It’s week 2 of the mock-meat-eating competition. Ugh.

Most of the things I’ve eaten have not been bad. In fact, realistically meaty is more how I’d describe them. Which is probably my major disappointment - I don’t have the same taste cravings that I did 11 years ago when I became a vegetarian, so I don’t feel the need to eat schnitzel and sausages and ground beef all the time. The other concern would be the vast quantities of the stuff I have to eat/purchase in order to qualify — two packages per week. Some things are frozen (like the schnitzels), so they’ll last awhile, but you need their barcodes in order to be able to go in the draw.

It probably wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t living in a single-vegetarian household.

I’ve been tagged by Pip to tell you six weird things about me:

* I hate chocolate, always have. Or at least chocolate-bar-strength chocolate. I love hot cocoa, chocolate cake and brownies. I thought it had something to do with the cocoa butter in solid chocolate but am not entirely sure. I also hate coriander/cilantro. And most alcoholic beverages.

* I nap in three-hour blocks. If left to nap freely without an alarm clock or other major disturbance, I’ll almost always wake up three hours later, give or take a couple of minutes. This does not affect my night-time sleep.

* My belly button is both an innie and an outie.

* I like Phil Collins. I’m still in my twenties, and I’m not ashamed. I listen to No Jacket Required in my car. LOUDLY.

* I love public transport and could happily ride trams all day. I met a Big Issue vendor who told me he used to work for the tram company and now has free transport for life. Jealous (whether the story’s true or not). I finish work early on Mondays, and my favourite thing to do is take a tram into the city for the last hour or two before everything shuts. It’s like a massive sugar rush for me.

* I stick around for the music credits after most movies I see in the theatre. And just to make sure I don’t miss any easter eggs, like at the end of Napoleon Dynamite.

I’m too lazy and hungry right now to tag anyone else. If you’re interested, by all means, please indulge.

A miniature hot water bottle, soon to be for sale. Note the Australian 20-cent piece and American quarter for size comparison.

 
The little elves have been busy crafting away, high on creative adrenaline and we’re-saving-the-environment warm fuzzies.

The hot water bottle cover was made of felt scraps — the sleeve of an old, lacy jumper that the moths got to but I couldn’t bear to part with, and a pink felting experiment gone wrong (but the results of which I happened to save). I found the mini hot water bottle at a secret $2 shop I’m not going to reveal. More hot water bottles on the way.

 

gift tags, not for sale

 
The gift tags were an idea from the latest issue of ReadyMade (via Danny Seo’s book, I think). The idea is to reuse two old business cards by taking the design-y side of one, and gluing the plain, white side of another on the back. You then punch two holes in the middle, fold in half and tie a string through (like the one on the top right). Some of mine didn’t lend themselves to folding, though (or the useable design-y scrap I had was too small), so I improvised, with great success.

You know how clothing manufacturers sometimes tie a fancy tag or extra buttons to a garment with a safety pin and ribbon loop? Well I save the loops, so that’s where the ties came from. Brilliant.

I would sell them if I could, but most of the logos are recognisable — the baby is from Bimbo’s, the chairs from Brunswick Street Bookstore, etc. I’m sure it violates some sort of copyright law (although that never stopped me from cutting up and selling old Melways…). But I feel much better for having reused stuff that would otherwise have been chucked out. And now I don’t ever have to buy gift tags.

Half Moon Bay, last night. Note Cerberus the shipwreck in the background.

 
It is hot. Miserably hot. And I’m hot and miserable.

Yesterday the forecast was 39 degrees, but I think it topped 40. I had the bright idea to go swimming after work, at the beach instead of my perfectly fine local pool, and at a far-away beach because Elwood and St Kilda beaches just seemed too… grimy.

Sparky’s was on the way, so I drove there first. Down a major arterial road in early peak traffic. With no air conditioning, and no movement for nearly an hour (it normally takes 20 minutes). Even my bra was soaked in sweat by the time I got there — I don’t think that’s ever happened before.

The traffic lights on the highway were out, too, like many other parts of the city where the power supply had just given up. It was anything goes.

We had a lovely time when we finally got to the beach but didn’t get to see the comet because of all the bushfire smoke. I don’t think the temperature cooled down to something reasonable until 9.30pm. Then we went home.

It was too hot to sleep comfortably. Then a mosquito made its way into bed and started zapping me. I had to hide under the sheet to keep the mosquito away, but then I couldn’t breathe. I compromised and covered myself just up to my neck — which was still uncomfortably warm — but then I could hear it buzzing less than a centimetre from my face.

Have you ever heard a mosquito buzz? It’s horrifying.

It started to attack my face but was nowhere to be found when the lights were turned on. So I spent the rest of the night wrapped up like a bedsheet mummy, slapping my face and tossing and turning. There was not much sleep to be had, and I was a major grump/zombie when I awoke this morning and had to go to work. Grrr.

I think I need to buy a fan.

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I saw Marie Antoinette on Monday and actually enjoyed it, especially the soundtrack. I was expecting a stylistically lovely piece of crap but was pleasantly surprised. Perhaps I should have lowered my expectations for Pennies from Heaven?

inside the Astor Theatre: the view from Steve Martin’s chair

 
Yesterday I went on a behind-the-scenes tour of the Astor cinema. It was last revamped in the 1930s and completely decked out in the art deco style.

 
I’ve always loved the Astor for its kooky cult (and old) movies, the gorgeous architecture and furnishings, the love seats that fit two people without an armrest, and the snack bar. They serve the best old-fashioned cherry cake, and you can get cups of tea and coffee to go with it. How very civilised. They also sell cans of Passiona, a passionfruit-flavoured soda you would never find in a multiplex.

So I was super excited when I found out they were giving tours, which included afternoon tea and a 1981 Steve Martin movie I’d never seen (shock!), Pennies from Heaven. Now I know why I (and others) had never seen it: it was strange and close to terrible. But the rest of the day was so good that it made up for it.

 

view from the projection room

 
A highlight of the tour was climbing the precariously steep staircase to get to the projection room. It’s normally very dark while the movie’s showing, of course. The staircase was so steep because the builder forgot about the projection room when building the theatre, and had to add it on top as a last-minute thing. It reminded me a bit of Sideways Stories from Wayside School (”the builder said he was very sorry”).

 

Marzipan

 
We also learned that the lovely and famous Astor cat does in fact live there, his name is Marzipan, and his litter box is kept in the downstairs women’s toilet area. Apparently they have to remove fur from the furniture in the women’s lounge every morning. Hee hee.

 

old marquee letters spotted backstage

 
We also got to see where famous people sat when they visited, which was funny. Naturally, I took off like a rocket to sit in Steve Martin’s chair. Mind you, this was before I saw the stench that was Pennies from Heaven, but it probably wouldn’t have a made a difference. I still ♥ Steve and will watch any old crap that he’s in. Except Cheaper by the Dozen 2. Now that’s just stooping.

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On a crafty note, I started knitting a nearly identical hat and pocket scarf to this one today. The two differences are that this scarf will have a huge, handmade, chocolate-coloured wooden button on each pocket, and that this set will be for sale.

I have a pink set, and I’m always being asked if I could knit another one, but I always say no. But there’s enough yarn for one more set, and it’s going to the Crafting for Other$ campaign. If you’re desperate to have it and don’t live in Melbourne, let me know and I’ll etsy it instead of putting it in the shop.

Also, does anyone know where I can buy cedar chips in Australia? I have no clue where to look, but I need them for a moth-battling project I’m working on.

Elwood beach, last night

 
Yesterday was very, very hot. It was also a very good networking day. I dropped off some envelopes at Meet Me at Mike’s and had a great chat with Pip, the proprietor and all-around cool chick. So now I have a plan and many more ideas for things I can craft (quickly) that will sell.

I had been putting off making that sundress-from-a-sheet because it wasn’t strictly for other$, and I had made a pact with myself for the next six months. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I’ve been concerned, too, that it won’t fit properly, as the top of me and the bottom of me are very different sizes. And the vintage pattern I plan to use is strictly one size, unlike modern patterns, which are usually adaptable.

After talking to Pip, though, I realised I could just sell the dress in her shop if it doesn’t fit me. Because it will fit someone else. So either way I win, and there’s no guilt involved! And someone in Melbourne will have the coolest dress ever.

I think I first noticed I had “big hips” when my older brother blurted it out in my teenage years. Up until then it hadn’t occurred to me that I might be pear-shaped. Most people don’t believe my sizing discrepancy when I tell them because I purposely dress in a way that you wouldn’t notice it. And I’m happy with who I am.

I read a quote from Dita von Teese on Saturday that I loved:

I make a point to never, ever point out my physical flaws … this is advice I give to women as often as I can. People don’t notice the things we see in ourselves that we hate, so why direct them to it? Living with your flaws doesn’t mean you should tell people about them.

Yeah, well, I told you. So now let me say that I am amazed by this Isaac Mizrahi skirt I bought at Target in the U.S. It is the first garment I have owned that makes me proud to have hips. In fact, it makes me lurve them. This skirt rocks.

And the best part? It’s black, but cat hair comes off so easily! (Fellow owners of long-haired cats will sympathise.) If only I could get my hands on some of that fabric.