I miss my workmates

From a former workmate via email today:

"It’s funny, when you write “mother fucker”, I HEAR it, I’ve worked alongside you enough. And I SEE the cigarette out of the side of the mouth, and how the word falls out of the other.

I like that."

Sorry that I've been quiet. I wrote a book. More on that later.

Now to locate my social life...

Amoir fills in the blanks

I see… my laptop not looking all that cheerful

I find… that my nights are beginning to drag on forever out of sheer boredom

I want…. that would be telling and besides that, Buckley’s chance of that, so no, I don’t want anything.

I have… a lot on my mind.

I love… baths. Especially those that don't run over when I forget about them. While hosting a dinner party. Seriously, this happened last night.

I hate… putting my foot in pudding. This happened. Today.

I miss… travelling. Right now, I'd love nothing more than living somewhere different.

I fear… deadlines. That I ignore by doing a blog post.

I feel… there's a party in my tummy. Of acid.

I hear… the quiet drone of a politician, which makes a change from all the vampire films I've been watching of late.

I smell… the sweet smell of excess (fried bread and eggs).

I crave… a job overseas.

I wonder…if they'll ever ring with that dream job?

I regret… my credit history. But mostly nothing.

Something I've been waiting to tell you...

Friends and lurkers alike would be under no doubt how much I love working. I love going into work each day and seeing the people I consider family, spending time with them doing the stuff I love, the challenges I love, the technology I love. 

These simple lines don't give it justice but I loved my job with a passion. Well, until I got retrenched. I'm no longer sad but it did take a while to admit it via my blog, not due to shame but admitting it was over was a task easily deferred when there were diversions, freelance writing jobs and underpants dancing to be done. 

Now to find a new family, new challenges and new fun.

Conversations with the Effusive Complimenter

*pondering the need for distraction due to a newborn-baby-snorgle-vist resulting in high hormones*

Me: Mmmmm sitting on the couch, snorgling a baby. Life doesn’t get any better at that point.
Maybe I need a monkey. One that wears a tuxedo and gives me cigarettes. I think I’d prefer another baby though.
Effusive Complimenter: It is so not you, this baby thing.
Me: Really? Why so?
Effusive Complimenter: I don't know. There you are in the doorway, exhaling sharp streetlight, red in tooth and claw, proffering a ticket to the Scenic Railway, and all of a sudden you pull out a rattle and make goo-goo sounds. You know?
Me: No, I have absolutely no idea what that means but I love it.
Effusive Complimenter: Oh you do so A_Gra, don't play coy with me. Or rather, do it's kind of cute

Amoir: needs a reality tv show

I've realised that for too long, TV programmers have ignored the Amoir demographic. Sure, it's a demographic of one. Sure, it's of a person who counts smoking, sitting and swearing as hobbies. Sure, it might scare the nation. But it might teach them to love again.

So, jaded TV programmers: sign me up, slather me in spackfiller and Supre and cast me in the following Amoir-friendly reality tv shows.

• Farmer wants a surly chain smoker
  
• Dancing with the SARS
  
• MasterSnark
  
• The Amazing Sit Down On The Couch With a Cuppa
• From Zombette to Zombie
  
• Taken Out (by people who only see me as a friend. An embarrassing friend.)
• Who wants to get Legionnaires?
  
• The Biggest Oozer (I get to squeeze pimples)
  
• Project Lie-Down-And-Have-A-Nap-Way
• My Super Sweet 16 Gyoza In One Sitting
• Girls Gone GHD
  

Hong Kong Hissyfit

I understand how she feels. I'd be majorly pissed if I were stuck in Hong Kong again.

Tragedy vs Comedy

Tragedy is when the Seagull starts screeching at the busy supermarket that "Mummy has a boyfriend! Mummy has a boyfriend!"

Comedy is when the Seagull starts screeching "Daddy has a boyfriend! Daddy has a boyfriend!" as we leave.

Signs you're getting cranky at work during the heatwave

Colleague mentions something about my hair, bouffy from the humidity.

C: You should wear a skullcap and a wig. I have some nice wigs at home. You'd look smart.
A (storming off): I have an IQ of 145! I don't need to look smart, I AM smart!

Sanity saver

Unless you've been living under a cool, air-conditioned rock, Melbourne has been schvitzing through a massive heat wave with successive days reaching 43 degrees.

This is the only thing that has kept my sanity:

And the dog ate my homework

I have masses of news to share but time has just been spinning, just like me after eating a whole jar of Tang and spinning in a desk chair for an hour. I've been rushing about with work, with projects and a tsunami of administrivia. May I just mention that none of these things come with complimentary chocolate or cigarettes?

There are some big posts planned and I promise they will come soon. Sooner than my next smoke? No. But definitely before the apocalypse.

Bear with me.

The best idea ever

Seriously, it's a better idea than that time I thought the mash could use more butter.

I was struck by the thought I have been smoking for 20 years. Now, quite frankly, smoking and I are the real deal. Long have I claimed that Peter Stuyvesant is my "plus one" in life and dammit, it's time those nearest and dearest recognised this special moment.

So smoking and I will have a 20th anniversary party down in Chinatown (20th anniversary gift) to celebrate 20 years of that first smoke in the morning, getting into kinky threesomes with coffee, looking for change behind the couch to buy another pack and long flights around the globe desperate to consummate our lurve. And force my friends to watch.

Do you want to come?



* So it's 20 years if you don't count the odd childhood cigarette under the age of 10 and the "long weekend" that was being pregnant and raising the Seagull to the age of 1.

An open letter to late night programming

Dearest Late Night Programming,

You're like a sister from another mister. How you look deep inside my minds, past the sirens and discarded hamster wheels, to see what it is I really need.

And what is it?

Re-runs of Taken Out.

Let me spoon and coo at your cathode of truth,

Amoir xoxo

The reason I love the internets in one YouTube clip

Thoughts on "The Tuxedo"

I've just watched "The Tuxedo". I'd hate to choose whether to use my single bullet on either Jennifer Love Hewitt or the film's scriptwriter. Man, that'd be a tough day.

*arches eyebrow @ 2009*

As the links at the end of this post will testify, I'm crap at devising resolutions for an upcoming year. Naturally, I've learned to even the odds by having the stock standard "I resolve to smoke more next year". Because it's nice to achieve, don't you think?

Instead of listing a whole bunch of "goals" that will be spurned for another episode of Godzilla, I've decided to compile yet another completely random list of things I want to do or become within 2009 or before I die.

1. Spend a month or more living with the Seagull in Tokyo.
2. Watch and deride every top 100 list of films ever composed.
3. Collect all the lovely cameras from the Lomographic Society as well as vintage.
   
4. Fight for legislation that recognises "but he tried to make me play hackeysack" as a valid homicide defense.
   
5. Hang out in a fale with the Seagull or anyone else who would annoy me after a week of intense contact (see, anyone) and international travel.
6. Con some stupid bastard to give me an international job posting for 6 months or less.
7. Develop a kickarse art collection
8. Learn more about art
9. Get a drivers license.
10. Then own this car.
11. Not only learn but actually keep my home clean.
12. Um, and not only learning but actually keeping to a budget.
13. See the Aurora.
14. Redevelop the awesome body I had when younger but was too shy to appreciate
15. And then get more clothes designed and made for me. Possibly by this delightful friend.
16. Conquer New York.
    
17. Finish the book & get published
18. In yet another scam, potentially fool the world into paying me to write full time.
19. Write more letters. That don't devolve into bizarre stream of consciousness rants about Sean Ryder.
20. Live in a warehouse apartment that streams in the sun, allowing the Seagull and I to recline at our leisure.
21. Become even more of a gadfly cafe wanker.
22. Never. Stop. Wearing. Black.
23. Learn Japanese. Because I think I could embarrass myself even more if I learned the language.
24. Visit Cuba and, while drunk on mojitos, get tattooed.
25. Perfect spraycan technique to avoid derision.
26. Spend time every week drawing.
27. Write every single day.
28. Spend some time working or volunteering in a gallery.
29. Conquer London.
30. Return those books to East Melbourne library.
31. Be the sort of person who actually eats the lovely fresh fruit and vegetables languishing in the fridge.
32. Control my alt+tab addiction.
33. Not sit awake at 2am wondering how I would cope during a zombie epidemic.
    
34. Live in a mad, rambling terrace house that is filled with laughter, music and clutter.
35. Hang out with friends more.
    

2008 Resolutions
2007 Resolutions
2006 Resolutions part 1, part 2 & part 3

So, in lieu of a real post

I should share with you that I saw a man bathe himself in coca-cola the other day on the train.

He also had some dance moves on him that were clearly in time to the beats in his head.

I love mad people. Especially when they keep their pants on and don't talk to me.

The kiss of fuzzy, scratchy economic death

Stock photo proves lipstick effect, introduces recessionary anti-waxing theory.

Abandoned London

Flickrset from the ingenious IanVisits:

Xmas morning is the only time that London is (almost) empty of humans - so a morning spent cycling around town taking photos.

It's so lovely to reminisce about a city I dislike almost as much as Hong Kong.

An open letter to Hong Kong

Dear Hong Kong,

I know we don't know each other all that well and I normally wait a few vodkas before settling into the "let Amoir share her forthright opinions about you with a free side of cuss", but it has to be said.

You fucking suck. And the epicentre of your suck resides at Chunking Mansions.

Here is a view similar to what you will see at Chungking Mansions:


Hong Kong, I realise I wanted a cultural experience and to experience all you had to offer but it appears all that was on the menu were TB, randy Parisians who won't take no for an answer, annoying men trying to whisk you away to a curry house/hostel you have no intention of visiting and a cast of characters that even Goya could not paint.

By the way, in answer to your populace: no I do not want any motherfucking jewellry, handbags, watches, electronics, curry, silk 0r tailoring you motherfucking mosquitos of commerce. Also, Hong Kong, get your people to stop staring at me for pairing an Akira dress with Doc Martens and a red felt cloche cap! And sorry about telling one of your people to fuck the fuck off but really after 4 hours of trying to avoid the entreaties of sales people, I became the worst Western tourist imagined.

In short, Hong Kong, fuck you and may I never have to visit you ever again.

Merry Christmas your arse, I pray god it's our last, etc

Amoir


And it is on this cheery note we draw the "Amoir's fun adventures in testing the world's and her credit card's patience" to a close. Normal transmission will resume shortly, with a few photos of notable purchases.

Tatami'd

The highs of Amsterdam dictated I needed a soft space to fall before home and Osaka will always be that place. I made my way from the airport (after the most polite bag search ever) to Shinsekai, my most beloved spot in the world, and crashed on the tatami of my tiny room.

On waking, I skittered about my favourite streets and lanes, pausing to eat takoyaki, buy little tschokes from a roadside stallholder and peer in windows before sitting down to eat a pancake dinner in a strange little cafe that rivalled Pellegrinis in its refusal to redecorate.

Osaka is still as beautiful as remembered. The cooing of the ladies on the train PA is still soothing. I still knew my way around, my favourite diners were still open and still serving my favourite food. The people still blush and smile without guile.

And the shopping is still amazing. I could spend my yearly salary and still not have my fill - forgetting how heady that first 24 hours of shopping is in Japan. From roadside trash vendor to boutique to department store, I would (and did) happily test the limits of my credit history.

For example, I fell utterly in love with the randoseru, a leather backpack for Japanese primary school students.

This is a randoseru:



For those unaware of the Amoir love stakes, here it is presented as a prioritised list:

1. Randoseru
2. Smoking
3. Mashed Potato
4. Dubliner vs Paul Banks in death match
5. Sitting
6. Butter
7. Godzilla
8. Misc. carbohydrates
9. Zombies

I actually tried to purchase said love at Daimaru only to discover my credit card wouldn't work. Why? Because I was trying to buy a bag worth A$800 after a month of living off said credit card. Also, I suck at converting currency.

This lead to much embarrassment and me exiting stage right to console myself with a pork cutlet sandwich while thinking the Seagull doesn't need a bag worth more than her mother's combined bag collection multiplied by oh, I don't know, infinity. But if you see me in an ice-filled bathtub, missing a kidney and clutching onto a randoseru, you'll know what's happened.

How to confuse Amoir

Buying croissants. In a CAN.

No. Seriously.

Thankfully the delectable Sarah has photographic evidence from her own experience (a worthy blog to add to your subscriptions). I was too shocked to take photos when I saw them.

I was roundly mocked by the Dub and our gracious host for my reaction. I don't think they've ever seen anyone lose it over the sight of croissants in a motherfucking CAN. Even Samuel L. Jackson would come out with a motherfucking monologue about its outrageousness. Then again, they didn't have much to work with on their mock-list (1. Silly accent, 2. cooing at pretty streetscapes, 3. croissants in a MOTHERFUCKING can).

Now I want a croissant. Filled with bacon.

*claps hands imperiously*

*remains hungry*

Frieking cold in the Netherlands

I was rocking on the Dubliner's dime to Eindhoven for an impromptu itinerary addition to catch up with friends, meet new people and freeze my ass off. Oh, and possibly the most amazing weekend of my existence.

If there is one thing I learned during my sojourn, it is that the Intoxicating Dubliner and I have exceedingly different traveling styles. I'm all about the meander, the gambol and slow walk and he -- bless -- is all about the manic Amazing Race style scramble, running for trains, muttering about queues and schedules. In short, things that do not exist in the Amoiroverse (this would explain his inquiry one night as to whether I were Oscar or Felix. The Answer? Totally Oscar.)

The morning after our arrival in a tiny, gorgeous town called Eindhoven, we reached Amsterdam by train, a journey that comprised our usual dialogue (see, hot oil torture as banter technique) and violence. After wandering the streets and eating dinner, we caught a bus to Villa Friekens, a squat north of Amsterdam and home to some amazing creativity as part of the "Paint & Beer" session.

You skitter delicately to the door where a distant Cthulu-esque persistent drumbeat beckons. Passing by discarded cars, caravans and furniture, you feel the empty cold so endemic to large spaces and begin to notice the colour. Tendrils and splashes and blotches trailing up the walls. Tags and pieces thrown against the brick and whatever object is moored nearby. Traipsing by some guys getting to work, the music gets louder and you cross the threshold into this:



This is what we call heaven, Amoir-style.

Some of the most amazing graffers I've ever wanted to witness working and meet were inside and they were deliciously humble, kind and approachable. We wandered around, making good use of the 1 euro beers to keep warm and photographed all we could as some amazing pieces unfurled.

After painting, we retreated into the club and warmed ourselves with Irish Coffee and cheese & onion tostis while sitting in a caravan inside the club as dogs and their owners danced and painters retired after a hard day and evening of exuberance.






The following day, we headed out with our friends and painted on walls. It was even colder than the night before but we were indulged with cups of tea and coffee and gorgeous soup as the rain fell.

That night we rested, curled into one another, farewelling and thanking and feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all. It was simultaneously the best and worst night of my life.

Amoir's handy notes on how to work out if you're back in Australia

Amsterdam Customs Official: Your eyes are so beautiful. Amazing. All over. You're gorgeous.

Some old Australian fucker at Sydney airport whispering into my ear not an hour into touchdown: Freak

Man, I am so not popular with Australian men.



Sad to be home but happy to celebrate with a cleansing latte at Pellegrinis, even happier at the prospect of seeing the Seagull again once the jetlag dissipates.

More to come. Swears. It's just that doing 5 countries in 5 days has left me emptier than an episode of the Hills.

I make this face in Dublin

Though I love to share my thoughts on travel, Dublin and its fine inhabitants has left me uncharacteristically shy. Safe to say I love the city, its weather, its cramped pubs, late night meals and people more than I could ever imagine.

My liver however would like me to go back to Melbourne.

The London Style Book

MC Hammer Pants?

Totally in.

Well here's something I wasn't expecting

And I don't quite know how to say this.

I don't really like London.

Don't get me wrong: Architecture? Wonderful. English Breakfasts in Greasy Spoons? Awesome. Shopping? Fantastic. Galleries? Brilliant.

The rest? Mmmmmmm it's just not hitting me in the heart. I'm not in love or even mildly interested in the city.

London feels like it would be a really easy city to hate. I'm not feeling the love, I'm not sensing the passion, just millions of people trying to get from A to B and feeling really surly in the process. And, as an avid lover of the urban landscape, I'm getting a bit claustrophobic here.

I used to feel like a hick because friends would jet off on their European stints and come back with London affectations and pretensions. London was the pinnacle, to go to London gave a sheen of sophistication and urbanity. One was worldly after a trip to London. One was accomplished. But I'm not feeling it. Perhaps I'm not up for the challenge. Perhaps I don't respond to the same things but I don't think London will ever be in my top 5 travel experiences.

Photos to come by the time I hit Ireland - unfortunately BT and I want to kill each other which prevents me from uploading.

Now, see, this here is why we were going to do the Carry On Challenge

While I was determined to only give the briefest of kisses to Helsinki, my luggage felt it wanted to have a great big old drunken pash. Which is why I am typing this in clothes I first put on in Shanghai some 30+ hours ago.

Currently, my fragrance and I are staying with some lovely people in Covent Garden. They're utterly adorable and I am utilising the fire escape Miss J used as a punksome lass to sneak out for ciggies. Cos that's what 33 year olds do: sneak out for ciggies.

So far, there is a distinct lack of a battle plan for London though I have an extra day I didn't realise due to the fact I am quite possibly retarded. This should be rectified today and I've been informed that I've arrived at a wonderful time for exhibitions.

All things and anything is possible.....as soon as I get access to bacon and my suitcase.

p.s. to Shanghai & Smoking

Spot the modification

Sometimes flying's just like having a hangover

Sometimes flying's just like having a hangover: you lay about, obsess about food and watch way too many movies in one sitting. Thankfully Day1 of the Great Expedition was quite lovely, allowing me to recline on an empty row and wrap myself with many blankets and leather and fur. Shut up, this is Amoir Air and that's how we roll.

Sadly, the Carry On Challenge was a non-starter and I had to check it in. I think by London I can mail some stuff back home and give it another go. Mind you, one must question my committment to the challenge when I've packed 5 bras and 14 tshirts.

Last night was spent in Shanghai cavorting with my Fairy Godmother, who is still reliably as mad as a hatstand.



Now: flying to Helsinki for the most brief and lightest of kisses before giving the cheekiest of smiles to London-town.

10 years ago in 10 panels

With all the grace of an uninvited & uncoordinated guest at your own personal Electric Boogaloo, I decided to take up the always lovely Adam Ford's comic meme challenge.

Armed with nothing more than an index card, biro and bucket-load of boring, here is my contribution (which I wasn't going to share but Mr Ford gave me a vague "eh", which was all the validation & encouragement required):


I tag no one in response because that's how this bitch rolls.

Travel challenge #1, 2 & 3

So far, I have three travel challenges and I've still not even hit the road:

1. The Carry-On Challenge.
Given the amount of countries I'm visiting, I'm considering reducing the risk of lost luggage by only taking carry-on luggage. Now, this is going to be problematic given a) I can't pack, b) I insist on being a flashpacker with way too much tech and c) I can't pack but the thought of losing anything is too much. So how much can you scale back when you're going through humid Asia and cold Europe, insist on taking 2 cameras, 2 journals and ephemera?

2. I'm going through approx 7 countries (some multiple times) within 30 days on a tourist visa. How can I assure Customs I'm a person of low attention span and not interest?
I watched "Border Security" for the first time last week and was struck by three thoughts: 1) it's a nasty piece of State propaganda (I really should review it sometime) ; 2) my movements and adherence to the Carry-On Challenge are certain to arouse interest; and 3) I'm surlier than Oliver Reed in detox when in transit. All ideas written on the back of a boogie-board case welcomed.

3. There may be another country that requires visiting. This basically means London will be hit ninja-style when it was originally considered to be the main point for the freaking holiday.
London was THE place I had to visit. It has the most friends satelliting about in various states of (in)sobriety, there's a meeting and there is even free accomodation. And galleries - did I mention galleries? A PLETHORA of galleries I've always wanted to visit? Because they're there as well. But other things are tantalising me and the cheap flights and potential hijinx are too great to ignore. Prepare yourself for "Amoir's Ninja Guide to London" on this blog soon. Your ideas for must-see London spots or ability to bend time greatly appreciated and warmly rewarded with a sincere "awwww, you pretty!".

So, with 7 days to go and little accommodation sorted, allow me to acquaint you with how I usually prepare for travel:

The Amoir 6 Point Plan
1. Buy ticket. Generally on whim.
2. Do nothing until 2 weeks before or day of arrival
3. Peruse Flickr geo-tags for travel ideas
4. Lazily flip through guidebook and circle things I will do.
5. Make up hitlist of places to...uh...hit
6. Buy nicotine patches at airport and strap myself in for 8-20 hours of hating my fellow wo/man

I so have to get my shit sorted in the next 6 days.

Maybe my mother was right

According to GenderAnalyzer, this here blog you're reading is written by a man.

I can only quote my mother who looked at me in abject horror when I turned up to a family wedding wearing a mens' suit and tie, "You're just proving all those rumours about you!"

So, dear readers, here I am - the author - considered male by a bot:



I'm so fucking Tom Selleck, I make metrosexuals crimp.

Admittedly, the site suggests it only has a 56% rate of accuracy. Obviously, this doesn't prevent my manly self from taking the piss:

The Age: written by a man
AFL: An error occurred. Sorry, we can only classify web pages written in English.

My timing is brilliant

Naturally, I get the perfect Halloween costume idea a day after Halloween.



Halloween 2009 to do list:
1. Dress up as Ripley
2. Dress the Seagull as Newt
3. Find a Halloween party

It will be noted in the society pages...

Naturally, all the socialites will cover it (I'm looking at you, Dominick Dunne, you pickled pompous poseur) but I wanted to let you, dear readers, get the inside scoop on the hottest party in Melbourne.

Amoir's Soiree des Chookzilla et Godzilla.

No, I've not resorted dressing the Seagull up as an aquatic dinosaur and throwing her into a cockfighting ring (copyright Amoir). It was a refined evening of roasted birds and the fury of Birth Island combined into one elegant occasion.

After sending out the finely crafted invitations to my friends, I was keen to build their excitement in the form of forwarded YouTube videos.

You can see the results for yourself:

And don't they look excited to be there?

As a seasoned hostess, I believe it's important to keep the element of surprise alive when throwing a soiree. To this end, I completely forgot what time my guests were coming over and greeted them with half-done hair and a pedicure that would make me the prime mate for a tree-climbing sloth. Surprise.

First Film: Party games out of the way, we soon settled down to Amoir's cinematic curriculum: Godzilla vs Mothra. During this time, they laughed, they startled, they ate butter-smothered roasted chicken and, most importantly of all, they learned to love again under the flapping wings of Mothra's soothing death dust.

Amoir, Mel, Trentacles, Inked Miss & Sasspot Fatale then took a brief intermission that in no way resembled chain smoking on the balcony and pointing out vomit-stains from the neighbour's Grand Final party.

Second film: Unfortunately Sasspot Fatale made the unfortunate error of renting Godzilla vs MechaGodzilla 2, instead of the fabulous Godzilla vs MechaGodzilla as requested (noted for its brilliant "King Caeser" song wherein one pauses in astonishment to realise ancient Japanese monster-awakening shanties all feature a 60s pop beat). I am sad to report that Godzilla vs MechaGodzilla: Electric Boogaloo is an embarrassing stain on the crotch of the Godzilla franchise and elicited much post-modern criticism from my guests, not to mention much slander about Godzilla and Rodan doing the nasty*.

There was only one thing to do: unleash the Seagull to deliver justice Birth Island style. Sadly she just decided to put on a hat.



But they were transformed. You can just tell. Why, just take a look at these completely non-staged before and after shots...



* ok, that was me lewdly conjecturing that Godzilla lay down some Barry White to get Rodan in the sack for some sweet, sweet monster loving. Oh yeah...

Well thats...um...festive

Go on, tell me what's wrong with this product title...



It's perfect for those who wish to be kissed by Santa...in that special place.

Available from the bastion of conservative consumption, Peter's of Kensington for only $8. Cheaper than a happy ending.