I opened up my inbox today to find this little delight:
hi dear
how much per hr
I don’t know anything about the sender but there’s a definite poetry in the brevity and absence of punctuation.
I have yet to formulate a worthy response.
The best email I ever got…
Posted by rubytopo on May 21, 2012
http://notesforasong.wordpress.com/2012/05/21/the-best-email-i-ever-got/
Coffee stain
It’s pouring with rain and I really should just stay indoors but I’m getting cabin fever and I’m not really motivated to tidy my room so I decide to head out, grab a coffee from Cibi, take the tram somewhere. I have a lot of bags. I also have my hot takeaway coffee cup (sorry, environment). I also have my ipod (of course).
I’m sitting opposite a gorgeous Asian girl who looks unimpressed with the weather, the tram, my many bags. There’s also a skater guy who looks bored. They both have ipods. One of the skater dude’s fav songs comes on his ipod and he gets a bit animated. He starts to tap his foot. One of my fav songs comes on my ipod and I start to tap mine. He starts to drum his fingers against his bag. I tap a fingernail against my coffee cup. He starts to bob his head. I start to bob mine. Are we in some kind of competition? Girl opposite looks amused. Everyone else on the tram continues to ignore us. Skater dude starts mouthing the words to the song. I do it too. He bangs out a rhythm on his lap. I start to use my coffee cup as a bongo. The tram lurches. The last of my coffee spills out of the cup and flows all over my backpack and jeans.
Skater dude looks disgusted. Girl opposite flashes me the warmest smile you’ve ever seen and hands me a tissue. I beam back and mouth the words, “Thank you”.
“For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours…?”
Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Posted by rubytopo on May 14, 2012
http://notesforasong.wordpress.com/2012/05/14/coffee-stain/
How to survive fashion week
I won this competition to go to Mercedes Benz Fashion Week last week (you may have noticed my entry on this blog). Big thank you to Vogue and Ausmode for organizing the comp! Having never been to a fashion week, or day, or hour, before, this was all very exciting. A glimpse at the world that goes on outside the thrift stores I usually get my fashion fix from. A world where you can wear 10cm high heels everywhere and no one will think you’re overdressed. A world where a man in towering stilettos and a bright red feather fascinator is a revered figure.
It being my first, and probably last, fashion week I wanted to soak it all in. I learnt a lot. I thought I’d share some of my new knowledge with you, in case you ever have the chance to experience this amazing cultural tradition first hand.
1. Always bring a pair of flats in your handbag. Or just wear your sneakers to the show. True fashionistas suffer through the pain of platforms all day, but luckily for us mortals sneakers are perfectly acceptable fashion week footwear. As long as they have big plastic flowers on them or something.
2. Wear wack stuff. I mean, if you can’t afford some amazing designer trenchcoat with a straw collar, just wear heaps of wack stuff. No one cares if everything you wear comes from op shops as long as you look like a rainbow threw cowboy and soldier costumes all over you.
3. Strong legs do strut down many of the runways. Not everyone is super skinny. Don’t feel bad about shoving down a burger or some sushi just before a show. I’m sure you still look amazing. And if you sneak around the backstage, you’ll see all the models doing it too.
4. If you are a designer and you don’t want your models taking off their too-big heels and spraying cotton wool over the runway, put them in Docs like LF Markey.
5. By the end of the week, most people stop going to the show and you’ll probs maybs get bumped up to the front row.
Posted by rubytopo on May 7, 2012
http://notesforasong.wordpress.com/2012/05/07/how-to-survive-fashion-week/
Reader Request #1
I hate taking the 96 on Sunday evenings. After 7.30, the trams run a lot less frequently. Not to mention the stop nearest my house is the worst tram stop in Melbourne, no seat, no protection from the elements, traffic speeding by on both sides. And for some reason I always get there late. Partly because Tram Tracker lies. Partly because I am convinced I can walk the two long blocks from Smith to Nicholson in less than 8 minutes. I can’t. But also that Tram Tracker thing.
This particular evening in question I felt I was making good time, despite Tram Tracker’s lies. It felt like it had been about 7 minutes plus I had only listened to two tracks on my ipod. I sped up as I felt the rumble of tram on track in the distance. I rounded the corner into Nicholson and saw the tram pulling up to the stop. I was still quite a few steps away so I picked up my pace. Luckily, two young gents had spotted me through the back of the tram and one placed himself against the door of the tram, preventing the driver from pulling out.
I started to run as the boys motioned for me to hurry. What fine young fellows holding the door for me! I finally reached the tram and headed for the back door where they were. Just as I neared, the rascal holding the door blew me a kiss and stepped out of the way as the doors shut with me on the wrong side of them. Leaving me to spend the next 22 minutes at the least user-friendly tram stop in Melbourne.
Posted by rubytopo on April 25, 2012
http://notesforasong.wordpress.com/2012/04/25/reader-request-1/
How not to behave at an art opening
My friend had an art opening last week. She had been working so hard for it and totally deserved to relax and enjoy her opening in her lovely polka dot dress. She did not deserve to be picking up her artwork after I kicked it over. Ooops.
Before you jump to conclusions let me explain. I had on clunky platform shoes. I was feeling distinctly uncool and awkward around all the well-dressed gallery goers. And I didn’t realise how close I was standing to one of the works (engaged in some thrilling conversation about a crappy work week no doubt) until I kicked it over and everyone inhaled sharply and glared at me.
The artist handled the situation with aplomb, she casually left her conversation, strode over, picked up the piece, righted it and returned to her conversation as though nothing was out of the ordinary. That’s how you should behave at an opening.
As for me, I’d say some flat footwear and some fancy footwork are required before any more forays into the art world.
Posted by rubytopo on April 23, 2012
http://notesforasong.wordpress.com/2012/04/23/how-not-to-behave-at-an-art-opening/
Whitewash
White people crack me up.* Always trying to make excuses for why the casts of mainstream films and TV shows are predominantly white. Don’t get me wrong – they present some great arguments, “But, it isn’t a black story,” or “But, there are non-white characters… the maths teacher is Chinese,” or my personal fav, “But, BET.”
When my very beautiful and talented actress friend goes to auditions she sometimes gets told, “We’ve decided not to go ethnic.” And that about sums up the problem – you don’t need to “decide to go ethnic” or be telling a “black story” to cast a non-white person, how about casting a non-white actor just, you know, coz?
*I’m white.
Posted by rubytopo on April 20, 2012
http://notesforasong.wordpress.com/2012/04/20/whitewash/
Vote for me
You can vote for this blog! With your vote you can make this another week of winning for me! Thank you lovely readers.
Posted by rubytopo on April 16, 2012
http://notesforasong.wordpress.com/2012/04/16/babc-vote/
Getting ready v. going out
Getting ready is when you can play DJ, blast your choice of music (be it Prince, Beyonce, or Wu-Tang, unless you’re like me and then it’s all three) out of your speakers. There’s none of those “filler” tracks you have to put up with at the club.
Going out you might hear something you love but haven’t got round to putting on your itunes, or something completely new. You could hold your phone up and find out the name of the band, or ask a beguiling stranger you’ve had your eye on if they know.
Getting ready you are your own stylist, you can prance around in a million different outfits, imagine yourself gliding across the d-floor in your heels. Going out often ends with your heels slung over your shoulder, or the distinct feeling you would’ve been happier in your PJs.
Going out you get to perve on other people, people-watching is the new porn. Everyone is looking their absolute best (until the night turns and it’s their absolute worst). You get to make new friends in the bathrooms, sharing make up tips or lipstick.
Getting ready you can talk about anything you want, be as loud as you want, drink as much as you want (as long as you live close to a bottle shop). You are with a band of friends, you are invincible.
Going out you might have to raise your voice above the music, then lower it again to avoid looks from the table next to you. You might end up engaged in a political debate with a complete stranger and realize the alcohol’s causing you to lose. But you could also meet someone who says their favorite book is the same as yours and writes their number on the inside cover of another book they are recommending to you.
Getting ready holds all the promise, all the potential, which would all be wasted if we just stayed at home.
Posted by rubytopo on April 12, 2012
http://notesforasong.wordpress.com/2012/04/12/getting-ready-v-going-out/
Tall mamí syndrome
So, the floral feud has escalated, and it’s got me thinking about chicks and our endless competition with each other. Why is it when two girls start doing well they are either pitted against each other (like January Jones and Christina Hendricks, who are both, let’s face it, smoking hot) or they end up creating unnecessary drama? The two flowers in question are winning at a mostly man’s game but instead of collaborating, supporting each other or at least putting up a semblance of mutual admiration, it’s turned into twitter war and fodder for a new range of tees (“Team Azealia” and “Team Azalea” anyone?)
Now this is all easier to say and a lot harder to do… us girls can be notorious for competing with each other as if we have to be the best out of our sex. But how much nicer would it be if we all felt like there was enough room at the top for each of us? What we need is to clear some space up there, and probably the best way to topple some of these dudes from their thrones is if we commit to giving each other a leg-up instead of cutting each other down. A little more respect, a little less bitching, and if our fingernails are long, let it be for guitar playing and quick unpicking only.
Posted by rubytopo on March 30, 2012
http://notesforasong.wordpress.com/2012/03/30/tall-mami-syndrome/
