There’s an 80s recipe book at work dedicated to pasta. It tries to convince you to serve your steak on a pile of penne. It has recipes for pasta desserts, like raspberry fettucine with white chocolate sauce. I read it when the photocopier line is long and cringe about how surely that’s grossest misuse of a food group in history.
And then last night I saw…
Yes, each part of this meal is neatly floating in a jelly. My eyes! And, simultaneously, my stomach and tastebuds! Apparently savoury gelatin moulded dinners were A Thing in the 1950s.
More on this at the excellent Sociological Images blog, here .
Candy Lane has her own special level of unrepentantly draggy awesomeness. I have a lot of respect for that. And also the fact that she’s performed for the British Royal family. And also how she was totally the first person to call Shane & Nerrida out on getting it on, ON LIVE TV, while they were each still with other people, in a way that made it all seem terribly tawdry. (From the look on his face, even Jason Gunn thought that she’d gone Too Far. I suspect for Candy Lane, Too Far is never quite far enough.)
Anyway, so I totally bought these pants:
Except I got them in a short-shorts version, by which I mean, “If you think THESE are trashtastic…” They’re actually really great! The material is super comfortable, and the gold blingy bits on the end of the cord are quality fake gold, not all plasticky. They’re my running shorts, officially, and I kind of thought I was buying them ironically, but reviewing the paragraphs above, I think maybe C.Lane has won me over for reals.
So when I turned up to my self-defence class wearing them last Saturday, and my tutor (who only semi-jokingly said his past students referred to him as Sir Sensei, but we don’t HAVE to, like, no crap Yoda) looked at me and said “Well that’s one way to call attention to your rear end,” well. All I can say, is he better be looking out when I graduate and actually know how to punch.
I am reading quite a bit of Leonard Cohen’s poetry at the moment, because once I latch onto something I can’t let it go, and the night I managed to slip into his show last month was one of the most magical of my life. I read it in bed and get all maudlin, so maybe isn’t that healthy. But!
This is my favourite Leonard Cohen poem (taken from Flowers for Hitler of 1964):
Queen Victoria and Me
my father and all his tobacco loved you
I love you too in all your forms
the slim unlovely virgin anyone would lay
the white figure floating among German beards
the mean governess of the huge pink maps
the solitary mourner of a prince
I am cold and rainy
I am dirty as a glass roof in a train station
I feel like an empty cast-iron exhibition
I want ornaments on everything
because my love she gone with other boys
do you have a punishment under the white lace
will you be short with her
and make her read little Bibles
will you spank her with a mechanical corset
I want her pure as power
I want her skin slightly musty with petticoats
will you wash the easy bidets out of her head
I’m not much nourished by modern love
Will you come into my life
with your sorrow and your black carriages
and your perfect memory
The 20th century belongs to you and me
Let us be two severe giants
(not less lonely for our partnership)
who discolour test tubes in the halls of science
who turn up unwelcome at every World’s Fair
heavy with proverb and correction
confusing the star-dazed tourists
with our incomparable sense of loss
Bolton Street Cemetary, Botanic Gardens Series – Julian Knap
I am so in love with this painting, which I totally stumbled upon at Exhibitions Gallery one lazy Sunday morning. When I was fourteen and first visited Wellington, my parents took me here to hunt out old family plots and it was the first old crumbly graveyard I’d ever been to. It made me want to live here.
This painting pulls all the distinctive nooks of the cemetary into the same landscape, and it still hangs together like that’s how they really go. It’s got the swoopy bridge I’d like to skate down (you’re not allowed), and the bronze pillary Freemason grave that always freaks me out for no known reason, and my great-great-great uncle’s celtic cross. There’s my favourite pun in town, the “exit” sign on the road that actually points to the graveyard. There’s an indie girl with dark hair and black skinny jeans and a scarf just starting across the canvas on the left, and she look s like it’s her place too.
Camp’s fast approaching, and the theme of Day Two is Australia. Inspired by Camille of ChildhoodFlame’s incredible skull sweater (which I totally plan to try myself), I bought some cheap green & gold singlets, printed a koala stencil, held my breath & started cutting…
Rad, huh? That is the most artistic thing I have done in YEARS.