Festering Frustration

One night, at Kouzina

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 07 Aug 2010 00:48:00 +0000

I've mentioned this before, going out to lunch or dinner with dad often presents lack lustre company at times, and even more lack lustre food. Last night's dinner was, of course, no exception.

Now, please don't think of me as a snob. I love a good restaurant/bar as much as the next person, but the word "good" is a huge requirement if I'm going to have any chance of enjoying it. Now, I'm not a food critic, and I hardly think that being addicted to Masterchef really qualifies me of being some kind of food expert, however, I guarantee you that this place was pretty bad by anyone's standard.

First, the service. Rude. And to be honest, after having a rather hard day of having to fend off a rude customer that night, I was hardly going to go to a restaurant to fend off a rude waiter. Getting a mere glass of water seemed like such a hard task for the staff. Nobody offered, and when you went to ask they would talk over you and walk off before you even finished the question. I did however get a pot of peppermint tea near the end of the night, but was told to be careful drinking it, because "pouring and drinking tea can be tricky, you could spill it on yourself."

Second, the main. We all ordered the same thing, the salt and pepper calamari, which bothered me a little because that's just my personal pet peeve. I've always had this thing that when you go out to eat, everyone should get something different from the menu so that you have more of a variety on the table when you pick at someone else's dish, and also that you make the most of what you eat. I was going to change my mind, but at this point I was so damn hungry I didn't care. But let's put that aside, because that's not the point. The point is to tell you about the dish, not my pet peeves. So, the salt and pepper calamari. There really was no salt and pepper on it, but there was plenty of batter. The lemon wedge came covered in chives and dill. There was an 'ouzo aioli' which tasted like mayo from a jar with nothing else infused in it, and the 'fresh garden salad' was anything but. I ate it because I was starving, and compared to what I had next, it wasn't too bad.

Third, the creme brulee. I saw it on the menu and had to have it. I love creme brulee. However it wasn't until I ordered it that I realised it was a Fig and Rosemary creme brulee, which came with a pistachio ice-cream (not too bad) with some sort of pink musk meringue concoction on the top. In the middle of the plate there were candied olives...not my thing. Anyone out there have candied olives? Be interested to know whether you like them. I thought they were pretty foul. And then comes the creme brulee, with a sprig of rosemary perched in the middle. The ever exciting crack of the brulee was dull, as the spoon bounced off the custard goo. Initially all you can taste is rosemary, and then further on down there was this clump of fig sitting there in the middle, grey and bland.

It was really atrocious. Who thought up of this dessert? What is wrong with just serving a creme brulee? Did the chef who came up with this dish burn his taste buds?

Someone once asked me the question, would I prefer a bad sex or bad food. My answer was that I have had bad sex before and come to expect it more in my life time than bad food. After last night, my answer is definite. I would rather have a life of bad sex than bad food. Bad sex does not sit heavy in your stomach churning and begging to brought back up again. Bad sex is something you can get over, bad food stays with you for a little bit longer.

I-Pad Schmi- pad

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 05 Apr 2010 04:06:00 +0000

Ok, so, am I the only one who doesn't really see the big deal with this i-pad?

"It's the Internet in your hands."

It's an over sized i-phone. It looks stupid.

"You're only saying that because you don't have one."

I have a computer. It's actually a Mac Book. I'm one of those semi- recently converted. I love my Mac Book. I wouldn't claim it to be an extension of who I am, but it has made my life somewhat substantially easier. I don't see how the i-pad can do that for me.

"You can surf the web."

I can do that on my computer.

"It has 3G."

Doesn't the i-phone have that as well?

"Yeah but...the i-phone is too small..."

So you've gone with something bigger? I don't know, it doesn't make sense to me. I still don't get what the big deal is. Stephen Colbert put it perfectly: "You can surf the Internet on it, and just like the i-phone, you can't make any calls." He boasted as he was showing off his.

The thing is, no matter how hard you try, you're not going to get me convinced.

"But you can read books from it."

Yeah? I can read books from my book shelf too, what else is new? Just admit it. You've been brainwashed. You've forked out a fuck load of money AGAIN for a giant i-phone AGAIN and now you're trying to justify it.

i- pad? i- fad more like.

Doing it wrong

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 24 Mar 2010 11:46:00 +0000

Hello...*sneeze*

Whoops, I let it get a little dusty in here hey?

It's been a while. *sheepish grin*

I'm sorry. I've been...busy.

I know its no excuse but, what can I say? Sometimes its just hard to do take care of everything in a day. 24 hours is not enough you know. They should really speak to someone about extending that...I mean, who needs sleep? Really.

In one of my classes today, we had a lesson on journal writing. I know, can you believe it? Journal writing. As part of our internship and research, we must submit a reflective journal detailing our experiences and thoughts of the organisation which we've worked with. Journals are huge with arts and cultural studies and practice, good thing I love keeping one. Works for me.

We were given a instructive course on good Journal maintenance. Seems pretty straight forward but you would be surprised at how the concept of keeping a journal escapes people. At least it surprised me. I've been a journal writer since I was four. Nothing to be impressed about, I could barely write let alone spell, but the practice and general intention was there.

Apparently it's good practice to write in your journal everyday for at least 10- 15 minutes. You must be frank and honest. You must not delay or procrastinate with your writing. And most importantly, you must write in the same bound book every entry--meaning no writing anything down on a random piece of paper only to paste it in later.

I thought about my personal journal, my blogs, and my writing habits in general...

Nothing like a short course in: "You're doing it wrong."

:-/

What Australian Television?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 11:40:00 +0000

To quote a friend's facebook status:

"H------ C------ knows that she just wasted 2 hours of her life watching the Maria Korp story. But it does beg the question, WHAT THE HELL IS WITH AUSTRALIAN TELEVISION."

I was asking myself the very same question this morning. I believe that in an earlier post I made a complaint against the Australian content free to air viewers are subjected to on commercial channels.

In recent years we've seen Channel 9 recycle it's 'Underbelly' series like its going out of fashion, Channel 10 hoeing into reality television competitions that they are beginning to cross pollinate, and Channel 7 making their own generic versions of the same shit. The latest offering to come from them is "The Bounce", a football variety show in the same guise of The Footy Show and that other show on Channel 10. 'The Bounce' will be hosted by Peter Helliar.

I am pretty close to throwing my television out of my window.

People! Join me on this one. I believe between the however many thousands of us combined, I am sure we have more than enough talent between us to write and produce original Australian content of some sort of integrity. Surely that's possible. Let's work together so that Peter Helliar doesn't have to. For the good of the country, let's make it so!

RE: Winter Olympics Coverage

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 11:43:00 +0000

Dear Channel 9,

First of all, may I congratulate you on taking the initiative of exclusively covering the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics for free to air television. I personally am a fan of the Winter Olympics and am excited to see it on my telly.

That's as far as that complement goes. That will also be my only compliment.

I'm basically looking for answers.

1. Who's responsible for putting together your "commentary team"?

Out of the 22 people you have on your "expert and opinion" panel, only 2 are actual winter Olympians. And even then, what expertise can they offer? I haven't seen any expert opinion from Alisa Camplin since her advice on chewing Extra for healthy teeth and guns. And Steven Bradbury? Really? I know Australians have a sense of humour and all but...really?

2. This is not so much a question as it is a fact: Gian Rooney and Grant Hackett are swimmers. Just thought you would like to know. You do realise the only water about this particular Olympics is ice and snow right?

3. What is it with you and the Stevanovic family? They've got dirt on you don't they? They've got photos of you in compromising positions, and threaten you with them everyday, don't they? I refuse to believe they actually qualify as journalists.

4. Mick Molloy is not funny, when will you learn?

5. My non-existent left nut knows more about the Winter Olympics than Eddie McGuire. Why? Why would you put him on there? Has he ever played a sport in his life? Honestly, what made you look at him and think: "Here's a guy who knows his winter sports." I doubt the man has built a snowman, and even if he has, I bet he was still confused over the process. He's a moron.

And finally, if I hear: "This is exactly the sort of pressure that Cathy Freeman was under", I swear to god...

Kind Regards,

Breast Feeding, get the fuck over it.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 29 Jan 2010 22:46:00 +0000

BREAST IS BEST --- FOR TEENS, TOO.

See that headline, and anyone's eye is bound to get caught on that. I must say, I was certainly intrigued. What did this headline mean? Was the article about teen pregnancy and the importance of breastfeeding, or was it a study that revealed that we should be breastfed up until our teens? Either way, I was confused--and disturbed, and so I clicked the link to find out more.

Lo and behold, it was another study to which highlighted the marvelous benefits of the tit and the milk it produces. Brilliant. Is there nothing that this milk can't do? Well, wash my car and cure cancer for one thing, but you know, that's beside the point. This recent study has revealed that the benefits of breastfeeding are long lasting enough to extend well into our teens. A study comparing siblings that were breastfed to those that were fed on formula showed that the breastfed babies had better chances of academic success in terms of completing high school and university. Furthermore, those who were fed on formula grew hunchbacks and lived in a cathedral destined to ring bells. Okay, I may have exaggerated that.

Now, apparently because this is the first study to use siblings as its research subjects, external uncontrolable influcences such as parental genetics and environmental influences did not have to be taken into account.

Give me a fucking break.

You know what got me through finishing high school and university? My mother's iron fist. Her tits had nothing to do with it. If I wagged school, if I produced average marks, if I did not have a career plan by the time I was 17, my mother would have my arse. And you know what? It worked. Not only have I finished high school, I'm also finishing a Masters degree and to top it all off, I grew up a formula baby. That's right you mothers, I was an S26 baby, and shock horror, I'm not deformed.

Other influences don't have to be taken into account my arse. What the fuck is wrong with these people?

Seriously, shove your study, there are more pressing matters at hand. Like the fact that after all this time, nobody can tell why Paula Abdul is dancing with a cartoon cat. Is it because she was, or wasn't breastfed?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 00:49:00 +0000

Over 100,000 people are feared dead in Haiti, and aid cannot come fast enough.

Tele-evangelist Pat Robertson claims that Haiti had it coming because they made a "pact with the devil."

I'd like to think of myself as an intelligent person. I usually can grasp the most complex of theories and what not, but I have gone through this "Robertson" logic and can still make no sense of it, perhaps you can help:

"Something happened a long time ago in Haiti, and people might not want to talk about it...They were under the heel of the French ... and they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said, 'We will serve you if you'll get us free from the French.' True story. And the devil said, 'OK, it's a deal,'..ever since, they have been cursed by one thing after another."

???

Robertson isn't the first to throw the 'they had it coming' line. When a devastating earthquake hit China in 2008, Sharon Stone piped up to say that it was all just a case of 'bad karma.' At a red carpet event, Sharon took time out of her self- indulgent day to grace us all with her words of wisdom:

"The Chinese have not been very nice to the Dalai Lama, who is a very good friend of mine... Then all this earthquake and all this stuff happened and I thought is that karma? When you're not nice, that the bad things happen to you?"

50 years old, and she sounds like she's still in kindergarten. Incidentally, I have also come across 5 year olds who have a more heightened sense of moral consciousness than Mr. Robertson.

However, I don't know what is more troubling: the fact that these people have a voice, or that there are hoards of people who agree with them.

But hey, apparently its all going to be OK, because Danni Minogue is pregnant and Kylie is just overjoyed.

*slaps forehead*

Talent not essential

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 08:01:00 +0000

So the nominations of the BAFTA's (that's the British Academy of Film and Television Arts to you philistines) for The Orange Rising Star Award came out today. This award is a people's choice those who are nominated are usually bright young things who have made it onto our screens in the past few years.

Basically, it's a "congratulations, you're sort of a star, and a good actor" type of thing.

Lets take a look at the nominees.

There's Jesse Eisenberg (the dude off Zombieland), Nicholas Hoult (the kid from About a Boy...he's not a kid anymore), Carey Mulligan (some chick), Tahar Rahim (some frenchie) and Kristen Stewart--I'm sorry what?

Kristen Stewart?

This is an award for acting right? I mean, I know that Eisenberg kid isn't, like, the next Deniro or anything but does that mean that you've really got to vote for Kristen Stewart? Are you insane!?

You're nominating her for this right?

And this...

Oh, and lets not forget this little beauty!

Seriously? You're the British Academy of Film and Television Arts, and you call this your cream of the crop? For shame. Standards have drop low.

There is no such thing as art anymore, for she has bit her lip and died.

C to the O to the C to the K bags.

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 09:41:00 +0000

Question: How do you deal with confrontation?

I'm not talking about the tragic 'my boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend and I'm going to cut his balls off and kill the bitch' sort of confrontation. Obviously, those sorts of situations call for drastic action and reaction.

I'm more or less referring to small incidental 'hey don't be suck a cock-bag man' type confrontations.

Not long ago, I think it was the Saturday that had just passed, I found myself having brunch with a couple of friends at a place in Fitzroy. It was a hot day, we were all tired and grumpy, but we all persevered, because the food looked and smelled amazing. And it was. I had french toast with poached pears, vanilla bean yogurt and maple syrup. Yum yum. But although the food was great, the waiter was an arsehole, and just for no real reason at all, antagonizing someone on account of a food allergy, bumping into other customers and getting shirty with them for being in his way. You know, just a real prick.

That sort of stuff pisses me off.

Working in hospitality or retail is never easy, I know. You quickly loose your faith in humanity. People are rude to you and you're often the brunt of people's bad mood for no good reason at all. But despite all that, you're still nice to that customer. Why? Because at the end of the day, they're the ones putting money in my bank account. The way I see, small price to pay.

Which is why it pisses me off when I come across useless fuckwit service, and a waiter who's a dick and a smart arse. What's his excuse?

Did I confront him on his behaviour? No.

Did anyone else at the table? No.

What we did was smile to his face and then whisper as he walked away about what a wanker the guy was.

And why didn't we say something? What would have happened then? If we said: "No, we don't accept this "orange juice" that you've given us. It's not good enough that there was carrot and ginger residue in the juicer and that's why this orange juice does not look like orange juice, please go back and make a fresh one" would he have really thrown us out for that?

Why didn't we tell someone when we went to pay for our food that whilst the food was awesome, the particular waiter who served us wasn't? What's the worst that could have happened?

I suppose in cases like these, it's best to let sleeping dogs lie, maybe. A friend of mine had an incident were she received a pretty third rate breakfast after explicitly being refused her first order. She originally wanted to go with scrambled eggs with hollandaise sauce. The chef refused her order, claiming the hollandaise sauce will curdle in her stomach and make her sick. My was friend quite perplexed at this, as she has had the exact same order in other restaurants before with no hassle. Nonetheless, she opted for something else rather than make a fuss. What she then received was burnt toast, over cooked eggs and soggy sides. My friend ate what she could, paid for her meal, and then wrote a little note on a napkin for the chef saying that she was not pleased with her meal and would not be coming back again.

She was half- way down the street when the chef ran after her, waving the napkin in her face demanding an explanation.

Nothing really was resolved, my friend still walked away angry, and for all we know, the chef is still cooking the same crap not at all altered by any bad critique she may receive.

Today at the beach, however, I saw something inspirational. Being a hot day, it's safe to say that it was pretty crowded, and Half Moon Bay today was no exception. Of course, in any event, no matter where you are, you will always encounter a beef-cake pack of yahoos who strut around treating the beach more like their territory rather than a space to share with others. I could go into detail about the array of horrific tattoos and gold chains on display, but that's another rant entirely.

Quietly settling down to read my book, I have managed to block out most of the yahoo business and retreat into my own little world. Whilst there, I failed to notice that the group were making rather nasty pigs of themselves, and decided to throw their empty cigarette packs and ice- cream wrappers in the sand.

A young woman, having seen this, approached them and said, quite simply: "Excuse me fellas, but just letting you know, the bin's over there." And she pointed in the direction of the bins, which were a metre away.

The group then arched up. Their mentality was that nobody had the right to tell them what to do, least of all this girl. They threw their rubbish in a pile in front of her and said: "We've left this all just for you. You can clean it up if you like. Don't forget to take it with you when you leave alright baby!"

And with a "You're disgusting." She turned her back and walked away.

Nothing really was solved in her actions. The rubbish was still left there for someone to pick up, and the blokes still went about their business, thinking they were rightful kings of all they surveyed.

Thinking of the girl however, perhaps she feels a little better for having at least tried to have done something about it. She saw someone doing something she thought was wrong, and she spoke up. And even though she was rudely ridiculed without anybody defending her, she still stuck to her guns.

Maybe one of the pack will go home tonight feeling slightly ashamed for making a dick of themselves, but perhaps that is just too much to ask of some people.

One things for sure, I bet that girl is going to sleep well tonight having no regrets at all, and I retire inspired, just waiting to pounce on the next opportunity for a small confrontation.

Mind you, I'll probably go ape shit at some poor sod who doesn't really deserve it, but you know, baby steps with these things, baby steps.

This means war...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 04:14:00 +0000

Our journey through life is sometimes defined by the major battles we face.

This.....

Just happens to be one of mine.

Every week, for the past year, I have taken part in the struggle that has been climbing the top of this leader board, and every week I am defeated. At first, it only used to be one person I would zero my sights on, because that one person always used to get ridiculous scores and I would spend fruitless hours trying to catch them. Months go by, and more and more friends join the game. I didn't mind that so much, because the more and more I played, the better I became and the higher my score, and there was a time I reigned supreme atop that leader board.

Now, there's been a new version of The Blitz, and the ridiculous scores have become even more insane.

How the hell do you fuckers get over 300,000!!!!!!!!! HOW!!!! HOW HOW HOW HOW!!!!

I hate you.

De-Shelved

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 01:07:00 +0000

I love to read. If I could do anything for the rest of my life, I would surround myself amongst a pile of books, settle down with a never ending bottle of red wine and settle myself on the biggest and comfiest armchair imaginable and read till it was my time to go.

Mind you, I haven't always been so passionate about reading. There have been books which I've grown up with, but as is the case with youth and childhood, we are often forced to do things against our will, rather than encouraged to seek something new to occupy our time. This was the case with reading.

I actually used to have a lot of trouble with reading and writing. When I started high school, my level was actually quite below average, and the consensus amongst most teachers was that I needed "a lot of work." That included a barrage of reading lists and report writing both in and outside of school. Eventually I did get better, I found my expression, and although my spelling is still quite embarrassing, my passion for reading has far exceeded anyone's expectations.

Currently, I buy more books than I am able to read. If you are ever invited to my house, the evidence of this is clear from the study. Bookshelves adorn every wall, and there are books spilling out of them, gathering dust. Time escapes us all, and I'm finding it hard to keep up with my ever growing "must read" list.

My dear friend Estelle can read 5-6 books at a time. At this moment, beside my bed, along with the general clutter that I live amongst, I have 3-4 piles of books which I thumb through before I go to bed. A book for every whim and fancy, because they're always bound to change. And whilst I've created some what of an obstacle course within my room, I enjoy being encased around it. It's all what I call, organised chaos. Everything is there for a purpose, and it's all needed, even though it's not in any discernible category.

Over the past few years, we, as a civilisation, have been undergoing what has been termed "a digital revolution." A plethora of innovations and gadgets have bombarded our lives all in the bid to make day to day existence more enjoyable and convenient. Amongst them has been the e-book.

The e-book comes in the form of an e-reader, a concept generated by Amazon which has developed the Kindle. This year, Kindle has claimed the coveted title of the most gifted product this past Christmas, and the most revolutionary product to have entered the market. At 7.5" x 5.3" x 0.7", the Kindle has wireless connectivity which enables you to connect to the Kindle store and download any book you desire in less than two minutes. You can read the book in its entirety from the device without difficulty as its high res screen reads like paper, so you don't feel like you're actually reading off a screen. Not only that, but the Kindle is also available as an app for the i-Phone and i-Pod touch, and is able to download your favourite newspapers, blogs, magazines and e-mags, and can store up to 200 books.

The traditionalist in me says, "Begone heathen device! Leave me and my clutter alone!" but there is a another tiny voice I can hear which I must acknowledge...."I want one."

And in saying that...I feel like I've betrayed a part of myself.

Certainly there are some advantages to having the Kindle in your life. The money that you would save in downloading the book in its digital form is first and foremost. In terms of convenience, I would have much preferred carrying around a Kindle through uni, instead of carting around heavy and expensive text books which I would only use once in my life, and place on the shelf to gather dust because they were no use to anyone the next year as it's already the old edition. Reading a book on the train would be less of a hassle, saving room in your purse or satchel, and also the embarrassment of people judging you by the book cover. :-/

But am I willing for the Kindle to replace my bookshelf? Surely there's some value to owning a book other than having it take up space. Is it really something which we don't need? Is it honestly that much on an inconvenience? A person's bookshelf is like a mysterious profile to their personality. It's like a tiny museum of sorts. Looking through their collection, you can gauge the type of person they are, what they're interested in, what fascinates them, what they're passions are. Observing the frayed and ruined spines you find out which books they have read over and over again, and which books haven't even been touched and are there either for show, or to serve as a reminder of what to take with them on their next outing to the beach.

The ownership of books is a very personable thing, and the act of reading the story they hold is a very personal experience. Holding onto that book, and placing it back on your shelf, or in your pile of clutter, when you have finished it is something like a photograph of that memory. Can we experience the same thing with the Kindle? Or am I just being too sentimental?

Thoughts?

The Naked Truth

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 10:45:00 +0000

Jennifer Hawkins, Australia's own Miss Universe, is promoting a healthy body image by posing nude for the front cover of Marie Claire magazine. Apparently this is an admirable and brave move on Hawkins' part because the photo will appear on the cover untouched and exposes all her flaws.

Some of you may have seen the image on the news, and if you haven't you can go look for it yourself because I'm not putting it up on here. This is stupid.

Apparently, the flaws that we are meant to be in awe of is a tiny crease on her waist, a few dimples on ONE thigh, and naturally uneven skin tone.

Clap clap. How brave.

When you first look at the picture you think: "What fucking flaw!" She's perfect.

And good on her. She's hot and has the confidence to pose nude. If I were her, I'd walk around in my birthday suit every chance I got. She's got every right to be proud of her body and be confident in it, that's all fine. But don't sell me this bullshit that she's some sort of pin up girl for healthy body image because, I'm sorry sisters, she's no representative of mine, and you can kiss my dimpled arse if you think you can convince me otherwise.

You want to promote healthy body image, put real women on your front cover. I want to see a healthy, vibrant, happy size 14/16 woman who takes care of herself both inside and out, and accepts every single inch of herself regardless of proportion. Put a woman on there who dresses for her size, her shape, and mostly, for her own sense of taste and style, and not for Marie Claire advertisers and sponsors.

What? What is that? You won't?

Oh that's right. Because when it comes down to it, it's all about pleasing the advertisers and producing a cover that sells. And we all know that next month, after this whole "lets promote healthy body image" phase is all over and done with, things will be back to normal. The airbrushed photos will be back, and the topics of discussion will be dicks and shoes.

Marie Claire. Fuck You.

Ladies, if you want to feel better about yourselves, go and stand naked in front of your full length mirror, look yourself up and down, and if you don't like what you see, then say "Marie Claire. Fuck You" till you do.

Your beauty and the way you feel about yourself is your responsibility, nobody but you can make you feel differently about it. Start putting yourself in a brighter light because these magazines, and Jennifer Hawkins isn't going to do it for you. I guarantee you, you will be the last thing they think of when they get their cheque in the mail for the production of this issue.

I fail to see how the cause of a distored body image can see themselve as a solution.

Horse shit. Complete and utter horse shit.

Typing Sideways

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 13:42:00 +0000

HAPPY MOTHER FUCKEN NEW YEAR.

I don't know about you, but the second the clock turned midnight I felt relief. 2009 was good but weird. The third bottle of champagne is open. The last bottle was from Ukraine, and it was nice.

I need to try the one that's open now. I hear the word chocolate being thrown about.

I don't know about you but I'm glad I'm inside.

Holy Mother of God, I still have a glass of red wine. I'm saving that for Dylan Moran. One or two? Who can tell these days?

All I know is that everything is going to be ok.

YOu know it, I know it, it's going to be ok. Stick with me, and trust it. It's just alllllll going to be fine.

Chocolate, there's that word again.

Ruffels and pink clouds.

I must go.

But I'll see you soon.

Chow Chow.

Good dog.

Love Monty Python.

Peace.

Filling out my diary

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 00:32:00 +0000

Yesterday I received Christmas gifts from my cousin in Germany. This is what fills me with guilt every year. Not the fact that I choose drink over Midnight Mass, or that I forego the donation to the Salvation Army in order to buy myself a cup of coffee instead. It's the fact that every year, without fail, my cousin sends us Christmas gifts, even though they may come after Christmas, and every year I just plain forget about her.

If I am to make one New Years Resolution this coming 2010, its to make a concerted effort to be better to my favourite cousin and let her know just how appreciated and loved she is by us all. Because really, I can be such a thoughtless shit.

What doesn't help the case is that my cousin never fails to give great presents. This year, she bought me a beautiful purple silk shawl/scarf (which I cannot wait to show off next winter), a lip gloss in a pink disco ball container, and a 2010 diary.

And what a diary this is.

A small black diary, where each week runs across two pages. I open the cover to find a small message: In case of loss, please return to:_(obviously my address would go here)_____

And then: As a reward $:________.

Really! I had never seen anything like this in a diary before. Bizarre. As for the value, I wouldn't know what to put in it. I mean, the year hasn't even started yet, so should I lose this diary, then the value would be nothing. This is purely based on a functional level, the diary immediately has sentimental value attached the moment it was in my hands, but you can't really put a price on sentimental value, and if you did, then the there's really nothing of sentiment in it at all.

But if we base this on a purely functional value, then that value would certainly change through out the year. When the new year starts, perhaps the value would be $1.00, as it is the height of summer, and there's really nothing filling my days excepted going to the beach or escaping the heat by sitting in air- conditioned comfort and reading. This value may stick for about 3 months, until March hit, and uni starts again. But until the important dates of assessments, group presentations, and internship reports are given to me, the value could be anywhere from $20- 30...and even then that may be an over statement, because I might not rely heavily on my diary until mid year, when I really need to take note of all due dates, and figure out how to balance the sudden work load. By that stage my dairy could value anywhere between $50- to possibly $100, depending on exactly when in the mid year I had lost my diary and how much trauma I would be in on account of me being without it.

Once the mid year craziness is over, however, the diary would then be of little consequence to me. I would be on holidays again and the value would depreciate back to the single dollar value until uni or another work commitment had started again, and I would be depending on this book to be a personal compass of sorts.

I don't think the makers at Moleskine thought this through when adding the reward option on the front cover. Perhaps I should print out the above thoughts and paste them in. That way it won't be awkward should I lose this diary, and the finder gives back to seeker.

Turning the page. Personal Data:

Name:

Surname:

home address:

telephone:

mobile:

email:

business address:

telephone fax ect:

family doctor...blood group..allergies......

vaccinations. Yes. Seriously. Vaccinations. Next to that there's a "valid until."

Identity card no...valid until....passport number...car plate...drivers licence.

They forgot to ask if I was micro-chipped and spade.

Flipping through the pages I come across a tiny bit of paper stuffed in a hidden compartment of the dairy. I thought, at first, it was some sort of warranty, which was invalid to me as the dairy would have been purchased in Germany and therefore no replacement could possibly be issued here should the dairy be damaged. Upon second look, I realized that this paper was not a warranty, but instead this little gem:

The History of a Legendary Notebook

"Moleskine is the heir of the legendary notebook used for the past two centuries by great artists and thinkers, including Vincent Van Gogh, Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemmingway, and Bruce Chatwin. This trusty, pocket- sized travel companion held their sketches, notes, stories, and ideas before they became famous images or beloved books.

In his book "Songlines", Bruce Chatwin tell us the whole story of his favourite notebook, which he nicknamed 'Moleskine'. In 1986, the original manufacturer--a family operating in Tours-- closed down forever: "Le vari molekine n'est plus" are the lapidary words he puts into the mouth of the owner of the stationery shop in Rue de l'Ancienne Comedie--also a legendary spot-- where Chatwin stocked up on the notebooks. The English writer- traveller bought up all the "Moleskines" that he could find, but they were not enough.

In 1998, a small Milanese publisher brought the legendary notebook back to life under the name "Moleskine", thus restoring a sold tradition, renewing notebookism, and sensing that mobile technologies needed to be accompanied by essential self- standing analog tools.

As the reverent keeper of an extraordinary tradition, the legendary notebook once again began travelling the globe. Capturing reality on the move, preserving details, impressing the unique aspects of experience upon paper: Moleskine is a reservoir of ideas and feelings, a battery that stores discoveries and perceptions without depletion.

Today Moleskine is culture, travel, memory, imagination and personal identity, both analog and digital. It is a brand identifying a family of notebooks, journals, planner and guidebooks, with different functions, complying with a free mindstyle, both basic and emotional, and connected with the digital world through a huge network of websites, blogs, groups, virtual archives in the Internet.

The adventure of Moleskine continues to widen, and its still- blank pages will tell us the rest."

In short:

Here is the diary. Not long from receiving this we will all make the inevitable discovery. Same shit, different day.

Happy New Year.

Excuse me whilst I self- assess

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 12:06:00 +0000

My face hurts from laughing, my throat hurts from talking so much, and I'm sunburnt and a tad dehydrated due to a lack of care for myself whilst I frolicked in the sun. It doesn't matter for I was amongst old friends.

- Don't be gay Vee.

- Shut up, I'm thinking here.

What is the meaning of a friend?

When I was young, this confused me and I guess it still sometimes baffles me today. Currently, I find that the word friend has sometimes a varied definition, which is often open to interpretation and gets thrown around a lot in a way which is easy to take for granted. Like love, in a lot of ways.

I think of this as I'm coming down from the buzz of merriment I have experience from spending the entire day with a large group of people that I have not seen in years. People whom I have referred to as my friends, and will still continue to do so despite not having any regular form of contact with them. So what does it mean to be a friend?

Not meaning to blow smoke up my own arse here, but I have considered myself to be a good friend. I certainly try to be. I hold my friendships very close to my heart, as to me they are an important part of my life and, in a strange way, a small part of who I am. If my friends aren't right, I'm not right. This empathy may seem a bit strange, but I have always been acutely sensitive in that way, and I don't know if it will ever stop.

I mentioned that when I was younger, the understanding of what it meant to be a friend was somewhat skewed. In my youth, I found myself be-friended by two people who held onto me like a personal possession of theirs for a number of years. Two separate cases, but both contained the same behaviours and consequent outcomes. To these people, friendship was a different world all together. It came with a set of rules that must be followed. I was only to talk to certain people whom my friend approved of. I was to never go anywhere without my friend on weekends unless it was a family event and they strictly were not invited. If I were to talk to someone my friend did not approve of, I was to explain myself and make amends for it. Needless to say, these were intense experiences, which gave me a rather warped perception of friendship.

Being a rather solitary person by nature, I never really mind being alone, but I also don't mind the company of others. Throughout time, I have come to rather enjoy being around friends and the laughter and experiences that I have shared with people who have come and gone through out my life. I also have managed to establish a second family of sorts with my best friends from high school, whom I don't see enough of, but always keep in touch with. Additionally, in recent years, I have developed a new found appreciation for my friends, as I've come to realize just how much I rely on so many of them, and how much of an effect they have had on me. Because of them, I know I will never be alone.

On a different level all together, we have MySpace and Facebook, which have stamped their own definition and meaning of what it is to be a friend.

MySpace and Facebook have been deemed as a "social" forum. Recently, a move on Facebook has been made urging us to "connect" with certain people that we have not 'messaged', 'commented', or 'written on their wall' for months on end. Currently, I have 351 friends on Facebook, and I mostly pester about 20- 30 of those friends with random messages and links to quirky websites that I happened upon whilst procrastinating from general living. That leaves hundreds of people who remain neglected. Their friendship is collecting dust in the world of Facebook, making me look like a down right turd. If I'm no Facebook friend to these people, what sort of real friend could I be? Sometimes a correlation is made when comments like "I'm just friends with them on Facebook, I really wouldn't talk to them in real life" crop up. Harsh, but true, and lets be honest with ourselves, we've all proclaimed it.

I look through my 351 friends. Could I possibly really be friends with them all? I mean, I went to high school with some of them, primary school with a small number of them, then there's uni, people I've met through social gatherings, and the random long lost child hood friend (Hi James)...I can't possibly divide myself this many ways, can I? The answer: Of course I can't. Are you nuts!?

"Friend" is a term which is indeed open to interpretation, it's just all dependant on your circumstance I suppose. As we've seen, we have best friends, party friends, school friends, work friends, and even child hood friends. All people we have met in different circumstances, some which could not be helped, and some which were sheer twists of fate. I cannot possibly be the same friend to one person as I am to the other, but I can hold them in the same regard as each other in that they are special to me for whatever the reason. Some make me laugh in ways which no one can, others can understand me without me having to explain anything to them, and some know my deepest and darkest secrets that they will carry to their graves. There are also those whom I share no common interest with whatsoever but for the memories that we share for the brief amount of time we spent together. Memories which I think of from time to time and smile or laugh out loud at the thought of them. And no matter how much time passes, that regard will always stay the same. I'm reminded of this every time I see a long lost friend, or in this case, a group of them.

So thanks for a great day guys, it was a blast. Lets try and not leave so long next time, but if we do, I look forward to the next time I get to see you.

Top 10 Films of the Future

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 09:57:00 +0000

Well, actually, what I'm writing about here are the Top 10 films I would love to see made, but will be too afraid to see them because of the possibility of disappointment.

Over this past decade we have seen an influx of films being made which have been inspired, based upon or adapted from childhood super heroes, television series and beloved stories and novels.

Both generation X and Y have been in a flurry of excitement upon the news that the Transformers, and Alvin and the Chipmunks were coming back to us, reverting us all back to our 7 year old selves as we remembered how hard we hit the pavement to run home from school to watch our favourite shows.

I was more excited for Alvin than I was about the Transformers. I friggin loved that show. The movie was bad, but...so good! You know, in that weird way.

Most recently there's so much anticipation over The Fantastic Mr. Fox, a book which I have never read but will be nonetheless eager to see. I had never been exposed the Where The Wild Things Are as a child, but I very much enjoyed the film, so I hope that Mr. Fox will be just as agreeable.

Indeed there have been so many movies which I have loved. However, there have been many which have severely disappointed and some which I have down right refused to see.

Twilight for instance (yes, I am one of those) was one which I was furious with, and although I went to see it 6 times, and have the DVD and the soundtrack, I still think it one of the worst films ever made, and one of the worst novel adaptations.

Speaking of which, My Sister's Keeper is a film which I refuse to see after hearing the changes they had made to the story. Changing the ages of the siblings, who are the central characters to the story, in order to accommodate for Cameron fucken Diaz was one which I was willing to overlook, but then to hear that they had changed the ending! The ending which, as a friend so eloquently put it, "makes the story". An ending which haunted me for weeks after I had read it. Abominable. A plague I say. A plague upon that studio. A plague. Indeed.

But with all these stories which have been told, there are many which still remain untold. This following list is some what of a fantasy list. These are the films I would love to see made...but am really scared that the wrong people will make them.

10. The BFG

I friggin love Roald Dahl. My childhood is defined by many TV shows and authors and Roald Dahl is indeed one of them. Matilda was the first book I had read in one sitting, and straight after that one came The BFG. I loved it. It was magic and its one of the few of Dahl classics which have not yet been made into a film. Which is a shame. Someone get Peter Jackson on the phone and find a quirky looking British orphan and make it happen. Just stick to the book and don't add anything to it. And whatever you do, don't involve Stephen Spielberg or George Lucas otherwise we could possibly have another bizarre experience ala Indiana Jones IV. *shudder*

9. The Enchanted Wood, The Magic Faraway Tree, The Folk of the Faraway Tree

If The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe was made, why oh why did no one think to start producing this Enid Blyton series? Maybe its because of cousins Dick and Fanny...or perhaps the Golliwogs are enough to put people off, but I have been told that Dick and Fanny have been changed to 'Rick and Franny', and Golliwogs are now 'Gollies'. But when you're a child you don't have any concept of what it is to be politically correct. All you know from reading this is that 3 kids moved from city to country and made friends with strange folks who live in a giant tree. A tree that has a ladder at the top that leads to a portal to magic lands that come and go as they please. Oh! Give me more!!!! Why is this not a film!!!!!

I want to see Moonface and the slippery dip. I want to watch the people duck Mrs. Wash-a-lot's dirty washing water as she pours it down the tree. I want to see grumpy Mr. Watsizname and how he be-friends The Saucepan Man. And I want to see Silky make her pop biscuits. I want to get excited watching them climb the ladder and see what land they enter and how long they have there before the land moves away from the tree. I want to see night parties in the Enchanted Forest with the faeries and goblins and gnomes. I want to hear the talking trees.

But perhaps these things are best left in your imagination. And knowing our luck, some studio will probably make The Wishing Chair before they make The Enchanted Wood. Incidentally, as much as I love Enid Blyton, I can not give her props on some of the sequel titles she came up with. I speak of the sequel to The Wishing Chair...The Wishing Chair Again. Lame. But that's another rant entirely. However, whilst on the topic of Enid Blyton, I would love to see The Naughtiest Girl in the School made into a television series. I think that would be charming.

8. The Jetsons

If they could make The Flinstones (twice), Scooby Doo (twice) and Josie and the Pussycats, surely, but surely, they would have the foresight to make The Jetsons.

I always thought The Jetsons to be the more superior Hana Barbera cartoon back in the day, which tackled the issues of man enslaving fellow man in the name of corporate America. In this case, corporate America takes over space. Spacely Sprockets CEO Mr. Spacely (played by Danny Devito) enslaves George Jetson (William H. Macy) to do his bidding. George meanwhile is in emotional turmoil as he tries to balance commitments between work and family (his ever loving wife, Jane, played by Diane Lane, and kids Judy and Elroy...remain uncast. Perhaps Amanda Bines for Judy? I don't know). Obviously there still needs to be a little more storyboarding, but I think this is a film which is possible and has potential.

7. Captain Planet.

EARTH, FIRE, WIND, WATER, HEART

- Heart?

- Yes Heart.

- What does Heart do?

- It...um..it...shut up. All I know is, is that when all those powers combine Captain Planet comes, and he doesn't come without heart and we need heart. So shut the hell up.

But think about it. Global warming, Environmental Activist rioting--if there was ever a time we needed Captain Planet most, it's now.

6. 'One Day' (title to be worked on)

This one is a fantasy of mine, but I've always thought there should be a film made about the introduction of the One Day International series. Because that would be awesome. Think of the soundtrack people! I'd also like to see 'Gold: The Steven Bradbury Story'. Spandau Ballet would make that soundtrack. ;-)

5. Elizabeth and Mary

Based on the historical accounts on their relationship as detailed by Jane Dunn in the book of the same title. The film would be about the relationship between Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth I. But I'm a sucker for medieval history so that could be just me who wants this film to be made. But it would be brilliant if made. I promise.

4. The life and times of Christopher Marlowe.

Tim Burton directs it. Johnny Depp is in it. Wicked. Just so friggin wicked.

3. The Obernewtyn Chronicles

Terry Gilliam. If these Chronicles were to be ever made, he would be the one to do it. He was actually going to make Mervyn Pyke's Gormenghast from the Gormenghast Trilogy but gave up because it seemed too ambitious. I would still like to see Gilliam make that film, but I think he needs to warm up with The Obernewtyn Chronicles. Only Gilliam can do it. Trust me.

2. Montana 1948

This was my favourite book to read in high school. I read it five times over. It's brilliant. I love it. If you haven't read this book, do it. It's got everything you could ever want in it, and if made right, the movie would be just as awesome.

1. It's a tie....

I know it's unfair, and not really traditional of a top 10 list, but its my list and I can do whatever the hell I want with it.

So at number one, we have a tie between:

Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. A story told through the eyes of a 15 year old autistic boy with a photographic memory.

and Jostein Gaarder's The Solitare Mystery. The story of a young boy who discovers philosophy with a magnifying glass he was given by a mysterious man, and a small book he found in a sticky bun.

Tell me you would not see these films if I could make them for you. My future top 10.

What's yours?

There's paper in my Advocat

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 11:34:00 +0000

Here I am trying to think of a witty title for this here blog post and all I can do is write the first thing in my head.

However, there is indeed a little bit of paper in my advocat. I don't know how it got there, but its there. And it's a shame because it is home made advocat, and its made by my mother, and she's AMAZING at making things, especially things involving alcohol. I am drinking advocat...I am consequently drunk. A little. I can still write, so that's a plus.

But you must excuse me....

while I pick out this paper in my advocat.

Mmmmm. Goopy. Well, one of the quaint charms of consuming something home made, is although it may taste AMAZING, and go down an absolute treat, it does come with its unique flaws. In the case of this advocat, it is a little bit on the thick side, so what I am consuming is not so much an alcoholic beverage, but more a custard with a bit of a kick that I refuse to eat with a spoon.

I like this advocat all the same.

Merry Christmas everyone. I hope you are enjoying the festive season in a safe and respectable manner. I sure am. Cheers to us all!

I've also just enjoyed the biggest Christmas dinner and desert known to man. Following Polish tradition as best we can (my family being Polish, obviously) Christmas Eve is the big deal as opposed to Christmas Day, so all the work goes into this evening. We also get to open our presents on Christmas Eve too. I love it.

Usually, we spend the entire day preparing Christmas dinner, however I had to leave my mum and sister to do all domestic duties as I had to work. Work was quite enjoyable though, so no complaints there.

For the past week, I have been bombarded with an array of Christmas albums both past and present. When it comes to Christmas albums, there's two things--

First point of call: When thinking of making a Christmas album, start by changing your mind. Don't fucking do it. There's too many on the market out there, and if your not Judy Garland, Bing Crosby or Nat King Cole, you just shouldn't bother.

Second point: If you have ignored the first point of call, take your left hand, curl it into a fist and punch yourself in the face. If you happen to be Christina Aguilera, Mariah Carey, Michael Bolton or Adrie Rieu please replace fist with plank of wood littered with rusty nails, but still apply same pressure to face.

Seriously. Enough with the vocal areobics. I'm getting a headache, and you're disturbing my time with my advocat. Speaking of which...I am getting a bit drowsy and fear that I soon will begin to make no sense.

That's Ka-Blamo.

Anyway, I received Adrian Mole: The Prostrate Years. Who here has grown up with The Adrian Mole Diaries? Joy to the world indeed.

Good night everyone. Stay safe, stay happy, and be well. Merry Christmas.

And God Bless Us, Everyone.

Get out of here Tiny Tim.

What's my age again?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 05:22:00 +0000

Scene: Bookshop

Cast: Me
Shop Assistant

Time: Present

I (who is me) waltz on into the bookshop looking to finally finish my Christmas shopping in the hopes that I (again, me) will actually get to sleep tonight. After half an hour of neck bending book spine browsing, I (me...of fuck it you get the point) finally make my selection and wander on over to the cash register where I meet a sprite young shop assistant waiting to assess the damage these purchases are going to take on my wallet.

ME: Hi how are you?

SHOP ASSISTANT: I'm fine thanks, how are you?

ME: I'm excellent thank you, just these if I could, please.

I hand her the books

SHOP ASSISTANT: Excellent you say? Now that's a word you don't hear all too often. At least when people describe themselves that is.

ME: Yes, indeed.

SHOP ASSISTANT: It such a lovely word too. Makes me smile. When you just told me you were excellent, I felt so much more happier!

ME: Oh, well, that's great!

SHOP ASSISTANT: Yes! Ha ha ha. That will be $82 something or other.

ME: Excellent, can I put that on savings?

SHOP ASSISTANT: Oh! You said it again!

ME: Oh, why yes I did!

Giggles ensue

ME: I suppose it's my favourite word on some sub- conscious level.

SHOP ASSISTANT: I quite like fabulous actually.

ME: That's a pretty good word to.

SHOP ASSISTANT: Oh yes fabulous darling.

ME: Like Patsy and Edina.

SHOP ASSISTANT: Who?

silence

ME: Patsy and Edina, from Ab Fab.

SHOP ASSISTANT: ....I....don't...know what that is.....

ME: Oh.

SHOP ASSISTANT: I'm 16.

ME: Oh

SHOP ASSISTANT: I was thinking more Kiera Knightly from The Duchess.

ME: I hate her. Thanks for my books. Have a good one.

End Scene

Appropriate Chit Chat

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 10:01:00 +0000

Today was a some what wonderful day. With the sun shining, and the heat steadily rising I woke from my slumber this morning WITHOUT an alarm. With a smile on my face I stretched out my limbs with the line: "Free at last, free at last, thank god almighty I'm free at last" ringing through my head. Yes, I am free. Until next year that is anyway, but for nowlet me bask in the glory that is...

Summer Holidays.

Huzzah!!!

Time has certainly flown this year. Last years summer only feels as if it happened only yesterday! But as years do, the new one has come and is on its way out, and lo and behold, Summer is here yet again. So, I had a day off today, Haylee had a day off today...BEACH!!!!!!!!!!

Giddy with excitement, I started hunting for my bathers, boardies and my summer bag. I was definately reminded of the old times when I realized that I hadn't unpacked my summer bag from last summer. I found a water damaged and sand encrusted deck of Winnie the Pooh Uno cards I got as a Christmas present from Kirby. I found a full bottle of sunscreen though. SCORE! Summer for me is defined by three items: Sunscreen, Tanning Oil and After Sun Cream. Have those three on you at all times, and your set for the next 3 months. There's nothing more you could possibly need...except maybe a cider and some fish and chips, but that's a given.

Haylee and I were so excited about the seaside. The first beach day is always the most awkward though. The crowd that had gathered there were tanned, buffed, and beautiful. Not that I'm particularly insecure about myself, I see my purpose on the beach as one which adds diversity to the crowd, but when you're pale and pasty and have a lot of browning to do, you do feel like a bit of an amature amongst the bronzers.

The water was cold, but oh so good. Haylee and I were in bliss, paddling in the water, looking at all the people on the beach, then paddling in the water some more. Oh what fun we were having. During this time of happiness, an elderly gentleman was walking along the beach and decided to plant himself nearby our towels. After a while he started to get ready to go into the water. It became apparent that the gentleman in question did not bring his bathers with him, and decided to just go about the day in his jocks. After the obligatory chuckle (as young ladies tend to do at these sorts of matters), I thought: Ah, fair enough, more power to him. And we continued to enjoy our day.

The gentleman then entered the water, made his way towards us, and started to have a chat. It was innocent at first, these things usually are, and despite the fact that this guy was just in his jocks, we didn't want to be rude.

HIM: Beautiful day to be at the beach hey?

US: Hell yeah.

HIM: You have a day off?

US: Hell yeah.

Awkward pause

HIM: Water's nice.

US: Hell yeah it's nice.

HIM: Yeah, I went to the beach yesterday in Frankston.

US: Oh yeah.

HIM: Yeah. It was a nice hot day and I thought I'd go off to the beach after work.

US: Cool.

HIM: But there were so many people there.

US: Oh.

HIM: So I went looking for another beach. I found one which wasn't too far away from Frankston. It was called Sunnyside Beach. Have you ever heard of it?

US: No.

HIM: It's a lovely beach. Water was really nice and warm.

US: Cool.

HIM: It's a nudist beach.

Scilence

HIM: Yeah, one of the few legal ones here. There's a sign there and everything.

Silence

HIM: Yeah, a lot of people go down there. But usually only people in the 30-60 range. I'm 50 myself.

US: Ok.

HIM: Yeah, not many girls your age seem to want to go down there. And it's a shame because you're of the age where your bodies are in the best shape, and you don't show it off! It would be something nice to look at.

Silence

HIM: Yeah, well, you should think about heading down there sometime. It's not far from Frankston at all, and it would be a lot of fun.

Silence

HIM: Well, I'll be going. I shouldn't really be swimming because of my ear infection. Bye girls.

Silence

Seriously? Seriously.

Good day though.

Cooks and Chefs...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 05:24:00 +0000

Currently housebound and with nowhere to go, the only thing keeping me entertained and somewhat sane is doing my work in front of ye olde telly.

The amount of lifestyle shows is astounding. Decoration, design, gardening and cooking galour in the afternoons. With the introduction of the new freeview channel 72 (aka 7 two "yes its time") there is more style to your life than you've bargained for.

Along with the Jay Leno show you can now watch the The Martha Stewart Show, where she interviews celebrities and cooks at the same time. I shit you not. The other day, Usher was on there rolling pastry dough, and talking about the anticipated arrival of his new born baby, and also his new CD. Amazing. What will they think of next?

The sudden rise in lifestyle shows, in my opinion, is more of a curse than it is a blessing. Whilst I am a proud connoisseur of food and wine, and I do boast a wonderful ability to produce the finest of meals and baked goods, I do realize that what I offer to the world of culinary cuisine is not as extraordinary as I believe it to be.

Masterchef, The Great Aussie Cookoff, and Ready Steady Cook has bought recipes and the art of cooking outside the realms of intimidation and has filled the general public with confidence in their ability to boil a pot of water and experiment with such things like 'fruits' and 'vegetables'.

A few months ago, A Current Affair ran a young Masterchef competition where children under the age of 15 showed off their skills in the kitchen. These kids were amazing, poaching eggs, roasting roasts and stirring...fry's...fries...stirfry's...stirfries....stir---oh you know what I mean. Point is, when I was 10, two minute noodles was what I considered cooking, and the triumph for me was not burning the toast in the morning. Home cooking has certainly excelled and more people are getting involved at an earlier age. No doubt there's a positive correlation between this and the increase in cooking shows and lifestyle programs.

Enter the curse. Tamasin Day Lewis. Best known for being the sister of Daniel Day Lewis, Tamasin is also a food writer, T.V. producer and director...she also likes to cook. Good for her. She also has her own show. Good for whom? Not for me.

Just because you're a food writer and know the difference between white and red meat does not make you a cook or chef by any means. It also doesn't give you the licence to create a show based around you cooking for any old occasion. That's clearly territory taken up by Jamie Oliver, who despite his naff charm and 'lovely jublies', can actually cook.

Inviting your mates around and firing off names of several dried spices whilst they answer "ooo", "aaah" and "delish" IS NOT WORTH FILMING. Also, using a hand held digital camera doesn't really help.

For some reason, in the middle of this particular episode I happened upon, Tamasin and her side kick friend, who she had come around to "help", stopped cooking to go out into the garden to eat a snow pea, and then run back inside because it started to rain...what the hell was the point of that?

The trip to the fish mongers was equally as awkward to watch, as she saunters in, demands that the fish monger tell her what's good to eat, then interrupts before he has a chance to answer because she wants to look at a crab. Rabbiting on and on about how she has five or six, possibly more, people to feed at her amazing dinner party she settles on a few pieces of cod.

After having made 100 biscuits, chicken liver for entree and baked cod for main, only two people show up to her dinner party and then call her food "creamy rubber."

Well done Tamasin.

And well done mum, who has managed to burn potatoes. Hmmm, I must excuse myself, but in the meantime, acquaint yourselves with someone who can cook without being useless or irritating. www.insanitytheory.net/kitchenwench

Do I have another option?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 11:24:00 +0000

Hey how ya going? Hows it been? Yes yes yes I'm still alive. Exhausted, barely functioning, but still alive.

Needless to say--I have been busy. And along with neglecting my health (I do not even want to think about what I've put my body through at the moment), I've also neglected my friends. For that, my loves, I'm terribly sorry. I'm a horrible horrible person.

Please forgive me, I know not what I do.

Please forgive me, I can't stop loving you.

So summer is here. I was going to say almost here, but I'm sitting here in sticky humidity with the back door wide open and a breeze tickling against my skin. Summer is here.

Time to save up for Christmas presents, look awkward with fluorescent legs whilst I don shorts, hunt for a new bathing suit, try not to loose the two pairs of sunglasses that I recently bought to replace the two pairs of sunglasses I have lost last year, and start thinking about what to do for New Years Eve. Which is probably nothing. Because I'm beginning to hate New Years Eve.

My dear friend Miriam announced her distaste for New Years Eve a couple of months ago, and come to think of it, so do I. So I resign to do nothing to bring in the New Year this year, because I really couldn't give a shit enough to go out of my way to think about the year that has been and then think about the year that is to come. I would rather think about the moment that is now. Eckhart Tolle much? Meh. I don't know.

So Miriam, despite you hating New Years Eve, and not wanting to do anything, would you like to do nothing on New Years Eve together? I, for one, would like to have a Black Books/Dylan Moran marathon, drinking wine, laughing my ass off, and then passing out on the couch only to wake up to go to my bed and sleep for the rest of the day there. What do you say? Well, I'll get back to you on that I suppose. ;-)

Summer also means summer holidays. Meaning free time. Meaning catching up with friends. Some friends you catch up with you can pick up where you left off. Other friends take a little more effort:

THEM: "Hey how are you I haven't seen you in ages what are you doing?!?!?!"

ME: "Nothing much."

Awkward pause.

THEM: "Cool."

ME: "Yeah, I guess it is. How are you?"

THEM: "Yeah, really good, everything's fine, boring you know, but fine."

ME: "Well that's good."

THEM: "Yeah it's fine."

ME: "Sure."

THEM: "You seeing anyone?"

ME: "No."

THEM: "Really? It's been a while for you now hey?"

ME: "I haven't been counting actually. Probably because I've had something to occupy my time with."

THEM: "Ha ha ha. Oh you're so funny. But seriously, there's no one?"

ME: "Well, I wouldn't say no one. Yesterday a guy waved and winked at me, and then gave me the finger when I didn't care to respond. The week before that I was propositioned by a 50 year old man. A month before that a friend of mine offered me 'a hand' with my 'situation' and was then offended by my decline of his offer, and a few months before that I had my drink spiked. So I guess I couldn't really say there's no one."

THEM: "....I've gotta go."

And so do I. Fraiser's on.

Bohemian No!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 14:44:00 +0000

I'm not usually one for judging a sub-culture....

Ah who am I kidding. I judge anything and anyone. It's an inherent trait I received from my mother, just one of the few things we happen to have in common. I'm not going to lie to you, I can be pretty mean at times.

In writing this, however, the motive is not to be mean, but to save you (and your ears) from the most terrible excuse of a band I have ever seen.

Although I don't know their name, I can tell you this:

If you see an army of cardigan clad men with an casually dressed drummer, run. RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!

I didn't.

I suffered.

On the stage the Bohemian army of 'musicians' stood, dazed, skinny and scruffy. They looked out into the crowd...at all 5 of the bohemian little gypsy minions that tagged along with them, already swaying before the music had begun. Those fucking gypsies.

The ominous sound of one of the THREE GUITARS ON STAGE begins to rattle. The lead singer, in a brown sweater, dirty dreads and an ugly face, braces himself and pulls out...

a melodica.

Wanna know what a melodica is?

Yes that's right. The BoHo 'played' the melodica. It was bright green, and plastic. An astute gentleman standing behind me bore the expression on his face that said it all:

"WTF?"

Not having seen a melodica before, I asked what the 'instrument' was, to which he replied: "A children's toy."

Quite right.

In case your wondering, the melodica is not the only thing the lead singer blows. He blows pretty much everything. Hmmm...let me rephrase that: he blows AT pretty much everything.

3 Guitars. 3 Guitars that 'band' had. One of them wasn't even playing...he was just standing there. Swaying back and forth. Mumbling to himself.

Fucking Bohemians.

Their minions weren't any better. The dancing...it was...I don't know what it was. One of them was romping around on the dance floor with a beer bottle in his hand.

Which was empty...

YET HE STILL CONTINUED TO DRINK FROM IT!!!

I could continue rambling on about the number of things I was disgusted with, but it is 1am in the morning and I really must go to bed. I have a full day ahead of me in which I will try and forget that this whole experience had ever happened.

Who knows? Perhaps I will convince myself that it was all a dream.

Human's Suck

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 02:49:00 +0000

I hate being human.

Particularly when I'm doing work that requires me to be a machine.

I hate trying to work at human speed. I hate human speed. You achieve nothing at human speed.

What have we ever accomplished at human speed?

"Landing on the Moon?"

Shut up. That's not human speed.

I need to be able to multitask at an alarming rate. I need to be able to read at the speed of light and be able to absorb as much information as a Shamwow absorbs water at the same time.

I need to be able to type up essays, as well as marketing drafts. I need to memorize a script whilst writing a new one.

I also need to take a shower.

Dammit. If I was a machine I wouldn't need to shower. I'd just need an occasional oil to prevent rust. Humans and oil don't go well together, which is why we will never rust.

What's worse than working at human speed, is working at human speed with a cold. This means that as a human, I'm now required to "rest" and "take it easy."

Negative. Cannot perform said foreign functions at this time.

If I were a machine I wouldn't get a cold.

"You could get a virus."

Shut up. Viruses on a machine are like STD's on a human. If the machine comes in contact with strange, unknown and unsecured programs, of course its going to catch something unsavoury.

I don't have an STD, I have a cold, and I don't want a cold, which why I want to be a machine because machines don't get colds.

"Shut up. You're getting off topic, and are now ranting and raving to yourself. Didn't you say you had work to do?"

Duly noted.

10 Reasons to go and see Moonwalker

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 05:14:00 +0000

In honour of what would have been Michael Jackson's 51st birthday, Village Cinema's are exclusively screening Moonwalker.

When Haylee and I found this out, off we went to the Jam Factory to buy our tickets. It was a hoot. What made it more special was that Mel had come along, and not having seen the film before, we were proud to be there with her for her first 'Moonwalker' experience.

If you have never seen it, or haven't seen it in a while, here are but 10 reasons why you should buy your ticket.

1. The film begins with a half hour montage of Michael Jackson and Jackson 5 hits for no particular reason at all except to make you try and find new and exciting ways to dance in your seat without embarrasing yourself.

2. The 'Badder' short film: If you haven't seen it, I won't spoil it for you, but I will say that when Mel saw it, giggles ensued.

3. Michael Jackson running away from claymation stalkers.

4 Michael Jackson turning into claymation Rabbit and then turns back into himself only to have a dance off with the claymation Rabbit...who's called Spike.

5. Michael Jackson dodging bullets and running away from dogs. If that isn't enough action for ya, tell me what is.

6. Baby Sean Lennon starring as one of the 3 children who accompany Michael on his Moonwalker adventure. What relation the kids are to Michael is never explained in the film, nor why they wander the streets at all hours of the night following Michael around to clubs and concerts with no supervision except for the occasional companionship of a dog.

7. Joe Pesci. In heels. Nuff said.

8. Smooth Criminal in all its wonderful glory.

9. Michael Jackson morphing into a car, then a robot then a spaceship, only to return and sing us a song.

10. Michael Jackson's delivery of the line "Do it and you're dead." Amazing.

The film is only screening until Wednesday, so get in there quick. Seeing it on DVD is just not the same.

"Boys Suck"...well tell me something I don't know

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 10:40:00 +0000

There must be something in the water, because women all around me are on an anti- male rage.

Meh, what else is new. I've been on that boat for a long time, which is probably the biggest contributing factor as to why I'm single.

Call me crazy, but I just haven't found the urge to pretty myself up, dress to the nines and throw myself at fine specimens such as these...

Granted, not all men look like that, and not all men suck, but please take note of the operative word here. MEN!!

For most women out there, and that's me included, the epitome of the ideal man goes a little something like this:

Or if you're a more of a modern day woman, a little something like this:

Oh Mr. Darcy. Be still my beating heart. The man every woman wants, and every man wants to wallop.

Before Zac Efron, and before Edward Cullen, was The Darcy phenomenon. The love of the character surpassed the love of the actor, and poor Mr. Colin Firth could never reclaim his identity as a truly wonderful actor. No matter what part he took after the BBC mini series, nothing ever came close to the euphoria which was experienced over watching Mr. Darcy on your telly. The closest Firth came to regaining the same success was with the release of Bridget Jones' Diary, where he rehashed the exact same character, but wore much more comfortable clothing. I dare anyone to wear a reindeer sweater in such a way that presents women with the quandary of whether rip it off, or do the deed with the sweater on because he just looks so goddamn sexy in it. (Or maybe that's just me....)

Yes, Mr. Darcy. Wonderful, strong, handsome, Mr. Darcy.

The man who despite his best interests fell in love with Elizabeth Bennett.
The man who fell in love with Bridget "just as she is."
The man who came to Elizabeth Bennett's rescue and saved her family from ruins.
The man who flew halfway across the world to free Bridgett from a Thai prison.
The man who said the unforgettable words: "In vain I have struggled, but it will not do, you must allow be to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
And the man who answered "oh yes they fucking do", when Bridgett proclaimed that nice boys "don't kiss like that."

Oh yes, Mr. Darcy. Wonderful, smart, rich, handsome, kind, caring, romantic, perfect Mr. Darcy.

Well of course he's perfect. He was created by these.

WOMEN!

Jane Austen created one of the most romantic and charming men since Shakespeare's Romeo. Helen Fielding followed suit and 'creatively' gave us a more updated version.

My point to all this?

Ladies, the perfect man does not exist. Why? Because it's impossible, not virtually impossible or practically impossible, but IMPOSSIBLE for a man to be near perfect let alone perfection. There's no such thing. Have another read of Pride and Prejudice and Bridget Jones' Dairy, even the two Darcy's have their flaws. But because we have become so besotted in the ideals and romance, there is a tendency to block out the bad and concentrate of the good.

The tendency also transfers to real life situations. I myself will admit to falling for it. We become so engrossed in the fantasy of finding Mr. Right that we start to put any Joe Blow on a pedestal when really, he has no place there at all.

Please don't misunderstand me. Just because there is no perfect man doesn't mean that functional relationships don't exist. I myself know many people who are in one. Good for them. That's great. But that's not what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about your average, and I mean REALLY average guy that many girls seem to loose their nut over. To explain what I'm talking about, the scenario goes a little something like this:

Girl meets Guy. Both seem to dig each other, and flirting ensues. Girl gives Guy number. Girl is ecstatic, raves about guy, guy doesn't call, and the girl is shattered.

or...

Girl meets Guy. Flirt. Exchange numbers. Call. Date. Guy doesn't call again.

OR...

Girl meets Guy. Flirt. Exchange numbers. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Meet in public -- guy treats girl like stranger.

OR MY PERSONAL FAVOURITE

Girl meets Guy. Flirts. Sparks. Calls calls calls...but clearly one is using the other. Guess who.

*sigh* Pretty tough to catch a break. Can you blame a girl for being so down trodden and upset?

Sisters, I understand.

"*sniff* No you don't," you sob. "I'm tearing my hair out over this, and you've got a full head of hair. Don't tell me you understand. *sniff*"

Sisters...WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!

Seriously, I'm all for love, romance, kisses and cuddles. I giggle with delight at them. But emotionally investing in someone who's clearly a dick just isn't right. He's not Mr. Darcy, and if he makes you feel like shit, he's not your Mr. Right. You can't change him, you can't make him do anything else, and you certainly can't get back the time you wasted on him.

No Deal.

Yes sweethearts, boys suck, and men can be idiots, but what else is new?

Why on earth would you place all your aspirations for happiness into one person?

Why do you place so many expectations onto a complete stranger?

Why don't you place those same expectations on yourself?

And if you spend any more time on the guy who wastes your time, you're going to miss out on the one who is actually worth your time.