THIS SUMMER..

I have a new favourite movie, it’s scattered my previous top five like bowling pins and somewhere in my crazed head there's a little voice shrieking “STRIKE!!” at the top of its lungs. Admittedly, I’m yet to actually see said movie, but I already know I love it. It’s already made its mark as a key disciple in my pop cultural bible. I just know, you know? Like a girl I’ve just seen at a party that I want to go up to and say “Excuse me, you don’t know me but we’re in love.” So romantic right now. The new object of my desire is a movie about t.a.t.u. Yes t.a.t.u., the faux lesbian duet that released an almighty two songs. Apparently they’re way cool in Europe. Anyway, someone decided to make a movie called “You and I/Finding t.a.t.u.” (Surely they could have pulled a name out of a hat and just picked one??). It’s about these two best friends whose goal it is to meet their idols t.a.t.u. and become Russian pop stars themselves. May I just add that t.a.t.u. actually star in the movie and have produced “new hits” for it as well!

The crux of my love for this movie? It stars Mischa Barton. Who speaks with a Russian accent. A BAD Russian accent. It’s just delicious. I imagine that in Mischa’s cocaine-addled-headband-straddled mind this is THE European indie flick of her career. Yeah. Take that Hollywood!
The trailer opens with a deep male voice over: “Lana (mischa) was a beautiful girl trapped in a small town.. Janie (random) was a troubled teen”. At this point my spine was already curled up in a ball of cringe. But then out of nowhere comes a real bombshell: Micha’s very profound line, delivered in that flimsy Russian drawl, “You know Janie, in Moscow all dreams come true”. Oh god, it’s pretty much relentless from there– and that’s just the trailer!!

There are two main points I’m having trouble getting my head around with this movie. Firstly, the fact that there is a movie made about/starring t.a.t.u. is mind blowing for me. What about the other classic music acts that have been spawned by euroland in the past decade and only pumped out one or two hits? What about aqua? Or b* witched? Or that band that sang that blue song? Why have none of these bands qualified for movies starring actresses desperately trying to grab at notions of a “career”.

Secondly, let me just take a moment to comprehend Mischa’s accent. It reminds me of when I was 16 and I went on an overseas school trip to America with my two best friends. There are countless videos of us narrating our trip in Russian accents (tragically, these have been long since lost to the sands of time). From Disney paraphernalia to removing a wash cloth from a toilet bowl to screaming out hotel room windows at pedestrians below, we documented our movements in the best Russian accents we could muster. Of course we spoke very little ACTUAL Russian given the only phrases we knew were “I love you“and “my vagina is on fire”. Despite this, I still feel our declarations of burning genitalia held a Russian authenticity that trumps Mischa Barton’s own attempts at least 10 fold.

So lets review:

A movie about t.a.t.u. starring Mischa Barton who speaks in a bad Russian Accent. What is not to love?

BEHOLD!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=21_nsc-3uDw

yum

I think Kate O’toole from hack on triple j has a really hot voice. I don’t know why- it’s not really conventionally hot. Maybe it’s just so soothing and nice to hear when she’s interviewing crack addicts or war veterans or whatever croaky human interest subject she has going. Anyway, it’s the kind of voice I’d like to hear calling me at 1am to talk about how shit her life is and can I please come round and drink cask wine with her. To which I’d politely decline, mumbling something pathetic about work the next day. Still, I like her voice.

King Lear

King Lear is one of my all time favourite stories. It is known as one of the more difficult Shakespearean tragedies to study, so of course my year 12 English teacher decided that that would be our Everest. Gripped with anxiety and fears that an OP less than perfect would lead to a life of drug addiction and homelessness I decided to read the play over my holidays. My paranoia was a blessing in disguise because I developed my own appreciation of the story as a whole, instead of being dragged through a horrible drawn out over dissected rendition in class. Upon doing so, I had trouble understanding what was so terrifying to most about studying the play. Yes it’s long and a lot happens, but Jesus Christ, take some Ritalin and focus for two seconds please darlings. For those of you who don’t know, here is a brief rundown of the story in terms that absolutely everyone can understand. Here we go:

Rich daddy (King Lear) decides to divide up his empire between three darling daughters. When decision time comes the bitchy two faced daughters (Regan and Gonerill) are all smoochy and flatter daddy, therefore getting a sweet cut of his ‘hood. The nice genuine daughter (Cordelia) is all honest n’ shit and doesn’t go over the top in declaring her undying love for her father, thus offending daddy’s over inflated ego, so she gets exiled. Surprise, surprise! Bitchy daughters turn on daddy and he ends up with no empire, no house and no love. Daddy’s empire breaks out into war and for some reason daddy gets caught out in a storm and goes absolutely crazy and then realises the error of his ways but it’s all too late. Then everyone dies. The end.

Now if you don’t understand that you probably don‘t understand why I haven’ been snapped up by Cliffe’s notes already.

Anyway, this play really resonated with me when I was 17, and the same concepts that I took from it then I still find myself drawing upon now. The scene when king Lear loses his mind in the storm is an extremely powerful metaphor as the storm works only to heighten the reader’s sense of chaos, both physically and in Lear’s head. It is at this point in the play, when Lear has totally cracked and he tears off his clothes to frolic in the violent raging storm, that he comes to a vast number of epiphanies, finally seeing the error of his way. The message is clear: sometimes it is at the depths of our darkest hour and the height of our madness that we truly come to know ourselves. It is at this point, the lowest point, that we find the wisdom and the friendship we’re so desperately seeking is often our own. Some of us can then take this and know that despite whatever fear we may hold for the horrible things that life throws us, we do not run from them, though we may plunge head long into despair and hopelessness, we can always be there for ourselves. It’s very powerful to know that whatever unfortunate occurrences may befall us, there is always something to be taken from them, even if it is simply a greater sense of self. It is also a very powerful thing to know that you can trust yourself - as a friend - to be there. (Though asking for another hand is not a weakness- just your humanity showing.)

Seriously though, read Shakespeare - he invented the word “bubble”, what more do you want?

Dating Tip # 27

NOT FOR THE FAINT HEARTED

As it turns out, I am somewhat of a yoda when it comes to dating. My recent holidays and the hours of boredom which found me in a mild delirium resulted in endless amorous revelations. Retrospect and discussion with friends lead me to a somewhat bizarre dating theory. Yet the more I researched my hypothesis, the more it seemed fact truly is stranger than fiction. “Could it be??” I pondered, “Have I stumbled across the most counter-intuitive but successful dating technique OF ALL TIME??"

The hypothesis

Throwing up on a girl OR on the property of a girl (possbibly boys too?) is a great way to get things going. It seems too crazy to be true, but it’s worked for me and I’ve heard all kinds of anecdotes claiming the same. It appears there truly is an upside to that inevitable moment we all fear (don’t we... ?). Here are some case studies to mull over if you don’t believe me.

Case Study #1

This girl I had only been on a couple of dates with invited me to her friends 20th. Of course when I got to the party my date was absolutely shit faced and I had only had a mere two drinks. She forced half a bottle of vodka into my hand and bustled me into a taxi destined for the valley. So I drank- to catch up of course. I don’t really remember much after that, except for a strange struggle I had with the zip on my handbag. I know I danced, or as I was told later, I swayed precariously on the dance floor with my head tilted unnaturally and my eyes half closed. Anyway, my memory of that night is blank until the taxi ride home: When I threw up in the cab and ON this girl. The girl then paid the cab fare, the fine for me throwing up in the cab and took me home. She asked me out soon after that.

Case study #2

My little brother had recently asked out his first post-high school girlfriend. They hadn’t been together long when he had his 18th, after a night of an open bar tab and frivolities he and his friends ventured out for their virgin valley jaunt. Romance REALLY seems to run in our family, we kind of go with the same dating techniques. Only my darling brother chose to throw up all over said girlfriend in a bus which they were subsequently kicked out of- in the middle of nowhere. It’s now almost a year later and they’re still canoodling at family dinners. Charming.

Case Study #3

I was enjoying a classic “night in” type date which involved Thai and white wine. And white wine. And more white wine. And then champagne. Unexpectedly, my romantic night ended up all over my date’s bathroom sink (the toilet was too small of a target to be reckoned with). “I’ll clean it up”, I slurred as I collapsed on her bed. Several hours later I awoke to a gentle prod, “heeey.... just wondering... are you... are u going to clean that up?”. I stumbled into the bathroom and spent the next five minutes scooping handfuls of my cold partly digested pad thai from the sink. Result? Success.

Case study #4

My friend Nathan told me how this one time he threw up in a car park in front of an audience of girls. Being the Casanova he is, he managed to throw up on himself as well. Admittedly, this is a slight variation to my theory but I think it shows how versatile this dating trick really is. Not only did he hook up with one of the observers soon after, but he took another of them home. The one he took home happened to be his tutor. You can’t possibly tell me you’ve never had some kind of tutor/teacher fantasy and you’re not oozing jealousy as you read this. Seriously though, how else do you explain THAT kind of move?

Conclusion

I don’t know why none of the above lovers were permanently repulsed by the displays before them. If you were to ask any one of them how they would react given the situations hypothetically, I’m sure they’d all say they wouldn’t have a bar of it. But maybe it’s some kind of protective instinct that kicks in when we see someone we like so helpless, so dependant, in total need of our help and support? Or is it something to do with being there for someone in their hour of need that brings people closer together? My best guess is it’s something far less admirable. I think it’s something in that moment when a person’s face scrunches and contorts as they’re about to empty their guts that establishes them as the more pathetic of the two in the relationship and the other permanently resides in a position of top dog. The only thing as good as knowing you’re the cooler lover in a couple is when your lover knows it too. Go figure I guess?

My Menopause

I am officially middle-aged. Physically I’m still young and spritely but I know emotionally and mentally I am well into my 40’s. Which means only one thing: I am quickly nearing menopause. A friend of mine once told me about early onset of menopause, and how some women as young as their mid 20’s find their eggs drying up and their womb’s shrivelling prematurely. The idea of being rendered an infertile cranky bitch by the age of 30 didn’t scare me so much as when my friend described the other physical ramifications:

“...your skin gets all wrinkly and your tits.. Get REALLY saggy”

“No!” I gasped in horror.

“And” she continued, a sickening smile on her lips,” that’s it, you’re like that... forever!!”

Shocking. One of those things you could never imagine happening to you. But I am seeing undeniable signs that I have reached middle age and menopause is imminent. It’s horrible I know, but the evidence is overwhelming:

1. I read self help books. I love self help books, I actually have a favourite self help book author. Most women don’t read self help books until they hit middle age (which is generally the target audience of these books) and they’re rundown by their icky children and uncaring husbands. These books are designed for people who need validation otherwise they’ll develop a severe complex because they spent too long wondering whatever happened to the days when they felt “groovy” and paraded around in pastel knee high pumps.

2. I’m taking up yoga. This is one of those activities women take up when they’re too flubby and saggy to brave more conventional gym behaviour, or when they want something new age to impress the other mothers with when they’re waiting to pick up their kids from school.


3. I read Oprah magazine. Shut up, she has some really cool inspirational stuff, plus I get great advice on what to do when I don’t understand what my daughter sees in her new boyfriend.

4. I eat organic whole grain free range fat free food. This is for hippies or new age mothers with nothing better to do with their time. You know- the same ones I’ll probably be hanging out with at my yoga class.


5. I listen to ABBA and sometimes have trouble understanding the youth of today and their music choices. This is pretty self-explanatory.

Well the evidence is all there, I am most definitely middle age, which means menopause is only a heartbeat away. Farewell my friends, I will see you on the other side.

Imaginary conversations between imaginary lovers

Are you afraid of dying alone? She whispered.

No. I replied bluntly, not looking at her.

She breathed in sharply, as if I’d offended her.

Sorry I just hate all that shit. I’m not scared of dying alone. I’m much more terrified of not living my life. I don’t want my eyes to be closed to the good things that are happening because they’re busy looking for something else. I mean, finding love is fate, you can’t force fate. It just happens- it’s not like you can put in extra hours for it and expect some kind of return.

Oh. She replied, clearly deflated. Well I guess that makes sense.

And anyway, why do I want someone to die with? Will that make the rest of my life mean more? It’s not like I’m going to reminisce about my death with them later, you know?

She toyed absently with a blade of grass. Don’t you want someone to grow old with though?

If that’s what makes me happy then I’ll do it, but I won’t pretend it’s going to be the only true happiness I’ll ever find just because other people say that it will.

What do u want then?

I don’t know. It’ll be what I want at the time though. I’m more worried about other things I guess.

There was a long silence.

Are you happy? I ventured.

Yeah, I guess, why wouldn’t I be?

Good. Because, that tree might fall on you.

What? What does that have to do with anything?

Well, then you’ll die happy and with someone you love. I peeled my gaze from the cloud formation above and looked at her. That’s what you just said you wanted, wasn’t it?

Oh ok, that’s a bit morbid Jane. And pretty unlikely anyway.

When I was at Woodford, we were sitting on the grass like this watching a band and this massive tree branch fell off a gum tree and fell on the people below. A few of them were concussed- they had to bring in an ambulance. I think it was in the paper.

She looked apprehensively at the ancient plant beside us. Still, the chances are pretty low.

Yeah, but what if it did though? What if you were alone when it happened? What if it was one of your friends here instead? Or a stranger even? Would it make a difference?

Of course it would. She paused momentarily, Wait, do I die straight away or do I get to say goodbye or something?

Um, probably not. No, you die Straight away.

Oh. I don’t know, I guess, I guess it’d happen so quickly, I don’t know if I’d want you to have to watch that. I don’t know if I’d want anyone to have to watch it actually.

Yeah exactly. That’d be selfish of you.

NO DOG'S BODY

An explanation of anarchy, not for your enjoyment.

Anarchy is a line of political thought:

Destroy politics and liberate thought.

Anarchy is a revolution dead on arrival:

The romance of a revolution will not upheave nations

Revolutions must breed organization.

But this is a term contrary to the essence of anarchy.

Though we will gladly scatter the organized masses with it.

This often translates incorrectly,

Anarchy does not pertain to chaos or violence.

Simply:

Violence organises the masses.

And,

A life grown stagnant and faceless in the swirl of chaos,your life,this is the only ‘organisation’ you will ever know.

Anarchy is not chaos and violence and disarray.

Anarchy is a whisper of utopia,

“Tear down authority!” It cries,

“Let humanity rule!”

Doom the animal drive.

Exile the animal greed.

No dog’s body!

Anarchy is never said, anarchy is spat:

Spat in the face of your 9 to 5’s

Spat in the face of your 2.4 children

Spat in the face of your trust funds.

Spat. Spat. Spat.

Anarchy is the act of coming down hard on the powers that be.

Anarchy is three syllables.

Anarchy is three chords.

Second hand boots move out of time,

Stomping the ground,

Shaking lose the sand your heads are buried in.

Anarchy is mystery and misunderstanding,

but disbelief is in the mind of the beholder.

AT LEAST I BELIEVE IN SOMETHING.

Anarchy is held hostage by the status quo:

a vain fall back when intellect and logic fails them

and condemnation and demonization prevail.

It is their scapegoat,

A derogatory dirty word.

Wear it like a badge of honour!

Anarchy is the best spoon to stir shit with.

People are likely to actually take you seriously.

Anarchy means only what you need it to.

People are still likely to actually take you seriously.