Ah yes. G doesn't really understand how to use blogs. Probably would like to master Endnote before I do. Anyhow.

Today was my DAY OFF, and it was marvellously sunny and warm (17 degrees) so I sat in my divine armchair in the garden, listening to the wind drying my washing. All perfect except I am lacking a really dynamic book to read.

"It's not really dynamic enough" is my new way of getting out of activities I don't want to do. It's the new pragmatist coming out in me, goes hand in hand the need to cut my hair and take clothes back to the o-shop (where I probably bought them). Why is it that when a girl goes through a change or a revelation, she always has to look the part?

You know:
  • the doesn't feel the cold look (birkenstock, threadbare jeans and singlet)
  • the librarian look (glasses, skirt, kneehigh boots)
  • The carefree look (Manga tshirt and converse hi-tops)
  • The design look (deconstructed tops and skirts that button/zip up fun)

Or my personal favourite, the preppie look. My aim in (work) life is to look like I could be Alex P Keaton's girlfriend, circa 1985. Sleeveless vests essential. I can tell myself that I haven't become a uniform wearing robot because I am ACTING the preppie part. Haha!

Oh back to the literature front. For all the lucky people in Melbourne this weekend they could witness someone (forget who) talking at the writers week about why chick lit is so popular. Apparently it provides the punters with a behind the scenes look into the glamour world of magazines, media and fashion. Probably true: the most enjoyable books in this genre are written by ex fashion/mag journos, like Maggie Alderson and Lee Tulloch.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Anniversary of Grandad

When my youngest was young, eldest thought he was Grandad reincarnated (same day of earth arrival). As it happens, Grandad died on my nephew's birthday, which we celebrate this year at a pub that is okay but nothing special, compared to gaslight , as enthusiastically recommended to Guy.  Nephew agreed people who barrack for the Crows are like flat earthers. I like Melbournite's admiring my Tigers scarf.  SIL came by to pick up youngest who offered to help with chores if I didn't make him leave and told her he'd made himself baked beans and a chip butty, like a before character on a heart attack advertisement.  Meanwhile eldest unhappy ever since he headlined, I feel like a bad parent for sending him to a Car clew camp. Right now, he's chatting on the phone about something being 'bad', his friend is asking 'how bad' he's saying, 'pretty bad', but I can't tell if he's talking about his pash rash or cello practice or a faux pas.  (Up...
Read more

Little gems

This evening, I was reading to the kid. Every book I read at night time (and many books I read in the day) are about going to sleep. The message is getting through. When I read out the catchphrase "Do you need to go to sleep?" he closed his eyes and made pretend snoring sounds. So much fun! He had a busy evening rearranging baking trays and lego displays and trying to build the tallest lego tower that wouldn't fall over and eventually I found art invites and lego in the oven. I also decided to empty my handbag. Open bills. Sort my life out. Try and get back on track. This is all prompted by asking a colleague for something from her handbag (I shudder to think what-hopefully money, hopefully not a tissue) and seeing her sort through clutter that included the voting slip from 2010 Federal Election. Anyway, I found a diary entry, scribbled on paper, which I may have written here in different form: "Different films I've liked that have been 'mood' number...
Read more

Little Women and Family Albums

I was watching Little Women, the Greta Gerwig version with Laura Dern and a cool girl that plays Amy, production captured the organic texture of houses and textured colours. This version is not linear, and I was multi-tasking by taking to family photos with the scissors, not to excise people, but resize photos taken by a rellie pointing camera blindly, collecting from store with high hopes, only to discover they're no Max Dupain. 
Read more