The Jamjar

Ten Words/Phrases I Love to Use

1) You seem to be under the impression this is a discussion.
2) To be perfectly Frank...
3) Get out of town.
4) Coffee?
5) Shut the fuck up.
6) Where's my car?
7) You're kidding me.
8) No.
9) No way.
10) oh.god.YES!

Illustration Friday: Gluttony

Illustration Friday

What really happened

updating

I dreamed a Hippo ate my cellfone. I was minding my own business (honestly) and it just rushed me and chomped toothlessly (thank goodness) on my arm and gulped the cellfone I was holding. I thought "I have to remember this and tell you" but I forgot the rest.

While awake and before dreaming, I made dinner. The broccoli thing with almonds again. I have the world's cheapest but sharpest knife. I also now sport the world's deepest cut to the pad of my middle right finger. This morning it stings and throbs but it has stopped bleeding into the soaked bandaid.

I really find it hard to predict what stupid thing I will do to myself next.

chattin'

barb: i want a really good looking man and a side salad.
mish: ohhh that's exactly what i'm hankering for and didnt even k now it
barb: i think they keep them in the frozen section
mish: i think they're out of stock

can't see for looking

Perfect Song [938kb] (thanks Rosie)

FRIDAYQ TOPIC: Tip

FQ1: Share a health or beauty tip!

Mental health tip: make time for your brain. Don't give all your time away to other people and activities - save some space for your brain to just *be*. Let your brain sink into that space and let it go where it wants without reining it in. It'll work better for you at other times knowing it gets a break too.

Beauty tip: It's pretty obvious that I don't *have* any beauty tips or I'd be better looking. Having said that, I can recommend a range of skin care products that deliver even, soft good looking skin that are a pleasure to buy and use. Origins. And they smell devine. Their hair range is good too.

FQ2: Share a computer or electronic gadget tip!

Computer tip: it's not a tip so much as a reminder. Working in an office with a certain person who shall remain nameless due mostly to the fact she annoys the living crap out of me no matter where in the world she is: save your work. Save it when you open the file and get into the habit of ctrl+s'ing after every few minutes. You won't get RSI and I'll never have to hear the "Word just crashed and took all my work with it." I think that's right up there with "the dog ate my homework".

Again, not a tip but I'm in love with iPhoto. I love that it opens when I connect my digital camera to the computer, sucks all my photos down and saves them in chronological folders, and deletes the photos from my camera's memory. It does a lot of other stuff to and it's such a great tool.

FQ3: Share a travel or transportation tip!

meh I don't have any tips. I am tipless. This reminds me though - I don't know about you but I always seem to end up on an flight in the seat in front of a small kid. Oh yeh, there are crying babies on the flight too, but they're in the seat in *front* of me. The annoying little kid who likes to kick his feet against the my seat is behind me. Ask my kids, they'll tell you how I much I hate that - they'll also tell you how i can deliver a stinging slap to the legs of anyone kicking the back my seat without having to stop the car.

One long flight and in the dead of night while his parents slept soundly/had passed out beside him, this young boy kicked my seat until I woke up. And kept kicking it. I leaned over the seat to see the 7 or so year old boy slouched and bored in his seat banging his foot against the back of my seat and I asked him, in my very nicest voice, if he could please stop. And he did, for the 30 seconds it took for me to settle myself back into my seat. I turned around and asked him again, this time, a little bit firmer but still being kind to please stop kicking my seat. Again he stopped until I was out of sight and back in my seat, just long enough to be lulled into a false sense of security when he started again. kick. kick. kick. kick. kick. kick. This time the face that came at him from over the seat made him shrink down flat and wide eyed "DO WE HAVE A PROBLEM??" my very best not-loud-but-my-temper-just-snapped voice. His eyes were *huge*. "STOP.KICKING.THEFUCKING.SEAT". Success. I think I heard him crying but I was too busy drifting off to sleep.

FQ TIPSTER: Got a tip for a classic or vintage CD, movie, TV show, or book we might have overlooked?

Last Friday night I watched the Marx Brothers in Animal Crackers and, it's bloody strange. Factor in the fact it was made in 1930 and it becomes positively bizarre - especially Groucho's asides to the camera.

"We must remember that art is art.
Well, on the other hand water is water isn't it?
And east is east and west is west.
And if you take cranberries and stew them like applesause
they taste much more like prunes than rubarb does.
Now uh...now you tell me what you know."

"quote, unquote, and quote."

"Tell me, what do you think of the traffic problem?
What do you think of the marriage problem?
What do you think of at night when you go to bed,
you beast."

"One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got in my pajamas, I don't know.
Then we tried to remove the tusks. The tusks. That's not so easy to say. Tusks.
You try it some time. As I say, we tried to remove the tusks. But they were embedded so firmly we couldn't budge them.
Of course, in Alabama the Tuscaloosa, but that is entirely ir-elephant to what I was talking about."

Little Bucks, Bucklands' Beach

Which actor or actress would be the best choice to play you in a film about your life?

Which actress [ok, or actor] would be the best choice to play ME in a film about MY life?

YKWIDLS - Seventh and Final Part

Day Seven started with a $2 breakfast down at the bottom of Victoria Street. Two poached eggs on toast was $2. What a frickin' BARGAIN. Add bacon, add $2. A hashbrown? another $2. What a great idea - costs the same as any other breakfast in the end but it just felt cheaper and that was the entire idea, I guess. Full of eggs and tomatoes and toast and tea, we mosied up to class to begin our last day of Life Drawing at UCOL.

Hot and worn thin by so much thinking and looking and marking, both sessions were relentlessly difficult. Mostly every other classes had gone home by lunchtime but we plodded on. I heard knocks to the doors by people wanting to come see what we were doing - other classes visited each other to see what was going on but because we had nude models, and as is customary in such a situation, visitors aren't allowed in when the model is there, and when the model isn't there, we're not either so life drawing is super boring to visit.

We had Mark in the morning and Mary in the afternoon.

I did a better job with Mary's repeated pose from the day before, but I still managed to cock that foot up. And her head is too small. And her shoulder is too wide. And her arm has something weird going on with it. But the leg is good. and the wrist, great wrist. Ah well - at least I can see that - about the head etc I mean, everyone can see the *foot*.

I haven't managed to bring one good drawing home with me, but what I have learned is to see better. It took me a while but I realised that I can see things and notice things that I couldn't before the course. Reflected light is one of the things. I've always known about reflected light but I've never really seen it properly before. Those last two days and it was suddenly so clear to me. That's a huge step forward. I've also realised the importance of knowledge of the skeleton when drawing figures and that's an interesting development.

This was the longest of all the days. Not least of which for the long drawn out farewells the Bates party managed to play out after we'd finished. You know, they *really* annoyed me, and I thought I had more reasons why they did but it seems it was just their, or more to the point, her aura. I just had her pegged on walking through the door and she did nothing but prove me right the entire week. They were saying their goodbyes, swapping contact details and hugging some and *photographed* Marianne. Pat and I were pretty sure we wouldn't get, nor did we *want* a hug from the Bates so we scarpered off to the pub for a couple of beers. Actually, we'd done that every day after class but this is the first time I mentioned it to you. The barman knew our order by now and Stell*r (heh, yeh) was quiet and cool. Unfortunately it was neither of these things today - being a Saturday night, it had been invaded by wedding guests and although people watching is a great sport - it's not one I felt like doing that evening. We had a couple of beers then decided to push off and find dinner.

Afterwards the thought of a movie sounded appealing, so we stopped at the cinema to check out the offerings. We really only had two choices as Pat refused Sponge Bob straight out. Ladder 49 and Phantom of the Opera. To be fair, and to prove I'm really nice when i want to be, it only took Pat about 30 minutes of gentle manipulating and pretending not to hear me when I said "but i don't want to *see* Phantom of the Opera" I finally said "oh all right then" and we bought tickets to the 6:30pm showing.

I'm really glad I went to see that movie. No, really, I am. It's nice to have a new "worst movie" topping my list of worst movies. God that was the *worst* movie. The music *sucked* the story *pft*. The acting was, well, I barked out loud a few times. Honestly, had I been sitting on the other side of my Aunt I would have left after 15 minutes - 20 tops. But I suffered through - if anyone knows the story, can you tell me *why* Raoul (Worst Name Ever) had to remember to keep his hand at eye level? From what I can gather it was pretty much so the Phantom could grab him and tie_him_up. God and did i mention the music is *crap*? it really really is. After it finished, my aunt turned to me and apologised, saying she shouldn't have made me see it and yes it was truly bad.

By the time we got back to the flat it was empty, we had it to ourselves. All the Bates food was gone. The rooms were emtpy and the bathroom smelled *normal* [I didn't tell you about the stinky smells and I don't think I will] I didn't watch any movies and I didn't set my phone to wake me up in the morning. We'd agreed to meet my Uncle Chris, Pat's husband at 11am the next morning so we even had a sleep-in to look forward to.

Sunday dawned sunny and continued to heat up during the day. Chris arrived around lunchtime and he and Pat went home to Waikanae, and I drove the very pleasent, scenic trip from Wanganui to Rotorua to spend the night with Kristy. I finally got home to my flat in Auckland later on Monday and it seemed like I hadn't been there in weeks. My bed was still unmade and none of the housework elves had moved a thing. I had some lovely mail waiting for me and my life that'd been parked on the side street was now moving back into it's place.

I've had an illustrative assignment this week and it feels good. It feels natural and easy. I'm doing a good job of it. I'm sure there's other stuff I've learned that hasn't perculated it's way through my brain to my hands yet, but it'll get there.

I recommend the Summer Arts program in Wanganui to anyone who can get there. The website has the courses around November 2006 and they're very reasonable, all things considered.

You know I know you know - Part Six

Day Six and I woke up feeling loads better - I found the Zen of Not Being Able to Draw. Decided to stop worrying about it and just make as many right marks as I could. Some stuff worked really well, some stuff worked worse than usual but I felt a lot lighter about it. I think the fact my muscles had stopped aching and being stiff helped with that as well, as did soaking up the sunshine and fresh air during our breaks.

We had Mark again in the morning. The model really is very important - for their energy level as much as their ability to stay still. Mark really never got comfortable and had a lot of trouble understanding what was needed for the gesture poses. We ended up doing a lot of 10 and 20 minute poses which seemed like a good length of time for me with my charchoal, chalk and newsprint.

For the afternoon had another new model, Mary. She was, in fact, Alan's wife. She was a very good model, especially with the gesture poses which called for a variety of "actions". I wonder if she and Alan practice poses in their living room. hmm. She was nice to draw though I noticed that her face became so relaxed her jaw would drop open. She was in her late 50s early 60s, but I seemed to draw her as much younger than that - in her face at least.

Her late afternoon long pose was a lovely one. Sitting with her weight back on her hands and her legs outstretched with one leg slightly bent, as if at the beach. I had a great view - not *too* much forshortening and two very clear feet. I started in the middle of her body and drew outwards - measuring, looking, marking the paper. I got all the way to her left foot and the wheels fell off my waagon - I couldn't get that foot to look like it was attached to the end of her leg to save_my_life. Her foot, in fact, looked like it'd been transplanted from Fred Flinstones! I had to laugh, it was just so bizarre looking. Marianne came over and looked at my work - I asked her to help me out and she figured my mistake was in the angle of the leg so she drew over the top, discovering yes, this was the case, but that angle affected this angle, and that tilt and this length and before I knew it, the only *right* thing in the entire drawing was the right wrist. Her extra dark conte lines overlaid my softer charcoal ones. The day ended with most of us wanting the pose to last, so as we had Mary again for the next day - our last day (yes, there is an end to this) we would set her up in that pose again and those who wished to continue working on that drawing could, and those (me) who needed a second "go" at it would be able to try again.

I had noticed that Norman had bought a novel sometime during the day and was now reading it at any and all breaks. He looked like he was truly over drawing and looking too. I bet he was over his mother mumbling at him "Shut up Norman" every time he talked too much during class. His work was quite good too - he was better than his mother. Both of them did very tight small work though, and if anything it got *smaller* during the 7 days of the course.

The Wanganui Arts Society had invited all students to a bar-b-que to be held at a cafe called Vega that evening. We didn't really know where that was but had an idea it was down by the paddle-boat place by the fine arts studio. We were only a few blocks out - thanks to the barmaid of the pub-opposite for the updated directions. The pub patrons were all male. Those older, horse-racing, TAB types. The conversation died as we walked into the bar. Almost silence, but for the sport on the television. I thought for a fleeting moment I would ask directions to Vega from the patrons but decided the best course of action was to ask a member of staff. Although the barmaid was behind the bar, it took her several long minutes to acknowledge our presence and answer our request for directions. She wasn't busy, she just waited until she was ready to say hello. There was a sign behind the bar "you are welcome to use our smoking room - it's outside - have a nice day".

Vega was quite a long cafe, with a bar in the front and one out the back, with a small deck and a large outdoor area. We spotted Mrs B and Norman outside at one of the few tables, so we decided to stay inside. Bron and Joslyn arrived sporting very swish and still new green flax bags they'd made earlier in the day. We ordered drinks and introduced ourselves finally, and proceeded to have a jolly nice time together. The food was really nice too, and plenty of it thank goodness as about 50 more people than anticipated showed up. That's what happens when you offer free food in an art centric place like Wanganui - no artist in their right mind'd pass the opportunity of free tabouli.

After a few hours of nattering and munching, Bron and Joslyn went to mingle with the other guests and Pat and I decided to go home. Yes, we are party poopers but we were tired and I was *over* people [yes, it most certainly is all about my needs] Pat went to her room to read, and I went to mine to watch Graveyard of Fireflies. I've been meaning to watch this for ages - it's beautifully drawn but oh sooo sad. Talk about *cry* Trev.

Broccoli and Tomatoes

I got sidetracked there by a phone call - right. Doesn't that look nice? it was mouthwateringly surprisingly delicious. I came home with this fantasy memory of having taken chicken out of my freezer to thaw for dinner but I must've dreamed it because it wasn't true. Really really hungry though I did have fresh brocolli. I chopped it up and threw it into the pan with a good slurrup of olive oil and some thinly sliced pastrami and some almond slivers. A tomato followed as the brocolli looked kind of dry though it was turning the amazing green it does when you scare it with heat. A dollop of caramelised onion relish went in just to oompf it up and salt/pepper and that's what I had for dinner and by crikey - it was good!

FQ TOPIC: New

FQ1: What's a new food or drink you've tried? How'd it go?

DRINK: After drinking all the Export Gold beer and typical of 3am, we went looking for more booze to drink and for some unfathomable reason, my brother thought drinking my aunt's Muscat would be a good idea seeing as she had found it "hard to find" here in New Zealand. Honestly, I'm sure we didn't mean to drink the _entire_ bottle. Besides which it wasn't very nice. Like extra old nana's sherry. Very raisin'y and by the time we were an inch from the bottom of the bottle, very sickly.

FOOD: Falafels aren't new to me, but I've never had a 'home made' falafel, always part of a middle eastern platter of dips and goodies at Bodrum or someother such restaurant. When I stayed in Rotorua, my cousin Kristy made falafels and salad and it was *so* delicious I made her show me how so I could have it when I got home. Mouth wateringly good!

FQ2: What's a new television show or movie you've seen or book you've read? How'd it go?

TELEVISION SHOW: I don't watch television all that often, but I did see a new show screening last Thursday night. An Australian offering called, "Strictly Dancing" and it was just horrible. I don't know if I thought it wouldn't be horrible I mean, it didn't surprise me that it was horrible; maybe I was expecting to be surprised it was good. There really is nothing on TV.

BOOK: Friends have recommended a few books to me lately. Consider Phlebas by Iain M Banks read okay - good, in fact. Bit "boys own" for my tastes, but I'll try another before I decide to continue with his work. Amy was given The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger for Christmas. She's finally finished it (she kept having to stop because it was too sad at times, she said, but she loved it) so I started that last night.

MOVIE: I saw a bunch of new films at the cinema over the christmas break. The last movie I saw was Phantom of the Opera while I was in Wanganui. I wouldn't recommend that to *anyone*. If someone suggests to you that it's the last movie _on_earth_ STILL refuse to see it. You're better off cleaning your oven or or alphabetising your socks or staring at dirt or contemplating why Phantom of the Opera survived the celluloid disaster that wiped every other movie off the face of the Planet. A cockroach of a movie.

FQ3: What's a new place you've been to or web site you've visited? How'd it go?

NEW PLACE: the Sargeant Gallery in Wanganui - it's such a beautiful building set atop the most beautifully curved concrete steps - I really need to go back and photograph those steps - they had perfect step feng shui.

WEBSITE: Flickr isn't new, but I have added a new contact to my list of photostreams I like to look at. I don't know who Carr*e is but I sure do like her artwork.

FQ NEW: Do the new! What's something new you've been wanting to try but haven't? What's stopping you?

I've been thinking for ages about this, and it's not something new I want to try, but old that I want to revisit. Making the old new again. Things I *used* to do like.. quilting, and drawing, and having a long term, loving relationship. Making the old new again - no need to reinvent the wheel, but it sure could do with some inflating. And what's stopping me? absolutely nothing!

You Know the drill - Part Five

Day Five began with a trip to the Sargeant Gallery for a private viewing of their life drawing collection. Pat and I went to the studio first [there was a reason but I can't remember it now - oh.. to draw Jolene i think] and walked up to the Gallery with Marianne, Dean and Sarah. Phoebe was a hungover horizontal figure on the grassy slope outside the gallery. Dean wrangled her, then we all went inside to view the sampling of life drawing in the Gallery's collection. Quite nice of them to do that for us, and to open especially so we could see the works.

There were two dozen works or so to look at - mostly pencil/chalk work. I wish I'd written down the artists - about a third of the work was by Edith Collier. There was one by Philip Clairmont, one by Claudia Pond-Elly [not sure I have that right], Jeffrey Harris meh.. i can't remember the rest. We milled around in a small area they'd propped the works up against the wall for us to view. The curator/galleryguy talked about each in turn, Marianne was on her knees examining the works closely seeing how each artist showed their observation and artistic skills. It was impossible to have a clear view of all the works all the time. We shuffled around, listening, and would have plenty of time [we had a good 45 minutes up there] to see the works individually. I was being annoyed by Mrs Bates' overly stuffed pink backpack smooshing into my shoulder each time she turned to see the next artwork. Why she hadn't put it down somewhere, anywhere, is beyond me. We were the only ones in the Gallery.

We were halfway round the artworks when the curator/galleryguy said something about a work by Edith Collier suggesting we look at somethingorother when Mrs Bates' voice behind me said, "Some of us can't see." She'd only said it loud enough for me to hear it. I didn't move, and pretended I hadn't heard. She repeated "Some of us can't see." Now - had Mrs Bates said "excuse me Michelle, I can't see." or "you make a better door than a window" I might have moved. But instead, her repeating "some of us can't see" only made me s p r e a d myself wider. I pushed my shoulders back and winged my arms and willed myself to be more like a wall than a door. And when she moved - I moved. I got bored relatively quickly with this game but i was *in her way* until the novelty wore off. Eventually, I just wanted to go back to the first drawings and look at them closely, which is what i did.

I wasn't really listening to what was going on until voices got a little bit louder than they had been when I looked up from looking at the red chalk sketch of a woman who looked strikingly like my sister-in-law to hear Mrs Bates saying "but how do they even get *in* here?" Marianne was suggesting Mrs B talk to the curator because she *liked* Clairmont's work, found it interesting and energetic. Mrs Bates had the last word saying, of Clairmont/Pond-Elly/Jeffrey Harris "it's just a jumbled up mess, I can't make head or tail of it. How do pictures like that even *get in here*."

After that, wandered back up to the studio to start working from the model for the rest of the morning. We had a new model named Mark. He was younger and fitter than the other male models we had - unfortunately, because of a skin disease he also had lost a chunk of muscle from his chest which made him a bit wonky to draw. He was a newbie too - second time modelling and it showed. He couldn't keep still, and he couldn't think of many poses. He seemed really nervous. He also dressed at each break and was slow to get back to naked again. Poor bugger - it looks easy but it's not. We didn't do as much gesture work with him, rather Marianne had him in longer poses but he had trouble keeping them - though I 'm sure he thought he was still - he wasn't. Saying "oh, but the model moved" is akin to "the dog ate my homework". It just doesn't hold that much water when you've basically got_it_wrong.

For lunch, Pat and I decided to go back to the flat and have tomato sandwiches and a cup of tea. I was all about comfort food in Wanganui. Driving down Campbell Street towards our flat we noticed quite a number of policemen with clipboards and figured they were doing a house-to-house. The Thursday before we arrived in Wednesday, a young woman was murdered in Wanganui and her body found on the edge of the River, about 4 blocks away from the student accommodation we were staying in. As we pulled up to our flat a police officer was knocking on our door. It was a stinking hot day and he looked tired. He came into the shade of the kitchen and while we made lunch and answered his questions, he took our statements and had us sign them. It took a surprisingly long time, and by the time he left it was time to get back to the studio. I never thought I'd hear the words "where were you on the night of..." in any seriousness.

After lunch we had another new model: Whitu. She was older and heavier than Anna [a bag of rice is heavier than Anna] which was nice. Whitu has the most beautiful legs - really muscled and her calves had the longest curves. She, too, was new to modelling but she quickly seemed to feel more at ease and had a lot of good poses. It must be weird to be the only naked person in a room full of clothed people. Not *so* bad when you're on a stagelike structure - you can feel "apart" I guess. Jeanette, one of the girls in the class, had done some nude modelling at art school. She said it was quite a strange sensation and for her, at least; she always felt invisible after a session. She said it was almost as if everyone was looking at her until she was all used up and gone. But we don't stay at our easels all the time so the safeness of the stage is lost. A couple of times we "gathered around" to look at stuff in a book or listen to Marianne or whatever, and Whitu was still there standing next to Joleen, for instance, while Marianne pointed to skeleton bones and Whitu skin. She looked surprisingly comfortable considering how close we got.

Whitu was very good, and very still. We used her for a 40 minute (2x20 min) pose which I still didn't manage to finish even with all that extra time.

Getting home to find a busy kitchen and lots of chatter about the day's drawing. Someone asked me how I found the models that day. I said I was pleased to have been able to draw Whitu, especially her legs and feet - she had great legs and feet. To which Mrs Bates agreed saying "Now I understand why Gauguin wanted to draw those people."

Pat and I left to see the slide presentation up at the Museum - the last in the series. Our own tutor, Marianne Muggeridge and her art school friend Michael Shepherd were showing their work. Although Marianne had said we needn't come in fact, had suggested we not attend her presentation, we all showed up and then some. It was quite the full house.

A couple of times during the week, Marianne had disappeared to the museum to prepare for her presentation. We'd seen some of her work as photographs and I, for one, was looking forward to hearing her stories behind the works and her life as a full time artist. When we arrived, Marianne was on her knees, facing her seat, picking slides up and looking at them in the light then slotting them into the wheel of the viewer. It seems that 5 minutes before we arrived she managed to drop the entire set of slides on the floor and was trying to get them all back into the wheel. She apologised and all her organised themes and order were gone - some were even back-to-front. That kind of stuff *always* happens, doesn't it?

But it was great. She is great. Her work is luscious and luminous and well drawn and her use of colour is wonderful. Like Cappy Thompson the night before, Marianne's work has her life running through it. Her subjects are her family, her home in Taranaki, her studio in Wellington. She, too, takes commissions and works on site, from life - so she gets to know her subject. Her stories were wonderful and easily told. If she was nervous it didn't show and Michael Shepherd said she was a hard act to follow because of the life in her work.

But he did just fine - even if he started his presentation declaring he wasn't an artist at all. By the end of his presentation every single one of us begged to differ. He talked about his life growing up, at art school, discovering a direction in art combining his passion for New Zealand's history. He was so apologetic all the time but his work - while being successful in later years and in some major collections in the country, was often not very successful at all to begin with and for a long time. Marianne had introduced us to Michael the day before [I lost track of this memory]. We [life drawing class and oil painting class] had all gathered in the UCOL exhibition room where he met with Marianne to discuss why two of her paintings were displaying cracks in the paint after only a year or two. He had studied art conservation at University as well as having a passion for mixing his own paint.

Paint is pigment in medium. Some pigment comes from the dirt and clay, some from minerals, some from the urine of cows feed soley on mango leaves - all sorts of places. Each colour has different properties and one of the properties that vary is the drying time of that colour. There is a strong connection between science and art. Knowing where your pigments come from and how they act is part of knowing your tools. Marianne said she didn't know much about the technical side of oil painting and tended to use what she could lay her hands on with little thought other than if it worked or not. Her choice of ground [surface on the canvas she painted on], frame [the canvas is stretched and fastened to] and colour application all conspired against her in the paintings she had as examples resulting in cracks in the model's crack! It was a very interesting, if short 30 minute peep into oil painting and preparation. I hadn't really thought about it before not being an oil painter - which colours are light-fast and/or opaque etc in watercolour has been drummed into my brain over the years and it was a bit of an "ahhh" moment when I realised oils had the same kinds of restrictions.

Again, a wonderful evening and two great presentations. The slide shows really were a real treat.

Getting home and after tea and tomatoes on toast, I disappeared up to my bedroom to phone a friend. Despite my increased whinging and complaining, I felt Pat was becoming quite desensitised to me and I needed someone new to whinge to. I felt like I was a million miles away from the "real world" in Wanganui. Taken out of time and idling in a side street from my life. It was so very strange to be so far away from computers and phones, television and radio, family and friends. Oh, of course, I had found the internet *cafe* a day or two before but it wasn't the same as blogging from my nest and the time went too quickly. I mostly only had time to put notes to my PXT on Flickr as their broadband was slower than dialup sometimes. And you couldn't open more than one browser at a time. And pop-up windows had been disabled. Goddamn gamers who have no concept of what *other* people might want to use a computer for. I felt so much better after my phonecall and slept relatively well only waking once when again, my legs were trying to escape at 4am.

Box Doodle

Doodlebox

Eroica? you'll LOVE this - Doodle box (via Danny at Everyday Matters)

You Know - Part Four

Day Four saw more of the same - gesture drawings, contour drawings - a couple of longer poses, up to 20 minutes. Still using charcoal - a medium, until now, I'd never enjoyed using but a tiny flicker of pleasure in my grumpy mood was the way it smoothed on newsprint [i *love* newsprint]. I think too, the fact that we were standing at easels meant i wasn't dragging my pawprints and smudging everything was a big bonus - I did, however, wear a lot of charcoal smudges on my clothes and face. We had Anna again in the morning, and John in the afternoon.

Today we introduced white chalk to the drawing - looking at light and shade. I've not had a lot of practice with using two colours (well three if you count the tone of the paper) when drawing and although I love the look of red and white chalk drawings, I couldn't wrangle my tools to any degree - though I tried. This was Mrs Bates medium of choice - and she had quite a few tricks up her sleeve, and her tiny nudes (mine were hardly contained on the A1 paper sometimes where she could fit 3 or 4 on hers) were really quite good. Dammit.

By this time I was hardly speaking during the day. Concentrating so hard I often found the first words I spoke were at lunchtime and my voice was husky and didn't work so well. I was noticing, too, that when we would move around the studio to look at other people's work, people'd look at mine and move on - whereas it was more common to see my classmates stop in clusters around an easel to oo and ah at different parts of the work. *sigh* yes, it *is* competitive and seeing the "look move on" around my easel didn't help. I was sleeping poorly too, waking every hour/few hours through the night so I was really getting a good grump on. The day was sunny and hot, and the studio was more so.

The afternoon saw John and Joleen back for head studies - still not entirely sure why John had to be naked for this but hey, he was. Overall I tend to make the head to small - or leave it off entirely. I rarely catch a person's likeness and so I don't even bother anymore. I did enjoy drawing John's face and Joleen's too for that matter. The afternoon ended up making up for the crappy drawings I'd done in the morning session.

The day ended with ended with a trip to the Sargeant Gallery. I soon forgot how hot and stinky I was as I wandered through the gallery with [nearly all by the squash, at times] the other Summer School students. Work on show from contemporary maori artists along with an exhibition of Edith Collier's work, and a wonderful sampling of Fomison, Clairmont and Allen Maddox's work.

My favourite corner held a huge triptych and a smaller (A1 or so) woodblock print. I'd never seen Clairmont's work "in the flesh" before. The triptych was in his typical strong, highly coloured, strongly toned style. It was three nudes reclining (one per panel) and you could practically *feel* the strength in the bones. Clairmont uses a lot of colour and great strong brushstrokes. The pubic hair of the model in the first panel radiated red with fiery hot colours; the wide, multicoloured brushstrokes defined a strong feminine thigh; her face was obscured [or maybe she was] by a profiled image of Glum [sorry.. GOLLUM lookalike] - go figure! The woodblock was a domestic scene - fruit on a window and the view beyond - again highly coloured, with lots of working-into-the-print with watercolour and more paint. I was showing Pat the print and telling her how much I liked it when I realised Mrs Bates was within earshot canoodling close to another classmate looking at the triptych. I lifted my voice across to them "aren't these wonderful?" Mrs Bates looked like she'd just sucked on a lemon and the other woman said "yes, if I could just see past the flaming vagina."

After a while, and knowing we had another slideshow that evening, my liver told me it was time for vodka so I grabbed Pat and we went home to sit in the sun for a while. When we got home, Phoebe, Leedom and Norman were drinking and giggling round the kitchen table. It was nice; they were in good spirits. Phoebe left after a while and Pat and I dragged our couch onto the lawn and I sat there drinking my vodkaandorange proclaiming "just one more then I'm going to shower and get ready" Bron and Joslyn came out for a natter and the hoots of laughter that the first couple of Norman's Father Ted impressions had caused in the kitchen died down but he continued to pummel away reciting line after line in a very convincing Irish accent.

Eventually, I had to make a move. A quick shower and change and we were on our way back up to the Museum for another tutor's slide presentation.

I don't know much about glass but I know what I like. The program read "Cappy Thompson, Glass Painting Tutor". I hoped it wasn't a class on how to paint bunches of grapes on wine glasses - those tacky "arty" painted glass offerings in local craft shops. This was the extent of my knowledge of glass painting so far. Cappy [I so can see an 'r' after the C every time I see her name] was about to blow_my_mind! Oh my fucking god, I was *so* not prepared for her captivating, inspiring, seductive, exquisite works. So personal and so autobiographical, the light shone through her vessels and her colours and her beautiful artwork and I found my mouth had been open in jaw dropped wonder for most of the presentation. She showed a documentary following her commission and execution of the stained glass wall at Seattle International Airport. [you can see a slideshow of the process of creating this piece here, and the installation of the work here.] She really should have been the second presenter. Apart from her wonderful presentation, her beautiful glowing artwork, that seductive little video of the Seattle project just blew everyone's socks off and was a very hard act for Colin Reid to follow.

While Cappy is busy painting and kiln-firing glass vessels and stained glass windows, Colin Reid casts glass. This means, he creates an impression or mold of his artwork, then puts blocks of solid glass into the mold then into a kiln where it melts and takes the shape of the mold. His works were about as different from Cappy's as you could get. Solid and beautiful, I don't think they photograph very well. These pieces are meant to be seen with your own eyes and the way light plays on, around and through them. He had a piece in the Gallery at UCOL and it really had so much more impact than the slide of the same piece. Colin was a very good presenter too, and his work was varied and interesting - especially his commission works.

Listening to artists talk about their processes and projects, the things that went wrong and right, the whys and the therefores is really fascinating. I love to find out how people manage to make creating in their preferred medium a way of life and really *really* interested in how they make that work in the world as a commercial concern.

Getting home that night to a dinner of scrambled eggs [i forgot to steal more parsley] Mrs Bates and Jill were sitting at the table talking. They hadn't gone to the slide presentation that evening having exited early the night before finding [mostly Mrs B, I suspect] it all a bit tedious. They were halfway through a discussion about life drawing models, and specifically, who in their families they could wrangle as a model. Jill was explaining how her husband wouldn't be very happy being a nude model for her when she asked Mrs B "Could you get your Dick to do it?" at which point I collapsed in a pile of giggles fit for a 12 year old. Wiping the tears away, Jill was laughing a bit too but didn't really understand why i don't think. Mrs Bates continued as if nothing had happened after my laughter subsided a little "My other son is 6'6" tall, but he'd not be a good model because he has such a hairy back." Jill said "He'llve played a lot of basketball then" to which I collapsed all over again. Seems the idea of getting a hairy back by playing basketball only tickled *my* fancy.

I retired upstairs to my room and lay on my bed on my stomach in the dark and watched Girl with a Pearl Earring on my laptop. I spent the entire movie seeing the form of the bodies, light on faces, poses etc. I'd not seen this movie before - not much to write home about but quite beautiful to watch. First time I've noticed Colin Firth as attractive though. Hmm. I drifted off realising I still had three more days of drawing and wondered how the hell I was going to cope with my bad mood and frustration for that long.

My fitful sleep was full of dreams of drawing my own legs. I kept waking up to find them trying to escape the bed.

E=mc(smack)

Einstien's theory of relativity was about mosquitoes? God I hate the Herald.

You know etc - Part Three

Day Three started with stiff bones and lots of complaints. I was feeling tired from ragged sleep and groaning muscles. The morning started at 9am in the Fine Arts Life Studio with an hour-long discussion before Alan arrived at 10am to pose for us. Today we were to look at coutours *around* the body. I get confused with the two ways we used the word contours, and I guess I wasn't the only one because our first attempt at this exercise didn't yield what Marianne was expecting. She demonstrated and with our collective *ohhhhh*s we got back to work drawing the contours that defined volume. Mostly I felt my pictures ended up looking mummified. It was a very relaxing set of exercises, mainly for me I think because I'm used to visualising in a 2D world.

Lunchtime came around soon enough and Pat and I decided to walk the two blocks into Victoria Street to find comfort food for me/to shut me up. I was feeling really stiff and sore. The great thing about small-town New Zealand is that good pies are much easier to find. I also wrangled a custard square and felt better even though Pat teased me about using a knife and fork to eat it. After our lunch a la '73 we wandered back to class, stopping at Drews for coffee-to-go on the way.

The afternoon saw Anna back to model for us and we did a series of gesture drawings, this time using a kebab stick and ink. I've done some great work in the past with this medium but today wasn't one of those days.

I was getting worse and worse, and grumpier and grumpier and time was moving slower and slower'r. God, it was a long day. I was missing my phone, missing internet access, missing blogging, missing chatting, felt a million miles away from everyone. My arms were stiff and sore and my hand refused to draw what my eyes saw. And to top it all off, I got ink on my trousers. I was having a really bad day.

The day was much sunnier and it'd been very warm in the studio which didn't help my mood at all. I wanted my shoes off and grass under my feet so when we got home after class, Pat and I dragged one of the couches out the door and onto the back lawn of the flats to drink our ginandtonic/vodkaandorange (plural). It was so nice in the sun and the grass was surprisingly dry. That nice spikey short grass that sticks up through your toes. It was also nice to get out and away from Mrs Bates who seemed to be rather huffy and aggitated. Her body language in the kitchen while I fixed drinks indicated impatience and exasperation and the only reason I could see for that was that Norman and Leedom were talking in an animated jovial manner at the dining room table and *she* wasn't part of it. Eventually Mrs B took herself away to her room and everyone seemed much happier for it.

In a little while the flat next door through open it's doors and the women there dragged their couch out to join us on the lawn. I didn't actually ask their names until Friday [turned out to be Bron and Joslyn] but they were friendly and funny and good company [you know, normal]. They were doing the flax weaving course and had spent the day out cutting flax with their tutor observing the protocols and tradition the flax weavers use when gathering their resourses. Best of all, the flax weavers drank wine so it was a merry old time until it was time to put our shoes back on and make our way to the Museum for the scheduled Summer School tutor slides show.

We'd not got around [we'd gone to the movies to see Ocean's 12 were Pat'd fallen asleep and I had siezed-up] to going the night before to see Owen Mapp and Hanne Mapp [bone maker/jewellery maker respectively]. We settled in to the lecture room in the Wanganui Museum to listen to Helen Geier and Dianne Fogwell, Australian printmakers. The speakers were good although the first speaker was a little nervous but the work was outstanding. We decided we wouldn't miss another presentation. Mrs Bates and Jill had come along too, and I noticed they left at intermission (after the nervous presenter) and that was a shame because Dianne Fogwell's presentation and slides was just fascinating.

The gardens around the Museum are planted with parsley, so I stole a bunch-or-two with the idea that Pat could make scrambled eggs [comfort food] for dinner when we got back to the flat. Such a good plan. Pat makes the best of everything and her scrambled eggs are no exception. She sliced tomatoes onto the toast before putting the fluffy golden goodness on top and along with the cup of tea [not on top but beside.. in a cup] - it hit the spot squarely and my grumpy mood disintergrated into warm tiredness.

After dinner I went upstairs to my room and watched Laputa on the laptop before trying to sleep through the night again. I did a better job, but still had huge room for improvement.

(oh god, this is getting *really* boring isn't it? *losing the will to live*)

Advanced Narrative Via the Animated Gif

1: "One does not simply walk into Mortor"
2: Boromir's Invisible Phone

You know what I did last summer - Part Two

Day Two dawned overcast and cool again. It had rained overnight and the studio roof leaked in the corner where Phoebe and I had claimed space. Unfortunately Phoebe's work of the day before was wet. But we were issued with a green bucket to catch the drips of water as it continued to rain on-and-off all day.

Phoebe flew up to Wanganui from Nelson for the course. At 17 she'd figured out she wasn't getting the art education at school she felt she needed so got her cute-little-self up to the North Island and to Marianne's class to get more skills. And by God, could she draw! I think at 17 I was still drawing horses in long grass because I couldn't draw hooves and here is this confident, beautiful young woman with line work to *die* for. She seemed confident, self assured, talented and so grown-up with the most *beautiful* face. She worked hard and drank hard if her horizontal attitude was anything to go by some days. Never late; no complaining. That's who I want to be when I grow up - Phoebe!

We started each morning in class by 9am to talk about the body, and bones, and looking at examples in art books and checking Joleen's bits-and-pieces out. It was like a mini-lecture/lesson but quite informal and really interesting. Our first model would be in the studio by 10am and we would draw until 1pm when we'd break for lunch. The afternoon session'd start at 2pm with a new model and finish at 4pm and was always the toughest to get through.

Our models for Day Two were John and Anna. I was beginning to worry I was only going to draw males when I saw John arrive for the morning session - and where my easel was I was only ever going to get the business-end of the male models. Before this course I'd never really *cottoned* onto drawing from the Male nude - mostly because of the lack of bodyfat on males, you *have* to be way more accurate and mostly, I wasn't - so my mistakes showed all the more obviously when drawing from the male body. Nothing quite like pendulous breasts and curvy hips to draw a viewer's attention away from misproportioned drawings of the female form. John was a good model and seemed to be able to sit deep within himself - deep into his pelvis or something, and keep very still. We did a lot of blind-contour drawing with him.

Blind contour drawing is where you don't look at your paper/drawing and only look at your model. You match your eye movement with your pencil movement, imagine you are drawing a line around the model with your eye rather than your hand. It's more about seeing than drawing and it's extremely physical in a slow/controlled kind of way - it *killed* my upper arm and my shoulder/back muscles - not the fittest of people at the best of times, I spent the first 3 days of summer school stiff and sore and complaining to beat the band.

Anna arrived for the afternoon session - a tiny, lithe woman, I am hard-pressed to ever recall seeing anyone as thin. She was so tiny you could see all her bones all the time. We did gesture drawings a lot with Anna and she was great at posing for them. Gesture drawings are quickly captured "action" drawings. What the body might look like reaching for something from a top shelf or tying one's shoes or walking up a step or what-have-you. I found these very difficult because you need to capture the essence of the pose in a minute or two. So it's not about thinking it's about reacting to the pose and taking the most vital impression of it. This first morning of Gesture drawings were mostly two minutes each and that was *so* not enough time. By the end of the course it felt like *tons* of time so I guess I got smarter/faster by doing having these Gesture drawing sessions sprinkled through the next few days.

Interestingly enough, looking through these drawings to take photos for this post I realise, they are some of the best i did during the course. I didn't feel like that at the time but some distance has changed my opinion.

We finished the session with a couple of longer poses. Anna really is just lovely to draw. Especially when she lay on her front and tucked her knees up. She looked perfectly natural and seemed comfortable for the length of the pose.

After class we all made our way back to where we were staying and I was in dire need of a stiff drink. My shoulders and back were still aching from the hours of blind contour drawing we'd done in the morning session (looking back now I have about a dozen of them so no *wonder* my arm/shoulder/back/legs hurt so much). By the time Pat and I got back to the flat, Mrs Bates already had a gin and tonic and Norman was lying on his tummy on the floor playing with his iPod.

I guess Mrs Bates is a bit like me in that it doesn't take many drinks to get those sheets to the wind. After a while she sloshed the comment to Norman, "Mummy's glass is empty." which seemed to be the secret command to get son off deck and to the fridge to construct another gin and tonic.

PS: all drawings are on A1 (33"x23") paper (newsprint/cartridge/sugarpaper)

You know what I did this summer - Part One

Wanganui Summer School of the Arts rocks!

Cept my course, it was *really* hard work. But at least it was exhausting. And I slept badly. And my phone went kaput for a few days. And I was without internet access. And I had to give a statement in a murder inquiry. heh. I have taken complaining to a whole new level. I think they're going to offer it at Summer School 2006 (!!)

[this post comes with a Government Length Warning - in fact.. it will dribble out in installments over the next few days because, by jimminey, there's a lot to say]

I drove to Rotorua on Friday 7th January arriving 6 hours later than planned due to last minute [always the way] changes in the project I was working on. My brother, who was here for a week from Melbourne, had moved his adoring entourage to Rotorua from New Plymouth so I could catch up with him. Because of my lateness in arriving and because we are both nightowls, he and I stayed up late drinking and talking [excellent plan for a night-before a long trip] and catching up on stuff and it was good. Good grief that man can drink! I managed to get my beer 'n' muscat [shudders at the very thought of ever drinking that crap again] soaked liver to bed about 4am.

By lunchtime the next day, I was ready to leave for Wanganui. My Aunty Pat and I were all packed up and ready for our road trip [in all honesty, the packing took like 5 minutes - the "me waking up" took all morning] and we set off on our 5 hour drive across country. It was a nice drive. We talked and talked, stopping in Turangi for a late lunch and arrived at the Summer School about 5:30pm.

This is where we met Theresa Goodin, the organiser for the Summer School. She directed us to our accommodation and we met some of our flat mates - yes, it was my fault - I forgot to turn my freak-magnet off before I left Rotorua. Mother and son combination that seemed really odd to start with, and that initial first impression was confirmed as the days went on. He turned out to be not-so-bad in the end he just "tried" too hard as some of us tend to do. But she, she was just one of *those* people - not very bright but meddling, and controling, and know-it-all and narrow-minded. There's always one and she was it. Probably the most annoying thing about her was that she was actually a pretty decent life-drawer which just made my ability to tolerate her even more difficult - ok, I didn't even try. [I'm going to call her Mrs Bates from here-on-in - named so by a friend of mine after the mother in Pyscho. That makes her son Norman, okay? right? okay]

The student flats accommodated 6 people on 3 levels. The rooms were compact and could've done with a good scrub, but for $10/night I was the only one complaining. [I mean.. I wiped the dining table down with my new lime-green cloth and it turned BROWN!] So we gave the kitchen and eating areas a bit of a scrub and bought food from the local supermarket and made dinner and all that jazz. Pat and I went for a walk after dinner, admiring the lovely old homes of Wanganui. I'm a bit of a bungalow fan and there were lots to oo and ah at - not that they'd been renovated as such but they were originals on large flat sections and so many had just the right feng shui. We ended up walking for a couple of hours, both of us not really wanting to go back to the flat for any Bates smalltalk.

My first encounter with Mrs Bates was as I brushed my teeth in the shared bathroom before retiring to bed. She came into the bathroom and filled the second washbasin. I wasn't paying attention until she said to me "One must keep ahead of one's smalls." and there she was scrubbing her "larges" in the murky water.

I didn't sleep much that night - and for any of the nights I was there actually, but that first night was the worst. Combination of fluctuating temperatures on the top floor, over stimulation of my frustration glands [as the week went on] and an extremely hard bed. It was very quiet though. Coming from Auckland I thought Wanganui positively deserted of people and void of traffic sounds after 10pm [although Mrs B. said she couldn't sleep for the traffic noise so go figure]

and yes, I was like this the entire week with the complaining. I had to step-up my whinging by Wednesday because Pat was becoming desensitised to it and had stopped listening.

So. First day - Sunday 9th January begins with a Powhiri [traditional Maori welcome]. It was very nice and I have to admit to a bit of a giggle when the Kamatua looked right at the highly groomed, equisitely thin pair of older Remuera-like female students to his left and commented on how great it was to see many "older" people were at the Summer School this year. The weather was overcast, but dry. Although UCOL HQ was only a block away from where we were staying, the Fine Arts school was a bit further away, so we drove down there for class commencement after the welcoming to meet our tutor and other classmates.

The tutor taking our life drawing class was Marianne Muggeridge. She seemed to have a no-nonsense attitude but in a gentle way. She didn't seem to have favourites in the class, and she encouraged us all and directed us well. She was punctual and expected us to work hard.

The facilities were really good. Purpose fitted warehouse [lots of great old buildings in Wanganui] with huge white walled spaces for different disciplines - the painting area had large "booth" type areas rather than open-plan, whereas our space was open space with easels set up in a circle around a central raised table for the models.

We started off as you normally would in such a situation - each of us introducing ourselves and how we got there etc. 15 of us in all and, as it turned out, not much of a difference in the best and the worst - actually i can't even say that, we were all different but pretty evenly matched, skillwise. There were only 2 men in the class - Norman Bates, the 30something son of Mrs Bates and exIT guy with red-socks and sandals. The another, a 30something tattooist named Dean, about to start a 4 year Fine Arts degree at the school. The rest were women - the youngest being Phoebe [I want to be Phoebe when i grow up] at 17 and the oldest being - well, that's debateable but 60something I might guess, and there were a couple of those.

We started by being introduced to our skeleton Joleen - a real skeleton (real bones as opposed to cast plastic) and spent the rest of the morning drawing her - I really hate skinny models but at least Joleen was still. Our first afternoon saw us drawing Alan. We had him most often during the week. He seemed to be in his 60s but it was hard to tell - as Jeanette kept saying "he's in good nick!" and so he was with very expressive poses. Most of our models [except one] seemed very experienced and comfortable with being naked in a room full of clothed people staring intently at them.

I slipped back into drawing from life easily that afternoon. It's a bit like riding a bike in that you don't lose what you've learned in the past - I felt a bit rusty but that soon passed and the hand-eye co-ordination seemed to slot back into place at the last time I drew life models and my work reflected the level I'd attained to that point. This was not to last - in my opinion my work got worse and worse throughout the week - but my eyes got better and better. I think those things go hand-in-hand [or hand-and-eye] the better I got at seeing the more mistakes I saw.

Day One ended at 4pm and we went back to our flat to eat and meet the rest of our flatmates.

Jill had joined our little house. She was older and from Palmerston North. She said she painted abstract mostly, and belonged to a few groups and often had several projects on the go. She seemed fairly placid, and was really I guess, but there was and is a glint of wickedness to Jill. An attractive mixture of innocence and evil which went over quite well during the week. Joining me on the top floor and Pat, Norman, Mrs Bates and Jill in the house, was Leedom. She was a 20something family friend of our tutor, Marianne. Leedom was bubbly and had a voice that filled the room. She had introduced herself saying she had dropped out of law school after a year to write a novel and had stopped starting her novel to explore painting. She was cheery and ate lots of bananas. She also had a really good time on the course, she even danced between sessions. [hephalumpy but fun all the same]

It seemed that all the other flats had mixtures of courses - Phoebe, for instance, was next door in a flat full of writers and glassmakers. [and the lovely long-legged Alex but that's another story] Our flat was all life-drawers. So, I had the pleasure *cough* of seeing them in the mornings, all day AND in the evenings. Which would have been okay if Mrs Bates wasn't one of them. But she was, and so I had someone to fix my grump on.

When the cat's away

How the world can change in 7 days. I go away to Wanganui for a short week and come back to this.. this.. shambles. How could you people let this happen? what, you forgot how the world works? you couldn't manage this situation for one _measely_ week without my help? I want a report on my desk _in_the_morning_ on WHY Brad and Jen have broken up and who I need to deal-to to fix this and make sure this never happens again.

What Michelle is really doing down country

Biosecurity invasion

Michelle: Oh look, my sunburnt shoulders from lugingwithoutsunblock are peeling arg.. *shows*
Simon: Oh god YUK that's GROSS!
Michelle: Well there'd better not be any cute guys on this course in Wanganui cos I look like a lizard!
Simon: Yeh, and you're peeling TOO!

Remote Blogging

So, did I mention I was going away? No? Well, I'm going away.

Was sposed to be Friday but it's been suggested Thursday'd be a better idea. I'm not sure what I'm doing; either way, by lunchtime Friday at the latest, I won't be in Auckland again until the 16th at the earliest.

I'm off to Wanganui Summer Art School via Rotorua to pick up my Aunty Patty who's coming with me. 7 Days of drawing from the nude model is my idea of a *good* time actually, 7 days of drawing *anything* is my idea of a good time - the fact it's from my preferred subject, the undraped human figure, is just utterly wonderful.

I've been trying to do this in a variety of ways for years but my head has always had a way of convincing me that slaving for my employer was always a more urgent need. Now that I work for myself I said "Self, get thee to a summer school" and booked it last year. We were lucky to get into the course in the end. But a phonecall and a plea saw us pencil'd in and money followed promptly enough that they held our spots.

The other cool thing about this trip is that I'm driving down now. I was originally going to fly or bus or something else but then I decided driving fast and singing loud was a way funner idea.

So a) road trip and b) nude people. Wanna come?

ARIES

You will probably have to reiterate an old argument this week; you'll have to return to a familiar problem and reprise a good fight you've fought before. For best results, don't betray any peeved impatience. Act as if you're offering your reasonable appeal for the very first time. On behalf of the universe, I apologize for sending you this maddening test. History is threatening to repeat itself in a distinctly unproductive way, and only your good-natured, enlightened use of force can stop it.

read your own

Witold Riedel has a lovely website and takes wonderful photographs. He is featured on Morning News with the beautifully photographed Bear project.

Stacking Shelves

Oh *groan* I can't *sleep*

After Sunday night and not being able to get *any* sleep, last night I downed two whopping vodka'n'oranges and managed to sleep *and* dream, but tonight I'm just *boing* wide eyed. This is crazy. This has been going on too long. All I seem to want to do all day is nap and daydream but at night it's bushy tail and wide awake. And it's not just the not-sleeping - it's the not being able to concentrate on *anything* while I'm awake; so I can't read for more than a few minutes or work on anything at all or hell, doing-the-laundry might be nice.

It took me four days to take down my tree and put the decorations away. I just kept "wandering off" every few decorations.

Oh crap, I'm going to clean the fridge. At least if I get all the shelves out I'll *have* to finish the job cos there's nowhere to put them but back into the fridge.

.inf? really?

I'm not convinced.

quiz time at the OK Jamjar

Which File Extension are You?

Not a Movie Review

You can take the boy out of the pizza place, but you can't take the pizza place out of the boy. Berg's been using the Abdominiser or Windsor Pilates or something cos he's got himself a six-pack and some ultra violet hollow-points and he's not afraid to use them. Well okay, he may not be afraid to use them but he prefers his fists to bullets being the kung-fu funny-guy he is. Couple of times he could've done with Pete to help him out but all and all, he is well versed enough with the word "fuck" to get by just fine.

I'm not sure if Jessica Biel's dad knows what she's doing these days but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't approve of the music she's downloading (from Apple iTunes Store?) and listening to while she kicks vampire butt. Her hair is at least tied up sometimes and her hips are lookin' pretty snazzy in brown leather. She's pretty handy with a bow and arrow too, you know, for a preacher's daughter. She plays Whistler's daughter "out of wedlock", dontcha know. and um, by the by.. didn't Whistler die in the first movie? God I hate Kris Kristofferson. How made up is that name anyway. Get a hair cut and stay dead would ya.

It's so nice to see Apple supporting the fight against vampires. Between the flat cinema displays, the G4 Powerbooks and the iPods we WILL win this fight!! I really liked it when Jessica Biel tossed a Windows Laptop at a vampire - that's my kind of fighting!

One note though, and these are words to live by, not just for fighting the good-fight where vampires are concerned: If you need to keep a watch on the closed circuit TV surveillance monitoring the perimeter of your secret hide-away, don't roster the blind girl on - she's gonna miss stuff.

Turns out the Numero Uno vampire is just some dude called Drake. He has a really bad hare-lip and leather pants that match his demonic skin. Who'da guessed.

Have you noticed that large lips are the new black this season? [Zach Braff, Garden State; Emily Browning, Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events] and Wesley's are the biggest in the business. God they make Angelina Jolie look like she needs a collagen shot.. STAT! he's getting old, that Blade.. looks a bit hefty, you know? Not quite as snappy on the "get up" when he crashes through skylights and his gadgets are all looking a bit like they were made at Mattel's KMart division. And what's with the blue motor cycle?

Blade Trinity is weak.

If you have the choice between The Incredibles and Blade Trinity.. go the animated former and leave the memories of Blade untainted by skipping this latest installment.

a pinch and a punch

I've never been a "New Years Eve" person. My grandparents always had a New Years celebration and when they lived at McKee Ave, we'd stand on the deck and watch the fireworks set down at the Rotorua lake front. After moving to Taranaki to live on The Farm I mostly stayed home on New Year's Eve because all my relatives'd like to go out (we all lived together and they hardly ever went out at night) so, being the oldest and *cough* most responsible *laughs* okay, oldest I'd be left behind to babysit my younger siblings and cousins.

When I grew up and moved away, most of my New Years were spent camping. This was usually the guys drinking beer and playing drinking games and eating fruit salad straight from the can (in defiance of their mothers - hello Michelle, big-fat-clue?) around the fire, and we girls running out of mixers at about 9pm and sobering up/shivering our way to midnight where a) our boyfriends/husbands were too intoxicated to find our mouths let alone kiss them and b) being stuck with that guy who always came camping with us, who had his own "one man tent", army surplus cooking gear and bicycle clips but no bicycle. He always had a prickly beard and he *always* used his tongue and he *always* found his target *shuddering after all these years* Then of course there was the 3am awakening when someone or more passers by'd pee on the tent. Oh yeh.. go the Kiwi Camping Ground.

Now as a single woman on New Years Eve, the party is usually lots of fun, and too much alcohol is consumed and it's all fun and games until the end of the midnight countdown when you realise you're standing alone in a room full of loving couples all kissing and whispering to each other. Talk about being the 3rd wheel.

But I was going out last night.. I wasn't then I was.. dithering-around typical of me at the moment (indecisive? not sure.) I made the mistake of checking the television before I left.. more footage of the tsunami. More countries exchanging celebrations of a New Year into National Days of Mourning. God it's so sad. So incredibly, mind numbingly helplessly horrifically sad. And there I sat, watching that film footage and not going anywhere.

I could tell it was midnight by the fireworks outside and the deep booming of what I assume was the display at the Sky Tower.

I didn't sleep much last night which, again, is typical of me at the moment. But thank you Suzi, wherever you are, for the txt message about 20 minutes *after* I fell asleep. 3:40am's pushing it, dontchathink?

Happy New Year, people. Thanks for keeping me company and I hope 2005 is good to you all. Well those of you who deserve it - Suuz? I'm gonna wake you up at 4am! Then we'll do coffee :)