Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Blandwagon's Brilliant Blogmeet

Two weeks ago, Blandwagon from Get on the Blandwagon! issued an open invitation to a blogmeet dinner. You can read all about it here, because I am feeling pretty lazy and Blanders has already described the evening to a T.

Hey, why reinvent the wheel when someone's already carved out the spokes and attached a chariot to it?

I was a bit concerned about meeting people I only knew from the Internet, but as far as Internet meetings go, it was a huge success. There were no creepy strangers trying to sniff my hair, and I didn't end up in someone's cellar having baskets of lotion passed down to me on a rope.

Like I said, a roaring success.

My friends K, J and S were gracious enough to accept my last-minute invitation (and not heap scorn upon me for the late notice), and so we found ourselves spending a very civilised evening with Blandwagon, the Flatmate, Jarvis, and TroyG.

By "civilised", I mean that we were waited on hand and foot and served a very fancy meal where each course was served with a complementary wine (except for the very average bottle of chardonnay I brought along. I mean, seriously, anyone who has read this blog knows what a lightweight I am when it comes to alcohol consumption. Next time I will stick to what I know and bring along exotic Asian snackfoods, white rabbits or small, angry sausage dogs.)

Mmm, cheesy pastry thingy. Om nom nom.

Mmm, Moroccan lamb with pear, asparagus, broccolini, and cous cous (not yet served).

Mmm, chocolate Cointreau cake with white chocolate mascarpone.
(Sorry, I ate this too fast. This is a reenactment of what it looked like inside my tum.)

I can only say that I lust after Blandwagon's house and garden in a Talented Mr Ripley kind of way, so he should watch his back (although I'll probably need a really good disguise to fool the Flatmate).

He has a replica Eames chair that I would exchange my first-born for (hm, except if I'm handing over my first-born I should probably try and get hold of the real thing), and the place is a wonderland of eye-catching art and cool collectables and clever lighting. The photos on his blog really don't do it justice.

In fact, the whole place was so nicely decorated that J asked Blanders what team he batted for.

Well, ladies, let me delight you all by introducing my nominee for 2009 Cleo Bachelor of the Year--Blandwagon!

Thank you for a lovely evening, B.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

My future looks bleak

MFC and I periodically have arguments, ahem, excuse me, discussions, about gender roles, and specifically, what ours would be should we procreate one day.

I mean, really, with such top class DNA, I consider it my obligation, nay, my civic duty, to upgrade the contents of our gene pool with my Gold Class, super-smart, super-myopic and super-neurotic chromosomes.

an9ie: So, this article* says that full-time mothers are the most depressed, compared to mothers who work part-time and mothers who work full-time.

But children with with full-time mothers are the least depressed. What the heck? So you're damned if you do, and damned if you don't***.

MFC: I prefer the 80s model.

an9ie: What's that?

MFC: You work full-time AND look after the kids full-time to show how empowered you are. And I work full-time and go to cocaine parties all weekend.

* Some article I was reading at the time, but I can't remember where I found it. I usually take this kind of news with a pinch of salt. These studies continue to contradict themselves, and may not take enough
variables into account. Also, they foment that whole us vs. them hate-filled mentality, which is not constructive**.

** Having said that, I am also a giant hypocrite who has started, AND had fun with these kinds of us vs. them arguments, I mean, discussions. That is, until I turn into a "them", and then it's us vs. you. Confusing, I know.

*** Personally, my plan is to give them to my mother until they can talk and wipe their own bottoms.

Thursday, October 09, 2008

From the deepest mists of time

Sometimes my parents will say funny things or tell me stories which remind me that they spent most of their lives in a foreign country. A country with a different way of speaking, and living, that was, in some cases, twenty years behind everyone else (an idyllic life for a child, but perhaps not that crash-hot for an adult).
For example, our first phone number only had five digits, and we had a rotary dial phone. We didn't get our first McDonald's until the early 90s.
Anyway, tonight, my father came in to show me a book he had mended. The book's title was Animals of Asia.

Dad: You see this? This book was in three pieces when I bought it. (Proudly shows me the hidden joins.)

an9ie: Yes, very nice.

Dad: And look at all the birds in here. I've seen a lot of these birds.

an9ie: Really?

Dad: I have eaten most of them.

Seriously, you cannot make this stuff up.

Monday, October 06, 2008

Mr Camera, why do you hate me?

You know what burns a girl? When her boyfriend is more photogenic than she is.

I don't know why, or how, but whenever my image is captured--digital, film, crayon, it doesn't matter--the camera adds 20 kilos, facial hair, a double chin, and bingo arms.

It doesn't matter if I'm all dolled up and I've looked in the mirror 20 seconds beforehand to confirm that, yes, total strangers would not immediately throw up if they saw me approaching.

And then my mug becomes immortalised in yet another awful shot and when I see myself through the lens I think, It's all over, girl. Why do you keep flogging this dead horse? Time to drown yourself in liqueur chocolates and join the muumuu club.

You think I'm joking? In my time on this Earth there have been fewer than 20 photographs of myself that I have approved of, and half of them date from the 70s.

MFC*, on the other hand, well, let me tell you about MFC.

He finally decided to get rid of the moustache that he had been cultivating since two Movembers ago, and asked me to take a photo of it for posterity.

Scene: We've both just woken up, and MFC wants to shave off his mo' in the shower, so he's shooed me out of bed to get my digital camera.

an9ie (looking at the LCD preview on her Canon Ixus 60): YOU BASTARD. I don't believe it.

(does a Mr Incredible pose and smiles at the camera): ...

There is something wrong with this thing. (Looks up) I can see it as plain as day when I'm not looking at the damn screen. You have bed hair. You have stubble. You look like you have a hangover. (Looks back at the LCD screen) But here it's all ... cheekbones! Symmetry! Clear skin! Bambi eyes! Gah! Stupid camera!

MFC gives me a smug leer. In the viewfinder, the face of an angel beams beatifically.

'The camera never lies,' my arse.

* For newcomers, MFC is the Boyfriend.**
** But he may not have this title for much longer if he continues to look prettier than me.

Thursday, October 02, 2008

Another legend gone

Rob Guest died last night after a sudden, massive stroke. He was only 58.

I remember seeing him in Les Miserables as Jean Valjean when it came to the Perth Entertainment Centre. It was a fantastic performance and he easily eclipsed the rest of the cast with his rich and expressive voice. He had such a commanding presence.

You may recall that in June this year, I really got into Wicked, the musical, and I was very pleased to hear that Guest had the part of the Wizard of Oz.

My sister went to see Wicked in Melbourne, and she had a wonderful time. I wish I had gone along too, but I didn't want to take the time off from work.

Next year, I thought, next year I'll be able to take a few days off, see Wicked, visit some old school friends in the Eastern states. Always next year, or tomorrow.

But sometimes, tomorrow never comes.

Lesson learnt.

Rest in peace, Rob.