ragingyoghurt

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saturday
a little portuguese street fair in petersham. at which i queue at a stall for half an hour for five grilled sardines. there are many people in the queue… in fact there may be three or five queues! or no queue. whatever the case, there are more people than there are grilled sardines. where is jesus when you need him? there is a very stressed out portuguese woman behind the counter, who walks to the pavement out back and talks fast and gesticulates wild to a man with coal-blackened hands fanning a large barbeque on which sit two grilling cages with many sardines tucked inside. the man is very much like nicolas cage's character, the baker, in “moonstruck”, and now he is grumpy and throws his hands about too, and says words like “finish!” and “no sardines!” and “(insert low growling noise)”. but in the end there are sardines, and damn they are tasty and sticky in the teeth with fish oil, and they are devoured quickly except for the strange lung-like things we find inside, and washed down with two bottles of portuguese fizzy, sumol, one orange and one pineapple.

sunday
a two hour ride on the early train up to the blue mountains. sunny and cold! excitement about a tasty hot breakfast we would have! disappointment with the extremely unsatisfying breakfast we got instead! climbing down many steps cut into the mountain to little nature tableaux with such names as “vera's grotto” or “witches leap”! waterfalls! lizards! wondering if maybe the peoplemover back up the mountain would cost, like, $30! deciding to climb back up the mountain! on our puny human legs! feeling my lungs grow to an alarming size, as though they would burst from my chest cavity! thinking that death could not come soon enough! seeing the three sisters! stopping at a bakery and matt choosing a cream donut, a sugar coated thing about the size of a softball, sliced open on top and filled with whipped cream and half a maraschino cherry… and a slice of cheesecake, and me getting a steak and mushroom pie, heavy as a small child! a park, a meadow covered in bright yellow flowers! a scary experience eating the cream donut, so scary we eventually give up eating it and try to feed it to the magpies instead! failing to tempt the magpies, and tearing up the last few bits of claggy dough, and throwing it at bees for target practice! walking to leura! losing our way! finding a short cut! by the side of the windy road, with no proper walking path, and four wheel drives speeding by! it takes maybe twenty-five minutes but feels like two hours! we will never speak of this again! train back to sydney! everything bathed in golden light! a lovely day is had by all!

posted by ragingyoghurt on 3 March 2003 at 11:26 am
permalink | filed under around town, lunch

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that decadent ice cream, magnum, now comes in 60s flavours. the one i really want, “cherry guevara”, has thus far eluded me, but i have tasted “guava lamp” (where the guava strip running through the vanilla has an unexpected marshmallowy texture… well, you’ll expect it now) and “choc work orange”, my first experience of which was walking up the street and seeing an empty wrapper lying in the gutter and instantly wanting one.

it turned out to be pretty tasty — milky chocolate ice cream inside orange-flavoured white chocolate shell — although almost outdone by the fine bit of taken-too-farness on the back of the wrapper:

posted by ragingyoghurt on 27 February 2003 at 12:54 pm
permalink | filed under ice cream, packaging, snacks

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having recently spent like, $311 on new spectacles, which the shopgirl (“frame consultant”) assured me were *very* fashionable and just what everyone was wearing in paris at the moment, and which ironically made me want them less, and which obviously in the end didn’t matter because I got them anyway… i was kinda hoping that my level of blindness would stabilise for a while. and i think it did. but this week, with noise kicking in for the year, and print deadlines growling, baring fangs and schwiping claws at me from every direction, i feel helpless against the pulled-tight eye muscles that reward me at the end of each day. living in soft focus isn’t quite as romantic as it sounds.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 26 February 2003 at 9:07 pm
permalink | filed under (after a) fashion, werk

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a weekend so packed with punch it took me a week to sufficiently recover to construct this new toy. friday: pearl jam at the sydney entertainment centre. it’s been five years since i last saw them, and leading up to the night doubt clouded my mind… was i too old to be this excited about a rock show? would my seats be crap? and other stuff.

all partly unfounded. in the belly of the entertainment center, pearl jam went off.

the staff don’t quite frisk you as you go in, but they did make me empty out my indie rock, strawberry print handbag made for me by one fiona cleverly at work, because y’know, i look like such a terrorist.

speaking of which, the rally at hyde park on sunday was somewhat bigger than i thought it would be. so crowded in fact, that when everyone moved off the park to march the streets, the volume of bodies immediately filled the entire route, causing a gridlock standstill for, like, hours it seemed. half a million people rallied across australia, all of whom have now been condemned as unaustralian supportors of saddam hussein by mr howard. onya!

this year… where will we go?

posted by ragingyoghurt on 21 February 2003 at 8:20 am
permalink | filed under around town, soundtrack

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Goodbye sweet youth,
gurgling down the drain

Yesterday I turned 30. Given the liberties I’ve taken with the word “weekly”, you may be reading this a year later when I’m actually 31, but right now it’s 14 November 2002.

My mother came over from Singapore to buy me presents: a new vacuum cleaner, a new spongey mop, and a new square bucket that the mop fits neatly into. Also, several bottles of cleaning products, all boasting ways to make cleaning easier. Thanks mum!

The point is, no cleaning would be easiest of all. Couldn’t she just have given me a self-cleaning house? I know they exist – I saw one on tv.

I made a birthday rhubarb-pear-apple crumble for breakfast, and bought myself a bunch of lotus flowers at the growers market. The sweet smell of them reminds me of the cute Japanese-made erasers I had as a child.

I got my passport extended for another three years, while I decide if it’s better to be a Malaysian (“civilised” nations look upon you with suspicion because you might be a Muslim terrorist) or an Australian (Muslim extremists want to kill you because you support George Bush II in the war against them).

sigh.

I bought the new Pearl Jam album. How could it be 11 years since I found them?

I ran away from XXXXXXX XXXX XXXXXXXX XXXXXX that was exactly the same as last year, and was another thing that reminds me I’m in exactly the same place I was exactly a year ago.

At the end of the day, my answering machine had been sung Happy Birthday to five times. Thanks friendly voices! I feel much better!

– – –
before i had a “blog”, i used to write a sporadically updated letter on the front page of my website. this is one of them. i am consolidating it into these archives, because i can.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 15 November 2002 at 9:10 am
permalink | filed under around town, cake, drawn, soundtrack

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Holey satisfying

According to an ad from the dairy board which pops up on teev every few years, a donut is about 20% fat. From this I deduced that if you ate five donuts in one sitting, it was like eating one donut that was composed entirely of fat.

Wobbly, yum.

Of course, even though I thought about this fact whenever I felt like a deep fried snacky cake, it rarely held me back.

One of my favourite donut experiences was several years ago when I visited my sister in Evanston, a university town near Chicago. We walked a half hour to get to a supermarket in search of some tasty treats. There was a Krispy Kreme stand in a clearing in the aisles, and nestled in some waxy paper was a sour cream donut. It’s not like it sounds. It wasn’t just a slather of sour cream sandwiched in a donut. The sour cream had been mixed into the batter before frying and sugar glazing, resulting in a sweet and tangy thing indeed.

I’ve held this memory in my head ever since, and a trip to Krispy Kreme has been mandatory the last two times I was back in the USA (u s a). The first time, they were out of sour cream donuts. The second time, this past May, it just wasn’t as good as I remember. Maybe it was because I had already had about four donuts already in that trip, and subconsciously I was seeing myself eating this fistful of fat. That’s nostalgia for ya.

Still, the news that Krispy Kreme will land its franchise in Sydney next year (sniffing the trail left by Starbucks, obviously) made me twitch momentarily in excitement and I briefly saw myself as that geeky teenage service industry guy in the Simpsons. That’s nostalgia for ya.

– – –
before i had a “blog”, i used to write a sporadically updated letter on the front page of my website. this is one of them. i am consolidating it into these archives, because i can.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 26 August 2002 at 9:17 am
permalink | filed under cake, nellie, trip

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16 bit GIFs make us dithered idiots.

In April, that maybe even makes us April fools.

Nonetheless, we packy a punch.

See, when you spend several weeks in Singapore, with your sister whom you haven’t seen for a year and a bit, and there are those picture booths, booths that might put you in an ad for strawberry chocolate covered pretzels, or superimpose your heads on a selection of deserts and spew them out as tiny stickers, things are bound to get a little out of hand.

There will be non stop maniacal laughter. There will be the invention of many new catchphrases. There may even be a selection of deserts and chocolate covered pretzels.

And the thing is, it will be so *SO* much fun, that it will happen all over again, in New York.

I thought that this year, after last year’s noise fest, that I would get heaps of everything I wanted to do last year but couldn’t find time for, done. Drawing, comics, painting my room, baking cakes… Instead I find myself traipsing around other countries that are full of distractions and amusing photo opportunities. I guess the thing with all this fun, is that time will fly, soon I will be back and good folk out there will be giving me money to draw pictures for them. ‘k?

Could it be this good? It’s gonna be wonderful.

– – –
before i had a “blog”, i used to write a sporadically updated letter on the front page of my website. this is one of them. i am consolidating it into these archives, because i can.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 31 March 2002 at 10:29 pm
permalink | filed under nellie, trip

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I think I read somewhere, some magazine for modern women probably, that the best way to not break new year’s resolutions was not to make any. On the other hand, maybe I just made that up right then. Whatever.

Despite the obviously sound advice, I did make up a small list which included the dependable classics, “watch less tv” and “be more motivated”. There was also “learn to drive” (third year in a row, never fulfilled or even attempted), “cook meat and fish” and (possibly related) “give blood”. So far I have accomplished two, but only really one, if you count the fact that it’s been non-ratings tv for the last couple of months. Let’s see what happens when I get back from my forthcoming overseas jaunt and new seasons of everything are back on.

Anyway. One afternoon, I finished work early and walked into the city, taking a route I knew would lead me past the blood bank. Stepped inside, filled in a form which asked quite a lot of personal questions about intimate details, received a sticker in the shape of a drop of blood which said “my first for life”, and got told to sit in the waiting room and drink several cups of water.

After a screening session with an engaging elderly nurse who asked all the questions in the form I had filled in 20 minutes earlier, I was sent ’round back (“follow the blue line on the floor”). There I was put in a comfy chair with hydraulic pump action, my blood pressure taken (120/80), and a very large needle inserted into the crook of my arm. Such a large needle that the attending nurse thought that my vein wouldn’t be big enough to take it.

Gulp.

Fortunately it was maybe some kind of first blood donor initiation joke, because after a bit of fist clenching and the like, the vein popped up. Needle goes in – it looks like when Keanu’s just been reborn in The Matrix and has all these tubes sticking out of him.

Cool.

470mls later, I get ushered into the cafeteria where the nice lady on duty comes up and asks if I want a milkshake. Chocolate-banana, please. Before you can say “whizz whizz”, here it is. And a plate. Help yourself to the lavish spread: DIY hotdogs with little gherkins and pickled onions. And for dessert, a bowl of blood plums donated by the stone fruit growers of Australia, savvy in the ways of cross promotions.

In ten weeks I get to go back and have another half litre of blood pumped out of me. This time I believe I shall have a strawberry-banana milkshake.

– – –
before i had a “blog”, i used to write a sporadically updated letter on the front page of my website. this is one of them. i am consolidating it into these archives, because i can.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 29 January 2002 at 9:20 pm
permalink | filed under around town, drink, snacks

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How is it November already? More importantly, how is it 2001 and people don’t know better? I can’t make any sense of the wrongness and stupidity.

NO WAR 

NO RACIST SCAPEGOATING

NO FOOD PARCELS THAT LOOK LIKE CLUSTER BOMBS
NO WRONGNESS AND STUPIDITY

Well! Only about a month to go until my job as the art department of noise comes to an end. I got to do some cool things which will be archived here as soon as I get the time, probably around the same time I become unemployed.

– – –
before i had a “blog”, i used to write a sporadically updated letter on the front page of my website. this is one of them. i am consolidating it into these archives, because i can.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 4 November 2001 at 10:23 pm
permalink | filed under grumble, werk

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Everywhere you look these days you expect to see an error message:
1/ On the dashboard of a plane as it scrapes out of the sky and into a skyscraper; 


2/ In the blinking lightbulb perched over the head of the world leader who would drop retaliatory bombs on on people who live in “Iraq, and countries like that”. (quote: some blonde US morning tv presenter); 


3/ Hovering over the western suburbs of Sydney, where the “average Australian” has decided that other average Australians who happen to be wearing hijab, or whose parents came to Australia from the Middle East 50 years ago, are responsible for sending aeroplanes out of the sky and into buildings.

But wait! It all makes perfect sense – obviously the error message mechanism bolted to the world is malfunctioning. What the socialists, hippies and academics might think are out-of-control hysterical and irrational actions, are in fact signs that we are human, and fiercely, stupidly proud of it.

Onya human race.

So. Maybe the only occasion where the error message mechanism has proved itself right in recent, up-to-the-minute history, is when it began beeping – first quite softly, and then louder and louder until it was whirling like a Dervish, screeching like a banshee – at me:

4/ After a couple years of freelancing, I thought it would be cool to re-enter the “real” workforce; I got myself a job. A fulltime job. These days I find myself the art department of noise, which sounds like some sort of performance art schtick in which I have a bunch of percussion instruments and some squeaky rubber dog toys and annoy the hell out of the general public while bathing in the adoration of the art critics. In fact, it’s a media arts festival for Australians (yeah, tough shit for you, illegal queue jumpers!) aged 12 to 25.

Which means, fortunately, that I get spend my days in a cute lowrise building by the water, close to the best nori roll outlet ever (tofu with crunchy peanut butter! sweet marinated pumpkin!), with the DHL shipping depot downstairs and right next door to where the big holiday cruise ships berth, and on Wednesdays or Fridays before the boat departs you can hear a live band covering famous goodbye songs like “Don’t dream it’s over” or “With or without you”.

Unfortunately it means I get to deal with people who can’t plan a deadline, who think I can just pull fully-designed whatever out my ass in the two hours before it’s due at wherever, who will give me reams of words to push around the page, and when it’s done hours later, will tell me that it wasn’t actually finalised or proofed copy, and will give me a fresh Word .doc to reformat all over again. It means I’m always tired, I’m going blind, I’ve given up trying to explain to people that a Friday printer deadline doesn’t mean *they* get until Friday to write it, and people hate me because I’ve given up trying to explain things and instead resort to concise sentences utilising the word “fucken” six times, with two at the end for good measure.

Fortunately (again), it also means I get to work on some quite cool projects1: designing books with grungy photocoped type, using bits of junk that I’ve kept in a box out of direct sunlight for years, drawing, drawing, drawing…

It’s gonna be wonderful, except for the bit about the world ending because humans are evil / stupid / crap.

– – –
before i had a “blog”, i used to write a sporadically updated letter on the front page of my website. this is one of them. i am consolidating it into these archives, because i can.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 18 September 2001 at 8:44 am
permalink | filed under grumble, werk
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