In the interests of keeping things fresh, and to give you a break from hearing more things you did not need to know about me, from time to time I would like to indulge in what I think of as 'automatic blogging.' As the Young Folks say, it will be, like, totally random. Here then, without commentary, are three things that caught my eye this week:
NUMBER ONE:
(from 'The Concise Home Doctor - Encyclopedia of Good Health' - The Educational Book Company)
NUMBER TWO:
'One night, after three nights on a mountain unsuccessfully chasing a she-bear, the Captain suddenly let loose with his pen, in a torrent of hot temper, against the whole caboodle.'
(from 'Five Sisters - The Langhornes of Virginia' by James Fox)
NUMBER THREE:
'George: Sunday, tomorrow; all day.
Martha: Yes.
(A long silence between them)'
(from 'Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf?' by Edward Albee).
I have been tagged by the Lovely Elizabeth of Love, Elizabeth fame!
I have always responded well to structure (that may surprise those of you who have caught me in the throes of an interpretative dance) and have, therefore, enthusiastically embraced this format. It makes me feel like one of those celebrities who get interviewed in magazines and asked questions such as 'How do you react when you see a nun?'
So, fasten your seatbelts ....
Meme Rules: 1. Respond and rework. Answer the questions on your blog, replace one question you dislike with a question of your own invention; add a question of your own. 2. Tag eight other un-tagged people.
What is your current obsession?I like to sing the jingles to furniture ads, but I do find some of the recent jingles on local television a little challenging. In particular, the Beaumont Tiles ad which could be best described as an 'homage' to Donna Summer's 'I feel love'. The tune eludes me, (in a similar fashion to Dear Patient M's favourite tune, 'Sophisticated Lady'). But I persevere, none the less.
Oh, and this:
Winter is coming on, and my thoughts turn to Kate Bush. This is a lovely home made clip set to her song 'An architect's dream'. I love the imagery. It was created by StanRd2005 and posted on Youtube.
What do you see outside your window?A large, round, corrugated iron, rainwater tank, some deep red leaves on the grapeless grape vine, some pink hibiscus. And some refreshingly green weeds. When I first moved in, I foolishly thought the tank was a space-wasting eyesore. That was before the drought.
If you could have any super power what would it be? Invisibility.
Which animal would you be?As much as I would like to say a lion, gazelle or a peacock, the reality is probably closer to a sloth, a tapir or a silly old goat.
Who was the last person you hugged?A friend from University who I have not seen for 10 years. And, before that, I embraced my sweet embraceable, my irreplaceable Dear Patient M.
What is your favorite color?I am partial to mint green, powder blue and baby pink. That said, I like most colours apart from certain shades of yellow and brown. Especially when it comes to cars.
What’s your favorite food in the whole world?I am just nutty about nougat!
What’s the last thing you bought?Apair of old-style grey desert boots. It was only once I got them home that I realised I had just, in fact, bought a pair of grey shoes. And gasped. I would only countenance grey in a desert boot and they work surprisingly well.
What are you listening to right now?I have I-Tunes on random. I do have a number of different playlists with titles such as 'Winter is Blue', 'Autumnal Longing' and, tellingly, 'Hangover music.' But at the moment it is just on random. Currently I am listening to 'Consolation Prize' by that great Glaswegian straight-but-unafraid-to-be-sissies band, Orange Juice. Sample lyric:
I wore my fringe like Roger McGuinn's I was hoping to impress So frightfully camp, it made you laugh Tomorrow I'll buy myself a dress.
I have always found the refrain, 'I'll never be man enough for you' oddly comforting.
If you could buy one object right now, what would it be?It is not exactly an object, but I would not mind purchasing a new stomach.
What’s on your bedside table?A framed photo of Dear Patient M with a big smile on his face, a book about the Langhornes of Virginia, a lovely collage by Magic Jelly featuring budgerigars, the remote control for the air conditioner, a phone that always becomes unplugged, some little cards with some of my favourite Flickr images on them, and a doyley made by my dear departed Grandmother (she of Ladykillers fame).
If you could have a house totally paid for, and fully furnished, anywhere in the world, where would it be?Out of the places I have already been, I am partial to the idea of Berlin. But the States is also calling me.
What would you like to have in your hands right now?Ooh Matron! My retirement carriage clock. Failing that, a martini.
What is your favorite children's book?They are legion. For the pictures: Yellow yellow by Frank Asch and Alan Stamaty. For the kind-of-kitsch but Sentimental Aussie Favourite: Peg's Fairy Book by Peg Maltby. For the pervading sense of melancholy: Moominsummer Madness by Tove Janssen. For the jolly good romp that made me want to live in Victorian times: The story of the Treasure Seekers by E Nesbit. For the vividly remembered colours and atmosphere: Charlie, Charlotte and the Golden Canary by Charles Keeping. For teaching me that life was inherently unfair: The Shrinking of Treehorn by Florence Parry Heide, illustrated by Edward Gorey. I could go on...
What is your biggest fear/phobia?Having my mind go blank while public speaking. Perversely, I have embarked on a career in which a certain amount of public speaking is unavoidable. And in which my mind often goes blank. A few grasping seconds feels like a lifetime of paralysis.
What's the bravest thing you've done in the past year?I have changed jobs, something which was unthinkable this time a year ago. The bravest thing I have ever done in my life was to chase a man who stole my wallet and make him give it back to me. His lack of manners peeved me immensely and I found a strength and agility I never knew I possessed.
If you could change your name, what would you change it to?It is a toss up between Frederick Von Something or Granville LaCruise.
What did you want to become as a child?A ballerina. Failing that, an author who illustrated his own books. A bit later, I wanted to be a go go dancer, a back up singer or a cactus farmer.
What posters/pictures do you have on your bedroom wall?The Fellini poster above,a painting by my dear friend Nookabel called 'Tree and birds' (it is inspired by a World Record Club cover), a photo of a Tretchikoff print taken by an estranged friend, a framed fragment of a record cover which in my mind is titled 'Love in Dusseldorf', two reproduction travel posters (one for Chicago - Vacation City, the other for Bill Rose's Aquacades), and two of Dear Patient M's Lomographs. There is also a ceramic Toucan on a perch hanging from the ceiling.
What were you wearing at your 21st birthday?A 70s Photoprint shirt featuring Gustav Klimt ladies, a white scarf that belonged to my father, a powder blue velvet dinner jacket, black velvet flares, and eyeliner. The theme was The Long Frock and Big Hair Affair.
What was your first job?Working from midnight to 8.30 every Friday and Saturday night pushing pancakes to drunks in a seedy 24 hour dive. I did that for four years and am still recovering.
Say something to the person/s who tagged you:Elizabeth, thanks for the tag - I have enjoyed this! You know you continue to inspire me, care for me, move me and make me laugh as you do with many other of your devoted fans! You're the tops, you're the Colisseum..
Post a favorite childhood photograph of yourself.
Here is a photo of me parading about with a potty on my head, wearing a skirt made from an old man's singlet and some leaves. I was having a grand adventure, no doubt. The photo was taken in about 1976 when we lived in Melbourne. The shadow belongs to my big sister, Finn the Poet. My dress sense has only improved marginally since.
What is your plan for tomorrow?To survive.
Now, I am suppose to tag another 8 bloggers. I am not sure if I actually have 8 blogging friends. So I will simply say, if you want it, consider yourself tagged. I would recommend it - it is good fun, bordering on the therapeutic.
(Clip of France Gall singing Poupée de cire poupée de son by Serge Gainsbourg at the 1965 Eurovision Song Contest. Posted on Youtube by ZaaK54)
Ah, it is Eurovision Eve! The Happiest Night of the Non-Christian Calendar!
Some years ago I was quite taken aback when a work colleague (let us call him The Tall German, to preserve his anonymity) breezily enquired whether I had watched the previous evening's Eurovision Song Contest. I responded with a curt, 'No, should I have?' What followed was a rather awkward and regrettable moment in which he reddened and mumbled something like 'I just thought it would be your type of thing...' Now, at the time I was a much more paranoid and highly strung creature than the reconstructed shrine to calm and self-love that you encounter today. Accordingly, I was slightly affronted at what I suspected was an unconscious slur against either:
1. My distant European heritage (a bit rich coming from a German, Tall or otherwise); or
2. My sexuality (a contest only The Gays could love!); or
3. (Most devastatingly of all) my taste-level.
In retrospect, I realise he meant nothing of the sort, and his comment was in fact, right on the mark. Of COURSE I have since embraced Eurovision with a vengeance. What is not to love?
I searched long and hard for a clip that I could live with. As tempting as it was to inflict some Brotherhood of Man, Nana Mouskouri or the Unrockingest "Hard Rock" band on Planet Rock, Lordi,*upon you, in the interest of leaving my taste level unbesmirched, I settled on dear old France Gall singing a Gainsbourg tune. Now, the surprisingly useful and versatile phrase moi aussi aside,I do not speak a word of French. I have had to rely on Wikipedia for a precis of the lyrics. Apparently France is singing about how she is just a straw doll who knows nothing of real love. Boom bang a bang, then, it aint. Until the mythical Morrissey contribution to Eurovision finally surfaces, this will do the trick nicely.
(France Gall reminds me of my callow student days. I used to listen to hand-made cassette compilations of France Gall and Serge Gainsbourg and dream about Godard and Gauloise. As Shit Hot as this made me feel, the whole Left Bank act was undermined by the awful truth that I had not the foggiest idea what they were singing about. And those snippets of Gainsbourg which I could understand left me feeling slightly soiled.)
Anyway, as we say here, I best toddle as it is time to Warm the Set and Cool the Tinnies. And settle in for a night of celebration! A celebration of:
The Folly!
The Fleetingness!
The Flares!
The One Hit Wonders!
The Also-rans!
The Never-Wases!
The Wardrobe Malfunctions!
The Mis-spent Moments of Glory!
The Rapaciousness, Cheap Sentiment, and Corrupted Endeavour!
And the robust survival of a world where high mindedness, taste and fashion exist only to be cheerfully trampled into the ground by ineptly dancing feet. Sounds like a country I would be proud to call my own.
*PS Do not be taken in by Lordi's ghoulish appearance. They are the Bucks Fizz of the Monster World.
(This is an excerpt from a collage I made for Mama Twilight's 70th birthday. Hopefully it has rendered her unrecognisable to anyone who may know her now.)
I cannot chat for long tonight. Having foolishly volunteered, out of nothing more than deluded self-interest, to participate in an interview selection panel, I am knee-deep in close to 70 job applications. How tired I am of reading about how wonderful all these enthusiastic young graduates are and how interested they all are in our organisation! Deep down, I am probably just jealous and alarmed at the realisation that if I applied for my own position today, I would be on the bottom of the list, because I have negligently forgotten to run the UN, win the Nobel Prize or visit the Moon.
But I digress. It is Mother's Day here, and I just wanted to say a few words about my dear Mama Twilight. She does not know of this blog's existence. In fact, none of my family have been specifically alerted. I would like to keep it that way. It frees me up to whine and embroider to my heart's content. It also frees me up to be a corn ball. Maybe I will show her this one day. Anyway, I love me ol' Mum very much.
So here's to you, Mama Twilight:
...For reading to me when I was a child. Not to mention feeding me. And teaching me to make my own fun. And for finding time to wait in the car for me during all those fruitless piano lessons even though you were working full time and raising five children. You always protested that you did not mind at all. I realise now that it was probably a rare moment of refuge for you.
...For that time when were visiting Melbourne in the 80's and you had a rare glass of wine with dinner which sozzled you. We were walking down a busy street and you began to gesticulate at strangers, eyes flashing, and say to them in your sternest school teacher voice: DON'T YOU STARE AT MY CHILDREN. Perhaps you even waggled a finger. People did stare at your children. We were a pack of budding exhibitionists. We were probably skipping or singing or dressed like gaudy ragamuffins. Dad, meanwhile, looked as if he would rather be anywhere else and muttered his usual, multi-purpose exasperated 'Dear!..'. As much as any attempt on your part to be stern caused us to fall about with irreverent glee, I think we were as proud of you as you were defensive of us.
...For being so happy in your own skin, for smiling at inanimate objects, for catastrophising on your children's behalf, for teaching us self reliance, for keeping up the prayerthoughts for your heathen brood, for telling me when I was a child 'You know your father and I fight a lot, but a lot can be made up for in the bedroom, you know..', for overstating your children's attainments, for letting us nickname you 'Bag', for your eternal quest for a "hot meal" and a "haven", for always trying to find the interested question, for ringing me up to tell me how much you appreciate your life, for your joy in the small things, for maintaining that "People Are Nice" despite the abundant evidence to the contrary, and for your unwavering, not-to-be-trampled-on capacity for breathless enthusiasm and an honest belief that the world is better than it actually is. Or capable of better, anyway.
You once also confided in me as a child that 'Bob Dylan turns me on!' As icky as that made me feel at the time, I get it now. It would, therefore, only be appropriate, for me to finish with a quote from your possibly-not-erstwhile lust-object. A quote that makes me think of you, and your place in the world:
'What's a sweetheart like you doin' in a dump like this?'
(Engraving by Giacomelli in 'The Insect' by Jules Michelet)
What could be more poignant than a dead butterfly? A broken butterfly, perhaps. Sob.
I am having a good old mope tonight. Not about Love. Nor Death. Everything is fine in those departments. Besides, I have, after all, always preferred the Woody Allen version. No, I am just moping about the fact that the weekend is over and I have to return to work tomorrow.
Speaking of the Woody Allen version, as much as I would like to describe myself as one of the most june people in all of the Russias, I am, I fear, incredibly jejune. Time to toughen up.