls. at first, they were lovely; circling high in the dark sky well above the grandstand's roof line. but then, later in the game, they had descended and were either in flocks just above the players where the ball's trajectory followed, or in clusters on the ground. i just don't get why they do a night final. well, i do. but it's wrong.
the person who invents some kind of inaudible sound system which to gulls is a banshee wail, and scares them off - you know, like shop keepers install outside their doors to keep teenagers away at night - will be a wealthy, wealthy person.
haiku for the cats
my nirvana is tapas
at movida, yum
before the finals game.
gulls flying at night
in the black mcg sky
full of poesy.
the balmy night air
soothes my soul for the present
yet i am disturbed.
for i know that soon
i will have to join the crowd
and decide a course.
do i catch the tram
from the seething, close platform?
or do i walk on?
i walk towards lights
my boots are not well-fitting
i struggle on, yeah.
i come to the stop
i have to wait for my tram
it does take an age.
i wait at the stop
wearing my hat of victoire
soon i will be home.
i collapse a'bed
my balls of feet are flaming
yet again, shoe shit.
the cats have won, true
but should i have stayed at home?
and watched from plump couch?
bordello-red couch
so comfy and inviting
no shoes necessaire.
* * *
to other matters. i am a list person. i can't help it. and probably my list with the greatest longevity is one i've had going for maybe 20 years or so. it's a list not on one piece of paper, but on many bits. scraps of envelopes, post it notes that have lost their stick or been torn carefully in half, bits of newspaper white-space.
this list is of books that have been recommended to me, that i have seen in medical clinics all over the place, or that i have seen in book shops but not bought for one reason or another. books i have read about in articles, in reviews, in interviews with authors i admire, or more recently online.
all are books that i want. books that i can't even remember why i want them; while sometimes there is the isbn and publisher details, sometimes they are just a title and author floating in space, without any note about what it was that made me write it down.
this is my list, going back years:
goodbye to all that - robert graves
brewer's doctionary of modern phrase and fable - adrian room
an imaginary life - david malouf
cherishing our daughters - how parents can raise girls to become confident women - evelyn bassoff
the historian - elizabeth kostova.
vampire story set in istanbul.
a passionate marriage - jonathan schnarch?
libby/elizabeth southall - book about being in the tsunami. (heard her interviewed on radio - she also lost her daughter a few years before in a tragic way, the girl catching the tram in melbourne to dance class in prahran, and her "friend" killed her through jealousy. what a life for this poor woman. loses her 16 year old daughter, then survives the tsunami. there is no god.)
maranatha et in arcadia ego - by a bunch of holy grail researchers.
i LOVE holy grail stuff.
food - a history, by felipe fernandez-armesto
the boy with the striped pyjamas - someone boyne?
animal speakL the spiritual and magical powers of creatures great and small - ted andrews
god on a harley - joan laidig brady
chapters - candice carpenter
a woman of substance - barbara taylor bradford
the enigma of japanese power - karel van wolferen
the holographic universe - michael talbot/tolbert. also noted here the celestine prophecy - this is a really old note.
ogilvy on advertising - david ogilvy
blonde - joyce carol oates
falling angel - william hjortsberg (this is the book that the old movie angel heart was based on, according to the credits of the movie. this is one of my oldest leads that i've tried and failed to find.)
the power of gold: the history of an obsession - peter l. bernstein
as i lay dying - william faulkner
a fine and private place - brian matthews
isabelle the navigator - luke davies
reading the muslim mind - obviously i would have been interested in reading this when i was married to a muslim mind, and trying to work it the fuck out.
turkey unveiled: ataturk and after - nicole and hugh pope
how to really love your child - dr ross campbell
sasameyuki - junichiro tanizaki
shayou - osamu dazai
oriental carpet design: a guide to traditional motifs, patterns and symbols - prj ford
norwegian wood - haruki murakami
women and sex - nawal saadawi
embraced by the light - betty eade
the physician - noah gordon
the perfumed garden - william heinemann (i may have managed to get this one, can't remember)
la nuit du serail - prince michael of greece (another i have tried to find, and failed.)
in the name of a dead princess - nora someone.
life in istanbul at the time of suleyman the magnificent - robert montran
the koran - a abdulla yusuf ali (i have managed to find this one)
women of sand and myrrh - hanan al-shayk (i think i have this one)
honour and shame: women in modern iraq - sana al-khayyat
beyond the veil: male-female dynamics in muslim society - fatima mernissi
two queens of baghdad - nabia abbott
aisha - the beloved of mohamma - nadia abbott
sultana - prince michael of greece
price of honour - jan goodwin (i think i have this one)
ayesha - james morier
anastasia: the riddle of anna anderson - peter kurth
millennium: a history of the last thousand years - felipe fernandez-armesto
snowdon, the biography
sub lists
the books list is the longest, and it is my life's work to try and acquire them all. now with modern technology and a credit card, it might be easier. also, i've just gone through the places where all the separate lists have been languishing these many years, and put them all together. into one big list in a plastic pocket. and i will work through it, and try to find them.
but sublists have emerged: songs that either must be ones i can sing for karaoke or ones i want to dance to at my 50th birthday party?
is this love - whitesnake
i was made for loving you - kiss
sweet dreams - eurythmics
modern girl - james freud
tusk - fleedwood mac
videos:
into the wild, with sean penn
secrets and lies - rec by "me moom" and watched recently. really good, pretty depressing.
if only - recommended by a student at an english school
drowning mona - bette midler
LOSER
happy texas
a simple twist of faith
the road home
whatever it takes - teen movie
catwalk
georgia
doco - taxi to the dark side
yol (the road) and the herd - by yilmaz guney
* * *
one final, last scrap of paper that i have carried with me since 1994. in ukrainian, the name and address of a young girl i met at a pension we were staying at in marmaris, turkey. she was 11, and she was so beautiful. long, blonde hair, nut-brown skin from the turkish sun, long-limbed and friendly. we "made friends" even though i was a woman and she a girl. she was staying there with her mother, and also her brother. she told me one day, in halting english, that she had a sickness, and pointed to her throat. i slowly worked out that she had become sick from chernobyl, and after marmaris that year, we exchanged letters between australia and ukraine a few times.
now, all these years later, i wonder if she still walks the earth. i can't throw away that piece of paper.
just thinking about her makes me teary. sweet katya.
last night, while at the mcg, i was finding it hard to concentrate on the game. i was reminiscing in a blasphemous way about the geelong footy of the late '80s and early to mid '90s, about how it seemed more exciting (a certain ablett factor?), more thrilling, more watchable.
it was a beautiful, balmy night. i have never been at a night game in short sleeves before. the showers held off, and i was more enamoured by the circumstances than the game.
we were sitting near a lot of dog fans, and while i don't begrudge success for certain victorian teams (western bulldogs, st kilda, even hawthorn) it was a little annoying when they were chanting their bulldogs thang.
i took photos of my old man with his little spiral notebook, jotting down the scores at the end of each quarter. that's another difference to the old days. back then, he had his quad-colour bic biro, and each colour represented a quarter, and he would meticulously record not only the goals and behinds, but at which minute mark they occurred. he would have those notebooks somewhere, i'm sure. but now the game's too quick, i guess, for him to keep doing that. you blink and you miss something. but still, gary the younger is a joy to watch. the way his speed bursts out of him.
the only real negative of the night were the seagulls. at first, they were lovely; circling high in the dark sky well above the grandstand's roof line. but then, later in the game, they had descended and were either in flocks just above the players where the ball's trajectory followed, or in clusters on the ground. i just don't get why they do a night final. well, i do. but it's wrong.
the person who invents some kind of inaudible sound system which to gulls is a banshee wail, and scares them off - you know, like shop keepers install outside their doors to keep teenagers away at night - will be a wealthy, wealthy person.
haiku for the cats
my nirvana is tapas
at movida, yum
before the finals game.
gulls flying at night
in the black mcg sky
full of poesy.
the balmy night air
soothes my soul for the present
yet i am disturbed.
for i know that soon
i will have to join the crowd
and decide a course.
do i catch the tram
from the seething, close platform?
or do i walk on?
i walk towards lights
my boots are not well-fitting
i struggle on, yeah.
i come to the stop
i have to wait for my tram
it does take an age.
i wait at the stop
wearing my hat of victoire
soon i will be home.
i collapse a'bed
my balls of feet are flaming
yet again, shoe shit.
the cats have won, true
but should i have stayed at home?
and watched from plump couch?
bordello-red couch
so comfy and inviting
no shoes necessaire.
* * *
to other matters. i am a list person. i can't help it. and probably my list with the greatest longevity is one i've had going for maybe 20 years or so. it's a list not on one piece of paper, but on many bits. scraps of envelopes, post it notes that have lost their stick or been torn carefully in half, bits of newspaper white-space.
this list is of books that have been recommended to me, that i have seen in medical clinics all over the place, or that i have seen in book shops but not bought for one reason or another. books i have read about in articles, in reviews, in interviews with authors i admire, or more recently online.
all are books that i want. books that i can't even remember why i want them; while sometimes there is the isbn and publisher details, sometimes they are just a title and author floating in space, without any note about what it was that made me write it down.
this is my list, going back years:
goodbye to all that - robert graves
brewer's doctionary of modern phrase and fable - adrian room
an imaginary life - david malouf
cherishing our daughters - how parents can raise girls to become confident women - evelyn bassoff
the historian - elizabeth kostova.
vampire story set in istanbul.
a passionate marriage - jonathan schnarch?
libby/elizabeth southall - book about being in the tsunami. (heard her interviewed on radio - she also lost her daughter a few years before in a tragic way, the girl catching the tram in melbourne to dance class in prahran, and her "friend" killed her through jealousy. what a life for this poor woman. loses her 16 year old daughter, then survives the tsunami. there is no god.)
maranatha et in arcadia ego - by a bunch of holy grail researchers.
i LOVE holy grail stuff.
food - a history, by felipe fernandez-armesto
the boy with the striped pyjamas - someone boyne?
animal speakL the spiritual and magical powers of creatures great and small - ted andrews
god on a harley - joan laidig brady
chapters - candice carpenter
a woman of substance - barbara taylor bradford
the enigma of japanese power - karel van wolferen
the holographic universe - michael talbot/tolbert. also noted here the celestine prophecy - this is a really old note.
ogilvy on advertising - david ogilvy
blonde - joyce carol oates
falling angel - william hjortsberg (this is the book that the old movie angel heart was based on, according to the credits of the movie. this is one of my oldest leads that i've tried and failed to find.)
the power of gold: the history of an obsession - peter l. bernstein
as i lay dying - william faulkner
a fine and private place - brian matthews
isabelle the navigator - luke davies
reading the muslim mind - obviously i would have been interested in reading this when i was married to a muslim mind, and trying to work it the fuck out.
turkey unveiled: ataturk and after - nicole and hugh pope
how to really love your child - dr ross campbell
sasameyuki - junichiro tanizaki
shayou - osamu dazai
oriental carpet design: a guide to traditional motifs, patterns and symbols - prj ford
norwegian wood - haruki murakami
women and sex - nawal saadawi
embraced by the light - betty eade
the physician - noah gordon
the perfumed garden - william heinemann (i may have managed to get this one, can't remember)
la nuit du serail - prince michael of greece (another i have tried to find, and failed.)
in the name of a dead princess - nora someone.
life in istanbul at the time of suleyman the magnificent - robert montran
the koran - a abdulla yusuf ali (i have managed to find this one)
women of sand and myrrh - hanan al-shayk (i think i have this one)
honour and shame: women in modern iraq - sana al-khayyat
beyond the veil: male-female dynamics in muslim society - fatima mernissi
two queens of baghdad - nabia abbott
aisha - the beloved of mohamma - nadia abbott
sultana - prince michael of greece
price of honour - jan goodwin (i think i have this one)
ayesha - james morier
anastasia: the riddle of anna anderson - peter kurth
millennium: a history of the last thousand years - felipe fernandez-armesto
snowdon, the biography
sub lists
the books list is the longest, and it is my life's work to try and acquire them all. now with modern technology and a credit card, it might be easier. also, i've just gone through the places where all the separate lists have been languishing these many years, and put them all together. into one big list in a plastic pocket. and i will work through it, and try to find them.
but sublists have emerged: songs that either must be ones i can sing for karaoke or ones i want to dance to at my 50th birthday party?
is this love - whitesnake
i was made for loving you - kiss
sweet dreams - eurythmics
modern girl - james freud
tusk - fleedwood mac
videos:
into the wild, with sean penn
secrets and lies - rec by "me moom" and watched recently. really good, pretty depressing.
if only - recommended by a student at an english school
drowning mona - bette midler
LOSER
happy texas
a simple twist of faith
the road home
whatever it takes - teen movie
catwalk
georgia
doco - taxi to the dark side
yol (the road) and the herd - by yilmaz guney
* * *
one final, last scrap of paper that i have carried with me since 1994. in ukrainian, the name and address of a young girl i met at a pension we were staying at in marmaris, turkey. she was 11, and she was so beautiful. long, blonde hair, nut-brown skin from the turkish sun, long-limbed and friendly. we "made friends" even though i was a woman and she a girl. she was staying there with her mother, and also her brother. she told me one day, in halting english, that she had a sickness, and pointed to her throat. i slowly worked out that she had become sick from chernobyl, and after marmaris that year, we exchanged letters between australia and ukraine a few times.
now, all these years later, i wonder if she still walks the earth. i can't throw away that piece of paper.
just thinking about her makes me teary. sweet katya.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
note to self
if you'd like to be asked back to a school to teach, don't spray with your saliva the vice principal's face at recess when you're talking to him.
it doesn't matter how emphatic you are being.
also note to parents of melbourne. if your shit of a kid is having "social problems" at school, you turning up at school, standing at the fence and glaring at his aggressors is not going to help. in fact it's FUCKING INAPPROPRIATE.
get a brain parents. i know none of us is perfect, but jeez.
it doesn't matter how emphatic you are being.
also note to parents of melbourne. if your shit of a kid is having "social problems" at school, you turning up at school, standing at the fence and glaring at his aggressors is not going to help. in fact it's FUCKING INAPPROPRIATE.
get a brain parents. i know none of us is perfect, but jeez.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
shoe update
the blister is healing. i wore high heels to a wedding saturday night. i bought new shoes last week. they are beautiful. and the following is required viewing. i think i've posted this before, but really. it is worth revisiting. enjoy.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
the baguette baton and actor with footy
this happened to me in the space of about 5 mins in fitzroy st.
1. i waved away a man who approached me on the street, saying "excuse me, miss..."
"i don't give money, and i don't talk to people on the street" i interrupted, not stopping.
2. then, walking in the other direction after buying what i wanted he came towards me, made a beeline, and offered me a slim, french stick in a white paper bag.
"i just bought it" he said "do you want it?"
"i don't want it, thanks" i said.
so he gave it to a man passing by who was a bit toothless and really chuffed. he turned up grey street saying he was going to give it to [unintelligble mutterings]
3. joel edgerton walked towards me in a baseball cap, shorts and funny shoes, holding a yellow sherrin. i strode past, after the baguette incident, thinking before i realised who it was coming towards me, he looks a bit strange even for st kilda, but it's nice he's carrying a footy. oh, boys and their balls... especially at this time of year.
we locked eyes as i passed and i realised who it was.
god i love my life sometimes.
blister is heeling. heh.
1. i waved away a man who approached me on the street, saying "excuse me, miss..."
"i don't give money, and i don't talk to people on the street" i interrupted, not stopping.
2. then, walking in the other direction after buying what i wanted he came towards me, made a beeline, and offered me a slim, french stick in a white paper bag.
"i just bought it" he said "do you want it?"
"i don't want it, thanks" i said.
so he gave it to a man passing by who was a bit toothless and really chuffed. he turned up grey street saying he was going to give it to [unintelligble mutterings]
3. joel edgerton walked towards me in a baseball cap, shorts and funny shoes, holding a yellow sherrin. i strode past, after the baguette incident, thinking before i realised who it was coming towards me, he looks a bit strange even for st kilda, but it's nice he's carrying a footy. oh, boys and their balls... especially at this time of year.
we locked eyes as i passed and i realised who it was.
god i love my life sometimes.
blister is heeling. heh.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
finally, i have tidied up beside the bed
books that have been moved from their little piles on the floor next to my place of sleeping:
as yet unread -
rohinton mistry such a long journey
eric clapton the autobiography
brothers grimm complete fairy tales
germaine greer the change: women, ageing and the menopause
read -
mark seymour thirteen tonne theory
naomi wolf promiscuities
read already but is talking to me again -
tim winton the riders
dipped into -
his holiness the dalai lama the essence of happiness
the dalai lama's book of wisdom
cormac mc carthy blood meridian
charles bukowski the most beautiful woman in town and other stories
books i have left beside the bed in one pile:
gregory david roberts shantaram
a.b. facey a fortunate life
nancy friday the power of beauty
geraldine brooks year of wonders
buddhism for mothers by i can't be bothered going back in there to see.
the one that i've been reading mostly recently is the nancy friday one. this was interrupted by reading the twilight series, in tandem with princess. i've also been reading the papers, magazines, that trashy kind of stuff. and going in and out of a fortunate life and shantaram.
it's like i can't settle down and read happily like i used to. i feel i'm in between books, and it's a disturbing feelings. i can't be happy enough if i haven't got a book that calls me from the other room. and happy enough is all i am hoping for, really. it's all anyone can hope for. forget blissful. forget great, or wonderful. if you can be happy enough, you're doing pretty damn well i reckon.
tonight i am looking forward to starting year of wonders. i hope it keeps me. i feel like i'm kind of going off fiction - well, not going off but i feel i've almost had my fill. does that sound crazy? i turn towards non-fiction, because fiction seems to disappoint these days as much as it delights.
must go and sew some buttons back onto a cushion. it probably won't end well.
love from,
slightly jaded reader with sore feet
x
as yet unread -
rohinton mistry such a long journey
eric clapton the autobiography
brothers grimm complete fairy tales
germaine greer the change: women, ageing and the menopause
read -
mark seymour thirteen tonne theory
naomi wolf promiscuities
read already but is talking to me again -
tim winton the riders
dipped into -
his holiness the dalai lama the essence of happiness
the dalai lama's book of wisdom
cormac mc carthy blood meridian
charles bukowski the most beautiful woman in town and other stories
books i have left beside the bed in one pile:
gregory david roberts shantaram
a.b. facey a fortunate life
nancy friday the power of beauty
geraldine brooks year of wonders
buddhism for mothers by i can't be bothered going back in there to see.
the one that i've been reading mostly recently is the nancy friday one. this was interrupted by reading the twilight series, in tandem with princess. i've also been reading the papers, magazines, that trashy kind of stuff. and going in and out of a fortunate life and shantaram.
it's like i can't settle down and read happily like i used to. i feel i'm in between books, and it's a disturbing feelings. i can't be happy enough if i haven't got a book that calls me from the other room. and happy enough is all i am hoping for, really. it's all anyone can hope for. forget blissful. forget great, or wonderful. if you can be happy enough, you're doing pretty damn well i reckon.
tonight i am looking forward to starting year of wonders. i hope it keeps me. i feel like i'm kind of going off fiction - well, not going off but i feel i've almost had my fill. does that sound crazy? i turn towards non-fiction, because fiction seems to disappoint these days as much as it delights.
must go and sew some buttons back onto a cushion. it probably won't end well.
love from,
slightly jaded reader with sore feet
x
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
yes, it's girly whinge time
i was never meant to wear shoes, i'm sure of it. uggs and thongs work best for me. no backs to rub against my heels with the thongs, and big space between ugg boot backs and my heels.
the disadvantages are: thongs let my feet get filthy in summer. uggs stink.
and neither are suitable, professional wear.
today i wore some flats that killed* me when i first wore them. and then the next time. and then the next time. but the next time they seemed a little better. i even wore them yesterday teaching. on my feet all day, doing yard duty, etc. and no new rubbings.
but today, when i am at an area in chadstone shopping centre furthest away from where the car was parked, all of a sudden, a huge, fucking welt on the side of my heel. i swear, it measures about 1.5cm and there is a circular flap of skin that is hanging, and underneath it's all slippery and juicy and weepy.
why? why me?
i think i was a cave girl originally, and therefore i am just not made for shoes. uggs are really just the modern-day equivalent of animal skins wrapped around a foot and tied on with a leather strip, but without the leather strip; thongs are just bare feet but with a rubber bit at the bottom so you don't cut yourself with all the glass lying around st kilda.
shoes hate me. but i love them.
feel very sorry for me.
thank you.
* killed = created great, weeping blisters
the disadvantages are: thongs let my feet get filthy in summer. uggs stink.
and neither are suitable, professional wear.
today i wore some flats that killed* me when i first wore them. and then the next time. and then the next time. but the next time they seemed a little better. i even wore them yesterday teaching. on my feet all day, doing yard duty, etc. and no new rubbings.
but today, when i am at an area in chadstone shopping centre furthest away from where the car was parked, all of a sudden, a huge, fucking welt on the side of my heel. i swear, it measures about 1.5cm and there is a circular flap of skin that is hanging, and underneath it's all slippery and juicy and weepy.
why? why me?
i think i was a cave girl originally, and therefore i am just not made for shoes. uggs are really just the modern-day equivalent of animal skins wrapped around a foot and tied on with a leather strip, but without the leather strip; thongs are just bare feet but with a rubber bit at the bottom so you don't cut yourself with all the glass lying around st kilda.
shoes hate me. but i love them.
feel very sorry for me.
thank you.
* killed = created great, weeping blisters
Saturday, September 06, 2008
three things
1. postscript to post about daniel chirico and his fine, prettily-dressed bread servant-girls/baristettes:
do you think you could get them to wear some gloves? is there something about latex that just doesn't go with those whimsical sundresses and oh, how about the accents. there are uk accents, a european, /franch/ accent. ok, the bread is to die for, the girls are all spunky daniel, i get it, BUT THEY NEED TO PUT SOMETHING OVER THEIR HANDS WHEN THEY PICK UP THE FUCKING BREAD.
they have tongs for the patisserie section. i can see why tongs don't work for any bread product bigger than a bagel.
but you know what. just cause they're pretty, and wearing nice frocks, and have nice hair-dos DOESN'T MAKE THEIR LILY-WHITE HANDS ANY CLEANER THAN THE DUDE WORKING THE DELI AT IGA DOWN THE ROAD.
we all pick our noses, or rub, or scratch near there. we all go to the toilet, we all shit, we all piss, we all cough, and fart and have GERMS ON OUR HANDS. they're handling money, for chrissakes. isn't there some research saying money is the dirtiest stuff in the world? or that hands are? put them together and you've got a bacteria-festooned bunch of digits.
i'm pretty sure that they used to use a square of wax paper a la baker's delight or whichever declasse bread shop it is. one of those (baker's delight/brumby's) does and one doesn't. or didn't.
but chirico's - they need some paper squares. really. it was fucking packed in there this morning at 7.30am. maybe it slows them down using paper squares - and i tell you, they could learn a briskness tip or two from brumby's/baker's delight.
2. sorry number one turned into such a whinge. it was a real poppy moment. anyone who gets that reference gets a gold star. and anyone who can guess whose voice i had in my head while writing it gets TWO gold stars.
number 2 is short. i've thought of something else we did as kids that i wouldn't like to know my kids were doing. we used to get hold of matches and "smoke" them. this is how you smoke a match - you light the match, you breath in the stuff that comes out at the moment of ignition, and then you breathe out smoke. i don't think i did it that often, but it scares me that i did it at all.
3. RIP killer kowalski. reading his obit the other day brought back all the big wrestling names to me. mario milano with his blue shorts. killer carl cox. brute bernard. we used to love watching it as kids, and my grandmother loved it too, and would watch it in her fancy-pants toorak villa, where all the tones were lilac in the lounge room. my memories of the wrestling are blended with memories of the world of sport, with lou richards and the big guy with a rich voice- name? jack dyer? - sparring, and talk of huttons hams, and patra orange juice (big guy with rich voice would make the patra orange juice sound delicious, the way he said it, sounded juicy, and he'd always use fricative force with the P of patra). there were handballing competitions, and letters in, and guests, and i think i used to watch it to see whether the man i loved peter mc kenna would be on. oh, how i loved him, with my weedy 9- or 10-year-old girl-brain.
so that's it, this fine, nay glorious, melbourne morning. this weekend for us is quietist, but with large, italian festivities tomorrow for father's day at the in-laws. there will be food a-plenty as is the custom, and then we will roll home and hopefully not miss too much of the geelong v st kilda game.
go cats.
ps thoughts are with a certain someone who is entertaining lady-guests at his house this weekend. i hope it goes well P.
do you think you could get them to wear some gloves? is there something about latex that just doesn't go with those whimsical sundresses and oh, how about the accents. there are uk accents, a european, /franch/ accent. ok, the bread is to die for, the girls are all spunky daniel, i get it, BUT THEY NEED TO PUT SOMETHING OVER THEIR HANDS WHEN THEY PICK UP THE FUCKING BREAD.
they have tongs for the patisserie section. i can see why tongs don't work for any bread product bigger than a bagel.
but you know what. just cause they're pretty, and wearing nice frocks, and have nice hair-dos DOESN'T MAKE THEIR LILY-WHITE HANDS ANY CLEANER THAN THE DUDE WORKING THE DELI AT IGA DOWN THE ROAD.
we all pick our noses, or rub, or scratch near there. we all go to the toilet, we all shit, we all piss, we all cough, and fart and have GERMS ON OUR HANDS. they're handling money, for chrissakes. isn't there some research saying money is the dirtiest stuff in the world? or that hands are? put them together and you've got a bacteria-festooned bunch of digits.
i'm pretty sure that they used to use a square of wax paper a la baker's delight or whichever declasse bread shop it is. one of those (baker's delight/brumby's) does and one doesn't. or didn't.
but chirico's - they need some paper squares. really. it was fucking packed in there this morning at 7.30am. maybe it slows them down using paper squares - and i tell you, they could learn a briskness tip or two from brumby's/baker's delight.
2. sorry number one turned into such a whinge. it was a real poppy moment. anyone who gets that reference gets a gold star. and anyone who can guess whose voice i had in my head while writing it gets TWO gold stars.
number 2 is short. i've thought of something else we did as kids that i wouldn't like to know my kids were doing. we used to get hold of matches and "smoke" them. this is how you smoke a match - you light the match, you breath in the stuff that comes out at the moment of ignition, and then you breathe out smoke. i don't think i did it that often, but it scares me that i did it at all.
3. RIP killer kowalski. reading his obit the other day brought back all the big wrestling names to me. mario milano with his blue shorts. killer carl cox. brute bernard. we used to love watching it as kids, and my grandmother loved it too, and would watch it in her fancy-pants toorak villa, where all the tones were lilac in the lounge room. my memories of the wrestling are blended with memories of the world of sport, with lou richards and the big guy with a rich voice- name? jack dyer? - sparring, and talk of huttons hams, and patra orange juice (big guy with rich voice would make the patra orange juice sound delicious, the way he said it, sounded juicy, and he'd always use fricative force with the P of patra). there were handballing competitions, and letters in, and guests, and i think i used to watch it to see whether the man i loved peter mc kenna would be on. oh, how i loved him, with my weedy 9- or 10-year-old girl-brain.
so that's it, this fine, nay glorious, melbourne morning. this weekend for us is quietist, but with large, italian festivities tomorrow for father's day at the in-laws. there will be food a-plenty as is the custom, and then we will roll home and hopefully not miss too much of the geelong v st kilda game.
go cats.
ps thoughts are with a certain someone who is entertaining lady-guests at his house this weekend. i hope it goes well P.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
am i going to regret vowing that i would still be blogging when i'm 80?
but this is all i've got today:
1. brendan fevola apparently has taken the moral high ground saying that he doesn't care what the afl think about him because they can't even spell his name properly. and this makes them the tools, and him not a tool for having a plastic tool hanging out the front of his boxer shorts, or some such nonsense.*
2. parents of melbourne - do your children's teachers, nay the whole of society, a favour. please. will you fucking tell your brats NO and stick to it? just occasionally would help i think. draw some lines, place some limits, have some intestinal fortitude, they won't hate you, you won't damage them, they won't die from disappointment. really they won't. and hearing the word "no" won't make them explode either. if you don't let them rule you and the household, then they won't think they can rule teachers and school. thanks.*
3. is there any kind of sadder dream than the one where it's you and a famous person, getting on really well in a mates way. there's not necessarily kissing, or sex, or even flirting (though sometimes there be). but the dreams where you are having a great time, laughing, chatting, and they are so comfortable with you and they like you, and you are not a freaky stalker in their eyes.
this was my dream, this morning, with jamie oliver.
4. regarding number 2 above. you parents are responsible for me pulling out the old grey goose, whacking 4, COUNT THEM FOUR, olives on a toothpick, and cleaning a martini glass on a thursday evening. i hope you're happy.
* sounds like i am already 80
hope you are travelling well.
go cats.
1. brendan fevola apparently has taken the moral high ground saying that he doesn't care what the afl think about him because they can't even spell his name properly. and this makes them the tools, and him not a tool for having a plastic tool hanging out the front of his boxer shorts, or some such nonsense.*
2. parents of melbourne - do your children's teachers, nay the whole of society, a favour. please. will you fucking tell your brats NO and stick to it? just occasionally would help i think. draw some lines, place some limits, have some intestinal fortitude, they won't hate you, you won't damage them, they won't die from disappointment. really they won't. and hearing the word "no" won't make them explode either. if you don't let them rule you and the household, then they won't think they can rule teachers and school. thanks.*
3. is there any kind of sadder dream than the one where it's you and a famous person, getting on really well in a mates way. there's not necessarily kissing, or sex, or even flirting (though sometimes there be). but the dreams where you are having a great time, laughing, chatting, and they are so comfortable with you and they like you, and you are not a freaky stalker in their eyes.
this was my dream, this morning, with jamie oliver.
4. regarding number 2 above. you parents are responsible for me pulling out the old grey goose, whacking 4, COUNT THEM FOUR, olives on a toothpick, and cleaning a martini glass on a thursday evening. i hope you're happy.
* sounds like i am already 80
hope you are travelling well.
go cats.
Monday, September 01, 2008
monday musings
1. people who try to say that long day-care for children of any age is beneficial for them (the kids), and "doing good things" for the child are idiots and should shut up. day care is necessary, and it may not do any harm, but show me a mother who would still put their kid in long-day care from the age of 6 weeks for the good of the child, and not for financial or work reasons, and i'll show you a liar. (p4 the age)
2. breastfeeding - the idea that decreasing breastfeeding will result in higher illness and hospitalisations amongst deprived children who might be raised on formula amuses me. (also p4 the age). anecdotally, i've observed that kids who were breastfed for longer than mine and more successfully, tend to get sicker, more often, than her. i said it was anecdotal, so shut up.
3. sarah palin's husband is known as "first dude" in alaska, and their children are called willow, piper, track, bristol and trig.
4. what benefit are school concerts where the kids have to practise and practise, schoolwork gets neglected, they are exhausted, mothers are exhausted having to sew costumes or find costumes or buy costumes. then stage the performance on a tuesday night, so everyone is up until 11pm, knackered for the next day. everyone's sick - with three kids i haven't had a week in the last month where they've all been at school, every day. it's ferocious out there, with very evil bugs moving around, infecting our young, and our teachers, and parents. but re the concerts, i just don't get it. it's out of control. it should be reined in. i'm sick of it. and let's face it, the only people who think it's cute and/or enjoyable are the parents themselves. which means you have to sit through every other year level of interminable songs and "acts".
5. so it's 1st of september and therefore spring technically. it's cold and breezy and i am sick of this weather. it's really pushed me to the limits this year. i'm one of those people who enjoys the variety of melbourne's weather - i like the changing seasons. but this year, i've struggled. shut up, i'm not getting old.
6. i'm getting old. saturday night saw me out with a single girlfriend. while she had eyes flitting around, checking out all the boys, i was nursing a bucket of diet coke and wishing i could be home with my book. while she was trying to flirt, and failing, i was thinking fuck, what am i doing here? i even said it to her. can we get a video and go back to your place?, i whined. she just looked at me. look around, i said. everyone is young. this is their domain. we don't belong here. do you see any people our age?
she said it's ok for you, you're married.
and i tell you, i am glad. but even when i was single i didn't do all that shit. it's horrible and i hate it and i was so glad to get away from there and i'm never doing it again. i even said to her you're out with the wrong person.
blah.
UPDATE. tell me, it's insane isn't it to spend $140 on a brush for a dog? even if it is the gigi and the brush is called the furminator and promises to strip out her undercoat so much that it won't shed all over the house?
call me mental, i've already bought it.
crying now.
2. breastfeeding - the idea that decreasing breastfeeding will result in higher illness and hospitalisations amongst deprived children who might be raised on formula amuses me. (also p4 the age). anecdotally, i've observed that kids who were breastfed for longer than mine and more successfully, tend to get sicker, more often, than her. i said it was anecdotal, so shut up.
3. sarah palin's husband is known as "first dude" in alaska, and their children are called willow, piper, track, bristol and trig.
4. what benefit are school concerts where the kids have to practise and practise, schoolwork gets neglected, they are exhausted, mothers are exhausted having to sew costumes or find costumes or buy costumes. then stage the performance on a tuesday night, so everyone is up until 11pm, knackered for the next day. everyone's sick - with three kids i haven't had a week in the last month where they've all been at school, every day. it's ferocious out there, with very evil bugs moving around, infecting our young, and our teachers, and parents. but re the concerts, i just don't get it. it's out of control. it should be reined in. i'm sick of it. and let's face it, the only people who think it's cute and/or enjoyable are the parents themselves. which means you have to sit through every other year level of interminable songs and "acts".
5. so it's 1st of september and therefore spring technically. it's cold and breezy and i am sick of this weather. it's really pushed me to the limits this year. i'm one of those people who enjoys the variety of melbourne's weather - i like the changing seasons. but this year, i've struggled. shut up, i'm not getting old.
6. i'm getting old. saturday night saw me out with a single girlfriend. while she had eyes flitting around, checking out all the boys, i was nursing a bucket of diet coke and wishing i could be home with my book. while she was trying to flirt, and failing, i was thinking fuck, what am i doing here? i even said it to her. can we get a video and go back to your place?, i whined. she just looked at me. look around, i said. everyone is young. this is their domain. we don't belong here. do you see any people our age?
she said it's ok for you, you're married.
and i tell you, i am glad. but even when i was single i didn't do all that shit. it's horrible and i hate it and i was so glad to get away from there and i'm never doing it again. i even said to her you're out with the wrong person.
blah.
UPDATE. tell me, it's insane isn't it to spend $140 on a brush for a dog? even if it is the gigi and the brush is called the furminator and promises to strip out her undercoat so much that it won't shed all over the house?
call me mental, i've already bought it.
crying now.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
any excuse
to look at this picture again.
today, we learn that:
1. it's not a wig. it's a hair system.
2. this hair system has been traced to a specific hair restoration service in melbourne.
3. this hair system languished in a box along with 20 to 30 other old-style hair systems of various shapes, hairs, colours and sizes.
4. this hair system was the lucky piece that was pulled out for tony. just think what else we could have been treated to had it been another hair system.
5. this hair system is well-travelled. bonnie doon? ocean-going yacht? athens.
6. though well-travelled and much publicised after tony's arrest, this hair system has been described by a hair expert as "so old and disgusting that nobody would purchase [it]"
7. purana detectives have many statements from hair restoration and wig experts who have identified the hair system.
8. the serial number had been removed from the hair system, obviously in an effort to stymie identification. there was no other explanation for this, the serial number is not easily removed, it doesn't fall or wash off.
9. the hair system used by tony was usually fixed onto the client's head with tape or glue. glue.
glue.
glue.
10. finally an explanation for the bad styling of the hair system. in addition to it having been put on hastily and sideways? or perhaps moved out of place by athens police as they did that caring hand-on-head, make-sure-you-don't-hit-your-head-on-the-police-car-roof thing. or perhaps shifted as he was beaten up in the cells. but in addition to that sideways movement, we learn the hair system was long and unstyled. after being glued/stuck onto the client's head it would be cut and styled.
while i was truly interested to read about this, excuse me now while i resume living my life.
have a good weekend.
ps i have bought on rage and i am reading it.
pps talk about giving pedants a bad name. all those twits writing into the age this week about mis-used apostrophes, dangling modifiers (oh, chortle, chortle), oh, let me spell grammer wrong, and be really funny and witty and the like. it's embarrassing.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
free-range kids
on the radio this afternoon i heard a snippet of a segment where they were asking people to call in with things that they'd done as a kid that they'd never let their kids do.
all types rang in, but my personal favourite was the guy who said they would reverse the handle-bars on their malvern star bikes, load each with a firecracker, nick the old man's cigar cause it "wouldn't go out in the wind" and go and terrorise the neighbourhood with these mini rocket launchers.
this was the 70s, he said, when you could get firecrackers legally, and obviously could swipe a cigar here and there.
it made me think about things we did as kids that i wouldn't let my kids do.
be free-range for a start. it's a shame that we can't just let them roam around the way we did. i'm sure in the country kids do have these freedoms still. we used to be able to go out to play and be home by a certain time. and that was just after school. on the weekends, it was only mealtimes that we had to be back for - you could be gone for hours.
we'd visit friends, hang out at the park, take up residence in trees for half a day, go to the shops, buy lollies, play sport, ride bikes around the neighbourhood, play tennis on the street, hopscotch on the street. i remember being sprung outside in the gutter making a dam in the rainwater just after i'd come out from hospital with my tonsils out.
these days i have to consciously create situations where the kids go out without me, where they are pushing away from the home, and on their own learning how to handle things. this includes taking the dog for a walk, going to the milk bar and more recently, catching public transport to school and back when i'm working. but i know where they are, and what they're doing. and that's not free-ranging.
naturestrips, gutters, roofs, trees, fences, gates, garages, construction sites, parks, streets, empty schools: these were our domains.
pocket-knives, old cigarette packets, bikes, old prams/pushers, rocks, stones, wood stakes, billy-carts, roller-skates, scooters, skateboards: these were our tools.
some of the things i did when i was younger, that i wouldn't want my kids doing:
* playing hide and seek/chasey where the house roof wasn't out of bounds
* making petrol bombs and throwing them down a tunnel "to get the bats"
* buying a pack of cigarettes and then smoking them while in a tree
* stacking a scooter at the bottom of vears road hill. the end of the scooter's handle made an imprint on my stomach - a white circle that stayed there for years.
what about you?
what did you do as a kid that you wouldn't let your kid do now.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
sunday night, after the game
well, the cats beat north, but what a dodgy, weird game with bizarre umpiring and decisions i just didn't understand. and a new nemesis presents himself to replace barry hall - north's number 31, david someone? i do so enjoy having someone to hate.
and the geelong skies remained dry - the clouds were threatening but we didn't suffer any rain. there was no wind, so while we didn't have the sunburningness of a couple of years ago, it was fine.
chinese last night was ok. it gets very busy in there, it has to be the most exotic restaurant for miles, and the only chinese place, so i guess all from everywhere go there on a saturday night. princess had fried ice cream for the first time. she had exactly the same questions about it as i did when i was her age.
doesn't the ice cream melt?
saturday we all lay about reading. princess is re-reading the last of the twilight series, you know, teenage vampire, wereworld, human tale. she read the entire 4 books within 10 days. and is re-reading the last one. for the 3rd time. it was only released 2 weeks ago. mad, i tell you. i thought i was a voracious reader.
so there we all were - my dad, my daughter and me. dad reading a new james bond written by some dude other than ian fleming. of course.
it's not half bad, he said.
me flicking between the 3rd vampire/werewolf/humanoid girl love triangle book and a couple of abba books i picked up at the 2nd hand book shop down there, and the papers.
and princess with her love story.
we didn't go to the beach. we didn't go for a walk. we didn't go for a horseride.
we read. and read. and read.
dad and i caught steve hooker's fabulous pole-vaulting on friday night. and last night i went to bed at 8, and to sleep at 9. pathetic i know. woke up at 10am this morning and ate breakfast out again.
oh, to not cook. it's divine.
but to my friday night, earlier.
i went in to the town hall to hear and see germaine. first, there were the age book awards - one to don watson who i have to say in his speech used quite a few swanky words, tim winton who was suitably down-to-earth and humble and normal, and an eccentric old poetess, with witch hair and stooped physique who was really interesting and different.
and then we settled down for the main course. the place was filled with ageing hippy women, with steel-grey in their hair, yet smart haircuts. there were also younger chicks, and a few men. i'm convinced i was sitting behind the actress who played bogan janelle on neighbours. she really didn't look like a bogan.
germaine swept onto the stage in a dramatic black cape, with legs up to there. she's so tall.
i'm not going to go through the whole thing, but she was all of the following: brilliant, fast-talking, learned, scholarly, boring (she did tend to go off into lengthy quotations of obscure shakespeare passages, and i would go to the bahamas for a minute), funny, self-deprecating, moved, natural, pithy, bitchy (a couple of swipes at the murdoch paper), restrained, goofy, provocative, humble.
but at all times she was sincere. and so invested in what she was saying, so passionate.
and i don't think you could say she was formally charming, because there were gaps in her presentation where she was a bit awkward, a bit at a loss. her charm is in her naturalness and her at times gawkiness. she certainly wasn't polished, though she was competent. she spoke so well, not reading verbatim, she probably just had notes scrawled, i wonder. she was dramatic and i wondered whether she either had ever acted, to aspired to.
these are the things that stand out:
* at one stage toward the end, there was a popping sound, like a car backfiring or something. she immediately spread out her arms and said "i've been shot!" the whole place cracked up, i couldn't stop laughing, it was such a gleeful laugh. she said "not that i'm expecting to be shot!" for her to make such a quick gag, so spontaneously was telling. it showed us that she is fully aware of the enmity that she produces in others. and possibly it crosses her mind that some nutter might take her out. but almost as quickly she wanted to show that she wasn't scared, wasn't vulnerable.
* at the end she was given a bunch of flowers. people were clapping and cheering, some standing up. she stood there and accepted the applause, also she looked very closely at the flowers, peering into the base of the bunch, digging around with her fingers. what was she doing? was she checking they were moist at the bottom? was there a card down there? i couldn't see but it was proof to me she is so in the moment, and not scared of being curious and herself. she allowed herself to be distracted by the flowers, even though there were 2,000 people clapping her.
* she ran over time. she would have talked all night. she didn't seem to have a watch, made a comment about there being no clock ("as usual in these places"). she took questions. she wasn't in a hurry to get out of there. she wasn't precious.
so it was a real privilege for me. i didn't catch up with AOF but we were both there, and texted each other after. i had to race off to drive down the beach.
what a fabulous weekend.
and the geelong skies remained dry - the clouds were threatening but we didn't suffer any rain. there was no wind, so while we didn't have the sunburningness of a couple of years ago, it was fine.
chinese last night was ok. it gets very busy in there, it has to be the most exotic restaurant for miles, and the only chinese place, so i guess all from everywhere go there on a saturday night. princess had fried ice cream for the first time. she had exactly the same questions about it as i did when i was her age.
doesn't the ice cream melt?
saturday we all lay about reading. princess is re-reading the last of the twilight series, you know, teenage vampire, wereworld, human tale. she read the entire 4 books within 10 days. and is re-reading the last one. for the 3rd time. it was only released 2 weeks ago. mad, i tell you. i thought i was a voracious reader.
so there we all were - my dad, my daughter and me. dad reading a new james bond written by some dude other than ian fleming. of course.
it's not half bad, he said.
me flicking between the 3rd vampire/werewolf/humanoid girl love triangle book and a couple of abba books i picked up at the 2nd hand book shop down there, and the papers.
and princess with her love story.
we didn't go to the beach. we didn't go for a walk. we didn't go for a horseride.
we read. and read. and read.
dad and i caught steve hooker's fabulous pole-vaulting on friday night. and last night i went to bed at 8, and to sleep at 9. pathetic i know. woke up at 10am this morning and ate breakfast out again.
oh, to not cook. it's divine.
but to my friday night, earlier.
i went in to the town hall to hear and see germaine. first, there were the age book awards - one to don watson who i have to say in his speech used quite a few swanky words, tim winton who was suitably down-to-earth and humble and normal, and an eccentric old poetess, with witch hair and stooped physique who was really interesting and different.
and then we settled down for the main course. the place was filled with ageing hippy women, with steel-grey in their hair, yet smart haircuts. there were also younger chicks, and a few men. i'm convinced i was sitting behind the actress who played bogan janelle on neighbours. she really didn't look like a bogan.
germaine swept onto the stage in a dramatic black cape, with legs up to there. she's so tall.
i'm not going to go through the whole thing, but she was all of the following: brilliant, fast-talking, learned, scholarly, boring (she did tend to go off into lengthy quotations of obscure shakespeare passages, and i would go to the bahamas for a minute), funny, self-deprecating, moved, natural, pithy, bitchy (a couple of swipes at the murdoch paper), restrained, goofy, provocative, humble.
but at all times she was sincere. and so invested in what she was saying, so passionate.
and i don't think you could say she was formally charming, because there were gaps in her presentation where she was a bit awkward, a bit at a loss. her charm is in her naturalness and her at times gawkiness. she certainly wasn't polished, though she was competent. she spoke so well, not reading verbatim, she probably just had notes scrawled, i wonder. she was dramatic and i wondered whether she either had ever acted, to aspired to.
these are the things that stand out:
* at one stage toward the end, there was a popping sound, like a car backfiring or something. she immediately spread out her arms and said "i've been shot!" the whole place cracked up, i couldn't stop laughing, it was such a gleeful laugh. she said "not that i'm expecting to be shot!" for her to make such a quick gag, so spontaneously was telling. it showed us that she is fully aware of the enmity that she produces in others. and possibly it crosses her mind that some nutter might take her out. but almost as quickly she wanted to show that she wasn't scared, wasn't vulnerable.
* at the end she was given a bunch of flowers. people were clapping and cheering, some standing up. she stood there and accepted the applause, also she looked very closely at the flowers, peering into the base of the bunch, digging around with her fingers. what was she doing? was she checking they were moist at the bottom? was there a card down there? i couldn't see but it was proof to me she is so in the moment, and not scared of being curious and herself. she allowed herself to be distracted by the flowers, even though there were 2,000 people clapping her.
* she ran over time. she would have talked all night. she didn't seem to have a watch, made a comment about there being no clock ("as usual in these places"). she took questions. she wasn't in a hurry to get out of there. she wasn't precious.
so it was a real privilege for me. i didn't catch up with AOF but we were both there, and texted each other after. i had to race off to drive down the beach.
what a fabulous weekend.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
more germaine whimsy
and yes, it shall be whimsy. while it makes me a little nervous to just write a non-edited, unplanned piece on this topic, this woman - for it is indeed the week of the greer - i am just going to write my feelings out, and anybody who wants to be picky and neg me and say it's ill-structured, rambling and incoherent, can just bugger off. this is my blog, and i'll be incoherent if i want to.
the last time i did a week on someone, it was david hicks. back when i had hours of university master-avoiding that needed to be done every day. it was a requirement of full-time study, it was in the course guidelines.
i have no such excuses now, dear reader. i am working rather more than i would choose, but enjoying earning money for the first time, properly and regularly, in more years than i care to say. and while i like to say this is the week of germaine, i am aware that i haven't posted all week.
so, to germaine. or more precisely, this article which appeared last saturday in the age.
i've picked a bone with traceeeee before, over peter garrett's suiting up and seeming to forget all his old song lyrics. i'm sure it was her that wrote an article saying something like "leave him alone, he's gonna work it from the inside."
still waiting on that one, trace.
but to the latest. the headline is greer's latest rage more glib than lib.
i know that sub-editors write the headlines, so that's not traceeeee's fault, but the headline does announce the tone that she embraces in her article.
what does glib mean anyway? according to one source, it's any of the following:
smooth and slippery; speaking or spoken in a smooth manner; easily fluent; careless; insincere.
so it's a negative word, it seems, something suspect and something not altogether pleasant. exactly how many see greer it seems.
my reading of the hutchinson article made me think that she had missed the point. while she admits to being fascinated with the greer, and sees herself as benefitting from the social swathe the female eunuch cut through the world at that time, and the resonance since, she then goes on to methodically attempt to undermine germaine, and to cast her as suspect - geographically, politically and feministically.
she talks about the new essay on rage, particularly on aboriginal male rage. hutchison implies that germaine is wrong in thinking, from her lovely, far-away english residence, that indigenous men are self-destructing out of rage, and not grief. hutchison says that germaine was not at the sorry day in canberra, and obviously the broadcast that she watched in her lovely, far-away english residence didn't show all the aboriginal people who attended. hutchison was there, she saw that the indigenous people there were in the background, under trees, not pushing themselves to the front. so germaine must be wrong in thinking the aboriginal men were absent. ah, point scored. i haven't read the rage essay yet, so i don't know exactly what trace is referring to. but it's clear she thinks she scored over germaine about this. i'm also not sure why it's important for people to try to bring this woman down. to try to prove her wrong. and to try and cut her legs out from under her.
but going back to the rage vs grief thing - they aren't separate. they can and do co-exist. it could be argued that you can't have one without the other. what does rage come from, and how does it differ from anger. what are the degrees on the continuum. i need to read the essay to try to understand better. but back to the sorry day, perhaps on that day people showed their grief - grief is far more socially acceptable than rage. but surely the rage is there, in all of them (us?). to show rage at the sorry day would have been to show poor manners, lack of dignity, lack of good-heart. i don't know, but i guess that indigenous people like everyone else would pride themselves on their collective good-heart and their dignity.
hutchison then goes on to talk about the joanna murray-smith thing, where germaine called her "an insane reactionary who held feminism in contempt." again she tries to score points, saying the she knows that murray-smith's family are left-wing inellectuals, her mother taught hutchison english, and her father was "revered in literary intellectual circles." well, being literary, or left-wing doesn't automatically exclude a person from being an insane reactionary and anti-feminist. are all these states of being mutually exclusive? i think not.
but as usual, germaine has made her controversial comment, just a few words, and we don't know the context, she hasn't offered an explanation for it, we don't know what question she was asked to respond to. nothing. but it has to be noted that murray-smith has been criticised by other people for being right-wing and anti-feminist, eg. Alison Croggan, see article.
this is what really gets up people's noses about germaine as well. she doesn't give herself to us. she doesn't lay herself bare. we don't know anything about her. maybe in the past she was very open about her own personal experiences, couched within her writing on certain topics; sexuality, gender issues, menopause, father-daughter relationships. but in the media at large, she gives them nothing about herself. i have no idea if she's ever been married, ever been pregnant, ever had a lesbian tryst, ever been depressed, ever driven drunk, ever taken drugs, ever stalked anyone, ever plagiarised anything.
to me, she has never fallen. she has never done an insipid new idea interview. she doesn't give permission to bigraphers, but will call them parasites. why don't they create something for themselves, she wonders. why don't they get a life?
on the question and answer show last week, germaine was insulted most shockingly by the murdoch paper man. he called her old. someone whispered sotto voce that it was below the belt, perhaps it was carr. germaine threw out a facial reaction but nothing else. she doesn't seem to be affected by people trying to tear her down.
you have to admire the woman for that, if nothing else.
the whole traceeeee article just seemed to me a set-up for tearing greer down. scoring points.
oooh, look at me. i spat on germaine greer!
this was the big, green, slimy slagging at greer from hutchison, who said: "while her observations about the cultural and social crisis in aboriginal australia are astute, her cause-and-effect arguments fail spectacularly."
but where's the detail in your argument, traceeeee? you can't make a statement like that and then just leave your readers hanging. where's your proof?
at the end of the article, hutchison is getting quite bitchy, always a sure sign of someone who is desperately trying to make a point and has nothing of real substance to rely on.
"But it didn't stop Greer flying off in a rage - yes, rage - about [Murray-Smith]"
i don't know that greer has either said rage is a bad thing, or something that she doesn't feel. are you trying to highlight some sort of irony there, hutchison, by referring to geer flying off in a rage?
but finally, traceeeee writes that greer's closing comment "if i was more animal and less pseudo intellectual i'd be a much happier person" was profoundly sad and confronting to the feminist ideals she "trumpeted all those years ago."
sad? did you not see germaine's full cheek with quite a bit of tongue in it? i think she meant it literally, but she was also being funny, she was being self-deprecating and i understand what she meant. i wish i was a little more animal too. i wish i didn't analyse anything and everything, try to understand everything, get affected by everything. i wish i could just let things be, feel things, not have to work so damn hard every single day to exist without imploding.
and how on earth is that confronting - do you mean contradictory - to any feminist ideals? we all are animals, really. why can't i be a person who wants to be more in touch with my primal stuff, less living in my head, but also wants to choose about whether i wear lipstick, remove my body hair, wear what i like. it's all about choices, and choosing to react in a certain way when i realise that some things i can choose, some things i can't. and that's about it.
the last time i did a week on someone, it was david hicks. back when i had hours of university master-avoiding that needed to be done every day. it was a requirement of full-time study, it was in the course guidelines.
i have no such excuses now, dear reader. i am working rather more than i would choose, but enjoying earning money for the first time, properly and regularly, in more years than i care to say. and while i like to say this is the week of germaine, i am aware that i haven't posted all week.
so, to germaine. or more precisely, this article which appeared last saturday in the age.
i've picked a bone with traceeeee before, over peter garrett's suiting up and seeming to forget all his old song lyrics. i'm sure it was her that wrote an article saying something like "leave him alone, he's gonna work it from the inside."
still waiting on that one, trace.
but to the latest. the headline is greer's latest rage more glib than lib.
i know that sub-editors write the headlines, so that's not traceeeee's fault, but the headline does announce the tone that she embraces in her article.
what does glib mean anyway? according to one source, it's any of the following:
smooth and slippery; speaking or spoken in a smooth manner; easily fluent; careless; insincere.
so it's a negative word, it seems, something suspect and something not altogether pleasant. exactly how many see greer it seems.
my reading of the hutchinson article made me think that she had missed the point. while she admits to being fascinated with the greer, and sees herself as benefitting from the social swathe the female eunuch cut through the world at that time, and the resonance since, she then goes on to methodically attempt to undermine germaine, and to cast her as suspect - geographically, politically and feministically.
she talks about the new essay on rage, particularly on aboriginal male rage. hutchison implies that germaine is wrong in thinking, from her lovely, far-away english residence, that indigenous men are self-destructing out of rage, and not grief. hutchison says that germaine was not at the sorry day in canberra, and obviously the broadcast that she watched in her lovely, far-away english residence didn't show all the aboriginal people who attended. hutchison was there, she saw that the indigenous people there were in the background, under trees, not pushing themselves to the front. so germaine must be wrong in thinking the aboriginal men were absent. ah, point scored. i haven't read the rage essay yet, so i don't know exactly what trace is referring to. but it's clear she thinks she scored over germaine about this. i'm also not sure why it's important for people to try to bring this woman down. to try to prove her wrong. and to try and cut her legs out from under her.
but going back to the rage vs grief thing - they aren't separate. they can and do co-exist. it could be argued that you can't have one without the other. what does rage come from, and how does it differ from anger. what are the degrees on the continuum. i need to read the essay to try to understand better. but back to the sorry day, perhaps on that day people showed their grief - grief is far more socially acceptable than rage. but surely the rage is there, in all of them (us?). to show rage at the sorry day would have been to show poor manners, lack of dignity, lack of good-heart. i don't know, but i guess that indigenous people like everyone else would pride themselves on their collective good-heart and their dignity.
hutchison then goes on to talk about the joanna murray-smith thing, where germaine called her "an insane reactionary who held feminism in contempt." again she tries to score points, saying the she knows that murray-smith's family are left-wing inellectuals, her mother taught hutchison english, and her father was "revered in literary intellectual circles." well, being literary, or left-wing doesn't automatically exclude a person from being an insane reactionary and anti-feminist. are all these states of being mutually exclusive? i think not.
but as usual, germaine has made her controversial comment, just a few words, and we don't know the context, she hasn't offered an explanation for it, we don't know what question she was asked to respond to. nothing. but it has to be noted that murray-smith has been criticised by other people for being right-wing and anti-feminist, eg. Alison Croggan, see article.
this is what really gets up people's noses about germaine as well. she doesn't give herself to us. she doesn't lay herself bare. we don't know anything about her. maybe in the past she was very open about her own personal experiences, couched within her writing on certain topics; sexuality, gender issues, menopause, father-daughter relationships. but in the media at large, she gives them nothing about herself. i have no idea if she's ever been married, ever been pregnant, ever had a lesbian tryst, ever been depressed, ever driven drunk, ever taken drugs, ever stalked anyone, ever plagiarised anything.
to me, she has never fallen. she has never done an insipid new idea interview. she doesn't give permission to bigraphers, but will call them parasites. why don't they create something for themselves, she wonders. why don't they get a life?
on the question and answer show last week, germaine was insulted most shockingly by the murdoch paper man. he called her old. someone whispered sotto voce that it was below the belt, perhaps it was carr. germaine threw out a facial reaction but nothing else. she doesn't seem to be affected by people trying to tear her down.
you have to admire the woman for that, if nothing else.
the whole traceeeee article just seemed to me a set-up for tearing greer down. scoring points.
oooh, look at me. i spat on germaine greer!
this was the big, green, slimy slagging at greer from hutchison, who said: "while her observations about the cultural and social crisis in aboriginal australia are astute, her cause-and-effect arguments fail spectacularly."
but where's the detail in your argument, traceeeee? you can't make a statement like that and then just leave your readers hanging. where's your proof?
at the end of the article, hutchison is getting quite bitchy, always a sure sign of someone who is desperately trying to make a point and has nothing of real substance to rely on.
"But it didn't stop Greer flying off in a rage - yes, rage - about [Murray-Smith]"
i don't know that greer has either said rage is a bad thing, or something that she doesn't feel. are you trying to highlight some sort of irony there, hutchison, by referring to geer flying off in a rage?
but finally, traceeeee writes that greer's closing comment "if i was more animal and less pseudo intellectual i'd be a much happier person" was profoundly sad and confronting to the feminist ideals she "trumpeted all those years ago."
sad? did you not see germaine's full cheek with quite a bit of tongue in it? i think she meant it literally, but she was also being funny, she was being self-deprecating and i understand what she meant. i wish i was a little more animal too. i wish i didn't analyse anything and everything, try to understand everything, get affected by everything. i wish i could just let things be, feel things, not have to work so damn hard every single day to exist without imploding.
and how on earth is that confronting - do you mean contradictory - to any feminist ideals? we all are animals, really. why can't i be a person who wants to be more in touch with my primal stuff, less living in my head, but also wants to choose about whether i wear lipstick, remove my body hair, wear what i like. it's all about choices, and choosing to react in a certain way when i realise that some things i can choose, some things i can't. and that's about it.
Friday, August 15, 2008
so tell me. do you fear the greer?
this is a post i've had sitting in drafts for about 2 years. i confess i was reluctant to post it back when i wrote it (shortly after steve irwin died) because i didn't want people criticising me for being a greer fan-girl. but two recent commenters have let me know that they too admire her, so with the numbers of support, and those two readers at my side, i want to open it up a bit. it's timely because she's here, and i'm going to see her keynote speech on rage at the mwf very soon. and also there are news articles creeping out of the woodwork each day it seems.
last night i watched germaine on channel 2 at 9.30. i can't remember the show - q and a?? - but there was bob carr, a murdoch-suit from the australian, julie bishop, and some young dude who was the only one that germaine really nodded in agreement at during the entire thing. they talked about a lot of different things, taking questions from the live audience.
i swear, it was like the germaine show. the audience clapped her several times, and while the others were so tightly held and robotic (and particularly bob carr with his fruity, snotty, pompous voice and self-serving attempts to be political towards the end of the show, bishop also tried this), germaine was reactive, animated, facially expressive, moving her body back and forward trying to see people's faces as they talked, rolling her eyes, gasping, laughing explosively at one point. and oh, the words out of her mouth were sublime. she was, quite simply, mesmerising. she was self-deprecating, referring to the female eunuch as just a book, a product of the times and that she wishes it were a better book, that it was too scholarly (i think that's what she said, i have the show taped and haven't watched it again) and that she wishes there were other books after that picked up the tempo and carried things forward. she said it wasn't the book that was important, it was the era and what was happening. and she was gracious - refusing to bite when the newspaper-turd insulted her by calling her old. while any old hack knows they can be guaranteed a good germaine quote, ie a controversial one, if they only ask the right question, she was remarkably restrained when provoked a couple of times on this particular occasion. she didn't bite, even though people were placing their metaphorical prodding fingers quite close to her sharp teeth.
and it made me think - who will we have when she is gone? i can't think of another smarty-pants in her league, who is such a light in the intellectual world. of course, there are brilliant, brilliant people everywhere. but there is no one quite like germaine.
anyway, i found this old draft and here it is. look her up on youtube. read her stuff. it's awesome.
* * *
in a world which seems to detest germaine greer, i wish to raise my hand, and say that i find it amusing, and slightly puzzling, that this one woman, who lives over the other side of the world, can arouse in all of us such a maelstrom of reaction.
let me state upfront: i admire the greer.
but then i have a habit of kind of going against the flow. while she's no underdog, i do tend to support underdogs. and while i don't agree with everything she says, i like the way she says everything. loudly and controversially. she calls it as she sees it, without seeming to have any real personal agenda. she seems to be a truth-seeker, trying to understand and to disseminate the products of her fierce intellectualisation of everything she comes across.
there are some reasons why i think she really affects people in such a visceral way. and you can't deny that she does.
with the whole steve irwin thing, the tone of the commentary at the time revealed the hate for this woman. it's funny to me that while she said something about him that many others had also said to that point, once germaine greer said it, the reaction was immediate and deafening. and let's be honest - she wasn't the only one who might have made an ironic connection between his pursuit of certain dangerous members of the animal kingdom, and his dramatic, watery end.
lying in bed this morning, i was thinking of reasons why greer affects people so strongly. this is what i came up with:
1. she is a woman and she is opinionated and she is outspoken. now before you get all femmo on my arse, think about this. while there has been a little sub-dialogue of whether we still need feminism, with the apparent thought that we have equality of the sexes, there is still a lot of inequality in many areas of society. but going beyond that, the fact remains. alot of people tend not to like an outspoken woman. what is forceful in a man, is perceived as somewhat less than attractive in a woman. and women like that are often targeted to be taken down.
2. she is not conventionally beautiful. fact: if germaine greer were typically beautiful, she would be easier to ignore. or easier for people to give what she says some credence. beautiful people have a power that others don't. people like to look at them, and they like to be friends with them and they like the beautiful person to think kindly of them. people want to be close to beautiful people. and i've got the idea that not only did greer not trade on her beauty in her youth, she railed against the conventions of beauty and challenging women and men to look at themselves and each other a bit more closely. i might have this bit wrong, about her and beauty. i think she was beautiful when she was younger, and she's still a looker in my opinion. and i'm still working out for myself my ideas about beauty and power.
3. she doesn't live here. she has abandoned this country so what right does she have to make comments about our affairs? greer has been an expat for yonks. some of our expats we like, for example... um. well, we like kylie. and barry humphries. but we love to hate germaine. she probably made a good decision to leave and go somewhere where people didn't hate her. i wonder how they feel about her in england.
4. she is childless. older women who haven't got children and who haven't done an interview with new idea moaning about their barren wombs are suspect. the thought that she might be voluntarily childless is even more confronting to us, and absolute proof that she is suspect. that there is something wrong with her. that she is nutty. what woman doesn't want a baby all of her own?
5. she is stubborn. greer, in addition to being outspoken, also seems to be impulsive. she talks without thinking, perhaps. maybe she makes statements that she would later revise, maybe not. but the fact that she sticks to her own party line, would annoy the shit out of a lot of people. other strong personalities like to be able to score points off a rival, but you can't score points off someone who won't engage.
6. she is fiercely intellectual. greer is a thinker, on which she has based her entire intellectual life and academic and journalistic output. this is what we have come to expect from men, but not women. again, she is bucking the system, and not behaving.
7. she is successful. quite simply, she has a voice. when germaine publishes an article, the whole world listens. perhaps this is because it is usually controversial, and contrary. contrariness seems guaranteed with germaine greer. there would be a lot of people who envy her reach, her audience (an audience which while mixed in its response, at least hears her).
8. she has never really fallen. apart from the incident when she was sat upon by a disgruntled student for a couple of hours and held hostage at her house, she has not really shown vulnerability. she is tough, rock hard, yet at times shows a weird tendency to do the unexpected, like appear on celebrity big brother.
9. she is a bit kooky. the aboriginal stuff fits in with this. she steps on people's toes. she gathers to her chest certain causes, appropriates them in perhaps inappropriate ways, such as saying she never steps off the plane when she travels to australia, never steps onto the tarmac without an express invitation by the local indigenous traditional landowner. if this isn't kooky, i don't know what is.
but as kids are saying these days, who gives? [in my youth it was who gives a shit? i'm glad to see the young are using cleaner expressions in some instances these days.]
people who take themselves too seriously give. and this is another thing germaine is guilty of. she seems to have little or no sense of humour. she will scoff at people and roll her eyes when she disagrees with them, or thinks them fools, and she will laugh loudly (and sometimes inappropriately) at something she thinks ludicrous. but is it funny? is she pleased and entertained or just thinking how the fuck can i exist amongst such idiots?
last night i watched germaine on channel 2 at 9.30. i can't remember the show - q and a?? - but there was bob carr, a murdoch-suit from the australian, julie bishop, and some young dude who was the only one that germaine really nodded in agreement at during the entire thing. they talked about a lot of different things, taking questions from the live audience.
i swear, it was like the germaine show. the audience clapped her several times, and while the others were so tightly held and robotic (and particularly bob carr with his fruity, snotty, pompous voice and self-serving attempts to be political towards the end of the show, bishop also tried this), germaine was reactive, animated, facially expressive, moving her body back and forward trying to see people's faces as they talked, rolling her eyes, gasping, laughing explosively at one point. and oh, the words out of her mouth were sublime. she was, quite simply, mesmerising. she was self-deprecating, referring to the female eunuch as just a book, a product of the times and that she wishes it were a better book, that it was too scholarly (i think that's what she said, i have the show taped and haven't watched it again) and that she wishes there were other books after that picked up the tempo and carried things forward. she said it wasn't the book that was important, it was the era and what was happening. and she was gracious - refusing to bite when the newspaper-turd insulted her by calling her old. while any old hack knows they can be guaranteed a good germaine quote, ie a controversial one, if they only ask the right question, she was remarkably restrained when provoked a couple of times on this particular occasion. she didn't bite, even though people were placing their metaphorical prodding fingers quite close to her sharp teeth.
and it made me think - who will we have when she is gone? i can't think of another smarty-pants in her league, who is such a light in the intellectual world. of course, there are brilliant, brilliant people everywhere. but there is no one quite like germaine.
anyway, i found this old draft and here it is. look her up on youtube. read her stuff. it's awesome.
* * *
in a world which seems to detest germaine greer, i wish to raise my hand, and say that i find it amusing, and slightly puzzling, that this one woman, who lives over the other side of the world, can arouse in all of us such a maelstrom of reaction.
let me state upfront: i admire the greer.
but then i have a habit of kind of going against the flow. while she's no underdog, i do tend to support underdogs. and while i don't agree with everything she says, i like the way she says everything. loudly and controversially. she calls it as she sees it, without seeming to have any real personal agenda. she seems to be a truth-seeker, trying to understand and to disseminate the products of her fierce intellectualisation of everything she comes across.
there are some reasons why i think she really affects people in such a visceral way. and you can't deny that she does.
with the whole steve irwin thing, the tone of the commentary at the time revealed the hate for this woman. it's funny to me that while she said something about him that many others had also said to that point, once germaine greer said it, the reaction was immediate and deafening. and let's be honest - she wasn't the only one who might have made an ironic connection between his pursuit of certain dangerous members of the animal kingdom, and his dramatic, watery end.
lying in bed this morning, i was thinking of reasons why greer affects people so strongly. this is what i came up with:
1. she is a woman and she is opinionated and she is outspoken. now before you get all femmo on my arse, think about this. while there has been a little sub-dialogue of whether we still need feminism, with the apparent thought that we have equality of the sexes, there is still a lot of inequality in many areas of society. but going beyond that, the fact remains. alot of people tend not to like an outspoken woman. what is forceful in a man, is perceived as somewhat less than attractive in a woman. and women like that are often targeted to be taken down.
2. she is not conventionally beautiful. fact: if germaine greer were typically beautiful, she would be easier to ignore. or easier for people to give what she says some credence. beautiful people have a power that others don't. people like to look at them, and they like to be friends with them and they like the beautiful person to think kindly of them. people want to be close to beautiful people. and i've got the idea that not only did greer not trade on her beauty in her youth, she railed against the conventions of beauty and challenging women and men to look at themselves and each other a bit more closely. i might have this bit wrong, about her and beauty. i think she was beautiful when she was younger, and she's still a looker in my opinion. and i'm still working out for myself my ideas about beauty and power.
3. she doesn't live here. she has abandoned this country so what right does she have to make comments about our affairs? greer has been an expat for yonks. some of our expats we like, for example... um. well, we like kylie. and barry humphries. but we love to hate germaine. she probably made a good decision to leave and go somewhere where people didn't hate her. i wonder how they feel about her in england.
4. she is childless. older women who haven't got children and who haven't done an interview with new idea moaning about their barren wombs are suspect. the thought that she might be voluntarily childless is even more confronting to us, and absolute proof that she is suspect. that there is something wrong with her. that she is nutty. what woman doesn't want a baby all of her own?
5. she is stubborn. greer, in addition to being outspoken, also seems to be impulsive. she talks without thinking, perhaps. maybe she makes statements that she would later revise, maybe not. but the fact that she sticks to her own party line, would annoy the shit out of a lot of people. other strong personalities like to be able to score points off a rival, but you can't score points off someone who won't engage.
6. she is fiercely intellectual. greer is a thinker, on which she has based her entire intellectual life and academic and journalistic output. this is what we have come to expect from men, but not women. again, she is bucking the system, and not behaving.
7. she is successful. quite simply, she has a voice. when germaine publishes an article, the whole world listens. perhaps this is because it is usually controversial, and contrary. contrariness seems guaranteed with germaine greer. there would be a lot of people who envy her reach, her audience (an audience which while mixed in its response, at least hears her).
8. she has never really fallen. apart from the incident when she was sat upon by a disgruntled student for a couple of hours and held hostage at her house, she has not really shown vulnerability. she is tough, rock hard, yet at times shows a weird tendency to do the unexpected, like appear on celebrity big brother.
9. she is a bit kooky. the aboriginal stuff fits in with this. she steps on people's toes. she gathers to her chest certain causes, appropriates them in perhaps inappropriate ways, such as saying she never steps off the plane when she travels to australia, never steps onto the tarmac without an express invitation by the local indigenous traditional landowner. if this isn't kooky, i don't know what is.
but as kids are saying these days, who gives? [in my youth it was who gives a shit? i'm glad to see the young are using cleaner expressions in some instances these days.]
people who take themselves too seriously give. and this is another thing germaine is guilty of. she seems to have little or no sense of humour. she will scoff at people and roll her eyes when she disagrees with them, or thinks them fools, and she will laugh loudly (and sometimes inappropriately) at something she thinks ludicrous. but is it funny? is she pleased and entertained or just thinking how the fuck can i exist amongst such idiots?
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
just because you've got a jaunty hat -
- don't think it makes you a better barista.
a strong latte should not taste like a normal latte.
and a normal-strength latte should not taste like HOT FUCKING MILK.
and if you are going to charge $3.40 a regular size, it has to be a good coffee.
inkr7, such a disappointment.
a strong latte should not taste like a normal latte.
and a normal-strength latte should not taste like HOT FUCKING MILK.
and if you are going to charge $3.40 a regular size, it has to be a good coffee.
inkr7, such a disappointment.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
i know, i know
for someone who has said they have little interest in the olympics, two posts in as many days on that very topic.
unless something dramatic happens (something more than a rower lying down or another drug cheast bust) i PROMISE this will be it for me on the olympics.i confess to watching about 20 mins of the mind-numbingly boring opening ceremony last night. immediately i noticed the military-feel of all the syncopated people, doing their big-group collectivist thing. surely we weren't being subjected to propoganda?
maybe it's my individualistic social conditioning, but after a very little while, the spectacle of it was diluted by the feeling that i was watching an army being put through its paces.
reading the paper this morning, it seems i was not the only one to have this feeling. there are reports of people being injured during rehearsals, practising for 48 hours and falling asleep in the grandstand.
yeah, human rights are so fixed now in china, all it took was the olympic games.
also, i saw a kind of bent sieg-heil from the children in costumes (were they regional wear? no tibet national costume i'm sure) while they were singing the national anthem, and having goose-stepping soldiers bring in the chinese flag. is that kosher? aren't the olympics meant to be a political-free zone? it all made me feel uncomfortable, and as if i were watching propoganda.
all this and more consume me this fine melbourne morning.
other thoughts for the day:
1. i am extremely happy with our new bordello-red velvet couch from going, going, gone. half price, just a few little fabric glue flaws. it's sitting very lushly in our lounge room now and i'm looking forward to watching the rest of west wing as a lie there like some hooker, eating my low-fat ice cream.
2. alannah hill's son was wearing a geelong jumper today. it made me think ever so much more of her. also the fact she had all sorts of crap spilling out of her black mercedes into the gutter. also her hair wasn't frou-froud, with nary a flower or feather in sight. she even smiled at me when i said "go cats".
3. where do i get the recipe for healthy'ish sausage rolls? all my cook books save one fancy-pants one are in storage. i guess i'll have to trawl the internet but i am finding net recipes can be SHIT and WRONG and DON'T WORK (witness creme brulees failure).
4. i should have gotten a coffee from d. chirico this morning. i broke the plunger last night, will have to buy another.
5. i'm happy to see a profile on chris lilley in the weekend magazine. just recently we were talking about how we'd not read much about him at all. my mum saw him recently at st. kilda library. she recognised him, and he saw that she saw. so we'll be looking out for a character like mum in his next series. will keep you posted.
6. we now have a plan involving a funky deco cbd pad.
7. i do love a good plan.
8. geelong slaughtered melbourne last night. i didn't watch any of the game. i suppose this makes me a bad geelong supporter, in addition to a bad australian
9. i really, really do hate gladiator sandals. they look especially bad on mary-kate olsen, now she's chunked up a bit.
10. even though we pay removalist men to move our heavy stuff, why do we feel so bad for them when it's a really bulky, difficult item? it's partly because they often make a big deal about access, and the object, and how tough a job it is. they are angling for a tip/more money. i say, it's your business, you're the professional. i don't care how hard it is, just do it. that's what you're being paid for.
11. love the couch.
Friday, August 08, 2008
let's get this straight
and by the way, i'm not a flag-hater because i think people who wear the australian flag are tossers. i'm actually quite indifferent to the australian flag.
i've never been that interested in watching sport, apart from tennis during the navratilova/mc enroe golden years, and football every since gary senior started kicking bagsful for the cats. i've always preferred to play sport than watch.
what is this nationalistic argument about some people being better australians, or more australian, than others, based on topics like sport. sport is good, i'm not against it, but why do i feel judged, somehow less belonging, when i say i'm not that interested in the olympics?
why do some people think that if you criticise this country, you automatically hate this country.
i hate gladiator sandals, but it doesn't mean i despise gladiators. they're alright in my book.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
you've come a long way, baby.
really?
back when i was young and the kids drank big ms and the mothers drank tab and the fathers drank melbourne bitter, or vic bitter, none of that fancy shit, and when no one really thought much about going to the shops on your bike and buying a bag of lollies; when fish and chips were a weekly treat, when going out for dinner meant the local chinese restaurant, and chicken and sweet corn soup was exotic but not too outlandish so that it was the only thing, along with dim sims, that fussy 7-year-old male virgos would eat. back then, thinking back, it's easy to think that things were simpler.
that men and women were a little more cut and dried in their gender roles.
i know things were being challenged in the '60s and '70s - hell, at the moment i'm re-reading nancy friday, and i've read greer, as well as naomi wolf who kind of tries to pick up, along with paglia, the new wave of thinking.
but why, when all is said and done, am i still washing a man's underwear and hanging them up, working out what to eat for dinner, worrying about the management of the household, AS WELL AS THINKING ABOUT EARNING MONEY, thinking about my mortgage, trying to summon some sort of interest in sexual pleasure (fuck nancy friday and her libidinous life; she was/is childless).
at least i don't iron his shirts. what a fucking emancipated woman am i.
back when i was young and the kids drank big ms and the mothers drank tab and the fathers drank melbourne bitter, or vic bitter, none of that fancy shit, and when no one really thought much about going to the shops on your bike and buying a bag of lollies; when fish and chips were a weekly treat, when going out for dinner meant the local chinese restaurant, and chicken and sweet corn soup was exotic but not too outlandish so that it was the only thing, along with dim sims, that fussy 7-year-old male virgos would eat. back then, thinking back, it's easy to think that things were simpler.
that men and women were a little more cut and dried in their gender roles.
i know things were being challenged in the '60s and '70s - hell, at the moment i'm re-reading nancy friday, and i've read greer, as well as naomi wolf who kind of tries to pick up, along with paglia, the new wave of thinking.
but why, when all is said and done, am i still washing a man's underwear and hanging them up, working out what to eat for dinner, worrying about the management of the household, AS WELL AS THINKING ABOUT EARNING MONEY, thinking about my mortgage, trying to summon some sort of interest in sexual pleasure (fuck nancy friday and her libidinous life; she was/is childless).
at least i don't iron his shirts. what a fucking emancipated woman am i.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
so, it's that time of year again.
it's time to do the french thing.
this time of year, the mind turns to french desserts and what other kind of main meal there might be that's not boeuf bourgignon, that's not belgian, that's french enough for our once-a-year tour de france night. minds turn to the bottle of absinth that is packed away in storage, left-over from the tour meal two years ago. hearts turn to cheese, and lots of it.
i know the tour is on every night for many nights at the moment (is it 2 weeks? 3? so shoot me, i don't know, i'm not a complete tour-head) and many of us are up until 1am, watching the boys in their lycra, and trying not to stare at their bulging crotches (some of us that is; others don't really care. about staring.)
so this year it's at my sister's, and they are doing main and i have said i will take dessert. for us and the kids. the kids don't get to eat the real french food. we fob them off with a quick pasta bake or something.
i've decided to make creme brulee, which was the dessert that we always ate in paris when we were there. it's like being in an italian restaurant. if they have tiramisu, we had to have that too.
so i've got the ingredients, i've got the little ramekins. i've got the friggin expensive vanilla beans. i don't have the blow torch cause i thought i'd see how i go just grilling them.
the test run is tonight. and the plan is to make meringues with the egg whites (because the brulees only require the yolks.)
so, that's the food.
last night was the second night for the tour to be passing through the mountains. i watched until 11.30, and by then i'd had my fill of crotches and it was making me tired just watching these dudes cycling up the mountain. how on earth do they do it. i reckon they are machines, they would just have to do that, and when they're not riding, they wouldn't be able to have a conversation with anyone, they'd be too used-up, don't you think? do they have wives? i know cadel does, she plays the piano or is a singer or something, but do you reckon she's over there? it seems such a hard thing to be doing, riding a bicycle up a mountain. he wouldn't be able to go back to the hotel and summon a smile for his wife, would he? would he be up for a romantic dinner on the terrace, with champagne and then some lovin'?
i think not.
i've blogged about the tour before*, but i have more questions now.
1. why are their crotches so prominent and big? my sister said that a few days ago one of the men had a big stiffy. BIG. HUGE. she said it was really distracting. i wonder if he was wearing white lycra. i bet he was. i swear, sometimes i reckon i can see the different parts of part, if you know what i mean in the white-suit boys.
2. the rest of them are so skinny. i know they probably have to consume three times as many calories or whatever than the rest of us who are sitting around on our arses. but they are still really skinny, in the arms mostly.
3. it bothers me that they just throw their rubbish to the side of the road - drink bottles, everything. i know people probably clean this up, do the cars do it? but what if they miss a few drink bottles. that hard plastic is just so bad, so ugly, and france is so pretty.
4. i still don't get how it works. when cadel had his crash and they were talking about robbie mc ewan (?) dropping back to get anti-inflammatories from the doctor and then taking them up to cadel. how does that work? wouldn't he have to be a better rider than cadel to drop back then catch up?
5. what do these people do for the rest of the year? there'd be other races, lots of other races i guess. do they travel the circuit like tennis players? how do the teams work? do they team up for certain races, and in other groups for others? are any races just a normal A to B first over the line wins race?
6. would you serve something with the creme brulee? probably not. i'll get some cheese i think for later when we are watching the race.
* several posts, july 2006 if you can be bothered looking.
Monday, July 14, 2008
do-re-me-me-me
so it's been a while between memes. and thanks to the delightful magical_m, we now have a new one.
i love that this is about clothes. ages ago i did a post about clothes i have loved and lost. i think the clothes and shoes we have worn and inhabited are as nostalgic as old photos and houses. does anyone dream of houses? i used to have a recurring dream which featured a building in the city which was unlike any i've seen, but seemed so real. i have never been to the nicholas building, but when i do finally go, and i will, i fully expect it to be the building from my dream.
to the meme.
WHEN I was 1, my parents dressed me in...
some sort of frilly shirt i imagine and wool tights? i don't know, ask my mother why don't you?
WHEN I was 5, I dressed myself in...
i don't think i was dressing myself at five. i would have been the spoilt and over-parented oldest child until i asserted my independence and moved away from mother at the age of 18. (just finished re-reading my mother, myself. by nancy friday. buy it and read it all you daughters/mothers.) what am i talking about, when i was five my bro was 2 and into the saucepan cupboard and under the sink and eating the toilet freshener and the cat food. i probably did dress myself. there is a photo of me in red woollen tights, mum's silk, spiky-heeled wedding shoes and a faux-fur ski hat, with glomesh evening bag, but i think that was "dress ups".
WHEN I was 7, my favourite outfit was...
it's a toss-up between my white, lace-up knee-length boots and cream knitted poncho which got spag bol sauce on it at leo's spaghetti bar one time; and an all-red outfit - a pants suit with flared trousers and a red top (with some white, horizontal bands across the chest) and white skivvie underneath. i remember i had pale brown boots that went over the pants, they were quite loose and went mid-calf. it was almost like the at-home-aboard-jupiter-2 outfits that the robinson girls wore, so i felt very penny in my red pantsuit.
MY favourite school photo outfit was...
the one when i was about 8 or so and i was wearing illicit gym boots (converse high-tops for you young people out there). my primary school had a uniform, but i would take my gym boots in my bag, and change into them on the street on the way to school, because my mother wouldn't let me wear them to school. but there i am, deceit fully displayed, right there in the front row of my grade 3 or 4 school photo.
IN high school the fashion trend I started was...
the school shoes with the t-bar strap. when i was in hsc everyone was still wearing the lace-up black school shoes. at the beginning of the year, i got a pair of the t-bars (well, me and another girl but I swear it was just us two and it was coincidental and a concurrent, non-conferenced decision). by the end of the year, many others did too. and then by the time my sister was in year 12, everyone had them. do you see the lace-ups anywhere now? i rest my case.
ON my first date the outfit I wore was...
i can't remember my first date. i don't think i had one (see '80s diaries). let me think...
nup. my first relationship went like this: i met a guy at a party, we pashed that night, i stayed at his place, but nothing else happened, honest, and after that we started hanging out. i was 18. then we moved in together. i wasn't a dating sort of person.
FOR my high school formal I wore...
a polyestery, burgundy-red frock with an elasticised waist, and some sort of shirring over the chest region. i think it had some sort of puffy sleeve as well. it wasn't awful, it was quite grown-up and mature and certainly not an '80s taffeta catastrophe. can't remember the shoes, but i think there was pantyhose involved. the shoe would have been a plain court-shoe with an ugly, conservative heel.
AT my 21st I wore...
i didn't have a 21st party. to celebrate my family and i went to tolarno's for dinner in st. kilda but i can't remember what i wore. i was living with my boyfriend at the time, and my mother gave me $300 to spend on myself. i spent it on bills. then later, when i was travelling i spent $300 on some gold jewellry, as a replacement present. then it all got stolen a few years after that while i was living overseas. (irrelevant information included because there is no substantial answer to this one).
THE oldest item of clothing I still wear is...
some fishnet stockings my mother had in the '60s. oh ok, i don't wear them, but i still have them. and sometimes, occasionally, almost never i do wear them. i plan to wear them next weekend, because we are going to a tour de france dinner, and while we eat french food, i will be wearing my fishnets.
THE item of clothing I wish I still had was...
those 2 mohair cardigans i bought more than 20 years ago, which have recently featured in the diary excerpts. also my shiny-lycra black full-length leggings - i reckon i could give them a red-hot go under a skirt with flat shoes.
MY current favourite item of clothing is...
and i tag the following:
jo_blue
d-stah
AOF
and so the boys don't feel left out:
perseus
INC
BEVIS
gullybogan
do it or not. as you will. no pressure.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
for my 360th post
let me list the ways:
1. i have a sore eye-socket. left.
2. my right arm is stiff, has been for ages. no i haven't been pumping iron.
3. i am cold.
4. i am eating too much ice cream.
5. i confess three and four may be connected. if not, they are evidence of my foolish, foolish nature.
6. i am housebound with 3 children.
7. i am bored.
8. i am wearing purple, velvet tracksuit pants, with a black skivvie.
9. i just forgot i'm heating the hair straightener in the bathroom.
10. i am going to straighten my hair.
11. then i am going to read the age.
12. we have two copies of the age today, because clokes put the copy bought in the morning on the table in the hall. i went out the back door and didn't see it.
13. last night we watched the first episode of dexter. i liked it except the ending was stupid. i hope it settles down with the stupid endings.
14. MY NAME IS MELBA AND I WILL BUY A MAGAZINE IF IT HAS BRAD PITT AND ANGELINA ON THE COVER.
15. we went back to mirka on friday night and had a bombe each. EACH. decadent and delish.
16. i bought some new undies recently. it hasn't helped.
17. the dog needs a wash.
18. the dog needs a flea treatment.
19. i enjoy the school holidays because i can sleep in. i don't enjoy them because i don't have my quiet space.
20. i need to earn some more money.
21. there is mould growing in the bathroom. see number 20.
22. ali asked if princess can go visit him again this year (either turkey, or the states over christmas. long term readers, this is a mistake, right? but she's older, right? not sure about it.)
23. ah the sun is trying to break through the clouds.
24. the hairstraightener might start to smell soon.
25. big brother is so fucking boring. i hate them all. especially cherry.
26. no, i don't hate them all. but they are all boring.
27. whatever happened to memes? i swear, i got sick of them for a while, but now they are nowhere. sociologically, are memes for newbies? did we all just go through that stage, or are there new ones out there? i'd be up for a meme. i miss meme'ing.
28. i feel that my little corner of blogworld is struggling. i know i can go on and on forever. i'll be blogging until i'm 90 and blind i think. but people who have more to do in their lives, are like living their lives, and falling off the blog-dar. it's ok, i understand, i am not bitter.
29. except for fits. i miss fits. this is what i've had in drafts regarding fits.
* * *
title: on the passing of ms. fits. it still hurts.
this is what happened on the fateful day. the same day as our first anniversary, may 26th, 2008
[melbournegirl is talking to husband clokes on their first anniversary, this evening about 6 o'clock]
mg: i'm devastated
clokes: yeah, i wondered how she'd keep it going. she's so busy.
mg: yeah i know, but it's so sad.
clokes: it's ok. another one'll come along...
mg: NOOOOOOOHHHH!!!!
clokes: yes!
mg: [leaves the room]
* * *
[later that night, during the festive and romantic celebrations]
clokes: are you on the computer?
[silence]
mg: you don't understand
clokes: yes, i do. it's our anniversary.
[sound of handbeater struggling to cream rock-hard western star in the kitchen. the kids are icing a cake.]
* * *
[later]
princess [opening new idea]: ok, this is an article on relationships, you guys need to read it.
mg: i don't need to read it, i've read it already.
princess: well, clokes, you need to, dude.
clokes: don't call me dude!
princess: i call everyone dude.
* * *
i still check her blog. i still hope. i am bereft. an abandoned child. she was my mother-ship. my touchstone. my corner-stone. my hero. my idol. my shiva.
and now she's gone. gone.
other "outlets" are not satisfying. i don't listen to her. i don't read the gg articles. i always forget about the book show. but for me it started with the blog. i need the bloggy goodness of ms fits.
is anyone else feeling this way?
it's a bit freaky, isn't it?
just call me mel.
* * *
30. sun is out now, i feel better. i have purged and now i go to straighten my hair.
1. i have a sore eye-socket. left.
2. my right arm is stiff, has been for ages. no i haven't been pumping iron.
3. i am cold.
4. i am eating too much ice cream.
5. i confess three and four may be connected. if not, they are evidence of my foolish, foolish nature.
6. i am housebound with 3 children.
7. i am bored.
8. i am wearing purple, velvet tracksuit pants, with a black skivvie.
9. i just forgot i'm heating the hair straightener in the bathroom.
10. i am going to straighten my hair.
11. then i am going to read the age.
12. we have two copies of the age today, because clokes put the copy bought in the morning on the table in the hall. i went out the back door and didn't see it.
13. last night we watched the first episode of dexter. i liked it except the ending was stupid. i hope it settles down with the stupid endings.
14. MY NAME IS MELBA AND I WILL BUY A MAGAZINE IF IT HAS BRAD PITT AND ANGELINA ON THE COVER.
15. we went back to mirka on friday night and had a bombe each. EACH. decadent and delish.
16. i bought some new undies recently. it hasn't helped.
17. the dog needs a wash.
18. the dog needs a flea treatment.
19. i enjoy the school holidays because i can sleep in. i don't enjoy them because i don't have my quiet space.
20. i need to earn some more money.
21. there is mould growing in the bathroom. see number 20.
22. ali asked if princess can go visit him again this year (either turkey, or the states over christmas. long term readers, this is a mistake, right? but she's older, right? not sure about it.)
23. ah the sun is trying to break through the clouds.
24. the hairstraightener might start to smell soon.
25. big brother is so fucking boring. i hate them all. especially cherry.
26. no, i don't hate them all. but they are all boring.
27. whatever happened to memes? i swear, i got sick of them for a while, but now they are nowhere. sociologically, are memes for newbies? did we all just go through that stage, or are there new ones out there? i'd be up for a meme. i miss meme'ing.
28. i feel that my little corner of blogworld is struggling. i know i can go on and on forever. i'll be blogging until i'm 90 and blind i think. but people who have more to do in their lives, are like living their lives, and falling off the blog-dar. it's ok, i understand, i am not bitter.
29. except for fits. i miss fits. this is what i've had in drafts regarding fits.
* * *
title: on the passing of ms. fits. it still hurts.
this is what happened on the fateful day. the same day as our first anniversary, may 26th, 2008
[melbournegirl is talking to husband clokes on their first anniversary, this evening about 6 o'clock]
mg: i'm devastated
clokes: yeah, i wondered how she'd keep it going. she's so busy.
mg: yeah i know, but it's so sad.
clokes: it's ok. another one'll come along...
mg: NOOOOOOOHHHH!!!!
clokes: yes!
mg: [leaves the room]
* * *
[later that night, during the festive and romantic celebrations]
clokes: are you on the computer?
[silence]
mg: you don't understand
clokes: yes, i do. it's our anniversary.
[sound of handbeater struggling to cream rock-hard western star in the kitchen. the kids are icing a cake.]
* * *
[later]
princess [opening new idea]: ok, this is an article on relationships, you guys need to read it.
mg: i don't need to read it, i've read it already.
princess: well, clokes, you need to, dude.
clokes: don't call me dude!
princess: i call everyone dude.
* * *
i still check her blog. i still hope. i am bereft. an abandoned child. she was my mother-ship. my touchstone. my corner-stone. my hero. my idol. my shiva.
and now she's gone. gone.
other "outlets" are not satisfying. i don't listen to her. i don't read the gg articles. i always forget about the book show. but for me it started with the blog. i need the bloggy goodness of ms fits.
is anyone else feeling this way?
it's a bit freaky, isn't it?
just call me mel.
* * *
30. sun is out now, i feel better. i have purged and now i go to straighten my hair.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
don't judge me but when i was in paris
i bought a hermès scarf. or is that an hermès scarf.
whatever.
the point is, i have been reading for years that if you are to have one, just one, genuine designer fashion accessoire (let's face it, most of us can't afford a genuine designer fashion item, ie frock, coat, etc) then it has to be a/n hermès scarf.
so, when the family were at eurodisney (why didn't i want to go, you ask? are you mad? i hate theme parks. i even hate luna park. apart from the scenic railway the rest. is. crap. bring back the giggle palace, i say) i set off to look at the designer stores. mostly from the outside. i did go into chanel to see if they had those trashy studs with diamante interlocking c's - they didn't. maybe just as well. i found them in chinatown in new york for $4 and haven't worn them because they are so gaudy and wannabe.
then after chanel i walked to hermès. it was quite a hike. i had been walking all over paris, which was lovely. it's lovely in the spring-time. it's lovely in autumn. paris is just lovely anytime. even winter with snow on the ground. the only time i haven't been in summer. i bet it's... lovely.
so, i get to hermès. i look in the window. i look at the display of scarves. i go in. there is a bun fight at the scarf counters. women pushing in to look. i find a space and when a snotty lady asks me if she can help me, i say yes, i would like to look at a scarf. i can't remember if i said je voudrais voir une... er... un... [pointing madly at the scarves] or whether i said it in english. i think i just said it in english. as she had probably spoken in english to me. this last time in paris, i didn't even really try to speak french. it was woeful after being in turkey where i was proficient. my french isn't terrible, after all i did do it in hsc and i can still conjugate a verb like you wouldn't believe. my sister, who is a francophile and vce french teacher, is still amazed by my ability to read french text and translate it into english. but that's the thing, i can do the words in written form; spoken is (as always) more difficile.
so, back to hermès. and back to the snotty saleslady. i asked if i could look at a traditional print. she showed me a couple, not looking at me, not smiling, kind of looking over the top of my head. there was absolutely rien de politesse. i asked her if i could see a geometric print. she showed me a couple. after about 6 scarves, i asked to see something with animals. i just didn't know what i wanted. she thought i wasn't going to buy. she wasn't looking at me. she was looking around me. and huffily pulling out scarves.
when she laid out a gorgeous print in browns and yellows of leopards, i said i'll take that one.
she looked at me, eyebrows up somewhere near her hairline. well, maybe i'm exaggerating with that, she wouldn't have been so déclassé to show her distaste and scepticism that overtly.
i ignored her complete about face, her fawning smile, her of course, madame, follow me, madame. all of a sudden i was a madame, whereas before i was some sort of gypsy mama who had wandered into the great shop, smelling of onions and alcohol, with an unseen visa gold card in her shabby pocket.
i related this story recently to my sister and her husband. when i got up to the part about the saleslady being rude and offhand with me, before me saying i would buy the fucking thing, my brother-in-law said i wouldn't have stayed, i would have walked out, that would have been worthy of a door slam. you need to understand my brother-in-law has a great story about a friend of his storming out of paterson's cake shop in prahran, trying to slam an unslammable door which is on one of those airy piston things, so that he had to go back into the shop, after the door had exhaled its gush of quiet air and say consider the door slammed!
but i wasn't going to storm out of this place. it wasn't a simple matter of my order of party pies and sausage rolls not being ready. this was hermès. this was paris. i wouldn't have gotten my lovely, leopardy, hermès scarf. all done up nicely in its orange box with a brown ribbon tied just so. i wouldn't have gotten the story. i wouldn't have gotten the satisfaction. i would have been just standing out there on the street, going all teary. instead i skipped away, enjoying my once in a lifetime feeling of walking through paris with the distinctive orange shopping bag.
what would you have done? would you have walked out?
whatever.
the point is, i have been reading for years that if you are to have one, just one, genuine designer fashion accessoire (let's face it, most of us can't afford a genuine designer fashion item, ie frock, coat, etc) then it has to be a/n hermès scarf.
so, when the family were at eurodisney (why didn't i want to go, you ask? are you mad? i hate theme parks. i even hate luna park. apart from the scenic railway the rest. is. crap. bring back the giggle palace, i say) i set off to look at the designer stores. mostly from the outside. i did go into chanel to see if they had those trashy studs with diamante interlocking c's - they didn't. maybe just as well. i found them in chinatown in new york for $4 and haven't worn them because they are so gaudy and wannabe.
then after chanel i walked to hermès. it was quite a hike. i had been walking all over paris, which was lovely. it's lovely in the spring-time. it's lovely in autumn. paris is just lovely anytime. even winter with snow on the ground. the only time i haven't been in summer. i bet it's... lovely.
so, i get to hermès. i look in the window. i look at the display of scarves. i go in. there is a bun fight at the scarf counters. women pushing in to look. i find a space and when a snotty lady asks me if she can help me, i say yes, i would like to look at a scarf. i can't remember if i said je voudrais voir une... er... un... [pointing madly at the scarves] or whether i said it in english. i think i just said it in english. as she had probably spoken in english to me. this last time in paris, i didn't even really try to speak french. it was woeful after being in turkey where i was proficient. my french isn't terrible, after all i did do it in hsc and i can still conjugate a verb like you wouldn't believe. my sister, who is a francophile and vce french teacher, is still amazed by my ability to read french text and translate it into english. but that's the thing, i can do the words in written form; spoken is (as always) more difficile.
so, back to hermès. and back to the snotty saleslady. i asked if i could look at a traditional print. she showed me a couple, not looking at me, not smiling, kind of looking over the top of my head. there was absolutely rien de politesse. i asked her if i could see a geometric print. she showed me a couple. after about 6 scarves, i asked to see something with animals. i just didn't know what i wanted. she thought i wasn't going to buy. she wasn't looking at me. she was looking around me. and huffily pulling out scarves.
when she laid out a gorgeous print in browns and yellows of leopards, i said i'll take that one.
she looked at me, eyebrows up somewhere near her hairline. well, maybe i'm exaggerating with that, she wouldn't have been so déclassé to show her distaste and scepticism that overtly.
i ignored her complete about face, her fawning smile, her of course, madame, follow me, madame. all of a sudden i was a madame, whereas before i was some sort of gypsy mama who had wandered into the great shop, smelling of onions and alcohol, with an unseen visa gold card in her shabby pocket.
i related this story recently to my sister and her husband. when i got up to the part about the saleslady being rude and offhand with me, before me saying i would buy the fucking thing, my brother-in-law said i wouldn't have stayed, i would have walked out, that would have been worthy of a door slam. you need to understand my brother-in-law has a great story about a friend of his storming out of paterson's cake shop in prahran, trying to slam an unslammable door which is on one of those airy piston things, so that he had to go back into the shop, after the door had exhaled its gush of quiet air and say consider the door slammed!
but i wasn't going to storm out of this place. it wasn't a simple matter of my order of party pies and sausage rolls not being ready. this was hermès. this was paris. i wouldn't have gotten my lovely, leopardy, hermès scarf. all done up nicely in its orange box with a brown ribbon tied just so. i wouldn't have gotten the story. i wouldn't have gotten the satisfaction. i would have been just standing out there on the street, going all teary. instead i skipped away, enjoying my once in a lifetime feeling of walking through paris with the distinctive orange shopping bag.
what would you have done? would you have walked out?
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
thoughts for wednesday
i've been carrying around an old envelope with points 2 - 4 below noted on it. must blog about them so i can throw the envelope away. i'm hoping none of the kids has inspected it too closely. you'll see what i mean.
anyway, first:
is it just me? there seems to be some sort of contradiction there. i checked on the internet, and there is talk of it referring to not using a condom when you want to come, to not coming to prolong the pleasure in a tantric way.
4. er, somewhat related. i had no idea that there were so many different names for sexual stuff. i had no idea that the act of fisting was so varied and established. and that it's referred to in lots of songs, paintings through the ages, and it's like it's been around for ages, and it's not just a recent thing. i really didn't think that i was naive, but there is still stuff out there that shocks me. i mean the maine lobster? my god.
these are my favourite flowers:
anyway, first:
1. this is vlado taneski, a journalist in macedonia who reported on a series of rape-murders of old women, and then was arrested because in his articles he revealed details that the police had not made public.
he has been found dead in his jail cell. this is what the police spokesman had to say:
"he committed suicide. he put his head in a pail full of water. it is unclear how none of his cellmates or guards noticed."
you see what he did there?
2. cate blanchette's ukrainian accent in the latest indiana jones movie was flawless apart from her pronunciation of "jones" "know" and all other similarly rhyming words. it was too anglo, too flat, too nasal. it should have been more russian, pronouncing "jones" more as "johns" and "know" to rhyme with "cot" instead of "coat". it was distracting, and disturbing to me that i can do a better russian accent than cate blanchette.
3. i've always wondered what the lyrics to frankie goes to hollywood's relax means:
relax, don't do it, when you want to go to it,
relax, don't do it, when you want to come.
is it just me? there seems to be some sort of contradiction there. i checked on the internet, and there is talk of it referring to not using a condom when you want to come, to not coming to prolong the pleasure in a tantric way.
gah, i still don't get it.
4. er, somewhat related. i had no idea that there were so many different names for sexual stuff. i had no idea that the act of fisting was so varied and established. and that it's referred to in lots of songs, paintings through the ages, and it's like it's been around for ages, and it's not just a recent thing. i really didn't think that i was naive, but there is still stuff out there that shocks me. i mean the maine lobster? my god.
5. can i leave it there? no, let's have something nice to sweeten up the atmosphere.
these are my favourite flowers:
there's one i can't think of the name, nor find a picture. it's a bulb i think. it smells sweet and fills the room. it's white. it's common. it's cheap. can anyone remind me what it's called? the blooms are all bunched together at the top of the stem. it's scent is my favourite.
oh, to have a garden filled with these flowers. to have a peppercorn tree, lying under its shade. a rug. a book. a crisp apple. a warm, lilting breeze.
join me?
join me?
*****************************
UPDATE: the flower i was thinking of was erlicheer. thanks kittiminx.
Monday, June 23, 2008
I CHALLENGE YOU TO WATCH THIS AND NOT CRY
it's so beautiful: the music, the lion, the dudes.
thanks to audrey, i cried helplessly about 4 times today, which is a lot more than usual.
if you are not crying right now, you have a stone for a heart. and i hate you.*
* not really. i don't hate you. i feel sorry for you, you stone-hearted shell of a human.
[2012 note - seems like the video has gone. it was the one with the lion Christian and the two dudes who raised him from a cub they bought in Harrods? in swinging London]
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
foodish thoughts for today
1. i am so tired of seeing gordon ramsay's ugly mug everywhere i look.
2. take note racv club: i hereby declare a war on any dish with a menu description including the word "foam". it's not cool, it's so over, it's so common, it's not distinctive, it sounds REVOLTING, it does not tempt me, it puts me off. face it, when el bulli did it, it was "fresh, innovative and different." though i wouldn't have ordered a dish with foam then. now everyone else, including the racv club, is jumping on the old foam bandwagon, it just reeks of desperation and pathetic derivation.
[starts lobby group called "fuck foam, let's get back to real food"]
3. unless you order a la carte at di stasio, the staff will rush you along in quite a rude manner. won't go there again on principle.
4. at mirka's you can go and sit at the bar and have a coffee and one of their divine bombe glacees.
5. baked beans on rice with some cheese on top (and for moi, sea salt and cracked pepper) is a perfectly acceptable sunday night meal.
6. making traditional italian sausages is a somewhat erotically charged activity and weird when you "do it" with your in-laws.
7. 40+ kilos of pig meat MAKES A LOT OF SALAMIS.
8. aldi fruit is shit.
9. eating "potato jewels" from aldi, then south melbourne market dim sims, then 1/2 doz coffin bay oysters from south aus, is possibly the strangest meal i've had on a friday night for a while.
10. vegemite toast is just not the same without butter.
and isn't the weather glorious? love, love, love how the city looks, and the sky behind it, as we drive around the lake to msac on a monday night.
must. take. camera. next. week.
2. take note racv club: i hereby declare a war on any dish with a menu description including the word "foam". it's not cool, it's so over, it's so common, it's not distinctive, it sounds REVOLTING, it does not tempt me, it puts me off. face it, when el bulli did it, it was "fresh, innovative and different." though i wouldn't have ordered a dish with foam then. now everyone else, including the racv club, is jumping on the old foam bandwagon, it just reeks of desperation and pathetic derivation.
[starts lobby group called "fuck foam, let's get back to real food"]
3. unless you order a la carte at di stasio, the staff will rush you along in quite a rude manner. won't go there again on principle.
4. at mirka's you can go and sit at the bar and have a coffee and one of their divine bombe glacees.
5. baked beans on rice with some cheese on top (and for moi, sea salt and cracked pepper) is a perfectly acceptable sunday night meal.
6. making traditional italian sausages is a somewhat erotically charged activity and weird when you "do it" with your in-laws.
7. 40+ kilos of pig meat MAKES A LOT OF SALAMIS.
8. aldi fruit is shit.
9. eating "potato jewels" from aldi, then south melbourne market dim sims, then 1/2 doz coffin bay oysters from south aus, is possibly the strangest meal i've had on a friday night for a while.
10. vegemite toast is just not the same without butter.
and isn't the weather glorious? love, love, love how the city looks, and the sky behind it, as we drive around the lake to msac on a monday night.
must. take. camera. next. week.
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