Knickers

Its a lovely, sunny Sydney Monday and I have the day off from work.

So why am I not out enjoying the beautiful weather?

Because I have to sit here and wait for the bloody washing machine repair-person to arrive, that's why.

"Sometime between 10am and 1pm" was what the nice lady told me when I rang her in a panic on Friday (I'd run out of clean knickers). "Oh and $94 call out fee, plus $17 per 15 minutes... not inclusive of parts".

Thanks ma'am.

There goes my fee for that corporate video I did a couple of weeks ago. I was planning to put that towards my trapeze lessons.

Damn.

So here I am.

Waiting for the...

STOP PRESS!

HOLD THE PHONE!

He's arrived. And left already.

I. LOVE. THE. WASHING. MACHINE. REPAIRMAN.

He's the same young spunk who has come to fix our dishwasher (twice).

His name is Andrew.

Andrew, bless him, just fixed the machine in about 5 minutes and did a nifty little by-pass the switch thingy which meant I didn't have to pay an extra $60 for a part that is "actually unneccessary"*.

Bless his cottons. Socks, I mean. Not the other cotton. Although bless his too... I went to his show last night. He did a great job of playing the nasty schoolboy. He was so nasty that at one point I wanted to run on stage, cuddle the guy he was picking on (who, incidentally, is a mate of mine) and shout at Cotton to "STOP PICKING ON JOHNNY AND GIVE HIM BACK HIS GLASSES".

I restrained myself. But only just.

Anyway.

My washing machine is fixed. I can put on a load of knickers and leave the house now.

Hurrah.
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* Unless I have small children running about the house. No, spunky Andrew, no young kids in this house.

Henry Rollins. Genius.

My fab friend HD (who also works in the arts so knows the pain), just sent me this.

I want to print this out and put it in the dressing room of a certain cast of a certain play I am selling tickets for.

One or two of them are a bit precious.

Unfortunately they're so precious, I suspect this would probably go straight over their heads.

But I think its mandatory for all dressing rooms.

Bluebell Madonna

Of all the ridiculous baby names in recent times, surely this one takes the cake.

Apparently, the name "came to the former Spice Girl during her regular walks in the park towards the end of the pregnancy when she seemed to see the flowers everywhere".

Let's at least be thankful she didn't name the poor tyke "Dustbin", "Bench", "Tree", "Drunken Bum" or "Dog Poo". That's what I see in my local park most days.

Of course given that her former fellow Spice Girls gave their kids ridiculous names like Phoenix Chi, Brooklyn, Romeo and Cruz, I guess we shouldn't be at all surprised.
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Bluebell Halliwell.
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I'd love to be a fly on the wall in her school yard in about ten year's time. Let's hope she's really witty and smart or has got a decent pair of fists on her.

People You Don't Expect To See Whilst Grocery Shopping

Forget Vegas... Elvis has a new gig at Coles Broadway.

You heard it here first.

I particularly enjoyed his rendition of "You Were Always On My Mind" whilst I was trying to choose yoghurt.

Complete

Its done.

Finally.

Every single one of my CDs has been uploaded onto my iPod.

Apparently (according to the stats on iTunes) I could listen to my iPod for 10.1 days non-stop without ever having to listen to the same song twice.

That's 3,840 songs, which equates to 13.28GB of space.

Cool, huh?

I'm in love with the shuffle feature. I find myself deliberately walking places instead of taking the bus or train because I want to be surprised by what's going to play next.

That's going to be good news for my ass, which has suffered during the upload period. Especially because you have to have snacks when you're doing a task like that. And the snacks are usually of the bad-for-you-junk variety.

In other random topics...

We're not going to mention my boys. Disgraceful effort.

At least I have a sympathetic ear in mg. Her boys got flogged too. Clokeeeey you're not allowed to gloat too much.

Bestie Lulu is away on tour again (in WA & SA) and I'm missing her sunshine. She'll be reading this, so big love to you!

Oh and the Robbie & the Trapeze issue looks like its been settled... the Ranster is getting Robbie tix from one of her company's sponsors and has offered to take me along! She is gold. Thanks Ranikins!

Good things come to those who... make sure enough people are aware of what they want.

If only my football team would listen to what I want.

I have to go learn a monologue for an audition tomorrow. The director asked for "a short monologue". I dug up the shortest one I could find, but is 1 minute & 12 seconds too short?

Guess I'll find out tomorrow.

xo

More of What?

Evermore.

Who are they?

Besides being a band. That much I know. The doof-doof coming from the theatre above tells me so.

What do they sing?

Would I know their songs?

Are they cute?

Are they talented?

Do they have any fans older than 14?

Do they have any male fans?

They're playing a gig in the theatre where I work tonight... thankfully its not one of my company's shows so I don't have to have anything to do with it.

That hasn't stopped a vast number of 10 year old girls coming up to me and asking how they can get backstage to meet the band.

I think the look of horror on my face says it all.

I really am getting old.

My team is thirty points down at half time. This doesn't bode for a good evening.

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PS. If you get a chance, go check out this story. I'm so thankful I live in a country in which I can afford health care should I ever (heaven forbid) need it. It's definitely not a scam, so if you feel like giving please do.

Robbie & The Trapeze

My birthday is rapidly approaching.

Well, its over a month away (20 June - put it in your diaries people - I expect attention), but its still approaching.

I'm turning 35. Wow. I'm on the wrong side of 40. That's scary. No wonder my mother is still gunning for the "freezing the eggs" thing.

But I'm not concerned with that. I'm concerned with my present to myself.

"Present to myself" I hear you ask? What the hell is that about?

It's quite simple.

For the past couple of years I have been single on my birthday.

Awwwwww....

No, its ok. I'm ok with it. I don't mind.

Really.

But this does sadly mean that I don't receive a wonderful, thoughtful, romantic gift of something I really, really want from a boy.

So rather than lamenting the fact that I have no man to buy me said gift, I simply go out and buy it myself and give it to myself on my birthday. Sometimes I even wrap it.

This year, being a somewhat lean year financially, I have the choice of two presents and I'm in a bit of a conundrum as to which to choose.

I really can't give myself both. Unless I want to not eat for a month. And I like food too much not to eat.

Both cost roughly the same amount. Neither are cheap but then I think I'm worth it.

So I'm eliciting your assistance fellow bloggers. You need to help me choose.

And if you choose wisely, I'll put your name on the card.

Ready?

My options are:

Trapeze Lessons

Ever since I read Mr Galliano's Circus as a kid, I've always wanted to be in the circus.

No smart alek remarks from the back row thanks.

I think it would be fun. I'm well aware that I'm neither terribly coordinated nor terribly fit and flexible but I'd love to give it a go.

So that's choice #1.


My other option is...

Robbie Williams


As in the concert. Although I wouldn't turn him away. Not even when he looks like that.

I've seen Robbie a few times now - including when he was in Take That. He does a bloody good show and if I get there early enough and wrestle my way to the front there's always a chance I'll be the girl he pulls out the crowd to snog.

THERE'S ALWAYS THE CHANCE.

Stop laughing.

So anyway, which option should I choose?

Answers on a postcard please.

x

These Are A Few...

Ever since I lived in the States, some ten or so (has it really been that long?) years ago, I have missed certain things.

Some of these things, through divine providence (and well placed pleas) have found their way into our culture and our supermarkets and keep me happy on a regular basis.

Things like:

Coffee Frappuccino. My daily indulgence.

Especially the choc-iced custard-filled ones. Its a good thing I don't work in the city or at the airport.

...although here they're packaged like this:

My favourite breakfast. That I make myself that is. My favourite real breakfast is Eggs Benedict, but I'm useless at poaching eggs and making hollandaise sauce. I'm very good at pouring cereal though.

Mmmmmm. Peanut Butter Cups. Peanut butter and chocolate. What a wonderful combo. Who woulda thunk it?

All these tasty treats bring great joy to my heart (and my stomach).

However there are other things which despite my best efforts have yet to become readily available here. Hopefully one day soon they will be easily accessible, but until that day I have to rely on the goodness of people like Bestie P's family, who (bless their cotton socks) sent the following items home from NY with Bestie P today:

Best cold/flu medication. Ever. No correspondence will be entered into on this unless you have tried it before.

All-sugar, apple & cinammon flavoured cereal. Bit like fruit-loops. Only apple & cinammon flavoured (derrr).

Pink Lemonade Snapple. Nectar of the gods. Don't believe the "all-natural" tag... its full of sugar. But sooo tasty. The taste takes me straight back to the afternoons I spent in Borders at Tysons Corner (Vienna, VA) after picking the kids up at school. Not my kids. My cousin's kids. I was living with them.

Hidden Valley Ranch dressing. Except today it came in sachets which you mix with sour cream or water and mayo. Full of taste (and fat). Yummmmy. I've gotta get mixing.

Yes I know Who Weekly is practically the same thing (they nick all the articles and I guarantee that cover of Brooke will be featured somewhere in the next issue of Who), but I love it all the same.

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Thank you Dot & Gwen - you rock my world. I am in sugar heaven and have spent a wonderful hour reading People cover-to-cover. I'm even tempted to go and procure a cold so I can take the Nyquil.

John, I'm Only Dancing*

Suffering from a lack of focus today.

Sorry.

I blame it on a combination of a huge weekend, my team's devastating loss, and the fact I've lost my glasses and can't be arsed putting my contacts in.

There are a couple of topics flitting about my brain but I'm not doing to well at getting them onto a page coherently.

As you have probably gathered from the appalling construction of the above sentences. And that one.

I'll be back when my brain decides to cooperate with my fingers and I find my glasses. Tomorrow probably.
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* David Bowie. Its what's currently playing on the iPod.

And Max said... "Let The Rumpus Begin!"

Anyone? Anyone?*

So.

I'm over my anger at the boy.

Well, no, not really. There's still a seed of anger festering away in there. Deep down. But I'm choosing not to let it/him spoil my joie de vivre.

I will not have my passion for life and hope of true love one day bumping into me on the street (or in the park or at the beach or... you get the picture) spoiled by someone who is so self-absorbed they cannot see past their own insecurities to the girl standing in front of them. Even when their hair is being held back by a headband.

(mg you are sooo on the money by the way. So on the money. Either that or I'm terribly transparent.)

My lovely and wonderful friend Manda is currently visiting from Brisbane. She's just returned from a few years in NYC and London and had some job interviews in Sydders today so is staying the weekend at Casa Erko. I haven't seen her in two years but its like we haven't been separated for a day... we just picked up right where we left off.

I love friends like that. "Keepers" is what Bestie Lulu calls them. Its a great term. Keepers.

No matter how many times my heart is smashed into tiny pieces, pieces which I think will never ever mend, my Keepers are always there. They pick me up, they dust me off, pour copious amounts of wine, advice and other useful things down my throat and remind me that someone special is out there waiting for me.

I just need to get that laser eye surgery done and I will see him.

He may also need to ask for directions... but I think the eye surgery may be a quicker option.

Hey I finally hit 'M' on the iPod upload. That's halfway.

The glass is half full my friends.

I'll resist the urge to break out with a Celine Dion number.

You're welcome.








* Where The Wild Things Are. I was watching The Family Stone today and Luke Wilson (my ideal man... if only he was available) uses that line as he's lighting up the Christmas tree.

Ice Ice Baby

Let me just start by saying I'm a little angry.

No, actually, I'm fuming.

Remember the post before last? The choices one? Remember the second choice? This one?

"Cute boy who is obviously not interested because he's not bothered calling or returning my call after our last 'encounter' but who I still really fancy vs Cute Boy whose signals I'm having trouble reading, who guessed my exact birthday (day & month) at the pub the other night and freaked both of us out"

Yeah. That one.

I saw the first so-called "cute boy" tonight. At the opening night of this man's show. Which, by the way was one of the funniest shows I've seen. Brilliant. Hilarious. Do yourself a favour, etc.

So anyway, first so-called "cute boy" was there tonight. He was there with a friend of mine who he's rehearsing a play with.

So-called "cute boy" totally iced me. Not once, but twice.

First time we were standing next to each other at the bar. I thought I'd be polite and say hello, so turned in his direction. He turned his back and walked away.

Ouch.

Second time, he walked past where I was standing talking to my flatmate and one of her work colleagues. I smiled as he walked past, thinking "maybe he didn't realise it was me at the bar before". Again, no acknowledgement.

Double ouch.

So this is my message to him. Because I know you read my blog.

I get the message mate. For whatever reason I cannot fathom and which you've chosen not to explain, you're obviously not interested. But instead of being a mature adult and just telling me that, you've chosen to pretend that I don't exist.

Which I think is just plain rude. In fact I think it's amazingly, obnoxiously rude not to even acknowledge me. Its not like we won't ever see each other again, we have mutual friends. And its not like I did anything bad to you or said anything bad about you. That I know of. Maybe I did. Maybe I did something awful to you and I'm being completely clueless. I don't know.

But you've got me stumped. No one has ever treated me like this before. I thought you were a decent person. Someone who could be a friend. But I don't want you as a friend... my friends are people who are thoughtful and kind and caring and polite. You're none of those things.

But as much as you obviously don't want to, you will see me again. Because some of my friends are also your friends. And some of those friends are in your play. And I will be coming to see that play, because I love my friends and I will be supporting them.

And unlike you, I will be polite and smile nicely and say hello to you when I see you. Because I have manners.

But underneath that politeness and sweet smile, rest assured that I will be mentally grabbing that ridiculous red headband you were wearing tonight and choking you with it.



That is all.

Tiny Dancer

Surprise, surprise... the winner of the fourth series of Dancing With The Stars was none other than the Tiny Dancing Weatherman.

Why is this not surprising?

Because the only winners of this ridiculous show have been Channel 7 personalities (read: employees).

Winner Series 1 - Bec Cartwright-Hewitt (Home & Away)

Winner Series 2 - Ada Nicodemou (Home & Away)

Winner Series 3 - Tom Williams (The Great Outdoors/The Mole)

There was no way that a non-Channel 7 "celeb" was going to win. Its all about cross-promotion of Channel 7 shows.

OK, yes, I'm cynical. But give me a break... I haven't had any caffiene, I'm hungry and I'm surrounded by 500 screaming teenagers who are on a school excursion to the theatre. However given they are about to be subjected to what has been described as possibly the worst version ever of Romeo & Juliet, I'm coping better than I thought.

I'm off to see this man tonight... that'll put me in a better mood.

Oh and I'm up to "J" on the iPod download. That's 6GB or 5.2 days worth of music.

Choices

Sapphire Blue nail varnish vs Black nail varnish

Cute boy who is obviously not interested because he's not bothered calling or returning my call after our last 'encounter' but who I still really fancy vs Cute Boy whose signals I'm having trouble reading, who guessed my exact birthday (day & month) at the pub the other night and freaked both of us out

Green linen bedsheets vs White flannel bedsheets

Staying in Sydney for Christmas (providing ex-flattie Kate comes to visit) vs Skiing in Canada

Curly hair vs Straight hair for the massive birthday party I'm going to on Saturday

Frocked up vs Funked up for aforementioned party

Running vs Cycling as exercise of choice for winter

Heather vs Denise in the battle of the exes

Luke Wilson vs Owen Wilson for my new screensaver

Burritos vs Spaghetti for my dinner

Friday Night Movie Night Recommendation #2

Remember this post? It was ages ago, so I'll forgive you for not remembering.

Anyway, I was watching a movie last night when it suddenly occurred to me I never posted a follow-up. And even though this movie does appear in another of my previous posts, I still thought it worthy of being today's recommendation.

No bevis, it's not a Muppet movie. Sorry.

Today's movie is (insert fanfare):

Yes. Grosse Point Blank. I'm sure you've all probably seen it numerous times, but it's a good one to revisit - even if only for what is possibly my favourite ever scene in a film.

Its genre is probably best described as "Dysfunctional Criminal Sees a Shrink". This film started a trend with that particular genre... the most worthy being the Robert De Niro mob comedy Analyze This and the wonderful Panic with William H. Macy.

For the (hopefully) few of you who have never seen this movie, allow me to give you a brief synopsis.

Martin Blank (John Cusack) is a professional hitman who is having an increasingly hard time justifying his lucrative profession and spends a good deal of time on the psychiatrist's couch pouring out his woes. In addition, a fellow hitman named Grocer (Dan Aykroyd) is trying to kill him because Martin won't join his union.

And if all that wasn't bad enough, Martin has just received an invitation to his 10th high school reunion and is convinced to go by his quirky secretary Marcella (Joan Cusack) and reluctant shrink Dr Oatman (Alan Arkin), mostly because Dr Oatman is terrified of Martin and wants to get rid of him any way he can.

Back in Grosse Point after a 10-year absence, Martin has to confront his past, his family, and his ex-girlfriend Debi (Minnie Driver) whom he stood up on Prom Night. If facing a woman scorned, a dysfunctional family, and bad high school memories wasn't enough to destroy Martin's already fragile psyche, Grocer and two FBI agents have followed Martin back home and both have plans for him…

The things that make this film work are the casting and the fact that it doesn't take itself too seriously.

Its Martin's paranoia, his flippant attitude about his profession (he tells everyone he's a hitman if they ask), and his charm that carries the movie along to (I'll admit it) its slightly lame ending.

Oh and that scene I was talking about earlier? Well its the scene, where Marcella (Joan Cusack) is destroying Martin's office (on his instructions). It. Is. Gold. Joan pretty much steals the entire film with just a jerry can and a mallet.

Happy weekends everyone!

Let Them Eat Cake Birthday Cake

Today we celebrate the birthday of the lovely Cake, who, ever since we struggled with a Caryl Churchill scene together in first year (who, when, where, what, why, psychological gesturing*, oily rags**... aaaarrrrgghhh!!!) has been one of my greatest friends.

We'll keep her age a secret.

Cake just got braces. So she thinks she won't get much work until she gets them off.

I found these two images, which might change her mind.






Pepsi. See that Cake? Cindy Crawford did an ad for PEPSI when she had braces. I bet she got paid a bucketload.




Phoebe Cates. OK, so she was a bit younger than you are (but not much!) and she was on the cover of a magazine when she had braces. AND she went on to marry Kevin Kline. Which may not sound appealling to you, but I still find him quite sexy.

Stop groaning. You know my taste in men is odd. Quirky and whip-smart are at the top of the list.

Anyway, what I wanted to say Cake, is that just because you have braces doesn't mean you should take a break from acting. You're far too talented not to be working.

Oh and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

Love you heaps.

xox

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* Bizarre pre-scene ritual enforced upon us by one of our tutors. Involved crazy full-body gestures and bizarre noises. Still disturbs me.

** One of aforementioned tutor's demonstrations of aforementioned technique. Was supposed to be awe-inspiring but made us all giggle.

Write Me A River

Catching up on the news of the day (I never have time to read it in the mornings), I was intrigued by a particular paragraph towards the bottom of this article on the SMH website.

In case you don't want to read the whole article, the paragraph in question was this:

"While women's representation has improved, Bell says it is still low. Statistics compiled by Playworks suggest only 11.6% of works by the major performing arts companies in Australia this year are by women. The Sydney Theatre Company has no woman playwright in its 2006 subscription season."

Whilst reading that, it occurred to me Company B doesn't have a woman playwright in its 2006 season either.* Nor was there one in their 2005 season. **

Which got me thinking. And surfing. And I discovered that the only female directors Company B have used in the last two years were directors of "buy-in" productions. Productions that were bought lock, stock & barrel from other theatre companies, either from interstate or overseas. There hasn't been a female director of a Company B production since 2004.

And of the twelve productions that form STC's 2006 subscription season, only 2 are directed by women.

Which leads me to ask:

1. Why are female writers in Sydney being overlooked by the major theatre companies? Are there not enough of them writing? Are they not writing enough? Is it not of a high enough standard?

2. Why is it that female directors seem to fare little better?

I don't know many women writers, but I know some brilliant women directors who are still working in the fringe or co-op scene, despite the fact that they consistently turn out work which is of a far higher standard (technically and creatively) than the vast number of their male counterparts. Yet it is those men who are continually hired by the big theatre companies.

Is it just a Sydney thing? Or does this happen in Melbourne too?

I'm intrigued.

Thoughts on a postcard please.



* Unless you count the fact that Tristan & Yseult (an English touring production) which was based on an old Cornish love story, was co-written by a woman.

** And unless you count the fact that Amajuba (a South African touring production) was written by a woman in collaboration with a cast of five who told their own personal stories about growing up under the apartheid regime.

Monday Catch Up

Today's post is brought to you by the letters B, L and H.

Like it or lump it.

Sorry, that was rude. I'm a bit out of sorts today.

First up... belated snaps go to Adro. Inaugural winner of (the Aussie) Biggest Loser.

Adro was one of the "smaller" competitors - his starting weight was 137kg. According to the website, his target weight was 97kg, however his current weight is 85kg! You go fella... looking good.

I was a bit disappointed with some of the others... notably Ruth. She was in the house long enough to have lost more weight than she did. She would do well from taking a few pointers from the man who impressed me the most (especially considering he was ousted after just one week) - David.

Obviously, he's still got a way to go, but he's looking happier and healthier and obviously had the right attitude to keep going and lose an amazing 49kgs. Snaps to you David.

I'm hoping they'll do a follow-up on everyone at the end of the year. I'd love to see who's actually achieved their goal weight, since so few of them did. And I'd love to see if anyone has fallen off the wagon.

Anyhoooo....

Number two today goes out to my boys. I don't want to gloat (ok, yes I do), but this has been such a fantastic start to the seaon for us (4 from 5!!), that I thought they deserved a pat on the back. Especially after yesterday's efforts against the Bombers.

My nails have been bitten down to the quick... the lead changed eight times and it was only a goal by the superb Mark Williams two minutes before the siren that put us one point in front. And did I mention that he scored that final goal after a genius mark in the pouring rain? No? Well he did. And it was glorious. Sorry Mum. Sorry Benny G. Sorry Uncle Vern. Sorry Mark.*

But snaps to you Hawks. Love your work.

I'm housesitting for Bestie P this week while they're all Stateside visiting the folks. I'm looking forward to a whole week of Foxtel and solitude. And the gym and pool... TBL has inspired me. I figure if I go to the gym every morning and work my ass off then I can compensate by sitting on the sofa at night watching Foxtel.

Sounds fair, doesn't it?

Expect a bit of posting on the delights Foxtel has to offer this week...

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* That is a lie. I'm not sorry at all. Your lot were giving me heart palpitations thoughout the entire match and I'm thrilled we were able to hold it together and crush your hopes of crawling up from the bottom of the ladder. If Lloydy had been playing I'm sure you would have won though, so take heart.