Here's mud in yer eye

Last post was my 300th, since I started blogging in 2003. And to mark the occasion the New Zealand Photos are up on Flickr. (Click the photo)



Oh yeah, and in a couple of hours I'll be 31.

Video Gems

Ah., you tube...

Sex Dwarf live by Marc Almond/Soft Cell. Apparently you have to join up or sign in to see the original clip, because its over 18! But this one is worth it for the intro and "They all love your miniature ways" What the fuck?

Interlude by Morrisey and Siouxsie. Dull video, lovely song that's a bit hard to get.

I know what boys like by The Waitresses. Great song. Terrible outfits. "I got my cat moves" Oh deary me.

This post needs speakers really.

Being a girl

Oxford Street, Saturday night about 12.30. A tall woman with a dramatic look got on the bus, standing while I was sitting up the back trying to slip into a stasis. My stop is nearly the very last, and approximately one million people have to get on and off before mine and they all talk non-stop about their night out and its mind-numbingly boring.

Anyway, she had a high blonde pony tail, the end scraping the middle of her back, high cheekbones, cool blue eyes, wide shoulders and was dressed in a chic black shirt and jeans with a spunky wide hip-accentuating belt. The nails, hair and make-up looked to me like quite an investment of time and money. I was wondering to myself at first whether she was late 30s/early 40s, if she had kids a while in the past, whether she put a lot of pride in her looks, and whether she was happy. Then I realised she might have formerly been a man. On closer inspection the pony tail was definitely a hair-piece (or switch, as called by Kath n Kim) - I can tell now from the world of belly dance, and she had definitely had some facial surgery going on, at least a nose job. It was really good surgery mind you, she looked classy and not painfully pulled and stretched. I couldn't really be sure, gender-wise, mostly because I'm crap at that, and don't really know what makes an Adam's apple and what doesn't. And like, I've got big hands too.

To make any big dramatic change in your life is ballsy (to pardon the pun) and to switch gender is definitely a big one so I feel sort of weirdly flattered on behalf on my gender for anyone who wants to go through all that to be a girl, and can't help but have a bit of sympathy for how the public world they walk through must change. So then I wondered about how she might have sculpted a whole new person using surgery, drugs, cosmetics and a hair piece. And what she thought about having worn both the pants and the panties so to speak. And how relieved that as a lady I'm not compelled to put on all that war paint and dressings to be an accepted member of society.

I tell you all something though, apart from her or me pretty much every other woman on that bus was with some friends or part of a couple. There were older couples who had been the Opera House, groups of 20-something with very big pupils going home after a summer festival, and plenty of ubiquitous backpackers, of course, plenty of lone guys, talking in their mobiles or just minding their own business. Generally that bus ride feels pretty safe and friendly, its just dull and crowded. Maybe it had just been a long night and I was just imaging it, but this mystery woman wasn't standing tall and proud, at least 5'10" - she was kind or shrinking into herself a little bit while hanging on the rail. Maybe she had the shits with me staring (sorry world at large, its not because I think you're hideous, its because I think you're beautiful and interesting to look at). But it seemed a shame that after all that effort you could find yourself trying to hide a bit in full view, become a bit smaller, and a bit less obvious.

hominus ex machina

Today I was walking through one of those underground shopping malls on the way to the train station at about 5.30 pm, and remembered as I passed the bank of cash machines that I needed some money. So I picked the one for the bank that looks after my moolah, to avoid the fees of course. I inserted my card straight to the slot, just like a robot, with not all my cognitive senses switched on and completely failed to register the "out of service" screen. But I did notice when I didn't feel the usual resistance then tug on the card after inserting the first couple centimetres. Instead, it felt kind of loose and floppy. Glancing down to about elbow height I couldn't see anything abnormal with the slot.

So, being a naturally inquisitive type, I bent at the waist to have a look at the slot at eye level (is this sounding like a Douglas Adams joke or what?). On doing so, I saw that the whole ATM had been removed from its connecting wall interface, and could also quite clearly see the guy working on it clad in blue overalls. Having a flash of what it must have looked like from the other side, I just guffawed out loud, and took my place behind two girls using the other machine, which apparently had its back part still. Or perhaps the little man who sits there dispensing cash wasn't on his tea break.

floral tribute

Last night I went to an event at 34B, the specialised burlesque club in Sydney. The host in her opening monologue said

"I like to think of the deviants in the world as like the flowers, without them life would be incredibly boring. Unless you're really into dirt. But if you are into dirt, that's okay too, we're all individuals here."

Anyway, there was a mix of girls and boys doing outrageous things on stage, some of the performers from gurlesque and the tranny cops, and a young man who drank a potion and giant tentacles sprouted from his pants, then strangled him. He looked like a young Ewan McGregor. A fun night was had by all.

Speaking of diaries

For anyone who was a serious angst-meister in their late teens, now is the chance to get published! The cringe book started as a reading night in New York, and is now an online project requesting scans of old diary pages. The test of whether your material is worthy of the book: "when you read it to yourself, do you physically cringe?".

And Stu, yes, I am also one of those oldies occasionally seen at gigs with earplugs*, but I wear the skin toned gel ones, with my hair down because I am still a bit self-conscious that my rock star image may be tainted. I remember seeing people 10 years ago with the fluoro yellow ones and knew that they were doing the right thing but still thinking "god they look terrible". More fool me. A family friend of mine with tinnitus recently got some kind of treatment that helps your brain filter out the noise, it involves playing certain frequency sounds to yourself for months. Apparently it works. Cost: $3,000. Shit.

* but more often at home with a book, no tv, no music and the windows shut.

Check it out

Hows this sexy new template? Displaying a rate streak of OCD, I've labeled the last few months worth of posts, for your pleasure. Although now I'm worried I'm going to drive myself to think inside one of those labels for all new posts. Ah the tension of a mind that loves order and categories yet also craves the off-beat, the whimsical and the passionate. Pisces, eh?

This week I've picked up the weighty tome sent to Biz by his folks, Michael Palin's Diaries from 1969-1979 (The Python Years)*. I'm quite enjoying his thoughtful, descriptive and sometimes insightful musings on "what fills his days". When all strung together (and heavily edited) nearly 30 years down the track, it make a compelling narrative. Almost inspires one to keep a real true diary, rather than a motley collection of ramblings and links to the Sydney Morning Herald. Although maybe if I keep up with the technology and keep the page nicely archived, there will be a nice juicy publishing deal in it. In 2030.

*Nb, Betty Sue the Tariq Ali/John Ronson essay is quietly forming - one of these days it will make it onto booklub

Cheer up

By the way, any Sydney ladies who read this and are interested in being a Radical cheerleader, we are currently trying to get our shit together to have a 2007 kick off meeting. It will involve beers and no scary performing in front of people you don't know, and hopefully a few targets to cheer at in a big old election year. I personally see it as a duty to don a stupid outfit if it helps brighten people's day when they get up and get out on the streets to try to communicate with our mean and darkhearted government. Get on the "GP-based list" or drop a line in comments.

Edit: Sydney-based fellas too, please! I'm dying to see some hairy legs in those improvised cheering costumes.