ahh... how I'd love to have been there...

The Church helps me make sense of my world

Nonononoonono...

Not *that* Church.

This Church -




I love highway driving, except for when it gets boring and monotonous. Driving by myself is actually more fun than with company because I get to play music really, really loudly, which makes for a lot less monotony.

On the way down to MsFoil's place on Friday I played Devo. Are we not men? We are Devo. Are we not men? D. E.V. O... It brought back some really great memories of other times in other cars singing at the top of my voice with another friend who was actually also really into driving along a highway playing loud music and singing. It's a shame she's not around any more...

Anyway, on the way back I played The Church. A few years ago they released a cracker compilation that you should all buy, because the band not only chose the songs, and the track order, they even get royalties, unlike pretty much every other Church compilation out there. Of course it's not exactly what I'd choose, but then it's hard to narrow down 30 years of back catalogue and make everyone happy, and me being the gracious (shut up) person that I am, I accept this.

Tantalised is on it, and if I play it once, I play it at least three times, and very, very loudly. Not only is it a great studio track, it's the best live song I've ever heard. Well, aside from some jazz and some classical stuff but that's a different sort of experience. Above is the video they made, but with the radio edit. Below is a clip someone else has made, but with the album edit:




One of the many times I've seen these gents play was March 2000 at the Metro. I had partaken of a certain party substance, or to be less coy, dropped some acid. My friends and I stood centre stage as per usual, and the boys came on... all dressed in white shirts and jeans. As far as I know they've never done that before or since, at least, not in Australia. They kicked off and were backlit by rotating gels like a rainbow. The effect was extraordinary, and I think everyone, altered state or not, was gobsmacked. It was like arriving to a dinner party you've been looking forward to and discovering it's actually a surprise party for you. Surprise!

And ladies, may I just add that Steve Kilbey in white jeans is an extremely, extremely fine sight.

The last song on the set list was Tantalised (two encores came after but that was just the icing on an already mindblowingly-thickly-iced cake). It's an astounding song live. I don't know how to explain it. The bass is your heartbeat, speeding up, slowing down. The twin lead guitars are blood rushing through your veins. The drum is your head pounding with thought, frustration, desire, anticipation, adrenaline, fear, excitement, potential. Dense layers enfold you, smothered and cocooned at the same time - which is the essence of The Church to me, I want full audio immersion when I listen to them so that I can hear all the tiny ghosts at the end of the hall that you can't see, but know are there.

Why do I always get run away with my feelings with The Church? If you know the song, also imagine it about 10 minutes long and with strobe lighting. This doesn't even begin to do it justice (although it does have some Kilbey White Jean Action):




I had broken up with Wizbang. I was about to travel to Europe. Two people I love hadn't died (only one at that stage). I hadn't met Tiny Toasty's father and discovered what fear and litigation was really all about. I wasn't yet a mum, and a single one at that (which is certainly better than still being with the father, but still limiting at times). I was at the top of the world, or at least quite close, where I hadn't been for such a long time. I really wish I could get back up there again. At this point in time I'm writing that with a certain modicum of hope, not hopelessness, which is the way I've felt for the past couple of years. It's still relatively neutral, but I feel there's more positive than negative now.

Here's to the long climb back up. I think the view will be splendid. Just remember the Thermos, will you?

Why I think the Liberals stink.

I've mentioned this on another page but really, I wanted to write it as many times as I could:

Poor fucking form from the Liberals last night. When Gillard spoke to the crowd and acknowledged Abbott, her Labor audience clapped. When Abbott mentioned Gillard, his Liberal audience booed.

Poor. Fucking. Form.

Boys Keep Swingin'

I was in the war... but I didn't see you there...

Need some inspiration?

http://www.whatthefuckshouldimakefordinner.com/

Heh.

Farrrrrque

I don't want to write down my passwords, but I am *always* forgetting the password to get into this blog. WTF?

To Autumn

I had an English teacher in senior high school called Mrs Anderson. She was short with steel-grey hair, glasses, and a ferocious attitude with a capital A.T.T.I.T.U.D.E. Yes, she got called Angry behind her back. Yes, she was loved and feared in equal measure. She also had a real passion for reading aloud,* which was a bit different to the usual mixture of enthusiasm, sarcasm and droll humour from the rest of the English/History staff. I will never forget her reading of Keats' poems. One of our friends still knows most of this off by heart (smartypants) and will recite en mode if pressed. Firm, ripe and fruity.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cider-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

* Believe me when I say that reading Equus with her was traumatic for more than one in our class.

I spy

with my little eye -

• fake plaits in a shade I'll never be (way too light)
• two pairs of barely worn happy shoes
• my old school Mary Janes (yay)
  
• another pair of sewing shears (yay again)
• excessive quantities of useless white socks (puzzling)
  
• a table mirror I had forgotten about
• a couple of djellaba, which I find quite lovely but no-one else in our group seems to think so
  
• two old camping frocks which are going to be pulled apart to make new ones at some point in the next decade

There's light at the bottom of the Wall O'Doomy Boxes. Actually, there's an old camping trunk with all this crud in it, but it's nearly the end of the slog I thought would go on forever. I wish I'd taken photos. Victory is just over there! It's having a nice cup of tea. Better reach it before the pot gets cold.

Episode VII: Return of the Nerd

So, you know, Wedge Antilles





or Boba Fett?




Depends on what kind of Star Wars dag you are, really.

Boba used to be my main street-cred minor character hero until Episodes I, II and III came out. You get to see what's behind the armour, and it's not disappointing (far from it, Temuera Morrison, yes please), but then the revelation - Boba is a Clone!? Damn. I could never love a clone. Unless he was a real spunk and brought his brother over and we all got drunk and... ahem. No, I could never love a clone.

Wedge is slightly nerdy-looking (although clean cut and fresh, and that ain't bad) but he's an ace X-wing pilot, and apparently the ladies love a pilot. Perhaps that's what pilots looked like in the 70's, I was too young to notice. He's such an ace that he knows how to negotiate very tight spaces, which you're allowed to misconstrue as a single entendre if you so desire. He also saves Lukes life once or twice in the mighty Death Star battles... but we won't hold that against him.

So, edgy bounty hunter Bob or clean-cut X-wing pilot Wedgie?



Edit: Wedgie was played by Denis Lawson, who's not only Scottish (bonus points), and the uncle of Ewan McGregor (bonus bonus points) but much spunkier when out from under the helmet and easily recognisable from UK telly. How did I not piece it together earlier? Mostly because I was presuming he was a Seppo. Ladies... we have a winner. Sorry Bob.

Lucky?

Travelling up the Princes this arvo (as you do) I saw a sight for... well, I don't know what sort of eyes. If they were sore, I think this site would have made them sorer. Or perhaps water slightly.

Imagine a Very Hot Car, and by that, I mean some White Trash DoofMobile. LOTS of stickers on the back window, including a really big one of the steer with enormous horns that I always thought was a brand logo, but might, in fact, just be a single entendre. BIG chromilicious exhaust. And a GINORMOUS freaking mudguard - I say that in the singular because there was only one, big, wide, thick, long chunk of manhood, I mean, mudguard. Another single entendre, methinks. It certainly dominated the design theme of Classic Yob.

But! Gentle Reader! That was not the icing on the cake.

The icing was three of these:



Real.

Lifesized.

Rivetted onto the mudguard in a row.

Very, very shiny, distractingly glinting in the sun, polished with care - probably by the Classic Yob's girlfriend, if Classic Yob was in a good mood. I understand this to be the ritual through scientific observation - in the 70's, my brother's girlfriend was occasionally allowed to use the white crayon on the tyres of his Totally Hot Holden.

I wish I had've had a camera with me, but then, I was going 100k/h, so there's NO way I could have captured its unbridled glory.

I really hope those horseshoes bring him luck, otherwise, the owner just looks even more of a d!ckh34d, eh?

LOOK!

- naked Elvis taxon!

Also, see Zombie taxon. Those wacky Paleontologists!

it's on again

the Threadless sale, currently with free postage internationally with orders over $75, and all tees are $12. I've already ordered mine, but in case you want to order as well, use my link and I earn credits on my next order. I'm mercenary like that :-)


and here's a favourite. if the colour was more me, I'd already be wearing it:

The Princess and The Pea

Found hidden in the various layers of my bed, upon trying to retire last night, by approximate descent:

• two books
• a car
• Precious Frog (tiny bean-bag frog and close cousin of Precious Lizard)
  
• four straws
• tiny cache of gold sequins and multicoloured stars
  
• a feather

Always an adventure.

Me? Puerile?

One of the important bits of equipment for bookmaking is a section of animal bone polished into a lovely smooth stick. You use it to sharpen folds, score lines and the like, so everything is crisp. As you know, I love crisp. Now I have two lovely folders, one which looks almost like a burnisher, and one which is the more traditional shape. I'll probably file the trad one to an even pointier point for extra crispness.




Anyway.

One of the ladies in the bookmaking class kept calling the bone folder a boner. All the time. I'm suspecting that, as the youngest one in the class by a long, long, stadium-distance shot, it was totally lost on the rest of them, but me?

Snigger.

Sigh.

In other news, a few weeks ago I leapt into the deepish end and did a weekend workshop on conservation binding. As an almost rank beginner, I not only kept up but do believe my results were better than at least 50% of the class. Mind you, printmaking and woodworking experience helps a lot.

Upshot: It. Was. Really. Good.

Can't wait to do more, which is lucky, because will be doing a more basic course in a coupla weeks. Really dying to try hard casing but I suspect that will have to wait a little while. Only got so much money!

simple but effective

book making.




low tech.

good for the braaaaiiin.

possibly also the soul.

getting a few skills back into gear.

makes you feel good.

and the icing on the cake, the teacher reminds me of Ma Burgerhead.
so much so that on the first day, I nearly gave her a big hug.


still fighting that impulse.

nice. bittersweet. worthwhile.

Multiple Choice: Steve Kilbey

Toasty is listening to Priest = Aura late at night and remembering how much she admires Steve Kilbey. She's disappointed she isn't seeing The Church on Sunday night, mostly because she's crap at going to gigs by herself. She's about 95% sure she'd meet people she knows (hello Seancers, I miss you) if she goes and stands up the front, but Toasty ain't so good at that any more.




Toasty admires Steve Kilbey because he's:

A) An amazing poet with depth and delicious irreverence.
B) A vastly underrated bassist of the funkiest degree.
C) Still a big spunk.

Of course the answer is:

D) Yes yes yes, alright, it's all of the above.


The Church sound more and more beautiful as the albums go by... It's so hard to pin down favourites. Well, okay, I can probably narrow it down to about five. It depends on if you want crisp jangle or introverted, layered rhythms...


So anyway, Priest = Aura. Amazing album, sort of conceptual, except there's not really a concept. It just sort of... hangs all together. The band were going through a shitty time and broke up for a while after they toured this album... the tour itself was astounding, though, if you put aside the hissyfits. They came on, they played the album non-stop, full-stop. Fwoar.

Fark! I was just looking at Fipster's gig list. I haven't seen the boys live for about 5 years. I guess that's what having a shitty relationship with an alcoholic ex-junkie and then the sweet Toddler Toasty (the good bit) does for you.

Makes me feel a bit sad and wistful though. I miss my giggy friends. After that relationship I shut myself off from a lot of music, because beauty is too painful. Not because of any particular memories (indeed, it's easy to avoid the music the Millstone liked, because I couldn't STAND a lot of it), more because of raw emotions that music provokes. It just sorta pops out at you, and the next minute you've got a little tear about the loveliness of (for example) a bit of Holst or Wagner or even bleeding Stephane Grappelli noodling around with Don Burrows. And live music! Even more provocative and uncontrollable. Getting over it now, which is great, because I miss the joy of the music I love.

Listening to P=A... all the good times come back...

... Although I think my all-time high for a Church gig was watching them at the Metro touring Hologram of Bal and A Box of Birds. Lawks a Lordy, what a tour. For one night, I dropped a small amount of a mind-altering substance, which isn't my usual state of being for gigs (I prefer these things at a home/party). But I knew I'd be with a top group of people.

It. Was. So. Cool. The boys wore all white and had gels of rainbow colours wheeling and turning behind them. Imagine a fuzzy, bright stained-glass window or squinting into a giant kaleidoscope, guitars chiming, jangling, distorting into a dreamy Wall Of Noise. Fortunately one of the Seance crew took photos from the balconey, which confirmed all this, or I really wouldn't have believed it... Oh my. And the set list was fabulous... they really delivered with Tantalised, which is The. Best. Live. Song. Ever. Except if you're an epileptic. Over ten minutes of high-speed jangle and strobe. Oh baby.

But I digress. This was all about P=A. If you're really lucky, I'll drone on more about The Church again some time. Meanwhile, I'll leave you with some lyrics from P=A... do you know how hard it is to stop at one song? It was going to be Ripple, then the title track (which has one of the sexiest, unrelenting bass lines evah. Good Snogging Music), or Feel, or Mistress, or indeed Paradox, but I just heard Kings, with it's dreamy sweetness and pretty jangle, and couldn't resist.



Kings

See history fade, it's crystal clear
Aurora what you doing here?
Buttering the mouths of thieves
Shutter speed it bleeding leaves

In gardens in the orient
Likelihood is good and spent
Herod nods beneath the palms
Holds poor baby in his arms

Tunis and Sardinia
The ocean growing hungrier
Beneath these walls we'll sleep tonight
Beneath this sky we'll glide so bright

And kings will come, years will pass
Stars burn cold beneath the glass
And days will glow in distant times
In distorted haze the zebras graze

In deserts where the dust storm blows
And lush black swamps where mandrake grows
We're marching laughing to the drum
Waiting for those kings to come

An infant with the voice of a crone
In Nebuchanezzar's parking zone
Calls out my lord your end is nigh
I didn't mean to make you cry

The circus sun in Nero eyes
The lions and the Christians rise
Software sings and hardware hears
We're destined babe to live these years


Live these years indeed. Thanks for all the beautiful noise, boys. I think I better go and join the mailing list again.

I hate the word "gifted'.

FFS!!!

Really.

Gift. It's a noun, people.
You give a gift. You don't gift someone.
You received a gift. You weren't gifted anything.

Gifted can be an adjective, in fact, it can be an over-used adjective when it comes to describing children.

It sounds so freaking coy.

What? You gifted her herpes? Isn't that kind of you.

Creative ways to help with the Bushfire Appeal

The project MsFoil has going has been on my mind... so I've been browsing Teh Interwebs to find the sort of thing we are handy at doing. Here's what I've found so far, and if you find something too, let me know.






I confess, I'm like MsFoil though, if it's at all possible, I'd love to know if it's possible to donate to individuals.

Cross-posted on LJ but you have to be a friend to see it, ha.

The earth keeps shifting, subtle in her ways

And the revelation?

Came as I drove 'round one of the many, many bends descending into the valley. You do two hairpins and if you look up you can see where you've come from, across an expanse of long, thick grass.




At the end of summer it's usually a deep golden yellow, and when the wind comes up towards the end of the day it ripples like water. Utterly mesmerising - hard to keep your eyes on the road (oops). It's a marker, one of the signals that weaves together in a journey which means more than roadsigns or street numbers. It's a marker I haven't seen for several years, because the trip home that way takes about an hour longer and the road is getting crappier.

I drove the two hairpins.

I looked up.

The field of golden water wasn't there...



...trees had regenerated.

Over half the area was covered with small to mid sized bushes and trees. I could catch a quick glimpse of the grass between, but no more ripples on the hill now. How recent was this? Was it on purpose, planted out by a new owner? Or was it natural, because it had been neglected, or purposely left to regenerate itself? I was disappointed for myself, but how exciting to see regeneration happening.



About twenty years ago, I wrote a poem about that grass, and about a boy I was in love with. About four years ago, I wrote it out and gave it to the Millstone, and told him it was about him. Gah. How to spoil memories, eh? At the time, though, I was trying to appease and keep him from one of his many foul moods. He was touched... he shed a tear... I found the poem a few weeks later on the floor covered with dog hair, red wine, and tobacco. Pfft.

I'm still in love with that first boy. He was the only one I ever went out with who treated me with genuine respect and admiration, and thought I was fucking fantastic. I, of course, in my utter lack of experience, totally failed to understand how very, very special that was. I've had about half my life so far to grasp that, now. Derr, Toasty!

And yet the earth has shifted.
She's changed.

My turn?




Yes.

Boots and Saddles!

Coming back from the coast yesterday arvo, had a frustrating time but a small reflective revelation of sorts... Who'da thunk?

The reason I went down for a couple of nights was a touch of sanity time and to go to the Berry Show. I'm a bit (lot) of a sucker for the ol' regional Ag Show. I got there early on Friday morning but lo! there were no stalls open, only the cattle and horse judging.

I shouldn't say 'only' because I can watch this for quite some time. It was quiet, and cool in the shade, and even with the megaphones announcing results there was a lovely contemplative nature to the morning, especially after I moved away from the people with bratty children who were so loud (children, not adults) even the judges looked askance at one point. Didn't help that one of the non-parental adults thought this was hilarious and was egging them on. Sigh.

After a while though, it was getting hot. The Grand Parade wasn't on till 1pm and the Pavilion didn't open till 1:30pm. So hied me back to the cottage to tidy up, pack the car and get back to see the parade of shiny, perfectly groomed prize-winning animals being led by a bloke riding an enormous Brahman bull.

Local eccentric, or a new category at the Easter Show next year? Time will tell...

The Pavilion opened a bit late but there were some good exhibits, and of course some hideous ones. Much as I have no objection to Andre Rieu (the Toasty Toddler thinks he and his orchestral hijix are the ants pants, thanks for asking) the two entries portraying him were EUGH. Just as you'd expect. One was a framed rectangular ceramic plaque, and one was needlecraft - cross-stitch I think, my subconscious is suppressing it as I type. Some of the other items, ceramics, weaving and cake decorating though, absolutely stunning.

Needed to get back to Sydney at a reasonable time, though, so I set off from Berry around 2:30. Almost to Gerringong, there's been an accident and the highway is closed till about 5pm - found that out from an exasperated mum from Bateman's Bay who had called the Police to find out more.

Back to Berry an hour later, stop for petrol, decide to come back via Kangaroo Valley. Which is a truly beautiful drive when it's:

a) not friday afternoon,
b) it's not hot, and
c) the road is not full of NONGS.

Nuff said.