A parrot sits propped against my bookshelf, looking jauntily over its shoulder. It seems like the kind of picture you’d find in the parlour of a an oldish woman, who smokes too much and maybe gives people tattoos or reads palms and she has this wild grey hair and too much eye make-up and she’ll tell you about where she got the original fabric -he and the cherry blossom on which he is perched are printed on cloth- and how she reframed it after a fight with her lover. Or at least you wish that’s where you’d find it. Probably some art student found the print on a bag and in a fit of nonconforming genius put it in a frame and spent ten minutes looking at it, head to one side till they realised they didn’t really like it in the first place.

I bought the picture today, from Scavengers, this little op shop on Sydney rd that, while I pick things up from it occasionally, I feel I haven’t bonded with yet. There’s enough middle of the road, Susaan, mumsy tops and ill fitting jeans that I can’t be really settled on enjoying the place. But I go back, for the three dollar books and the baggy jumpers mainly. I found the parrot in the window as I left and did a circle back in to get him, carried him home on the tram.

The parrot and I look at each other, me from behind the glasses I wear when I use my computer, near my cluttered dresser and him from behind glass, on the floor near the three dollar copy of Prince Caspian and the Joyce Carol-Oates story I also bought, and the desk I hardly use, the rug that would by now be desperately unclean. Someone outside on the street yells “don’t worry don’t worry don’t worry” and I think, ok man.

Later, after I’ve done some mild busy work, sliced some watermelon, opened the blinds then shut them again, microwaved the rest of the coffee from this morning, I take a photo of the parrot.

steak, steak and more of steak

I am vurrry tired. I should be in sleep town, hitching my horse (he’s a lovely cream colour) to a post at the local inn (it’s made entirely of pillows, save the skirting), tipping my hat to the local barmaids (am I a man in this scenario? Possibly) and hitting the old sack, as they say.

A couple of things first: This guy. Seems funny. I’ll let you know when it’s confirmed, apologies for the simply awful font. Also, this film = great. If people are telling you, and you’re all “oooh but it’s just about a speech, right? How good could it be? No one ever made a film about my speech in third grade”-you’re right, they haven’t, it’s cos you’re boring, but more importantly read this review (serenely ignoring the spelling mistake in the second to last paragraph) which says everything I would say if I could be assed and wrote well and someone hadn’t written it already a million times or just GO AND SEE IT NOW.


Thirdly, have you ever stopped to think how scary it would be if people, and, I suppose dogs and budgies and guinea pigs, could turn invisible? Could sneak and swarm and slither their way about with only the faintest of stirrings on a nearby bush and their insidious creakings and the scrape of their demonic feet to betray them? No? Think that over before bed time, yeah?

Perhaps not the budgie one. Or the guinea pig. The dog, I guess, would find it frustrating to not have people greet him with a “ooojuuusagguuudbooyyeeejheessjyoooaaah” whenever they saw him. So he’s not so scary after all. But the people, the shuffling, creaking and I’m assuming vastly unattractive people? *shudder*.

I’ve been reading a little Stephen Fry lately, and I want to be a friend of his. At least an acquaintance who could feasibly shake his hand and perhaps illicit the occasional well meaning titter in a public forum. Ah well.

I was angry recently, very much so, and it was bad for my health. For reasons both vain and entirely unrelated to aforementioned anecdote I’m cutting out the carbs for a week, to see how I go. I anticipate much broccoli in my future.

To bed. Rest well, friends.


Ps, though, don’t you hate it when someone comments on your blog, right, and they don’t actually leave a name? and like, you just have their naff little code name that means nothing to you at all, like mine is my girl betty, and that’s because of a painting on the wall of our lounge of this big old naked chick called Betty that my mate Jess painted for me, but no one outside of, well, me would know that. Consider this a hint, oh Last Comment Leaver of Myst-ery. Thanks for reading and seeming to enjoy, though. Good of you.

have you ever wanted to start a zine and call it auld lang zine? No? Me neither.

Knowledge dropped by the dearly departed 2010

Shimmery shiny vintage skirts are fun but not so much when you’re trying to hobble down a street or over a bridge whilst plastering said skirt to your legs in gale force winds so as to not expose granny knickers to passers by

Breaking up is hard to do

Definitely is spelt definitely not definately

Eating without thought for the future results in a fatty fat fat of catastrophic proportions

Steve Jobs started as a game designer for Atari

I can be a selfish A-hole

Apparently accidental plagiarism counts as plagerism

Apparently plagiarism is a big deal. Who knew.

The internet is a harsh mistress… Bitch.

There are SO MANY BANDS that are amazing

I can get good jobs

People are capable of committing acts of both astonishing horror and grace

Taking a picture a day can be frustrating when one is forgetful

Wonderful people can do shitty things

The negligible amount of alcohol it takes to make me a little floppy has actually decreased, making me the cheapest drunk of all time

Taking a picture a day helps render one more easily distracted by trees, flowers, colours, bricks and the like

I think about my hair a lot

The mexican burrito from Vegiebar is not an endeavour to be undertaken lightly. No sir.

I am capable of internal histrionics that would make Oscar Wilde blush

My friends are wholly marvellous

How I Met Your Mother = Excellence

Cardboard will get you. It will GET you.

One cannot stop getting crushes on boys by simply deciding to no longer get crushes on boys

Cynicism is the easy way out

Life is worth the living

Happy 2011 dudes.