In Rainbows

Today I pulled a "sicky" and treated myself to a much needed 2nd day off *IN A ROW!*. The sky was threatening rain as I hopped on the bus to Coogee. No matter-- I needed the beach be it saturated in rain or not. I've been covering an extra shift at work and thus have found myself cooped up in Glebe for the greater part of 6 days a week. I love you Glebe, but not that much.
When I arrived and set up shop, the beach looked exactly how I felt:
sunny-cloudy-tumultuous----just-on-the-cusp-of-something...

**soundtrack for the day:




































words to be added tomorrow. rightnow its into a hot shower and off to bed with a smile and a freshly emptied head.

Oh baby baby it's a Wild World...

Rather than posting my own thoughts, I'll allow Mr. Fritz Tucker to brief you on the film:
"That shit is good. it's kinda whack that a lot of the stuff in part 2 is not credible and i heard mad shit in 1 is exaggerated. the fact that mad of it is true makes me wish they'd made it a totally legitly sourced document.
but its mad effective they way they presented it and should be watched by mad people. just warn people that not everything is true, but enough is that it should seriously undermine their entire worldview concerning their society."

mad.

Full Feature can be found at: http://www.zeitgeistmovie.com/main.htm

Hey body, can I have more??

I've been having freaky dreams lately and came across this whilst doing a bit of research:
Not so eloquently put but a fascinating reminder nonetheless...


I actually Read "DMT: The Spirit Molecule" at a feverish pace a few years ago while hard at work at one of Chicago's 30 Curves locations. I'd love to go back and have another gander (without the distracting beats of N'sync and Tina Turner remixes impeding my comprehension), but alas, my entire library is stashed away in my parents basement in Michigan.

Purchase from Amazon for half what you'd spend in Australia:
http://www.amazon.com/DMT-Molecule-Revolutionary-Near-Death-Experiences/dp/0892819278/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1216964571&sr=8-1

Welcome to the Dojo

Penthouse heaven above Sydney

Below: Violeta- a Chilean Medicine Woman

Sydney Harbour Bridge in the background

The Harbour at Potts Point

The Ass Specialist

I had a client the other day who was completely silent and docile from go.
"Hi there! I'm Jen... I'll be your therapist. How are you?"
"Hi."
...leading her downstairs to my massage portal...
"So what can I do for you today?"
"You know. Standard.".......she shrugs..... avoids eye contact.......
"Excellent." *sigh* "Now, if you could just undress..." etc. etc. etc.
45 minutes into the treatment I was off in another world entirely, probably envisioning myself kung fu kicking or drinking up beautiful prose on a stone bridge in italy... creating stone jewelry in a rainforest in Brazil maybe....
and then:
"HEY! YOU MIGHT BE THE RIGHT PERSON TO ASK!!!..." She swung her head to the side to look at me as I traversed the upper edge of her glutes. I couldn't imagine her being this boistrous at her own wedding, so palpable was the enthusiasm.
"Oh my. Bring it." I said, thrilled to be solicited for brain useage.
Her voice got louder..
"HOW DO YOU GET RID OF PIMPLES ON YOUR BUTT?"?
"Me?" I said, cocking my head to the side to meet her eyes "I don't..."
"No. Me! How do I? How would I??"
I looked at the towel covered rump, next in line to be caressed by my hands.
"Wow. I. Yeah. I never envisioned being a person who would be "the right person" to ask that question to...ummm... lets see..."
The advice that I pulled from my *flawlessly complexed* ass was:
1. Exfoliate the ass
2. Wear cotton underwear. Wear vibrantly colored cotton underwear. (my chakras made me say it)
3. Douse the ass in tea tree oil.
4. Use natural laundry detergent

When I got home I did a quick google search ("how rid butt pimples") to cross reference my "expert advice."
Turns out I was the right person to ask, however one website offered a few suggestions that I didn't think of:
"Squeezing your butt pimples is something you can do without. All you need to do is cleansing the butt area 2-3 times a day but of course with an odorless soap or a specific acne cleanser that has no harsh chemicals whatsoever. An ointment rich in benzyl peroxide or salicylic acid is ideal for drying up butt acne."- http://ezinearticles.com
good to know.

I want to be the right person to ask basically anything but that. Anything buttttt that!!!

Natalie Portman can do no wrong

Postal Service

The lovely Cafe Otto boasts not only leather couches, dual fireplaces, foxy waiters, wine, free internet, anzac cookies the size of your face (if you aren't my dad), and the largest coffee I've seen offered in Australia, but also jams consistently excellent music. I arrived at 2pm today and was graced with the electric beats of The Postal Service, and was instantly transported across the ocean, back to Chicago, into the South Loop, to the foot of the UC megadorm, up to the 18th floor, holding the handle of 1816c, passing through the adjoining (filthy) bathroom, pulling back the red sheet that is the door to a skillfully constructed fort, and into the arms of one Sarah Gray.

Oh Sarah, how I miss thee. I wish The Postal Service could transport me for real like a little parcel to your doorstep. Or you to me and mine. ... at which point we could resume our thuggish existence together.

Domestic Sunday

The Elkingtons have a wide variety of talents, paramount among which is their inventive and ever expanding use of white flour.  When I first moved into 63 Glebe Point Rd. (affectionately known as The Glebe Hotel), it appeared as though I'd settled in some freaky Irish/Australian version of Little Italy.  I'd arrive home each night to the familiar scent of stewing tomato (now pronounced, grudgingly, "tomaaahto"), Italian Herbs (that H mustn't fall silent in this house) kissing my nose like the busomy hug of an incoherent Sicilian Grandmother.  Ossian would be found stirring pasta ("fancy pasta" if they were feeling indulgent) or chopping eggplant while instructing Eimear (unnecessarily) in the (verrry well known) art of grating cheese.  If they were feeling crazy they'd layer up a lasagna and Eimear would fight internal combustion while the thing spent time in the oven,  tolerating the excruciating wait knowing that when Ossian finally called her name for dinner, the payoff would be ample.   Always a team effort, the Elkington's dinners are infused with love and sarcasm- arguably the 2 best things on the planet- and plenty of highly processed bleached wheat.  

Sydney summer passed gently into autumn (aka 65-75 degree temps with 10 days straight of rain followed by an eternity of blue skies), which brought with it an evolution in the culinary aspirations of my dear flatmates.  Stir fries made a brief appearance but tapered with Ossian's inability to cook up anything less than a bucketfull of white rice.  I met Diane Pie (which is, as far as I can tell, Lasagna whose pasta has been replaced (deliciously) with puff pastry) for the first time at our Easter brunch(aka: extravaganza-of-starch-- pictured above)  

This pie has since taken on several variations (they love their hot pies down here) including the most impressive "Swumpkin Pie" comprised of sweet potato, pumpkin, caramelized onion and feta.  De-freakin-licious... even in the business card sized portion I allowed myself to savor.  

I bought Ossian an apron the next day, for he had earned it.  

The real shift happened when Osh took it upon himself to build his own pizza crust.  When that was a success, he ventured into the most ostentatious world of homemade pastry, followed by a recent crusade into hand made pretzels and succulent apple-berry crumble.  Breaking all the rules, indeed. 

It is easy to witness Ossian's drive and competency in the art of white flour manipulation and overlook Eimear's role in these indulgent feats-- but be not mistaken friends, for she is the muse behind the man, and tireless provider of stock and stores.  She is the apple slicer, the crumble topper, the sculptor of cheese, the common-sense-checker, the company to all who traverse the Glebe Hotel Kitchen.  

(Left:  Eimear applies what is left of the self-approved crumble while Ossian manhandles her efforts. )

Saturday Delight

I had the most lovely day today. I woke up early and went for a walk by the harbour then came home and enjoyed a coconut breakfast (a piece of deliciousness whose benefits are vast and can be learned at: http://www.coconut-info.com/)


Hung out at the Glebe Markets drinking chai in the sun until 1ish


at which point I went to work Here:

Things I miss from Home:

Crest toothpaste. (and creepy Crest ads)
                                     All they have here is Colgate. 
                                                And plenty of it.

No Brute Force

Despite being an obvious asset to the Australian people and government, my working eligibility will cease on January 21, 2009 when my 12 month working holiday visa expires. This fact has had my mind spinning for the past several weeks as it dawned on me that I don't want to leave... and don't anticipate wanting to leave 6 months from now either. I won't stay forever, but whatever force drew me here in the first place is now tossing strings around my ankles and luring me to stay. This bothers me a bit as I miss my family and my "peeps" and several other things which I'll elaborate on momentarily... but I stopped arguing with my gut instincts (no matter how ludicrous they sometimes seem) a year ago and I'm not about to go back on that now.
So. Darsh took Rrrrraphael and me to see an immigration lawyer today and after an hour of him giving expensive/time consuming/disruptive/awful options (ie: being owned by the government, being owned by a business, being schooled in hairstyling, paying $18,000 a year for a masters), and me telling him various options I'd entertained (getting married, agreeing to live in Darwin for 2 years, being beat up by an Australian man (for real. instant residency.) ) he developed a sense of humor and tossed off a few of the more "dodgy ways" that immigrants remain in this fine country.
Sailing school was a serious consideration until he remembered that it was in Tasmania.
Brick laying? nah.
tax evasion? no thanks.
Kung Fu school? ...What's that you say? 20 hours a week of mandatory physical activity that costs a measly $4000 a year, has no homework, lets me come and go from the country, and allows me to retain my current job and strange array of other activities? Interesting move, God. I just might take you up on that.

http://www.wingchun.com.au/
ya think?
It remains to be seen but if I stay you should probably take me seriously when I say I'll kick your ass if you don't visit.

A plush (and nearly dead?) treasure outside the lawyer's office at Bondi Junction:

Born in Nevers, France

Is that a stethoscope in your pocket?  

Forrest animals on bikes= silver lining

My ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend was playing this *loudly* in the background as he used her computer to call me *across the world* to let me know that he had fallen in love. I fell in love with the music and asked the name of the band before hanging up our forever.
I guess there's an up-side to everything.
Meet Bat For Lashes, and their stunning video stylings

dolphin womb

I feel a bit brand new lately. It's not that lovely, shiny, straight from the box brand of freshness but more like that of a fawn recently ejected from the womb. I'm pruney and wobbly and my eyes are ever-so-sensitive to the light; life is suddenly vast and overstimulating. Life was easier when I felt like this:



but I guess you gotta get born sometime.

and on that note. welcome to the dolphin womb. blog style.