a little distraction

Voldemort can't stop the rock.

In Year 9 I had a CDT* teacher called Mr Eckers who announced to my class of 14 year old girls that “You’ve never truly lived until you’ve drawn a daisy with your compass.” We all exchanged perplexed expressions, quickly used our compasses to, as instructed, draw daisies, and upon completion, sat back and felt a little disappointed that life really didn’t seem that much more exciting. Later on, this became a stupid in joke. Someone feeling down and out? Clearly hasn’t drawn a daisy with a compass! And so it went. We also used to talk about poor Mr Eckers for whom the most exciting thing in the world was drawing a flower with a mathematical device when, obviously, the most exciting thing in the world would actually be snogging Robbie Williams! Or being a Spice Girl. Man, to be 14 again…

I think I’ve now, ten years later, come up with my own version of Mr Eckers compass-sketched daisy; You seriously have not lived until you have listened to Harry and the Potters WHILE reading one of the Harry Potter books. This morning, I listened to The Human Hosepipe while reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and finally got the sort of sensation that dear Mr Eckers must have after drawing a really awesome daisy, the old hippy.

* Craft, Design, and Technology - where all I truly learnt for two years was how not to use a glue gun.

Things to do today

• Write letter appealing public transport fine. Try to avoid using the word "Arsehole" when describing fine nazi's clever tactics.
• Give it up already and cancel gym membership. Last month's membership worked out at around $1.24 a MINUTE.
• Substitute herbal tea for coffee.
• Practice looking happy and excited for when you have to persuade co-workers how much fun the work weekend away will be.
• Bribe co-workers who were sober enough to remember last work weekend away.
• Make science

One out of six ain't bad.

Final Uni Finalist

Congratulations to my little uni finalist who yesterday got his uni results and celebrated by getting drunk and ranting on his blog:

"Fuck '96 Tears', 'Lies' and 'Stryichnine'. 'Steppin' Stone' should have been the first port of call for all the teeny boppers currently polluting the airwaves including the Cheeto-bearing Mrs Spears, Jackass-banging Mrs Simpson and the omnipresent victim of all cultural viruses infecting this gigantic stress ball known as Earth Ms Lohan. Lavigne would be included in this list but her nouveau punk chic is so unbearably grating that it is probably best not to give her fuel for her continued existence."

I am so proud of my little music snob! Almost too proud to point out that I think he meant to refer to the Spears-Federline offspring as the Cheetus, not the Cheeto.

We had a brief chat on MSN this morning discussing his plan to become the next Lester Bangs, never ever enter a classroom again, and spend the entire summer telling his lovely girlfriend how pretty she is because he’s a sensitive rock god like that. My favourite part of the conversation went like this:

Carrie says:
congrats on result - how do you feel?
Strawberry Fool says:
Pissed off at lack of work in 2nd year
Carrie says:
yeah, being pasta eating prince of Persia playing indie god will get you in the end
Strawberry Fool says:
teehee
Strawberry Fool says:
Mum and Dad must never see my blog.

This cracks me up because my brother was the GOLDEN CHILD growing up. He was one of those annoying swots who barely looked glanced at a textbook but Knew All. His uni result is excellent but if he hadn’t spent his entire second year, as he admits freely to anyone who is not one of our parents, mooning around it could have been even better. Of course, our parents think the pressure got to him, that he got stressed, and had women trouble when really he was living off rum and rock and roll and not studying. Just like his big sister!

Uni Finalist, I could not ask for a cooler, a funnier, or a braver little brother. I salute you. And when you become the next Lester Bangs you had better hook me up with free music and work on setting me up with Ryan Adams.

Unchained Melody (God give me strength)

Today, at 5.30pm I left work. On time. This almost never happens and, as such, was an occasion for great personal rejoicing. I joyously smacked the exit button, sauntered down to the nearest intersection, and hopped on an almost empty tram. I got my pick of the seats, was not harassed by a fellow passenger ONCE, and read one of my favourite books, The World According to Garp, the whole way home while listening to Rilo Kiley.

As I walked home from the tram stop, planning what to have for dinner, I felt positively joyful. I was thinking about how my housemates would be out for the evening so I could eat something really disgusting in front of a Neighbours/Big Brother double bill with a stiff gin and tonic.

I reach my doorstep and rummage in my bag for my keys.

Keys? Man, I'm never without my keys.

I empty the entire contents of my bag (two books, one wallet, five lipsticks, a CD player, Napoleon Dynamite on DVD, tampons, approximately 50 old Metcards, gum, Stila Complete Colour, REM ticket, and my friend's wedding invitation) onto my doorstep. You will have noticed in the audit of bag contents NO DAMN KEYS.

I call both housemates. Both out to dinner. Not sure who has the spare key.

I call A. Out to dinner.

I size up my options while throwing all my crap back into my bag and decide to go for a nice walk, have some dinner, maybe catch a movie, and wait for the girls to get home.

Twenty minutes later when I complete the walk to the local shopping strip (in four inch heels from hell), I am less than cheery and completely famished. My dream of mashed potato with a side dish of HP sauce for dinner is over and I quickly assess my mood, my hunger, and my options. Most restaurants in the area are dismissed as either being out of my price range, not on my "10 weeks till you have to fit your fat arse in a Bridesmaid dress" plan, or full of familes and couples.

I decide on the modern day equivalent, or as close as you're going to get in Melbourne, of an old school diner: the local Japanese restuarant. A warm, nurturing place where a person sitting alone at the counter is not out of place.

Mmm, sushi! I'm tucking into my Miso soup, loving my book, nodding and smiling fondly at the sushi chef when I suddenly pay attention to the music playing; Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers. Not the cheeriest song when you're dining alone but I figure Gold 104.3 is just having a Ghost moment and return to my book.

The next song that plays is Desperado by The Eagles. Perhaps the most depressing song of ALL TIME.

When the final You'd better let somebody love you before it's tooooo late fades, the chef goes over to the radio/cassette player near the deep fat fryer, ejects the tape, turns it over and begins to play the tape's flip side.

Hurt.

The Long and Winding Road.

Crazy.

It gets worse and worse. I'm tempted to linger over more food to see how depressing the tape can get but once Roy Orbison's Crying crackles out of the old speakers, I am off my stool in a flash, paying my bill, and heading to the cinema to watch The Upside of Anger.

But I'm keeping that track listing in my head. You never know when you're going to need a great break up mix tape and, I tell you, the sadder the songs on that tape got, the more the chef smiled to himself.

Defunker

The latest from Tomato Nation:

Wing Chun: God, I know. It's just never going to end -- the wedding, the baby, the naming of the baby "Ellronna," the divorce, the red-carpet awkwardness, the blah blah blah blah blah, it's the news cycle that ate Pittsburgh. And as much as I kind of love those dudes who squirted water in his face? Don't encourage him, water-squirting dudes.

Sarah: Oh, for real. And it's becoming…it's like when I'm at a dinner party and someone asks some innocent question about American Idol and I give this detailed and authoritative answer, and then I'm sitting there wondering what used to live in that brain cell. Flannery O'Connor. Watergate. Something. It's just taking over.

After I had finished re-adjusting my spine after contorting it into next week trying to suppress a guffaw from reading Wing and Sars’ latest Girls Bike Club adventure, I forwarded the link to my best friend, A, with one line: THIS IS US.

On Friday night, A threw a party. It wasn’t supposed to be a party. The plan was for us all to simply meet up at her place, have a few “pre-drinks”, and move out into the night. Instead, by 10pm everyone had gone on a bottle shop run, found a patch of sofa, and gotten comfortable. I got talking to a couple of A’s friends who I hadn’t met properly before and somehow the conversation turned to Tom Cruise on Oprah. A came over about ten minutes into the conversation when I was about three minutes into a rant (complete with hand gestures!) on the evils of Scientology.

A
It all started when he fired Pat Kingsley.

C
Well, of course.

Friend #1
Of course.

Friend #2
Of course!

Friend #1
Who the hell is Pat Kingsley?

Friend #2
I have a feeling we're going to find out. More beer?

Friend #1
Shit, yeah.

C
Seriously, the woman ruled him with an iron fist. She would not let him speak about Scientology and now! Now he’s got Scientology tents on the set of War of the Worlds and he’s dating Joey from Dawson’s Creek….

Friend #1
Tents? As in a circus tent?

Friend #2
Are there scary clowns in a Scientology tent?

A
Yeah! They probably jump out, rattle some e-meters around, and throw vitamins out to the kids! Ooh, Caz! That reminds me! I have a new theory! Maybe, Tom called Nicole and threatened to make the kids sit through Battlefield Earth if she didn’t call Big Russ and tell him to chuck a hissyfit to divert attention

C
Good theory but Tom and Katie are actively courting the media. Tom probably made the kids sit through Uncle John in the funny costume as punishment for Uncle Rusty taking the limelight away from PashFest 2005.

A
Hee! That’s true. Why else would he get engaged in Paris before a fricking movie premiere?

Friend #1
They’re engaged? When did that happen?

A
It hasn’t happened yet, but Defamer says to expect an announcement.

Friend #2
Defamer? What’s a defamer?

C
Insider information!

Friend #1
Carrie, it’s lovely to meet you but I have to say that I didn’t think anyone knew as much useless celebrity related trivia as A. Congratulations.

Friend #2
You both need help.

C
We’re totally normal.

(A co-worker suddenly joins the conversation)

Carrie and A’s Co-worker
Normal? You two? HAHAHAAHHAAAA. The last time I had lunch with you two, I briefly mentioned that I thought Paris Hilton was not totally unattractive and you dragged me over to A's computer and made me look at that plastic surgery site.

(Friends walk away)

A
We need therapy.

C
Or love lives.

A
Or we could just move to Hollywood already.

C
Next year, babe. Ooh, more wine?

Reservations

In addition to the funny flu keeping me out of action for a while, I’ve also been feeling really down. Work is not going brilliantly for me at the moment and the question “Well, what the fuck next?” has been rattling around in my head. High doses of Sudafed combined with insane amounts of stress have had me staring at the ceiling at 2am as I listen to sad music and contemplate What’s Next.

More than one friend has reminded me lately of the expression stating that it is better to be on the bottom rung of a ladder you want to be on than half way up a ladder you’d like to hurl yourself off. Or something to that effect, anyway. And I’m at the point where I either suck it up and keep climbing the Hurl Ladder or jump off and start afresh. I know I want to get out of my current industry and work my way back to what I wanted to do before I decided it was a fantastic idea to change my life plan for a man (STUPID) but, damn, it’s hard.

That said, I read Pamie’s account of how hard it is to be a writer in Hollywood (my original dream occupation before my lack of serious drive and talent came to my attention) last week and I was so envious. I was envious because even though she’s working ridiculous hours, at least she’s doing something she loves that she’s good at. She’s not there through luck, she’s there because she had a goal in sight, she worked incredibly hard, and she’s talented.

I need a goal beyond getting paid, not getting caught emailing Dilbert cartoons around, and just meeting deadlines. I just need to work out what that goal is and whether it is achievable by staying in Melbourne.

I wonder if there’s a role available for a new Fantales writer…

pathetic reaches a new low *cough*

Movies I hired over the last two weeks as I battled the flu from hell:

Beaches
Angels in America (the insane amount of medication I have scarfed is clearly still partying around my system as I initially wrote Angles in America and laughed at my stupid spelling for about 5 minutes.)
Real Women Have Curves
Harold and Maude
Win a Date with Tad Hamilton
The African Queen
The Festival Express
Office Space
Hotel Rwanda
24 Hour Party People

Movies I actually got around to watching:

Beaches
Win a Date with Tad Hamilton
Office Space

When a "quiet night out" goes horribly wrong

When I moved out of home my first housemates were a couple of friends ten years older than me. I vividly recall one Saturday, after a session at The Armadale the previous night which had continued with the better part of a slab of beer when we got home at 3am, getting home from a walk and finding them both in the lounge room. They were slumped, one man on each sofa, like a pair of swooning madams in a Victorian melodrama which was odd as neither of them were usually one for dramatics and preferred to spend their weekends either surfing or trying to get my friends to sleep with them. The detritus from the Chinese they’d ordered for lunch lay strewn across the floor, each man was clutching a litre bottle of Coke close to their hearts, and the television’s volume was suspiciously low. 

I bounced into the room all Hey guys! Wow, are you watching Mad Max 2 again?! I’ve been for a nice, long, healthy walk! Hey, are those spring rolls vegetarian?! Mmm, food!

Sog, the better tempered of the two, queried why I was so fucking chirpy.

Tim, with a visible amount of strain, turned his head and stared at me. And then he said something that I have carried with me ever since.

“This, my girl, is what a hangover looks like when you’re not 21 anymore.”

I’m thinking of Tim’s wise words today. And chugging Diet Coke and Panadol cocktails – delicious!

Oversharing the sharing

Darp’s right in saying that posting meme’s is totally slack arse but, hey, it’s Friday! Plus, I’ve been secretly looking for an excuse to attempt this. Thanks to BC for asking me to share!

Total volume of music files on my computer:

4.71 gigabytes which is a fairly small amount but, while an i-Pod remains on my wish list, I’m still firmly attached to my CD collection.

The last CD I bought:

Last time I went into JB HiFi I came out with 3 CD’s: the new Treetops EP, Ryan Adams and the Cardinals – Cold Roses, and Tegan and Sara – So Jealous.

Song playing right now:

Coldplay – Fix You

Five songs that I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me

The Beatles – A Day in the Life

The first song I ever hit the repeat button for.

My first ever concert was Paul McCartney at Wembley Arena when I was about 8 years old and, lo, Beatle mania lived on in me. A Day in the Life fascinated me. It sounded like such a cool mystery: “Mum, why were there four thousand holes in Blackburn?”. My favourite Beatles song.

The Doobie Brothers – Black Water

We went on a family trip to France when I was about 12 and The Very Best of The Doobie Brothers is the soundtrack to that holiday but Black Water is the song which brings the most memories flooding back. You see, Black Water has this brilliant riff in the final verse, which sounds best sung in canon at the top of your voice, that my brother and I used to giggle in anticipation of singing along to:

“Pretty Momma, come on take me by the hand…”
“By the hand!”
“Hand!”
“Take me by the hand!”
“Pretty Momma!”

Do yourself a favour and find this song. Highly recommended for road trips.

Pulp – Do You Remember the First Time?

Do you remember the first time takes me back to being 14 and seriously falling in love with music that wasn’t sung by a boy band (Take That, along with The Beatles, had been my musical loves up to that point). The picture of Robbie Williams on the A4 binder I walked around school hunched over was replaced with pictures of Damon Albarn and Alex James looking brooding and ADORABLE. 

I loved Blur and Pulp fiercely and there are many, many songs from either band I could have listed here but this song now, to me, sounds like back then.

At the time there were rough attempts made to adopt Pulp's Sorted out for E’s and Whizz as our anthem because it sounded so cool but at that point we were more “Sorted out for some dodgy Grenadine and Bacardi concoction from our parent’s liquor cabinet” than anything else.

Jeff Buckley – Last Goodbye

Let's go back in time to late '96....

I’m 16 and I’ve just found out my family is moving to Australia. I hate everybody. On the way home from a trip to see my grandparents my Dad puts his latest music purchase in the CD player. The very second the third track concludes he plays it again. And again. And again.

I’m in the backseat of the car completely caught up in my cocoon of adolescent angst and alternating between obsessively underlining passages in Pride and Prejudice as revision for my GCSE’s and staring out the window wondering how long it would be until I saw Somerset again. I was probably also pondering which mini skirt to wear to the Coconut Club the following Friday.

Around the fourth time Dad plays Last Goodbye, the beauty of the song hits me hard. Suddenly, I am animated, leaning forward between the front seats of the car, demanding of Dad, “WHAT? IS? THIS?” and offering to hit the repeat button for him.

Fast forward to the following September. Jeff had tragically drowned in the Wolf River the preceding May. I’m sitting in a cramped auditorium for my first chapel session at my new school and wondering what the hell awaits me. The school chaplain comes into the room and kicks off the session by explaining that he’s going to play an incredible piece of music that had recently come to his attention – the song was Last Goodbye. I was so desperately unhappy to be sitting in a room full of strangers ten thousand miles from home but I felt so comforted that there was another person there who’d heard the divinity in that song.

Eight years on, Last Goodbye remains my most played and most loved song.

Ryan Adams – La Cienega Just Smiled

The mother of all bad break ups happened when I was 21. A two year relationship fell apart and, while it limped along for a while after the break up (it took THREE break ups for the relationship to finally DIE which culminated with the CD stand incident of 2004), in the after math of the initial break up  I shocked the hell out of myself when I did not/could not get out of bed for two days. In those two very dark and, no doubt, stinky days I listened to this song ON REPEAT.

My inner Miss Misery apparently loves the company of this particular southern gentlemen. So much so that I am travelling up To Byron Bay in July to see him play at Splendour and if I manage to bump into him I will thank him from the bottom of my heart for assisting me in the Greatest Wallowing Session I have ever known.

Passing the meme on to:

The Uni Finalist, Stuart, Jess, MrLefty, and anyone else who feels like wasting time on a Friday afternoon.