Look at me. Oh my.

Here's looking at you punk.

Books are Powerful

Bookshelf Sculptures by Mike Stilkey

This is just asking to be a ridiculously good excuse to buy more books...

Lyrics in the liner notes

I saw the original white, middle class male - Ben Folds at the Opera House last September. He charmed the crowd with some songs that he was working on with Nick Hornby [whose essays I adore –The Polysyllabic Spree had me squealing like pig for slaughter] I’m not sure if anyone else can make a MySpace site seems so effortlessly lyrical [Levi Johnson’s Blues]

Ben Folds promised that the album would be released sometime in late 2010 – well it’s now late 2010 and the album is so close to dropping its causing ants to run around in circles.

Lonely Avenue has been made specifically to be listened to on vinyl… it’s out in Australia September 24.

In the mean time you can sup on this song, while shopping for record players on ebay.

It features spoken word by Nick Hornby and the quirky antics of Pomplamoose....I wish all news were delivered to Ben Folds mouth popping in the background.

Here are some more of Nick Hornby's hilarious soap box lyrics that had to be cut from the song (lest the song be 6 minutes long)



"I’ll tell you what they should do to improve women’s soccer: lower the crossbar. It’s obvious! No female goalkeeper is six feet six! So in the women’s game, balls keep sailing over the keeper’s head. Makes them look amateurish. Drop the crossbar by six inches."



"If this stupid kitten walks over the keyboard of my laptop again, I swear I’m going to put her in a bag with a couple of bricks and drop her in the Thames. I’m not even joking. And I’d tell the kids she’d run away, like the last one. The last one actually did run away. He added hastily."

Champagne Supernova

I stumbled through this morning bleary eyed and nursing a throbbing headache. I guzzled glass after glass of water trying to diffuse the effects of the champagne supernova [ie. wedding].

I hung my weary head in my hands, my limbs legthergic, each movement slow and calculated. I contemplated the wasted day that lay ahead.

Alyssa Monks, Hands (2008 Oil on canvas 48x56in.)

But that didn't sit well with me. While snacking on a ham, cheese, tomato toastie i decided that i didn't want to wallow in world weary thoughts.

Alyssa Monks, Smush (40x54, oil on linen, 2008)

So i decided to reminiscent instead.

The green facepaint, the flowing curls pinned to one side, the pageboy playing footy with the ring cushion, the bridesmaid dress malfunctioning from vigorous dancing, the leggy wedding jump shot, the somewhat crude table telegrams and catcalls in the church.

Then i cracked up.

Alyssa Monks, Laughing Girl (2009, oil on linen, 40 x 60 in.)

Best hangover cure ever.

If i were a classier broad i would try to convince myself that my befuddled look this morning was as Alyssa Monks describes her artistic intentions:

"I prefer to keep the facial expressions ambiguous, like the moments between clear feelings or thoughts. In this way, the conversation is ongoing; the facial expression can change and suggest rather than impose."

While Monks is of the school of photorealism she distances herself from that label

"Reality isn't' slick or smooth or without texture...so I don't paint it that way. Reality is full of misunderstandings and mistakes and unpredictability and inconsistencies and ugliness as well as beauty - so is paint."

Which i think is a lovely way to sum up my s'wonderful weekend.

Animal Instincts

I awoke to a flurry of birdcalls this morning.

I continued my birdwatching as i cycled to work.

Once inside the building, i felt so isolated from the wild things. The cool lino floors, stark fluorescent lighting, temperature controlled offices, the relentless hum of computers and drone of harried colleges made the day drag endlessly.

Once outside the air tasted so fresh, i almost swooned.

It's time to bring the wild to work.

Bat For lashes

Elizabeth Taylor 1960's pussy cat eyes

Audrey Hepburn

Karl Lagerfield for

m

aison michel

Swan Lake

Ava Gardner

Alkemie

Papa Don't Preach

Spring has sprung and the skies have opened with a trinkle of rain. What dodgy timing.

I'm a bridesmaid for a dear friend tomorrow. So i'm prepping the only way i know how.

Watching (more like laughing my arse off) Father of the Bride

Singing "White Wedding" by Billy F*&^ing Idol

Limbering up for the dance floor by performing 1980s style callestestics to Papa Don't Preach

And thanking my lucky stars i don't have to explain to my future offspring what shoulder pads are if i were forced to wear this number from "27 Dresses"

[secretly i covet the trashy-oh-so-fantastic-polyester dress and it won't look out of place in my wardrobe...but talk about walking fire hazard]

From Russia With Love

Are you feeling like Nigel-party-for-one, because you're without any weekend plans?

Never fear, the party people are heading to Russia.

Alexei Kudrin, Russia's finance minister, is making it his countrymen's patriotic duty to light up and get boozy.

"People should understand: Those who drink, those who smoke are doing more to help the state," As the revenue from increased taxes on alcohol and cigarettes will be spent on funding social programs and services.

But what about the exponential rise in hospital beds required with this peer pressured patriotic booze up?

According to Time's John Cloud

[A] new paper in the journal Alcoholism: Clinical and Experimental Research suggests that -- for reasons that aren't entirely clear -- abstaining from alcohol does actually tend to increase one's risk of dying even when you exclude former drinkers. The most shocking part? Abstainers' mortality rates are higher than those of heavy drinkers.

This still doesn't account for the inevitable increase in the hospital beds required to cope with the influx of smokers gagging for breath.

Sounds like Alexei got the party started prior to announcing this policy...“Ah that’s just drunk talk, sweet beautiful drunk talk.” ~Barney Gumbal

Friday's Epic Fail

An aural explosion of euphoric harmonies, tinkling tambourines and folky yelps.

Blast my laziness.

Their Friday night show has sold out.