Hungover and happy

Thanks to the lovely Stu for this link, some gentle political satire to warm your Monday morning. Stu is a deadset legend, the only person I ever know who stopped playing guitar because he was getting so experimental that he realised he would eventually end up trying to play a guitar with no strings. Very very process focused, to play until strings break and then try to adapt playing techniques to adapt to less and less strings. As someone who once used a plastic picnic cup to roll out ink for printmaking after loosing her roller, I thouroughly approve of this approach to music making! People are so cool when they are fascinated with things and adaptive and exploratory, don't you think? I think its the coolest.

So, anyway, here I am on Sunday, with a late starter of a hangover which I have just combated with a vegie burger with absolutely everything on it (yes beetroot, yes egg, yes pineapple, yes sweet chillie sauce), am starting to feel perkier. Had a moment of being really glad to be a woman in this time and place this afternon. It was as I sat down to the 'knit in' up here in the mountans - imagine 100 women and kids in a ballroom of a grand hotel, drinking tea and knitting blanket squares and jumpers for kids in East Timor. I sat there thinking 'Golly this is cool' as I noted my trashy bright red nail polished fingers reminding me of last night - a party in the city and dress ups and silly party conversations which reminds me of all silly nights ever with stupid conversations and too much wine, and ridiculous flirting, and general trashiness. And I thought about what the rest of the day holds for me - writing a conference paper for a conference that I've had an abstract accepted for, thinking theory, thinking ideas. How lucky I thought, to have silliness and seriousness in my life - to have freedom to be brash and single and independant, and also the opportunity to enjoy the company of other women and enjoy passtimes that my grandmother and maybe her grandmother did. To be able to enjoy dress ups and also care about whether someone else has enough to wear.

Imagine this magic of sitting down to a circle of women - all ages, mostly strangers - and within minutes talking intimately about important stuff, as our fingers click away, turning long loose threads into a woven fabric, into something useful. These strong, well spoken, resillient, humorous women who step into the role of aunty and grandmother, knitting tutor, guides to stages of life we haven't yet lived, amused and affectionate elders. I love the way women do this, talk, support each other, pull together for common causes, do whimsical things that have heart in them.

And after that I went to the food co-op to buy vegies for the first time since last weekend's mountain party, and saw many of the people from the party who I have known by sight for the last year but until last week never met. It was like stepping through the looking glass - now we have names and a context and have been introduced the ice has melted, we are suddenly no longer in parallel universes but together in the same story. We greetede ach other by name, we talked about photos, we joked abour outfits. I was offered chocolate shards from the sneaky plate kept behind the cuonter. I feel like I belong here. Little by little, each week, it's like I belong here more.

But of course that makes it tricky when the other people I care about are spread across the wide wide world. Note me this morning wanting to stay in Bondi and market shop and drink coffee with Aunty B, but meanwhile needing to come back here for the plans I'd made to meet a girlfriend at the knitting thing. I am often thinking about people who I care about in Adelaide, Brisbane, the inner west, London, New York, Leura. The days whizz by don't they? Wouldn't it be nice to spend more of them hanging out and chatting?

Irrespective, feeling nicely tired and happy and re-nutrientized (if that's not a word yet someone will make it one soon) by my hamburger. On my way to kniting my first ever jumper. All very exciting.

Tired

This morning I am so tired. Tired in an eyes sore kind of way, in an ‘oh I could use a massage, poor shoulders’ kind of way. I stop halfway through doing something and find myself looking out the window thinking light things. I wonder if by not sleeping I am using up some reserve of restfulness, restedness which keeps me well. By not sleeping enough that is, I am getting sleep. Just not as many hours as I would like, as my body would like. Just not regularly, not a pattern of times to bed and time to rise. And this strange sense of pride when I manage to haul myself through some awful late night – early morning combo, as if this is a real achievement – to triumph over my own thoughtlessness towards my body.

The mountains are on my left as the train goes down the hill, I can gaze out over a misted valley, where my eye is somehow at horizon level, there is a ridge and valley filled with tress and in the very deep centre, mist. These trees are not just a certain number of ‘things’, lined up, or part of a system with a certain number of components – ‘how many? How many species? How many individuals? How many ecosystems?’ We ask, bean counters all. No, these trees and all that lives in and under and around them are peaceful. They are a repository of calm. Of self contained peacefulness. How do we overlook that in all our rushing around and bean counting? How do we forget to value their nobility? Their standing quietly with arms twisted and outstretched, the wonder of a bird sitting in the crook of one of these stable arms? What silent connectedness between a bird and a branch and the breeze as it lifts from sleep on the valley floor and stretches out touching gently all it passes? How is it we so easily forget this nobility? And there is something very balancing about having wonderous things around us that we did not make, construct, build, conjure up. They remind us that the world is more than us. That creativity emerges from life itself, not just our hands. This is like our conscience, demanding our humility and we ignore it in our arrogance.

Riddly riddly ree

Riddly riddly ree – there’s something I can see, and it starts with… ‘b’.

No, not bus. Not boots. Not an ill-fitting bra you wear anyway because it has nice embroidery. Not boffins with berry berry lovely bow ties. Not boys who I accidentally flirted with because my gaydar was broken and I thought they were gay. Not browsing - the internet when I should be reviewing a document. Not boggly eyes of the guy on the train late at night who thought a conversation might be fun. Not backpackers with beer tshirt and big hair. No, it’s ‘bird’! Out my window. Seagulls, swooping between buildings and reminding me that this is a harbour town. Nice, huh?

Little white socks and I laughed

I had a funny experience today. Preface this by saying that I enjoy a good laugh and often get one at work – am fortunate enough to work with people who have a well-developed sense of silly too. They are either very earnest and either into some techie, policy, modeling, literature reviewing thing, or they are clowning around and telling absurd jokes and joining in on something ridiculous. For example, the other week Teapea stopped mid step to literally fall on the floor in a great show of comic clowning to demonstrate shock when I offered to make my podmates coffee – making the point that this is not something I do all that often. People in the adjacent pod saw him fall and thought it was some disastrous medical situation and expressed much concern. This afternoon featured Chickpea, Twentypea and I indulging in some spontaneous, and completely innapropriate Little Brittain episode reminiscing and reciting of favourite lines. But anyways, that wasn’t my actual story.

No the actual story involved me today at lunch-time going out for a quick walk down the road (for ‘fresh air’ if you can call it that when you work in the CBD). There were many good reasons for not going out – drizzle, had brought my own lunch, had a squillion things to do, but sometimes a mid day quick break with good chat and swift steps does help to wake you up. So there I am swiftly stepping, chatting and there in front of me is a small child (5?) and his mum and some of her friends, all swift stepping too. But not actually as swiftly as me it seems. I realised that just as my swinging right foot connected with something softish in front of me. Was that the small childs foot? I think to myself, just as I look down and see a little white socked foot swing forward. I think ‘no.. that can’t have been his actual shoe that I just stepped on – it can’t have just pulled right off??’ I look backwards and there is a tiny little sneaker. The boy realises shortly after I do, and turns back, we are joined in a huddle looking down, with me saying ‘oh sweetie – your shoe’ and him reaching for it and then in staged ripples a wave of people in front of us stop and turn around, or keep walking but turn and stare as they walk. I apologise and keep walking after I know he is putting the shoe on and I see his baffled and cross looking mother moving to join him. I feel like some kind of horrible person who has deliberately just de-shoed her son on George Street. I meet up with my friend who says ‘did you just…?’ And I snort with suppressed giggles, quite inappropriately, and we both walk away shaking with laughter. And every time since that I see that little white socked foot and remember that absurd, surrealist moment of realizing the shoe has been set free and is now behind us, and the child looking as confused as me - I have to try not to giggle. All the while realizing that it is not really at all funny, not really the type of thing one should find funny. All the while giggling.

Show us your coloured teeth

So – Bluetooth. What’s that all about then? Discovered it only recently at work. It means I can send files to people. But you know what? I could anyway – I had both internet and a network drive for that very thing. And on the train this morning reading a report on the lappie, I got a ‘do you want to acccept’ Bluetooth file – presumably from someone else on the train. An MP3 file. Now, as voyeuristic and nosy as I naturally am, I declined, thinking that it could be some kind of skanky virus, or sent in mistake. But on further thinking I wonder if it really was sent by mistake or might have been some weird train pickup (hey, can’t blame a girl for wondering!). Maybe I should have said yes! Maybe it would have been some lovely pop song for my listening pleasure. Now I’ll never know.
Someone told me today about a friend of theirs who was sent a file to his mobile when he was at the pool – it was a suggestive video that a man nearby had just made of himself. Noice. Different. Unnusual. Is it just me or am I thinking that this is like a slightly more pornographic, slightly more hi-tech version of the calling card? But now it says ‘ah yes, good evening, Mr Higginsbottom would like to request an audience with your good self Lady Pealsworth, preferably unchaperoned, and in the mean time here is an animated etching for your viewing pleasure.’

Very Wuthering Heights

Did I mention the other day about bumping into an old friend beachside? We had failed to make any type of actual useful arrangements but then as I was walking on the cliffs by the water thought ‘hmm, look at that person sitting on the rocks with lavender sticking out of their bag. Cute ponytail. I wonder if it’s a girl or a boy? You just don’t see enough boys with lavender out of their bags, oh and look, he’s writing. Oh hang on! That’s Melbourne spice.’ Nice one. Coffee and chat followed.

Glam dahling glam

Have a glam rock birthday party to go to tomorrow night. Think mid 1970’s David Bowie. I wasn’t sure what to wear (yes it’s dress up) because being in the mountains I kinda figured that any outfit would have a foundation of thermal leggings, walking socks, sensible shoes and skivvies, and be finished with a fleece in one of the National Parks colours, rendering anything else kind of hidden. In fact it’s a (great but) funny theme for the mountains, which in all honestly I have to say is one of the least glamorous places I have ever lived. Think woolly. Think worn in sensible shoes rather than anything pointy or shiny. Think comfortable and warm. Lovely, homely, understated cool, funky by all means, but not exactly what I would call glamorous.

Fortunately my wardrobe of many surprises spat out a lurex dress for me to wear. Sleeveless to allow a black skivvy to poke out, long enough to hide many many layers of pants underneath, and a rather fetching shade of sky blue to match the questionable pearlescent eyeshadow I plan to wear.

Hair? A girl at work suggested wigs. But really, that sounds like far too much effort. I was thinking maybe of teasing/curling the hair I already have and making it a big giant triangle, but with the part bit smoothed down flat. Like Magenta from Rocky Horror. Non? Or maybe the other way – smooth and flat and swingy after hours of blowdrying. Realistically not likely though as I am too lazy and it breaks most of my rules of grooming (rule number one, if entire outfit can’t be assembled in half an hour or less forget it. Rule number two, think very carefully about any look that requires electricity and an appliance to produce it. ‘Rule number three – there are no rules in fashion club’..?). Half tempted – in an abstract kind of way - to get a rock mullet hair cut, which might be fun post party too. If I had well behaved hair I might be more inclined. I do fancy a spiky silky tall-up-top and long-down-back mullet. I don’t fancy a booffy wavy wiry mullet that looks like it might belong to a 1980’s footy mum called Shirley who has been windswept for 4 hours serving fritz (that’s devon for you east-siders, and um, processed meat a little like dog food for you non aussies) and sauce sambos at the club kiosk – after all she might need it back.

Thunder and Light

Premenstrual I guess, as I feel thunderous. I can feel it in my belly grumbling, a special kind of belly grumble that grows, but more, its in the fury I feel at stupid little things. The way I am inclined to tell the woman next to me to go sit somewhere else because I can’t bear the way she is riffling through her handbag and cleansing out receipts reading every one of her million folder A4 brochures about winning holidays, winning prizes through crossword puzzles, wining winning winning a new life. She peers at them earnestly over little round dusty glasses, and looks like a fat little penguin with grey short hair. I feel angry and want to say ‘do you mind? Could you stop that? It’s very annoying.’ And it is annoying, her disquiet, her furtive rustling, her intentness in it all, but really I know that its my hormones (I hope its my hormones).

What evolutionary benefit this monthly rage? Maybe to stop us wasting energy trying to reproduce when ones egg has started to slide out of its little nest. Maybe to balance the sadness and tenderness that comes as well, maybe to spring clean ones life.

But now I turn on the computer and put in ear phones, listen to bossa nova – and it is so relaxed and gentle that I am softly transformed and regain a little of that ‘aaah’ sinking into a moment feeling. It reminds me also of the nice boy who lent this to me, and the funny spontaneous chat we had about music. It makes me feel more relaxed, even though I can now see the penguin copying out a shopping list from a diet she has torn out from a magazine, which presents a base line of infuriating, which I now just note and slide past in bossa nova joy.

Fragment (computer says no?)

‘Fragment (consider revising)’ my computer tells me and I think – look, I know it’s a fragment, but don’t you know some of the best things exist in fragments? Have you never heard of poetry? Have you never seen a weathered ancient torso without it’s arms or head? The glimpse of someone as they leave the café? The drifting portion of a song on the wind? My poor, deluded, sentence-fixated friend (I want to say), have you never enjoyed a fragment? I feel that I am doing my part for the bringing back of fragments to the written word. The incomplete. The half formulated. The sketchy outline. Maybe nouns and verbs and adjectives would like to sit alone for a while sometimes and not be flanked by their claustrophobic hot breathing comrades. Imagine being so restricted, so chaperoned that you could never enjoy a walk down the page on a breezy afternoon by yourself and a few prepositions. Imagine never being able to sit there in the sun pouring through a window in your beautiful self-contained solitude? A nice noun. My verb sitting still. This lovely warm adjective. Contained and Fragmented. ‘Ignore once’ I type, but in my heart, I say ‘don’t ignore, acknowledge and celebrate and not just once, but every time.’

Astrostalking

Earlier in the year we coined the term 'autogoogling' at work after the day when a in a serious critique of our company website someone said 'and when you google yourself it's not even the first site that comes up'. Pause. Giggles from other people. Slow realisation from workmate that they had just confessed to autogoogling. Of course most people do it, just usually not in polite company.

On a similar vein I must confess to astrostalking. This involves checking not just your own scope, but idling browsing other people's too. The boy or girl you currently have a raging crush on, an ex that you wonder about, the guy at the cafe who makes your coffee, some neighbour who seemed cranky today, a colleague - whatever, whoever takes my fancy. Especially whoever takes my fancy! I am not an exclusive astrostalker. The reading might be to query a particular question ('hmmm, I wonder if we'll ever get together, have chickens and live in a house in the country'), a general nosiness, wanting to throw light on a particular impasse, and maybe a peverse sense of astro envy (whaaaat?? You're having a glamorous week of creative brilliance and I'm meant to clean out old crap from closets - hmmph, unfair). Lame? Certainly. Mildly woo woo? Possibly.

If you feel inclined to do the same, Astrobarry's scopes for the week are now out. Or check out Mystic's latest deliberations on what makes people tick.

Also, as mentioned in previous posts, love currently living somewhere where people are more likely to ask you what star sign you are than what investment bank you work for, or which suburb you own real estate in. Have had some funny conversations with people including the thinly veiled chat up lines, narrowly avoided insults ('oooooh you're a [insert sign of ex here].. oh. Yes I've dated one of those once). Loved being in a meeting ages ago with 3 women getting their diaries out and suggesting the night of the new moon for our next meeting - very auspicious for planning new projects you see. Loved the conversation with Cancerian male who basically told me that I was doing really well just for not being a drug addict of some description, given my star sign which is well known for losing itself in the dreamy netherworlds.

Biz has a theory that the Daily Tellie Tubby (paper) here in Syd has the worst editorial in the known universe, but eerily, cannily accurate star signs. I tend to read the egg-stained, dog eared cafe copy if I am ever having a lazy breakfast. To those who think astrology is nonsense I challenge them to try reading any other section of that paper and finding anything at all which is steeped in wisdom, internal logic or accuracy. At least astrology is a lightly held metaphoric tool for understanding people, rather than a tightly held, unquestioned but in many cases ridiculous and unsubstantiated model of the universe that passes for reality broadsheet style (eg. it makes sense to sell all our fossil fuels as quickly as possible for as much as we can because that'll be good for the country; it is important to have a perfect bottom and shiny hair because that will make you happy; buying lots of things in many colours is the meaning of life).

Rainh rainh

Oh it is such a rainy few days here in sydney. Coming down in buckets. Has been a few days of seeing friends from interstate who are here for short visits. Last night I got rained in to the pub I was in and just *had* to have three large beers in short succession. Didn't have a brolly you see. By the time I'd had the beer I barely noticed getting wet on the walk to China town for noodles.

About to catch a train so wont wax too lyrical as don't fancy missing it again and having to sit reading trashmags and drinking hot chocolate under those blaring lights at the country terminal.

Reading 'Small is Beautiful' a classic book about the flaws of modern economics by Schumacher (no not the one that drove fast cars and featured in my year 6 commentary of the Adelaide Grand Prix) at the moment - it has been on my 'to read' list for the last year. Found out at the lunch table this week that it is also on the 'guilt list' of a few colleagues. We joked about splitting our 'guilt list' and reading one each - sharing the main findings. Mmmm crib notes for being well read. Cramming for what purpose exactly? Anyway, I'm liking it - it makes sense and is well written, a rollicking tale - and given that it was penned over 20 years ago and I am an econophobe that's not bad going.

Wearing my pirate knickers today, which reminds me of Aunty B last Saturday night spontaneously dropping her dacks and showing the girls her lime green Motley Crue knickers - and I thought I was the terrible exhibitionist...

Lovely weekend

Made the trip beachside yesterday to see Aunty B and Biz's new pad. Talk about location - these savvy returned-from-OS-but-not-yet-settled-down-into-the-9-5-grind folk have sublet a fabbbo flat from friends who are away. The view is slap bang of one of Sydneys most famous beaches, and this morning we amused ourselves with watching people exercise at the little beachside 'playground' for adults (funny bars that you do chin ups and pushups on if you are so inclined. I'm not).

Had a lovely walk along the beach and cliffs, which was great at first until my mild hangover (yah to house parties with spontaneous and enthusiastic loungeroom dancing!!) kicked in, making me feel a wee bit tired and flakey. Yah to the little kiosk at the end of our walk which provided much needed coffee. Bumped into a friend who was up from Melbourne for the weekend, who I had thus far failed to make proper coordinated catch up plans to see despite trying - who should be sitting watching the waves at the beach after staying beachside at his friends too?? Talk about synchronicity.

Then Aunty B picked up the local carshare car and we whizzed over to the inner west to vist Merry Risa, C-Chan and E-chan. Baby is bigger and more alert than the first time we met - after all he was only in day 3 and still coming to terms with having been born! Today he showed off his very clever neck control, gave the merest hint of a cheeky smile, and demonstrated great abs with a bout of hiccups and projectile vomit on dad's shoulder. Very cute indeed, these two aunties got a wee bit clucky. I can't beleive it's been 5 weeks already. I hope to have a longer catch up soon and fancy taking a flex to hang out and hear all the stories and share briefly the experience of life with bub. Maybe I can make soup!

Feeling like there are not enough hours to go around though as another weekend rolls around where I didn't catch mum on the phone for a chat, didn't see Mountainspice and her new bub, and on the home front didn't do any grocery shopping or washing whatsoever (mmm welcome interesting work outfits this week!), let alone other life admin. One of the obvious downsides of life with 25 hours of weekly commute (not counting weekends). Hmmm. Time for a rethink?

There were some nice things about being up here this week - did have the first meeting of an artists group that a friend has set up, and had another friend offer me space in her garden to grow vegies in a community garden style set up. Very hard to leave behind cool things like that. More on the artists group later and on finding local life drawing buddies who may be up for regular Saturday sessions, going someway towards making me feel better about the Tuesday group I can no longer attend because of work.

Website of the week

Thanks Georgie for sending this link, which conveniently is now my Website of the Week!

Great project where a woman undertook to wear the same brown dress every day for a year as a statement against the high-consumption, high-expense, highly-superficial, highly dislocated from the people who actually make it, world of fashion in the modern consumer capitalism.

She is now commmittingto only wear things that she has made from recycled fabrics, for a whole year, which I think is excellent and reminds me of this website that Angel posted on Making Groovy Things a while back.

I like the idea of making a committment for a period of time to not buy any new clothes - partly for the actual impact of reduced resource consumption but mostly just to 'question the unquestionable' (as Alex of Little Brown Dress fame described it). Anything that people say 'oh but how could you possibly???' tends to sound like a challenge to me. 'How could you possibly go without nice juicy steaks when they're to tasty?' 'How could you possibly go without a mobile phone / tv / partner / life plan?' Erm, quite easily. I guess the attraction for me is to explore that line between habit/convention and choice, and where possible to feel like the things I choose I am actually choosing, not just doing because 'you're meant to'. Just for my own satisfaction and interest.

As for the practicalities of not buying new for a year (/2 months/4 months / 6 months), it might require me to finally get my shit together and learn to sew (or at least alter things). I would need a better button collection than I have right now, and I would possibly cheat and buy a bundle of stockings, knickers and bras at the start of the year. I could see some fun paint your own Tshirt arvos (Mr Micool has been doing some funky shirts recently).

One idea I've had for a while which I thought could be fun is an outfit (or accessory) swap party. A bit like the tuppaware model but without any actual selling. Could be good at the start of a season, you could each bring 4 things along that you're well and truly sick of and never care if you see again - swapperoo - bob's your uncle, you are the owner of some new funky garments. Sizing could be tricky, if you were all quite different siezes each person would have less to choose from. That's one of the reasons that I was thinking that an acccessory swap could be better. Both options could also be linked to some 'refashioning' - beads and thread and paint and stencils and some people who can actuallly alter things.... And cake, it would have to involve cake and tea. Anyway, just an idea. You could bring money too and donate it to some actually needy cause- reinvesting wisely the dosh that you might otherwise spend on an impulse purchase. Anyone keen?

Super - thanks for asking

Have I ever mentioned just how much I like going to my local supermarket late at night? Quite a bit. Which is lucky, really, given that my window of opportunity for weekday shopping is often at 10.30pm getting off a train and on the way home and realising that I need kitty litter / cat food/ apples/ TP/ chocolate other random but suddenly crucial item. Why do I like it? Well, it's like a little party of shelf stackers, and like the supermarket has gone all scifi grunge and industrial with mega boxes and pallets and trays on wheels all piled up obscuring aisles, creating zany obstacle courses and hidey holes. And the shelf stackers are all friendly and smiley and talk to me about cat food or offer to help me find things (which I confess was once too helpful when I was crampy and grumpy and looking for tampons and really couldn't deal with having to explain the dimensions and materials and brand trifecta that I was looking for).

I like the fact that other people are in there shopping too. Many off beat characters, like cab drivers buying roast chickes, urchiny school holiday kids buying softdrinks, or very single looking men lurking in front of the tofu fridge, or tonight - my new favourite - a bearded bejumpered mountainy looking man squatted down with basket of soy milk and chocolate looking through the matchbox cars, meticulously, in such a way that there was no mistaking this for gift shopping.

I love that the fruit and veg guy went into the cold room and went through the 12 pallets of yet to be unpacked veg and found me the lemons. They were under the potatoes apparently. It took him nigh on 10 minutes and I just wanted a single lemon. You know, to urgently garnish my tagine for lunch tomorrow. He was very good about it. Friendly actually.(Maybe this is unnatural and they are all on some kind of shelf stacking mood enhancing drugs??)

So yah, yah to late night flouros and strangely chirpy strangers. Oh and to my tagine - smell that cinnamin, taste those plump little raisins, imagine how those chickpeas will taste...it is on the stove right now and smells just fab.

Delays and the gift of fellow passengers

Well it’s been fun and games on the train this week, with delays due to attempted (one hopes only attempted) suicide further down the line meaning power outage and no movement from the station and then a few days later due to electrical faults on carriages requiring us to be pushed down the hill by a second train dispatched especially for the job. Mmmm- confidence inspiring! Delayed an hour and a half in total on those 2 trips. Starts to sound like b*shit when you sprout some new wacky train story as you slink in late to work.

However, let it be noted that generally I have nothing but fabulous things to say about the country trains I catch daily to get myself between work and home. After all the interiors are the same stuffed-spanish-olive green as several of my favourite jackets, they are rather plumply stuffed, they are cosy and almost always safe feeling. I like them. I like it when I get on board and find my spot and sink into day dreaming, napping, writing, drawing, reading, knitting, or doing office work. It’s like a mobile study/armchair, where no one but the most chatty drunk or lonely old person will interrupt your musing out the window. Even that’s ok.

Early in the week an older woman was fascinated by the flow diagram I was scribbling away at (hyeah, coz it was so interesting) and asked was that how I organised all my thoughts / solved problems. I thought that was cute, and answered that no, it wasn’t, that this was for work, and that it was a way of capturing how I saw a system, to see if other people also saw it the same way, and for us to figure things out better together. She went on to tell me about a friend of hers who needs a lot of emotional support at the moment, and how it makes her tired. I asked if she had anyone that was easy to be around, that nurtured her too, and she told me about her elderly gentleman friend, who sounded like an absolute sweet heart. We found ourselves having quite an honest conversation about suffering and support, having actual eye contact, and meaning what we said. She went back to her reading, a little book of inspiring quotes. Before we slid into Central Station – the end of the line – she asked if I would like to pick a reading from the book.

I love that random act of kindness and intimacy that you sometimes share with strangers with whom you are thrown together by chance. I thanked her and opened the page at random and read two quotes which I liked so much I asked if I could copy them down into my notebook. She seemed pleased by that. She thanked me for having talked with her. I wrote them down, it seemed to take ages, and by the time I was done we had stopped at Central and it was time to leave. I left her to head off to Bondi for a goodbye party for an exchange student, and me to head off to the office - slightly late, as ever, slightly dazed by the city, as ever, and feeling just a little bit more tender and open hearted as a result.

In train

‘Don’t you get sick of dealing with pussies?’ giggles the middle age lady with frosted hair. I’m guessing she means wimps. ‘You big girls’ she says in a fake tough voice.
There are four women, they are moving their suitcases and arranging themselves. They have lollies. They are talking about their elderly mothers and the absence of home visits from doctors these days.

Guess whose got the biggest bag? Coral
Guess whose got the second biggest bag?
Yes but yours is fat and ours is narrow.
I thought I had a bigger one too but I couldn’t find it and I thought ‘oh bugger it’
Maybe we can have coffee at central

Have you heard about the new trains they have planned for the central coast?
You get a carriage, you put it on the line, you join it to a carriage and it goes!
Why don’t they just get the same thing?
Because they’re idiots!

Mine usually lives in my bag.
Mine lives on the kitchen table.
Yes mine always lives in my bag – because we don’t have any reception inside the house.
Well how would I get hold of you if I need you?

Is it hot in here?
Ooh, I’m going to have to take my blouse off! (I have a singlet on underneath)

They look like their faces have seen some serious things, but that this is tempered by a dry sense of humour. Firey, determined women, who will swear if annoyed – call people dickhead. Who will be indignant and ask people ‘what’s going on?’ here in the middle of a delay. Women with short hair and big bottoms in sensible jeans. Women with a touch of pink lippy to match a pink jumper. A pursed mouth sucking on a sweet ball of fruit flavoured sugar.

In the café
The waiter is distracting. He is muscular and pierced, has smooth brown skin and the tiniest, rudest tuft of hair just beneath his bottom lip. He looks like he has Slavic, maybe Russian ancestors. He has disarming brown eyes. A nice ear tunnel, maybe some other metal, I have not taken exhaustive stock take. He wears a few hints at music, of drug culture, of being part of a tight group of men – a design on his black top, a hood, a certain way of walking swiftly with confidence. He squats to take out order. He comes across as grounded and relaxed, easy going, competent. He comes across all this, but maybe, just maybe, with a high frequency buzz behind all this – a buzz of potential energy, like he is also capable of great movement. This is distracting.


In train
There is a delay. Electrical problems on a carriage. We stop, and they call in an electrician. The announcements in the carriage are muffled and only just grammatically correct. They are vague. An elderly woman starts to talk slowly and bitterly about missing her specialist appointment. The girl with a weak chin sitting next to her says ‘and I will probably be late for work’.

Mooning

Yes it's a full moon tonight and she's looking lovely out my window. Scary that it is dark at just after 5pm. That's winter for you. Enjoy la luna.

Quote quota

Watched Bleak House (the tellie series on the ABC based on the story by Dickens)at a friends place Sunday night. Love the quote ‘I have no aptitude for work!’ – might wheel that one out and deliver in a haughty manner next time someone’s looking for extra people for a project. I’m sorry - I simply have no aptitude for work. So much better suited to a cup of tea and some nice moody staring out the window in lace gloves.

Things not to write at work (Part 1)

I am having an ongoing private joke at all the typos my random /Freudian fingers spill out into reports that the spellchecker (or worse, the quality assurance person who edits things) finds. I wish we could leave them all in, for a touch of the absurd in otherwise fairly straightforward documents… Those who have read this blog a few times will know that I favour off the cuff over immaculate spelling: call me a product of the laid back 1980’s schooling system (“just write it how you think it should be written!”) and proud.

For example? I love discovering that I have written‘pubic’ rather than ‘public’. As in ‘It may be beneficial to hold a pubic meeting’, or ‘the importance of consulting with the general pubic’ (just what exactly would that consultation look like?).

A new one was ‘magnetisable’ rather than ‘monetisable’ (seriously, who ever started using the term ‘monetisable’ anyway? It strikes me as the most nobbish, econo-dork word ever. Only slightly beating ‘disbenefit’ as my favourite stupid word of the month*). Yes, this benefit was ‘magnetisable’ using a calculation of avoided cost. Oh yes, we just ran a big piece of copper over it or something and made it into a magnet – isn’t it great? (‘Huh? Says client.)

*Why do I hate disbenefit as a word? Well how about saying ‘impact’? How about ‘negative impact’? How about ‘causing harm’?. No offense to anyone who is peer pressured into using the word in a legitimate work context, but a big ‘HELLO – what were you thinking?’ to whoever first put it into circulation.

A proper sensible grown up woman

I have just read my last posts aghast, embracing th edawning realisation that I have temporarily been inhabited by the ghost of Brigitte Jones: ‘ooooh, I think he likes me!’ ‘oh he’s asked me out and I don’t know if I like him back’, ‘ooooh, what will I do??’.

Yes I hear you, and it sounds to me like “boo hoo…” (A Smack the Pony reference which works as a general put-down, for those of you who used to watch that particularly wonderful off-the-wall UK comedy).

I’m sure proper sensible grown up women have more important things to think and talk about. As Virginia Wold once said ‘all the time that women spend looking in the mirror – they could learn Greek’ – a quote I have never been able to properly source (if anyone can help me?) but love nonetheless. So true! It makes me want to hang those drapey scarves over the old looking glass and take up language lessons toot sweet. She’s so right. Imagine all the useful things I could be doing when I am wasting valuable minutes worrying about boofy hair or a regrettable pimple? Let alone the minutes wasted being spineless deciding what I feel about a potential shag.

So. No more boring as bat-shit date angst posts I promise. Unless they’re chock full of high passion and excitement and make good reading!

Things not to say at work (Part 1)

You say:
“So this morning – I woke up with my head on someone’s shoulder!”
(no response – blank, slightly worried looks)
“Well, like this far from someone’s shoulder”
“A stranger’s shoulder..”
“Who luckily was asleep too”
(still nothing)
“..On the train, when I woke up – I was resting on a stranger who was also asleep…”

They say:
“OH! Aah. I thought you were telling us you had news”

You say:
“Oh noooo! No, no. On the train – oh God, did forget to say that bit?”
and cringe and slink away to kitchen to make tea.

Oh and speaking of pirates

How good is this up and coming pary theme - pirates, punk, prostitutes and piercings. I like it. I'm seeing lots of black and white stripes, lacy bits, low bodices, buckle-y boots and drinking out of the bottle. Gotta love a dress up partay. Does anyone have any specific costumiery advice? Just let me know.

Also, one last thing about last night's movie. Have you seen it? If so, how rocking was the sultry magic woman up the tree house? Not only sexy as all get out (gotta love slippery silver teeth), but I'm loving the real estate choice. I want to live up a ladder, with a mistry swamp full of people looking mystic and holding candles. As Betty Sue suggested as we debriefed after the movie (not literally, I wasn't giving my pirate knickers away to anyone!), you could call in advance: 'hello, yeah, it's me. Listen, I'll be home in about an hour - could you light the candles for me and get into formation in the swamp? Yeah, cheers.'

I want to swagger about in a big black layered bosomy frock and throw crabs claws to divine the future. Not a lot of jobs going though for magic women these days, and I would be ever so slightly scared of alligators nibbling at my toes on the way to the front door, so maybe it's not such a hot idea.

Carribean, critics and call back

Saw the pirate movie last night, yes wearing my new knickers at the same time, very accessorised movie watching. Lost my pedometer for THE SECOND TIME (ie lost my second pedometer). I hope it has fun hanging out with the woollen shawl, fluffy gloves, pale brown scarf, travellers mug and memory stick that I have also lost so far this year in transit. Woops. Apart from that it was fun to go with a gaggle of girls who all either squirmed and squealed in the scary bits or laughed salaciously at any passing double entendres. Busy working women from all sides of metro syd, in various stages of house rennos, partnership, swinging singledom, united briefly by the magnetising pull of a certain actor in kohl. Mmmmm.

This afternoon I went into a bookshop on the main street to see whether the note I slipped under the door in the week, requesting that a book from the window be put on hold for me till Saturday, had worked. He found the book and then pulled out my note with a flourish, looking over his half glasses, fingers sticking out of fingerless gloves. " 'Dear Brian, I pass your shop early every morning on the way to the train' - Well I didn't really need to know that did I?" he says cheerfully, like a classics tutor checking my translations of Dante and relishing the finding some sloppy work.
" .." I said back - gobsmacked.
" 'I saw the Fritjop Capra in the window, and have been looking for a copy for a while...' and I didn't really need to know that either..' he said, chirpily, as I stand there wishing he'd just sell me the frigging book and shut up.
"..You can't handle your ink" he informs me, and I am miffed that he has used such a good line, which I have never heard before but wish I'd made up, and annoyed that he's said it about me, and annoyed that it is very likely true. After all, I do tend to gush ink liberally, regularly cross the 'too much information' line, am a bit of a two Bic screamer etc., but WHO IS HE to tell me so??
"'..Could you put it on hold for me..blah blah.. phone number..(mumblemumble).'" he reads.
" 'Message only?'" he remarks, reading the last little freckle of my note which I had put in brackets next to the number in an attempt to communiate the fact that no one would answer said phone number. "What does that mean?"
"Well you don't really need to know, do you?" I say, meaning, I'm here, I have the book now, and he laughs, his little yes crinkled behind glasses, framed by a fire engine red cap and English schoolboy cheeks.
"Oh yes, very good. Touche!"

I make the most of the temporary win and run away before we start in some surreal haiku-off or he talks to me about a school of philosphoy which makes my brain hurt. Brian is not someone you want to get into a conversation with on a sleepy Saturday before you've had breakfast.

Speaking of phone messages, had another one from date guy re catch up options. On the one hand feel like I should applaud his persistence and proactive approach, maybe loosen up, be open minded and get to know him better.. but also thinking I wish he would meet some nice chicken enthusiast and stop calling me. Feeling all confused now about what I'm doing and why. Friend's parner asked me this arvo 'Do you not like him, or do you like him too much and you're scared?'. Ah, um..? Neither? Um, scared of waking up next week with a serious boyfriend and a life mapped out in front of me, and it could be him. Scared that I could slide into something out of laziness and lack of ability to say no to lunch dates. Scared I might talk myself into it out of bowing to convention ('oh well, he's niiice, he'd be ok' says my sensible inner voice). Aware that I might pass up this (or other) good sensible propositions waiting for some ellusive spark and synchronicity which may not exist. Just, you know, generally confused.

in train

Missed train and having to wait a spectacular 50 minutes!! Yes given that they come hopurly this is quite a feat. Decided that I couldn't bear to sit in the hard lights of the felaffal shop drinking muddy short blacks and syrupy backlava and risking deep conversations about friendship, divorce and children with the staff so instead slinked down the road to an internet cafe to tidy my hotmail inbox. felt like a goober when had to confess to workmates who I was walking with that I had completely failed to think about the time before teh central clock lomed in front of my face and I realised my mistake. oops.

Today podmates and self spontaneously wasted valuable minutes taking photos of us in formation pulling stupid monster faces. Aaaah, glad to see being an official grown up has resulted in such maturity and depth.

Aharr me hearties these be me spunky pantaloons

Well knock me down with a feather. I had NO IDEA that I needed pirate underpants in my life until I just this very minute got a pair in the post. How on earth have I survived till now without them?? Seriously, I was so excited I held them up and made them do a little jiggly dance. Speaking of which, at least now when I dance on the boardroom table* in my knickers it will be a funky affair, not featuring any of those daggy end-of-the-wash-cycle faded black ones with the dingy elastic, or worse still the lilac ones grandma gave me last Christmas.

Perhaps these could even be my new (theoretically, abstractly, symbolically speaking) scoring knickers?

*Not actually planning on doing this, natch. Unless a lot of red wine and a wager is involved and someone else suggests it first. Metaphore for life's risks etc.

what doesn't kill us..

...makes us stronger?

I did a scary thing on Friday- sent some writing in to a 'thing'(thing being not a competition per say, but to a writers centra that offers several week live in fellowships to successful candidates). Have never done that before. Was rather petrifying. Just compiling the pieces into one spot and getting ready was a bit scary but mostly a delight. The actual posting the actual thing into the actual post box felt hyper ridiculous and terrifying. It was like deciding at my Monday team meeting that the temperature was a little hot, so spontaneously stripping down to my knickers and then doing a little nudie dance on the board room table. That's what it felt like - slightly absurd and very intimate.

But goood, right? Good to extend out into the territory of what doesn't quite feel comfortable, good to feel a little nervous but do something anyway. And anyway, Monday's meetings can be so boring, maybe a little knicker dancing wouldn't be such a bad thing.

___

Also, on the topic of brave things, rang date boy and told him that my life is really too busy to fit in much else. But in a nice way. We may still go see punk bands together on occasion. I was very relieved to make it clear that this wont be a regular, frequent thing. I look forward to not getting weekly phone suggestions to catch up which I have no hope of fitting in and really not all that much inclination to prioritise over catching up with sleep /family / old friends/ hobbies / hanging out with my cat time /housework. Feel like it was a mini breakup but we only ever went on one date!! Maybe this is the danger of dating people in their late 30's(I think he's 38) - the settling-down clock ticks quite loudly.

Mind you he is a genuinely nice guy if anyone out there is interested(hmm, perhaps I am more in the market to match make rather than be match made?). For example, he has a sick chicken at the moment so is giving her a hot water bottle at night. How sweet is that??

Knit in!

Hey hey, the winter event that we've all been waiting for. There will be a knit-in for Timor in the Blue Mountains on Sunday 30th July. All interested folk are invited to come along and help knit jumpers for children or knit blanket squares. there will be experienced knittters giving help and lessons for those in need.

See 'making groovy things' for more info.

Why, what a lovely purse you've got there!

Yes, I bought myself a rather dashing purse at the Winter Magic Festival. Zip up jobby, big enough for cards and a few keys and cash. Have decided that grown up walllets are all rather passe and that it's time to regress delightfully to being six again.

Mine has a girl riding a kangaroo on it (go figure, but it works for me).
Here are other pictures by the artist (scroll down). She sells make-up bags, purses, posters etc. Contact her direct for your very own funky purse.