As it turns out, it was a mistake to quote Led Zeppelin on the discussion board for my community development subject.
Not everyone is into drawing on rock anthologies to explain how communities rally together around a particular issue. Indeed, it seems as though my reference was completely lost on my audience of around 170 fellow students. So, the lesson for me here is that sometimes it is not so good to stand out from the crowd. If Molly Meldrum was in my class, my comment might have been a hit. But he isn't. It's just a bunch of people who like to talk about harmony and ideology and 'harnessing community spirit'. The risk did not pay off this time! A shame it happened at the beginning of the semester, how do I recover from this? (Not by dismissing entire class as bunch of rock-less souls .... at least not to their face).
A sign that I have approached a certain age: the 90s is back in fashion. It was long enough ago to be considered cool by 16 year olds now, but still feels close enough to me to be a little bit cringy. I remember my Mum shuddering at the 70s vintage I would parade around in when I was an undergraduate, for her it was all too close and horrific. I thought her comments just made her sound like an old person. And now ... well, the world has rotated a few more times and da-da! I am old too. But really - those little cropped blouses that tie up at the front and the big back packs and long floral skirts ... not great then. Don't look that much better now. The same can definitely be said for 100% polyester shirts (the really really thick ones with the belt in the same fabric that ties at the most unflattering part of the waist) - but because my Mum said it to me, and I was 20 years old - it was simply not a valid comment at the time. Now I understand.
However I look at it, I just can't see the 90s as 'vintage'. If I find a checked baggy shirt on a second hand rack, it is not embraced as good find. It is discarded for the smelly rag that it is. For anyone who is starting to think the 90s was kind of cool - I refer you to Jerry Seinfeld. Please look at those jeans, and get back to me. Not good then, kind of worse now. I keep repeating to myself that the 90s was now 20 years ago, and I admit that almost enough time has elapsed to enable me to pull out some of the key trends that marked that decade.
The next challenge 2000-2010? If you want to stay ahead of the pack, you better start tailoring some hot new vintage look circa 2005. Confusing? Yes? How do I make something look retro and now, that is actually still kind of part of what I wear, but just a little bit old?
I think that's basically the recipe of the fashion cycle.
Don't throw anything away, just keep wearing it, give it 10 years and recycle it as vintage. (But you can probably let the hyper-colour t-shirt go.)
Monday, March 19, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Lipstick in my handbag and a party on the dance floor.
So anyway, I went to a nightclub recently. I know! It felt like something so deeply etched into my past, that I wanted to refer to it as the 'discotheque'.
I got so carried away by nostalgia for a life lived long ago, that I found myself even reaching for a cigarette. And had it not been for the fact that the best I could get my hands on was a Winnie Blue, I may have actually smoked it (and no doubt vomited five minutes later). My body has been a nicotine-free temple for many many years ... probably best to leave it that way!
There was a band, my boyfriend, a nice cold beer in my hand, lots of people making merry, and no missed calls from the home front on my mobile. Perfect conditions for an hour or two of fun, shaking our tail-feather and gossiping about the dance floor. Just like the good old days!
The trip down memory lane continued right into the toilet. I closed the cubicle door and read signage about up and coming events at 'the nightclub' with interest (and a deep-seated understanding that I would in no way attend). I looked at the dirty floor and smiled fondly, thinking of all the filthy nightclub toilets I had ever been into (not sure when this became a pleasant memory, but I think it has).
Considering that using any public toilet for me now generally involves bringing my small companion, and that she will invariably open the toilet door after she has finished (but I have not) as she is bored; dirty old nightclub toilets with no toilet paper look pretty good.
Oh how the years can change perspective!
In sum: it hasn't been that long in the scheme of things, but we have turned into the couple who seem to have a disproportionate amount of fun (and drinks) to the event itself. The reason being: don't get out that much anymore!
People of this ilk used to completely mystify me. Why were they so drunk? Why were they having so much fun? Why were they dancing to that shit song? The answer: because they have to.
You never know when your next discotheque is going to roll into down!
I got so carried away by nostalgia for a life lived long ago, that I found myself even reaching for a cigarette. And had it not been for the fact that the best I could get my hands on was a Winnie Blue, I may have actually smoked it (and no doubt vomited five minutes later). My body has been a nicotine-free temple for many many years ... probably best to leave it that way!
There was a band, my boyfriend, a nice cold beer in my hand, lots of people making merry, and no missed calls from the home front on my mobile. Perfect conditions for an hour or two of fun, shaking our tail-feather and gossiping about the dance floor. Just like the good old days!
The trip down memory lane continued right into the toilet. I closed the cubicle door and read signage about up and coming events at 'the nightclub' with interest (and a deep-seated understanding that I would in no way attend). I looked at the dirty floor and smiled fondly, thinking of all the filthy nightclub toilets I had ever been into (not sure when this became a pleasant memory, but I think it has).
Considering that using any public toilet for me now generally involves bringing my small companion, and that she will invariably open the toilet door after she has finished (but I have not) as she is bored; dirty old nightclub toilets with no toilet paper look pretty good.
Oh how the years can change perspective!
In sum: it hasn't been that long in the scheme of things, but we have turned into the couple who seem to have a disproportionate amount of fun (and drinks) to the event itself. The reason being: don't get out that much anymore!
People of this ilk used to completely mystify me. Why were they so drunk? Why were they having so much fun? Why were they dancing to that shit song? The answer: because they have to.
You never know when your next discotheque is going to roll into down!
Thursday, February 16, 2012
I am not GP.
I'm a mess.
Eyebrows overgrown and all too close to their real colour. Hair regrowth unmentionable. Bags under eyes tattooed on. Abdominal remnants of pregnancy sticking to me like glue. Nail polish on toes 3+ weeks old and chipped to buggery - destined to remain in this hopeless state due to bizarre amnesty on nail polish remover in Port Moresby. (Me to every shop assistant at every chemist: "Hi, I was just wondering if you had any nail polish remover?", them to me: "No.") And still, I continue to search, as though the PNG salesperson frankness was not enough information to go on.
And then there's family life. It is a 24 hour a day affair for me at the moment. Everyone else seems to be getting decent sleep. I suppose my heart should be warmed by all the time I get to watch my beautiful babies and sexy breadwinner sleeping soundly and peacefully. Those wee hours really are a special time. FOR THEM ESPECIALLY AS THEY ARE ...... A-S-L-E-E-P!
So I breastfeed constantly, do my best to manage the toddler's walk on the wild side (I hope she soon learns that crime ultimately doesn't pay), and absorb the big issues of the day from the busy working world, while cooking dinner, running baths, changing nappies and wiping bottoms. Meanwhile ... my eyebrows continue to grow. I have declared to all under my roof, that it must stop, as I can no longer continue to feel as depicted in the following image:
Eyebrows overgrown and all too close to their real colour. Hair regrowth unmentionable. Bags under eyes tattooed on. Abdominal remnants of pregnancy sticking to me like glue. Nail polish on toes 3+ weeks old and chipped to buggery - destined to remain in this hopeless state due to bizarre amnesty on nail polish remover in Port Moresby. (Me to every shop assistant at every chemist: "Hi, I was just wondering if you had any nail polish remover?", them to me: "No.") And still, I continue to search, as though the PNG salesperson frankness was not enough information to go on.
And then there's family life. It is a 24 hour a day affair for me at the moment. Everyone else seems to be getting decent sleep. I suppose my heart should be warmed by all the time I get to watch my beautiful babies and sexy breadwinner sleeping soundly and peacefully. Those wee hours really are a special time. FOR THEM ESPECIALLY AS THEY ARE ...... A-S-L-E-E-P!
So I breastfeed constantly, do my best to manage the toddler's walk on the wild side (I hope she soon learns that crime ultimately doesn't pay), and absorb the big issues of the day from the busy working world, while cooking dinner, running baths, changing nappies and wiping bottoms. Meanwhile ... my eyebrows continue to grow. I have declared to all under my roof, that it must stop, as I can no longer continue to feel as depicted in the following image:
I am a sow! I am lying on my side with my teats out all day for every member of my family!
As a Goop subscriber however, I receive the occasional email that makes me feel connected to a different universe. And as I read helpful makeup tips, recipes, ideas for a sexy Valentine's Day ("you change the next *&^%ing nappy" was not on it ... woops, bad start to day of romance), and see shots from Canne and the red carpets of the world, I feel more as though I look like this:
If Gwyneth can have it all, surely I can rustle up some old Hollywood celebrity pizzazz in the compound? Clearly there is a disconnect in my online and lived realities. There may be also a mild disconnect between what God gave Gwyneth and me that no amount of on-time waxing can address.
Don't hold it against me for drawing the thinnest of parallels! A girl has to get by, and if imagining that I somehow have something in common with GP (to her subscribers), then I have to do what I have to do.
Anyway. No point wishing the hard times away ... it all goes so fast .... as every parent with horrible teenagers attests. I am most certainly enjoying the perfect wide cartoon smile of my little guy that greets me every time I put my head over the cot, and when I'm not trying to work out effective and lasting frameworks of reprimand and learning lessons for the girl, I am usually laughing at/with her.
Eg "Mummy would you like a tadpole?" as she offered me one of my tampons at bath time yesterday.
The show must go on!
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Proper vintage
I am thrilled (and amazed) to have found this collection of beautiful handmade dresses recently in Port Moresby. That they ended up here is incredible, that they have remained together for this long is simply crazy.
I picked one out for the fabric, then noticed it was handmade and had a name-tag sewn on with great care. From there, I found another, and another, and another. They are beautifully made garments, so fashionable and of a time.
Florence Kidd of Acacia House.
Why oh why aren't we the same size????
In any case, I will care for this collection of dresses with great pride (and consider a bone reconstruction in the future so that I can have the pleasure of wearing them).
I picked one out for the fabric, then noticed it was handmade and had a name-tag sewn on with great care. From there, I found another, and another, and another. They are beautifully made garments, so fashionable and of a time.
Florence Kidd of Acacia House.
Why oh why aren't we the same size????
In any case, I will care for this collection of dresses with great pride (and consider a bone reconstruction in the future so that I can have the pleasure of wearing them).
Deco-muse.
My small lady has become my muse.
So much more fun to dress her than me!
So much more fun to decorate her room than mine (at the great expense of ours).
It is devastating to me that our most recent addition to the family is blue, not pink. Devastating, in that so many beautiful things are a one-time only wear. There will be no recipient down the line.
Have decided to hang them instead, what once was, can now be art!
So much more fun to dress her than me!
So much more fun to decorate her room than mine (at the great expense of ours).
It is devastating to me that our most recent addition to the family is blue, not pink. Devastating, in that so many beautiful things are a one-time only wear. There will be no recipient down the line.
Have decided to hang them instead, what once was, can now be art!
Thursday, February 9, 2012
The power of two.
I do not understand how a two-year old can wield so much power over her universe.
How? She is not even 100cm high.
We are having a hell of a time. If I was to relay events of recent weeks in a visual montage with a soundtrack, some of the following images would be sourced:
Backing track: You can't always get what you want (for shots of parents despairing) and Superfreak (for all images of toddler crime)
How? She is not even 100cm high.
We are having a hell of a time. If I was to relay events of recent weeks in a visual montage with a soundtrack, some of the following images would be sourced:
- Her using all her mini-strength to lift a gerry-can into the shopping trolley while hapless mother searches for toilet paper
- Her waving her teachers away at school as they try to write her name on her painting <fade in voice over of her yelling "it's not your painting, it's MINE">
- Her four limbs gripping onto me as the teachers pull her off at the beginning of a school day
- The 'love' towards her young sibling which thinly veils her real feelings, and usually ends in some form of mild assault on the baby
- Her sitting on the bathroom floor, unwrapping pads, removing adhesive strips, then sticking them on the floor while helpless mother looks on in the background, with breastfeeding baby attached
- A little hand throwing a handful of eclipse mints into a full bath
- A little lady sitting on her red and yellow mini toilet seat <fade in voice over of her yelling "Daddy I want PRIVACY!">
- A little hand pulling buttons off her dress <fade in voice over of "Mummy, sew my buttons back on!">
- A shot of Mummy pouring wine into a generic looking tumbler with clock in background to indicate 4.10pm
- A repeat of gerry-can shot, as to be honest it was pretty goddamned funny, even to me
- Final shot of sleeping angel cuddling Miffy in bed, which always creates parental amnesia regarding the day's events.
Backing track: You can't always get what you want (for shots of parents despairing) and Superfreak (for all images of toddler crime)
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