Happy Alone

*So according to L, I’m a bit of a feminist. It is strange, as I don’t really believe this. Perhaps my nom de plume is in fact a Tara-esque alternative personality that marches through Sydney sans-bra, angry placard in hand, rather than my true self who secretly loves cleaning and cooking. Anyway, L commented that Germaine would be tremendously proud of the following article. I don’t know if I am insulted or grateful. Hmm. Maybe you can decide. For now, I’m off to insert pretty pictures to separate the words and lessen the hateful impact.*

Newspaper columnists, relationship advisors and agony aunts all love to try and incorporate some scientific evidence indicating that Male Retardation is an evolutionary fact, and therefore the task of the woman is to overturn evolution and change someone.

Ergo, when you fail to stop your man’s retardation, it aint your problem, its just evolution talking.

Sorry, but that’s kind of fucking bullshit. I am particularly enraged by the concept of the man as a serial seed-spreader, with the woman as a nurturer. Man as lone, woman as communitarian.

Why? It’s fucking evolution. It’s history. It’s engrained.
Pretty sure other things historical include a world without the Pill, female emancipation, and no planes, trains nor automobiles.

The past pretty much sucks…. Let’s not use it as a bastion of bullshit.

My number one vent my spleen of the day: the anthropological assertion that women naturally seek relationships, whilst men are pretty happy free-wheeling/free-balling/pretty much being free.

To me, this is a total misrepresentation. I could pretend to be a serious journalist and go and seek out some facts and figures to reconcile my assertion, however let’s be honest… I only usually write here when imbued with the spirit of Tanqueray, and have other things I should be doing, such as my Media Law readings.

So instead, I am going to rely on purely anecdotal evidence (aka my observations of my friends).

My friendship circle is mixed, and whilst dominated by females, provides enough perspective for me to comment. We have the odd few who have been in long term relationships, however for the most part we have acted as typical young adults and drifted in and out of both meaningful and utterly ridiculous relationships. For the most part, we were content with whatever our current status happened to be.
Of course, there were always grass as greener moments, be it a New Years Eve spent without a special someone, or the time spent nursing your partners’ hangover. But generally, we were all ok with whatever came our way, and spent our days living life rather than pining over what was missing.

Therefore, sorry general societal consensus, but as a fragmented microcosm, we prove you wrong.

Furthermore, it seemed that the men were far more willing… in fact more needy to be in a relationship than the girls, who enjoyed each others’ company more than a partners’. Is this telling? I don’t know. Just a rant-natured observation on my part.

So where does this personal misconception stem from? It seems human nature demands a mate. This is natural, it’s evolution and all that. However this social competitiveness regarding a mate which seems to devolve to desperation? Where is that from.

This is not the answer, but just another observation. We all accredit Sex and the City as being in some way empowering due to its popularity surging the female perspective on relationships to the forefront of our collective consciousness. Too much has been written about the false feminism emerging from this bastion of Noughties pop culture, and so I won’t repeat what those more talented than I have previously espoused.

However, I do feel that it has stigmatised singledom. We must be categorised, with one of four ‘characters’ personifying us and our relationship behaviours. Am I a needy, clucky and desperate Charlotte, or just a plain old Samantha- desperate whore.

In any case, I am still condemned to the worst case scenario- I am desperate. I am unsatisfied with what I have. Therefore I am unsatisfied in life… why, oh WHY would I let society and culture condemn me so?

Instead, I choose to identify not with fictitious representations of relationships and life, but with my own experiences. Am I a failure when not in a relationship? No. Am I a better person when loved by someone? No. I may be happier, I may not.

But I shall celebrate wherever I shall find myself, as despite what evolution, television or anyone else attempts to tell me, my identity is derived from my own sense of self, rather than my Facebook relationship status.
Whew… now lets go burn some bras shall we?

***end rant: apologies. Here's an old, but pretty song for you.

Xylophones yay!

Of Paddocks and Procrastination

Do you ever get tired of living in the real world?

Do you sometimes feel that even Fantasyland is not enough? The return to university is looming, and the realisation that I am going to spend the next few months learning about Litigation, the Law of Business Organisations, and Advanced Torts is setting in. This makes me somewhat suicidal.

I am fighting all temptation to run away to my Dad’s farm in rural New Zealand. There I will drive tractors, raid his wine cellar and sit in paddocks wearing gumboots as I write songs on a battered guitar, the only light coming from the stars and moon.


I realise the impossibility of this. So instead I have changed my subjects to Media Law, Law and Religion and Law and Sexuality.

Heh heh heh… take that mandatory pre-requisities.

Eeep… I just did a diary post. After we banned them. Ok… time for a serious post then…

Things That Make You Go "aaahh :)"

After realising the contents of this site were a tad dour, I had previously commented as to the need for some cheer. This requirement was further reinforced just now after clicked Miss L's Facebook profile, and being greeted with an advertisement espousing the power of positive thinking.

So I give you things that make me smile, in the hope that they may make you smile and the Facebook Gods won't demand you adopt positive thinking (at a low, low price too!)

1. The word 'widget'. I quite frequently choose a new favourite word. For some time it was 'whimsical' as whenever I said it, I felt the need to blow some windchimes and wear ribbons in my hair or something.

In keeping with all things "W", at the moment I love 'widget'. Just try and say it without smiling... go on, give it a go.

I haven't bothered to google widget, however I google image searched it and I fear it may in fact have a dull practical application, so I may invent a new meaning, just like Shakespeare does...

Quite dull, yes?

2. These biscuits:

These are pretty much the greatest thing ever invented. I think there used to be a Crunchie Biscuit back in the day which were genius. These are pretty close to perfect replicas. Those little honeycomb nuggets are brilliant, and who can say no to 'yellow squiggles'??

These are responsible for me getting fat(ter).

**side note: spotted on special at Avalon Woolworths for $1.99. That's a gold coin donation people! For so much calorific goodness!

3. Coca-Cola related products.

It's about time we let you in on a little secret. Most blogs are powered by this new-fangled thing called the 'internet'. Here is where we are unique. We are in fact powered by Coke. I dread to think of the total annual spend on Coca Cola between both L and myself, however would estimate it would fund a fairly decent round-the-world trip.

Our preference in beverage has lead to some contention here at SIDAR HQ, with L preferring the original, full sugar/caffeine hit of plain and simple Coke, whilst I prefer Zero. Not only a fairly kicking YYY's song (check out the Animal Collective remix... its electric), it has pretty much zilch in the way of pesky kilojoules as well as sexy black labelling so you don't feel like fatty as you do whilst enjoying his cousin 'Diet'.

Diamonds... ooohhhh!!!

4. The Mighty Boosh

This has been a long time love of mine, and indeed is responsible for much of the (attempted) humorous references and vocabulary influences infused in our writing. Despite spending a great deal of time in London, when I picture it in my mind, I have trouble separating it from the Nabootique in Dalston.

If you are not familiar with the humour of the Boosh, please do me a favour and familiarise rapidly. Pretty sure anyone that knows me as been recruited (coerced?) into the Boosh fanclub with repeated viewings, and as a group we have been known to perform gin-induced recitals of particular crimps along Oxford Street.

Plus, I am not afraid to admit that I'm a little turned on by this (however so jealous of Howard):

5. The new collaboration between Deerhunter side project Atlas Sound and Noah Lennox (aka Panda Bear from Animal Collective):Walkabout.

I lack the technical capacity to put this as an mp3 here as I am quite technologically slow and only figured out how to make screenshots today... but seriously, download it. Its amazing. I recommend elbo.ws for all your musical needs...

This track is such a joyful journey.. with the hook of

What did you want to see

What did you want

To be when you grew up

This just implores you to take yourself on a little imaginative journey, 'Where the Wild Things Are' style. I see myself as an eight year old wearing a pink dress, frilled socks and pink shoes. My hair is in two plaits as I sit on the swing in my garden making up songs, the beat kept by the forward-back motion of the swing.

So that's my top 5 for this week... perhaps this should be a regular thing, you know, keeping the spirits up and all?

Or perhaps the best thing for raising spirits is in fact, spirits. Aaah gin, the true panacea...

*oooh heaven is a place on earth*

So things at SIDAR have taken a decidedly negative turn as of late. With the exception of three minutes of Matt Preston mastication porn, we have been detailing the downsides of life.

So its time to change all of this!

Today I spent some time with a very dear friend of mine, E. In terms of perfect days, this came pretty much close. Seeing E in the first time in far too long, we decided to take advantage of some unseasonably warm weather and pop across to Avalon for some food and fun times.

Turning into Avalon Village is truly like taking a step back in time (albeit entirely stylised by the majority of the design industry of Sydney). A glamorised seaside town, it is a little enclave within the Northern Beaches which makes me feel as if I am hours removed from reality, despite being just minutes along Barrenjoey Road.

Perfectly kept housewives walk their dogs to the various street-side cafes, and surfer boys perfectly represent the iconic Australian image as they brush off the remaining sand from their legs, surfboards wedged under arms.

Today we joined those housewives as we enjoyed gluten free banana bread and organic chocolate brownies, coupled with green tea from The Healthy Chef.

After eating far too much, we hopped across to the other side of Avalon to spend some time at my secret favourite spot. I am almost reluctant to tell anyone of this spot, lest it be infiltrated by others.

Whilst driving down the steep banks of Paradise Drive, you get tantalising glimpses of the paradise that awaits (pun, or perfectly named street? You decide). The sun penetrates the ancient Blue Gum trees to reflect dappled patterns of shade across sparkling water. Yachts bob in time with the rippling tide which washes upon the small sandy bay. A pier cuts through the water, just calling you to dangle both your legs and an ancient rod over its side.

The pier at Paradise Beach
Here truly is a place where time stands still.

And as we watched over the water, I began thinking how little the content we write of actually matters. We detail the inane irritants of relationships, but forget simple pleasures, such as time in the sun with friends.

Just a thought, and an attempt to inject some positivity into this little web journal of ours….Perhaps a list of ‘things that make us happy’ is in order.

Love, Peace, Fucking and all that xx

Apricot Scarves are *so* 1977....

Oy oy oy!
Just in case you thought we were writing about you, here's a song dedication. Just swap the lyric 'song' for blog, yeah?

Also, I put in an awesome Asian Karaoke version, coz its just brilliant.

Love, Peace, Fucking and all that

Turns Out I Was the Hot One?

Whilst our explanations of the concept of a ‘retard’ has been documented at length, our blog subtitle of ‘Turns Out I Was The Hot One’ has thus far been left swaying there, lonely in the wind and devoid of context.

I assure you, it springs not from an arrogant concept of self worth, but to a discussion L and I shared regarding a notion we coined the “Relationship Ledger”. Like an accounting balance sheet, this ledger resembled a set of scales, in which each side represented one party to the relationship. Weight was added for perceived positive attributes each person brought to the relationship, whilst negative weights could be placed for factors which were detrimental to the relationship.

Our theory was that a successful relationship was dependent upon equal contribution from each party, and that we could objectively determine our position in any engagement by reference to the scale.

However, an issue arose in the fact that these ‘attributes’ were indeed subjective and hence the scale was a faulty model.

Examples?

Well I considered ambition. At age 22, the world is supposedly my oyster. I have plans, dreams and hopes. My challenge is making these ambitions possibilities. Hence as a reasonably ambitious individual, I naturally seek a partner who shares the recognition that it is important to seek out what makes you happy and a path to this goal.

However, I recently learnt there is such a thing as too much ambition. A recent liaison with a delightful musician illustrated that it is possible to pursue aspirations to the detriment of all other aspects of life. Whilst I was content with being second in line to his musical dreams, I was not satisfied with being a relative non-entity.

Similarly, early on in a relationship way back in 2005, my partner expressed he was so attracted to my intelligence, and musical passions. It is here where I have to contradict Jack Ladder. After it emerged that my final year high school marks were higher than his, and that his position as ‘the smart one’ in the relationship was not concrete, he was not so impressed. Further contention arose when he also realised my musical sensibilities were more finely tuned than his.

Sorry Jack, but it seems that physicality could compare to our brainy affair. At least a partner with ‘legs up to here’ has a leg to stand on in the relationship.

So it seemed that our scale was destined to fail. We still remained none the wiser in our quest to understand the delicate balance which represented successful relationships.

And in the meantime, we drank the last dregs of red wine from our glasses we had previously clinked to signify a failed relationship of mine, and counselled ourselves in the fact that at least I was still ‘the hot one’. And that folks, is how blogs are born.

Who needs Nick and Norah?

They can have their infinite playlist. I've learnt Ableton. Well not really... I fiddled and played and eventully made something that somewhat resembles a mixtape of sorts.

Have a listen if you dare. Just download it- it around 37 mins or so. It won't kill your bandwidth limits.

Tracklisting is as follows:

Soulwax- NY Excuse (Justice Mix)//Uffie- Hot Chick (Mr Oizo)//Toto- Africa (Benson mix)//Convaire- Bad Taste//Robots in Disguise- DJ’s Got a Gun//Friendly Fires- Skeleton Boy (Grum Mix)//Aesop Rock- Lucy//The Rapture- No Sex For Ben//Peter Bjorn & John- Shut the Fuck Up Boy//Emil and Friends- Girlfriend on Girlfriend (Phoenix/Michael Jackson)//Yeah Yeah Yeah’s- Zero (N.A.S.A remix)//Jefferson Airplane- White Rabbit//Tame Impala- Half Full Glass of Wine//Rage Against the Machine- Killing in the Name//Jack Ladder- Mother (Bird’s the Word)//The Mighty Boosh- Electro Boy.

Please don't laugh too much!
xx

Brooklyn here I come..

So a continental relocation has been on the cards for me for quite some time now. 2010 was always destined to be the year I packed up and moved on from the land Down Under to pursue post-graduate studies in a far off land.

For many years now, my destination had been London. I had planned my suburb (Bethnal Green), my university (University College of London), my course and my outfits.

However, it seems all of that is out the window. After seeing this window:
Pretty sure I'm moving to Brooklyn now. This is pretty much the coolest thing I've ever seen. London only has Harry Potter. That's old news.

Can anyone recommend me a good Journalism post-graduate course in New York? And get me a visa? Thanks!

The Bottom of the Ladder

I have previously written about the joys of climbing my rope ladder into my own land at the top of the Magic Faraway Tree. Or, for all those not so familiar with Enid Blyton, perhaps I don my fur coat and step through the wardrobe to gallivant with Aslan in Narnia.

My magic faraway tree?

Translation: it’s fun to let your mind run away from your real life circumstances to a much happier place. My anal tendencies regarding cleanliness and order have lead some to suggest that my happy place is the Ikea showroom. And whilst I cannot deny the joy of Daim Bars and Swedish meatballs, if I have to represent my happy place in retail form, I’d like to think it is Kikki K. Maintaining that Swedish sense of decorated order, but with polite thank you notes.

My representations of happy places have been previously documented. To recap: Fantasyland was Brooklyn, NY. I had issued a Visa to my special place to an equally special someone, and life was just grand.

Aaah Brooklyn.... Sausage King. What's not to love?

This little imaginary journey sustained me throughout 25 000 words of law essays and take home exams, and the accompanying music was the soundtrack to my semester. However it seems all good things must come to an end.

This particular fantasy was grounded in a small degree of reality. A few moments of flirtation and stolen glances as by chance we both frequented the same establishment one Saturday night. From this fleeting encounter I gave myself permission to dream.

And dream I did. However reality intervened. A meeting brought my fantasy companion into reality. And all was not as it seemed.

Not only was my imagination incorrect, it seemed this little journey could not longer be sustained.

What now? Where was I to venture when burdened with the stresses of work, university, writers’ block, insomnia and any other unpleasant aspect of life?

Do I find a new fantasy? Or should I do as Miss L advises, and maintain a catalogue of fantasy scenarios? When one fails, there are four others waiting to be resumed?

Had I put to much faith in one of the lands at the top of my ladder to the detriment of others? As the God of my own worlds, had I loved one too much, forcing the others to wither and suffer death from neglect?

Perhaps. Where to from here then? Do I recreate another land of imagination in the hope that it is better able to sustain me than my previous construction?

Or perhaps I should just remain firmly grounded in reality. At least then my imagination could not disappoint me.


And because this was such an unusually depressing post from me, here is some footage to make you smile





Happy times indeed.

Take that Kingsmill!

Radio station Triple J recently hosted the first Hottest 100 of all time countdown in over ten years, claiming to be the biggest listener –based music poll in the world.

Over the weekend of the countdown, presenters remarked on the feeling of community and togetherness felt as we debated, denounced and delighted at the slow reveal of tracks until the ultimate Nirvana anthem.

It seems that we all feel affinity with music as it provides the soundtrack of our lives. I cannot remember for the life of me where I saw this, but I read an interview recently with a fairly well-known Australian musician who stated he realised music was his chosen path after a few too many occasions of choosing a song, blasting it and imagining he was the star of his own movie, with soundtrack carefully selected.

Not content to exist in his own personal Garden State, he realised that he could instead create the soundtrack to his life, and in doing so live a life worthy of a feature film.

The notion of a soundtrack to your life really struck a chord with me (ha, awesomely bad music pun). As I listened to Richard Kingsmill reveal the top 5 tracks, I realised they were included for incredibly specific reasons- namely the extent to which they resonate with individuals own narratives.

Rage Against the Machine’s Killing in the Name has become immortalised in Big Day Out history, seeming that standing with thousands of other drunken sweaty youths shouting “Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me” is indeed a rite of passage.

Similarly, Cohen’s Hallelujah is continually misinterpreted by all those thinking it a Buckley original, despite the subversions in intent and meaning. Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit remains the anthemic tribute to youth and all that goes with it. We continue to identify with the almost possessed drones despite the fact so many of us were barely in Junior School at the time of its release.

For me, my Top 5 memory relates to Joy Division’s Love Will Tear Us Apart. In the early hours of the morning some months ago, a group of substance addled individuals congregated in an Oxford St bar to partake in after-show festivities following a gig in Paddington.

Joy Division was played, and in our state we decided to follow the instructions of The Wombats and indeed dance to celebrate the irony. We all laughed at this musical travesty. All except the singer of one of the bands that had performed earlier, who questioned what the song was, and why everyone loved it so.

I backed away slowly, mortified that someone who derived their income from music could be so woefully ignorant of that beyond his own creation.

Anyway, enough band slagging. In the spirit of musical lists, I wanted to post my Top 5 songs which have influenced me over my life. I do hope you will forgive the self-indulgence. I promise they are awesome.

The Beatles- Yesterday
Possibly the first pop song I ever heard. Apparently as a baby I would only sleep in classical music was playing, however from age 2 my Father would sing this to me as I fell asleep. Despite being separated by oceans, whenever I hear this I feel like he is in the room with me.


2. Jefferson Airplane- White Rabbit
Also introduced to me by my Father as an 8 year old in London. I remember seeing photos of my Dad as a hippy with flowing blonde hair, bell bottom jeans and joint in hand outside Royal Albert Hall waiting for a Hendrix Concert.

Years later my friends and I stayed with him at his farm in rural New Zealand. Lying in a paddock beneath the perfectly clear night sky, surrounded by nothing else but empty wine bottles, we shouted “Remember what the door mouse said, keep your head, KEEP YOUR HEAD” into the stratosphere.


3. NSYNC feat Nelly- Girlfriend (Remix)
So it is here where I lose any semblance of musical credibility. This is pure twee pop in its worst form, complete with early noughties ‘rapping’. However let me explain. At age fourteen after spending a month in Zimbabwe for a family funeral, I was met at Sydney airport by my best friend- the first person my age I had spoken to for four weeks. I felt instantly at peace. It started three months of perfect summer weather, and the best summer of my life. For better or worse, this song remains the soundtrack to some of my best memories and even know when it occasionally plays through Itunes, I smile and know that everything is ok.

Apparently Justin Timberlake has disabled embedding on his youtube clips. Well Justin, I VERY MUCH DOUBT anyone actually wanted to listen to it anyway.

4. Kings of Leon- Milk
The most recent inclusion on my little list, this song represents everything I love about songwriting. The shifts, the simplistic chord structures, the heartbreak audible in Caleb Folowill’s voice- all of this made me fall in love. The line “called and I called but I can’t get through. Said he’s on his own, but his own is you” kills me. Such a tragic turn of phrase- expressing so much with so few words. After hearing this song I realised I wanted to be able to make music.

5. Leonard Cohen- Bird on A Wire
By far my favourite Cohen track. The opening lines:
Like a bird on a wire
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free…

I get chills from this moment on. The lyrics are beautifully ambiguous, heart-wrenchingly earnest and rich with simplistic imagery. I’m also a sucker for self-referential songs, so these lines win me over hook, line and sinker:
But I swear by this song
And by all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee

A positively beautiful song, more favourably re-imagined by others than Hallelujah which is so frequently done a disservice in its repetition.

Sneaking into my top ten includes the following:
6. Radiohead- Creep: Being allowed to use the f-word when singing was a great novelty to me as a child. This song is still a regular favourite for drunken group karaoke.


7. Bob Dylan- Like a Woman: Rumoured to be written aout Edie Sedgwick. Pure songwriting genius. No explanation needed.

8. Ian Carey Project: Get Shaky. This rivals NSYNC on pure humiliation. However, it is contextually essential to this blog. Let me tell you a tale….

We set the scene… the backseat of a car, 3.30am. College St Sydney driving home from a very naughty night in Kings Cross.

This song is playing, and four inebriated girls sing loudly. Miss L remarks that this is the Myspace song of a boy currently stalking her, and ponders if it was a message that he wanted to ‘get shaky’ with her.

I immediately reply: “Oh L, he couldn’t shake you if he tried”.

Henceforth this song became ingrained in Summer 2008/2009 folklore and became the catch-phrase of our friendship circle for many months to come.

(back to the list)

9. Jack Ladder- Two Clocks. What’s a list without some Jack? One of the few songs from his first album to survive to the current set-list, this song is, in simplest terms, a mind-fuck. The seemingly sweet lyrics set against a simple melody and the classic inter-play of male-female vocal dynamic disguise a warning against the dangers of loving too much. The clever composition is unnerving in that it never allows the listener to truly understand Rogers’ intentions. There is a reason this has been played over 150 times on my Itunes.

10. Cream- White Room. Quite simply, a bloody fantastic track. Features Cream’s signature transcendental militaristic juxtaposition of psychedelic shoe-gaze with striking lyrics and strong beats. This is the song I would want as the soundtrack to my life in my own imaginary feature film.

Meanwhile, this live video is amazing. Bands these days just can't play live like this anymore. Also... isn't the drum pattern remarkably similar to Tame Impala's Half Full Glass of Wine?

I hope this hasn't been to painful... I believe Miss L will be posting a similar list, however hers shall be infinitely better I am sure (with far less embarrassing music).

Meanwhile, what would you put in your list?

I'm going to make a playlist of my Top 10 and go totally fucking Mexico...

Get Your Mind Out Of the Toilet

Public bathrooms are at best a little grotty. But they remain a veritable goldmine of fantastic graffiti, poetry and often quite profound Sharpie-scribbled debate into the meaning of life.

Near the Engineering building at Sydney University there is a heated argument occupying one entire stall in the womens' bathroom as to the place of love in life. Perhaps I should go and write our blog address?

I have also always been tempted to actually dial the numbers listed underneath statements such as "For a good time, call...." however somehow lacked the nerve.

Some charming ones I have seen in my time include:

"I love it when you talk clean" in the womens' bathroom at the Annandale Hotel. I thought this was just so darling, and regret not taking a photo of it. However armed with only a camera-phone, the thought of cross-contamination of germs onto my phone dictated it remain safely in my bag.

This one was sent by the lovely M to Miss L after spotting it in a certain William St establishment....

I also love this one, which I have borrowed from the lovely site forlovenotmoney.blogspot.com (thanks!)

So cute!

It's always good to multitask in life, so here is some thought-provoking toilet material...

But it got me wondering whether mens' bathroom have such brilliant outsider art? Perhaps the urinal is not quite so comfortable for producing little gems such as these.

Public Displays of Affection make me hurl

Dear Diary,

I have a massive whinge for you. And yes, it is Facebook related.

I could try and be one of those people who pretends they don’t “do” facebook. Pretend to be so eclectic, whimsical and consumed with the issues of the world that I don’t have time for such nonsense, however let’s not kid ourselves. Facebook is the primary communication tool embraced by Gen Y, and it would be positively ‘un-hip’ to deny my devotion.

So….

What is really upsetting me today, and has been for some time now, is those individuals (or should I say couples) who use facebook as a tool to publicly affirm their commitment to each other.

We all know these people. Their profile pictures feature themselves and significant other in some form of passionate embrace. Their status reads something along the lines of “Kelly Jane is so in love with Marc. I am the luckiest girl in all the world”. And your minified is clogged with their wall-to-wall of completely pointless postings consisting of numerous x’s, o’s and other nonsensical bullshit.

Yeah ok look, we get it. You love each other. Good for you, I’m happy for you. Really, I am. But for the love of God I do not need to see this when I log into facebook to check my wall postings over a bowl of muesli in the morning. It makes my bran flakes difficult to stomach.

I promise this indignation does not stem from jealousy. If I think back to my Facebook behaviour whilst coupled, it certainly does not resemble such suffocating tendencies.

If I read the wall- to-wall between myself and my partner of three years, it shows a grand total of three posts in three years which are:1. You smell.
2. My brother is on the phone. Will be over in fifteen. Hope you see this.
3. Your phone is switched off. What time do we have to be at the party?

Riveting stuff all round.

Looking back to my other substantial relationship reveals absolutely nothing in the way of wall postings, inbox messages or any other clap trap. Why? Because we were together. We did not need to resort to a public forum to communicate because we could call each other.

We did not post couple photos as profile pictures as we saw ourselves as two individuals in a relationship, not one horrifying entity.

Our relationship was conducted in private, for us only. The way one presumes any relationship should be.

To me, this public saccharine shit which is forced upon me by virtue of stalker feed is repugnant. It reeks of desperation and insecurity.

Why else would one seek some public affirmation of their virtue as a couple?

My unsolicited advice for these half-wits: Step away from the computer. And walk into the arms of your other half. Do what couples do. If you don’t know what I mean, you really need to spend less time on facebook and more time in the bedroom. Because you really can’t update your status whilst doing the dirty.

Or perhaps you can… but if you are, you have more issues than I have time to deal with here.

PS. This person captures it better than I ever could (perhaps as they know how to do a screenshot). Hilarious

http://ruthie-zaftig.blogspot.com/2009/03/how-to-have-obnoxious-facebook.html

Passing the Buck

I have written previously about what not to do in a relationship break up. I preached maturity, dignity and forward thinking. I counselled against obsessiveness, abuse and destructive behaviour.

Well here’s a not-unexpected confession. I follow none of my own advice. So today I think I take a leaf from the Catholic method and give you a little honesty in the hope it absolves me of my past indiscretions and stops me from doing the same next time.

The particular story I wish to tell does not spur so much from a break up, but rather a cessation of potential. Let us cast our minds back to 2005 as I tell you this tale...

This particular man and I had been progressing along at a consistent pace through the requisite stages of getting to know and increasing intimacy. I had deliberately sought to take things quite slowly, however after three months we were at that precipice where things needed definition, and procedures needed to be established.


This need existed as an obscenely large elephant in the room, neither of us willing to venture there. I was quite prepared to continue ignoring Dumbo and enjoy the good times, however this man changed entirely, suddenly growing distant, cold and displaying complete personality changes from an incredibly charming, loving person to a brittle, unapproachable individual.

Needless to say, the ‘relationship’ ended when he decided he ‘wasn’t looking for anything serious’ (yet assumed I was ?!?!) and I was understandably confused and upset.

However, he stated as calling it off, “A, you are seriously the most amazing girl I have ever met”, and hence I decided to maintain the moral high ground and act only with decorum.

Hence my vents, rants and raves were burdened upon my beautiful friends, who were more than happy to listen, agree and even make voodoo dolls.


However it seems they could take only so much. After 7 days of spiteful speak, imbued with the spirit of gin, two of my absolutely darling friends decided it was time to exact revenge. Hidden from sight in one of the sin-booths of Q Bar, my two friends unleashed a barrage of insults to the voicemail of said gentleman.

My favourite moment in their retelling of events: the moment they realised they had failed to put their phone on private….

“Oh shit, this isn’t on private is it? Crap, ok. Let’s hang up, put it on private and call back. Then he won’t know who it is. Heh heh heh.”

You have to love drunken logic…. (*sidenote, what is even more concerning is that the very same thing happened to me not so long ago in entirely different circumstances. We are supposed to learn from mistakes? Well... putting your phone on private, yes.*)

Another strangely therapeutic activity when processing a break up for me seems to be substituting the name of my ex into The Rapture’s song No Sex For Ben. For all those who do not know, here it is:

I defy anyone not to feel empowered crumping and shouting away at 2am to this track, damning their ex to a sexless existence…. Trash people? Not me.


These strange break-up behaviours made me realise how much we all rely on our friends. Not only in times of relationship peril, but at all stages. Whether as wing (wo)man, sounding board, confidante, abuser or fellow egg-thrower, our friends are integral within our relationship, performing the tasks we are unable to ourselves.

Or unwilling….

Case in point: myself.

You may or may not have noticed that I am a fan of a certain musician. I have been to a few of his gigs and am personally too afraid to speak to him, lest I lose my words and look like, well, a dumb blonde.

So on two separate occasions, my fantastic buddies took the buck for me and initiated conversation, whilst I stood there, too sober to partake. My friends continued the discussion, initiated some photo-taking and even handed over my number.

That is truly what friends are for…. Humiliating themselves for others.

I promise I am quite willing to do the same for them… as soon as I get the chance (or they let me).

What's Love Got to Do With It?

Welcome, one and all to a new regular feature of this little spot: the Mass-Debate. Yes, say it out loud. It’s rude. And funny. Ha ha ha…. (see, laughter!)

Anyway, this idea sprouted directly from a conversation between the two contributors to this site as to an issue directly related to relationships and dating. We disagreed on this issue, and both began stating our cases as to why we were correct.

Then, as great minds so often do, we came to the same idea: why not redirect this energy to a more permanent form, complete with structured sentences, and less wine.

So here you have it: The Mass-Debate!

Topic One: Is love really necessary?

Carrying the flag for love is Miss A, whilst Miss L argues the point that we’re all just fine the way we are, without those pesky emotions getting in the way.

Here you go… sit down, strap in and we hope you enjoy….

This Modern Love: The affirmative from Miss A

It must be the Libran in me, but I love Love.

However let me clarify. I love deep, true and private love. I absolutely despise twee, commercialised conceptions of love. Public displays of affection make me physically ill. In fact, my friend and I have been known to throw bread rolls at those who offend our senses of public decency by engaging in some form of tongue war.

I cannot comprehend ‘chick flicks’ and am perhaps the only member of my close circle who just doesn’t quite ‘get’ Twilight (the wayfarers however, yes). Similarly, grand gestures give me no joy- the dozen roses, the teddy bears, the Valentines Day pressure- not for me.

What I do appreciate is that unparalleled friendship, bond and understanding that is only possible between two people intimately involved. Having one person able to identify your every emotion just by the way you move your hands, divert your eyes and your vocal inflections is both frightening and incredibly special.

Having someone know all of your stories, but still be happy to sit through them as you absent mindedly repeat the tale, someone that knows that it is not words that are necessary in times of crisis, but the ability to mix a good gin and tonic.

What is Love?

Love is coming home to see your boyfriend changing the oil in your car to save you having to pay for it a week before you are leaving him to go pursue London adventures.

Love is him crying at the airport dropping you, even though you will be back in a week.

Love is deciding to order takeaway so you can sit and watch Masterchef together rather than worrying about dinner.

Love is sitting in the rain, watching him play rugby every weekend for years. Love is going to his gig and watching the same songs every time, but still getting a little excited when you hear the one you know is about you.

Love is hangovers shared. Streaky day old makeup, that undeniable ‘day after drinking’ smell, and dissolving two Berocca’s rather than one.

Love is pain. Love is paranoia. Love is jealousy. Love can really hurt.

But how can one appreciate joy without its relative evil twin? Without resorting to crude make up sex references, there is something to be said for disagreement as cathartic, developmental and evolutionary to a relationship.

The pain, the hurt and the feeling of vulnerability we feel are directly related to the care, and reflective of the importance and value we place on the relationship.

To discount love for fear of hurt is to reject feeling.

I would rather endure all the lows so I can keep topping my memory bank of highs. For even when I am alone I can recall first dates, walks in the rain, nights spent in bed, man stroking your hair as you sing your favourite tunes together. I can recall holidays, birthdays, adventures and laughter, yet in all of my relationships, I struggle to remember disagreement despite its obvious presence.

And besides, without pain, how could someone produce lyrics such as these? (and how could we both empathise, and swoon to them at the same time?)

You won’t be forgotten when you leave,
You won’t fade away in the windmill of my mind
You will be named in song, that I’ll sing and suffer in a strict 4/4 time

(Thanks Jack!)

Love is Gone:Negative from Miss L

Ahhh does it really have to be 500 words long???? I’m really sick at the moment, and so I probably make no sense, but I’ve just written things I think are true and I hope it collectively relates to the question.

Some conclusions I have made following my own, combined with others’ similar, romantic experiences:

1. You can’t rely on a boyfriend’s love to make you happy. You need to be happy within yourself, and love yourself, before you can love someone.

2. Men can change their mind about how they feel about you, extremely quickly. Whether you are extremely sensitive emotionally, or not, you are going to be hurt, because he will change his mind. After this has happened a few times, you will be scared to go out with anyone new, and probably find yourself focussing your romantic energy into a narrow ‘top five crush system’. Crush #1 not fulfilling you today? Move onto Crush #2, and so on. My top five crushes include men who are wholly unattainable. No disappointment is possible. I am safe. Hopefully this unrealistic world I am fully engaged in, will be submerged by a happier reality one day!

3. While noone wants to be alone and unloved, I would much prefer to be alone than be in a self destructing relationship which will harm my esteem for at least twice as long as we are/were together. Some people say that all change, (sorry .... yr 11 english .... ) is good change. But in regards to relationships, surely the good change which inevitably follows a bad breakup or hurtful romantic experience, could have occured much earlier if you weren't a damaged soul for months? Surely, being upset and living an insular life for a certain amount of time was not as helpful as if you had avoided the trauma in the first place?!?!

4. You are not alone if you surround yourself with your closest friends. Meet your girlfriends for breakfast. It’s good.

5. If I am to venture into a 'love situation' soon, I feel at present my one relationship non-negotiable is having someone who is supportive of me, and encouraging what is the very best I can be, because that is exactly where my interests would lie towards them. Maybe we just need to be more selective in who we let in to our hearts: I have known some girls who have moved from man to man within weeks (sometimes days) of each other, and I certainly discount the belief that this is a natural, healthy and youthful living style. I think it has an overall degrading quality, and is psychologically confusing.

love should never be an aim… if it happens, it happens, if it doesn’t, it doesn’t. It is too tiring and upsetting in the end, if you invest energy and emotion into a Retard just because you're seeking a life filled with it.

[I may have to edit this when I am feeling better. Sorry if you feel you have become more stupid after reading what I've written. I hope it at least makes some sense.]

I have never debated before.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

You Know I'm No Good...

So I have to admit, I am an enormous fan of Amy Winehouse. Coke, smack, crack, gin, cigarettes- no poison can quell my love for this woman. She is suitably nutty in an absolutely fantastic way. Life dramas aside, I harbour a secret desire to be so positively laissez faire, giving society the bird as I do exactly as I please.

However, it seems society is not so forgiving of the bad girl. From Amy’s bloody nights out, to Britney’s infamous umbrella incident we are quick to cast a shameful glance upon girls gone wild. In the domain of the normals, we judge harshly the girls who have had one too many and are causing a scene on the dancefloor. Hell, we’ve given them a name and multiple facebook groups: the ‘trashbag’.

Yet the drunken male escapes punishment. It seems to be that the bad girl can exist only as stylised ingénue Russh style.

However, this is neither the time nor the place for feminist diatribe. After all, this is a BOY blog. So I instead turn my attention to the bad boy.

The ‘bad boy’ has been a pop-culture icon for decades. From James Dean’s Rebel Without a Cause, to Elvis’ devil may care pelvic thrusts, as females we are loathe to resist a careless swagger and dangerous attitude.

But why is this? It is certainly evident that black skinny jeans, leather jackets, white tees and wayfarers are a winning combination in just about any decade since the 1950’s. But yet it seems this dashing sartorial selection is inherently coupled with the a similarly consistent personality.

Bad boy looks are rarely immune from bad boy attitude. And with that attitude comes some less than satisfactory relationship behaviour.

We should learn from the prolific cultural and fictional profiling of the bad boy that we are destined to fail. A lone agent, he is not bound by the conventional laws we apply to ourselves, and is in fact this difference we find so appealing.

However, we maintain the delusion that we can ‘change’ the bad boy, using our feminine wiles to bring him under our spell and eradicate the bad boy, but maintain that sex appeal.

Not possible.

Do we care? Not really… we just keep going back for more. I mean let’s face it- he’s a little deranged, certainly a little dangerous. And we love it.

However of course, we could always adopt the Teen Vogue definition of ‘bad boy’. I don’t even know who Nick Jonas is, but he sure as hell doesn’t look threatening to me.

Image thanks to girlwithasatchel.blogspot.com

The Curse of Company... total music video porn

So I think this is kind of sweet. Admittedly it has been floating around for a while now, but has been getting more attention due to the recent activity of prominent members.

Unfortunately referred to an 'indie supergroup', the group Curse of Company comprises members from a variety of Sydney groups:
- Dappled Cities member in alias Wiley Rennick
- Sarah Kelly of redsunband
- Tim Rogers (better known as Jack Ladder)
- Danny Heifetz of 1001 different bands
- Burke Reid of Gerling

The clip is beautifully shot, the costuming featuring subverted military regalia and some stand-out recorder playing courtesy of Tim Rogers add atmosphere to a song which is simply, quite lovely.



Just delightful.

Friends Don’t Let Friends Wear Leggings As Pants…

But kindred spirits will appreciate these. I want. I want. I want.

Sprouting up a while ago in Topshop, they not only fuse my (secret) love of lycra-wrapped thighs in terms of sheer warmth and comfort levels, they elevate this product to god-like status my virtue of Rule Britannia pattern.

As this little website of words is still its infancy we probably don’t know each other that well. So here’s a fact about me:

I love all things Britain.

From Marmalade and Jam to wintery walks through the plains of the Costwolds, England conjures an image fused from stylised childood remembrances coupled with my imagined future.

It is pure style. From the romantic County fashion of Liberty prints, Hunter wellingtons and windswept moors, I imagine poetry, crackling fires and cuddling beneath a blanket with a dashing young Oxbridge graduate.

Similarly, I imagine myself pulling on aforementioned leggings, and drinking ale in a centuries old pub tucked just off the Camden High St.

I think this obsession comes from a fortune teller... yes, fortune teller.

My cousin went to have her fortune told, and included in the details of her 'future' was a mention that I was destined to marry an English man. This in conjunction with my utter obsession with all things London- The Mighty Boosh, Russell Brand, Shoreditch culture, Camden fashion and the extraordinarily prevalent live music scene in North-East London (to name a few) confirmed in my mind I would be marrying either of these men:

Noel Fielding as Vlad the Impaler in Kasabian videoclip... Oh baby

Richard Ayoade as Moss in IT Crowd... swoon

At least with Noel we can share leggings....

Jealousy, look what it's done to me...

*thanks Sparkadia for my title*

My recent posts have all been concerned about the presence of the ex-girlfriend and her place in the future relationship. Apparently this is keeping my grey matter stimulated, and my paranoia rolling on.

However, like my stalking ways I feel safe in the knowledge that I am not alone in my ex fixation. This subject has been addressed my many a film, novel, song and blog post so anything I write is sure to be far from original.

So I offer you some anecdotes from my disastrous experiences, as well as tales from my nearest and dearest.

Perhaps my favourite story is that of a very favourite friend of mine. Many years ago now, she began a relationship with a dashing young lad. Just 18, my friend understandably had little in the way of serious relationship experience. Her beau however, had previously been in a semi-long term relationship which drew to a messy end months prior to their dalliance beginning.

However despite relationship conclusion, this ex would not leave, and to dabble in colloquialism, seemed perfectly prepared to hang around like a bad smell. After months of less than coincidental chance meetings, friendly texts and generally making her presence known to my friend, my lovely mate resorted to dirty tactics.

She brought me in. It seems that the crazy ex had found a new tactic- by attaching herself to her ex-boyfriends’ best friends, she had found a way to maintain significant threat to my lovely friends’ psyche.

My mission: to flirt with the boyfriends’ best friend, therefore detracting from Crazy’s attempts to successfully elicit coupling from best friend.

It seems that when issues with a mission, my perfectionist nature emerges. I performed this task with aplomb. The best friend and I hit it off, and spent the evening flirtatiously discussing Wallabies line-ups and swapping Anchorman quotes (*so 2004*).

Three years later, we were still in a very loving relationship. However all good things must come to an end, and that end is the subject of another story.

The moral of this tale: People will do desperate things to attempt to obviate the ex issue (or just be hilariously spiteful… fantastic).

For me in another relationship, the jealousy was not of an ex-girlfriend, but of the ‘bromance’ that occupied his time prior to our relationship.


This particular gentleman had a very close circle of friends, fantastic in their rich and diverse passions, interests and talents. This is something immensely attractive to me in a potential partner, as there is something to be said for his friends beyond more than dirty stoner musicians, or drunken rugby louts.

However unique to this circle of friends was their specific gender. Every single individual was male and had been in this intensely polygamous relationship for many years and it seemed to be a tough nut to crack.

Nonetheless I was confident in my abilities. I am typically a ‘guys girl’. I can discuss rugby, music, cricket, motorbike racing, politics, terminator films and most topics as well as any man. However in this instance I was overconfident. This group was impenetrable.

My imagined visions of fusions of friendship circles enjoying gigs, days in the sun drinking gin and summer parties dancing in the rain would never be realised. Alas we were destined to attend the same gigs, but maintain opposing quarters.

I soon came to see I could never occupy Number One position in this mans’ heart. His loyalties were an all male affair.

Similarly, another attraction to a somewhat successful musician had me begrudging tour dates, recording obligations and other women deploying the weapons of cleavage, short skirts and slutty behaviour to attempt to derail me.


All in all, it seems the ex factor is not so much about the person, but our own jealousies. Jealousy is certainly a bitter little pill poisoning relationships, but its focus is not limited to previous partners. If in fact it was, this would be a blissful state of affairs. After all, the ex is exactly that-ex. The relationship ended, no doubt for good reason and she is left in the cold, whilst he shares his bed with you.

It’s the friends, the career, the family and everything else which is going nowhere you have to worry about.

"I'm like so post post-modern you know... I'm like totally innovative"

He was a punk.
She did ballet.
What more can I say?


Yeah, I did. I totally did. I quoted Avril Lavigne. Have you lost all respect for me?

Utterly horrifying, yes?


You may have noticed I like to try and use music as my references for blog titles and inspiration. As I trawled through my playlists searching for something to represent my subject of today, I could find nothing. And then, over the blare of Little Richard’s Tutti Frutti came the strains (and I mean strains) of Miss Lavigne’s insult to music.

However, there really is no simpler, albeit cruder, way to summarily capture my topic of today.

That is, how much do you need to have in common with someone in order for them to be interested in you?

Admittedly I shall not be taking an holistic approach to this issue, rather examining from a purely personal, far more gripey perspective, as to be honest, I am feeling quite self indulgent.

As I wrote previously, my devilish stalking revealed the identity of the ex-girlfriend of the man currently lighting my fire.

My modern day Jim Morrison was previously partnered with a now incredibly successful tour de force in a particular creative industry, working with some of my absolute idols.

She is an industry leader in London and around the world, and represents everything I aspire to (albeit in a different industry).

A little sidenote: Whilst we attempt to maintain some degree of anonymity as to our identities and what-not, it is important to note for the meaning of this post, I have only recently abandoned five years of Law and Politics degrees to seek a more creative future most likely aligned in writing, whilst dabbling in a little musical sideproject. Hence, I have only just began flexing my creative muscle and as such it remains a very weak, vulnerable and self-conscious lonely little muscle.

Anyhoo, given that my swoon-worthy male (let’s call him Jim) is also in a creative industry, these two were no doubt peas in a pod and could feed off each others’ innovative little synapse flares and further each others’ careers.

Which they did, for a time.

If this is the kind of person he appreciates, then do I stand a chance?

Is my future with this individual dependant upon my ability to produce abstract photography, or detail my comfortable upper-middle class existence with such hyperbole and narcissism I present it to be tantamount to a class based concentration camp of convenience?

(Sorry, inherent objection to comfortable little rich kids growing dreadlocks, smoking pot, putting photos of this on facebook and calling themselves revolutionaries because they “like totally, you know, like just *get* the struggle of the Venezuelans”. Ugh)

Extremely amazing advertisement completely encapsulting 'creative hipster' bullshit scene

If so, it seems this little dalliance shall be incredibly short lived should it ever get off the ground.

Is it possible for him to be content with someone whose passions are not so closely aligned? How much of us is what we do?

Then again, I have to ask myself: how much of what I am attracted to in him is aligned to his creative output?

Let’s be honest, haven’t we all had a little crush on a musician due in part to the lyrics they produce… imagining ourselves the subject of the romantic melodic storytelling?

Ah it is a struggle. Perhaps I should take comfort in the age old wisdom doled out to young women by mothers for decades now: If he cannot appreciate you exactly the way you are, he is not worthy of your interest.

Oh Mum, if only it were all that simple.

I See You Baby... online

I really should learn to follow my own advice. Truly.

I previously counselled against gleaning information via the www about current, potential or former partners. Those cold hard facts, or even unsubstantiated allusions bite like little bullets at our hearts.

It can be a change in ‘relationship status’ on Facebook, incriminating photos posted of your man with new women or indeed finding his own cyber contributions to (far less noteworthy) blogs.

I have two particular incidents of information gathering (a far more flattering term than plain old stalking) which stand out in my mind.

The first was soon after meeting a gentleman who would come to occupy a not-insignificant portion of my formative years. After a period of courtship, I did what any self-respecting Generation Y member does: visits Google for some sneaky research.

After the standard Facebook references, Number 1 result after a name search was a contribution made to an online study forum for the Higher School Certificate from many, many years ago. This individual had posted an essay used for an English assessment, complete with abbreviations “u” in place of “you” and “2” in place of “to”.

Before I even began contemplating whether it was ever acceptable to use personal pronouns in formal literature assessments, I was overwhelmed with absolute humiliation that something so abhorrent to me (poor grammar) had apparently crept into my list of acceptable qualities in a partner.

However I was smitten, and rather than contemplate a future of monotonous conversations devoid of witty language manipulations, substituted instead with grunts and moans, I forgave such a crime.

This momentary omission in good judgement caused me months in relationship pain an anguish, resulting in an ultimate demise. Whilst the death of the affair is more than likely not connected to his absolute language rape, in future I shall certainly be more critical of the vocabulary faculties of potential partners.

The second occasion of ill-advised stalking happened just minutes ago, and prompted me to write this post as a form of therapy.

I was happily doing ‘research’ on a certain gentlemen I have a sweet spot for, when I happened upon information regarding his previous girlfriend.

You may wonder where I found such information…. Facebook? Twitter? A blog? Godforbid Myspace?

None of these.

No, it was Wikipedia.

She is so accomplished in her field of creativity she has a freaking Wikipedia posting.

Besides my HSC results, this blog forms the peak of documentation of my online success (fml much?).

So now, I’m feeling quite unworthy and pathetic,

Why? Am I pathetic? Yes, quite possibly. I googled. I stalked. Rather than watch re-runs of Harry Potter on Channel 9 like every other normal (?) person, I sit in my study, blasting Cream and brushing up my Private Eye skills.

Unworthy? Perhaps not. Considerations as to the suitability of creative folks for non-creative people is subject for further blog fodder, however needless to say, I was perfectly happy in my own skin until I began comparing myself to a person who not only no longer features in this man’s life, but now lives overseas and is dating a member of a rather famous band.

Moral of the story: Stop stalking! Back away from the computer. Go for a run, go to a café, write some lyrics, have a double gin.

Or even better, write a blog post telling the cyber world detailing just how pathetic you are.