Category Archives: What I love

Why maybe we can keep smiling.

Posted on by
1

So a couple of days ago I started hearing nasty little bits floating around about some riots going on in London. The bits multiplied and had baby bits as the rioting spread and worsened until it was all over the papers and everyone I saw (including me) was saying to everyone else “wow, London, ay?” with a shake of the head.

I don’t live in London. I am far far away from the chaos, and most people I know are too, but that hasn’t stopped us reacting. My Facebook newsfeed has been ablaze with people exclaiming, pondering, laughing and generally throwing hands in the air, wondering what has happened to our fellow humans.

I don’t undersand it all. I caught on to the situation late, as is my wont with situations that are in any way important or biggish, and so missed any sort of original happenings or things that could have set it off. I have of course now seen and heard things about the police shooting a man, which is awful in and of itself as I don’t like people getting shot, pretty much full stop, and I’ve heard a bunch about the disenfranchised youth of England being fed the hell up and sort of losing it a bit, but all in all mainly riots, fires, awful, youth, race issues, awful, shit, fires, etc.

I’ve heard stacks of blame and recrimination and calls for vengeance and justice and I’ve heard enough to make me deeply, deeply sad.

But I’ve also heard some other things.

My housemate said to me tonight that she read a story about people hitting the streets of London with brooms to clean up. I was considerably cheered by this. Another friend posted a photo she found somewhere of some lovely people offering the police guarding their street a cup of tea. Naw.

How could I forget? What gets me through the frequent moments of “aaah the world is falling apart and everyone is mean and no one loves anything but themselves and why don’t we all give up” anguish I experience is the knowledge that the jerk-non jerk ratio in my life (considerably higher on the non jerk side) can’t be a singular thing. The jerk-non jerk ratio must be similar all over the world. Which means:

There are good, sensible people in the UK, doing good and sensible things.

For instance, the people behind #riotcleanup. Not only have hundreds of people, brooms proudly aloft, flocked to the streets of London and Manchester to clean up their homes but the riotcleanup tag was the most trended topic in the UK the day of its inception, and the second most trended worldwide. This is wonderful news I think, for the rep of social media. It mean that while Twitter and Facebook etc helped organise the rioters, they also helped organise those that wanted to respond in kindness and practicality, proving once and for all that the interwebs CAN be used for good as well as evil.

Lovely Londoners with Lovely Brooms

I found so many stories all over the place about men and women heartened and inspired by the people cleaning up their streets. Little old ladies cleaning alongside youngins, people travelling for miles to help out. I sat on twitter (I was lured back! the riots got me!) and watched the dozens upon dozens of people per minute posting their support and gratitude for what they’ve called “the real London”.

Something else I stumbled upon is this little gem:

Buy a Bobby a Beer.com What a wonderful way to thank people for doing what is no doubt a ridiculously tiring and difficult job.

Also, this! Operation Cup of Tea, which is also going a little bananas on Twitter, asks people to join them in posting a picture of them having a relaxing cup of tea, instead of rioting. They have nearly 200 000 attending on Facebook, and looking over the hoards of photos of cups of tea and coffee consumed by citizens who would rather sip and smile than rail or accuse is heartening.

Just so you know, I’m not trying to be naive. I know there are deep and abiding evils and injustices in the world and in our systems that hurt, incapacitate and frustrate my fellow citizens. I don’t think rioting and generally going a bit troppo is a helpful solution but I am not cruel or cynical enough to dismiss this mess in its entirety as youthful idiocy. I know that cups of tea and brooms won’t fix what has caused this, and that what is lacking here goes deeper than what a smile can counter.

But I needed to be reminded that London, and the world, hasn’t completely lost its mind. My heart breaks for the UK, and for all other countries experiencing unrest and fear daily. I simply am warmed by the appearance of so many wanting to help, to laugh, to smile, to love and by the knowledge that where these are known, there must be many who are unknown.

The rioters and the press may be louder but my favourite type of revolution has always been a gentle one.

So thanks to you all, and my prayers are with you.

x

Ps, a couple more examples

http://somethingniceforashraf.tumblr.com/

http://www.thejc.com/news/uk-news/52977/how-jewish-communtiy-can-help-riot-clean

http://twitpic.com/63ii7k

 

 

I wonder

Posted on by
2

what this will look like.

 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately…

 

about creativity.

About wonderful ideas

 

and things that people make

and do.

 

I’ve been thinking about exploring.

About finding more trees.

 

I’ve been thinking about yarn bombing,

about note posting

And

about

form.

About

how

creativity

is


bottomless.

  I love it.                                                                  I think we were made to make things.

I’ve been thinking about how I, like so many others, want to make things that make people want to make things.

and make them want to laugh

and to sing

and to smile

dance

paint

walk

look

listen

hear       touch  pause      breathe    make

write readunderstandthink

live.

I’ve been thinking.


 

Dear Baking, Sorry we’ve not been friends.

Posted on by
1

I know a number of people, people that I respect, who love you. They love to stand in their kitchen and move pans about and find ingredients and look in their pantries and make things for those they love. I’ve always thought that’s fabulous. I love the idea that people can be not lazy. That they can make food for themselves. It amazes me. And some of them really love it. Like, they LOVE it. They want to be with you, Baking, a lot of the time. Your sometimes painstaking methods seem a sweet price to pay for the result they get.

Not so for me. It’s not always been that I hate to cook. I don’t even think I do. It’s just never occurred to me to like it. I will certainly grab a spatula or wooden spoon and do my half assed duty, but the idea of cooking as something that’s fun to do, of YOU as an interesting way to spend my time has, on occasion, seemed laughable.

I hope this isn’t offensive… It’s not you exactly, it’s just that why would something that seems almost chore-ish be fun for me? Putting flour and salt and other shit together in exacted quantities just doesn’t get me going.

But.

As you may or may not be aware (I’m sure you’re busy with Nigella or Masterchef or something but you may have read my blog..) I decided I wanted to make a pie. I decided this around seven or eight months ago as a part of my quest to do some shit before I turn 30. I have after all, always been a huge fan of pie  -one of your finest works, I think- and the making of one, crust and all, seems like such an insignificant and obvious part of other peoples lives that the lack of any experience making one in my own began to look ridiculous.

The pie making scheme sat latent within me, swallowed by laziness, fear and my super human ability to forget things and be easily distracted for many a moon. Then, one unsuspecting Friday night, at around nine, I began to think. I began to think pie thoughts. I began, Baking, to dream pie dreams. We didn’t have a lot of fruit, so I googled pear pie recipes lazily, still not entirely committed to the revolution.

I found one. It looked good. I sat, and read it and thought and read it some more and then, when my self esteem thought all hope was lost I said “fuck it, I’m doing this” got off the couch, took my place in the kitchen and, may I say, my place in history.

First, as you will know, I made the crust. I took the crust part of another recipe as the one I found was all American and saying things like Wholewheat Flour and stuff. I hoped the recipe wouldn’t know I cheated. The dough freaked me out when I took it out of the food processor as it was a little wet and greasy. Convinced that I had fucked even that small a part, I divided it in two and put it in the fridge to set. Or whatever.

Next! The filling. Several sloppy pears dripping all over the bench later,

I know, right? Nutmeg and cinnamon and honey dude. Damn.

So. Once this was done and after a few minor interruptions in the way of facebook chat and freaking out a little more over the fate of the ill-begotten crust, it was time to like, assemble this sucker.

Here is where the trouble started. I placed the pear mix in the middle of my very nicely rolled (I thought) pastry. I began to pull the edges of the pastry over the pear to form a little tart case thing. But woe! The pastry was too thin and the pear too juicy and small cracks began to form in the newly soaking dough. I would smoosh one crevice together only to catch another forming on the other side. It stuck to the bench and looked unlikely to ever make it into the oven. Somehow though, the lumpy pear boat was placed hastily on a tray to await fate and my surrender to inadequacy.

 

I moaned aloud, I told friends on facebook this was sure to result in horror, I lamented my danged decisions to attempt anything ever as the little pear boat waited for me like an unassuming time bomb of floury doom.

I waited.

Something peculiar happened. When repeatedly checking the pie, I noticed it had begun to look..golden-ie. Sort of baked and delicious. It looked, dare I say it, edible.

Not letting myself dare to hope, I paced the kitchen some more and then…

… it was born. My first pie. And I cut into it, and I ate it, and Baking my friend, it was good. The crust was crumbly and baked through and not dry and the pear was succulent. I was exultant. Where there had been no baked good, I had made baked goods.

And now here I stand, on the other side of my great adventure, humbly asking for your forgiveness. I’m sorry I thought you were naff, Baking. You gave me pie and for that I will be forever grateful. I now look forward, almost, to spontaneously deciding to try you late at night again, and possibly at other times when we might combine to make other pies.

Here’s to a long and healthy friendship,

Carlynne.

 

 

My Technical Romance

Posted on by
11

Just over a year ago I was having a really shit time. To say it was all about a break up would be stretching the truth a little but it certainly started that way, and the wrong, ripping grossness that is that time became snowballed with feelings of dissatisfaction with myself and my life and of horror at years of solitude stretching in front of me like a barren forest path and it ended when I grudgingly woke one day to the thought that perhaps it would be better if I was not alive any more.

I have, fortunately, enough sense inside me and inside my wonderful friends to not let myself have too much headway with thoughts such as this, and it was luckily a momentary thing, but it did shock me a little. More shocking, and more persistent than this, was the realisation that I had forgotten how to like my life.

So I decided I needed to be reminded, and that I was just the person to do that.

I began to take a photo a day, the only rule being it had to be a photo of something that I dug or something I loved or something that made me smile. The results can be viewed here.

365 photos of flowers and skies and streets and trees and friends and strangers later, yesterday I posted the last. The day before I got confused momentarily and thought I had finished already, and was surprised at my feelings of loss. I felt like I was parting with someone I love. Which is a bit stupid when you remember that I’m talking about a photo blog but I’ve grown so used to looking about me wherever I am and writing captions in my mind and falling in love with all the small but wonderful things that are everywhere around me. And I will miss it.

What I guess I wanted to get down here, as well as a huge thank you to the world for its continued brevity and charm, is some sort of notice that it worked. I once again dig my life to the point that it could seem irritating and self indulgent to those around me. I am, and, dear reader I suspect you are, surrounded by, showered in, positively crowded with joy. It is there, small and large, ugly and glorious, magenta and yellow, clouded and bright, foreign and dear. I am not making this up.

Things I didn’t ever get a photo of but wish I could:

My nephew walking or the sound of my nieces voice

The perfect magnolia flower (I know it’s still out there)

A young man helping an older lady with a walker onto a tram

Old men greeting each other in the street with a handshake and a grin

The dude in the popcorn suit who freestyle rapped at me in a bar

Ladies with fairy lights inside the bottom of their delightful, vintage frocks

Any of the life changing, heart aching music that is like oxygen to me daily

Smiles on strangers faces that are oddly familiar to me

The majority of totally awesome sandwiches eaten

The night the moon was apparently really frigging huge, even though I didn’t actually see the biggest part

So many clouds in so many wonderful, decadent skies

The smell of morning

What I’ve learnt:

I have not lost the near hysterical love for clouds I fostered as a child.

I am if anything, a little too blessed.

I am not as gungho about taking photos of strangers as I would have hoped.

Peoples faces are lovely.

Noticing things takes up a good deal of time.

The camera resolution on the iPhone 4 is just so much better than the 3.

Smiling is helpful and just about the easiest thing to do in the world.

Food is totally fucking great, though it’s possible photographing it makes me a wanker…

and

There is always something.

Thanks everyone and everything, I hope to take a photo of you all at some point.

C.

Tastes like ageing

Posted on by
2

Today was my birthday.

All day.

I awoke to find an enchanting flock of origami cranes hanging from the dining room ceiling. Nearby, a paper elephant and peacock offered me birthday messages.

Chatty paper birthday origami

I had breakfast with friends and the dude at the cafe gave me a birthday slice of tart for freesies.

I did some birthday study and was obviously channelling birthday wizard power ’cause I totally kicked an essays ass. I then went birthday op shopping and scored some birthday bargains. Then I came home to find birthday flowers and birthday tea!

Birthday flowers on not so birthday tv

Terrible birthday pop music was played, enjoyed and danced to. I went for a birthday walk and felt the birthday sun warm my cheeks as it touched the petals of nearby birthday roses.

Birthday Sunset

At home, Kate (she of the mad hatters dinner party and also the one responsible for the paper menagerie) cooked me a birthday dinner of birthday basa,

birthday fish

and a birthday cake.

birthday cake..

and birthday Kate.

I have had a birthday whistle in my nose for the last little while, but feel it ads to the festive tone of the day.

birthday me.

I’m reasonably birthday sleepy now. I will sleep soon, which is birthday wonderful.

birthday brie and birthday unicorn

Oh and because it is my 29th birthday I am posting my list of shit I’ve got to do before I’m 30, entitled: The Art of (my) Gentle Revolution tonight.  Stay tuned for action packed list crossie offie posts.

Rest easy tonight, interwebs, squooshy and comfortable in the bosom of the knowledge that I had a kick ass day and am for the first time in a long while, looking forward to my age.

Peace out.

When the internets made me cry

Posted on by
5

I have this disease where I compare myself to anyone I come across who does or has or is something that I want to do have or be. Like there is a race, or a board game where everyone has to be awesome and I’m sussing the competition and being like “dude. No way. They have this in the bag”. Gah. So very year 11.

I just looked at this blog called THXTHXTHX, and it is lovely and it is the kind of idea I wish I’d had. It is this girl Leah and she writes a thank you note a day to things like Anything I Eat After Surfing and Request For Me To Cut Your Hair. It is funny and sweet and honest and I like it a lot, but immediately I thought “damn. She’s done it. She’s better than me” and I actually got a little teary about it.

Geez.

The thing is, I actually have a blog of my own, about daily things I’m grateful for/happy about, but what my brain did when looking at her blog was to think that her way of being grateful is somehow more hip and edgy than mine. Because a blogs hipster cred is obviously the most important issue here. I’m such a douche sometimes.

I think though, that the reason I got teary was (at least partially) that a. I cry with relative expedience at all manner of things and b. I am so glad that the world is populated by women and men who see the beauty and the excellence around them and want to celebrate that. This is brave and good and makes me a little emo.

And I am now going to endeavour to grip hold of my individuality as something to be proud of, not mourned, and others creativity as an exciting expression of Good Stuff. Ok? Ok.

That’s all, I reckon. But check out her blog, and celebrate with me the wonder of humanity and of thank you notes.

Bless.

He ain’t boring, he’s my brother*

Posted on by
7

While a lot of the TV I watched when I was younger has become part of the fuzzy clothes dryer of my brain, half remembered bits of twins? something about destiny? something about medallions? and gold? all flying around together and moulding into an indistinguishable mass, some has stuck in there, clear as day. I can still remember Penny in her green pants and sturdy sneakers opening her computer book (computer book! I KNOW, right?!) and Vanilla Icing the hell out of Inspector G’s problems, I remember wanting to date Michealangelo SO HARD (though now I’m more into Raphael, I feel like he gets me) and having no small amount of envy for April O’neills yellow jumpsuit. Oh man. She was the straight up- COOLEST.

I also remember digging on Sesame street, something that hasn’t changed a lot.

I always loved the street more than the school (it seems to be one or the other, a sort of Home and Away v Neighbors polemic). Playschool was adults talking to kids, taking time out of their busy days to condescend to me, whereas Sesame Street was friends (my friends, the crazy ass monsters) talking to friends.

I don’t remember if there was a character I resonated with more than any other, I just remember enjoying the hell out of it. And the ladybug picnic.  As I have grown older, someone stuck with me, grew sharper and more focussed through the haze of my childhood and has taken his place as my favorite from the street.

I have a crush on Bert. My mono-browed, skivvy wearing hero. Sure he’s oft overshadowed by his more fun, more imaginative, more easy going bud Ernie, but in Bert I’ve sensed something worth noticing, worth celebrating. When I picked up the above issue of T-WORLD magazine I realized what it was that kept me coming back** to an oval-nosed paper clip obsessed freak.

There was this article celebrating Sesame Street and they got several different artists to create original designs based on their favorite characters. The one that did Berts wrote that Bert was the guy that told us it was ok to not be the life of the party.

YES.

Everyone knows that Ernie is more likeable. He is fun and silly and innocent and joyful where Bert is dour, boring, practical and snappy. But everyone also knows you can’t always be Ernie. Sometimes you need to be practical. Sometimes you’re sleepy. Sometimes your room mate is talking to an invisible person on a banana and it plain shits you off.

What is wonderful about this skinny little man-puppet (aside from his love of pigeons, which is something we have in common) is that he offers an alternative to the go go go crowd pleasing of the other residents and permissions kids (and 28 yr olds) to be proud of their face eatingly boring habits, eg bottle cap collecting, their lack of constant childlike joy and their visionary dance moves (pigeon dance anyone?).

There is nothing wrong and in fact a lot that’s right with being an Ernie. I’m not going to knock that kind of lifestyle (tee hee). But I’m voting team Bert, because skivvies are sometimes a practical and stylish wardrobe choice.

*Nothing depreciating or untoward should be read into the title as far as my actual brother goes, he is great and fun and helped foster an understanding of the brilliance of S Street and all other Jim Henson associated media.

**and seriously, coming back cos once when I was travelling I left my Bert doll in Gimmelwald, this town on the side of a mountain in Switzerland. And I took a cable car, a bus and a boat across the country before realising. So then I took a train, a bus and a cable car back to fetch him. No one gets left behind. I’m oddly sentimental about things.

I just, I need to get this out of my system

Posted on by
2

There is, friends, a great and a glorious thing that exists among us. Humble, unassuming, taken daily for granted, but beautiful beyond reason. The very face of God staring at you from your Royal Doulton dinnerware.

ham & cheese on multigrain- elegant in its simplicity, no?

The sandwich, man. Can’t. Go. Wrong. What, I ask could be better at being a meal in your hand? The Sandwich. Splendid, mighty, piquant.

The Widow Maker (ie tomato, cheese, avocado & cucumber. not for feint of heart.)

If you can’t grasp the lofty concepts I’m tossing about like so much baby spinach, allow me to break it down for you.

Sandwiches are one of the better things that exist in the world.

They save my life and they do this by being totally awesome and also edible. I suspect that there may be some who are still unconvinced of the vast and boundless magnificence of the sandy, and for those, I will now drop some knowledge.

double decker PB&J (no I am not an American, I am however a fan of the acronym and potentially lethal sandwich filings).

Why sandwiches kick other things asses:

1. It’s everything you need, and it’s all together in bread, that’s why.

2. It’s the food of the working class. No piss-farting around with knives and forks and all the other bullshit the bourgeois wants us to think is necessary and impressive. You just pick it up and you jam that sucker in your face.

smiley face fritz & salad on white -note the controversial "horizontal cut"

3. The sandwich is the single most impressive invention of the modern age. What’s that? Penicillin? Oh, oh, the printing press?

You can put anything you want between two slices of bread and eat it for your lunch.

Boom.

When wonder calls your name while doing menial household chores

Posted on by
Reply

I remember when I was younger (and by younger I mean a couple of years ago) and I still believed in magic  (and by when I still believed in magic I mean of course I believe in magic I’m wishing for a unicorn so I can make a wish on its horn for a fairy),  I used to crave Narnia. This severe, almost tangible longing for a land of magic and beauty and heroes and ADVENTURE would rise up, usually when peering into the dark realms of a wardrobe, or catching sight of a fir tree or you know, anything else.

I knew that it wouldn’t happen (because one of my faults is the ability to produce logic in situations where it is not desired) but I would want it SO. HARD. Wish just for a moment, a long moment where I wasn’t quite ready to exhale that I was wrong. That small but weighty belief that surely if you squink your eyes shut a little tighter, reality will be replaced by lovely, purpley wonder and you’ll be the one, you’ll be the kid who gets an adventure.

Sigh.

While sweeping my house just now, a similar longing popped out of the secret garden of whimsical and stupid desires that will never be realised and said “Look at me! I’m freaking glorious!”. This time it was the often unacknowledged but always present wish that life could just once, JUST ONCE be a music video.

(OHMYWORDHOWGOODWOULDTHATBE)

And you know what? How hard can it be? It’s not like I’m asking for an alternate world full of talking beavers and scary-ass ranga queens any more, I can still be sweeping my kitchen, just then we all take turns singing and have better lighting and are intrinsically cool and detached and stuff. And always know the lyrics.

… Sigh.

Things I’m average at No. 365: Liking the right stuff

Posted on by
2

I was having a little Facebook tete a tete earlier, via the comments section on a link a friend of mine posted. Apparently the video, an allegedly hilarious clip of Cowboy Hiphop as yet unwatched by me, has been removed from YouTube because of a violation of its use… or some such . Anyhoo, a friend of the original poster commented that he had seen the video briefly on Glee before violently throwing up and passing out, a response to his obvious hatred for the show. I wrote that I was bummed that not only had I missed the original video, but an episode of Glee too to which he replied (in a sort of companionable tone, one show choir hater to another) that Glee is the worst thing in the world. At this point I had to confess to him, and also to anyone who is reading this, that I was in fact, serious.

I love Glee.

There. I’ve said it. And actually I’m completely unashamed. It’s fun and light and involves singing and dancing, which I love (except when involving children under 12 as that is only creepy and uncomfortable) and it doesn’t take itself too seriously and I am ridiculously entertained by it.

Now, the crowd I run with (side bar to state that I don’t run, am not a character in The Outsiders and am not sure at all why I chose that phrase) are often a little bit cool. They’d deny it, say surely I’m talking about someone else, but they know deep down, that a lot of their opinions and tastes are the “right” ones to have. They hate Muse now that they’re doing songs for the Twilight soundtracks, they love Arrested Development and use text lingo ironically. I say all this not to make fun of them, I share a lot of their loves and their disloves, but to point out the kind of people I’d be offending if I came out as a Glee fan. As it happens I don’t actually care and most of them are interstate which means the subject doesn’t come up much, but if it did I’m sure I’d get some heads shaking. That’s just the way I roll. I’m a maverick.

More things I shouldn’t love but do:

Kevin Costner

Romantic Comedies

Possibly Beyonce, although she hovers over acceptable sometimes. So hard to tell.

Vampire related books, movies and TV shows

Kevin Costners Field of Dreams

Friends, the show not the people, although of course I love that kind too.

Rod Stewart

John Denver

Guy Sebastions Like it Like That

Some R’n’B

Cougartown

Some Hip Hop

Kevin Costners Waterworld

And I could continue. I used to say (as recently as last week) that I’m allowed to like some shit because I like so much good stuff, but it’s more accurate to say who the hell cares.

When it comes to film and television I’m supposed to like Seinfeld and hate the Vampire Diaries. I’m supposed to love the indie music, except when it gets too popular, and hate the Miley (I do, hate her, by the way..). I’m supposed to roll my eyes at misspelled text messages and if I’m really good, I’m supposed to forsake Facebook all together because of its obvious affiliation with all that is naff and its clearly pro-Stephanie Meyer leanings.

I don’t do all that very well. And this post is actually a good reminder to myself to quit once and for all taking social currency so seriously. Liking shit along with the not-shit keeps me in fun pretty much constantly. It is almost inconceivable how easily entertained I am, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Cool means too much work, not enough show choir.