An Alternative Guide to Valentines in London

Us single gals are full of ideas and if, god forbid ;), I wasn't single these are the types of things I would do with my beau. 


Leave the silky bow of cliche behind and eat some food with your hands! Click for full Skiddle Valentines Feature.

That's What She Said

Damn relationships are hard. Here’s what I’ve learnt from my friends:

1//If you put a sex ad on Gumtree.com you will get replies. In fact one Nordic lass got 1000 replies. In order to maintain an inch of dignity she stated that she would only accept applications from those who submitted a photo. Luckily for her she found an eager beaver. Unfortunately for her it only lasted 30 seconds. I didn’t say it was effective.

2//Go on a date with a stranger who is a little older and therefore (hopefully) wiser than those closer to your age. My housemate did this. She will remain nameless as she didn’t seem as impressed as I was, when she told me her story. Apparently he told her he had ‘complications’ prior to their date. On the date she queried the ‘complications’ to which he replied ‘I’ll tell you later’. After a few complimentary beverages my house-mate had more than likely forgotten 'said' issue and thus was more than happy to commit to a little lip-on-lip action. By the end of the day he decided it was time: ‘Oh, so the complications,’ he said. ‘Yes, do explain,’ she comfortably replied while nestling up against him. He said: ‘I’m married’. She said: ‘What?! How. Do you have children’? He said: ‘Yes’. She said. And it went on like this for a while. He denied having any other ‘extra marital’ relationships and she told him she wouldn’t be his extra bit on the side. She came home steaming. Safe to say it was the highlight of my day. I told her she’d look back on it and laugh. She told me he’d just texted her and asked if they could be friends. Nothing needed to be said. I promised her I wouldn’t write about it. This is a vague recollection that reassembles something someone once told me. Let’s leave it at that.

3//If you meet someone who says he is a photographer be wary. A friend met someone who was a photographer and she took a chance. He said he had a studio and was looking for an intern. She obliged. He told her he’d like to take some photos. The rest is as predictable as night following day. Not long after the flash began she realised that his definition of ‘art’ was a little more than contradictory to her own. She buttoned up her shirt and left.

4//Dating a DJ is difficult. Ladies throw themselves at him while he stands behinds his decks. Friends chastise you for dating the cliché: ‘Of course he’s cheating on you: he’s a DJ’. Eventually the vicious rumours get louder, circling through your cerebral membrane and then bad things start to happen. You get sticky fingers. Eventually your sticky fingers find their way into his travel bag, only to find an assortment of condoms. Your blood boils as you approach the travelling muso; rubbers in hand. Things are said, condoms get thrown about and by this time it’s time for him to catch his plane. Au Revoir.

5//Dating foreigners is always a precarious situation. More often than not if they are a ‘foreigner’ it also means they are ‘temporary’. The second most important thing to ask any possible suitor with an accent is the date of their return. -The first is obviously their name-. Often a plane ticket is the best form of proof; however, this may also lead them to believe you are somewhat insane. Another hot tip is to date those whose grasp of the English language is a little below par. This way it is easier to worm your way out of sticky situations – just blame it on the language barrier.

Relationships: a metaphorical notion of ‘self-harming’. Cuts me deep but feels oh so good.

But sometimes the language barrier makes them all the more endearing. They're like aliens walking around with their eyes closed. He asks:'Do you wanna spoon'? You sit up confused at the prospect of him actually understanding this colloquial term and request repetition. He points to the pillow and says: 'Spoon'... You say: 'Yes'.

Photo: FFFound

(500) Days of Summer - Colour My Life In Chaos

He fell for a girl who didn't believe in love but managed to convince her otherwise.

"Roses are red, Violets are blue,

Fuck you whore"

(500) Days of Summer is an indie rom-com with all the right ingredients for the 21st century MTV audience. The film plays on the relationship between love and pain through the comical awkwardness of humdrum greeting-card writer Tom Hanson (Joseph Gordon Levitt - see Mysterious Skin & Brick) and the coy ambiguity of Summer Finn played by indie pin-up girl Zoey Deschanel (see Gigantic & The Good Girl). At the beginning of the un-labelled relationship Finn pre-warns Hanson of her intentions, or lack thereof : "I'm not looking for anything serious," cue Hanson's despondency, violins and breaking heart. In real life, it seems Deschanel whole-heartedly embraces the concept of indie love; she just recently married Death Cab For Cutie's frontman Ben Gibbard.

The boy meets girl, girl 'shits' on boy story highlights the perils of love in life, but seems content with merely skimming the surface. It seems director Mark Webb intentionally avoids any raw emotion, with the pretence of targeting an audience who would be more than satisfied with the palatable Belle and Sebastian, The Smiths and Joy Division references. This post-modern love story  is presented in a disjointed non-linear fashion, portraying the film as a 'memory story'; an unorthodox Memento-like style which allows the film to parallel different stages of a relationship. Despite this emotions fail to peek and instead maintain a constant plateau of 'lull', an exception to this would be the smack in the chops Hanson receives in Summer's honour, again at his own comical expense.

The constant drone of Summer's monotone voice further dispels any hope of real feelings, something that could be easily achieved with even a slight stint of intonation. But alas, Deschanel parades the same "crooked teeth, blue eyes and 1960s hairstyle" paired with her girly sense of dress, which seems to carry her though all her films. Her insouciant mannerisms lend to her polite exit from the 'relationship'; the movie excuses her insensitive behaviour and presents her as a completely unaware character. She is confused by the feeble concept of 'love' and therefore less of a cold-hearted bitch. The film manages to steer clear of the stereotyped Hollywood gender roles yet ironically states that  "there are two types of people in this world, men and women",  a complete contrast to the ambiguous gender roles played out in the film. Summer's character enjoys 'holding hands in IKEA and having sex in the shower,' yet if she were a guy she would be labelled selfish misogynistic - lucky for her.

It has to be noted that early on in the story the earnest gentleman narrator firmly informs the audience that (500) Days of Summer 'is not a love story.' Writers Scott Neustadter and Michael Weber refer to their narrative as 'a coming-of-age story pretending to be a romantic comedy', one which involves two characters. The three-dimensional lovelorn Tom Hanson and  the unidentifiable Summer Finn, a woman filled with Tom's ideal projection. Although it is very easy to be sucked into Hanson's fantasy world, the writers hope viewers see that Summer Finn, the bewitching 'villian', who excuses any wrong-doings by batting her big blue eyes, is merely a vehicle for Hanson to realise his dreams. Other than her favourite The Smiths' song, Hanson really doesn't know anything about Summer.

Aesthetically, this picture is very beautiful but did you feel like you were Yoko Ono watching the film through her trademark blue-tinted glasses? Before you self-diagnose a 'defunct cornea' put your mind at ease, by realising that this blue-centric colour-scheme was purposely used to bring out Deschanel's blue eyes. Yes, there was indeed method behind the 'deer in headlights' madness.

(500) Days of Summer is what it is. Put simply it's another indie flick with very calculated timing. Hollywood has found a way to appeal to the 'masses', those indie alt-fans who feel jaded; cheated by the unrealistic expectations of movies such as Legally Blonde. These new quirky romcoms include acoustic indie soundtracks which seem to add a new kind of realistic depth; one reminiscent of knobbly knees, crooked teeth and all the understated peculiarities and insecurities that make life 'real'.  Quirky characters with awkward social tendencies (see Napoleon Dynamite & Garden State) and affinities for indie rock bands (Juno, Nick and Noah's Infinite Playlist & Paper Heart), often coupled with twenty-something melancholy heartbreak, are the new niche and actors like Zooey Deschanel, Joseph Gordon-Levitt and even Michael Cera are in their prime.

Marc's Webb's debut is cute and sweet; something you wouldn't mind savouring, but for a movie supposed to be about love and pain, it does not hurt nearly enough. This of course, is less of a criticism and more of an observation.

A side note: go see Closer if you're looking for some real raw emotional intensity.

After being caught out for her infidelities, Owen presses Robert's for more detailed information: "what does he taste like?” to which she replies "he tastes like you, only sweeter". After a line like that, a kick in the guts would be a walk in the park.


Disclaimer: (500) Days of Summer was distributed by Fox Searchlight Pictures, a company responsible for indie films Sideways, Little Miss Sunshine and Juno, and not MTV.

Dimly Lit Rooms

In dimly lit rooms everything looks softer. Dimly lit rooms eradicate -minor- problems. Bars are usually dimly lit and for good reason. Guys are more likely to be attracted to girls in dimly lit rooms, ergo guys are more likely to approach said girls and insist on buying said girls (alcoholic) beverages. This (may) increase said girls self-esteem and will definitely increase bar sales. Everybody wins, right?

But what happens when the flickering wicks are no longer your only source of light. When the sun rises everything is much clearer, the picture is much sharper and you wish you were back in that dimly lit room. The dimly lit room, in which, not everything but enough is said. Two thirds omission and one third of 'enough'. In dimly lit rooms certain things are overlooked, all for the good of the 'cause'.

Then you go home and are blinded by the light. That artificial light that burns through your retinas and exposes everything for what it really is. All the tiny cracks appear and you are faced with the errors of your ways. That constant humming drone returns and plays like a drill on your mind.

Dimly lit rooms.

Mar 09

It's Not Black and White

How unfortunate that I completely disagree with this idealistic poster. Instead I readily embrace shades of grey.

Loss of Sensation

When you continually trace the tip of your finger over a tactile surface, eventually that tip becomes numb. The sensation of feeling is lost and that indulgent activity loses all meaning.

This analogy can be likened to that of human emotion.

No one, not even oneself, can ever predict the next move, especially when feelings are involved.

When you find a texture that you want to reach out and touch, feelings surface. You enjoy the sensation of feeling, so much so that you persist. You overdose and then eventually the feeling disappears and you yearn for more.

The feeling is fickle and it's time to move on.

A mere 10 mins ago, you couldn't think of anything worse.

Such is life.

Soak It Up- Love(less) woes

I feel like a sponge. I am a sponge. I've been absorbing so much; listening, consoling and then trying to take it all on board. Once I've hopped on board, shown the inspector my ticket I then look out the window, and review everything I've learned on the trip. Hopping off here and there to learn more, digest and then continue on my way.

I seem to be the go-to-girl, for well, relationship woes. This may be because I am a good listener or because I manage to pry open the pursed lips of others, while instilling the idea that, they themselves, had been yearning to tell me the whole time.

(My oh-so-wise younger sibling made a good point and it went something along the lines of: "Why are people in relationships seeking advice from someone who is not". My reply: "That's a good point. But no one asked for your opinion, so shut it".)

I recently received a message from a good friend who lives overseas - story of my life- his words seemed confused and unsure of themselves. These words I was bamboozled with ranged from blasphemy to helplessness. After countless attempts at the Skype ordeal I rang him.

I rang him and I asked him what was wrong. I assumed he'd cheated on his girlfriend, but didn't tell him this till I was proven wrong.

Travelling means a lot of things. And it involves even more. It means you meet people you may never have had the opportunity to meet, if you had stayed within your borders, it also means the possibility of losing those same people. But sometimes you decide to take that ‘leap of faith’, the one, that results in the unknown. And once you leap, once you let go, you can no longer predict where you will land. A concept which is simultaneously soo amazing and soo scary.

Such leaps of faith usually occur after much agonising. Is this the right decision? Should I follow my instincts?

He decided to take that leap. He doesn't know the language, the country or anyone there. Except for her. Which was/is more than enough. So he sold everything he owned, including his beloved car and after deciding that his leap was no match for the distance he was about to travel, he hopped on a plane.

As soon as he got there, he began teaching himself the language; fortunate enough to have her there behind him. They found a place, moved in, and he started to search for a job. Finally after being separated by borders they were in the same country, the same city, the same apartment; they were 'closer' than they'd ever been.

A couple of days later, she emerged from the bedroom and told him that she was no longer in love with him.

I hope for his sake that her suspicions are correct, and these few words are nothing more than a reaction to the dramatic change in their relationship. After you become so used to swimming in a pool, diving into an endless sea of water must be nothing less than daunting. There's the constant involuntary consumption of salt-water, the fear of sharks, and then the xenophobia would kick it. The fear of not knowing what will happen.

You may think that your only salvation is to swim back to shore; where it is safe and predictable, and as much as they'd like to.. (un)fortunately no one can tell you otherwise. But you should know that there is someone looking out for you. Someone who is willing to do whatever it takes to keep you in those salty-waters of endless possibility.

X

Google L(aTtitude) and Bed(me)post

Those social networks and those 'not so'..

Continuing with the topic of social networking applications, I recently stumbled across Google Latitude. It's very similar to the application Twitter, a site that is purely dedicated to status updates; very similar to the feature found on Facebook; but Latitude takes it that step further.

Google Latitude is more like a tracking device, a device that tells other subscribers your exact location and even provides images/maps, at your discretion. However, Google do promise that the user has complete control over how much information is released. Hell, you can even say your somewhere you're not.

Check our this great site Another Advertising Wanker and its write-up on the application:

'Social. To be, or not to be?'

Really does just show how society's voyeuristic needs are only increasing and that there are those who are only happy to keep the "beast's" hunger at bay. You know what they say: 'Supply those who demand'.

A further note for those whose 'little black book' is weighing them down. A program called 'Bedpost', which is anything but a 'social' site, allows you to keep track of those you 'bed', where you bed them, and an overall rating. Pretty neat, huh?

Jesus 'they' will stop at nothing.

Curious? Bedpost

For statistics sake, it would be rather interesting. However, rather than play the waiting game, if there are any nymphomaniacs out there who would like to volunteer and attack any lasting shreds of dignity, let me know.

It's even compatible with iPhone! YAY.

Hats off to Brian & his Buns

When you're too cocky too care.. pun intended.

The last one is genius..- and I use that term very loosely-. It's like laughing in the face of adversity. When all else has failed Brian knows that he'll always have 'hefty lefty' or 'tighty righty' to keep him company on those lonesome nights.

A Linguistic Jigsaw

When words are more than just respective groups of congregated letters, their effect is incandescent.. But not just any words, certain words, and when these pieces of lingo find one another and create the harmonious civil ceremony known as a sentence or phrase, I swear I see tiny sparks fly...

One phrase that has recently been lingering in my cerebral membrane is:

'Fleshy Gratification'

Who doesn't love a l'il bit of fleshy gratification, where it counts?

What's even more exciting than this glorious concept, is how time can completely influence the way you perceive the unification of our linguistic counterparts.

The first time I laid eyes on this 'textual duo' was February 2008, in London. I was reading the editors note in the well informed Timeout guide. A sort of bi-monthly bible, a 'what's on in your city' kind of deal. No sooner had my beady pupils scanned the line than had I whipped out a biro and underlined the beauties. I managed to interweave it into a couple of everyday conversations, once during a vis-à-vis and the other in a witty texto. Unfortunately, neither form of communication seemed worthy enough. Truthfully, I saw bigger and better things for my 'fleshy gratification' and maybe this is it?

I could get all Carrie Bradshaw on your ass and delve into the difference between relationships and a little bit of the ol' 'fleshy gratification'. Where a wo(man) is content with the sexual intimacy of another and not really bothered about the rest. Is that sleazy? No, not if the feeling is mutual and you're both benefiting. Emphasis on the mutual satisfaction bit.

Watching 'Reality Bites' recently, one of the many surly characters was of the opinion that 'sex ruins friendships'. The only reason this quote stood out to me was because no more than two weeks ago, two friends, on separate occasions, told me the exact opposite. Apparently, you have nothing to hide, once you've bared it all. Sounds pretty logical.

Just some local sex in your city to chew on.

Then you can reach for the other extreme - the extreme that takes' fleshy gratification' to a whole other level. But you'd have to ask pomie comedian/nymphomanic Russel Brand.
His are the words, on the pages, that are under the command of my flittering finger-tips. And I got to say, these words I talk of, they ain't so bad.

So check out: Russell Brand's 'My Booky Wook' ...

Disclaimer: This isn't the end of the 'Fleshy Gratification' saga.

Amigos

There is a reason why one person can always have more than one good friend.

Remember when you were younger and you would rate each friend, I guess in priority/importance order, well I don't mean like that at all -although it is easy to draw similarities between that and the Facebook or Myspace top friends feature-. Then while you were at High School you would cross paths with one or two, or even three very good friends, each at respective times throughout your adolescence; and at that time one was more than enough. It is not until your last school years, when you really realise who your 'person' is.

Then you enter the real world, a world that lacks timetables and structure and all of sudden all those people who you saw everyday for the past six years or so, no longer make an appearance, not even a cameo. Okay some make cameos, but you're usually hiding behind the wall/tree/car/any large object in order to avoid them. And you realise the amazing concept of choosing who you want to see and when.

Weren't a big fan of that fair-haired lass who occupied the locker above you ? Me neither. Mine was incapable of grasping that stainless steel lock between her wispy little fingers. Many a times would she fail to warn me before the solid object would land smack bang on the cranium.

Alcohol doesn't kill brain-cells, infantile fellow students do.

Once at university, or whatever insitution you decide to sign-up to, you meet people who don't live within a 5 mile radius of you, and that seems far and foreign. Then you travel and meet people who have never even been to Australia and your concept of foreign or far is challenged.

Eventually you become accustomed to your surroundings and manage to pick out a few special ones; the ones that inspire you.

And when you turn to one of your good friends for a shoulder, and they give you two, you are ever so thankful that they chose you.

Joanna this is particularly dedicated to you.

" Think of people like me who know you're definately not like that (hello we shared a bed together for 4 weeks and you didn't even pull a move!) hahaha "

Thank you for your lovely letter.

Je t'aime toujours.

Bangalang X

Hello Lover

White Boy- Erlend Oye

The Whitest Boy Alive are from Berlin

See you on 14/12/08 at Melbourne's Neverneverland.

I Love You(r) But(t)...

This picture book is amazing.

It's totally minimalist but still manages to pack a punch. It's raw and oh so very true.


Take a gander..









It reminds me of that scene out of Closer where Julia Roberts claims she can see the love draining from Jude Law's eyes.

More Here:

I Love You

Love 'em but I can think of a few more:

"I love you but you're a bad story-teller".

"I love you but you're an only child".