Relaunch

The blog has been on hold as the book has been edited! By next year I relaunch! Fun times ahead!

The Black Tie Dilemma

Receiving an invite to a wedding recently has come with the most obscure set of dilemmas, not only for me, the female, but for the men in my life. The invite read, for the dress code, "Black Tie". What exactly is Black Tie? By formal definitions, black tie is penguin suits and for the girls it's usually the ball gown made of satin and jewels. The price tag of this look doesn't suit everyone; in the case of this wedding, the couple are young and hip with friends that aren't too dissimilar. So I don't have the desire, nor the cash, to dress the way we have been told. So what would I wear instead? I spoke to the groomsmen for a little guidance; it turns out they aren't wearing bow ties but just black suits and ties. So if the groomsmen aren't wearing strict black tie, then what is the actual intention of the dress code? Did they mean to say 'formal'? 'Dress the best you ever have?" It nows makes me wonder why specific a dress code for weddings, or parties in general, if it is not actually going to be followed? I love old traditions, even the ones that make no sense anymore.

My apologies

Blog is temporarily on hold. New articles to be posted soon. Relaunch is a-comin'!

Man up, Gaga!

"My whole life is a performance, and it's about pushing the boundaries of pop culture and for myself, deciding where the stage begins and ends, not allowing anyone else [to tell] me when or how I can perform" - Lady Gaga

Image from Ninemsn. Image shows Gaga performing and reactions from Justin Bieber, lower, and Britney Spears, top left.

How quickly she went from Fantastic straight down to PLASTIC! At the VMA's overnight, Gaga dressed up as her alter ego and rocked it out with Queen's Brian May in a strange, self indulgent performance that left fans confused, feeling awkward and the celebs miffed. Watching a small clip from it, the performance is confusing and baffling, with her new character being this weird mix of Travolta's Danny Zuko from Grease and a mid teen Michael Jackson, with the white socks and killer dance moves. None of worked as a whole, with my opinion that Gaga works better in her own gender and mad style. Fans screamed for Gaga when she/he appeared, but by the time she fell off the piano at the end, the crowd seemed less than enthused. I think this is just too weird and we aren't ready for this quite yet.

Gaga has played this round very well. It is the MTV VMA's very shortly and Gaga is clearly preparing for a big Red carpet walk with the shock factor through the roof. She is going about this very well; in recent weeks, Gaga has been seen around town looking as normal as possible, especially in the yellow dress, looking elegant and refined. At the pre award show dinner, she appeared in the red suit that was again understated for Gaga's expected fashion. It does not matter what she wears on the night, the crowds are going to be surprised; she has down played her look so far that even if she wore something simple by her standards it will look 'shocking' by recent events. Well done Gaga for using the sense of anticipation by comparison. You earned a FANASTIC POINT.

Plastic or Fanastic

She seems to make every headline with everything she does, she is not afraid to wear an animal heart on her sleeve and she is breaking musical records daily. Lady Gaga, since her debut in 2009, has only gone from strength to strength, with Rolling Stone coining her a ‘Monster Goddess’ and millions of fans worldwide flocking to see her in concert. However lately Gaga has been accused of discrediting former artists; for the song “Born this Way”, the song’s tune has been likened to that of Madonna’s “Express Yourself” and in a recent stage performance, she became a mermaid, not dissimilar of the classic performance that Bette Midler was renowned for. I, personally, am unsure whether to think Gaga is truly this original creative figure that is pushing the boundaries of musical culture, or if she is just recreating the best of the best and claiming it to be all new?

This is the scoring system. Every time she does something uniquely creative, then she will be scored a “fantastic” point. Every time she discredits an artist by blatantly copying them or saying/doing something that is contradictive of past behaviour, she will be scored a “plastic” point. Running total will be kept and I am willing to renegotiate point allocation if a good enough argument is made.

So is she Plastic or Fantastic?

Coming Soon

My apologies but I have been so consumed with life outside this magical keyboard that I have not being able to deliver a post. However next week starts the new format: Top Ten Topical Tongue Wagers for the Week, in which I will review the weeks highlights (and lowlights) AND, yes there is more, there will be a main article which will be the feature piece. Title yet to be decided.

For now, I just want to confirm with you that this will be the regular format of this blog. If only Channel Ten could have taken a leaf out of my book and stuck to the winning formula; just playing the entire episode of Masterchef in one sitting. That could cost them a logie.

Probably won't but it's nice to keep them on their toes.

To the Rehab in the sky.

In an age of tragic death being as common as the sun rising every morning, we are still very emotional and heartfelt beings when it comes to the subject. We do not need to have personally known someone who has fallen to be affected by their loss. Celebrities are the case in point; when Princess Diana died, her funeral invited mourners from across the globe that cried and grieved louder than any visible Royal (not surprising). When Michael Jackson passed away, his family hosted a public memorial where celebrities, including a former adversary, Brooke Shields, paid their respects to the man once convicted of child molestation. Apart from some London fans and some quiet music executives, there has been no real shock to the loss of singer Amy Winehouse.

It is not necessarily the reaction of Hollywood that has interested me, it is my own social response to the “tragedy” that is of interest. I discovered her death on Facebook. I was scrolling through my “Most Recent” feed as I do every morning; the first post listed was a friend’s link to the Australian detailing her death. I followed the link promptly, for an average Sunday morning it was the most interesting post that could be potentially up there. It doesn’t say much of my friends when I say they usually post a nag about a hangover that could kill a horse. I skimmed the article. All seemed as expected: woman found dead in apartment, nothing overly suspicious about the circumstances, a rehab regular celebrity’s name attached to the death notice. I returned my Facebook page and continued to look through the posts. Her death coinciding with the morning of the big Tour de France time trial, there were more posts about Cadel’s victory than anything else.

“What a waste”, I thought. “Not a shock, really, but a waste. She had so much talent wasted.”

But things were long gone for Amy Winehouse in my mind. Since 2007 she has been in and out of rehab, she hasn’t produced an album since Back in Black and has not made a sober/credible performance since the album release. I viewed her as a musical gem, a talented soul that would make waves with everything she did. But as I watched her own demise, self perpetuated by drugs and rebellion, I grew less empathy for her wasted talents and became resigned to the idea of her being unable to recover. I guess I wasn’t the only what one who thought that; Amy’s mother, Janis, said she saw her daughter the day before her death and it was apparent that her daughter’s death was “only a matter of time”.

For a member of the general public, have I presumed, not knowing the intimate details of Amy’s life, that she had a timer on her life that was due to go off prematurely? Through the articles and photos I saw of her self harming and constant drug abuse, did I assume the worst had already happened to her? Did I just expect to one day pick up the paper and read about this? Did it just happen to be Sunday was the day?

I guess the same could be said of the demise of other troubled celebrities; the antics of Lindsay Lohan. I roll my eyes every time I hear she has broken another restraining order or is heading back to jail. If they threw away the keys for years on Lohan’s life, I am sure I wouldn’t bat an eyelid. The phrase “I could see it coming” would be the first thing on the tip of my tongue.

I feel I should apologize for not feeling more sadness for Amy’s death. Despite me never knowing her, I feel this should not excuse a lack of tears and sadness for such a great talent’s passing. But I guess from shock can come great sadness, so I wish it was more of surprise, for the sake of my conscience.

Beautiful Bali Beach and the tale of the Old Man’s sarongs

Once upon a time, there was a girl who went to Bali for a holiday.

There is a special quality to the Bali life of ex-pats and how that lifestyle is reflected in their fashion. As I met dozens of these ex-pats, I kept stumbling similar qualities of their dress, their physical appearance in terms of beauty treatments, hair, facial adjustments. I had never seen people who looked like this. They were like aliens to me and I wanted to go up to them and prod them to check they were actually real.

I didn’t know what an ex-pat was until I arrived in Bali; my travelling companion, the Boyfriend, pointed out the label of these people once we had met a couple of them. He explained they were people who had moved to Bali for work or now retired leisure. In short, they were immigrants to the country that had more money than the locals who enjoy the lower cost of living and the all year round heat.

I was at the most enchanting beach party in Seminyak; I had managed to scheme my way into an engagement party between a fat, rounded American and an over-plastic surgeon worked Australian woman, both of which were well into their forties. Both were lovely and had a very sweet, accepting manner and kindly let me be a part of their celebrations. I had the best spot at the beach party. I parked myself on a wicker chair in the far corner of the beach that the party occupied. From here, I could cite a full length view of the guests walking in and the entire scope of the party once they had arrived. It became a game as I judged, unfairly, every guest’s entire appearance with special attention being paid to the item of their wardrobe they chose to wear.

The unofficial uniform of an ex-pat consists of a key staple qualities; everything must be linen and bellow off the skin into the wind revealing charcoaled, wrinkled skin. The females are constricted by halter neck tops or dresses that push their bosoms up to nestle under their chins. They wear over strapped heels in the sand that are a pastel peep toe. The men are all in white three quarter capris or sarongs; all are bare foot with perfectly manicured toes and a severe allergy to closed leather shoes. Everyone is worked to an inch of their life by the friendly local plastic surgeon and their make-up, men and women included, is sprayed on like wall paint.

I don’t know what it about these people but you can see in it their manner, their relaxed shoulders that they are so very happy. Am I envious of how they live? I can’t quite work out if I am. Can I be an ex-pat when I am older if it means sans linen and plastic surgery?

Dancing in the Dirt.

"But they do say some pretty harsh stuff and it affects everyone and their inspiration. You do 30 hours of practice a week and it's hard to go into that after some bad feedback."
Damien Leith, June 30th 2011 – Dancing With The Stars Constestant 2011

When will dancing return to being a beautiful classical form of expression that people enjoy as opposed to a money hungry media blood bath?

I became nervous, back in 2004, when I heard that Channel 7 was producing their own version of the BBC’s Dancing with the Stars, as did most in the dancing community. Since its first airing on Australian screens, the culture of formal dancing, not just boogie on down at the disco, has taken a three hundred and sixty degree circle of popularity and influence on the community. And in ten years time, I doubt we will remember what it felt like to be in height of the dancing hype.

I am a Ballroom and Latin dancer; I say that with much authority. I can teach the styles with confidence as leader and follower; simply put I can be the man or the woman depending on the situation and how many champagnes I have under my belt. I have learned dancing since I was eight. Now that I am twenty three I can say I am an old fart at the sport.

My dancing life started with the movie Strictly Ballroom and a square patch of concrete in my backyard. Hours upon hours I would spend trying to replicate the moves, especially that magnificent Samba that Scott unveils his devilish “own steps” to. The movie nailed the costumes of the era, the styling of the dancing, as well as the controversy of the industry, but also highlighted just some honest, good dancing. Every dance in that movie was beautiful to watch, giving credit to the Australian actors who passed the acting and dance tests. What spawned from Strictly Ballroom, besides my immediate rush to become the world’s best ever dancer, was a greater realisation by the Australian cinematic industry that this country has potential to make quality films that translate into other audiences. The movie grossed eleven million in the US; that was a lot for the olden days. But the film did dick all for dancing industry. Instead it painted most dancers as pretentious, over dramatic queens that have nothing better to do than just destroy the confidence of the pure hearted. Ok, yes, they nailed the type but still, it did nothing.

So hope could have been restored with the premiere of Dancing with the Stars; experts in their field lay it on the line to dance for a disco balled crowned statue. How courageous they are to receive payments for stepping out of their comfort zone on national TV. If it was “inspiration” I was after, I would rather see them be thrown into snake pit and watch them try and crawl their way out. If they got out alive, that’s worth admiring them for.

Within the first moments of watching the show, the way in which the “celebrities”, if we are to so call them that, bitched on about how hard it was to learn the routines made me think: “Bull shit. You have been taught for a full week of intense training and you have learned basics with flares and tricks at the end. Any moron could learn that.” To make matters worse, a friend at the time asked me if it was really that hard to learn how to dance. I naturally scoffed; the show has painted this as the most challenging thing to do ever!

As I scoffed, dance instructors laughed their asses off as the work just poured in. I guess you just can’t fault the power of what celebrities can influence. It is the simple case of monkey see, monkey do and even the most intelligent of people are not immune to media influence. The dancing industry became big booming business overnight; people flocked into the studios, all wanting to learn what Bec Cartwright performed the night before. So as the show gained its mass following, the dance industry reaped the rewards with money flowing into lessons every day.

But I think the show, and other shows like So You Think You Can Dance and the ....Got Talent franchise, has turned the actual experience of dancing savage. Younger generations are learning that dancing is purely competitive and about being the best technical and creative dancer possible. They are learning that if they don’t achieve this level of dancing ability then they do not amount to be a “Dancer”. Even the title premise of “So You Think You Can Dance?” suggests that those who thought they could move will be no doubt be proven wrong because their ability to dance will not be good enough. The sad part is that unlike Australian Idol, there is no high paying career or career projection from winning the show. So many dancers go through the turmoil of being made to feel inadequate and for what?

So what enjoyment is there of dancing when constantly being judged with every move being scrutinized and there being no reward in such criticism? If you played a sport I would understand; the potential to earn big money is very real. In Australia, there is not much for a dancer and the entertainment industry is tough and cut throat.

The backlash that the celebrities go through on Dancing With The Stars is even worse. And we seem to except it as celebrities get roasted daily on the front page of Newspapers and magazines so why not whilst they dance too. The saddest part of all is dancing is so beautiful and so pleasurable to be a part of. And teaching dance is such a rewarding profession. But, as the show approaches its eleventh series, the dancing industry no longer feels the warmth of enthusiasm from the public to dance. The influx of business has slowed and as the public grows tired of the show so do they of the industry. Now we suffer with the burden of expectation of excellence without the support of the public.

Fashion Faux Pas

Poor Kate, given flack for repeating her outfits, today. I have often wondered what it would be like to have to make sure you are not repeating outfits all the time. Think how much time would be spent weekly on trying on clothes. There is no surprise there are so many hit and misses by celebs now days in the fashion stakes. They have so many more opportunities to make mistakes. I guess they have the money for it.

Bad Photo Man

So I was on a very interesting photo shoot on the weekend. I say interesting like I speak with authority; it was my second modelling shoot ever. The first photographer I have ever worked with was lovely and complimentary and placid. She was respectful and humble unlike the douche bag I met this weekend. I am going to call him “Clive”. Clive was an older man compared to me; I was amongst a group of girls aged between thirteen and twenty four, me being one of the oldest. He was fat and unattractive, hence why he was on the other side of the camera. He interrupted everything the Art director had to say, even mentioning some of the AD’s gritty sex life to the entire group, embarrassing her to no end. He then began to call everyone a name based on their appearance, rattling the fragile egos of the girls by picking on their height and ethnicity. He got in my face at one stage, trying to adjust some of my make-up. He said how much he loved make-up, especially finding it on the pillow case in the morning after bringing home a beautiful young girl. I, at that moment, vomited a little bit into my mouth. After every photo he shot, he would turn to the crew and make a joke, wait for laughs, tell more of the joke which was highly offensive and inappropriate, which resulted in taking five minutes to perfect every shot. However, strangely, from what I could tell his photos were quite good. Yet he was unprofessional and disgusting; the two don’t make sense. Is this a reflection of the entire industry; the mind baffles me as to why I want so desperately to get into this industry when people like that are a part of it. Fingers crossed Clive is one of a kind. In fact I am sure he is.

I don't get it.

I love Beyonce so don’t get me wrong when I say this.

I find it overly insulting to the intelligence the reviews and praise of “Single Ladies”, the song Beyonce Knowles. If you have been living under a rock, or you are deaf, and do not know the infectious melody, all you need to know is that it’s all about girl power, getting back at your man for dumping you and asserting that women do not need men. As much as we know that artists sing songs that aren’t about them specifically, we all know that Beyonce is a very happily married woman to rapper Jay Z. The most brilliant performances are from those that make the audience believe that you aren’t you, that you are totally this whole other person. However the belief of performances are now questioned by the audience as we know everything about the celebrity; we no longer believe Beyonce is a happy single lady independent of men, we can no longer consider her as one of the independent women of the world so we cannot justify why she is singing to us like she is one. I cannot reconcile the meaning of song with who is singing; it is confusing that a married woman can preach independence of such a large scale. I felt even more confused when I discovered one of the foxy single women in her video clip is actually a man. It is the choreographer; apparently no other girl was good enough to do the dance so he dressed up and did the clip himself. To further add insult is the fact that one out of the four writers of this song is actually female, that being Beyonce. I would love to be a fly on the wall and listen to three guys and a married woman sit around and talk about what it is like to be a “Single Lady“ and then justifiably write a song about it. The song is fantastic and well composed, and I love dancing to it, however the process of its performance is hypocritical and confusing.

Groundhog Day

If you haven’t seen the movie then you cannot say you have lived. It was one of the must see, lazy Sunday afternoon quirk movies that people will quote at you in various social interactions and, if you don’t know the quote, then you got yourself a case of “social fail”. And nobody wants a social fail, nor have someone say to you “Social fail”; there is nothing more irritating than someone who insists on using “fail” at the end of everything. You fall over: walking fail. You fart in public: body fail. Someone has to teach me how it became so main stream in such a short amount of time and how we, even the educated ones, seem to have made it a part of our regular vocab. So not only is our generation getting lazy with our English, we are now turning to making up new phrases that have very little meaning and annoy everyone. Aren’t we great? At the end of the day I guess I can handle “...fail” than the abbreviations. You know the ones – for example “laugh out loud” is “LOL” in text and computer speak. I, being someone relatively normal, use those is my social media communication (Facebook, twitter, text messaging) as a means of saying something without taking too time up or space (text messages do cost money!). I cannot identify why a normal, functioning human being with the ability to speak and form sentences feels the need to spell the letters out, “L-O-L”, instead of actually laughing, or giggling, or simply saying how funny something is. You turn a person who is mildly intelligent into sounding like a complete moron. I hope to God this is not a sign of things to come.

Anyway, Groundhog Day. I feel like lately there is an overriding sense of nostalgia about everything I do. I feel I have the same conversations with the same people, the same empty looks in the mirror when checking my weight loss progress, the same outfits reoccurring day in and day out. If I could every day I would buy something new and wear it for just one day. Then, if I didn’t love it, I would throw it in the bin. And the process would start again the next day. I guess all I would ever need in life is pyjamas and something to wear to the shops and back. I hate repeating outfits. The worst case of Ground hog day came last Saturday; I went to the MCG and was watching Hawthorn versus Geelong. I am a Hawthorn witch, my favourite player (my “man” as the BF calls him) is Breust, the new youngster who comes out at mid third quarter to kick a few late goals to help bring the win in. I get very excited when they are playing and love it, like every other fan, when they get a win. However, I have the most intense hatred for Geelong. I despise them with such great intensity that I can get quite irrationally angry at Geelong supporters. Paul Chapman’s vow to never let Hawthorn beat them again, made after the 2008 Grand Final, amuses beyond no end; in Chapman’s defiant proclamation of revenge, he has shown he is quite scared of the Hawks, knowing that without this vow he is danger of losing to them again.

So with this in mind, I sat watching the game, in the right hand bay of the member’s lower deck, hoping that the Hawks will thump Geelong. That was third time, in the space of a year, that I had sat in the member’s lower deck, hoping the Hawks would thump Geelong. And, for the third time in the space of a year, Hawks put on a show early; they rose up to the challenge and then, in the final quarter, didn’t kick any goals and lost. I walked away with not only a headache but a great sense of fear; is this going to keep happening for the rest of my life? Am I going to keep watching the same thing keep happening over and over again? I hope, one day, I can at least be a full voting MCC member and be sitting out front of the Frank Grey Smith to watch them get beaten. That will be a change.

What's a girl to do?

So what does an aspiring performer need to do to get themselves them out there? For the sake of class and being recognized for the RIGHT reasons, I have decided to compile a list of the what NOT to do. I figure that will be easier to decifer than what to do. (No particular order - it is hard to say which one is worse than the other)

Now don't get me wrong; there is much to love about certain events/people. I am just saying it would not me my method of getting recognized!

Entourage

Do I need to get an “entourage” behind me? You never really see it in the glossy trash mags but every time a celeb walks down the red carpet, or frequents a popular eatery, they are surrounded by a mob of important people. The reason they are photo-shopped out of most pictures is because, let’s face it, who wants to see the simple folk, it’s all about the celebrity! (And yes, I plan to rant at some stage the genius of Warhol’s theory of celebrity) So why would you want to be a part of the entourage? I can imagine, depending on the boss, the work would be tiresome, less than glamorously promised by said employer, no doubt there would be a strong requirement to clean up the mess of dim witted actors and models, and, all in all, would be draining on the soul. I do not doubt the necessity of having an entourage; when in Vegas, my boyfriend spotted Justin Timberlake at a restaurant, dinning with friends at a private table not far from his. Timberlake at one stage stood to go to the bathroom; with him came two seven foot security guards who easily weighed 150kg each, who escorted him to the bathroom and back to the table. I joked, when the BF told me he had spotted Timberlake, asking why he didn’t get his number for me. BF’s frank yet true response was: “There was no way I could get anywhere near him to even exchange looks with him, let alone get his number.” If I were Justin, I would never go anywhere without my entourage.
I have written a list of potentials that could fill the role as my entourage. I guess I will need the following people:

Security – I am going with the big Shaq on that one. No one said I couldn’t have something hot to look at whilst feeling a sense of protection? There would need to be one other; probably my favourite wrestler, Randy Orton. So dreamy, so muscley. Perfect if he happens to get snapped with me by the paparazzi. I shall ask them not to edit him out. Having said that, if he is meant to protect me, I hate the thought of losing him to a bullet in the chest whilst in the line of duty. Better audition someone less valuable. Note to self: find ugly people.

Manager – I have a really gorgeous savvy friend of mine who will do this for me. She is amazing; a killer smile and body, however she has the unrelenting personality and intelligence that, if meeting her in an argument, you are sure to lose. Let’s pretend, for fun’s sake, that she isn’t able to get Monday’s off work so I have to hire someone else to come to Hollywood with me. I need someone business smart, ruthless and willing to defend my every stupid decision and every sordid affair, real or made up by the money hungry slappers of the world. I need someone better than CC Babcock, the worst manager/advisor/assistant ever. Poor Mr Sheffield, of the Nanny, was persuaded not to produce a show that “was about a bunch of pussy cats singing in a garbage can” by CC, at the time, the most important person of his life. Good old Andrew Lloyd Webber saw something in Cats; I need me a Drew. I need a Dre, the doctor variety, to bring me out of the wood work to stardom. Speculation on this particular role is tough; let’s hold auditions.

Wanted: one manager willing to sell sole for my fame. Glory: minimal.
Casting Agent: Ari Gold. Enough said.

As I sit here, writing this on a lonely Saturday night, I am watching a marathon of HBO’s Entourage. Currently Turtle is sharing a spliff with Jamie Lynn in a massive hot tub, surrounded in bubbles and champagne. Drama is getting a massage in his trailer between takes on his TV show and Eric is having a drink with Sloan. The scene ends with Vince arriving home to an empty house; the shot fades out on the dark house as he calls out “Hello?” inquisitively to a desolate hallway. I just don’t believe, in the life of a mega movie star, you are ever coming home to an empty house. Surely there would be maids or a cleaner or a freeloader just getting around the place. There seemed to be a constant stream of people getting through the Osborne home in their MTV series. There were always miscellaneous faces that, as a viewer, you could never place their importance or role in the daily life of these celebrities. So how real is Entourage? Does a typical movie star live with several of his buddies the whole time and fucks everything that moves, occasionally working and appearing on talk shows? Does he come home to an empty house at night? Or is life as chaotic, and full of a claustrophobic amount of people like the Osborne’s seem to live with? I have no way of knowing until I am living the life myself. Then I’ll let you know.

I also find it rather amusing that the cast of Entourage were a total fluke. The producers had no intentions of keeping the original cast but kind of got stuck with them. The luckiest thing that ever happened to those guys.

And yes, I am that jealous.