To dilly-dally is divine.
This is all very exciting. Congrats to Susu and Rayray!! They now have a bouncing baby boy - 3.7 kilos! - after 15 hours of labour (by su, not ray). Both mother and child are doing well. I'm pretty sure the little bundle of joy is beautiful.
So... in lieu of the newborn's pix, here's a cute little picture hypothesising just what might happen if I have to babysit.
I'm kidding, of course. I'd make them share one bottle, not three.
So... in lieu of the newborn's pix, here's a cute little picture hypothesising just what might happen if I have to babysit.
I'm kidding, of course. I'd make them share one bottle, not three.
Four things made my day today:
- Thai lamb pie
- an ab-fab link
- God's blog
- Ken (below) through the years
- Thai lamb pie
- an ab-fab link
- God's blog
- Ken (below) through the years
Some very intellectual conversation on the topic of hair removal on Sunday night, as is wont to occur at dinner parties where 10-hour baked lamb and Greek salad are being served. My housemate’s boyfriend is now officially the first man I know to have experienced a complete back wax, “from the neck right down to the crack”. Another dinner guest confessed to shaving his, er, baby potatoes – a habit developed after two years of living in San Francisco. Apparently, while the practice is not yet the done thing within the Sydney gay scene, it is nevertheless very much, er, appreciated. He also has special clippers, bought in San Fran specifically for the deed, which helps prevent nicks and cuts from ordinary shavers.Four words – I had no idea.
By the way, I want this bedspread which, unfortunately, isn’t in stock any longer. Sad, depressing and very emo, but it’s pink (Morrissey would have a complete hissy fit) and ‘ironic’.
My home in Sydney is right across the Royal Alfred Hospital. In my 20-minute walk to uni, I have to pass the hospital’s psychiatric wing where there’s an outdoor area for patients to smoke, drink coffee or just sit in the open. Sometimes, they cry or talk to themselves. Other times, the patients talk to each other. Then there are times when they holler at passers-by. One time, a patient yelled “how ya going” at me. I looked straight ahead and didn’t reply. She then screamed: “Motherfucker, you’re a fucking cunt, who the fuck do you think you are! Fuck you! Fuck you!” Since then, each time I’ve walked past, I can’t help but feel a sense of dread and guilt just for that split-second, and my pace tends to quicken just that little bit more.
I walked a little slower today though – the patients were having a barbeque and a couple of them were taking turns to sizzle sausages and steak in their hospital robes. It was a nice moment and it kinda made me smile the rest of the way.
In another moment, I did go to the little church across the street on Sunday evening. It was a bit sad not just because we arrived 20 minutes into Mass, but because there weren’t any hymns or singing. None at all. I mean, that's one of the best bits of church right - the hymns! As The Deer, for example, rocks. At the end of Mass, the priest had to ask us to bow our heads and pray for musically-inclined volunteers to come forward.
Later, as we were all filing out, a woman started handing out church flyers. Her arms were full of pamphlets so I asked her if she needed any help - “help” in the sense that I would generously carry the bundle of flyers while SHE passed them out to parishioners. So, OF COURSE, nothing of the sort happens. For the next 10 minutes, I stand awkwardly near where the holy water is and hand out pamphlets detailing the urgent need for Catholics to read the Bible while she scurries off to the back of the church somewhere. Irony decided to have a bit of fun there. How I was not struck by lightning is proof that God sometimes takes a cigarette break.
The next time (if ever) I go for Mass at St Joseph's in Camperdown, it will be for the 9am one, when there is a choir and lots more church helpers.
I walked a little slower today though – the patients were having a barbeque and a couple of them were taking turns to sizzle sausages and steak in their hospital robes. It was a nice moment and it kinda made me smile the rest of the way.
In another moment, I did go to the little church across the street on Sunday evening. It was a bit sad not just because we arrived 20 minutes into Mass, but because there weren’t any hymns or singing. None at all. I mean, that's one of the best bits of church right - the hymns! As The Deer, for example, rocks. At the end of Mass, the priest had to ask us to bow our heads and pray for musically-inclined volunteers to come forward.
Later, as we were all filing out, a woman started handing out church flyers. Her arms were full of pamphlets so I asked her if she needed any help - “help” in the sense that I would generously carry the bundle of flyers while SHE passed them out to parishioners. So, OF COURSE, nothing of the sort happens. For the next 10 minutes, I stand awkwardly near where the holy water is and hand out pamphlets detailing the urgent need for Catholics to read the Bible while she scurries off to the back of the church somewhere. Irony decided to have a bit of fun there. How I was not struck by lightning is proof that God sometimes takes a cigarette break.
The next time (if ever) I go for Mass at St Joseph's in Camperdown, it will be for the 9am one, when there is a choir and lots more church helpers.
You have to take a look at this video, linked in stereogum. This guy lost a dare and had to play the world's shittiest mix tape on a boombox while walking through the streets of New York. One of the funniest videos I've seen all week - perhaps because I haven't been out of the house too much. Trust me, it's funny... especially if you haven't heard Gloria Estefan's Conga in years.They're the best, long weekends... especially when coupled with a one-week school break. Pity they're over so quickly. Darn it. Anyhow, the best story I read over a very leisurely Monday was:
A man charged with bestiality with seven rabbits and the mutilation deaths of 18 others has been granted bail pending his next court appearance. Brendan Francis McMahon, 36, a businessman, was ordered not to go within 50 metres of any pet store or go to rural lands.
Not sure if you've heard of it but this tale of sex, drugs and furry bellies has really captured Sydneysiders' kaypoh-radar. Apparently while on a reeeeally bad trip on ice, this yuppie tortured, skinned then FUCKED Bugs' brethren. Now Mr McMahon's been banned from the very places he sourced his sick kicks from. I'm sure there's a cruel-ironic-witty lesson in here we can all learn from, but, unfurtunately (hur hur), I'm too sleepy to even try.