I love food. My friend Amy loves food. Which is why it isn’t unusual for me to write about food… again. And certainly, not the last. I was flipping through the Melbourne magazine last night, pondering about my future and how bored I was with what I was doing. And then I remembered my recent trip to New York City. It was a particular beautiful Sunday, we spent the day at flea markets, walking up and down Broadway. We finally ended up back at San’s place in Chinatown. Tucked away round the corner of her street, on Pell Street, was perhaps the best kept eating secret in New York City (or at least in Chinatown). It was a restaurant called Joe Shanghai, apparently serving the best soup dumplings - little doughy beggars’ purses filled with pork or crab meat plus soup (the soup is inside the dumplings).
I remember waiting outside the restaurant that evening, after having put our names down for a table. There was already a queue forming when we arrived, and there were no signs of stopping. When the manager of the restaurant (a small, chinese/American lady) yelled “Table 22!!” the three of us yelled in unison and with gusto “Yes!!!” – the lady looked shocked and retorted “Just checking”. With everyone staring us, we burst out laughing. Ahh… it was such a good day – filled with laughter, new experiences. The weather was balmy and we were hungry for special dumplings we had never tasted.
The thing I realised whilst in Ne w York was that San also loved to eat. I mean, I always knew she loved to eat, but she actually does know the good hiding spots, which, if I didn’t have her there, would not know about. The other thing I realised whilst in New York was that the food I most enjoyed eating and that I remembered most was with the people I was sharing it with - from my youth, coming home from school and eating my mum’s home cooking, anything from fried rice, yee mee (dried egg noodles with egg sauce), to plain old steam eggs with rice. So here is my tribute thus far, to all the food and people that have influenced me to this date.
Firstly, to my sister who is a great cook herself, not just in skills, but also in her attentiveness to detail, her passion and most of all, her enthusiasm. She is my walking food dictionary and I always know she has an answer for me. It is only in recent years I realise that a lot of things she’s told me when I was younger made a lot of sense. Either that or I am extremely slow. Maybe a bit of both :) Also to all the restaurants she & Marky took me to, not afraid that I might have embarrassed them. The Provincial Hotel (in Fitzroy) was the one place I was in awe with for many of my university years. Eating éclairs at Brunetti’s the first time I came to Melbourne in 1996 – it was like cake, only with very little pastry and a lot of cream. YUM!!
The discovery of Jamie Oliver really got the ball rolling for me though. There were several years of Jamie fever around Melbourne, and especially among my friends. My mindset before was that cooking was all about hard work, and Jamie Oliver made it look sexy and very, very easy! Plus the fact that Carrie bought me his cookbook (so that I could cook for her!) for my 21st, I haven’t looked back since.
Which brings me to my next person – Carrie. For helping me discover that potatoes were yummy done in whatever way (steamed, baked, fried) but also made you extremely fat!! Wintermelon soups, red bean soups, Carrie was all for soups. I used to explain to her that nothing compared to my mum’s soup, but it didn’t stop her. She constantly told me it was good for my skin etc. etc. etc. Kim for discovering Yu-U, Honky-tonks and all the laneway holes and for teaching me that eating could be done stylishly. Amanda for all her Boxhill stories, and that amazing fish contraption (a claw-like tripod that removes the fish from the steamer, whole!). That is so cool! Funny the things I remember.
Amy for all the best coffees I’ve ever drunk; in style, in boredom, in contemplation, in periods of stress. The crab bisque at Tiamo 2 (salivating Homer Simpson style), and all her foodie adventures which I read with intense fascination. Which brings me to my beloved – when I met him, he had already eaten and drunk at half the places in Melbourne (present and past) and various other continents. But his continuing search for great food/wine and passionate people hasn’t stopped. It could also be the bottomless pit he has for a stomach, but that’s something different altogether! With him, I really learnt how to relish the beauty of food (and beer, and wine). Perhaps because he has one thing in common with all the people I’ve mentioned so far, he’s got enthusiasm, a lot of it! He will eat anything put in front of him once, before deciding it isn’t his ‘cup of tea’. There is such joy on his face when he eats chicken feet, or foie gras, or curry laksa, or the instant noodle (Maggi mee) I cook for him on our tired nights. Perhaps that is why I veered towards him eventually. It was my stomach leading the way.
So there they are, for the moment. I’m all typed-out, and funnily enough, slightly peckish. I think there is still a slice of swiss roll in the kitchen.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Monday, September 5, 2005
The piece we call marriage...
http://whoshouldimarry.blogspot.com
My friend Melissa (surprise! surprise!) wrote the above, and Mel, I just have to say “I hear you”! It is such a juicy topic (and much as many girls/women/friends) hate to admit it, have had a huge discussion about it once/twice/thrice in all their mid-20-something years.
First of all, I applaud Mel’s mum for asking her the “hard” question. Yes, the question of marriage in the 21st century has become the ‘sex’ taboo of the previous century. Everyone poo-poos about it, and usually it’s the three schools of thoughts. Those who believe in it, those who don’t, and those who think they don’t. I am all three. I would also like to add that my mother doesn’t know how to operate a computer, so thank god for that! She will never read this piece I am about to write.
Being brought up to believe I can achieve/have anything I want in life (thanks ma & pa), I myself don’t believe that marriage is the institution of exclusivity, nor is it the institution that is the be-all and end-all of your life. Those who do believe a hundred per cent in marriage, please stop reading now. I do not mean to offend, but since it is my blog, you can choose to bugger off.
First of all, marriage is a union of two great people who happen to decide (for the moment) they want to be together for possibly the rest of their lives. What happens if seventeen years (or seventeen months) down the track, you realised you’ve made a real boo-boo? Get divorced, I hear some people say! If I don’t believe so much in marriage, I definitely don’t believe in divorce. It’s a cop-out, an easy solution, an option. So you see, I have painted myself into a corner. It’s a catch-26.
If I had to point a finger at the ultimate root of my dilemma, it is the ability to choose. Peers of our generation (plus/minus a couple) have the choice. And I am all for choice. Only not for myself. If I was to be married, I have to know that that is forever. But what is forever? A close friend once said to me in anger that “You never know how long forever is”. And I have never used that word to anybody since. I don’t intend to. And then there is the idea of “the man of your dreams”. You know what though… the dream is in your head. The person you sleep next to every night can be the dream, if you choose him/her to be. So, that’s one problem solved. I can hear the ones reading this now “Where did she get off being so cynical?”. The question you should be asking is “How does she know I’m thinking this?”. Actually, I don’t – just being a smart arse.
Truth is, I am hopeful! I am hopeful there is going to be a day when I wake up and realise that I love the man next to me enough to know I want to spend a lot of my life with him. And I have people in my life everyday to tell me that I will find that one day. Both of my sisters, different as night and day have wonderful husbands. One found hers early in her 20s (though she always thought she might never get married), the other rummaged for a bit, and found hers too. I am patiently waiting for my turn. The point is to stop looking! Because if you always look ahead, you always miss the great ones right in front of you.
I refuse to be told my biological clock will start ticking soon, that I am to be compared to a use-by tinned pineapple. I also refuse to be pigeon-holed by married women who look at the single ones and have the you-poor-thing-you-aren’t-married look. Whilst saying this, I also have many, many wonderful married friends (who are so sane, and so right!!! Which is so contradictory, considering where I’m coming from). I sound sooooo Sex and the City-esque (sorry!!!!). Having someone to share your life with is double the fun, but fun all by yourself is good fun too. And not to mention great friends. So don’t despair, my beautiful friends – the next time your mothers come up to you and harass you about getting married, tell them you can’t help it that you haven’t made up your mind yet.
My friend Melissa (surprise! surprise!) wrote the above, and Mel, I just have to say “I hear you”! It is such a juicy topic (and much as many girls/women/friends) hate to admit it, have had a huge discussion about it once/twice/thrice in all their mid-20-something years.
First of all, I applaud Mel’s mum for asking her the “hard” question. Yes, the question of marriage in the 21st century has become the ‘sex’ taboo of the previous century. Everyone poo-poos about it, and usually it’s the three schools of thoughts. Those who believe in it, those who don’t, and those who think they don’t. I am all three. I would also like to add that my mother doesn’t know how to operate a computer, so thank god for that! She will never read this piece I am about to write.
Being brought up to believe I can achieve/have anything I want in life (thanks ma & pa), I myself don’t believe that marriage is the institution of exclusivity, nor is it the institution that is the be-all and end-all of your life. Those who do believe a hundred per cent in marriage, please stop reading now. I do not mean to offend, but since it is my blog, you can choose to bugger off.
First of all, marriage is a union of two great people who happen to decide (for the moment) they want to be together for possibly the rest of their lives. What happens if seventeen years (or seventeen months) down the track, you realised you’ve made a real boo-boo? Get divorced, I hear some people say! If I don’t believe so much in marriage, I definitely don’t believe in divorce. It’s a cop-out, an easy solution, an option. So you see, I have painted myself into a corner. It’s a catch-26.
If I had to point a finger at the ultimate root of my dilemma, it is the ability to choose. Peers of our generation (plus/minus a couple) have the choice. And I am all for choice. Only not for myself. If I was to be married, I have to know that that is forever. But what is forever? A close friend once said to me in anger that “You never know how long forever is”. And I have never used that word to anybody since. I don’t intend to. And then there is the idea of “the man of your dreams”. You know what though… the dream is in your head. The person you sleep next to every night can be the dream, if you choose him/her to be. So, that’s one problem solved. I can hear the ones reading this now “Where did she get off being so cynical?”. The question you should be asking is “How does she know I’m thinking this?”. Actually, I don’t – just being a smart arse.
Truth is, I am hopeful! I am hopeful there is going to be a day when I wake up and realise that I love the man next to me enough to know I want to spend a lot of my life with him. And I have people in my life everyday to tell me that I will find that one day. Both of my sisters, different as night and day have wonderful husbands. One found hers early in her 20s (though she always thought she might never get married), the other rummaged for a bit, and found hers too. I am patiently waiting for my turn. The point is to stop looking! Because if you always look ahead, you always miss the great ones right in front of you.
I refuse to be told my biological clock will start ticking soon, that I am to be compared to a use-by tinned pineapple. I also refuse to be pigeon-holed by married women who look at the single ones and have the you-poor-thing-you-aren’t-married look. Whilst saying this, I also have many, many wonderful married friends (who are so sane, and so right!!! Which is so contradictory, considering where I’m coming from). I sound sooooo Sex and the City-esque (sorry!!!!). Having someone to share your life with is double the fun, but fun all by yourself is good fun too. And not to mention great friends. So don’t despair, my beautiful friends – the next time your mothers come up to you and harass you about getting married, tell them you can’t help it that you haven’t made up your mind yet.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Per Se
You know the moments in everyday life where one experiences inertia? Well, mine lasted for well over 7 weeks.
My beloved and I “just” came back from an American holiday recently, to New York City. Oh, there is so much to tell, but where do I start? Well, one of the highlights in the States (especially NYC) was the opportunity to eat in some great restaurants. For the record, food in Melbourne is still the best. I think it is because we do so many things so well. And in the States, in my opinion, few things well. But the good ones are SO good. Take Per Se.
I certainly had many expectations of Per Se, being Thomas Keller’s (of The French Laundry) flagship restaurant in New York City, and receiving many accolades in all its eighteen months of operation. It’s almost as if I didn’t feel good enough to be there. I blame it on all the reviews I googled and read with intensity. After much hoo-ha on the day (like getting a suit for my beloved else he wouldn’t be admitted, because we didn’t know we had a confirmed reservation until the night before), we finally entered the beautiful space that was Per Se. My first impression of that place was that someone had drop shitloads into décor and design. Everything was cool and pristine. We were greeted by a lovely woman whose job was solely to take bookings and show us to our table (you don’t get that anymore in Melbourne, I don’t think!).
Our table faced the start of Central Park and Columbus Circle (59th Street). To be honest, I was a little blown away by the whole experience – being jet-lagged, the fact that I was in the most exciting city in the world and sitting next to my favourite person in the world, there was nothing more perfect.
I am no foodie writer, I just love to eat – so I shall spare you the details of the food. Also the fact that the greatness of food is all about personal taste/sense/smell. I do not wish to impart my views on anybody, but rather just my experience of it. It was bloody great!!! My beloved and I ended up choosing the degustation menu, all nine courses of it! We were pleasantly surprised (and that’s hard when one’s hoovered their way through a lot of food!!) when we started with an appetizer (not on the menu) of mini-tuille filled with diced salmon, dill and herbs – every bite was an explosion of taste, one cannot imagine it by just looking at it. We finished the meal with in-house made chocolates, presented on a flat silver plate (and the magic words “You may have as many as you wish” – if only they told us that at the start!), tea/coffee and macaroons. Yum! Another mention to be made was of the numerous staff that was available during the entire meal – a restaurant manager, section waiters, a section manager, a sommelier … all decked out in their Armani suits and fat ties. It was truly bizarre, and perhaps because I am still quite ‘kampung’-ish, it was slightly intimidating. My beloved informed me that it was the old French system. So I suppose it does not get its reputation for nothing.
I also got the opportunity to smell an entire box filled with fresh black truffles (wow!), which the waitress generously accommodated, visiting the kitchens (which was as large as the dining space!). The low was probably having to pay US$8 for sparkling water (a new bottle arrived when the previous was emptied (the Americano way?), and me drinking as if someone was going to leave me in the Sahara desert).
Over three hours later, satisfied and tired (from eating and trying to remember everything), a wad of dollars (actually, it was a shiny plastic), we strolled out onto the sunny streets of New York, caught the subway and made our way downtown. That was our experience of Per Se.
My beloved and I “just” came back from an American holiday recently, to New York City. Oh, there is so much to tell, but where do I start? Well, one of the highlights in the States (especially NYC) was the opportunity to eat in some great restaurants. For the record, food in Melbourne is still the best. I think it is because we do so many things so well. And in the States, in my opinion, few things well. But the good ones are SO good. Take Per Se.
I certainly had many expectations of Per Se, being Thomas Keller’s (of The French Laundry) flagship restaurant in New York City, and receiving many accolades in all its eighteen months of operation. It’s almost as if I didn’t feel good enough to be there. I blame it on all the reviews I googled and read with intensity. After much hoo-ha on the day (like getting a suit for my beloved else he wouldn’t be admitted, because we didn’t know we had a confirmed reservation until the night before), we finally entered the beautiful space that was Per Se. My first impression of that place was that someone had drop shitloads into décor and design. Everything was cool and pristine. We were greeted by a lovely woman whose job was solely to take bookings and show us to our table (you don’t get that anymore in Melbourne, I don’t think!).
Our table faced the start of Central Park and Columbus Circle (59th Street). To be honest, I was a little blown away by the whole experience – being jet-lagged, the fact that I was in the most exciting city in the world and sitting next to my favourite person in the world, there was nothing more perfect.
I am no foodie writer, I just love to eat – so I shall spare you the details of the food. Also the fact that the greatness of food is all about personal taste/sense/smell. I do not wish to impart my views on anybody, but rather just my experience of it. It was bloody great!!! My beloved and I ended up choosing the degustation menu, all nine courses of it! We were pleasantly surprised (and that’s hard when one’s hoovered their way through a lot of food!!) when we started with an appetizer (not on the menu) of mini-tuille filled with diced salmon, dill and herbs – every bite was an explosion of taste, one cannot imagine it by just looking at it. We finished the meal with in-house made chocolates, presented on a flat silver plate (and the magic words “You may have as many as you wish” – if only they told us that at the start!), tea/coffee and macaroons. Yum! Another mention to be made was of the numerous staff that was available during the entire meal – a restaurant manager, section waiters, a section manager, a sommelier … all decked out in their Armani suits and fat ties. It was truly bizarre, and perhaps because I am still quite ‘kampung’-ish, it was slightly intimidating. My beloved informed me that it was the old French system. So I suppose it does not get its reputation for nothing.
I also got the opportunity to smell an entire box filled with fresh black truffles (wow!), which the waitress generously accommodated, visiting the kitchens (which was as large as the dining space!). The low was probably having to pay US$8 for sparkling water (a new bottle arrived when the previous was emptied (the Americano way?), and me drinking as if someone was going to leave me in the Sahara desert).
Over three hours later, satisfied and tired (from eating and trying to remember everything), a wad of dollars (actually, it was a shiny plastic), we strolled out onto the sunny streets of New York, caught the subway and made our way downtown. That was our experience of Per Se.
Friday, June 24, 2005
I'm Leaving... on a Jetplane ...
Let me get this right –
I just drank a Dandelion coffee with chai and soy milk. What is wrong with it? More importantly, I just drank that… what is wrong with me? Well, my defense is that it was just too compelling! Being able to drink my two favourite beverages in combination (chai tea + coffee). Mmmm….. definitely hit the new-age hippie / coffee junket in me BIG time. It was coarse-like (almost like the residue of coffee grounds, but less bitter), with the chai being extremely sharp at the front palate, but with the lingering taste (and breadth!) of coffee.
I am still tossing over whether that was a winner.
Sorry for being so slack lately, I have been overwhelmed with trying to finish off work before I put on my travel shoes and haul my arse to New York / KL. I am very excited, so excited that I have only managed to sleep 4 hours last night! Also because I was worrying about how many things I still had to do before I got on the plane! Argh! So today, I’m slight disoriented. Putting things in the mail without signing the documents, talking gibberish. The fact that I haven’t eaten anything really solid in the last 48 hours might have something to do with it as well.
Anyway, I am off! Packing up the joint now, and I will see all/some most of you when I see you! Ta ta… love ya loads!
I just drank a Dandelion coffee with chai and soy milk. What is wrong with it? More importantly, I just drank that… what is wrong with me? Well, my defense is that it was just too compelling! Being able to drink my two favourite beverages in combination (chai tea + coffee). Mmmm….. definitely hit the new-age hippie / coffee junket in me BIG time. It was coarse-like (almost like the residue of coffee grounds, but less bitter), with the chai being extremely sharp at the front palate, but with the lingering taste (and breadth!) of coffee.
I am still tossing over whether that was a winner.
Sorry for being so slack lately, I have been overwhelmed with trying to finish off work before I put on my travel shoes and haul my arse to New York / KL. I am very excited, so excited that I have only managed to sleep 4 hours last night! Also because I was worrying about how many things I still had to do before I got on the plane! Argh! So today, I’m slight disoriented. Putting things in the mail without signing the documents, talking gibberish. The fact that I haven’t eaten anything really solid in the last 48 hours might have something to do with it as well.
Anyway, I am off! Packing up the joint now, and I will see all/some most of you when I see you! Ta ta… love ya loads!
Friday, June 10, 2005
Rhythm a-go-go
I have been on a music rampage lately. From downloading on K-Lite (naughty naughty) to outright just buying albums. I am supposed to be saving for my NY trip. Gahhhh! And my music has gone all ‘cepelang’ as well - R&B, Kelly Clarkson poppiness, rock, whiny Chris Martin (nerdy and pimply, but cute Mr. Paltrow). Highly recommend the new Foo album and X & Y is pretty excellent as well!
Have a wonderful weekend everyone! Love lots x x x x
Have a wonderful weekend everyone! Love lots x x x x
Tuesday, June 7, 2005
Peace and War
Howdy!
I’ve watched many movies lately, including the German film Downfall. It was about the fall of the Third Reich in Nazi Germany (circa 1945), detailing the last week or two before the Germans surrendered to the Russians in Berlin. I can’t claim to be an expert in WWII history, but I know enough for it to be fascinating viewing. The portrayal of Hitler as flesh and blood, instead of his usual salutary figure and that ridiculous moustache – I must admit that just before he blew his own head off, I actually cried. Tears were shed because of the absurdity of his situation, how a once powerful man who convinced an entire nation that the killing of 6 millions Jews was the right thing could not live with his own destructibility and his own delusions. How the people by his side loved him only because they didn’t know any better.
The director was heavily criticised for this portrayal of Hitler of anything other than a megalomaniac, but I think people who choose to watch this film would already know, that no matter how you paint ol’ Adolf, it wasn’t going to change your perception of the war, or of him. As I walked out of the theatre, there was only a sense of completeness. That the madness was finished. And then I thought, “Was it?” – think of the war in the Middle East, the civil wars in Africa. People will keep recycling, but the same old issues prevail. It feels as if we haven’t really come very far from ancient times of war. It just disguises under a different name. The new wave of colonialism is just less evident, but even more persistent and deadly. Because the world gets bigger, we get smaller, and hence, more insignificant. There is a quiet desperation for peace, and it makes me wonder as to what lengths does one need to go to make that happen.
For more information on the movie, click Downfall
I’ve watched many movies lately, including the German film Downfall. It was about the fall of the Third Reich in Nazi Germany (circa 1945), detailing the last week or two before the Germans surrendered to the Russians in Berlin. I can’t claim to be an expert in WWII history, but I know enough for it to be fascinating viewing. The portrayal of Hitler as flesh and blood, instead of his usual salutary figure and that ridiculous moustache – I must admit that just before he blew his own head off, I actually cried. Tears were shed because of the absurdity of his situation, how a once powerful man who convinced an entire nation that the killing of 6 millions Jews was the right thing could not live with his own destructibility and his own delusions. How the people by his side loved him only because they didn’t know any better.
The director was heavily criticised for this portrayal of Hitler of anything other than a megalomaniac, but I think people who choose to watch this film would already know, that no matter how you paint ol’ Adolf, it wasn’t going to change your perception of the war, or of him. As I walked out of the theatre, there was only a sense of completeness. That the madness was finished. And then I thought, “Was it?” – think of the war in the Middle East, the civil wars in Africa. People will keep recycling, but the same old issues prevail. It feels as if we haven’t really come very far from ancient times of war. It just disguises under a different name. The new wave of colonialism is just less evident, but even more persistent and deadly. Because the world gets bigger, we get smaller, and hence, more insignificant. There is a quiet desperation for peace, and it makes me wonder as to what lengths does one need to go to make that happen.
For more information on the movie, click Downfall
Sunday, June 5, 2005
Of love and obsession
I fall completely in love about once every two weeks. Her name is Ella and she is my niece. She is 8 months old, and slightly over 50cm tall, but boy, is she a charmer. Today was an utterly satisfying day, because not only was I graced with her presence, but she somehow always makes my day (or whatever is left of it) sunny and beautiful (think The Truman Show) - it is in fact, a part gray and overcast day. She has the BEST smile and smells great. What is it about the simplicity of a child’s innocence and utter joy that I feel so drawn towards? Perhaps because I know the world is sometimes such an awful place, and to know she is going to grow up with the shit we leave behind makes my heart twinge a little (or issit my conscience?). But at the same time comforted to know that perhaps she might make a difference one day, as she makes mine every time I see her. It is like magic – I love that she pulls my hair constantly only to want to put it in her mouth. I am a familiar foreign object to her, all wonderful and strange. I love the way she slobbers over my nose with her cherub lips and breaks into the cheekiest grin, that you wonder she must know something that we don’t. That life is wonderful, that I am wonderful… she makes me feel wonderful anyway. I just wanted to share that, that’s all.
On another note, I have a slightly strange obsession about garbage. The waste disposal methods in my apartment involves trudging down to the car park in the basement (often done hurriedly because a/ the plastic bag with leftover sardine juice might burst, b/ you’re carrying something really foul and don’t want anyone knowing you’re the culprit for stinking up the entire bin, c/ you’re wearing the t-shirt that your mother made you throw out when you were 13, only you didn’t!! or d/ you couldn’t be bothered to brush your teeth). Either way it’s always a hurried affair – the quick left/right glance, two-step-at-a-time down the stairs kinda dance. But we are digressing from my point – the point is I like to see what people have thrown out. Yes, I confess. And I like to guess which apartment it came from. You can always tell who had the big weekend (boxes of empty VB stubbies and wine bottles), or someone’s moved in/out (Ikea flat boxes). Often I find inspiration from Ikea packages – they always have strange names for lamps “Lanvits” or “Rxptem” or something of that kind. And I think ‘Oh I need one of those’. I don’t of course, because really, who needs another shitty stainless steel 11W (equivalent 60W) table lamp that costs $16 (a bargain!!)? Now if you talk about a ‘Billy’ bookcase, that’s another story all together. Because Billy is just so much more humane, like someone you could relate to. I wish I knew who it was that name Ikea furniture – do you think Ikea actually advertises for a position “Wanted: Homewares Labeller – knowing how to spell not essential.” I want to smack the bloody wanker who made me think these useless thoughts, and then smack him/her again for making me smack them.
And all because I walked past the rubbish tip tonight.
On another note, I have a slightly strange obsession about garbage. The waste disposal methods in my apartment involves trudging down to the car park in the basement (often done hurriedly because a/ the plastic bag with leftover sardine juice might burst, b/ you’re carrying something really foul and don’t want anyone knowing you’re the culprit for stinking up the entire bin, c/ you’re wearing the t-shirt that your mother made you throw out when you were 13, only you didn’t!! or d/ you couldn’t be bothered to brush your teeth). Either way it’s always a hurried affair – the quick left/right glance, two-step-at-a-time down the stairs kinda dance. But we are digressing from my point – the point is I like to see what people have thrown out. Yes, I confess. And I like to guess which apartment it came from. You can always tell who had the big weekend (boxes of empty VB stubbies and wine bottles), or someone’s moved in/out (Ikea flat boxes). Often I find inspiration from Ikea packages – they always have strange names for lamps “Lanvits” or “Rxptem” or something of that kind. And I think ‘Oh I need one of those’. I don’t of course, because really, who needs another shitty stainless steel 11W (equivalent 60W) table lamp that costs $16 (a bargain!!)? Now if you talk about a ‘Billy’ bookcase, that’s another story all together. Because Billy is just so much more humane, like someone you could relate to. I wish I knew who it was that name Ikea furniture – do you think Ikea actually advertises for a position “Wanted: Homewares Labeller – knowing how to spell not essential.” I want to smack the bloody wanker who made me think these useless thoughts, and then smack him/her again for making me smack them.
And all because I walked past the rubbish tip tonight.
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