23 December 2008

22 December 2008

Potato killer

From pre-Obama. Don't worry America, you done good.

Three more days till Christmas and my spirits are soaring. Right now I am looking up vegetarian Christmas options. Its looking like a familiar scene from About a Boy mm..nutmeg loaf was it? A member of my family claimed that I had, "ruined Christmas". Yet, I am not forcing my potatoes upon them. I love my potatoes! I still cry over the time I poured mouldy cheese on a perfectly lovely cold potato, meaning I could not eat it. Sadly, I was put in charge for the menu for the all merry day. I put down potatoes, carrot, pumpkin, chicken, ham (my poor father) and mint sauce. This, apparently, does not work. From my experience with mint sauce, I thought it could go with everything, like Kelly Osbourne and her ketchup obsession. So, menu duties have been relocated to someone with a more, diligent? approach to the task. I still think mint sauce goes deliciously with potatoes, people are so closed minded.
Now comes my last minute shopping as I can never do anything on time, blessed as a procrastinator. I have no idea what to buy and have no idea what I want. Thats a first. I keep saying Johnny Depp but no one is taking me seriously.

20 December 2008

Invisible Light

I just received my Mystery Jets tickets, delivered by a nice man in a helmet. So, I guess I can stop the worrying, the threat of crying gone and rejoice with my tiny piece of paper.

Yesterday I went to an artist talk with the wonderful Joey Piziali at the Collectors Contemporary. He gave a wonderful talk, covering all aspects of art, from inspiration, interpretation and his own works from the "Invisible Light" collection.

Piziali is sort of how you expect artists to be, seeing beauty in everything, even the mundane, quirky and very inspirational, yet still very friendly. It was a real treat, amazing, actually, to be able to talk to him and gain insight into the art world. Plus gain a sneaky signature, oops!

So go check out his work at the Collectors Contemporary till the 24th January.

17 December 2008

She caught the wrong second of a two-second story.

I can hear my mother talking downstairs and I kind of hope she is talking to someone on the phone and not just talking to herself. Or the cat. Talking to the cat is slightly more sad than talking to yourself, as the cat cannot comprehend what you're saying, although you may think your cat is some genius and understands every word you say, really its just wondering if by looking at you in an emotional manner may lead to opening a can of Fancy Feast. Yourself on the other hand can understand what you're saying and may be able to reply. In your mind at least.

So Christmas is just around the corner. Love, peace, happiness. I know its there I just can't feel it. Even with the creepy wind up Music Carol Boxes (that make me think that when the key clunks to a stop an axe weilding murderer is going to jump out and slice us all. I explained such to others and they asked me what movies I have been watching. Well, the last was "In Her Shoes", although at times one felt like throttling some characters it was never shown or worked into the script. I believe that if this was to happen, the movie would've been a greater hit, "In Her Shoes: The Role of a Killer", something like that. I would've seen that, it sounds like the shows on the Crime Channel late at night, they're always a big hit in our family. We love our gore!) I am not a very spirited person, I need gold spray paint and acorns to feel as if I have purpose at Christmas, besides that , nothing. Or perhaps forty bucks and an attempt at finding Christmas presents that don't include a subscription to Dungeons and Dragons monthly.

If you want a dose of the excellent, I suggest you watch the English art movie, Cashback. Absoulutely stunning, soundtrack, visuals, acting, mix of comedy with drama, cutting edge stuff. I adored the movie and was utterly inspired to do something, anything, it was amazing! It follows the art student Ben (played by Sean Biggerstaff, you know the one everyone crooned over as Oliver Wood. Well, Woodys changed a whole lot) post break up with his two and half year long girlfriend. Struggling to sleep and suffering from insomnia, Ben trades in his now, extra eight hours to work in Sainsburys, trade in your hours, you get money, cashback. There his imagination and fascination with the female form, runs wild.

Features a lot of nudity, that makes sense in the art world, but would still cause an entire male class room to burst into giggles or mother into saying "pervy boy, such a pervy boy". Yet, I highly recommend this movie on so many levels. It received an Oscar nomination for its beginning as a short film in 2004, that with such positive feedback developed into a feature film. Go now!

Then we come to the other end of the spectra. Twilight. Don't go see this film. You thought the books were bad, the movie is worse, it actually made me disappointed. I set the bar oh, so, so low and I was disappointed. The ads looked reasonably okay, despite her "you're super strong blah blah blah" speech, that is just a complete squirm in your seat in embarrassment moment. Well, the whole movie is like that. Bella never looks happy, no emotion, looks as if she was just kicked and breathing through her mouth, the entire time. Not even when little lost vampire Edward states shes his "heroin". (Kudos to Kirsten Stewart for making Bella some what likable though.)Edward, well, your attempt at acting like Bella smelt, literally stank (har har har PUN!), although chemistry was some what evident, I always felt that Edward was a wide eyed idiot and Bella was a stuck up tosser, so there we go. This interpretation of Bella may be my biased opinion due to reading the book where shes so plain and clumsy and must tell us over and over again, but who cares, this is a rant, dammit. They're meant to be intelligent, this is not obvious, despite Edwards massive music collection, a sure sign of intelligence.

Carlisle and Esme slightly saved the movie but Jasper? What, Stepford? Stick up ass? What happened there? And that cut to allude to Dracula, was that warranted? I felt like hitting my head on the front of my chair. When did "spider-monkey" become a term of endearment? Scenes of them talking, supposedly romantically were truthfully boring making you wonder if they are in fact saying "pink elephant", thank you Oprah. I know its meant to be romantic, the abstinent beauty of true love but c'mon, Bella is a hormonal crazed girl who actually has Edward, like all the fan girls crave for, she wants the sex, end of story. Plus, Edwards supposed "sparkling" was like that of a European in Singapores humidity. Basically, sweaty.

The villains, were boring, not scary in the slightess manner and just proved Bella's stupidity. The end made no real sense besides to Twilighters (oh man, I am a Twilighter) and just showed the angry, ginger walking off all teary eyed in bad fur, hint, hint sequel? Really? I would have never guessed! Despite the continuous writing spirit of Stephanie Meyer to produce not one, not two, but four books of torturous romance that end rather astonishingly terribly. Basically, don't go see this movie.The lady behind me that snorted her phlegm back into her mouth was more interesting.

13 December 2008

Time to Pretend

My 17th year on the planet. Its really amazing when you think about it, how we age and exist and such but then my mind goes all whiz-bang so I won't explain my theories to you.

At 12am on the 12th I was dragged downstairs and drunkenly sang Happy Birthday to. After, I was served cheap champagne which made my throat feel all warm and fizzly and attempted the Soulja Boy dance. Attempted being the operative word. After I went upstairs and danced to some Ska with my failed sense of timing and felt very mature. My sense of maturity differs greatly to everyone elses, it takes "Too Much, Too Young" to feel the year pass over me, creating lines in my forehead.

The next day I played twister, celebrity heads and made chocolate crackles. This made me feel slightly less mature. But still good. Except when I spent the main part of the evening with my ass in the air. This perhaps, was not a good look for me.

I finished the night with my 24th screening of About a Boy, in true birthday spirit.

In other news: The formal (public humiliation night) actually was, fun? Oh! What mess is this? Having fun at a school event? Never! But truth. I actually never got off the dance floor, mainly because that would mean walking in heels which I very nearly failed and toppled over in. The music wasn't my taste (That of the MTV generation), yet I still belted out a version of "Disturbia" knowing the lyrics consisted mainly of the creative genius of Rihannas entire song writing team to come up with "bam bam bi dum bam bam be dum dum".

Later, the night ended in a lovely bit of groping, most definetly not on my part, cheesecake and walking around sitting at bus stops yet not waiting for a bus. Which might sound poetic. But its not.

So, now, Happy Birthday to my mother and after they're dedication of "Little Ray of Sunshine" for me on my Birthday, I dedicate this to you:

8 December 2008

In life we're all duffers chum!

Please, please, please let me get what I want.

Last time a band was sold out (damn you Death Cab For Cutie!) I began crying at the ticket counter. So lets hope for the best ey?

Much love, public humiliation tomorrow and aging rapidly Saturday.

5 December 2008

I am David Bowieval

"Isn't it funny how Hungary is next to Turkey?"
"Em...its not"
"Shut up, its a joke, you ruined it"


Its time again, for Cats music rant.
This time I am going to comment on the some what new, English speaking French pop/rock groups and my love for them.

First I will start with the obvious.
Nouvelle Vague (New Wave).
The lovely French band that cover songs from the 80s with Latin/Caribbean infused Jazz/ Pop. The songs covered range from the beautiful "In a Manner of Speaking", smooth, brushes and light yet stunning vocals to the Echo and the Bunnymen's "The Killing Moon", which incorporates bird calls in a non-tacky way, which is a skill in itself. With Nouvelle Vague it is possible to know that they're French due to their accents and, not odd, but different pronunciations of the English language. This differs to the next band:


The born cool guys of Neimo, despite their name reminscent of a animated clown fish, are like how rock stars should be. Stylish, assertive, definetly cool and if not a tad arrogant, but thats all the stage. I found this band whilst searching through my work experiences system, hard at work. They don't sound in the slightest French but they look French, which is a very nice thing to look.

Tahiti 80

I originally thoguht this band was English, they just felt English, sounded English and looked like a scruffy lad from Oxford, and then boom! French formed since 1993. Apparently they're very popular in Japan, they're "Big in Japan"..har har har. Basically they're kind of bubble gum pop, but still very cute, I guess thats what bubble gum pop is for. But check out they're latest song. The whole time I worried about the hamster and then at the end! Ah! Adorable!

But now from something slighty different, my favorite French band who actually speak in French, the completely fantastic and fun NAAST. Nobody, I mean nobody, well nobody I know, which means kind of nothing, know them! Unless I have hounded them to listen. They're completely underrated because they're absoulutely amazing! The best song for a good kick and jump around the house is "Tu Te Trompes", the video makes it all look so easy and carefree. I wish I was in a rock band, I mean, I long for it more than anything. This could happen if I didn't have such screwy short fingers though, I can't make the F chord, my genes have stuffed me up. Like my father, who actually has talent and is a drummer, I have drummer hands meaning the instruments I want to play, I can't because nine year olds have fingers longer than my stubs. This is true, as proven today by my Miley Cyrus worshipper friend. I can't mainly blame my so called fingers, I should also blame my laziness and procrastination of about everything, plus the fact that I spend about 90 percent of the time thinking of a band name (Bangers and Mash? No? I think its truly groovy, like the chimps, yeh?) instead of actually getting down and doing anything. I've writtens songs but they're mainly about clowns, which could work, if they're wasn't about 20 of them (borderline obsession). So I could blame that, but that would mean owning up to my faults, not things like my genes and parents so there, its my fingers fault.

Well, before I depart I shall leave you with the movie I am desperate to see showing that music CAN bring you together, perhaps only if you live in a movie but heres hope for us all. Nick and Norahs infinite playlist:

Have a good weekend. Plus this, if you see this you will have the best weekend ever.

4 December 2008

My weekly photoshop fix

After the Bill Henson ordeal, we made images protesting about freedom in art.
Ta dah!

Images from art this year, in the unit, defining yourself, this is "me" according to me.

My basis for the print, I love photoshop:

Just check out my lycra pants

My school dance is drawing in. I guess its not just a dance, a dance is casual, easy going and shit music. The only thing that will be in this so called "dance" is the latter. That, I'm counting on.

So I finally gave in. After a worthy fight, shouts, pleas, begging on knees, I am going to my school formal. It slightly sickens me, but I'm leaving, so its kind of my last thing as a friend. Can I say that? Could I say this is a service to my friends? Is that a worthy excuse? No, there are no excuses, I have given in, surrendered. At this point, I would be called French.

Unfortunately, above all things I could possibly be worried about, I am worried about the dancing. This, as I have stated before, is because I cannot dance. After ten years of formal dance lessons, I possess no skills, no grace (I fell up stairs last week. That should not even be possible.) and no apparent ability in moving "ma body". I have attempted to practice dancing naturally. I stand in front of a mirror, click my fingers, sway and sort of stamp, whilst attempting the "provocative" hair flick. I look stupid, I feel stupid and the only thing I would be "provocative" to is a wilderbeast, and even then I'd be second pick. So thats not working.

Hoping that with the good, electro tinted music (I can't take full electro and I know that my dance will be chocked/tainted/choked with it, so I better slowly ease myself into it) of Ladyhawke (tis "Dusk till Dawn", shes one of those people who were born cool) the mood might take me and I would be the next John Travolta circa Saturday Night Fever. Whilst strutting my so called "stuff" I noticed that through a gap in the window, my neighbor was watching me. I don't think she was impressed as I hoped for. Soon things will be scrawled over my mailbox, "you suck, you ginge, my grandmudda dance better dan you". Maybe not with the bad spelling/grammar, but I am compensating for gangsta speech. So then I'll reply with "your mum" in yellow spray paint across her car, because, in todays world, theres no need for witty repertoire, "your mum" seems to solve everything.

I think I'll just stand there and sway, pretending that I'm cool, indie, apathetic person, not that I can't dance for anything. Maybe, like some sort of cliche music based 80s movie, the music will take me. I'll start convulsing, unable to control myself, moving amazingly, hitting the beats, twisting, wiggling, being utter ace. A crowd will form around me, cheering, clapping, mouths on the floor. Then before I leave, everyone will be able to say my name and say my name with pride, "shes the chick who can mooooove, shes got da groove" before carrying me out on their shoulders.

That won't happen. Maybe I could pay someone to do it.

2 December 2008

The magical, green cat

Haven't blogged in a while. I think I've developed this thing called "a life". Perhaps, maybe I'm just still lazy.

Last week was work experience, which was strangely highly insightful. I shall give you a brief run through:

Day One: Given desk. Desk had bottle of honey tucked behind the computer, I thought not to question, just to stare continuously and think of the many possibilities of its use. Briefing on company and orientation. Told that I would not be a slave and be told to make coffee. This sucked due to the fact I practisced making coffee for this. Tried to remember everyones names after giving my "firm handshake" that I worked on.Everyone had names like George and Fred, I failed and just nodded some what convincingly (most likely not convincing, more like nodding head and backing away slowly)Edited video on Cambodian monkeys. Discovered the wonders of free milo.

Day Two: Met more people, shook more hands. Created a diagram to remember names. Felt pathetic in doing so and chucked it out. Sneezed continuously but felt embarrassed to blow nose so kept sniffing. Realised this was annoying so kept tissue on nose. Realised this looked unprofessional. Went to bathroom and blew nose. Was sent home with a nice "I think you should go home". Left but not before pressing the free milo button a few times. Anarchy!

Day Three: Given breifing on everything about photojournalism. Made a cup of tea yet burnt lips thus having no feeling in them for the rest of the day. Researched photos taken in Adelaide, statement "no results were found". Went out for dinner with friends. Felt all professional asking "how was work?"

Day Four: Went on photography trip to a golf press conference. Was meant to photograph famous golfers in front of their scoreboards. Instead photographed a fly attached to a maggot on the green grass. These were later presented to my minder, perhaps more interesting than the press conference. "You have a broken arm. How does this affect you?" "mmmm...Let me ponder on this extremely obvious question"

Day Five: Mumbai attack. Enormous story. People shouting at screens. Stressed out of their mind. More cigarette breaks than usual (everyone smokes. I mean everyone.) Scared out of my mind. Read every story on anything to do with current events/trends/news on the internet to keep out of the way. Said my goodbyes. Went out with friends. Fell asleep at dinner table due to my raging partying ways. Woo!

I decided that I have ages to decide my life. I am interested in so many things and I know this is cliche and as they say, once you have to make money you change you'll change your mind but here it goes, "I'm not in it for the money". My plans in year seven consisted of nothing but a badly drawn picture of a magical cat with an arrow pointing to it, "green" it said. I can't remember if I was taking the piss, angry due to the school insisting "think of you're future speech" of if I was serious. I really, really hope I wasn't serious.

And now brings on Christmas. I should've said this earlier. Christmas decorations were put up on November 1st. Like that of an About a Boy re-run (I'm up to 26- its not obsession its just a really, really good movie) I claimed "November the 1st. November the fucking 1st!". Halloweens over and Christmas rolls in, its not holidays its just marketing. After all, as my friend stated yesterday:

"Christmas is about getting presents and a little bit about Jesus".

Now I'm not particularly religious but what is wrong with the world? I blame coca-cola and its creation of the overweight, bearded man in the red suit wearing fur lining who sneaks into our house, steals our food and has young children sitting on its lap, leaving gifts to woo young boys and girls alike. In normal terms, this man would be an eccentric weirdo, prosecuted for a number of violations against the law. Instead we praise him, encourage kids to contact him and make films about him. Its all rather sick and I am thankful that due to my older brother, dear old Santa Claus didn't exist for very long.

I guess its just because we're the consumer culture, nothing else matters. Yet perhaps life could turn out to be a Hallmark movie were we rejoice in the spirit of giving with shiny white teeth and hidden religious undertones. I'd probably hate that too but at least I'd feel some what holy.

Although, getting in the true Christmas spirit I lugged at two metre pine tree home on the public bus the other day. Usually we get out this old crappy plastic thing that after 7 years has begun to disintegrate and has lost most of its branches. On the spur of the moment, seeing these trees we bought one. So now this beautiful tree sits staring back at me and I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Its nice.