Please forgive me, for I am about to rant.
Last night I went to the World of Wearable Arts dress rehearsal.
It was horrible. I do not know why I thought I would like it – I do not like interpretive dance, I don’t find the wearable art particularly moving*, and I never watch the televised version because it bores me. But I went. It was horrible.
I suppose, the one good thing that came out of last night is that now, when I am told – in a smarmy tone, ALWAYS the smarmy tone – that I really MUST go because it’s just TOO TOO fabulous and how it’s SUCH A SHAME that I live in Wellington and DON’T GO to WoW I can tell them that I did go. And it was horrible.
Besides the general boredom, the insufferable child & animal performers, the men-dressed-as-women-equals-hilarious shtick, and the women in the audience hooting everytime a man wore tights, there was one straw which broke the proverbial camel’s back.
Fred fucking Dagg.
I am sick and tired of being made to feel like I am not a “real” New Zealander because I do not like the countryside.
Because I do not own or like mud-caked gumboots and a wife beater. Because, more often than not, I find pavlova cloying and overly sweet. Because I do not like paua shell. Because I do not know Ten Guitars.
Because my idea of a future life for my family does not involve a paddock. The quarter acre dream is not mine. I do not secretly want to retire to the country and do hard yakka. I enjoy that I am not entirely sure to what the “number eight” in “number eight wire” refers, though I presume it is the gauge. I do not want a bach with a corrugated iron shed and worn sheets on the splinter-y bedframes.
I like the city. I prefer the city.
I like the background hum of traffic, I like the smell of rain on a hot pavement, I like that there are cafés and bars and restaurants and stores all within walking distance, I like people-watching. I like wearing inappropriate shoes and never wearing trackpants. I loathe enclosed shopping malls and homogenised suburbs. Give me urban, give me grime, give me culture.
I admit, I can admire verdure, and clean air, and stars. I like that the countryside is there, over the hills, a drive and a bit away. That’s fine. It’s nice that it’s there if I feel like a change.
But I am a town mouse. I always will be. I am sick of being told I am not a real New Zealander because of it.
* and I LIKE modern art. I just like pieces which make me feel something other than “huh” or “meh”.
Making Paleo crackers. The first time they were burnt. This time? too biscuit-y.
Glorious graffiti near the bar where we listened to CHRISROBTIM’s Cyndi Lauper cover album.
I don’t think I’ll forget today in a hurry. No, seriously.
Mainly because of my tattoo but partly, partly because of the snowstorm.
Seriously. It snowed in Wellington. More than I can ever remember.
But yes. Also the tattoo. I’m in love with it.
Síorghrá is Gaelic for eternal love.
Gill does amazing work.
I can’t wait until it’s healed. He used turquoise for the keyhole and the script but it doesn’t really show up here.
It’s beautiful though.
It was kind of chilly spending most of the afternoon in a sleeveless top.
In a snowstorm.
I had such grand plans. I was so looking forward to revisiting Carol.
It has been the first role where I was actually proud of myself and my work.
That is hard, truly hard, to admit – caught as I am in the flux between self-hatred and narcissism.
During the performances I was terrified and fighting, I was strong and in control, I came close to tears every single night.
Don’t you begin to see? Don’t you begin to understand? It’s not for you to say
Then, after it was advertised in the newspaper, my seemingly-cursed costar pulled out.
Poor dude missed the first two performances, stuck in Australia, missed rehearsals due to illnesses and dog-attack, and now a family death.
And I? All I can seem to care about is how disappointed I am. Ridiculous. There goes the self-hatred again.
Life is a tumbling whirling ride of a thing at the moment. I cannot seem to catch my breath.
This past weekend ended in a funk. It was Sunday evening and I realised that I hadn’t had any time to just be. It was filled with paleo-food and football and running and a lunch meeting and rehearsal and family dinner. There was barely a moment to let my thoughts settle.
It comes in waves, this frenetic life, it is all feast or famine. Right now, I am stuffed.
This week I revisit Oleanna, my brain is tired from keeping Carol’s words inside and fresh. I can’t wait for Sunday morning. I imagine that my pillow will be pooled with the words escaping via my ears. Ew. That was an unnecessarily disgusting metaphor. I apologise.
Disgusting metaphor aside, I am so looking forward to having a day where I have nothing else to do? I plan to keep it completely empty.
Following on from sleepy-Sunday comes a not-so-manic-Monday. At 2pm on the 15th I am getting my new tattoo.
Not exactly a relaxing afternoon but one where I do not have to do anything other than lie on my back and wince.
I am super excited about my tattoo – I took my inspiration images (lock, ribbon, key, forget-me-nots, gaelic) to my artist 6 weeks ago and he sent me a message yesterday as he was working on the design.
I hope that keeping time free like this will make the rest of August and September seem … not quite so busy.
But I won’t hold my breath. It’s only two days afterall.
Then again, what else is a weekend?
Three days in and my Dinosaur Diet is going swimmingly.
No cheating at all. I mean, food-wise. Last night I was out and had wine. But I did so much better than the co-workers I was out with. I am totally going to win this damn challenge.
Chilli and Garlic Chicken Salad (ish).
2 chicken breasts
2 tbsp olive oil
1 chilli, chopped
4 garlic cloves, chopped
6 tbsp lemon juice
Preheat the oven to 180c/350f.
Mix all the oil, chilli, garlic, and lemon juice together. Slice the chicken breast, lay in a greased oven pan and pour over the sauce, making sure to cover it all.
Bake for 30-40 minutes.
Serve over a “salad” of baby spinach and top with toasted slivered almonds.
– if I had thought in advance I would’ve added some red capsicum and paleo-mayonnaise. Eh. It was still really good.