Kitchen Snobbery

My recent dietary revolution has left me irritable, tired and longing for the deliciousness of a symphony of E-numbers deep fried in delicious batter.  Then wrapped in pastry. And maybe battered again.  Then dipped in chocolate. 

What my diet has done is left me a finer appreciation of the food I love.  With countless celebrity chefs and the popularity of Masterchef, you may think that this is some fine sort of fancy food, fit to grace the television screens and appear on the glossy pages of a $49 cookbook. 

You would be mistaken.  Give me fish fingers, meat pies, steak, mashed potato and oh sweet lord give me some chicken nuggets any day of the week.  

They may be processed, refined and full of nastys, but they are delicious and I have rather come to despise the food snobs who look down their nose at me when they see me heartily devouring a cheeseburger. 

There was time long ago, when fish fingers and chips were considered a treat.  So please leave me be to enjoy my crumbed frozen meat in peace.

Never Fear Being Vulgar, Only Boring

Dedicated readers will know too well that I am not really into feminism, not into girls nights out and in general prefer the company and skills of the opposite sex (for example, you will not catch my hair in the hands of a female hairdresser again).

But, I have recently found a women who I wish to aspire to.

Diana Vreeland was quite a remarkable woman. She was introduced to His Majesty King George V and Queen Mary, made knickers for Wallis Simpson, supposedly invented the word pizazz, was a dancing girl in a London club, “discovered” Lauren Bacall and was an occasional style advisor to Jackie Kennedy.

Born in Paris and later lived in London and New York (Sigh, lucky bitch), she threw fabulous parties attended by fabulous people.  A columnist for Harpers Bazzar, she later became editor-in-chief at Vogue.

This is my sort of woman. She hated casual dress, “loathed narcissim but approved of vanity” and thought that blue jeans were “the most beautiful things since the Gondola”.  She  rarely made it to her office before noon and was responsible for brining animal prints in style.  To top it off, she wore wore Chanel No. 5.

Her “Why Don’t You” column that ran in Harper’s Bazzar is full of whimsy, whit and words that make me sigh -

Why Don’t You… paint a map of the world on all four walls of your boys’ nursery so they won’t grow up with a provincial point of view?

Why Don’t You… have an elk-hide trunk for the back of your car? Hermès of Paris will make this.

Why Don’t You… wash your blond child’s hair with dead champagne as they do in France?

She inspires me.  She left a mark on the world.  I hope, that in 80 years, some starry eyed twenty something year old sits down and writes about me, like I write about her.

From Suffrage to Donkey Vote

Last Saturday night I found myself glued to the television as I watched Election 2010: The Nations Decides on Channel 9.

I’ve never been overly interested in politics, but I had the feeling that this election was an important one and the banter between our former treasurer, two morning show hosts a political expert and some random wannabe’s was highly entertaining.

But it got me to thinking. We are actually incredibly privileged to live in a country where we can hold a democratic election. We are lucky to have the right to vote.

In the UK Roman Catholics were denied the right to vote until 1829.  As late as the 19th Century only the wealthy were allowed to vote in many Western democracies.

African-Americans fought vehemently during the Civil Rights movement for their right to vote. Australian Aboriginals were not allowed to vote until 1968.   

In the late 19th and early 20th Centuries, women the world over campaigned for suffrage.   3,000 women took to the streets of London in 1907 to advocate their cause.  A cause which some of these women died for. 

And today, in 2010 it astounds me there are people that don’t bother enrolling to vote, that people would cast a donkey vote or informal vote in protest.  That in countries such as the USA and the UK, voting is not compulsory. 

For hundreds of years people of all backgrounds protested the right to vote. And for them, I am proud to have been able to cast my vote in Australia’s Federal Election last Saturday.

Hot Winters Day

Today is a hot August day.  Which for us Antipodes is unusual.  It's been quite a chilly winter for us here in Queensland, and then BAM all of a sudden it's 27 degrees. 

Needless to say I am not coping well, and sitting at my desk with a fan blowing cool air onto my slightly sweaty skin. 

However this change of atmosphere has effected myself and my colleagues (well some of them) in another way entirely.  It has made it it feel like the last day of school.  We all know that we have to be here, but the sunshine is calling and why aren't we all in the garden having a water-bomb fight or drinking on the verandah of a pleasant country pub? 

The weather, clearly has gone to my head.  I'm daydreaming of Pimms and lemonade, floral dresses and fabulous hats.  Of swimming in the clear blue sea and admiring all the young men who deem it appropriate to walk around practically naked (not that this young lady is complaining).  

Silly really, seeing as I know that for me, Summer means sweat, sleepless nights, sunburn, the constant search for shade and sitting in a dark room with the air-con blazing in my knickers watching daytime telly. 

An Election Commentary

For those of you not on Australian soil, you may not be aware that we are currently at the peak of election campaigning with this somewhat-great nation of ours to elect a new Prime Minister on Saturday. 

I have never been one for talking about my political opinions.  And I find it interesting, that so many people, particularly in the workplace are so willing to share there adamant political and religious beliefs. I tend to keep my mouth shut during these conversations.

My political views have always been that people vote for two reasons - one because they have voted for that particular party there entire life, or they are voting for the lesser of two evils. 

I care not how much money you are giving to schools, or this broadband network.  My internet works just fine thank you.  As a single person, finally somewhat financially independent and childless, none of these election promises matter to me.   Giving more money to schools? Great, more taxes coming out of my pocket so someone else's offspring can have access to a computer.  Millions of us got a perfectly good education without computers thank you very much.  

Then there is the minor political parties saying that legitimising gay marriage is the equivalent of child abuse.  Statements like this are not likely to swing my vote.  

And don't give me any of that feminist bullshit.  I will not, ever, vote someone into power because they are a woman.  Having breasts is not a legitimate reason to run the country, otherwise Kim Beasley would have been in power long ago.   A legitimate reason to vote for someone is because they are capable of running the country without pissing off other, more powerful world leaders or sending us broke.  

So who will I be voting for in Saturday general election?  That I'm afraid is between me and, well me!  

Facebook: Taking the Mystery out of the World

I’m coming up shortly to my ten year high school reunion.  An ominous affair which I am not sure whether or not I am looking forward to.

The thing is.. with Facebook “re-connecting” people from your past, I know what 75% of my former class mates are up to, or at least what they want the world to think they are up to, via status updates and photos.

Today I ran into one of my good friends from high school, and over the years had completely lost contact with.  I knew immediately that the attractive blonde was his wife, I knew that he had a fabulous job.. and I knew it all from facebook. 

In fact, I know who got married, had kids, got boob jobs, got engaged, moved away etc etc because Facebook tells me on a daily basis.

The only people that I am curious as to what happened to them in the past 10 years is the people who are not on Facebook, and who are also therefore are unlikely to attend the organised-on-Facebook reunion. 

Has our addiction to social networking taken all the mystery out of the world?  In the days before the internet one could day-dream about ex-lovers being utterly miserable, or the mean girl from school getting fat.  Now, through Facebook, I am aware of the truth that your ex is happily shacked up with his new family he left you for, rather than suffering a severe case of genital warts and premature balding.  I also know that the mean girls from my past are all looking obscenely fabulous, which irks me greatly. 

Whilst I’d never be one to ditch my social networking (am far too addicted), I dream of the day when I run into someone from my past, and can be honestly surprised at their news.

The Downside of Exercise?

In my 26.5 years I have found precisely two forms of exercise that I enjoy.

One, involves music, and moving my feet and getting sweaty to the beats of salsa, merengue, forro, bachata, gaffeira and samba, or wrapping my legs around a pole and swinging. 

The second involves wrapping my legs around a different sort of pole, and also getting rather sweaty. 

After a year of near-celibacy (apart from 3 delicious encounters) and a back injury that put an end to any dreams I had of becoming an exotic dancer I’ve decided to do something about my now flabby thighs and muffin top by returning to the latin scene with Zumba.

Tonight I went with Lady Smash and it was brilliant. Exhausting but brilliant. However, whilst I am delighted at the prospect of having cellulite free legs and a non-wobbly bottom, I have a very deep fear.

I am terrified that I will lose my boobs.  The girls, since their sudden appearance in 2005, have been very good to me, assisting me in getting free mechanic repairs on my car, free drinks, service at crowded bars and intimidating my colleagues.  They were, I thought, my meal ticket to the good life.

What happens if all this exercise shrinks them back to their early twenties state? I’ll lose my ego-boost that I get from having the girls proudly on display.  Because let’s face it, it’s always the FIRST place you lose weight.  I think it would be a truly wonderful thing if you could tell your body… “Please take the muffin top from my waist and transplant it evenly onto my right and left breasts, thank you”.

So readers, you may think I’m silly, but it would be like losing part of your personality.

I suppose the fantastic legs will make up for it in the end. And if the worst happens… well boob job it is.

Glasses Part 2

Because, deep down I’m an exhibitionist..

xxxx

A Letter to Ms Bradshaw

Dear Carrie Bradshaw,

I’d like to ask you a very important question. 

What on earth makes you a role model for women?  I never watched SATC first time round, so always figured you deserved your cult status. Now, 3 seasons and 2 movies in I just don’t get it.

Your selfish, rude, whiny, your men can never please you and you, a grown woman, can’t cook.  What sort of woman can’t freaking even cook spaghetti?

Not only that, and this is the important thing – I have zero respect for a woman that actively pursues another womans partner.

Having been cheated on myself, and knowing that the woman in question knew all about my existence, I think it is one of the most disgusting things a person can do.  And then YOU, you cheating whore, complain when you get your comeuppance?

So despite your fabulous shoes and your so-called wonderful life all I can say is shame on you.  And shame on the women around the world who think you are the ultimate woman. 

I sincerely hope that you are better behaved in Season 4.

Kind Regards,

Disgruntled Viewer

Glasses

Today I took another inevitable step into adulthood.

I have my very first pair of glasses.

Having squinted at my computer screen for the last few years I went and got my eyes tested. The optometrist was a rather handsome young man who I flirted with very badly until I had to concentrate on what he was saying rather then the image of him having his way with me in the optometrist's chair. 

One thing led to another and I got a prescription for some computer and reading spectacles.  They are, according to my best mate Hawkeye, “thick and geeky and cool looking”. 

I’m rather pleased with them and with them on I feel I can write highly intellectual prose that will delight all.  Almost like I have a secret identity. 

Now.. to work out what my superpower will be…

Comebacks for the Inevitable Question

I recently attended a 70th birthday and caught up with lots of old friends.

Some of the guests, I had not seen for more than 5 years, and the first question they inevitably asked me was “Got yourself a man yet”.

As I, slightly disheartened, asked my father (that’s right – I went to a party on a Friday night with my parents) to take me home, it occurred to me that perhaps I should think up a variety of excuses to use in such situations.  I mean, I could say “Oh, I’m not really looking/haven’t found the right one” however this makes for very dull conversation.

So I did some googling and found some that I think are rather good which I encourage all single people to use when there nosy friends start interrogating…

“Why limit myself to be dissatisfied with one when I could be dissatisfied with infinite variety”

“Married people are not superior people – even Frankenstine got married”

“Are you getting divorced yet?”

“I’m not done boozing and whoring”

And my absolute favourite…

“If you had a dollar for every time someone asked me that you may be able to afford me”

And whilst I do grumble that people were more interested in my love life then my career, studies or general state of well being, it was a pleasant evening all round, and it was nice to see that even after all this time, some things and people will never change.