One of the weekend's brekky conversations revolved around street art - its proliferation in Melbs and its illiteration in the Berra. (Yes, I know that's not the right word, but wouldn't it be nice if it was!) When held up against the street art mecca that is Melby-town, the Berra is clearly lacking. So it was a lovely surprise to stumble across a brand spanking new paste-up on my walk home today. Technical difficulties are preventing me from posting a picture of it -- now remedied, see above and below -- so let me paint you a word-picture: a huge image of Mr T's head, next to a huge send-up of the 'keep calm' poster that we're all sick to death of. I've actually got to the point where I'm sick to death of the send-ups, but this one is pretty good. Keep calm and quit yo' jibba-jabba.
Anyone aware of my previous blog will be aware of my fondness for Mr T. In fact, let's refer quickly to the Mr T novelty eraser taking pride of place in front of me as I type...
I took Mr T's words as a sign on my walk home. His message is clear. But there are days when all you have is jibba-jabba and that's just what you have to roll with. Today is a jibba-jabba-ing flibbity-jibbit of a day. Emotions are up, down, round and round, here, there, everywhere. The internal jibba-jabba is ceaseless.
In response to this emotional rollercoaster I went shopping. What would Mr T say? Fool!
Yes, ditching work early to go shopping was foolish on many levels. Hang on. You decided that rather than earn money you would spend money you don't have? Hang on. You decided that rather than soothing your soul with a long walk through autumn leaves you'd spend time checking out cellulite under fluorescent lights. Hang on. You decided that shopping in a funk encourages wise purchasing? Huh?
For some utterly inexplicable reason, shopping sometimes becomes attractive when I'm feeling low. In the same way that watching the shittiest rom-com I can possibly find becomes attractive. Or drowning myself in a tub of Peanut Butter Disaster ice-cream becomes attractive. What's with that? None of those things make me feel good in the light. Why are they going to make me feel good in the dark? Am I so indoctrinated in consumer culture that my fall-back position is a handful of cliches?
To be fair, there were a couple of other factors at play:
1. I need more winter clothes.
2. Last night I dreamed I was walking through a sweepingly grand garden with my old boss. We were looking for flowers to pick and as I pointed Stephanie would say "Peonies? Oh no no no. We need something simple." It continued with every flower I chose. "Ranunculus? Oh no no no.", "Delphiniums?", "Gladioli?", "Lisianthus?", "Oh no no no." It was like my brain was trawling its database for flower names and not coming up with the right record. Dodgy search terms or sumthin.
Eventually we came to the end of the garden - sans flowers - and walked into a large, wood-panelled hall. There was a huge wardrobe at the end of it. Stephanie motioned towards it and said "Go on. It's yours." As I opened it I realised that the wardrobe was mine, and that it was filled with the most amazing array of outfits I had ever seen. Each one a delight to behold. Each one a coat of many colours. Each one a squillion times more enticing than anything I actually own. I pawed through the contents in a frenzy of excitement, pulling out beautiful garments one after another, examining all the things I could clothe myself in. Then suddenly the choices overwhelmed me. In a split-second I flipped from excitement to overwhelm. And then the dream ended.
When I woke up I was still feeling overwhelmed, but I was also thinking about buying purple tights.
Now if that's not jibba-jabba, I don't know what is.
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