Archive | January, 2013

Le Moribond

27 Jan

Poor, poor little bloggy blog that’s so unloved.
I listen to a fair bit of French music and have been trying the learn the language through some Google apps. I have been learning since Christmas and can recognise about 100 extra words which isn’t a bad accomplishment. My pronunciation is absolutely terrible but my reading is getting better. It’s a hobby and I’ve finally gotten around to it, having wanted to learn it since I was in grade school (which was more than 15 years ago).

Remember that dreadful, dreadful Terry Jacks song ‘Seasons in the Sun’? Well, it was a cover of a French song called ‘Le Moribond.

Terry Jack’s version is this cloyingly sweet song that sounds so ‘white’. I mean that in the sense that the Westeners took a fine European song and bastardasised it by making it a soulless tune. It’s a bit like how the local Chinese shop serves honey chicken that appeals to wussy Westernise palates and bears little resemblance to any ‘authentic’ Chinese food.
The 70s was a bit of a hit and miss musically with its mushy songs mixed with some very innovative stuff. The pop was the worst. Debbie Boon’s ‘You Light Up My Life’ topped charts. The Captain and Tennille sang about ‘Muskrat Love’ (a love song with rats. Rats!) Paul Anka sang ‘You’re Having My Baby’ (even the title is awful). Seasons in the Sun’ fits right in with rest of the sickly sentimental songs.
Jaques Bruel’s original version by contrast is brilliant, an upbeat jazzy song that gives the middle finger to his faithless wife and friend. You mayn’t understand the French lyrics but you just know that it’s damn good; bitingly sarcastic and ironic.
Even more horrifyingly, ‘Westlife’ covered Jack’s version. It is even more soulless if possible. It’s the musical version of a Thomas Kincade painting (you’ll notice that I really dislike Kincade’s work and will throw in references to him).
Have just googled the Huffington Post’s critique of the same songs. Oh great, now I’ve got the chorus of ‘Seasons in the Sun’ in my head.


(You’re) Having My Baby

20 Jan

Nope, I’m not pregnant. I don’t intend to be enceinte for at least 10 years (but Philofelinist, it will be harder to have healthy kids in your 30s and 40s. Yes but in 10 years there will be all these medical advancements so it will be less of a problem). The debate about breastfeeding in public is the hot topic right now. I chose a song I dislike to be the title.

In the news lately was a young mother who is stirring the breastfeeding in public debate. She her three kids to a swimming pool on a hot day. She breastfed the baby sitting on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water whilst the other two children played. She was asked to move to a more secluded spot or to a chair after a complaint and it was suggested that she cover the baby with a blanket. The mother was so ‘humiliated’ at being told this in front of her children (aged 5, 6, 11months) that she left in tears and was refused a ticket refund though her visit was cut short. The story made the news as some other young mothers were planning a ‘nurse-in’ in protest at the pool and later at a television station because of a television personality’s comments that mothers should be discreet. The council apologised it would have been water under a bridge but this woman seems to be determined to be martyr for discrimination. The original issue I believe, the mother not being allowed to breastfeed at the side of the pool, rather that not being able to at all. She had the right to but really, a high traffic area like the side of a public pool probably isn’t an ideal place to do it.

Breast feeding in pubic is a bit of a hairy topic. Mothers have the right to breastfeed wherever they want. This means that they have the right to do so immersed in water, in a crowded restaurant and so forth. People are often put off the sight of a baby having its lunch in full view in public. They find it unsavoury to see an uncovered breast whilst they’re having their own lunch. Those against obvious breastfeeding in public liken it to other unpleasant bodily functions, just because it’s legal, doesn’t mean it should be done. Few are against breastfeeding in public, a baby must have its nourishment after all, but believe that mothers should display a bit of modesty and cover the baby with a blanket or at least try and find a mother’s room to do it. Some militant feminists say that it is not something to hide away as only those who are put off by a woman’s breast must have sexual issues.

Very few babies will be inconvenienced by the 2mins it takes to put a blanket over its head. Very few babies will mind if they’re moved a couple of metres away to a more comfortable spot away from others.

We don’t live in a prudish society and aren’t disturbed by breasts but it is unnecessary to see full breast and nipple in public. Breastfeeding seems like such a private act. Women should not have to hide away to a toilet but modesty should be exercised. A blanket covering the baby would be suffice. There is feminism, women’s rights and there is common sense about where to breastfeed and a respect for fellow patrons.

A House is Not a Home

13 Jan

I moved apartments recently which is why I haven’t been blogging as much. Things are still in boxes and there is stuff everywhere. Going to donate a lot to opshops or sell some on fleabay.

The old apartment was quite good with a security gate and a sort of garden in the middle. With palm trees. I remember getting home late at times and being a bit scared of the palm trees, they were something like out of ‘Days of the Triffids’.

Whilst packing, it seemed that my clothes mated with each other and had clothing babies. Yet I still have nothing decent to wear. My books were also possessed and multiplied. Yes, a girl can have too many books and clothes. If only I could start my wardrobe from scratch, it would have about ten outfits in there.

I made a vow not to go to anymore opshops and buy rubbish from ebay anymore. I have so many useless dust collectors and am flummoxed as to why I thought an old, broken china horse was worth buying.

I need a huge house to store the twelve prints that I have. I have hung maybe three up. I really have got to stop buying things for my future ‘dream house’ when I buy and just deal with a minimalist apartment living.

The types of people found in apartment blocks:

1. There is always that dodgy older guy who gives you leery looks. Generally quiet and keeps to himself but you always think that he has a criminal past.

2. There is always an Indian neighbour. They often have friends and family pop by and you can smell the curries.

3. There is quite often an Asian neighbour, generally a student.

4. There is always a stoner. Usually in the form of an older man with rock posters.

5. There is always a pseudo musician of sorts. Oddly enough, there was a harmonica player in the last apartment block. This block has a guitar player. In one apartment I lived in, there was a violinist who was quite good, probably a student.

6. There is quite often a family (generally ethnic) and you wonder how they can all live in such a small space.

7. There is the bubbly young female who introduces herself and says that we must have ‘coffee’. Quite often, hers is the only name that you’ll get to know.

8.  The ‘ghosts’, people you see every few months and are surprised that they still live there. You wouldn’t recognise them from a bar of soap. This is despite there being fewer than twelve apartments in a block.

9. The young couple under 30. Generally students or working professionals, they are friendly but every few months they have a bust up and you can hear her crying and him apologising.

10. The guy who comes home at odd hours. You can sometimes hear him come home at 02.00am in the morning.

The Candy Man Can

7 Jan

I will not whinge about the 38°C heat the way that my fellow Aussies have been.

‘The Candyman can coz he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good’. Such a ‘sweet’ song, makes one feel happy and nostalgic. And who doesn’t love the original ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ movie. Mr Wonka’s factory is one of the top fantasy destinations on my list, who wouldn’t want to go to a place where they have a chocolate river and a boiled lolly boat. Well maybe diabetics and those opposed to slave labour.

Had some marzipan fruits over the weekend as a new year’s treat.  Marzipan! Oh that divisive sweet. It comes in such pretty shapes and has mainly inoffensive ingredients, sugar, egg and almond meal, yet the stuff is so reviled. I hated marzipan as a child as it was sickly sweet stuff on cakes which had the bitterness of almond essence. I hadn’t had marzipan for over 10years til I had this. Bought it on a whim, it half price so not too expensive and I loved the shape and colours of the fruit. Such detail on the banana and the apple was so delicately painted.
Marzipan shapes are so decorative, they look like toys instead of a something to rot your teeth with. How can something so pleasing to look at not taste well. Vegemite looks and tastes like sludge but it’s an Australian icon. Cilantro looks innocently like any other green herb yet tastes like soap. Fruitcake has nothing going for it.
Marzipan isn’t common over here and is considered to be a retro food. I want to make my own and reintroduce people to this delicacy. I want to create mini food art, pigs, fruit, mice and so forth. I am inspired.

Well that was a completely pointless blog post but Marcel Proust has written a tome about madeleines and lime tea so this is nothing.