A Muttoneer

What better way to follow a Revealingly Heartfelt Post outlining my Descent into Anti-Depressants than with some Long Overdue wardrobe photographs!

Look closely at the action figures I am fondling in the above pic. Perhaps it might be worthwhile to enlarge it. In fact, I recommend it.

No, the Hilary Clinton Walnut Cracker & the dreamy Action Man sitting astride a large 'My Little Pony' are definitely Not Toys.

They are important Teaching Tools. I won't go into the technicalities, but suffice to say that they are instrumental in teaching the concept of 'Getting Back on the Horse', which every senior student needs to be familiar with.

People say that we teach best what we need to learn most. I totally agree.

Notice my attempt at 'Chanelness' in this photo.

OMG, perhaps I've coined a new word?

I must Google it to see if anyone else has ever thought of it.

Talking of New Words, I was reading Maggie Alderson's fashion column in Saturday's paper. For those of you who haven't heard of Maggie, she is definitely worth Googling. She is an English Journalist & author who used to live in Australia but now doesn't but writes her column without ever mentioning any place names so that everyone just assumes she still lives here. Which I think is a bit silly. Does she think that if her readers knew that she'd abandoned us & went back to where she came from they wouldn't bother reading her anymore?

Anyway, last week she wrote about 'Mutton Done Up as Lamb' & referred to women who dress in this way as 'Muttoneers'.

I thought that was v. funny. And I actually chortled when I read it.

Here's a slightly problematic outfit. At least the top is. I bought the whole outfit & the outfit above & half the outfit of the one below of course at 'Bednobs Etc'.

But I had misgivings that the top was a little on the Nanna side.

But the Nannaness wasn't really the issue.

My great colleague, The Other Sue pointed out over lunch in the staffroom that the pink flowers looked more like Breasts, particularly as they were positioned where My Ones actually were.

So That's It for That Top. It can go back to 'Bednobs Etc'.

Today was what used to be called, 'Muck-Up Day', the last day of Year 12's Schooling. In the old days, copious amounts of eggs & flour would be thrown everywhere, the School Gate would have a 'For Sale' sign stuck on it & all the teachers would be mercilessly mocked at the Farewell Concert.

Nowadays, it's a Tame Affair. The most that the girls can do is to turn their summer uniform into a Hooker's Outfit which is v. apt as our school is in the Red Light District of Sydney.

The girls spent their last day tottering around in Enormous Heels which looked like a Public Liability Insurance Nightmare waiting to happen. But sadly, nothing did.

Here I am looking again like a Little Toy Teacher next to a Giantess. Please note my Huge Pussy Bow which I created out of a long scarf. And the sheer Tartan Dress is the only thing that I've bought new - $20 from 'Cotton On' all year.

And now I've come to the end. What can I say about this outfit?

I just love it even though I look perhaps a bit silly. It's a dress from maybe the eighties with accordian pleats. And you can scrunch it up into a ball & it doesn't crush which is absolutely my kind of dress as I don't have the facilities to iron.

Nothing But a Pack of Cards

When I woke up v. early on Wednesday morning, my whole apartment was bathed in a Sea of Orange. Maybe Light Red.

Finally The Apocalypse, I sighed.

Or The Day of the Triffids.

Perhaps The Last Judgement.

I scampered out of bed & raced to the computer to check to see if anyone else had noticed.

Of course they had.

It was a Dust Storm. In all my years of living in Sydney, I've never heard of such a thing.

The front page of The Sydney Morning Herald was full of it, quoting large slabs from the first page of Charles Dicken's 'Bleak House' as if to prove that the storm was real even though 'Bleak House' is a work of fiction & Dickens was talking about Fog in London in the nineteenth century.

'Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits & meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping, & the waterside pollutions of a great (& dirty) city.'

But of course I found it Strangely Synchronous that I had just been teaching that very page from 'Bleak House' to my Senior Class as an example of how novelists use The Weather to describe Internal States of Consciousness. I hope I'm not sounding too too Blue-Stockingly Highbrow here.

So of course I felt that the Dust Storm was a reflection of my current Inner State, even though the Weather Bureau said it was caused from erosion of soil out west.

But it felt like The Erosion of my Soul.

So, what's my current Inner State, you may, or may not ask?

The Shortish Answer is that this week I began a course of Anti-Depressants & I'm quite worried that I won't have any creativity left because everything will just get Evened Out.

Last week, some Nasty Politician announced that he's been suffering from 'Diurnal Mood Variations' for his entire life & has only just realised it & is now getting treatment. The Australian Media fell over themselves to say what an incredibly brave thing it was to tell us all. And that more public figures should come out & admit it.

I hope no one else admits it. It's such a bore to have to listen to the Big Puky Positive Spin that Public Figures put on their private dramas. You know, like they're 'Moving Forward' & 'facing the challenge'.

Who really feels that they're moving anywhere, except perhaps spiralling downwards when their depressed?

Not that I'm depressed. Certainly not.

I'm suffering anxiety. In fact, I had a panic attack when I was driving. I've had them before but this one was a Real Doozie. I was on the approach to one of Sydney's large bridges & suddenly it came over me. Luckily, I was able to take an exit.

The next day I raced off to the doctor who is incredibly popular & getting in to see her is like winning the lottery. Well, actually I'd made an appointment weeks before over a minor ailment. So it was again, Strangely Synchronous.

The Doctor took one look at me & said that I needed to take anti-depressants. Normally she would just write a script for Zoloft & send people on their way, but she felt that I needed to go to a shrink who could expertly monitor the dosage. Just to make sure.

I walked out of the surgery wondering what I'd done or said to get that reaction.

Was I Overly Gesticulating, or Speaking in Tongues or Foaming at the Mouth?

I couldn't tell.

Anyway, I've been on Prozac now for five days & apart from a moment in the classroom where I felt that I was doing a Stand Up Routine rather than teach a lesson, things have been pretty normal. Still getting Sweaty Palms. Still feel like hitting loud mouthed people in the supermarket over the head with a large wet flounder. Still blogging.

And I haven't found myself mindlessly watching old re-runs of 'Blankety Blanks' or 'The Price is Right' or 'Days of Our Lives' when I come home from school.

Yet.

Too Good to Send

I've been desperate to design & sell my own personal greeting cards for some time.

Like years.

I would just love for the Entire World to be awash with my cards.

The thought of running a Large Greeting Card Empire from my desk in the Classroom fills me with glee.

But do you think I could do something like that?

Sadly, up until now, No.

Not that I have any immediate plans to set up the Empire at present.

But so far the Practical Details of doing such a thing have eluded me . It is far easier for me to stand in front of the whiteboard rabbiting on about how Alfred Hitchcock bullied all his blonde leading ladies & how after she shot the shower scene in 'Psycho' (which I'm showing to Year Neuf tomorrow), Janet Leigh could never take another shower again. In fact, she died without ever showering.

Don't think that I'm dissatisfied with my job. Who could fail to have a Sense of Daily Purpose when such Important Information needs to be conveyed to the Youth of Today. What could be more important?

Perhaps saving the planet.

But failing that, I'd like to have a Card Empire. I've even made up a name. I'm not going to tell you what it is in case you might want to steal it because it's a Great Name. Not that I don't trust you or anything.

Practical Considerations that Seem to Be Beyond Me.

1. Printing Cheaply but Beautifully.

2. Getting Cheap but Beautiful Card Paper whatever you call it.

3. Making a Profit.

Anyway, here's a card that I made.

Hope you like it.

Runt of the Litter

Just to show you that I'm quite short.

160 centimetres. Perhaps 5 foot 3 inches.

My great pal Jenny is protecting me against Giants.

My thrifted Comme de Garcons shirt still looks like I've wore an unsightly low-slung black bra underneath it which I certainly didn't.

The Inspector Gadget Outfit

Oh God, why am I doing this?

Why am I positioning myself next to a Stylish Fashion Stick Insect photographed dashing between the Tents at New York Fashion Week in killer heels holding a banana peel?

I Just Can't Help Myself.

Trench coats are all over The Sartorialist. Go look for yourself. I have been wearing three different ones (not at once of course) that I thrifted over our Toy Winter from 'Bednobs & Broomsticks'. So I can instantly feel superior that I didn't spend a forture at Burberry or Whatever.

But a part of me wishes I did.

That's the same part of me that wishes I'd spent thousands buying that pink plastic & diamante Chanel Cuff that Mary Shackman was wearing in the previous post.

You may wonder what I'm doing standing in front of the Tim Olson Drawing Prize Winner holding a bunch of flowers like a Dotty Diva taking a curtain call.

I'm pretending to be the winner of course. Just to get some practice in.

Because I'm Becoming One. In fact, I've already Become One. But that's a whole other story.

My great friend & colleague, Trixie Drew calls this My Inspector Gadget Outfit. She always knows what to say to make me smile.

Chicken Bones & Chanel Cuffs

In my last post I said I'd 'been busy' all last week.

Just to prove it, here's some pictures I took last Wednesday evening at an Important Art Opening down the hill from my School & Home.

It was at Martin Browne Fine Art. And all the pictures that I've uploaded are Not In Order. Sounds like many areas of My Life.

Not in Order.

Anyway, the last picture shows the front window of Martin Browne with the names of the artists whose show it was. I hope you're able to follow me.

Linde Ivimey sculpts with perhaps chicken bones. Maybe she uses other bones as well. Sewing seems to be involved & also upholstery. Many of the figures are sitting on little arm chairs or ottomans which I presume she made herself.

I love them. And I could be a little jealous that I didn't make them myself. Or something similar.

Please do look at my thrifted Comme de Garcons blouse with a black frill that looks in the photo like I've worn an unsightly low-slung black bra underneath. I didn't.

And then there's the Guests. I do so love looking at everyone at these things. And this lot were a Bumper Crop. My favourite outfit was worn by Mary Shackman, a well-known Sydney artist. I had never met Mary, but admired her from afar. And was quite surprised when I found the voice to ask if I could take her photo. And thrilled when she said yes.

I was v. interested in her Arm Wear & asked if I could photograph it. Mary made some remark about her 'withered' or was it, 'wrinkly old arms' ? which I dismissed in a flash. Who cares if you've got skin like crushed up cellophane (not that Mary does) if you're wearing a Chanel Cuff & a Louis Vuitton one as well?

Here's the artist, Linde on the left talking to a stylish person with a huge pussy bow that I found enchanting.

I've been Embracing the Pussy Bow myself recently. It's quite strange how things change.

I always used to associate the PB with Stern Unappealing Looking Women like Dame Margaret Thatcher. She really should be called Lord Thatcher. That would be far more her.

Here we are at the end. Can you see that the little rodent or whatever is lounging on a comfortable armchair?

I loved it.

Dancing with the Class

OK, so I haven't written anything all week.

Don't think that I'm in the least apologetic.

I've been far too Busy.

And now it's friday evening exactly one hour & sixteen minutes before my Bedtime Curfew. So I'm going to dash this off in a kind of Virginia Woolf Stream of Consciousness Style in time to read some of 'Rebecca' by Daphne du Maurier before I have to turn the light out. I've seen the, is it Hitchcock Film? with Sir Larry Olivier & that Simpering Sister of Olivia de Havilland, Joan Fontaine many times. Also the mini-series with Charles Dance & Emilia Fox & Dame Diana Rigg.

So I kind of know the plot. Or at least I think I know it. And then something Really Big Happens which I've totally forgotten about which makes me wonder about what else in my Own Life that I may have Forgotten.

Perhaps you are wondering what I'm doing with my freshly waxed & tinted eyebrows standing in the middle of a School Hall surrounded by young adolescents of both genders.

This is what I did last evening.

For some weeks our Year 8 girls have been given Ballroom Dancing lessons. So did the boys from a V. Grand Catholic Boys School. But not together.

Last night was the culmination of the lessons & the first time that they had met as a group. I went along to supervise & take photos.

Travelling in the early evening by bus with 101 excited girls to the V. Grand Boys School was Torture. I felt as if I was in the middle of a Hen's Night on the Karaoke Bus that often parks across the road from my apartment on a saturday night.

How could I possibly have volunteered to do this, I wondered?

Halfway through our journey, we stopped the bus & the Head of Science made everyone who was chewing gum take it out of their mouth & put it in a tissue & put it in their blazer pocket. Then they were reminded about The Importance of Self-Respect which is a topic that I've often pondered over these last thirteen months.

We arrived at the Imposing School Hall & met Miss Marion Beaumont who was the Principal Dancing Instructress. One look from her & her Dancing Assistants & our girls, who were previously acting like they'd just sculled ten gallons of Red Cordial each, suddenly turned into Fairly Silent Lambs. The transformation was immediate.

They were told to line up in single file. The boys were already inside the hall sitting in a large circle waiting. But we couldn't see them, the doors were closed.

When Miss Beaumont gave the signal, the girls were given their cue to enter & walk in a circle around the boys until they were told to stop. The boys stood up, shook hands with their partner & then the music started.

It was completely wonderful.

The Waltz, the Canadian Three Step, The Pride of Erin & perhaps some Boot Scootin.

All done with the kind of Military Precision that would have done D-Day Proud.

No one had time to get out their Phones & start texting.

Sadly, it's time for Bed & 'Rebecca'. So I can't say much more. And I'd like to say something really naff about the Youth of Today. But I'll let the photos tell you that story.

A Child Who Has Grown Up

It's sunday evening & I'm attempting to Multi-Task.

I'm waiting for guests to arrive for my usual Sunday Night Dinner - my Great Pal Jenny, my step-son, Tyler & Dr. John, a v. old friend from Melbourne. I have roasted two chickens that were stuffed with lemon thyme, garlic & pine nuts. I have made my Signature Guacomole that I serve as a starter with strips of vegetables that I've noticed that no one eats, & crackers, which I've noticed that everyone eats.

It is now The Next Day & my attempts at Multi-Tasking failed. Well, actually I'm Technically Multi-Tasking again as I'm up in the school library with my Year 7 class. They are all sitting up like little Marmosets reading mainly books from The Twilight Series. Occasionally I look over at them. But mostly I type.

Today's Blog Entry is a Style Profile. If it's good enough for The Sartorialist, it's good enough for me.

My subject is called Anna. I have known her for many years & she lives next door to me. On saturday, she came over & I photographed her in my Hallway. If I was feeling Swish, I might call it My Foyer. It was Anna's suggestion that we photograph her there because she thought that her outfit would look good amongst all the trees in the Wallpaper Forest. I agree.

Anna says that she dresses like she did as a child. She spent her early years living in Paris. And on her last day there, her stylish mother took nine year-old Anna & her two sisters out shopping for Farewell Outfits. A white 'Cacherel' shirt, a Navy pleated skirt with gold buttons on either side of the waist & a navy blazer.

Ever since, that's been Anna's Dream Outfit. Perhaps not that Exact Outfit. But you get the idea.

At the time of that last Parisian shopping expedition, posters of Jane Birkin were plastered all over Paris. And Anna became mesmerized by them. She didn't know who the hell Jane Birkin was, but she knew she just loved her.

On hearing all of this, I immediately became excited. I started thinking of Jane Birkin in 'Blow Up' & all those other models in the film wearing Huge Hair & lollypop colours & Space Age Gowns, which of course is nothing like Anna's style.

And then I thought of Leslie Caron's outfits as a French Schoolgirl in 'Gigi'. They were wonderful. And perhaps slightly more Anna.

And Audrey Hepburn in 'Charade' wearing all those outfits by 'Givenchy'. That's probably slightly more Anna as well.

One of the great differences between My Style & Anna's is that she has always appreciated Classic Luxury or Quality. Like cashmere. And really classy black patent Roman sandals like the ones Jackie Kennedy Onassis wore during her Ugly Greek Shipping Magnate Period.

I never have. I've always been a Total Slave to Quantity Over Quality. Give me a whole truckload of cheap clothes anyday & I'll happily turn them into Landfill.

Until fairly recently, that is. Until I began only buying from thrift stores. But that's a whole other story.

Anna's wearing a wonderful pair of shiny black boots from 'Snotty Shoes'. You may or may not recall that it's a local shop that I occasionally photograph when it's shut. When it's open, I walk past with my nose in the air as if I don't notice that it exists.

See what I'm missing out on by Not Going Into the Shoppe? I just love that late-sixties way of spelling 'Shoppe'.

And her fab pleated dress is from 'Wheels & Doll Baby', which has been a favourite of such Rock Chicks as Debbie Harry who is another one of Anna's style influences.

I must stop now. Writing about another person who you actually know is v. tiring. I much prefer writing about myself for all the obvious reasons & writing down what you think someone has told you is hard. Say if I wasn't listening properly? I might have got it all wrong.

But before I go, I must say that I don't quite agree with Anna that she dresses as a child. I think she dresses like a child who has Grown Up.

Sincere Gratitude to Italian Shoe Goddess

Shoe Abundance
Originally uploaded by middleagedteacher

OMG! So many shoes! So few feet to wear them!
I'd just come back from my favourite thrift shop, 'Bednobs & Broomsticks' which is conveniently located about 100 metres from school. I'm holding a pair of Italian leather booties that I just bought. I'm wearing a red pair of Italian Bruno Magli shoes that I bought the day before. And the navy pair of also Bruno Maglis had been offloaded by my colleague, The Duchess, whose had been given them by her wealthy mother-in-law who doesn't realise that she's got largish hooves.
Reminder to Daughter Billie-Mae.
Don't forget to pick the boots up from the Post Office.

Failing at eBay

Sadly, my Rage has subsided.
Today I just had a Junior Migraine, which is a Kinder, Gentler version of the All-Singing, All-Dancing, All-Vomiting Major Migraine that I used to regularly get & still do on occasions.
I went home after lunch & got into bed.
I'd love to walk you through my Exact Movements for the rest of today after I got out of bed. But I'll just stick to the highlights.
Activity No. 1. Over a modest dinner of a tuna salad with Persian fetta & baby asparagus, I stoically read the 'Style' section of the Sydney Morning Herald where I discovered that copies of September 2007 'Vogue', which of course has been made famous by the doco of the same name, are now selling on eBay for over one hundred bucks.

I immediately rushed into My Art Room where I have a labyrinthine collection of mags that I use for collages. Would I still have a copy? Or did I throw it out in an uncharacteristic bid to become less cluttered? Or maybe I still have a copy but it's cut to ribbons?

The September Issue wasn't hard to find. It stuck out like dog's balls because of the size.

I eagerly begin flicking through the pages. Almost, but not quite, pristine. Semi-Mint Condition.

How can I become a seller on eBay, I wondered. It mustn't be that hard. But how am I going to manage going to the post office & buying the stamps & sending if off to some far distant shore? That too, mustn't be that hard.

But then I found it. A torn page. And then another one.

My dreams of Sudden eBay Wealth were suddenly, irretrievably over.

I took a picture of my Damaged Magazine just to prove that All This Is True. I've included one of my favourite action figures - Supergirl Whatever Her Name is. She is shoving her entire fist up Sienna Miller's nose, who I didn't think much of in the film. But then again, I wouldn't.

I just loved how Grace Coddington, the creative genius behind Anna & Vogue said that Anna's great strength lay in discovering celebrities made good models that sell magazines. Talk about damning with faint praise. Grace also said that she wouldn't care if they never used celebrities again as models. How fab.

Here's a still of Anna from the film. She looks Almost Saintly.

I'm sure a major part of her allure is that she's a Major Witholder. I hope you know what I mean by this. Because it is getting dangerously close to my bedtime, & I mustn't break my curfew. So I haven't got time to go into it.

But I will. I am practicing to be a Witholder. Actually, I'm being one now.

The Tell Tale Heart
Originally uploaded by middleagedteacher

Oh, before I go, Activity No.2. Before dinner this evening, I spent some time trawling through my 2008 wardrobe remix for flickr sets. Yes, I know. More Rampant Self-Absorption. This one was taken exactly a year ago. I know that at the time I was teaching Gothic Horror, but it's still no excuse for wearing Batwing Sleeves & a Plastic Owl Pendant.

More Fun with Rage

Not Fabulous Fashion at 50
Originally uploaded by middleagedteacher

Every thursday I eagerly await the 'Style' section of 'The Sydney Morning Herald'.
And just about every week, I'm either disgusted or bored or enraged after I read it. Or all three.
It's quite fun, really.
Last week, due to popular demand by all the Old Boilers of Sydney, they did a big centre spread on Fabulous Fashion for Women over 50. I am in this catagory.
A local air hostess & mother who wanted to ignore or disown her Middle Section was the Model. But they called her a 'Style Icon', which I thought was a bit much. But perhaps I'm a Purist.
Anyway, off she trotted to Bondi Westfield with some stylist who decked her out in a whole load of stuff from local retailers. The unifying theme for all the outfits was a Drawstring Waist. Some outfits just had a drawstring waist with a simple cord. The more hideous outfits had a drawstring waist with a huge bow which did wonders to accentuate the previously mentioned disowned middle section.
By far the most hideous outfit combined the huge bow with the colour lime which is a colour that makes everyone look like a vampire.
Can't wait for Thursday

High Heels & Wet Flounders

Can you guess what kind of a mood I may be in?

I'll tell you - Slightly Edgy.

Perhaps Full of rage. Make that Incandescent Rage.

I feel so fed up that I'd like to slap everyone across the face with a Wet Flounder.

I can see that I've now Officially Gone a Little Too Far. I'll be getting phone calls from concerned friends asking me in the special tone of voice that they reserve for speaking to Wounded Mental Patients if I'm OK.

Actually, I'm fine. It's about time that I got a little angry after the way I've been treated. And don't ask me what I mean by that. Let's just say that I've been treated like Gum on the Sole of my ex-partner's shoe for too too long, which is a fabulous quote from I think Rosanne Arnold. She said it after she broke up with Tom Arnold.

Or maybe Cher said it although I can't think who she was breaking up with. It seems so long since she's been married or been with anybody.

Anyway, it was some celebrity or other.

I've discovered a wonderful way to express rage is by wearing high heels. They make the most angry clacking sound when you walk in them.

This past week we've all been made to do Exam Supervision which means being trapped in the School Hall for fifty-five minutes at a time while a hundred girls sit in rows of desks & suck on their pencils & look worried or bored. We're supposed to 'Invigilate' which means roaming the aisles like a pack of Death Eaters from 'Harry Potter' looking out for potential cheaters.

Honestly, it's worse that a Bad Day in Purgatory.

But I decided to wear my Loudest High Heels to Exam Supervision. I'm sure the sound of me merrily clacking down the aisles like I'm on the runway for Ralph Lauren really sent everyone's nerves on edge. It felt fabulous. And I just loved the pained looks on the faces of my Fellow Colleagues who were also on Supervision with me. They, of course, Tiptoe which I'm never going to do again.

One day soon, I'll turn into Senior Anne of Green Gables.

But not quite Now.

I'm having too much fun with High Heels & Flounders.

The Power of Brussel Sprouts

V. recently my daughter Billie-Mae came up from Canberra to spend the week with me. As you can see, we are celebrating with Champagne & Brussel Sprouts.

Mae has become a remarkable cook which sadly, has absolutely nothing to do with me. She is fond of baking brussel sprouts which has always been the Poor Relation of the Vegetable Family.

I think there are two possible reasons for this:

1. A long history by the Depression-era Generation of Over-cooking everything. Apparently when a brussel sprout is treated in this unfair way, a nasty, evil-smelling chemical is released.

2. A certain ambiguity about things associated with Belgium. Don't get me wrong - there are many wonderful things about Belgium - Chocolate & Hercule Poirot & Dries Van Noten, to name but a few.

Perhaps I should scrap No.2. Clearly, I don't know what I am talking about. But that shouldn't come as a surprise.

Anyway, baked Brussel Sprouts have a fabulously velvety but also slightly nutty flavour.

I must go & see 'Julia & Julie' or whatever it's called. Maybe I could get some hints about how to write a food blog.

Talking of food, in eight minutes my Sunday night TV Dinner guests will arrive. We have finished watching 'True Blood', so I think we'll watch 'The United States of Tara' which stars my favourite Australian actor Toni Collette. I amazed that I can say that I have a favourite Australian actor because I hate all that 'Aussie Aussie Aussie' stuff. And I'm not a fan of Cate Blanchett or even Heath Ledger even though he's dead & I often suddenly like people after they've died which I'm almost sure is a Universal Phenomenon.

I'm only making starters tonight as my other guests are bringing the main courses. I have already made my fabulously wonderful guacumole. I was tempted to shove a whole mess of sour cream in it as I saw Nigella Lawson do on her cooking show the other night. But I decided against it after thinking long & hard about Nigella's thighs, which she can get away with, particularly because she is sooo beautiful & married to one of the richest men in the world.

I must rush out & start cooking little strips of Haloumi Cheese which I absolutely adore. Another one of my daughter's influences.

Bon Appetite!

Me & Ornamental Zebras

It's friday late morning.
I'm sitting at my desk in the staffroom with headphones on listening to one of my 'brainwave' meditation tapes which sounds like the Rinse/Spin cycle in a washing machine. Or maybe what a fetus hears inside the womb.

I find it strangely comforting. And besides, it seems to help convert all my incandescent rage into a fairly harmless blog entry.
I would like to talk more about Me & My Rage. And perhaps I will. But not now.
The topic of this blog entry is My Zebra Pin which was generously donated by Darla

I was totally thrilled to get this sent to me from the Other Side of the World. Apparently, the Zebra had been languishing in a dark corner of Darla's Jewellry Collection for some time.

And now it's All Mine.

Let me walk you through the rest of the outfit. A Festival of Spots. The dress could almost be called 'Vintage'. Let's just say that it is.

I must have bought it months ago at 'Bednobs & Broomsticks' & for some reason I shoved it into the back recesses of my wardrobe & forgot about it. After all, I had so many Other Fish to Fry.

Thankfully, I discovered it the morning I decided to wear The Zebra.

The footless tights are from 'American Apparel'. I had my Maiden Visit to this rather famous store last satuday, when my daughter Billie-Mae took me to it.

I've been wondering about Me & Ornamental Zebras. I seem to be attracting many of these Delicate Creatures into my life at the moment. What could this mean?

Am I becoming a black & white person perhaps? No shades of grey?

Or maybe a Pack Animal? I'm sure Zebras roam in packs. Or flocks. Or herds.

Maybe I want to hide? Aren't those stripes supposed to be for camouflage?

God, the possibilities are endless.

Thank you so much Darla. You made my week.

PS. I just realised that you can hardly see the Zebra in the pictures. Just use your imagination.

You Never Know What's Going to Happen Next

About an hour ago, I was sitting on my cozy couch after a dinner of a dozen Pacific Oysters & a large salad watching the News on mute. Occasionally I would turn the sound on if I liked the look of the pictures. But mostly I didn't.

I felt too listless to write a blog entry, even though I was ever so slightly inspired by a story on 'Australian Story' last night about a young man, who after becoming a World Champion Paper Plane thrower & beating a nasty but ultimately benign brain tumour, had discovered the Secret of Happiness, which was, 'Just Do Fun Stuff'.

I must Make a List of things that I might consider fun. And then start doing them.

Anyway, I was on the couch & suddenly out the window I hear a Clarion Call from my youth. Led Zeppelin's 'Whole Lotta Love'. When I was sixteen, Victor Fraser sent me a Valentine with all the words written inside the card. Pity he wasn't a jock.

I became excited. And then remembered when I was trudging home from the supermarket I had noticed tents & lights & stuff being set up in the park across the street from my apartment.

I raced to the window & peered out. It was a Fashion Parade.

I quickly remembered Poor Old Annie Leibowitz, who I just read is Almost Bankrupt & about to lose the rights to all her negatives, before grabbing my camera & bolting out the door, into the lift, & out into the midst of the parade.

A kindly man offered me his spot near a bank of rather professional looking photographers who were all furiously snapping away with their gargantuan lens & flashes .

I felt silly. As if I had a Toy Camera that might have doubled as a water pistol. Or perhaps my old Kodak Instamatic.

But I didn't let it stop me as you can see.

The brand was called 'Love Chile'.

Keith Richards if he was a Woman crossed with Disney Hiawatha with Janis & Jack Daniels High Notes. Maybe a tiny touch of Bette Midler in 'The Rose'. Perhaps a whiff of Dreamcatcher Earrings.

I liked it. But I think that if you're old enough to remember the Look first time around, you shouldn't wear it this time around.

That's not my rule. Of course. But it kind of sounds sassy & smart. Just what I need right now.

The whole thing was over in about ten minutes max.

I put my Toy Camera back in it's case & raced back upstairs to my apartment feeling excited & Rather Smug. I bet no one else in the crowd lives as close as me, I thought.

So, You Never Know What's Going to Happen At Any Moment.

I haven't quite finished even though it's getting Dangerously Close to my Bedtime & I don't want to breach my curfew.

But just quickly on the Above Theme.

Last week, I ran into Tess, one of my Senior Students from the Class of 2008. She looked so fresh & alive & happy, such a contrast from her usual comatose appearance in my class last year. We chatted about her university course & how much she liked it.

This afternoon, as I was walking to class, a Year 12 student was waiting for me.

'Oh Ms, I just thought you'd like to know that Tess's father dropped dead yesterday. Tess was with him. They thought he just had a cold'.

Maybe it's time to start Majorly Making that list of Fun Stuff.

And another two things.

1 Darla - I'm wearing the Zebra pin tomorrow. I just love it.

2. Anna- I'm still really keen to photograph you in those boots & toy jeans.

3. Zizzi - thank you for your interest in S. Sluttiness. I plan to be S.Slutty tomorrow.

4. Janavi - everything looks wonderful pour tous. Definitely a keeper I'd say.