I haven't been very active in the blogosphere of late. Been doing things, and feeling guilty about ignoring my writing work. But I thought whilst I have a window of opportunity, I will force up the pane and look through, extending my arms in a welcoming gesture as I embrace this opportunity with which I am currently graced. Not sure what I'm going to write about. It's been a distressing time on a global scale, and I just wish people would stop killing others for what is probably best defined as superstition. Why don't people just sit back and think about things? 'It's a nice day, I might fire off a bomb that fires nails at little kids enjoying a concert in the name of an omniscient invisible sky wizard' - can't you vicious fools that do this see the problem here? 'What to do, what to do, what to do? Ah, why not drive a car into a group of people for my invisible buddy' - again, this notion is barren of all reason.
On a personal note, I've had a rather crummy week. I do not feel it prudent or politic to outline why, but let's just say I've wanted to play the Jenny Talia song 'F.O.C.U.S.' to certain folk who have caused me to have some aggravation. I've mentioned this little number in a previous post concerning a hypothetical compilation album dedicated to the assholes that make your life (mine in particular) difficult. It's an acronym for Fuck Off Cos Ur Stupid. Yes, I know - the 'cos' for 'because' and the 'ur' for 'you are' should grate on me, and in normal circumstances would grate on me a thousandfold, but I'm overlooking those little nigglies because of the song's message. So, to those who caused my serotonin levels to plummet like a busted elevator just recently: F.O.C.U.S!!!!!
Only caught a little of the news today, but apparently Andrew Bolt was attacked by left-leaning 'fascists' (Bolt's description). It would appear their weapon of choice was not a club, or a mace, or a sock stuffed with bolts (haha), but - are you sitting down and comfy? - a GLITTER BOMB. Yes, Andrew Bolt decried this act by calling it 'the violence of the left', but it was a fucking GLITTER BOMB!!!! Um, I'm having trouble associating a glitter bomb with violence. I associate glitter with Mardi Gras, and if I was going to personally glitter bomb anybody, I would tie that person to a chair and subject them to a repeated loop of recordings by Gary Glitter. Maybe Bolt likes the music of Gary Glitter? I don't know. I do, because I'm a huge fan of glam rock, and -
We take a break in this rant to segue to Simone Bailey's third novel 'Silver Studs & Sabre Teeth' which addresses glam rock and the right of a person to listen to Glitter's recordings without compunction and fear of being castigated because of their own taste in music. Normal blogging will resume shortly.
- I listen to the music because I have this glorious ability to separate art from artist. Now, to those who attacked this bloke with the heinous weapon: that was silly. Even if it was just glitter, a physical attack achieves nothing. Don't get me wrong. I cannot bear Andrew Bolt either, but this is not the way to get your point across. It is still an assault. Even if it's - snicker, snicker! - glitter.
It is very disconcerting having your hair done by somebody much younger at times. I am a tad impecunious at present, and found out my local TAFE students required models for the hairdressing students. I therefore booked myself in for a colour and foils treatment. I settled back for a pampering session, but it was a tad depressing hearing the tutor asking the student what degree of colorant she was planning to use for the grey coverage. The student asked me would I like to have colour applied to my regrowth area. I chuckled a bit and said I could try and rock the old Amanda (Heather Locklear) On Melrose Place Look, given she had notorious black regrowth amongst the blonde locks (which I actually thought was kind of tacky). The student looked at me with innocence and purity, and said she had never watched 'Melrose Place' because it was way before her time. I clammed up in glum despair, and wondered would they offer me a zimmer frame to help me get from my chair to the hair washing basin. But any way, I had the treatment done, and I'm feeling totes amazeballs, ta very much. Oh, fuck that, I'm a mature and articulate woman! Take Two: I'm feeling glamorous and presentable, thank you very much.
On a brighter note, other things are looking up, and I have been feeling an emotion which I thought had packed its bags and abandoned me for good: Hope. I will compile another hypothetical CD playlist soon dedicated to Hope and Happiness. It might not be as fun to write or read about as the bitchy ones, because after all every good story needs conflict and a villain, but it is wonderful to feel hope again.
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