Looky, I made a weird new header for the blog! Sorry it’s a bit crappy, but I used a terrible online Paint-like program, plus I had to draw it with my laptop touchpad mouse (yes Dad, I know I have the wireless mouse you bought me, but it apparently doesn’t like working on my kitchen table). Do you know how incredibly difficult that is?! So yeah, the illustration of me looks a bit like a crazy cat lady, but oh well.
Anyhoo, actual events are occurring in my life now, holy crap! That reality thing is so annoying, it gets in the way of me sitting around all day watching DVDs of Piorot (I adore that fat little Belgian detective!) and reading Neil Gaiman books, you know? I can’t be bothered to write a chronological narrative about how I’ve been lately, so you’ll have to settle for a list of events in no particular order.
*I got a new flatmate, who I am getting along with already. Upon moving in, she didn’t mind that I had laundry strewn about drying everywhere (nobody warned me she was coming) and we just finished watching a few episodes of Daria together because she mentioned she loves it too after seeing the Daria picture in my header. Needless to say, I can tell we’re going to be friends.
*I did a guest post over at one of my favourite blogs, Popserious. My Mom and Dad are probably going to get mad at me for making fun of the name they gave me now. Sorry.
*I had another patented Why Do Weird People Always Talk to Me? conversation that was along the lines of this:
Metal Dude- “ARE YOU PUMPED FOR CATTLE DECAPITATION?!”
Me- “Um, excuse me?”
Metal Dude- “Cattle Decapitation! Woo!”
Me- “I really hope you’re talking about a band or something...”
Metal Dude- “F____ YEAH! Their album launch party! *guitar riff noise*”
Me- “Er, I hate to break it to you, but The Willows are playing tonight. Not Cattle Slaughter.”
Metal Dude- “I know, Cattle Decapitation are way too big to play here.”
Me- “But aren’t album launches where the bands play live or they at least let everyone preview the album?”
Metal Dude- “Uh, aren’t they playing it now?”
Me- “... They’re playing some emo band’s cover of ‘Umbrella’ by Rhianna. Which is almost the opposite of metal. So, I really don’t even know why you’re here, seems like there is no Cattle Mutilation party.”
Metal Dude- “DECAPITATION! DECAPITATION!”
Security Guy- “Is there a reason you’re threatening to chop the head off this young lady?”
*I watched the Inauguration at 3 am in my pajamas, sobbing at everything from Aretha Franklins hat to the awesome old guy who spoke at the end. When Yo-Yo Ma and his crew played their song I cried extra hard because parts of the melody were from ‘Tis a Gift to be Simple,’ which I used to sing at my Friends School. I can only imagine how incredibly excited the Quaker community is about Obama as the new president. Oh, and I should add that I was watching on the TV in the lobby with five strangers, so weeping (albeit with joy) in front of them was a tad embarrassing.
*At one point in a dream I was having last night, dream me ate a bagel and I woke up incredibly sad because I realized the past six or so months have been bagel-less. They have also been sans pretzel (both soft and the little Herrs ones), Ben & Jerrys, decent potato chip, cheddar cheese, Wawa in general, Butterscotch Krumpet, decent milkshake, hoagie, and Milky Ways. Mostly junk food, yes, but it’s a bit annoying not having anything worth snacking on. Or desserts that cost less than nine freaking dollars.
*While watching 'Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring' for the bazillionth time last week, I made the shocking discovery that Bret from 'Flight of the Conchords' is one of the Elves at the Counsel. He's sitting in the background, but they show him close up for about two seconds right after Frodo stands and declares he'll take the burden of destroying the ring. I then Googled it and turns out a whole bunch of fans thought he was so hot they made a fanpage for him and Peter Jackson put him in the third movie just because the fans demanded it. Hi, I'm a huge nerd that actually finds glee in things like this (even though I feel like a bad LotR fan for not knowing this until now).
*I can play two songs on my ukulele now! ‘Golden Skans’ by Klaxons and ‘Bad Reputation’ by Joan Jett, haha. Believe it or not, they actually sound really cool coming out of a uke. Next, I’m working on ‘Oh, This is Love’ by Hellogoodbye, which was written for the ukelele, so it’s a tad more appropriate.
*I discovered a magic closet of wonder in my flat that I’d previously never thought to look in. And now I have a new shirt and hot Kings of Leon poster that some girl (who I found out didn’t even live in this flat, how weird) abandoned. Finders keepers!
*What the hell, Oscar nominations? You're really lame this year save for nominating Heath Ledger (who we all know is going to win, no contest. I mean, why the hell is Robert Downey Jr. nominated for Tropic Thunder?!) and any of the awards Milk or Wall-E are up for. Geez, even the Grammys seem more interesting than the Oscars this year and I normally can't stand the Grammy awards.
*A very super awesome thing happened, but it’s a long story I’m saving for later because there’s likely to be further developments in the future. Sorry to get all Lost cliffhanger on you guys, but believe me, it may be worth it in a week or so.
Captain Vague signing off duty!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
AAUUUGH!
Watching Alfred Hitchcock movies alone on a Friday night is never a good idea, but I’m a stubborn idiot who felt the urge to see ‘The Birds,’ so that’s precisely what I did. I was camped out in the living room area, where I spend significantly more time now that the entire flat is essentially all mine and because of its close proximity to the kitchen. Pausing to put on an avocado face mask in the bathroom (embarrassing to admit I actually do that sort of thing occasionally), I come back out to find both doors to the balcony wide open. Commence panic. Closing and locking them, I decide to make a cup of tea to calm myself. That and should anyone have snuck in, I can also use the hot water to scald attackers.
But the water had not yet boiled when I heard a door click and footsteps. Three terrifying seconds later I found myself face to face with two guys and a girl, all of us screaming in shock. Before I could get up the courage to ask what the hell was going on, the girl angrily said, “Where is my cake?” This was not what I had expected to hear, so I just stared at her stupidly. Here I was in a bathrobe and produce smeared on my face encountering trespassing strangers wanting random food. The whole situation was like a cliche scene from a Disney Channel movie. All I could say was the very lame, “Actual baked good or like, the band?” I had also considered telling her I’d buy her some if she please didn’t kill or rob me. “It was in the freezer,” she yelled. Oh yeah, there had been a half loaf of pound cake in the freezer, I remembered it now. But I ate that two weeks ago because it was nearing its expiration date and was obviously unclaimed. “You’re the British girl!” I exclaimed, it all finally clicking, “I thought you moved out forever ago.” She explained that she had moved all her things to her boyfriend’s apartment two floors up, but on paper she still lived here. “But the other day I remembered I’d left that cake and now I want it.” It’s been over a month since I’ve seen this girl, I don’t even know her name and now I’m being harassed for something as incredibly stupid as this.
“What’s that black shit on your face and why’s it stank in here?” asked one of the two guys, whom I can only assume were her boyfriend and um, some other guy. “Avocado oxidizes. And the microwave spontaneously combusted a few days ago.” I stammered. Both statements are true answers to his questions, but I didn’t exactly phrase it the right way. The other night I was reading and looked over to see noxious fumes emanating from the empty microwave. Thank goodness I had an already wet tea towel nearby to throw on it and cease the flames, then fanned most of the smoke out so I didn't set off the alarm. I sprayed lots of air freshener, but it’s a bit difficult to get that lingering scent of burnt plastic appliance death. So now my toaster has been kidnapped and my microwave has gone the way of a Spinal Tap drummer. Hopefully the stove top, electric kettle and refrigerator stay loyal to me.
“Yeah, the microwave did that to me once.” British girl said poutily, then she and her dudes left with that. Thanks for scaring the bejeezus out of me, making slightly threatening demands, and not previously warning me about faulty wired deathtraps in our kitchen! After a few minutes processing that whole debacle, I went back to watching Tippi Hedren being dive-bombed by crows.
But the water had not yet boiled when I heard a door click and footsteps. Three terrifying seconds later I found myself face to face with two guys and a girl, all of us screaming in shock. Before I could get up the courage to ask what the hell was going on, the girl angrily said, “Where is my cake?” This was not what I had expected to hear, so I just stared at her stupidly. Here I was in a bathrobe and produce smeared on my face encountering trespassing strangers wanting random food. The whole situation was like a cliche scene from a Disney Channel movie. All I could say was the very lame, “Actual baked good or like, the band?” I had also considered telling her I’d buy her some if she please didn’t kill or rob me. “It was in the freezer,” she yelled. Oh yeah, there had been a half loaf of pound cake in the freezer, I remembered it now. But I ate that two weeks ago because it was nearing its expiration date and was obviously unclaimed. “You’re the British girl!” I exclaimed, it all finally clicking, “I thought you moved out forever ago.” She explained that she had moved all her things to her boyfriend’s apartment two floors up, but on paper she still lived here. “But the other day I remembered I’d left that cake and now I want it.” It’s been over a month since I’ve seen this girl, I don’t even know her name and now I’m being harassed for something as incredibly stupid as this.
“What’s that black shit on your face and why’s it stank in here?” asked one of the two guys, whom I can only assume were her boyfriend and um, some other guy. “Avocado oxidizes. And the microwave spontaneously combusted a few days ago.” I stammered. Both statements are true answers to his questions, but I didn’t exactly phrase it the right way. The other night I was reading and looked over to see noxious fumes emanating from the empty microwave. Thank goodness I had an already wet tea towel nearby to throw on it and cease the flames, then fanned most of the smoke out so I didn't set off the alarm. I sprayed lots of air freshener, but it’s a bit difficult to get that lingering scent of burnt plastic appliance death. So now my toaster has been kidnapped and my microwave has gone the way of a Spinal Tap drummer. Hopefully the stove top, electric kettle and refrigerator stay loyal to me.
“Yeah, the microwave did that to me once.” British girl said poutily, then she and her dudes left with that. Thanks for scaring the bejeezus out of me, making slightly threatening demands, and not previously warning me about faulty wired deathtraps in our kitchen! After a few minutes processing that whole debacle, I went back to watching Tippi Hedren being dive-bombed by crows.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Wiiiiiild Horses
When I was an intern at Citypaper, one of the editors had a running joke about me being the youngest of the group. Everyone else was over 21 and would go out to bars together, especially the one dive bar across the street. The first time I went along and just sat there soberly listening to tipsy journalists tell me about ‘that time they went to Dollywood’ or their cat, Samuel L. Jackson (I will perhaps some day write another post about this, because it’s a pretty funny story). As amusing as that was, I felt a bit left out and from then on only joined my co-workers when they went for the occasional post-work cupcake. Not that eating cupcakes helped my image as the baby of the group. I was assigned to doing the listings for kids activities and walking tours. Which was a bit redundant because 50% of walking tours are things like ‘Tots Explore the Woods!’ The other 45% are home or garden tours designed for all ages but you know only the elderly will show up and the last 5% are prison, ghost, or cemetery tours for history buffs/goths/Halloween.
One day, the editor threw something at me and said in a voice usually reserved for speaking to puppies, “You are going to love this one SO MUCH! It has ponies!” In my hands was a copy of ‘My Horse and Me,’ a computer game obviously intended for 10-year-old girls. The ironic thing being that even my preteen self probably would’ve gagged at the thought of playing this. I had to beat the game and write a review of it over the weekend. Now, I’m horrible at video games, the only ones I can succeed at are things like Myst or Rock Band. Even so, I beat Myst because my Dad helped me and in Rock Band I can only be the singer. Crap as I am at playing video games myself, I love watching other people and screaming at them to "get that guy over there, quick quick, auuuuuuuugh!" My friends refer to this as my ‘Backseat Gaming.’ I overcame all that and though it took almost the whole darn weekend, I achieved victory. The article ended up being one of the most fun things I’ve ever written, and for that reason I want to try it again.
I noticed the other day the library has several computer games that look deliciously stupid and thought it would be interesting to write about them once and a while as filler for when my life is boring. Don’t worry, you need not know anything about or even have an interest in computer games. I use no technical jargon and usually spend most of my review being silly (as you can see from the ‘My Horse and Me’ link above). So expect a few of these in the future, maybe I’ll expand into another one of my favourite subjects: awesomely terrible B-grade movies. I want 2009 to be more witty and less ‘Dear blog, I’m boring. Here’s what I didn’t do today.’
One day, the editor threw something at me and said in a voice usually reserved for speaking to puppies, “You are going to love this one SO MUCH! It has ponies!” In my hands was a copy of ‘My Horse and Me,’ a computer game obviously intended for 10-year-old girls. The ironic thing being that even my preteen self probably would’ve gagged at the thought of playing this. I had to beat the game and write a review of it over the weekend. Now, I’m horrible at video games, the only ones I can succeed at are things like Myst or Rock Band. Even so, I beat Myst because my Dad helped me and in Rock Band I can only be the singer. Crap as I am at playing video games myself, I love watching other people and screaming at them to "get that guy over there, quick quick, auuuuuuuugh!" My friends refer to this as my ‘Backseat Gaming.’ I overcame all that and though it took almost the whole darn weekend, I achieved victory. The article ended up being one of the most fun things I’ve ever written, and for that reason I want to try it again.
I noticed the other day the library has several computer games that look deliciously stupid and thought it would be interesting to write about them once and a while as filler for when my life is boring. Don’t worry, you need not know anything about or even have an interest in computer games. I use no technical jargon and usually spend most of my review being silly (as you can see from the ‘My Horse and Me’ link above). So expect a few of these in the future, maybe I’ll expand into another one of my favourite subjects: awesomely terrible B-grade movies. I want 2009 to be more witty and less ‘Dear blog, I’m boring. Here’s what I didn’t do today.’
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
So This is the New Year
So, how about this 2009? It doesn’t seem much different yet, but I always think that. I had a wonderful time in Sydney with my parents over the holidays. Believe me, I’d like to tell you everything we did. But those of you who know my Dad are probably aware how he packs as much sightseeing and activities he can into one vacation, using the guidebook as his personal Bible. If The Book deem it not worthy, thou must not partake and insteadith goeth somewhere involving much wearing down of thine sandals. The bottoms of my feet had bruises on them from walking so much. I practically have hobbit feet, so how I managed to bruise my thick soles is a mystery to me. And then when I said goodbye at the airport, my soul was bruised... Awwww, lame quasi-pun. But I was sad, especially since it was great having them as company again.
Now I’m back to Apartment 404 (which I like to call ‘404 ERROR!’), where I have no idea if I’m the only one still here. The Spanish girl moved out the day I left for Sydney and a lot of the Chinese girl’s stuff is gone. I thought the latter was staying for several more months, so it’s an absolute mystery. At first I was a bit freaked out, thinking maybe she was secretly a spy and had to flee, or maybe she had a heart attack in her room and now there's a dead body in her locked room I won't know about until I start to smell it decomposing. I need either Hercule Poirot or a Worry Hat. All I know is that she took the toaster, which we split the cost for. If I ever see her again, I am filing for custody. She doesn’t even use it, she neglects it and denies it love! *sob* I had to fry my bread this morning, it’s not the saaaame!
Unusual attachments to lost appliances aside, it’s a bit nice having the whole place to myself. I’m free to have my own little dance party in the living room and sell off the books Spanish flatmate left behind. But once again, I miss my Dad’s nerdy jokes and classic Mom statements such as, “Lizards run like a girl” and "You think he's cute?! But he's all... mincey!" Hell, right about now I wouldn’t even mind repeating the night of New Years Eve. It’s my absolute most dreaded of holidays, more than Valentines Day (because with that you at least get candy) and I’ve loathed it for several years. Despite having to stand around for about six hours in a huge crowd (another thing I’m not a fan of) while Dad herded us to ensure we get ‘the best view of the fireworks,’ I was glad to be there with my parental units. That was one of the first things I thought in 2009, along with, “Oh, please don’t start smacking people!”
This was in reference to the two Flavor of Love rejects (one wearing a ‘Sargent Sexy’ pleather getup and the other in a Playboy Bunny type of costume) standing near me who butted their way through the crowd half an hour before midnight and flirted with an old man to secure a place to stand. One woman yelled at them and it was a sass-fest for the rest of the night. It was pretty ridiculous, but then again, in 2008 the first thing I said was, “Hap-AUUUGH!” because my friend Paige tackled me and in 2007 I think I said, “Woo 2006! Wait...” The first thing I actually vocalized in 2009 was singing along to ‘Use Somebody’ by Kings of Leon, which is my idea of a perfect way to celebrate (as I drowned out the sound of “GET OWT MAH FACE, YOU JUST JEALOUS WE’RE SEXY AND NOT SHORT, UGLY YOU! SHUT UP ‘FORE I MAKE YOU MAH FIRST ENEMY OF THE YEAR!”).
Here’s to the ninth anniversary of millions thinking we were all going to die because of a computer error that never happened! Yay.
Now I’m back to Apartment 404 (which I like to call ‘404 ERROR!’), where I have no idea if I’m the only one still here. The Spanish girl moved out the day I left for Sydney and a lot of the Chinese girl’s stuff is gone. I thought the latter was staying for several more months, so it’s an absolute mystery. At first I was a bit freaked out, thinking maybe she was secretly a spy and had to flee, or maybe she had a heart attack in her room and now there's a dead body in her locked room I won't know about until I start to smell it decomposing. I need either Hercule Poirot or a Worry Hat. All I know is that she took the toaster, which we split the cost for. If I ever see her again, I am filing for custody. She doesn’t even use it, she neglects it and denies it love! *sob* I had to fry my bread this morning, it’s not the saaaame!
Unusual attachments to lost appliances aside, it’s a bit nice having the whole place to myself. I’m free to have my own little dance party in the living room and sell off the books Spanish flatmate left behind. But once again, I miss my Dad’s nerdy jokes and classic Mom statements such as, “Lizards run like a girl” and "You think he's cute?! But he's all... mincey!" Hell, right about now I wouldn’t even mind repeating the night of New Years Eve. It’s my absolute most dreaded of holidays, more than Valentines Day (because with that you at least get candy) and I’ve loathed it for several years. Despite having to stand around for about six hours in a huge crowd (another thing I’m not a fan of) while Dad herded us to ensure we get ‘the best view of the fireworks,’ I was glad to be there with my parental units. That was one of the first things I thought in 2009, along with, “Oh, please don’t start smacking people!”
This was in reference to the two Flavor of Love rejects (one wearing a ‘Sargent Sexy’ pleather getup and the other in a Playboy Bunny type of costume) standing near me who butted their way through the crowd half an hour before midnight and flirted with an old man to secure a place to stand. One woman yelled at them and it was a sass-fest for the rest of the night. It was pretty ridiculous, but then again, in 2008 the first thing I said was, “Hap-AUUUGH!” because my friend Paige tackled me and in 2007 I think I said, “Woo 2006! Wait...” The first thing I actually vocalized in 2009 was singing along to ‘Use Somebody’ by Kings of Leon, which is my idea of a perfect way to celebrate (as I drowned out the sound of “GET OWT MAH FACE, YOU JUST JEALOUS WE’RE SEXY AND NOT SHORT, UGLY YOU! SHUT UP ‘FORE I MAKE YOU MAH FIRST ENEMY OF THE YEAR!”).
Here’s to the ninth anniversary of millions thinking we were all going to die because of a computer error that never happened! Yay.
Monday, December 22, 2008
And a Danny Bonaduce!
Just a quick post made from the airport terminal, where I sit way too early in the morning awaiting my flight to Sydney to spend the holidays with my parents. I had this whole great end of the year thing written, but that on my laptop back at my flat, so much for that idea.
Instead, I'll simply wish everyone a happy holiday and New Year. I leave you with my all time favourite Christmas video, yes, the animations are weird, but stick with it. Never fails to crack me up, I've watched it about 7 times in the past few days.
Have a good one, everybody! Much love.
Instead, I'll simply wish everyone a happy holiday and New Year. I leave you with my all time favourite Christmas video, yes, the animations are weird, but stick with it. Never fails to crack me up, I've watched it about 7 times in the past few days.
Have a good one, everybody! Much love.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Makin' mama so proud
A week or so back, I was on the quest for jobs as usual, this time in Fortitude Valley, and I stopped for some lunch in Gloria Jeans (the way better Australian answer to Starbucks). While ordering, I noticed the cashier was staring at me a bit, almost nervously. I began to panic, running through all the things that could be wrong in my mind. Was I obviously sunburnt and didn’t realize? Was a man with a knife standing behind me? Was there a huge bug on my shirt? And yes, I thought them in that order, which shows you how mixed up my priorities are. I noticed she was about to say something and braced for the worst. “I like your sunnies!” she said sheepishly. I thanked her, wondering where that came from and was about to turn away when she continued. “Um, you’re American, right?” I nodded, still confused. “From where abouts?” I gave her my standard answer, “Philadelphia, it’s about two hours from NYC.” She looked really excited by this and I wondered why it was so interesting that I’m American and have cool sunglasses. “NYC,” she asked gingerly, “where your cousin lives?” Holy crap, how does she know I have a cousin there? Before I could ask, she looked at my shocked face and did a little dance. “I knew it! I knew it! You thought nobody would recognize you, but you look so much like him!” she squealed with glee. I had no idea what she meant, but I knew it was too good to pass up, so I played along. We had the following conversation with me completely improvising:
Me: “Really? Man, I never thought we resembled each other at all.”
Crazy girl: “Well, I mean, not exactly, since he’s a boy. But you really have the same hair and nose.”
Me: “What can I say, those are our best traits.”
Crazy girl: “I bet Ben gave you those sunnies. That was the other thing that made me realize it.”
Me: “Actually, no. I bought these myself. But Ben has a similar pair in red.”
Crazy girl: “Shopping with them must be loads of fun, eh?”
Me: “We are complete shopping whores when I go to NYC. Yup, we raid Beacons Closet, Trash & Vaudeville, you name it.”
Crazy girl: “Ooooh! Have you met Kirsten Dunst?”
Me: “Um, no.”
Crazy girl: “So Andrew and her aren’t really dating?”
Me: “Uh, I’m not at liberty to talk about Kirsten.”
Crazy girl: “Sorry! That was wrong of me to ask. I’m just such a big fan of your cousin! And Ben too, obviously. Will you be there tonight?”
And then it all clicked. She was talking about the band MGMT, who were in Brisbane that night. She thought NYC cousin+ similar hair and nose+ nice sunglasses meant I was cousins with Andrew from MGMT. If having the same schnoz and androgynous messy hair style as rock stars from my tri-state area meant we were related, then I have a way bigger and cooler family than I thought. I once met Adam Green briefly after his concert, he was incredibly high and grabbed my hair, saying, “Hey, we’re twinssss.” With crazy girl’s logic, we must have actually been separated at birth, along with several of The Strokes, Joan Jett, and way more NJ emo bands than I’d like to admit I know of.
Another thing that made this strange scenario even funnier to me was that I’ve been told I am the spitting image of other famous musicians, usually males. The only female celebrity I’ve ever been compared to was Claudette Colbert. A classmate’s mother told me that when I was in seventh grade and I had no idea who she was at the time, but now I’m flattered. My own mother, however, loved to point out I looked just like the lead singer of Fall Out Boy circa 2003. My friends even insisted I dress up as him for Halloween (not much of a stretch because I wore boyish clothes anyway) and people did double takes. He’s a lot heavier and slightly balding now, so that comparison no longer stands. Hey, it’s not so bad though. I’d rather be told I look like the girl version of an attractive guy than have someone say, “Are you Janet Reno’s daughter?” That would be rough.
Cousin? Eh, I can sort of see it...
Me: “Really? Man, I never thought we resembled each other at all.”
Crazy girl: “Well, I mean, not exactly, since he’s a boy. But you really have the same hair and nose.”
Me: “What can I say, those are our best traits.”
Crazy girl: “I bet Ben gave you those sunnies. That was the other thing that made me realize it.”
Me: “Actually, no. I bought these myself. But Ben has a similar pair in red.”
Crazy girl: “Shopping with them must be loads of fun, eh?”
Me: “We are complete shopping whores when I go to NYC. Yup, we raid Beacons Closet, Trash & Vaudeville, you name it.”
Crazy girl: “Ooooh! Have you met Kirsten Dunst?”
Me: “Um, no.”
Crazy girl: “So Andrew and her aren’t really dating?”
Me: “Uh, I’m not at liberty to talk about Kirsten.”
Crazy girl: “Sorry! That was wrong of me to ask. I’m just such a big fan of your cousin! And Ben too, obviously. Will you be there tonight?”
And then it all clicked. She was talking about the band MGMT, who were in Brisbane that night. She thought NYC cousin+ similar hair and nose+ nice sunglasses meant I was cousins with Andrew from MGMT. If having the same schnoz and androgynous messy hair style as rock stars from my tri-state area meant we were related, then I have a way bigger and cooler family than I thought. I once met Adam Green briefly after his concert, he was incredibly high and grabbed my hair, saying, “Hey, we’re twinssss.” With crazy girl’s logic, we must have actually been separated at birth, along with several of The Strokes, Joan Jett, and way more NJ emo bands than I’d like to admit I know of.
Another thing that made this strange scenario even funnier to me was that I’ve been told I am the spitting image of other famous musicians, usually males. The only female celebrity I’ve ever been compared to was Claudette Colbert. A classmate’s mother told me that when I was in seventh grade and I had no idea who she was at the time, but now I’m flattered. My own mother, however, loved to point out I looked just like the lead singer of Fall Out Boy circa 2003. My friends even insisted I dress up as him for Halloween (not much of a stretch because I wore boyish clothes anyway) and people did double takes. He’s a lot heavier and slightly balding now, so that comparison no longer stands. Hey, it’s not so bad though. I’d rather be told I look like the girl version of an attractive guy than have someone say, “Are you Janet Reno’s daughter?” That would be rough.
Cousin? Eh, I can sort of see it...
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Sitting on the dock of the (Byron) Bay- Part 2
Day two in Byron commenced with me sleepily pouring an instant coffee packet into my cup of tea thinking it was sugar, then spitting said concoction all over the kitchen. T, who by some miracle didn’t have a hangover, was watching TV with a middle aged Irish woman that was also annoyingly upbeat at such an early hour. As T tends to do, this woman became her new best friend within minutes of meeting. Soon, the Irish woman was demonstrating her clog dancing for us. I stared, trying to stay awake during her spontaneous talent show, then she announced she was going to get her violin out for an extra treat. Because there’s nothing better than playing a scratchy rendition of an Irish jig for people you just met at 7:00 am. I’m sure the people who were still asleep especially appreciated it. T gave a standing applause and exclaimed, “Omigosh, could I have just like, one quarter of your energy?” I choked on my tea. I know what T meant, but the way she phrased it seemed like she was asking the woman if she could siphon a bit of her soul. If someone had asked me that, I’d instantly be disturbed, but the Irish woman laughed and said “Sure!” She then grabbed T’s hands and made a “swoooop” noise. It was like watching an overly enthusiastic version of the Wonder Twins. I loudly announced I was hungry, in hopes C would come out of the room and we could finally go to breakfast, leaving the madness behind.
Breakfast consisted of a delicious smoothie and T rambling on about how awesome the Irish woman is, like she’d known her for years instead of a half hour. We parted ways with C (she was going snorkeling) and headed for the tour bus that was taking us to a ‘genuine hippie town’ called Nimbin, which T could barely contain her excitement about. I’m quite accustomed to seeing hippies and therefore don’t find them as novel as T does, but the description on the tour pamphlet sounded fun. Plus, I don’t know how to swim, so I couldn’t go with C. The driver/ guide was awesome and played music he’d perfected to go along with the ride. Looking out the window at beautiful Australian countryside landscapes while listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young is indeed oddly fitting. I noticed T had her iPod headphones in, listening to Brittany Spears. “Dammit,” I said, snatching it from her and throwing it into my bag, “You want hippies, you listen to their music!”
About a mile outside of Nimbin, the driver pulled over and asked if anyone was an undercover cop. “You have to admit you are if asked,” he said, matter of factly. Nobody was, and he went into a long prepared story about marijuana and the laws of Australia. I had an idea what was getting on, but T was frantic. We finally drove into Nimbin, an incredibly small town in the middle of nowhere. Yup, it was essentially a tourist spot for people looking to easily score pot. T became so paranoid, you’d think she was on the stuff herself. “THESE AREN’T HIPPIES! THEY’RE... THEY’RE... DRUGGIES!” she hissed, clinging to my arm. I told her that druggies evokes the idea of a heroin addict passed out in an alley, these people around us were merely stoners. She didn’t care, they were the same in her eyes. Now, I don’t smoke pot, but in my opinion, it isn’t a big deal and T was way overreacting. One of my favourite moments was when a groovy older woman with silver hair in pigtails came up to us offering us cake and cookies. I politely declined and T said, “Hey, you didn’t ask me! I want cake!” I laughed, “Not that kind of cake.” T got all wide eyed, the concept of drugs in baked goods was clearly unknown to her. “That cool old lady, she was trying to sell us POT in CAKE?! How was I supposed to know that? I’m not from Philadelphia like you.” T has never been to Philly, but for some reason she thinks it’s this crazy place straight out of Grand Theft Auto and it’s a miracle I’ve survived the rough and tumble streets for so long.
Nimbin is best explained by the following pictures I took in the strange town ‘museum,’ a wonderful place full of random crap that creeped T out and made me giggle. Sadly, I couldn’t get a good quality photo of the black light room plastered with glowing velvet Unicorn and mushroom posters.
Dinosaurs, the Virgin Mary, an X-Files type of slogan, and a disembodied Bart Simpson head in the background. Quite possibly the best ‘museum installation’ I have ever seen.
We spent the remaining time eating goats milk ice cream (better than it sounds and T made me try it first in case it was ‘laced with something’) under a tent watching a guy with a banjo called Old Dan play weird songs. First he treated us to a version of ‘Honky Tonk Badonkadonk,’ then an original ditty that made me laugh so hard I wrote down the lyrics:
“My secret lover has a filmy negligee/
When our love was over, she said I didn’t have to pay/
I asked her why our love time was free/
Then she said, ‘Sealey’s Mattress sponsors me.’”
Back on the bus, T couldn’t wait to leave ‘the druggies’ and I chuckled, wondering how long it would take her to realize a good 80% of our fellow passengers were baked out of their minds. One Japanese girl sitting in front of us fell asleep and woke up repeatedly like she had narcolepsy, then stared at her hand for fifteen minutes. We drove through the rainforest on our way to a waterfall and the driver played a techno song because they used to have raves in the forest and the loud music was the only way you could find where the party was located. The techno music had a particularly interesting affect on the reefer crew. I think one of the reasons I don’t drink much or do drugs is that I get a lot more enjoyment out of watching other people who are drunk or stoned. It just amuses me way more than it should. I kind of wish I had let T get that piece of cake, as a sort of evil experiment to see how she’d react, but then again, she probably would’ve just been extra annoying. The waterfall was beautiful, but after I got a few pictures, it began pouring.
Our next stop was a random fellow’s macadamia nut farm, but because of the rain, we were unable to go anywhere on his property but a little cabin overlooking a pond. This is what greeted us on our way to the cabin:
He informed us these heaps of artistically arranged junk have been in the works for the thirty years he’s lived in Australia. Originally from somewhere in New York, he asked if there were any other Americans in the group. T, a couple from California, and I raised our hands. “I bet you’re all glad Obama won the election! Maybe now I can go back and visit the US again!” he bellowed. T winced a bit and diverted her gaze. I cracked a macadamia nut and willed the old hippie to notice her expression. “Why that look? You vote for Nader?” he asked. I could barely contain my excitement. T vs. Old Hippie Smackdown 2008! “Yeah.” she lied, knowing very well what would happen if she told the truth. Dammit. The last time she got in an argument about politics, her opposition asked what a “bright young woman like her would be doing voting McCain” and her defense was the dazzling gem of a comeback “Heidi and LC from ‘The Hills’ are voting for him too!” Disappointed, I ate more macadamia nuts than I’ve probably had in my entire life and took more photos.
This picture isn’t blurry because of my camera, but because that’s just how incredibly hard the rain was falling.
The ride back to Byron Bay was filled with even more excellent music and then we ran back to the share house shrieking after getting dropped off in the peak of bad weather. C had a good time and her session fortunately ended before the storm hit. Walking home, she discovered Cheeky Monkeys wasn’t open that night, so we opted for Japanese food instead. Back at the share house, it was more story time and violin recital with crazy Irish lady, her German friend occasionally chipping in sarcastically. “Is she always like this?” I asked in German, not wanting to offend the Irish woman. The German woman sighed and nodded. Oooh, I know all too well how German lady feels. My friendship with T is very much like that of Daria and Quinn Morgendorfer, minus the sister part. I once pointed this out to T, who of course had no idea what I was referring to. I showed her a few episodes and her response was the very appropriate, “You’re right! That’s soooo totally us!”
Day three was spent wandering a huge artist community in the cold rain looking for a particular glass artist T’s Mom once saw on TV. It sounds like a lot of interesting stories could come from that, but nope. Barely anything was open and when we finally found the place, T marveled at everything in there, but ended up not buying anything. I would have yelled at her, but I was too cold. The two and a half hour bus ride to Brisbane made me car sick and I had a grand ol’ time holding back vomit for two of those hours. Do you know how disgusting/painful that is? Very much so on both counts. So there you go, Byron Bay was not quite the beachy vacation I’d hoped, but it was certainly interesting save for the last day. T still tells me she misses the Irish woman, by the way.
Breakfast consisted of a delicious smoothie and T rambling on about how awesome the Irish woman is, like she’d known her for years instead of a half hour. We parted ways with C (she was going snorkeling) and headed for the tour bus that was taking us to a ‘genuine hippie town’ called Nimbin, which T could barely contain her excitement about. I’m quite accustomed to seeing hippies and therefore don’t find them as novel as T does, but the description on the tour pamphlet sounded fun. Plus, I don’t know how to swim, so I couldn’t go with C. The driver/ guide was awesome and played music he’d perfected to go along with the ride. Looking out the window at beautiful Australian countryside landscapes while listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young is indeed oddly fitting. I noticed T had her iPod headphones in, listening to Brittany Spears. “Dammit,” I said, snatching it from her and throwing it into my bag, “You want hippies, you listen to their music!”
About a mile outside of Nimbin, the driver pulled over and asked if anyone was an undercover cop. “You have to admit you are if asked,” he said, matter of factly. Nobody was, and he went into a long prepared story about marijuana and the laws of Australia. I had an idea what was getting on, but T was frantic. We finally drove into Nimbin, an incredibly small town in the middle of nowhere. Yup, it was essentially a tourist spot for people looking to easily score pot. T became so paranoid, you’d think she was on the stuff herself. “THESE AREN’T HIPPIES! THEY’RE... THEY’RE... DRUGGIES!” she hissed, clinging to my arm. I told her that druggies evokes the idea of a heroin addict passed out in an alley, these people around us were merely stoners. She didn’t care, they were the same in her eyes. Now, I don’t smoke pot, but in my opinion, it isn’t a big deal and T was way overreacting. One of my favourite moments was when a groovy older woman with silver hair in pigtails came up to us offering us cake and cookies. I politely declined and T said, “Hey, you didn’t ask me! I want cake!” I laughed, “Not that kind of cake.” T got all wide eyed, the concept of drugs in baked goods was clearly unknown to her. “That cool old lady, she was trying to sell us POT in CAKE?! How was I supposed to know that? I’m not from Philadelphia like you.” T has never been to Philly, but for some reason she thinks it’s this crazy place straight out of Grand Theft Auto and it’s a miracle I’ve survived the rough and tumble streets for so long.
Nimbin is best explained by the following pictures I took in the strange town ‘museum,’ a wonderful place full of random crap that creeped T out and made me giggle. Sadly, I couldn’t get a good quality photo of the black light room plastered with glowing velvet Unicorn and mushroom posters.
Dinosaurs, the Virgin Mary, an X-Files type of slogan, and a disembodied Bart Simpson head in the background. Quite possibly the best ‘museum installation’ I have ever seen.
We spent the remaining time eating goats milk ice cream (better than it sounds and T made me try it first in case it was ‘laced with something’) under a tent watching a guy with a banjo called Old Dan play weird songs. First he treated us to a version of ‘Honky Tonk Badonkadonk,’ then an original ditty that made me laugh so hard I wrote down the lyrics:“My secret lover has a filmy negligee/
When our love was over, she said I didn’t have to pay/
I asked her why our love time was free/
Then she said, ‘Sealey’s Mattress sponsors me.’”
Back on the bus, T couldn’t wait to leave ‘the druggies’ and I chuckled, wondering how long it would take her to realize a good 80% of our fellow passengers were baked out of their minds. One Japanese girl sitting in front of us fell asleep and woke up repeatedly like she had narcolepsy, then stared at her hand for fifteen minutes. We drove through the rainforest on our way to a waterfall and the driver played a techno song because they used to have raves in the forest and the loud music was the only way you could find where the party was located. The techno music had a particularly interesting affect on the reefer crew. I think one of the reasons I don’t drink much or do drugs is that I get a lot more enjoyment out of watching other people who are drunk or stoned. It just amuses me way more than it should. I kind of wish I had let T get that piece of cake, as a sort of evil experiment to see how she’d react, but then again, she probably would’ve just been extra annoying. The waterfall was beautiful, but after I got a few pictures, it began pouring.
Our next stop was a random fellow’s macadamia nut farm, but because of the rain, we were unable to go anywhere on his property but a little cabin overlooking a pond. This is what greeted us on our way to the cabin:
He informed us these heaps of artistically arranged junk have been in the works for the thirty years he’s lived in Australia. Originally from somewhere in New York, he asked if there were any other Americans in the group. T, a couple from California, and I raised our hands. “I bet you’re all glad Obama won the election! Maybe now I can go back and visit the US again!” he bellowed. T winced a bit and diverted her gaze. I cracked a macadamia nut and willed the old hippie to notice her expression. “Why that look? You vote for Nader?” he asked. I could barely contain my excitement. T vs. Old Hippie Smackdown 2008! “Yeah.” she lied, knowing very well what would happen if she told the truth. Dammit. The last time she got in an argument about politics, her opposition asked what a “bright young woman like her would be doing voting McCain” and her defense was the dazzling gem of a comeback “Heidi and LC from ‘The Hills’ are voting for him too!” Disappointed, I ate more macadamia nuts than I’ve probably had in my entire life and took more photos.
This picture isn’t blurry because of my camera, but because that’s just how incredibly hard the rain was falling.
The ride back to Byron Bay was filled with even more excellent music and then we ran back to the share house shrieking after getting dropped off in the peak of bad weather. C had a good time and her session fortunately ended before the storm hit. Walking home, she discovered Cheeky Monkeys wasn’t open that night, so we opted for Japanese food instead. Back at the share house, it was more story time and violin recital with crazy Irish lady, her German friend occasionally chipping in sarcastically. “Is she always like this?” I asked in German, not wanting to offend the Irish woman. The German woman sighed and nodded. Oooh, I know all too well how German lady feels. My friendship with T is very much like that of Daria and Quinn Morgendorfer, minus the sister part. I once pointed this out to T, who of course had no idea what I was referring to. I showed her a few episodes and her response was the very appropriate, “You’re right! That’s soooo totally us!”
Day three was spent wandering a huge artist community in the cold rain looking for a particular glass artist T’s Mom once saw on TV. It sounds like a lot of interesting stories could come from that, but nope. Barely anything was open and when we finally found the place, T marveled at everything in there, but ended up not buying anything. I would have yelled at her, but I was too cold. The two and a half hour bus ride to Brisbane made me car sick and I had a grand ol’ time holding back vomit for two of those hours. Do you know how disgusting/painful that is? Very much so on both counts. So there you go, Byron Bay was not quite the beachy vacation I’d hoped, but it was certainly interesting save for the last day. T still tells me she misses the Irish woman, by the way.
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