Thinkin' and Drinkin'

We've been away. We went down South to see Darcy's family. He is the oldest of 6, 4 brothers and 2 sisters, and the son of a school teacher (mum) and cattle farmer/forestry worker (dad). He grew up in a country town, not as small as mine, but small and very country. Beautiful land. But a tough town. The men are blokes and the women are sturdy and sensible.

On the way down, we stopped at a camping shop where I bought a pair of work boots. Here, the typical workboot is what we in the US know to be the stylish and expensive Blundstones, the ankle high pull on boots with elastic sides. People can buy them in NYC for about 120USD, and they make a simple and good looking casual boot to wear for men or women. They are, as I like to say, unisexy. Here in Australia, there are a few companies who make this style of boot, and they cost less than half of what they do in the US. I bought a pair of these boots made by a company called Redbacks, and they cost me about 50USD.

If you pass construction workers on the highway, or have a delivery man come to your door, or have a Greyhound bus driver take your ticket, or visit someone who lives "in the bush", check out their feet and they are wearing these boots. It's funny that something here so blokey is so fashionable back home. Anyway, this country is full of damn tough blokes. But there are a few things considered blokey here that would make men in the US very uncomfortable. Mainly, shorts. Here, the men wear short shorts. I mean, the things are damn short, and you hope they don't put their foot up on the truck while they are talking to you. You drive by a construction site, and all these men are wearing their short shorts and their Blundstones. And in the main sport here, rugby, the guys wear very short tight shorts. But they look scary as all get out. In the US, football players wear tight pants, but they are pants, they cover everything, and no one would wear scrotum skimming shorts and a t-shirt to kick a ball around. There was a time in basketball when men would wear actual shorts, but now they are practically wearing skirts. In rugby, no way. It's hot pants with no cup underneath. No protection - what are you afraid of, mate? Just go out there and be a man, dammit.

One thing I have noticed, in my extensive and thorough world travels, is that there is a lot of drinking going on in the world. You'd like to think it's the sitting around being merry at a dinner party kind of way, but more often it is the I am drinking because that is the only thing I enjoy in my life way. Well, maybe that is a bit harsh. In the town that Darcy is from I saw maybe 7 pubs, and quite a bit of drinking going on. The town I grew up in had no bars; maybe that has changed now. You could, however, buy alcohol everywhere, including the big liquor stores that are run by the STATE, on the HIGHWAY. I didn't succumb to the spirits until I got to college, but I grew up with people who were going to keg parties in the woods from the age of 12, and everyone's parents drank. In NYC, and LA, there are bars on every block. All the beautiful people are getting wasted. Rich people collect wine and fine cognacs and poor people buy beer and box wine and everyone else runs the spectrum, and it's all the same. We like to imbibe poison. It makes us feel different. Sometimes I don't mind, I think it's a fun luxury of life, but many times I also find it sad, and have moments where I step back from it and everything else and wonder why we need to be drunk so much of the time.

I hate when I wake up the day after a night in which I drank too much and shot my mouth off about things I know very little about. You know those evenings when you are suddenly in a heated argument when normally you would just shrug your shoulders? This happened to me the other evening. Well, it wasn't an argument at all, but I talked too much. Man, that bugs me. I got talking to someone about the Iraq war. We had been invited to this couple's house to watch a big rugby game and have a barbie. They are a nice couple. They love to talk. They were talking about the war, and asking my opinion, and though we were all on the same page, I woke up the next day feeling like I just talked a lot of crap. The reality is, I don't know what I think exactly about the war. What I mean is, I don't have any answers. I am not happy that we went into Iraq, I am angry that our government just lies and lies and even when they are found out they still get away with it, and most of all I am upset and saddened that so many people die because of the authority we place in a few who don't seem to care about how their decisions affect the lives of others. But, now we are there, in Iraq, so we need to figure out how to get things stable and how to leave. I don't see how that will happen. I also see that the next president will probably be Democrat because people are unhappy, but there is no way the Democrat will be able to fix things in 4 years so then the Republicans will regain the Presidency. It will be great if I am wrong, and better things are on the way, but I don't think so.

Anyway, that is all I really think, and it feels so removed and cold to feel like this that I prefer not to talk about it at all, especially at dinner parties as a foreigner and a guest. But not to engage when asked is rude, so, you talk. And your wine glass is never empty, because your hosts are very attentive, and nice people.

Jumping back, when we were down South, we also went camping. It rained buckets and the wind blew and the zipper to the tent was broken, so I "slept" on a soaking wet mat and blanket. The next night we slept in a cabin. It rained even harder, but we were dry. The area is beautiful. The ocean was cold, and I didn't get to surf. But, we saw 2 dingoes and some kangaroos, and many dolphins and a few whales. Pretty beautiful.

My Husband Makes Me Laugh

For those of you who have been reading this blog for awhile, you may recall an entry in which I reported attending a wine tasting. At this tasting, my husband thoroughly enjoyed himself, chatting and drinking wine and playing the part in his way. He even claimed to be able to smell asparagus in a wine that he did not care for. On this evening, we were convinced to buy 2 bottles of wine, at 40 bucks a bottle. Not cheap. Not the most expensive, of course, but in Australia you can buy good wine for less than 10 dollars, easily. So, our expectations were high for these purchases. One in particular was really being pushed on us, a Pinot Noir from Victoria State called Wonga. On their website, they mention that said wine got a 94 rating out of 100 from some wine commission or something. We saved the bottle for a special dinner, and when we opened it, it SUCKED.

Oh well. Saul kept insisting that we tell them about the Wonga. Our decision was that Wonga was wronga, and wronga has become kind of a cute new word we throw around once in a while, but afterward always wish we hadn't said, because it's not that funny. ANYWAY, finally, my husband decided the time had come, and with his permission, here is the email he sent:

"Hello,

We recently purchased the Wonga Pinot Noir from a cellar in Brisbane
called Fude and Drink. The staff talked endlessly about this wine. To
our surprise we found this wine to be not even average at best. On
the night we drank it, we also shared a clean skin from Dan Murphy which was more
appealing. Having visited your website and seen the rating this is
even more of a surprise. Is it possible that we purchased a damaged
bottle?
The cork did seem fine.

My wife is from California and we were searching for a good
Australian Pinot for under $40 to match the great American pinots,
that can be found in an everyday Bottle shop or cellar. The result of
the search is that, they cannot be compared. The Australia Pinot is
inferior to the American. I have since ended the search and returned to
the Shiraz.

We have yet to return to that cellar, however, when we do, I will be
having a word to them about their advice.

We hope to hear your opinion soon,

Kind Regards


Darcy Clarke"


Sometimes I think Darcy would be a good American, because he is really into his rights as a consumer. If he feels he has been cheated or neglected as a customer, he tells them so. If they don't try to win back his affections, they're off the list. Since I have known him, Darcy's list of shops and banks and work suppliers has become smaller, most of them on probation, and a few new places have been thrown in on a trial basis.

I care too, I suppose, but less. I don't take it so personally. But maybe as a result I lose out on a few dollars, and the chance to get some free stuff. Also, in Australia you really have to pay attention, because businesses, banks especially, are really sneaky with fees and taxes. People are often quite easily cheated.

We also recently bought some olive oil that was made by a company here, and it's usually pretty good. This bottle, however, smelled too strong - like grass. I didn't notice until Darcy made a face. When Saul came over, you can believe Darcy had him sniff it. He too was not happy with the smell. "It's wronga!!"

Darcy wrote to the olive oil company and told them it smelled like grass. They wrote back and apologized and sent us a new bottle of a milder blend, and provided a box and pre-paid shipping label to ship the bottle we bought. The new oil smells better, but Darcy still isn't happy. I think it smells better, so I use it. The label is nice.

The Wonga people were unapologetic. They told us that if the cheaper bottle tastes better to us, then I guess we'll save a lot of money.

I bet they made their wine with asparagus. That's wronga.

We're going away next week to visit Darcy's family. So today, I am weaving, brushing up on my FX skills, doing laundry, and going to acupuncture. Then, drinking some cheap wine, if I'm lucky.

movers and shakers and jitters

The party we went to last Saturday was ok. Funny. It was at the yoga studio where our landlord Louie teaches. He is a very funny person, and I don't mean he tells a good joke. He is just really really mellow. Saturday, he was mellow, and tipsy! It was very cute. The party was all people who go to classes there, naturally, so they were all familiar with each other, and it wasn't a situation where people were mingling. But, there was food. I ate some good carrot cake. We brought a bottle of wine with us and drank it out of japanese soup bowls, because that's what was there. Shortly after we arrived, everyone sat down, and there was a performance. Actually, it was demonstrations from the different teachers there with one exception. The Oki-Do yoga teachers did some weird movement improv thing that was silly and not interesting, but the good thing was that they didn't take themselves seriously and laughed through it. The second thing was a guy who teaches active meditation and he took us through a mini demo of that, including a little whirling dervish-ing. Then, a very bad drag queen came on and lip synched the worst songs I have ever heard, but was actually whispering, not lip synching, so the illusion was ruined. He was the exception - there are no classes there to learn how to be a whispering drag queen. Lastly, a cute woman brought people up on stage to demonstrate her movement class, and they were happy to have the attention, but not interesting to watch. Just the same, everyone was having a good time, and it was free. We stayed for maybe an hour or so, then split.

Tuesday we drove down to the Gold Coast to deliver the big doughnut lamps. They turned out beautifully. I helped a little, mostly with dyeing and cutting and washing the rattan, but a little weaving too. The lights are for a fish'n chip shop at Surfer's Paradise, a city south of Brisbane on a strip of Beach called The Gold Coast. The Gold Coast is weird. Unlike any other place in Australia I have been. It feels like part Miami, part Las Vegas, part retirement community. There are huge high rise apartments, resorts, suburban neighborhoods, hotels, bars, cheap souvenir shops, high end clothing shops, a Hard Rock Cafe, boob jobs, fat white-haired men, hot asian trophy brides, teenagers teenagers teenagers, and everyone trying to live a glamorous life. It is a place where you can live a luxury apartment life, or a ranch house with backyard life. I am sure there is a lot more to the area, but this is what one observes when just passing through in an afternoon. I think there are some casinos there, and I think they filmed the Aussie version of "Dancing With The Stars" on the Gold Coast (which I LOVED!).

Thursday I had my third acupuncture appointment. I have been taking Chinese herbs 2x a day, having needles stuck in my hands and feet and shins, and head, and the treatment is changing things. I am finding now that my hands and feet warm up quicker than before, and that usually both the hands and feet are not cold at the same time - feet will be cold, hands fine, or vice versa. Before, I used to lie in bed with my hands in my armpits and feet in socks, and it could take an hour or more for things to warm up. Or, my fingers and toes would go numb if I sat at the computer and did some work. I am enjoying the revving up of things. I have another appointment for next week.

Yesterday, we discovered that we ran out of coffee. So, we went out for one. Coffee is different here. It's fancy. A basic coffee is called a flat white, which is espresso with steamed milk on top. You may say to yourself, that sounds like a latte. Well, it's close. A latte consists of the same thing, but the steamed milk is put in first, then espresso, then a little more milk. Most people here have Flat Whites. There are, sadly, some Starbucks here, and a couple of chains like Starbucks, but aside from that, places do not serve drip coffee. It's all Flat Whites and lattes and the like.

It's nice. I like getting the little coffee and not feeling fancy. It's not associated with money, and it does not threaten anyone's masculinity to order a Flat White. It's just an average, everyday beverage. The other day though, I began to miss the drip coffee. It's just so simple, drip coffee. You brew it, add milk, and ta-da! Coffee. You don't need to learn how to put in correct proportions of things or how to make a design on top of your milk froth. And I think the drip is more social. Like wine, when your cup is empty a waiter can just fill it up again, and voila, you have another coffee.

I also miss the portability of drip coffee. You can get take away coffee here, of course, but a Flat White is not as good that way. And the cafe is a real hang out. People go and read the paper there, and meet friends there. It's nice, for sure, but I also like getting a coffee, and then walking somewhere, like the river, and sitting and watching the boats, and people.

Wednesday we went to 2 places for coffee. First, we went to Sol Bakery, where I also bought some Spelt MEGAgrain bread. They make all kinds of things there besides bread. Frittatas and quiches and calzone and sandwiches and cakes and other things. I really like the place, because the people are cool and they have big windows and there isn't any music, so it's nice and quiet. Darcy had not been there for coffee before, and liked it. After that, Darcy wanted more coffee, as it was a day off after a big job finished. So, we went to another place that is our usual place, by the river, Espresso Garage. It is a small place where you sit in an area outside, and one of several very short friendly servers brings out your coffee and some water. It is a bit of a compromise between a cafe and being outside. Though, when I am alone, I often get a flat white takeaway, because I prefer to wander around, and sip while watching the water go by. This time, instead, I sat with Darcy, and he read the paper, and I watched the people go by.

It's Nature's Way; It's Nature's Way

The photo shows what our bathroom used to look like. If you notice, next to the medicine chest above the sink there is a contraption that is connected to the shower. That was our hot water heater for the apartment. It was called Vaillant, and had a rabbit on the logo. There was a pilot inside, and it heated up the hot water whenever you turned it on. It was slow, and wasted a lot of water. But It looked really cool, and made the bathroom look very old, and institutional. We don't have a shower curtain. There is a drain in the floor.

The shower had been dripping since before I arrived here, and I would say it drove us crazy, but here we stand, perfectly sane enough to function reasonably well. Well, actually, I am sitting. I rarely type standing up.

Yesterday at 7:30am, plumbers came and gave us a new water heater and new shower/tub taps. The new ones look nice and the heater is dreamy. And no drips!!!

Our landlord is a guy named Louie. He is also a yoga teacher. His mother owns the building, and he works for her. She lives north of Brisbane, somewhere on the Sunshine Coast. Louie is tall and very thin and mellow. The mellowest. I think it's the yoga. He's pretty nice and knows friends mutually with Darcy. He and I exchange pleasantries but for whatever reason can't really talk to each other. Of course I don't know for sure, but I suspect he finds me boring. I always feel a little guilty when I see him because I went to one of his yoga classes, and even though it was enjoyable, it was wayyyyyyyyy tooooooooo mellooooooooooooooh. So, I never went back.

He is a nice person though, and genuine. We have run into him at the Farmer's Market, and at The Forest Cafe. He is someone who walks around barefoot on the streets in the summer. Urban Hippie???????? His hair is cut short. And he drives a big yellow square van. But it is sleek and modern looking. Not hippie-like.

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Last Saturday, 3 of the downstairs neighbors invited everyone to hang out on the roof. Darcy stayed for only a short time, but I stayed for the duration. I was determined to talk and meet people. In the end, I spent most of the event in silence. The neighbors who organized it are Jan, Sean, and Alistair. Jan and Sean are roommates, both in their late 30's/early 40's. Alistair is a divorced man in his 50's living alone. They were upstairs when I arrived, and later we were joined by the neighbors who live in the top floor, a couple named Melita and Reid. Melita works for the City Council, in the department concerning water conservation efforts, and Reid is an Environmental Planner. The couple moved here a couple of months ago from Melbourne, and are smart, and stylish. I don't know what Sean and Jan do for their livings, but they are very environmentally concerned. Alistair used to be a Geologist, though I don't know what he's up to now. But he is completely involved in Brisbane Urban development causes and the environment as well. They all had a lot to talk about concerning all this stuff, and I know nothing, though find it interesting, so I just listened. I felt stupid, but figured it was good to hear what they had to say. Alistair has started a tiny little garden in the back, growing spinach. It is next to the garages though, so I think the vegetables will taste a bit fume-y in the end. He also strung up a line from the garage to the bamboo, and has been hanging clothes to dry there. We have 2 clothes lines already, but with all the people in the building, the line space can be scarce. There are a few other people in the building that I have never met, but I guess I will sometime. At least now when I see these people I know their names. Sean and Jan are pretty easy to talk to, but I find Melita and Reid slightly aloof. But I think they are busy people. And I know very little about what they know a lot about.

Louie is also into Permaculture. He has a big composting can in the back, next to Alistair's garden. I have put stuff in there, but it grosses me out. The thing is filled with worms!!! I know, I know, they are supposed to be there, they work through everything and make it compost, but worms have always grossed me out, as much as I understand and respect their importance. I don't want them near me, worming around, just the same. I'm sure when the day arrives that Darcy and I can have a yard and start our own garden, he will want to get one of these composting barrels, and fill it with worms. What will I do? Guess I'll get some gloves.

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Had to go to the Farmer's Market by myself again, as Darcy is trying to make a Monday deadline for this big doughnut shaped job. I didn't see Saul there, and I didn't stop for a coffee or a tea. But I am starting to be recognized by the different vendors I go to, and that is a nice feeling. Though I guess the American woman with the funny hair is not hard to remember after a few visits. When I got back, Darcy was weaving away, and Louie stopped by with a friend to check out our new hot water system. He invited us to a party tonight at his yoga studio. There's going to be music, performance, and a fire. Hip Hippy Hooray!!! I think we're going to go!

Last night we watched "The Mists Of Avalon". I liked it. Twisted, man.

Disconnected stuff

I just got my visa letter officially granting me temporary residency status, allowing me to work. Hooray! Now I can go get 'em. I have been, but now if I get a call, I can just go. So far, I have been told of work, then let down. The fx places here are wrapping up a couple of big films, so I missed the boat this time. Hopefully more projects will be heading down here soon.

I knew that I may have to find something else to do for work down here, to supplement things. For awhile I thought I could become a yoga teacher. That still seems possible, but I need more training. I don't feel ready. I actually don't want to do it at the moment. I suppose I know enough to do a basic class with non-pregnant people, but for whatever reason I am not interested these days. I prefer just to practice on my own. Though I haven't in a few weeks. Darcy has been working at home, and it makes it pretty near impossible for me to do any yoga. The room is small and now filled with big metal doughnut shapes and bits of cane and rattan everywhere. The place is dirty and smells of stain, and well, yuck. Maybe in another week he will be finished and we will have more space again.

Anyway, I have to figure out what else I may want to do with my life. I feel like a talentless skill-less person, though I know that can't be true. I must be good at something.

I can:

make people laugh
use a computer
clean up after myself
cook using a recipe
read
speak
listen
walk

I can't

speak another language
sing
play an instrument
write "code"
tap dance
drive a manual car
identify poisonous mushrooms
and just about everything else


I can take care of some of these things, but will they get me a job?

When I am sixty, I can imagine myself doing ...........


I have been thinking these things for the past few years, but have been to busy trying to make money to think about it. I still have to make money, but exploring this topic seems more necessary than before.

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Today I will go to the Acupuncturist down the road for my second visit. I went to him last week to see if he could help me with my poor circulation to my hands and feet. I have had this problem for my whole life, but it seems to have gotten worse. He was very nice and stuck needles on my hands, knees, shins, feet, forehead, and top of head. Afterward, he gave me some Chinese herbs to take twice a day for a week. I don't feel a remarkable difference in anything, so we'll see what he has to say about that. A lot of people I know have had Acupuncture done for various things, and most have had success. Darcy went not too long ago for some intense neck pain. It went away after 2 visits. Another person I know went to stop smoking, and it worked. I hope these treatments can help me, because I want to stop wearing socks to bed, and holding my hands in my armpits to warm them up.


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Did you know we have a mortar and pestle now? It's great. We use it to grind our herbs, and crush garlic. Darcy also uses it to make Chai tea. He makes a really good one.

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My friend Robyn recently commented in her blog on an article in the LA Times about teenage girls wearing clothes that are tooooo tight for their chubby little bodies. Here in Australia, it is the same. There are not as many heavy people here, but there are quite a few just the same, to varying degrees, and the style of fashion is tight and skimpy and it flatters the smallest handful of girls. Even girls who are not heavy look fat in these clothes. And they look sooo uncomfortable! I am on a mission (as usual I am sure most of you know) to try and dress better and flatter my figure better. But with today's current fashion trends, forget it man! I look in the shops and it's all crack-skimming pencil-legged buttless pants and tops that are flimsy and tight and made with garish colors and cheap materials. And suddenly an extra large fits me just right.

I first started to experience this phenomenon in the US, at American Apparel. Some of their tops fit nicely, but most of them are for a body I don't think I have ever seen before. At least on a woman. I can't get extra large sweatpants past my thighs, straps of a medium tank top cut in to my shoulders, and a large boatneck shirt falls off my shoulders and rests snugly just above my belly. What the hell?

The last time I went to American Apparel, the experience pissed me off. I don't know why. It may have genuinely been hormonal. But I tried on several shirts in medium, some in large, and there was no rhyme or reason to the sizes. By the end, I felt bewildered, old and fat. Being surrounded by doe eyed, super skinny 20 somethings who looked FABULOUS in the same gear didn't help. "How was everything?" A very pretty girl asked me. "Not very well" I told her. "Nothing fit". "Everything is different here," she replied slowly, nodding her head the whole time. What the hell kind of sizing is that? Everything is different? Medium is large, extra large is small, small is medium? Give me a break.

But I have indulged myself. American Apparel makes clothing in LA, and is probably hiring plump Latina ladies to do it, so I don't know why the clothes are so weird. But as for the rest of the shops in the global mall, my only conclusion is that because the clothing is being made in China, the sense of a western body is being distorted somewhere along the line. It may sound racist, but I insist that it is not. When I was staying Bogota, Colombia, I went to buy some jeans. I was thinner than I am now. But I was by far the tallest woman around, with the exception of the odd German or Spaniard. I could not find a pair of jeans big enough. Not just long enough, but big enough. People there are smaller.

I'm going on and on about this, so I will stop, but I found the article interesting, because it's been on my mind, this tight clothing/chubby body trend. I hope it ends soon. It's very unhealthy.


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That's all for now.