aka Installment Two of 'Lisa and Abby's Amazing Adventures"...
Exam time does a funny thing to us all. It makes us a little loopy to say the least. Last night, the pressure of study seemed to get to Lisa and I, and via a facebook chat conversation, we contrived the following winning idea (and bear with me)....
Capitalizing on the mass hysteria for all things tweeny Vampire, we proposed creating a fanfic tale which fused Twilight, and Harry Potter. In doing this, it spans the collective memories of two sub-generations and taps into about 50% of the total retail fiction market for the past ten years.
Imagine: Harry and Edward coming together to battle an enemy.
Imagine: two major money spinners being unwillingly fused in one almighty pisstake.
Imagine: Lisa and Abby finding another way to weave crude sexual innuendos into everyday life. A way to further the status of the 'glitter wand' as a phallic euphemism in the minds of our friends. A way to further poison the minds of the corruptible (corrupted?) youth of today with thinly veiled tales of sex and morality.
Imagine: the movie spin off. Imagine the money.... We decided we would have to include Cedric Diggory in our story, as that would mean double the character opportunities for R-Patt, and therefore double the attractiveness to tweens, and of course the merchandising potential.
Until now, our crazy scheme had seemed *almost* plausible. Until we considered possible plotlines.
Somehow, our 'brainstorming' devolved to this:
Lady Gaga comes to give a concert at the Yule Ball at Hogwarts. But it turns out she is really an evil midget who kills people with her disco stick.
Harry tries to stop him/her(?) but is cut in the process. The scent of the blood rushes to the nostrils of Edward Cullen, who is instantly turned on, as let's face it, they are both closet homosexuals aren't they?
He rushes to Hogwarts with his speedy vampire running and all to help out his 'special friend' H-Pott.
When together, they form some kind of tween super crime fighting team. Cullen uses his glittery body, and Harry uses his wand. This fuses to become the GLITTER WAND! It is an omnipotent, indestructible death stick of awesomeness.
****cue NOT VERY SUBTLE, NOR MATURE PHALLUS JOKES***
Gaga's disco stick battles the glitter wand whilst Muse's Supermassive Black Hole plays in the background...
** supermassive black hole? glitter wand? let the imagery continue***
But of course, the shiny Glitter Twins reign supreme. They overpower Gaga, but she relents as she realises that just like Harry, she also has a lightening bolt on her face. Although hers is from facepaint, rather than faulty curses. However she considers this enough of a bond.
And they all live happily ever after. The End. Cue big Bollywood-style dance scene involving whole cast including CGI double R-Patts to keep the kids happy.
Sooo... what do you think? Are we onto a winner?
Friday, October 30, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
vancouver
After an almost wintery escape in the Rocky Mountains, it was time to begin the search for Canadian cool.
Namely: Vancouver.
In my mind I saw a shiny, new city full of shiny, outdoors loving, nature fiends. Everyone I knew who had moved from Sydney to Vancouver had done so to appreciate lakes, mountains and parks and to take advantage of biking and skiing opportunities. So, once again, I was out to have my expectations washed away.
And like every other time, my preconceptions were wrong.
Or, more that what I had seen as a potentially negative aspect of Vancouver ended up being what I embraced.
For all those who have not yet experienced the utter joy that is Vancouver- a run down. Vancouver is a city set on the Western coastline of Canada a couple of hours north of Seattle. It is protected from the harsh winters tolerated by inner Canada, and instead is based around harbours, inlets and urban beaches.
The heart of the city to me feels to be Stanley Park- an immense zone of green where cyclists and bladers mix with racoons, squirrels and skunks (apparently even bears!). Unlike any other major city, the CBD is devoid of hustle and panic. Instead, immaculately dressed workers and students ride single gear bicycles complete with wicker baskets.
The city truly is a collection of quite independent villages, each with their own spirit. From the relaxed vibe of Kits Beach, the truly unique carnival feel of the hamlet under the bridge Granville Island to the more traditional foodie district of Yaletown, and night-zone of Gastown, Vancouver has so much to offer.
It seems to be a city very content within itself, rather than striving to be something else to everyone. This strikes me as something quite different to Australia, and indeed very pleasing. Whilst Sydney defines itself with reference to Melbourne, and Brisbane strives to find its own spot, Vancouver accepts its diversity quite willingly.
This contentment allowed us to experience truly diverse aspects of the city. Highlights included cycling through Stanley Park, where we hand-fed a family of wild racoons we spotted on an ice-cream detour.
As we cycled along the sea wall path, we spotted a series of hundreds upon hundreds of stacks of rocks. It seems that it was an unpronounced tradition to gather your own pile of pebbles and leave your own mark upon Vancouver, in the most fantastic way imaginable. So of course, we obliged.
Other stand out experiences included mixing it up with attendees at the Vancouver Fringe Festival, held at Granville Island. Granville is not actually an island as such, but a district that exists under a bridge in a sort of chaotic, carnival sort of way. Also, watching a local ska-funk night in a tiny jazz club with about six other people…
Vancouver is filled with the hipsters we have come to know and love around the world, but unlike the ones which occupy Surry Hills in Sydney, the Valley in Brisbane, the Mission in San Fran or Silver Lake in LA, they are positively inoffensive in BC. They walk around the streets with smiles on their faces, engage in conversation and display none of the intellectual arrogance the wannabe musos and poets of Sydney wear as a badge of honour.
Indeed, my travel companion S and I nearly started a dance off in the middle of Urban Outfitters. Whilst gazing lovingly at their collection of witty t-shirts and Where The Wild Things Are merchandise, Cut Copy began playing throughout the store. We had a momentary pang of homesickness, and proceeded to begin crumping inelegantly in the middle of the store, much to the amusement of the more subdued Canadians.
Vancouver is amazing. I love the Canadian government for making it so easy for young Australians to get a working visa. I intend on doing this the moment I have finished university. I feel Vancouver may be my spiritual homeground.
Namely: Vancouver.
In my mind I saw a shiny, new city full of shiny, outdoors loving, nature fiends. Everyone I knew who had moved from Sydney to Vancouver had done so to appreciate lakes, mountains and parks and to take advantage of biking and skiing opportunities. So, once again, I was out to have my expectations washed away.
And like every other time, my preconceptions were wrong.
Or, more that what I had seen as a potentially negative aspect of Vancouver ended up being what I embraced.
For all those who have not yet experienced the utter joy that is Vancouver- a run down. Vancouver is a city set on the Western coastline of Canada a couple of hours north of Seattle. It is protected from the harsh winters tolerated by inner Canada, and instead is based around harbours, inlets and urban beaches.
The heart of the city to me feels to be Stanley Park- an immense zone of green where cyclists and bladers mix with racoons, squirrels and skunks (apparently even bears!). Unlike any other major city, the CBD is devoid of hustle and panic. Instead, immaculately dressed workers and students ride single gear bicycles complete with wicker baskets.
The city truly is a collection of quite independent villages, each with their own spirit. From the relaxed vibe of Kits Beach, the truly unique carnival feel of the hamlet under the bridge Granville Island to the more traditional foodie district of Yaletown, and night-zone of Gastown, Vancouver has so much to offer.
It seems to be a city very content within itself, rather than striving to be something else to everyone. This strikes me as something quite different to Australia, and indeed very pleasing. Whilst Sydney defines itself with reference to Melbourne, and Brisbane strives to find its own spot, Vancouver accepts its diversity quite willingly.
This contentment allowed us to experience truly diverse aspects of the city. Highlights included cycling through Stanley Park, where we hand-fed a family of wild racoons we spotted on an ice-cream detour.
As we cycled along the sea wall path, we spotted a series of hundreds upon hundreds of stacks of rocks. It seems that it was an unpronounced tradition to gather your own pile of pebbles and leave your own mark upon Vancouver, in the most fantastic way imaginable. So of course, we obliged.
Other stand out experiences included mixing it up with attendees at the Vancouver Fringe Festival, held at Granville Island. Granville is not actually an island as such, but a district that exists under a bridge in a sort of chaotic, carnival sort of way. Also, watching a local ska-funk night in a tiny jazz club with about six other people…
Vancouver is filled with the hipsters we have come to know and love around the world, but unlike the ones which occupy Surry Hills in Sydney, the Valley in Brisbane, the Mission in San Fran or Silver Lake in LA, they are positively inoffensive in BC. They walk around the streets with smiles on their faces, engage in conversation and display none of the intellectual arrogance the wannabe musos and poets of Sydney wear as a badge of honour.
Indeed, my travel companion S and I nearly started a dance off in the middle of Urban Outfitters. Whilst gazing lovingly at their collection of witty t-shirts and Where The Wild Things Are merchandise, Cut Copy began playing throughout the store. We had a momentary pang of homesickness, and proceeded to begin crumping inelegantly in the middle of the store, much to the amusement of the more subdued Canadians.
Vancouver is amazing. I love the Canadian government for making it so easy for young Australians to get a working visa. I intend on doing this the moment I have finished university. I feel Vancouver may be my spiritual homeground.
Monday, October 26, 2009
oh canada (pt 1)
So my NAFTA trip began with Canada, and ended up with a drive through California and into Mexico. In all honesty, Canada was what excited me least.
Promises that Vancouver was ‘just like Sydney, but colder’, and depictions of Calgary as a cowboy bumhole town did not exactly tickle my travel bug. Similarly, as a lover of architecture, history and culture when I travel, the idea of 1000km of mountain, snow, forest and farming left me feeling dim over the prospects of ten days oot and aboot in Canadia.
Once again, my preconceptions were entirely incorrect. I was proven to be a fool, and I am ever so grateful for this.
Calgary is presented as the Canadian oil capital, run by barrens dressed in boots and cowboy hats. Picture the Texan Oil magnate character in The Simpsons. Depiction=wrong.
Whilst the CBD is awash with Texaco, Caltex and other such logos which would enrage the environmentalists, the city itself is more a collection of villages determined very much by their geographic location along the river. Kilometres of parkland and bicycle tracks mean the city is very much one of outdoor pursuits.
But, it hardly forms the peak of Canadian experiences. From a personal perspective, there were certainly fun times, but let’s move on to more interesting events…
Armed with one shiny, sexy black car complete (and one not so sexy blue one), six of us made our way from Calgary, eagerly heading towards Mountain country.
It is truly impossible to capture or depict the Canadian Rocky Mountains with either words or images. The vast nature of the landscape, the sheer size and diversity renders it utterly unfeasible.
But hey, I’ll give it a go.
The view from the car driving out of Calgary towards Banff is much like rural Australia- flat, endless pastoral territory dotted with sheep the sole witnesses to a single lane highway. But suddenly, you follow a bend in the road and rising out of nowhere are mountains, forests and the beginnings of snow-capped peaks.
As you continue climbing, the entire environment begins to change. Arid, rocky outcrops are interspersed with pine tree clusters clinging to the sides of peaks. The windows become noticeably frosted as temperatures drop in the space of an hour from a balmy 28 degrees in Calgary, to -10 on top of Sulphur Mountain near Banff.
Driving through the picturesque chalet tourist town of Banff, we question the prevalence of people attired in winter ski gear, when we are comfortable in the car wearing just tshirts and Havainas. As our gondola climbs Sulphur Mountain, we see that the temperature is now in negative territory, and the need for inclementally appropriate attire is made obvious with the first blasts of frost, ice and snow we encounter as we exit the comfort of indoors.
Needless to say, S and I are the subject of much laugher and derision as we climb mountains in thongs. I lost count of how many times I heard “bloody Australians”.
The Rocky Mountains truly are days upon days of continually mind blowing scenery. Icy lakes and streams, colours you could never imagine, layer upon layer of peaks emerging as you follow the twists and bends of the road.
Indeed, the vista is so surreal, that the much awaited Lake Louise seemed a disappointment. After the rugged, untouched beauty of Lake Moraine, Louise is a tamer sister, with high tea, manicured gardens and paved walkways diminishing the sense of unreal. But truly, disappointment is relative- it’s all still incredible.
Our group spent three days tucked away in a log cabin in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. We ate, drank and relaxed in a Jacuzzi with open window… such was the location, that wild deer popped their heads in to see where the heat and steam came from- much to our surprise and theirs.
All in all, the three days I was least excited about turned out to be highlights of our trip, and I was extraordinarily disappointed to be continuing back into civilisation and Vancouver…
But that’s another story…
Promises that Vancouver was ‘just like Sydney, but colder’, and depictions of Calgary as a cowboy bumhole town did not exactly tickle my travel bug. Similarly, as a lover of architecture, history and culture when I travel, the idea of 1000km of mountain, snow, forest and farming left me feeling dim over the prospects of ten days oot and aboot in Canadia.
Once again, my preconceptions were entirely incorrect. I was proven to be a fool, and I am ever so grateful for this.
Calgary is presented as the Canadian oil capital, run by barrens dressed in boots and cowboy hats. Picture the Texan Oil magnate character in The Simpsons. Depiction=wrong.
Whilst the CBD is awash with Texaco, Caltex and other such logos which would enrage the environmentalists, the city itself is more a collection of villages determined very much by their geographic location along the river. Kilometres of parkland and bicycle tracks mean the city is very much one of outdoor pursuits.
But, it hardly forms the peak of Canadian experiences. From a personal perspective, there were certainly fun times, but let’s move on to more interesting events…
Armed with one shiny, sexy black car complete (and one not so sexy blue one), six of us made our way from Calgary, eagerly heading towards Mountain country.
It is truly impossible to capture or depict the Canadian Rocky Mountains with either words or images. The vast nature of the landscape, the sheer size and diversity renders it utterly unfeasible.
But hey, I’ll give it a go.
The view from the car driving out of Calgary towards Banff is much like rural Australia- flat, endless pastoral territory dotted with sheep the sole witnesses to a single lane highway. But suddenly, you follow a bend in the road and rising out of nowhere are mountains, forests and the beginnings of snow-capped peaks.
As you continue climbing, the entire environment begins to change. Arid, rocky outcrops are interspersed with pine tree clusters clinging to the sides of peaks. The windows become noticeably frosted as temperatures drop in the space of an hour from a balmy 28 degrees in Calgary, to -10 on top of Sulphur Mountain near Banff.
Driving through the picturesque chalet tourist town of Banff, we question the prevalence of people attired in winter ski gear, when we are comfortable in the car wearing just tshirts and Havainas. As our gondola climbs Sulphur Mountain, we see that the temperature is now in negative territory, and the need for inclementally appropriate attire is made obvious with the first blasts of frost, ice and snow we encounter as we exit the comfort of indoors.
Needless to say, S and I are the subject of much laugher and derision as we climb mountains in thongs. I lost count of how many times I heard “bloody Australians”.
The Rocky Mountains truly are days upon days of continually mind blowing scenery. Icy lakes and streams, colours you could never imagine, layer upon layer of peaks emerging as you follow the twists and bends of the road.
Indeed, the vista is so surreal, that the much awaited Lake Louise seemed a disappointment. After the rugged, untouched beauty of Lake Moraine, Louise is a tamer sister, with high tea, manicured gardens and paved walkways diminishing the sense of unreal. But truly, disappointment is relative- it’s all still incredible.
Our group spent three days tucked away in a log cabin in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. We ate, drank and relaxed in a Jacuzzi with open window… such was the location, that wild deer popped their heads in to see where the heat and steam came from- much to our surprise and theirs.
All in all, the three days I was least excited about turned out to be highlights of our trip, and I was extraordinarily disappointed to be continuing back into civilisation and Vancouver…
But that’s another story…
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
LA I <3 U
So I promise to upload accompanying photos, but in the meantime I am sorting through thousands of them... stay tuned, I'll make it pretty
As I traversed across the great North America, I made little notes, and I now attempt to compile them in some way to depict, detail and record my experiences so I don’t forget them three weeks later… So here’s my first….
Halfway through our trip, we flew out of the truly phenomenal Vancouver ready to begin our American adventures in earnest. We were intending to live and breathe Yankee clichés as we roadtripped to the cultural cataclysm that is Los Angeles.
Our first stop: San Francisco.
To say that I was excited was an understatement. Everyone I had spoken about my trip planning could not manage to find the words to describe San Fran, such was their reliance on hyperbole. I had been told that San Fran was ‘my city’ such is my status as a walking, talking character personification of stuffwhitepeoplelike.com
So I rolled into town, anticipating blissful days spent in Castro and the Mission District feeling ever so hip and culturally special. And whilst San Fran certainly provides these experiences (a truly phenomenal Richard Avedon exhibit at the MOMA and an intimate performance by The Drones for less than 100 people at the amazing price of $10 both highlights), it seems that the old girl has been hit unfairly by the GFC.
Whilst poverty is rife in any American city (indeed it is one of the primary striking features to any Australian used to our glorious state of social welfare), San Francisco was suffering the unfortunate juxtaposition of comparable numbers of tourists and beggars. Indeed, there seemed to be an absence of any real locals, and hence the city has been (temporarily) rendered a mere fusion of haves and have nots.
With this is the state of affairs, it becomes hard to appreciate the truly beautiful architecture and history of the city. The city is reduced to tourist destinations… the F-train connects Fishermans’ Wharf with the Union Square. We can part with money for overpriced food and entertainment, and shop to our hearts’ content, stepping over sleeping bodies as we do so. Haight-Ashbury becomes not the historic heart of the Summer of Love, but a borough benign with stoned hangers-on. The Mission District is not a melting pot of cultures, but a queue of shoppers searching for the nearest Thrift Store to make their purchases in a context devoid of the hipster search for ironic, sustainable fashion.
So indeed, San Fran was a bit of a disappointment. Though not without its merits, I look forward to returning in a few years when it (hopefully) re-establishes to its truly glorious self.
From there it was onwards and upwards (or downwards as our GPS and general geographical principles would have it) to Los Angeles via a brief sojourn to San Diego and Mexico for a few days R&R.
I shall skip these, as that’s a whole other post, and go straight onto LA.
Well, I expected to be disappointed. I expected to be disheartened by a concrete vacuum packed solidly with plastic people. I expected tack.
I was wrong (and pleasantly surprised).
A caveat: LA is what it is. A fake town based on a false economy of false hopes and dreams. I didn’t investigate this, but I’m fairly certain their CBD is in fact Universal Studios, with the majority of economic productivity derived from entertainment industries and associated enterprises. That, and suckers like me paying money to come and see said false economy.
It’s is an incredible mix of shiny plastic faux-reality mixed with the dirt, grime and smut inherent in a city built on looks and egos.
For all the ill-advised aspirationalists, there is a history of previously failed hopes, as well as evidence of success. There are markers of a golden Hollywood past nestled along a strip rich with spray-tan salons, bottle shops and acting studios.
For those of us more accustomed to the tall poppy culture of Down Under, this unbridled ambition is jarring, but compelling nonetheless. Every person you meet has a dream that extends beyond their current position. The waitress dreams of celluloid stardom, the retail worker of musical immortality. The hip kids of Silver Lake punch away on their aluminium cased i-technology awaiting their unique literary genius to be discovered whilst sipping a soy decaf free-trade organic macchiato.
And we are conditioned to shun this raw determination as shallow star chasing. We deride the palm tree pop culture and highways to nowhere.
But why? I must admit I see a certain charm in this difference. It is a refreshing change to the diffidence which marks the youth of Sydney. Sure, we are aspiring musos/poets/journalists/artists and curators, but this drive is hidden from public view. We are too cool to try. A public statement of dreams is a precursor to failure, as lets face it- self awareness is unattractive to us.
And whilst I’ve settled back into my state of nonchalance, I could certainly envision a stint over in LA. I could feel quite at home residing in Silver Lake, catching the latest up and comers trying their trade in the dive bars, or living just a hop skip and jump away in Venice Beach, hanging with the tattoo artists and perpetual stoners, enjoying a beer watching that iconic sunset over Santa Monica.
But first I have to find a dream to chase…
As I traversed across the great North America, I made little notes, and I now attempt to compile them in some way to depict, detail and record my experiences so I don’t forget them three weeks later… So here’s my first….
Halfway through our trip, we flew out of the truly phenomenal Vancouver ready to begin our American adventures in earnest. We were intending to live and breathe Yankee clichés as we roadtripped to the cultural cataclysm that is Los Angeles.
Our first stop: San Francisco.
To say that I was excited was an understatement. Everyone I had spoken about my trip planning could not manage to find the words to describe San Fran, such was their reliance on hyperbole. I had been told that San Fran was ‘my city’ such is my status as a walking, talking character personification of stuffwhitepeoplelike.com
So I rolled into town, anticipating blissful days spent in Castro and the Mission District feeling ever so hip and culturally special. And whilst San Fran certainly provides these experiences (a truly phenomenal Richard Avedon exhibit at the MOMA and an intimate performance by The Drones for less than 100 people at the amazing price of $10 both highlights), it seems that the old girl has been hit unfairly by the GFC.
Whilst poverty is rife in any American city (indeed it is one of the primary striking features to any Australian used to our glorious state of social welfare), San Francisco was suffering the unfortunate juxtaposition of comparable numbers of tourists and beggars. Indeed, there seemed to be an absence of any real locals, and hence the city has been (temporarily) rendered a mere fusion of haves and have nots.
With this is the state of affairs, it becomes hard to appreciate the truly beautiful architecture and history of the city. The city is reduced to tourist destinations… the F-train connects Fishermans’ Wharf with the Union Square. We can part with money for overpriced food and entertainment, and shop to our hearts’ content, stepping over sleeping bodies as we do so. Haight-Ashbury becomes not the historic heart of the Summer of Love, but a borough benign with stoned hangers-on. The Mission District is not a melting pot of cultures, but a queue of shoppers searching for the nearest Thrift Store to make their purchases in a context devoid of the hipster search for ironic, sustainable fashion.
So indeed, San Fran was a bit of a disappointment. Though not without its merits, I look forward to returning in a few years when it (hopefully) re-establishes to its truly glorious self.
From there it was onwards and upwards (or downwards as our GPS and general geographical principles would have it) to Los Angeles via a brief sojourn to San Diego and Mexico for a few days R&R.
I shall skip these, as that’s a whole other post, and go straight onto LA.
Well, I expected to be disappointed. I expected to be disheartened by a concrete vacuum packed solidly with plastic people. I expected tack.
I was wrong (and pleasantly surprised).
A caveat: LA is what it is. A fake town based on a false economy of false hopes and dreams. I didn’t investigate this, but I’m fairly certain their CBD is in fact Universal Studios, with the majority of economic productivity derived from entertainment industries and associated enterprises. That, and suckers like me paying money to come and see said false economy.
It’s is an incredible mix of shiny plastic faux-reality mixed with the dirt, grime and smut inherent in a city built on looks and egos.
For all the ill-advised aspirationalists, there is a history of previously failed hopes, as well as evidence of success. There are markers of a golden Hollywood past nestled along a strip rich with spray-tan salons, bottle shops and acting studios.
For those of us more accustomed to the tall poppy culture of Down Under, this unbridled ambition is jarring, but compelling nonetheless. Every person you meet has a dream that extends beyond their current position. The waitress dreams of celluloid stardom, the retail worker of musical immortality. The hip kids of Silver Lake punch away on their aluminium cased i-technology awaiting their unique literary genius to be discovered whilst sipping a soy decaf free-trade organic macchiato.
And we are conditioned to shun this raw determination as shallow star chasing. We deride the palm tree pop culture and highways to nowhere.
But why? I must admit I see a certain charm in this difference. It is a refreshing change to the diffidence which marks the youth of Sydney. Sure, we are aspiring musos/poets/journalists/artists and curators, but this drive is hidden from public view. We are too cool to try. A public statement of dreams is a precursor to failure, as lets face it- self awareness is unattractive to us.
And whilst I’ve settled back into my state of nonchalance, I could certainly envision a stint over in LA. I could feel quite at home residing in Silver Lake, catching the latest up and comers trying their trade in the dive bars, or living just a hop skip and jump away in Venice Beach, hanging with the tattoo artists and perpetual stoners, enjoying a beer watching that iconic sunset over Santa Monica.
But first I have to find a dream to chase…
Monday, October 19, 2009
thisiswhyyou'refat...
I'm sure we all know the website... features daily gastro-inventions which most commonly involve a combination of bacon/processed meat/cheese/chocolate/syrup/sauces/salt in some form of appropriated cholesterol binge.
I have a similar feature on this site, although the contributions are admittedly far tamer. I have moved on from my obsession with Woolworths Select Honeycomb Swirl biscuits (complete with yellow chunks!), however I do note they are on sale again for $1.98 at Woolworths Avalon for all those in need of a sugary study fix.
My latest obsession is one I gained whilst in Canada. Staying in wilderness retreats in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, our group developed the very civilized habit of wine, cheese, dips and Kokanee beer. From this, I have my own speciality: Baba Ganoush with sliced cucumber Oh my goodness, the combination of eggplant, tahini and lemon juice smeared on cucumber: its fat-tastic!
I highly recommend it... especially if you are seeking rapid weight gain, as I experienced whilst travelling, hurrah.
And now I leave you with a song...
It's an oldie but a goodie. Born Ruffians 'Hummingbird'. Think back to Skins, Season 2... the episode where Cassie runs away to New York and goes to the bar... LCD Soundsystem segues into a cameo appearance by the Ruffians boys playing this track. It's pretty awesome...
I have a similar feature on this site, although the contributions are admittedly far tamer. I have moved on from my obsession with Woolworths Select Honeycomb Swirl biscuits (complete with yellow chunks!), however I do note they are on sale again for $1.98 at Woolworths Avalon for all those in need of a sugary study fix.
My latest obsession is one I gained whilst in Canada. Staying in wilderness retreats in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, our group developed the very civilized habit of wine, cheese, dips and Kokanee beer. From this, I have my own speciality: Baba Ganoush with sliced cucumber Oh my goodness, the combination of eggplant, tahini and lemon juice smeared on cucumber: its fat-tastic!
I highly recommend it... especially if you are seeking rapid weight gain, as I experienced whilst travelling, hurrah.
And now I leave you with a song...
It's an oldie but a goodie. Born Ruffians 'Hummingbird'. Think back to Skins, Season 2... the episode where Cassie runs away to New York and goes to the bar... LCD Soundsystem segues into a cameo appearance by the Ruffians boys playing this track. It's pretty awesome...
Sunday, October 18, 2009
the night is young at heart
So Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist is a fun little film. Set to a fairly solid soundtrack of Bishop Allen, Devendra Banhardt and Band of Horses, it details the life and loves of some excruciatingly hip kids gallivanting across Manhattan and Brooklyn in search of a ‘secret gig’. Cause that’s what we all do with our nights: go to gigs in people’s warehouse residences.
OH HA! Maybe we do…. Prepare for a tale with only minor creative licence applied.
Faux-indie filmmakers get ready, because there is a spin-off in the works: Lisa and Abby’s Amazing Adventures.
Basically, Lisa and I tend to have nights out together which start out with the best of intentions: a quiet dinner, some drinks, maybe catch a band or three then drive home. But like all of the best plans, they fall by the wayside.
Last night was the latest instalment in the long running saga of freaking insane, but ridiculously fun adventures.
Deciding that a night of pizza and beer at K’s place in Marrickville wasn’t the best option for avoiding the 83 000 men named ‘Ben’ plaguing our lives, we strolled down Fotheringham Lane to the utterly delightful CAD Factory, a studio-cum-performance space tucked in a warehouse which doubles as some lucky fellows’ residence…
However before enjoying the sweet strains of the talented Adrian Deutsch, we sought nourishment to sustain our evening. Word from the wise: backstreets of Marrickville lack the abundance of Pho we had come to expect from the Vietnamese hamlet. Our options were limited to the neon glare of a decidedly dodgy Thai takeaway, or pub food.
Thinking a schnitzel was the safer option, we entered the bar only to be greeted by a handful of sun-weathered gentlemen and….. a woman dressed in only bra and g-string. At 7.30pm. In a suburban pub. As you do.
A form of perverse fight or flight kicked in…. do we go with the stripper flow, or retreat in favour of rice noodles?
We decided to solider on with stripper meals, however the taunting leer of our fellow patrons ushered us out. Curry puffs and Pure Blondes in hand, we trotted off to watch some truly awesome Adrian Deutsch which tickled me pink as I have tried in vain to catch a solo set for a good year now…
Adrian was followed by a Jack Ladder set complete with electronic beats supplement, which was certainly interesting, however the tone for the night was really set by a Kirin Callinan new creation ‘The Toddler’ with words not safe for blogging, the absolutely insane little ditty made us feel a little crazy, and let’s just say, craziness certainly ensued.
Without giving too much away, highlights (?) of the night included:
- Standing on benches to watch music (how positively unladylike of us!)
- A certain individual handing my phone number to a musician without me knowing (I die, I die! Haha),
- Only just avoiding an invitation from a Black Rebel Motorcycle affiliate to become girls three and four in his orgy (Amazing the people you meet at Cad… truly)
- Spending some time in a gutter with the singer of a band recently mentioned in this little blog, before offering him a lift home,
- Dancing to Girltalk in a service station in Rose Bay
- Making facebook friends (Because isn’t that just what life is all about?)
Tonight is Lisa’s birthday drinks, and I am oh so intrigued to see what King Street has to offer us…. Newtown has never failed me before. Oh dear. Stay tuned for Part 2.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
'hiatus' sounds like a skin condition...
Oh hello, A here. You may remember me from other blogs, such as.... well actually, this one.
Back in the day when we used to write. We appear to have gone on hiatus, although I am loathe to use this term, due to its immediate association in my mind with skin diseases. Truly. I apologise if I have henceforth forever burdened you with the same association.
This little omission was brought to my attention by the ever fabulous, oft mentioned LG, who complained that her ritual web browsing had long included this little blogspot, and that as authors,we had been letting her down. I apologise profusely.
I shall endeavour to make more of an effort, which I fear shall not be so difficult now that I am being forced to stop gallivanting across the nation states presently signatory members of NAFTA, and instead spend more time learning about thrilling issues such as incorporation of companies, constitutional protections on speech within the media, and the right of same sex couples to Medicare for IVF treatment.
All these form part of the thrilling notes I shall be composing for law exams. woo.
But just to get the ball rolling, I will use this thus far entirely pointless post to cross promote an upcoming post by my good friend L, detailing the ins and outs of pneumonia medication and its effect upon a good night on Oxford Street.
Needless to say, they render you somewhat deluded... I remember believing I was some sort of musical demigod whilst undertaking a course of antibiotics whilst working off a bottle of moscato. In short: banging wine bottles and woks with spoons in your kitchen will NOT result in you being crowned the next drummer of the year, no matter your skill in Guitar Hero World Tour.
Until then, tot siens! Promise some substance, and here's a picture of Noel Fielding to keep you happy. Remember: it;s all about the glitter wand (hey LG?)
Back in the day when we used to write. We appear to have gone on hiatus, although I am loathe to use this term, due to its immediate association in my mind with skin diseases. Truly. I apologise if I have henceforth forever burdened you with the same association.
This little omission was brought to my attention by the ever fabulous, oft mentioned LG, who complained that her ritual web browsing had long included this little blogspot, and that as authors,we had been letting her down. I apologise profusely.
I shall endeavour to make more of an effort, which I fear shall not be so difficult now that I am being forced to stop gallivanting across the nation states presently signatory members of NAFTA, and instead spend more time learning about thrilling issues such as incorporation of companies, constitutional protections on speech within the media, and the right of same sex couples to Medicare for IVF treatment.
All these form part of the thrilling notes I shall be composing for law exams. woo.
But just to get the ball rolling, I will use this thus far entirely pointless post to cross promote an upcoming post by my good friend L, detailing the ins and outs of pneumonia medication and its effect upon a good night on Oxford Street.
Needless to say, they render you somewhat deluded... I remember believing I was some sort of musical demigod whilst undertaking a course of antibiotics whilst working off a bottle of moscato. In short: banging wine bottles and woks with spoons in your kitchen will NOT result in you being crowned the next drummer of the year, no matter your skill in Guitar Hero World Tour.
Until then, tot siens! Promise some substance, and here's a picture of Noel Fielding to keep you happy. Remember: it;s all about the glitter wand (hey LG?)
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