Grace Notes @ Snarkattack

Update your RSS feeds, everyone! You should go here instead. The person who did have control over the backend stuff is overseas and/or doesn’t reply to messages, so the rather drastic step of moving was taken.

I’m pretty excited, to be honest. It’ll be ace to actually have some control over the features of the blog, and hopefully I won’t have to wrestle too much with WordPress being an arse…

The very first time I went to Sydney, it was pretty boring. I was with an aunt, who was excellent company, but we knew no locals and let’s face it, hotels everywhere all look the same. It’s not really an ideal way to get to know a city.

One of my closest friends, L, was kind enough to put me up for a few days when I went to Sydney in late January. She is owned by a certain Ms Monkeypants, or Monkey for short, who is a rescued cat. As you can see in the photo, she’s got very long fur.

L tells me it’s taken a while for Monkey to open up – not unusual for rehomed cats. I was pretty nervous about meeting Monkey, because…what if she didn’t like me? My own cat is very wary of strangers and I was expecting the same from Monkey. I would’ve understood, but still been a bit sad…

She was guarded, but kind. I tried to be respectful of her and not too crazy-excited (which I was). There was one day that she forgot I was staying at L’s and jumped at first seeing me. She got her own back when one morning, she came and cat kissed me – I sat bolt-upright in bed wondering what on earth the cold wetness on my nose was. I turned to see an inquisitive creature, observing me, a little puzzled. Not even my own kitty greets me with cat kisses.

Monkey and L let me into their lives and most intimate living space. I could not have enjoyed Sydney as much as I did without either of them.

Recently, @halia reminded me that I wrote a post once, about a year ago on meeting a cat that belongs to a beautiful old cinema in Melbourne called the Astor. Her name is Marzipan. She is lovely – keep an eye out for her if you see a film there, as she’s not afraid of people and happy to mingle.

I thought it might be nice to recount parts of my Sydney week-long holiday through the felines I met and fell in love with. I know, you’re thinking for me, not hard. It’s true. Both of the cats I met I missed as much as the people to whom they belong.

Chloe is an old lass, but in good health. She’s got the colouring that means that in Japan they call her mike-neko, or roughly ‘tricoloured cat’ – which are only ever female. My human host at her house was @deconstructo, though oddly, Chloe does not formally belong to him.

He explained that Chloe adopted him, and her actual owners are a lovely couple with whom @deconstructo lives. But who can argue with a cat? Chloe sat on @deconstructo’s feet, and it was decided that the three humans, and cat would all live together.

As is indicative of Chloe’s nature, the people who live in the house are warm, generous and open. My memories of the house include good food, beer and excellent conversation. All three humans in the house looked after me, as did Chloe. She basked in the extra attention lavished upon her while I stayed there, apparently, and I missed her very much upon my return to Melbourne. She likes to be near you, is quite talkative and looks after her humans well who reciprocate in like fashion.

I look forward to @deconstructo visiting Melbourne, though he will need to give me warning so I can make sure I buy enough cider and perry for us to guzzle. What luck to find wonderful new friends.

Not half an hour ago, my mother came home with some shopping. She beckoned me into the kitchen after my stint on the treadmill, and showed me a beautiful gold pendant, with a guardian angel.

She then said to me that this was a present from me to my newborn nephew Leon. She said she would buy me a card and then asked me if she would like me to give it to him tonight, or when I next saw him. I faltered and said decided it was probably time to speak my mind.

I very, very gently explained that I wasn’t fully well yet (just a flare-up of my chronic illness – nothing major, but draining nevertheless), and that when I could, I would indeed organise to visit Leon and parents. I said that my brother would know that the present she bought for me to give to Leon would be recognised as something that I would never pick out because:
- I very rarely shop for jewellery made of anything precious
- I would never choose anything with a religious symbol – my brother was very well aware of my atheism (something my mother chooses over and over to ignore)

I said that I had spoken to a good friend @lluke and explained that I’m not close to my brother, and even less so to his wife. After Luke’s excellent advice and upon hearing that the mother was really struggling with her new role in motherhood, I felt it best to wait a month or so before visiting again (as it happens, I did get semi-bullied into visiting when the new parents were in post-natal care at the Grand Hyatt in the city centre (!!!)).

My brother’s in-laws are very flamboyant, and not particularly welcoming. They are also quite xenophobic and have taken the view that they have welcomed my brown brother into their family as some sort of act of superlative charity. At the end of the day, I am extremely happy that they do accept my brother and do not make his life hell. In fact, they rather like him.

They like me less so, which is fine by me until I am in the same room. My brother’s wife is extremely close to her parents and though my mother cannot admit it, she is struggling for a place in their new family. She struggles to do things to show that she is, essentially, just as good as them. I told her she doesn’t need to be so performative, but she insists she is not. My partner and my father have both noted at some stage that there are elements of her behaviour that betray her in this respect.

So, what to do? How am I to display in a manner that is both true to myself and takes into consideration what the new family want? I have bore my mother’s insinuations as best I can that I need to visit Leon NOW NOW NOW. After the somewhat explosive ‘chat’ in the kitchen, I think she will give me a bit more leeway, but not for long.

A sad world where one constantly needs to demonstrate one’s love materially. If I could be left alone with Leon, I would just hold him, and stroke him every now and then, and tell him I hope the world won’t be too rough with him. He would have no right to believe me – I who spend so much time in the realm of the unwell. Why can’t we love on our terms, and ours alone? Who is my mother to tell me how I should demonstrate my love to my nephew? Of course at this stage, my father piped in and then went on to tell me that I was sorely lacking in comparison to my partner.

All this over one gold charm meant for my nephew.

I might have to start a new blog category just for the good Luke.

My brother’s wife just had a baby, and I have no idea about etiquette (one might argue I have no idea about etiquette full-stop but that’s another issue altogether). Are you supposed to visit them in hospital? Do you wait till they’re home? I’m not close to either my brother or his wife, and both her mother, and mine are going to be all over them both.

So I decided to ask Luke for his advice, seeing as him and his wife have just had their second child. The beauty of IM.

(15:35:09) me: i need baby help!
(15:37:54) the good Luke: hahaha
(15:37:56) the good Luke: sure
(15:38:10) the good Luke: when two people love each other very much
(15:38:15) the good Luke: …
(15:38:22) me: ROFL
(15:38:28) the good Luke: dammit, your silence called my bluff
(15:38:32) me: i was being serious!
(15:38:33) the good Luke: i got nothing

Like I said, funtimes.

I might an adult now, and in some ways might be considered (by others, not necessarily myself) to have surpassed my parents. I remember that Z once said to me, and he said it full of sorrow for me (which was rare for him, being very steely), that he felt sorry for children who were smarter or more educated than their parents. At first I was angry at him saying that (both his parents being academics and so less of a problem for him) but I knew what he meant.

My father was responsible for teaching me how to read, and for as long as I can remember, if I asked him to explain something to me, he would do so. You can only imagine how frustrating I might have been as a child. My father, in many ways, gave me the keys to the world, or a world I came to adore: the literary.

Fast forward to now, where I am a woman of thirty. I open my Christmas card and read my parents’ messages to me. I read my father’s first.

My father spelled the word ‘opulence’ incorrectly. It brought a tear to my eye. Yet another reminder that my father did not know all, and would not necessarily be able to answer all my questions.

It may seem trivial to you all, but my heart broke just that bit more.

I’ve recently started reading a blog written by a Scot-born lawyer lass who really loves her shoes. She recently posted about wearing thongs to the office. Not a sartorial crime she would ever commit, let it be noted.

Thongs at present are very, very trendy. So my guess is that my dislike of them is not. Oh, and yes, some people call them flip-flops? They seem universally, or at least nationally loved, so I don’t really think it’s very patriotic of me to dislike them. Or perhaps it is? I seem to have UK men wearing sandals and shoes burnt into my brain. No thongs. Hmm, not sure which is scarier now…

A few years ago when I worked at a very draconian market research firm, we were firmly told that we were not allowed to wear thongs. Why? Because they were considered an impediment (haha) if evacuation of the building became necessary. This was a bit ridiculous. Firstly, rubberised thongs were out, but other ‘fancier’ ones were okay.

I had one such pair of fancier ones – a lovely Indian leather pair. They were unusual in that they were very comfortable to wear (usually my feet have trouble keeping thongs ‘on’). They were also quite fetching with a nice lean cut jean (not necessarily denim blue) and my lined black peasant skirt.

I did love them so.

Alas, the day came when the leather making the thong on one foot snapped, and with a heavy heart I had to throw them away. Even worse when one of them was still perfectly functional. I still remember them very fondly, and they have not been replaced. Initially, they were given to me as a friend’s housemate had got them from India but they didn’t fit her.

So yeah, none of this Havaianas business for me.

About a year ago, I did get a pair of Gisele Bunchen sandal-thong hybrid whatsits. Supremely comfy and quite easy on the eyes. Also, I don’t have to walk all funny to keep them on my feet because they fasten like a strappy sandal should.

I could wax lyrical about my hatred of the thong, but to be honest, it’s a bit boring, and probably time for me to don a pair of Cons in what will be thirty-something degrees heat.

From here
1. Resign from a commitment you’re not passionate about.
2. Stop trying to be perfect. I am going to stop trying to be perfect by admitting that this is something I could never commit to!
3. Implement a basic cleaning schedule.
4. Sign up for automatic billpay. I don’t believe in this one.
5. Automate a portion of your investing. I put away a portion of pay into super-savings.
6. Clean out your media collection and keep only the items you love. Just did this!
7. Plant perennials that will automatically bloom next spring. I don’t have a good garden, so don’t really do the plant thing.
8. Clean out your purse or wallet. Do this periodically.
9. Put a paper shredder next to your mail spot.
10. Winnow your wardrobe down to pieces that work together.
11. Delete any social networking accounts you don’t actually use. This is pretty hard, as the option to delete doesn’t always exist.
12. Add your number to the do-not-call list. Was done ages ago!
13. Create a car maintenance schedule and post it somewhere you’ll see it.
14. Design a filing system that you can stick to.
15. Start your day with a healthy meal. Unless running late, I do stick to this.
16. Turn your phone off when you need quiet time. Kind of a necessity for the socially retarded.
17. Invest in a programmable thermostat.
18. Set one good goal, and go achieve it.
19. Record your good “shower” ideas and then implement them. (Don’t we all get our best inspirations in the shower?)
20. Write to a friend with (gasp!) pen and paper. I already have two friends I do this with.
21. Set limits on your bad habits, and reward yourself when you stick with them.
22. Stop trying to be a saint and indulge yourself every once in a while.
23. Pay off your credit card debt. Don’t have one!
24. Avoid watching commercials and reading advertisements. I rarely watch TV and no longer read glossy magazines.
25. Rediscover the pleasure of reading purely for enjoyment. I’ve always been pretty good at this. I only read what I will enjoy!
26. Plan two weeks of delicious meals ahead of time and skip the nightly grocery run.
27. Go to your doctor for a preventative checkup.
28. Remember the joys of doing nothing. When you’re prone to physical breakdowns, this becomes a necessity also.
29. Singletask as much as possible.
30. Learn to ask for help.

I was brought up as a Catholic, and when we moved to Australia in 1987, I attended a Catholic primary school. After that, I went to a largely Catholic private high school, though they were very open-minded and liberal in their views and most certainly did not believe in shoving continued belief down our throats.

I was pretty happy about this, because by about Year 9 due to some personal traumas, I’d totally given up on believing in God. Naively, before this, I used to pray and talk to God as if he were in my life, not as if he were some stuffy meanie to be scared of, but some grown-up that lived in the clouds who could hear me.

In Year 8, my mother briefly lent me a miniature rosary. It was gorgeous. Instead of the usual string of beads, it was a metal ring, with a cross.

I thought it was metal, but inside was stone. I accidentally snapped it in half and was devastated. Also shit-scared my mother would kill me and she did indeed tell me off proper, but I was more disappointed in myself for breaking something so beautiful, and precious.

I also felt cheated – it wasn’t solid metal. Why wasn’t it solid metal? my young mind demanded.

Why am I writing about this now? It’s because I found some beautiful examples of miniature rosaries at my parents’ place. I’m a bit miffed that my mother doesn’t have them in better places – they’re just lying on a table, and because of the tablecloth, rather difficult to see.

And the ring-sized one – just a little too big for my middle finger.

I have missed blogging immensely and am so sorry for neglecting my corner of the web that is only read by probably my closest friends!

My absence…

- sinus infection that turned into an ear infection. That carried on for five (still counting) months. My immune system for the lose like mega.
- my beloved near-4-year-old lappie is currently out of action. My genius (har har) is trapped within
- okay, I’ll admit it. I met this dude who is a crap spider-hunter-killer unit, but a general capital person and we spend time listening to music in my room, drinking cider and going for bike rides. It’s the teenage relationship I never had, giggle

Though I’ve not been blogging here much, I’ve been keeping a dream blog, as inspired by my mate Felix.

It’s been a really rewarding experience and helped me creatively. It’s also pretty confronting at times. Since I made an effort to record my dreams, my memory of them has increased dramatically. I’m also noticing that I go through cycles of themes – anger at particular persons, fear of failure, feeling monstrous, to name the main ones.

Not writing so much but have some good stuff (I mean for me, don’t know if it’s actually any good) on the boil. Today, I reedited a poem that was received favourably at a workshop an Australian poet ran as part of the Overload Poetry Festival in Melbourne.

It’s also looking like I’ll hit my target of reading fifty books this year.

I’ll try to get back into blogging – my mind is constantly wanting to write posts. I also miss catching up on LiveJournal – I don’t tend to use it on my folks’ computer because my time using it is limited. Le sigh.

Hope you are all well and don’t have a shitty immune system. I confess, I am dodging a blood test to see if my white blood cell count is okay.

I received this e-mail from a old friend today and am just going to quote it fully so you have all the facts and hopefully, you will be all persuaded to give them a few bucks.

Best of luck Michael and Peter! What a fantastic challenge!

In just under 2 weeks time, myself and Peter Krogdahl are going to set off on the biggest adventure of our lives thus far: driving a 1liter Nissan Micra from London to Ulaanbaatar, as part of the Mongol Rally. The Mongol Rally isn’t really a race, there’s no prize for getting to the finish line first. There are only a few rules:

* No support – all teams are on their own
* No cars with engines over 1200cc’s
* Each team must raise a minimum of £1000 for charity

It’s that last item there that we need your help for. There’s some info about the charities we’re raising money for at the end of this email, but we’re not just going to try to guilt trip you into donating in exchange for a warm fuzzy feeling in your tummy. No sir-eee. In exchange for your generous donations we’re offering a range of goods and services – depending on the size of your contribution. Go to http://brokeforgoing.blogspot.com/2009/03/donate.html to see what’s on offer.

But that’s not all! We’re also running a “Guess the mileage” competition. Have a looksie at the attached pdf for the details. To enter, make a donation to one of our charities for at least £2 or equivalent. For every multiple of £2 you donate, you can make a guess at what the final mileage will be on our car when we arrive in Ulaanbaatar. The current mileage on the car is 88959miles. All guesses should be emailed to us at mongolrallyteam@gmail.com

The attached jpeg file gives a few possibilities for the route we will be driving. In green is our original plan, which is looking less and less likely since the post-election unrest in Iran. Most likely is the pinkish route, and somewhere in between is the route in blue. So hit google maps if you like, and hopefully it will be you taking home the big prize! (see the pdf for info on the “prize”).

So, hopefully now you’re pumped up about the possibility of wearing a traditional Mongolian wrestling outfit on your next hot date, and you’ve got your credit card in hand, ready to take a strategic assortment of guesses… but if you’re not quite convinced yet, hopefully these links will push you over the edge…

The Christina Noble Children’s Foundation – Mongolia.
Fund’s donated to the CNCF via our rally blog go toward the Sunshine Ger Village in Ulaanbaatar – providing housing, unconditional love and support to abandoned children.
http://www.cncf.org/en/mongolia/projects.php#sunshine

The Mercy Corps use money raised through the Mongol Rally to fund projects run by local charities and volunteer groups. These projects have included school improvement initiatives and basic infrastructure such as new wells for drinking water.
http://www.mercycorps.org/mongolrally

Our rally blog. We’re not just taking a 5 week holiday, we’re also saving the world economy. Seriously. Check it out. Whenever possible we’ll be posting updates and pictures from the road. Hopefully we’ll give you a giggle or two along the way too.
http://brokeforgoing.blogspot.com

The donations page on our blog. Yeah, I know I’ve already linked it once, but I just want to make sure you don’t miss it. I’d hate for you to miss out on ordering a postcard from Kazakhstan. That kind of thing could scar someone for life.
http://brokeforgoing.blogspot.com/2009/03/donate.html

The official Mongol Rally website. Find out a little bit about the (complete lack of) rules, and the history of the event.
http://mongolrally.theadventurists.com/

After my dining experience at First Taste, I called a friend in the hopes of catching a drink with him in his hood.

Not sure when, but quite some time ago, I had the pleasure of meeting a true Renaissance man. His name is Justin. Alas, he decided to leave Melbourne for more adventurous climes, that being Istanbul (who, seriously, just ups and goes to Istanbul?! Justin, that’s who).

I do not use the term ‘Renaissance man’ lightly: Justin is a tech geek of the highest order, who makes me hard whenever we talk lit. I fondly remember him reading me passages of Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men In A Boat as I drove us to the local fast food joint for disgusting burgers. He likes good music. He taught me to play croquet. He did aikido. Alas, I am reliably informed he can dance, but I never witnessed this. He’s also a fellow flute-player.

In his last week in Melbourne, we caught up at a bar near his place that he became very fond of – for good reason. The staff are knowledgeable without being snotty. They also serve Young’s Chocolate Stout. If you live in the North Fitzroy area, you should definitely visit Deco Bar on St Georges Road.

The sign above was taken inside Deco Bar and harkens back to my modernist sluttiness, so I had to snap a pic.

We miss you, Justin.

Last three weeks – ace. Even though I’m sleeping like rubbish.

A few noteworthy things.

A poet I know was down from Wollongong and we had dinner. We dined locally to me, and I had the most divine three cheese gnocchi. He seemed to like the work I presented and I’m going to submit a folio of twenty poems for some competition. I probably don’t have a chance in hell, but it’ll be good to just try, eh?

A few weeks ago, I got insulted in the city by a drug addict. He took offence to me offering to buy him food instead of just giving him money. Well, I do declare. I didn’t realise beggars could be so hoity-toity. He told me he didn’t like my attitude. Wow, I got burnt by a hobo. That’s talent.

Last night, whilst waiting outside cheap-but-nasty Camy’s Dumpling House in Chinatown, two whities and Asians got into some fisticuffs. One Asian dude was really lucky not to get glassed by a bottle, by the bogan chick. In her defence, Asian dude attacked her first, very violently. It was actually fucking scary. They apparently had been waiting an hour for food that never arrived. The fellow that left was polite, but then when bogan woman got attacked, bogan boyfriend came to the rescue and it was quite the melee.

We headed off to nearby Shanghai Noodle House which is much quieter and the service is way better. Oh my, the drunken chicken is delish.

Meeting new cats. With pantaloons.

Been meaning to do some reviews of some restaurants I went to, but exif data means the photos of said cuisine will not show the photos in the correct orientation. It is extremely frustrating.

Had a bit of a crap day at first. I don’t think my workmate realised that in trying to be funny and teasing he was actually a bit harsh. Plus they have me in this crazy box at work! It’s freezing!

Anyway, I pinched this idea solely from Ingmar. We’re supposed to be doing a collaborative artistic project but I’m still waiting for his part. Bit bummed about that too, but am now formulating more projects which don’t rely upon people (which is hard because I have no originality whatsoever). Unless, oddly enough, Kyle Cassidy fulfils a bargain/promise he’s instigated (um, no. I am not collaborating with him. Haha, as if).

Anyway, here’s my visual diary.

1pm

Waiting for the train on the platform. I don’t catch the train supremely regularly, but it was the first time I’d noticed the “mind the gap” warning on the edge of the platform.

3pm

Work. They try to make the place look cheery by decorating it with these idiot lanterns (ha, see what I did there?) but for some reason, it only adds to the soul-destroying nature of it. I finally have my own desk but they’ve stuck me in a corner where I barely fit.

5pm

My boss let me move desks to where it was warmer. I found a cookie, still wrapped. I am not ashamed to say I ate it when I know it did not belong to me, giggle. It was like it was filled with a crunchy Nutella!

7pm

Picked up a present and a CD order before I went out to dinner and a film in Carlton.

9pm

At the film with friends old and new, I bought some coconut and lime kaffir gluten and dairy-free sorbet as dessert. Delish!

Before you go apeshit on my arse for not centre aligning my photos, please listen to me plead my case: I tried, really, I did. The auto-choose-your-own-alignment doesn’t work, and yes I resorted to what little html I know, to no avail.

You will excuse me for choosing shower & bed over flawlessly published web documents. Sorry.

I cannot get the last stanza of Wilfred Owen’s ‘Strange Meeting’ out of my head. It’s been there the last couple of days.

I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now…’

Last fortnight or so has been good: busy, exhausting and chaotic but generally speaking, good. The three-week reign of panic attacks seems to have ended. I am not as strict with my night meds as I should be.

I haven’t been writing much, but my mind has been very active on that front. Today (or rather, yesterday), I had to stay home due to a crippling IBS episode. I was still an undergrad when I first got IBS – been ages since the pain’s been so bad that I couldn’t be upright. A very annoyed me rang work to inform them I’d not be in and stormed off to bed.

I got to read the first half of the Adelaide-based Wet Ink – recently Melbourne-based journal Overland had a great subscription offer going so you could subscribe to two journals at once. I wished that I’d chosen the Overland/Meanjin one, but I’ve subscribed to Meanjin before, thought it’d be nice to give Wet Ink a go.

So far, I don’t really like Wet Ink. The layout is irritating (it seems a bit faux-arty), and the pieces so far aren’t fantastic, with the exception of one – a short story in the form of a high school examination paper where the answers are given by a Rwandan refugee (a brief aside: I am disgusted to learn that some people think asylum seekers come here to drain Australia of resources its “real” citizens would otherwise need. Also, there’s no such thing as an illegal refugee. For fuck’s sake, people…). Anyway, the short story in question is ‘The examination’ by Ryan O’Neill, in issue 14 of Wet Ink.

I got back a submission today from Famous Reporter: of course the poem the editor liked was the one that was, in a way the easiest to write (it was also only four lines – hehe, I should take that as a queue to perhaps shut up!). He didn’t say anything about the one that another Melbourne poet and educator told me I should try to get published. Hmm. Three of the five poems I submitted were what I’d consider some of my best.

Waiting on hearing back about two other submissions, and then I guess the submission cycle starts all over again.

In other poetry news, the newly appointed Oxford Professor of Poetry Ruth Padel has resigned after a week. Turns out that she could not fully shrug off the rumours that she had some sort of involvement in the Derek Walcott smear campaign. Apparently, it was expected she’d pull out after Walcott announced his withdrawal from consideration.

What, a poet, a sleaze? Well I do declare!

(Having said that, sexual harassment is not cool. Yea for it being illegal in Australia, racist backwater that we are, according to Telstra former chief Sol whatsit. Yeah, I know, I can go to a news source and see how his last name is spelt, but I’m too busy telling off workmates for calling people of Asiatic origins “gooks”. True story)

It was a chilly Monday evening, a few weeks ago. Quite far from where I currently live, there’s a beautiful old-style cinema called the Astor, in Windsor. A good friend of mine had organised for a few of us to see the film Baraka (which I think has dated incredibly, but has stunning cinematography – also, the print was in stellar condition).

I’d left an hour and a half early, and my friend Col couldn’t turn up because of work. So, I was alone. I bought my ticket, and waited.

The foyer, unusually, was empty. I’d expected lots of people to turn up to see the film.

About twenty minutes before the film was to start, a cat wandered out. I was quite surprised, and gleeful. She walked past me and hopped onto the lap of a gentleman who was sitting on one of the couches. Shyly, we conversed about the cat’s boldness.

Him and his partner left and the cat sat on the worn couch by herself. The above photo I took when I was sitting next to her, waiting. She’s very friendly and quite used to people. Her nametag said she was called Marzipan.

After the film, I saw one of the ushers sitting next to her. I wandered over and asked him if the cat belonged here. He said yes, she did, and that she wasn’t afraid of large crowds of people, and that she was spoilt rotten and quite well for her eighteen years. I grinned like a kid as he spoke about her. We said goodbye and he told me to come back.

If you should ever find yourself at the Astor, I hope you meet her. She’s really quite a darling.

Yes, I’ve started riding again! Though my bike is a little out-of-shape and needs some attention, I’m determined to get back in the saddle, so to speak. I thought my gears were going to break out into some industrial tunes, such is their crunchiness. I am terrible when it comes to bike maintenance but I best learn! Naturally, my timing is appalling: it’s a very cold autumn in Melbourne and I live in an area that is not at all bike-friendly, despite it having bike lanes along the main roads.

As happens, I stumbled across something interesting on the internet – an article about the world’s fifteen most bike-friendly cities – I was quite surprised to see that Perth (for my international chums, an Australian city) is among them.

It’s a pretty cool list and I’m sure Rob and Ris will be happy to hear that Paris is among the list too.

Yeah, Summer of Gelato 2008-9 is officially over. It’s coooooooold!

Here’s what I tried. The flavours are not mixed together – they were separate.

- plum pudding & blood orange – that place on Bridge Rd, Richmond
- pistachio & chocolate – Pellegrini’s, Bourke St, city
- raspberry, apricot & green tea – the place near Argyle Place, Carlton, on Lygon St

Cheers to my beloved Amy for reacquainting me with the love that is gelato. It’s quite refreshing and a good deal better for the lactose-intolerant!

I went back to work this week. Holy fuck, the panic attacks are insane. I carry diazepam around with me now, sob.

Fri 24/4

Went to a Melbourne Comedy Festival gig at the Melbourne Museum with @01000101 and @sweet_libertine. Three different comedians take you on a tour of selected areas of the museum. I’d never been before (the old one used to be where the State Library is now), and it’s pretty impressive. Quite funny that this really modern building is next to a World Heritage listed one – the Royal Exhibition Building which is just grand. But the show! It was funny, though I felt that one of the comedians wasn’t quite as funny as the other two. There’s also something really cool to be said about creeping round massive public buildings after-hours.

Us three Twitterettes then went to Trotters in Carlton for a spot of dinner (I had lamb and rosemary sausages with spinach and mash). T left us to catch up with friends she bumped into, and F & I went into Borders to lose some money. She bumped into someone, we left Borders poorer, then skipped across the road to lose even more money at Readings.

Borders & Readings spoils!

It was really nice to go bookshopping with someone who gets as excited and lusty over books as you do. Also, I fail at centre-aligning this photo.

Sat 25/4
Melbourne Comedy Fest gig again – this time, ‘Luke’s Got Cancer’ at the Melb Town Hall. I went with TJ and her partner Paul who were both very, very unwell. I really enjoyed Luke’s show but probably because I’ve met him a couple of times and find him fairly funny. I have to say that while I belly-laughed heaps of times during the show when others were quiet (you better appreciate that, Luke), it did make me very sad: it made me think incessantly of what Z must have gone through (which of course invariably depressed me), and then just thinking of him altogether makes me think < insert your favourite emo thought here >. But hey, there are some days when it’s funny that you’ve been dumped by a cancer survivor because they couldn’t deal with your illness. Some days…

It also reminded me of my lesser but nevertheless chronic struggles to find meds that don’t fuck up your system. I mean yes, it was rather funny when I still lived in North Melb and was on *that* medication that made me throw up for five months nearly everyday. Doctor sez: “Oh Gem, your system will adjust to it in two or so months and you’ll feel fine” (I did eventually come off that med for something a little less vomit-inducing). Also, try explaining to work that no, you’re not late or having to go home early because you’ve got morning sickness, it’s just my meds. Sometimes, one just wants the comfort of having an illness that that more physical manifestations. I’m not saying I’d prefer to have cancer, hell no, I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone (no, not even the few people I hate). I guess it’d just be nice if society had a bit more understanding that mental/psychological illnesses have a lot more physical symptoms than one would normally assume.

Having said that, the folks at Epping Centrelink were exceedingly nice to me when I broke out into a Septimus-style panic attack when two bogans got into a fight in the queue.

Oh dear, I went on a mental illness rant, didn’t I?

Anyway, the delicious Justin was also at the show and I got to meet his crew @swingdag and Si. We headed off to Manchuria Bar (nice choice!) after the show and I got home at the ungodly hour of 3.30am.

* * *
Today, I’ve been reading a wonderful local (Melb, Aus) publication by Falcon vs. Monkey, Monkey Wins, the entire issue is devoted to Richard Brautigan, an American Beat-gen writer. I only encountered him recently last year and he’s just fantastic. The thing I enjoy most about what I’ve read of his is that he adds irreverence and humour to stereotypes and cliche. Best such example I can think of is profound saying 3. It’s 25 AUD for a copy, and comes with wonderful illustrations, contributions from Brautigan’s daughter, and even a piece by Stanley Donwood (the fellow who does the art for Radiohead’s albums and such).

My cat still thinks he’s ghetto at his distinguished age and was shot up with hardcore antibiotics after some wounds of his got infected. I bought Cooking Mama on the Wii and suck at it because I use “too much mind!” (you have to imagine that in a cutesy Japanese girl voice).

I’m also waiting on a Nanoloop cartridge – the synth that was used to make the sounds for the Nintendo GameBoy. It’s nice to be able to enjoy chiptunes without getting all teary. I am currently addicted to a song by PDF Format which is really a chiptunes cover of “God Only Knows” by the Beach Boys (can be obtained for free on the web if you Google).

Anyway, back to reading so I can write more. So far this year has yielded two serious poems. I’ve written a whole bunch of other things but those I wouldn’t even give to illiterati.

What do you say to someone who hates people just as much as you do?

I don’t know. But maybe make them laugh. I had a bit of a Snoopy/Charlie Brown moment with a mate of mine the other day. Friends make other friends laugh: doesn’t that sound like something you’d see on a Peanuts greeting card?

(21:46:21) gorgeous warm-hearted L: i hate vista
(21:49:01) ok not ok: ugh you have vista?
(21:49:04) ok not ok: dude, why?
(21:50:15) gorgeous warm-hearted L why shouldnt i hate it?
(21:50:53) ok not ok: no, dude, why do you HAVE vista
(21:51:01) ok not ok: it suxx0r to the maxx0r
(21:51:08) ok not ok: this is a well-established fact
(21:51:10) gorgeous warm-hearted L: cause my laptop came with it
(21:51:13) ok not ok: ahhh
(21:51:19) ok not ok: oh my. must be well new then
(21:51:28) gorgeous warm-hearted L: about a year old
(21:52:24) gorgeous warm-hearted L: i dont get peopole
(21:52:27) gorgeous warm-hearted L: people suck gemma
(21:52:36) ok not ok: darling, i know <3
(21:53:01) ok not ok: but why hate ppl?
(21:53:16) gorgeous warm-hearted Luke: why not?
(21:53:27) ok not ok: i do too i was wondering what your reason was
(21:53:35) gorgeous warm-hearted L: because they’re all evil
(21:53:48) ok not ok: i hope i’m not
(21:53:53) ok not ok: god knows i try not to
(21:53:59) ok not ok: i mean i don’t even wank
(21:54:23) gorgeous warm-hearted Luke: haahahahaha
(21:54:23) gorgeous warm-hearted Luke: wanking doesnt make you evil
(21:54:36) ok not ok: i know. i just wanted to make you laugh