happy holidays y’all!

Atomic Blondie has been thin on the ground of late, but as no indication of things to come. I’ve enjoyed my little foray into cyber-communication this year + intend to continue with added commitment, creativity + regularity! (Maybe a set of steak knives thrown in.)

For now, this photo explains my state, + my need for rest + rejuvenation. Weeze + I jet off to Tasvegas on Sunday + I plan to stay far far away from computers for the next 2½ weeks. Yay for screen-free down-time!

I was writing my Nana’s chrimbo letter on the weekend, + reflecting on the year gone by, as you do. It’s been a big one for me. Loads + loads of highlights, a couple of lowlights, but most importantly a truckload of beautiful people to keep me company, celebrate with me + steer me through the obstacles. At the risk of sounding like an overblown Oscars speech… thanks for your friendship + support in 2006. How lucky am I? Pretty bloody lucky I reckon.

pups of christmases past

I remember…
my dog Peanut
beautiful, beautiful girl

I remember the way you thrust your head between people’s legs when you wanted attention, going straight for the goolies! The way you rested your chin in my lap + snored. A gentle communication of satisfaction. A lovely peaceful sound.

I remember how proud you were when Mewi + Steve brought that Harley Davidson jacket back from China. You strutted around my birthday party like a model on the catwalk, drinking in the attention. We didn’t take a single photo + that makes me sad. But we couldn't have known that we wouldn’t have that chance again.

I remember honey coloured fur, white ruff reaching almost around your neck like a jagged semi-circle. Such unusual markings. Four white paws + a white tip to your tail. Deep black muzzle. The most gorgeous deep dark eyes. Your pink piggy belly always always made me smile. That’ll do, Pig, that’ll do.

I remember you sitting in the old outdoor chair at the earliest point of the morning, nose craned towards the first rays of sun, twitching, taking in the smells of the new day with the pot of lemongrass waving behind you. That big broad grin.

I remember your essential gentleness. How keen you were to make friends with everyone. Eager to please. A solid + stable companion + an endless source of joy in my life. You gave me so much friendship + made me laugh more times than I will ever remember. I love you.

this week i ave mostly been...

...feeling a bit sorry for meself again, it must be said. But I think I'm past it now, + thank jeeesus for that. I bore myself silly when I'm low, so hate to think how bored everyone else must be. This week saw a lot of unnecessary napping, chocolate eating + general grouchiness. I tried to balance it with Being Good To Myself stuff - long walks at the beach, plenty of vegies, Mewi's rescue remedy (go the placebo!) - but have accepted that sometimes I just need to wallow. It has to be done even if it doesn't necessarily achieve anything, no matter how good the Reasons To Wallow are. Maybe, at very best, it achieves a little balancing out of personality + renewed realisation that I prefer myself/my life/my experience of the world when I'm positive.

And there was still plenty to make me smile. Largely the people around me who I love + feel blessed by. (I posted some of this week's email banter because it demonstrates how little it takes to make me smile... a mere thimbleful of friendship, care, silliness.) A great dance class today where I got to literally shake off some of my blues. Having dinner snatched out of my hand by a cheeky seagull on Tuesday night. (Nature has a sense of humour and no respect for any of us!) Getting an invite round to Shady's + cementing a new friendship with someone gorgeous. Making the choice to stay home on a Saturday night - it might make me a geek but it's what I need + I'm getting better at recognising my needs. Manu. Margarita therapy with the work gang last night.

On that note, I'm posting the photo in spite of myself. I do hate it Bez, but I've been documenting you all week, looking silly for your conference presentation, so the least I can do is reciprocate. Next time we need to work harder on styling the Claire Looking Like An Idiot shot, so that I at least look like an idiot without a goofy hunchback and such prominent tuckshop-lady-arms. Ooops... I guess that's just what I actually look like... learning to live with it... still. Please note that I spilt the margarita prior to drinking any + only sucked it up off the table because everyone was egging me on (plus the fact that it was probably worth five bucks). It was that kinda week. New lows all round.

word of the week

punctate

1. Marked or studded with points or dots; having minute rounded spots, or (esp.) depressions resembling punctures, scattered over the surface; of the nature of or characterized by such markings.

2. As punctate-scabrous, scabrous with minute dots or points; punctate-striate, having striæ or streaks marked with dots, or formed of dots arranged in rows; punctate-sulcate, having furrows marked with dots.

3. Path. Having or coming to a definite point.

4. Having or ending in a point; pointed.

babay pig tigers

ME: You know what... I feel mildly better! Special presents and visits from Smokey, Bez's super-special shoes, morning coffee, a trolley-load of cake and birthday celebrations to plan. Thanks guys. You're the bestus! Grumpy Claire

S: B's shoes are fantastic however I heard that the shoes are made from the skins of baby (sorry babay) pig tigers who didn't make it i.e. eaten by mummy not-pig tiger.

B: hehe. s yr funny. i had to recycle those babay tigers because they were so special. don't be sad claire, there are lots of unfortunate people in the world, and you have lovely people around you, and you have lots of lovely shoes.

DISCLAIMER: All good ideas in this post blatantly stolen from Bez + Smokey.

me + mr t do philosophy

ME: Bez says there's something freaky going on with the stars. Any more news?

MR T: Yeh, I'm not sure. I'm more of a star enthusiast than expert. How’s things?

M: I've moved past my momentary interest anyway. I checked the Herald horoscopes + they told me I was feeling enthusiastic + energetic. Couldn't really be more wrong. Last night I decided that 2007 will be my year of accepting aloneness. No more pursuing of boys from 1 January.

T: We're all alone deep down no matter what, hanging out for those brief moments of intimacy... sigh…

M: You've come over all buddhist on me. I'm not too comfortable with the concept of embracing aloneness. But I'm learning to cope.

T: Just a case of getting to point where you enjoy your life well enough.

M: I live in serious anticipation of "enjoying my life well enough". Any advice on achieving that one, oh sage master? I don't think that baking in my own juices here in aircon deficient library land is aiding the cause.

T: Yeh I dunno, to me it seems that you've got everything in place how you want it, you're just craving some sidedish of man gravy to accompany it. You love your job (deep down), you dig wollongong (even more), + you like your place. So that's all pretty solid. You could take up big game hunting maybe?

M: You're right, as usual. I don't want to want the gravy, but I do. The merciless killing of large creatures could be the answer I guess. So could a good slap or my cold turkey approach. No one round to slap me so leaning towards the latter. I should have auditioned for that nunnery reality show after all. That would have made non-pursual of boys much easier.

word of the week

This week we have a toss up between envenomation and interconnectivity, both courtesy of Crazy Nattie + both beyond proper definition by the OED. Nat is a wonderful flame-haired
colleague of mine. As far as I'm concerned, every office should have one. She's an unashamed sci-fi geek, a font of curious knowledge + a speaker of her own mind. She's seriously dirty + brazenly honest. She peppers my day with such gems as "Are you on the rag yet Claire? Cos I'm overdue.", "Jesus people are full of shit." + "Have I told you to fuck off yet today?" (directed at her boss), exclaimed in the loudest of tones and accompanied by a cackling laugh. All management exercises are refered to under the blanket term of "corporate masturbation" + all colleagues are referred too as "luvvie" or "that arsehole". When she laughs you can hear it through the whole office + as the sound travels people's faces light up. I've been feeling a bit envenomated myself this week, but Nat never fails to bring a smile to my dial. We love ya Nattie!

envenom
1. To venom (a person, an animal); to poison by contact, bite, inoculation.
2. To put venom or poison on (a weapon, etc.); to taint (the air, ground, etc.) with poison; to render noxious or poisonous.
3. To infuse venom or bitterness into (actions, relations, etc.); to impart bitterness to (the feelings or words of a person); to embitter, make virulent.
4. To impregnate with moral ‘venom’; to corrupt, vitiate.

inter
Denoting ‘Between or among other things or persons; between the parts of, in the intervals of, or in the midst of, something; together with; between times or places, at intervals, here and there’

connectivity
The characteristic, or order, or degree, of being connected (in various senses).

PS: Interconnectivity = corporate masturbation.

illustration friday: clear

Finding clear space to feel what I need to feel.

you must fight hard to shine the light of words upon it

I must say a word about fear. It is life's only true opponent. Only fear can defeat life. It is a clever, treacherous adversary, how well I know. It has no decency, respects no law or convention, shows no mercy… The matter is difficult to put into words. For fear, real fear, such as shakes you to your foundation, such as you feel when you are brought face to face with your mortal end, nestles in your memory like gangrene: it seeks to rot everything, even the words with which you speak of it. So you must fight hard to express it. You must fight hard to shine the light of words upon it. Because if you don't, if your fear becomes a wordless darkness that you avoid, perhaps even manage to forget, you open yourself to further attacks of fear because you never truly fought the opponent who defeated you.

From 'Life of Pi' by Yann Martel

mixed up...

I've been thinking about ideals + expectations. How pervasive they manage to be, regardless of how flexible we think we are or how loose our plans are for life. In the background there's always the unspoken recipe: the ingredients that we deliberately prepare + mix up, all a contribution towards a bigger whole. The hopes + dreams. Those little voices that say "if I head down X path, then Y will happen".

But sometimes Y doesn't happen.

Sometimes the recipe goes wrong, or you're missing a necessary ingredient. Maybe the sugar is left out + things don't taste as sweet as you'd hoped. Maybe - if the universal you is anything like me - you burn that last batch of biscuits + that makes you cry. All the frustration seeps out + the experience sours. Your cooking sucks! You'll never make a decent biscuit again! Why do you even frickin bother, when nothing turns out the way it's supposed to?! All fears + criticisms surface to spell out D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R. The internal Drama Queen springs from nowhere to box you round the ears. But as quickly as she arrives she's gone again.

A mate turns up to put the kettle on + dry your tears. She has a packet of honey jumbles in her bag + they taste just fine.

I'll have a pink one please.

this week i ave mostly been...

eating…
--mangoes. Thank you thank you thank you for summer fruit + the advent of mango season. I could eat ten of them in a row. (Or perhaps not, but I want to eat ten in a row… if only to see what happens.) I can never resist sucking the seeds, in an attempt to get at every last drop of goodness, and then I end up with stringy mango teeth. It is a price I am willing to pay.
--chocolate hazelnut nougat. Smokey bought an enormous bar of it at Legs11 on Friday night + it was divine. Mmmm… nougat. Thanks Smokey!
--hot lemon + honey. Too many colds going round for my liking. Stay away.

smiling at…
--Emma Magenta. I bought The Peril of Magnificent Love, an incredibly gorgeous book, + had a little cry when I read it last night. No wonder… our heroine discovers love’s path is fraught with illusion and strewn with disappointment. Nevertheless, [she] overcomes her disillusions and finds new possibilities and strength in the lessons she has learned. (Stolen from official blurb.)

This could be another case of Clairey succumbing to twee sentimentality, but it so isn’t. Magenta’s drawings are stunning – simple but rich + multi-layered. The kind of drawing style that I covet in intense + unspeakable ways. She speaks so honestly about the risks we take, + the rewards we find, when we are willing to love ourselves magnificently.

--my family + that bloody stubborn streak that runs through every one of us. I want to relinquish it but I’m fighting against the gods of familial conditioning. The alternative – as always – is to laugh.

--Ben. I’ve had a shitty morning at work. Showdown with the office dragon + lots of shifting of furniture. Stiff neck, headache, general grumps. I run into Ben + he gives me one of his hugs, his big embrace that makes my soul soar. I feel lifted. I feel like I could melt. And no, I do not want to get into his pants.

--Lady Adi. You go girl! I can’t express how good it is to be sharing this journey of re-discovery with you. I know it sounds cheesey but it’s the truth. I feel braver having you out in the big bad world with me, exploring the same ground + breaking those invisible rules. How free are we? How good does it feel? Long live the dirty thirties I say!

listening to…
--the pod on shuffle between la Gong + the Can. Lazy but so good.
--a fabulous country-ish mixed tape from Shady – no idea who any of the artists are but I will be grilling her when we meet next.
--Jose… when in doubt, still pulling Jose Gonzales out. Lord I love that man.

watching…
--Season One of Grey’s Anatomy with Weeze. Embrace the guilty pleasure.
--Laurel Canyon on DVD with me ma. When will I learn to pick raunch-free options for this kind of shared viewing? It was great though. Frances McDormand rocks + I could watch Christian Bale all day. As always, much empathy for tales of dysfunctional families.

word of the week

titivate
1. a. trans. To make small alterations or additions to one's toilet, etc. so as to add to one's attractions; to make smart or spruce; to ‘touch up’ in the way of adornment, put the finishing touches to. Also with off, up.

Sounds rude but I don't think it is. We're all titivating in front of the mirror all the time. To "titivate off"... well that's a whole other story!

Word of last week was molosser, courtesy of Big Brain Bez. The Oxford doesn't even know bout this one, although they do define molossian as "designating or relating to a breed of large dog resembling a mastiff, said to have originated in Molossia in ancient Epirus". How apt is that for describing a big bruiser of a dog? Try it next time you run into one + check out the warm vocab-enhanced glow it brings.

I am going to be good tomorrow + make time for a proper post. Damn you busy life/long but not-long-enough weekend/endless wasted hours in a car to Canberra/new boyfriend-type-person/giggly breathless phone conversations! I need double the available time. At least.

multi-tasking...

Attempting a fit-everything-into-a-half-hour-lunchbreak challenge. Typing + eating are not sympathetic activities though. Free-falling salmon and asparagus pie crumbs. Fingers sticky with freshly cut orange. Please don't consider the state of my keyboard or the bacterial ramifications of this post.

Now that I'm here I'm wondering what to say. A colleague recently commented that blogs are boring. And I concede that she's right. But here we all are. By 'we all' I mean me + the resounding silence that meets me when when I throw my bits n bobs out to the worldwideweb. It raises all sorts of questions, the most persistent being WHY? I'm having fun okay. Leave me alone. (Oh, hang on, you already are.)

This week's Illo Friday topic is smitten. I've had no big brainwaves about what to create, but it is a very appropriate topic because I have another crush. 500th for the year. At this point I need to confess that I've returned to the internet meat-market (please note: with many reservations + a sad sense of resignation). I've been bored okay? If there's no possibility of romantic spark in my life I go mildly insane... + if there's no possibility of a shag... there, said it. I can admit to these sad truths, high-disclosure queen that I am. So I have a crush. On someone I haven't met. The basis of the crush is that his name is Gus + he has a quirky sense of humour. That's all it takes. Decent name, ability to make me giggle in some unpredictable way. He's a bald Kiwi with creative writing aspirations. Sound familiar? Okay, so I have a crush + some alarm bells echoing in the distance. I'm meeting him on Saturday + pledging not to spend any more time thinking about it until then. Woops... too late.

There is something so exciting about a crush. They should bottle it + sell it.

illustration friday: trouble

there will be trouble

mixed media

this week i ave mostly been...

eating…
--pantry remnants. What is it with me + supermarkets? I cannot manage shopping at the moment, although I did at least pick up some fresh vitals this week. Oh fruit, food of the gods.
--embarrassing confession coming… coke zero. I don’t know why but stress + fatigue have lead me down the caffeine-+-chemicals pathway this week. I’ve done it twice now, very unlike me, + I will ditch it after today. Promise.
-- a great cous cous salad, with chicken, roast red peppers, lots of herbs + some dried currants + apricots.

smiling at…
--my gorgeous sister. It has to be said again, sorry! The check-in phonecalls + beautiful card saved me. What would I do without you Weeze?
--Bez + her outlook on life. ‘Nacho Libre’ was potentially the worst movie I’ve ever seen… but also an enormous bundle of laughs in your company mate. I haven’t giggled like that in eons.
--my idiot love life… still. Okay, so smiling + crying in equal measure, but that’s the nature of it. Thank you to CJ for summing it up so aptly with the phrase If you can’t live without me, why aren’t you dead?

listening to…
--back catalogue from A Tribe Called Quest. Good walking music. 'Bonita Applebum' remains at the top of my list of potential all-time-faves, even though I will never have the discipline to commit to one song.

watching…
--Jack Black’s unlikely facial contortions. See above.

illustration friday: quiet

falling (quiet after explosion)

watercolour + pencil

making luuuuurve

Don't get too excited!

I've been battling my burgeoning in-box over the long weekend, wading through long unanswered correspondence + trying to be a Good Friend. I have one from a mate who shall be known as the Notorious A.N.G. He is playing provocateur - as usual - + looking for a rise on the pseudo-philosophy outlined below. I can't even read it without my brain fuzzing out + going into the red zone...

Woman's subconscious dependence on the fluctuating sexual attention of men rules her choice of partner. She may go for either an exciting man whom she thinks she can control. Or an agreeable and safe partner whom she can quietly bend to her wants. Both kinds of partnership usually end in either disaster or boredom and frustration.

Male sexuality is put into woman in sexual intercourse and because it is substantive it stays on in her. It's effect is a periodic wispy shadow of depression that she can't explain but accepts as normal. It clouds her perception, making her feel emotional and not herself.

The same male sexuality is the active outgoing selfish drive which made the world a violent and loveless place. In woman the destructive shadow of man subtly influences her choice of a partner. So very seldom is he mister right.

The male shadow in her is doubt, and it is the shadow that chooses. While woman wants the right to choose, she has to make a choice. And then she must live with the shadow doubt, in the man and in herself.

Woman in her natural state is not dependant on man. She loves him and in love there is no dependence, no attachment, and no fear of losing. She is the passive attracting principle; she is an irresistible living magnet. She draws to herself a right man to love her truly and divinely. There's no choice in it.

For woman today to return to her natural golden state takes time. But having suffered enough from man's sexuality she gradually learns not to compromise where there is not enough love. Finally this brings her a man who can remove the shadow from his love."

Excerpt from "Making Love" by Barry Long (transribed from tape...)

I'd like to make some sensible comments A, really I would. But firstly I don't understand it, + secondly it just sounds like misogynistic bullshit to me. I dunno, maybe I am getting unecessarily caught up in self-righteousness.

I'm keen on the idea of reaching a natural golden state... as long as it doesn't involve golden showers... + I reckon our mate Bazz might just be headed in that direction. Would I have to wear yellow all the time? Cos that doesn't work with my complexion. As for not compromising where there isn't enough love... well if only it were that straightforward.

How does the old raincoat impact on 'substantive male sexuality'?

Any other thoughts?

more on making

Why is it that there is so much pleasure in all this bricolage? Barbara in her soap + furniture polish, me with the bread. The tracklements I love to make. The pickled oranges, the salted lemons + now the lemon chutney I'm about to make. I think it's really a form of play. It has a deep ancient connection to creativity. To change one thing into another is to make a person happy. There are some people who can barely take a look at a thing without having an impulse to change it into another.

Kate Llewellyn, 'Playing with Water', 2005, pp.217-218

i made this

During the sick + sorry space of the weekend I cast an eyeball over my endless To Do List. I can't help wishing that it wasn't occupied by quite so many unfinished projects. It's one thing to have an abundance of ideas. It's quite another to be surrounded by endless clutter. Unrealised dreams made manifest.

I am still trying to create a clear workspace in my newly-spare room. And I still can't wade through the bits + bobs. The Special Thing for a (now not so) recent Mr + Mrs. The cushions for a friend who's birthday is in December, + no, I am not working that far in advance. The tabletop waiting to be painted. The clothes waiting to be mended. I get so bored + despondent when I think about it all. I thought it might be novel to think about things I have made this year, rather than the stuff I nearly made, or wanted to make...


--three cushions for my new workroom
--hundreds of yummy meals
--lots of adjustments to op shop finds, some glamorous, many completely unsuccessful
--Sally's lemon + yoghurt birthday cake, which sank in the middle but tasted good
--a crazy lion softie for Olive
--a Flickr site
--a blog
--dozens of drawings + doodles

--several notebooks worth of word-drawings + word-doodles

--half an exhibition worth of art work
--a handful of birthday cards (although generally sadly neglected this year)
--some jewellery
--loads of lovely new friends
--a comfortable little cubicle at work that reflects me (it took a year + a half, but I got there in the end)
--a heap of crazy dance moves
--endless party decos, paper flowers, lanterns, flags
--some grafitti scribbles (blame Bez)

--another garden

Yep! I feel so much better when I look at it like that!

illustration friday: phobia

riding a giant snail out of the sea of fear + uncertainty

mixed media on found paper

Inspired by Nina's snails.

(I didn't actually get this up in time for IF. Beware the back-dater!)

miserable...

I have to be the world's worst invalid. I've always been pathetic when sick, + this is coupled with a few other unfortunate truths:

a) I am a hypochondriac, I confess
b) I have no patience for anyone else's maladies

So basically I have a desire to be mollycoddled through even the most minor of afflictions, + no ability to do the same for anyone else. I'm not even much schtick at caring for myself. This scenario doesn't work when I'm sick + on my own. No one to stroke my head + feel sorry for me; no one to send out for fresh supplies of ginger ale; no one to administer cups of tea + soothing words. Only me + my own bad company.

This is where I've been for the latter part of the week... in my own bad company, with my own nasty throat infection. Yesterday I slept for about 20 of my allocated 24 hours, + spent at least one of the remaining sitting in the bath - aching, sweating, crying. It's lucky that wishes don't come true in these situations, because I wish myself dead with most minor headaches.

Of course it's the weekend now, + that has to have some kind of positive impact. I'm about to drag my weary bones out for my own ginger ale + Deadwood therapy. Wish me luck + a shift in the malaise.

snails within snails on top of snails

this week i ave mostly been...

...eating
--strawberry trifle... mmm...
--a delicious pear + raspberry smoothie. Best homemade-weekend-treat brekky ever.
--pea, potato + watercress salad with a mustardy dressing
--my usual two milky coffees, in the face of a vague desire to cut back to one
--the last of the apples, with mango season on its way, hooray
--fresh licorice

...smiling at
--my sister. A beautiful, intelligent person with so much integrity + strength. I love you Weeze.

--all my new opportunities for baby cuddles. Manu, Luiz + Pasquale, Olive - what blessed bundles of perfection.

--at least twelve pelicans, wending their way above me on my drive down to Gerringong yesterday, like graceful dinosaurs of the air. The pelican joy continues. I am so digging that drive too, with the rolling green hills + the coral trees flaming into bud. Scarlet highlights against rain-fresh greens + then the blues of sea + sky. And when I get to Gerringong Ruth, Willy, Nina + the twins are waiting on a sunny porch for me. An afternoon digging tunnels in the sand, singing songs to the ocean, cuddling babies + talking with Ruth. Nina gave me an amazing drawing of snails within snails on top of snails. Life doesn't get much better.

--my ongoing show of adventurous spirit. I went to a ball on Friday. Who woulda thought it! And it was kinda fun... in a daggy, drunken kinda way.

--lunch with Gin, who continues to be a gorgeous, effervescent presence in my life. It's impossible not to smile around you honey. Thank you.

--my idiot love life

...listening to
--Patti Smith. Trying to get in touch with my 'I am woman hear me roar' streak. Not working.
--Teenage Fanclub. Trying not to get in touch with my sad-ass, romantic-but-lonely streak. Failing miserably.
--A crazy Tim Buckley album, Starsailor, which I am struggling to fathom but will persist with. The beauty of Song to the Siren demands it.

...watching
--very little. Back into the telly-free zone which is a good thing. It means my life is full of other stuff. I will be breaking out tonight with a sew-a-thon in front of Grey's Anatomy. Ah... Monday night veg out...

illustration friday: farm

sometimes we live under a prussian blue moon

mixed media on found paper

sometimes we live under a prussian blue moon

I arrived at work on Monday (after a lovely long weekend) to find my desk laden with anonymous gifts. Four envelope-yellow book-covers + a beautiful postcard of a raven print. Who could it have been but Smokey?! We were supposed to catch up at the Ox on Friday night, but she never made it. She mentioned having one of those teary, at-home nights + blamed the moon. Actually, that might explain Friday night more broadly, as it was a funny one for me too. After a gorgeous day of op-shopping antics, our night never quite got off the ground.

But it was last night that was nearly a teary one for me. Various factors – having worked a twelve hour day; getting stung with a parking ticket (st-rike two!); getting a call from Gemini who declined another invitation (st-rike two!); having the shits with P (st-rike ten thooousand!); + yes, my period is on its way. I resisted the urge to weep + turned to Smokey's gifts instead. Found that beautiful balance between moping + productivity with some melancholic creativity. I spent four hours scribbling away to a soundtrack of Ryan Adams, Bernard Fanning + Neil Young. Those sad country lads met my need for self-pity – always best expressed via a loud sing-along + occasional moist eyes. And the envelope-yellow book-covers coaxed me out of myself + onto paper. I wasn’t entirely thrilled with the end result, but that wasn’t the point. A night which could have been filled with morose navel-gazing turned into something far more useful... + fun!

Thanks Smokey.

atomic museum

EXHIBIT #2

mask

she wears a mask – machine translations
here comes another ballroom story
those low dead dice the recent past
sweet innocence has lost her glory
in modern living so she wears a mask
she wears a mask

she's up until four in the morning
swimming in a cocktail glass
it's cold when blue lets the dawn in
it's winter when she wears her mask
she wears a mask

if that's a look on her face
then no we're never ever going to find out
if it's a five or an ace
that takes her out

on saturday nights when it's raining
she dresses up and drives too fast
there is no use or complaining
she's singing and she wears a mask
she wears a mask

crikey! idiocy unimpeded

I can't resist adding this one to the list:

--The Lameass dudes halting in their tracks at news of Steve-o's demise. Could it be true? Could we seriously be so lucky?

One of the crew is reportedly reconsidering his approach to wildlife. Did he do this after... wait for it... taunting a bunch of sharks and then presenting himself as bait? (According to El Heraldo, he... "pierced a hole through his cheek with a fishing hook that was attached to fishing line and a rod and then, with blood dripping from his face, jumped into the ocean.") NO! It wasn't this act of masculine daredevilry that took our Lameass friend one step too far. It was the impact of Irwin's untimely death at nature's hand. Steve is helping us all from beyond the grave.

quintessentially australian ways to die

I don't want to buy into the Steve Irwin malarky, because I don't give that much of a shit. It's sad that someone has died (in quite surprising circumstances it must be said) + Steve-o probably did at least as many good as completely stupid things. Beyond that, I have to confess that I didn't know the man personally.

What does fascinate + in many respects amuse me is the cult of public grief that springs up around these kinds of events. People who may barely have mourned their own nana's passing are suddenly hysterical. And all manner of morons are leaping up + down with something to say.

Some favourites:
--Naomi Robson's addition to her proven track-record of complete idiocy. Good gawd I loathe that woman.
--Russ + Germaine stepping forward to offer the voice of Australia - one right, one left but both equally ill-considered + sensational.
--And our very own leader once again adding his tokenistic + silly comments to the milieu, saying that Irwin's death occurred in "quintessentially Australian circumstances". Keep yer lid on, Johnny-boy! I mean, seriously, we have four cases of death by stingray in recorded Australian history. Compare that to 47,512 of cardiovascular disease in 2004 alone + you may agree that heart disease is the quintessential Aussie method of death. Next comes cancer. No mention of crocs, let alone stingrays. So how, exactly, this qualifies as quintessential is a mystery to me.

I've entertained myself for the last few days, thinking of other means of death that might qualify as quintessentially Australian. Choking on a ring-pull from a beer can maybe. Being pummelled to death by a boxing kangaroo, or suffocated by a cuddly koala-beer. Insert the cliche of your choice here.

We visited Mewi, Steve + Manu in the Mountains yesterday (more on that later) + Steve confessed to an irrational fear of pressure-cookers. He was telling us that when he encountered them in China he would cross to the other side of the road in order to avoid them. I had a sudden thought that death by exploding pressure-cooker might be a quintessentially Chinese way to die... ?

If you have any thoughts on the quintessence of death - in any of its guises - please feel free to add your comments!

mash...

Still residing with one foot in pancake territory, as evidenced by a few clues…

a) watched the crappiest of movies on telly + howled like a baby. I cried at the pure sap content. I cried at the injustice of it all. I cried cos I’m not living in Italy, renovating an ancient palazza, writing pontiferous memoirs, + embracing swarthy lovers. I cried cos I don’t look like Diane Lane when I get my kit off. And mostly I cried about watching ‘Under the Tuscan Bum’ all on my lonesome on a Sunday night.

b) ate an entire cherry ripe before 10am.

c) agreed to meet P for coffee in the midst of a P Ban. The whole “ban” concept isn’t working out too well. I don’t think I’ve ever made it past eight weeks, + this will only be in the vicinity of three. My prediction is a half-hour, caffeine-fuelled, head-butting session… but who can rightly say? I just hope that one day I’m brave enough to let the head-butting habit go. There must come a time when the void is better than the same old rituals of failed communication.

But there’s also plenty of good stuff afoot… apologies for the feet theme...

a) I had a lovely weekend with me ma. We went + saw The Audreys at the Heritage Hotel in Bulli, a most civilised venue. It would have been nice if the drunken loud-mouths who talked through the entire show had kept that in mind. But that was a minor glitch in an otherwise perfect evening. I’m still digging those down-home-country Adelaidians, even if they do come off a tad too slick at times. There’s a big part of my heart devoted to bluegrass + a night out where I can yee-haw. I'm willing to admit that their version of Jolene gives me the tingles. Yesterday we walked the Sea Cliff Bridge + had a lesiurely brekky in Stanwell Park. Then we checked out Holley + Sal's soccer semi-final. Unfortunately the Uni Hippos were not triumphant... but... you know what...? I went + watched SPORT + I yelled from the sidelines + I followed what was going on (sorta) + I enjoyed it. Woo hoo!

b) Emma rang last night + we went for a coupla drinks at the Ox. Her call was slightly out of the blue... or was that just how my muddle-head felt on awakening from its nana-nap? I had new-friend-nerves, especially given that we're both a bit shy, but it was great. A summery evening in a beer garden. Cold Coopers. Good conversation. We yakked away, covering everything from her upcoming nuptials to sex-tourism. (Don't ask me to map out the tangents. You've gotta love where a discussion weaves + wends!)

c) I have the loveliest of weeks ahead of me too. Time with Ruth on Wednesday, Weeze arriving to stay, dinner with the uni gang on Thursday, a day off with Mr T + Bez on Friday, uncharted expeditions to be experienced.

It's all good! Pancakes begone!

gobstopper

A meeting moment from yesterday. Tuning in from sleepy time to:
And obviously we are using digital object identifiers in this case.
I mean, obviously. I love working in a library.

mmm...

I made the decision to stay put + say hello from work. This way - as theory goes - I can leave the box switched off when I get home + concentrate on other things. Heating up pumpkin + watercress soup, talking to Weeze, mooching. As is usual, the theory does not fit snugly into the reality. I've been surfing, checking long-lost junky bookmarks, singing loudly to Nina Simone, + not feeling inspired to say anything much. It's been a funny, mixed-bag of a week + I don't know where to start.

I've been blue... moo moo, I have been blue. A lazy non-specific melancholia that stems from getting too lost up my own ass. When I contemplate writing/talking/groaning about it I fear dropping dead at my own boringness. There are people in the world with real problems, I know. Serious, unthinkable problems - at a global level. And normal, actual problems - at a local level. A work friend is heart-broken + my general malaise shames me when I'm around her. Her pain is so real, so palpable, + there is absolutely nothing that can be done about it beyond sleeping pills and time. I feel acute empathy for that experience, + relief that I am no longer residing there. And yet I am residing here, head firmly up ass. I'm a bit lonely... so what!? I have a few gripes about the state of things... who really cares!? I can't even muster up a single care.

I've been lost... in myself + that is never the place to be. I read an article on good mental health this week. It suggested an ABC approach to maintaining a sound head: A - being active physically + mentally; B - belonging + being connected to your community; + C - committing to a cause or activity outside of youreslf. No mention of ass.

And I've been found... because there are always the regular glimmers of sunshine in my life which are impossible to paint blue. The paint won't stick, no matter how hard I throw it.
--I wore pink pants today (trousers, not undies) + that was fun. I've never worn pink pants before. It felt somehow optimistic + risque. Also somehow like I was at work in my jammies, but there you go. I matched them with a black dress and a beautiful Oroton silk scarf that I found at the oppie for 50c. Hooray for oppie treasures!
--I've been walking to work (mostly) and taking time to smell the freesias. Freesias and freshly mown grass... is there anything that says suburban springtime more loudly or convincingly.
--The Crafty Ladies Circle held its inaugral meeting at my place last night, + I've been smiling ever since. Smokey, Toni, Gin, Shady + I drank tea, ate Smokey's divine choc-chip cookies, + embarked on all manner of conversations + creative endeavours. It felt like a lovely success. I was struck by the fact that I've been wanting to do this since coming to the Gong more than two years ago... when no moment was more right than last night. In fact, two years ago I didn't know any of the aforementioned ladies. So it may have been a very lonely gathering! Thank you, thank you, thank you to friends new + old. What would life be without you? Absolutely nuthin... huh... say it again.
--And speaking of friends... I got two atomic comments this week. So exciting! Well, actually one was exciting + one was Sarah being a hooplehead. Thanks so much for stopping in to say hello Griff. Lovely to connect + hear some news. I'm still listening to your Ping Pong mix tape and lovin it.

And now for soup. Home James...

mr t responds

MR T: pity the fool... hehe that's quite funny... i'll have to start speaking purely only in classy one liners or unclassy commando-born arnie ones, either way... its all poise, is that what you want? it's like how people stopped talking to me cause i kept secretly recording them. LOW key... and mumble rumble

mr t cheers me up

ME: I am now officially smitten with that boy, who has not displayed any interest in me whatsoever. Is there any logic to the fact that the ones I like don't like me, whilst the ones I don't like stalk me?

MR T: Yes, there is pure logic to that. The law of contradiction, the law of opposites, law of gravity, newton's law, murphy's law... aight... starting to dry up...

atomic museum

EXHIBIT #1

dog
small wooden toy
palm sized
15 pieces that i can see
secured with fine elastic
spring inside?

wobbly on your base
so old now
(i can't remember a time when i haven't had you)
still loyal, obedient
willing to play dead
at the press of a button

so old that you are blind
the tiniest of black paint traces
where your eyes once were
still keen of hearing though
your ears the first part to move
regardless of where i push

i push as slowly as i can - from the centre
your ears droop slightly, then tail, then legs
falling backwards in play pose
my favourite

i push as slowly as i can - from the front
your ears drop to either side
once erect, now framing your face
like curious question marks

i push as slowly as i can - from the back
your ears twitch, remain upright
your tail the one to drop this time
backwards

an infinite range
of possible movements
but i am gentle
afraid for your fine elastic
so old now
but stilll loyal

this week i ave mostly been...

...eating
--homemade lasagne with spinachy goodness. Made for tea with a friend on Wednesday and eaten with predictable regularity since. Ah... the joys of cooking for one!
--two delicious, splurge-worthy bananas
--another splurge (surprise surprise) cocolo premium organic fairtrade dark chocolate
--too much beer... again

...smiling at
--me gorgeous mates Holley + Sal, who accompanied me on a top night out at Darren Hanlon + Youth Group. No-one told me Dazz is CUTE! And there was another cutie too. Yes, Gemini came along on a non-date. I am still smitten, but pretty convinced that he is not. (Of course I'm flabbergasted that anyone could resist my drunken charms, especially when surrounded by gorgeous 20-year-olds clothed in very little!) Regardless of whether he likes me that way or not, he slotted straight in with the gang + seemed to have loads of fun. I was impressed + so was Sal, who leant her support with several whispers of "I like G". I love those guys.

--seven pelicans, flying in formation on my walk to work on Wednesday. Call me weird, but I feel like I've lucked out when I see a bunch of pelicans up in the air. They're so huge + unweildy on the ground, + so magnificent when surfing the currents + slip-streams. And seven in one flock. Bonus!

--winning the uni trivia comp... wey hey! Go the librarian brains trust. I contributed one answer + that was the name of Peter Falconio's accused murderer. I had instant recall of this fact, singling me out as the kind of voyeuristic freak who knows about outback psycho killers. Me, who wouldn't even dream of watching 'Wolf Creek'.

--spring sunshine. Nuff said.

...listening to
--my Mogwai back catalogue... 39 epics in one lazy Saturday... don't ask about my mood. It has been a lo fi and slightly black weekend.
--Thom Yorke, 'Eraser' - see mood notes above.
--Gillian Welch, 'Soul Journey' - see frontier notes below.
--ON THE WISLIST: there is a new Yo La Tengo album out + it is supposed to be pure joy. Yet to sample it though. I'm still coveting the less-new Goldfrapp, + that remains on the top of the list.

...watching
--my lasagne friend brought round 'The Station Agent', which I loved just as much the second time round. I'd forgotten what a beautiful, tender film it is. And I am still in love with Joe. (So what if I hand my love out willy-nilly? I'm a lover not a fighter!)
--Mat + Sarah lent me Season One of 'Deadwood', insisting I'd be immediately hooked. Normally I insist on doing the opposite of whatever they tell me, but in this case they were right. The proof is in the fact that I worked my way through twelve c**ksucking episodes in seven c**ksucking days. It was almost a relief to get that vulgarity over + done with. Almost... because I'm already wondering how I can get hold of Season Two. Gillian Welch helped round out the frontier mood here at C**ksucking Camp Claire.

PS: I don't actually know what a slip-stream is. Just thought it sounded impressive when used in the context of pelicans.

mania...

So here I am... jumping on the blogwagon at long last... not entirely sure why, but excited about it nonetheless. I have grand visions but little skill with which to execute them. We shall see where this adventure of technology leads the luddite!