the ride/joan as police woman

Does anyone remember the early/mid 90's band The Dambuilders? Well they had a violinist. Her name was Joan Wasser. Early 00's she toured a lot with Antony & the Johnsons and Rufus Wainwright. They kick serious booty and I love them. She put out a solo album this year under the name Joan as Police Woman. It kicks some serious booty. It's booty-ful. Her website says "beauty is the new punk rock". I didn't get it at first, but now I do.

Finally we sisters caught up. A Sunday photo stroll around Bardon and Paddington (with my new camera which is pictured being held so childlike by my sissypants above). A number of vintage clothing and antique shops where you automatically wished you had money to throw around (then you remember you just threw money at a digital SLR camera, then you hear your Dad shouting "YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE, DINGY!") and a lithe body to put those fetching clothes upon. A delicious iced mocha at the Java Lounge. Plus an early evening changing my flat tyre. Which the above photograph was taken just after.

why doesn't whitney have a greatest hits record?

Yes, I:

a) know enough to know Whitney Houston doesn't have a greatest hits record.

b) did a search for performances by her on YouTube.

poor boy, minor key/m. ward

Poor Boy, Minor Key has this beautiful rambling old rag time piano introduction that leans into a sweetly distorted guitar line and M. Ward's incomparable warble. Then before you know it the song is over. I love this song so much and I actually wish it never ended. Or at least that it was over three and a half minutes long. Sometimes I feel that way about Sonic Youth songs too.

I had such a super weekend. It feels like Tuesday today. Yet the week has been long. So I'm writing about my weekend just when another is about to start. Oh well.

On Saturday night I fell in love (with The Globe Theatre and) all over again with Mr Darren Hanlon and his considerable wit and charm. Not only does he have considerable wit and charm he is also a genius wordsmith and the writer of a growing catalogue of melodic gems. Don't ask me to pick a favourite. I really can't. I also really believe that, as much as I would go to see Dazza if he was singing a cappella on a street corner, part of the appeal of seeing him play live is in seeing and hearing Bree play those drums. The girl can ROCK. It's not just me with a crush on Bree, let's admit it.

On Sunday night I spent an evening with an old friend. A friend that I miss as soon as I see her. She was here for the weekend for a course and had Sunday night free. We wandered the City and talked about music and work and fear and life and feeling insane and not knowing and jumped in my car to head for the Palace Centro where I'd just found out that all tickets were $7 during October and just made it for a screening of Little Miss Sunshine. Perfect. Next time I have popcorn I'm trying that tongue thing. Then we shared these insanely good vegetable fritters and a roasted vegetable salad and peppermint tea for dinner at this kind of fancy place across from the cinema. Then we found a wall covered in stencil art and took stacks of photos. Then she mentioned that she's been looking everywhere for a CD and wondered if I knew of it. That she'd heard some of it in a bookshop and had asked who the artist was. "It's was someone called M. Ward,"she said, "the title is something about 'Vincent'?" "THE TRANSFIGURATION OF VINCENT!" I exclaimed. "I knew you'd know it!" she laughed. I couldn't let her search unsuccessfully any longer for such a great album. So I took her to see my house and to give her the CD. Which means I now have a visitor Polaroid of her holding the CD. I loved the whole evening. The best part was it didn't feel strange at all for her to be in Brisbane. It felt ordinary. The kind of ordinary that is beautiful.

I've been slowly working my way through the entire series of Six Feet Under and tonight I watched the last episode ever. The smallest things were making me weep. Ruth asking David if he wants his cereal in his yellow bowl. Out of context that sounds ridiculous and maybe it is. It was the subversive nature of the show that sucked me in. It's like nothing else that's been on TV. Intense. Confronting. Confusing. Distressing. Beautiful. Sad. I mean really, it is set in a family owned funeral home and every episode starts with the death of someone who is taken care of by Fisher & Sons.

In the middle of watching the final episode my phone rang. It was AC Nielsen. I was asked a number of questions about how serious I think the effects of Global Warming are and how I rate the response of the Government to it. It felt kind of liberating saying the words "extremely serious" and "disapprove" as if my opinion in a poll would sway the Government in some way to ACT.

Then they started asking me about what types of beverages I drink...