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When I was small I believed my Granda was Popeye the Sailor Man –toot –toot.  The similarities in my mind were all reasons to prove it to be true: 1. Granda lived in Belfast and therefore had a very strong accent which I had great trouble understanding as a youngster. I’m not sure what accent Popeye has, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying either. 2. In his younger years Granda was in the Army and like most well worn army men, he has many tattoo’s on his arms – just like Popeye. 3. Granda had a boat. He loved his boat, and we received photo’s of him in his boat wearing a captains hat, just like Popeye's. 4. They both had a proud flock of white grey hair 5. They both smoked a pipe out the side of their mouth Don’t quote me on this, but I’m pretty sure he would have liked spinach too. So to me it all added up to one thing… my Granda was in fact Popeye. Mind you, my Granda didn’t share Popeye’s bad temper, and I never saw him whirl his arm up into a spin and recoil with a giant punch. He’d sit me on his lap and tell me stories about the tattoos on his arms (like a picture book). He insisted that the tattoo of a young pretty American Indian woman with long plaits and feathers in her hair was my Mum. I’d argue that my Mum had blonde hair, and he’d wink and say “Aye, but she dies it”.  He was quiet and dignified but had a wicked sense of humour and enough pride to sink a ship. He was ever friendly, so generous, and when I stayed with them a few years back while on holidays he spoilt me rotten. He cooked me up some fresh cockles that he’d gone out and collected that morning before I woke, and he drove me all over the place showing me various sights. While in the car driving around one day Granny inquired “Is this Tom Jones on the radio?” “Aye Meta.” He replied, (that was my Granny’s name). “What’s he singing? Sex Bomb???” (a little alarmed). “Aye Meta, Sex Bomb” then he literally winked and nudged her. She chuckled. He could always turn my serious Granny into a fit of giggles. This morning (last night on that side of the world) my Granda died. It was two days until the anniversary of when my Granny died last year. I'm glad I had opportunities to spend time with him and get to know him now I'm an adult. Now I know he’s not Popeye, he’s way cooler.
 I've finally finished my CDs for CD Swap 2. I'll be posting them out today to 5 folks across Australia and America. I don't want to give too much away just yet because that'd spoil the surprise for them. But I'll post more detail with the all important tracklists next week. I ended up deciding to make 3 different CD tracklists once I got my list of people, because of age and location. I didn't want to bombard the Australian on my list with local music, like I did for the American people. And there's another CD that I made especially for one person... I'll explain why later. I've used my photos in the cover designs, but I don't have one of those nifty lable makers, so the actual discs are a bit naff. But the music will make up for it, right?
 My Illustration Friday entry for 'tranquility'. To me there's nothing more tranquil than clear calm water. I just can't resist lying about on a jetty or in a little boat with my feet dangling over the edge in the water...daydreaming until the clouds have changed shapes a hundred times and my toes become prunes.
Just a quick one this week as I've been busy making my CDs for CD Swap 2.
Eeeeeeeeeee! I'm so excited. I just got my first CD from CD Swap 2 from Erin the Knitterista.
 It came packaged in a way that made me a bit embarrassed about the amount of planning and effort I've put into my CDs. It's got a fancy CD face print which matches the front cover, AND comes with a matching motif button (which I'll definitely be wearing out tomorrow). It had stickers on the front of the package and a little note from Erin on the back of an oversized Fruits postcard.
 Okay, a bit too much description... Can you tell I'm excited? I haven't even listened to the CD yet, but needless to say I'm excited about that too.
I'd better pull my finger out. I haven't sent my CDs yet, but I picked the covers up from the printer today, and my playlists have been perfected. Just a few finishing touches and the actual posting to go now. It's all been great fun, stay posted.
Almost everyone I know believes that they alone have the special ability to somehow attract the nutcases on the train. This morning I encountered a man. Energetically he bounded into my carriage and sat across from me. "I’m on a train!" he pronounced enthusiastically but slurred. I smiled politely and looked away. "WOW" he went on, "And it's a Tangara!" (a model of train that was new to Sydney about 15 years ago). The smile spread wider across his face as he started to bounce in his seat. Then he looked directly at me, "I'm lucky aren't I?" I looked up. "I'm on a train and I've got this!" He held up a small Coke bottle. Now chuckling I asked "What's in that?" expecting him to admit to a large splash of rum. "Coke!" he replied as proud as punch, as though it was a drink strictly reserved for birthday parties. I quickly realised he wasn't drunk or drugged-out, as I'm prone to expect on the trains. "Ooooo, I've got Coke and I'm on a Tangara" he shrilled, still bouncing and now slapping his hand on his thigh too. "I am so lucky, aren't I?" His excitement was pure and his joy completely contagious. "Yes, I reckon you are" I replied, now with a smile as large as his. And I meant it; envious of his ecstatic state compared with my on-the-train-every-day drone. We exchanged a bit more of enthusiasm about his plans for the day, and then wished each other a good day as I got off the train. The wish was sincere and it worked, I kept my wide smile all day. It was a rare experience in its loveliness, and I was left wishing I had the special ability to attract someone like him on the trains more often.
 My Illustration Friday entry for 'karma'. Fi has been one of my very best friends ever since we first met in primary school. Now her vibrant life path has led her to Tibetan Buddhism. She is very dedicated to the faith, so much so that she is on her way to a three year retreat in France and then on to become a nun. For years she worked at the main Tibetan Buddhism Centre in the city. During this time Fi's mum (the most devoted mother I've ever met) would tell us about the centre. With her beautiful diction she would say "The kitchen has a lot of ants and cockroaches, but you mustn't harm any of them because they believe in reincarnation here. So you see, the bugs could be migrating souls." Then she'd glance from side to side, lean in, lower her voice and continue, "But when nobody is looking I'll stomp on them." Finishing with a cheeky mischievous chuckle.
Just met up with some friends for a couple of drinks in the afternoon sun, and got talking about flatmates. One of my friends is currently having a toilet paper standoff with her flatmate. Everyone in the world must have at least 5 great (or not so great flatmate stories). I won’t bombard you with all of mine all at once, but one of the nicer ones had a strange habit. She was an excentric English woman in her early 40’s. She was stylish, very cool, easy to get along with, and although she never stopped snacking on exotic canapés, I never saw her eat a full meal. Her strange habit was that when the bottom of the shower curtain started to get a little dirty or mouldy, before any of us had a chance to wash it, she would simply trim the mouldy strip from the bottom. This happened a few times, until we were left with a shower curtain that only hung down as far as our chest. Didn’t serve its purpose very well at all, the bathroom floor was always swimming, and should someone accidentally burst in on you in the shower, embarrassment was unavoidable.
Imagine for a moment, if you will, your fantasy jobs. They all seem great, but lets face it, in reality some seem like hard work (hairdresser, stage set builder/painter), some seem as though they'd be very difficult and testing at times (illustrator, interior decorator), and then others... well there are others that make me think "yeah, I could do that". I could be a Colour Namer! You know when you want to paint a wall and you go and collect those little colour sample cards. I have a stash of them; blue fury, apple's eye, cherry blossom, leak, lemon light, bok choy... Well I think I'd like to give it a go. I've been practicing; drought lawn green, secondhand book page beige, too ripe tomato red, curried egg yellow, 80's eyeshadow blue.  I like to refer to the colour of my new gorgeously warm scarf as 'dirty sheep'. Mum called me at work the other week, she was shopping and had come across some quilt covers on sale. Apparently they were a total bargain, so she was describing each one to me over the phone. "One is velvety in a 'deep mochaccino', the other one is more like a 'cafe-au-lait', and then there's one with little beads, and that ones is in a, umm, well I guess it's a 'milky latte' colour". (She obviously needed a coffee that day). So clearly this highly attuned skill is genetic, passed through the generations on the mothers side of the tree. I'll be expecting any offspring of mine to be pointing at their crayons with a casual "chilly cheeks pink", "band aid beige", or the odd "kiddie pool water green".
 My Illustration Friday entry for 'metropolitan'. This week's illo was troublesome. I had difficulty with the theme (and the illo) because metropolitan just isn't a word that is used very often in Australia (at least not in Sydney). We don't have a metropolitan police department, metropolitan fire brigade, no metropolitan museums (art or history), no MOMA's, and no metro system like in Paris. We have a city police department, city fire brigade, city hospitals, city rail (which I spend a large percentage of my time waiting for), state library, and state and city museums and art galleries. However, even though we don't use the word metropolitan, I am aware of what it means. I'm not sure if it's the same in other countries, but we are saturated in American culture; T.V, music, movies, tabloid gossip, news and sports. It got me thinking about all of the other words we hear a lot, but don't use; sidewalk, trash, trunk, subway, candy, condo... Adding to this I'm always self conscious about the differences in spelling. So when you spot one of my posts or comments, please don't think I can't spell if I switch a 'z' for an 's', or squeeze a 'u' in here or there, I'm a stickler for tradition. (Do Canadians use American or English spelling? English I imagine, but then again you're so close. How confusing.)
Lack-luster is probably the best way to describe my mood today (at least that’s a nice way of putting ‘damn grumpy’). My doodle for this week’s Illustration Friday is just not coming together. It’s amazing how something as simple as that can have you all unraveled. I’ve been working it, and re-working it, but it’s just not happening. In one of my more tired and grumpy moments last night (compounded by the fact that there was not a drop of milk in the house, so I couldn’t have a hot milky Milo to cheer myself up), I was going to boycott altogether. But I’ve slept on it, and will try again. So, we’ll see what tonight brings. (Note to self: Buy milk on the way home. Better grab some chocolate too, just incase.)
 It's a very windy, cold day here, and it's Sunday. This gives me two very good reasons to stay inside in my comfy warm slippers all day long! Much hot tea will be consumed, and much pottering around the house will be achieved. I peeped out the bathroom window this morning and noticed a line of wind-worn birds, puffed up and gripping tightly along the side fence. I'd invite them inside, but I know they're too shy. Feels good and safe inside on days like today, especially after such an upsetting week. I spent Thursday night online, emailing all my friends in London. With the time difference it was night-time here and morning there, so I waited until one by one all of them arrived at work and popped online. Each with stories to tell, and emotions to share. I'm glad to say that thanks to sleeping in, early starts, and being weened off nicorette patches, they all managed to avoid being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And although I was relieved, it still didn't help going to sleep any easier. It's horrific and painful, and makes human nature so so hard to comprehend. ( Cat describes the confusion beautifully). My head spins.
 My Illustration Friday entry for 'sport'. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I haven't raised a sweat since compulsory sport at high school, but when I read this weeks theme was "Sport", I immediately thought of ways we tried to avoid it. Every Wednesday afternoon the entire school turned into a war-zone of sports. Rackets slashing, balls flying, crowds running, ground thumping, people yelling, whistles blowing, dust rising and sweat spraying. For those of us who just wouldn't be seen without black tights and boots, our mission on sport sign-up day was to dash, with at least two friends, to the front of the ping-pong queue; the only sport which didn't involve sweat, sunburn or sneakers. Occasionally a smart faculty member would cotton on and force us to do tennis or basketball, though most of our efforts went into ways of avoiding it altogether. Usually this was as simple of nicking off through the bush to the clearing by the tracks, to hang out at the log. Sitting on the log may not have been recognised as an official sport, though skill and a keen sense of alertness was required to make it there without being spotted, and also hide from the passing bushwalking club. Much like chess at the Olympics, we liked to think of it as a demonstration sport. Stay tuned for the IOC's announcement's, "log lingering" may make it yet.
In a world where business takes itself so seriously, it's relieving to see humour creep in. This morning I saw a company car with advertising painted on the side; "Cooking classes for men (with the T.V. on)". And a few weeks ago I spotted a van; "Video production, Bad dancing, Corporate video". Nothing that drunk relatives at a cousins wedding couldn't do I'm sure, but still, how cool is that!?. Maybe the men can watch the bad dancing on the T.V. while learning how to cook. The world is a happy place I tell you.
 We all know that Bob Geldof deserves every ounce of credit and admiration for being the damn brilliant human that he is, but... After the original Live Aid, Bob was faced with a moral slap in the face. He was asked to go to Africa to be filmed in the areas of most need, (the idea was to show examples of where donations were actually going to be directed). He said it was tacky and insensitive for a pop-star to parade amongst the immense suffering. However, Robbie Williams prancing about on stage singing "Let me entertain you", in front of a giant backdrop with footage of starving African children? I don't know, call me crazy, but it just didn't puff my chest with pride.  So while we're prancing about in a pop "I'm the overlord of all front-row boob bouncing" fashion... Is Madonna walking around in a cloud of extreme g-force that the rest of us luckily manage to avoid? After watching Annie Lennox, a woman who (apart from unfortunate 80's hairstyles, that I'm sure we all share a similar sense of shame about) exudes elegance and grace, the extreme stretch of Madonna's eyelids seemed stark and painful in comparison. Admittedly, I only saw highly edited 'free-to-air' footage of the Live 8 stuff on the weekend, but what I saw left me somewhat perplexed. One of the camera people filming the London show, must have been just as distracted, because occasionally there'd be a camera shot of extreme close-up. I'm talking extreme! I missed taking a photo of it, but imagine a full screen shot of Michael Stripe (oh, I mean Michael Stipe), from the upper tip of his nostrils to his bottom lip. Dentistry has never sparked much of an interest in me, but I was so pleased to be able to check out all of his fillings. It helps me sleep easy at night knowing that the entertainers of the world are free from gum disease.  But maybe that was the clever plan all along; "See, your heroes are from good stock, are free of gum diseases, have tight healthy skin and are happy and bouncy despite sadness and suffering in the world. So you can stop worrying about them and re-direct your concern to Africa". Well, I for one am reading you loud and clear. 
The unseasonably warm weather and the enormous floodlights at the main stadium of the 2000 Sydney Olympics brought the bogong moths out in their thousands. These chubby, hearty meal-sized moths had overseas tourists wide-eyed and nodding to one another, as they made mental notes to tell the folks back home that the stereotype of Australia being a land of giant deadly creatures, was spot on. It doesn't happen often, but every few years, when the conditions are right, the bogongs all wake up from their growth inducing slumbers to seek the hydroponic warmth of a floodlit stadium. And so, they descended in plague proportions on the 'Games of the XXVII Olympiad'. During the Opening Ceremony, as Suzanne Johnston sang her operatic lungs out, a moth perched itself still and proud on the breast of her expensive suit, like a brooch. (Perhaps another moth had dared it do pull off this brazen stunt). In any case, it left spectators tense with anticipation of it flying into her mouth, as she opened wide to hit those booming notes. Such was the atmosphere at my workplace this week as the fancy new designer lightshades were installed. Three swarms of butterflies now grace our office, like moths to a flame (or opera singers breast), they hover and flutter around the globes within.  I must admit, they are actually quite cool and kind of pretty. Though every now and then, out of the corner of your eye, you'll catch one of us flinch. Shiver with one of those heeby-jeebies you get when all of a sudden, for no reason at all, you feel a phantom bug crawling through your hair.
As Tom Cruise morphs into his character from Magnolia more and more each day, I’m dying to jump on the “geez he’s freaky” bandwagon. But the fact is that I’m just too wigged out about it to contribute anything that hasn’t already been said. I do wonder though, why it is that every woman that’s ever brushed past Shane Warne or David Beckham goes public within 2 seconds in explicit detail. While all those who claim that our mate Tom is gay, aren’t also dashing to the tabloids. It seems everyone I know at least, has a friend who is gay or who works in a gar bar who has seen him in action out on the circuit. There are even guys this week calling radio talk shows (with voice scramblers), claiming they’ve slept with him. Not jumping to any conclusions of course, (for shear fear of the wrath of Tom himself), plus I’m sure Katie Holmes isn’t the 1st person to have dreamt of marrying or sleeping with Tom, and there are other weirdo’s out there, but it does all seem a bit obtuse. Is it all just a big rumour, is he paying people off, or is everyone out there as scared of him as I am?
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