Anti-D

It's not generally advised for someone to sing at the top of their lungs, as a means of curing an upper respiratory tract infection. But I wasn’t going to lie in bed and miss out on The Wombats.

Perhaps it was thanks to the copious mugs of sweet tea and lemsip – or it could have been the utterly brilliant pop music, but I felt a million dollars at the gig.

Today is another matter. I feel more lackluster than ever. I can barely string sentences together.

Ugh, why does feeling sick entail feeling miserable?

In our circles

This song is just pure joy. Yet I'll be hard pressed finding a dancing partner today. Yup, it's day one of retirement (well for the next year anyway). My nails are painted and my butt is slightly numb from lounging around. Though I do have plans for today - buy some sauerkraut and cook some veggies.

Tomorrow it starts, I suppose

[Tim and Jean]

It was my last day of work today. It may be lame to admit, but I keen (almost anxious) to launder my uniform, just so I can officially ziplock it away for the next year.

I fly out on May 28th and won't be putting my nose back to grindstone until March 2012. That is if I find a job.

But I will be keeping busy with my freelance writing. In fact I'll be reviewing these native Perth boys tomorrow night and I'm pretty damn excited as I feel like dancing. I do, I do.

Wombats and Dancing

My siblings and I are literary jumping with joy for the latest Wombats release. Yup we’re shaking like ferrets to ‘Techno Fan’ and belting out ‘Anti-D’. Perhaps we’ll even have a synchronized dance down pat for their gig next week? Though I think we'll forgo matching outfits...

[The Wombats]

Besides absolutely gorging myself with this delightful aural feast, I’ve also been loving the album’s cover art. The illustration style reminds me of a Babysitter’s Club book – fresh, innocence, warm and inviting. Plus there are sausage dogs. Be. Still. My. Heart.

Press Play - Inject Fun

I’ve got another inoculation session this evening. So the obvious thing to do is dance till my arms are numb, to dull the impeding pain.

This song ticks all the boxes:

- I’m getting pumped full of vaccinations because I’m going on Holidays. The band are named ‘The Holidays’

- The lyrics mention a confident lady. Which I’m not, but at least I can visual one after watching the clip

- The clip has bizarre imagery and pandering poses. Always perfection.

- Calypso beats to make a dull Thursday toasty

- It makes me want to dance. Till. My. Arms. Go. Numb.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Ghost Train

Sometimes band names fail to capture the style of music they produce - Summer Camp got it right.

They got it so very right.

I feel like I'm swimming in a lake of sunshine and happiness when I listen to their EP.

Flippin'. Me. Out.

These sweet, sweet songs are flippin' me out. True story.

- Local Natives, “World News”

- San Cisco, "Golden Revolver"

- Kid Cudi, “Erase Me"

- Dead Letter Chorus, "Run, Wild"

- Born Ruffians, "What to Say"

ps. I can't find the original link to the photo! If it's your photo - snaps for the perfect timing of the shot. Bon bon bon!

Raindrops are swell

[Rain Dance]

There's always a risk of wild weather crashing an outdoor shindig. At some festivals you take this into account despite "reliable" weather reports - always pack the gumboots for Splendour, 30+ sunscreen for Homebake and an extra jumper for Falls in Marion Bay.

But beautiful Brisbane, which prides itself for it's weather being "beautiful one day, perfect the next", threw a curve ball.

Jiving to sweet sounds whilst the sun sets between tropical rainforest canopies is absolute bliss - even when Brisbane receives record breaking amounts of rain.

Would Woodstock be as awe inspiring if Yasgur's farm didn't turn into a sea of muck and mud?

[Woodstock]

Sometimes a slick production is overrated, who could have planned for:

- The skies opening up and drenching the crowd just as Cold War Kids started singing "Hang me up to dry"

- The impromptu Slip N' Slide in front of the main stage

- The stage lights illuminating the sea of glistening ponchos during "Bloodbuzz Ohio" by The National

- Punters sinking down low and getting loose in the mud whilst doing The Twist with the Yacht Club DJ's

- A rousing rendition of "Rain drops are falling on my head" by the foxy Washington

- The fashions on the field: from bin liners to plastic tables to a Twister game mat - the punters became creative with their attempts of staying dry

- Feeling like we were on a sinking shipas water lapped around our bare ankles during Angus and Julia Stone

I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

[Sweet sleep]

Partner in crime

[photo via: Fashion gone rogue]

Everyone needs a partner in crime.

My sister is mine.

We don't hesitant in pulling out "the shopping trolley", "sprinkler" or "christmas tree" at any given moment - not even a down pour could stop us during Yacht Club DJ's at Sunset Sounds.

She isn't addicted to running or Greek Yogurt like I am. She's addicted to cheesy action flicks circa 1980s such as this, this and this. Though she loves Nancy Mitford just as much as I do. She's also an amazing cook.

So say hello to my sister Mishy, as she'll be baking, sauteing and flambéing you something soon.

Dance! Dance! Pants!

I like to dance.

I have a tasty little repertoire of tried and true moves, mostly learnt from aerobics Oz Style, Zumba and Video clips from the nineties - all executed with the grit and determination of not putting Baby in the corner.

A couple of years ago I caught El Guincho and danced so vigorously I couldn't walk up stairs for a few days following.

They make such infectiously toe tapping beats, I've since included a couple tracks in my running playlists. Sure I'm not any closer to being an Olympic Champion, but I am certain they make me slightly more quick footed. Like a Tiger.

El Guincho in NYC

They're back in town and playing tonight. Olay!

Besides being such an audible treat, they're worth seeing play as they resemble a Spanish version of Flight of the Conchords - kooky, bizarre, endearing! Plus you're guaranteed to carry home a bucket of your own sweat.