Wednesday, January 27, 2010
And I really mean only sometimes, is it okay to be up at sunrise to go to work. Only when your mind isn't quite working and it feels like the city is sleeping, and everything's clean and you allow yourself to think that this day you're going to be really productive. I don't even need coffee today I feel so alive. No really, I'm even going to go for a run when I get home. And make an exotic salad for dinner. And write until bedtime when all of my other good-doing is done.
Screw it, hand me the double shot cap.
I'm so easily swayed.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Mrs Murphy was my English high-school teacher. she was this fantastic woman who always wore silk scarves and used the word 'feeble'. She used to fine me 20c every time I used the word 'got' (there is no such word as got - I can still hear her and I still use the word received up until this very day) and 50c every time I used 'like' in the incorrect, like, sentence, how like - way harsh?
One of the other invaluable lessons she tried to teach me, besides how a silk scarf can make a woman look classy even next to a bunch of private school prima donnas, is that of the love shared between Cathy and Heathcliff. I don't know why I didn't get it when I was seventeen, seeing as usually one's feelings have much more power in your teens before you've been hit once or twice in the face by reality in your early twenties. Yes, they're insane, Cathy is a petulant brat who strings Heathcliff along, who later turns into a scorned monster more keen on revenge than of working things out with good ole Cath, but who can blame them? When in passionate love, parts of the brain resembles those with a mental illness. Let's face it, who doesn't love an emotionally unavailable man?
If anything, we can be grateful to Ms Bronte for creating her mater piece and allowing Kate Bush to interpretive dance her way through her own interpretation of the original creepy (yet strangely enthralling) love story. Chick lit today just don't have that kinda urgency. When was the last time our hero dug up the bones of their dead beloved? Not often enough is the answer.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
I recently saw these kids at the Horden (actually, I'm sure if you can class watching the back of people's heads for an hour as 'seeing a band' but I was present) nonetheless they knocked my socks off. Karen O is such a rock star giving a (from what I could gather from the taller folks' response) stella performance mixed with several fabulous costume changes (none of which I saw. Sad face.)
I did however see her trademark hand holding mic, arm raised in the air during the encore, which alone sent shivers down my spine. We ate up her yummy acoustic version of Maps and screamed as she swirled her microphone around and around and slammed it to the floor in time to the final drum beats of Date with a Night. For all the other short people out there I found this incredible Sydney photographer, Daniel Boud, who posted some killer pics of hers truly. The two I've posted came inas my equal faves. Some people are just so talented. Check out the rest of his stuff here: http://www.boudist.com/
I really do wanna be a Yeah Yeah Yeah. I could wear glitter 24/7, roll around on stage and get a bowl cut....do you think Karen O would adopt me?
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
I saw this guide on how to make a Cera film this morning and thought it was too golden not to share. I recently watched Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist and totally fell in love. Again. I've been a Cera fan for quite a few years now, since stumbling across him as Jason Bateman's awkward teenage son, George-Michael, in Arrested Development. He is my most favourite indie-crush. Yes, he plays exactly the same character in every movie so far but his strange sing-song slash monotone voice (how can those things happen simultaneously? I don't know, put it down to Cera genius), gangly physique and casual expressions make my heart flutter.
Once my latest Cera-fest was over, this of course led to some late night Cera-youtube stalking and I suddenly broke into a cold sweat when I stumbled upon 'Michael Cera losing it'. He's on the set of Youth Revolt and freaking out, from what I can gather, about someone leaving a note on his trailer door about him being uptight. It's super awkward, super scary and Superbad! (sorry)
Could my indie dream-beau be an indie-asshole? Surely not. I scrolled through pages of what I thought was my cute and quirky lover only to find another scene of him with Katherine Heigl doing a scene for Knocked Up where Cera, again, loses it at the director. It's most unflattering and jolted judgements in me I thought I'd never had. I found myself justifying to myself his long work hours and terrible conditions. I've heard rumors that these scenes were set ups and not real and from that I took great relief. But a little part of me just can't shut out those tantrums, my mind wanders back to him pacing and yelling on a film set and crew trying to assure him that he's well-liked. I feel violated that my super-crush could be capable of these childlike outbursts and let me tell you, there's no one to blame but technology. What happened to the days of being able to obsess from afar and have nothing taint that obsession? To being able to throw around grand, wild statements like 'I bet he's a sweetheart, and would treat me like a queen'. To making up conversations in your head with you and said indie-crush where you get on perfectly and are both into sudoku? Youtube. That's what happened. Twitter, that's also what happened. Celebrities are showing their true colours all over the place and I don't like it one bit. My imaginary worlds are being rudely interrupted by a harsh slap of reality. And it stings. Celebs should get out of these media forms and stay firmly where they belong: in plebs' fantasies. After all, who wants to know that these people do normal things and fuck up just like the rest of us? I know for certain that my indie-crush doesn't use the bathroom, or clip his toenails and he never throws tantys. Ever.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
It's photos like these that remind me that my mother is a person (I often forget that parents are people too) who was once young and probably had dreams of grandeur, just like me, and I wonder whether she wishes things were different. And that maybe I'll one day have a daughter who thinks that I'm made of steel-wool and am mean just because I can be. I don't feel this way anymore but I used to. Sorry I was like that mum. I didn't mean it. Promise.
Monday, January 4, 2010
So glad you finally decided to join us. We're all back at work, the holiday season is over but no, really, thank you for showing up. There's nothing I love more then being pent up in an office on a sunny day. Mmm breathe in that musty claustrophobia, embrace that photocopier work natter where you repeat the same sentence for the gazillionth time to someone who's name always escapes you. 'Hello you! The break was awesome! Never long enough though are they?' It's the second day back for what seems will be an eternity and the sun has made an appearance for the first time in forever. Someone, somewhere is laughing real hard right now.