20 December 2010

Christmas is worse in London

Christmas is worse in London. I know because I used to live there. As soon as the weather drifts into that relentless crushing coldness, typified by low hanging clouds, unnaturally crisp and thick like in an 18th century painting, supermarkets across Britain seductively place festive-coloured chocolates at the start of the aisles and businesses make tentative arrangements for another potentially humiliating and shoulder-achingly awkward 'xmas' party.
For me, the clouds in England reflect the feelings of those (Londoners are not known for their subtlety when is comes to broadcasting grievances) who scurry beneath them. The heaviness of the times are mirrored in those giant ballooning puffs of clouds, obese yet sharp.

Christmas would be worse in London, I tell myself, trying on some seasonal optimism which still sounds cynical- obviously a remarkable achievement. It’s not that I’m a negative person or even hate Christmas, It’s just that I’m a not a member of an expansive brood who all come together at this time, leaving behind the routines of their normal life, shutting off all lines of communication par the Boxing day test Cricket. I can never decide whether I’m jealous of this fictional family I seem to have created in my mind for the sake of having something to hate, or whether I just genuinely hate boring families who consider themselves the epitome of all things interesting/healthy/happy/beautiful/Australian. Maybe I’ve read one too many Sunday Life magazines; spent too long gazing at glowing lean couples carrying curly-haired beachy kids on their hips with the effortless manner only someone who spends hours doing lateral pull downs and bench presses at the gym could pull off. I think I'm losing track of who I hate more...

In London, Christmas begins in October with the lights, and then come the trees in November and finally all the shopping, food arrangements for vegan sisters and travel planning send Londoners into a state of neurotic shock. At least in Australia there’s so much daylight at this time of year Christmas lights are ostensibly futile.

Christmas is like being in limbo, without work to keep your mind busy, and not totally looking forward to all the time spent with people you really don't know that well.
It also comes with its own set of expectations and the feeling that it serves as a sort of highly dysfunctional training course for my future life when I will become one of those lucky people with 2.5 kids and husband; the virtue of which will see my name scorched into history over any of my other life achievements- ones which don't involve reproduction or cooking. Deafening applause awaits the birth of my fist child…along with my own deafening screams as the little version of me ‘pops’ out of my hideously expanded vagina. But that's just worse-case-scenario if the drugs don't work.

27 September 2010

My namesake Lauren Bacall

Beautiful smoker!

22 August 2010

A memorable weekend



I thought I would post something today due to the unexpected events of the last 24 hours.

While the Australian parliament is hung, making most free-thinking intelligent voters ashamed to be Australian, Melbourne has taken a decidedly left-wing stance by putting up the green flags. A green oasis in a conservative xenophobic desert.
There she goes my beautiful world...
Also 2 people have killed themselves at a Belgian music festival, one of whom was the singer of Ou Est Le Swimming pool after performing by throwing himself off a telecommunications mast. I'm sure there's going to be some ignorant fuck fucks who blame this on drugs, trying to ruin it for the rest of us.

Also there is some talk of starting a new music website which is going to be fun. It'll kind of be like a blog, but with more structure.

In honour of that, here's a few musical thoughts of the day:

I really enjoyed listening to 'Wincing The Night Away' by The Shins while riding the train in the sun.
I'm listening to 'Abattoir Blues' for the first time. Shocking I know. I like it.

I'm still obsessed with Treme- in particular Davis Mcleary





And...I think Steven Tyler is sexy overload:



Maybe because he just looks like a pretty woman.

05 June 2010

BIG FAT Girl Crushes

Here are a few of my fave pics of hot girls. Yes most of them are British, which is no surprise really, because British girls really know how to push the boundaries.


I love how Mary-Kate Olsen shops at Whole-Foods organic store, yet still smokes a fag outside.










I need these...



Amy my love

04 June 2010

Never Mind the Buzzcocks with Stephen Fry



Best show ever!
It makes me miss living in the UK a lot.

Procrastination= Inspiration

Beautiful Billie Holiday AKA Elinore Harris



Died at 44 of liver failure, due to prolonged drug and alcohol abuse of which she was arrested several times for. I wonder how many people didn't know this, but knew that Amy Winehouse was addicted to crack...

This blog is a bit all over the shop, mainly because it's the result of putting off studying sociology exam bullshit (what is globalisation? what are the social determinants of health? uhhhhhhh seriously?!). I always complain about year 1 uni not being hard or in-depth enough, but then I dont study enough, get an average mark and hence look like i'm talking out of my backside!
But I really can't bring myself to 'study' the definitions of discrimination and marginalisation. I'm sorry if I'm being elitist, but are these things not assumed knowledge? Or common sense?
So to relieve myself of aforementioned moronic revision, I turned to fashion, music and fashion blogs (Oh and a few chocolate cookies and wine).



I absolutely love this song, it's a good one for singing too, since Dinah and I have similar range.


This girl is gorrrgeous, she has a blog called 'Karla's Closet', which I have fondled with my eyes quite lavishly.
The Satorialist has also come up, and I love the old vintage photos that get sent in.


More to come...

24 May 2010

The Man with the Aquiline Nose



Junius Booth, who had once suffered a badly broken nose, was once approached by a female admirer. "You're such a wonderful actor, Mr. Booth," she enthused, "but to be perfectly frank with you, I can't get over your nose."
"There's no wonder, madam," Junius replied. "The bridge is gone."

I have realised recently I have high regard for the prominent, slightly bent nose on a man.
The word 'Aquiline' is from Latin, meaning 'eagle-like' according to Wikipedia, since eagle's have a crooked beak- like a nose.
Three cultures displayed these noses most notably, which are Mediterranean or Hispanic, Middle-eastern and Native American.
Admittedly, I have always found Native American men handsome, with their proud round faces, lovely skin tone and head adornments.
There is something undeniably masculine about a large nose, without being out of proportion with the face. A prominent nose, like jawline, has an air of power, dignity and perhaps something phallic about it, which can serve to make up for 'facial discrepancies'.
Some of my favourite male specimens include:





11 May 2010

Merri Creek

This is my favourite place in the world, I usually go every weekend. It makes me feel like I'm somewhere different entirely. I forget I'm in Melbourne, I forget about uni, I loose all the crap that builds up in my head. When I die, I want my ashes spread there, near Dights falls. It also makes me feel a bit guilty because this is all the rightful land of the Aboriginals, and as I fall more in love with Merri Creek, I realise how much they have lost in just one place.
Here is a video I made with my Ipod camera...it's a bit rough sorry.

20 February 2010

The release

‘Take a seat, Evan. How are you doing?’
‘I dunno, the usual I guess. Constantly blamed for shit. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?’ Evan shifted jumpily in his seat, shifting his bony frame, trying to get comfortable. His eyes maintained contact with his fingers, picking themselves. Preening themselves. Arms folded.
‘Try to put into words how you feel. I’m not blaming you for anything.’ He took a short audible breath. He wouldn’t look at her. He could feel her gentle but probing stare on his face. She was attractive and normal. Clean. She emanated a cool confidence, although it seemed to him something she had learnt, rather than being like that in real life. Maybe that was just another trick, he thought. To trick him into saying things he would get jailed for again.
‘I don’t want to tell you anything, you would hate me for it.’
Marie pursed her lips and tilted her head.
‘Why do you feel that I would judge you? I won’t hate you for anything; I’m here to help you, Evan. You need to learn to trust me. Nothing you say will leave this room.’ Marie leaned forward.
‘Nah, it’s just...I don’t like thinking about the shit in my head, it’s like...just hard to talk without getting a big lump in my throat. I’m so angry at people, they don’t understand me- they just label me this, that and the other. But they don’t give shit what I’ve gone through, you know. They haven’t a fucking idea mate’. The more he spoke the more jumpy he got. He was almost sitting on the edge of his seat.
‘What do you think people label you as?’
‘What do you think? A child molester, a fucking criminal, scumbag, low-life, creep, freak. What don’t I get labelled?’ He looked up at this point, his eyebrows sunken, mouth slightly ajar.
‘Do you think of yourself in these terms?’
‘I do now. When people call you names enough it starts to sink in, you know. It’s like hard not to believe the shit they say. But I’m sick of it. People don’t wanna here the full story.’
‘What people are you referring to?’
‘Don’t play dumb, you know who I mean. The media, my family, Detective Alistair Weaver, that cunt at the milk bar. You know what he said to me? He said they were closed at 3.30pm during the week for dinner. You know why he said that? To keep me away from those school kids that hang around there after school. Who eats dinner at 3.30? That old Asian cunt, I wanted to smash his teeth in so bad. But I didn’t. Ha ha. See I’m getting better, aren’t I Marie?’ He continued cackling; only stopping to give way to a violent coughing fit.
‘Yes, ok. We can finish it here. Think about those terms you spoke of and what they mean to you. We can continue next session.’ Marie slowly lowered herself up, subtly ushering Evan out of the room.
As he swaggered out of the room, she couldn’t help but stare at his legs. They were as overcrowded with tattoos as the prison he had spent the last five years of his life in. She watched him leave, hands on hips, lip under teeth, pulling and pecking. Closing her eyes and letting out a long breath that seemed to have been waiting forever to be released, she walked back into her office, making sure to shut the door firmly. The office still smelt like him- Tobacco, boys’ deodorant and BO. Reaching into her wooden cabinet next to her desk, she pulled out some sandalwood to burn and placed it on her desk. The next patient wasn’t due for another twenty minutes, so she popped half a Zanax and slumped on the couch with her feet dangling over the edge.
‘Fucking cunt’, she muttered under her breath.

27 January 2010

Veiled Motives


The events of September 11th 2001 no doubt spread widespread fear, confusion and anger at the lengths Islamic fundamentalists went to outline their distaste of western society and culture. But almost a decade later, the confusion and fear have hardly subsided. It comes as no surprise, as we are constantly told by the government that another terrorist attack is imminent; it’s just a matter of time before the next plane is blown up, another set of over-zealous journalists gets kidnapped or a transport system gets ripped apart by suicide bombers. However it seems that this is being used as an excuse for unfounded religious intolerance and xenophobia.
The French Governments proposal to ban women from wearing their Burka (A full length veil worn covering the face and body) in hospitals, schools, public transport and government offices is not only proof that The French government lack empathy for their own citizens and residence, but shows a distinct lack of concern for freedom of choice and freedom of religion- both fundamental features of common human rights in all western countries. Banning a person’s religious garb from our so called tolerant and free society would surely be no different than the act of forcing women in Middle Eastern countries to cover themselves thus making them 2nd class citizens, with little or no job opportunities that are of equal position to Men.
The hypocrisy astounds.
Apparently this law could be justified as a French University Law lecturer points out it could be “a problem of security . . . in places where we need to identify people." I thought that’s what security guards and Identification Cards were for.
What makes this contentious issue so frustrating is the lack of cohesive argument from the French government and Nicholas Sarcozy himself. On one hand they state the ban is due to the fact that the Burka goes against the France’s principles of secularism and equality, is a ‘challenge’ to the republic and contrary to social values. How is wearing a head scarf, a key element in being a faithful Muslim, contrary to French social values?
These cultural arguments are in addition to the security threat apparently these Burka’s represent. I find this particularly disturbing to the progress the western world is attempting to make in not making sweeping generalised judgments about Muslims and connecting them instantly to Islamic extremists.
The media has obviously played a big part in our understanding of what terrorists look like, sound like and act like.
Do we assume that all people wearing dark sunglasses are blind? No, we assume they can see until we find out otherwise.
I wish this value could be applied to the way we see other cultures and religions that we don’t understand because we have been so sheltered in our understanding of the world.
That misunderstanding is our fault, and so it is our responsibility to correct our views and judgments accordingly, otherwise we will end up ostracising these people we don’t understand and giving them a real reason to hate us.

This is obviously a very complex issue with many different facets to it, but what I am addressing is not the repression of women in the Muslim faith, because to that I am totally and unquestioningly against. What I am trying to point out is that we need to be aware about the motives of politicians and other law makers when they try and strip away peoples' rights and act unconstitutionally for what they say is for the good of the constitution.

20 January 2010

Toddler Art

I have started drawing more recently, and today took my sketch book to work. We are pretty much only allowed to access 'The Age' online so I drew this picture of Mo-nique with Kidman. I love the photo because it is such a strange and lovely juxtaposition of two very different women having a laugh together. Nicole Kidman looks rather restrained in comparison to Mo-nique. I just love the open-mouthed laugh, which I didn't get spot on unfortunately, my drawing looks like she just ate something gross. It is quite hard to draw at the same time as asking people how satisfied they are with NAB on a scale from 0-10 though.

This is from a photo of a friend of mine who was wasted at the time. I like how expressive her eyes are.

13 January 2010

Brisbane. Bowen Hills.

Rain drops in the pool. Sun shining, 29 degrees.
Cocky the roach had wings, came into my room, crawled over me in my sleep. Woke up, chased him around my room for awhile until I got him with my shoe and nail polish remover.

The Carlton Club

The Carlton Club is full of Bogans, bums and scenester scum.
It's serious business to appear not to be having have fun.
Drinking and puffing around tables together,
Waiting for drugs from chain-smoking boys in black leather,
who wear the same thing regardless of the weather.

I saw this girl- fake tan, blonde hair-
She wouldn’t have weighed much more than a feather.
Her sad bones jutted from her sagging skin,
I saw a smile on her face, but no happiness within.
I wonder what all this represents,
is it socialising or just a mechanism of defence?
Because it seems that a good time is only had
when medicated so much they don’t know they’re tense.

04 January 2010

Around the hood


A self-portrait still in progress.

Moog the bengal.


The clouds came in like a tide.



Then there was a man, no top, near the back gate, he looked like he was waiting for someone. He asked if I lived there. As I passed him I noticed a small needle lying on the ground. I got freaked out thinking 'what if he thinks that I know what he's up to? He knows where I live now'
After getting home, I kept the back door locked for a good hour until the threat had passed. But does the threat ever pass in Abbotsford?