the snake and the bird

The girl asked once, the story of her birth and was told. When her mother was pregnant she had a dream and the dream was of her unborn child – a daughter. She dreamed a snake had come to the back door, threatening and hissing and when the snake raised it’s slender head he told the mother that she would give birth to a girl. The mother woke up. Not long afterwards she went into labour and that labour produced a girl – hissing and slithering into the world.

The young girl took this in. She wasn’t sure that she liked being a snake. She wanted to be a butterfly or a unicorn.

The mother told the story of the girls brother. How the mother pregnant again, took a bath one day and saw a bird on the windowsill. It was tiny and blue and beautiful. The bird sang a gay tune – you will soon have a son – it whistled. The mother went to fetch a towel to grab the bird with, to send it outside but when she turned back around the bird had disappeared. She searched the house but the messenger had gone. It was a happy day when her new young son entered the world, feathers slightly ruffled and a bit blue.

The girl understood that her brother was like a bird and she was like a snake. She internalised the symbolism of the snake – and the hate. She never asked for the story again but was told it anyway. Numerous times. It hasn’t been forgotten.

She felt weird. She knew that being a snake was bad, but she didn’t feel like a bad person – not really. Sometimes she was bad though, and whenever she was bad she remembered how she was a snake and that truly there must be some part of her that was rotten and evil and festering away inside her. By contrast her brother was good, even when he was bad – but she loved him anyway because who wouldn’t love a bird? It’s only snakes that are feared and hated. Rightly so, horrible creatures.

The girl has come to understand that there are worthy and unworthy people in the world. Maybe some are made that way – whether it’s by birth or otherwise.

The Diamond Sea – Sonic Youth

coffee talk

the window on humanity again..

The reason why I like shows like Big Brother (shuddup) is not just because I happen to be a trashy person with no brainz (some may argue differently) but because for me, these shows bring up questions about social politics. I like the social experiment aspect of BB – rather than the shameless famewhores themselves. Where else do we get to see people in groups forming relationships without them calling in the cops for stalking? Does this make any sense?

Here are some things I have learnt from everyday life that has been confirmed by watching Big Brother, reading various forums and involving myself in discussion about housemates and about people in general. There is a lot of generalisation here but I’m talking under the bell curve not necessarily inclusive of everyone. I realise there are people that don’t fit this stereotype so I’m not trying to lump everyone together. Having said that yes, I’m lumping a big proportion of people together.

1) Men in groups bigger than 2 sometimes act as bullies because they egg each other on.

2) Not all men get involved in the bullies thing – but the ones that do would probably be best described as “blokey” men (at their most innocent).

3) Girls are BITCHES mostly about other women rather than about men.

4) Men bitch mostly about women rather than about men.

5) Girls who are not bitchy are usually a bit older.

6) Girls will play up being vacuous in order to not offend men because …well because of point 7.

7) Girls who argue or who challenge men on their point of view are shunned by said men (and the public) and rarely seen as sexual beings.

Some girls will allow themselves to be bullied by men into ridiculous situations in order to avoid #7 happening to them.

9) It is a crime for a girl to be over a size 12 (I’m not being facetious) – you will be automatically shunned or even hated by some people. ed: In Australia a size 12 is “medium” in the shops. I think that’s US size 8 (this is BEFORE zero came out – maybe it’s a US size 6 now)

10) On the flipside – you can never be too thin. In fact if you have unhealthy eating habits in order to be that way..it’s not questioned too much.

11) normal weight is seen as fat by the general public.

12) women are judged on their looks FIRST by men and by women. If they pass the looks test then personality will be next.

13) men judge women on their looks just as harshly as other women do. Maybe even more so.

14) Nerdy guys will get by on being intelligent BUT only if they are funny/likable as well.

15) Men are considered “hot” by young women if they are tall, buff and relatively blokey BUT if they are funny they get a wildcard.

16) Grid girls and promotions models are pretty much idiots or act that way (in order to avoid point 7).

17) It’s okay if a girl is dumb as long as she’s hot.

18) For women plastic boobs are the way to go if their boobs are “too” small. Plastic boobs are preferable to accepting yourself as how you are.

19) Mormons are annoyingly hyper (okay joking. I don’t really know any mormons).

20) After a while the looks thing gets old and people begin to see each other for what they really are UNLESS you are really young/immature in which case you never get over the looks thing.

Not a pretty view of humanity eh? Maybe I’m reading it wrong. I know there is a good side to humanity okay. I’m not stupid but these all seem incredibly true to me. I realise they’re generalisations – but I also think they’re very true.

What do you think?

I put on my cloudiest suit

Today’s Musical Monday is brought to you by the divine oracle of “keyword analysis” on the old stat counter thingy. Indeed when the key phrase is Kate Bush original This Woman’s Work remakes then it’s like a message from the Gods. The other “keyword” stories of neurotic naked women, will have to wait until some later date. Some of you who have seen the video clip for Kate Bush’s Babooshaka might think it applies here too.

I’ve mentioned my cousin MT before, who featured heavily in my Michael Jackson Thriller, Musical Monday – many moons ago now. She also inadvertently introduced me to Kate Bush via a rather large full colour poster of old Kate on her wardrobe – montage of billowing raven hair, mesmerising eyes and flaming red lips. To me that has always been the quintessential vision of femininity. Strength and sensuality. When I grew up I wanted to be Kate Bush – even though at that point I didn’t really know who Kate Bush was or why I was so attracted to her. I just was. Confession – when I grow up I still want to be Kate Bush.

It’s interesting – girls reactions to other girls. I wonder if young boys have such a relationship with males in the public eye. Apart from Daddy, do boys idolise other men while growing up? Do they want to grow up to look like another man, say Justin Timberlake or The Rock? As teenagers going through puberty do they aspire to be them in the same way that girls aspire to be other women? We look at other women and we want to be them. It’s probably why women featured in women’s magazines are not exactly sexualised, more idolised. Hell, women actively buy magazines with women in them, not men. Men buy magazines with women in them, not men (unless those men are doing something construed as a hobby – such as football etc). It’s also why anorexic airbrushed and unrealistic visions of women (and yes, they really are unrealistic) are dangerous to women. We actually pay attention to this stuff.

That was my introduction to her – followed closely by hearing Wuthering Heights on the “good” stereo. I distinctly remember twirling in the lounge room like a demented Jewelery box ballerina until I fell over, sick and dizzy and quite changed. Quite.

Later on I was taken with the theatrics and dance that was part of her artistry. The thing about Kate Bush, she comes across as a shy recluse but when she’s dancing and singing she’s full of light and energy. It’s like she’s a fae someone plucked out of the forest and put in the spotlight. I love that about her. I love her shrill operatic voice and the movement her music evokes. Yes, she’s a little strange, quirky and I love that too.

I have many favourite Kate Bush songs. I’ve already featured This Woman’s Work and I’ll forever be in love with The Red Shoes and Running Up That Hill, Cloudbusting etc but this one is a little special. I don’t know what it is exactly that does it for me – part contemplative and part rock-operatic frenzy. It’s unapologetically intense. I like that but many people will…not. To each their own. It’s an amazing piece though.

Rocket’s Tail – Kate Bush

gallery wonderings

oh quit yer yapping.

Things that are pissing me off right this minute (in no particular order).

* GW can express as much sorrow as he wants at the Virginia Tech murders but that’s nothing on the horror inflicted on his behalf in Iraq. Yeah, yeah, okay I know – it’s inflammatory to say that. I don’t care. The man is a douche.

* The lean back in his chair know-it-all complete and utter wanker of huge proportions in my class tonight. Why do people feel the need to make smartarse comments and unfunny “jokes”? Why can they just come to class and ohhh don’t know..LEARN? No, it’s not appropriate to talk when someone else is (especially the teacher), no it’s not appropriate to flirt with the married lady (especially when it’s obvious she don’t wanna), no it’s not appropriate to boast (nothing to boast about buddy). Even his friend looked kind of uncomfortable.

* When people say something like “man, it was just a joke geez”. If less people are laughing than who are offended then actually nope, it wasn’t a joke.

* Having 100% certainty that a certain file is on your computer but when you search, it’s not there.

* When to get to the point that someone makes a little comment that means absolutely nothing to anyone but you and suddenly you just feel frustrated and are trying everything not to cry your head off in front of everyone.

* self, for not being as organised as I could have been with the movie project. With school holidays and about a million other things to do I never checked the dates of commencement. It’s Monday, I need to get a group and permission organised by..well today really. I’m so unbelievably worn out and just not feeling very happy lately – it’s just the last thing I want to do. I just want to crawl up into bed and watch episodes of Bewitched (bday present from bro) and not think…about anything.

random weekend thoughts

You like the contrast between sound and vision of driving through whitebread suburban streets while listening to foreign music.

The only thing that keeps you from being compeltely sick of being you is not knowing who you really are yet.

Life has become so cloudy, you’re wondering if you even exist.

You like evesdropping on conversations between people on the street. You heard someone say “it doesn’t count if you’re not naked” today and your imagination went into overdrive.

You overhead someone else say “I laughed but I didn’t mean it” and without knowing what they were talking about you understood, completely.

This is the last taste of summer – spa room warmth under a cloudy sky.

You get a lot more action in your dreams than anywhere else.

Blog, wherefore art thou?

You’re living life through the shower screen door. Every so often you bring a hand up to wipe away the mist and peek out before disappearing under the spray again.

Your life from within a cinema theatre is perfect. Absolutely perfect.

You’re more observant than people think.

You hurt more than you will ever allow people to think.

Sometimes the day exists purely as a long drawn out corridor from dream to dream.

Sometimes people are like goatsbeard. You think you’ve got them when you pick it, but you blow and … Best not to pick flowers at all, you think.

Looking from the inside out: there is beauty in all things.

Gravel underneath shoes piercing the silence of the afternoon.

Breathing sleeplessness into the pillows, every position has it’s limitations.

At this point you would do almost anything to avoid going back to work on Monday.

short true story

My friend was talking about her husband and his friends and their weekend away.

Boys are so easily amused. she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

You know, one weekend we went away just the couples and the boys were gone for hours and hours in the garage. We heard them laughing so loudly that we went to see what was going on and well, there they were. D was standing near the garage door and the rest of them had ping pong balls in their hands.

They had invented a game: Sting-pong.

“Haha, wtf is sting-pong?”

It’s where one boy stands at one end of the garage and the rest of them use ping pong balls to throw as hard as they can aiming for that one person. “IT” is not allowed to run, or hide. They have to just take it. They can use one hand to protect their eyes and one hand to protect their balls. D had welts all over his body.

They thought it was the best thing ever.

“okay, that is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard but it does sound pretty funny. Maybe it’s a teen humour thing”.

M [husband] is 37 years old!

vingt-neuf

* My favourite pajama pants have a long rip right on the arse. It’s not a good look, even for myself. I turn around and look at myself in the mirror, over my shoulder. The material is soft and thin and I like it like that. Of course because it’s so soft and thin it rips when I walk. I should really make getting new ones a priority this week.

* I’ve become quite pathetically addicted to shows like Judge Judy, Trading Spouses, Ready Steady Cook and even…Dr Phil these holidays. If I could find a way to quit my job and still earn money while watching daytime television I would. Daytime television is like crack. You know it’s bad but you can’t stop indulging.

* I’m trying to figure out why I dislike my birthday so much and I think I’ve pretty much figured it out. I somehow don’t ever think I deserve the nice things that people say and do for me on my birthday. It also happens to be a bitch that I haven’t taken over the world yet or even taken over my own life? I seriously thought I’d be married to Tom Selleck and have 3 kids and a pet poodle by now. I shall have to settle for buying myself Magnum PI on DVD instead. Well, as E said “at least it isn’t you know…30″. I should really make this last year of my twenties something spesh!

The Puzzling Case of the Bad Panettone

Where are the others? The girl says, referring to the empty spaces.

Ha. They not coming is the short answer. The lengthy story doesn’t need to be told, the girl already knows the whys and wheres. It’s the same old, same old.

They sit and eat, and the conversation is lively. Traditional recipes are shared in an offhand manner. The girl knows that these kinds of recipes are not written down in any book nor can they ever be. You learn them by watching and doing never by reading or measuring. She knows she needs to make the time to watch and do, but who has the time for that these days?

The courses are all handmade from scratch or bought from places where they are handmade. Biscuits and sweets from the neighbour, homegrown roasted veggies, consume that has never seen the inside of a carton on the shelves of Safeway. Dessert fresh from the oven.

Old stories are told at one end of the table and new ones are told on the other.

The fruitcake comes out. Delicately sliced, moist pieces sitting gracefully next to the coffee pot and talk turns inevitably to the missing party.

“Did you eat the Panettone (Pah-neh-toh-neh) they gave at Christmas?”

uh oh, the Panettone story.

You wouldn’t think that Panettone, a non-threatening airy, light, dry, traditional christmas fruitcake that is full of yum and a favourite of the girl would cause the problems that is has..

Eat it? As soon as I see it I throw it away!

How dare they! It’s disgusting!

I cut mine and inside it was like a dough!

It was rotten! What are we, not good enough for fresh Panettone?

They keep it for two years and give it away at Christmas.

The accusations are shouted clearly into the small lit room and soon everyone is shouting and howling with laughter as the matron tells her story.

One year, they give me Panettone and I put it on the shelf. I buy the good Panettone for my friend but when we go to visit I realise that I have taken the bad Panettone by mistake. You can’t go inside the house with nothing so I have to give the bad Panettone. You know what? My friend, she call me the next day and she says to me “You need to be careful where you buy your Panettone because this was not good”. I never felt so ashamed so I call up Y and I tell her “you need to be careful where you buy the Panettone because you made a mistake with this one!”

Every year it is the same story with the Panettone. Bad food is a grave insult. Rotten one is a death wish.

But what to do about the case of the bad Panettone?

The girl has an idea.

At Christmas, no one makes any dessert. When they come with the Panettone you serve it that night and give them the first piece. You say “This is the Panettone that Y bought! Everyone enjoy” and then you see if they ever bring a bad Panettone again.

The family screams with laughter.

Revenge is the best medicine.

Felicita – Al Bano and Romina Power

Yes, yes this is quite possibly the un-cool song ever to grace my MM buuuut, it fits.