live simply/run wild

suck on this, barbie.

call me when you come complete with a bag chock-a-block with home grown "herbs."

meet my bro, john so

one of the cuddly creatures in this photo is melbourne lord mayor john so, best known for being named world mayor of the year in 2006 and for having an entire hip hop song devoted to him, appropriately entitled "john so, he's my bro."

can you guess which one?

i think this is a good visual clue as to why he is so beloved around these parts, enough to have a genuine cult following. puts giuliani to shame. this blog could not truly be about melbourne without giving ol' so a mention.

(unfortunately, i'm sure you guessed correctly: so is the chinese man on the left. however, it would be quite awesome if the actual mayor was the guy in the furries outfit and the other guy was just an unwitting asian man hanging out at the dumpling mecca on tattersall's lane. a girl can dream).

what's that...?

shofferhoffer first told me about this commercial a few months ago, and last night i saw it on t.v. for the first time. i love it so much, for so many reasons. it may take a minute to load, but be patient because it is worth it.

here is an article with a bit of background information. pure brilliance.

another great ad, which obviously hits on a different level but is no less clever, is this one from the economist.

just when i thought i couldn't love radiohead or the economist any more than i do already, i realise that i am sorely mistaken.

indignation station

screw this.

i've done my time, flown back & forth incessantly, spent thousands of dollars, spent more time at o'hare and LAX than any sane person should. (and trust me, you haven't truly experienced hell until you've navigated your way through the freak-encrusted maze that is the tom bradley international terminal on no sleep with two giant suitcases and nauseous from not eating anything for hours. it's like f**king wonderland in there, and you're the unwitting alice). i've done everything save give john howard the hummer of a lifetime in order to stay in this place. and yet, it turns out that all i needed to do was organise an internet petition. what a fool i am!

i'm going to start my own petition on behalf of all the poor americans i know that deserve that citizenship more than snoop.

then i'm going to pray that he doesn't come kill me.

i should be doing work, but...

at long last, i have found some delightful individuals who enjoy a google image search even more than i do.

let's be friends.

*insert generic techno beat here*

those of you who were not active in the rave scene of the early '90s (which is, hopefully, most of you as most of my readership is in the early 20s age range and i don't know of anyone with a sordid pre-teen past) probably do not know that my adopted hometown has its own dance move. when i was here the first time i thought the locals just danced like assholes, but then i learned that the genre actually has a name: the melbourne shuffle.

sit back, relax, and grab your glow sticks because you're about to be schooled:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWdtZTbgXcM&mode=related&search=
(you can fast forward until about 30 seconds in. there's some sort of rogue animation at the beginning).

i need to hook up a melb shuffle sensai to teach me these moves, mainly so i can go home to the clubs in america and bust out with this tomfoolery while everyone else is dropping booty.

it's like the harlem shuffle, only...not. i don't think the rolling stones will be writing a song about this anytime soon.

"a growing epidemic that really ain't fly..."

an open letter to my female brethren,

enough is enough. get your act together, fools.

we have already discussed your ill-fated fashion choices of late, and i didn't think i'd have to regulate nate-dogg-and-warren-g-style again so quickly. however, you have failed me. more importantly, you have failed common decency. apparently i need to articulate another fashion rule-of-thumb to follow, which is as follows:

leggings are only, i repeat, ONLY to be worn as an undergarment, and should be paired with a top or dress that hits the leg at no higher than mid-to-upper thigh.

this advice seems to be fairly straightforward, but you'd be surprised as to how many seemingly knowledgeable women use leggings as a replacement for pants. this is an unforgivable faux pas as it provides the perfect breeding ground for one of fashion's great transgressions: the camel toe. ladies, i am neither a zookeeper nor a bedouin, and therefore should not expect to see camel toe on a regular basis. however, lately it seems as though every time i look around (insert OMC song lyrics here...i completely forgot until just now that they are kiwis) there's a vagina staring back at me. do you enjoy exposing the outline of your vulva to the rest of society? is it not a nuisance to constantly pluck lycra and spandex from your labial folds?

let me elucidate that i am not vilifying the leggings trend as a whole. i am, in fact, quite the proponent and own a few pairs myself. anyone who knows me knows that i enjoy the comfort of loungewear above all else, and will gladly accept any opportunity to make such clothing acceptable going-out attire. (not that it ever stopped me when it was unacceptable). however, all i needed was one quick glance in the mirror at my ass & gams encased in a blend of natural and synthetic materials to know that an outer layer was necessary. i just wish others would be so kind.

(i'd also like to apologise as apparently i should be broadening my derision to the male segment of the population as well. it seems as though leggings transgressions know no gender boundaries. unless he's wearing a codpiece, that deftly-placed jacket is most likely hiding a moose knuckle. regardless, homey don't play that).