Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Tuesday Stuff

One of the best things about where we live is its proximity to Food Alley. Vincent called me the Queen of Food Alley today (I had a delicious sukiyaki from there last night and a not bad yellow curry tonight) and in spite of the yellow lighting and grubby tables, I could do a lot worse for a queendom. Auckland before mass immigration must have sucked.

I've just been reading an interview in September's UK Elle with Dolly Parton, and thinking about how likeable she is, and why. Part of it is her way with words, evidenced by some quotes included in the article :

' I buy clothes that are two sizes too small and take them in.'

'If I have one more facelift I'll have a beard.'

'I'm not offended by dumb blonde jokes because I know I'm not dumb,
and I know I'm not blonde.'

I know Dolly is genuine, and that is part of her charm. But it makes me sad to think how necessary the self-deprecation is to her charm. Everyone likes someone who can laugh and make fun of themself. But it shouldn't be a requirement for a person whose appearance attracts attention, and it is; I know if Dolly didn't say funny and slightly mean things about her appearance, other people would say them and go on to make judgements about the kind of person she is, based on her face and her hair and her boobs. Dolly Parton is known by her big, blonde hair and her enormous breasts, her tiny clothes and her multiple surgeries. But she's famous for her talent; her voice, her song-writing skills, her tenacity, and her skill in business. Why aren't these enough? Why does being expressive through one's appearance have to be balanced by verbal reinforcement of one's humour or virtue? I'm as bad as anyone when it comes to this expectation, but I don't want to be. Always with the likeability... Give me a break. Richy was an arrogant dick, and we all love him.

This, friends, is my dream bathroom. Actually that's not true, my dream bathroom is nothing like this. This is like my dream holiday bathroom. Actually, I don't even know if that's true; I like outdoor baths, or indoor baths in scary seventies colours with lightshades that leave the bulbs exposed and make every hair on your leg, armpit or groin seem as big and stark as a blade of grass. But I do love this bathroom; I like imagining a house with lots of people in it, and sneaking off to this bathroom (which would be tucked away somewhere) and sitting on the toilet and reading until my bum's numb, and then giving myself a bad haircut. It's from Old Chum, a cool blog that has great photos like the one below:

That reminds me, my friend told me a really good joke last week about Catholics... but it's not appropriate for here.

Today I read in peppermint magazine that more than 200 000 children under 18 are trafficked each year for cocoa farming in West Africa alone; up to 800 000, actually. I resolved never to buy chocolate that isn't fair trade ever again, and then came home and finished last night's m&m's. 200 000 children, just because we like chocolate. If you now have chocolate on the brain and feel too bad to go to the dairy for a flake, good. Cadbury is the devil anyway. So is exercise; save yourself the walk and just click here.

Before I go, I want to make a Public Service Recommendation. Go and see a dentist. I had another filling done today, am booked in for my third (in as many weeks) next Wednesday, and begin my second root canal for the year on Sunday. My mouth is the most expensive thing we own. I know my words are priceless (aha!) but it's not meant to be like this. Dental care is way too expensive, but if you don't go to the dentist you just end up paying them more later. Remind me to write to Metiria Turei and (Go!) Russell Norman (Go!) about it; I know they'll do something. If nothing is done soon, there is going to be a generation of kids with no teeth; the only semi-affordable option is extraction. What the fuck is that about?

I'll leave you with this gem, which I've been meaning to post for ages. It's my favourite BeeGees song (I used to think they were my guilty pleasure but that was just for show; there is no guilt here, just pure, pure pleasure), and the best dance ever; they're so fucking cool. I always wanted to be like the woman in the song (ie more) but felt more like the woman in She's Always A Woman, hiding like a child, asking for the truth but never believing it, bringing out the best and the worst. I'm so happy not to be like that anymore but I'm so sorry I was that way; I've been able to apologise for it, and I've forgiven myself for it, but I'll always be sorry. Anyway, you don't need to worry about that; I'm sure you weren't like that to anyone. So enjoy this beauty, with the comfort of a clear conscience.

They're just so gloriously uncool. Long live the Beegees. (The living ones, anyway.)

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