Bamboo Charcoal Bread

I'm officially addicted!

Get the cake out before we make out

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...

January rabbits

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.)