My day in a nutshell

Legitimately believed for one terrifying moment I had grown a new, tiny bone behind my knee before I realised I'd dropped a bobby pin down my tights.

Between Love and Hate

Things I am loving 

Breakfast with the papers at Sayers. I swing between worrying this is a terrible, overly indulgent, habit and feeling like it is a necessary ritual to remain sane and happy.

Avocado. All hail the mighty green beast: I can’t get enough mashed on toast or stuffed into a toastie lately.

The novels of Toni Jordan. Since stumbling onto “Fall Girl” because I thought the cover looked cool (…) I’ve been devouring her back catalogue and loving it. ‘Tis bloody hard to find any writer who does funny and romantic well, let alone an Aussie.

The hot chips from Flipside Burger. Simply none better and I speak as someone who has sampled EXTENSIVELY. If you like aoli, which tragically I can’t eat right now, you have the perfect accompaniment.

The Hamilton soundtrack (yes, still).

Running. Still. Just. Despite having to cut back on my pace and distances a bit lately I still find that the best days of my life begin with a run. There is simply no better feeling than finishing a long run and thinking "fuck I'm going to enjoy this giant plate of pancakes now". Is that... wrong?

Things I am hating

People posting endless (posed) wedding photos on social media. My GOD it’s just one fucking day, enough already please.

Perpetual tardiness. Get a watch, look at your phone or at least pretend to give a shit about other people’s time – I don’t care which.

Headaches. Specifically: my headaches. Why do  you torment me so?

Cold mornings. I love a cold night when I’m snuggled under the doona but when the alarm goes off at 5.30am and it’s freezing my body just does not want to get out of bed.

My inability to find a) my DVD copy of Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake, or b) a version of this online, not even for ready money. If you're uncertain why I love this so much the photo above might help you work it out.

Pinching pennies. True, I'm not exactly doing it tough in that I still spend money going out for breakfasts, dinners and to the movies because these are the things that, for me, make life worth living. But maaaaaaaaan it would be nice to buy a new pair of beautiful heels or a wet weather running jacket or a million books some time soon.

From McSweeney's, which you should really check out all the time.

“It is easy to be heavy: hard to be light.”

(G.K Chesterton)

And thus do two of my loves come together

Via RainbowRowell

Token Smokin'... Hottie?: The difficult case of Lin-Manuel Miranda

My feelings about Lin-Manuel Miranda are complex. By which I mean I can’t entirely decide if I want to do terrible things to him or just be his best friend and hang out, maybe write some songs together*.

Physically he ticks some boxes, particularly with his delightful smile. That’s a non-negotiable for me: I’m pretty sure I have never fancied someone who didn’t have a great smile. He also has dark hair, great skin and generally seems chill-as-hell and charming, all of which I care for greatly. At the same time his head does… sort of resemble a potato and when he wears his hair out it... doesn't really work for me.  At all. Also, I’m not trying to be cruel here, but he does have a borderline Dawsonesque fivehead and the less said about his facial hair the better. 

If I wasn’t so weak at the knees for Hamilton and I passed him in the street would I fancy him? I’m really not sure.

For me it comes down to this hypothetical scenario: LMM and I are hanging out in a bar. We’re having a great time as he tells me stories about writing an incredibly successful Broadway musical and I show him pictures of my cat. It’s a real meeting of minds. At the end of the night we agree to catch up to see a movie soon and…

Here’s the thing. If I don’t fancy him and this is just an I-admire-you-greatly sort of a thing then I’m happy to go home to my own bed. If I do fancy him I’ll be deeply unhappy if he doesn’t manage to stick his tongue down my throat before we part ways. This is science, people, this is a scientific process right here.

Verdict? I'm disappointed to be heading home solo, which I'm pretty sure means I do in fact fancy him. So that’s nice to know. Aren't you glad we took this journey together?

*By which I mean he writes songs while I sit quietly.

Although I have some way less wholesome stuff in mind, too

If Tom Hiddleston were your boyfriend, when he talked in his sleep he would say things like, “The clockwork! The clockwork!” and “I’m not just a creature of your imagination!” He would never recall any of these statements when he woke up.

They've got it nailed over at The (soon to be closed) Toast.

Call me

Most of the time I'm 99 per cent sure I couldn't be with someone who was religious because I'm a committed atheist and to take organised religion seriously just seems so dumb (not discounting the genuinely terrific community work some churches do). But then I hear the thing Brandon Flowers does to his voice when he sings the line "looking for the answer" while wearing his crazy-awesome feather jacket and having that FACE and I think what's a little Mormonism between friends, eh?

Unreal news

For fans of season one of Unreal (AND WHY WOULDN'T YOU BE?) this is very exciting.

How long has it been since you saw Tootsie?

If you have to think about it, it may have been too long.

"Chunts up with that?"

The podcast Hello From the Magic Tavern is... maybe not for everyone. If you're a cold, heartless monster who hates to laugh, for example, it may not be for you. If not... well get onboard. It's delightful.

First world problems

Is it racist and/or offensive to tell someone he looks like Lin-Manuel Miranda? Because there's a waiter at Vans who looks a shiteload like him and I mean that in a good way - I think LMM is fiiiiiiiiiine - but it feels vaguely racist in the vein of that Seinfeld episode where George thinks his black boss looks like Sugar Ray Leonard.

I opted for silence. Always the safe choice.

Things I miss out about not living in my neighbourhood right now:

1. Breakfasts at Sayers. Okay, yes, I have still gone to Sayers several times since moving out two weeks ago but when I lived on the same freakin' street as this lovely cafe I was there... a lot. I miss my chocolate muffins and reading the paper before work for no reason other than I needed a little pick-me-up.

2. My running park. I run several times a week and most of those runs, with the exception of a weekend long run, used to be taken at a local park. Not only was this park the perfect distance for a 7km run it was always busy, even very early in the morning, so I felt safe. Now I run along the beach, which is nice and all but somehow feels about 100 per cent more creepy. Plus it's always windy as shit, what's up with that?

3. Being close to my life; the cafes and shops, friends, my library and gym. My whole life is set up around my old 'hood and frankly driving 20 minutes at 5.30am to get to a body pump class on the other side of town really isn't happening. Not today, anyway.

4. Proximity to work. This isn't even just about the daily commute, although that is a bear, but the convenience of being able to pop home in my lunchbreak when I forget my lunch, meds or laptop, which... seems to happen a fair bit actually.

5. The twinge of hope I get coming home and thinking maybe, just maybe, Mr Whiskerley will have found his way home today.

Disclaimer: Lest I sound ungrateful I should mention that my lovely brother-in-law and his wife are doing Andy and I a HUGE solid in allowing us to stay in their home while we're between houses. Seriously, I am endlessly grateful and not being able to stuff my gob with chocolate muffins five times a day is a very small price to pay.

“you’ll be han solo, i’ll be boba fett. I’ll cross the sky for you”

Via Rainbow Rowell this is just terrific

Eat me

People sometimes ask me why I'm veggo - after 15 years it's really only people I've just met - and I usually mutter something about "animal welfare" and insist that it doesn't bother me at all if they want to order a steak sandwich (which it seriously doesn't). 

The truth is that animal welfare is a huge part of it but there's also another element to my decision that I find hard to articulate. It's the reason I wouldn't eat a chicken even if it's spent most of its life running around a field, happy as Larry. The way I usually describe this element of my reasoning, assuming the person who asked hasn't moved on already, is that I don't want to cause pain/fear/death to animals if I don't have to and in 2016 pretty much nobody has to eat meat. But today I came across a sort-of lovely line in an old Jack Monroe column that said it much better for me.

Quoting an old Indian cookbook Monroe wrote: 

Ayurveda, the ancient Hindu wisdom for health, is described by Panjabi as the single greatest influence on Indian cuisine. “Flesh has the force of violence in it, and the negative emotions of fear and hatred … it has no place in the sattvic diet.”

Bammo, that's so very much it for me. I can no longer imagine sitting down to a nice piece of chicken or steak or bacon - however much I do from time-to-time think fondly of the taste and the sheer bloody ease of eating meat - without thinking about the pain and fear that had brought the meat to my plate.

Of course I'm vegetarian, not vegan, which makes me a hypocrite but if I can't be self-righteous and hypocritical on my own tiny blog then where can I be?

Hamilton Mash-Ups

Via Theatre Graphics.

The least professional thing I said to a work contact today:

"Uh I'm just going to pick up a Nutella doughnut while I'm here."

I regret nothing.

Bad life choices I made today:

Eating approximately one-quarter of a jar of sun-dried tomatoes for absolutely no reason. And I don't meant I ate them as an accompaniment to crackers or cheese or anything that would make sense. I ate them with a fork, right out of the jar like a savage and it was not beautiful.

Dear Andy Samberg,

I fell for you in Celeste and Jesse Forever because that is my idea of a perfect romantic movie and I love the fact you're with Joanna Newsom but when you are like this my love for you finds a way to grow deeper.

"We want you to be cool, and silent, like a real cocktail waiter."

I read my first Helen Garner book this month, This House of Grief. How embarrassing to have spent so many years thinking of myself as A Big Reader and never having read a word of Garner. I am, truly, a boob.

Now, as is often the way with these things, Garner seems to be everywhere because she has a new book of essays out. Financial constraints mean I won't be rushing out to buy it (I'm sorry, Helen) but I will be putting down my name at the library. In the not-too-distant future I hope and trust to have it in my hot little hands.

Meanwhile, I (and you) can enjoy Garner's so good essay on ageing over at The Monthly for nothing. Seriously, if this doesn't make you want to read more of her work she's probably not for you. Also you may be a lunk:

The insults of age had been piling up for so long that I was almost numb to them. The husband (when I still had one): “You’re not going out in that sleeveless top?” The grandchild: “Nanna, why are your teeth grey?” The pretty young publisher tottering along in her stilettos: “Are you right on these stairs, Helen?” The flight attendant at the boarding gate: “And when you do reach your seat, madam, remember to stow that little backpack riiiight under the seat in front of you!” The grinning red-faced bloke who mutters to the young man taking the seat beside me: “Bad luck, mate.” The armed child behind the police station counter unable to conceal her boredom as I describe the man in a balaclava, brandishing a baton, who leapt roaring out of the dark near the station underpass and chased me and my friend all the way home: “And what were you scared of? Did you think he might hit you with his umbrella?”