Souvenirs of the apocalypse

It was apocalypse-tastic!

(The single most boring thing anyone could say after an apocalypse-esque dust storm is, it was apocalyptic.)

Progress on Rules

Today I had to exercise some self-control. In keeping with the new rules, I did not buy either of the two books I was considering at Gleebooks second-hand.

I will probably long for them for a couple more days, then I'll be over it.

If not, I'll go back for them in blatant disregard of my commitment.

Our apartment is bitterly cold today, despite the sun outside. Studio calling! (There's a heater in there.)

Guess what?

Yes, it's true. I'm a cake-scoffing age-pluserer.

Oh here's a story - I was at a birthday party once, and I overheard a conversation about capricorns so I cut into it. We talked about what capricorns are meant to be like (as one does). She says, wouldn't it be weird to just bump into someone who has the same birthday as you. I say, yeah, if I ever met Martin Luther King Jr, I would find that strange. She laughs and says she'll probably never meet Elvis, so it might never happen. That rings a bell - what date is your birthday, I say? January 15th, she says. Huh, me too, I say.

And then we fell into a big hole that had been created in the space-time continuum, and - oh, but that's another story.

Oh my gawd

I just ate an entire packet of Green and Black's milk chocolate.

If I had my time all over again, I would change nothing. Maybe I'd leave a bit for later so I could still be eating it now.

I'm all high now. I wish I lived in Switzerland. Think of all the fine quality confectionery. I'd be fat as a mountain.

Tonight

I tried to go to a christmas party, but I had on thongs so the fascists wouldn't let me in, even though I was on the guest list (a whole other pointless story). I have done a LOT of walking tonight, which is OK because it's stopped raining every ten minutes. My allergic sister has stopped sleeping on my floor, I'm gonna get a WHOPPING tax return (sayonara, debt!), and I ... I ... I don't know what else.

Life is OK. I blew off my work christmas party because it was all too hard and I was a bit low energy after my two-hour afternoon nap. Is it any wonder I can't get any work done?

Meh. Life is good, anyway. Things are moving and changing. Gonna go to work, go to work, go to work. Be less poor, be less busy. Go to the beach and remember how to cook. Try to remember how to cook.

/stream of consciousness resolutions-ing

I'm going through chan-ges

I looked at my keys yesterday and realised that the whole bunch has entirely changed from like four months ago. I have new studio keys, house keys, gallery keys and I've got rid of old house keys and work keys. I don't know my own keys. I have to examine them carefully every time I want to unlock something. Yes, this is a not veiled at all metaphor.

There are a lot of people leaving town/having left of late, and I haven't been very happy about it. I've been all, oh poor me, all my friends are abandoning me, wah wah wah. But I've got it together now. It makes space for all those new friends not yet known well enough and the old friends currently being neglected.

As you can see, everything is always all right and exactly as it would be in the best of all possible worlds. Or whatever the man says.

Loose End

I am not sure what to do with myself. So many big productions (shows x 2, new job begun, moving whole house, parental visit) just completed. So many big productions yet to be mounted. I am not sure where to start.

Perhaps I should do my tax. Or write my Asialink application. Or proposals for shows. Or go to the studio and do some work.

I am not sure. All of these things need doing.

Of course, I haven't seen the Simpsons movie yet ... is it any good?

Presumptions of ethnicity

I just ordered some goulash at a soup place for lunch, and the guy serving it looked at me like I had said the secret password. "Where are you from?" he asks (I'm assuming he was Croatian, as the soup in question was in fact called Croatian goulash). "Canberra," I answer, disingenuously. He looks slightly disappointed. I take pity and elaborate. "I know that's not what you mean, but there's nothing to tell," I say. At a loss, he wanders off to serve someone else.

This is something that happens to me all the time. People think I've got something where there's nothing. Examples from the last seven days:
1. Greek people at the election speaking to me in Greek and being confused when I can't understand them. Their first words to me in English are "you're not Greek". "Sorry!" I say.
2. I told this story to ****, and he said "mmm, what IS your, you know ..." "Ethnic background?" "Nothing," I supply.
"Well it can't be nothing ..." he says, fairly enough. I sigh. "Anglo-Welsh mongrel." End of conversation, confirming my suspicions that he was, in fact, looking for a more interesting answer. Like, my parents were refugees from the Armenian genocide, and I grew up in a small weatherboard house in Marrickville, where my Yaya sang me to sleep with traditional lullabies.
3. Last week, a girlfriend (as my aunties down the south coast charmingly call their female friends) made some allusion to my Jewishness. "Huh?" I counter. "But I'm not Jewish" "Oh!" she says, taken aback. "For some reason I assumed, because [insert ex-boyfriend's name here] is ...," trailing off into a pit of illogicality.

Etc etc etc. A normal week.

I have a vague exotic [read: woggy] look, apparently. According to peoples' visual assessments, I should be either Greek, Italian, Croatian, Hungarian (but that's silly), Jewish or I dunno what. Those are the ones I get the most.

So I think I should come up with an ethnicity for myself that doesn't leave people so let-down. Suggestions below, please.

satdee night

so, last night I went to a party. I was pretty happy as it has been a long time since I went to a party. However, upon arriving and existing throughout said party, it proed to be a bit of a dud. Perfectly nice, but not anything to take photos of and write to ones's blog about. Kinda dull. So in order to make things more fun I guzzled lots of scotch, interfered with the music and tried to get people to dance. By dropping to the floor in a kind of bridge thing and thrusting upwards, one arm ceilingwards, a la Push It. While Push It played, natch. I learnt two things.

1. Getting laughs is all very well but it can alienate people from the dance floor.
and,
2. Dancing like that gives you sore ribs and neck the next day.

Survey -

which is a better person to be at a so-so party -
a- the one dancing like an idiot sans lampshade on head but only just
b- always in the kitchen (tricky when party is in one room aptmt)
c- ...I've run out of ideas.
d- see above

Muse muse muse whimsy muse stop

The other day my sister looked up her old friend's blog and trawled it thoroughly looking for references to herself. Is this normal?