Christmas eve, eve : (Wednesday) Moleskine Meanderings

note: will miss a few days of post over the Christmas break. Back again after Christmas :)

Tuesday: Moleskine Meanderings

Happy Birthday to my brother Cameron who is 20 today!

Saturday: Moleskine Meanderings

It was a line from a Rob Thomas song, I drew this at uni about a year or so ago.

Friday: Moleskine Meanderings

Some older sketches for today's meanderings. These were done while sitting at Circular Quay, Sydney. It occured to me that old people like to take time and sit down, but young people can't sit still, even if they are forced to wait for somebody, they get all anxious and fidgety. Sometimes they need to take out their mobile phone to distract them, or their iPod or something. When I say young people, I don't mean just teenagers, anyone under the age of 60 even! Our world is buzzing, buzzing, buzzing non stop. I think people take false holidays, even holidays become work with the idea of having to "see" somewhere, capture something, take a photo of a place you have been...people forget to "be" in a place.

When I was younger, I used to love excursions to the city. The daily plight of pedestrians, everyone having to go somewhere. But now, it wears me out, I don't enjoy the city as much because of the energy of people. It is the same as shopping malls. People get angry if you walk too slow in front of them. These people have some place they feel they need to be, as soon as they can! I know how that feels, because yesterday, I was that person. I felt the angry monster inside of me audibly growl as two men ahead of me,were shuffling too slowly! I had to overtake them, just like a vehicle on a freeway... I can imagine now how terrible it made me feel, how for a fleeting moment, I had a lapse and let my ego control me. I am grateful for remembering this.

Life wants you to slow down. Enjoy the view, and see for yourself the strain on people's faces, the people that are fooled by their minds into thinking they have to go somewhere...rather then be here.

Thursday: Moleskine Meanderings

Apparentley it is going to be really hot today.
I also am going to the RTA to do my Driver's Knowledge test for the second time (I passed before and held my licence till it expired...without hours!)

Wednesday: Moleskine Meanderings

Tuesday: Moleskine Meanderings

Tuesday: Moleskine Meanderings

A homage to Edward De Bono!

I highly reccomend his book 'Think before It is Too Late'.

Monday: Moleskine Meanderings

Thusday: Moleskine Meanderings

p.s -totally drew a picture today at work, but I think I left my notebook there (hope no one reads my private stuff, but maybe it is still in my locker. This will do for now, I feel a little achy in the legs from lack of sleep and lots of walking and moving.

Wednesday: Moleskine Meanderings

Tuesday: Moleskine Meanderings

Monday: Moleskine Meanderings

Sunday : moleskine meanderings

Have a nice day

Life is AMAZING!

I've started a new exercise, where daily I am refelecting on the things that went well. Its not enough to focus on negatives and berrate yourself with complaints. I don't want to make room for vicious cycles in my life. Instead, I am beginning to embrace life and it feels magnificent.

Sometimes, when you do something stop and actually put your attention into it. For example...reading a book. Feel the page between your fingers, the clothes against your skin, pay attention to your sitting, your stillness. Its all absolutely wonderful.

I wish someone had told me earlier the secret to feeling good. It is so amazingly simple too. It begins with you! Forget about extraneous stuff, no one is born with that and you certainly can't take it with you once you are gone. We all have the ability to be conciously happy or negative about a situation, even if we can do nothing about it, at the very least we can accept it learn something move on.

Maybe, if you are reading this today you can try this exercise:

shut your eyes and think of three things that you are grateful for. Focus on those things and you will instantly feel lighter, like things are going your way. Because, things ultimately go your way if you have that mindset.

They don't have to be complicated things at all.

:)

x Dee

Awesome yesterday

A precarious affirmation to the world. I write 'Hello...I'm Awesome" in blunt, black marker and adhere the sticky, white label to my chest. The day unfolds and for a while I feel untouchable. Oblivious to the curious gazes of strangers who smirk upon my cool, diffident nerve.

Today, I rip off the label and crumple it between my fingers. Not awesome today. I cut the tip of my finger today on a 16 millimetre conduit rod. Those dangerous motherfuckers!They are probably sick of holding up curtains, craving a new and rebellious purpose in life.

Today, I wrap mugs in newspaper. Today, I tell people that eftpos is down and I'd prefer it if they paid in cash or credit. Yesterday was better, Yesterday I was awesome.

metronomotion.....

'That set-list is mine' , I said to myself as I eyed the piece of paper glued to the stage with black electric tape. I was so close I could grab it. Although my view was partially obstucted by the speaker, I could read the songs of it, anticipate my favourites in glee. Unfortunatley the obnoxious, drugged-up hipsters next to me took the very bit of paper I guarded so viciously.

The funny thing is, as the speaker on the stage obstructed my vision of the top half of the list, I could only concentrate on the bottom half as I visualised it clutched in my hands. I was sending out an order to the universe....'That set-list is mine'. But the hipsters on my left were obviously wanting that list as much as I was. In horror, I watched as the girl reached over and peeled it off the stage as the band had left for a quick break prior encore.

My hopes of owning that list tarnished.. But as the band finally left, the roadie began to pack, picking up the drummers list he then surrended it to the greedy hands of the sweaty, hipster mosh below. I reached up, despite my size I grabbed on to that bottom half with determination. A tall, inconsiderate guy behind me got the top and pulled upwards as I held on the bottom. And then it tore....

he exclaimed: " Now, look what you've done!" followed by " That dirty slut got the other half"

(shocked by his his mean-spirited, un-called for jibes, I was secretley happy the list got torn in two)

Incidently, I got the bigger and better half...and funnily enough the part of the list I could see from where I was standing.

Lesson of the day: It helps to vision the whole of your goal rather then it parts...because sometimes you get exactly what you ask for.

Could it or really be a bunch of Crap with Crappola Spread?

By pure moments of spontonaeityand inspiration. Spiritual healing, guidance books are propelling themselves into my tiny brown hands. I've gone through extreme mood swings in the past few days from the point of break-down to pure happiness. Call it what you will, false hope....quick fix...

But I believe I can and know how to get on course in life.

I feel it already....I feel alive!

I know now that Its about doing things that make me feel happy, things influenced by my own decisions and certainly no one elses. No one else is to blame in my life. I am beginning to learn to forgive and forget and I haven't been happier. Like Radiohead mentions: "Jigsaw falling into place".

Because I have had to find distractions, I'm listening to music again (new music), Picking up magazines and allowing myself to be endorsed in the culture all again. I have a bold plan and revamped way of thinking.

more to come chickens

x With love
Dee

What now?

My boyfriend and I have broken up.

Being heartbroken is probably the worst pain in the world. You need to seek distractions from your harrowing state....or you will wake up with puffy eyes Like I have this morning.

Things have changed


and I hate it....


I wish I could accept them but its going to take too much time.
Everything gets in the way. I can't sleep or eat or even sit and think.

Its cliche

but its the truth.

Sleep time.

Night beckons dear child.

Kept awake by a ticking clock

and a ticking mind.

No comfort save for a self embrace,

time to sleep dear child.

May angels help your soul and

guide your whimsy dream and catch the tears that roll

roll

roll down your face.

For tomorrow is another day.

tomorrow is another day...

I've forgotten how to be myself

Rollercoaster daily

Experiencing highs brought on by revamped ways of thinking.
Now experiencing natural lows, brought on only by the self.

That's okay though, because I'm only learning more about myself. My days are changing and I am happier,but today I'm just sad because I can be. Today I choose isolation.

Although I am not sure about how to encounter tomorrow and the many days after that.

Here are some pictures I took in the garden in an inspired moment on one of my good days:





I haven't picked up the camera and taken photographs that I like in a long time. Loss of confidence. But, I don't believe I'm too bad at it actually. Anyway, I hope I experience more excellent days in the future. I'm off to bed early so I have some energy for tomorrow.

Diana x

the solitary life

Let's all be concerned about the boy with his head in his hands. The one who is thinking of dark voluminous clouds and whipping up storms around him. He isn't praying. Just thinking in circles. Implementing his temporary, make-shift solutions. His notebooks are cluttered in a manner that immitate his mind. Words, drawings, scribbles and scrawls sitting stubbornly on lined pages.
The same frustration sits in his aesthetic. Black. Grey. Black. Grey.

His partner is a Dandelion, rooted in earth. Unable to stray far. Waiting until she is plucked up, decidedly by some compassionate passer-by. Made weak by the wind. Depleting daily.

But one day, when the sun is shining. The Dandelion leaves her soily home, for a richer earth. For it is the rocks that weigh her down, that let the water of good foortunes drain from the dirt. The shadow of the boy with his head in his hands no longer present. She sits in the sun and is grateful for life.

coffee

mmmm.. frothy coffee home made.

thankyou Ikea
only $2.00 for this silver contraption. With a push of a button. It dances up a twirly storm giving you frothy milk bliss. Who needs expensive coffee machines now!

night

Illumination via computer screen.

convenience.

to reminisce.

teleportation via music.

the bass shakes, I feel it in my wrists and it travels up to my elbows.

Wondering what could have been.

Beginning to believe that there are no coincidences anymore.

It is nice to hear from you.
I will be apart of your life because you want me to.

We might never be lovers. But I am in love with the idea of knowing it will never happen.

I love thinking you could possibly want me.

That you miss me sometimes.

I remember glowing and feeling inches off the ground.

...and I miss the way you feigned a sophistication that made me envious.

the very same that frightened me away. That made me approach with trepidation.

Which made me settle for safe...

I am fine with never being sure.

Can I be fine with possible regrets.

we have all the time in the world friend. Another lifetime perhaps?

but sure lets get a coffee.

Enter Mother

Mother is a bit like me.

She doesn't realise it yet. But I know. I've repeated some of her histories and learned from my choices. Her story is remarkable and when I ask her for it she tells me little save for the words: My Story Is Very Sad

I believe her. I'm 21 now and for years I've made assumptions and been caught up in my own world. Oblivious to hers. Perhaps I just wasn't as perceptive. When I ask her to tell me about her life in Cambodia, when she was a young girl, she speaks quietly and methodically, trying to recall what she can from her past. I want to start off with good memories, so I ask her

Tell me about your happiest time.

She doesn't understand. But she does tell me her parents sent her to french school and she recites flawlessly for me:

Parlez-Vous Français?

Little escapes from her, I try to penetrate her round eyes, they are glassy and red. She tells me some more. About being alone and very young. About how she escaped from bad people. About using rice to barter and bargain. She has been seperated from her family. Seeking charity from other families, trying to find her way back to Battambang. She tells me the man in the family, looks at her funny, She doesn't tell me any more and I am left to exercise my own horrors.

My mother and her brother are both orphaned in Cambodia. Their Aunty (her father's sister) adopts them both and in 1983, they all migrate to Australia. The family consists of my mother and her brother Sam, The Aunty's own three children, plus her sister's son and another adopted boy.

I don't know much about my mother from before I was born. I do know, she was incredibly beautiful and that she worked hard and saved money. She tells me that her Aunty (The matriarch) was very controlling and took her money. She tells me that she couldn't stand living with the family and that she chose to marry, only to leave the house as soon as she possibly could.

I favoured my father over my mother whilst growing up. This of course has completely reversed. She wasn't a very good mother to be honest. My brother and I were often, always hungry, especially at school. Sometimes we would have no lunch. She got into gambling and would usually leave my brother and I to fend for ourselves. Sometimes she would lock us in the house overnight or the weekend and have the neighbour keep an eye out. We lived on noodles. I didn't like the company she kept, the people she hung out with. My mother's thirst for easy money was insatiable and it inevitably was her down fall.

My mother did devote herself to religion. Her shrines held statue upon statue, idol upon idol, offering upon offering. In retrospect I found it somewhat ironic that what she offered to her idols were always much more lavish then what we got offered. But, in any case, we always got to eat the fruit after the gods were done, "spiritually munching". Though with mother being neglectful mother, flowers wilted, fruits bruised and browned and fruit-flies buzzed and swarmed. Our family co-existed symbiotically with a colony of cockroaches. The kitchen was their breeding ground. But we lived with it.

Three kids later, and I may have single handedly been the one to seperate her from them. Although perhaps her incarceration is possibly a large playing factor. Years of neglect hurtled out of my mouth when the kind people from DoCs interviewed me. I got in big trouble by my uncle for ratting out my mother. Big argument. The turbulent episode resulted in me smearing FUCK YOU in red oil paint (and that stuff doesn't wash off easy) all over my bedroom door ( I was living with the Matriarch at this point). Uncle kicked a hole through my door and as the door swung open, it punctured out a hole in one of my paintings. The painting was due the next day for assessment and was the one I considered the best.( Until the hole of course).

to be cont...

the daily misadventures of toad

Today after showering, Toad decided it would be an adequate time to exercise.

Mind you, It doesn't sound half as gross as it does, since he hardly exerts any physical activity whatsoever. 10 swings on the Abswing and he's a " healthy toad". As strong as the next toad! More sweat is probably secreted through his walks back and forth to the kitchen whenever I am in cooking concentrate mode. He always bugs me when I'm in a 'concentration' mode.

On the weekend after working through Toad's income and expenditure. I worked out he totalled over $600 worth of monthly bills. Colossal when considered next to his measly earnings and crapola spending sprees.

"I like buying new t-shirts. I don't know why? I see a cheap shirt and I buy it. "

Grey

Today I feel grey.

There were some moments of brevity were I managed to battle the grey.
Just managing to lift my head above the surface of a sloshing sea.

There is something stuck between my teeth.

It has been bugging me all day. I can feel a prescence stuck there. I feel it with my tongue. My tongue moves to feel all my teeth. I know my wisdom teeth are growing sideways. I can feel an ulcer in my mouth. A slight sting in my bottom lip foreshadows a coldsore. I have never been to the dentist in my life. My family never took me. If I am scorched to death, I will not be identified by my dental records.
I can't afford to go to the dentist. It doesn't matter anyway.

There are holes in my boots. So, my feet and socks got soaked in the rain.

I watched a leave fall off a tree today , while sitting on a bus. The bus was waiting in traffic. The yellow leaf fell onto black bitumen. Another leaf fell. Then I watched the leaves spin and dance in the heat of vehicle exhaust. It was a poetic image. Yellow, dancing leaves caught in vehicle exhaust against black bitumen.

My head is only throbbing gently today. I shouldn't read on the bus.
I feel empty, because I am hungry.

Toad is talking at me again. I bought a loaf of bread yesterday, and he used my good bread. Even though he had a half-finished no-name, brand loaf.

Toad left his keys in the door again. But this time the screen door was not locked and the wooden door was wide open. I hate him even more today.

I sit here, typing and my shoulders feel tense and heavy. I would like a shower. This morning I imagined the bathroom was tiled in aqua tiling with porcelain white accesories.

I want to feel less grey tomorrow.

some previous work

current work in progress - paper silhouettes

family portraits 2007 (detail view)
C type print
15x20cm

Untitled 2008 ( detail view)
C type print
21 x 29 cm

isntalled view

From Berkshire to Lesotho, 2007
Inkjet Print on Mounted Card
21 x 29 cm, series of 12 pieces

Evidence against the Toad

My resentment for him increases exponentially. I can see that graph in my head, with no beginning and no end, no sense of bearing. I am reminded of the time I wrote down that I loathed someone, in a personal diary, because of their jealousy, vindictiveness and selfishness (perfectly viable reasons). Said person, ifiltrated private written space then had trouble dechipering the word loath without the aid of a dictionary. The odd sense of irony added just another reason as to why I could not like someone. But times, have changed and I do not loath that girl.

But I loathe him. I resent him.
Every morning I wake to more mental check boxes in which I cross in angry, heavy strokes.
His blubbering voice filters into my head, oozes through the filmsy cracks of my bedroom door. It croaks, it croaks, it croaks. The man is a toad.

"try to turn off the lights, when you are not using them", says the man who left his bedroom light on this morning.

"lock your windows and doors, or someone will come in and steal everything", says the man who leaves his keys dangling from the front door all night, With the key still in its correspoinding lock.

"I have so many bills to pay, I have gas, water, electricty,internet", says the man who brazenly flicks through catalogues in front of me and suggests more crap to buy. Says the man who brought this on himself, with his mobile contract, interenet plan, x-box live service and foxtel bills. Says the man with no job, who complains about having to go to job search meetings. Says the man who can afford to show me his new "expensive" sneakers, his t-shirts. Who buys boxes of hair dye.

"What's the date today, Is it Friday?When is Thursday?" Says the man who made personalised calendars, stuck on the fridge, with his blob of a face, in stupid self-portraits taken with his mobile camera.

"I guess I have to clean up your mess again", Says the man who takes the only bottle of dish-washing liquid in the house to do his window-washing job, then comes home to find I've left a pan and a plate in the sink. When his mess from breakfast sits there too.


The blubbering, balding toad. Who wears his pants too low. Who always forgets to do up his fly once he leaves the rest-room. Who drenches the bath mats and tea-towels which I have supplied to the house, Who massacres my food, and never stores things properly.

My bedroom has evolved to become a pantry, to store morsels of food, so that he cannot touch them. I hide laundry powder so I have something to wash my clothes with, I have pegs, I have shampoo and conditioner, I have toilet paper, I have tooth paste, I have body wash, I have a room full of things that shouldn't be kept in a room.

Because I don't want to share with someone who has no respect.

Imbecile

My friends are all beautiful people.

When they invite me into their homes, I know why. Their families are so nurturing, so loving and caring. Even if it isn't shown quite coventionally, their care and committment is always echoed through hard-work...In providing them with stable homes.

Other people's Mums and Dads care for me when I am in their homes. Temporarily I become a daughter.

My father is hopeless.

Today when I got home, he had not bought any dinner or food .

"Dinah! w-w-w what should I get for dinner? I didn't get to the shops yet because I didn't know what to get," he blubbers.

(Although it was his suggestion of Taco's, which I agreed to when he asked me yesterday)

" I thought you were going to get stuff to make taco's with!" I exasparated.

"Oh, Yeah, I didn't know what to get because you didn't write me a list, I was going to get meat but I didn't know what else goes in a taco..."

(even though I had made them on previous occassion and he could have read the back of the box)

He is a walking joke.

An imbecile of a man.

If you'll excuse me I have to make his dinner now...

disillusionment

The balding 49 year old man sits in front of the television.
In this manner, he emphasises his round globular form and I liken him to a toad.
I see the back of his head. His white scalp contrasted with his thin and thinning hair- dyed black in a desperate attempt to reaffirm the appearance of youth.

But a man like this is disillusioned.
Childish.
Selfish
Alone...

remarkably disillusioned.

His twenty year old daughter darts back and forth through the hall, catching glimpses of the old, fat child. She is making his dinner in the kitchen. On this particular evening, she doesn't bring him his food. On this particular evening, she does not wish to bring him a meal as he sits in front of a box, x-box controller in hand, headset strapped to his head- reaffirmations of youth.

How demeaning it feels, for this twenty year old daughter and writer, with a balding, 49 year old father, to bring him his dinner. To kneel down as he sits cross legged on the carpet. As he sits so close to the television...

he is not a father, he is child

and this twenty year old daughter feels like a mother...

creativity struggles

I am supposed to go into uni tomorrow. And present "my work so far" for a mid session review. I haven't done much thinking about it at all. I feel lost. I am sick of pretentious, conceptual thinking! I don't even feel I want to make art for the sake of art anymore. Everything I do or plan to do, just so I don't fail feels like a cop out sort of work.

So What?

I feel I've been forced to apply that to my thinking..

so you are going to take other people's photos and cut out the people from them..? so what?

exactly so what.

What do I do then?

Do I keep rolling around in creative-less puddles?

Did you know that the extent of my creativity these days extends to tidying walls of fabric and putting them in order by their colour?

I can't create.

I am a photography student that can't take good photos.
Who can't do anything properly.
Everyone is so much better then me. Younger and better then me. They have more money and more talent then I do.

I don't need any false re-assurance. I need to avoid failing.

Nature

I am disappointed. I let a whole month pass without a post....and for that I am quite sorry.

I got a job! Plus uni has kept me pretty preoccupied. Though lately, I've been yearning to get in touch with my my spiritual side. Which is why I've been wanting to go on a short trip somewhere for a while now. Interstate or even in the same state is fine, but I am yearning to get in touch with the land. Australia really is a truly magnificent place and I think I just want to 'feel'.

Back in school, we had the opportunity to stay at Bundanon, Arthur Boyd's property on the Shoalhaven river, the first time I had ever went on a 'camping' trip. But to my liking, since there was no roughing it out. The facilities and accomodation were magnificent, and the air was cleaner. Our days filled with art and creativity as we overlooked the river.

There was a moment on that property that I truly relish. We were returning from an activity, walking through a grassy paddock. It had to be due to the perfect combination of light, from a setting sun, the clean air and the way it was cool on my skin. I was just walking, but it was the most magnificent walk in my life. For a moment, I appreciated nature. Life. There was nothing else about that moment but absolute pureness.

I miss that. I am afraid to never reach that state of 'enlightenment' again.
In saying that. I find it very hard to explain the spiritual side of me. If only I connect on that level to others. To extend that feeling of bliss.

I feel the monotony of daily life cling on to my shoulders. It jumps on your back and grips on tightly. Everyone begins to carry that monster with them. It feeds on negativity and grows and grows like a cancer. I feel the worst when I am cramped amongst commuters on the train in the morning. My monster feeds off everyone and the grey gloom manifests.

Now, I feel the weight travel to my feet. I am exhasuted. Daily.
Now, I feel the loneliness.
The monster feeds and feeds.
Cynicism is its drug.

But tiny strings keep me elevated. Enough to know that the monster is truly weak.

Only nature will shrink it.

...but sometimes shafts of light grace the corners of our room

I took these photos at a time when my room was much cleaner. For all my friends who live too far away for the privilege of stepping inside my humble abode, I present to you:

my bedroom
As you reach the door at the end of the hallway, you may get a glimpse inside, depending on whether I have locked it from the inside.

Don't be deterred from the visual eye sore that is, a pile of books on a coffee table, and dirty laundry....


where the magic happens (*grins*)
yes...I know I don't have a valance... Just messy flat sheets. King Single beds are near impossible to cater for. I am thankful for this free bed. I had to make do with an air mattress...FOR MONTHS... It was hell on my back.Especially when the bed would take the liberty of deflating in the night and leaving me lying on the floor with just a flat, thin, airless stretch of plastic under me.



Here is where I keep my trinkets and things. I like the idea of using breakfast trays instead of a dresser. The mirror behind it leans against the wall, and is taken from an old detached wardrobe door...


note guitar ( for indie cred :] )

I wasn't allowed to have a T.V growing up. Because it would detract from my studies. My uncle used to lock away the antenna in the living room too, so I couldn't lounge in the living room whilst watching the box after school. I saved up enough to buy a small television. Which my brother and I carted home on the bus, taking turns to carry and heave it. We snuck it in the house while my grandma was in the bathroom. I managed to keep a tv in my room for MONTHS.. (It was easy to do) I just had to watch it at minimum volume. One day she walked by and saw I had a T.V and sort of shrugged " huh, a television" ....then she walked off...





note: pretty white matching furniture. Before begrudgingly moving back into my Dad's place, I used my saved up "bond" and "rent" money to splurge at ikea. I never actually owned any NEW furniture growing up. So I'm glad I got to buy some for myself eventually. WORK HARD KIDS.... and you too can have this! (Extreme Kudos to the boyfriend for helping me move and make the stuff. )

Yeah there is a heap of junk under my desk ( and I hate my chair!)


and a bit of what you may find on and around my desk. I tacked a few doodles On the wall. Sometimes I draw. Always pretty girls though....

Thank you, I hope you enjoyed your virtual tour of my bedroom.

Postcard From A Friend

Every image is divided into perfect, equal thirds. One perfect azure blue sky, sometimes streaked with white cotton wisps of cloud. The thick granular gauze of exotic beach sand....and there right in the middle he smiles against the backdrop of a salty ocean. Easily interchanged for an ancient landmark, or possibly something he found amusing.

The images are trophies. Trophies of conquest. Maybe I am the only one to see it like that. What else do those photographs become in the eyes of others? He is saying: "I've been here and here and also there" and "I am having the time of my life..."

There are times when he filters into my thoughts and I feel the crumbling of regret and sorrow. I compare myself to that last slice of bread that everyone leaves in the bag because its not as big as the others. Weak, flimsy, crumbling...with a crusty tough exterior... not as appealing as the other slices. Maybe that is the reason I eat those before anyone else can throw them away.

His postcards find their way to me. I try and decipher the delight pleasantries. Trying to get into his head. Trying to understand the inky scrawl. I can only take it for what it appears to be. A polite written 'Hello' from across the globe, from some other time zone. I don't know if I am allowed to be comforted from the fact he had to be thinking of me when he wrote and addressed that card. The fact he kept my Address from the first time.

I find myself bringing the card to my face and inhaling the scent of another time another land. It smells like old encyclopedia. The card is not new and gleaming, not glossy, not ritzy. Weathered... from the 1970's. My guess is confirmed by the artwork on the front. The description on the back:

'An Artists rendering of the future, A new Desert Inn, country club, Casino with lavish shops and luxurious restaurants, completion scheduled for mid-1978.

But, I love the card. I love it for its lack of shine, A Utopian rendering of a hotel....It couldn't be any further from what I would imagine in my mind. Because All those locations and names of places are just that to me. Just words. Just names of places. I cannot imagine what it would be like there. Depraved from the delights of travel, the delights of monetary pleasure. Suddenly, I find myself appreciating those perfect photographs, delightfully proportioned into perfect thirds. Because I am afraid, It is the closest I will get.

Can't a dame get a decent 'awesome' job?

I'm sitting under this large proverbial, collective umbrella that I like to call "un- employment".
It certainly isn't pretty.

In the past I've tried hope, I've tried giving up hope, and hope again. At the moment, I'm sort of enjoying the free, unrestricted life that comes with my status, however....

at the same time. I am scrounging around the bottom of bags for coin-age to catch buses. Whenever I find a shimmering five cent coin on the ground, I stare at it wide-eyed, seriously debating whether I am in the prime position to pick it up. There is a lot that goes into this thought process. For example



Free money!

Wait... is that guy watching me

(sometimes I'd stare off the competition..It's MY SHINY MONEY!)

am I standing at a decent angle to the ground?

Gee, Parallel-ism is awkward...

YOINK!

****

And voila, I am five cents richer! Five cents more then I had yesterday! awesome! My boyfriend has pointed out that I constantly find money. Even though the denomination is never higher then ten cents.... but think about it if you found five cents a day for a year...you'd be $18.25 richer. That can buy....like what? One icecream cone these days....

Sometimes you get lucky. Lucky that some other, poor unfortunate sap couldn't afford to re-stitch the hole in their pocket, and you find notes! I once found $5 in a lecture theatre. One bonus to showing up to class early! It pays!!!!

However, money fishing aside. I had more serious issues to worry about. Like. GETTING A JOB. Anybody who is willing and able to work should be able to find a job in this country. Enough to earn a living on! I've been unemployed now for a number of months. I quit my last job for sanity reasons....truth be told...Customers can be real wankers sometimes.

However, I am willing and able to work! But I envy all those people with "awesome" jobs. Like.... how is it that I miss getting hired for the cinema when I show up a week later with my resume and they have hired like 20 people! How did I miss that? How do those lanky, educated, quirky cool types get a job at Borders? I want a job at borders....

dammit....I just want a job...


(That's awesome)

A Crafty Affair

I sashay towards creative people the way glitter sticks to unsuspecting surfaces. A few Saturday's back I had the lovely pleasure of attending the Crafts Fair at Kinokuniya in the city.

Miraculously, somehow last year, the wonderfully beautiful Anney and her sister Mechelle came into my life. These girls have some serious talent. Making all sorts of cute, crafty, beautiful knick knacks. Beautiful things made by beautiful people.
You can see more of Anney and her art here.


Here are some of the things these crafty lasses had to offer:

felt gingerbread toys and babushka dolls

pretty pin-wheel/lolly inspired badges. (I now own the black and white one at the front!)

one of Anney's original paintings

Mechelle's labour of loveliness: cuuuuuute dinosaurs!!

Make-Up!

Green Eye Shadow!

Gypsy nails, Dad & Bogie

I've just painted my nails. Natio's Mystic. A gypsy red hue emblazoned on my fingers. Somehow, nail polish always appears ghastly on me. They make my fingers look like brown knobbly twigs that have been used to stir an abhorrent tin of garishly bright paint. I honestly don't know why I bother, because I know that in half an hour I'm going to get out the cotton balls and acetone and try to remove every trace of evidence from my hands.

I'm finally alone. My incompetent, imbecile, fool of a father is no longer talking at me through my door trying to make my watch The Faculty, selling it to me by saying its got lots of famous people in it.

"Dinah, look. Look. Look. Are you looking? "

"I'm busy!" My back is turned because I'm using the microwave , I turn around and glance over at the rental DVD which he is still holding like some prized trophy.

"See, see, look, that guy from the lorn of the rings is in it. Lijah wood". He continues to point to the faces on the cover. "he's famous, she's famous, he's famous, they are all famous, a lot of famous people in this movie!"

gee famous people in movies! That's a first. And is that Usher on the cover? Its got to be an awesome movie!

(silence)

I continue, staring blanky and stunned in disbelief and his futile efforts to win back his daughter's attention.

"You aren't interested? You don't like these sort of movies do you?"

By Jove, he's got it!

"I know what you like! You are into those old movies aren't you? You like Bogart? The African Queen?"

"Yeah, I would like to see that, I think he got nominated and won an oscar for that..."

"He was married to that girl in the movie wasn't he? I thought he was married to her."

"No, That was Katherine Hepburn, and no. He had four wives and he was married to Lauren Bacall!"

"Four wives! Four Wives! He had Four wives? I can't believe it!"

He was probably thinking all at once.

****

Lately I've gotten into a bit of a Bogie obsession. I find myself gravitating to all things Bogie or Humphrey Bogart related, including reading Lauren Bacall's biography and that of Bogie's alleged lover Verita Thompson. Its as if I am some crappy, asteroid- rock, moon who got pulled into orbit by some Huge Bogie head shaped planet in space.

But it's cool. I totally feel like one of the cool cats now. Like I could go around calling girls broads and drinking Scotch. Don't let anyone tell you other wise. Bogie is a Legend. He is cool! The smart arse of Hollywood. He was about the acting,the craft! Not about the Star Image that many darlings tend to care about these days.

Long Live Bogie!

How to cook a Chicken

In the case of extreme heat, many people find themselves in inexplicable states. I think the weather becomes an overused conversation filler for people that have nothing else to talk about. I may filter into that equation dear reader.

After a scorching hot day yesterday which reached about 38 degrees celsius. (39 today zomgoshness!!)Since we couldn't find a decent way to cool down( without spending cash) ,my boyfriend and I filled a shallow bath in which we sunk our feet and played guitar.

Today, we strike back with force. This morning when I stumbled into an unnaturally dark living room, I had found the windows covered in aluminum foil. My fathers doing. This will do one of two things:

a) hopefully cool us down by reflecting the suns harmful rays

or

b) cook us in our juices, leaving us to the same fate as many varieties of poultry

whatever it does, I really hope it doesn't foil our plans to keep cool...
(ehehheheh .... shoot me!)