Freaky Friday

It's Friday!

Slaved away the working week, minimum wage makes life so cheap!

LIBERATED!

When I was a young waaaarrrthog!

Well as all of you who read this know, I am single. What has fascinated me since this period of lone ranger style existence entered my life was how utterly tweaked some lesbians are. After years in Brisbane and meeting all sorts around the way, I am surprised to know that the diversity and spectrum of human existence can be summed up in gay culture. There are the needy ones, the obsessive, the sexual, the friend that is no longer a friend, the ex, the ex’s friends, the ex’s ex’s friends, the old ex’s the ones your yet to meet and that one night stand at the Beat that you never live down and she somehow NEVER loses your number and she is the girl who is sweet at the time but will knife you when the bar tender talks to you because ‘I thought you were with meeeeee.!’

Now this is in no way fair, scientific or based on anything other than experience and personal opinion, so suck it up out there and deal with that fact if you are gay, your relationships will 9/10 end messy, you may be cheated on and during the course of your gayness I am sure there is that one guy that just ‘does something for me’.

But what is etiquette? Is there a mourning period? Is there a ‘my body is a temple’ moment where you become like the new age Ghandi and Confucius and start spurting out meaningful Asian proverbs or provide advice to friends on how yoga and meditation will bring out the demons and eliminating peas and ‘nasties’ from your diet help improve your emotional well being...FUCK THAT.

There is no point to this, I am just surprised at the deranged people out there and how lucky that through my cosmic bouncing around the gay solar system I have managed to find some semblance of sanity in myself and the people who I surround myself with. As remember you can always be ‘that girl’ or that ‘the one who went nuts’ and I would like to maintain as much dignity in the end, as I did in the start. Standards are not something that a broken heart effects, and the person who did it isn’t to blame. If you have your heart broken at all, thank your lucky stars you know what it is you lost; otherwise you have wasted another period of time parked at the planet that is showing no signs of organic life. And god bless psychos, because without them, how else would I look good???

Should I feel Dirty?

I needed to address the following concern of mine I had. I am not sure if I am like many people in this situation, or merely the minority, I am definitely assuming I am the first of the two options. Now, it is something that plagued me late on Saturday night while kicking back with a friend trying to nurse the excruciating hangovers we self-induced the night before, we sat down to watch Tears of the Sun, the Bruce Willis and Monica Bellucci film on Channel 9. Now, it was by accident we ended up watching this film not from any desire of our own, but as the opening credits started and the quiet African village foretold the story we were about to be exposed to, it looked like quite the film, however more than likely involving a series of horrible human rights tragedies and Bruce kicking some serious African rebel butt.

Now with most Bruce Willis films, there is lots of action, little dialogue and an ample amount of breast and blood. The film Tears of the Sun took us to those places in every aspect. The only short fall it had was that the film itself was about African genocide, so when the scene comes on of a village under attack from a swarm of Rebels committing atrocities, and it cuts to Monica Bellucci running through the carnage in a low cut singlet with heaving sweaty breasts, I felt a little dirty. One, I was staring at her boobs, two, I was staring at them while this massacre was going on in the background and was completely torn as to whether I was being inappropriate for staring, or it was the intention of the director to be looking at the breasts rather than the small children being murdered. I felt it really distracted from the whole heaviness of the movie.

Now after a few more of these scene flash before me, I turn to my friend during a quiet mountain landscape scene and comment ‘Hmm, did you see her tits in that scene??!’ to which she replies ‘Yeh I know!’ and we both agreed after that point that the only reason we remained silent was because it made us feel both uncomfortable to comment on such a spectacular site juxtaposed against something clearly horrific.

So, that is really it. What are we supposed to do? Should I feel like I am dirty for staring at boobs during something so violent, or, on the other side of the coin, am I merely a victim of product placement and sexual appeal oozed into Bruce Willis films?

The latter. I am the victim of the assault of breasts to distract from the fact that these events actually happened and she was chosen for her breasts and slight accent which pours through her speeches like a fine wine!

Just as some evidence, Monica Bellucci during the film...

Sea Monkeys: Dream Pets?

Sea Monkeys – Dream Pets?

A sea monkey! I know, many of you out there are probably wondering what this marvellous creature is, and how in fact will involving them in my lives change me? I too pondered the same thing one lonely work day and decided to investigate the world in which sea monkeys live. Although, sometimes you don’t always need to answers to all your questions and when I Googled ‘Sea Monkeys’ and carelessly opened a few tabs of information, I was actually amazed and how much was dedicated to this little creature commonly referred to as the ‘dream pet’.

My first impressions of a sea monkey were, limited to none. I had no impression. I don’t even know anyone who has sea monkeys. I did however know a boy in primary school that had quite the collection and due to this tenuous thread I feel I am more than an authority on the subject after 15 minutes of labour intensive research. My understanding of sea monkeys were that they were dots, in a plastic container, that had water and came from a packet similar to what you would find Pop Rocks in. But did you know that Sea Monkeys can impress friends? When I looked on a website titled subtley Sea Monkey Worship, I found out that Sea Monkeys not only make people calmer around you, and I quote:

‘Many professionals believe that fish and other marine animals make people feel calmer! If you bring your Sea-Monkeys to the office this might just help you with your busy day!’

Oh how delightful the ambience would be with a pet that you can literally ‘put in a glass jar, plastic container, anything you find around!’ Now I was truly intrigued, and thought to myself
‘Now if I had sea monkeys what cool facts could I impress my friends with?’ WELL, the website had all the answers to my questions. Sea Monkeys breathe through their feet! And are also born with one eye, that grows into 3 as they get older. Now this both shocked and amazed, but how, might I ask, are we supposed to verify these facts with a pet that is no bigger than this full stop.

Although, amazingly enough Sea Monkeys impact people’s lives just as much as the household dog.

“They are female I think cause they have a big red lump like sack on their backs. They both mated with a guy and shortly after died on the bottom of the tank. I thought feeding them every 3 days was enough so I don't know if that’s’ the problem. But I'm sad...what happened?”

I know, it’s tough...

Actually, I have to be honest. I am now extremely disturbed because I have come across a section of, wait for it, a section of poetry and haiku’s dedicated to Sea Monkeys, and a sample:

“My sea monkeys are alive right now.
But I'm running out of food for them.
I bet they never even liked that green stuff anyway.
The first one that died was eaten by the rest.
Soon there will be only one left.
And it will slowly waste away.
My sea monkeys refuse to breed.
I think they are the last of a forgotten race.
That is on the highway to extinction.
My last sea monkey died today.
Because it found out"SEA MONKEY FOOD IS PEOPLE!!"

I am not even going to sample more because they disturb me.

But sometimes questions don’t need to be answered. What started out as simple fun led to Haiku’s about sea monkeys, some really odd ones. But I will leave this fabulous question up to you; Sea Monkey: Dream Pet or Dream Threat?

Just as a reference, for more Sea Monkey madness, please check the following link http://www.seamonkeyworship.com/smvideos.html
Or to tickle your curiosity please visit http://www.sea-monkey.com/html/aboutsm/whatarethey.html

Hoons at Macca's

Something has come to my attention again, that ever since I was young enough to know what was going on, I have detested. I remember the days of the late night Macca’s runs with mates. It’s 11pm on a school night and coming from a country town, the only thing open was Macca’s and we would drive all the way into town for our cheeseburger just for something to do. We weren’t the only people with this idea however, yet we were the sensible ones who used McDonald for its intended godly purpose, as a supplier of food and not an automotive centre for 15 yr old girls and 25 yr old guys with crap ford lasers converted into the latest ‘hoon’ machine.

Exhibit A:

Now I live in a wonderful area known for its 24 hours McDonalds. Being close to huge a sporting ground also tends to work against us when late night crowds flood McDonalds, but without fail, EVERYTIME I have been there, I have witnessed at least 3 cars, with 3-4 people, hoods open, bling on, stereo’s pumping. I know everyone has their hobbies, but who when they were young said ‘I know! As my hobby I am going to pump my piss poor stereo at McDonalds because there is nothing more I would like more.’

This may be harsh; it also may be overwhelmingly true, which it is of course. I challenge you all to go down to your local Macca’s and count how many 15 yr old girls with their older boyfriends are lined up with Macca’s coke in hand, doof doofing the night away.

Freedom of Art

I found this fascinating just stumbling around the world wide web.

This is what Brazillian Graffiti artists did in repsonse to the Governement 'decriminalizing' graffiti, they painted all over an actual gallery, over the prints, the walls, the floors. Both acknowledging the value of graffiti as an art form and not just the value of the property it is placed on. But in contrast, Graffiti artists have hit back saying that doing this is the 'marketing, institionalization and domestication of Street Art'. In Brazil the term Graffiti comes from the word Grafite in Portugese, not only refers to the hip hop tradition of writing, but more specifically graphics, colourful peices and painted street art.

I love the statement. I am in awe of it.

penny for your thoughts

RUNNING LIKE A FUGITIVE

idiosyncrasies

Whether you call it an obsession, an irritation, an annoyance or just generally a neurotic bout of OCD everybody has a ‘habit’. The idiosyncrasies which define you, shape you, isolate you or just generally confront you in social situations. To my friends, I am a self confessed sufferer of many subtle and absurd eccentricities which often leave some people guessing, and me just shrugging my shoulders.

To start with, and this may take some time because the passion I feel on this subject is equal the rage it induces in me.
Loud Eaters.

Simple words that boil my blood. I fall victim to this fate often, ever since the days of sitting at the family dinner table next to my loyal father who never took a bite without a loud puffing of breath, or a slight, ever so gentle scrape across the fork. Since the dawn of time this enrage me to the point that I was banned from loud public outburst to people with poor table manners and eating etiquette that I would forcible remove myself from the situation to calm my nerves.
Last night however was one of the most brutal assaults on my ears in history. Bless my housemates, for the fact she snacked on a cob of corn while watching Antique Roadshow, but she did so with the abandon that no-one was in the room...But I was. One of the quietest shows on television and a cob of corn. It started with a bite; I was immediately driven to distraction, then a slurp with a chew. No-one can eat corn quietly I tell myself and set about trying to sooth my nerves. I fail. By the time I gather the courage to leave the room my eye is twitching in rage and I am literally shivering in my room remembering the way it sounded.

Now this may seem exaggerated to you, but I kid not. In a quiet room, I also fall victim to a crippling embarrassment that comes with eating in front of people, for fear in fact that my own chewing will sound like the chewing I so desperately hate. I even go to the point, that my favourite snack food (pretty much plain smiths chips due to various reasons), I will sit quietly, put the chip in my mouth and hope that somehow, I have enough saliva in my mouth that the chips rough texture will be softened and when I finally bite into the chip, it is merely a smoosh, rather than the obnoxious chomp.

Another of these strange annoyances that plagues me is also the use of load packaging in a movie theatre. I know a very lovely girl, who despite best intentions of getting herself the best movie snack ever, somehow ALWAYS would end up with a packet of Nerds rattling between the pink and the purple while the heart break scene of some Germany war drama flashes on the screen. I would not be surprised to find this particular noisemaker with the packet of tic tacs during a minute silence ‘freshening her breath’ or satisfying the latest sugar binge that over took her.

Somehow I must not reveal all my weaknesses, so a few of the more...sensitive ones I will keep to myself. But last, but most of all not least, if my absolute inability to have music blaring loudly while stopped at lights/give way signs/parking or drive throughs. Much to my constant terror, friends have picked up on this phobia and now threaten me during long car trips with blaring music at awkward pauses in the road.

I guess the point of this was to share, but also to understand that we all have very unique habits, eccentricities, almost superstitions which for no other reason than it tweaked us, we respond in completely irrational and socially awkward ways. Please feel free to share anything so I do not come across this page as such a freak. But hey, Virginia Wolf that raging alcoholic, I think she had it right.

“When a subject is highly controversial... one cannot hope to tell the truth. One can only show how one came to hold whatever opinion one does hold. One can only give one’s audience the change of drawing their own conclusions as they observe the limitations, the prejudices and the idiosyncrasies of the speaker”...

SO... here’s to getting to know ME!

Invictus

This was merely to share...


William Ernest Henley. 1849–1903

7. Invictus

OUT of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.


In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.


Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.


It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.



*no timothy mcviegh connection intended...

Ch-Ch-Ch-Chaaaaaanges

Decisions decision decisions. Never one of my strong points in fact, I am severely hindered by the constant drone of both perspectives which often clouds what I really think of my own. It can be disorientating getting lost in the deluge of other people’s lives and opinions. Although as with most people I know, advice is asked for merely as a way for the mind to unravel itself out loud, which is why coffee with friends seems to be such an effective way to alleviate the mind of pressure. We are given both sides of the coin, often more sides of the coin that can possibly exist and from there we stitch, sow and discard the scraps and come up with our wonderfully formed idea that you can credit as being purely your own.

I have undertaken a path of great uncertainty lately, tainted with the inability to make any decisions! I quested over an eternity of thoughts only to come up feeling less sure of anything than I was before. Then my Nan died and it all sort of changed. My perception of the fragility of life again was pushed to the forefront and I thought ‘If not now, then when?’ Will I stall my own life so I succumb to the self imposed pressures of a life that doesn’t seem to fit me? Should I consider the other people in my life that may be effected y this change? Then I thought, simply and truly, no. I have done that all my life and I am always left clinging to myself at the edge of the cliff while everyone forges on across the bridge they built to move on. I suffocate myself with consequences that I have been too afraid to do anything.

Then it changed. No man is an island, but every day of your life you may be in an ocean of people but like the wretched wave none of them will pause and stop breaking upon your shore for you to continue your adventure. No the wave will break and break upon your shore like the thousand years of rain which carve the crevices into the earth, and soon line your face with all their weary.

So we adapt, we change, we make decisions, we make up our minds. In the totality of finally reaching a decision I have stitched the hole you tore right through me, and this life has slowly etched away at each hapless string that frayed from the wound. I am whole, and I take each string and forged them back together with the resolution that life goes on. And somewhere in that vast great world I will find the niche where I can slip you in safely without having to unravel the stitching and change will sweep over me with each wave I refuse to succumb to.

Stuff and Nonsense

You may not notice, but I do. I always notice it all. I see all the little pauses, the space between your breaths. I hear it hammer out like the Morse code instructions to unravel me. Everything that you were had been carefully programmed unknowingly into my sponge like mind and now what to do when something doesn’t compute? I don’t know what that awkward glance is anymore. I don’t know where your mind trails off on its journey before plunging you into sleep. It is in all those little things that make me stumble, that make me pause and hold my breath at the corner to see whether the rise of this hill will make me fall, or whether it will be the next chapter in Odysseus where I can travel away from you.

Although all this I say silently to myself in my head as my iPod drums away into my ears and aligns with each falling step. All this rushes past me with the stench of the cigarette I just lit and the sense of it leaves me with each toxic breath that I spew back out. Always there is only the vague glimmer these days, only the pang occasionally when I pass the place where that joke was made, or watch the ad that had us both in stitches. And then when I know you are with her. I look down at my hands and see the sweat start to bead from each and every poor like the rage I want to seep out and blacken my tongue with. But I don’t, I pause, good girls don’t cry and I am far too proud. I steady the smile and set the jaw, and pace ahead with a fever that only reality can burn through me.

Let it fill me and burn through me the only way real life can and I will feel this rage settle within my veins so soon it is as routine as the constant beating of this heart which prevails through you, through me, and every other mother fucker hell bent on my own personal destruction. I will collapse the structure of myself long before you can peak inside and know where to start.

Yet we evolve and mutate and settle into a new pattern of being and relating.

We must evolve, for without evolution there is no progression and I will be damned if I am stuck in the caves when you roll out the red carpet to the end of the world.

Fiona o'Laughlin: What NOT To Do In Public

Everyone has a rough time sometimes, and what we normally do is turn to some comical relief to try and ease some of those heavy burdens. But I recently found out what it’s like when the shoe is on the other foot and you see some real public meltdowns.

It was a Thursday night, geared up with a few drinks in my belly, a few friends and I stroll out looking for laughs to see Fiona O’Laughlin at QPac. After booking the tickets 6 weeks ago we were just alittle excited to see the action unfold tonight. After running slightly late we shuffle into our seats and sit down for the show. She comes out, making a wonderfully vague entrance. After the first 5 minutes of the show we were convinced her vagueness must have been due to maybe a late night after she excused it as ‘just waking up from a nap’...how professional, but we are seeing her for lack of professionality on stage, so we rolled with it. After 10 minutes, things started heating up with constant pausing, rants, and a stint where she lay down on a lounge on stage like we were watching Masterchief stoned on a Sunday night.

20 minutes in, and the first ticket holders leave, a few squeaks and gasps from the crowd start erupting as more people edge to the end of their seats to leave. As this point, she is clearly intoxicated and swallowed some Valium right before heading on stage and its finally kicked in. It was like watching someone have a midlife crisis on stage and was completely confronting. At the point where more people started to leave, she finally looks up from her drunken ramble and peers out through the lights, ‘What!? You’re leaving? Idiots!’. I look to my friend, pleading with her as we are completely unsure what to do. She gives me a reassuring look as says ‘If it gets worse, we will leave.’ At that point, she fell off the lounge onto the stage and microphone clangs, echoing through the already half empty theatre. It is at this point we cut our losses and rise to leave when the announcement comes on that the show will not go on.

I have never quite experienced something so bizarre as to literally watch a mind shatter so publicly, and in such a work environment. It was brought to mind again whilst the Morning Show announced that she had ‘Collapsed on stage and taken to hospital’. Which I guess in many ways is very true. I could have videotaped myself after half a bottle of tequila and made a better performance I’m sure. With all that said, we learn a vital lesson. When in doubt, go home. Nothing is more embarrassing than losing your mind publicly, and being drunk in a One Woman show. Although, much love to her, we went to see her because her life seems like such a mess it’s fun to laugh at someone else’s crap, so I guess now the show is on the other foot, what happens when the comedian isn’t laughing anymore?

In Instants of Loss

There are many times in life when we face situations which seem almost unparalleled in how difficult overcoming them seems. If I was to centre in on a particular aspect which causes these feelings it would most likely be that of loss. Now recently I have under gone many variations of the term ‘loss’. It actually seems to be some sort of never ending cycle to spiral you down in it. But it is times like these that you truly seem to grasp the essence for the reasons you mourn. Which I guess is the special part; I mean what is a bit of pleasure without being dragged through torture first?

Now in memory of many things, I write this. Many memories recently have been pushed to the forefront, many good memories I should stress. From the song my Nana used to sing to me when I went to sleep, to how I used to look forward to having my morning coffee at work so much, and now it just has slotted into another blistering routine.

Slowly but surely I watched someone lose their mind taking everything they ever held dear to them, to vanish with each breathe that surely would pass unnoticed. I feel that it is in moments like this it is our duty to remember them as only we knew them. It is our duty to remember for them when things won’t ever be recalled and in that we will take comfort. In those strands we still grasp and hold so tightly we wish to absorb them into ourselves forever, we take comfort in the loss of someone truly special to us.

Words are so often not enough, they tend to burn your mouth as they slip out and only the ash remains with your voice. I wish I could put my mind on paper properly. Not with clumsy words like this to try and convey that sometimes we lose things we can never replace, if I had to put a ‘common’ term to it, it is all those Mastercard ‘priceless’ moments, or the ‘kodak’ moments which happen for the instant that seems to last forever. We will always mourn, but to truly know what you have lost you have to look at all the great things that are the reasons you mourn in the first place.

I feel like I have entered some sort of emotional turmoil column but I had to send my love out somehow to those who I now so dearly miss. It is in every little moment you gave me that I will remember you in all the best moments of mine.

Scribble it down

So we end another day with the sun setting, while most of us day roaming-full time workers will only just realise the day actually existed, and the sun doesn’t rise and set when your computer comes off hibernate or not. I have stared today at this computer screen for what seems like an eternity and you wonder why kids are bored when there aren’t any LCD screens around. All we do, all we are trained to do, is use them. The reason we are so IT savvy is because all we have ever learnt is how to utilise this wonderful information technology. You know what? I want a fucking pen pal! I want to receive mail that isn’t in my hotmail inbox or from Telstra. I want someone to send me a postcard with millions of stamps all over it from its long windswept journey half way round the world.

I think there is something to be said when receiving physical mail. Even the way the pages smell (depending on what you getting and where it came from). Now the irony of this whole situation is, I sit here on the computer expressing my views through a blog. If I could mail it out to all my friends and have them read it I would, although, I am a product of my ‘now now now’ generation and want to click ‘send’ and know it will light up your screen at some stage in the next 10 seconds, rather than the next 10 days.

Remember how to write a letter? Remember when we got our pen licence in school? I even had a pen pal in school! She would send me lollies in weird packaging and novelty pens. Of course, at the time I completely under appreciated the sincerity and effort this involved but now, the way to my heart would be to send my lollies in strange wrappers, novelty pens, and all this written in your own hand so I can see when you made a mistake, scribbled out a few lines, doodled on the side of the page when the thoughts weren’t flowing as freely.

I think in a day and age of technology it seems harder and harder to convey true meaning and true desire through your hotmail, face book, text or email. There is something to treasure when someone’s hand has scrawled all over the page, the ink smudging their hand as they think of the thousand things they could write. Then we would really know what it’s like to miss and what it’s like to truly communicate in a very intimate way again. Maybe I am just crazy, or maybe I am thinking of revolting against my keyboard. Either way, I wish someone would send me a letter, because no matter how many emails you get, I just don’t think it equals your name handwritten on the envelope and the stamps that tattoo its freshness all addressed to you, knowing someone has taken the time and effort to write down their thoughts and feeling on a page for you, walked the 15 minutes to the nearest shops, bought the stamp and envelope and flicked it off for some crazed posty to take it my door. Now that is sweet sweet communication.