. N.o.m.a.d v.o.m.i.t .

(the trick)

2010-06-18T09:23:00.000-07:00

While no one's looking

2010-06-18T09:11:00.000-07:00

I think I may have to revive this thing. I migrated to the internet-idiot-friendly Tumblr but a late night squiz of this old relic has made me rather nostalgic. By God, I'm inspired afresh with these warm hearted efforts! (Well, maybe excepting all the wallowing over my ex).

Actually, just adding the image to this post has reminded me of why I sort of stopped - it's too easy to mess up posts, with text getting consumed by formatting in the wrong order...maybe I'll stick to the writing on this platform.

TUMBLRZ !!!!!

http://nomadvomit.tumblr.com/ (skool work)

http://visualgreed.tumblr.com/ (random fancies)

New Year

2010-01-17T13:34:00.000-08:00

I really hope this year is a good one. Last year was rich but simply flew off the handle in the end.

What's changed in a year? Who am I at 23?

I no longer smoke & now enjoy exercise to the point of passion. Despite this, I'm still a hipster, apparently. My hair is red and short and my makeup bold, despite what boys tell me they like. I've realised how important family is and understand a few more of my hangups, (they dissolve after that, right?) I no longer draw, which is sort of sad, but have growing confidence in my writing, despite not knowing what to say most of the time. I finally read novels.

To avoid ingratitude, 2009 positives that should be noted before moving forward:

Made and was part of an staggeringly diverse range of films.
Ate some of the best food since Italy.
Saw some pretty amazing gigs & went behind the scenes at the MIFF.
Fell in love and was loved back, for a time.
Saw free movies and ate free food because of friendship.

All the negatives can be incinerated to make room for more of the above in my life.
This year will be better beucase it can be.

smash list

2009-11-28T13:49:00.000-08:00

1. James Spader, before the middle aged Boston Legal spread, and maybe afterwards, providing its over the phone.

2. Vincent D'Onofrio, again, before the spread and away from the roles where he fucks with his face, i.e. Men in Black, The Cell, Full Metal Jacket etc .

3. Robert. Always.

4. Richey Edwards. First pin up of my adolescence and though his anorexic self loathing is a bit off putting now, I'm still hard pressed to find anyone who looks better in eyeliner.

5. Micheal Fassbender. Wot a man. Makes creepy step dads sexy in Fish Tank & was the best thing about Inglorious Basterds, (well, after the Nazi dude).

6. Sebastian Koch. Burly & gentle all at once.

7. Matt Dillon. There are few jaws like that anymore.

P.S

2009-11-16T03:47:00.000-08:00

I am returning home to England for a few months armed with a nice new camera.(I paid considerably more for it than that & now realise I got ripped off.)

Sorry my blogging has been so dreary of late, all you anonymous readers out there, all 4 of you!

It's about to improve. Time to get inspired again. Huzzah!

Bed Time Read

2009-11-03T22:16:00.000-08:00

I wish I'd met him.

Old is new

2009-11-03T22:13:00.000-08:00

I found this rotting on my old live journal. It was posted just over a year ago and it's pretty pertinent for me that's nothing's changed!

There is some persistant feeling inside me so familiar that it is barely an anxiety anymore. It stems from rich, packed expereinces of a person's company neutured to a sterile exchange of typed words; where the humour arrises from the use of ironic smilies, while each person hopes the other is smiling as their exchnage is fed into the machine.
It's revealing I suppose. There are some people for whom words remain just that - sign posts, news bulletins and stats. Then there are others leave you hankering for flesh and blood details and emotions however coincidental. You hope to be close to them not only in what they claim to have done but also in the very moment they sit & type to you. You want to watch their face as they do it because it's the face you miss. The play of the eyes as you watch a brain at work. Micro-expressions of that vivid life within. Maybe it's the reassurance of a soul you recognise.
All the same, you work with what you have and throw tit bits to the grape vine, remembering that you have obligations.
Some people feel that same psychic pull to you even if you never feel it yourself. What you tell them is never enough. What you tell them will never be enough. They just hope to be included in your life becuase they value what they can learn from it.
Knowing I will never see these people again is frightening. It's the persistent knowledge that with each new day these distant fires slowly die.
I pass hundreds of people in a day, never to see them again. I barely remember a single face. There are too many people to know in a lifetime so the few that risk it to know you & your history are worth your time. They are worth all the time in the world.
So to think your time with such people is through while the earth still has some to spare feels like a crime. Estrangement is the greatest theft. But it makes me wonder - if we had the time, if we had all time, what would we end up doing with it? Wouldn't we just take everyone for granted? Maybe then our sentence to know most people for a breath of time what makes our relationships function.
It's hard to stomach neat conclusions & imagine closure while that feeling remains of a melancholic sickening. Your soul needs the sort of nourishment the explanations offered cannot supply. I can't help thinking that it's when you are in dialogue with something you are alive. When you are left alone, some part of you dies.

Beats blowing glass motherfucker!

2009-10-28T05:49:00.000-07:00

I have 4 months off for Summer, returning to school in March - what the hell?! I've already decided that the next film I make when I get back will be about a furtinure removalist with a problematic chair fetish.

My boy isn't my boy anymore but I find it impossible to introduce him as anything but that. Sad but true. I keep thinking we'll slip back into it accidentally, although I know that's not for the best right now. My GOD, his eyes are blue.

Things do seem easier when the sun's out, I must confess - there's energy in the air and my blood is warmed to the point where it actually circulates properly. I think I was hankering for Summer. It's been 12 months of Wintery weather, thanks to my jet-setting lifestyle. To usher in this happier season of vit D, my beloved flatmate bought me a bike on Ebay. It's purple with pint sized white wall tires. I'm hoping that reckless rides in breezy summer frocks will lift my occasionally weary spirit. The last month was a bit of a stinker all round.

Picking myself up (fell over again)

2009-10-06T06:15:00.000-07:00

Firstly:

I love this song of late.

(In general: I think I need to read more of Bukowski's fiction. It keeps me honest.)

Thereafter: Saw a doco about Henry Darger the other night by the same woman who made this. It was rather scary to have it narrated by the overly knowing voice of a seven year old Dekota Fanning but was otherwise rather classy. Sensitive in its open minded approach, it has a stunning command of spanning mountains of his material. I wish I'd seen his apartment before it was dismantled in 2000. It may have had something on Bacon's inspiring mess.

Curious?

Watch it.

LOVE

2009-10-01T06:08:00.000-07:00

I give up.I google imaged "break up" and got this image. It was nice while it lasted.

Pen to paper

2009-09-30T06:15:00.000-07:00

Drawing again, hot damn! That's right, no more talk, actually drawing. There's Burlesque life drawing night at a bar on Fitzroy Street, every Wednesday, that will set you back $15 for a pot of beer, drawing materials and a naked lady with assorted nipple adornments. Steal! You win more beer if your drawings wow & get a chance to showcase and sell your collective output at the end of the 10 week course. There are some truly frightening leftovers of the last time's participant offerings still displayed on the venue's walls, unsold. I doubt even their own loving mother's would shell out $20 to support such visual abortions. One can only hope the process was cathartic for them.

I want some nipple tassels.

Also attention grabbing today:

(Don't watch if you're jitterish/epileptic.)

My boy made me brekie today. We were late for school again.

Please

2009-09-27T05:59:00.000-07:00

http://www.savevca.org/

Theme = Cupcakes

2009-09-27T05:16:00.001-07:00

p r e t t y

Clip I made last late semester for the twee Animation Club at Loop bar. We didn't win the cupcakes/resounding supremacy over other animations entailing cutiepie animals disfiguring each other with guns.

Thus, was a bit bolox overall but, onwards and upwards!

Check out the local talent that provided the tune.

He digitized her is all.

2009-09-27T04:32:00.000-07:00

Dyed my hair heroin chic rouge. Will be a gutter slut by next weekend if Christiane F is anything to go by. (Trainspotting has nothing on that film's cold turkey scene.)

About to edit for a month solid. Gush.
My boy looks mean in leather.
Finally saw Y TU MAMA TAMBIEN oh, 8 years late. I'm sorry I missed the party for so long. Sun drenched hypnosis. Gorgeous.
Seeing family friends for dins dins at Mess Hall makes me miss Mama. Are there any robins in this country?

They need importing.

Now that nobody's looking

2009-09-19T04:16:00.000-07:00

I loved this film, bar the final mawkish line. Maybe the rest was just as bad and I just related to it too much to nit pick the faults. Surely we can all agree that the depressing movie post-break up pastiche sequence was fucking wonderful.

Tity Bits:

Making films with a head held high for the first time...ever? Latest took place down on a beach with a lot of gale force winds and long nights of drinking at Jan Juc caravan park. It's a "psychological potboiler." Ha.

Applying for a job at a place that stocks over 400o magazines.

Favorite parts of his body: nape of neck, tiny ear lobe, slanty teeth, hot hands and eyes eyes eyes yes yes yes. He's in a puppetry cabaret show as part of the Melbourne Fringe next week.

Back on.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

2009-08-26T03:28:00.000-07:00

Uncharted territory

2009-04-14T04:28:00.000-07:00

This speaks the truth for me right now!

(Click to enlarge)

Aside from whatever the above picture may allude to on the home front, the boyfriend and girlfriend of this particular relationship are inspiring me to draw again. Their art's undertone of sexual perversion almost reminds me of another illustrator I stalk online...only he's dropped more acid/is in touch with his spirit animal.

I have thoughts peculating of producing a small scale zine that illustrates my observations about falling in love at first sight, (cliche, yes but in my hands? Haunting!) There's a cute little distro called Sticky here that has me fired up to make some trouble...

Happy Easter

2009-04-12T04:15:00.003-07:00

It's about more than chocolate for this dude in Germany.

Conscious outburst

2009-04-08T03:09:00.001-07:00

What do you want?

I want to be more than wanted.

I want to I N S P I R E !

(So to hell with chasing tail)

I want to be strong at what I do, respecting my work so other people will respect it too.

Without compromise.

* * * * *

Mundane Update!

1. Still no home to call my own. Did such things ever worry P.J? My head is spinning from the ongoing search.

2. Presenting this tomorrow in class, with a view to blow minds.

3. Joining in for a cross-town scavenger hunt on Easter Sunday, but only after viewing a new print of Robocop or something equally amazing at the Melbourne Comedy Festival.

(...if I had money to burn, I could so a LOT of damage across the bulging cultural calender of this town. I've been tempted left, right and centre by a host of events. Sadly, despite all the variety on offer, I've ended up eating a lot of fries and sauce on street corners of late. I've officially joined the hoards of mangey, indecisive students! Again, Le Student 8 accommodation gets the blame.)

4. Next week I plan to introduce my Aussie chums to Pancake Day,dutifully preforming my service as the novelty pommy bastard in doing so.

Bamboo Charcoal Bread

2009-04-01T00:30:00.000-07:00

I'm officially addicted!

No great insights into cinema or gay semiotics,

2009-03-30T03:28:00.000-07:00

I'm too dazed by the American team's routine!

After nothing but good word and various stints at the film festivals worth their salt, I gave Water Lillies a go at this year's Melbourne Queer Film Festival. It was well cast and with one or two striking scenes focusing mainly on the truly bizarre spectacle that is synchronized swimming. Otherwise and for the most part, it was fairly straight forward, methodical and as such, a wee bit over long. That is how most teen romances feel but I guess I'm one for finding a less long winded way to convey that. The synth soundtrack was dreamy in parts.

The audience was almost entirely lesbians couples that laughed themselves silly over next to nothing. I can only assume this was either a form of provocative flirtation with their partners or a reading of the film's more nuanced gay in-jokes that I'm in the dark about.

Still undecided if it was comforting or depressing that so many of these movie goers fit the Lesbian style stereotypes to a tee. I suppose it's a proud uniform of sorts. It must make dating easier. I was probably sending out similar vibes by wearing big black Doc Martins.

Part of me can't believe stuff is real, or at least that it has such hard core levels of competition. It's the camp of figure skating with all the elegance removed.

If there's a decent documentary about it, send a link my way!

As March draws to a close

2009-03-30T02:20:00.000-07:00

Finally settled on the bodycare cocktails to mark my time in Melbourne. Angelica! Danelion! Mistletoe! Avocado! Rose hip! Oh my!
More film shoots. Such an amazing amalgamation of strange tasks, including: stringing together giant musical notes, chasing a man with a umbrella, coughing up a twig, a butterfly and a car key, in that order. Ah yes, the return to zero budgets and junk food catering...
Slowly sussing different ways home in the evening. Melbourne is expanding by the day.
Beautiful houses that make me loath my current lodgings further. Peter Greenaway, home-made comics and the pungent smell of Dove soap. A boy making architecture models in a room full of pantings and fascination.
The thought of spending time with someone kind and sharing things with the ease and comfort of lovers makes me wobble and dream again.
Missing people all over the world. The dancer in London and the climber in Baltimore. The snap-happy Croatian with the beautiful mind. The boy with the remarkable mole in Washington, who gave up hope of a reunion months ago. My dear darling petite one, Sophie. Above all, I miss her.
Thinking too much. Watching beautiful things as a distraction.

i want to be a forester

2009-03-25T04:01:00.000-07:00

Directed my first movie at VCA! It's called "Blow up" but has nothing to do with Antonioni. Think instead a deadpan romantic comedy with an excessive number of balloons. There are copyright issues if I post it online but I'm thinking that once it's edited, I might host it on here for a day as a sort of internet exclusive. This should work but I'll need to be careful to remove it before word gets back to the head honchos at school.

One night only! Watch this space! I might even make an indulgent teaser trailer.

One day, I'll make something this beautiful:

Otherwise, I'm eagerly contemplating my next home with like minded friends. Le Student 8 is a joke that isn't funny anymore. I get the official boot on the 6th of May but I'm itching to move now. This potential candidate is tempting me to ditch my current doldrum address, with or without the deposit. It's the doll house I never had! I need to smoke on that Balcony! I need to warm myself by that wood stove! I need to play house and cook again. I've forgotten what it's like to chop vegetables, so based in cans is my current diet.

http://www.tudou.com/programs/view/-KznRmCWfxo/

http://www.myvideo.de/watch/3802562/Devo_Mongoloid

I discovered Bruce Conner and his fabulous rhythmic montage at Melbourne Cinematheque today. His work was "clinically and deliriously" preoccupied with working found footage into kinesthetically engaging short films, celebrating narrative cinema while self-consciously deconstructing it. There's a lot to say about it but bed is beckoning. Effectively? There's much to dig.

Origin of my name

2009-03-23T01:42:00.000-07:00

As we're talking about girls called Flo:

I think Kylie Minogue voiced Florence in the creepy CGI version. I once dressed up as the character for some primary school jaunt and won 2nd place!

So no, it's not the city, as much as I may have harped on that it was when I was there.

This week's creative writing? A juicy love/hate relationship!

2009-03-21T00:04:00.000-07:00

(Not my finest piece of writing but I had some accompanying photos handy on my hard drive to tart it up.)

“Flora”

I’ve only ever met one other girl called Flo. She took it as a sign that we would be life long friends

This new and dominating Flo was the same age as me with a curt, Sloan Square accent, unruly cave woman hair (that she was forever sweeping from her face) and an impressive collection of multicoloured ethic skirts of the drop-out-beach-bunny variety. She had latched onto the idea that I was as dissatisfied with high school and the modern world as she was. Perversely thrilled but unsure of how to proceed, she made a large show of how we had the same uncommon bra size and insisted that we were to share underwear over the coming weeks of our arts summer school.

Her strange admiration towards me grew. I can only assume it was because I accompanied her for countless cigarettes and entertained her stories of flirting with grown men and her fantasies of loving a Rastafarian. Her eagerness to do everything with me as a witness was flattering but it was fairly clear we had little in common beyond our names and measurements. Her strong willed denial prevented my opinions from derailing what she was fashioning as a perfect friendship. My wiliness to talk to anyone often left her feeling neglected and caused a rampant jealousy to develop. Her mood swings became drastic and contradictory as possessiveness crept in.

It all came to a head when our student group took a day trip to the coast to end the month on a high. The beach was deserted and the pier was rotten but we’d pinned our hopes on the venture and even the increasing drizzle couldn’t dissuade us. Despite the water being cold enough to induce coma, I managed to swim out far enough to float and bob. Flo wasn’t far behind and when she drew along side promptly challenged me to swim even further.

When we were safely removed from the group and had covered an impressive distance, I found her arms snaking around me in a sinking embrace. She dappled my face with brief kisses in what I assumed was an adrenalin rush brought on the icy water. It wasn’t until Flo kissed me full on the mouth, with the taste of dirt and salt, that I realised the significance she was investing in the moment. She withdrew to gage my response with desperate eyes. Sensing the redundancy of the act spoke volumes I was too overwhelmed to address, we only felt numbness distinct from the freezing sea. I swam away towards the others and hoped what had just happened would wash into the Mediterranean.

As soon as we retuned to town, Flo withdrew and downed two bottles of vodka. Her wretched screams soon filled the third floor of our sleeping hotel. I was reduced to hiding in another student’s room to avoid what I could only assume would be violence. All the misunderstood rage an 18 year old could possibly hold turned the building into a terrifying prison with me lined up for its firing squad. Eventually, the course lecturer intervened and Flo was practically sedated.

We barely had a month to get aquatinted but in that time we’d managed to skim the bond of friendship and a warped sort of love only for it to nose-dive into a blazing hotel showdown, fuelled by God knows what kinds of damage. We parted ways at the end of our time in Italy brittle strangers who, for all they had shared, would remain estranged out of a mixture of emotion and necessity.

(Better memories from Venice)

Also: Best script we've read so far this semester has been from this movie. I recommend tracking down a copy for yourself.

You heard it here first

2009-03-18T06:17:00.000-07:00

! xoxoxox !

http://www.myspace.com/trashkit

My friends are in your new faviorite band! An ex-Electrelane member is on the action too - how fucking ace is that!? I swell with pride.

I couldn't care less about clobber

2009-03-16T01:22:00.000-07:00

BUT

I feel I may have to wear red shoes exclusively some day

*****

Weekly creative writing time!

50 word mini-epic - 4 Foot Romance

Submerged in the cloakroom, hiding behind voyeuristic coats. After weeks of my nagging, we’re clutching hands. Clumsy kisses make me want more but I’m too young to fathom what follows. Playground swagger drains from him as I persist. Maybe I come on too strong. Our parents receive a phone call.

Impacted

The sterilised smell and lighting of hospitals put me on edge. As soon as I step inside I know rooms are filled with bad news and long stay patients. The very air stifles and numbs. It’s no comfort my mother’s health is at the mercy of this humourless environment.

Her room is too small for its massive, automated bed, and even that seems unable to support all the medical paraphernalia attached. She’s lost in a mess of wires and sweat-drenched bed sheets and for the first time in my adult life, I’m truly frightened. She’s out of her mind on morphine and starts to scream at my father for wearing bandages only she can see. In the agonising moments that follow, my dad tries his best to keep my mother calm. He adopts an unnaturally measured voice but his stress and strain are evident. Neither of us can recognise the woman in the bed. Watching my mother’s pained, hysterical out burst take the last ebb of energy she has, watching my father grow unnervingly quiet, faced with the room’s soulless décor and its view of a muddy, unremarkable car park, I suddenly understand what mortality might amount to -anonymous defeat.

Youtube sees me through the day once more

2009-03-15T03:24:00.000-07:00

& watch Nick Cage's efforts in the Wicker Man remake when you need a pick me up.

A few of my favorite things:

Serendipity
Second hand clothes
Bad Idea Magazine

Revaluation island!

2009-03-15T01:44:00.000-07:00

Cargo cults. Heard of them before? The John Frum kind? No, I hadn't either. Now I'm over this side of the world, I feel a pilgramage coming on, maybe even a final film project.

A visiting lecturer introduced me to the subject. Mike Daisy is a John Farley/Jack Black-esque American chap that makes ends meet as a performance "monologist" (this, from what I could gather, is basically an overly enthused stand up comedian avec great capacity to rant and gush - my dream job?). He's quite the fire cracker raconteur and his emphasis on the pragmatic pursuit of the sort of audience coalescence that can't be commodified is "right on!" in my books.

He's just returned from the Vanuatu island of Tanna where he was investigating the surviving enclave of the cargo cult. Armed with a crate of Levi jeans, he asked if he could stay a while. For reasons I can only try to describe below, the islanders embraced his offering and a strange odessy followed, one that has me itching to plot my next trip abroad.

When the American military rocked up in the 1930s to build army bases to bolster their efforts against Japan, the islanders' rudimentary way of life was abruptly introduced to the 20th century. Airplanes, type writers, torches, demin...overwhelmed, they could only assume these men in military fatigues possessed supernatural powers - Gods amongst men!

Props to http://awkward-city.blogspot.com/

When the Americans abandoned the bases years later, the natives continued to revere all things American and practiced sympathetic magic to attempt to conjure their American gods once more. They would build 1 for 1 scale models of aircraft bombers out of bamboo and foliage in the hope that it would attract U.S aircraft from the heavens. The guitar was widely adopted and played, being, as it is, the iconic instrument of their holy America. They adorned their bodies with stars and stripes tattoos and clothed their backs with improvised army uniforms in the hope that it would lure the Americans back.

Much of this practice died out across the island chain over time but on the island of Tanna it has continued to go from strength to strength, gaining momentum, and in particular their worship an American called John Frum, (a name that could well have come from war-time GIs who introduced themselves as "Jon from America").

Of as population of 18,000, 70% are committed followers of the cult and the remaining population usually joins in when festivals and celebrations are held. Apparently, the reason this particular island holds the practice so dear is that years prior, they were occupied by both French and British colonialists simultaneously and subjected to abject barbarism of a truly appalling nature. The Americans that passed through treated them with a sort of relative decency, for the sake of keeping the peace, that redefined the white man. Combine that impression with their visitors' ability to fly, communicate with people beyond the island and offer Marlboro cigarettes, and it soon appears you have merciful deities on your doorstep! Tanna never had it as good as when the Americans were in town.

All this is swept under the carpet somewhat. Vanuatu as a nation is embarrassed by the cult's apparently hysterical adulation for America and it's 30/40/50s artifacts. Tanna has one of the most active volcanos in the world and its tourist industry prefers to champion that as the island's offering to the world. It's a great shame as this rich and fascinating culture is lost to obscurity as it denies the islanders a great segment of their national identity in post-colonial history.

There is little to no decent footage of the cult. There are photos in circulation, and some rather fustity anthropological articles that mention it but otherwise it's only one in 10 people who have heard of it and even they assume that it's all but died out.

Mike Daisy is currently touring with a monologue based on his experiences there, put in the context of the current international financial crisis, in what I assume is an exploration of different conceptions of the success and failure of the "American way."

So, anyone up for a trip to America land?

(Here's a pretty detailed article for further reading)

Seriously?

2009-03-06T04:32:00.000-08:00

So apparently people are reading my bloggy outbursts now. I feel I need to raise my game. Yes, we even went down the mad (bad) route of poetry together, didn't we? Dear me.

Here's something different to help us move swiftly on!

Firstly? Old art. This shit is 3 years old now! I really need to get back into some sort of discipln in this department. I have become a champion doodleler but haven't ever really pushed beyond that comfort zone.

Yeah, I really need to get on this.

Secondly? Nobody told me The Seventh Seal was so funny! I was perturbed by its "worthiness" for years and never realised what I was really missing. Lest we forget, it inspired this greatness too. Anyway, Jons is the man.

Thirdly? I'm looking forward to a quiet day of reading and convalesce tomorrow. I have Mon Oncle and The Fireman's Ball already over due from the school library so they will be watched, even if nothing else gets done. I'm actually quite excited to do some of our course readings. Our C.F.I class,(centre for ideas ...earth shattering, no?) has an eclectic reader and this week's text is all about the basic rhythms of life. It champions the exmaple of an oyster's life cycles to illude to strong cyclical forces in the world arround us, beyond our present comprehnsion. Here's something similar that google coughed up.

Goddamn it, with stuff like this, I'll end up a well rounded individual one day!

Venus in Retrograde (off day)

2009-03-04T03:05:00.000-08:00

This guy next to me?

I want to fill

him

with gin

so he might

let me in

somewhat.

Those caught

glimpses

fraught

thought

enthrall and frustrate

but ultimately

leave me

alone.

So I drink

and drink

and wait (like a fool)

When he smiles

I'm relieved

because

I feel like

he's returned

from

that private place

I have no right

to infiltrate.

Respecte Le Donne!

2009-03-01T23:33:00.000-08:00

Lately:

The camp, kaleidoscope beauty and ham acting of "The River" at ACMI. My Wednesday nights belong to the Melbourne Cinematheque now. March mini Bergan season, here I come!
Sleeping everywhere but Le Student 8, if I can help it!
Tales of mishap on shoots and random anecdotes tinged by violence : "Like the guy in America who wanted to demonstrate break-proof glass in a high-rise - he ran at the window and fell to his death. The glass was fine. It was the frame that didn't hold up."
Pall Mall Slims & maintaining my weight with beer.
Getting whiplash at Dan Deacon at the Espy on Saturday. Admiring St. Kilda until natives pointed out the syringes on the beach and the middle aged men cruising the corners for "company."
Reading this for school and getting to know my classmates through their writing & wise cracks.
Watermelon for diner.
Italian Spiderman!

"Berty"

2009-02-26T02:31:00.000-08:00

A writing exercise for my screenwriting class, exploring reversed P.O.Vs. I wrote about a figure from my childhood. Imagine I'm six or seven in the first part.

Albert is ok I think. He lives next door in a grand old house, all alone but with lots of things. He’s always visiting us. He sits in my Da’s waiting room even though he doesn’t have a dog or a cat. He sits there for ages and talks to everyone like their friend. My Dad tells him to come back later but Albert only goes when he gets hungry or tired. He talks really loudly and for a really long time. He is always talking “with authority” about strange things like wooden tables and plates. He showed me these great tin solders that were really small and told me that I could have them one day when he’s old. He told me that he would take me to Italy one day too. It’s far away from Daddy so I just want the soldiers but mum says polite girls are more memorable, so I just smile when he starts to tell me things like that. Albert can pull some funny faces, he always has one eye half closed like he’s looking through a keyhole. I think I like Albert but he can smell like my mum’s diner parties after they’re over. It makes your nose wrinkle; I don’t like that at all. The waiting room smells like that too when he’s visits, even after he’s gone. He and Dad smoke cigars together when we visit him but they don’t talk much. Dad is always getting our coats. Albert makes my mum laugh like somebody’s tickling her. Mum likes Albert so he’s ok by me. We call him Uncle Albert, which he likes.

* * * * *

Ah! Such a joy to see myself reborn as a child, albeit with gender perversely switched. This precocious whippet has the looks of her mother and the charm of my own true self, thanks to my formative input since birth. God knows what the father has to offer – apparently he enjoys ironing. All the same, there’s promise for this one or at least I’ve decided to extend my hand to that end. As soon as I saw the fat little thing in the hospital blanket I knew this was my opportunity to start over. She’s at that difficult stage now when she asks questions that don’t add up to a hill of beans but education in the arts and classics should steer her on her way. When she becomes a woman at 16 I’ll take her to Venice where we’ll consider the painterly light, gaze enraptured at Rafael’s alter pieces and quash Bellinis like there’s no tomorrow worth waking for. It will be magnificent. There’s a glass eye maker there who hand paints his work in exquisite detail and has provided for numerous cultural figures - you’d think of them all very differently if his work wasn’t so convincingly rendered. Florence may take a shine to Uncle Albert once he’s restored. She should do. By then, I will have invested years of hard work making her the finest little sophisticate in the northern hemisphere.

(My Dad and Albert suffering each other's company)

Favorite song?

2009-02-25T03:29:00.000-08:00

the past is a grotesque animal and in it's eyes you see
how completely wrong you can be
the sun is out it melts the snow that fell yesterday
makes you wonder why it bothered
i fell in love with the first cute girl that i met
who could appreciate george bataille
standing at swedish festival discussing the 'story of the eye'
it's so embarrassing to need someone like i do you
how can i explain i need you here and not here too
I'm flunking out i'm gone i'm just gone
but at least i author my own disaster
performance breakdown and i don't want to hear it
i'm just not available things could be different but they're not
the mousy girl screams violence violence
she gets hysterical cause they're both so mean and it's my favorite scene
but the cruelty's so predictable it makes you sad on the stage
though our love project has so much potential
but it's like we weren't made for this world
though i wouldn't really want to meet someone who was
do i have to scream in your face?
i've been dodging lamps and vegetables
throw it all in my face i don't care
let's just have some fun let's tear this shit apart
let's tear the fucking house apart
let's tear our fucking bodies apart but let's just have some fun
somehow you've red rovered the gestapo circling my heart
and nothing can defeat you no death no ugly world
you've lived so brightly you've altered everything
i find myself searching for old selves
while speeding forward through the plate glass of maturing cells
i've played the unraveler the parhelion
but even Apocalypse is fleeting there's no death no ugly world
sometimes i wonder if you're mythologizing me like i do you
we want our film to be beautiful not realistic
perceive me in the radiance of terror dreams
and you can betray me but teach me something wonderful
crown my head crowd my head with your lilting effects
project your fears on to me
i need to view them see there's nothing to them
i promise you there's nothing to them
i'm so touched by your goodness you make me feel so criminal
how do you keep it together? i'm all all unraveled
but you know no matter where we are
we're always touching by underground wires
i've explored you with the detachment of an analyst
but most nights we've raided the same kingdoms
and none of our secrets are physical now

And I call myself a film student!

2009-02-24T01:10:00.000-08:00

I missed all this but am pleased the predictable proceeding were given an injection of genuine show-biz by the dashing all-singing-all-dancing Jackperson.

I'm pleased he's suddenly been discovered after years of quietly being an old fashioned hunk, (I'm convinced a lot of Hollywood films need a square jaw in the lead to be any good.) No doubt it's all down to his outrageous bathing scene in "Australia". Haven't seen anything quite like that over here yet but I'm keeping my eyes open, trust me.

Get the cake out before we make out

2009-02-21T15:57:00.000-08:00

This week ended with a mini festival fund raiser for a film being made by a friend of one of the kids on my course. I set out with N with nothing more that a memorized Google map. By the time we'd made it across to the right side of town it was about 10.40pm and the final tram stop was awash with tanked up teenagers, gagging to fight/fuck outside a McDonalds. We narrowly avoided a scene of some descrpition by scuttling away into a darkened suburban side street.

After a few blocks that felt increasing isolated from the rest of Melbourne, I began to wonder if we were on the right track at all. Suddenly, we can upon a Russian (maybe) orthodox church, lit up like a beacon for should-be repenters questioning the power of the church. There were a number of balloon animals make from condoms littering our path by this time and a faint syncopated drum machine was pulsing somewhere nearby. We took this as an indication we were getting warmer and followed the contraceptive trail until we met a crowd of bikes and raculas laughter at the mouth of what looked to be a back yard. Posters, wine cups and people in red ring master hats indicated we were in the right place.

Apparently the home of 10 artists, the event was spread oput across a shed, a tent, a yurt, a camp fire and some number of trees by the looks of things at certain points in the evening. I tragically forgot to pack my camera so you'll have to take my word for it when I say the place had an otherworldly electricity.

The main event was an ace music line up including Casionova, (the website explains his shtick), who preformed the best although prehaps only ode to Engelbert Humperdinck, the delectable Pash & our mate's band Suzanne Grae and the Katies, (we luff you Anna!) who peddled fine cartoon sleeze grooves accompanied by cup cake ladies. I will be wearing my band shirt with great affection once I get the wine stains out.

I'm the douche texting on the mobile phone when it pans to the left - rock n' roll!!!!!

****

I think I have a new favorite restaurant. It stocks hundreds of beers, brings your bill inside children's story books and is decorated in refined folksy style, sort of Paris meets the Enchanted Woods, all murals, patterned fabric and plastic doilies. Most importantly, it serves food that induces a state of grace and copious swoons. If anyone took me on a date there, I'd be highly suggestible...

Take a peek inside the madness kids!

2009-02-15T01:02:00.000-08:00

If you could, you'd have a portrait of yourself like that, wouldn't you? Even if it just went in the guest bedroom.

(http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/gallery/2009/feb/15/michael-jackson-auction?picture=343232869)

Resurfacing

2009-02-13T21:42:00.000-08:00

There are lots of Kubrick fans on my course at least

It's taken me this long to hook up the internet over here so a delayed greeting from Melbourne to you & yours. The air around the northern suburb I'm living in is hazy today from the bush fires that are still burning. It's been a bit like hell on earth in Victoria. I hope the worst bush fire's in the country's history aren't some sort of ill omen for my new life down under. Enough people have died and lost everything already without them adopting some new cryptic resonance. I walked though Federation Square full of stunned onlookers, watching dumbstruck as the fire's aftermath played on the massive screen.

I've been a bit removed from everything for the past week. It's taken that long to sort out my accommodation and all the paperwork and red tape at VCA.

I'm a lot happier today, typing to you from a blood orange red room, three stories up at Le Student 8. The first room they had me in had walls the colour of a damp sand castle and just about every feature of the room had been broken by the previous occupant. The bugger had daintily arranged things so I thought all was well but that I had the touch of death when I started to move around the room. There was a gargantuan moth flattened in the roller-blind and the TV has probably finally blown up by now.

The back breaking straw of it all was the huge gaggle of Arabic guys running riot on our floor each morning and night. They were all in separate single rooms but spent literally hours knocking on each other's doors in frustratingly irregular rhythms and shouting through the walls with each other. They treated the corridor like an extension of their rooms and to top it all, my door directly faced the room of one of the most vocal of the gang. Numerous aggressive pleas for them to "shut the fuck up" where made by my sleep deprived neighbors, to little effect. Imagining four months of more of the same made me unhinged so I made the case for a move to the reception staff and have been enjoying blissful peace and quite ever since. I left a note under the offenders' doors before I left their floor once and for all that read: "NOISY BASTARDS BEWARE" I have no idea what I thought the message would achieve but it certainly made me feel better.

This week was all about orientation at the film school. Everyone is still a bit wary of each other, polite and cheerful but stilted. I don't think we quite know how to feel about being made to work together so intensely for the next 3 years. The other faculties of VCA return this week so there will be some other faces to alleviate the perceived pressure of it all. My classes are 9.30am to 5.30pm Monday to Friday, plus whatever shoots/editing sessions we have on the weekend. I said I wanted to get stuck in to a degree...I fear there is no other option with this one!

Happy Valentines, even though today is depressing for 2/3 of people in the world (rough estimate). The only ones who really feel the love today (I'm there already), are the companies selling us eerily perfect roses and novelty shit. Why on earth should there be a day set aside to remind people to express their affections? Here I am thinking romance is all about imagination and spontaneity. I must be old fashioned.

Good bye ol' Blighty!

2009-02-02T08:29:00.000-08:00

Things I will miss about England:

The magazines. Wire, Plan B, The Idler, The Week, Sight & Sound, The Chap, Cabinet... too many to actually read/subscribe to, long term. They're my most expensive habit so maybe it's good to put some distance between us. God knows I'll cave at some stage and buy the issues at inflated import prices. As my methadone, DUKE is a pretty good Aussie offering.
British TV comedy and documentaries- well, the iplayer and the like saves me the actual misery of missing quality things like BBC4's Style season and new Star Stories/Fonejacker episodes. I never really watch TV when I'm away from home - life get's more interesting- but I do take for granted how decent British TV still is. I only had to see how awful Italian game shows were to start feelings pangs of homesickness. To be fair, Oz does have the amazing Kath & Kim but the rest of it is pretty dire. They appear to really embrace American pop culture on their screens and lack persuasive alternatives. Maybe unseen cult hits await me, who knows?
Fish & Chips!(And mushy peas!) It's the only thing that makes me feel patriotic.
Shitty seaside resorts. All the beaches are the real McCoy in Australia. I'm sure I'll appreciate their clean sand and surd but the melancholic perversity of places like Cleethorpes and Skegness will be missed. They clutterer themselves with lights and garish seaside attractions to try and distract from the subzero temperature of the sea, (or estuary, as the case may be) and attempt to engineer happiness through high sugar/fat foods that makes for especially aggressive seagulls. Some people find their appearance desperate and depressing. I see it as determination.

Otherwise, good riddance to most of it. It goes without saying that my friends & parents will be missed but even they'd agree, reuniting in another country would be preferable! I sort of feel like a rat jumping ship right now. Here's hoping the snow, (bloody British weather!), doesn't delay my escape on tomorrow's flight.

Decisions decisions!

2009-01-29T13:23:00.000-08:00

[day dreams of a new life]

Trying to pack a bag of essentials for the new era down under. I won't be back in the UK until mid December so I'm trying to compose the perfect bundle of goodies to see me through the year - decision time! For some reason, things I've lived quite happily without for months are suddenly calling out for me, "just in case". I feel the need to unearth my glut of silk scarves and take the lot! Piles of unread books are clamoring for my attention, although they're probably unread for a good reason.

(It's been an average of 34.5C over there and 2C here this week. It's gonna hit me like a hair drier when I step outside the airport...my feet are too tuff and my legs too white from winter neglect for any shorts and sandals combo!)

I'm staying in strange, slick accommodation. Sadly, the French theme doesn't appear to extend past the place's name and website's colour scheme. The pool looks sweet but the rooms are small and there appear to be some strict living/conduct/decoration guidelines. I'm playing house in my head for my new life but my exciting imagined lair may have to wait a few months, (I will have to put up a covert clippings wall at the very least!)

Housing is mad expensive across Melbourne so I figured I'd go for the safe, pre-packaged version while I learn the ropes. I've done leap of faith renting before, with an apparent bargain in Firenze. I ended up in a flat that was in a Dark Ages state of disrepair, sharing with a jolly-hockey-sticks British girl, (awful). I woke up most days with my face caked in the flaked paint from the rising damp in my wall.

Let me prop up the economy

2009-01-28T03:08:00.000-08:00

Alexander McQueen S/S 09

A single hedonistic spending spree of some choice S/S collections is to be encouraged, right? If you please, keep the British flag flying & dem pounds already in circulation circuating, says our govenment, because, God knows, we're running out of other ideas!

Luella S/S 2009

Most people are already broke broke but maybe it'll be Russian oligarchs, debutants and WAGS to the rescue? Cold comfort really. (Hey, if the elite chose to wear clothes more like the ones pictured and less like Versace, the world would certainly LOOK more interesting!)

Gareth Pugh S/S 09

It's a complex financial mess this and other countries are in but the rest of the mere mortals feeling impotent about it can at least ogle the colourful high priced goods, escape and dream of a better future. So sorry Mr Brown, that's as far as it'll go for me. I think I'll be making my own threads for the time to come.

That was some inauguration

2009-01-25T08:14:00.000-08:00

Awe inspiring in fact. I really hope Obama lives up to his immense promise in the long run. Things do look promising and closing Guantanamno sends the right message but I don't envy the job on his hands. It needs to give new meaning to the phrase "American Extreme Makeover."

Appropriate:

(part 2)

2009-01-25T06:42:00.000-08:00

Just quickly, the blowout part.

I'd been left hanging by Hitchcock's restaurant and had all but given up on them ever returning my call, (their voice bank was full the second time I tried to contact them). The night before my birthday I get a call, as causal as you like, informing me they could take our booking. The lady on the other end obviously had no idea how pleased I was at having an element of the unknown injected into my birthday, giving it the air of a bionafied occasion. In hindsight, she was probably nonplused because the place was hardly worth holding out for, as I later discovered.

(Dressed to the nines)

After dressing up to the nines, driving forty minutes in force nine gales and braving a swinging suspension bridge, we arrived in Hull amongst the bar crawls and short skirts. It was a wet and miserable night and we were eager to settle down to our meal quickly so we might make it back home before the weather worsened.

We found the restaurant down a maze of one-way back allies and realized after our third sweep past it that there were no car parks within a 2 mile radius. On the fourth drive-by I hopped out to see if anyone in the restaurant could tip us on some secret spot to drop cars nearby. A pair of hard-core vegetarians, (DIY knitted hats, vegan pleather clogs & bird nest hair), were ahead of me at the door. I asked them if they knew anywhere to park but they just looked embarrassed that was asking such a thing and informed me they'd arrived by bus.

Once I followed the couple and the waitress that had opened the front door up a crooked wooden staircase, I began to suspect that the place liked to maintain an air of mystery for a reason. The decor consisted of cobbled together 1980s hotel conference type chairs and collapsable tables and exposed wooden beams so low that one or two men were stooping into their food. There was a lot of tomato bruschetta being consumed.

The waitress returned from seating the crunchy couple and asked me about my booking. I told her my parents where driving circles in the downpour and that I was trying to find out where Hitchcock customers were meant to park. She replied flatly that she didn't drive. What this has do do with what I was asking remains unknown but I suggested she might do well to ask one of her colleagues on my behalf. By this point other customers were eaves' dropping and were evidently unimpressed that my family owned a car. I grabbed a copy of the buffet sample menu and found that the fourth main dish of the Italian buffet that night was "tomato sauce." Alarm bells rang in my head. The waitress, who'd disappeared for a full five minutes, returned telling me to try looking for a park "down the street". I decided that for all their veggie sensitivities, a dead horse was getting flogged and left with the glare of Hitchcock regulars following me down the stairs and out the door.

I connected the dots as I waited for Dad's Volvo to pull wearily around the corner. The property next door to the restaurant was a youth hostel. Hitchcock's obtuse opening hours, student cookery and utter lack of customer service and business savvy could only be the result of a hostel's half-baked side project to make enough money to cover damaged ikea furniture/keep them afloat. We were a bit too overdressed for that.

(A view from the evening)

What followed was a series of rejections from every conceivable restaurant in Hull. Despite visible empty tables, everywhere was full, or so we where told. Dad managed to get boxed in at the Ask Pizza car park, such was the demand for their mediocre meals. We even got rejected by Ciquitos, the chain restaurant haunt of my childhood.

After an hour of luckless tramping about, we decided to push on despite the awful road conditions to the next biggest town in an attempt to salvage the day. No dice. By this point, our delirious hunger and need of bathroom facilities had us at each other's throats. There was only one answer to such a problem at 9.40 at night - Mcdonalds.

My Irish logic has me convinced that a disappointing birthday makes for a great year and vice versa. Certainly the news from Australia a few days and many of sachets of Alkaseltsa later confirms that prediction. All in all? A great bad birthday meal.

birthday blowout (part 1)

2009-01-22T02:35:00.000-08:00

Sort of a mixed bag this year. The day was on hold until my Dad got back from work at lunch time. Despite this, Mum still managed to scuttle about the house arranging top secret things while I quietly did the household chores. Turns out she'd been attempting to turn our dining room into birthday central - garlands, cake et al. Unfortunately the balloons she found to use were well past their use by date and a far few exploded in her face. Thus, the balloon quota suffered almost as much as mum's nerves. Dad was intersected at the back door and instructed to go out and find some more to make up the numbers. After more confusion, an hour and a half later we were in business!

BEFORE AFTER

This year I requested that Mum take on a raw cake from a very New Agey cookbook I picked up in Boston a few summers back. She was a bit put out, (massive gingerbread houses/ dinosaur shaped things are more her style), and despite a running commentary of how "awful" it looked as she was making it, even she had to admit this was a pretty damn fine cake. I ate it breakfast lunch and diner the following day. In fact, dear readers, it is simply too good not to share. Here's the fairly straight forward recipe (get ready to work that blender hard):

CAROB-HAZELNUT TORTE

Serves 8 to 12

2 cups seeded, soaked dates, drained

3 cups soaked hazelnuts, drained

1 cup raw carob powder

1/2 cup dried shredded coconut

2 table spoons pure vanilla extract

2 cups Nut Creme*

1 cup Carob Sauce **

As many berries as you like, to garnish

Mint leave, to garnish

A decent blender!

* To make Nut Creme - place 5 seeded dates in a small bowl, cover with water, and soak for about 1 hour, or until soft. Drain, reserving 1/4 cup of the liquid. Place the dates, reserved liquid and 1 cup soaked nuts (cashews, almonds or hazelnuts - drained), in a blender or blender cup, and grind until smooth.

** For the Carob Sauce - put 4 seeded, soaked dates, drained, 1/4 cup raw carob powder and 2 tbsp of olive oil in a blender or blender cup and blend the hell out of it!

Using a homogenizing juicer, (or a strong blender), homogenize the dates and hazelnuts and place in a large bowl. Mix in the carob power and the coconut. Add the Vanilla and stir. Using wet hands. roll the mixture into a ball. On a serving plate, press the ball into a flat circle, aprox 1 inch thick. Top with nut creme followed by the carob sauce. Make that it look more attractive with the berries and mint. Eat! (Be wayward and serve with normal, non-raw vanilla ice cream.)

I was given some really generous gifts from family and friends and many thank you cards have gone out since. The biggest thank you is reserved for Mum who bit a rather expensive bullet and bought me the complete collection of The Wire on DVD. I am still basking in its greatness. We are watching it in back to back installments right now. Omar! At my beckoned command!

After lunch we joined the weekend masses at our local multiplex. We wanted to see The Wrestler and almost turned back upon seeing the endless line and pandemonium in the lobby as kids ran riot, breaking popcorn into the carpet. Luckily, the hordes of mouthy teens were there to drool over Twilight and the screaming kids were waiting for some movie about a talking Beverly Hills chihuahua that goes soul searching in Mexico.

I was disappointed by The Wrestler. It had nicely observed details of things like the camaraderie in the changing room, his lonely trailer, but apart from what was animated by Micky's charisma, this is a pretty poor movie. Often contrived and with reliable over-acting from Madam Angst herself, Evan Rachel Wood.

Obviously everyone is falling over themselves to gush about the film, as it's Micky's "come back" but I managed to find a less glowing review that totally nails its short-comings for me. That said, I was probably better than the chihauhua movie.

Next stop MELBOURNE

2009-01-19T10:04:00.001-08:00

My dad worked out the odds were 43 to 1 against it, but somehow my karma boat has finally come in and I've been accepted as one of the 12 undergrad students to study film at VCA! I totally pulled a Duckie when I got word - Goodbye shitty Grimsby! I'll miss your fish n' chip suppers but little else.

There's so much to organize before I start at the end of February, I'm bowled over. My life had been on hold waiting to hear how I got on but now it's been jammed into first gear and much shit is to be done. Find a place to live! Rediscover my summer wardrobe! A trip to London to bid my English darlings adieu! I have to watch 2 series of the Wire!

Had i been rejected I was facing a year at home doing a most likely rewarding London University correspondence law degree but I'm A LOT happier starting afresh down under, continuing, against all common sense and my threshold for exhaustion, to make movies. I have family over there so it's not my usual drastic sea change but this is serious stuff all the same.

My birthday was a bit of a mixed bag and I'll write about it once I've come down from my current high... hot damn, my life restarts NOW!

2009-01-17T02:54:00.000-08:00

So I SHOULD be getting my glad rags on by now and not be online at all during my birthday but upon reading the paper today, I discovered that I share a 17th of January birthday with a really diverse gang,(the visual contrast alone is worth a post!) I'm not sure I can fathom any of our lives running parallel...

Safe to say, I'm more down with the guys who are dead and gone.

At Least Betty White's still kicking. Golden Girls saw me through numerous sick days in bed.

Ok, that's all.

Happy Haus

2009-01-16T14:15:00.000-08:00

The fashion photographer Tim Walker has a lush house. Well, he used to at least... the pictures below are from an article from 2005 - my paper hoarding skills come good! It's sort of mad cluttered but with that much colour and assorted curios, his world is one I'd like to have a sleepover in. (Click for more detail)

Something old, something new

2009-01-13T09:15:00.000-08:00

Sexy cover art. Sexy tunes. Sexy videos. Sexy band members. What took me so long to buy this album!? This is on heavy replay right now and I'm falling under the spell of Anthony Hegarty's otherworldly voice all over again. I suspect he has shamanistic powers that he likes to keep to himself just to cultivate lovingly. His art is further evidence that he's on some sort of powerful alternate frequency. I'm looking forward to his latest solo offering impatiently.

So I've gone scissor happy again! I need my blunt fridge to grow out a fair bit but this is a halfway cut to what I'm after. My hairdresser told me that I have a "low hairline", so cutting it as close to the neck as I'd like would be risky business...who knew? I suspect I may be pruning before long... P.S Go Tina Fey! Suck it Indeed.

Visual wish list

2009-01-10T03:34:00.000-08:00

Birthday hopefuls:

1. Bloomers! My size has sold out in the time it's taken me to post this but I steal dream of a pair!

http://www.modcloth.com/store/Womens/Bottoms/Shorts/Hop+Around+Bloomers

2. Rain Parade mini umbrella - who knew it was possible to like an umbrella so much?

http://www.fredflare.com/customer/product.php?productid=3656&cat=252

3.One of the only c.ds I still buy, I've been after this for ages.

http://www.roughtrade.com/site/shop_detail.lasso?search_type=sku&sku=296069

4.Digital camera to stop me nicking my mum's one and get me practicing. This one is a WHICH mag Best Buy & at the cheaper end of the scale.

http://www.which.co.uk/reviews/digital-cameras/canon-powershot-sx100-is/review

5.Midas Touch Sneakers - so gastly, I love them. They'd look ace with bloomers and thick tights.

http://www.modcloth.com/store/ModCloth/Womens/Shoes/Midas+Touch+Sneakers

6. ANY David Foster Wallace books

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Brief-Interviews-Hideous-Foster-Wallace/dp/0316925195/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1231589366&sr=1-3

I know I'll be getting one of David Foster Wallace's books for sure but I have no idea what to expect otherwise. It's gonna be another low key affair due to my, er, geographically challenged predicament but I'm trying to make it special by booking a table at Hitchcock's vegetarian restaurant in Hull. It's murder to get into right now as they're opening for 2009 the day of my birthday, the 17th of January. Even if that falls through my mother can be trusted to make me an over-the-top cake. She is the queen of sweet things.

IKEA SPLURGE

2009-01-09T14:14:00.000-08:00

I know the IKEA life style has helped kill off numerous household names but its economy of design, embrace of geometric patterns and abundance of colours makes me all weak at the knees. The Almondy cake in their cafeteria ALONE is worth three hour round trip...

(I bought a 2 meter tall paper doily decorated c.d holder for all of £14!)

January rabbits

2009-01-08T14:26:00.000-08:00

A flurry of activity as I try to keep myself warm!

I'm hard at work collating things to sell online. The news story about the woman being buried alive by her stuff is giving me nightmares. One of the items up for sale that might help pay for future air travel is my Sylvac rabbit, well, my three Sylvac rabbits. I love them dearly and plan to keep one but right now, I just see dusty money when I look at them. How sad!

On other productive fronts, we're giving The Kitchen Revolution a go, in an attempt to limit the staggering amount of rubbish and filled bin liners produced by our kitchen habits.

The book sets out a year's worth of seasonal recipes and the week's dishes are planned so nothing goes to waste. It's fairly labour intensive cooking but the menus are well organized and its amazing how much we've saved already. Fish rolls with apple stuffing and chicory tomorrow - the experiment continues... here's the rather grusome looking photo of the delicious tasting beetroot tartan from last night --------->

I made it out to the cinema to see "The Reader" and despite a promising start, it lost its way in the gross miscasting of the ever stilted Ralph Fiennes, (totally unfeasible as the older version of the character the younger actor brought to life), and in a more general failure to create affecting empathy...Cosmo Landesman seems to agree with me:"They are generic figures — young man in love, beautiful woman with a secret. The film never shows us what is lovable about Hanna, so we cannot share Michael’s ambiguity about her and thus care about her fate. Despite being a love story, The Reader is a cold, cerebral work, a moral debate dolled up in the fancy dress of film." Also, talcum powder was employed to age Kate Winslet around the point I stopped caring, so it was all a bit down hill towards the end.

I'm incredibly excited about the films I have to keep me company tomorrow though.

As a household we've embraced the wave of creative thrift ideas flooding the crisis stricken market. The big picture seems to be darkening by the day with never ending job cuts but if any positive may come from it, it may very well be resulting creative alternatives to the current ailing system. I wince when I read over-paid journalists smugly extolling the "life affirming independence" of making your own jam/lemon curd - tell that to people who just had their home repossessed! That sort of self-cultivation is usually a privilege of people who have wasted too much time navel gazing, fascinated by the lint, already, but that doesn't stop it from being a worthwhile pursuit in other sinarios. It feels pretty amazing to discover you can do something unexpected yourself. Your confidence grows. So I guess at best, hardships can lead to better self knowledge, new found priorities and resolve. The consequent steps taken towards self-sufficient self-esteem can only help soften the political and economic knocks that make us feel so impotent.

(8 days to my birthday! There's something to raise moral.)

Unsolved mystery

2009-01-06T06:33:00.000-08:00

A few days ago my dad and I noticed that his much loved flower-box in the back porch had been ratted. Initially he was convinced that some scallawag had jumped our 6 ft gate and stolen his pansies but closer inspection showed the flowers where still in place, just a little worse for ware. A rat was supposed the culprit and we went on with our day.

The following morning my dad got up for work before the birds to find the flower box tampered with once more. Frustrated, he rolled up his sleeves to put things right once again. As he parted the soil to replant the upturned flowers he caught sight of something buried about 2 inches down. Closer inspection and a slimy touch confirmed that it was some sort of ... flesh. Shocked but entranced he dug the item out completely and soon discovered that a whole oven-ready chicken had been buried under his pansies. I'm utterly bereft at not being present at the moment its discovery. Almost as strange was that all the pond water had gone too, along with our last few surviving fish.

He stumbled into the house and declared that he'd "found some meat in the flower-bed" at the top of his lungs. My mother and I sprang out of our beds like the house was alight and pretty soon were online researching voodoo hexes etc.

So, we still have no idea how the chicken got there. It could be a fox but there was absolutely no way it could have made it into our brick walled garden, especially with such a large chicken in its jaws, (and there's no way it got up on its hind legs and burried the chickden so dealicately without leaving a tooth mark, unless it was some sort of mutant fox empowered by drinking all our pond water.)

Any theories? Or any knowledge of poultry curses?

Talk about an ambiguous omen for the new year! I feel like I'm in a David Lynch movie.

Resolutions?

2009-01-04T04:39:00.001-08:00

Dance more and see more live music!

Consolidate my French skills - my poor beleaguered French friends deserve a break from my garbled English! I understand a lot and can watch most French films without subtitles. Now it's just a matter of finding my mojo français and making it work for me. I'll revive the Italian afterwards...

Attaining the frame God meant for me, (according to my puny wrists):

Current measurements = Bust 34 Waist 26.5 Hip 35.5 Thigh 20

Future measurements (hopefully) = Bust 34 Waist 25 Hip 33 Thigh 18.5

the 80s soundtrack of the year to come

2009-01-03T14:36:00.000-08:00

The head-lining name of The Times newspaper's pick of 2009 pop stars in waiting futher cements my suspicion that this year will be a head long dive into the late 80s, pop culturally speaking. La Roux's synth tunes are fairly average for my tastes, although her forthcoming single "Quicksand" does merit the attention it's getting in the press - it's like a Human League song without the bloke belting for all he's worth. The song's video is exhibit A in what's becoming a long line of evidence supporting that what's "fresh" now is what was fresh in 1987, albeit shot and photographed with much better cameras :

The Chromatics & Glass Candy have stripped back their music to expose the rather alluring darkness of the mighty synth. They've taken the 80s as an influence, no doubt, but unlike the perfectly studied karaoke of La Roux, they use that influence as a starting point for their musical trip, not as the road map.

The rather worrying implication of the ongoing cultural regurgitation of what each generation was weened on is that what's to come might not have the dandyish excess of the 80s electro as an excuse - please God spare us a Brit pop revival, in all it's glorification of lads and laddets! There wasn't an ounce of style in it. The karaoke school of worship tends to lack critical faculties which is what makes a night out at a karaoke bar so much fun, but doesn't translate so well into a cultural compass.

The article also name checks Florence and The Machine who, apart from her fabulous name, totally deserve to be embraced by everyone who hasn't heard her already. The music press has rushed to compare her to some sort of Siouxsie Sioux/Kate Bush love child but I think her music has a distinctive feel all of it's own, something that sounds like a sensuous riot of youth.

Her song "Dog Days" is a heart-felt beauty. I leave you with its opulent video set in a woodland copse.

Here's to all the 2009 mix c.ds to come!

Bring in the 2009!

2009-01-02T10:08:00.000-08:00

The aftermath of New Year's eve in our tiny walled garden... my mum keeps on about returning to Australia to live but I don't know she could cope with their fire work ban! She's already stock pilled for the year here. Poor pot plants.

WHYs & WHEREFOREs

2009-01-02T08:47:00.000-08:00

I was unexpectedly called home a few months back when my mother was diagnosed with cancer again. Thankfully she's on the mend now but as the drama resulted in major surgery, it's that fabled long road to recovery for the foreseeable future. I had no idea how much my mother did to keep the cogs turning until I was landed the job of running the household. Truth be told, I sort of enjoy the challenge so that's not been the issue. The problem is being stationed back in my home town again - an run-down industrial town on the northern coast of England. It's exceptionally bleak and due to my ongoing erratic education and lust for travel I know hardly anyone in the area,( well, with the exception of the workman who come to the house to rip us off and the 60 year olds my Mother played bridge with before she became ill.)

If I had car insurance I'd take to the road just as I'd catch the next train, were there a rail connection running anywhere worthwhile for less than a small fortune. Like it or lump it, this is it for now.

To prevent myself going totally stir-crazy and snapping in the middle of the grocery run to the supermarket, I have decided to use this page as a creative distraction. It might also end up providing a sexy little forum to gather all the impossible threads of my internet pooterling.

So, just about 3 years after the wheels fell off the bandwagon, I'm adopting a "blog." Every man and his cat has one so... chucks away!