Saturday Night Head Cold

Any attempt to reignite Saturday Night Fever was doomed to fail, but having watched it on TV last weekend I think 1983's Staying Alive is unjustly maligned.

First of all, the makeup throughout is insane:

And it has to be said that John Travolta is arguably at the height of his hotness:

Sure, the storyline is hackneyed, wrong-side-of-the-tracks wish-fulfilment bullshit, but then so was Flashdance, which came out the same year and made a mint.
Go figure.

Staying Alive also boasts an over-the-top dance finale. In a loincloth-and-headband ensemble, no less.
Far better, in my opinion, than any off-the-shoulder sweatshirt:

It's an overwrought number, I admit, but his mama's proud, which is what really matters:

In the end, Tony is glistening with sweat and self-satisfaction.
It's positively post-masturbatory:

I was pleasantly distracted for a while, in any case.

Fun fact: Staying Alive was co-written and directed by Sylvester Stallone!

In hibernation

Sorry for the lack of posting. It's really a matter of lack of activity to write about.

It's been bloody cold this week. Not New-York-in-winter cold, sure, but decidedly chillier than usual (and below freezing at night, at least). Team this with a lack of either social engagement or professional responsibility and there hasn't been much temptation to get out of bed before midday.
Also, there's a TV in the bedroom.

It's been that particularly Australian bright and sunny sort of cold snap, too, which I hate. It teases you with visions of warmth that belie how fricken cold it is. Some people love this sort of weather; I figure if it's going to cold, it might as well be a blizzard. You know, a bit of drama.

Anyway, we did head out on an exciting expedition today to Bunnings, my favourite place to perve in bulk.
The local hangar-sized outlet of the hardware empire is only a few minutes away by car:

Too true...

It's always full of sexy dads literally sizing things up. There are several signs forbidding the use of cameras, but I managed to take a quick shot of a small portion their screw aisle:

We also spent some time in exterior paint – I do love a colour chart – before hitting the drive-thru of Burger King (always a cheap thrill) on the way home.

All in all, a splendid day.

Blair's coming!

Blair was my boyfriend in New York.
He had a restaurant and a motorbike.
He was handsome and glamorous and when he became attainable he'd already become bored of the whole idea...

You recognise the story.

Still, memories... Supermodels. Free drinks. Dinner when it was clear I could do with some.

Now he tells me coming to visit in August – what will I wear?

And how will Mick handle this?

Stay tuned!

BiscuitWatch 7: Biscuit Goes Bananas

Forgive her.

Wouldn't you?

The hijacking of pink

Rugby league yesterday, for Women in League ostensibly, but for breast cancer generally:

What colour is mouth cancer?

Right on trend

Despite my absence from professional journalism and the world of fashion for some years, my current pills couldn't be more spookily on the mark:

Just look at Balenciaga's Fall 2010 collection:

Superannuated Vixens' Unit

Law & Order: SVU outdid itself.
The casting director should be given an honorary Emmy, at least.

We had Ann-Margret:

Susan Anton:

And Morgan Fairchild:

But that's not enough;
they have to throw in my favourite Angel of all time, the only woman I ever tried to emulate in drag (the Polaroid evidence of which I hold in a safe buried deep beneath the house), Jaclyn Smith.

And she hasn't changed at all (if you don't count turning into a cross between Sally Field and Calista Flockhart. Is she angling for a role on Brothers and Sisters??)

Reagardless, it was a camp episode.

Having said that, Stabler could do with an occasional bout of shirtlessness.
Relate it to his struggles with fatherhood or something – it can't be that difficult after this episode's ludicrousness, surely.

Got milk?

This is a disused shopfront on Olive Street, Maitland.
It's actually in a fancier part of town, but evidently unloved and rendered obsolete by Woolies et. al. around the corner:

You'll have to click to enlarge enough in order to find the last remaining original bit of signage (clue: it's very small, in lovely script).

I do yearn to know what happened to Bentfan, I must confess...
I hope he and Bonka found, if not happiness, then at least a regular cheque somewhere.

Critters of The Bend #5

Mick and I went to Woolies briefly this afternoon (to buy the things I forgot about this morning). It took half an hour, at most.

By the time we got back, this little spider:

... had managed to spin a thread along this entrance:

Do they leap? Have accomplices? Scuttle really fast?

I'm glad my life no longer involves deadlines.

Just the one. 

I love you, Dad

My father turned up unannounced around midday today carrying a bag containing a new Macbook for me.

Thanks Dad!

I killed the last one, although Trade Computers managed to retrieve all my photos and stuff, much to my relief.

Anyway, currently just waiting until mid-July for a PET scan. Devilishly cuddly-sounding, isn't it?
I presume it's much like the CT scan, no big deal.
I just have to wait six weeks after surgery.

I'm in limbo. Or purgatory. Not sure what the difference is.

It has had its lighter moments, though.
I wonder if this this is dresult of dspeech impediment or an unexpected riff on It's D'Lovely:

Happy to be back. Will post more soon enough.

Handy computer hint #2

Do not spill liquid on your laptop.
It does not like this. At all.

I'm typing this in the John Hunter Hospital's little internet area.

Hopefully normal transmission will resume shortly.

Bearing fruit

The passionfruit vine, after its prolonged, spectacular floral displays, is finally producing something that looks like it might, at some point, be edible:

Or am I just being optimistic?

Apologies to Louise Bourgeois

I just completed a hit-and-run visit to Sydney, for medical reasons. This necessitated a trip to Taylor Square, Darlinghurst.

At the moment, for some purpose (presumably artistic), there is an installation there that simultaneously apes and degrades the work of the recently deceased sculptor, Louise Bourgeois.

I mean, really:

Given that it looks like it's been fabricated in cardboard, and given the torrential rain we've been having, I can only hope it will disappear of its own accord.

When happy thoughts aren't enough...

... a bit of vintage beefcake is in order.

Robert Mitchum in Cape Fear; the only man who ever managed to make high-pants hot:

Doctors: A love/hate thing

My well-being has been maintained by many doctors over the years and for this I am grateful. Some have been attractive, others not. Some were naturally warm, others rather cold and businesslike.

But there are three basic types:

One makes you feel like a patient;
One makes you feel like a client;
And one makes you feel like an exhibit.

I don't like the latter.

BiscuitWatch 6: Soggy Biscuit

We've had some quite heavy rain over the past few days.
Great for the garden, not so good for Biscuit:

Buddy wasn't looking too happy either:

Mick and I gave them some bread rolls, which they snaffled up, then out came the carrots.

Biscuit has become quite adept at grabbing the carrot out of my hand.
Keeping it in her mouth and not dropping it on the other side of the fence, however, she's yet to master:

Mick had to get out the rake again to push it back in.

Auction artefact #13: Mystery pen-knife hanky

In one of two lawn bowls bags (both with bowls inscribed CSB) that Mick bought at the auction was a hanky tied up, containing something which rattled in a mysteriously metallic fashion.

When we opened it, we found eleven pen-knives:

I arranged them in order of size, not interest.

In terms of a favourite, it's a close contest between the King George V 1935 Jubilee souvenir listed with all the Kings and Queens of England, and the little pearl-handled number with the teeny-weeny (albeit dangerously rusted) scissors:

Why this handkerchief lucky-dip prize was in the bag, we have no idea. 

Is there some sort of connection between lawn bowls and pen-knives?

Was the original owner a gentleman by day, hooligan by night?

I love that we'll never know.

Mirror, mirror...

I saw myself in the mirror this morning and gave myself quite a start.
This facial scar is jarring, to say the least, especially with the stitches still in it.

But then I had a breakthrough, of sorts (this could be the Zoloft speaking).

My new appearance is likely to elicit pity from adults, cause revulsion in teenagers and prompt small children to run screaming in the opposite direction.

Not bad for no effort.

Auction artefact #12: Leadlight lampshade

When we moved in, the kitchen was cursed with a fluorescent tube light, like a tiny convenience store.
Fortunately, Mick scored a leadlight shade at the auction, so now it's more Art Deco disco:

If only it rotated slowly...
What baffles me is how a green and white lamp can cast those orange rays of light.

(Stupid) Girl Power

Much has been written about the alarming increase in female violence, crime and anti-social behaviour in recent years.
Nowhere, it seems, is immune.

This is the latest spate of graffiti along the riverside, courtesy of the charming young ladies of Maitland:

Sadly, and predictably, such expressions of female liberation quickly turn nasty:

Meanwhile, a new contender has emerged to challenge the dominance of Drip and Smell.

Welcome, Sneak (wearing a tiara, no less):