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Monday, June 30
[You watch too many films, films for real]posted by peter at 21:36 .......I always try to wear slightly arty clothes when I go to see a film at the Lumiere, and today I chose the requisite black skivvy and weird-wash-boot-leg jeans. Not content with that I added my new black scarf and my very sleek windproof jacket (think urban breezes rather than mountain blasts... it's not some bulky goretex thing... it's uber chic in a gritty, contrived sort of way).
But the scarf provided moments of dilemma. I had hoped Otis would provide all the answers regarding correct scarf arrangement, but he posed the same question today. I think you've probably just got to let the mood take you.
The film I saw was Baran, which was a cute and sad story of unrequited love in Iran. It certainly rewrote some of my perceptions of that country; we don't see enough material from that region that isn't centred on war or atrocity, so it's refreshing to see a story that embraces the experience of individual characters within that political and cultural framework, without dwelling on injustice or whatever.
One of the things I love about foreign films is how they remind me that my own problems are so minor when put into a global perspective. Here I am wondering what to do with my future while other people spend their lives retrieving stones or pieces of wood from icy rivers. Or even worse, hunched over in narrow mine shafts with the ever-present threat of gas pockets or structural collapse. At least I have a choice! It makes me think that a big part of happiness is based on comparison with those around you, and identification of areas in which you perceive yourself to fall short of some culturally constructed standard.
It's not that I use these films to feel better about myself; that's definitely not the reason why I see so many. I simply enjoy the heightened awareness gained from these (albeit often fictitious) stories and I think it can be beneficial to gain a new perspective of your place in the world.
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[Them there hills]posted by peter at 19:04 .......In order to celebrate the purchase of their new car, Jairus and Shannon decided to spirit Jess and I away up to Sassafras for the day. The misty veils of winter lent a beautiful atmosphere to the visually glorious location, but we didn’t pause for the scenery and went directly to a café for lunch.
The four of us began by sharing a vegetarian selection; a plate laden with frittata, roast potatoes, beetroot, brie and mushroom balls and a very fragrant radish and mint (?) salad.
Enormous coffees were also delivered to our outdoor table; I think these take the prize for the largest mugs/bowls I’ve discovered so far, surpassing even the legendary New Zealand offerings.
The other three then took a carnivorous path, but I opted for a stunning cinnamon porridge with caramelised Iranian figs, thus continuing my porridge obsession. For some reason I just couldn’t go past the breakfast menu.
After the meal we ran the gauntlet of Australiana stores and shabby-chic emporiums in both Sassafras and Olinda. I finally found a black scarf, thus completing the list of necessary clothing buys (now I can focus on the unnecessary!!), and I also bought a second-hand yet apparently never-played Arrested Development CD for just $5. I wanted to buy some Japanese tea (none of that vile gen mai cha roasted rice variety though… this was something that resembled pine needles in appearance), but they wouldn’t sell me any in an appropriate quantity, so they can help themselves. I’m not into storing tealeaves for years and years.
We’re back at home now, the central heating is on and a night of sumptuous nothingness awaits. Ooh, I go to Canberra on Tuesday, better start getting mentally organised…
[This is what happens]posted by peter at 19:00 .......I'm in the midst of some sort of ISP dilemma, gosh it makes me mad, so this post was written some time ago and will be published when I can actually use the Internet again. It’s Sunday now and I’ve had to dial up to the Adelaide server to get online…
Last night (ie. Friday night) we went to an insane Spanish restaurant on Johnston St. What I hated about it was that it felt like we'd walked into a wedding reception. The tables were arranged and laid in a manner typical of function centres, the space was huge in the manner typical of function centres, there was a separate bar in the manner typical of function centres and the eating area was immediately contiguous to the dance floor – again, like a function centre. Not only that, but everyone was called up for a Spanish dancing lesson and later on the recorded music was replaced by a live Latin band. I was just waiting for the speeches... if I'd caught sight of any taffeta I would have spewed.
The good thing about the place was that the servings were ridiculously generous. I chose a vegetarian paella for my meal and it was as bland as I expected but had a few surprises such as sundried tomatoes, roast potatoes and Jerusalem artichokes buried under its façade. None of the six people on our table could finish the meal, and one of the guys made the mistake of ordering a tapas platter (any sort of tapas is usually on the meagre side in terms of serving size) and ended up with a tray loaded up with mussels, octopus, olives, breads, lemons and whatever else. Absolutely insane.
Today Jess and I took her car to one of those handwash places, where you give the keys to some chap in blue overalls and head into the Tuscan-themed cafe and wait for them to clean the vehicle. Somewhere between the mondo grass and a water feature we found space for a second-rate coffee, and upon returning to the car we discovered that the $20 service left it in much the same state as it was when we arrived. Absolutely ridiculous.
Finally, after a quick jaunt to Swan St, we investigated the previously sighted Coffee bean and tea leaf on King's Way. I was so excited when I first caught a glimpse of it a few weeks back – this was the franchise that had sustained me through Singapore's humidity, it's milkshake-sized large lattes in airconditioned surrounds provided a welcome respite from the oppressive ambient moisture and psychosis-inducing heat. So we ensconced ourselves in comfy aubergine armchairs and sat around drinking our enormous caffeinated beverages while overlooking corporate landscaping and discussing our strange life choices. Absolutely glorious.
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[Buy happiness]posted by peter at 15:03 .......
There's no suppressing the joy in my heart right now, as I've just bought a copy of the Spirited Away limited edition DVD which is covered with beautiful artwork, and I also picked up the Zero 7 Another late night compilation, oh my happiness is complete!
Before you all throw up your hands and heave a collective "how does a person on Newstart...", I must make it clear that I merely spent a gift voucher, at David Jones of all places.
Which is exactly why I had to wait so long to get my copy of a film that's been in the shops for weeks. They may be a boutique department store, but they take their sweet little time about it and I should point out that I had to pay an absolute premium for the DVD; luckily the CD was a steal.
And then I ate a whole packet of Haigh's scorched almonds, which I bought in their glowing dust-free store in the Block Arcade. Flowing sounds of the classical trio reverberated off original mosaic floors while people huddled in clusters to escape the light rain permeating the sidewalk cafes of the narrow alleyway.
Now I'm drinking green tea, I've taken echinacea and even applied for another job! And with the promise of a tasty Spanish dinner on Johnston St tonight, I sit back and wonder if life gets any better than this...
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[Dear Sir/Madam]posted by peter at 23:57 .......As the financial year comes to a close, so too does the job market.
In the last fortnight there's been only one decent advertisement on any of the major job sites. It's lucky I like being unemployed, as this is the sort of discouraging situation that could start to get you down... :(
[Listen! Can you hear the sunshine?]posted by peter at 17:44 .......She stands in the stillness, flanked by dead trees, her hair mimicking the contorted forms of windswept branches. Delicate fabrics fall from outstretched arms as she sings her arias, sad notes floating on the cool air of autumn.
I met her this way one dark day in the lowlands.
She clutched my arm and warned that I would be drawn to faraway places, distant cities would call me, their concrete towers like gravestones beckoning wayward spirits home across the sea.
I looked down and brushed three shiny beetles from my sleeve.
She spoke of paths, choices, lies and loves. She retold my past and fashioned my future, each day stretched out before her, moulded by slender fingers and formed by lilting words.
I nodded my head and searched my pocket for change.
She blinked her terrible eyes and laughed. My payment would not be of coins, she had no need of wealth. Instead, she cupped her hand around my ear and spoke the hour of my death.
I thanked her for the knowledge.
She can still be seen sometimes, on grey afternoons when the air is cold. She keeps out of sight of the highway, but I swear sometimes I’ve seen her in the rear-view mirror, a swaying black speck on a hilltop.
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[Another update]posted by peter at 12:42 .......Trish just sent me a distressed SMS telling me that it has grown back unevenly. The hair has returned in an asymmetric fashion. I guess that calls for some more therapy.
The plot thickens.
[Illness]posted by peter at 10:35 .......The dangers of having friends visit from interstate are well documented, so by now I should recognise the warning signs. Nevertheless, last night Josh and Rebecca lured me out to drink cocktails in Fitzroy, and I spent an appalling fraction of my weekly budget on dinner and drinks. It was, of course, a huge amount of fun, so who could care less?
The cocktails themselves were less summery/tropical than those we imbibed on Saturday, and instead had a bit of a mod-Oz theme, what with hazelnut and lime, coffee and vodka, vanilla tea and pepper vodka featuring among the combinations we tried. My double espresso vodka cocktail was a virtual biohazard; I think I sipped the whole thing with an expression of revulsion on my face.
All very interesting and good for a laugh, but at $12 - 13 a pop, they were expensive adventures in rocket fuel.
I took the second-to-last tram home – I knew I had to – anything to avoid a cab fare! Now I'm looking forward to catching up with these folk again in Adelaide and trying the famed cookies and cream cocktail at the Botanic Bar... evidently it's a glass full of crushed Oreos stirred through various sumptuous liqueurs. Can't wait.
My suspicions began last night and this morning confirmed the fact that I am ill. There is a nucleus of pain at the back of my throat, my ears are blocking, I'm coughing and displaying numerous other symptoms of a yukky cold. Oh well, I've held off this long, but my time has come. Might have to locate some echinacea and cook up abundant quantities of chilli and garlic, though obviously not without other ingredients.
At least I've got a good book to read. It's called Shipwrecks, by Akira Yoshimura, and is set in a coastal village in feudal Japan. The inhabitants subsist on what they can harvest, gather and fish, and face starvation every year during the climatic extremes. There is however a very sinister side to it, because the villagers light fires on the beach in an attempt to lure ships to be wrecked on the reef... they then slaughter the crew and plunder the cargo. What's fascinating is how they mythologise the shipwrecks, viewing them as gifts from the sea or from the gods, and thereby justify their actions. The novel is treading a clever balance, instilling sympathy for the villagers despite their abhorrent actions. I'll have no problem finishing it today!
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[Close my eyes and scream]posted by peter at 17:37 .......Sometimes I just don't know what is wrong with people. Today our sweet little household received an official noise complaint. 'Official' in that it came from our landlord's agent.
According to the letter, a complaint was received from our neighbours (how they got the details of our agency is beyond me... massive privacy violation) and was in regards to "music in the front bedroom being loud at times."
At times. What does that mean? At what times are we annoying them and at what times aren't we? When are we allowed to raise more ruckus than tiptoes and hushed whispers? I really hate crap like this.
The absurd thing is that the front bedroom belongs to Jess, and she almost never plays music, let alone loudly. So it must be due to the music I play on Kate's stereo during the day, which I crank up so I can hear it in the rear of the house. But the thing is, it's still not loud. We're not talking the magnitude of Unley here. Those crazy times with Deb were indeed voluminous, and I can't blame the one neighbour out of 11 for being annoyed in that case, it's just that they handled it in an inappropriate manner.
And here we go all over again. Why can't these neighbours just pop over and let us know that it's a tiny bit loud, regardless of how hard to believe that may be. We live in the adjoining terrace for goodness' sake!!! How hard can it be?
And these are the people who awoke us at 8am last Saturday with the jarring sounds of drills and other renovation machinery. Double standards, anyone?
I still swear by that age-old adage: if you're too lame for the city there's a whole world for you out there in the suburbs. So pack up and move, you anal-retentive, fun-spoiling, old-before-your-time, boring, dull, lifeless, uninteresting gits.
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[Fragmenting]posted by peter at 21:32 .......That bloody Nylex sign sits superimposed on a mottled grey sky, softly pulsing its corporate message. Amber pixels float above a jumbled wasteland, and like the eyes of Dr Eckleberg, it watches me on the train. Each increment of it's digital timepiece demands an explanation, queries my motives and my intent, asks all the big questions. Before I can answer, the earth opens up and I am swallowed by the rift.
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There's going to be a Wim Wenders exhibition at the Sydney Museum of Contemporary Art. It will run until August 30 and I really hope I can get up there to check it out. After all, Paris, Texas and Wings of Desire are among my favourite films, and from what I've seen, he takes beautiful still photography.
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Today Sally and I watched a documentary called Sex with strangers, which essentially followed the antics of several swinging couples. It just reinforced how frequently people use sex to overcome self-esteem issues. The documentary was at times hilarious, at times ridiculous, at times creepy and revolting, and rarely poignant. Really it just showed a bunch of flailing humans who were clinging to whatever comforts they could find (extending comfort zones and yet remaining firmly entrenched), and ultimately it failed because it didn't provide any real insight and got distracted by superficialities and gratuitous sex.
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We found a stalactite growing from the roof of our microwave. To this day I have no idea what sort of foodstuff comprised the formation. It was hidden right up the top, out of sight. To think a simple kitchen appliance can become a wonderland of geological phenomena.
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Right now Jess is baking blueberry muffins (and pulverising the fruit). It's her last foray into deliciousness before she commences some bizarre soup diet where she can only eat beef soup OR tomatoes, and sometimes fruit, but only on very select days of the week. This just about sums up the horror, and she's not convinced that she'll last more than a few days on the restrictions. I'm worried that she's going to experience intense hunger and certainly a fungal bloom.
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[Stencils and tags]posted by peter at 22:53 .......
And so after a lunch of oven-baked goat's curd on a bed of rocket (naturally) with kalamata olives, basil pesto, Spanish onion, roasted peach segments and caramelised figs, we regrouped and hit Luna Park. I should point out that other people ate different things, but there was meat involved, and that dietary decision knows no place on this website.
Luna Park was its usual conglomeration of overpriced, stomach influencing rides, and the place buzzed with hyperactive children, young family units and backpacked camera-wielding smiling wide-eyed tourists. The Scenic Railway ride really is a lot of fun... over a rickety frame rushes a rickety carriage... panoramic views of the city and the bay are nicely interspersed with sudden altitude changes and shrill screams of terror. I like rollercoasters; this is a mild one but it has its moments. Kate and Marc went on the Enterprise, which was hilarious for the observer because it was like watching a huge spinning wheel with sound emanating from a single point on the disc... that sound was Kate's scream and it went around and round and round...
Meanwhile, Brooke, Mark and I tried a smaller rollercoaster which lacked the same thrill value. Kate's mum wasn't so keen on the bigger rides and, together with partner Dean (who, I might add, treated us all to the lovely lunch), enjoyed the sideshows and Ferris wheel instead.
Gosh it was cold though. The sun was shining and the forecast hail never hit, but given the low temperature and the presence of fluffy cumulonimbi sailing on the horizon like fabulous balloons, the anticipation never really died. This sense of calm before a storm lent the day an edge of excitement, with the positive outcome of nobody being caught out in any meteorological onslaught.
One of the above photos depicts me leering creepily towards Brooke, squinting like a madman and throwing any notion of personal space out the window of society. Well, that's what I'm like and that's what I do. Mr Creepy. The poor girl, it's too early to gauge the trauma. :)
More friends have visited from Adelaide, and last night I enjoyed the splendid company of Josh and Rebecca. They're here for a week or so and we hope to catch up at least once more. They finally made it out to Chapel St (which I'd rushed back to from Marc & Mark's) after experiencing one of Melbourne's fine cab drivers who took them down Toorak Rd on a Saturday night – you just don't do that – and then didn't even know where the Jam Factory 'shoppertainment' complex is. I was under the impression that everybody knew where this is, but it just goes to show the naive impressions of a relative newcomer.
Thankfully the rain had let up and we crossed the sea of P-platers and found safe haven in the land South of Commercial Rd. A couple of groovy, chilled-out bars availed themselves and we even scored free drinks from a suspiciously friendly bartender (apparently the lychee martini wasn't up to scratch or something). We called it a night after last drinks were announced, and back on the street we found the cold had been significantly lessened by the vodka-rich cocktails. It was a most enjoyable evening indeed.
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[Job trial]posted by peter at 15:25 .......It's a good thing that I am approaching this latest potential job with a fair measure of indifference, otherwise I'd probably be a lot more stressed right now. I attended the trial this afternoon, and it was definitely one of my most draining experiences in recent memory. I think I completed the set task very thoroughly, but I'm not quite so confident about whether my interpretation of the nature of the task matched theirs.
What I found hardest was that we really only had one opportunity to mentally process the requirements – they told us what we had to do, but from then on we weren't allowed to ask any questions. I'm the sort of person who needs to have a task printed in front of me, and sometimes I need it restated in several ways, which is why I do particularly well in assignments and exams, but not so well in a situation like this.
I fear that I may have run off on a tangential path and kept going to near-exhaustion. It will be interesting to hear the outcome.
[Minge update]posted by peter at 09:16 .......I spoke to Trish again. She reports no pain but has experienced sleeplessness due to regrowth discomfort. She is shedding vigorously and has announced not the predicted 60%, but around 80% of hair removal after the first treatment (on the bits she can see, that is). All this from the girl who once had her knickers confiscated by the police.
Our conversation (during which I got chilli remnants in my eyes, intensely painful, I thought I was going to lose my eyesight) reminded me that it's about a year ago since the weeks of insanity that surrounded the World Cup soccer. I'm not generally one for team sports, but soccer is a slight exception because I used to play it as a kid and therefore understand the rules. It's still feral and disgusting and I almost never watch it, but I kind of got into it during those weeks last year.
Crazy times indeed. We'd watch the matches on a big screen at an inner-city pub, then Deb and I would invite everyone back to our house where they would stay until all hours. Our immediate neighbours (from the adjoining townhouse) got in on the act and the parties would often span houses. Meanwhile, other neighbours in the block filed anonymous noise complaints. I would go to work after 3 hours' sleep and the cycle would inevitably begin again soon after.
I'm definitely leading a more sedate lifestyle these days.
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[Three things to moan about]posted by peter at 14:51 .......Every now and then one must extend one's claws to keep them sharp.
The Swanston St façade of RMIT must be one of the most exclusively unattractive architectural blunders I've seen in this city. Melbourne has a number of daring and unconventional architectural notions gracing its urban chaos, but this one is awful. The fluorescent green smear together with glass pyramids and a jumbled assemblage of steel protrusions really doesn't engage me. Sadly it seems that this blight on the landscape has provided inspiration for some hideous structures in my neighbourhood... it's horrible having to avert your eyes from downright ugly buildings every time you pass by, especially when laden with market produce.
Goodness Watsonia cheese is expensive here. I cannot for the life of me find it for less than $20/kg. Which seems absurdly overpriced. I'm sure I used to get it for around $15/kg in Adelaide... I guess the extra thousand or so kilometres makes a difference (it comes from Western Australia and is made with non-animal rennet). Either that or they put the price up recently. But I suspect in reality it's a victim of overzealous Prahran marketeering.
Finally, it seems my corduroy pants are beginning to wear out, as in places the wale is starting to degrade. In my corduroy experience, once this phenomenon has started, a quick demise can be expected. I hope I'm wrong... they're supposedly good quality Carhartt pants, so should last longer than this. I only bought them at the start of this year and don't really want to have to buy a new pair right now. (And if you follow that link you'll find someone has left me a nasty comment!! In the top article about The Lord of the Rings... first time I've discovered this! What was I saying about extending one's claws?)
[Who would have known?]posted by peter at 10:27 .......How odd.
I recently applied for a research position that I was absolutely convinced I was unsuitable for (all in the name of completing my job diary), but they've offered me a 1 hr trial tomorrow afternoon. I thought they'd laugh in the face of my application.
Could this be the start of a new career? Probably not; there's still room for spectacular ineptitude to come to light.
Life gets weirder.
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[Over fields to dark places]posted by peter at 09:15 .......Living on a farm has some genuinely creepy aspects. Take this for example:
Towards the back of my parents' farm is a stagnant swamp. Swaying ranks of tall reeds grow on the surface, rustling in the breeze and masking hidden depths. Wiry grasses cover the banks, projecting sharp thorns from evil flowers. Sickly sentinels of slender bamboo grow in rusty 44-gallon drums, presiding over the area with a brooding menace. A thin slick of oil lies atop the black waters, a product of anaerobic decay. It's a noisome, noxious place, far removed from any major thoroughfares.
So how then did my father come to find a wallet beside one of the silent pools?
It's almost sickeningly creepy. The cracked leather wallet, encrusted with mud, held some ID and a single American dollar. It may have even been a Disney Dollar, I can't remember. Investigations through the police revealed that the wallet belonged to a man who was, at the time, residing in a Sydney jail.
One's mind begins to whir. As I see it, there are three possibilities.
(1) A fox or some such creature dragged the wallet from the highway – some two kilometres to the West – and deposited it in our swamp. But why would it bother? What characteristic of a leather wallet would attract a wild creature?
(2) The wallet was dropped from an aeroplane or helicopter. This would be an absurd notion if it were not for the occasional appearance of crop-dusting light planes in the vicinity. But my father was not one for aerial spraying of crops.
(3) The person who owned the wallet, or someone acquainted with him, was actually IN our swamp. I shudder to think what might lie beneath the surface in that eerie place. The thick mud holds its secrets.
It certainly was fodder for an active teenage imagination. There's something really scary about the country, particularly on nights spent alone. Sure you can see a million galaxies of stars, and view the lights of the distant township, but there is nobody else around. And apart from the lowing of the cattle, it is absolutely silent.
I remember reading books about aliens. One that sticks in my mind told of creatures alighting from a spaceship and surrounding an isolated house. The terrified occupants could hear the aliens walking outside, and the sounds of their footsteps were reminiscent of someone walking on plastic. You would not believe the audio-visual hallucinations this enduring image set off in my brain. All this terror, and I don't even acknowledge the existence of extra-terrestrials.
Can you see why I like cities? I'd rather be living in an area of horrific population density than sitting alone, wondering what evils might be stalking the black night.
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[Please, give it some thought]posted by peter at 22:03 .......One of the things I love most about my current situation is the sheer abundance of time I can devote to thinking. Yup... mulling over, contemplating, churning, considering, processing, abstracting, theorising... whatever you like to call it, I do it!! I don't usually think about thinking, but now that I am I really value the time that I have for it.
I read books, I think about them. I listen to music, I think about it. I misidentify with singer/songwriters, I think about it.
I ponder the future, weigh up my options, embark upon flights of fancy... I imagine, envisage, permutate, obsess. It's almost unhealthy.
Things that have been most influential in my intellectual adventures have been... Adbusters (a wonderful journal; the irony of sitting in a store like Borders with a large cappuccino and reading this magazine has been noted), Murakami, Tolstoy, Joni Mitchell, other people's weblogs (see links to the right), Lumiere cinema and the Bible.
I've been doing a bit of spiritual searching of late, and it's not uncommon to find me sitting in the kitchen reading the Old Testament. I've put aside every other form of devotional material (quite frankly, a lot of these evangelical publications annoy me due to their sheer inability to recognise the reality of anyone outside middle-class middle-America, and the last thing I need right now is another Billy Graham festival) and have decided to focus on reading the entire Bible from beginning to end. I think I simply need to develop my own interpretation without any external influences... it's a captivating and confusing book; it's so easy to take passages out of context, and understanding it all requires time and dedication. At least time is on my side! :)
I don't know if this website is reflecting it, but I'm actually really happy at the moment. Naturally there are a few things that are causing some stress, but part of that is a result of my genetic makeup. I'm of Silesian ancestry and my surname means 'war' in German, so that might have something to do with it. I've made choices and will continue to make choices based on careful thought, and whether I accept or reject certain aspects of life won't be based on flippant decisions.
Of course all this thinking has its dangerous side, if for example I spiral off into depressive tangents. But usually a lovely cup of tea and about 200 grams of quality chocolate restores me to a positive status. As long as I don't misidentify with New York art-noise bands or folk musicians too much, I should be OK.
:)
[Reassess and on and on]posted by peter at 10:31 .......With each passing day I become more and more convinced that I have absolutely no interest in anything I studied at university, whatsoever. That's five years of my life, 1998 - 2002 inclusive, for which I therefore have little to show. But I definitely don't regret it. In those five years I had a lot of interesting experiences and certainly learnt some interesting things. I made some excellent friends, lived with some wonderful (and some revolting) people, saw a lot of films, drank a lot of coffee, squeezed in a bit of travel, got some work, gained some useful skills and even enjoyed the odd course. It's just that now I'm ready for something different.
I think it's called restlessness.
I don't know whether more study is on the cards, or whether it will be a job or maybe even another move. I seem to be caught in a horrible duality of fleeing and pursuing, and I'm yet to admit to myself what's really going on, so how can I articulate it here? Embrace the oxymoronic life.
There are millions in the same boat... I don't think it's a bad thing but I suppose I just didn't foresee my part in it.
Anyway, I'm going to go and listen to Joni Mitchell for a couple of hours, and then I'll be in the kitchen, reading.
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[Streetkids]posted by peter at 17:06 .......You'd think from the photos I publish on this website that I spend my whole life sitting in cafes off crowded sidewalks. Well, um, yeah. You'd probably not be far off. I like to think of it as my bohemian phase. It suits me, for the time being.
And so today I did the street-crawl with Brooke and Sarah:
Thems there are splendid girls... they're so much fun and they never shy away from the inappropriate, and I just love them for that. It's good to strike a perfect pleasant/vile balance.
I sort of forgot about breakfast this morning but nevertheless took a late lunch on Smith Street. Fortunately my serve of chickpea and sweet potato 'dahl' was huge. By no definition was it a dahl, but it was delicious in any case... ooh those subtle yet hearty Indian/Nepali flavours get me every time. I literally crave the cuisine, it's just ridiculous.
I think I'm going to dig deep into my savings and do a bit of a snow trip. I have to. I've gone skiing the last three years (with the highlight being last year's New Zealand trip), and it would be inappropriate to break with tradition now.
Even if it is financial suicide.
But things will bounce back, and at least my heart is pure. Now all I have to do is remain unemployed for a bit longer.
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[Five pix from the weekend]posted by peter at 23:03 .......
[One]posted by peter at 17:29 .......And so this little website turns 1. It was a milestone marked by little fanfare and certainly no gifts. Often bombastic, usually neurotic, frequently self-indulgent, usually over-analytical, commonly obsessive; this website has consumed far more time than I would ever have imagined (to the detriment of social interaction) and has taken a frighteningly important place in my daily activities. Oh but it's been such a good vehicle for personal exploration (vomit), and has revealed so many simple truths... for example money DOES buy happiness, let me tell you when I bought that non-leather Zoo York belt on Saturday it was a moment of perfect joy.
I think some changes might be in the wind, but I'm not known for my motivation at the moment so there can be no timeframe. I'm thinking about consolidating the three blogs I have (Journal, Music, Travel) into one, because after a year it seems pointless to separate them. I'm also contemplating throwing out the Flash and Design sections because of the said lack of motivation; it's inexplicable but such things are very unimportant to me at the moment.
I may even remove the archives, mainly because of the fact that I cringe when I read what I wrote in the early days. It was so self-conscious and lame. But it's fun to experiment with different writing styles.
I must thank Kyle for being such a gracious webhost and also send positive energy to every single person who has ever commented or emailed.
So that was the first celebration of the day... the second was the completion of my Centrelink job diary!!! Yay, no longer shall I make 10 job contacts per fortnight, the required number has fallen to just four. Much more realistic if you ask me. So I celebrated by spending the whole day at Lumiere Cinema (it's $5 Monday!!), where I saw Talk to her and Russian Ark, both of which were absolutely marvellous. Gotta head over to Brooke's soon, as Amanda and Sarah are still in town and we all need to watch 24 (which I became addicted to last week).
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[Do you remember?]posted by peter at 21:18 .......I took Sonia to my favourite antique store today. I never buy anything there, but love to rummage through the cleverly assembled displays. Thousands of trinkets lie in tombs of glass; items of resin, plastic and stone arrayed like stuck insects in entomological caskets. Draped jewellery hints at bygone elegance, and old books with yellow paper and rickety spines seem to tremble at the touch. To each object is attached a memory, a fleeting impression of its former owner. The Rubik’s cube, the plastic Smurf, the doll that could so easily have once been held by our mother.
I enjoy the sense of nostalgia elicited by walking these aisles of childhood artifacts, regardless of whether it is based on recollection of my own experience or on fictitious constructions of events that might have been. I also enjoyed my sister's perspective; it was fun to reminisce and identify our shared memories.
But how easily our memories can fail. And how easily they can misrepresent.
A man I know loaded a gun and shot himself in the head. I haven't seen this man for at least five years, and only remember him as someone who, according to my naive perceptions, seemed happy and incapable of such an act.
But the bullet passed through his eye and he lived. And now this person has been stained by a new set of memories that all but obliterate the earlier ones. Or perhaps put a new slant upon them. An act of desperation that wove a new web of tragedy. Not that anyone could ever know the whole truth.
Another life unravels, another person falls apart.
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[Blood boil]posted by peter at 09:44 .......Chapel Street becomes a vile cesspit of feralness late on Friday and Saturday nights. The worst of it is between Toorak Rd and Commercial Rd (South of that border things become better, at any time of day actually), where such desperately tryhard people drive their ridiculous cars up and down, up and down with R'n'B music blaring through subwoofers. Man, I love yer white beanie and matching white puffy jacket, you look like a star. Tyres squeal, engines burn, spoilers slice the air and unattractive, vacant human beings pit machine against machine and remind the casual observer just how far humanity has slipped.
Every city has these streets – Rundle St in Adelaide can be disgusting and I'm sure Chapel is not the only bad one here. I should be more tolerant and respect their passion but it's a world away from my life and I'm sure they'd waste no time ridiculing my interests. Their behaviour is intimidating, and yet completely laughable. It's a strange duality. Not to mention being intrusive; oh thanks for interrupting my coffee with your musical horn, your mega-burn-out or your thunderous bass.
The frightening thing is that it instills a violent desire to damage their cars. I'm not the only one who has reported this emotional response. I'd just love to run my keys over the paintwork, chuck a brick through the back window, take to them with a flamethrower or even create a large explosion. That would send them crying home to mummy and daddy.
*calms down*
They probably don't want me there either; I represent nothing of value to them. It's just a shame that we had to walk that stretch of road on the way back from the cinema (we saw Balzac and the little Chinese seamstress; it was lovely). I guess we should be grateful that such microcosms of feralness exist. These separate universes provide diversity and make valuable contributions to both the economy and ozone destruction, not to mention surrounding us with unintelligent people.
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[In the kitchen]posted by peter at 08:52 .......Thanks in part to Tom, I've finally gotten around to reading more works by Haruki Murakami. I powered through South of the Border, West of the Sun and am now well into Norwegian Wood, having commenced it this morning. It makes for such wonderful reading; he writes in such a matter-of-fact manner, yet his voice carries such resonance. Elements of the translation occasionally strike me as being distinctly designed for an American audience, so it's lucky that Australia is more or less the 51st state (otherwise I'd have no hope of understanding all this talk of freshmen and sophomores).
I've taken to reading in the kitchen. I sit on an ordinary chair between the oven and the benchtop. It's not especially comfortable, but there's plenty of light and a myriad cups of tea lie at my fingertips. I can prepare tasty snacks and leave them within easy reach, and I could even gas myself to death if I wanted to. There's something about the ambience of the kitchen that I enjoy, although my housemates find it disconcerting and strange that I would choose to read there.
Last night (after coffee and a brisk walk with Brooke – you know South Yarra's getting to you when you wear your most expensive jacket on a night-time power walk) Jess and I baked a bread and butter pudding. Our craving for something delicious other than chocolate morphed into our feeling the need to summon the spirit of the great depression. Who'd have thought economic hardship could produce such culinary wonders? But we weren't about to skimp on enjoyment, so between each layer of bread we added a layer of St. Dalfour Four Fruits jam, which provided a delicious, sweet fruitiness that no sultana could ever imitate. However, we didn't get the pudding quite right, as we certainly added too much of the egg/milk/nutmeg mixture and whilst the bread looked like it was absorbing the liquid, it was actually floating on top of it.
So the finished product was very tasty, but far too 'eggy' at the base. Therefore our new long-term goal is to perfect the art of the bread and butter pudding. I don't think it will be that hard – I reckon all we need to do is stuff more bread in and compress the structure, thereby creating that wonderful density that we all desire when we think of this dessert.
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[Laser light]posted by peter at 09:18 .......I can't wait to get botox, I'm gonna get my whole face done. I'll smooth every fine line and unravel every wrinkle. And why stop there when I can get my arms, legs and chest done too? Maybe I'll even do my underarms so I won't sweat anymore. "If it moves, I'll paralyse it" – that's what I always say.
I think I also want collagen lip implants. I've studied my face and decided that I need that extra boost of soap-opera pout. I'd like to have them so tightly-filled that they barely move when I speak, and instead just shimmer and quiver with all the viscid aplomb of a beached jellyfish. In a last glorious blaze of body modification, I think I'll bite the bullet and embrace bifurcation, in ALL its majestic forms.
It's body modification and it's art; don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I'll be an expressionless rubber-band boy but dammit I won't look a day over 19.
Trish told me over the phone last night that she'd shaved every last hair from every single square inch of her nether regions. I remarked that she's in for some itchy times ahead, and she replied that it was all in the name of laser treatment. Seems she's had vigorous pulses of light aimed directly at her follicles; evidently the deal she got was too good to refuse (from a salon that normally deals in Gothic piercings, I might add), and thus out came the razor blade.
Indeed, so earnestly do they singe ya minge that 60% of the hair won't return after the first treatment. Most people require three or four sessions beneath the beam, and at several hundred dollars a pop it ain't cheap therapy. But these are the things that must be done in our modern times.
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[Hey Tiger!]posted by peter at 15:27 .......What makes some people think they can address me as "Tiger"? Seriously, it's ridiculous. But that's how a bunch of bewildered South Australians got my attention on the train the other night.
"Hey, Tiger!"
It's actually one of the best ways to coax a malicious sideways glance out of me. I'd already answered one question from them; do I look like an information kiosk? But I helped them, remembering my own difficulties with the system. (Although Melbourne's train network is not particularly complex, it has a bizarre 'city loop' thing which goes one direction sometimes, another direction at other times, depending on which route you are on... it can be disconcerting when you go the opposite direction to that which you expected and it takes a while to understand it.)
But "Tiger"? It's just so inappropriate. I reckon they must have been rural folk as they had a certain want about them. Hehe, that's so nasty, all I really mean is that they came across as being unfamiliar with the ways of the city, like sorry for not wearing my moleskins or whatever. Those were the days...
(I have never, ever worn moleskins.)
Of itself, "Tiger" is not a cruel term, and I know they were well-meaning. It just comes across as patronising, as if to suggest that I'm the one who didn't figure out that maybe a trip to the information centre would have been a good idea before deciding to catch the train at 11pm. I'm often mistaken for being much younger than I actually am, and I don't think many people would call a 23-year-old "Tiger". Late teens maybe, but not early twenties. So I tend not to appreciate it, although I should probably stop being so neurotic.
Alright, I've had a few questions about my new haircut, so here's a couple of pictures from different angles so you can get the general idea.
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[Cat espionage]posted by peter at 20:01 .......As the way of things would inevitably have it, the first positive job response I've received turns out to be a mis-advertised position in Canberra. Whoops, seems they advertised the job as Melbourne-based. And because I received the call while I was in my local Coles (for some reason I prefer Coles to Safeway; it's more expensive but the corporate identity promotes a better shopping experience), I could barely hear the perfectly nice lady who contacted me, and she thought I said I would like to move to Canberra and I had to reiterate that actually, no, I can't do such a move at this point in my life. It's a real shame... would have been a great job.
Fate charts its course but still my budget stays at $4 per day.
In a fit of cosmopolitan madness I entered the perilous realm of fusion foods tonight, and added carefully-selected florets of Chinese broccoli to my five-cheese pasta. Oh you may balk, but the said vegetable has such an unobtrusive flavour presence and its flavour-bursts are so ephemeral. The one drawback is its tendency to physically impede other ingredients... my friend Goss lamented this negative aspect in a recent email. I almost upped the fusion stakes and considered adding fresh pineapple but then sanity prevailed; I remembered that I detest hot fruit and that I was attempting to make my dinner not just palatable, but tasty. Pineapple is just too repulsive in a savoury context (as is lemon).
Now, remember that creepy cat from the other week? Well today I went out into our courtyard, saw a flash of movement and turned to see two wide eyes peering at me through a gap in the timber fence. Yes, it was another squashed-up feline face, only this time it exhibited tortoiseshell markings. Just like the last kitty, this one was also friendly and made sweet little miows at me while I chucked pieces of bread to it through the gap. Why am I attracting unusual cats? Spooky.
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[Queen's birthday vagaries]posted by peter at 18:35 .......It has to be said that glorious Emily of Adelaide is so much fun to be around! She and I consumed coffee and browsed the shops of numerous streets (Greville and Brunswick) and generally had a fine old time in this fine city. Once again I was reduced to vicarious spending, but I can live with that if it means searching out worthy purchases (which anyone will tell you is half the fun), even if they are for somebody else.
Things that I DO need to get, however, include a non-leather belt, a scarf and a bunch of black tshirts that I can wear underneath long-sleeved shirts and continually cycle through the wash. All of this is perfectly justifiable, even for someone on a limited budget.
Emily provided a much-needed update on the worlds of The Filthies (Ange and Trish), oh the things one leaves behind when one moves interstate. A trip to Adelaide is definitely on the cards, I need to catch up with some wonderful people again. Sydney and Canberra seem like possibilities too, as does Falls Creek but best not to get one's hopes up.
Last night I chugged on into the Lumiere Theatre in the city and watched The safety of objects. It was one of those films that produce conflicting emotional responses (much like life really), and it focused on a small network of suburban dwellers whose lives were bound by tragedy and heartbreak (again, a lot like life). Glenn Close was brilliant as usual, and in this role she reminded me in some way of my now-deceased nanna, just not as old. It was a really good film and had an honest reality about it which I eagerly tapped into. Lumiere is a very cute little cinema complex... tiny boutique theatres with small screens and decidedly 70s seating. This trip into my imaginary 70s-land was well supplemented by Carly Simon playing plaintively over the loudspeaker at Parliament station. Late nights in deserted stations; so melancholic.
And, just for good measure, here's a photo of Emily's toe-socks!
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[Toothpick sample]posted by peter at 16:51 .......Kate emerged from her room this morning and announced to me "I'm going to cut your hair now." There was a window of about 20 minutes before I had to leave for the Good food and wine show, but nonetheless I donned an old shirt and took a seat outside. Kate picked up the Ikea scissors and began to hack away.
I just can't believe how good a job she did!! She literally chopped dry chunks of hair from my head in the most blasé fashion, and yet the result was amazing! I enjoyed the spontaneity but was so sure it was going to turn out a horrible mess (my black beanie provided figurative reassurance); oh ye of little faith, I should have known better. So, sporting my funky new 'do', I got a lift into town with Kate (the haircut exceeded my time limit somewhat) and rushed to the Exhibition Centre.
The only reason I actually went to the Good food and wine show was because Jess talked me into it; prior to that I had only limited interest. The show was the usual tighly-packed network of promotional stalls hyping up supermarket products and the like. Nothing particularly innovative or exciting in my opinion, and I certainly don't trust rice that 'cooks' in only 2 minutes. But watching Donna Hay's cooking demonstration was a bit of a treat.
Unbeknownst to us, when we entered the auditorium they had a camera trained creepily on each person, and they were projecting the image up onto a massive screen at the front. You wouldn't want to be picking your nose or anything. Anyway, shortly after I entered, a black-clad bespectacled lady clutched my arm and laughingly told me that she had seen me on the screen and didn't realise Jamie Oliver was going to be there. I laughed with her but recoiled violently on the inside. So you might get a bit of an idea about my haircut.
Anyway, back to the demonstration. The doyen of simple food herself, Donna prepared three straightforward yet interesting dishes in a slightly nervous way. The first two were a bit of a meat fiesta, but the mascarpone with caramelised/bruleed pears on a pastry base seemed very tempting. Simply mix brown sugar into mascarpone; coat thin pear slices with brown sugar and caramelise in a hot pan; splodge the mascarpone on pastry squares (she constrained the height of the puff-pastry squares by baking them sandwiched between two trays) and arrange the pears on top. Seems yummy to me.
I get the impression that Donna really is trying to be the next Martha Stewart; the influence is very apparent. This is good, because once Martha goes to jail the world is going to need another oracle of domesticity... but Nigella will always be the matriarch if you ask me.
Demonstration over, I walked the catacombs of free samples and 'tasty recipe ideas'; lots distasteful nonsense but at least I discovered that I do actually like milky chai (I've only had it badly-made in the past). I don't see much value in attending these things, they remind me of a suburban supermarket on a Thursday night or Saturday morning when you get those info displays with people cooking on woks or whatever, most people seem to ignore them.
Anyway, some tentative plans fell apart so I've been a bit bored this afternoon. I think when I've geared myself up for something and it gets cancelled, I find it hard to unwind and don't enjoy the newfound spare time in the same way I normally might appreciate leisurely hours.
What to do with this long weekend? Emily's in town, I had dinner with her and two of her friends last night, and I'll be catching up with her tomorrow hopefully. How exciting. But apart from that, I just don't know.
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[So many targets, so little time]posted by peter at 16:13 .......After an interminably mind-numbing morning, I threw together a fresh avocado salsa for lunch (avocado, tomato, Spanish onion, lime juice, fresh coriander, olive oil, salt) and ate it with Turkish bread. I paired this with half a block of Cadbury Roast Almond chocolate, and I should add that the remnants are rapidly diminishing. Sometimes I like to shed my snobby attitudes and go back to basics, and this particular variety is so delicious, despite the fact that I normally turn up my nose at this decidedly non-couverture chocolate. (Like I even know what that means.)
And then I bought a mattress.
I thought it was about time I got myself off the couch, which despite being perfectly comfortable and of adequate length, leaves a little to be desired in the bedding stakes. So I decided upon a cheap 5" foam single mattress from a local whoever-you-are type shop, which stuffed nicely into Kate's tiny car. My search began the other day, and the mattress choosing process was complicated by over-eager assistants bursting with lewd insinuations as to how thick a mattress should be or else old English-as-a-second-language types who looked stunned when questioned about comfort differentials. Nothing like knowing your products, but anyway, the deed has been done.
At this point I need to talk about gentrification. Whilst I'm all for urban renewal, a line has to be drawn somewhere. I'm not fond of going to previously-groovy cafes and finding Mrs Chanel #5 and friends taking high tea to a soundtrack of skittering electronica; there's a place for ethereal blondes but something tells me it's not there. And then you get the baby-booming-black-scarf-toting-Hugo-Boss type middle aged men who sit there reading The Australian; they should just get out. How are we supposed to be young and interesting with them hanging about? It's hard enough anyway, without the added pressure of gentrification.
Of course I'm being completely unreasonable.
Gentrification need not be inherently evil if it results in safety improvements and the like. The problem is that such trends more often than not result in the displacement of the original inhabitants, and thus any existing social problems are shifted out of sight, out of mind. That is, until the next set of youth-clutching career people tire of their current architectural horrors (another cinema complex anyone?) and set their sights on the next 'boho' area.
I know this is all very nasty (and quite likely very hypocritical on my part, but whatever), but people need to learn that they can't necessarily strike an equilibrium of la-di-daa and edginess. That's why we have Toorak Road. Go there with your Tiffany rings.
Finally, a special prize goes to anyone who can tell me why we have an electric motor attached to our toilet cistern. What on earth could it be for? Does it serve any purpose at all?
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[1000 words]posted by peter at 19:08 .......Today's journeying brought me to Smith Street. I'd seen it from car windows, but this was the first time I'd actually walked through the chaotic streetscape. I must say that I absolutely love it; there's a really gritty feel to the place and it seems to attract a diverse and interesting set; some come for the factory outlets, some for the cafes, some for the drugs and some for the second hand stores.
I travelled there on the whimsical notion that I wanted to purchase a vegan belt from a shop called Vegan Wares, however they didn't have my size. Either too big or too small; once you've wrapped a belt around your waist I reckon you want a little bit left over, but not too much, so I'll have to make do with my rapidly degrading vinyl belt for now. It's so hard to find a good non-leather belt these days.
So I perused the array of shoes that are part and parcel of such establishments, and was surprised to see a delightful cat curled up on the red cushions in the front window. Hardly an advertisement for veganism, thought I, until I spied the vegan pet food behind the counter! Seriously, I could keep a vegetarian cat! However the guy who served me said some cats won't go near the stuff, so it hardly seems worth the risk of getting a gorgeous kitten (preferably pure black, or ginger, or a Turkish Van or a Norwegian Forest cat) and then finding out that it will only eat fresh meat. I couldn't go through the heartbreak.
I went to the art gallery again, but nothing had changed so my visit was brief. Some sorcerer must have summoned the wind, and I scurried home to escape this furious element. Not long after came the rain.
On the film front, yesterday I saw Igby goes down at the Como Palace (there's a whole shopping centre there, I never knew), which was quite a good black comedy and further whet my New York appetite. Also, today I put my name down at David Jones of all places for a DVD copy of Spirited Away. It will be released sometime in the next few days, but the guy at the counter (who regarded me strangely) said I should expect some sort of delay. Oh well, gotta spend my voucher somehow, I just can't wait to watch it obsessively.
Is it just me, or is "part and parcel" an underused expression? I'm going to concentrate on using it as much as possible from now on! I'll leave you with a charming image captured on the walk to my train station.
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[Folk off]posted by peter at 23:17 .......Earlier tonight I was reading about how female singer/songwriters in the 60s and 70s were often victimised in the popular press because of their personal and romantic relationships. Indeed, there are cases of diagrammatical representations of an artist’s network of sexual partners being published by some of the more trashy journalists of that time. These attitudes completely devalued the artistic merit of their work, and any backlashes were written off as ‘feminist bollocks’ from outspoken and feisty women.
Meanwhile their male counterparts escaped the sexual analysis.
It just so happens that yesterday I read this article by Amy Ray about how a current crop of queer female singer/songwriters is facing a similar phenomenon; that is, their music is devalued by an obsessive focus on their sexuality. All aspects of an artist’s life contribute to the shaping of their artistic output, so why this apparent need to focus on just one?
As Amy Ray said, “We are still distilled down to the demographic of our audience and the particulars of our sex lives. Our music is not written about positively or for the inherent worth of the music, our progress as songwriters is never noted, and we just aren’t taken seriously as artists.”
These articles got me thinking about how within our current cultural structure, lesbian relationships are only legitimised if they are constructed for a male audience. Russian duo t.A.T.u. are a case in point, as are countless porn videos and dirty mags. In the case of t.A.T.u., it’s my understanding that they are the creation of an American male and his complex marketing machine, and their titillating performances and PR-driven image only serve to exacerbate the trend. Meanwhile, genuine same-sex couples (outside those designed for male ‘consumption’) lack the same rights and recognition as heterosexual couples. Double standards like this are so infuriating; sure, everyone has different set of values, but everyone is entitled to the same human rights.
We still get the trashy relationship stuff in the gossip mags, and to be honest, I enjoy reading about it from time to time. And whilst the good thing is that there tends to be less blatantly sexist material (although many would argue otherwise, ooh it’s just like gender studies all over again!!), it’s a shame that the focus of the fascination has now shifted to sexual orientation. Thus the cultural boundaries and stereotypical attitudes are strengthened and perpetuated.
(Which might be a bit of a weak conclusion, but hey, it’s getting late!!)
[RE: lame job #5]posted by peter at 12:44 .......It makes no sense but I'm finding it increasingly difficult to write job applications. Practice is supposed to make perfect, so why have I been procrastinating for the last hour or so? Maybe the approach I'm using is inappropriate; I seem to impose a template onto each and every application, however such structural rigidity does not necessarily accommodate the subtle differences between each job that I supposedly want. And I just hate addressing candidate criteria listed in the advertisements; it's all about stretching the truth as far as I can tell. All this selling myself and whatnot... it's so draining.
My other complaint about the whole process relates to the rarity of "sorry, better luck next time" letters or emails. I'm aware that this is a familiar story, but it's so frustrating to receive no acknowledgement of your application, and you're just forced to sit around wondering whether they're still considering you, whether your application even went to the right place, or whether they just took one look at your credentials, laughed and fed it all through the shredder.
Sooner or later I suppose I'll just enter into the 'oh bugger it' phase and belt out letters of application like there's no tomorrow. But until then I'll continue to agonise over whether my sentence structure is positive enough, whether I'm using appropriate language or whether I'm in fact depicting myself as 100% incompetent. More importantly, I've just got to make the absolute most of my spare time, and I'm sorry but job applications don't fall into that category.
And now I look to the East and wonder why my daffodil bulbs haven't sprouted yet. I'd have thought they'd be well into their growth cycle by now, or am I wrong? Maybe it's seasonal variation, whatever, I won't lose hope just yet.
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[Sorry, what?]posted by peter at 14:30 .......Maybe I'm just kidding myself...
Very low sympathy levels and even lower tolerance. Time for a game of 'guess the mood swing', but you have to be in the mood. Cause and effect, equal and opposite force, Newton's law, effort on both sides please. The bad thing about being a hypocrite is that it's hard to recognise your own hypocrisy. Maybe it should have happened sooner. A few scattered coins, used train tickets and a valid timetable. Secret desires hidden under tiled roofs in the suburbs, spilling over a prefabricated brim. Dreams expire like the hacked tendrils of wisteria. Maybe it should have happened sooner. Pounding speakers or the reverberations of the fridge, the buzz of household appliances commencing their dawn cycle. High school socials, blue light discos, smoke machines and entry fees. Meth, acid, special k. Maybe it should have happened sooner. Just another pool-hall fuckup in a photoframe on the bedside table.
Maybe I need a lover...
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[More gratuitous river shots]posted by peter at 21:36 .......Yes I've been in the city and I've been taking photos again. So sue me. :) I thought I was over the excitement of my camera but it seems that each time I venture into Melbourne's urban wreckage I go a bit crazy.
I've decided that my ideal job would be to own a really cool shop. Sure I'm saying this with all the naivety in the world, but I just keep venturing into groovy little record stores or bookstores or whatever and it just seems to be the perfect environment.
I remember reading about a wonderful store in Berlin (of course!!) called 25 Records. As its name suggests, it simply sells 25 different titles at any given time. The owners just pick their current favourites, and the stores are tiny spaces furnished with an ultra-minimalist design aesthetic (ie. nothing). So very trendy... it's such image-based selling, "like yaa, I got this from 25 Records just the other day", but how excellent. Of course it could only work in Berlin.
It seems that I broke the CD player today. I'm having a bad run of luck with electrical appliances. Anyway, this particular one needed a regular jolting to get it to track properly. Unfortunately I think I jolted it a bit hard today and it made a strange noise... and ceased to function. So I'm sitting here typing with earphones connected to my trusty portable CD player, let's see how quickly I can destroy this one.
And on a final note, I burnt the best compilation CD today. The track listing is as follows:
1. Cat Power - Love to be silly (props to Boxen for this one!!)
2. Cat Power - Maybe not
3. Cat Power - Rockets
4. Sonic Youth - Youth against fascism
5. Smog - Red apples
6. Wilco - California stars
7. Smog - Cold blooded old times
8. Sonic Youth - Hey Joni
9. Beck - Already dead
10. Manitoba - Hendrix with KO (I'm going to need this album I feel)
11. Stereolab - Captain Easychord
12. Tears for Fears - Head over heels
13. Beck - Round the bend
14. Beck - Lonesome tearsIt's really so very excellent, and it all flows together so well. I decided to simply call the compilation Melbourne, lame it up on the South-East side!!! Who knows, if you ask really nicely I might even feel inclined to send you a copy, but probably not. Love to you all...
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[Becoming X]posted by peter at 22:43 .......If you are bored sometime, finely chop half a Spanish onion and two chillies, and dice a tomato. Chuck it all into a hot saucepan, stir for a brief time then add a tin of refried beans. Heat through. Now, here's the clincher – add a couple of pieces of good quality dark chocolate (I used Lindt 70% cocoa) and melt them in. Serve on corn chips with diced tomato and avocado. It will look vile but taste amazing. You could certainly melt cheese all over it but I wanted to keep it vegan tonight, and before you think otherwise, decent dark chocolate contains no dairy.
There has of late been a bit of hype surrounding the use of chocolate in a savoury context, and I have to say I don't mind it at all. It MUST be dark chocolate, and the rich melted slabs lend a tantalising yet subtle focal point to the dish. I would have liked to have mushed fresh coriander through the avocado and perhaps would have preferred white corn chips, but I simply didn't have the ingredients on hand. Perhaps the inclusion of some kidney beans would have added a bit more structure to the concoction as well, oh we live and learn.
After the meal I strolled on down to the Jam Factory and watched X-Men 2, which I'd been a bit curious about for some time. I've not seen the first movie and since our television exploded there's been no opportunity to watch it. But I couldn't wait any longer, and I must say I thoroughly enjoyed it, both conceptually and story-wise. So many attractive cast members (Ms Needle-Fingers, hello!!), and a thrilling collection of special effects and imaginative superpowers.
I tend to derive as much enjoyment from conceptual facets as I do from the actual plot of a movie (one of the reasons Spirited Away is among my all-time favourite films), and I think my lack of knowledge of the X-Men background (I've never been much into comics) let my imagination be particularly stimulated. If the concepts in a film instill a sense of wonder then I'm much more likely to appreciate the entire work. Wings of Desire functions like this for me, although that film is a masterpiece in every regard.
So that was my evening. I chatted to Kate and Jess for a while and also phoned Filthy Ange who is always great for a laugh. What will tomorrow bring?
[Menagerie]posted by peter at 11:04 .......We met this strange cat on a street somewhere beneath the big Nylex sign.
It was one of those unusually ugly creatures that remain strangely loveable, and it greeted us with naive friendliness before posing for a few photos. Quite charming really, with its plush ginger fur and squashed-up face.
I've always been more of a cat person (indeed our farm was almost overrun with them at times), and usually get along with them pretty well. However it's impossible to keep felines alive on a vegetarian diet and thus I can never own one, let alone the fact that I'm not always at home and can't deal with the cleaning responsibilities associated with fur shedding creatures.
The Sallys have several pets; Maggie and Sebastian are two fine cats (borderline psychotic though) and Mogwai is an odd little dog whom I had to chase down the street the other day (while holding a cordless telephone I might add) to prevent her certain death. Then there are the hermit crabs which I can't remember the names of. I believe that hermit crabs are the most difficult creatures to keep alive; they just seem to immediately die regardless of the amount of care and affection you provide. But the Sallys seem to be doing well with them. It's good to enjoy other people's pets and then be able to go home without a care in the world.
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[As if it's Sunday night...]posted by peter at 22:06 .......The weekend passed in a heady blaze of friends and coffee shops. After one of history's most constrained Friday nights I arose at 6am and rode cold trains to Sally. Strange types traverse the lines at that time. We drove to the airport and were greeted by fierce gusts of wind in the multi-level car park. Melita entered gate 4 like a zephyr, contrasting sharply with the nonchalance of my first coffee pose on a modular lounge. We picked up Other Sally and made for Southbank, of course we had the market day all wrong so we blundered through Federation Square before opting for a much-needed brunch on Degraves St. I'm obsessed with the city's laneways and my motivations for taking Melita there were rooted in our attempt to convince her to move here as soon as possible, therefore anything delightful had to be part of the itinerary.
A second coffee and a large bowl of porridge with cinnamon and banana provided low-GI energy for the day, not that we were engaged in any particularly demanding activities. We dropped Our Sally at work, swung past home and collected Jess, then out to Greville (another large coffee) and Chapel (another very large coffee) for the usual shop browsing. Again some near-misses for the credit card, but I was able to live vicariously through Deb who rang me from Sydney's Oxford Street asking if she should get a pair of jeans. I said she definitely needed to. At some point I began to feel disconnected from reality, sometime between the fresh produce procurement and the last of the day's coffees. Too much milk I think.
A bit of time out preceded a spectacular cheese and wine evening at the Sallys'... it's good to be la-di-daa at least once a week, although we did watch the very lame yet entertaining Buffy musical. The expected degeneration began somewhere after midnight and we retired at some ridiculous hour to the sounds of eclectic compilations.
Arising many hours later, we began a day of chick-flick movies. It was a mixed bag featuring Coyote Ugly (crap), Charlie's Angels (so good I can't believe it, I own the DVD but it was a freebie), Save the Last Dance (actually quite enjoyable, not too sentimental) and The Sweetest Thing (incomprehensibly bad). Sometimes it's good to shed the pretentious arthouse sensibilities and enjoy some true mindless nonsense, but after a day on the couch we all needed to get out of the house.
So we went to Williamstown for dinner. Unfortunately my pasta tasted like it may have contained Vegemite as a chief ingredient; there was something very yeasty about it. The evening was redeemed by time in a groovy cafe, but we still left reasonably early.
Melita returns to Canberra tomorrow, but for how long? If she does decide to move down here, I plan to catch a bus up and then accompany her on the drive.
As for the day's final thought: I think I'm obsessed with Kylie Kwong. She seems to be gaining greater and greater profile, and I read all about her in Delicious magazine today. Though I enjoy cooking and whatever, I'm glad I never decided to be a chef. I'd rather just enjoy the fruits of someone else's labour, which unfortunately applies to things other than food and is probably going to be my undoing.
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