spit 'tubing

So whenever I have something mundane to do at the podjob, I listen to youtube clips. I understand that this is somewhat like a blind man listening to his VCR, but I started off by listening to music clips and playing youtube DJ with some folk at my place of employ. So the progression to not-watching comedy and then not-watching visual media that was clearly intended for watching was swift.

Anyway, lately I've been hankering for some harp and I found this guy, who is my current spit-guru:



I passed this dude around to a few select podders and one of them came right back at me with this guy, who is my new personal hero:

there's fire

I can't wait until I'm living in a house where people smoke outside, like the chimney stacks that they are.

leaving home and moving on

I'm reporting from some kind of black hole vortex where all of my past possessions and high school pain have crash-landed in my lounge room. Somehow I've managed to stack all of my worldly artifacts into categorised piles in the lounge room floor like some kind of deranged librarian AND have a mind-fuck online closure session with the guy who taught me that guys can be dicks.

First things first- we found a home. It meets all of our desires- white walls, you fall out of bed and onto King St, courtyard, no evidence of poltergeists, and a CLOTHESLINE (!!). Big ticks all down the desire page. It even has a spa bath, which was not on our dreamy-house wish list, but is accepted graciously from the realestate gods nonetheless. We move in in 8 days. We'll be having a "Loveshack" themed house warming in the first week of August. Hence my shit-stacking. I've GOT to start throwing stuff out more. Faster, pussycat, cull! cull!

Anyway, in amongst all this stacking I'm on facebook, as is my nerdish wont, and this guy that i've known since we were ye big gets chatting. When I was 14 i thought this guy was incredibly sexy and he used to do some very unreligious things to me under the desk in 9th grade religion class. He had turned into one of the cool kidz though and I was your garden-variety geek with early-developing tits. This apparently justified him totally ignoring me or openly teasing me out of class. I really liked him and it was a big thing for me at 14. He taught me the valuable lesson that people who want you for sex don't necessarily give a shit about your feelings. Anyway, that was years ago and I was over it by the time year 10 rolled around. Still, i guess it was what you'd call a formative experience.

We never kept in contact- i don't really talk to anyone from high school on a regular basis- but this facebook thing is there and now you can chat on it, so when he said hey tonight i said hey back. We've done this polite, shiny white facebook heying before and it's been pretty unremarkable. Then tonight in the middle of the banal you-could-be-anyone smalltalk, he launches with how he'd been thinking about it and that he was really sorry he was a dick to me in high school. I honestly hadn't thought about it all for nearly a decade but as soon as he apologised I remembered how wretched unrequited puppy love made me feel at the time. And the apology meant a lot.

Tonight's lesson- unexpected closure feels awesome, especially when you thought you were already closed. And throwing out three years worth of your crap makes you feel simultaneously librarian and kind of evilly materialistic. Mayhaps someone will call in ten years time and apologise for letting me get my room into such a farking state.

the yellow terrace and the kissing glass bird

Lara is moving in with us too now... I'm excited about this house. Propelling, exciting, creative electricity. What they used to call "good vibes" in the olden days before it was a munter party in a park. We're checking out a bright yellow terrace today with a white picket fence. With any luck the bedrooms aren't cupboards under the stairs.

I've also got a new rule: only speak about what I've done, not what I'm going to do. More mystery, less dissapointment.

Got a job at the Gaelic pulling beers, which should be pretty sweet- free music, actual physical work, it all feels so wholesome. I'm sure it won't feel so wholesome in a couple of weeks when my barwenching shoes are all sodden. But I needed something to distract me from the office, and, y'know, pay for the sinful lifestyle I've been leading.

My director Mr B and the production company therein have a new home, so documentary stuff is on the backburner, burning slowly but brightly. Which is good because everything else this week has been moving like a greased pole dancer.

the kissing glass bird-

kino and the hunt begins

Both 'foreign film' and 'Mine Demons, Mine Own' screened on Monday night at Kino. Everyone seemed to dig it, so that was cool. Black and Blue Gallery was my big discovery of the evening though- I want to have all my parties there. The bathroom has a skull-design shower curtain, there's two sexy columns to frame the projection, and it's got an awesome view out over the city. Stealing simon's good work again. I really need to start downloading my own photos, I'm about three months behind.

K-blonde and I are going to check out a couple of appartments this week- we are the huntresses of real estate rentals.

foreign film update

I took yesterday off the office job to sleep and spend some face-time with the lover, who has been mysteriously absent during the week. It would be justafiable if he was blowing me off for cheap booze and loose women, but i'm pretty sure it was just long sleepins with the bed to himself and online blackjack. Either way, spending time together yesterday was really fun. This 'couple that sleep on the same time rhythm' thing could catch on. Watch out, nation.

Due to my sleeping all day I edited the challenge film all night. It's alright. The light was making the focus do crazy focus things that I didn't notice on the wee camera display and for some reason the lover imported it into imovie instead of FCP, so I think something was lost in the translation copying the clips over. So it has a gentle fuzz to it. Which may or may not look monumentally shizen when it's projected. Either way, the costumes looked cool, as you can see from Vic's far more focused still shots. Despite my technical anti-skillz, you can't argue with Vic and Stevie's bangin production design. I'll post the little monster after the screening.









post script: actually, these particular shots are pretty representative of the focus thing. Softly, softly...

Leaving home

Last night, promptly six hours after deciding it would be so, I told my flatmates that I was moving out with K-Blonde. I have no problems with moving, but it's going to hurt financially. I didn't realise that I had such a great deal where I currently am.

I'm not only worried about the financial side, I'm genuinely sad about leaving the place. I've been here for going on four years now, since I was at uni. My bedroom is the most square feet that I've ever had to call my own. My mural made out of postcards and general colourful life-souvenirs that spreads over one corner will have to be taken down.

First time I slept with someone who wasn't my boyfriend was in that room. First queen bed. First time someone played me a song they'd written about me.

It was in that room that I hid in while my flatmates raged on outside. It was in that room that Dominique and I made a mattress land that we both could live in for the last weeks while we saved to go to London. It was in that room that I searched like a zombie for my led zepp albums on the Sunday night that Scott died, in case Dad wanted to play any of those songs that we listened to at his funeral. And I'm pretty sure it was in that room that I managed to tell the lover that I loved him. It was definitely the place that he broke up with me the most often.

So anyway, I've become a deflated trawler of realestate.com, trying to find the next room of first times. A decent bathroom and kitchen thrown in is apparently too much to ask these days, though.