I love this man. Full stop.

I have no idea where I'll be February '08 financially or physically, but I can honestly say that emotionally and musically, with every sinew and fibre in my being, I will be wishing I was with Ben Folds on a freaking 5-day magical musical cruise.

I'm still RSVPing for the presale.

Madre, perhaps a masters degree regalo? I gave you the address to this here blog a mere 24 hours ago. Coincidence? Not likely.

Two gay things I would love to see but cannot afford

A drag queen tour of Sydney, Priscilla Queen of the Desert Style! (or the musical at Star City, for that matter) AU$135 ($79-99)

The Great Outdoors did a piece on this tour last night (also makes me want to go to Thailand with the RFL). Clearly it was all women on the tour because, sadly, drag queens and trannies make dudes uncomfortable. I'm guessing they do a lot of Hens nights.

Regardless, I do love the nightlife, I like hearing about the seedy bits of Sydney's history, and I think I have the balls to wear a gigantic purple wig on the steps of the Opera House. Maybe next time I visit Ush for the weekend I can rope her in? She'd definitely be up for it.





Ian McKellen in the RSC's international tour of King Lear at the Arts Centre (where I saw Ben Folds with the MSO) AU$99-159

I just read a feature on Sir Ian in Good Weekend, and he is definitely a bit of an enigma. He has Shakespeare written all over him, but he felt like a failure until he received commercial fame from Lord of the Rings. Who knew?

Regardless, he is so grandfather-y and lovely I would really just like to see him live on stage. But the student income is getting in the way...

"It is analogous to showing up for a black tie event in a clown costume."

This poor unsuspecting country girl joined Housie and I in a vino-induced (yeah cheap market bottles!) conversation last Saturday re: the propogation of Helvetica in the corporate world; the childishness of Comic Sans; and why Palatino is significantly clearer than Times New. Apologies for bringing typeface to house parties. Eeeeee.

You know those certain 'I told you so' moments that people relish so much? Like when they make drunken wagers concerning the singer of 'Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?' using Hoegaarden as collateral and then win? Or when they warn a fellow girlfriend about a dude's general suckiness only to mutter those four words when said fellow girlfriend is crying into a pillow due to said suckiness? Or when they blog about a font and then MoMA up and runs an exhibit about it? And Gary Hustwit (holla that sweet documentary about Wilco) produces a film about it? And Slate.com publishes a slideshow on it?

This is exactly how I feel after posting about Helvetica and fonts in gen; it's nice to feel The Proverbial Man giving you a pat on the back and whisper: "I agree, young lady." One particular posting struck a chord (from the article about which fonts authors write in and why):

Anne Fadiman: "My favorite fonts are unrepentantly anti-Helvetican. Most of my books have been set in Walbaum, which sounds like a chain store but is in fact an early-19^th-century font designed by Justus Erich Walbaum, a German punchcutter whose luscious serifs may have been influenced by his early apprenticeship to a confectioner. When I was the editor of the American Scholar, we set our text in New Baskerville and our titles in Mrs. Eaves*, a neo-letterpress font based on types by 18^th-century English printer John Baskerville and named after the woman who was first his housekeeper, then his mistress, then his wife. Mr. Baskerville and Mrs. Eaves interacted gracefully both in life and on the page. Although it's a thrill to see my words printed in such elegant fonts, I'd never actually write in them. I'd be afraid that my prose would become too precious, like that of a student of mine who, until nudged toward something more prosaic, refused to compose in anything but Garamond. I attempt to counter my natural tendency to overwrite by printing out my work in an aggressively foursquare version of Times Roman, one more heavily inked than Times New Roman or CG Times. It exists only on Hewlett-Packard #92286P, an obsolete font cartridge that plugs into an obsolete printer. When my printer dies, my beloved font will die as well."

So see? People do give more than a second thought to which font they write in. Granted, these people are writers by trade, aka they can eat and buy clothes with their earnings. Still, we're getting somewhere.

*I particularly like the back-story of Mrs Eaves (which we learned about in class); props to the bastardised women of history.

"Vince"

My hatred of Comic Sans has not lessened since I last posted; if anything, it has worsened. I have since been made privy to various heinous uses of the CS:

• an official letter from the Canadian government demanding money
• a power point presentation from a reputable 60-something public health professor
• restaurant menus
  
• corporate newsletters

But... Rejoice! I have also been injected with a welcome dose of You Are Not Alone thanks to a glorious new website to which Slate provided me a link: "Ban Comic Sans."

AMEN. I plan on buying some pins for Housie and me, perhaps even printing off my own stickers guerilla style and implementing my own viral marketing campaign in the alleyways of Melbourne (just next to the rotting fish, VB bottles, and St Jeromes).

Ban Comic Sans puts it like this:

"Like the tone of a spoken voice, the characteristics of a typeface convey meaning. The design of the typeface is, in itself, its voice. Often this voice speaks louder than the text itself. Thus when designing a "Do Not Enter" sign the use of a heavy-stroked, attention-commanding font such as Impact or Arial Black is appropriate. Typesetting such a message in Comic Sans would be ludicrous."

They also likened Comic Sans to my circus comment (see post title). Ha! "I told you so."

Don't Melbourne the Toast

Years ago, I read an article in a non-descript magazine aboubt a woman in her 50s who became swamped with clippings her 70-something parents cut out for her from the newspaper. They would constantly cut out articles they thought said daughter would find relevant/intriguing/amusing, write the date on the back, and bring them over to her house or send them in the mail. Some were quite pertinent, but some, well, weren't. They clipped so many articles that said daughter/magazine reporter felt she had enough content to whip out a human interest story, and she wrote it in a light that made her parents come out looking a tad kooky instead of a tad 'Put on a hat- you'll catch a cold' endearing.

Though I am not 50, Mama K (and to some extent, Papa T... the softball championship article was WELL documented, laminated, and sent my way) is already turning into one of these Zeitung hoarders (that, and the current affairs chain of command is generational: Grandparents Killian pass along back issues of Newsweek and People at family functions; my family's starting to sound OCD-Russell-in-A-Beautiful-Mind. Eeeeee).

I suppose it's a bit apples and oranges since I now live in a foreign country; you might simply say my mo(/u)m is simply trying to keep me connected with my Motherland in a topical and light-hearted way. I certainly hear about all the bad news via every other news medium. Man, does a large portion of the world HATE US. Still, in every US Mail package I receive, there is inevitably some kooky local advertisement or news article (in addition, of course, to the requisite engagement announcement of someone with whom I graduated high school. Congrats, Marilyn, Bethany, Laura, Jill!).

The latest box was no exception. I have been waiting with bated breath for the arrival of new brown boots (it's starting to get cold and rainy), decent eyemakeup remover, and Schick Quattro razor blades. You can imagine my glee when I found those items and so much more (cute leopard print ballet flats! Proenza Schouler for Target fabulous tank and jacket! enormous earrings! concealer! skinny dark rinse jeans! big ups, Mom!). The kicker has been the ads/articles she's chosen to include.

1. A JCPenney ad for kimono-style shirts paired with leggings. She then wrote "ew! ::sad face::" with an arrow pointing to the cropped jeans (they were hein), and "tops are cute though!" beside the Asian-inspired billowing tops.

In the last box o' fun my mom sent me, she included a kimono-esque silky top. I love the colours, but when I tried it on, I really felt like Ziyi Zhang. I jokingly told her this year I could easily be a Geisha for Halloween (Halloween '07 gon' be off the CHAIN! Yeah, housie!). Well, my mother has clung onto this comment for dear life and likes to reference frequently how popular kimono-style tops are in America at the moment since she feels my comment implied I wouldn't wear the kimono in a normal social setting. Well, she was right.*

Plus, using a JCPenney ad to prove your point is doing you any favours, Madre.

*I have been searching for a still of Lauren Graham from the Ellen show the other day. I happened to catch her on Foxtel (Lucia, bless) and she was wearing what amounted to be, a kimono dress (only A-line and CUTE AS). She mentioned it was from Madonna's line for H & M. If this trend inches south of the equator during the winter, I might just be ahead of the game.

2. beautyspy from Lucky magazine: "rosebud cheeks" with a paragraph about Coach's new fragrance on the reverse (PS, now you know 1/10 of my Christmas wishlist).

Nothing to see here, really. I do enjoy rosy cheeks/looking alive and I adore Reed Krakoff.

3. Article about Amy Winehouse being a mess.

Tell me something I don't know.

4. Article about Susan Sontag's posthumously released essays.

I guess every mother thinks their child will grow up to be a world-famous writer? That and the fact that Sontag supported Rushdie relentlessly during the fatwah; Mom knows how much I love The Ground Beneath her Feet. Props.

5. Vertical advertisement for OPI's Australia Collection: Free-Spirited and Fabulous!

Something about which I have pondered entirely too often in my spare thinking time/ditzball moments is this: how do makeup (and nail polish) companies come up with "new" colours each season? For that matter, how does Nike or Adidas come up with new spiffy-looking sneaks? The technology remains the same. I guess this is where I lose faith in marketing departments and start to feel swindled (slash I refuse to read advertorials), even though I-- like all young independent women-- totally fall for packaging sometimes. Have you ever bought anything from Benefit?!?!?! My God! Cutest ever!

Yes, there are millions of potential colours to be produced in an RBG scheme, but most of them are indiscernable by the human eye. Not only indiscernable, but seriously, crimson red is crimson red is crimson red. Call it Red Hot Ayers Rock, or You Rock-Apulco Red, or some other ridiculous pun, but no woman in the world can tell the difference.

All that being said, I really like Fair Dinkum Pinkum and Suzi Loves Sydney, but couldn't come up with a fun pun relating to the Opera House, could you, OPI? Who the H is Suzi? Perhaps Luna Park After Dark for the wine shade. I could work for you. Give me a call.

I can manage yo' investment portfolio, jigga!

(ohnotheydidnt)

Makes me laugh.

Holding out for those conjugal visits

convicted serial killer Carl Williams who will *fingers crossed* leave jail in a pine box (theage)

They say Victoria is called "The Garden State" because there are so many underworld figures buried beneath its soil to make it so green. I'm not so sure that's right-- based on a few theories (not the least of which is the long-term drought and Stage 4 water restrictions we're on at the moment) and the fact that, let's be rilll, it's more of an urban legend. But I will admit I was shocked at the level of violence this state has produced stemming from organised crime.

I saw Chopper when I was 20 in my attempt to view all seminal Aussie movies* during my stint in Adelaide , but I didn't realise how the "Gangland" violence between 1999 and 2003 pervaded the psyche of Melburnians, how 27 people were killed all up, and the fact that one murder occured in front of a youth footy clinic.

Still, apparently some chicks dig these men that were responsible. And not in the AC Slater superficially bad boy sense, but in the Jason from Laguna Beach/Pete Dougherty/drugged out sense bordering on the allure of Tony Soprano/full-on murderer sense. GIRLS! What the crap? I read a long article in Good Weekend last winter about the lawyer Zarah Garde-Wilson and her willingness to help obviously helpless and/or pathetic men. The writer attempted to make sense of why she chose her particularly sordid bedfellows by exploring her past, but when it came right down to it, there was really no satisfying explanation. Normal girl, normal--down right privileged-- upbringing, and straight down the path of low-cut tanks and Louis Vitton sunnies on her way to court to defend a known murderer or drug dealer.

And how did Carl Williams snag the blonde babe while he was in court? His estranged wife is all beanie-wearing/converting to Islam/yelling at everyone/nutbag, and this gorgeous, young blonde girl rocks up to court to lend support to a man about to be sentenced to life? LADIES, WHAT IS THE APPEAL (no court humour pun intended)? Is it Williams' babyface? Is it the stacks of cash buried under the shed? These men are MURDERERS. Nothing more and nothing less.


*The Castle was ticked off at age 17; Picnic at Hanging Rock and Gallipoli (pre anti-Semite Mel) are waiting in the wings; I've physically MET Kenny at the Sunshine cinema (BEAT IT); and I've seen every episode of Kath and Kim (plus special features, deleted scenes, and the telemovie). I could go on, but I feel I have the major films covered.

Oz Music Sampler: Vol. 1 2007

Top 40 in Australia has some interesting darlings: Ne-Yo and Akon seem to consistently crack into the top commercial charts, but no one really gives a crap about Kanye. Carrie Underwood, who? but they love Daughtry and Hinder (excuse me, I think I just threw up in my mouth). On a bit of an anecdote, P!nk (greater Philadelphia's own) has had more number 1 hits in Oz than any other country. And damn girl sure does practice what she ghetto preaches; Housie, Davis Street Massive and some Canberra visitors were graced with her presence while they devoured some delicious chocolate drinks in the city. No, she was not indulging in zee Chocolate Fire; she was getting her fake tan on. The healthy way, I am pleased to report. Tan in a can and no cancer beds. WeSHEW P!nk, I was worried you were gonna go all "Stupid Girls" on me and I would have had to go all Cancer Council on you and remind you that you are not, in fact, Joe Simpson's daughter. Too bad I missed her "mizundastoodness" whilst she and her entourage were in the CBD, as I had to house my chocolate smoothie and scurry off to work.

Regardless, Australia still puts out some great music by their own home-grown. Instead of sending all you, my (mostly) American audience, a heap of Aussie songs at the end of the calendar year, I thought I might throw some examples of songs that are popular here at the moment (or have been in the first quarter of 2007) by Aussie artists. They should all be on Itunes:

20 Good Reasons
Thirsty Merc











They use this for commercials for Lost.

The Others (TV Rock Mix)
Dukes of Windsor









BOYS! LOOKIN fo' LUV! GIRLS! LOOKIN fo' LUV!
This song is so freaking Melbourne.

Straight Lines
Silverchair











Oh midlle school. Oh Daniel Johns. Oh anorexia. Oh that rainforest tree fog that I will always associate with Silverchair. Good news is he's married to Natalia Imbruglia now, seems a lot happier, and his songs sound a lot less angsty.

Lost and Running
Powderfinger









They're baaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaack!! YAY. Dream Days at the Hotel Existence out 2 June.

Steer
Missy Higgins










One of mah theme songs of LIFE. I love her.

Enjoy, Yanks. I expect some ridiculous hard-core rap in return for my services.

What we do is if we need that extra push over the cliff, you know what we do? Put it up to 11.

These go to 11.

My obsession with Christopher Guest movies is well-known across this vast globe. Ahh yes, I love a good mockumentary. Drop Dead Gorgeous, Confetti, The Office (UK & US), and of course Guest's: This is Spinal Tap, Best in Show, Wating for Guffman, and A Mighty Wind. I have have often asked myself why I find this comedy the funniest of all comedies, and I imagine it has something to do with the euphemism "You can't make this s#$t up." I know mocukmentaries aren't "real," but these directors and writers pull their plots and characters right out of middle America and suburban England and the lack-of-script on Christopher Guest's part (he only provides a rough outline of the plot to the actors) means the dialogue is organic and real and crazy funny. You KNOW you know someone just like Parker Posey in Guffman or you had a boss like David Brent. (Though I believe there is and can only be one Fred Willard. God bless).

Of course, Spinal Tap is credited with being the first to really take off commercially as well as with a cult audience. That is why I am so essited they are reuniting in a short movie and performing in London during the (northern hemisphere) summer for Live Earth. Sam, if you attend, I expect adequate photo documentation. I also just plain love Christopher Guest. I have read interview after interview and he is just so NORMAL. It's very refreshing.

I admire any Hollywood actors who succeed in tha biz without throwing themselves onto red carpet after red carpet and getting divorced 5 times and flying off to St Barths and missing their daughter's dance recital and getting addicted to painkillers and getting botox injections for fun (big ups, Jeff Daniels. Anyone who starts a grassroots theatre company in his hometown gets a check plus in my book. AND you've been married longer than Papa T and Mama K. Good on you).

In a sea of fake, C. Guest is keeping it REAL and has been married to Jamie Lee Curtis for 23 years now. He also maintains his streetcred by using a Spinal Tap photo for his IMDB page. Holla!

[SIDENOTE: Jamie Lee is definitely a hermaphrodite, RIGHT? I mean, she was once, a "transsexual," right, CAMERYN? I'm losing faith in these rumours being realised. We all know how the Nicole Kidman Theory has been kicked to the curb ever since the Hugh v Lindsay and Alaina re: Aussie and English Actors: Who Are More Famous in Hollywood? Debate (April 2007) where we discovered she was born in Honolulu and consequently Olivia's mother's friend's doctor's friend's cousin's nurse no longer can confirm she was born with two genders. This put a major hole in the argument that I so eloquently articulated in The Great Outing of Nicole Kidman As A Hermaphrodite Tram Incident (March 2007). Sigh, the mysteries of our time.

Also: is Eddie Murphy actually the babydaddy of Scary Spice?