Mungo Part 2

This week has been a disturbing one, from a dream perspective anyway.

Remember this post from a couple of weeks ago? Until I sat down to write this particular post I didn't remember it, but then looking at my list it all came crashing back. That post is where it all started.

Perhaps my inner psyche thought I was being a bit harsh on Hugh in that post. I wasn't, honestly. I do like the chap. Really. Just not THAT way.

But a few nights ago I had a rather vivid dream in which I was out to dinner with Hugh Grant. Yes. He of the previous post. And throughout dinner, which was with a nameless, faceless couple, Hugh continously referred to me as his wife. I kept correcting him, telling him that no, I wasn't his wife, we weren't married, nor would we ever be because, frankly, I just didn't fancy him. But he kept insisting.

Then he kept trying to buy me clothes. And I refused, saying that there was nothing wrong with my wardrobe and if I wanted to buy clothes I would use my own money thank you very much. In a nice way though, I wasn't rude. I didn't want to hurt his feelings or anything.

Then I woke up. But remembered the dream quite lucidly and was ever so slightly disturbed by what it could mean, so related it to my flatmate hoping for some insight. She collapsed with laughter and said obviously my subconscious must fancy him.

Yesterday morning I was walking through the village* to work and passed a shop which was playing a catchy little number which stuck in my head for the rest of the day. Or at least the chorus did. Over and over it played in my head - I couldn't get rid of it. Drove me bonkers. But I couldn't place the tune or who sang it.

Can you guess where this is going?

Here's a snippet:

"I said I wasn't gonna lose my head. But then pop! (pop!) goes my heart."

I know, its heinous. Even without the music it sounds terrible. And it stayed in my head for the whole day. You can imagine how horrific that was.

So I came home and complained to my flatmate about this mystery song and sang her the line above. Being the practical wonder that she is, she immediately checked Google and discovered that the song is actually from the movie Music & Lyrics.

And is sung by none other than...

Yep. You guessed it.

What. The. Fecking. FECK.

I'm being subconsciously stalked by Hugh Grant.

There's no other explanation for it.








* The main streets of Yarraville. Commonly referred to as "the village" by those of us lucky enough to live here.

The War of Art

Today I received this little gem in the mail. A friend had recommended it to me ages ago and at the beginning of this year as I was transferring all the important info from last year's Moleskine to this year's Moleskine (ie my family's birthdays), I discovered a little pink post it note with the title and author of this book scribbled on it.

So bearing in mind that I'd resolved to myself to do at least one thing this month to improve my mind, I logged onto The Book Depository (my new favourite site - free postage anywhere in the world!) to order a copy.

And it arrived just as I was leaving for work this morning, so I started reading it on the train.

Well.

WELL.

I'm only up to about page 25 but so far it is full of common sense and useful advise for "unlocking the inner barriers to creativity" and I can see it taking a permanent spot on my desk as one of those books that is constantly referred to.

Steven Pressfield appears to know what he's talking about. And I like that he's doing what I aspire to do and is willing to share his wisdom, which is more than a lot of writers will do.

So I'll report back when I've finished and do a review.

Oh and did I mention I've enrolled in a writing course which starts next week?

I'm excited about that.

And I'm off for a weekend away down the coast, so I'm excited about that too.

Happy weekend!

Dear m_m (16)

Dear magical_m (16),

Ten tips for making the next 22 years go a bit more smoothly:

1. Perms. Don't do it. Really. Don't. The photos will be around forever. Also, advise your brother against the permed mullet. He won't listen to you, but give it a go anyway.

2. Be nice to your parents. Ask questions about their life before they had you. They won't be around for as long as you think and you might not get the chance to ask them all you want to.

3. Cole Porter was right. There really IS no cure like travel to help you unravel the worries of living today. Get into it early.

4. Languages. Learn a couple. Get fluent. They'll be the biggest asset you have when you're overseas and decide you want to live there.

5. Don't do a business degree just to please your dad. He means well, but there's actually nothing wrong with doing an arts degree. And if you want to choose 18th Century English Literature and History then do it - you might as well study something you love. Worry about the career possibilities later.

6. Emma Thompson has it right:

"When he says he doesn't love you, believe him. He doesn't."

Really. He doesn't.

7. One day the right one will be right there in front of you. He's just a bit shy is all. As are you. Get over your shyness and he'll get over his. You won't have long, so make the most of it.

8. Keep your eyes open and follow your instincts. You're usually right.

9. Don't be put off by that evil piano teacher Mrs Williams who used to rap you over the knuckles with a ruler. Find a better teacher and keep at it. The piano will be one of your greatest comforts when you're down.

10. Those evil girls who are tormenting you now will be knocked up straight out of school, get fat and subsequently be dumped by the blokes who knocked them up. They'll end up on benefits and have miserable lives. It's called karma. Just keep being you and ignore them... you're destined for better.


Love ya!

magical_m (38)

PS - Patsy Kensit isn't as dumb as you think.

10,000,000 Points and Lemonade

Just returned from seeing this. On the walk home I was busy formulating what this post was going to cover. And in my mind I did it in point form. So that's how it's going to be written. And it may jump all over the place from one topic to another, so try to keep up. Or just skim through. I don't mind which. Bear in mind there might be one or two alluded spoilers, so if you're planning to go see it, maybe do that first, then come back and read this.


1. George Clooney turns in one of the best performances I've seen him do. Ever. I haven't seen him this vulnerable since the early ER days. Sure he does his "coy look from under the eyebrow" thing and that funny "laugh then turn away" thing, but there are several moments when you really see into his soul and that's special.

2. The female roles in this film are every bit as important as the male roles. They're not dumbed down and they're really well cast. First up, Anna Kendrick. Fantastic. Best young actress I've seen in ages. Totally holds her own against Clooney, is cute but not too cute and nails that naïve idealism that we all have when we're just out of uni and finally begin what we think is our "career path". Not to mention she does a great karaoke of a Cyndi Lauper classic.

Vera Farmiga. Again, fantastic. Gorgeous, yet real. And playing such a beautifully layered character. I totally didn't see the twist coming until it was too late - she really made me stay in the moment with her.

It would have been so easy to for Jason Reitman to cast these two very important female roles with A-listers, but instead he chose two women who aren't made of plastic, can really act and who the females in the audience can relate to. Plus he threw Melanie Lynskey in there for good measure. She's a cracker that one. Love her. I always know when I see her name in the opening credits that there's going to be some heart in the film.

3. I implore you... stay to the very end of the credits. And listen closely. Please. It will all at once break your heart and inspire you.

4. Jason Bateman should never again do facial hair. It makes him look awful. In fact if I was his wife I'd make him have laser hair removal on his face so that he can never, ever grow it again. Not even for Movember. It almost made me love him a little bit less, and bear in mind; I've loved this man since Silver Spoons. That's nearly 28 years people... and that's a lot of love.

5. Young MC. S'all I'm saying. Young MC. GOLD.

6. I love how Jason Reitman avoided the typical Hollywood schmaltzy ending. I love how there was betrayal and hurt and suffering and it wasn't all neatly tied up in a final montage of boy-gets-girl-they-live-happily-ever-after. Because although that happens sometimes, it doesn't happen all the time and its nice to see that on the big screen. Sometimes the ends aren't all neatly tied up in a lovely bow and that's ok. In fact, that's good.

One of the quotes attributed to Jason on IMDB is:

I don't want to make films that give you the answer. If there is a message to my films - and I hope there isn't - it's to be open-minded.

This film certainly kept faithful to his wish. Listening to the people around me as the end credits were rolling (and it was a full cinema... there were lots of people talking), I was intrigued at the various reactions. Repeating them would probably spoil the ending of the film for you, so I won't, suffice it to say that there are an awful lot of people who don't appear to take risks in this world. And there's an awful lot of fear.

7. I actually experienced this pre-movie as I was waiting in the queue to go in (which, incidentally, was out the front door of the cinema... lot of people go to the movies in Yarraville on a Saturday night). There was a couple behind me who made some comment about being able to finish their drinks in the queue and have to grab another at the bar as they went past. I couldn't help but laugh and we got to chatting. The woman asked if I was alone and when I said yes, remarked how brave I was for doing that - she had never and didn't think she would ever be able to go see a movie on her own.

This astounds me. I go to the movies alone all the time. Probably two in every three movies I see, I see alone. And its never bothered me. Most people I know will see the same movie at some point anyway, and its not like theatre, which is live and unpredictable and only the people in the audience with you on that particular night are going to ever be able to discuss it properly with you. We're all seeing the same movie; we'll be able to discuss exactly the same thing. I don't have to see a movie with someone so we can talk about it afterwards. And it doesn't bother me at all going alone and standing in a queue full of couples and groups.

But this woman was in absolute awe of someone who chose to go to the cinema alone. I was in awe of her never having done it. If she can't go to the movies alone, how would she be travelling alone? She's probably never done that either. Wow. No judgement on that, but wow. What an interesting way to live your life.

8. One of the benefits of seeing a movie alone, especially when its a full cinema, is that there's often one single seat in an awesome spot. Tonight I nabbed that spot, which made the gentleman next to me (who was probably in his late 50s, early 60s?) decide that he and his companion needed to chat to me. He was very nice and in awe of the cinema as it was his first time there (it is quite a funky art deco cinema - there's the old school curtains and even an organ) and was also fascinated that I was there alone. Why does this fascinate so many people? It's not that unusual, surely?

He did try chatting to me throughout the movie, but was met with polite, but stony silence. Don't talk to me during a film Mister. Chat to me before or after, but never during. This is precisely why I go to the cinema alone. Don't spoil it.

9. I can't really think of a #9. The thoughts that were coming thick and fast on the walk home have dissipated somewhat and I'm now being distracted by the loud party coming from my neighbours' house. They're Indian. And that's not me being racist, that's just making an observation that they speak far more loudly than any other race I've ever come across. And I've been to some noisy places in the world. And these guys yabber all night. I swear they tag-team for sleep. If I get up at 4am to go to the bathroom there's still at least two of them out there screeching away right outside our bathroom window. At 9am as I'm leaving for work they're still at it. 3pm, they're still there. Seriously, they could outdo my mother for sheer, non-stop prattling. It's quite a feat.

10. Time to wrap it up and go to bed I think. Getting back to the film, I think it raised some very interesting points about life and what we make of it. It made me think of this film and the concept behind it. In the end it all comes down to what we make of what we've got. And I like movies that remind me once in a while to focus on that.

Go see it. And let me know your thoughts.

PS. It's nice to know I'm not the only one who "types with purpose".

Saturday 13 January 1996

Saturday 13th January 1996
Vienna, VA

This ↓ is a list of internet (cyberspace) cafes in the USA. Published in last Friday's USA Today. It's a start!*

**

Well - guess what I did today?!! I got a tattoo!! A real one***. It's a dolphin, bright-ish blue and is on my left breast - sort of curving around the nipple, but about 1" away. Only took 20 mins, but it hurt! I tried to focus out though, so it wasn't too bad. Catherine went with me, but I couldn't convince her to get one!****

The place I got it done was called Inkers, in Rockville, Maryland. Very clean - large and airy and they used new needles each time.*****

It's a bit sore now, but not as bad as I thought.

Lee's aunt Anne (David's sister) and her new husband (#3) arrived tonight. Allan. Pretentious prick. C & I have decided. Anne is lovely - reminds us of Kathleen - she (Anne) is a school teacher too. Don't know why she chose an asshole like him - he won't even look at you when you're answering his questions. Unless you're a man. Chauvinist. Oh well, not my rellos thank god. And I'll be heading south - probably Monday or Tuesday. Hope to get to Atlanta by Friday to catch that hockey game with Chris!******

________________________________________________

OK so let me emphasise that that diary entry was from 1996. Fourteen years ago. I was 24. Don't hold it against me.

Some notes I would like to add:

* Internet cafes were not common places in 1996 in the USA. They were quite a new concept. As was hotmail. I had to communicate with the folks back home in Australia the old fashioned way, by post or phone. I think I even sent a fax once too and thought I was sooo up with the technology.

** The newspaper cutout was pasted in at this point.

*** As opposed to a fake one? LOL. I really was young and naïve.

**** I couldn't convince her at the time but I think she was so shamed by the bravery of her young cousin versus her own reticence, that she has since had three tattoos. One of which is the same as my second one.

***** It cracks me up that I was so concerned about size and airiness and hygiene and the use of new needles. Not that I shouldn't have been, of course I should have been. But the fact I thought that was an important point to note down in my journal makes me laugh.

****** In case you were wondering, I made it to Atlanta in time for the hockey game. And spent the weekend bunking on the sofa in a dorm room of a boy I'd never met before, in a frat house. That's worthy of its own post really.




Happy 14th Birthday little tattoo. Thank you for being a daily reminder of the joy and importance of taking risks and enjoying life.

Mungo's Getting Married

So Hugh Grant has some New Year's resolutions.

Good for him.

I'd like to get married and have kids this year too. Actually no, I wouldn't, I don't think. I am planning a month in NYC and the Hamptons for my 40th birthday in 2011, so I'm thinking I'd like to have kids in 2012.

And life is just going to fall in with that plan, because it always does, right?

I can hear your derisive snorts of laughter from here.

Knowing my luck I'll meet Mr Right sometime around November/December this year and by June 2011 will be waddling around like a whale, making it impossible to get on a plane, let alone find a pair Manolos which fit my swollen feet.

Somehow I don't think Hugh will have the same problems. Everything will probably go exactly to plan for him. After all I'm sure his website has been inundated with messages from women who are more than willing to sign an iron-clad pre-nup and become Mrs G.

I'm not one of them, more's the pity. I'm sure he's ever such a nice chap and lives in a lovely house and would be a good dad, but he's just not my cup of tea. Too toothy.

But I wish him the best of luck with his resolutions.

It Will Be Written

I was having a little flick through my archives just now and quite randomly came across this.

Or was it random? [insert ominous music to the effect of "bom bom BOM" here]

According to some, there's no such thing as random... when we are open and receptive what we need and what we need to know comes to us in the perfect way and at the perfect time. I'm beginning to identify with that more and more.

I've been thinking about doing more writing and have found a creative writing course which I will enrol in as soon as someone pays me (you'd think with three jobs it would happen, but not yet... everyone is still on their end-of-year break).

So I'm thinking that re-discovering that post is a sign that I should do the course. And in turn, find my vocation (which none of the current three are... they're all a means to an end really).

That's a lot of thinking. Now I need to start with some doing.

Oh and I also re-discovered this post. Which I'm quite impressed with. I have no recollection of writing it, but I found it quite amusing (even if that does make me sound a tad conceited).

Dear Me...

Today at work I was reading through the latest Marie Claire, which had been delivered to the office. Upside of doing some PR work - free mags. Biggest time-waster ever - I can sit there for hours not doing any proper work and justify it because it's "industry research".

Anyway, that's beside the point. The point is, I came across an article taken from a book entitled 'Dear Me'. Its a series of letters various British celebrities have written to their 16 year old selves. The Elton John AIDS Foundation receives £1 from every copy sold.

There were two letters in particular which caught my eye, one by a woman whom I have admired and respected since I was in my late teens, the other whom I've never really had that much admiration or respect for, until today.

The first letter is from the brilliant Emma Thompson:




Great photo by the way. She looks fab, even if there has been some photoshopping. In case you can't read the text, it is:



Dear Em (16)

I realise that you are young and in love and that nothing much anyone old says seems relevant, but seeing as it’s me – that is you, that is us – I think it’s worth a go. Two top tips from 50 to 16:

1. Don't EVER EVER EVER bother to go on a diet. I know you're obsessed and have that awful thing of standing in the sixth form canteen trying to choose between a yoghurt and a breath of fresh air (while wanting chips and a cheese salad). Don't sweat it. Eat regularly, try to avoid rubbish and never diet. You'll end up the same size anyway, so drop it girl, and drop it NOW. Believe me - nobody cares. Diets are the best way of confusing your metabolism for the rest of your life. Just be you and get on with it. I cannot tell you how much time and energy you'll save and how much happier you'll be.
   
   
   
2. When he says he doesn't love you, believe him. He doesn't.

That's it. All the other mistakes you make are worth their weight in gold.

I love you.
Em (50)

How good is that letter? If only I'd been able to write that to myself at that age. Number 2 is still such a good tip to remember. And really, everything else happens for a reason, like she says.

She's one top bird that Emma.



Anyway, the next letter was short and to the point and made me collapse in laughter. I'd never thought of her as being particularly funny but obviously she knows her flaws and isn't afraid to admit them.

It came from Patsy Kensit*:




Dear 16 year old Patsy,

You adore music more than anything in the world, you have a great passion for rock and roll… but that doesn’t mean you have to marry the lead singer of every band you ever had a poster of, on your bedroom wall.

Love, your older you!

Patsy x




What a cracker. Snaps to you Patsy and thanks for giving me a giggle.


So... what would you write to your 16 year old self? I'm going to have a think about it and perhaps write it in my next post. Stay tuned. It could be interesting.







* Patsy, god love her, has been married to Dan Donovan, Jim Kerr, Liam Gallagher and Jeremy Healy. She also dated Gary Kemp when she was 15 (and he was 24). That's one very eclectic mix of musos...

Snap!

Sometimes I wish I had a little James Bond-style camera affixed to my glasses so I could take a snapshot of the strange things I see over the course of a day.

Tonight at work for instance, I served a customer with pierced nails. Yeah, you heard right. PIERCED NAILS. Who pierces their fingernails? She had little gold sleeper things with charms on them coming out of her nails. Totally weird.

There was also a wedding party at the park across the road. I've never known anyone get married on a Tuesday. At 5.30pm. In a strapless pink taffeta gown with a fishtail. To a man wearing a beige linen suit and black shirt. Is it cheaper on a Tuesday? Do they have such a thing as 'Cheap Tuesday' in the wedding industry?

Anyway, both those events were total photo-worthy opportunities. But sadly, both are restricted to the photo booth in my mind. Which, upon reflection, might not be a bad thing.

In other news, the cute boy who works at one of the coffee places I go to and is always flirting, asked me all about my New Year's celebrations today. Then he proceeded to tell me he spent his New Year's celebrations with his WIFE. I could have done without knowing that fact thank you. Oh and you can stop flirting with me immediately.

Sigh.

We Be Jammin'

This is what I did today*... picked roses from my garden and made plum jam... with plums picked from the trees in my garden.

That's the first time I've ever made jam, so I'm feeling quite chuffed with myself. Mind you, the clever folks at CSR have made it dead simple... they have a "jam setting sugar" which you just mix into mushed up fruit and boil. None of this adding pectin or other things I've never heard of... just two ingredients, boil the bejeezus out of it and bottle. Brilliant.

So I guess that also counts as one of my 52 new things to try... and the week has only just begun. What a cracking start I've made.


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* I also mopped the kitchen floor, did four loads of laundry, put together the plastic shoe boxes I bought on the weekend and sorted my shoes into them, chatted to Bestie P for an hour and rang my mum. Not a bad effort really.

52

This is what I've decided.

My minimum target for this year (in terms of blogging) is 52.

Which is only one per week. I'm sure I can manage that.

Also, I've decided that I need to do more new things.

So I'm going to do 52 of them as well.

And possibly blog about them. That should help with the (sometimes) lack of inspiration for blog topics.

I also just sorted my shoes and discovered that I own 52 pairs. So I'm going to wear them all at least once this year too.

Really.