Shannon says "Blog about the Cicadas!"

I'm sitting outside the Mess Hall at Camp A Low Hum, where Shannon is attempting to set up some kind of fangled gizz-a-mee. Things are going wrong and he is attempting to keep me occupied by pointing the computer at the internet and saying "Blog about the Cicadas!" The cicadas are noisy. It's a beautiful evening here. There are lots of wee hipster types massing about from one point to another, and there is a very noisy sound check/rig set up going on to my left and down a bit. I think that the Sound Guy is making "pink noise" to check his set up. I can smell the lemon on the fish and chips of the guy on the picnic table over from me who has a very nice accent, and a feather in his straw hat. He's with a guy wearing Wayfarers (quelle surprise). I'm rather jealous of their beer. Last night I also tagged along with the Boy when he went to see a man about a radio. The man was a Ham Radio Man and wanted to show the Boy all his radio bits. There was a lot of discussion about antennas and aerials and wavelengths and such like. Most of it was "blah blah technical bullshit blah"; I vagued out and examined the spines of all the books (succulents and gardening and radio/electronic manuals). After the technical rant, we were tuned into the 2 metre network and audibly introduced to George, Will and Ted, who are also Ham Radio Men. Ted and George were in their seventies and learnt Morse code at age ten and nine respectably. They were desperate to convert Shannon to their Way. And thus it is with ham radio apparently - once you pop you can't stop. I had never realised that the ham radio Underground Movement was so strong in New Zealand. And the strength and obsessiveness of the Hardcore Conservative AM Preservation Movement freaked me out and totally fascinated me - that is, that in a small group of fanatics there are an either smaller group of hard core AM radio fanatics. I rather fancibly started endowing them with a Luddite kind of fanaticism, imagining them tearing down FM radio receivers and bludgeoning equipment that only displayed an FM band. They have their own network on a specific frequency where I imagine that they mutter mutinously about the dire state of the AM frequency and plot to restore it to its rightful place in the great canon of radio greatness. Extreme loudness has begun on the sound set up downstairs and its making me feel... urgh. The sound guy is the same one that blasted my ear drums at the Dodos; he's waging some kind of angry war against hearing... can't write, ears trembling.

Today ( and 12 Days Later)

I am back at work and no longer baking cupcakes (which was a far more practical use of my time, lets face it). The last week of my holiday I was too busy pretending to be a student; went to see three very exciting gigs - Fleet Foxes, the Dodos and the Teenagers/Metronomy - and then slept in all day the next day. I bought new earplugs because apparently I can't hack the pace so much these days, and loud noises frighten me. I also drank astonishing quantities of beer. Last night I saw Liz before she rushed back to the UK and I was stoked to see her but sad to see her go again. I also drank astonishing quantities of sake. Looks like: my eyes are going square from staring at this computer screen for two long. And also: Media Nun. Just for fun. Smells like: poor quality work-place coffee. And also like: I may have drunk too much last night. Sounds like: phone ringing, demands being made, sanity sliding decidedly leftwards.

Saturday night with Derby Girls

A showing of Hell On Wheels at the Film Archives, and then drinks, late dinner and dancing to the Hardy Ha Ha's at Watusi (what used to be Tupelo*).

Movie was good, a documentary about much politicking in the early Texas Roller Derby scene. Made an attempt to collect money for the first bout at the beginning of next year... not a great effort on my part I must confess. But much kudos to Illicit Misfit, Tuff Bikkies and the rest of the Fundraising Committee for making the whole thing work. Hard to believe how hard events are to pull off unless you've seen the underside and the places where the ends of all the threads are tucked in.

Band, Bar.

Watusi: new bar in an old place in Wellington. And food! Proper food! Don't get me wrong, I adore toasted sandwiches with my jugs of beer (a la Mighty Mighty), but NOTHING beats the slices of meat pie at Watusi. Best. Pie. In. Town. Other people ate burgers and some kind of fish salad thing that I think was made from raw marinated fish. Miss Genocide had a prawn cocktail. She liked. Fruity cocktail things were also highly recommended - Grass Skirt Mule with pear and chili was the biggest hit with the RCRD. Deco included animal print covered booth. I was sold.

How much fun are the Hardy Ha Ha's? Very, very good fun. I danced with Born Lippy in front of the band until my brain almost jiggled out of my ears... I may have to stalk them next time they're in Wellington. Why can't I be in a Rockabilly band? I'd be 60-70% cooler and I could play the tambourine and wear more animal print. God I love animal print.

And then I scabbed a ride to Mt Victoria where I broke into the Boy's flat and climbed into his bed. He is no longer surprised to find me there when he gets home on Saturday night. I think I should stop doing this as I it's basically quite a creepy thing for me to do, despite how much I want to sleep in his bed. So no more of that behaviour young miss *tuts disapprovingly at self*.

 

* → Tupelo: such fond memories. I had this friend who worked at Brava when I had just left high school, and how excited was I to hang out with the hip hip Brava crowd? I went with her to her staff Christmas function at Tupelo and drank too many cocktails in an effort to look sophisticated and ended up crawling under the table and across the floor to reach the toilet so I could throw my guts up. The Accountant held my hair back←

Arohanui

More things to love this week

• Yeasayer date with the Boy last night. Yeasayer = an amazing band with great on-stage presence, beautiful music and a bass player who looks as though he's stepped directly out of the Seventies. AND better still, I had the fantastic company of my favourite Boy. I danced! I drank! I jumped around a little! I was happy and I smiled and it was awesome.

• Op Shopping scores from last week - including a great pair of jeans and a beautiful sparkly cardigan. Mmm, glitoris.
• The best lasagne ever on Sunday night.
• Making interpretive brownie and eating most of it myself.
• Audiobooks on the train. I know, SO geeky, but there is nothing like it, so meditative.
• Watching episodes of the Mighty Boosh until my head explodes and I'm unsure about reality and my place in it.
• My first launch invitation through work - the first time I've received an invitation to something through a grown-up job.
• This post by Gala Darling. I've printed it out, it sits on my desk, I think it is gorgeous and super cute.
• Anticipation: Whippersnapper this weekend (Bex and Peter's Birthday), Richter City Roller Derby/Film Archives showing of Hell On Wheels, Kylie in December!, Tauranga-and-further-North Adventures.

Arohanui

• I went for my first recreational walk for months during the weekend, my lack of walking resulting from a combination of my being broken and the filthy filthy disgusting weather. Saturday was beautiful; the Boy and I went up to the Town Belt, stood on a hill and looked out over the harbour, and then walked down through Wadestown. And it was glorious, all that fresh air and sunshine and striding... it feels like forever that I strode anywhere.
• And so many beautiful magnolia trees on the walk, venerable old things with twisting branches covered in moss, huge waxy flowers blossoming or beginning to blossom on their tips. The flowers are so gloriously upright and so vivid and bold compared to the sparseness and puritanism of the branches. I love the contrast. They're also the best thing about walking to work.
• Train time; an hour each day to read, write, knit, examine the strange train people, and THINK. Stare into space. Enforced downtime rocks my tiny world.
• My fabulous new culottes, which make me happy, so happy. I feel like both a mighty samurai! and a 1930s glamour girl. Best of all, I feel like I'm channeling an old samurai loving flatmate and the Glorious and Horribly Distant Lizzie.
• Having a tidy, craft-centric bedroom. The inside of my head feels clean, and tidy. I can live there.
• Anticipation: Bill Bailey tomorrow night, Roller Disco next Saturday, Kylie in December!

i *heart* derby

Just quietly. Spent two hours on skates today and I love how natural it feels to be on wheels now... can't wait for my skates to arrive from the States. I'm going to go skating EVERY DAY, along the Waterfront and in underground carparks... in sun and in rain and on cloudy days and days which are nondescript but maybe a little humid (which I'm normally not that wild about) and on days where the wind is whipping over the water and on days where there's  quite a lot of warm sunshine but a nice little zephyr rustling my skirt.  Oh yes, I shall skate ALL the time.

Bex was just over and she helped me nut out a CV for a job that looks pretty fab, don't want to say too much about it as I'm afraid I'll jinx it big time. Suffice to say tho', Bex is wonderful wonderful wonderful, picking me up from practice and then spending two hours writing with me (and starving in the process , because I neglected to feed her. Bad Sarah.)

Last night went out with Nat and Mark and inadvertently took them to the Wrong Gig. However, there was a plastic raven on stage, which I figure must make some kind of difference to the relative merit of the evening. Like, "Every evening with a plastic raven is a good one!" Or something.

He finds her!

The NY Girl of His Dreams... or at least, she's been identified, which is neat in itself. I am reliably informed by Mark, drunkenly, at the 90ies themed party in Thorndon, where I may or may not have (very responsibly) stage dived out the window. Amazing what a girl will do with a couple of bottles of cheap sav inside of her. Went to see the 40th anniversary performance of the New Zealand School of Dance and it was fab... discovered I enjoyed (what I think is?) neo-classical style ballet a lot, these kids up on stage are consummate performers, amazing to watch them perform such physically demanding dance with such apparent ease. I was going to make lentils for dinner after a lentil-based conversation with Bella, but I've been organised up to Brooklyn to eat dinner with Ange and Bex and so I will shower, wash of the hangover, and head up there momentarily, as some American might say. ---------------- Now playing: Arleen Augér, John Van Kesteren, Etc.; Riccardo Muti: Philharmonia Orchestra & Chorus - Orff: Carmina Burana - 14. In Taberna: In Taberna Quando Sumus via FoxyTunes

Why I will never chew in photos ever again

But I look ecstatic, as of course I was. I was with Shannon, having a great time at the Cuba St Carnival, dancing to Bong Master and drinking beer, and being surprised by girls with broad Australian accents...

Burlesque-esque

So, I went to a comedy theatre show thing at the Fringe Festival last night with Monique - ate dinner before hand (too much cheese) and watched a woman talk to us about kinky sex for an hour. Quite fun really... there was a pop quiz where we yelled "penis" or "vagina" to answer the questions and won sex toys. I didn't win any. Further audience participation: a man who was dressed in a pink cowboy costume and then encouraged to strip for us all. Nothing like seeing pink chaps go flying to define an evening really... But overall, not a super exciting play. As we left, Mon said that she sort of imagines that she might learn more about sex and shit than she already knew but, nothing really. EXCEPT, apparently Ricky Martin is into watersports. And then Mon told me kind of a funny story about Ricky Martin stealing George Michael's boy toy at a benefit concert of some description? In other news, I was listening to a Patti Smith track the other day and my (25 y.o) flatmate walked into the lounge and said - "What the hell is this? All that screaming - it's not really music is it?" To which I replied "Thanks Grandad. Check your birth certificate". Sometimes he really really bugs me. Actually it's more like often, and a fair amount. Especially when he criticises my music and then listens to John Denver tracks on repeat, really loudly, in his room, on a Saturday morning. Passion killer. This flat really isn't big enough for four adults. I always feel like people are all up in my space. And I"m not great at krumping, can't show them how that shit feels, MAAAAAAAN.

I get way too big a kick out of this: Thankyou Blogpatrol for making my day

More search Keywords that have lead to my blog, this must be part three or four of an ongoing series. Wouldn't it be fun to match the keyword with the post? Crikey, yes. 2 tonga "beginning of the day" (Google) 1 women with large glitoris (MSN) 1 'katy corner' + NZ (Google) 1 salsa style (Yahoo) 1 like a virgin song by (MSN) 1 where was savoury muffins discovered (Google)

Last night I saw someone's bedroom act

So, I went out for the first time since we've been in Melbourne and had a rather pleasant time. Ostensibly we'd gone to see Batrider, the band of a girlfriend of a friend of Andy's so that Andy could stalk his friend, get his phone number and hopefully harass him into letting us sleep on his couch (that part failed miserably...) The first act of the evening was this small, skinny white boy who sang along to his iPod. It was as though he'd catalogued every single song that he'd ever made up, made backing tracks and created an interpretive dance for each one. He really FELT the music... you could see him feeling it. His hair was kind of floppy. It was a little like watching a funky noodle. As with all performance art, at the beginning of this fit I felt incredibly uncomfortable - clearly this whole thing was a massive joke, but I felt kind of rude laughing. Like, it was an in-joke, but if I laughed it would be AT the guy, rather than WITH him. Although he would be laughing too. But differently. Batrider was dirge.* I liked it (sorry Bex). And, if the 90s are the new 80s, dirge is the way of the future. I'm considering investing in some flannelette shirts now. And some tee-shirts with Kurt Cobain on the front of them. And some Doc Martin boots (actually, I'm totally serious about the boots. I always wanted 10-ups). Also: Kate and Kena, I have made contact with Vee and am having a coffee with her today. Hooray for having friends! It's fun. *Andy gave me this html and I've just looked at the site. It's a little like reading my adolescent diaries. Hm.

Amateur Theatre

Nothing chills the heart of Man like the words "Amateur Theatre". And yet, I found myself this evening attending a Wellington Repertory Theatre performance of "Terry Pratchett's Lords and Ladies." Fran invited me and Andy because there was a concession on group bookings, which was very sweet of her. Thus we joined a group of like-minded Pratchett geeks. But nothing could have prepared me for the horror that would await me deep within the heart of the Gryphon Theatre (this sounds like hyperbole but its not. At all.) Everything bad about Amateur Theatre was present in this play. EVERYTHING. Plastic swords, people consistently forgetting their lines, impenetrable fake accents, a bad primate costume. The lights went down for a scene change at least every ten minutes. Parts of it made no sense. There was a scene where two of the actors stood at the front of the stage and talked to a badly cued tape recording. Halfway through the play there was a fifteen minute intermission where Andy and I considered escaping, but decided that that would be unfathomably rude. Fran asked us whether we thought the Queen of the Fairies had a lisp. In the end we sat through two and half hours worth of the worst theatre I have ever scene (thats TWO and HALF hours of Amateur Theatre). There was a point where the play was so bad that it became good again like a really kitschy film ("The Holy Mountain", maybe?) By the end of the play I was in internal hysterics, barely suppressed. And yet, so glad that I went. It was certainly An Experience.