FCT #17: joyce's homemade lamingtons

Oh happy day. Old friends, new(ish) bubs and freshly baked lamingtons. So so lovely to see Bec and Joel on Friday, and to meet Addie at last. Another beautiful, bouncing babe! What clever friends I have!

It’s always a delight to see Bec’s folks, Joyce and Jock, too. And Joyce’s lamingtons were just as Bec had promised – utterly scrummy.

FCT #16: songs

Sometimes, and in complete contrast to shopping, what's not good for me can be good for me. Indulging in sad songs, for instance.

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Be Here Now

don't let your mind get weary and confused

your will be still, don't try

don't let your heart get heavy, child

inside you there's a strength that lies

don't let your soul get lonely, child

it's only time, it will go by

don't look for love in faces, places

it's in you, that's where you'll find kindness

be here now, here now

be here now, here now

don't lose your faith in me

and I will try not to lose faith in you

don't put your trust in walls

'cause walls will only crush you when they fall

be here now, here now

be here now, here now

Ray LaMontagne

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FCT #15: art + dreams + purple tights

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.

FCT #14: leaving (melbournio)

I think you'll agree that I've been going strong on Canberra Positivity. It did require one stern talking to from Lulu on the fact that I chose to move here, but I've spun almost three-sixty on the Can since I arrived at the end of January. No major whinges, no petty gripes, no harping on, just sunshine and light and autumn leaves. 

As I know from my many previous incarnations, once I choose to move I then have to choose my attitude. It's the attitude that determines the experience. And I'm very pleased to say that it's been a bloody good experience so far. I'm in a happy place, I'm doing something I love, I'm learning truckloads, I've met a heap of decent peeps, I feel free of baggage... well... perhaps there's a little light carry-on... and I've crossed paths, albeit briefly, with someone who moved me in ways that I haven't been moved in a loooong time. Oi! Get your filthy minds out of the gutter!

Sometimes, in order to love somebody, you gotta set them free. (Free free, set them free.) Or so Sting would have us believe. An important part of loving the Can is setting it free. On a regular basis. (Free free, set it free.) So rather than introducing an element of Canberra Negativity, let's just say that I enjoyed setting the Can free for the weekend. 

It was a delight to return to Melbournio. To stomp the old stomping ground, hang wit my girls, witness the parallel hair explosions of Ben and Leo, marvel at how Adi becomes a yummier mummy every time I see her, eat at the Vegie Bar, drink way too much awesome coffee, get a little drunk, blow my budget (as per usual) at Polyester, enjoy the latest 'story show' from one of my superheroes, and see a stack of awesome comedy.

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Momentary fantasy tangent...

If I were Queen Of The World, the Melbourne International Comedy Festival would never ever end and I would only stop laughing in order to eat, pee and practice side-split preventing stretches. Oh, and Daniel Kitson would murmur poignant, poetic, melancholy and hilarious murmurings to me each night as I slipped into sleep. Quite possibly attired only in his underpants.

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The only problem with ace weekends away is that they must, inevitably, come to an end. And end it has. Ooooh woooe, post-holiday blues. Empty house, empty fridge, empty heart. What's a girl to do? If you've got any post-holiday pick-me-ups please do get in touch.

And stay tuned for the return of Canberra Positivity.

FCT #13: zine love

I love zines.

Always have, always will.

I've been missing Melbourne's purveyor of all things ziney, the Sticky Institute, since moving to the Berra. I used to visit regularly for a candy-striped bag of goodness, and whilst I can survive without my hit, I'd really rather not. So it was exciting to trot along to a zine fare at Canberra Contemporary Art Space on Saturday. Many tiny tomes found their way into my must-have-pile. My budget got blown.

But hey... you can't put a price on love right?! 

And now I have an entire brown paper bag's worth of goodness to wend my way through.

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--A fresh trail of paper

--Culture slut

--Emergency poncho

--I am my cats keeper

--I wish I could fly

--June graveyard

--Sketchbook sampler #1 

--20 dudes

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Yay!

PS: Yes, Sticky does have an absolutely amazing mail order department. But how dangerous is that!?

PPS: Just discovered that the National Library has a zine collection... go Nat!

FCT #12: being open

Using my imagination and my new eyes of perception, 
I see myself living a new life, a new dream, 
a life where I don't need to justify my existence
and where I am free to be who I really am.

I imagine that I have permission to be happy and to enjoy my life. 
My life is free of conflict with myself and with others.

I imagine living my life without fear of expressing my dreams. 
I know what I want and what I don't want. 
I am free to change my life the way I want to. 
I am not afraid to ask for what I need, to say yes or no to anything or anyone.

I imagine living my life without the fear of being judged by others. 
I no longer rule my life according to what others may think of me. 
I am no longer responsible for anyone's opinion. 
I have no need to control anyone, and no one controls me.

I imagine living my life without judging others. 
I can easily forgive others and let go of any judgments that I have. 
I don't have the need to be right and I don't need to make anyone else wrong. 
I respect myself and everyone else, and others respect me in return.

I imagine living without fear of loving and being loved. 
I imagine living without fear of not being loved. 
I am no longer afraid to be rejected, and I don't have the need to be accepted. 
I can say "I love you" with no shame or justification. 
I can walk in the world with my heart completely open 
and not be afraid to be hurt.

I imagine living without being afraid to take a risk and explore life. 
I am not afraid to lose anything. 
I am not afraid to be alive in the world, 
and I am not afraid to die.

I imagine that I love myself just the way I am. 
I love my body just the way it is, 
and I love my emotions just the way they are. 
I know that I am perfect just as I am.

FCT #11: the phoenix

Ah, The Phoenix. A genuine Canberra institution. And as Slim points out, one of the few places in town that hasn't benefited from the smoking ban. But the stench of 16 years worth of beer and bad plumbing isn't enough to keep the Canberrans away. 

I have so many memories of The Phoeno, all embalmed in teenage nostalgia. Oh how we drank! Oh how we danced! Oh how we loved (a good drama)! It must have been a baby of a venue back then but I have no memory of its birth. It's one of those places that seems always to have been there.

I've been back regularly since my return to the Can and not much has changed. In fact I'd be willing to bet that some of the regulars are still regular, just slightly more weatherbeaten. Last night was a special return though - my first real Phoenix gig and the first gig I've ever braved on my own. A Favourite Canberra Thing coupled with a Favourite Clairey Thing - bravery! I've always wanted to sidle into a show on my own. Hang back with a beer in hand and feel at home, alone among the masses. Many male friends do it regularly, so what's the big deal? Why is it so intimidating? Last night I gave intimidation a swift kick in the nuts and got on with it.

How could I not? 

Mikelangelo was playing. And I luuuuurrrrrrve Mikelangelo. A man who, in his own words, sings like a nightingale and moves like a bull.  

So in I sidled.

Boys in three piece suits, girls with feathers in their hair, great hair, knee-hi's, trucker caps and tight tees. Oldies, newies. Cool kids, middle-aged dorks. A guy with a remarkably high pot belly, and a bottle of milk, who later engaged in the strangest dancing I've seen in a long time. Not many people noticeably on their own, but one or two boys perhaps.

The gig was awesome. The cabaret-western-surf genre bending just worked. The cowboy shirts were pure polyester. The band were consummate professionals. Saint Clare was stunning and sequined and got into some amazing go go dancing. Mikel gave me (and okay, half the rest of the audience) the eye. Swoon.

It was a damn fine night.

FCT #10: lonsdale street roasters

Yes!!! I've found it!!! Canberra's coffee spot!!!

(Well, to be honest, AZ found it and very generously shared it this morning.)

Lonsdale Street Roasters rocks! A fact that is pretty evident from a) my overuse of exclamation marks, and b) its hugely busy state on both of our two visits. Uh-huh, the coffee was so good that I made AZ take me back for a second cup!

We were there pretty early by weekend brekky standards and I don't think one table was free for more than a moment. And why would one be? The coffee was the best I've had in the Can so far, and the brekky menu was simple and delicious. We went halvsies on paninis - green eggs and ham plus scrambled egg, roast tomato and Kevin Bacon. Yummo. 

The style of the space is hard to define. Industrial-slash-bike nerd? Lots of nice touches and I particularly liked the homemade bench cushions and magnetic menu. 

We ended up with a great view of the brekky changeover, as the full glory of the many morning cyclists gave way to the first ebb of the cool kids crowd. I wish my photo was a) better, and b) captured the incredible line up of lycra clad bums that paraded before us when we first arrived. Usually that much cling wrap would be enough to put me off my brekky, but not today!

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Lonsdale Street Roasters
7 Lonsdale Street, Braddon 
T: 02 6156 0975
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FCT #9: fang clothing

Oooh, oooh, oooh... yesterday I stumbled across a hidden gem that I must share... Fang Clothing!

Back in ol Melby-town, Lulu and I regularly dropped in on a local boutique that stocked just the right blend of goodies to add excitement to the wardrobe. It had the Melbourne boutique feel without the Melbourne boutique price tag. Fang has the same feel and the same price tag! It's a fun space, jam-packed with goodies for women and kids. They have a great range of those fold up shopping bags (Enviro-sax?) as well as some interesting jewellery pieces.

I nabbed myself a perfectly fitting t-shirt. Thank you very much.

Yippee for cool young entrepreneurs choosing to do their thang in out-of-the-way places. I've found me a new regular drop in.

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Fang Clothing

13 Edgar Street, Ainslie

T: 02 6249 1054

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