Can you please tell me if they are going to appear in print!

It's disconcerting flipping through a magazine - in this case, Vision China - and seeing a pic I took but didn't know was being used. I don't get paid for them - yet - but it's good to know where they are if I did ever want to quote for a job...

Or, as in this case, so I can take a better pic in the first place!

Been needing a bit of extra cash lately, what with my European odyssey planned and that stoooooopid bloody expensive car of mine.... (If anyone knows anyone who has a halfway decent Aussie-made 1964-1979 wagon for sale, please tell me), so when my friend Sam told me she had turned down $250 for a days worth of scanning I thought she was mad and said "I'll do it!".

I mean, I've got a scanner. I'm even about to scan some slides. How hard can that be for a day?

No.

Not the type of scanning I was thinking.

Scanning, as in ultrasound, as in internal ultrasound.

For all you blokes out there this is where a chick lies down, spreadeagled, and a large dildo-like device is put exctly where a large dildo-like device should be going. This is a medical examination used for checking out a chicks bits and whatnots.

Usually, a chick is not paid for an internal ultrasound.

But, medical students have to learn somewhere, don't they.

Hmmmmmm....... $250..... 6 hours......

I guess if I could get an occaisional kiss while it was happening..............!

Honestly, I could probably do it, but I won't. I'm sure there'd be some radiation or something that I don't want to expose myself to. Bummer. It would be a funny thing to blog about.

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The hoarder in me has had to take a step back as my cupboards are crammed too full to serve decent function. With a boot sale fast approaching I have been frantically trying to be tough, and let go of things I not only no longer use, but will never use in the future.

Then I stumbled across the diary. The one hidden not only from prying eyes, but also from the most conscious parts of my own brain. I started it in 1989*, and had not added to it after about 1996, but every time I read it, I cringe at the horror that was me!

Again, I opened it up and poured over the same pages that I had poured out my emotions on all those years ago, and again, I thought it was pathetic. Sad and pathetic and......... disturbingly embarrasing. Every time I re-read the damn thing it sounds worse. The only good things are a couple of 'stories' and some clippings of newspapers, magazines etc. The rest is awful, desperate drivel from someone who, I would think, should have known better!

I've always kept it. It is, after all, a document of a period in my life. But today, I'm such a very different person, and I honestly could not think of one person in the world that I would feel ok about them reading that rubbish, even after I was dead.

I kept the clippings. I kept the novella (which, while also personally based, was at least well written), and then I went out in the rain and burned that fucker!

It's crazy. I had so much fun in those days too, but I never seemed to think they were important enough to write about.

Anyway. If you know me at all, you would know that letting go of something like that is, well, HUGE!

And I feel so good!

*Curiously, my opener, the front page of the whole sorry diary, is a story about Sonny. This is not a me being pathetic story, just my way of introducing myself, setting the scene, talking about a friend of mine before I launched into the squalor of my own emotional life. Funny, hey!

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Look.

If you know anything about me, you know I don't like to be mean about people. But sometimes I have to draw the line.

I have had some magazines donated to me. I love reading through magazines. Some of them have interesting articles, others have pretty pictures. The one I'm about to discuss definately falls in the latter category.

"You are right In November's Citrus Crush when you say "few of us woud dare include a bright orange piece....among our season staples". My mother who has incredible fashion sense, gave me a bright orange skirt for my birthday. Smiling sweetly and thanking her, I put it straight to the back of my cupboard. Little did I know Vogue had deemed it a vibrant season colour. After seeing your magazine dedicate an entire page [A whole fucken page, dig] to orange, I have now teemed this skirt with a black sheer top and black sandals and recieved several compliments. Thank you Vogue [because I am a cretin who can't think for herself] and , of course my mum!

Well. Isn't she a chick living on the edge! At the dead-set forefront with a whole page of fashionable people wearing a certain colour! How stoked am I that Patti donated her bright orange, leather jacket to me! I loved it before, but now I can be so happy that I will be wearing an 'in' colour. Better not let Patti see Vogue - she'll want it back!

But hang on to your trendy hats - that wasn't even the best letter...

"Good riddance to those ugly humungous totes. Every time I take mine for an outing, I suffer from "It bag shoulder" - even when the bag is empty it weighs a ton.[I've heard there is a cure for that. It's called, Harden the Fuck Up].  I'm happy to see the tote is being nudged out by the much daintier frame bag. [This chick's punctuation is shithouse] I loved your selectionin the January issue, especially the exquisite buttercup yellow Christian Dior suede bag with the gorgeous tortoiseshell-style frame. It's a work of art. [!art! For the uninitiated, the 'frame' bag is nice, functional, and something you last saw on your Grandmother's arm] But one question: now that these bags are half the size, why not half the price?

OOoh! Pick Me! Pick Me! I know the answer!

'Cos you idiots will keep coming in year after year, an paying whatever is asked, as long as someone has told you it is fashionable.

Ok. I don't like to speak ill of people. I didn't include their names. But really, these people need to be having a sit down in the old room of mirrors.

They need to have a bit of a look at themselves, and say "Wait!", "Even if I do feel the need to be told what to wear, should I be broadcasting that need to the general public?"

As a fairly blatant attempt at a segue, I will mention that I had a lovely day at the art gallery yesterday  (totally oblivious to the fact that it rained and hailed so much at my house that verandah furniture floated metres, and most of my frangis have holey leaves) and, I wore my gold lame pants in the daytime, tucked into boots. So There. This is surely a henious fashion crime, punishable by meeting the authors of those letters to the editor. But I wore them because I love them. That's why I wear what I wear.

It toned in well with Henry Moore

And that's all that really counts in fashion, isn't it?

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The rainbow is up

She is singing in the sun

So let's leave her until the stars are asleep

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Go Kevin! Tell it like it is. Finally a prime minister with balls, and morals!

I'll just say here, before I go on with this posting, I realise it's been a while. It's been a long while. I've been very busy, and my computer died, and now I've been busy and procrastinating a little, because now there is a big backlog of pictures to post. I'll start at the back for today...

Waaaaay back on the 24th November last year, I went with Sonny to see his friends, The Glimmers, play at a rave thingy at Mrs Macquarie' Chair, which is a funny name for a great harbourside park. The event was called Harbourlife. To say I was reticent to go would be a gross understatement, but as Sonny had only just got back in the country I thought I should try to spend some time with him - and I returned the favour by taking him to a 6ft Hick gig the next week.

As it turned out, we had backstage access, which at a band would see me hanging out backstage, but as the guys were djs we got to hang out in the dj booth, which was kinda like being on the stage. So, for the most part it was Mo and Benoillie (The Glimmers), Sonny with his camera, and me with my camera.

Not only was it educational - seeing how playing different cds can get people crazy dancing, but I had lots of fun. Now, I know, that's a bold statement from a rock gal like myself, but it was fun - until they'd finished and we went and hung out in the seething mass, then I felt like I was at a rave, and started hearing the music, and seeing the ecstacy-strained faces, and it was time to go.

View from the good side of the fence

Spin that wheel

Nice boys shared their rider, too!

Great location

Look, I'm smiling. It must be fun. Or was it too much of the free vodka?

These guys kept yelling "Take a picture of me!". Well, there you go, guys. Your 15 seconds.... on my blog. Cool, heh!

A well earned drink....

A changing of the guard....

A meet and greet with the fans...

Whew... I'm a little tired...

Quickly pause for the paparazzo... and he for me

 With my best social pages face on

 Hmmm. Not much better

Same guy caught us at a party for Oyster mag...

 Must try harder...

 He's had more practice, I think

But I digress.........

Gotta keep those swimming gatecrashers out!

Now, I know you can get bad outfits at gigs - but you never get this scary shit!

 And as far as that kind of music goes.... These guys were great. Not too much inch inch sound, words I could hear, and the crowd loved them!

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