I can't offend you more than I offend myself..

I’m feeling a lot of doubt, in myself as a person, as an actor, as a woman/girl/female (it doesn’t feel right referring to myself as a woman but that’s an issue I’ll have to leave for another day).
I wonder, all the time, so much so that it’s almost not worth mentioning, whether I’m deluding myself with this whole acting malarkey. But that inevitably leads to thoughts of whether I’m deluding myself with this whole life business.
Sometime in my past, somehow, I latched onto the idea of acting to give myself a purpose. And now, at 28 years old, I’m returning to the moment when that decision was made and once again asking, “what now?”
And so indeed, what now? If not an actor then what? A director? Well, that’s just as delusional as the so-called career I’ve already got. An Olympic equestrienne? Hah! A teacher? Where’s the bottle of cheap wine and sleeping pills please. A writer? Well we’re back to the impossibleness of the realm of the actor and director. So….
A prostitute? Financially lucrative but I’ve never been much good with men. And I have tiny breasts. A dog trainer? Wonderful fun but pays just enough to keep a small poodle in kibble for a couple of days with owner living in cardboard box. Hmm…. I’m drawing a blank. What else interests me? Retail sales manager? I can see my future now. Forty-five and dressed like a girl, telling some insecure brat that she looks ‘hot’.
What else? What else? Fucking God please tell me what else?!
I. Can. Not. Think. Of. Any. Other. Profession. That. I. Would. Be. Good. At.
What do I do? Starve myself to death to avoid my inevitable descent into middle-aged mediocrity? But I’ve already tried that and I’m bored with the self-indulgent narcissism it demands.
What would I be great at? I could watch DVDs for a living. Read books. Look up celebrities on the internet. Browse for weight-loss tips. Tan once a year. Do cryptic crosswords. Eat breakfast at a cafe everyday. Forget to call my parents. Stay up late. Download TV shows. Park illegally. Take mediocre photos and post them on my blog. Buy clothes. Buy cosmetics. Try to find the cure for acne. Eat my own weight in popcorn. Pick up other peoples rubbish while tsking audibly. Write down ideas for outfits I will never wear. Read Amazon book reviews for book I will never buy. Look up IMDb profiles for actors I have never heard of. Doubt myself. Doubt myself. Doubt myself.
I’m so exhausted with the thought of the meaning of the pursuit of fulfilment in life that I cannot even bring myself to think of a way to end this bitter diatri…

You know what is wonderful?

... not knowing how much I weigh and not caring because noone else does. You know what is exhilarating? Riding my bike through the East Village in cut-off 501's with my hair blowing in my face and no helmet. You know what is delightful? Getting a text message that says "You are the coolest girl ever to breathe the mix of gases that enables a human to live on this planet." You know what is astonishing? Dancing at a dive bar to cheesy 80s music and poking a munchkin in the back who turns out to be Mary Kate Olsen. You know what is magic? Sitting in Doma Cafe in the absurdly beautiful West Village eating breakfast at 9 o'clock at night and listening to Bjork's All is Full of Love. You know what is breathtaking? Walking through Central Park on a sticky July night and watching fire flies light up the hillside. You know what is unexpected? Meeting amazing, inspiring people who completely change the way I look at life. You know what is gut-wrenching? Knowing that in less than a week it'll all be a memory.

Street Style - East Village

Pee is Not Fertilizer

Down the road from Beacon's Closet.

Not after money, just having a good time

On Bedford ave in Williamsburg, very obviously high and very disturbingly entertaining.

How to Tell a Girl You're Interested

Today, hungover and tired I took my first walk through Central Park and stopped at the Ballplayer's House Cafe for a combined breakfast/lunch at 3pm. I hassled my Californian Jack Black-lookalike-only-younger-and-thinner waiter about what I should order in my listless state and then set about ingesting my Vegie Burger goodness along with the accompanying packet of crisps while reading Joseph Campbell and eavesdropping on uninspiring nearby conversations. After wiling away a good part of the day in this lazy, indulgent fashion, I packed up my stuff and put a $20 bill in the bill folder and waited for my change.
I waited.
I waited.
I waited.
I worried that perhaps they assumed I wanted to leave a big tip.
After making subtle googly eyes at random staff members, my waiter finally returned with the folder before quickly disappearing.

Inside the folder, along with my change, was this:



I should be honest with you and admit that I don't intend on calling him. But man, did he sure make my day.

New York - 6 Weeks In

So my six weeks at The Esper Studio is almost over and what an experience it’s been. Study aside, my New York experience has been the most relentlessly stimulating and exciting period of my life. I’ve run myself broke, broken up with my boyfriend of 6 years, been solicited for sex, asked for directions several times a day, applied for more jobs in 2 weeks than I have in my entire life, been yelled at, praised, adored and ignored. I’ve changed my hair colour and finally reached a healthy weight (I’ve been underweight for years). I’ve partied with famous actors and seen others in the streets. I’ve watched a Bouffon clown noir performance and a subway rendition of Do Ron Ron.

I’ve questioned my religious beliefs and I’ve rediscovered my love for acting. And, most excitingly, I’ve enjoyed hanging out with myself, and reassessing what that means.

And I still have a month left…

Small Sentences from My Pocket Notebook

On Monday night I was at a Salsa party watching the people, full of joy, dancing together as men and women should dance and a man nearby was wearing my father's cologne and I felt safe and content.

The other day an old man rode by me on a squeaky bicycle and for a moment I thought the squeaking was coming from him.

Yesterday on the subway a lady wearing a cap sneezed and her hat flew forward and landed on the open page of the magazine she was reading. I tried, unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh but thankfully she was so busy trying to make it look intentional that she didn't notice.

More Musings of a New York Experience

All the cars are Armoured. And when I say all, I mean there seems to be a national concern that someone is not only going to gun down their bank and mail trucks, but also their pet supply trucks, their bagel trucks, and worst of all, their cheap polyester Asian ball gown trucks.

American men not only make nice comments about you as you walk down the street, such as "Hey baby", "Look at them beautiful eyes" and "Yo honey wassup?", but can also be relied upon to open doors for you and allow you ahead of them in the Starbucks queue. And I don't mean men you are acquainted with, but complete strangers. This trait could well be the single most endearing quality of the American male.

Good coffee does not exist. You can either have regular coffee (filtered) or the more fancy eXpresso (note, not espresso but eXpresso) which tastes pretty much like filtered coffee but weaker, due to the enormous bowls they serve them in, and with overheated milk.

Despite the fact that I no longer automatically walk to the left side of every walkway, I have found it impossible to let go of my deeply ingrained survival instinct to Look Right, then Left, then Right Again. To avoid certain death I've adopted a method I call Continual Head Swivelling whereby I swing my head from side to side continuously while crossing the street because I just cannot train my brain to remember that they come from the left side first and then the right side.

One of the great delights of catching the subway is the walk you make up the exit stairs before emerging onto the street. It's an ascent full of anticipation and speculation, particularly if you're in a heretofore unexplored area. Will it be bustling or deserted? Will there be bodegas or boutiques? Will it smell like sewerage or halal meat? I can't help but get excited every time I make this climb.

Brooklyn Flea Market Dogs

Now I love dogs as much as the next person. In fact, I'd go so far as to say I love dogs more than the next person, being something of a dog lover. But spending any substantial amount of time in New York could do some serious damage to my canine affections. And to be fair it's not really the dogs who are to blame, but my God people, get your tiny, rat-faced, harness wearing mutts out of my way. I can't walk 10 metres without stepping in your little pal's puddles of poodle juice and just because you can tug your practically weightless dog around behind you like a kite doesn't mean it should be allowed to wander all over the footpath impersonating a living land mine. Not to mention the fact that I have to step over it in the grocery aisle and make room for its carry-bag on the subway. But please, oh please, if you must have a carry-on sized pet then at least do me the courtesy of having a cute one, and being a little inventive with its mode of transport. Like these guys...






Look at the way they're just hanging out, cool as cucumbers. Couldn't you just eat them?

I take it all back. Have your little dogs, and while you're at it, spread some of their fluffy cuteness my way.

My Thousand Dollar Night

After a night of traipsing through the LES trying to find a bar that wasn't seedy or with a queue around the block, my fellow Australian Gene and I were treated to a VIP night of pure indulgence.

It turns out that my new housemate not only has a gorgeous apartment and a lovely disposition, but also some pretty important compadres. An influential friend of hers took us out to Home, a club with a guest list which includes such luminaries as Rachel Hunter, Tara Reid, Jeremy Piven, Rosario Dawson, Cynthia Nixon and P Diddy/Puff Daddy/Poop Diddly amongst others. Whilst no celebrities made an appearance during our visit, you could be forgiven for thinking that we were the celebrities. Our high-flying man, having used his pull to help open the club, ensured that we were ushered through the velvet rope ahead of 200 waiting clubbers before being escorted to a VIP table worth $1000 a night. We were then brought $250 bottles of champagne by eager-to-please hostesses. We also got private tours through to the connected club, Guesthouse, as well as VIP entry to most of the other bars on the street.
It was quite a night.

My only quibble would be with the unavoidable spectacle of drunk Americans dancing. Sweet God in heaven, where is the class? It would seem that the general modus operandi for dancefloor courtship involves a girl being dry-humped from behind, whilst being pressed against the front of another gyrating girl with a man similarly attached to her backside. And bonus points to the man who lifts a girl up so that her legs are wrapped around his head and her crotch is mashed against his face. I mean really, this sort of behaviour would guarantee instant removal from (almost) any club in Australia. Does this make us prudish?
Or do we perhaps have more refinement than we give ourselves credit for?

Manhattan Meditations

My early observations, on a Saturday morning after 4 hours' sleep:

1. Shop assistants are unbelievably and inconceivably rude. No smiles, no eye contact, and God forbid you'd like your clothes put in a change room. It's not uncommon to be in the middle of being served by a sales girl and then watch her walk away while you wait, thinking that she's doing something important for you, only to find out 5 patient minutes later (when you ever-so-politely ask what she's doing) that she's "doing something else".

2. Which leads me to Observation #2... Tipping sucks. I mean, fair enough if you like the service. But why do I have to tip a cab driver? For doing his job? I mean, it's not like he reached back and gave me a foot rub on the way to my destination, or that he even spoke to me, or turned down his hideously loud music, or showed much of an interest in keeping me alive. Or how about the sullen bar girl who won't look me in the eye and then slams my drink down on the bar with obvious disdain? Does she think her service warrants her telling me that "you know, in this country, it's customary to tip 20% in a bar". Which it isn't. It's $1 a drink unless the service is exceptional. But you can't say that if you want to be served again later in the night. And I know you're going to tell me that "they don't earn much" and "they live off tips", because it's what I used to say. But being treated like the dog poo that's just caught a ride in on someone's shoe quickly kills off any high philanthropic ideals.

3. But on a more positive note, the weather here is truly sublime. Warm and moistly breezy and like a perfect Spring day in Perth. It makes you happy to be alive and everything looks a little hopeful. Except the people, because...

4. Manhattanites don't actually dress as well as we've been led to believe. Across the bridge in Williamsburg is a different story, but in Manhattan, the vast majority look like they've just rolled out of bed (or an outer suburbs charity shop) to buy some milk across the street. People do dress well, but they are such a tiny minority in this borough of 1.5 million people that you could make it a full time job just trying to spot them (and some do).

5. Walking around Manhattan and Brooklyn for 8 hours in a pair of Oxfords will necessitate the buying of a new pair of ergonomically correct and cushioned slingbacks with laces up the front and an open toe.

New York Welcomes You

Well here I am. New York.
Let's pause with that for a moment...

....

Yep. New York.

My over-planning and research has already served me. At the airport a very friendly, helpful driver offered to take me to my hostel for $97. When I guffawed and repeated the price to him his smile broke and he pointed me across the road, "$45 cabs over the road." I ain't nobody's fool! Yet.

After an almost clinically clean sleeping experience, I woke up at 5:50 am and am now sitting in my PJs at the downstairs cafeteria, eating my egg and ham bagel and drinking a small (ie. normal) sized styrofoam cup of Lipton's (with skim, not soy unfortunately). When I asked the cafe guy if the eggs were powdered he looked at me with disgust and said "Powdered? No way man." Then he proceeded to pull out a milk carton of egg mix and proudly hold it up for me to see.

I've never eaten less egg-flavoured egss in my life but for $1.85 I'm willing to make a few sacrifices.

On a Perfect Day in Retail: Afterword

It would seem that one of my previous, somewhat politically incorrect entries has been the cause of displeasure in a number of readers. To illustrate:

Anonymous said...
To the retail bitch who whinges about her potential customers... I say... hey without us annoying shoppers you wouldn't have a job lady! Thanks for being so helpful, you'll get no commission from me...< Love "one size does not fit all". At least my food stays down...

Well.
I feel the need to make a few things clear.

Unfortunately for me, when I write I'll willingly forgo self-preservation for the sake of honesty. I'm not afraid to express a particular sentiment where others may decide it best not to.
So writing about the thoughts that occasionally go through my head during my 9-hour days of standing in a tiny space, giving all my care and attention to the complete strangers who walk into my shop, does not mean that these are thoughts I would ever voice, or in fact would have any desire to. Nor are they any different to the private, negative little thoughts that everybody has on a daily basis.
The difference is, I decided to reveal mine for your reading pleasure (or displeasure, it would seem).

But as an addendum to that entry I'd like to say this:
I love my job. Because making women of any age and shape feel good about themselves is a wonderful experience. It's also a service that is largely under-appreciated, due in part to the general perception of sales girls as commission-chasing Barbies. And they do exist, but paradoxically they are the sales assistants who earn their bosses the least amount of money. I, however, earn my bosses a good deal of money because I don't actually care about making money (and for the record, I earn no commissions or bonuses, just a flat, hourly rate). I think all women are stunning, and it breaks my heart when I hear a woman say she'll buy that beautiful dress after she's lost a few pounds, or a teenage girl admit her mother thinks she's fat.
Incidentally, the final, particularly nasty thought expressed in that entry did not materialise in response to the customers weight, but rather to what she was doing to the unpurchased clothes she was trying on; specifically stretching them beyond all recognition with her hands and aggressively pulling at them with no concern for their mass-produced welfare.

So, if I have offended, think but this and all is mended;
I didn't really mean it.

Start Spreading the News

Only 3 and a half weeks until I leave for New York and the William Esper Studio and I'm still tracking down accommodation. At the moment it looks like it may be Polish Greenpoint, where I'll be able to stuff myself with Pierogi and Zywiec for a reasonable US$900 a month.
From there I plan to go to Chicago before heading to LA to sell my soul for a few weeks. I'm hoping to throw Las Vegas and Mexico into the mix too if all goes well; I don't have any internal flights booked yet so my itinerary is still open.
So that means that in a month I'll be Street Styling from some new locations, in between running to acting classes and learning lines.

If anyone in the States has a spare couch, or a couple hours free to get coffee, I'm open to suggestions...

Street style - Drumstress

Sexy style with deadly hair, Cindy Blackman.

Street style - The Quintessential Male Hipster

Denim jacket: check
Dunks: check
iPod touch: check
Pack of Stuyvies: check

Forgotten anything? Oh yeah...
Ray-Bans: worn even at night!

On a Perfect Day in Retail

To the customer who looks at EVERY item on EVERY rack, spending 25 minutes in my 10-square-metres of store space without choosing a single item while I'm stuck looking attentive behind the counter waiting for her to leave, I say:
"This isn't a library!"

To the chinese girl who brings a pair of earrings to the counter and says, "I take the earring", I say:
"You don't want the other one?"

To the woman who knocks on my CLOSED door at 5 past 6 and waves me over after I've mouthed quite clearly that we're closed, I say:
"Do you want to buy something? Do you want to give me some money? No? Then why are we having this conversation?"

To the customer who comes out of the changeroom and dumps a giant ball of inside-out, scrunched up clothing on my counter before leaving I say:
"What am I, your maid?"

To the business woman who can't be bothered bending over to try on a pair of shoes but rather prefers to mash her heel against the leather, I say:
"WOMAN. For GOD'S SAKE. BEND OVER and use your finger."

To the middle aged woman who responds to my "How are you today?" with a "Just looking", I say:
"Hmm, maybe you should get that checked out. I don't know what juslooking is but it sounds nasty."

To the overweight teenager who comes out of the changeroom stretching and pulling at a top that's too small and complaining "It doesn't fit right. My boobs are too big for it", I say:
"Honey, it's not your BOOBS, it's your whole BODY that's too big".

Afterword

Street style - Centre Place

This girl was tiny but absolutely gorgeous; the photo doesn't do her justice. Nothing she was wearing appeared to be from any particular label and certainly not chain-store . The front of the jacket (bought in Barcelona) was embroidered in matching coloured thread and the bag was a wonderful rich blue in canvas with leather. Her shoes were vintage as was her jewelery. This is the sort of outfit I see on dozens of girls every day but the difference here is that it didn't look 'off the rack' but thoughtfully put together.

Street style - Simplicity

Street style - Swanston St

Street style - Harajuku via Fitzroy

You can't quite see it in the photo but the colour of the notebook she is holding perfectly matches her bag and the lower rims of her eyes are lined with the most intense glittery eyeshadow.
She was quite the head-turner.

Street style - Collins St

Street style - Thanks to the Winkle Pickers

Street style - Brunswick St boys

Amazing things Not Yet Invented

This morning, sitting on the edge of my bed putting my shoes on, I heard the voice of my boyfriend, half-asleep from under the covers say,
"Someone should invent butt mints so that when you fart it smells minty and fresh. And it could work as an air deodorizer".
Setting aside for a moment the absurdity of the situation in which this was said, I have to admit that it's not a bad idea.

Covert blogging from the SBS studio

Forgive me my absence. I've been full of imaginary blog entries that I've been unable to make and it's been frustrating. But I was most touched to find the following message in my inbox the other day:

"i don't want to sound like a stalker (although i guess i possibly am) but i have been checking your blog everyday and stressing that there were no new posts since march 17. i made jake walk past your work today to see if you were in there and interrorgate you over your lack of bloggingness, but alas, you were nowhere to be seen. then i thought you were sick or worse dead.
luckily when i returned home and turned on my laptop, i found your latest and also the reason as to why you hadn't blogged.
my anxiety has gone!
sincerely,
your number one fan
pee ess. i have my 17 year old sister addicted to it also

Thankfully the ADSL-man is on his way and I have a lovely backlog of Street Style photos to upload so the natural balance will resume soon.

A Crepe a Day

I'm sitting in the food court at Australia on Collins, eating my spicy noodles and taking advantage of the free wireless interweb. It's been an interesting experience living in a new house that is as yet unequipped with ADSL. I feel I've grown as a person. I've watched more TV, read more of my book, taken longer showers, and last night spent a romantic evening with myself, a cup of tea, and the pile of promotional mail and local gazettes that had accumulated on the kitchen table. What I haven't managed to do however, is face the stomach-turning task of Unpacking Boxes of Miscellaneous Ephemera. Could I not just burn it all and then deal with the consequences later? Surely I can be reissued copies of all my old tax return statements, university reports, pet vaccination cards, letter from ex-boyfriends and 3 year old birthday cards that were particularly heartfelt.
I've also just lived through another bout of Easter and have a residual chocolate addiction which no amount of Nutella crepes from Aix Creperie (see below) are able to cure.
Although, maybe one more will be the clincher. In fact, I'm off to try that now. And perhaps a little more of The Age Cryptic Crossword - another addiction I'm having difficulty shaking.

Boxelder Bugs - fun for all the family

As I type this there is one on the lip of my coffee mug. Another one's traipsing across the table. They used to repulse me but I'm starting to find myself strangely amused by them. They are Boxelder bugs, and 2008 is year 10 in their 10 year population explosion cycle.
Until a few months ago when they started popping up all around my house, I didn't even know these little black & orange fellas existed. But after doing a little research and finding out that they are pretty much harmless, I've taken it upon myself to carefully pick up any I find inside the house and gently throw them at my bug-phobic boyfriend. It's great fun.
Continuing my Boxelder research tonight, I came upon a forum for victims of the Boxelder bugs and have just spent the last hour unable to tear myself away. Here, for your pleasure, is a selection of my favourite comments.

weeks says:

My 18 month old boy picks them up all the time. He crushes them between his fingers, he eats them, laughs when they crawl on his arm. He tries to hug them but more often than not his head smashes them. ;) It's great entertainment and he's never gotten sick from them. They are harmless! (I’d be more concerned about the fact that my 18 month-old son was, in fact, a spider.)

SG says:

I live in the Portland. In October, we see 100,000s of them on our house. It's like a Hitchcock scene - the house literally swarms with them. Regardless that they don't bite, it's still an insanely gross experience. I'm a guy ... a big burly, guys guy. I ate worms and bugs as a kid to gross out the girls. I served in the USMC. I've seen war time. Yet, they gross me out big time. You ever have hundreds of them crawling all over you, swarming in your nose, your eyes, in your ears? You open a window and 20 minutes later, you’ve got a hundred of them in your bedroom. For some reason, they love the back of my neck. I can't tell you how many times I've woken up with them crawling on the back of my neck. I've gone to work, been sitting at my desk, and then one crawls up on my neck - it had hitchhiked a ride with me to work, then crawled on my neck. I was having sex with my wife once, and she had 3 of them on her legs. We can't have guests over because it's just plain disgusting, and your friends, no matter how much you explain it's just a bug infestation, nothing to do with your hygiene, they all think you’re a sick S.O.B. and won't come by any more. Ever have one crawl across your dinner plate? I'm not making any of these up.
I will kill them. I will decimate them. I will murder every last one of these bastards. Blow torches, chemicals, soap sprays - I don't care what it takes, I will eradicate them at the first signs. This is war. Not one I'm going to lose.

Anonymous says:

I've been in my house 3 years and every fall it's the same thing. This year has been the worst. I was at the theatre a few weeks ago and I felt something crawling on my face. Yep. It was a box elder bug. At work, all of a sudden, they're dive bombing my head. I know they are MINE, stowing away in my coat, clothes, hair, something, following me EVERYWHERE.
I've taken to naming them, and talking to them. I don't even vacuum them up anymore. I now stash empty Aquafina bottles in every room, and scoop up the bugs to keep as pets. They stay alive in there for DAYS AND DAYS. Then I watch them lie on their backs and kick while they fight for their last breaths. This one was actually rolling a dead bug over and over with his feet, like a circus performer. It was awesome.
I think I might be going slightly insane.

Dr. John says:

…it is, undeniably, somewhat satisfying to stomp them.

I agree!

Street style - Addicted to TV

Dress by TV.
This lovely lady also informed me that the TV store in Prahran (2a Cecil pl) is having a Sale this weekend, which is where you'd find me if I wasn't moving house this weekend and hadn't just joined a gym, but more on that another time.

I am upset because...

... last night I went to the closing party for the Loreal Melbourne Fashion Festival (aka fashion week) held by Oyster Magazine and took stacks of photos of the beautiful, creative, drunk and desperate. Today I connected my camera to upload the photos and, to my great chagrin, found that my CF card had inexplicably wiped itself and left the data storage business.

I apologise to all the people who posed for me who've already gone out and bought tickets to my blog. Your dignity will be returned to you post haste.

The Girl loves HolyJuan

If you're not reading this guy's blog, then I really don't know what to do with you.

Street style - How it should be done

It's fashion week and the streets are being overrun with the tall, the thin, the over-dressed, the chic, the self-important, the awe-struck, the flamboyant, and occasionally, the divine.

Case in point...


When I asked this lady (because she most certainly is a lady) if I could take her picture, her first response was not a shy "Um, ok" or suspicious "What for?", but a very sincere and simple "Thank you". I melted right then and there (so much so that the photo came out a little fuzzy, for which I earnestly apologise).

Street style - Cool Customer(s)

I don't have much to say about these girls except that they were immaculately put together and extremely sweet. They were also very shy so rather than ask them to step outside and pose in the alleyway amongst the lunchtime crowds (like I usually do), I took the challenge of poor indoor lighting and snapped them before they had time to reconsider.

Feed the Trend - Purple

A colour that hasn't really had much sartorial success since the late 90's, purple is experiencing somewhat of a rebirth, and even I'm finding myself drawn to its red-blue stylings.










It's even been selected as the Pantone 2008 Colour of the Year:
"From a color forecasting perspective, we have chosen PANTONE 18-3943 Blue Iris as the color of the year, as it best represents color direction in 2008 for fashion, cosmetics and home products." So there you go.

The Wallmeyer Twins - a current affairs goldmine

Remember Clare and Rachel Wallmeyer? They made news back in 2004 for being Australia's most famous skeletwins, surviving on a piece of watermelon a day and the occasional hit of heroin (although the drug use was diplomatically omitted from the news stories).
Well thanks to ET and Insider Online they're ba-ack and striking hope into the hearts of prime time TV viewers everywhere.

Now please don't get me wrong, I have absolute empathy (get that, empathy, not sympathy - there's a clue there) for these women but, as with programs like The Biggest Loser, I find television Get-Well-Quick shows to be not only loathsome, but extremely harmful to the sufferers involved*.
While the new footage of the twins may seem promising, all I see is a couple of extremely sick women with serious drug and behavioural problems (which I had to do some digging of my own to uncover) being polished up for the cameras to bring a satisfying conclusion to an unfinished story.
And while I genuinely believe that Dr Ira Sacker is a remarkable man who has helped countless sufferers of eating disorders, it breaks my heart to see these women starve themselves for 10 days in anticipation of the American film crews only to be offered a couple sessions with Dr Ira, during one of which they are fed hot chips, for Christ's sake. Have these people done any research into eating disorders at all? Do they not realise that after this little outing the twins will probably spend a guilt-ridden and self-hate filled afternoon bent over their toilet bowls? Or one bowl in this case - they live together. And don't get me started on the initial interview where the flawless host comments on the girls' weight gain and asks them how much they weigh. Surely, working with Dr Ira they must have done some research, which leads me to conclude that they really couldn't care less about the long-term recovery of the Wallmeyer Twins and are merely offering viewers what they want to see rather than, God forbid, educating them.
When will I learn.


*Don't take my word for it; do a search on how many Biggest Loser contestants actually maintain any of their weight loss in the year following the completion of each show.

Things She Said

She's only 21, bless her, but acts like she's 27 and the world ambassador of everything that is 'cool'. Attractive, granted, but with enough ego and arrogance, were it meted out, to reintroduce 1000 social phobics back into the world.
From the day I met her she's been condescending and unbearable. Wednesday was the first time we'd actually worked in the same store together and although she barely knows me, she felt the need to criticize me for anything that didn't fit into her little view of what is socially acceptable.

1. "Do you ever stop playing with your hair?"
No. I don't want it to feel unloved.

2. "Oh my God, you cover your books?"
Yes. And I read them too.

3. "Is this Rihanna?! Oh my God you listen to such commercial shit."
Well actually I don't listen to the music I really like at work (Apparat, Telefon Tel Aviv, Victor Bermon, Vladislav Delay, Dictaphone, Arovane) because it's inappropriate.
Now let me explain 'irony' to you.
(I explain)
She doesn't get it.

4. "My God, how often do you put on make-up?"
Well I guess if I caked on foundation in the morning I too could leave my skin untouched all day. But seeing as my pores can actually breathe, they sometimes need a powder touch-up to stop me looking like I've been buffed to a high sheen.

(On hearing that I take my dog to dog school)
5. "You go to Dog School?!!"

(On hearing that I didn't want to work Saturdays so that I could do Agility training with the afore-mentioned pooch..)
6. "Agility?! Have you ever heard of lobbing a ball to it in the park?"
No. I hadn't. I thought paying $120 to make my dog jump through hoops was the only way to exercise him. Or, perhaps he's just kinda smart and I like giving him the opportunity to use his brain. But I don't suppose you'd understand that as a concept.

I let her go home an hour early to be rid of her.
I've also requested never to work with her again. I can't be responsible for what I might say if I do.
My reserves of patience have never been particularly ample.

Edison Chen Sex Scandal Photos

Seeing as my previous post about the scandalous celebrity private-porno-party photos currently shocking Hong Kong has been so popular, I've decided to put my dignity in my pocket and post a link to the photos in question.
Please be aware that downloading these files is probably not legal, and that they are very explicit. From what I've heard. I, of course, haven't downloaded them.

The photos, featuring Edison Chen with a number of very famous (and supposedly virginal) starlets, were leaked to the public after some computer repairmen decided to get generous with the contents of Edison's hard drive.

"In the days after the release of the photos, Hong Kong police investigating the case tracked the source of the photos to a computer service center where Chen had taken his laptop for repairs. Police arrested eight employees of the service center in connection with the photo release since the discovery, and announced that they believed over 1,300 racy photos of celebrities had been stolen." MSNBC.


Sources: MSNBC

Feed the Trend - Cropped Beige Trousers

I am in love with this style. It's still a little premature for it to appear in Australia so I went to Savers today and bought a pair of men's beige trousers in a size 30 that can be belted at the waist and cuffed to sit just above the ankle. Sheer brilliance for $7.99.

Street style


At Marc Jacobs


For men


And just because I love him



Images courtesy of The Sartorialist

Our National Apology

There are certain events in history that, as a blogger, one cannot ignore.
Today the Australian government said sorry to the indigenous people of Australia for the 200 years of pretty shitty treatment they've received at the hands of the white fellas. In particular, the systematic removal of mixed-race Aboriginal children from their parents, known as the Stolen Generation, who were then placed in missions and trained up as servants for the white folk.
And this morning, sitting at Ici in Fitzroy with a friend who I hadn't seen in almost a year (and who I'd collected from the airport at 6am), reading the apology (which covered the entire A2-sized front page of The Age), I got a wonderful sense of things being right in the world. A temporary feeling I know, but sweet nonetheless.


Gerard Ellis (stolen 60 years ago), in Canberra for the apology.

Edison Chen Sex Scandal

I've been reading about the Edison Chen sex scandal and am finding it highly amusing.
Over the past few weeks, several very explicit photos have surfaced on the net featuring Edison Chen in compromising positions with a number of famous Hong Kong actresses - Cecilia Cheung, Gillian Chung, Maggie Q - which has pretty much ruined these actors' careers. Allegedly, the photos were leaked after Edison took his Mac in for repairs and some forward-thinking techies copied his data and sold it for big bucks.
You may be asking yourself why I find this so interesting. Well, the truth is, I am a closet Hong Kong cinema fan and not only do I think Edison Chen is a bit of a dish, but I also rank Cecilia Cheung as one of my favourite actresses.
Seriously, these are really entertaining movies. If you've never seen any, ask me for a recommendation. Or better yet, come over and watch one from my private collection.

Improv Everywhere

This is so impressive. 207 actors all freezing in place for 5 minutes at Grand Central Station in New York.



I find these guys very inspiring. You can read more about them here.

Courtesy of SultanaBlog

Street style - It's all about the Specs

Custom-made spectacles from Ispex. It's not too clear in the photo, but they are in the style of Ray Ban Wayfarers. As sunglasses I admit that they're a bit passé, but I love them reinterpreted as reading-glass frames.
I also love her jodhpur-style trousers. I intend to take a trip to Horseland for some black breeches and leather boots. Just between you and me, it's the best place for classic leather shoes and high-waisted, skinny leg pants in fabric that isn't denim.

Missing Art Results in Sales Assistant's Laughter

I was on my way to work today, walking past the glass art installation cabinets in the Flinders Street subway, when something caught my eye. Each of the cabinets along both sides of the walkway was filled with the work of young Australian writers - zines, photos, reprints of published work, letters, journal entries etc.. all apart from the last cabinet on the left-hand side. This cabinet was completely bare except for the sticker identifying the name of the writer - in this case Ianto Ware from Adelaide, whom I know from my own zine-writing past - and a hastily scribbled on sheet of A4 paper taped to the back wall.

Here is a photo of the cabinet:


To give you an idea of why I noticed it, here are photos of some of the other artists' cabinets:




So I walked over to the bare cabinet to see what was written on that single sheet of paper and this is what I saw...


Wonderful!

Street style - Chef's pants

A great example of something stylish and a little imaginative. The girl's pants are from Savers, and at $3 are, in my opinion, a far more intelligent and original choice than what one could find at Alice Euphemia for around $400.
Her friend is also wearing a shirt from Savers with a pair of jeans she lent him.

Street style - Warsaw vintage

It's nice to see something that is simple and stylish, which deviates from the current 'hipster' uniform of high-wasted jeans, tucked-in tee or tank, and white canvas sneakers.

What caught my eye about this girl was the way her blue eyes, blonde hair and dark eyebrows worked with the blue dress to create a look that was striking but simple. The design of the dress is pretty basic but the colour was amazing and she had it hemmed to just the right length to keep it from looking dowdy.

Bonus trivia: The girl bought this dress from a vintage dress shop (Sukienka) in Warsaw where she lived for a year teaching English. This is of interest to me for two reasons:
1) She isn't actually Polish, she just loves Warsaw; and
2) I am Polish and I've never met a non-Pole who's voluntarily chosen to live in Poland.

On the Train (from my iMate)

I'm on the train to work, and not only am I running late by one train (therefore 15 minutes), but I've got no make-up on save for my shiny sunscreen, and am wearing the old, square-framed sunnies I keep in the glovebox of my car because my good, round-framed sunnies are still lying somewhere at home. I also left my camera at home. Again. And my hair is half damp and therefore fuzzy from the shower. Not to mention the fact that I have foot powder on my leggings because I was in too much of a hurry to wipe it off, and my teeth are unbrushed. And in my mad rush from the car I left my jacket behind which, despite it being a sunny 25C day, I will miss later as I'm always unnecessarily cold.
And I didn't eat breakfast.

At least it's a public holiday so work will be quiet. And it's only a 5 hour shift. And I'm going to see Lucio Fulci's Zombie with Joe Dante's Piranha tonight at the Astor. So life isn't really all that bad.

UPDATE: Zombie was a little boresville* and doesn't seem to have aged very well as far as 70's horror films go. Piranha on the other hand was entertaining, full of blood, and quite funny, in an intentional, not 'this is so ridiculous' way (although it had plenty of that too). It was also a good source of unexpected fashion inspiration in the form of svelte young women sporting various combinations of high-waisted short shorts, wide leg dark denim jeans, plaited leather belts, knitted waistcoats, coloured bikinis and tight t-shirts. I'm now considering hiring out a bunch of old 70's movies and taking notes.

*boresville = snoretastic, dullsville, snooze-worthy.

Heath Ledger

I've been uncertain whether I should post anything about Heath Ledger's death for the past few days, but I find myself unable to continue posting without making some reference to it. I know that in the future I will look back on this blog as a kind of chronicle of my life and experiences around the time in which it was kept and I will feel ashamed at myself for not acknowledging his passing in some way.
I've followed his career and successes with great interest and, while I'm not about to claim I knew him in any way (I didn't, but we went to neighbouring high schools and I know many people who did), I've found myself feeling really shocked, disappointed and saddened by his death.
So I've decided to post the tributes to Heath written by his family that were printed in the Friday edition of the West Australian newspaper, because they are so beautiful and, in my opinion, more relevant than any of the minute-by-minute details being posted all over the web at the moment.

From his father:
"'Heatho,' 'Beef,' . . . my beautiful boy, so loving, so talented, so independent, so caring, so young . . . no more chess games mate . . . this is it, couldn't beat you anyway!
My body aches for the sound of your voice, our chats, our laughs and our life and times together."
Your truly varied artistic skills, insatiable desire to improve and eclectic abilities set you apart from any other person on the planet . . . it had only just started for you … and for us to further enjoy. We were one, in soul and commitment. Just . . . Father and Son. I will love you forever, Dad."

From his mother:
"Our darling boy, special in so many ways to all of us. You knew you were so loved. You lived life with courage and daring and we are so grateful for the wonderful times we shared. We will be there for Matilda. Your loving Mamma, Rog and Ash."

From his older sister:
"I can hardly breathe when I try to write this. We were the ultimate in soul mates. I feel both my heart and life have been torn apart. I loved our special talks, our daily chats from where ever you were in the world.
I especially loved all the precious time we spent together. We were so fortunate to have you as long as we did. You were so many things to so many people, but to me you were just my little brother.
There will never, ever be another "Heath" and I think that in itself is the greatest tragedy.
I will continue to talk with you everyday and love you just as if you were here. You will never leave my thoughts "Roast", ever."

From his younger sister:
"You're my idol, my hero, but most importantly, my loving big brother. I'll treasure every moment we spent together. I love you Heath, I miss you and pray every night you're safe."

From his whole family:
"How do we describe our sudden and tragic loss? … You were the most amazing individual "old soul" in a young man's body.
You so loved us, as we dearly loved you. As a close knit and very private family unit we have observed you so determined yet quietly travelling in your self-styled path in life, nothing would get in your way … no mountain too tall, no river too wide.
You dreamed your dreams and lived them with passion and intelligent commitment. We have been privileged to accompany you on a ride through life that has simply been amazing and through it all, we have loved each other beyond imagination.
Your true legacy lives on in beautiful little Matilda, who will always remain in the greatest of care. Our hearts are broken . . . Dad and Ines, Mum and Roger, Kate and Nathan, Rori and Scarlett, Ashleigh, Olivia, Elana and Nadia."

Street style - Centre Way

This girl comes in to my work all the time and I'm always impressed by her ability to put clothes together, especially for someone so young.
Jeans: Cheap Monday Top: Antipodium Scarf: St Andrew's Market Shoes: Kinki Gerlinki


Bag bought from gift store on Smith St (I have, very professionally, forgotten the name of the shop).


My feet! These Voodoo leggings are fantastic - extremely comfortable with no seams along the crutch area. $40 from Myer but currently on sale for $27. (Shoes from Bloch).

Brogues by Salvio's

I am somewhat in love with these shoes:



They're made by Salvio's, a Sydney-based dance shoe company which was started by Mr Enrique Salvio in Melbourne in 1881. The shoes are beautifully made in 100% leather and you can order any style in any combination of colours.
Alphaville in Melbourne also carry a small selection... but just between you and me, it's cheaper to get them custom made directly from Salvio's (keep that under your panama).

Tourist Information

I found this lying on the ground at the Bourke St tram stop while waiting for the 112. I can't say I entirely agree with the writer's somewhat limited recommendations for tourists, although I have to concede that Acland St does have some great cake shops. But I don't know that I'd put Luna Park on my list of top places to see - unless you're a fan of cheesy horror films, in which case St Kilda Beach probably is worth a visit too.
And on that note, shouldn't the recommendation be to go to the beach before gorging oneself on cakes? Perhaps the writer didn't have the reader's best intentions at heart after all.

Old Man with Bag