Monday, May 29, 2006

Floored Moustaches. And other hairy beasties.

Once upon a time I promised a friend (A!Friend) that I would stop calling her at indiscriminate moments to complain about things.

And now I think she will be happy to hear that she can sit, Buffy, snuffle chocolate or (erm.. and) stitch in peace. Because, apparently, out in the great big interknitverse there are already enough people worrying about Nick's moustache that I am not required, any longer, to wax (!) not-particularly-lyrical (read: moan) about it. Nor share that joy with her.

And the reason I know this? Well, after extensive investigation (and a two word google search involving the terms "CSI"and "Moustache") I have discovered said moustache has websites and petitions and odes and wee children dedicated to its very existence.


Still, the interverse probably needs my three cents. And so to Nick (& George) I say

Shave. It. Off.


Oh, but on another note. Movies with open captioning? Fabulous for the deaf. Not so brilliant for the visually orientated hearing types (read Me, me, me!) Apparently, given a choice between watching the action and reading the script, I'm incapable of not following the non-bouncing text.

Highlight of the night of the open captioning? The floored character. The character with floors. (um.. folks? Open captioners? Bueller?)

--Antipodean!Julie, floor-free since '03

Friday, May 26, 2006


So, yesterday I was explaining to someone that despite the obvious, I blog all the time.

I blog when I should be working; I blog when I should be sleeping; I blog riding on the train; I blog walking to the station; I blog when quality literature (and no-quality fiction) should be getting my full attention; I blog when perhaps I would be better off watching the 9 episodes of TWW, the 5 episodes of G’sA, the half season of Lost and pretty much the entire series of Alias, I have saved on my hard drive; I blog whilst Mr Williams (& Mr Johnson & Mr Fanning & Mr Freedman) serenades me on shuffle; I blog in the shower. And sometimes, I am ashamed to say, I blog on the loo.

If I was Doctor Seuss, I would blog in rhyme (On a boat. With a goat.) ’til you wanted to throttle me (About the throat!)

But unfortunately, I rarely blog in the spot made specifically for the activity of blogging. So few of my bloggy bits grow up to be actual full-blown, fingers to keyboard, black pixels on white, thoughts made LCDable type blogs

It seems that I am, in the end, little more than a fantasy blogger.

Because, apparently, I do all my best blog work in the privacy of my own head.

I realise that I should do something about that.

But I’m the kind of person where realisation and action are only acquaintances. Very distant acquaintances. And whilst I wish that they were the best of friends (Comrades in arms. Joined at the hip. Siamese style BFFs) I am too old a dog to learn that trick.

Clearly, the story of my lack of cohesive decision making ability, the tin of 72 Derwent pencils and my cluster fetish, and their combined contribution to the current, unblogging me cannot be underestimated.

And should probably be the subject of future blogs.

I think :)


--Antipodean!Julie, Aged Thirtaneen (and then some.)

Monday, May 08, 2006

Giraffe boots*

Giraffe Boots*

hmmm... okay, so, they did inspire (nay, compel!) my first entry.

But really, that right there is the kernel in my puzzle-enigma-mystery nutshell.

Truly, there's only one thing that you need to know about me.

"Giraffe Boots. If anyone could... I'm ya girl."

Well, that and my number gender theory.

So, yeah. There's only two things you need to know about me.

I have Giraffe Boot lust and a(n oddly persuasive) number gender theory. And I want to be mimi smartypants when I grow up.

So. Three things. Yep, there's three things you need to know about me...

I have Giraffe Boot lust, a(n increasingly abstract) number gender theory, and I want to be mimi smartypants when I grow up. And...


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