Archive | March, 2010

I WOULD LIKE TO MAKE SOME ART NOW PLZ

30 Mar

I don’t know, maybe not.

There is always this struggle; I feel little vibrations in me that feel like they are gathering resources and heading for my hands, wanting to come out somehow, yet my mind always kicks into overdrive with this “what medium? themes? so-and-so is already doing that right now. you don’t have any space here, or resources” rubbish. Then I feel guilty for wanting to create something that isn’t on my to-do list.

Ash Print by Betsy Walton

I found out last night that despite any idea I had about being unique or whatever, I can be summed up by a well-established cinematic trope – the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. It explains a lot, and honestly, I am a little annoyed that I am that predictable that there is an entire host of stock characters just like me.

So anyway -trying, without success, to formulate a plan of action for today. Audrey turned me on to the dangeresque combination of crepes, nutella and frozen berries – now I really, really, really want some. But it involves going to the store… and it is raining… hmmm. Or I could just lay in bed listening to Suzanne’s 8tracks and reading Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead

Bah. Grey day. Ignore me.. and watch this instead.

xx

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There’s no place like home.. except overseas

29 Mar

So, Dad told me that daylight saving time ends today.
It does not.
Thanks Dad.

The dog and cat I am looking after while he is away seemed confused too – waking me up at 6:30am to be fed. RUDE.

So, yes – wishing that I could fast forward these next few weeks; being here in my Dad’s house and essentially under his command (despite him being overseas) is making me realize how much I like to do things my way, how much I miss my own space, my own things, even just the ability to feel comfortable in my own space. All of my books, films, music, everything.. it’s all in boxes in my Mum’s garage right now. Probably getting eaten by mice and bugs. Gah.

I like eating toast over the sink because I am too lazy (some would say smart) to have to wash a plate afterwards. I love the juxtaposition of an oriental tea set and a life-size facehugger from Alien as an interior decorating choice. I like drinking gin all night and then making videos of Nath dancing to theme songs from 70s Italian B-grade dinosaur vs hunter flicks. I love 3am trips to Kmart because I simply need to watch Independence Day or Dante’s Peak or Twister, right now.

Mope, mope, mope.

Catty is off to Europe in.. gee, a few months. I am v. jealous x 100. So I am planning an imaginary trip for me. Imaginary in that it probably won’t happen, but planning it because it might. I would love to go to Taiwan for a few weeks, maybe take Nath and show him where I grew up, visit people I haven’t seen in a million years. I’d love it – roaming around Taipei, never sleeping, doing all the things I wanted to do when I was little but didn’t, going down to Taichung, visiting Sun Moon Lake and Taroko Gorge, etc. I stalked my old house on Google maps and found that it is most probably uninhabited now – the swimming pool is empty and full of dust, the garden is totally unkempt. It’s sad; I would honestly buy it if I could.

xx

Puppytron

28 Mar

The first night, when she was 8 weeks old. Love you embarrassingly much, my Posie-puff.

xx

Uma? Ummmm..

28 Mar

It amuses me to no end that Uma Thurman’s new film made £88 on its first weekend released in Britain; £9 on Sunday, meaning one person went to see it. Tragic or lol? – you decide!
Personally, I couldn’t really care less about seeing the story of “an ordinary housewife”. Is she actually a spy? Is her house built on a cemetery, about to transform into a portal from hell and swallow her kids? Is Uma going to explore female identity as it relates to her character as well as a wider social consciousness, then have her hand amputated and replaced with a ray gun? … if no, then that’s my answer too.

Tonight I’m going to make Taipei American School-style nachos – that basically involves scooping cheese spread out of a jar, microwaving and eating it, slathered on corn chips with salsa. Oh yeah. Then I shall don hot pink explorer socks and oversized pajamas, listen to the Spice Girls while I cruise interior design/style blogs. It’s okay, I’d be jealous too.

Today’s post is brought to you by:
– Country House by Blur
– All Mine by Portishead, and..
– Expectations by Belle and Sebastian

xx

Fairy Bread + Guinea Pigs

27 Mar

via 0xo

Damn. You know in films like The Butterfly Effect there is one crucial thing that could have changed everything? I was going to make fairy bread for lunch on Friday, but events changed and I ended up deciding that walking five minutes to the supermarket for sprinkles and bread was just TOO HARD. So no fairy bread.

I seriously think it could have made all the difference.

After work on Saturday, I fainted.
Weep weep.
Probably exhaustion, total and utter depression, stress, not eating or sleeping or receiving the recommended daily dose of cuddles from a puppy. I wish I could marry Posie sometimes.. but pretty sure Nath would fight me for her.
Pretty sure if it were a fist fight, I’d win.

xx

Vortex

27 Mar

via Perry Bible Fellowship:

(it is too big for the column, which refuses to stretch, so click for full size)

Also, I had fruit loops. At 6pm, shortly after waking up. I guess this makes them dinner and breakfast.

xx

Omgz, or something

26 Mar

Today, I woke up feeling totally refreshed. I’ve had ridiculous stress acne along my jaw lately for the first time in my life, but this morning it finally seemed to have cleared up. It was warm but overcast, slightly humid and a bit windy; perfection.

So I got up from my huge bed piled high in Egyptian cotton sheets and hot men, pulled on my vintage silk robe and wandered out to my provincial kitchen, full of totally necessary but aesthetically concealed modern gadgets. Awwww… Mummy had stopped by and made blueberry pancakes! Blood orange juice, pour moi? Posie and Xiao-Gui were frolicking outside the French doors, amongst the heirloom roses in my Dan Bifano-designed garden – yes, that’s right, I bought Oprah’s Montecito teahouse. Actually it was more of a gift.. you know, in honour of my incredible contribution to literature, art, music and human rights. And awesomeness, obviously.

The rest of the day was spent reading books specifically written with my tastes in mind, listening to my favourite bands perform live for me in my acoustically perfect living room, checking out the Shih Lin Night Market in Taipei, a gigantic dinner party with people I adore, the perfect gift of a magical ‘delete’ button to banish all noise and rubbish from my life, and finally.. fairy bread.

Okay, so maybe that’s all lies. Ignore me… DISTRACTION – aren’t these guys adorable? The one on the right looks like a fluffy bowling pin:

I think they win at life today. I met two gorgeous silky ferrets going for a walk down Bourke Street yesterday though, so they get the gold medal for yesterday.

Okay, so everything sucked balls today. Crusty, hairy ones with some sort of horrible as-yet unclassified STD and an unsettlingly floral fragrance. No cure, but the treatment involves sharing the mundane junk that amused me today between all the actual junk:

  • Dina Goldstein’s Fallen Princesses – photographs of Disney princesses at odds with reality. Snow White with crying babies on her hips, Cinderella drinking alone in a seedy bar, Pocahontas watching TV in the dark surrounded by a million cats.
  • China’s aerospace program has set a prerequisite for any prospective female astronauts; they must be married and a mother. Because you know, any other type of woman really isn’t human – it’s probably this assumption, even more than the discrimination, that makes me angry. But… whole ‘nother post. Or ten.
  • David Lee Roth’s undeniably unique vocal stylings.
  • And I have decided, after much careful consideration and reading a thousand and one reviews – I want this one.

Miz Opheeelia in da house, doggerz!!!!!!!!!1eleven

Or something. xx

Panic in the Streets of Melbourne

25 Mar

Official: I am a wimp.

I often give money to beggars. Small amounts, as I am never rich and only sometimes financially okay. Sometimes I figure that a coffee, a muffin and a chat are probably more meaningful and appreciated. I feel especially obliged if I can see the reasons why a person slipped through the cracks, and especially repulsed by people who are probably have more cash flow than me yet expect to be able to guilt me into funding their addictions.

Sitting in Bourke Street mall at 10pm last night, there was a lot of pedestrian traffic. In fits and starts, as dictated by the traffic lights. People alternated between surrounding me and being nowhere in sight every few minutes. During one of the silent times, a muscle-bound man with long, wavy black hair and no shirt came striding through the piazza. With distance and my lack of glasses, he looked like a Mills & Boon conjuration of Heathcliff.

Then he walked straight up to me and asked for money. I gave it to him. He thanked me, then left.

Then I realized the precariousness of what I had just done. I am petite; I am an ex-karate geek, but brute strength often wins easily against agility and speed. This man was obviously muscular, and could easily have been twice my weight. He was holding a lit cigarette which he waved dangerously close to my face as he talked, and I tried not to let myself imagine the sensation of it melting the skin on my cheek or the smell of burning flesh rising from my collarbone.  I also was struck by our proximity to dark empty alleyways, how short and flimsy my summer dress was, and the fact that I am a particularly wide-eyed girl who is constantly being told “22? You look 16”. And for the moment he decided the approach me, there was nobody else in sight. In Bourke Street. At 10pm on a Thursday.

Illusion of security = fleeting. I was pretty angry when he left; using fear as a tactic to take advantage of their charity is not cool.

At least I got dumplings to make it all better.

Cowardly Ophelia xx

The Mean Reds

23 Mar

I’m like cat here, a no-name slob. We belong to nobody, and nobody belongs to us. We don’t even belong to each other.

So, here I am again. A different postcode though. And it appears that I have grown a thorny shell at some point between 2006-2007 and now. Maybe it’s automatic; subconscious self preservation perhaps?

I miss my puppy like crazy; sometimes it feels that I could pretend everything was okay if she was here. There is a dog here but we are simply not on the same wavelength. He knocks people over, slobbers like he has rabies and takes great delight in rifling through the garbage. My darling puppy is dainty; she springs through the overgrown backyard like a little lamb, climbs into your lap and pins your shoulders to cover your face with kisses, and has a tremendous sense of injustice when we dare to laugh at all the silly little things she does. She even knows all the individual names of her toys and brings the specific one you ask for..

She is so sad when I leave her, and I hate that it is not just a few days or weeks for her – it is a significant portion of her life. If she lives for 12 years, that is 4383 (ish) days which I could possibly spend with her. Yet here I am, a million miles away from her, in the midst of a 13 week semester that is such a huge chunk of her short life. She is going to be mad-spoiled when I get back to her. Oh – also she turns 1 on May 16th. We’re having a birthday party for her – invites via facebook, if I love you enough.

No, it’s not just puppy love or lack thereof – a lot is going on. I feel so silly. A lower IQ and less style, I’d be practically emo. As much as I need an outlet right now, I don’t want this blog to turn this into a Debbie Downer skit. There are wonderful, amazing things in the world, even if they are beyond my line of sight right now – when I am reunited with them… words, words, words!

In the meantime, here are the best things I can think of right now:

  • the ski boots my friend’s housemate found on the side of the road – a size too big maybe and actually for men, but I’m overjoyed nonetheless
  • Bic Runga’s cover of And No More Shall We Part (originally by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds) performed with the Christchurch Symphony Orchestra
  • blueberries in general
  • Keanu Reeves in Bram Stoker’s Dracula – he makes it a comedy (more than Sadie Frost and the special effects)
  • seeing Lady Gaga soon – I am embarrassed over how excited I am
  • and the best thing… the knowledge that “the mean reds” I seem to share with Holly Golightly (or “the depths of despair” as Anne Shirley would put it) will eventually pass. Or at least fade.

Next time with words, words, words,

Ophelia the Obnoxious  xx