What type of tree has leaves of this shape? I’m not having much luck researching my fake white friend.

 
I’ve been tagged by BethB. Five songs I’m loving right now:

1. Pajo: War is Dead
2. Morrissey: Whatever Happens, I Love You
3. Rilo Kiley: Portions for Foxes (aka Mr S.T.’s theme — hear it here)
4. Dan Kelly and the Alpha Males: Pregnant Conversation
5. Machine Translations: Be My Pillow

I now tag Jo-Anne, JennyJ, Kristy-Lee, Barb and Mr Farre.

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Hey there, Craig Donnachie. Are you reading this? I have no idea who you are, but you keep recommending really good CDs via this blog. Thanks for the tip about the new David Pajo album — I’m a longtime fan, so good guess. Keep ‘em coming.

Thanks to a discovery of $67 in cheques I’d forgotten about, I also bought Hanne Hukkelberg’s debut album (think Zooey Deschanel in the movie Elf, if she had a glockenspiel and a Norwegian accent) and World of Morrissey for $8 (!). I dismissed the latter when it was first released as another case of “reissue, repackage, repackage”, just like he sang in “Paint a Vulgar Picture”. But it’s so incredibly good. And dark. And the perfect soundtrack for my life right this very second.

Sparky is back in town in less than four days. I have tickets to the premiere of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory before it officially opens next week. Yesterday I found a pretty bra in my size for $8 at Target. Who’s a happy girl?

front window of 303 High Street, Northcote

 
“He’s not my boyfriend!” has been a familiar utterance of mine lately. Not because I don’t want him to be but mainly because he’s still there and not here. And we haven’t talked about it, only danced around it. I think a certain amount of time has to pass first, and you have to agree to make it official. No assumptions.

My boss disagrees.

“He’s your boyfriend,” she said.
“Not yet,” I said. “It’s not official.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” she said.
“Oh yeah?” I said. “Who does?”
…long pause…
“Satan.”

Both of us cracked up laughing.

 

taken after 1am with a handheld camera — apologies if it’s a bit hard to read

 
I saw Dan Kelly and the Alpha Males at the Northcote Social Club last night for $12, right after an unexpected phone call from a remote beach in Thailand. Two highlights in an otherwise appallingly dismal week, thanks to quite a few things crashing down on me at once. Lots of good new songs and rockstar spottings, including two of my musical heroes, (uncle) Paul Kelly and Glenn Richards from Augie March.

I had a serious boo-hoo-fest on Monday but decided to watch Finding Neverland anyway because I had to return it and didn’t want to get charged late fees. Bad idea — I was sobbing out loud, especially at the part when Johnny Depp revealed Neverland to Kate Winslet.

The next day I mentioned that I’d seen it, and someone replied that the movie made him bawl like a baby, especially the Neverland bit. “But I was really depressed when I watched it,” he added.

So tell me this, those of you who have seen it: is the movie itself really that moving, or is it just a tool for amplifying the sadness of people who are already sad? I’d love to know.

“Honey? Your mom is on the phone. Wait, don’t get up — let me roll the phone to you.”

 
A rotary phone attached to rollerskate wheels — could there be a dumber object for me to fall in love with at Savers?

No, I didn’t buy it, but you could forgive me for thinking it was worth it just for the typeface used for the numbers. And the lovely shade of red. And wheels!

The real reason I didn’t buy it was because I have only one phone connection point in my apartment, and I think it’s wise to keep the digital setup I’ve got at the moment in case I need touchtone convenience for whatever reason.

I’ve fallen in love with a few strange secondhand items recently, including two very odd-but-beautiful little egg cups, and a fake, completely white, maple (I think) tree. The best part was getting it home in Bernard — it didn’t all fit in, so the top bit dangled delicately out the passenger-side window.

It’s just so weird and lovely, like something I would expect to find in a modern art museum, a sculpture labelled “maple, 2005″ or something similar, and made of plaster of paris. I am thinking about photographing it in various settings around Melbourne, e.g. Fed Square, Carlton Gardens, etc., just to explore the contrast. It could be like the book Are You My Mother?, trying to find out where the tree wouldn’t look out of place.

orchids for sale in St Andrews

 
After a gruelling work week, it was nice to change pace and spend a leisurely Saturday in St Andrews. Nevermind that my main reason for travelling so far was to purchase a certain homespun wool, and that the vendor just happened to be absent today — it was still a great day by all accounts.

 

St Andrews Market: the view from the chai tent

 
Neither Kylie nor I had ever been to the St Andrews Market before. If you thought CERES in Brunswick was full of hippies and other colourful new age types, CERES has nothing on St Andrews. In a city of four million people, how they all found each other is beyond me.

It’s a very diverse and eccentric little market and near sensory overload. Besides being able to purchase any number of clothing and jewellery items from Tibet, Nepal, India, etc., we found organic fruit and veg, flowers and herbs, amazing food vendors (sushi and numerous exciting vegetarian options), massage therapists, clairvoyants, crystal readers, musicians, hairstylists and — ! — pony rides.

 

the pony known as “Chopper”

 
me: (sad face) Just for children?
preteens administering pony rides: No.
me: Are you sure?
them: You look pretty light. You can ride Chopper over there.
me: I won’t hurt him?
them: Nah, Janice rides him.
me: Who’s Janice?
them: Um… she’s an [said as if dirty word] adult.

Soon after we spotted a dad with a very long ponytail and beard, wearing a large purple and pink poncho, accompanying his daughter on a pony walk. Not long after that, I noticed a vendor selling giant pillows and some stuffed animals. He had a stuffed tiger propped on top of his head while nonchalantly smoking a cigarette and watching the world go by. As if wearing one on his head would make people want to buy it!

 

Kylie in the hidden bakery in St Andrews, waiting for our treats to be boxed up

 
Purchased:
two Nepalese woollen hats
one pair of Nepalese woollen gloves
two perfectly ripe avocados

Ingested:
chai tea with honey
chamomile tea
breakfast roti wrap with egg, spinach and corn
lots of homemade pesto
one raspberry friand
too many other sweets to mention

We wasted at least three hours at the market, then another four at my boss’s farm nearby, just eating and reading in front of the fire. So relaxing.

I found a few things I might have to go back for. The Hurstbridge Wattle Festival is in September, so maybe that can be my excuse.

snow: in a jar, in my freezer

 
I drove Sparky to the airport on Saturday, for his three-week holiday in Asia.

He’d gone on a ski trip to Mt Buller the previous weekend, and I asked him to bring back some snow. I wanted to relive the joy of when I was about 13 and my penpal in Vermont mailed about a teaspoonful of melted snow in a Ziploc baggie and labelled the bag “SNOW” with a Sharpie marker. Oh, the thrill, especially in my hometown, where it snows only once every 20 years.

My heart nearly leapt out of my chest when he returned with this jar of snow, still very much unmelted and snow-like. I mentioned the Christmas ribbon and tinsel to someone and was met with: “You two deserve each other.”

Opening the freezer door does not make me feel any better. Opening the freezer door will not speed up the next three weeks. Yet I still do it.

Sigh.

fake, not real

 
It must be Christmas because I have been receiving the most awesome gifts lately.

First it was the jar of snow. Then Kristy brought back lots of Engrish and fake plastic food from Hong Kong. Yesterday I picked up a care package from Mommy, which included sourdough bread from San Francisco (!!!!!!) and two boxes of Big Cheez-Its, which practically saved my life in December. Today Mrs T gave me a teacup and saucer that belonged to her grandmother and are at least 100 years old. I am so lucky.

 

it doesn’t look too out of place on the refrigerator shelf

 
Kylie came over this evening, and we roasted veggies and pine nuts while perusing some gorgeous new cookbooks she borrowed from the library. Miko had a super twitchy dream while curled up in my lap. Little did I know she was wishing and hoping and praying for a giant puddle in which to splash — her favourite thing. The washing machine soon overflowed and made a giant mess everywhere, and lovely Kylie helped mop it up. A good time had by all.