The coldometer

Yesterday I saw a lady wearing gloves so thick that she looked like a lobster.  Half of me wanted to point and laugh.  The other half respected her committment to warm hands.

But it did make me stop and think about the relationship between warmth and style.

It made me think about the fact that some people manage to glide through winter looking stylish and unfettered by the cold. 

But for the rest of us, warmth comes at a price.

I spent some time graphing my thoughts.  I hope you find it helpful.

Basically, we should all just take up ice-skating.

Go to Sleep

I have a friend called Hula Hope.
(Hula Hope is a pseudonym).
(I also have a friend who once confused pseudonym with psychopath).
(Hula Hope is not a psychopath).

A while back she asked me to make a music video for one of her songs.
So I did.     
(And yes, if she asked me to jump off a bridge, I would probably do that too.  That's the power of her music).

So here it is, without further ado...the world premiere of "Go to Sleep", by Hula Hope (produced by Urbantramper).

We hula-hope you like it.   

Art, and Banksy

I don't mean to brag, but I have a very special talent.  I can blow bubbles.  Straight off my tongue. 

 

Which when you think about it, is a very clever practice.  Out of nowhere, voila!  A bubble appears!
It's art.
Kind of like Banksy.  But on a smaller scale, and less anonymous.   

Like Banksy, I have taken my art all around the world.
I have stood in awe of many important historical monuments.
And after sharing my art with them, I like to think that they have also stood in awe of me.

Angkor Wat, Cambodia

Eiffel Tower, France

Taj Mahal, India

Shwedagon Pagoda, Burma

Bansky once quoted "All artists are willing to suffer for their work".

And oh!  How I have suffered for mine.

There are people in the world who think blowing bubbles is just another form of spitting.  They think that just because the spit is spherical and attractive doesn't make it any more acceptable.

I have been called names, like "vulgar spitting person".
I have been asked to stop creating my art indoors, or doing installations on the people sitting next to me.
I have even been spat upon!  (Which is vulgar).

But I am an artist.  I will suffer.  And I will carry on.

Like Banksy.  Because that's what we do.

Me and Banksy.*  We carry on. 

Freedom

I was just off to bed the other night when my flatmate Aaron called after me, "hey!  Isn't it awesome how we get to choose our own bedtimes now?  We can stay up as late as we want!"

It's so reassuring that other people have these epiphanies too.  I have them constantly.  But I had always taken that as a sign that I wasn't a proper grown-up yet.
Proper grown-ups never stop to exalt the fact they can stay up late.
Proper grown-ups do things in the correct order.  They have already moved through a suitable level of rebellion and experimentation at the correct age, that has perversely equipped them with the ability to be responsible adults.
They have emerged from university with the exact knowledge of what they want to do with their entire life (and the 5 year plan to achieve it), and they have put down a deposit on a house at the appropriate time.    

They certainly don't run around with cardboard boxes on their heads rejoicing at the lack of parental guidance in their (rented) house.    

But that's what freedom is, isn't it?  It's the right to choose.  To be a proper grown-up, or to not be a proper grown-up.  To wear a cardboard box on your head, or to not wear a cardboard box on your head. 

Hypothetically, I could eat as much raw cookie dough as I want, and not ever make my bed in the mornings, and throw my clothes on the floor, and stay in my pyjamas until teatime, and put off doing laundry for so long that I end up wearing my togs on washing day, and there wouldn't be a thing anybody could do to stop me!

How recklessly irresponsible!  Who is letting me get away with this kind of freedom?  Where did all the rule-enforcers go?  I can't believe I get to live with my friends, with no adult supervision, and go to bed whenever I like!  

Why, if I wanted to,  I could go completely off the rails!!
 
But I don't want to.

I want to go to bed.  Immediately.

(Freedom is the right to choose.)  

The possum-culler

 

 

The hills are alive...

If it hasn't rained the night before, (or if it has, but the mood takes me) then I like to walk home though the golf course.

My favourite part of the walk takes me through a secluded section of the greens, that is surrounded by hills.  The road is only 100m away, but you can't even hear the traffic noise.  You can so easily fool yourself into thinking that you're all alone on a hill in the Austrian countryside. 

From there, it's so easy to forget that the greens are not maintained purely for the enjoyment of frolicking pedestrians.

And it's so easy to forget that other humans exist, apart from the obvious example of Maria von Trapp, who, at such moments, is impossible to forget...

(Maria von Trapp has a lot to answer for.)

Molly-coddled

What is with this Western obsession with cats?  Why do videos of kittens jumping into paper bags get millions of hits on the internet?  Why does my flatmate Jaime laugh hysterically at videos of kittens jumping into paper bags on the internet?

Some things in this life are truly a mystery.

Our cat Molly is annoying.  She wakes me up early in the morning scratching on the door.  She leaves white fur on my black stockings.  She leaves half-eaten rats on the carpet for innocent people to step on.  She stares at me in the bath.  She doesn't eat cockroaches.

And she never lifts a finger around the house.   

But my flatmates reward her constantly with physical affection.  Even though I have just done the dishes, taken out the rubbish, and have very tight shoulders.

So no, Molly and I do not always "gel". 

And yet, for some unfathomable reason...

 

Funny story

Imagine the funniest, cleverest, most HILARIOUS story in the history of all funny stories.
The holy grail of comedic tales.
A story so witty, SO genius, that whoever hears it is instantly catapulted into a hilarious nirvana.

That's the story that this blog contains.
I think.

24 HOURS LATER