what's next, gout?

Fresh page, blank slate notwithstanding, my bloggy muse is still AWOL.  Am feeling very stilted on the old blog recently, given I don't tend to write about work, my husband generally (other than, you know, putting up mocking faux-fashion pictures) or details regarding my friends.  Maybe it's just that I'm leading a boring life?  Probably.  I can usually wring a drop of drama or six out of the most innocuous material, so I'll resort to a nice list and see what pops out:

• Summer holiday is mostly organised, including a trip to see the olds, a week at the beach with friends, and a visit from P's mum.  We've also booked a trip to Golden Bay (upper South Island, v remote, hippy heaven) for a wedding in March.  Am feeling good about summer time on the horizon.
• Friend saga.  Friend 1 has been a dick to Friend 2 over a gift that Friend 1, a bunch of other friends and I arranged for Friend 2.  I heartily disapprove of Friend 1's dickish behaviour and dealt with endless email/FB correspondence, including a few calls to other friends myself for sanity! Mother above, how is it that friends can still bring the drama at age 30+? I am actually ashamed of having had any involvement in a squabble at all.  But given I'm not going to parse the details here, you probably don't care much about that at all.  Safe to say: my policy on this sh*t now is: Let's All Calm Down and Have a Glass of Wine.  Actually, that's an excellent policy to apply across the board for me, I'll have it printed on an inspirational fridge magnet in no time.  Watch out Pinterest.*
• Tabitha cat has found an access point to the roof and scares the bejesus out of me on the regular.  She creates massive thumps, and I rush outside to see what's caused the noise, only to realise I'm being watched over the eaves by a furry wee stalker.  Gets me every time and is somehow worse than when I realised I'm being watched during midnight pee trips. 
• HAHAHAHA I jinxed myself with my recent post about musical theatre. Turns out the Sound of Music is coming to town and my sister K is desperate to go.  Mum said no way, on the basis that it won't be as good as the movie, but K pointed out that comparing it unfavourably is half the fun.  I mean, why would you watch the Keira Knightley version of Pride & Prejudice otherwise?  So, I'm going back to the theatre for a singalong, goodness help me.
• Weekend: nearly upon us, whew. 
• State of the Chubby Update: fell off the food recording bandwagon hard, but am making better decisions and feeling better about meself generally.  More cups of tea, fewer diet Cokes, no snorting chips before dinner.  Good rules, hey?
• OMG I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO TELL YOU: I think I had an attack of gallstones! No, I'm not 90 or a very fat man (the population segment I associate with gallstones)!  The other weekend was spiked with abdominal pain, that started near the bottom of my ribs and worked its way down.  I was achey on and off all weekend, with marginal improvement on the Monday.  After I was palpated by the doctor (ick! palpation! sounds vile, right? Mind you, it could have been worse - she threatened me with a transvaginal scan at one point), she concluded that the likely culprit was gallstones.  I was so ashamed, but did you know that it is actually more common in women?  And that it can be caused by long term oral contraceptive use?  Well, that's what Wikipedia tells me anyway.  I had a blood test/pee test to rule some other stuff out, but they won't know that it was the 'stones for sure unless they do an ultrasound.  Given I'm feeling better, I'm going to flag that, so unless they flare up again, I guess we'll never know.  GALLSTONES.  AM SUFFERING FROM MYSTERIOUS OLD PERSON AILMENT.  SHAME.

*I joined Pinterest in 2011, pinned approximately 3 wedding hairstyles I knew I could never be achieved with my hair, and never looked at it again. I often get so-and-so-is-now-following-you-on-Pinterest! emails, and every time I feel sorry for them, because it must be pretty damn boring.

why i'm unlikely to attend any revival of 'cats'

One of (my) life's little mysteries is why I don't like musical theatre as an adult, when I was completely enamoured of it as a child?

Here are my theories:

1) Bitterness and envy. 

My parents took me to the Founder's Theatre in Hamilton to see My Fair Lady (starring Max Cryer; I forget who played Eliza, but she was beautiful, I thought) when I was about 7 or 8.  My sister was deemed too young, or it was a treat for just me, I don't remember the details.  In any case, she was dropped at the neighbours while Mum and Dad took me to the show.  It was dinner theatre, I think, a late-80s small-town fancy-pants evening.  I was entranced and decided then and there, that's what I want to be.  The star.  Long story short, I am now a lawyer, not a musical theatre performer, worse luck.  Not cut out for it, sadly.  Maybe I'm just jealous, which means I avoid watching?

2) P's curmudgeonliness is rubbing off.

I can't believe it's true, but I married a man who has never watched the Sound of Music.  Or Grease.  He has shunned two mainstay films of my childhood (the other being Pippi Longstocking.  I haven't asked P to join the fan club for that one). 

One of Auckland's main theatres is on our commute.  As we pass, P mournfully intones things like, 'you're not going to make me take you to...Wicked, are you?'  I truly believe he thinks Annie or Mamma Mia would scar him for life.  He happily joins me for plays and has been the driving force behind visiting the opera and orchestral events, but he has drawn a very bright line at musical theatre.  I'm afraid I've never seen him chant a chorus or, you know, shimmy.  Perhaps it's catching?

3) Perversity and/or snobbery

I worry that something deep and dark in me doesn't want to enjoy musicals like many others do, simply because it's popular and not as 'high brow' as other pursuits.  I'd like to think I'm not always an asshole, however, and there's plenty of evidence that I do not give two shits about 'high brow' culture - I often switch the car's radio to deeply uncool top 40 stations, I read and enjoy all sorts of books from all over the scale (Diana Gabaldon to Margaret Atwood to Dickens to Regency to Marian Keyes -- never, ever sports autobiographies -- although, most of the time I suppose you don't catch me reviewing or admitting to the 'low brow' stuff) (BTW, is it 'annoying' how I keep putting 'high/low brow' in quotes? It's because every time I write them I feel like an asshole.  But then the quotes also make me feel assholey.  Net result = 'asshole'?).

Could be a combo of the three I suppose.  Or just a change of taste over time, much like discovering that olives are tasty, around the age of 17.  Who knows? 

(I really hope you didn't think this post was going anywhere, it totally wasn't and it didn't, I'm afraid.  Soz about that.)

nothing

FRIDAY.

FRIDAY.

(It bore repeating).

Thank goodness for that. 

HAVEN'T PINCHED A GOOD PIC FROM FUCK YEAH, BOOKS IN A WHILE.  THANKS MORRISSEY, THANKS FUCK YEAH, BOOKS

That is all.

july, two days in

I can feel the fog descending, curling round the outer edges of consciousness and fuzzing up my throat and nose.  I will shortly be a pariah in the office, my germs warded off with sideways glances and furious rinsing of mugs. 

Ha, I just opened the last post to discover it was all about being sick.  Well, lest this blog devolve into an extended examination of my inner workings, let me report on all the other news in A-town:

My sister K: took her to a play last night (Once on Chunuk Bair, Auckland Theatre Company at the Maidment, v. good) and enjoyed her company over dinner first.  She had a skirt in a gorgeous stiff black + white floral fabric that I coveted.  That's not really news, per se, but there it is. 

Mum: allegedly announced to sister K that she's now ready to be a grandmother.  Has also been considering surrogacy options for me, in case I'm too busy to procreate for myself.  Mum surely told K this in the knowledge it would be communicated to me (K being presently single meaning that she's not the prime child-bearing target).  Dear old Mum, she doesn't want to ask me directly what my plans are because she rightly knows I'll be prickly about it.  She's been giving me plenty of opportunities to raise children in conversation; I'm SUCH a disappointment.

Dad: not much to report.  I'm loving phone conversations with him at the moment.  He works so actively at holding a conversation about the news and what's going on and asking the right questions -- who doesn't love that? About the time I left home, Dad became very intentional in telling us he loves and is proud of us.  Maybe I didn't notice it before I left, maybe it was triggered by our departures, I'm not sure.  We've never been an emotionally transparent family and I just adore that Dad is intentional now about that stuff - it takes effort and I really appreciate it.  Though, of course, I should be more reciprocal. 

P: lovely, as usual.  Except for the other morning when everything he uttered annoyed me so deeply I contemplated telling him to just shut up and not bother talking to me again until we left for work.  Good thing I didn't, as on reflection the problem may (MAY!) have been me and waking up on the wrong side of the bed. 

Work: have been promoted.  Am fairly sure that they will soon discover all apparent abilities are a sham -- but have managed to wriggle up another step on the ladder for better or worse.  Am bizarrely ambivalent about it for a girl who has tended to measure her worth in external achievement standards. 

Cats: puss-ish. 

Friends: neglected.  Must do something about that.  J is in NZ this week and I'm taking my birthday leave on Friday to see her.  I think we'll go to a wild and wintry beach for a walk to feel properly Kiwi.  I'll feel envious of her return to London on Sunday as I've been having pangs recently.  It's been a while since we escaped Auckland last, so perhaps I'm feeling a little cabin-feverish?

Ha, on re-reading the above, it struck me -- have you read the Ed Champion rant about Middling Millenials?  I'm not going to link to it because ELEVEN THOUSAND WORDS and much of his point re Emily Gould is subsumed in vitriol and a smattering of misogyny, valid as it might otherwise be.  ALSO, good grief, I could certainly be accused of some Middling Millenial behaviour. Of course, any literary pretensions I may have reside firmly inside my own head and only occasionally spill into this badly-edited and irretrievably awful personal blog, so if Middling Millenial refers only to those who are seeking fame off the creation of subpar art, I certainly don't count.  But, if the occasional reference to the Pink Power Ranger by a 32 year old woman in an online journal strikes you as vapid, lazy and disengaged, well bully for you but I care not.  Well, I care a little bit, I'm human aren't I?

Time to cut it off, given I'm making no sense whatsoever.  I bet you I read this in less than a month's time and cringe, but isn't that what a blog's for?

did catherine morland attend the opera while in bath?

P and I attended the NZ Opera's production of La Traviata last night.  I am an operatic Philistine, in that I know nothing about opera other than fictional genteel flutterings of fans and eye contact amongst the crowds attending the opera in Regency romances (OH GOD I'VE EXPOSED MYSELF.  Yes, I read Regency romances.  I'm so sorry).  I'm pretty sure no one was making eyes at me last night.  But I was also probably 30 years too young for most of the crowd.  Aaaaaaaaanyway, I know little about the opera, so bear that in mind when you read the list below:

• Lovely set.  Similar to last year's production of Madame Butterfly in the use of a central pivoting stage, but beautiful.  The chandeliers as set dressing on the ground at the right moments were haunting, as were the dusty mirrored walls. 
• Lorina Gore as Violetta was beautiful, suitably fluttery at the right moments and had a magic voice.
• Alfredo's a bit of a numpty.  You know, aside from all the other plot holes, I found old Alfredo vaguely stalkerish (you've been in love with her for a year from afar but just met her three minutes ago?!), nauseatingly in love (noble! mysterious! love), easily taken in (YOUR DAD WAS MEANT TO BE VISITING IN YOUR ABSENCE, 'FREDO. WHY DO YOU THINK SHE'S CRYING AND LEAVING?) and ultimately, not very good at being angry.  He didn't make my heart swell.
• I need more sparkly dresses in my wardrobe for these occasions.  About 40% of the audience were dressed to the nines and I loved it, wished I made more of an effort.
• The chorus songs were so great!
• I'm pretty sure I saw a girl I went to primary school with in the audience, but I was too chicken to approach her.
• Wish I could have seen into the pit - I really wanted to watch the orchestra, as they sounded wonderful.
• We ate a really great meal at Depot first (again.  Love that place).

See, I told you I know nothing about opera. 

_____________

Also, I want to say I feel good about writing the #yesallwomen post, now.  I hope you didn't feel obliged to read it (don't feel obliged, if you're just reading my blog for the first time.  It's about 2 posts ago).  I found it cathartic.  I suspect that part of the purge is the feeling that I'm contributing to something broader, an education, a movement.  If I can do one thing for someone else now (be it tell a man that consent is a yes, freely and knowingly given, or tell a woman that she's not alone), I won't beat myself up about the decision I made at the time not to speak of it. 

I've also done one thing for me.  I've acknowledged what happened.  That alone might be selfish, but god has it made me feel free.

queen's birthday 2014

Me? Oh I've been working like a slave, and then rushing off to Waiheke for a day wine-tasting with friends, getting way too sauced on the good stuff, wasting all of Sunday curled up in a ball of vino and regret fumes, and spending most of the Monday off at work.

But, I made a new friend! This is Bobby:

BOBBY IS THREE.  LIKES: SHOELACES, COAT BUTTONS.  DISLIKES: DOUBLE KNOTS

And we saw the sun!

SWIPED FROM P'S FACEBOOK.  STONYRIDGE VINEYARD, WAIHEKE, LAST DAY OF AUTUMN 2014

I swear, the only way to tell it was the beginning of winter was by examining the vines:

TE MOTU VINEYARD, WAIHEKE, HOME OF BOBBY

Before I wrote off my tastebuds (and the rest), we had a swig of the LaRose from Stonyridge.  Heaven in a glass, if you're into that sort of thing.   Visitors to Auckland, a day trip to Waiheke cannot come highly rated enough.

And now, back to my regularly scheduled blawgity blawging about Not Much. 

easter update 2014

Easter: four days off, let's do that more often.  Loved it, apart from the heartbreaking moment on Saturday that P and I realised we'd left our egg run too late at the supermarket: chocolate eggs SOLD OUT.  I'm sure we'll get over it but it was a stab to the heart, that's for sure.

Day in the Life: doing this thing again.  Hope to post tomorrow.  If you're bored by this short missive, just wait until I hit you with the minutiae of another day in the terribly exciting life and times of A!

About Time: Richard Curtis you emotional manipulator you.  The film opened with my wedding aisle song (The Luckiest, Ben Folds, if you're interested).  Nearly cried from the get go.  Took half an hour of scrubbing pots in the kitchen after the final credits for me to turn off the emotional gushiness that ensued. 

Revisiting YA fiction over the break: I did this and I am ashamed of myself.  Hours down the drain.  HOURS.

Sunday Painters: meh.  This is probably because I'm spoilt - P cooks excellent French bistro food.  This is also probably because P's taught me to be an unbearable wine snob - no decanters in the restaurant at all, when there's all that lovely aged Burgundy?  Ack, I'm awful.

Silence: was golden in the 09 over the break.  Empty streets, quiet neighbourhoods, no queues anywhere.  With the notable exception of Harvey Norman in Wairau Park to which we stupidly ventured in pursuit of a new vacuum cleaner on sale (yes, that is exactly how exciting my life is now but YOU SHOULD SEE MY RUG Dyson 4 lyf) which had crowds so cray there was a bouncy castle to keep hordes of kids entertained while their parents perused whiteware and gave me claustrophobia on an unprecedented scale. 

ramble

I contemplated tights this morning, for the first time in at least six months.  I wore pajama pants and an old jersey of P's around the house last night and felt lovely and cosy.  The shoulder seasons are just lovely, really, when they're not particularly wet. 

Ma and Pa are off on an overseas jaunt and I'm super jealous, feeling stuck here in the +64.  They're visiting the studio we rented in Cairanne, Provence.  Not only are they spending spring in the south of France, but I can imagine exactly where and what they'll be doing.  Swanning around the ampitheatre in Orange, swilling wine in Chateauneuf du Pape, visiting the boulangerie in the village etc.  It's been nearly two years since we were there last; FRANCE I MISS YOU please can I come back soon?

At the moment, they're in the Napa Valley somewhere.  Gosh, they deserve it but man alive I am being eaten alive by envy.

Instead, I suspect it will rain through Easter.  We're catching up with friends, will probably mooch around the house a bit, stuff our faces with marshmallow eggs.  There are worse things we could be doing, I suppose.  P was gifted a voucher by his employer for working hard through a particularly stressful time of the year for them, so on Saturday we're trying a new to us restaurant (Sunday Painters, if you're interested.)

I'm starting to go for walks with sister K this weekend, who has signed us up to a 10k run later this year.  K's recovering from knee surgery, so we're planning a leisurely training programme to get her back in action.  We'll tackle One Tree Hill on Saturday, and I'll try to convince her of the merits of homeownership in the greater Onehunga area.  I'd like her to be closer to us.  It feels odd living in the same city but being at least a half hour drive apart.  That's probably laziness on my part - in London, I'd have thought nothing of catching public transport for 45 minutes or so to see her, but in Auckland I resent it.  Partly because I'm not a fan of the part of town she lives in, perhaps?  She's looking to buy even further away, but I am the big sister and what are big sisters for but being a bit bossy?

Last weekend we went to Silo's production of Angels in America, as forecast.  Wow.  I'm still chewing that one over, but general verdict is I really enjoyed it.  As an aside, and lest you think this is a cat-free blog post, let me just say that I nearly lost my shit when in the last 30 minutes of 6 hours, the play featured a dead cat, enumerating its nine lives.  Well fuck me, I can tell you for real that cats have one life only.  I had to laugh - I'd just been thinking how the play was so obviously of it's time (written in the early 90s, set mid 80s) but maintained resonance. 

sorry

I dislike feeling a compulsion to apologise for my absence from the blog, but then, I apologise for all sorts of things, so why not this?  Things I apologise for include:

- my appearance whenever complimented by friends (Oh, this dress?  Sorry, just a cheapie from Next) (Oh, my hair? Makes a nice change from the usual bird's nest, doesn't it?)

- my appearance generally (I'm sorry I look like I've been dragged backwards through a bush today.  It's humid, you know)

- my presence (I'm sorry for bumping you [even though you were standing in the middle of the bus aisle like a chump when I was trying to get out of my seat])

- my cooking (sorry it doesn't look that nice, I promise I haven't poisoned anyone...yet)

Etc.  There is a probably a long list of things I should apologise for, but I'm wilfully choosing to feign ignorance in that regard.

So.  Yes.  Sorry I've been gone.  No excuses, the muse has not been with me is all.

What have I achieved in my absence?  Strikingly little.  I had a very nice long weekend at the lake with family, following which we did not pick up Cocoa the Cat from Hamilton as expected.  As I mentioned, my MIL's co-parent to Cocoa, J, is in a hospice where she is receiving respite care for terminal cancer.  We had understood that Cocoa had no one to look after her in the interim (my MIL still being in Germany) but it transpires that J's family are now house/cat-sitting for J and are taking Cocoa to the hospice for visits.  We may still be asked to provide a home at some point in the future, but that seems much less traumatic for Cocoa and good for J, too.  My MIL arrives home for a few weeks at the beginning of March and I think some more decisions may be made then.

This weekend I spent at least two hours on my hands and knees removing kikuyu grass from the lawn.  It was extremely satisfying ripping out chunks of root systems, tragically.  How rural is that?  I ask you.  You don't come here for the recipes or the outfit posts, do you dear readers? You come for the unmitigated excitement of reading the details of my personal life! WEED REMOVAL, GLAM.

Also, I scored some free courtside tickets to see the NZ Breakers play basketball.  Much more glamourous.  I sat in front of Valerie Adams who, to us South Auckland types, is a real deal A-list celeb in sporting circles.  Was very exciting. 

It's the kittens' first day at home alone with unrestricted access to the outside world.  Hold me, I'm scared.  Will fill you in on how it went in a week or three, no doubt. 

Nice to be back, actually.  I've missed you. 

things what i drank + enjoyed, recently

I had to go to work on Auckland Anniversary day.  Hence a post in order to whinge, basically.  At least it's warm in the office today, given that there's no aircon?

(I'm sweating my face off, in other words).

Enough whining. 

More wine-ing instead please!  Wines I have slurped this weekend:

- On Friday: P cracked open a bottle of pinot noir we bought at a tasting some seven years ago - oh man, that ages us!  We were the youngest people at the tasting, I promise. I wish I could remember the name so you can take the recc, but after a couple of gins and half a bottle of pinot while wandering after kittens in the garden and then watching Federer/Nadal at the Aussie Open, my recall ain't so good.  Also, I am old.  These things happen.  Bloody delicious, in any case.

- Saturday: Kim Crawford Pansy during the cricket.  Not the tastiest rose in the world, but great name and wonderful for a hot evening.  Serve chilled, but not too cold. 

- Sunday: Morton Estate IQ7 sparkling.  This was delicious and is a steal in NZ supermarkets at the moment, I highly recommend it.  Also, I quite like drinking Morton Estate because they have a vineyard right down the road from my mum and dad.  There is a lovely sign that uses river stones to say 'Morton Estate' on a slight rise as you approach the vineyard.  Some clever clogs pinched the stones from the T in that sign once, and I giggle every time we drive past or pick up a bottle from their cellar door (which in fact is miles away on SH22 near Katikati, where my grandparents used to live. Yes, I can find my way around the North Island by vineyard navigation, sadly).

And yes, I am a terrible boozehound who feels guilty but HOLIDAY WEEKEND I deserve it, right?! (Please validate me.  Please)

Hey, how's that for some lifestyle blogging?  If your lifestyle is wine-soaked, that is.  OH, WAIT, I NEED A PICTURE to support this review:

LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER

ALSO, SEE WHAT I DID THERE? GRATUITOUS KITTY PIC FEATURING WINE.  SHAME ABOUT MY HULK-HAND

the lead up to xmas begins

Remember the time I wore a white dress to a charity ball and nearly bled all over it?  Well folks, it's that time of year again! Not the inappropriate bleeding, but the charity ball part.  Which? UGH. 

I go to these things as P's +1, ostensibly to make sparkling conversation.  It's not obligatory but it's a nice thing to do to support P and his career and his workplace's desire to contribute to a worthy charity. 

Charitable giving is good.  I approve of charitable giving.  Over the past year, I have sipped wine from the glasses I purchased in the blind auction at last year's ball with a smug glow.  P has taken the signed, framed Kiwis' Rugby League jersey to work, so I never have to look at it again (honestly.  Let's just take a moment to let that sink in.  He purchased sporting memorabilia and let me pick it up as a 'surprise'.  I utterly abhor all sporting memorabilia - that ugly, ugly sponsor's shirt from some car racing thingo has only escaped my matches by virtue of being pit-lane-inflammable, the motherfucker.  Oh, and the All Blacks jersey because torching that would lead to divorce, not to mention revocation of my citizenship.  AND P KNOWS THIS HATRED.  He thought it was hilarious.  It wasn't.  It was pushing my buttons for the sake of it and I just about throttled him.  I certainly unleashed my patented Look of Disdain and Contempt.  Whoa, digression + a rant, you lucky things.)

Aaaaanyway, despite my approval of charitable giving and my appreciation for one of last year's charitable purchases, I still don't fancy going tonight.  (a) I still don't approve of the excessive spending that goes into these charity ball things, (b) I don't fancy making small talk just now, and (c) I think I'll look fat in my lovely Juliette Hogan dress.  It's not the dress's fault, it's mine.  Vanity and social insecurities, just wonderful.  I'm really pushing myself for improvement, hey? 

JULIETTE HOGAN.  SEE? NOT THE DRESS'S FAULT.  I AM WEARING IT WITH MORE SLIP AND MORE PUDGE.

it's not so bad

I had a lovely weekend with my family, thanks.  No drama, just sunshine and laughter and chasing cows and pink wine and homemade bread and flights that were on time, thank goodness.  Weekends like that make me wish that everyone could enjoy a relationship with their immediate family that is as fundamentally happy as mine.  Don't get me wrong; we have/had our moments, but I love them very much and they're very, very good to me.

I thought I ought to write that down, in the spirit of avoiding this blog's usual fodder, the commemoration of bad.  Another Damn Life wrote about the 'perpetually escalating competition to prove who among us is the biggest disaster'.  I read that and cringed, physically backing off the monitor.  Yes, the name of this blog is Hopeless.  Yes, I record for my own (& others?) amusement the dopey goings-on at Chez A.  It's not about competing though, I promise.  I'm quite proud of my own adulthood, really.  This blog does contain allusions to my overall contendedness in the grand scheme of things.  However, it is devoted in the main to recording silly minutiae.  No one reads my archives more than me (no one really reads my blog, which is fine with me.  I don't go out of my way to advertise it; no comments really on the blogs of others, no facebook or twitter 'new post up nows!')  I write this for me.  For the need to memorialise. It so happens that I record something that makes me feel close to my family, who have been teasing me for years about that very thing - being impractical. 

In all honesty, I find that writing about the good is hard.  Writing about the bad is cathartic - whether the bad be silly or terrible.  I shake screeds of words about the bad out of my keyboard, but I find the good is usually stuck in there, with the crumbs and moulted eyelashes.  My Kiwi sense of cultural cringe - that anything I say about the good will be seen as a terrible boast, qualified six ways from Sunday or no - heavily edits anything I wish to say about the good. 

All of that is by way of justification, but also in saying I that I agree with Another Damn Life.  We shouldn't compete amongst ourselves to find the biggest klutz/cereal-for-dinner-eater/etc.  That smacks of laying claim to an 'adorable & endearing trait' that writers try to give humanity to their thinly-veiled idealistic female characters (oh you know you could name about a zillion examples from rom-coms, chick lit and young adult fiction.  Not to say those characters don't fulfill a need, certainly).  Anyway, I really like what Lyn had to say about it.

Now, regarding the comment Lyn made in an earlier post about borrowing Amalah-style OMG CAPS LOCK writing...guilty as charged.  Hah. I really need to find my own style and niche, which will no doubt involve tonnes more ill-judged parenthesis and dashes and semi-colons.  I enjoy that, clearly.

So, yes.  Today I stumbled across a blog that hit all of my insecurity buttons in a manner I admire.  And things are generally pretty good, here.

(I found Lyn through Kirsty of A Safe Mooring, whose writing I also very much enjoy.  I am indebted to them both.) 

bookish

Ugh, all that crap about my urinary tract and peeing in leaky cups has got to get off the top of the blog. 

Um.  Um.  How do you follow a diatribe like that up?

[I've sat on the above sentences for 24 hours now.  Following it up was really, really stinking hard]

OK.  OK.  Oryx and Crake, Margaret Atwood.  Bought this last Friday as a wee treat, finished by Sunday.  Enjoyed is probably the wrong word - there's some very disturbing content, but I think it's a wonderful, thought-provoking commentary on modern day issues set in a dystopian future.  I'm still not sure I get the ending; going to have a bit of a re-read and then plunge on with the next in the series.  I really want to recommend it to P, but I think he'll reach the child exploitation bits and freak with horror. 

I also picked up a copy of I, Claudius by Robert Graves.  I have listened to this on audiobook before - I forget who narrated it but he has a very distinctive tone and I'm very much enjoying him as my mental narrator as I slurp up the words on the page.  It's just interesting, that's what it is.  I haven't read that much about the Roman Empire post-Caesar and I love a bit of intrigue and scheming so this is perfect for 10 minutes pre-sleep reading.  Livia is a nasty firecracker and I love it. 

What else, culture-wise?  I'm going to see Hollie Smith perform this Saturday.  Yup.  That's probably about it. 

That's right - I have had Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (Susanna Clarke) sitting on my bedside table for an aeon.  I was reading Julia's archives the other day and she mentioned that while she felt like she should enjoy it, she just couldn't get through it.  I have had this exact experience with Jonathan Strange.  I even took it to the bath a few weeks ago and, well, gave up again afterwards.  If I can't get into a book in the bath then there's something seriously wrong.  To be fair, when a book is that hefty it isn't ideal tub material...but I'm usually still willing to cut it a break. 

theatrical

Last night P took me to the theatre - Speaking in Tongues, produced by the Silo Theatre Company.  Verdict: the first half really made me think and I wanted more of the same - Andrew Bovell's second half felt a little disjointed as a result; it had the same strong themes but I wanted to know more through the eyes of Jane, Pete and Sonja who vanished for the benefit of Sarah, Neil/John and Valerie.  Oliver Driver was excellent - as John, in particular.

However.  The takeaway from last night's performance is that I can never eat at a yakitori bar again if I don't want to end up the size of a house.  Edamame, completely justifiable.  However, chicken skins, pork belly, octopus balls and chicken livers all on their own wee sticks are entirely too much fatty deliciousness and I cannot resist.  Starving myself of yakitori is the only way - but Tanuki's Cave is on my walk home...I am doomed. 

Also, I drank far too much sake with dinner (just before the final skewer arrived I annouced to P: "I am officially impaired") and that's a recipe for feeling alternatively extremely hot and then shivery the day following.  I am having real trouble regulating my body temp today. 

spring weekend causes uncharacteristic episode of positivity

Friday was a particularly lovely day.  Posterity, take note:

• Work got done.  That all-too-infrequent sense of satisfaction of churning out a job in a timely way well produced?  I had it.  I need to get it more often, self.
• Boss cheerily noted 'why don't you go home, you've got that report done' at 4.15.  I was out of the building by 4.16.
• There was sunshine outside!
• On the way home, I ducked into Smith & Caugheys and sprayed myself with nice perfume.  Such a nice (free!) treat.  Doesn't take much to flick my switch, really.
• While sniffing my wrist waiting to cross a major intersection, I witnessed a car accident.  That might not sound very lovely, but it was just a minor scrape thanks to a last minute swerve with no injuries, so I count my lucky stars.  Plenty of witnesses to comment; I couldn't see who had been at fault from my angle and I got to keep walking.
• Home: empty on arrival.  I poured a G&T ---- vacuumed, and cleaned the bathroom.  Who knew that could be so satisfying on a Friday evening? 
• Gussied up (I don't do that often enough!) and hit Kingsland Friday night with friends.  Drinks, lovely French dinner, safe in bed by 11.  Good times.
• Walked home from Kingsland with P, arm in arm, chatting, laughing.  He's a good sort.

I might have a few moans about the rest of the weekend which was not all I had hoped and dreamed, but given my Friday and the fact I managed to destroy a whole book this weekend, it's not all bad.  (Book = Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn.  Am distinctly ambivalent about it; quite possibly because I'm very late to the party as always and it's been talked up a lot.  Gripping enough to keep me binge reading I suppose but the only character I really liked was Boney and she seemed very underdeveloped given where the character went.  I know, I know: you don't have to like characters to know a book is good but I felt I could have done with someone to like more - Nick's sister Go, maybe? Eh, I don't know.  What a sterling reaction.  Real take home piece.)

Ate my first piece of tasty steak off the giant barbeque last night.  Flat iron and sirloin, if you must know.  P is a culinary god: he served it with a beautiful cos and parsley salad with a simple lemon dressing, as well as his take on potatoes dauphinoise and a dab of Hot English Mustard.  A man who knows the way to fatten up his wife properly, that one.  It did look a little ridiculous - two wee steaks sitting on the most enormous piece of powder coated steel that could serve as a boat, should you wish to add an outboard motor.  If Thanksgiving were a thing here in the Land of the Long White Cloud, I'd have a turkey on that bad boy in a heartbeat.  SRSLY.  It's huge. 

a round-up of spring fashion? perhaps not

It is a glorious day here in the City of Sails - well, from my desk anyway.  I ventured out to purchase that most necessary of all office staples (diet coke) at lunchtime and there is a chilly breeze, but nevertheless, the sun is out, there are boats on the water and there are teenagers wearing ill-advised high-cut denim shorts sans tights.  All is right with the world. 

I have that peculiarly spring-y feeling (plz to tell if you suffer from this as well) where I want to go out and purchase all manner of sandals and floral dresses.  This is a particularly dumb idea in circumstances where:

1. Said dresses and sandals cost money, which I have basically been flushing down the toilet recently;
2. My legs bear a close resemblance to neon glow sticks except hairier and fatter;
3. All the shops appear to be stocking just now are crop fucking tops and dresses that will barely cover my crotch LET ALONE my granny sized underwear. 

I wandered through Glassons the other day, in search of cheap inspiration and was really stoked to find a fine knit Breton stripe top (just the rage with all the cool bloggers, I hear).  I picked it up and was horrified to find it stopped just below my navel.  Look, I know I'm 31 and am borderline being banned from Glass on the basis that it's just inappropriate for a woman of my age (hey, I don't shop at Supre at least), but I do expect that as a high volume manufacturer of polyester for the masses the powers-that-be would be aware that the masses are generally in possession of muffin tops and look absolutely fucking ridiculous in crops?  Or is that just me? (that looks ridiculous.  Says the woman of questionable taste wearing a jumper with what appears to be a mullet-y bridal veil hanging down from the back.)  And before you ask, IT WAS NOT A SIZE 6.  I am dim and am always imagining that I am MUCH slimmer and taller than I am (with smoother, glossier hair too) but I tend to pick the correct size from the rack before I hit the changing rooms. 

Whew, ranty. 

Moving on: culture.  I has none.  I wasted a bday Whitcoulls voucher on Mortal Instruments: City of Bones I don't know why because it transpires that it is terrible, terrible teenage fantasy-style fiction which features:

1. the supernatural
2. a love triangle
3. a heroine who doesn't know her own talents

Sound familiar?  And yet I have been consuming it rapidly.  I suspect A aged 14 has been all up in my head with her heart racing as the heroine chooses between good looking guys and saves the day.  I have since discovered that the movie being made of this book features Lily Collins, so I guess I can't hate it.  Lily Collins = Phil Collins' offspring and I HEART PHIL forever.

Digression: you know how in rhythmic gymnastics and synchronised swimming they do team items coordinated to music?  Well, there is a similar sort of thing in dressage (horses for courses) and at the ages of 12 and 13 respectively, my sister and I choreographed a routine to "Another Day in Paradise" for four of us and our ponies.  I can't remember whether we won the competition but I can tell you Phil Collins writes excellent beats for an extended trot.  F me, I can't believe I just told you that.

I have a nasty feeling I'm on a kind of roll spilling all my teenage shames here so I better put an end to this post, pronto.  Have a lovely weekend, all. 

things what i'm thinking, recently

What ho, chaps?

I haven't really covered all the good topics recently, have I?  In case you felt like you were missing out, here's the highlights package in a lovely little listicle:

• Royal baby: I approve.  Post-partum tummy? Real life, mah friends (or so I am told). 
• Simon Cowell's harem: well, bully for him.  Sounds like a baby will upset the pecking order. 
• Earthquakes: I felt one! In the office! In Auckland! That's ridiculous!  Guess what! I froze! I did not get under my desk! Hopeless in an emergency!
• Hilary Mantel: OH MY GOD SO GOOD.  Read her now.  Do it.
• Blonde: I am heading that way tomorrow (no, not a NEWS item as such, but then does the above really count?)
• Baths: are really not that great when you hop in, inhale in preparation for a big sigh of contentment and realise that you're searing your nostril linings with the acrid scent of bleach.  I think my MIL bleached the bathtub without my knowledge, which is super sweet.  I'm also super clean, having bathed in dilute sodium hypchlorite.
• Names for the North and South Island: OF COURSE Te Ika O Maui and Te Wai Pounamu should be known as such.  No one is taking away the right to call them the North and South Island because GEOGRAPHY. 
• Oh god, I'm feeling uncomfortable.  I think the gastroenteritis that has been passed round my rellies recently is headed my way. 

And on that note! Ta ta for now!

still vile

Here I am, still gunked up with snot (clear, I've been checking, no need to panic just yet), open-mouth breathing and exhaling heavy sighs approx. once every two minutes.  I spent all of yesterday at my new house, sending out emails saying things like:

"I'm just trying to shake this cold.  I'll definitely be in by lunchtime"

"I'm afraid I won't be in today but I'm checking email and I'll definitely be in tomorrow"

"I'll deal with that on my return, if that suits?"

"P, COME HOME NOW WITH A JELLY TIP PLZ I'M DYYYYYYYING"

While I did spend quite a bit of time napping, nose-blowing and binge-watching Laguna Beach (the second series, woefully inadequate without LC), I also continued the stocktake of the house.  Was definitely warmer after I stuffed dirty teatowels in the half inch gap under the back door.  My mother recommended I find "one of those craft fairs" and buy some kind of "handmade sausage" to stop the drafts.  It was sometime before I finished laughing.  The telephone and internet connections came online yesterday (note: NZ services - infinitely faster set up times than the UK.  Sure, you have to hand crank the internet once it's in, but at least it gets set up within two weeks, rather than, say, eight).  That is an enormous relief because do you know how much data one chews through when one needs to check the Daily Mail thrice daily?  Quite a bit (ROYAL BEBE WATCH PEOPLE, PRIORITIES.)

Oh also, in News Of The Day, Hat Friend scored us tickets to Beyonce!  Me circa 2003 is so unbelievably pumped about this news.  Seven 30-something girls at a Beyonce concert: what could possibly go wrong?  Quite a bit.  There's already talk of taking a day's leave (it's on a Friday) to "get ready", for which, substitute "blow out on cheap bubbly before the concert even starts."  God, I'm that woman that circa-2003-me would have felt sorry for.  How the mighty have fallen.  Don't be so smug 2003-me.  You wouldn't have had the money to buy tickets.  Be grateful to yo' old ass self! 

i wish we could all just get along

I got all upset checking in on twitter last night.  I haven't been on it in forever and almost straight away, I happened across a furore over the misogyny of some members of the gaming community.  Boy, it made me mad/sad. 

Let me tell you straight up: I am not a member of the gaming community.  I got addicted to a game brick with Tetris once and my flatmates had to hide the batteries so I didn't fail my exams.  See also: the two week Crash Bandicoot episode of 2002 on an old PS1.  Other than that, I play solitaire on my phone and boardgames if people don't know me well (people who do know me well refuse to play with me.  I understand why.) Net result: hardly qualified to comment on the gaming community.  But! I am a human being and I think it is TERRIBLE that someone on twitter could express disappointment about the lack of major female characters in new release games at E3 and receive responses that, by and large, appeared to call her a dumb cunt and suggest that women don't belong in gaming.

SO.  Then I read the NZ Herald online this morning and came across this.   I think it goes without saying that people who object to homophobic slurs being yelled are allowed to attend rugby matches.  Probably can express their views without being subject to what sounds like verbal and physical bullying, even.  Hannah, good on you for saying something - I bloody well wish I had when I went to the cricket earlier this year and the guys behind me were being horrible and racist for a laugh. 

I was ashamed when watching the All Blacks game on Saturday night over the bad crowd behaviour, just from what I could see on the TV.  Why do we think it's acceptable to boo when the other team are kicking a conversion/penalty?  I wonder sometimes whether we Kiwis are just bad winners as well as bad losers when it comes to the All Blacks.  And other teams? 

There is absolutely nothing wrong with a bit of banter, but we need to raise our game in that regard and not rely on sexism/homophobia/racism/xenophobia etc for a laugh. 

So yes.  That's what's winding me up today. 

bad prose on poetry

Oh hallo Blog.  There you are!  I missed you while I was absent for five or so minutes.

Manhire to Music at the Auckland Writers and Readers Festival last Friday was excellent.  Bill Manhire's poetry is lovely, redolent of place/whimsy in a way I found delicious. 

I love this, for example: 'On Originality' Bill Manhire, via New Zealand Electronic Poetry Centre (I can't reproduce without permission, so I won't.  But please to follow the link and enjoy for yourselves.) 

They closed the piece with Hone Tuwhare's 'Rain'.  I can't find a link that doesn't make me feel all suspicious about copyright/attribution, but I walked past that poem every school day for the five years of my undergraduate study, and I think it's eaten it's way into my skin, living in the subcutaneous fat, an unacknowledged part of me.  That's also probably a breach of copyright, but then, nominal damages only?  It's beautiful. 

(oh - the Hone Tuwhare Charitable Trust site is here and features a copy.)

It was lovely to have the poet read aloud, lovely and emotive to hear those words set to music.  But I also wanted a copy of each poem in front of me so that I could devour the shape of it, study it further, use more of my senses.  Goes without saying I bought the book, hey?