Scrappy-Do

My dear kindergarten teacher suggested that I should scrapbook my life. My life! This has been more tricky than first thought, for various reasons: firstly, I'm assuming most people choose pay tribute to somewhat smaller events, like a holiday or a birthday. A whole life is quite an undertaking for my first foray into the scrapbooking, but maybe I'm just being a wimp about that. Another sticking point has been not having immediate access to the type of stuff that should go in - I did salvage some interesting flotsam and jetsam when I was last visiting Mum and Dad, drawings and stories I wrote as a child, photos and things like that, but then me being flakey lost the scans and the printouts. I got part of the way through my scrapbook, but I got lost in the middle there someplace.

In my newfound wisdom of the big 3-0, I am compromising with a smaller project: our recent holiday. It is a lot easier to swallow since I've got all the bits and pieces collected from the month - photographs, ticket stubs, flyers and other interesting stuff from the trip. Awesome sister Becky got me an equally awesome photo book for my birthday, so this leaves me with all of my resources and no more excuses.

I'm posting, I'm posting

Alright. Here it is. I am sitting down in front of a computer and my fingers are moving across the keyboard in a way that correlates with the appearance of words on a screen, and this is enough to be considered "forward progress". As happens in Teh Blogosphere (a large continent of Teh Internetz), sometimes you fall off the wagon and the longer you wait to get back on, the more you have to say, the more daunting the task of restarting, and the more confusing the relevance (or non-relevance) of things becomes. Needless to say, I am already rambling somewhat, but it is momentum and therefore I am running with it.

Yes I turned thirty (hoorah!). Yes I failed to complete many tasks on my thirty list, for various reasons. I have a note from my mother, sir. I didn't forge her signature, I swear. I don't regret my failings as much as perhaps I should, but instead I am ruminating on many things, both expected and non-expected, and enjoying a cooling off period. I may have had a teensy tiny freak out about "life" somewhere in there -I think this is a pre-requisite of thirty-dom - and as a result I have not returned to my second job and instead am blissfully able to allow myself some headspace between the first job (more specifically, the gruelling commute), the two bands (both are excellent, thanks for asking), and doing things normal people do such as chores and groceries and grooming (my hair looks like that? Why didn't anyone tell me?).

I feel better already.

We got rid of that beastly car and upgraded to a trusty Toyota Corolla. His name is Chairman Kaga, the Xtra Good Vehicle, and he likes capsicums. He is also an automatic, which means I can already achieve a status reminiscent of driving without having to panic about what the clutch is doing and which gear I am in and what the hell why is the engine stopping???? Ben says "see? It's like driving a go-kart". It is true!

Okay well I best not get too ambitious at this point. There has been a long hiatus and I might pull a muscle or something.

Winter Ball

Hello! My name is Dee and I'm officially 30 years old (and thirty-six days, if we're being pedantic). So far, so good. I apologise for my virtual absence as I have been busy getting lost in Tokyo, eating crispy duck pancakes in London, and being mooed at by hairy coo in Perthshire, Scotland. We returned to Sydney a few days ago via a grueling 27 hours in transit, and are mostly through the veil of jetlag that tends to cloud most brain activity after such a thing.

Here is a coo I prepared earlier - pic courtesy of Becky P

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, though, I can recall that we held a Winter Ball. We did! Our lovely friends Mushu and Jimi Linton (from Ranger Spacey) were charitable enough to join us at the Oxford Art Factory and donate their time for the cause, which was Northcott Disability Services, an organisation which helps support families living with spina bifida and other lesser known disabilities. The wonderful Carol helped us to make it all happen in a legal sense.

What a ball. Many of the crowd showed up in their finest (Jimi's Colonel Sanders tie and trucker cap combo was particularly inspiring) and the room was packed out. Unfortunately the only photo I took was this one:

Accurate signage

At the end of the evening, we had raised $606.90 for Northcott. Considering that we weren't sure if anyone would show up at all, this was a pretty mammoth effort. The Gallery Bar only holds about one hundred punters and I reckon we got them all in there. I was hoping to make $500 to at least have the "500" from the original challenge still upheld in there somewhere; we were stoked to have smashed it.

And Dusker did alright. We sounded mostly like this (handsome man responsible for filming this video asks for forgiveness for drunken zooming).

Birthday time!

Happy birthday, me - have some whooping cough and a sinus infection!

I've been trying to speak as little as possible for the 48 hours leading up to the gig so that I might actually get through it. I wish I didn't feel this shabby. I think I will go back to sleep now. It's my birthday and I can sleep all I want to! Wish me luck for this evening.

x

Uh, I'm sorry, what?

So, like, I turned around, and thirty was staring me in the face, kind of like this:


As you can see, I fell off the band wagon a little bit. Sorry about that.

A few weeks ago, I read this blog post. The timing was impeccable. My feelings at the time were reflected in Jan's realisation: goals should not be chores. And for her to write that post at almost the exact point I felt it, with her doing a similar 30 before 30 and a birthday only four days after mine... it was too poignant.

I don't feel disappointed or regretful about the last few months. The only thing I really feel sad about is letting other people down. People were excited about the concept, I put a lot of faith in my 29 and most of them returned that faith. I gave almost every task I was given a good shot, although full completion of tasks is a little more sketchy. It felt so invigorating to make and re-make those connections with people, to feel a rush of expectation, to be inspired, to be challenged. But somewhere between July 22nd 2010 and now, stuff changed. Personally, I feel that some of that stuff might not have changed were it not for this project, even indirectly, and it is for the better. It has been not only a good lesson in self-evaluation, but a valuable lesson in what we can and can't control. And some things we can't control include idiot bosses, school holidays, cars that choose to break down every second day, the weather, people who won't answer emails, the fact there are only twenty-four hours in a day and seven days in a week, and also that no matter what I say "yes" to or how I choose to spike my hair , I am not Danny Wallace. Fortunately.

Most of all, I am still bristling with the joy of turning 30 (although it still feels very distant, I'm sure that will change in a few days), and with the accomplishments of the past year.

Oh, and I guess I should probably tell you about this:

WINTER BALL! Please help us raise some money for spina bifida services.

On my 29th birthday, Ben brought all of the postcards to the restaurant, and after dinner he relished in reading them out to me, one by one. Katie's postcard, instructing me to "hold a fundraising ball for the charity of your choice for 500 people", was the very first one. Can you imagine that? Eating an amazing meal and getting ready to hear 29(ish) pieces of your destiny, and that's the FIRST ONE. I nearly forewent desert. Nearly.

For some reason, it was very important that this - in many people's eyes the most difficult of the tasks - not go undone. I realise that we will probably not get 500 people there, but it otherwise fits the brief. All of the acts are going to be wearing formal gear, which is going to be so much rad, and we're encouraging the punters to as well. And with any luck, we'll make some extra cash for Northcott Disability Services. So if you're in the Sydney area, please come - Gallery Bar @ Oxford Art Factory, this Friday. Don't buy me a drink, just chuck a fiver into the donation tin.

"I'm not thirty yet," she grinned.

Giving blood, 2.0

With my own blood-donation song annoyingly looped in my brain chamber, I was steeled for my belated second round on Saturday (although I tried to appear nonchalant, I'm not sure I pulled it off). This time I went to the main donor centre at Town Hall - what a massive difference to the mobile unit! They had those dentist-style chairs that go up and down. I'm easily impressed by such things. The whole facility was decked out clean and white, and I even had the pleasure of being able to watch Ben 10 on the telly while they hooked me up. And as much as I'd joked about it, I was actually totally unaware that the previous hideous bruise I had nursed was not the norm. This time around I've got barely a puncture mark. Smooth.

Needle insertion point carefully obscured for queasier readers

They made such a lovely big deal about it being my 'first time' before, I was expecting it to be very ho-hum this time. But they gave me a keyring with my blood type on it to say thanks for not being a total wussbag and coming back a second time! (see, told you I was easily impressed).

No Mars Bar this time. In response to donor surveying there are now 'healthier options' for your post-donation snack, and it being 11am I was fine with that. The nice lady made me a caramel milkshake and I had a gigantic piece of raisin toast. It was all very civilised and made me forget that I was about to go into a 10-hour merch shift.

Toast and milkshake noms

Mutations

I was revisiting Beck's "Mutations" album yesterday. MAN. It's like wearing a warm liquid suit. Mmm, comfy.

Sometimes I get a chance to listen to the music I love again, and I hear beautiful drones forming, or feel little sparks of light in happy areas of my brain. I think the dead zone of musicality I've been wedged in for so long like some kind of tuneless Aron Ralston is mostly due to not having the same access to my music as I used to. It's very silly. I blame iPhone. I still have an iPod nano somewhere I should be using, I should really dig it out so I can at least have nuggets of my collection.

Thanks for your help on that one, Visual Thesaurus.

Anyway my point is, that's a great album, and it gave me ideas. Ideas. I don't get those very often.

Perhaps ironically, Jacob and Bart, the two fine chaps who suggested I channel my creative energy into the form of a song per month (each), are heinously prolific. Or perhaps that is the opposite of ironic. I can't decide.

For example: Bart created the artwork for this album for Jacob, just for kicks. Jacob then took it upon himself to make the fictional songs real. What a beautiful freak!

As Jacob becomes more involved in the songwriting, my contributions get smaller. I have no problems with that, particularly because some of our best stuff has been initiated by his newfound genius, but it does give my own typical nervous energy a tiny sense of, well, redundancy. I realise this is melodramatic at best. Fortunately as the singer, my position is assured for a while, anyway.

Being in the studio is pretty much the best of all things, especially when there is also chocolate inside said studio. Hearing songs that I've nurtured since the babydom of a few strummed guitar chords grow into strong melodic creatures of their own is hugely rewarding. You should hear what Mallow grew into. She's a force to be reckoned with.

That was a long winded way of saying: music breeds music. I will write more when I take the time to listen more, and awaken that magic little feeling again.

Also, I just received a text from Jacob, saying he just wanted to say hi. My band has awesome people in it.

Tick tock!

So Ben has gone into "holiday training". He's riding his bike loads, swimming during his lunch breaks, and wearing in his new skateboard like a bucketful of gnar. Also, he is doing loads of writing, which is spectacular - I think that me being away most nights selling t-shirts helps.

Yes, it's me, the disappointment you've all been waiting for. I'm 8 songs behind, the band never played in Bathurst (and now the Buckleys have moved to Scone, so the challenge is kind of moot anyway), schools were harder things to infiltrate than first thought, I still don't have my licence, and I somehow never made it on TV.

I guess priorities changed. I still blame the pure evil that was my former workplace for this spiral of desperation and general chaos, although I wholeheartedly know that leaving was the best decision I could have made. I also blame the car for shaking any faith I had in my driving abilities and for taking all our money. Putting more energy back into the band was another factor that veered me off course for a while and took any spare change left behind the couch.

BUT ALL IS NOT LOST! There are still 62 days left. That's two whole months! That's more than 8 weeks! Loads of time...

I am still hoping to:
- Complete the Coast Track. In winter. It's going to be awful and I might get cold and cry. But it will also be a bit beautiful and maybe we will sit around a bonfire and roast marshmallows and that would be nice.
- Finish the harbour walks. According to Wikipedia, "the perimeter of the estuary is 317kms". Stupid giant harbour! If this was any other harbour I'd have seen it all by now!
- Get my break dance skillz.
- Finish my scrapbook.
- Do my Yeats artwork (I was originally planning to use a digital medium, but then I remembered I suck at that. I'm going old skool and buying me a canvas).
- Cook Heath a lasagne.

And the fundraising ball (or at least, as close as I can get to it)!! All I'm saying is, keep Friday 22nd July free, people. What better way to cap off a whole year than by celebrating the hell out of it for a good cause?

As for the in-betweens, well, we'll see how we get on. I can't afford to take a weekend trail ride, but I will take another horseriding lesson. A couple of times, it was almost like the band nearly was about to consider making a video clip. Now it's really happening, but it won't be finished in time to count. We'll have finished filming it, but editing... not so much. I've not joined a local theatre group and performed in a Shakespearean play - but I have been employed at Australia's most well regarded Shakespeare company. I can't help but think that must count for something. It has been great to be reminded of how much I dig the Bard.

I'm now secure in the knowledge that I'm employed at least until we leave for the holiday, so I can relax a little and get to meditating on all this again. Or just plain meditating.

A story

My Mum told me the most amazing story the other day. About how her and Dad got married on a Monday. And how they went to the church in Manila and by coincidence, her old theology teacher from college was officiating the marriage. Who she used to have a crush on. And how happy she was to unexpectedly have him there, because he had been such a great teacher.

I think this is my new favourite story.

HIIIIIIIIII

Hey! I'm writing a blog! Hello! What have you been up to? O RLY? Cool. Yeah me too.

So six weekends of pre-wedding parties, hens nights, engagement parties and actual weddings has been awesomely fun. But I would like my life back now. This is on top of the Day Job v Night Job juggling, with some days finishing at one place at 5.30pm and beginning at the next at 6pm. Now you're starting to get an idea of The Tiredness: a phenomenon rendering me without the energy to finish full blog posts. Heck, even full sentences become too much of a

Can I have a chocolate bar?

The good news is, the temp job I was supposed to have for three weeks at Prestigious Theatre Company got extended for a week, and then another week, and now they've hired somebody but he can't start for a month. So I've got a whole month more to luxuriate in being able to pay rent. Hoorah and stuff! It's a beautiful thing.

The only thing left veering me off the ABT race track and slamming me into the wall of tyres also known as 'failure' is the band's rehearsal and recording schedule, which is about to take off in a big way. Sure, it is going to be all kinds of rad to finally get an aural snapshot of the band circa 2011, but it may also bankrupt us. Hence, I keep working two jobs.

(If you fancy giving us a little push and don't already own a copy of our previous EP, you can download it at Bandcamp - please excuse shameless self-promotion).

I should really do a comprehensive post on where everything is at, but the short version is that there hasn't really been progress on anything. Even the Japanese, which is the only thing I was getting anywhere with.

In other news, I'm proudly banjo-sitting for the next 18 months while Alex is off in the UK being smart at a university or something (oh and also getting married). I have already discerned that all Sufjan Stevens banjo tabs on the net are rubbish, so I am getting my ear tuned up. Hopefully this will inspire me to catch up with all those songs I have yet to write.

I should probably post a picture of something to make this post feel a little more entertaining than it actually is. In that case, here's a picture of me getting ready to go to roller derby.

You're welcome.

The Amazing Race!

The Australian version of The Amazing Race is finally going to air next week, so I think it's pretty safe to assume that we didn't make it onto the show, then.

This is why.



In our defence, it was 3am and we couldn't figure out how to put the photographs the right way up. Also, we had underestimated just how damned interesting we are and so were forced to cull this from about 11 minutes worth of us talking shit incredible footage to fit the 3 minute brief.

Happier in the Canyon

Seeing as songwriting is about the only thing I've done lately that even remotely relates to this blog, I'm going to milk it. The surprise song has been utilised as a weapon of love on the occasion of our guitarist's engagement party. A weapon of love. This band is dangerous, man. We make people cry. Curse this talent!

The song is called "Happier in the Canyon" and Jacob started writing it as an ode to the day he proposed to his lady love. He wrote all the music and some words in the bridge and then went "uuh, I don't know how to finish this" and asked if I'd help him make it into a real song. Of course I obliged. I wrote some stuff about rivers and stars and life journeys and it was all very straightforward and simple and sweet. I'm usually a bit uncomfortable being so direct in love songs. But, sometimes when you know the purpose of the song, it just kind of writes itself. And best of all, I think she liked it.

Stay awesome, LCD Soundsystem.

Just because I know I won't have time to do a proper blog tomorrow, here's a video commemorating the fact that LCD Soundsystem will be playing their last gig. Ever. It makes me a bit sad when I think too much about it. So I won't think too much about it.

My last day working with them was almost 3 years ago to the day, at Le Bataclan in Paris. Apparently I was in Paris. I didn't see any of Paris. But everyone was speaking French, so I must have been somewhere in the vicinity. It was a rushed day, and James was throwing away his tour shoes, so I asked him to give them to me and I'd see how much I could sell them for at the merch desk (the answer was 2 euros). In Barcelona a few days earlier, the band had let me play with them during soundcheck which was fricking cool. It was the repeated piano part for a track called "All My Friends". That night in Paris, they started playing it, and I suddenly remembered they were leaving for New York, and I wasn't able to go with them, and I'd have to go back to my crummy little flat in London that I'd not even lived in yet, and I dissolved into a complete sobfest. It might have been considered pathetic, if only Amos the tour manager had not appeared out of nowhere that very moment and gave me a huge hug while they performed it. And when it finished, they all waved and yelled at me from the stage and hollered that they loved me, in front of 1500 sweaty French punk ravers. I stood on the merch table and bowed.

This was that song.

G'deve.

I don't think "G'deve" is a real term. But I'm an Australian and I vote and its past midnight so I can says whatever words I please. I'm sitting in my darkened lounge room with the remnants of my candles burning post-Earth Hour. Husband is off galavanting somewhere on a river boat with 13 other lads in a show of "hetero-masculine tradition" (otherwise known as a bucks party) and hence this is my second night alone in the house of Desmond and why I am sitting up in the lounge room in front of the computer at silly o'clock with my poncho on askew. It's a bit weird, but still distantly familiar.

Anyhoo. While I'm waiting for the folks upstairs to turn their music off, I will type some words and see if any of them are interesting.

I guess my general situation just now is important for contextualising my virtual absence. I fell back into my merch roots and have picked up a few shifts a week selling such things as t-shirts and the occasional babushka doll, for various theatre shows. Today I did Riverdance at the Capitol. OhmygodsomuchEnya. So it is nice to have some work to do that isn't too taxing and I know I am good at (although the Enya part not so nice). While most of the folks there are a little less enthusiastic than me, I am running with my early eagerness in case the novelty peters out. But I like asking the little girls if they know how to dance, and I'm not yet tired of middle-aged men commenting on how tired my arm must get holding that programme up in the air all night. And I've lost count of how many people I've made laugh. I'd say at least seven. It isn't the ideal scenario (working nights while Ben works days), and the pay isn't amazing, but it makes me feel good, which is more than I can say for any other work I've done in the last year or so.

Next week I start temping with a prestigious theatre company and it is VERY EXCITING even though I am just doing reception and such. I've also got another interview on Monday with another creative company so things are rolling in the right direction. I'm hoping to carry on doing the merch shifts for as long as I can without falling over from exhaustion. Funds have been dangerously low and so this double earning means I can finally get back on the metaphorical horse again. If it continues well I can also afford to get back on an actual physical horse again. Win-win.

Band activities have also stepped up due to a long overdue photo shoot followed by a stint in the studio recording a hit single. And also rediscovering Pop Tarts. Seriously, how good are Pop Tarts. The chocolate ones. Trying to get 5 people in the same room at the same time with instruments is becoming slowly more difficult, so this has become a priority again. Between this and the shift work I decided to quit choir. Sad but necessary. Perhaps I will take it up again later in the year. Also I need to write more songs. There have been a couple. One I can't really talk about yet. It's a surprise (not for you, but I still can't talk about it). The latest one is called "Frozenlake" and I guess I'll post my horrible demo of it sometime after the band have had a good listen to it. Harmonies are fun.

So that, dear reader, is what I've been doing for the past month or so instead of breakdancing or volunteering at a school. Sorry. I do, however, have 4 more months up my sleeve. Alright, yes, I'm wearing a poncho. But you get the gist of it.

I'm going to bed now. In the meantime here's a video completely unrelated to All.Before.Thirty but shows you what my band have been doing. Mostly being quite silly.

An open letter to The Car

Car,

You are no doubt aware of the care, attention and money that Ben and I have poured into you. The way we washed and buffed you in an attempt to bond. The way we changed you from a young hoon's doof-machine to a clean respectable vehicle. The way we tried not to lose our minds every time you decided to stop running for no apparent reason in the middle of heavy traffic.

I have less than four months now in which to successfully learn to drive and get my provisional licence.

Do the math. Your days are numbered.

Regards,
Dee

Harbour walks: Milsons Point to Woolwich - Leg 1

I don’t think my skin has been this brown since primary school, when we were made to go to swimming classes each morning in the summer. Being from Scotland, it was Ben’s parents’ prerogative to spend as much time soaking up vitamin D as possible while they were here. But it made me tired. Embarrassingly so. But thank goodness for them, otherwise this harbour thing was going to get away from me, I think. 30 km in 2 days – 14.5 in the first, and 15.5 in the second – was far more than I would ever have done on my own. High fives for playing tourist in your own town.

The first trick was to get a multi-trip pass that allowed us to get on and off all trains, buses and ferries for a week. The walks were organised as such that we would be trekking between ferry terminals, a short distance by water, considerably longer by foot as the shoreline meandered in tentacle-like shapes away from the middle of the harbour. Day 1 started from Luna Park, went around Lavender Bay and McMahons Point, Berrys Bay and Balls Head, Berry Island and Gore Cove to finish at Greenwich Point.

The boarded walk from Luna Park to Lavender Bay is rather nice – gardens hiding funny little sculptures, including Blinky Bill and Nutsy who along with Enid Blyton were pretty much solely responsible for my childhood devouring of books. Wendy Whiteley’s garden is also worth a visit. Views of the harbour from the top of the stairs were exquisite, although views of thousands of spiders perching atop gnarly webs, not so much. From McMahons Point, we followed the water around to Blues Point. Did you know that this is the only part of the whole city where you can stand directly opposite from the centre of the Harbour Bridge? Me neither.



After a while, I must admit I started to get Bridge fatigue. It’s hard to get sick of the sight of it normally, but taking new photos at every slight variation in height from sea level and angle from shore slowly became more tiresome. Except it is such a lovely dang bridge. You want to get the shot. But you also remember you’ve got 12 more kms to go before you can go to the pub. It’s a mental wrestling point.

The path winds through grassy parklands, an old timber yard, and a disused industrial site which used to be the BP Oil Terminal. It’s landscaped now, with the bare sandstone walls left where they were once curved to fit around the shapes of oil tanks. The steel walkways above the site allow for more elevated sightseeing and lead down to Balls Head Reserve, where we took the scenic route along the bottom of the cliffs for a while.

Our route right around was blocked due to a closed path, but the reserve isn’t very big anyway. We retraced our steps and met up with it on the other side before heading back up towards Waverton. The Pasks recommend The Coffee Shop Pats on Bay Road for lunch. The French toast was alright for $5.50 and the croissants are huge.

A couple of coves later and we took the low tide route along to Berry Island. It's almost tropical in there, lush and cool and beautiful along Ballasters Track. This turned into the Gore Cove track and finally down towards Greenwich Point where we could catch the ferry back to Circular Quay. Ben had a dip in the Greenwich Baths while we were waiting; I sat on the shore and meditated to the sound of shells being lapped onto the sand. Then it rained.

And that was Day One.

But--

Brain: Well, here we are again. You should probably write something and post it this time.

Mouth: Yeah, well.

Brain: Stuff has happened, you know.

Mouth: Yeah, I know.

Brain: So, what, that's it? Look at you. Sitting here with your porridge-encrusted bowl and half-empty glass of juice. You're pathetic. Even the Wii thinks so. He told me you've not done your 'My Routine' workout for 34 days.

Mouth: ... Shut up.

Brain: Here's the drill, cumquat. You're going to apply for a couple of jobs this morning. Then write a blog. A proper one. Then if you're doing really well, you could write something vaguely resembling a song.

Mouth: But--

Brain: HUP! I don't want to hear it. The fact that I'm your brain and this is an entirely internal monologue is not relevant. Shhh.

Hello!

--where they found everyone taking pictures of each other dressed as sea lions! Yeah, I know! What were they even-- oh hey. Sorry, I didn't see you there. I have kind of been ignoring you lately, haven't I. I really... I'm really sorry about that. It doesn't mean I don't care. Honestly. I'll make it up to you.

This is intended to just be a quick one to re-establish myself in the blogosphere, since I have been holidaying in my own city for the last couple of weeks trying to keep up with my husband's parents who are visiting from Scotland. They are machines (wonderful, lovely machines). Machines of walking. We knocked out an "official" 30km of Harbour Walk coastline over two days, and an unknown number of other, smaller scenic walks around the city. I will elaborate in a separate post, but wow, did we chew up that harbour. Save for one relatively short leg on the north-east side of the Bridge, I have now completed the whole of the northern harbour. Just the west and the south to go, then... is that trepidation I smell?

Lack of progress

Something about today just doesn't feel right. Maybe it's hormones. They make a good scapegoat for pretty much everything, so I might blame them. Although more likely is all the hours I've spent outside lately, a lovely thing as summer kicks out, but a horror if you've put on inadequate amounts of sunscreen. My skin is screaming at me. So I'm hibernating, and enjoying the weather through the kitchen door instead.

I've tried getting my music cap on but I'm uninspired all round. I think I'm writing a song about Tasmania but it's hard to be sure. Yet another hidden lesson regarding songwriting, and perhaps a classic truth: I have a certain 'style' in which I write. Of course. Thanks, Captain Obvious. I guess what I mean is that I can say I'm going to write a song about something oblique, like cycling to Wollongong, but I still kind of fill it with metaphors and stuff. Bart left a comment that nicely tied it up: "the more literal you get, the more crazy-deep metaphorical it sounds". That track is probably the most literal I've ever gotten, since it actually has some kind of narrative, but I'm doing it again in this Tasmania song (working title: Lagoon). I'm sort of telling the story, but in a sideways manner. It's not intentional, but all my stuff just kind of comes out like that.

I like people not really knowing what I'm singing about, or getting some kind of alternate meaning, or taking it at face value and not knowing about an emotion watching quietly from beneath. You don't want to get too weird with it though, because there needs to be that point of connection: the something they take away even if it is not what you first intended. It's like with 'Blow On In'. The verses are kind of just random sentiments. In order to make them feel more tangible, more real, I started numbering them. Eleven reminders why we left. Seventeen reasons we couldn't afford. Twenty-three lorikeets colour the sky. Ninety-eight beats of a rapid heart. Now it feels like something.

Then, of course, there are songs that are just written because the words seemed to fit nicely and I couldn't find an appropriate feeling from my repertoire to match. That seems to happen more frequently with the band now, another thing I wasn't paying much attention to, so getting to write on my own is a nice way of reminding myself that it's ok to say whatever you want and I don't have to try so hard all the time.

Anyway, this is sort of bizarrely askew of my regular blogs, but I can only contribute what I have. Today that just happens to be a breakdown of my songwriting patterns. Which reminds me, we're playing at the Excelsior Surry Hills tonight at 9pm - oh I should also probably mention that we came runners up in the band comp, but I won't elaborate for reasons of diplomacy - and that'll be our last show until May.

Also, we went to see Jersey Boys last night and it was fantastic. I may have to work some Four Seasons-esque choreography into our set now.*

*not really.

Summary - Month 7

The 22nd, again? I realise I didn't even get around to writing a summary last month. That means I should have made loads of progress since the last one of these, right? Right?

#1 – The Fundraising Ball. There is going to be one, and it is. hella. exciting. There is much yet to be organised and you will be informed closer to the date. I'm looking forward to it. A lot.

#2 – The Other Fundraiser. See #1.

#3 – Laughing Strangers. Ok, so I've only made 7 people laugh. I've also made a lot of people not laugh. A far larger number. So don't think I'm not trying.

#4 – i. Mediation. Since I became unemployed, I'm not being as strict with my routine as I used to - which is to say, taking my 10 minutes at 11o'clock every morning like a regularly scheduled dose of Chill The Fuck Out. Now that I'm more chilled and a whole lot less when-did-this-pit-of-despair-become-my-life, I have the flexibility to meditate as it comes to me. Audio has become my method of choice again after a couple of months being 'mindful'.

ii. Song Per Month. Although I'm still behind, I'm getting into the swing of creativity and this feels more achievable. You'll have to ignore the fact that I just spent two days trying to complete a song and coming up with nothing more than a few lines of gibberish. It was a total mindfart. It happens.

iv. 26km Coast Track. I was devastated when we had to cancel this. I think we've rescheduled it for the first weekend in May (which ridiculously was the first weekend available). I hope we don't freeze.

#5 – Songs About Challenges. I'm not quite as up to date with these as with the 'regular' songs. In fact I'm three months behind. But that's ok. I'll fudge them if I have to.

#6 – Bathurst. ARGH. The band is not in a good position for interstate travel just now. We figured out there is actually no possible time we can pull this off - March and April are out due to weddings and general mayhem, May has a small window which is unlikely to be available on all 5 calendars, and June/July is out due to our drummer going on an American pilgrimage. I am going to have to find a way to adjust this and make an agreement with Jason, who set the challenge. That, or he perhaps settles for me going and playing on my own, but I'm not sure that really counts.

#7 – Gospel. I hope we get to perform again soon.

#8 – Children’s Hospital. I am resigning myself to this being far more difficult than suspected. The original challenge was to volunteer with a school reading group, with the children's hospital being a secondary option should the first not work out. With a 9 to 5 job getting in the way of the first choice, maybe I can revert on this.

#9 – Harbour Walks. I've made it as far as Taronga Zoo. Perhaps a quarter of the way. I plan to sucker punch a huge chunk of this next week with Ben's parents... but I still don't own any hiking boots.

#10 – Driving. My heart sinks when I think of this challenge. All is not lost, but I feel like so much could have been gained by now should I have not made the stupid decision that I did. Ben doesn't like it when I get down on the car so I will try not to bitch about it any more. Needless to say, I still can't drive.

#11 – Tasmania. COMPLETE!I swam in the Dee Lagoon. It was lagoon-y.

#12 – Scrapbooking. My scrapbook is coming together very slowly but surely. I have managed to lose all of the photos that I scanned, a minor setback. In the meantime I am cutting and pasting and creating a lot of background pages. I don't think it'll make for very good consistency when I get around to putting the substance in chronological order, but who needs a theme anyway?

#13 – Cooking. Again - I need to decide what my 7 dishes are. There is such huge space between each time I make everything that I always (with the exception of schnitzel and saltimbocca) have to refer to the recipe again. However, this is still learning, and each time is a little different, and a little less daunting, depending on the context of the situation.

#14 – TV. For a moment there I thought there was a window - somebody mentioned Foxtel to me, the pay-television channels. Since we don't have this service, I forgot that there was an entirely new scope for TV hijacking out there. The tunnel suddenly gave light! Until I tried to do some research, which is when I realised the calibre of the programming meant I would need to be a 15-year-old chain smoker who got knocked up by her teacher to even get a look in.

#15 – Horseriding. Well, we took one lesson, and plan to schedule another. We may do the second lesson in lieu of the trail ride, but an overnighter is still on the cards. It will have to be May as well.

#16 – Sydney to Gong. COMPLETE.

#17 – Reunion Dinner. I think it's rude not to reply to emails, don't you? If people aren't interested in doing something, they should just say so, not ignore you completely. In the interests of giving this challenge a fair shot, I think I will need to resort to just going up to Gosford and cooking Heath some lasagne myself. We've not seen each other for maybe 3 or 4 years. That still makes it a reunion in my books.

#18 – Breakdancing. When I can afford it, I will.

#19 – The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter. COMPLETE.

#20 – Yeats. Oh crap.

#21 – Youtube. Dusker are going in to record a 'single' - although, what is a single these days - on March 19/20. After that we can make a video clip. And put it on Youtube. Oh yes...

#22 – Busking. Why is this so difficult??!

#23 – Cliff. Many of my friends are showing (healthy) skepticism at this one. For the record, if I get there and it is ridiculous, I won't do it. I'm determined to follow through with everything, but not at the expense of great injury.

#24 – Protest Song. The song is written! Now I just need to get it into a format that I can send to a website.

#25 – See Challenge 4.ii
#26 – See Challenge 4.iii

#27 – Blood. COMPLETE.

#28 – Japanese. Tokidoki, Nihongo hanashimasu!Suki desu. Soshite terebi-o mimasu. Kirei-na terebi desu. Zehi! (Translation: Sometimes, I speak Japanese! I like it. Then I watch television. It is a beautiful television. Absolutely!)

#29 – Parents. I need to talk to them more.

At this stage of the game, the newest strategy necessitates a very important factor: compromise. I'm seven months in, time-poor and actually-poor, but fortunately still enthusiasm-rich (for the most part). For example, I'm probably not going to pull off a 500-people fundraising ball. But I'm going to do the next best thing. If I don't make 52 strangers laugh, I make as many attempts as possible. That was always the point - to try to complete the tasks to the best of my ability. If I can't complete them for whatever reason, I'll have still given them all a damn good try. If this was Masterchef, they'd be telling me what a fantastic journey it has been, and George would be up and down on his toes marveling at my pannacotta, which in my case, is singing in a gospel choir. And then I use Matt Preston's cravat to wipe the tears of joy from my face. It's going to make for a surprisingly moving piece of television. Trust me.

Bad poetry, oh noetry: A kitchen haiku

I made cassoulet:

The bread crumbs and everything!

Beans, leeks and onions,

Sage from the garden,

Bacon and tinned tomatoes.

Simmering, bubbling...

Happy sausages

Greet us from the roasting pan.

The in-laws liked it.

Every Century

And now: a song for you!

Thanks for the inspiration, Karen! I'll do a better audio recording of this some time so I can get to saving the world in highest quality possible. (It also doubles as - what am I up to now? - January's song.) Hoorah!

I walked, I left a footprint

Heavy in the sand

I felt the lapping water

Gripping at the land

I sensed the air was thicker

And prickly on my skin

I peered into the volcano

As my breath was getting thin

As your energy recedes

We forget just what we need

Small movements make a big stand

Tiny actions become a large demand

Little changes felt in giant ways

Every century still breaks down into days

I saw the heavens spinning

Clouds go rushing by

Amazed at all the colours

Ignited in the sky

I felt foundations slipping

Underneath my feet

But heard the people singing

To one determined beat

As your energy recedes

We forget just what we need

Small movements make a big stand

Tiny actions become a large demand

Little changes felt in giant ways

Every century still breaks down into days.

Zebrotamus

I sat down to try and write a song yesterday, and dogged as my pursuit was, it turns out I'd run out of things to say. Odd, because I seem to have too much to say (of little interest) most of the time. I guess it's a collaborative thing - when provided with a something to build on (ie. music), part of your job is to slot together something that fits (ie. melody and lyrics). Otherwise it's like we're doing two different jigsaw puzzles, except Jacob's is of a zebra and mine is of a hippopotamus. It doesn't work. Unless they were made in the same factory with the exact same shapes cut out of it. Then I suppose they'd fit together ok. You'd just get a weird animal at the end.

Spending two hours aimlessly noodling didn't feel very productive, so I decided to make a start on Karen's climate change piece. I also signed up with 1 Million Women. You should too, provided you have the necessary genitalia. They run a campaign for inspiring women to take small, personal steps towards reducing carbon emissions, and give you hints on things you can change in your life towards making this happen. Each woman needs a minimum goal of reducing 1 tonne of CO2 and the site calculates your tally for you as you tick things off. While filling out my profile I realise that we are already running a fairly good household for emissions - we ride our bikes and use public transport, we recycle everything, switch stuff off at powerpoints, avoid using plastic bags, cut out one day a week of meat consumption. I suppose like everyone, it's about making those extra changes. Taking shorter showers. That kind of thing.

Anyway so I'm about halfway through a song about it. It's an effort to stay on the right side of preachy or naff and still be relevant. I don't want to make it too abstract but I don't want to be all "yeeeah so save the forests, pandas are dying wooooo" either. It's called 'Every Century' and hopefully I'll get some audio of it up soon. 1 Million Women already have a theme song but I think I'll 'donate' my song to them anyways and see if they're into it.

Oh, and the fundraising ball. Totally. Happening. Watch this space.

Shut up, cicadas!

I'm taking a break from the job hunt today. It has been getting me down this week, and it feels like pointless hours wasted away in front of the computer. I like to believe that being super positive can bring good karma or whatever, but the fact is I'm still unemployed with no prospects and no money and that whole mindset is wearing thin. Whenever I feel low I just remember that if I had not quit, I'd be enrolling grotty and complacent students by now. It makes me feel a lot better.

The in-laws are in town, all the way from bonnie Scotland! We've not seen them since the wedding fifteen months ago, so it is awesome to lay eyes on some family again without Skype playing middle man and garbling everything up. They plan to do a massive harbour walk and I am very excited about this prospect. Their map runs from the north side of the bridge right around the west side of the harbour and back to the south side of the bridge in the city. The tourist information centre told them it should take around four days depending on how far you want to walk each day. This makes my heart go doki-doki (Japanese onomatopoeia for a fast-beating heart), 100%! The walks are a huge metaphorical thorn in my time frame, so if I could knock out the majority of it in a week it would pretty much be the best thing ever. It also means saving money on the travel costs as we can get a travel multi-pass and jump on and off everything for that week - this has been an awkward hidden factor of this particular challenge.

As usual, other micromovements towards implementing some other challenges has brought a deafening silence, an aural space immediately occupied by the screech of cicadas having a rave party outside my window. Loudest. Insects. Ever. (no really.) I'm going to try and drown them out with my guitar. Wish me luck.

Creating buzz

Gospel choir continues to calm me in my times of flustering failures, in which it feels like there are many of late. We've been doing some 'improvised singing' at the end of each session and it is really eye-opening. Or rather, ear-opening. How it works is that we start on a hum, on whatever note you feel like singing. When you run out of breath, try to fade the note out rather than stopping abruptly (harder than it sounds) and fade back in when you're ready. The trick is to keep your eyes closed and listen to the people around you, feeling where you can match others, harmonise, provide counterpoint, be inspired by a change, swell, create buzz. The hum can become any sound you like - ahhs, doo-doos, la-la, ba-dups - as long as it fits into the soundscape. There will always be moments of dissonance but that is part of the experiment too. I would actually love to record one of these sessions and listen to it back later. The whole piece has a life of its own and sort of just comes to a natural conclusion. It's eerie and wonderful.

We also played a rhythm game today and that was fun. It involved singing a pattern with a couple of claps incorporated in it, and then doing it as a round. At one point the singing faded right down to barely audible and we all just clapped - I'm sure it would have sounded random and uninteresting to a passer-by, but sensing a heavy concentration amongst the sound in the room was wild. There is joy in feeling something like rhythm. I really hope my kids inherit it.

As a small aside...

...I wanted to say that LCD Soundsystem are now even more amazing than previously stated. They announced not so long ago that they are breaking up (really, this time. James told me in 2007 that they probably weren't going to tour again. Then they pretty much toured non-stop for the three years preceding that conversation. Which was awesome and I'm stoked they did. But now they're not any more. Fo' reals. It sucks. But, you know, good for them). So they announced a Last Gig Ever at Madison Square Garden (?!?) in NYC and it sold out in, like, minus time. Except then ticket scalpers started trying to charge thousands of dollars for tickets. THOUSANDS.

Anyways they've announced some more shows in the lead up to try and bring prices down and generally do the right thing by their fans. It's super noble. You can tell the whole thing has pained them. I read their blogs sometimes and James' voice reminds me that they were my friends before I knew they were famous people, because he writes exactly the way he talks. It got weird when I came back to the real world and suddenly saw them in context (or out of context, depending on how you look at it). And now they're selling out Madison Square Garden. Holy shit.

I'm sad there will be no LCD after April. But I am blessed to have shared their world for what was arguably the three coolest weeks of my life, when it could have just been 'another thing I did overseas' and potentially just another job. I did other tours. They weren't like that one. They just weren't.

Oh, and they're going to be on Colbert tonight (!!) so you should definitely watch it.

Take me to Dee River

Before you ask: no, we didn't go to Cradle Mountain. And no, we didn't go to Wineglass Bay. And no, we didn't go to Port Arthur. We did go to Hobart, and what little we saw of it was spine-tinglingly lovely. I ate some pretty spectacular French toast there. So yes, my quizzically-expressioned friend, we were in Tasmania. Stop shaking your head like that for a moment and put those eyebrows down. Just listen.

"Oohh, taaake me to Dee River... The River Dee is a tributary of the Derwent River in Tasmania. It flows into the Dee Lagoon. We will stay in dodgy motels, sing songs, eat cheese, drink wine, and once there you will, as Mr Green commands, cleanse your soul (and soles) in preparation for hitting 30 and starting a whole new chapter in life."

So in other words, blame Kat.

I'm kidding, of course. It turns out that sometimes best friends need a push to actually spend some proper quality time together. It's insane that the three of us have never taken a holiday on our own before, but now we live in separate cities, with separate lives, and we see each other only on sporadic transitory weekends. This had to be the most random and wonderful excuse for a 'girly' weekend ever.

The motel was not dodgy. In fact it wasn't even a motel. It was an 1840's charming stone cottage, with large airy rooms decked out in period furniture, free range eggs in the fridge and a loaf of homemade bread with jams lovingly provided.

The back garden was amazing - a treasure trove of fruit and vegetables at our disposal meant we had fresh mulberries at breakfast. And lunch. And dinner.

We settled down in the town of Hamilton (that's my maiden name. Geddit? Oh never mind), one with a tiny population, big beautiful hillscapes, a historic church and a goat I decided to name Engelbert.

Anyway. On Saturday morning we woke up to a fresh 13° c (while back home, Sydney was sweltering in the heatwave of the decade, enduring 42° c). This was the day. I suited up and we headed off into the relative wilderness looking for Dee River. Apparently there is even a place named Dee! I hoped for a sign that welcomed me personally.

About an hour into the drive, we saw a 'Dee River' sign and pulled over to take our first glance at it. A rocky stream bubbled past under the bridge. It looked friendly. We vowed to come back here if we were unable to find a more suitable launching point.

Eventually we turned off onto a dirt road - but shh, don't tell the hire car company - and bumped along it, fumbling with a map. We drove through a cluster of holiday homes which were possibly the aforementioned township of Dee, and there she was, the great Lagoon, on our left.


Dee Lagoon: your fate awaits you.

I'm totally in the Lagoon named after me. Ridiculous, but true. I flailed for a couple of minutes; my feet sinking into the oozy swamp mud. Mel joined me in solidarity. Then we toweled off, went back to the cottage and got drunk on cheese. Victory.

Scarce weekends

So, today (which is "kyo" in Japanese!) I listed all of the weekends between now and the end of July. And then I filled in all the 'life' stuff I need to do - mostly wedding related things, as what feels like thousands of my best friends get hitched and I need to be available for hen's nights, engagement parties, pre-wedding parties, actual ceremonies - and band stuff, including a long overdue recording session (Did I mention that we were in a band comp and have won all our heats and are now in the final? Well we are. It's a bit rad. The final is Tuesday week and if we win it we get a 5-day studio recording package. But I digress). The point is, empty weekends are like opportunities to eat cheesecake. Infrequent but blissful. Especially if the base is all crumbly. Mmmmmmm. Crumbly cheesecake base. Keeki-o kudesai? (Japanese: Can I have cake please?)

I then looked at all the challenges yet to achieve, and the time frames needed for some of them. It's a tiiiiiny bit nerve wracking, but mostly I'm still wrapped up in a sense of guileless positivity about their completion. Call it denial, whatever it is, it's working for me.

Sorry I haven't posted about Tasmania yet, but I've been applying for jobs and stressing about various other things and also am lazy and haven't got around to it. Y'know. But the short story is that I jumped in a lagoon. I'll tell you about it some time.

Meanwhile I've switched meditation audio and now a lovely Scottish gentleman named Andrew Johnson guides me. His accent is wonderful.

You might think that any old chump can cook fried rice.

Well you'd be right! This was a piece of piss to make (but tasted significantly better, I assure you). Usually we would use grated carrot and zucchini in our fried rice but this was more of a "whatever we have in the fridge right now" version.

Oh how we laughed...

And then there were seven. Sort of.

Ben cycled down to Belvoir St one morning (well, actually two mornings, but that's a different story) to try and get last minute release tickets to see Geoffrey Rush in 'Diary of a Madman'. The queue was rather long, and he feared we'd miss out a second time. Someone from the box office came and counted along the line, and told Ben he was at the very end of the allocations and would probably only get one ticket. He texted to tell me this. I texted back (from the comfort of my hairdresser where I was being given my annual head massage from heaven), saying it was ok, I didn't mind if he went on his own as long as he reenacted the whole play for me when he got home. He had been chatting with other queuers (is that a word?) and relayed them my response. Apparently everyone thought that was jolly funny. Ben thinks it may have had something to do with breaking a certain tension with some older single women in line, who had bristled when he said he was trying to get tickets for himself and his wife. This proved I had a sense of humour and we were not some sickly sweet couple (apparently). Maybe that's just the kind of thing that last minute theatre-goers find amusing. Either way, Ben said it was a whole line of people laughing and it totally counts.

Next, I was out and about in the city when I spotted an interesting sight: a young Japanese couple perched underneath the statue of Queen Victoria with little origami dolls. I let myself be suckered in and the lovely guy made me one (pictured here in the dinginess of my lounge room against the harsh glow of my laptop):

As he twisted the fine paper together, I pointed at the head and desperately offered: "Ataya? Atama? Ataya?" Nodding, he giggled sweetly. "Atama." I then tried to think of any other useful Japanese I could work up, but all I could manage was to introduce myself (badly) and then explain I was learning Japanese (badly). He humoured me. He laughed.

The clincher, however, came just as we were leaving Tasmania (more on this later). Standing in the gift shop, I picked up something called an 'Aussie Bubby Stubby'. It took a few moments to register exactly what purpose it served - as a stubby holder for your baby's bottle. Really? No seriously. Really? "This is actually kinda cute," I said to Kat, "in a totally bogan way." The woman behind the counter just about lost it. Shout out to Tam at the 'Tasmania & Beyond' souvenir store at Hobart airport! She said every time anyone buys those from now on, all she'll be able to think about is their bogan baby. Thanks Tam. I hope that keeps you laughing.

I do realise that seven is significantly less than 28, which is how many weeks have passed since I began this project and therefore how many strangers I'm supposed to have made laugh by now. But I'm working on the little victories.

Hot, much?

Wow, you know what is inexplicitly dull? Scouring through career websites and trying to figure out things like how diary management can possibly be as exciting as so many ads say it is. My concentration skills are waning in these temperatures. I am trying to write something more substantial. Really.

The Great Walk continues: Balmoral to Taronga

My companion on Leg 3 of the Harbour Walk was the delectable Miss Caroline.

The day proved too hot for the equally delectable Sir Benjamin who was forced to stay home or face the wrath of Australian humidity on Scottish flesh. And so began an impromptu girls own adventure.

Having learnt the importance of following the guidebook, we decided to do the walk 'backwards' and start at Taronga, working our way back to Balmoral. Inner west trackwork was conveniently taking place, so we chose a leisurely ferry option: drive to Balmain, ferry to Circular Quay, change ferries to Taronga Zoo. This is the kind of time I could get used to consuming.

The ferry wharf is at the Zoo Entrance and we caught a glimpse of Miya the sea-lion swimming gleefully around her enclosure (I know her name because I've visited her before). For every dirty great spider and deadly snake, Australia also graces us with some beautiful bush friends. A cooing juvenile kookaburra, and a charming lolloping goanna were two of the first we met.

The views of the harbour along this route are a little bit divine to say the least.

Bradley's Head was quite a find - one of those places you think, wow, why didn't I know this was here before? It's an amazing lookout point with some bizarre memorials, such as a Doric stone column they decided to drag out there for no real reason. There were six of them but they somehow managed to lose four (How do you lose a Doric stone column? It's not like it's going to fall behind the couch). There's also a crazy ampitheatre that goes right down into the harbour.

Most of the walk goes through Sydney Harbour National Park; speckled shade, unseen creatures scurrying in nearby bushes, fragrant flowers and almost tropical greenery.

Some people are alarmingly wealthy enough to own properties along this stretch. Who are these people? We admired the stunning, vine-laden houses from our plebs view in the vegetation, discussing whether we would really appreciate everything so much if we were to view it from a balcony every day (the answer was probably still yes).

Shoes and bags were abandoned at Chowder Bay while we took a much deserved ocean frolic. Kids were leaping from the wharf here so we joined in. Somehow, the thrill of jumping from high places never seems to get old.

The home stretch took us down a long wooden staircase through the national park to pop out the other side at Balmoral. Totally stunning, and a joyous way to spend a Sunday.

Songwriting catch up

Just to prove I did write some songs all those months ago, here's a snippet of what Dusker sounds like rehearsing "Blow On In" (September's song):

...oh and also I don't think I ever posted "Mallow" (August's song). I was still trying to figure out the whole blogging thing back then. I still can't figure out whether it is here or not. Anyway, in case it isn't, here's a demo of it. Imagine it getting totally Sigur Ros on your ass right at the end and you'll get the idea.

Mallow by duskerdee

Soft like a mallow

I caught you in the shadows

You climb in through the window

You're shooting all your arrows

Hold me in the winter dark

Bathe me in the summer light

The water is your alibi

The wind is your valentine

Your light is a firefly

The trains are your lullaby

Hold me in the winter dark

Bathe me in the summer light

It's a trick of the light (soft like a mallow)

It's a trick of the light (caught you in the shadow)

It's a trick of the light (climb in through the window)

It's a trick of the light (shooting all your arrows)

If this is what being a bum is like, then why am I still so damn busy?

I already know this is going to be a stupid post that I am posting for the sake of posting. But I don't have time to do a proper post. Unemployment is awfully time consuming, and I've not even got halfway through my to-do list yet.

I still have to write about the walk, and also about a cute little Japanese interlude today, and wow, how many trillions of degrees is it outside? I have to get ready to go to choir shortly and I am sorry to say that I would much rather stay home in my pyjamas, but such is the sacrifice of progress. I feel like it is taking away from an opportunity to do something else, like breakdancing, and also I am very aware that the $15 it costs me to participate is $15 that we really don't have spare right now. Yes, I'm complaining for the hell of it, and I'll enjoy it once I'm there, blah blah blah, but, you know.

I'm very glad I quit my job, but I'm almost as stressed out just trying to get my personal stuff done. I must remember it is only Day One and the window will keep opening, but it doesn't feel like that yet. I will get more time to myself. And I will be gainfully employed again soon, I hope. I am only starting to realise that not everyone chooses to fill their every waking second with stuff.

I should get extra points for this.

In lieu of the 26km Coast Trek, Caroline and I went for the next leg of my Harbour Walk yesterday. We saw wildlife, swam in the ocean, and soaked up the sun. I will write more and post pictures tomorrow... when I'm gloriously unemployed.

There's an App for that.

I downloaded a ‘Learn Japanese!’ app recently of which I’ve completed the first four lessons. The CDs we’ve been listening to are good up to a point, but seem to move too quickly when you don’t have any visual reference points. It’s difficult to even pick out the pronunciation sometimes, without being able to actually see the word and get a feel for how things are put together. Knowing how to say a full sentence by rote is very different to understanding how the sentence is put together and how the words work individually within it. The App is good for this – I now understand about sentence particles, and how the Japanese avoid pronouns. Instead of saying ‘I eat’ or ‘he eats’ or ‘they eat’, you just say ‘eat’ and then use context to figure out who you mean. Sounds a bit weird but I guess it works.

Our big coast trek from Bundeena to Otford was supposed to be this weekend, but after all the coordination there were no campsites left when I called to book. Of course. I feel a bit stupid for having left it so late but it was a backhanded blessing, in a way, what with the weather being so unbearable. The main problem is that we can’t find another weekend to do it until April at the earliest, so we’ll need to get it sorted out quickly otherwise we’ll have the other extreme and it’ll be too cold.

Next weekend, however, is Tasmania. Tasmania!

All delighted people, raise your hands

I am not a good post-gig conversationalist. Sometimes there are no words. On small, miraculous occasion, you will see a show that is immeasurably bigger than you are. All I can do in those moments is awkwardly cling to myself and soak up the words of others. Lost in a kind of afterglow where the shocks still travel through my veins in tiny shudders, a sonic minefield in what is left of the brain, entire galaxies fusing almost imperceptibly into my DNA. I still feel them there. I will never be the same again. Changed in ways we can't yet perceive, besides the double skip of a heart and an insatiable desire to get back into the spaceship.

Picture lovingly borrowed from Lucyparakhina via Fasterlouder. I hope she doesn't mind.