Thursday, November 29, 2012


I've always been very smug about stress. For better or worse, I hardly ever felt it (or recognised it); better in that I could sleep and eat and not have extra reasons for pimples, but worse because I didn't have the incentive of feeling better to make me sort things out when they needed sorting. As I've gotten older, however, my immunity has waned. At bedtime, worries grow like shadows, and stand tall and wide between me and sleep. By day, I can distract myself, but during quiet times, it feels as if someone is watching me, or something following me.

I don't want to go into detail because I don't want to jinx it, but there is something I want to happen very, very much, that I can only do so much to make happen, and it is stressing me the fuck out. I wake up in the middle of the night, and am besieged by worry. I want it to be over, but not if the outcome I want isn't how it will end. Stress is hellish.

I promise to let you know what happens tomorrow. Fuuuuuck!

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

I smell Christmas...

It's a bit like Lorelai and snow.

It's not when malls put up their decorations, or when the advertising starts. That's too early. It's not even when I start thinking about it; that's too early, too. But today, it happened. Independent of the shoppers and the shops, children and their parents, bosses and their employees, Christmas crept up. I feel it, waiting like the sun about to burst upon the world. I smell it, and it smells delicious.

People at the shop are getting ruder. They forget that however many people they have to buy things for, they have people they can buy things for, and they have money to buy things for those people. They also forget that however difficult it might feel, it's bloody shopping, and it's a damn sight more difficult on my side of the counter. But anyway. (And excuse the italics; I'm reading Catcher In The Rye for the umpteenth time, and every sentence I think has an emphasis in it.)

Next Christmas, we will probably have a house. If we have a house, we will certainly have a dog. And maybe maybe we will have a baby, or at least one in the oven. It all feels so close I can almost touch it, but it's just out of reach, and all depends on things that I can't control. I feel excited, and worried, and tired, and wide-awake, but most of all, I feel impatient.

But then, there are so many changes on the horizon, I want this time to feel as long as it is. I want to remember every Friday, and what we looked like, and who was there. I want to remember exactly how I felt the day I put my decorations up. It's funny how when you know change is around the corner, everything becomes significant because it's now The Way It Was. And even though I'm ready for How It's Going To Be, I love The Way It Was/Is. I wonder if I really want How It's Going To Be. Or at least, how much.

I sat on the couch this morning listening to Clair De Lune, and it sounded like the end of something; not mournful, exactly, but like the end of something that had to come to an end eventually, that feels sad, but only because it is an ending. I always find endings sad. I know that where something ends, something begins, but it's knowing you can't go back that makes me sad, and scared, even if I want to go forward. I get so excited when my friends do things like buy houses, or have babies, or get married, or any of the other things we used to think were reserved for adults, but occasionally I'll remember when we were all young with all of that ahead of us, and it makes me want to cry, and desperately turn back time just to be able to do it again. Watching your own children grow up must be heart-breaking. It makes me think of the part in Mirror when she says "In me she has drowned a young girl"; you must just look at whatever they are at a given time and wonder where the last version went. I think I've always spent a lot of time looking backward. Maybe I need to learn to spend more time looking forward. I just don't want to miss anything, and I suppose I'm afraid of letting go of what I know.

Now I feel like a bit about my life as I do about Christmas. I love the day, but it's the build-up I love most; because there's so much to enjoy, and the day still to come. I try to tell myself that there will always be something in the future to replace it, but I know I can never go back.

I'm afraid I will have completely confused you now, and that for myself, that way madness lies. So here is a Christmas song, sung in the soothing tones of Aretha.

Growing up is so painful.

Sunday, November 25, 2012


Today we celebrated Thanksgiving. There was no turkey or pumpkin pie this year, no decorations even, and we had all left the table to follow other pursuits (tiggy/gin and tonic/naps) before Mum could get everyone to say what we're thankful for this year. I thought mine might be Oscar; during the week I dreamt that he had killed someone (on waking I couldn't remember if it was a person or a cat) and was going to have to go to jail, and I woke up very upset. That seems a bit too easy though; I know all the time how much he brightens my life, and how lucky we were to adopt a dog so perfect for us. So here are some other, slightly less obvious things for which I am thankful.

1. Tampons. I have long thought these are one of the best inventions in history (only recently equalled by the internet). Even light, crampless periods are a pain in the arse, and just another disadvantage to the sisterhood. Tampons take a significant inch off the unevenness of the playing field, and when I'm inserting one on one of those uncomfortable occasions when you don't actually need it at that particular moment, I sometimes think of the Bennett sisters, or Natalia in The Poetry Girl, or Janet Frame, and I think I Am A Fortunate Woman. I bought a mooncup several months ago, and would like to be thankful for it except that I haven't mustered enough bravery to try it yet. So today, I am thankful for the humble tampon, and Dr. Judith Esser-Mittag, the gynecologist who developed it.

2. The absence of War/Freedom obsession in this country. The fact that we take (and can take) most of our freedoms for granted, and that we don't pretend to be protecting our freedom when we do shitty things to other countries; our mercenary/please-be-our-friend-and-buy-our-milk motivations don't make me proud, but at least they are openly wrong and pitiful, and not insidious lies. And I am thankful that national pride isn't expressed in ways that make me want to throw up, or hide.

3. Literacy. Reading has always been one of greatest pleasures (although I have been doing a little too much watching of things, which has made it rarer a pleasure than I would like), and the ability and propensity to read are things I don't take for granted. Reading is fun, it makes you clever, it helps develop empathy, and it means you nearly always have something to do... and there are so many people who don't know the joy of a great book, because they were never taught to read. I am thankful that someone taught me, and that I grew up in a house where books were valued, and library visits were frequent.

This makes me realise I owe people who can't read yet, or who don't know if they love reading because they don't have books. I don't know if I would be good at teaching, but there is an awesome organisation set up by Alan Duff called Duffy Books In Homes, which enables kids across the country to own their own books. When I was little, we were poor, so all of our books were from fairs or borrowed from the library, and I remember how I felt when I was allowed to get a Lucky book; a brand new book, where mine was the first and only name poorly written on the first page. If you love books, or even if you don't, you can donate to Duffy books here. Do it, do it!!!

(PS I hope it's kosher to be thankful for this. I read Samantha's list which includes living in a first world country, and I thought that was both legit and hilarious.) 

To end, there are two very, very obvious ones that I have to add, or this list wouldn't be complete. They might be a bit vomit-inducing, so feel free to skip to the video.

4. My family. Who are always happy to see me. Who drive me crazy with their crazy politics. Who salt my food for me, even if I don't want it salted. Who want to be part of everything. Who send me texts all in capitals. Who all come to the airport when someone is going somewhere. Who pee in the yard even when the toilet is free. Who want to be sprayed with the hose while they jump on the trampoline. Who overeat, so we can all complain to each other about how we overate, and then all go back to the kitchen half an hour later to eat a bit more. Who make me feel ensconced, like a child, when I am around them, even though I am twenty-nine and married. I wouldn't swap my big, motley family for anyone's.

5. Vincent. With whom I feel that I can do anything, and that the future is a huge, open adventure, and that there is nothing and no-one to be afraid of, and that the world really can be changed, and that I'm not crazy, and that my life is the greatest. I don't know what could be better than feeling like this, or being married to the person who makes you feel like this, so that without your signature, or a very complicated fake death, or murder, they can't get away. I am thankful for Aphrodite, and pheromones, and Father Time, and maybe even being poor but going to rich schools.

I hope you didn't lose your breakfast; I toned those down a lot, and they really weren't supposed to be on this list but I wouldn't have been real if I hadn't added them. I'm sorry.

Here is a song that came on the radio on our way home, to which I did a lot of sitting-down twisting, a bit of mashed potato, and a bit of Danger Danger Will Robinson. I know it was a few days ago now, but Happy Thanksgiving, Comrades! And... One Month Till Christmas!!!

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Neither A Borrower...

I'm not sure if you've been following what's happened since Karli Kloss wore a Native American head-dress in the recent Victoria's Secret show (ick). If you haven't, you can catch up here on Jezebel.

It's not very surprising that the response from some people to this backlash has been, as one commenter I just read put it, "get over it". The world that knows about Victoria's Secret, and No Doubt videos is one where there is a dominant culture. I wish Victoria's Secret, and No Doubt, and everyone else could learn that these things are hurtful and offensive without having to do them or read about them, but I'm really glad there has since been discussion and explanation of why cultural appropriation isn't okay.

It isn't always easy to know what "counts" as cutural appropriation, and in spite of being really annoyed by tourists asking if we sell "Maori costumes" (one particularly ignorant woman explaining it was for halloween), I remember seeing the picture of Charlotte Kemp Muhl a few years ago in a Native American head-dress and thinking she looked cool (and probably thinking at the time that viewing it as 'art' made it okay). So I thought this conversation on Rookie, Something Borrowed, was a really good read, and a good way to think about what is acceptable, and what is cultural appropriation, particularly in terms of fashion.

I've since been thinking, uncomfortably, about some of the things sold at my work. I've long been uncomfortable with selling pounamu; a taonga, which has gone up in price so much that it's only really accessible to people with the money to buy it, which includes well-meaning but confused visitors who call the pieces Healing Stones, and kids who have lived here their whole lives without showing any interest in Maori culture but need a piece to wear on the national embarrassment that is the Waitangi Day pub crawl when they get to London (and mispronounce pounamu, Waitangi, and pretty much every other Maori word. Including Maori). But there are motifs that have been "borrowed" from Maori art, and I feel a bit funny about some of these too...

Sunbeam, I wish we could do a shift together to talk this out!

Monday, November 19, 2012

Through The Cracks

I read on stuff tonight about a young guy in Wellington who died (two years ago) from alcohol poisoning. He was at a movie, and when he was found he had an empty 1L bottle of whisky beside him. Police records showed he was transient, and that he had drinking issues. He was only twenty-three years old.

The coroner, Ian Smith, said the following: "It would appear that the deceased has, to some degree, fallen through the cracks and that he appears to only have received limited support, partly brought about by his itinerant nature of his life...".

My heart feels so sad. I'm reminded of Holden Caulfield's ambition to be the Catcher. It's funny, being one of my favourite books, I've churned over so many parts of it in my mind, but I don't think I ever really thought what it really means for him to want to be the one who stops the kids from falling off the edge. I think all the time about authenticity... and now I realise I missed something more important than that.

We all know that the cracks are getting bigger. When we last voted, most people decided they wanted things other than what might help stop up cracks that seem unavoidable in a world that isn't perfect. That means that the rest of us, who value people, have to step up. We have to be the Catchers.

We can Catch by doing little things. We might not have cash every time we pass someone on the street who is asking for it, but we can acknowledge them, and make them know we recognise their value. We can Catch by respecting the people who cross our paths throughout the day. These are small beginnings, but they can quickly spread to other bigger things. Habits become a way of living, which then informs our beliefs and our politics, which should then go on to shape our society.

One of the things that defines my politics is a belief that we are all responsible for and to each other. I feel that we failed this man. Please, let's pledge to each other that we will go all out to stop people from "falling through the cracks". Life isn't always the best - sometimes it's downright shit. But while we have it, we should feel valued, and able to live well.

Sunday, November 18, 2012


I seem to have been born with a gift for shopping; inherited, I suspect, from my mother. I'm already close to a third of the way through our Christmas shopping, for which I would be patting the hell out of my back except that there's been a little bit too much one for me-ing... I'm working on it, but it's not easy when everything I'm buying is awesome. After trying (and failing) to make presents last year and the year before, this year we're focussing on being organised, and trying to buy books, fair trade, or secondhand... Which include most of my favourite things. What am I supposed to do?

Today, in an attempt to get me up to child-bearing health, Vincent and I went walking. He would like to walk up all of Auckland's volcanoes (I'd like to have been up all of them; subtle but key difference), and today we crossed Mangere mountain off the list. We found out when watching the news tonight that Auckland was the windiest place in the country today; our experience said no shit. The ascent was beautiful and interesting but also a bit too perilous for a Sunday afternoon, and the wind hurt my ears so much I growled like a child and wanted to kick things. Afterward, we went to the Otuataua Stonefields, where I didn't really want to get out of the car but also didn't want to seem lazy or churlish, so I did, and after spotting some cows, decided I wouldn't mind a little stroll to the foreshore (one of the walk attractions listed at the entrance). When we reached the water, I got so carried away fantasising about one day throwing a hand-grenade that I kept walking, and when we came across a sign that said 'Stonefields 5 mins' it seemed silly to stop, even when the path ended and we had to fight our way through long soft grass that seemed like it had to be hiding dead bodies and live rats. I probably don't need to tell you we got lost, and ended up visiting all Otuataua has to offer (historic Maori gardens, the Stonefields, the foreshore, and the Avocado orchard) in an attempt to find our way out. I remember a card my grandmother sent me once that had a sticker on it with a picture of a girl trying to lift weights and a caption reading "I'm going to get fit if it kills me". I don't relate.

Yesterday I learnt that reindeer can swim - like really swim, for an hour (saw it with my own eyes! on tv...), and I'm now convinced that is how Santa gets around. Also I've started to wonder if maybe he just does countries around the North Pole. I also saw incredible Northern Greenland Inuits do scary and amazing stuff like go under ice while the tide was out to harvest mussels and break up the monotony of their winter diets of fish and sealmeat, and catch a narwhale using only a couple of spears. If I get so drunk I can't do anything the next day except watch tv every friday for the rest of my life, and tv keeps playing documentaries about animals and cultures, I might end up knowing as much as I would have if I hadn't gotten so drunk I couldn't do any study the next two days every Friday during my last years of school and all of university.

Lastly, it seems as if it would be wrong not to include a song I've been listening to every day this week. A few weeks ago, Vincent and I spent a drunken half hour making up the best dance ever to it, and since then I've been perfecting my step/click and left-right-left ready for next time. I've never been content being anything but the star, but apart from the fact that when Michael is playing, Vincent is Michael, I really don't mind being Vincent's back-up dancer. Yes, friends. I found him.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Mind Clouds

Things that have been floating around in my head:

1. My friend told me today about the difficulty her peers had accepting her relationship with her last boyfriend because of their disparate heights and different cultural backgrounds, many of them considering him a much better match to a mutual friend who looked more like him. Really. More recently there was a widespread assumption that she was seeing a friend (with whom she had spent less time than other guys, whom she actually had been seeing at different times) because they are of the same ethnicity, and similar height. I started to What The Fuck, and then remembered times it's happened to me; the most notable occasion being the first time I met a friend of Vincent's, when a friend of mine was with me, and he assumed she was his wife. The most notable physical difference between us? She's white, like Vincent, and I'm not.

I'm sure people who haven't had a similar experience would agree these assumptions need to be challenged, but I don't know if many can understand how upsetting it is to have the person you love assigned to somebody that isn't you. It's easy to say what people think doesn't matter, but that really isn't how it feels. When you love someone, you want people to know that you belong to each other, and to recognise the fit you feel. This feeling is even more acute when you're married; part of choosing to marry is wanting to make the public declaration that you are a unit. So when someone assumes you are with someone else, or your person is with someone else, it feels like they're saying you don't look like you should be together; that there is someone else who looks like they would be better for you/them than they/you. I used to get really hurt when I was little and people didn't know my mum belonged to me when she would come to collect me, because she doesn't look very Samoan. I was so proud of her, and I wanted people to know she was mine, and I was hers. It's the same feeling now, but it makes me angry as well as hurt, because there is no reason why a couple should look anything alike, whereas it's understandable to expect a child might look like their parent. Why would I want to be with someone who looks like me? I don't know; that just seems gross and narcissistic, as well as potentially incestuous. Why would anyone assume someone was with someone else simply because they look like them? Apart from latent racism, I don't know that either.

2. Things Emma Thompson answered in a recent Harper's Bazaar q&a:

Beauty is... dependent entirely on what's going on underneath it.
Style is... not always necessary.
Success is... often useless.
Genius is... mostly hard work.

I would love to hear what she has to say about everything. Lady is awesome.

3. Boobs. We watched Melancholia last night and Martha Marcy May Marlene on Tuesday, and while they both gave me lots of other things to think about, what's really been on my mind today is/are the women's girls. I don't know how to elaborate... it's just quite interesting seeing other people's when you're used to seeing your own.

4. A group of men in suits stood outside my work laughing at that volume usually reserved for teenage girls or people at arthouse movies who want you to know they got that obtuse joke. What could any of them possibly have come up with that was that funny?

5. Since the eclipse yesterday, I've had the original of this song on my mind. The proper video has been taken down so now we have to have the cat, but it's still excellent.

Monday, November 12, 2012


I'm on to the best bit of Monday now; finished work, and not long until Vincent gets home from dj-ing, but I still feel a little bit blue. It might be my period. It might be that I just need to buck up. Whatever it is, Monday can be a bit of a downer. Here is an upper.

Four hours till Tuesday, Comrades.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Round Up

1. Bit jealous that Americans get Obama as president and the chance to buy these posters... thought I'd found part of Vincent's Christmas present (without even trying!), but it wasn't to be. Oh well. The first two are by Matt Drury, and the last by Cathryn Lavery, and if you happen to live in the US or Canada, you can buy them here. And if you'd like to then send them on to li'l ol' Aotearoa, we would gratefully accept, and transfer the money to you?! At the very least, it gives me an idea for creative exercises; at the moment I feel as if the only things I am getting creative with are my outfits and my insults. And even then, I reuse both. 

Actually, I just remembered that I did recently make a poster for Pulp Fiction, for a short interview I did for High Street (the lovely little street where I work). I chose to use ink (a pen) and the back of a letter (let's call that a found object, shall we?), and funnily enough, I also chose a single, evocative icon from the film too, although I did that because I can't draw for shit. However, I am very proud of my milkshake; except for the straws being the thickness of straw (like hay), it looks like a milkshake! Not one I've ever had, admittedly, but who would win at pictionary if they drew how things actually look. As someone who used to try to do that, I can tell you. No-one.

2. This morning I read this account of the storm in New York on Lost, and thought it was interesting and beautiful. I particularly like the bit about the halloween candy, and the break up. It's one of the greatest joys and tragedies of life that, whatever happens, it just carries on.

Lost is a blog I really enjoy; the writer, Vic, has a perspective on things that is really unique, and kind of makes you want to separate yourself a bit so you can see things more as they are, and less as they seem in relation to you. She often says just a little, and in that manages to say a lot, and provoke you into thinking even more.

3. I met my lovely friend Rach for a drink on Friday, and found out she too wants to have a baby next year. That makes four people I love planning to breed at the same time as Vincent and me, and makes me so happy (although it might have been nice to have someone pop one out during the baby drought that only just ended with Stella's arrival?). We're pretty prepared for ours to be the weird hippy one, but I'm trying to prepare myself a bit more for the possibility of problems making her. It's a strange thing to try to do, and I don't know how successful one could ever be at preparing for something like that. I used to ask for ridiculous things for Christmas that I knew I wouldn't get, and yet I couldn't help but believe that it might just be possible, and then be disappointed when it didn't happen. In spite of being a bit of a cynic, I'm pretty positive; I'm hopeful, and I believe... so I feel like it's really important for me to really know that having a baby might not be as straightforward as going off the pill and then having a bun in the oven. My mother had more miscarriages than most women, and most of the important women in my life have had a really difficult time getting to the point of actually laying a baby; some not getting to that point at all. It's long been a reality that wanting and having a baby are far apart, yet for me, at least, I've always expected them to be almost the same. And I really, really want to have one.

4. Christmas planning in full swing. Well, in my mind anyway; I haven't actually thought of or bought any more presents, but at night when I'm about to go to sleep, I feel it. And, most joyous of joys, on Friday Vincent bought tickets for us to go and see Freddy Kempf play with the NZSO, two Saturdays before Christmas. I can't think of anything more festive, and am very, very excited about it. He'll be playing a lot of Gershwin, and if you want to be jealous, have a look here and then here.

5. Vincent gifted me this most amazing of videos last week. It could be the best thing ever. (PS Ignore the title. It's a little bit creepy at first, but then it's simply incredible.)

Saturday, November 10, 2012

A Paean To Cher

I know this video is kind of after the fact now, but I still have to share it in case you haven't watched it yet. It might even be more enjoyable now that we know how things turned out, and we don't have to worry that these people might actually get into power (team rape lost big last night). I forget sometimes how awesome Cher is. Aside from her ability to sing and act (her acting - so underrated!), she has so this humanity about her that's almost tangible (which is actually probably part of why her acting is so good). She is kind, and intelligent, and has so much poise... I kind of want to be her. Anyway, the video. Long live Cher.

Thursday, November 8, 2012


Very, very tired, after The Black Keys and being very, very drunk on Saturday night, and then Radiohead and being fairly disappointed on Tuesday night. Plus some nocturnal percussion from my dearest.

We're so happy (and relieved) that Obama pulled it off last night, and that every person in America has a chance for their life to be better in the next four years. I hope so much that he's able to do the things he wasn't able to during this term, and that conditions are more favourable (even if the outlook isn't so right now). I also really, really hope that the GOP's rebranding includes getting their men (and women, for that mater) to shut the fuck up about rape, pregnancy, and abortion. I mean, it's helpful having a fuckwit let you know they're a fuckwit, but I'd prefer to hear it straight.

Anyway, since Vincent texted me the result, I've intermittently had "USA! USA!" in my mind, and... Bananarama (the only way I can explain this is my love of puns, wordplay, and cheesiness).

Bananarama is doubly appropriate, because on Saturday we have a family bbq where Vincent will finally get to meet the aunty and uncle who were like grandparents to me when I was growing up. We were allowed to almost anything at their house (in stark contrast to our own house, where we were allowed to do almost nothing), and one of the things I liked to do was put on music (if my memory is correct, they had a cd player long before anyone else) and their huge brown headphones, and sit on the couch, swinging my legs and singing loudly to Bananarama and Kylie Minogue. I was young, and didn't know any better. It was a happy time.

Forward! Thank goodness.

Monday, November 5, 2012

It's A Long Way To The Top

I suppose it's to be expected that when the Prime Minister tries to impress university students by insulting people who are actually good at what they do, other people in the country become confused about what is appropriate speech, and what is acceptable behaviour. In the same way people protest sensitivity to difference as "PC gone mad!" (perhaps my most-hated phrase in the history of the universe), these confused individuals present their prejudices as jokes, so that when normal people object, they can accuse them of being over-sensitive, or "easy to wind up".

For a lot of my life, I've been too afraid of saying anything when the confused individuals have been my friends. I've was afraid of not being liked, and I was afraid of offending them (sometimes justifying it to myself as being because they didn't know what they were saying). I'm not sure if it's having grown up enough not to care so much for the opinions of idiots, or just having grown more confident, or knowing that I have someone who is always on my side, that I'm not afraid anymore. It's still scary to confront people sometimes; it can make my heart beat fast, or make me want to cry, or become obsessed with it. But we have to do it. We have to let people know it's not normal or okay to say things that are racist, or sexist, or any of the other -ists that are put by the wayside when the government of a country is right-wing and so all that matters is the economy. Fuck the economy. Tolerance and a good economy are not mutually exclusive, but if they were, I know what is more important to me.

I'm afraid this is getting preachy, which is isn't supposed to be at all. It's meant to be encouraging. Sometimes it feels like you're alone when no-one else has said they're not okay with a joke, or a remark. But you're not. People are chicken, and they are followers. We, comrades, are not. And anytime we speak out, we have each other behind us. And even if the morons disagree, at least they've had the truth presented to them; and while they can do their best to dismiss us, there's something about the truth that just sticks.

Who am I kidding, well-presented lies stick too. But anyway.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Lady Manes

Unsupervised this evening. We had an early dinner at what I like to call the club (it makes me feel as if we're old and don't carry cash), and when we were killing time before Vincent had to go next-door (where he's dj-ing tonight), Dave brought us a huge jug of iced tea, full of fruit. I didn't think I could/should ingest anything more after the cheesecake I'd just put away, but I managed some anyway (and am almost through my bag of peanut butter m&ms; hopeless).

It really feels like summer. I believe we've skipped spring, and that's okay; it's my least favourite season anyway. Yesterday I walked to Victoria Park to buy bananas and ecostore bits and pieces, and I even got a little bit sunburnt. I walked across the park on my way home, and saw a guy shadow-boxing under the bridge. The park was full of office people - women sitting awkwardly in their skirts, and men in strange exercise clothes doing funny poses.

It's funny how unifying weather can be. I like catching someone's eye when everyone is running from awning to awning. It makes me forget I'm getting wet, and think about how alike we all are, and how amusing it must look; all of us scuttling to escape falling water. I think sun induces more introspection, or maybe it was just that I was doing something very different to everyone I was passing. I came home so pleased with all of my cleaning products nestled in the paper bag that I didn't really want to unpack it... but Vincent is so patient with all of my other little piles around the place, I did.

The change in weather has me getting really exited about what's ahead. Apartment living means we don't get any trick-or-treaters so we had to make do with photos of nieces and nephews, but I started planning thanksgiving, and that led to Christmas thinking, and then I had to stop before it all led to excitement insomnia. We've got two gigs in the next five days that we booked back in autumn, and they felt so far away...

Anyway, what I really wanted to share was this amazing self-portrait by Rhiannon Schneiderman from her collection of lady manes on The Ardorous. Today is the first day of Movember so I've had hair on my mind - I'm of half a mind to grow a moustache, and now that I've seen these pictures, I'm inspired to do things with my pubes. I'd like to know more about the project, but I viewed these as a really funny celebration of pubic hair - long overdue, in my mind, as it seems to become less and less desirable. I showed a friend of mine a pair of crotchless undies bought as a joke present for another friend, and she said that if she wore them it would be like wearing a visor with an afro, and not only did it kill me, it really made me think about how I feel about pubic hair, and so do these pictures. 

Pubes. Awesome.