A chilling reminder

I was born five years after Tropical Cyclone Tracy and the almost complete obliteration of what was Darwin. It's one of those things, a haunting thought that wind and rain could be so severe, that people would lose houses, lives, everything.
In the Cyclone Tracy exhibit at the Darwin museum, visitors can walk in to a small, dark room, and listen to a recording of the cyclone made by a priest, who took shelter after attending a midnight mass service. I found this at once fascinating and heart-wrenching, the sound of the wind, like a wild animal with no care or concern for anything in its path, is more terrifying to me than any mythical or human threat. Its absence of reason or ration; it's just wind, but it's so much more. 

Th above was a beginning of a blog post that I'd written on the eve of Cyclone Yasi's impending, and inevitable, encounter with the coast of North Queensland.
It seems a little pithy and trite now, but still... cyclones scare the shit out of me. I was quite taken by the contrast between the way that (for example) Yasi was reported compared to other cyclones in history. Incidentally, I seem to compare all to Tracy, probably because she is, to me, a spectre that looms large in the history of Australia, and represents the kind of cold, emotionless destruction that has such deeply personal impacts on those that withstand it.
Farmers, whose resilience and strength was tested after Cyclone Larry's decimation of banana crops, face once again the prospect of rebuilding their livelihood. I can only imagine the despair felt at the sight of a flattened banana plantation crop; knowing that your family's income and wellbeing depend on something that has been all but obliterated by something that seems so casually volatile as a bit of wind.
Though it's not just 'a bit of wind'.
It's so much more - a wild animal, a cold, unreasoning and uncaring monster...

Frankie says...

via red bubble

Courtesy of my mate Damien Mason, a great artist and wearer of fine hats.

a word on fashion, Katharine Hepburn and other rantings of a loony

from this cool site



 I have long adored Yves Saint Laurent's Le Smoking, and indeed the concept of women in men's suits in general. Marlene Dietrich and Katherine Hepburn were great icons for this... the embodiment of something so strong and sexual; yet subtle - its sexuality lies not in what it exposes (buckets of flesh spilling out over and under teeny-tiny clothing) but for what it doesn't expose...and reveals so much of its wearer at the same time.

The sophisticated, self-confident woman cuts a sleek figure amongst the flounces and frills of other women's formal attire, a hint at a sense of the wearer's practicality as well as individuality, perhaps. And indeed, I feel the woman's suit is both daring and conformist; and represents how I feel about Katharine Hepburn (for example) and women who step beyond the boundaries of what and how women should behave, to what she felt was appropriate - at times much more like a man and less like a 'lady' (and all of the rigidly controlled and monitored appropriate behaviours that accompanied this onerous title). Indeed, Katharine seemed to never limit herself by the boundaries ascribed to her gender; stating

"I never realized until lately that women were supposed to be the inferior sex"

The simplicity...my friend pointed out to me that the suit, and particularly, in this wonderful Helmut Newton photograph, is very asexual - I would venture to add that it appears at once erotic and a-sexual, or, 'I am as sexual as I choose to be' and further, 'I define the terms of my own sexuality'. A hint of bi-sexualism, loaded with a cautiousness that one should never presume. As Suzanne Vega sang,

"don't give away the goods too soon is what she might have told me"

And Katharine Hepburn. Oh. Katharine Hepburn. She wore men's suits because they were 'comfortable' -inadvertently, (perhaps?) creating a trend of women wearing pants when it was otherwise inappropriate to do so. I don't think she did it to be cutting edge, trend-setting and unique, I think it had more to do with her abject practicality; and I suppose this is part of the beauty of Le Smoking, a suit  - so commonplace and practical, yet so taboo and therefore so sexual.

"Being a housewife and a mother is the biggest job in the world, but if it doesn't interest you, don't do it - I would have made a terrible mother"                             

Katharine Hepburn

shhhh....!

pssst!

Don't say a freaking word... my neighbour is currently out the front of my house trimming back the bits of the wattle that hang in front of the driveway.

shhhhh..

While clearly this is an indication that the poor dude has FAR too much time and energy on his hands (and I would argue, energy best used for crochet) I dare not go out there in case he gets embarrassed and stops. Boo Radley style. Particularly if Boo Radley has a penchant for pruning other people's bushes. Erm. And not in the way that your mind jumped to (though it occurs to me that it was this false-assumption that formed part of the premise for the novel... but nevermind).

Anyway.

I am busy making baby blankets for the new baby-additions to my group of friends. Unfortunately (somewhat) this requires commitment, and in some capacity, planning, as I am to get these finished prior to the kid's 18th birthday.

So one of the blankets I am making in a disgusting, fuzzy soft baby yarn. I don't mean disgusting as in it is vomit coloured, or some such, just that I am a great devotee of the good ol' 8ply, and fuzzy, boucle, bubbly, furry, feathery and otherwise fancy yarns irritate me a little.
So while this blanket looks very sweet and soft, and feels lovely to crochet with, I am not entirely satisfied with it, in as much that I feel like it is not something I would actually make, had the yarn not been $1 a ball at kmart. Which, as it happens, also makes me sound like a complete tight arse.

Meh.

He just raked the dead leaves up. Not just from the front, but the side as well.

Subsequently, this is the most relevant picture I could find:

from epic wtfs...which is how I'm feeling

Thanks, neighbour!

cuuuute

Kip and Lil after a walk

  

Kip decided to take herself for a walk this morning. In to a neighbouring yard, and then shed. Fortunately, we were walking on a nearby oval at the time, so it wasn't the immediate neighbours (though she has walked herself over there previously).

Still. She's a funny dog.

Hence the need for a cute photo.

And another. As a matter of fact, Kip is modelling a Norwegian Forest Hat, as crocheted for a friend's Norwegian Forest Cat. Needless to say, Kip is such an awesome, hardcore dog that she immediately made the hat look like a pimp hat. But that's probably got a lot to do with the fact that she is a pimp dawg.

The pattern is from a hilarious blog called Spindles and Spices where the blogger heartily endorses knitted furmiliation of her pets. Which I think is only  reasonable, considering the amount of piss, shit and barking I have to deal with.

Did I mention I'm completely uncoordinated?

Because I am.

I fell off my bike yesterday while trying to explain to N that he needed to adjust the seat lower. I'm not accustomed to riding a 'girl's bike' (you know, with the funny frame that is supposed to be easier to get on and off of) so I have a tendency to swing my leg over the back over the bike...which is problematic when your feet don't quite reach the ground.
So I stacked it while trying to ride barefoot on the gravel driveway. I imagine it was hilarious to watch, but being the bad sport that I am, I went inside to go and wash the dirt and rocks out of my leg before going and doing something decidedly less dangerous, such as crochet.

However, I had also cut my thumb open (quite severely) with a very-sharp-knife, so there was some serious self-pity happening, as well as doubts about my ability to crochet without, I don't know, stabbing myself in the jejunum and then vomiting all over the bed or something.

Indeed, my inability to walk like a normal human being has left my dog trying to distance himself from me (if you could read his doggy thoughts, it would have been something along the lines of, "I'm not with her. I just happened to stop and stand here. With a lead. Yeah. Just walking. Alone."

Awesome.
Thanks dog.

In any event, today was relatively injury free.
Relatively.

I was in the mid-aisle daze I customarily find myself in when visiting the supermarket, trying desperately to ignore the Tom Jones playing over the speakers. It wasn't classy Tom Jones per 'what's new pussycat', but rather, croony, irritating, shut-the-fuck-up-before-I-forcibly-insert-this-toothbrush-in-my-eardrums Tom Jones. Followed by Tom Jones singing the theme from Thunderballs (the James Bond film)  which I have since learned was not a mondegreen, but indeed, the actual factual lyrics to the song, and the title of a Bond film.

Clearly, the term 'thunderballs' meant something different then, to what it does now.

Because in my brain, I envisioned something akin to Sean Connery in Zardoz:



linkie, again

More so than Sean Connery in the actual thunderballs movie:

linkies to picture


And look, he even has one of those cute little old timey jetpacks! Cute, no?

In other completely unrelated news, and really, because I like long  blog posts - this is as great as, if not greater than, the crochet Betty White doll pattern. Even with her sensible brown chinos and blue chambray shirt.

from Sandra Eterovic's blog

Awesome, no? Awesome on so many counts. Because (a) it's true and (b) it is yet another fine example of the awesome versatility of the fibre arts. Even if this particular vest is knitted (did I confess a bias? I really do prefer crochet) I love this more than I love my shoelaces. And really, what have shoelaces done for me recently? I mean, apart from keeping my shoes from falling off my feet, and that is CERTAINLY something a lovely little scrap of yarn could do most adequately. Maguyver style.

costume parties and circus themes

image via ffffound

We have a costume party on NYE to go to. This is a regular event; we've been going to a particular group of friends' NYE costume parties for a few years running and it's generally whole lot of fun.
However, this year the theme is circus, or big top, or something along those lines, and I am struggling for costume ideas. Seriously. Struggling.

Well, struggling is perhaps an exaggeration - it's just that all of the ideas I've had so far are kinda lame. Like, really, the whole 'sexy ringmaster' thing (one of my most frequent google hits) is kinda passe. I mean, fine if you're like, a playboy bunny (I guess?!?) but I'm not, and more to the point, an awesome costume >>>> revealing inappropriate amounts of flesh.

Meh.

At any rate, I think some serious op shopping is in order.

some totally awesome things that are really boosting the awesome level of my life from regular to EXTREME

Do you remember those bushfire danger scales? The kind that your parents never seemed to notice, but you would always see, and then register, seconds later, "OMFG THE BUSHFIRE DANGER TODAY IS HIGH AND WE ARE DRIVING IN TO THE BUSH"



from F~R~E~D'S flickr

 I could never figure out who adjusted those things. Was it automatic? Was this some kind of amazing computerised sentient sign, per Short Circuit? You know, "fire sign is aliiive!" ... and would this explain why I keep mistyping 'sign' as 'sigh'?

So, imagine now that this is in fact a scale of AWESOME and the point of reference is things in my life. Well, recent events have contributed to this scale being tipped from HIGH to EXTREME.

Obviously, you're wondering why. It's eating away at you, the niggling, anxious feeling... why is katey's life so awesome? Was it me? Was it something I said or did? Was it the one armed man?

Likely all of the above, but WHAT, WHAT IS IT?!

Firstly, I endured another end-of-year dance concert. This makes me sound like a horrendously bad parent who cares not for her daughters' talents, but this isn't necessarily the case, it's more so that I really couldn't give a flying fuck about the hundreds of other kids there. Selfish? Probably? But factually correct? Bingo. I'm fairly confident I'm not alone here, although there are some who look at my boredom and complete intolerance of this claptrap as being selfish and inconsiderate. And it likely is, but meh. Clearly I'm far too self absorbed to care about that.
Anyway, my daughters were awesome, hilariously awesome. Y had her skirt pulled nerdishly high in one of the dance pieces, and G pulled blue steel the entire concert... and the concert photos. I was trying so hard to contain my laughter, I almost swallowed my tongue.

Besides, it's not her fault she's really really ridiculously good looking  (from here)

So, other awesome things.

Ricky Martin.


I know right?

I've lost my mind!
Who knew?!
Apparently, Katey is a secret closet Ricky Martin fan!

Well, appalling music aside (World Cup Songs not included) Ricky Martin is a single dad of twins who DOESN'T EVEN HIRE A NANNY. According to the world of celebrity, twins are the new singleton, but they're impossible to manage without the aid of an entourage of at LEAST 30 staff working round the clock to make sure you don't ever have to come in to contact with them until they're cute enough to walk and ask for dead parrots for pets (per Angelina Jolie and one of her many child-like accessories) with the exclusion of the occasional paparazzi shoot just to confirm that those children are actually real, and well, unlike their celebrity parents, they're being fed.

So yeah. I'm still no fan of his music, and while I know that having twins via surrogacy is the new black, I still think that this is all quite cool. Not-so-secretly-gay single dad of twins... what's not to love?

linkiepoos

Of course, I often like to lay around in the sand with my shirt off looking all pensive and cool and hot while my kids sit there looking all fat and adorable. It's a twin thing. Yeah.

NOW, third awesome thing that I have identified, is an awesome drawing my cousin drew of me, Capn Katey, and her first mate Lil. Arrrr.



Linkie goodness to site of awesomeness



Awesome, no? My cousin drew it, inspired by my mindless blathering in a previous post about my penchant for carrying my dog around on my shoulder and pretending to be a pirate.

Lily makes a most exemplary shoulder companion. Quite possibly because her other occupations include; a university professor - with tenure (Professor Lilbury), a barman (Barkeep), Lily-the-heinous-bitch (when being pestered by our other small dog, Kip) etc.

Why yes, I am in dire need of a life.