Merry Eczemas

2009; kthnxbai. I am ever so glad to see the tail of you. OH, what’s that? You’re not quite done yet? You need to shove your slatternly begrimed face into mine one more time before you go? You need to be sure your hacking death rattle rings in my ears long into the new decade? Great. Cool. CHRISTMAS. I nearly forgot.

I’ve never been one of those, Scrooge McDuck, I hate Christmas types. I’ve always loved Christmas whole-heartedly. I turn up to one house after another and have delicious food driven down my throat like a fois gras goose and come away with enough soaps and nuts to last me half a year. The experience has always been nothing short of marvellous. This year, however, has been the first year I have thought of the festy season with exact the sentiment: “not too fussed”.
Let me add the disclaimer right now that I actually have no reason to actively dislike Christmas. We have money for presents, we are all healthy and our problems are trifling. I also realise that there are many, many people out there who are not so big on the holiday for good reasons. Maybe Uncle Mark gets maggot and gropes nieces, maybe Grandma Elsie doesn’t like the look of your “ethnic” boyfriend. I know, right? Family get-togethers can be a drag. But take a moment of compassion, if you will, for those of us who arise of Christmas morning and face a day (or two or three, depending on how many factions of the family we visit) with the need to be a perfect, creative, alternative, left-wing, artists daughter. Let me take you through a typically harrowing eczemas period.

Before the tinsel is even in the shop windows, I need to start thinking about presents. My family are good present givers. Good taste combined with esoteric pop-cultural knowledge and genuine thought usually leads to amazing gifts like a history of lingerie book or an obscure Bolivian percussion instrument. Against the mastered strokes of my family, however, I flounder, doggy-paddle style, in a constant struggle not to just by a gift pack form the Body Shop. Each gift given needs to reflect months and months of thought and effort. This year so far my only thoughts have been “shit it’s nearly Christmas. SHIT IT’S NEARLY CHRISTMAS! What’s on telly?” The present giving is always tempered with the age-old cry “don’t spend too much!” which is always meant well, but frankly, sometimes I’d rather a November phone-call with “don’t feel the need to hunt for a framed painting of an out-of-print children’s book from Norway in the 30’s. A voucher would be nice”, pouring like warm Christmas brandy down the line. Sweet relief.

After the presents are bought they must be wrapped in the most elaborate way conceivable. What started as a joke actually ended in a competition. Every year the presents look like they should be on a pedestal in a gallery. No shop-bought ribbons or lace mind you, no no no, accoutrement must be found in op-shops or made by hand, hip, retro or politically timely, and must ALWAYS be breathtakingly original. Cards are painted by hand, and the Christmas tree itself is usually a subversive one. Last year the lopped branch of a Jacaranda was painted pink with white polka dots and was strung with lights and African decorations.

The Christmas lunch is prepared; always elaborate and multicultural, not to mention vegetarian, gluten and preservative free and labour-intensive. The traditional John Lennon story about a murdered man is always read on Christmas eve, and we all get on the cans (read boutique wine) and have a very merry Christmas, but the entire affair is exhausting and competitive. It is nice to come from a family that wouldn’t bat an eyelid if I announced to the Christmas table I was gay or nipped out to the back veranadah to light a post-dinner spliff, but sometimes I think of the horrified looks I would receive if I didn’t take part in this year’s home-made, subversive bob-bon making, and I have a heavy heart.

So It’s off the library with me to look up obscure military hats to recreate for this year’s bon-bons, while visions of coleslaw and BBQ chicken from Coles dance in my head.

The Asylum Keepers

After the last of them had finally left, a sense of anticlimax seemed to fall over everyone, followed by an undeniable restlessness.

For weeks we had campaigned to get rid of them, and the drive had banded us together in a way we had never been joined before. Intense and constant talks, planning, logistics, strategy. It gave us a purpose few of us had experienced, and filled us with a kind of fizzing liveliness that pushed us all to our very limits and forced many out of their shells in ways we hadn't experienced most of our lives.

Most of all it was the sense that our purpose was noble. It was a community effort that drove those away who were threatening our way of life. The place we lived was a great place. We knew we were lucky to be born in such a place, but we had also worked hard to make the best of what we had there. Generations lived in our community, some so deeply encrusted with elements and memories taken from their long lives of long journeys, that they served as an inspiration to us all. For a new colony to blow in, attach themselves because they thought the location was good and suited their needs, was simply not on. We had to protect our interests. Living well was sometimes hard work, and when it was a matter of us or them, charity was out of the question.

But now we simply had nothing to do, and the hangover of the common enemy proved only to dampen spirits. It was back to the same old same old. Grabbing food, eating food, building yourself up, searching for love, or being searched for love. The thrill of life which we had briefly experienced had undeniably gone.

The experience, however, would not be forgotten.

The day the first one was spotted it was floating past on a current. Perhaps a mere accident of chance had brought it there, and fate could just have easily have swept it away but the current was docile, and the stranger made a move to come closer. They loitered briefly, suspiciously, and then, just as easily as they had appeared, they was gone again. Some time later rumours had started to circulate that there were more of them, living on a piece of driftwood close by, and that they were looking for a new place to live. The thought of a clan of mussels, to stupid, ignorant and lazy to make their home on a solid foundation, coming to our whale, quickly incited uncertainty and anger amongst us.

The day they arrived and started attaching themselves the water was almost boiling with hostility. Many were saying that we simply didn't have the resources to house any more on the whale. Mussels were well known to eat more and live far less cleanly than us barnacles, and letting them on would ultimately be letting down the neighbourhood. There were a few of the softer minded amongst us who insisted that it would be alright, that we should give it a try, and take pity on the mussels who were not fortunate enough to be born near a rock or pillar good enough to live on. But certain older members of the community knew that this was dangerous thinking. "You can't trust them. They arrived here by being sneaky. They'll come in, eat all our food and pretty soon there won't even be any room for us. Plus, you know what mussles are like- they detach themselves from a place whenever it suits them. We've lived here a long time and worked hard at becoming a strong colony. These invaders will be the ruin of us!"

So we banded together in an almighty cold shoulder, and it worked, they were gone. But what of the colony now? Everyone seemed dispirited, unsure, and some even expressed feelings of guilt.

"Look" I heard someone say. "This is a great whale. I feel proud to be a member of the colony on this great whale. We don't live on a rock, where fish would hassle us daily. We don't live on a ship, always looking over our shoulder for the danger of being scraped off. We are very lucky to live on this great whale. But we have a responsibility to keep this whale great. Sure we can let the odd stray limpet, looking for a place to stay, attach itself. That's fine. But once you start letting dishonest mussels in well, there's no telling where it will end."

So now what we were left with was a colony brimming with uncertainty. My head, attached to the stomach of the whale, throbbed with confusion as I battled with the ethical implications of my colony's actions. The confusion plagued me for days until I felt my neighbours giant penis reach over and tap on my shell. Ah well, I thought, back to real life.


FACT

*Barnacles have the biggest penis to body ratio of any species.

Mr Pinchy

Yes, that's right, the housemate we don't speak of, Mr Pinchy, makes his youtube debut today!!

I made this months and months ago one sleepy Sunday, and didn't get around to putting it together until now. The results, I think we can all agree, are breathtaking.

enjoy.

A Summer Playlist (without Shaggy)

Summer is a very easy time to be happy. In the last few months I was dumped (I like to refer to myself as a dumpling) and I was made redundant, but every day I step out of my door to a massive blue sky, a bougainvillea that is currently going nuts and flowering all over the joint, and air that just smells green and I am filled with joy. So here is my ultimate summer play list to augment and add sparkle to the beautiful weather, like MSG on the ramen noodles of life. I’ve ordered them for you to live out your perfect summer day. You’re welcome.

FIG JAM – Butterfingers



I can’t think of a better way to start the day than with the affirmation “Fuck I’m good, just ask me”. Butterfingers may have this whole, "we're so flippant" comedy-Skip-hop thing going on but their lyrics are actually some of the wisest I’ve ever heard. Sentiments like “Stand up strait, don’t take no shit, head is on your shoulders, shoulders on your hips” (Get Up Outta The Dirt) is a nice refreshing slap in the face of self-indulgence. Listen to this while eating brekkie and punching every soft surface in your house. You will feel good.

78 Stone Wobble – Gomez (they won't let me embed. It's because they are sneaky.)

The start of this song is exactly like diving under the first wave of summer. I was on a bus last Sunday and let me tell you, Sunday public transport users have no idea what they’re doing. Weekday commuters get it, but Sunday riders bumble onto the bus, all teeth and sweaty grins. They have no idea where they’re going or how to buy a ticket. They shout out to their friends who are sitting right beside them, all bubbling over with the joy of riding with the people. This happened on Sunday and it was really hot and the window was stuck and everyone smelled like fucking plebs yammering on about appalling nonsense. I took a breath, put my ipod on, and washed them all away with this song. It was good.

Sky Blue Sky – Wilco



So it’s still morning and time to go for a nice bike ride with this song playing. Take this time to think about, like, “love”… or something.

Take It From Me – Girlfriend



This is kind of an obscure addition as many people may not remember this flash in the pan from the early 90s, but I was IN LOVE with Girlfriend, and hearing this song again recently got me higher than I have ever been. It instantly took me back to childhood and being so completely carefree, and having SO MUCH ENTHUSIASM AND ENERGY that I could spend the entire day rollerblading up and down the driveway. Also, CHECK THEM FUCKING OUT! The clothes and the dancing! This song is EVERYTHING THAT IS GOOD ABOUT THE WORLD!!

Minha Menina – The Bees



Middle of the day. Dance in the sun. Drink a beer.

Harley and Rose – The Black Sorrows



When I was a kid I pretty much expected adult life to be a summer’s afternoon painting the deck and listening to the Black Sorrows. It didn’t occur to me that I might have other responsibilities in adult life, and that a deck only offers a finite amount of surface area to paint, and probably wouldn’t need painting every weekend. This song now consequently makes me think of being a kid, and all the things you could get away with being a kid. I’m not talking about eating icy-poles and playing under the sprinkler- I still do that. I’m talking about things like lying on by back on the floor, squirming around with my legs in the air singing the same line off some Wollongong tv jingle over and over when Mum is doing the washing up and then moo-ing like a cow when she asks me to move, or crawling around the house with my brother in my sleeping bag, like worms. The first time I voted I was like, “I gave up childhood for this?”

La Mar – The Beautiful Girls



So it’s getting to afternoon time now, and everyone’s a little bit sun weary. This song is like aloe vera for the soul (feels good but don’t get it in your mouth. Tastes horrible)

Just Like a Baby – Sly and the Family Stone



The sun’s going down, but temperatures are rising IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!!!! I mean, this song is like liquid sensuality, warm honey dripping from glowing guitars onto ice-sculptures shaped like ladies. I don’t know. I’m not very poetic. BASICALLY THIS SONG MAKES ME THINK ABOUT SEX.

Festival Song – Pez and 360



This song comes on and I’m dancing and grinning like an idiot. Every time.

Sweet Summer’s Night on Hammer Hill – Jens Lekman



Party time. Fun in Scandinavia with just a hint of Supremes. Just the way I like it.

Harvest Moon - Cassandra Wilson



This song is for the end of the night, when everyone is sitting around in salty swimmers, skin tingling from sunburn, mosquito coils burning, cicadas singing, condensation dripping down fingers from cold beers in the warm night. This is when we stretch out our souls and feel the warm flowers of summer growing bigger in our hearts until they reach up to our throats and tumble down our chins in a long sigh.

Happy Summer everyone.