Hell Bent on Nothing

Well, still treading water.

No wonder my posts are scant.

Must leave this place of stress for all new stress. Yeah. That's a plan!

Late of Bloomers

I am oddly happy/confused/weirded out by the knowledge that everyone seems to be as lost as I am.
I thought - yeah, reach a certain age, grow some white hairs (they are white - oy!) and generally look the part of the wiser older type person in sensible shoes and non-teenager wear.
Oh how I am wrong. Very very wrong. I seemed to have missed the Grown Up bus and still be pedalling along on my tricycle of lapsed eternal fluffy post-Youth (it must be the rainbow streamers on the grips).
If only it wasn't so expensive to be an elderly teenager........

I'm here about the overdue adulthood you borrowed.

A note

I've started using the term 'childe' (verbally and in my head) to denote anyone who isn't my peer or I vaguely remember as a blurry face, as I am olde. No decrepid, but olde. Derr.
I thank the lovely and inspiring Bill Cunningham for this term. It is neither spiteful nor demeaning, but it does denote a gap, which can be nice and unsaid and okay.

New and yet old

It's weird - I seem to be retroactively seeking music - the new stuff linking to the old stuff, treading back in time, from now to then.
So much for cutting edge cool tunes - it's all about the obscure. The not so cool. Eeep, hipster music. RUN.
Such was my experience today listening to Triple RRR and listening to Gang of Four for the first (identifiable) time in my life. And before that, listening to a Beck track that is very new, but sounded really 90's. Truple RRR loves to take me on the oddest journeys as I journey to work. I am often tempted to never leave the carpark.
Weird.

Additionally weird: when I darkened the door of my local Apple batcave recently in order to heal a failure to upgrade iTunes (I know, I know, let the eye rolling commence), perky Ms Fixit commented on the diversity of my music library (and I thought I was middling pedestrian).
It seems there were bands she knew nothing of (and was possibly amazed they were on my PC, little ol' faux-hausfrau me).
So then you go home, puzzled by the astonishment by proxy inflicted on a mere whippet of a childe, and take a good look at your ever expanding music catalogue:
Siouxsie, Goldfrapp, Bjork, Tones on Tail, 30's blues, Weinmar Cabaret, Grace Jones disco reggae, Goth rock, 80's remixes, Depeach Mode, Julie London, 20s French Cabaret, disco, punk, riot grrl, Chic, David Bowie, Iggy, Elvis, Sinatra, Arabic fusion, Japanese 60s pop, Roxy Music, doof doof, modern retro bands, dark wave electronica, and of course, the cheesy stuff that makes you happy to sing along to in the privacy of your own spaces.
And that's just off the top of my head.
So my library is minimal.......

Oh yeah, and David Lynch soundtracks. Dreamy dance moves are mandatory.

One more shot at getting it together.

It's rinse and repeat everyone.
And I'm getting tired of it.

Actually, I think I'm getting tired of everyone in general. Not individuals, but the noise, the chatter, the uninvited cacophony of opinions and messages crashing into me on a daily basis. It's not healthy. I don't need the extra noise. I feel crushed already by a huge city and the stampede of idiots who inhabit it with me. A bit of room, and a bit of respect, okay everyone. Back off. I can tell when I need sleep and when I crave more sleep.

Having said that, I watched 'Into The Wild' the other night and was profoundly saddened by the film and the true story it sprang from.
So rejecting modernity and escaping to Alaska didn't quite provide the ready fix either. It was beautiful and thoughtful, gorgeous and yet at heart depressing - but that's me channelling the film - I so crave more positive endings now.
It was not a good sleep afterwards.

Is it me, or are apocalyptic/end of civilisation films (in whatever form - it's a big generalisation) on the rise?

No wonder we want to escape (.....and I'm back at Into The Wild again. It was interesting, but a loud voice in my head said - yeah, possible if you are a guy - the physical dangers for women are horribly restrictive to allow the same adventures.)
The romantic wild, conquering/existing the wilderness, a distant uninhibited life in solitude and ready peace - an interesting achievement for men, and an amazing feat for us ladies.

I always think of my lecturer at university discussing colonial art in Australia, and the depictions of women and children (a gender and 'innocents' double billing) - the wild untamed frontier to the US was emblematic of the new, the future, riches, fortune, optimism, just over that horizon. Go get it, pioneers! Australia, now weirdly celebrating a fiction that we all live in the outback (!! idiotic ad campaigns gone viral), was always coded as don't go beyond the civilised path: out there is death, desolation, starvation, fools gold, loss and being lost, bleakness and despair. And the ladies in these colonial paintings are always shown weather beaten and frail in Victorian white linens, carried out on stretchers during a crisis, searching for a lost child in the bush, fleeing bushfire and flood. Children are always blurry and in transition to another world (read as dead if you like).

Good times for all in the Land of Oz.

Bless the New Yorker people

I have often wondered and now I know:

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/shouts/2013/08/wizard-or-hipster.html#entry-more

However, is there a femme equivalent?

If I had the money, I think I'd be a Girl Dandy.

Behold, a house I think I'm living in:
http://dandyportraits.blogspot.com.au/2013/02/the-cary-collection-dandy-edit.html

I now desire more maximalist measures to the taken with my tiny colourful hovel.
I mean, yeah.
Jockey lamp? Yup. Rampant Orientalism? Yiss. A multitude of cocktail shakers? Mhah.

sigh.