Don't know what you've got til it's gone (PM)

I wish I knew what to say to you Mate. Other than 'nothing gold can stay' but that just makes me think about how great Diane Lane's hair was in the film version of The Outsiders. I don't think it's right to bring that up now. 

I think, maybe, what you had with Tom...you'll have it again. But the thing I've  come to realise now that I'm older is that its not and never will be a permanent thing. Sometimes you'll find a person who makes you feel like they speak to and through you and your hair. And sometimes that same person will make you feel nothing. I think we've just got to accept it. Cop it sweet as Big K would say. 

Meanwhile, here is my hair blowing in the wind at Yarck, where I am right now. Woot!

Don't know what you got 'til it's gone (AM)

When I first met my ex-hairdresser it was like... magic. It was just luck. Or was it kismet. I called up this salon that was owned by a friend of a friend. He'd cut my hair years earlier and I always liked his cuts but when I decided to try out his new salon I decided to leave it to fate. I remember calling, requesting a time and being told, "Sure, you can see Tom."

Tom.

We talked about my wants, my needs, he looked at me and knew what to do. I felt so safe in his hands. And then he washed my hair. And gave me the head massage. I know a lot of people that have seen Tom and back then they all commented on the head massage. That massage was a game changer. Once I've had one that came close. Once. But Tom's massages back then, they were something else. That was it. And the cut. The cut was just so...good. And it looked salon-great for days, weeks almost. I didn't even know it could be like that. He did my colour once too. It was great. Dark brown with these caramel chunks. I mean it sounds foul, but it looked awesome. And that day it was like he blow-dried my hair longer. What?!

For the first few years it was like this, great, dynamic cuts that would make me feel like a million bucks. Oh, sure, he was a real self-absorbed talker, but I didn't mind. Often I even enjoyed it.

But nothing  gold can stay, right? He seemed to get tired of the work, of life. My haircuts were never bad but they just stopped exciting me. He stopped listening to me. Things were stale. I moved on.

On to what? A new hairdresser every cut. A desperate search trying to find the one that makes me feel something. Anything. Oh sure, there was Tim. I thought he may be the one, but on reflection I think I was just desperate and the proximity to Tom's name made it seem some how poetic. Ultimately though Tim and I weren't meant to be.

I've had a bunch of cuts from a bunch of different people and they've all been been pretty good. But none of them have satisfied me the way Tom did. And then on Friday I got a cut that I just kind of hate. And now there is nothing but despair. Not over the hair. I feel philosophical about that. It'll grow out, it'll be fine. I despair of every finding a hairdresser. I thought I'd just meet someone, that I could find a hairdresser like that again. I was a fool. Just a fool to believe...

What people wore on Monday night (PM)

Twigley's outfit on Monday night has further confirmed my long-held and ever increasing suspicion that she is in fact Frank N. Furter.

Look at that crazy face

I have to confess I only watched about five minutes of the brownlow on Monday night. Just long enough to establish that I don't like the look of Gary Ablett's new girlfriend one bit. The problem with the Brownlow, other than the mind numbing boringness of a show that is basically three hours of a man listing names and numbers, is that the WAGs have become too obsessed with looking pretty, rather than using their old M.O. of look slutty. And seeing Brynne's outfit this year basically is the nail in the coffin. This is a woman that once wore this:

Brownlow hos, is there any hope for you now?


At least the ladies at the Emmys are mostly pretty and have enough money that they really do look good. Still effing boring though. When I saw Claire dames I almost vomited. The dress is whatever. It was the hair and face styling that I can't stand. I can't exactly explain it, I just think that hair is  most boring thing I have ever seen.

I kind of like the concept and fabric of Lena Dunham's dress, but girlfriend really has to improve her posture if she wants to pull off that kind of thing. And maybe it should have come in lower down, at the waist. You know?

Thank god for Juliane Hough, a woman I am only familiar with because I saw a god awful movie called Safe Haven that she was in on the plane to USA. Also she was in Rock of Ages. Most importantly she was a professional dancer in Dancing with the Stars. Clearly this had the most influence on her dress sense. Now here is a woman that could show the WAGs how to dress.

 

Awards nights, ladies, you all are going to have to work harder. 

What people wore on Monday night (AM)

For people who like looking at ladies wearing dresses, Monday night was a bonanza.
The Emmys AND the Brownlow, together at last. At one, a bunch of ladies walking that tightrope of elegance that touches on skankiness. At the other, a bunch of ladies embracing skankiness holus bolus, and Andrew Demetriou's wife.
I watched the Brownlow of course and was shocked by the lack of boobs. It's like modesty is the new exhibitionism. I don't understand what's going on.
Look at what Brynne wore!

The others were all so boring that they're barely worth mentioning here. OK OK I will mention what Twigley wore.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA.
This belongs in True Blood if it was set in the 1980s. It also makes me think that Twigley has adopted a who gives a fuck attitude which pleases me a lot. But that might be wishful thinking.

Ok, let's see what the Emmy's have to offer.

This weirds me out. But I like how Rose Byrne has chosen a dress in a shade the same as her name. That's totally something I would do if my name was a colour and not an abbreviation for a measure of distance.

I feel like Heidi wants to look like a sexy snake here. I don't think anyone should do that. Not even snakes.

This next one I actually kind of love...

....because it seems like the dress is wearing a mask because it wants to be incognito.

This I flat out dislike:

It's a little bit wedding dress, and a little bit wedding night neglige. Get off the fence and make a decision Danes!

Ok, lets see what J has to say on the matter. Let's ease her in, shall we?

Home sweet home (PM)

Oh geez. I was not expecting, nor prepared to see K’s mother’s gallstones this morning. And I gotta say, I didn’t like it. But then I thought, hey, maybe gallstones aren’t as gross as I think they are. So I did a little research. And they are. They are essentially bile crystals. And while crystal is beautiful, bile is gross – you do the math. As anyone in any American TV show ever might say.

But you know what is great about K’s mum she is always making pots of coffee, which I love, so I can totally vouch for her excellent hostessing skills. And it’s not as if she left the gallstones by K’s bed or anything, they were tucked away in the privacy of her bathroom cupboard, a place we all know that even angels may fear to tread. I guess that is where fools rush in though, right?

Anyway, luckily I didn’t have to see any actual gallstones this weekend. But after K left on Saturday night I did have the pretty awful experience of watching the terrible movie Water For Elephants. I don’t know why, the TV had ended up on it and I just watched it for ages. But it was really bad. It was so bad that even though I watched it for ages by the time it was clearly coming to an end and R.Patz was about to do something that would surely result in the downfall of Witherspoon’s tyrannical husband and the union of R.Patz and Withers I just turned that shit off and went to my sweet, sweet bed.  Take that, stupid movie!

Home sweet home (AM)

On Saturday night I stayed over at my Mum and Dad's house after hanging out at J's place for the evening. They're both in the same neighbourhood you see, and because I was planning on going to Mum and Dad's on Sunday anyway, I figured it made sense to stay down that way. I'm glad I did because aspects of the experience are quite lovely. 

Mum made up a bed for me and put my favourite childhood toy, Care Bear, on top.

As soon as I got out of bed she had hot coffee waiting for me and had laid out a towel, a proper fluffy one, so I could have a shower when I wanted. It was well lush asa character in Gavin and Stacey might say, which I keep watching even though I don't like it all that much.

It got me to thinking. Maybe I'm too hard on those guys. Maybe they're not the pair of kooks I sometimes think they are but in fact just super great.

Of course I'm setting things up for a fall here and rightly so. 

Because while fossicking around the bathroom cabinet to find a pair of nail clippers I found this:

It's the gallstones that were removed from my mother in 1996, just sitting there next to the spare shampoo and a bottle of sunscreen. 

So gross and so unsurprising when you have a couple of kooks for parents. 

But I guess this experience has reminded  me that they are both kooks and excellent hosts. It's a combination that's ok by me.

Revelations (PM)

In Revelations, a seven headed beast rises out of the sea and tries to make all the earth's people worship dragons instead of god. No shit. 

If, like this morning's post, the biblical book of revelations talked about denim and being comfortable and had pictures of couples walking down the street hand in hand rather than wall to wall bloodshed, I would be a god damned believer!

But instead one has to turn to Miss Soft Crab for that sort of thing.  

I can't wait to see J in these boyfriend jeans. We had a conversation about whether she could 'go there' on Monday and then BAM, Thursday arrives with news that she 'went there'. All I can say is there is a strong chance that when I go over to her house on Saturday night to watch footy and flip through magazines, there is a strong chance I am going to try on the boyfriend jeans.

Revelations (AM)

This week I bought "boyfriend" jeans. Ugh. I know. But I'll be honest, I've been thinking about it for some time. Two main things put me off:

1) I didn't know if I would look good in them.
   1a)How would I wear them? You know, like, with what?
2) They have that fucking stupid name.

But every time I'd see them I couldn't help but wonder. I was more than just a little curious. Especially as summer approaches. In winter there is little I love more than the snug cosy feel of a skinny jeans around my leg but with the warmer weather they are just restrictive, annoying. They can really ruin my day. Like when you really need to wee really badly but keep forgetting to go to the toilet and everything is the worst. That's how I feel when I am wearing skinny jeans in the heat. In my mind I'd written this long, detailed post about it late last year. Turns out it was just six lines. But the sentiment was strong. Sometimes I just gotta not wear skinnies. Anyway I did it. I effing did it.

Here I am walking down the street with my boyfriend as I wear my new boyfriend jeans*

I bet you have all sorts of questions. Like, "Wow J, do you look really cute in them? It's hard to tell from that action shot of you above." And "What are you wearing them with when you are not wearing them as you walk down the street with your boyfriend?" Oh well let me answer those questions by saying this:

No, I don't think I do look very cute int them. I can't tell and I don't care. These are the comfiest  effing things I have worn in about 10 years and I don't ever want to take them off. In fact today, I'm thinking about buying another pair because I don't want to wear anything else again ever. Their stupid name doesn't even offend me anymore. I don't even care how to pair them. Yesterday I wore them with a really baggy jumper and it was like wearing the clothes version of pyjamas. It's possible I even looked like I was wearing pyjamas. I don't even care. It was the best. I'm thinking about wearing a variation of it to work tomorrow. I don't even know who I am anymore! But I suspect I may be the 20-year old me that used to just buy men's jeans from op shops. Just somewhat more deaf and wrinkled.

*As played by Sarah Jessica Parker. LB is played by Matthew Broderick

Acrostic Monday (PM)

I haven't watched any of the new season of Breaking Bad. I'm worried. 

To you I came late, like a fool.

How could I have known

Exactly how much I would love you?

Sorrow. 

Only those who have loved and lost a series can know. 

Rotten though they are

Abhorrent though they be

Nothing will thrill like it does. 

Oh, wait. Maybe a pork sandwich from

Satriales. 

Acrostic Monday (AM)

Boy                                             

Real. Shit is getting real               

Every week the end is closer       

And how can Jesse be ok?          

Knowing what I know                   

I've seen enough to know            

Nothing can go right                    

Gah!                                            

Breaking Bad, I long for your end

And yet...                                    

Don't go                                     

Tricks I play (PM)

Great brain tricking, Mate. Treadmills are the perfect place to trick your brain into running more. With laps outside you always know how many laps you've done and how far the end of the next one is. And with an outdoor free-for-all there ain't no tricking, cause you always know kinda how far from home you are. When I used to run treadmills I would just always move my end goal, like, "I'll just run until I'm at Xkm" and when I would get to Xkm I'd think, "Well, might as well run till X minutes." And on it goes till you really are effed. Treadmills were made for brain tricking.

What I would like to be able to trick better is my tummy. Girlfriend is really rumbly right now, 'cause, you know, I'm hungry. But there is no food in the house and I feel too lazy to go outside. I love to eat but I wish I could just trick my hunger sometimes when eating seems to boring. In fact now that I think about it I wish I could trick my brain about heaps of things. Like trick it into thinking doing boring things was fun, or trick it into going back to sleep when it wants to stay awake.

If you believe that ridiculous yet enjoyable movie, Trance tricking your brain into anything is possible with a little hypnotherapy. Unfortunately I am pretty sure that is largely bullshit.

Oh, hi, James McAvoy.

= Destination reached!

Tricks I play (AM)

I went for a run this morning. At the gym, on the treadmill. It was 8 degrees when I woke up you see and because I'm no outdoor running-in-the-cold hero, I went to the gym. 

As you all know, I'm a bit of a crabby-come-lately when it comes to running. Avoided it all my life until last year. I started doing it a little bit. Then doing more of it. Didn't take long to find out it was a walrus. I mean, didn't take long to find out that though it makes you want to puke while you do it, it makes you feel like $1 000 000 afterwards. For quite a while too. And it makes me (even) more punctual on account of my new willingness to run for trams. 

Anyway, it's not all beer and skittles. i still dread it most days and my ability to do it  depends on a series of tricks I play on myself. 

My chief trick is to tell myself that I have no specific goal in mind with each run. Time, distance, speed- they're all up for grabs every time. This is because if I tell myself I'm going to run for 5 kms, I want to puke after 1 and the other 4 suck very badly. If I tell myself I will go for as log as I feel like, getting the first km under my belt ain't no thang. And getting to 5 sometimes ain't no thang so I keep going. Turns out my brain is a bit of a dumkopf so it tots ally buys every line I feed it. 

My latest trick is to specify the number of songs I will listen to. I cover up the screen on the treadmill with the spotty jacket I bought at uniqlo in London so i cant see the time i've been running, or the distance. I just run for a specific number of songs and then stop. The first time I did it, I ended up running for 8kms, a big run for me. That's 10 songs. This morning, 10.3kms over12 songs! 

Being an idiot is really useful sometimes. 

There is absolutely nothing funny about this post (PM)

Reflections? Sure I got some.

Man, I remember the night of the 2007 elections. I had dinner with some peeps at spicy fish, as was our wont back then. In those pre-iPhone days we had to get updates from people via phone calls! By the time that dinner was over Kevin 07 was victorious and we were so goddamn happy we were actually rejoicing in the streets.

And it was good for a while, wasn't it guys?! We had it pretty good. And then Labor *#%^ed it. They *#%^ed it right in the ^*€#.

And the it just £^*¥ *%#$ @$&* &$%^. &?%$ *$%%^#^&& destabilising ¥+*^ %£#* @&$* ^*¥ *%#$ @$&* &$%^. So &@$* @$&* %*#* @$&*. Just &*% *&%# #&%^ Kevin Rudd &@)# @$#* ¥+*^ %£#* @&$* ^*¥ *%#$ @$&* &$%^. So &@$* *&%^ ?$%* #$@& *&^%.

Yeah, I got reflections.

There is absolutely nothing funny about this post (AM)

I had a super restless night's sleep last night thinking about what to talk about today.

I intended to talk about my Sunday afternoon in the kitchen, trying out a new cake recipe and some different decorating concepts in preparation for Crimpy's birthday next weekend. But after sampling a considerable amount of each concept last night after a meal of cassoulet that Appleheart cooked with all the spirit of a French farm housewife, I pretty much don't want to think or talk about cake for a little while (read: just today). 

I certainly don't want to talk about the election. Though they do make one quite reflective, and this one in particular has given me off the charts reflective impulses. I keep thinking about the Kevin 07 election and how exciting it was to wake up the next morning and get out bed knowing there was a new PM and things would be different. And how obviously absent that feeling was yesterday. I also kept thinking about the last election night, which I spent at Miguel and Legsley's place I think. Is that right? I think it's right. It must have been just after their wedding which means I would have just met Crimpy, the person for whom I spent so much of yesterday baking.  

J and K dancing at the Miglegsley wedding. Such a swell time.

At that time, Baby would have been a fairly newborn baby.  Iszzle, the Miglegley's son, wasn't even a twinkle in their eyes. But now baby is a proper little boy and Izzle is a proper little baby, just one of a slew of babies who've arrived in the last year and a bit. See what I mean about this reflective malarkey? It's ridiculous. 

So nah, I don't want to talk about any of that. I don't want to bore you guys with it. The mood I'm in, I could go on and on. Instead, I'm just going to head off to work and see what happens today. But before I go, I just want to draw your attention to the photo at the top of this post. See that little green pot up there? Well in 2011, when I got that little green pot (a gift from Crimpy, coincidentally), it had three tiny little plants in there, much like it does now. I took care of them and they thrived and now the are the plants living in the terrarium behind the little green pot, and new tiny plants have taken their place. 

Amazing, non?

 

Why I buy fashion magazines (PM)

I don't really buy fashion magazines. It's surprising, given how much I quite like being fed a bunch of bullshit. Maybe i'll start. 

But let me say this: your hair looked so nice last night Mate, that you really shouldn't envy those George Jensen girls their access to products and stylists and post-production. You can achieve great hear just by doing whatever you did last night. 

I don't know what the eff to do with my hair, meanwhile. It's not a problem I expect to solve... 

Why I buy fashion magazines (AM)

 Oh, I mean why do I buy fashion magazines?

I don't do it often, and I do think I can see a pattern. Every few months I buy one. Either Vogue or Harper's Bazaar. Not that it's a rule, just looking at my magazines I see that is what I buy. I guess because they are big and glossy and full of fashion and not as trashy as the other shit out there. I think I buy them when a) a change in season makes me want to buy new clothes and rather than do that I buy a magazine for some inspiration or so that I can pretend I bought stuff without having to actually buy anything; or b) I want to do something with my hair and need inspiration. (This is in fact a constant state.)

HA. Great reasons, J. Yeah Vogue is going to give you some excellent hair inspiration. A bunch of models who have had their hair done for hours.  It's the Georg Jensen girls that always appeal to me.

First:

Now:

Sure, a couple of models with a bunch of product and people putting in time and energy and effort into their hair. I can't help feel that I'm never gonna look like that. And that no hair cut is going to look like that on me. Although, according to Carre Otis in the current issue of vogue, although her hair looked "shiny and full" as a young anorexic fucked up model her hair "was very dry and brittle from being teased and blown out...since I wasn't eating enough I'd lose lots of my hair in the brush and in the shower." Hey! Maybe there is hope for me after all!

But it's not just useless hair inspiration you can find in Vogue, of course there are fashion tips too, like this page giving great tips on how to get more leopard print in your life. 

Or this great coat. Only cost six grand. 

So why, why oh why do I buy them? What I tell you is not a surprise to me or you. The fact magazines are full of unattainable hair and faces and bodies and clothes is not new. I know before I hand over my eight bucks that I'm just buying a bunch of BS, and yet I still buy them and enjoy them. What the eff does Condé Nast know about my brain that I don't. Eeeeeeeew Condé Nast, get out of my brain. 

What I think about when I think about pop (PM)

Who is Pharell?

What is Blurred Lines?

How come I don't know anything about anything anymore? 

I guess it's because I don't read Smash Hits or TV Hits all the time like I used to. I guess we can thank 'real life' for that, forcing me to grow up and engage with 'real issues' and the 'real literature' that explores them (WHO weekly). 

If J is questioning what's right and wrong about a song and whether repeatedly listening to it is OK, then there is no, absolutely no hope for me. That girl is my pop shepherd, guiding me through the valley of 'no idea' in which I naturally dwell.

I can tell you that I saw a clip for a Jay-Z song called Picasso Baby on Rage the other night and wondered what it was all about.   

What I think about when I think about pop (AM)

If pop music is for the unquestioning masses why has Robin Thicke got me asking so many questions? 

Questions like:

Is it possible that a person can be bread to look like an eighties TV star because that's what his parents were?

A while ago before I had any idea who he was I'd see these little posters advertising a Robin Thicke tour or album or something and I'd think, "Who the fuck is Robin Thicke? By the looks of him I guess he's Alan Thicke's son." It's not that they look so similar it's just that he looks like a sitcom son. Turns out his mother was an actress on Days of Our Lives, so those are some serious TV genes. And doesn't Thicke* look like he just stepped off the set of Growing Pains? Or more likely Saved By the Bell. Like some kind of Screech turned "hunk" type in a dream sequence? Screech's "cool" cousin?

And does anyone else think its weird that a face can look so totally 80s/90s. I don't feel like it is just his styling. I think it's his face. WTF?!

And:

Is it ok to want to listen to a song a lot even if you are repulsed by the singer as long as Pharell is involved?

I asked myself this question a lot one night after I listened to Blurred Lines about 5 times on a train from Melbourne to Geelong and then danced to it about 3 times after I got home that night. It's got a good beat and you can dance to it but I couldn't help wonder if what I was doing was wrong.

First, Robin Thicke is, as mentioned, slightly repulsive and that made me wonder how I could enjoy that song so much. Also, despite listening to it a bunch of times in a row, every time I tried to think of Blurred Lines all I could think of was SexyBack. Justin Timberlake, there is a slightly (barely) repulsive pop star I can get behind. But really is that what you want? A danceable song that is so reminiscent of a better song a person can't even remember your song properly? Turns out Blurred Lines has been accused of being too similar to Marvin Gaye's Got to Give it Up. ! HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA. Dream the fuck on Robin Thicke! That is only one of the all time best songs. And dude, yours ain't nothing like it. Not in any meaningful way.

Also, Blurred Lines has been accused of being about date rape and suggesting that it is cool. When I first heard the song I just thought it was about trying to pick up the hottest bitch in the place. You know, like every other song out there. And I'm not convinced that is not what it's about. But I'm not really convinced it is, either. Not being a date rapist perhaps I just didn't tap into that aspect. I mean, I can see where that interpretation comes from, but gee, Robin Thicke and Pharell and T.I., if that is what you are talking about it is not sexy, it's not cool.

Still despite all this I listened to the song over and over, wondering if I was going to be hooked on it for weeks, wondering why the eff I was listening to this Thicke. Using Pharell's involvement to justify it all. And then after one night, I was done. I mean, it's not as if I am immune to it now, but a real booty shaker, Gold Digger or MyLove, I could listen to those for months. So, thanks Robin Thicke, Pharell and T.I. for getting me to dance a bit, but not compromising myself too much. Thanks for getting me thinking about stuff. Who says pop music is good for nothing.

*Did you know that until recently Robin Thicke just went by the name Thicke professionally. Eeeeeewwwwwww.