I can't sleep. Just got settled at home after my birthday party, which I had been worrying about. I've always wondered what makes a good party after all the party elitism of Berlin, and I really don't know about organising them. Why can't I just sit back and enjoy them? At my wedding, I was stressing the whole time, worrying about whether there was enough food (there wasn't), whether or not the little gingerbread man favours had been put out (they hadn't), etc etc, and only later when people remembered the thing with such fondness did I realise that it was actually a pretty good party.
I was doing the same again tonight, wondering constantly if it was a cool party or not, could I have done it better, was Karaoke the right choice, was there enough food and drink, why didn't people turn up on time, and why did some leave early... I'm still not sure now and I got home a little wound up and I sat and read the cards and... then had nothing but gratitude and joy that I have such people whom I can call friends. This is the time for stock taking, and the thing is, I know some awesome people, and.. you know, I think they might like me back.
I'm not sure about whether I'm a very good party planner (note to self: karaoke is a bold choice!), but I was in a room with some of my favourite people in the whole world. And there will be many good times ahead with them all, milestone or no. Do I need an excuse to spend time with these people? I shouldn't have to have one, I know, but any excuse is a good one.
It's not so profound, but it bears remembering.
breakfast:
milo and congee made with leftover duck and chicken bones.
verdict:
mmm. I really love congee, but something you have to watch is that it might mean you're full for less time and need to eat more sooner. I guess it's all that water.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Feminism is dead. Or at least a real loser.
Just stumbled onto Rock of Love on C4, and it's like watching a car crash. I can't stop watching. Why? Why? This sad old insecure man gets a harem of young women to bitch and catfight with each other over him, jump to his beck and call, do his bidding, and the prize is what? A date with him. A no-strings attached date. This .. this.. is horrible. The man is.. disgusting.
"The sexy six. The sexy six" (ad infinitum)
"Dress warm and sexy. I want a layer of sex"
Who talks like this? Who? Whoooooo?
The only thing that makes me feel better about this is the news that the winner of season 1 didn't want him in the end. Take that, yukky woman-objectifying man! Hahahaaa!
(OMG.. just watched the credits and the production company is called 'Mindless Entertainment'. They actually celebrate this? How can they live with themselves? How can I live with myself that I watched a whole episode of this? Must... self-flagellate... purge.. purge...)
breakfast:
Lemon and Honey, 2 vit C tablets and a nectarine. Followed up on set with a Panadol, pseudoefedrine tablet and half a cheese toasty.
verdict:
I'm sick. I blame my cold-addled brain for wanting to watch baaaaaaaad eviiillllll TV.
"The sexy six. The sexy six" (ad infinitum)
"Dress warm and sexy. I want a layer of sex"
Who talks like this? Who? Whoooooo?
The only thing that makes me feel better about this is the news that the winner of season 1 didn't want him in the end. Take that, yukky woman-objectifying man! Hahahaaa!
(OMG.. just watched the credits and the production company is called 'Mindless Entertainment'. They actually celebrate this? How can they live with themselves? How can I live with myself that I watched a whole episode of this? Must... self-flagellate... purge.. purge...)
breakfast:
Lemon and Honey, 2 vit C tablets and a nectarine. Followed up on set with a Panadol, pseudoefedrine tablet and half a cheese toasty.
verdict:
I'm sick. I blame my cold-addled brain for wanting to watch baaaaaaaad eviiillllll TV.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
this sucks
This is one of those things that when anyone asks "when did you hear about it", I'll remember where I was.
I was sitting talking with Li Ming, just before going into 'Lust, Caution' (mm Tony Leung... but scary Tony Leung, really), and I checked a text on my phone... the text was from Marc, and it said "Heath Ledger died from a drug overdose. What is up?!".
And it really clocked me for 6. I'm not sure why, and I'm actually a little ashamed about how much this has affected me. First there was denial, that it was some kind of bad taste publicity stunt. Then there was a pall cast over the whole day, every now and again I'd think of it and feel... just more disbelief I guess, kept checking the news sites, reading post after post of people feeling the same way - oh it's so sad, think of this kid, think of his ex, think of (trust AV clubbers to say this one) Terry Gilliam - and it's spilled over to today, still checking the news - I just want to know what happened, what the fuck happened?!
It's not even as if I really liked him - in that fan-girl way, I mean - I just thought he was a great actor, and he had a wonderful career both behind and in front of him. I couldn't wait to see what he did next, and when I saw the prologue of the next Batman at the IMax theatre, my mouth was literally open with the genius of his Joker. And now there will be no more Joker, and watching Batman won't be the joyous experience it could have been, because he's gone. There will be no more anything from this amazing presence, and it really sucks.
That's the only way I can articulate it.
Breakfast:
a milo and a peach.
verdict:
still bummed.
I was sitting talking with Li Ming, just before going into 'Lust, Caution' (mm Tony Leung... but scary Tony Leung, really), and I checked a text on my phone... the text was from Marc, and it said "Heath Ledger died from a drug overdose. What is up?!".
And it really clocked me for 6. I'm not sure why, and I'm actually a little ashamed about how much this has affected me. First there was denial, that it was some kind of bad taste publicity stunt. Then there was a pall cast over the whole day, every now and again I'd think of it and feel... just more disbelief I guess, kept checking the news sites, reading post after post of people feeling the same way - oh it's so sad, think of this kid, think of his ex, think of (trust AV clubbers to say this one) Terry Gilliam - and it's spilled over to today, still checking the news - I just want to know what happened, what the fuck happened?!
It's not even as if I really liked him - in that fan-girl way, I mean - I just thought he was a great actor, and he had a wonderful career both behind and in front of him. I couldn't wait to see what he did next, and when I saw the prologue of the next Batman at the IMax theatre, my mouth was literally open with the genius of his Joker. And now there will be no more Joker, and watching Batman won't be the joyous experience it could have been, because he's gone. There will be no more anything from this amazing presence, and it really sucks.
That's the only way I can articulate it.
Breakfast:
a milo and a peach.
verdict:
still bummed.
Monday, December 31, 2007
on appropriate hangovers
and so it always happens this time of year that I get a bee in my bonnet about how I want to feel about New Years. Either it's carefully cultivated indifference ("oh, I dunno. Whatever, no big deal"), or a desperate need for the big-kiss-at-the-end-of-the-countdown cheese, as seen in romantic comedies. This year I'm getting a feeling for the latter plus a new desire to just... well.. sort of get shitfaced in some way or other. And nurture a hangover maybe.
Whenever I express this desire to others, this is how the conversation goes:
them: why on earth would you want to do that?
me: because I've never had a hangover before, and I thought this was a good occasion to do it.
t: well you've never jumped off the Harbour Bridge before either.
m: yes, but that's terminal. People have hangovers all the time and I want to know what that's
like. Also, I've never been vomity drunk before.
t: why the fuck would you want to feel like that?
m: because people are always going on about how wasted they were/are and I just want to know what they're talking about. It's like a need for empathy.
t: you don't need any empathy! It's a horrible feeling!
m: well you do it all the time.
t: yes, but it's awful.
m: so why do you do it?
t: I don't do it to get a hangover or vomit!
m: yes but you still drink with the knowledge that you'll probably get a hangover and possibly get drunk. If it's so awful why don't you just not drink?
t: shut up, dick!
OK, so they don't end it like that. But I had to end the script somewhere.
What irritates me is the patronising "oh, I've been there, and you don't want to do that, little one" tone that seems to permeate this conversation. Drinking and getting shitfaced is, from what I've seen, a large part of this culture, and what confounds me is the cultivation of the idea of "accidental" shitfacery, when, quite clearly, in this town at least, the act of drinking is a deliberate stepping stone to shitfacery. So it's OK for the drinker to decide to get shit-faced while drinking, under the pretence of "accidental shitfacery", but not OK for me to decide to get shitfaced to see what a hangover is like?
Maybe the hangover curiosity stems from the one (and last, he vows) time that Stephen got shitfaced - on the night before the day before our wedding. I'd had a rather pleasant hen's night bowling while he played poker and drank Soju in the wedding marquee until he fell off his chair multiple times and vomited in the garden. The next morning, when we were due to complete a not entirely small amount of gardening to get the grounds ready for everything, his brother answered the phone blearily and told me that Stephen wasn't going to make it to the phone. My dependable, always there Stephen, not coming to phone when there was a heap of sweaty labour to be done? I had never experienced a hangover so first hand before. By afternoon, I still hadn't seen my groom-to-be and I was miserable. I remember sitting in the grass with a trowel in one hand and 20 little pots of pink flowers to be planted on the ground next to me, and crying. All because of Stephen's Hangover.
Later, when I asked why he couldn't physically have dragged himself out of bed and helped me, he told me that having a hangover felt like death. I don't know how that feels and I guess ever since then I've wanted some kind of empathy. I could have just gotten shitfaced a few days after when the wedding madness was over, but it would have seemed... unpoetic. I could have got shitfaced last New Years, but... to be honest, I can't actually remember what I did last New Years, which is just my point. I want to remember my New Years. And ironically, forgetting it in a drunken stupor would actually be more memorable than what I did last year. Which isn't to say that last New Year's was crap, I'm sure it was pleasant, but it was so pleasant that I forgot it. Maybe a bit of debauchery this year will mark the occasion in a more appropriate fashion.
We'll see.
(and it's not lost on me that I'm extremely privileged this is my only New Year concern)
breakfast:
rice and left over scallops, finished with a plate of cherries. I am so lucky to live here.
Whenever I express this desire to others, this is how the conversation goes:
them: why on earth would you want to do that?
me: because I've never had a hangover before, and I thought this was a good occasion to do it.
t: well you've never jumped off the Harbour Bridge before either.
m: yes, but that's terminal. People have hangovers all the time and I want to know what that's
like. Also, I've never been vomity drunk before.
t: why the fuck would you want to feel like that?
m: because people are always going on about how wasted they were/are and I just want to know what they're talking about. It's like a need for empathy.
t: you don't need any empathy! It's a horrible feeling!
m: well you do it all the time.
t: yes, but it's awful.
m: so why do you do it?
t: I don't do it to get a hangover or vomit!
m: yes but you still drink with the knowledge that you'll probably get a hangover and possibly get drunk. If it's so awful why don't you just not drink?
t: shut up, dick!
OK, so they don't end it like that. But I had to end the script somewhere.
What irritates me is the patronising "oh, I've been there, and you don't want to do that, little one" tone that seems to permeate this conversation. Drinking and getting shitfaced is, from what I've seen, a large part of this culture, and what confounds me is the cultivation of the idea of "accidental" shitfacery, when, quite clearly, in this town at least, the act of drinking is a deliberate stepping stone to shitfacery. So it's OK for the drinker to decide to get shit-faced while drinking, under the pretence of "accidental shitfacery", but not OK for me to decide to get shitfaced to see what a hangover is like?
Maybe the hangover curiosity stems from the one (and last, he vows) time that Stephen got shitfaced - on the night before the day before our wedding. I'd had a rather pleasant hen's night bowling while he played poker and drank Soju in the wedding marquee until he fell off his chair multiple times and vomited in the garden. The next morning, when we were due to complete a not entirely small amount of gardening to get the grounds ready for everything, his brother answered the phone blearily and told me that Stephen wasn't going to make it to the phone. My dependable, always there Stephen, not coming to phone when there was a heap of sweaty labour to be done? I had never experienced a hangover so first hand before. By afternoon, I still hadn't seen my groom-to-be and I was miserable. I remember sitting in the grass with a trowel in one hand and 20 little pots of pink flowers to be planted on the ground next to me, and crying. All because of Stephen's Hangover.
Later, when I asked why he couldn't physically have dragged himself out of bed and helped me, he told me that having a hangover felt like death. I don't know how that feels and I guess ever since then I've wanted some kind of empathy. I could have just gotten shitfaced a few days after when the wedding madness was over, but it would have seemed... unpoetic. I could have got shitfaced last New Years, but... to be honest, I can't actually remember what I did last New Years, which is just my point. I want to remember my New Years. And ironically, forgetting it in a drunken stupor would actually be more memorable than what I did last year. Which isn't to say that last New Year's was crap, I'm sure it was pleasant, but it was so pleasant that I forgot it. Maybe a bit of debauchery this year will mark the occasion in a more appropriate fashion.
We'll see.
(and it's not lost on me that I'm extremely privileged this is my only New Year concern)
breakfast:
rice and left over scallops, finished with a plate of cherries. I am so lucky to live here.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
moving on...
nothing really to say really. Not sure why I had the urge to blog, but then I managed to get onto one of the hostel's two 'free' internet stations, and felt I needed to use the time well. This travel head space is taking a little while to get used to.. having internet and hearing news from home (just got the news our cat is getting a little stressed in the new cattery :( ) makes the transition better in some ways, but not so good in others because the tethers to home are still there, and in some ways it's better not to be missing and worrying about the things back home...
Things done in BA:
Tango show
La Boca (it's a tourist trap!)
Puerto Madro
Ummm.... lolly and iceblock stores, which are everywhere! On every block! My dentist is going to kill me...
Onward to Cordoba tonight on an 11 hour bus ride, but apaprently, it's like business class on a plane with very reclinable seats and fold down TV screens... sweeeeet
breakfast:
nothing yet, but about to have toast with jam and butter. Stephen says it reminds him of home...
Things done in BA:
Tango show
La Boca (it's a tourist trap!)
Puerto Madro
Ummm.... lolly and iceblock stores, which are everywhere! On every block! My dentist is going to kill me...
Onward to Cordoba tonight on an 11 hour bus ride, but apaprently, it's like business class on a plane with very reclinable seats and fold down TV screens... sweeeeet
breakfast:
nothing yet, but about to have toast with jam and butter. Stephen says it reminds him of home...
Monday, December 03, 2007
free internet at the hostel = no
the reality of our addiction to the internet is apparent when we get grumpy and start sniping at each other, just because it´s been too long between hits. The hostel boasted ´free internet´, which actually meant 2 internet stations, one of which was bung (and the other of which is also occasionally bung) which means that there´s always a young and bouncy backpacker sitting there.
Since when did I get so old that young and bouncy backpackers irritate me just by their enthusiasm for beer and extreme sport? Maybe it´s their hair fudge and cut off tees that just rub me up the wrong way. Grump grump.
Anyway, it´s nice to get our hit here in an extremely cheap internet cafe... noone speaks english, but it´s cool, they seem friendly enough. Swelteringly hot outside, but looking forward to the antique market today - Stephen is off with Jason to the Science Museum (ha ha nerds!).
Have visited:
The Evita Museum
Evita´s tomb in the Recoleta Cemetery
The huuuge Recoleta market
The Obelisco
The city cathedral
Market shopping really is done best by oneself. Signing off!
Breakfast:
cornflakes. Provided free by the hostel ( the bakery around the corner was closed but if it had been open I would have got a sweet croissant)
Since when did I get so old that young and bouncy backpackers irritate me just by their enthusiasm for beer and extreme sport? Maybe it´s their hair fudge and cut off tees that just rub me up the wrong way. Grump grump.
Anyway, it´s nice to get our hit here in an extremely cheap internet cafe... noone speaks english, but it´s cool, they seem friendly enough. Swelteringly hot outside, but looking forward to the antique market today - Stephen is off with Jason to the Science Museum (ha ha nerds!).
Have visited:
The Evita Museum
Evita´s tomb in the Recoleta Cemetery
The huuuge Recoleta market
The Obelisco
The city cathedral
Market shopping really is done best by oneself. Signing off!
Breakfast:
cornflakes. Provided free by the hostel ( the bakery around the corner was closed but if it had been open I would have got a sweet croissant)
Friday, November 30, 2007
awake in argentina - day one
I thought about writing this down old school styles in a journal, but with the computers at this Buenos Aires San Telmo hostel (Tango City Hostel!!! Party!!!!) finally free at 4am and coinciding with my profound lack of sleepiness, the temptation to blog was too great.
It´s weird how I always seem to manage to get busy just before I go away, so that the reality only hits when I´m sitting on the plane thinking ' man I´m bored. Why aren´t I doing something?´. It doesn´t help when the bloody queue at Auckland airport took over 90 minutes - I mean no wonder they tell you 3 hours, with shitty check'in systems like that. I forget how much waiting is involved with travel, and after having comfort and efficiency down to a tee at home in my oh-so-busy life, this sudden waste of time is as much a shock as landing in a place where your sister told you that most people will be able to speak English, but in reality, when you get there and trot out feeble ´habla englees´´s hither and thither, most people shake their heads and put their thumb and forefinger together and go ¨un poco¨, which means ¨well I´ll try, but not too hard, noob¨.
Highlight so far on day one include:
- the very laidback service on the flight to BA - we gamely put on the wee service signal in the ¨airconditioned¨, sweltering plane ride, having sucked the water out of us and our single water bottle.. after a couple hours we realised that they weren´t coming, so I ventured to the back of the plane where I found our two wayward flight attendants gossiping atop food boxes. When I asked if I could have some water, one of them, vaguely distracted, waved in the general direction of a counter laden with drinks and snacks, then turned back to the interesting story she was listening to. I helped myself, and on return to my seat was asked by another passenger - no doubt flummoxed by the lack of attendants - where I got all my snacky booty from. I told her, and slowly word began to spread around the cabin. One hour later, when Stephen ventured to the back for more ¨cereal bar¨, a small crowd had apparently developed there.
- dinner. The hostel lady recommended a meat eatery nearby, so we gamely went there.. after the usual sign language and bemused looks from waiter staff, we sat down, and ordered this famous steak that everyone had been telling us about, as well as a Spanish tortilla. Wrong thing number 1 - we ordered the steak rare. It was rare alright. Thick (like, 7 cm thick), tasty, yes... raw, basically still mooing (yes, Renee, we learned our lesson, we took the Lonely Planet´s word over yours, it shall never happen again). Wrong thing number 2 - do not order Sapnish tortilla in Argentina. It was basically a big dinner plate sized slab of fries held together by lots of barely cooked egg, and not slated or seasoned at all. Worst Spanish tortilla ever.
Otherwise all is well - the people are brusque, but good natured. The surrounds are completely different which is kind of what I wanted.. it´s so easy to settle into griping about this and that, but really there is a sort of joy about getting out of your element...
Breakfast:
on the plane, two cold croissants and tea and chemically tasting ornage juice. Ah, plane food...
It´s weird how I always seem to manage to get busy just before I go away, so that the reality only hits when I´m sitting on the plane thinking ' man I´m bored. Why aren´t I doing something?´. It doesn´t help when the bloody queue at Auckland airport took over 90 minutes - I mean no wonder they tell you 3 hours, with shitty check'in systems like that. I forget how much waiting is involved with travel, and after having comfort and efficiency down to a tee at home in my oh-so-busy life, this sudden waste of time is as much a shock as landing in a place where your sister told you that most people will be able to speak English, but in reality, when you get there and trot out feeble ´habla englees´´s hither and thither, most people shake their heads and put their thumb and forefinger together and go ¨un poco¨, which means ¨well I´ll try, but not too hard, noob¨.
Highlight so far on day one include:
- the very laidback service on the flight to BA - we gamely put on the wee service signal in the ¨airconditioned¨, sweltering plane ride, having sucked the water out of us and our single water bottle.. after a couple hours we realised that they weren´t coming, so I ventured to the back of the plane where I found our two wayward flight attendants gossiping atop food boxes. When I asked if I could have some water, one of them, vaguely distracted, waved in the general direction of a counter laden with drinks and snacks, then turned back to the interesting story she was listening to. I helped myself, and on return to my seat was asked by another passenger - no doubt flummoxed by the lack of attendants - where I got all my snacky booty from. I told her, and slowly word began to spread around the cabin. One hour later, when Stephen ventured to the back for more ¨cereal bar¨, a small crowd had apparently developed there.
- dinner. The hostel lady recommended a meat eatery nearby, so we gamely went there.. after the usual sign language and bemused looks from waiter staff, we sat down, and ordered this famous steak that everyone had been telling us about, as well as a Spanish tortilla. Wrong thing number 1 - we ordered the steak rare. It was rare alright. Thick (like, 7 cm thick), tasty, yes... raw, basically still mooing (yes, Renee, we learned our lesson, we took the Lonely Planet´s word over yours, it shall never happen again). Wrong thing number 2 - do not order Sapnish tortilla in Argentina. It was basically a big dinner plate sized slab of fries held together by lots of barely cooked egg, and not slated or seasoned at all. Worst Spanish tortilla ever.
Otherwise all is well - the people are brusque, but good natured. The surrounds are completely different which is kind of what I wanted.. it´s so easy to settle into griping about this and that, but really there is a sort of joy about getting out of your element...
Breakfast:
on the plane, two cold croissants and tea and chemically tasting ornage juice. Ah, plane food...
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