june 29, 2005
push [bike] it
On the weekend, in between buying uggboots, going to the market multiple times, and hanging out with very lovely people, I finally did something that I've been putting off for a long time.
No. I didn't get a tattoo or a piercing. I didn't write a novel nor finish cleaning up my room.
But I did buy a bike.
A couple of years ago I was very enthused about bike riding. For about a month. The bike made funny noises, I ended up with a flat tire and the weather began to get cold. I never repaired the bike and when I moved to my house in the city I discreetly left it outside so that it would get stolen and I could move on with my life and get a good bike.
I've always felt that I didn't ride the old bike very much because I didn't have much connection with it. I resented it when I was a teenager, and when I did start to ride it again I found it very cumbersome. My new bike is different though. It is so easy to ride, and I've actually ridden it to work every day so far this week!
$4.40 saved in bus tickets. By my reckoning I need to ride it to work 212 more days and then it will properly be saving me money.
Anyway, my new bike needs a name. Do YOU have any ideas?
pipstar @ 12:23 AM | link | Comments: ****
june 27, 2005
photo friday :: orange
Mandarin in my Grandmother's garden, March 2003
pipstar @ 01:35 PM | link | Comments: *
june 24, 2005
pink furry love
I was going to say "is there anything worse than uggboots (as a fashion item)?" but overriding mental images of HIV statistics, third world debt and the pressing fear of the imminent return of stirrup pants stopped that thought. But, even though I think that the conscious wearing of ugg boots worn over jeans or with a mini skirt is essentially a ludicrous look, I am going to buy myself a hot pink pair of uggboots tomorrow evening.
I’m looking forward to these new uggboots. I’ve put off buying proper sheepskin uggboots for the last couple of years and instead have made do with some hideous boots lined with fake fur. They aren’t very warm, my feet can’t breathe because of the acrylic and as a result (I’m not afraid to admit this) the boots smell musty and footlike. Good uggboots cost a lot and I’m finally willing (and cold enough) to make that investment
If I have my way the boots I have tomorrow will have lacing up the side. They will be pink and they will be warm. They will be like the uggboots of my youth except as a child or teenager I would have run a mile rather than wear anything pink. They will have soft lambskin on the inside and rubber soles so slippery and potentially dangerous that I won’t be able to justify wearing the ugg boots outside the home for anything other than late night supermarket runs or missions for weekend coffee and newspapers.
Stuck in my mind is a memory of a breakfast had at a lovely establishment on Magill Rd. That Saturday was many moons ago and sadly, the café has since closed. Apart from a horrible incident when a teapot handle cracked in my hand and hot tea poured everywhere, the morning was marked by a fashion encounter that I’ve secretly harboured visions of repeating.
I was younger then… In those days ugg boots were pretty daggy, worn purely for comfort and weren’t trademarked. So I was very impressed to see some beautiful young people rock up for breakfast at the aforementioned establishment and they were still wearing their pyjamas and they had their ugg boots on.
So I’m giving you a warning, or perhaps it is a disclaimer… I am buying pink uggboots tomorrow and I don’t think that I can be held responsible if I one day breakfast (in a public establishment) whilst wearing pyjamas and pink uggboots.
pipstar @ 12:47 AM | link | Comments:
june 21, 2005
on toast [100 words]
Whenever I think of friends who are unable to eat specific foods I feel a little sad. I once sent a text message to Denni lamenting his refusal to eat mushrooms.
“Yo Denni, I just ate a fresh mushroom and felt very sad that you deny yourself the satisfaction.”
I feel true sorrow for people who are unable to eat specific foods because of allergies: they have no choice. All those people who can’t eat bread? It almost breaks my heart, specifically because they can’t eat toast.
Just think of the things you can put on toast! Such as mushrooms…
pipstar @ 11:54 PM | link | Comments:
june 21, 2005
this ain't no cat-blog
if there was any day to stay home and feel low, i reckon today would have to be a prime example. the overwhelming darkness of the winter equinox, a gale blowing and a smattering of hail were all there to accomodate the feeling of being whelmed.
it feels pathetic taking time off work because of depression, but considering how foul i was on monday (i can imagine waves of anxiety and depression and stayawayness flowing out of me in a black ripply way), it can only be better for my workmates as well as me.
i feel less like i've been punched in the guts now. more flat and not quite so inundated with images and memories as i try to sleep. just really, really apathetic.
though in between sleeping and sitting i did make some hommous and redyed my hair in preparation for being in a hair comp. and i sat with the cat and ate some porridge and too many biscuits and read.
though would this be a true blog without mention of a cat every now and then?
what really prompted me to write this entry was Sesame placing a paw between my lap and the computer... just to check if there was any space for him to fall asleep in.
really... how adorable is that?
pipstar @ 06:16 PM | link | Comments:
june 19, 2005
cocoon
I'm not sure about you, but when I read The Island of the Day Before by Umberto Eco I was left very confused. I have recollections that the voyage described in the book had something to do about tracking time and the international date line.
In order to make sure the time could be measured around the world a wounded dog was kept aboard the ship and at a specific time every day (at the ship's port of origin) Sympathy Powder would be applied to bandages used to treat the dog's wounds. Upon application of the powder the dog would feel pain, yelp and thereby announce the time at the home port.
[Forgive me if I don't explain this well. Hopefully this helps.]
I may have finished the book confused, but I always felt very sorry for the dog.
:::...
There are things that I've been talking about with a friend that have acted like Sympathy Powder on a wound and suddenly I'm confronted with issues that I've oh-so-carefully kept locked down for the last nine years. I'm meant to be looking after my friend, but by the end of the day I was the one crying and receiving hugs and care.
Quite frankly, I'd like to repackage the issues, the experiences and the illogical guilt and the stupid feeling that everything is my responsibility into a cardboard box and then burn it all and scatter the ashes in the hope that somehow I'd be magically cleansed and healed without having to deal with anything. But sadly, formative experiences cannot easily be removed from one's personal history; they shape your character and your preferences and your behaviour.
I am going to face this as well as I can. Immediately that’s being achieved by cocooning myself in new green and white polka-dot flannelette sheets and smelling ylang ylang, cinnamon, lavender and cinnamon soap. I wasn’t planning on spending Saturday night at home feeling overwhelmed, but luckily I recently made purchases that facilitate comfort.
The soap is amazing. I've used the patchouli and sandalwood, the peppermint, rosemary and fennel and the lemongrass, lavender and lemongum soaps before and they all smell beautiful. I chop each soap into half and hide the pieces amongst my stored clothing for a couple of months before I even think about washing with it.
Notice how I changed the topic? I've had nine years of practice, so I've become pretty good at avoiding the issue and making jokes or acting tough instead. I'm going to deal with this and speak to someone who'll help me disentangle the causes and effects and tell me how I'm meant to grow once I've become all unravelled. My friend and I just looked at the surface of this tangled slinky ring today and glory, I'm feeling exhausted.
It's time to hit the [spotted] sheets.
pipstar @ 01:54 AM | link | Comments:
june 13, 2005
le buddha de mon bureau
I'm beginning to suspect that one of the reasons that I started learning French again was so that I'd have something to procrastinate.
For example, before I could start working on mes devoirs (homework) for French class tonight, I just had to scan the Buddha picture in. Considering that I finish class at 8pm I would have had ample time to do that this evening, but instead it was of the utmost importance for me to crawl under my desk to reconnect my PC as my scanner doesn't work with my Powerbook.
I got distracted whilst under my desk working out where I could store my TV (which was temporarily stored underneath the desk). The immediate answer to this problem is to put the TV or whatelse I may want to store, inside the unused fireplace in my room. However, I need to block the chimney because of the potential for the odd drop of rain to fall onto the stuff kept in the fireplace. Also if I block the chimney the loss of heat from my room would be reduced.
So. What is the best way for me to block the chimney? At any point in the upcoming chillier months I may decide to flaunt rental obligations specifying no fires in the fireplaces, and may host an intimate soiree in my bedroom with a fire and red wine. So I need to be able to remove the chimney blocking device.
Back to the procrastination. Luckily, after reorganising and scanning and prior to blogging I did actually do my homework. I am still however, in the process of procrasinating washing the kitchen floor which will have to wait until after my French lesson and consumption of dinner.
pipstar @ 06:05 PM | link | Comments:
june 10, 2005
and a chair as well (i)
Amongst a love of architecture and graphic design, I have to admit to a small obsession with industrial design – furniture design more importantly – so I have given myself ample opportunity to think about chairs.
Often, I think chairs are overlooked and taken for granted by most people. Maybe that’s because there are so many incredibly hideous chairs in the world and people haven’t had the opportunities to look at or more importantly, sit in, a beautifully designed chair.
There are two key moments that I mark as being leaps forward in my love of the chair. The first was the chance viewing of a short documentary about Grant and Mary Featherston, Australia’s own chair-designing duo. I can remember being amazed that Australians had designed such beautiful objects: obviously I was going through a significant phase of cultural cringe. The second moment was the decision to read a history of the Bauhaus – finally I understood how design could be used as not only a marker of cultural change, but also as a tool in shaping the way societies work.
One of my most vivid memories from six months travelling in Europe involves arriving at the Bauhaus museum in Berlin only to discover that I was there at right time for an exhibition all about furniture by designers from the Bauhaus. I actually squealed out loud when I found out.
There was one thing that annoyed me about that exhibition - you weren’t allowed to use the furniture. Obviously the pieces on display were historical artefacts, but surely, wouldn’t encouraging people to interact with the objects serve some greater purpose? I’d have been much happier if key pieces had been recreated to allow attendees the pleasure of using the furniture and discovering the design benefits themselves.
I have to admit though, it took years of looking at pictures in magazines and gazing through the windows of Herman Miller distributors, before I actually let myself sit in a chair – you know, one of the famous chair designs. The names Wegner, Featherston, Eames and Jacobsen conjure up images of practical yet beautifully designed and henceforth overpriced chairs that sadly, are out of my immediate budget.
However, a couple of weeks ago I entered a store dealing in chairs by such design luminaries and I sat in one of moulded plywood LCW chairs by Charles and Ray Eames. All my previous awareness of what I believe to be design, my understanding of the meshing of form and function was only then made true. Not only was the chair beautiful, the angles and curves carefully considered and chosen, but it was also an incredibly comfortable chair. It fulfilled its purpose – to be something to sit on - a thousand fold.
Afraid that I’d suddenly max out my credit card then and there – I got off the chair forthwith and followed my co-workers onto lunch.
pipstar @ 12:56 AM | link | Comments: **
june 08, 2005
the future is now.
Every now and then I get freaked out when I realise that I Live In The Future.
For example, I have a wireless telephone which I keep in my pocket. It has a camera and it plays music from files.
And now using my fancy "Portable Computer" I can wander around the house and receive information from around the world using this crazy thing called the internet.
If I wanted to I could write this blog entry whilst sitting on the toilet♥. Seriously, the future is now!
Though there's one problem with this so called "future" that immediately springs to mind... Why do I have a cold and no magical futuristic cure?
♥ I promise that I wouldn't actually do that, but once we got our cool new wireless broadband setup I did go and stand in the bathroom and watch files get downloaded.
© 2002 - 2007 Pippa Buchanan