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Three Things Daley #3

Sunday, November 29th, 2009

…Animals, animals, animals

1. Alright, stop – cohabitate and listen.  I’m not really into cutesy stuff (I’m a bit suspicious of it, actually.  I even wonder, especially after reading this story in Vanity Fair, if western society’s obsession with cuteness is a reaction to this decade’s brand of popular fearmongering – or to Crocs).  However, even cynical ol’ Daley has come to realise that there is nothing – noth-ing – cuter than a friendship between an unlikely pair of animals.  A TV show I saw about it the other night had me in fits of “Aw, it’s a…!  With a…!  And they’re bestest buddies!  They’re walking and eating and sleeping side-by-side.  Awwww!!!”  
There’s an elephant and a dog who became such strong friends that the elephant ended up saving the dog’s life.  There was also an outcast lioness who kept befriending oryxes.  And then there was Owen and Mzee - the baby hippo who was separated from his family by a tsunami and wound up being guided through life by a 130-year-old tortoise.  Is there a more awesome friendship? 
All of Milo and Otis and Lilo and Stitch and, er, Fry and Bender combined have nothing on Owen and Mzee.  You just can’t write this sh!t.

plasticine pet circa 19902. Not a cat-person. 
I was at a rehearsal at someone’s place recently and their cat jumped on me (and did that weird clawing thing they do to a cushiony surface - time to start hitting the gym again I think).  I didn’t know what to do.  I know, I know - I’m a bit weird.  The cat’s owner said, “She always picks the people who don’t like cats”.  But it’s not that I don’t like animals, I’m just not familiar with them.  I grew up in a flat, so the only pets I ever had were goldfish – and headlice (It was one time!  And it was only ’cause the kids next door had just contracted them overseas).  The only dogs I knew best were Fluppy Dogs (I loved this movie as a kid and I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy that I tracked it down online just now).  The way people talk about their pets, I suspect I’ve missed some massive chunk of life experience.  But what I lacked in pets, I more than made up for in expertise with plasticine.

3. The Musical Menagerie.  Skylark, Nightingale, Black Dog, Eye of the Tiger, Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport, Rock Lobster, Surfin’ Bird, T.U.R.T.L.E Power…  You could do a pretty long medley full of animal songs – FACT.

Three Things Daley #2

Friday, November 27th, 2009

1. You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.  At least, that’s what self-help dudes say.  Does this ‘revelation’ mean we all need to go out and crash-tackle five gazillionaires/movie stars/sports champions/ business tycoons/revolutionaries/geniuses/homemakers/ gurus/despots/Richard Branson/Humphrey B. Bear and demand that they be our BFFs?  Where would that leave them with plebean losers like us (oh alright, I’ll just speak for myself ) dominating their time?  Anyway, I don’t want anyone else’s life, do you?  I think most of us who are a bit discontent just want a smarter, faster, more useful, more valuable version of their own lives, right?  After all, the key to success doesn’t seem to be who I spend my 782 hours per week of  TV-watching or chocolate-eating downtime with.  I’m already really successful at doing these things on my own.  Hey, maybe I’m the average of the five TV protagonists I spend the most time with – Daria Morgandorffer, Liz Lemon, Jeff Winger, Dexter Morgan, *cough*TheRafters*cough* – or the five kinds of chocolate I eat most often (what, just five?).

2. Wrong way, go back.  Okay, so I may have misrepresented The Artist’s Way in my last post.  For starters, the “morning pages” aren’t technically a writing task.  They’re not intended for writers or any form of creativity in particular.  Rather, the idea is to unblock your generic creativity by getting all your mind-rubbish out first thing in the morning.  Occasionally, you might come up with gold, but more likely it’ll be a lot of negative crap.  And if it is indeed three pages of whining about how you can’t get Channel Nine on your digital set-top box, the cute muso boy who only barely knows you exist, or how you can’t decide on your next hair colour (these, of course, wouldn’t be things I would be whinging about), then it’s probably better out than in.  I’m starting to think that, maybe, it’s something I should give a proper go.  And apparently, the more you hate it, the more you need it – like exercise or rehab.

3. They tried to make [someone, someday] go to rehab, but I said… 
I saw a T-shirt this morning that says ‘Nintendo Rehabilitation Clinic’.  Do you reckon we’ll actually need those in the future?  We’ll be all like, “There used to be novelty T-shirts about this.  But now, *sigh*…  This is an intervention.  Take off the Power Glove (yes, they’ll be back – only now they’ll work).  Pack your bags.  There’s a giant warp pipe outside waiting for you…”

Three Things Daley #1

Thursday, November 26th, 2009

1. It’s been a while.  Sorry.  I’ve been thinking about you though.  All the time.  Yes, I do feel guilty.  Yes, I’ve thought about what I’d say to you when the inevitable meeting arose.  I’ve thought of every issue I could cover, every idea and feeling I could express.  And the resounding phrase echoing in my head was “I have nothing to say” - which can’t possibly be true, considering I always have something to say, even when I have no reason/evidence/justification/ interest/permission to say it.  And even when I think or even say I have nothing to say, it’s always a lie.  Anyway, sorry.

2. I’m not bitter, but… actually, I am.  A bit.  In the spirit of preparation, I’m squeezing my mind-grapes now so that, in future, I can deliver a blog that doesn’t suck.  But for now, allow me to overindulge/feel free to ignore: my not-so-inner drama queen.  The small measure of wisdom I have tells me that the following counterproductive feelings will pass, and to that end I’m giving myself a deadline for this tantrum.  Also, I’ve been incredibly spoilt and blessed this past year, so it was inevitable that the bubble would burst.  But goddamn it, right now, man, I am bitter.  I feel like, in pretty much every aspect of life, I am back to square one - aka, an invisible hack.  And I’m confused about my hair colour.  Oh, and while I’m ‘here’, I don’t like the number 29.  A stupid indivisible integer for a stupid, impenetrable year.  No, wait, I didn’t mean that!  Come back!  I promise I’ll be creative.  I’ll start with breakfast*…

3. Not-quite-The-Artist’s-Way.  In a spectacular coincidence, right on the date of her Saturn’s Return, I ran into a friend from high school who I hadn’t seen in years – on a bus we both often catch, no less.  In our catch-up convo, she said that she overcame writer’s block and finally embarked on a novel-writing venture by writing three pages of just whatever’s in her head first thing every morning – known as “Morning Pages” in the creativity guidebook The Artist’s Way.  I tried this for three consecutive mornings and it was quite possibly my most hated writing task of all time - even more than essays in uni, more than what-the-hell-do-I-say-here? captions, more than writing Christmas cards to rellies I’m not all that close to.  Mornings are not my creative time – unless you count creating breakfast* – and so I conveniently forgot to do it again after those three days.  Believe it or not, there is a point to my telling you this.  In lieu of writing three pages every day (seriously that’s, like, 1500 words, man) I’m going to attempt to *deep breath* write three points on here every day.  Even if I think I have nothing to say.  Because, as we all know now, that’s a lie.

Going Animal Crackers

Monday, May 25th, 2009

There’s a lot going on right now.  And since I can’t talk about one of these things, I figure I can’t talk about any of them because, by process of elimination, the thing I’m not talking about will become apparent.

So.  I’m not going to talk about anything that’s going on.  Nuh-uh.

Instead, I’m going to talk about my experiences with flora and fauna in the last few weeks.

I’ve  been dubbed a duck, which will come into effect two days after I return from the corn fields.  While I wasn’t overly attached to being not-a-duck, this has left me feeling a wee bit lost in the woods.

As for the corn fields, while exciting, it’s freaking me out – not just because it involves a long flight, but because it may involve birdseed in excess.

Just before I was made a duck, someone asked me if I’d like to deck myself in some new feathers and fly off with a flock of swans to play in the marsh for a bit.  I nearly fell off my perch.

Everyone admires a swan, right?  But would I have time to put on the outfit?  Would I even be able to pull off being a swan, given that I’m really more of an old crow in comparison?

After some deliberation, I decided that either I could choose to remain in my cage or fly off for a bit and see what happens in the wide open skies – even if it meant I’d have to go without birdseed for awhile, and even if it meant two large journeys in the space of a few months. 

Oddly enough, the duck scenario will aid my journey to the marsh as a swan.  Funny how some things fall into place.

And while all this has been happening, I’ve been spending some time howling in coyote’s clothing.  Pretending to be in the corn fields is an odd lead-up to actually being there.  And it’s not been without tumult, let me tell you – there’s been all manner of plague, stampede, flood, drought, and even brushfire.  But through it all, as always, howling is a joy.

Though, I’m not sure if coyotes have vocal cords, because reports are that they don’t growl – they ‘cough’.

But, as we so often do, we ask you to suspend your disbelief…

Just like I’m suspending mine at writing this crap.

Just a moment in the woods

Tuesday, December 30th, 2008

Okay, so I’m going to do one of those primary school-esque reports here which I desperately hope you won’t hate me for: My Year In Review.

After all, where would the blogging form be without recounting what we ate for breakfast, the progress of our favourite football/cricket/synchronised swim team, or how we manage to successfully pluck our eyebrows on the bus (God, who does that? … *cough*)?

madvanAh, the only challenge is working out which aspect of my life is more fascinating – the content management system I use for work or how fast my grey strands re-emerge after colouring.  But I’m saving those juicy titbits for chapter one of my upcoming autobiography, Yes, I DO Carry Hand Sanitiser Everywhere (so how did I get a cold that lasted 3 fking weeks?).

But my whole life isn’t important right now - 2008 is the year of the moment.  It’s the year I’m calling “The Loop-the-Loop” or “A Moment In The Woods” or “The Wii Stop” (just try and stop me from making ‘Wii’ jokes, biatch).

Although I didn’t make any progress in particular, 2008 was a necessary detour.  Or Wii-tour, if you will (or won’t).

In January, I had a feeling that 2008 would be a leap forward – decisions would be made, direction found, life would be on course.  Progress.  It was the kind of luminous hope, resolve and optimism that was bound to see me fall on my arras.

Make no mistake, by mid-April I had to climb down and pick my face up from the Ninja Turtles’ Sewer Lair (Master Splinter says hi and wants his kimono back from Katie Holmes).

Truth be told,  2008 has been a really fun year.  Too much fun, perhaps, for one who’s been known to spend entire parties in the restaurant bathroom, singing sad songs at the mirror… sober.

drab2006Clearly, when it came to fun, I had a lot to learn.  For a long time, my idea of fun was making lists, sleeping on the floor, or writing poetry to a blaring soundtrack of Counting Crows.  And, dude, we’re talking poems about feelings of “eternal internal incompletion” (boys), “moments that cascade off the bridge like fireflies” (boys), or ”rejection rife” (unemployment…  who am I kidding?  boys).  Granted, these phrases are nearly 10 years old now, but old habits try hard.

But unlike 1999, 2008 was not a year that had me tempted to help a shrink make their mortgage repayments (but that’s a story I’m saving for chapter two, Keira Daley is Easily Distrac-Are Those Chocolate Coins?).

Though it was already a work in progress, 2008 was the year I think I finally understood fun as more than a concept.  I learnt how to have fun like normal people – nightlife and boozes and Nintendo Wii.  Now I take every opportunity to go Wii, Wii, Wii all the way home, only to Wii and watch TV (Wii much?  Got Wii?  Wii, Wii monsieur!  …just you try and stop me, biatch).

In 2008, I wore a dress on more than one occasion.  I bought not one, but two wigs – neither of which were for a show or a film… but just for fun!  I said yes to every work-oriented party invitation (four) and followed through. 

jumpingvinesI travelled to three places I’ve never been before – and with people, no less – the Hunter Valley (twice!), Greece, and Tasmania.  The one thing they have in common?  Good cheese.  I’d say wine as well, but so far I’ve found Greek wine about as pleasant as the Wii of Satan after a healthy dose of asparagus (thank you for a year of joy, 30 Rock - booyah to that 2008 discovery for me).

But speaking of wine, I have learnt a bit about it this year.  It’s interesting and, if I ever end up feeling like I need more science in my life, I may just run off and become a viticulturist (I know I said the same thing about geology when I went to Santorini, but who’s counting the degrees I’ve fleetingly pined for? … Five).

I’ve taken other classes, too.  I did an eight-week Greek language class, which did me eight-thirteenths of sweet FA in Greece.  As you can imagine, this went down really well with the locals who took one look at my half-Grecian features and decided I should be no less than fluent.  I did as well as ‘hello’, ‘please’, ‘thank you’ and – out of sheer desperation one day – ‘laundromat’.

I trespassed for this photo

FYI, don’t let anyone tell you that there’s a word for ‘vegetarian’.  It’s like Atlantis – it might exist, but nobody knows what it sounds like and some people think you’re insane for believing in it.

I did Bikram yoga for about five months.  Once I got over feeling like a giraffe trying to crochet a poncho, I was hooked.  The heat and the meditative aspects were the perfect remedy for the winter of my discontent (and just winter, really).

But that’s on hiatus.  Who wants to be in a 38 degree room in the middle of summer?  Plus, one of my friends accused me of having Stockholm Syndrome for defending its ‘horrors’ (saving that story for my third chapter, I Could Look So Hot If Stopped Eating Ferrero Rocher And Started Exercising But That’s As Likely As My Growing To Love Tom Cruise).

Different job, same awesome viewIt’s been a learning year, but not what I’d call progress.  The only thing that’s really changed is my job.  And, really, that only involved moving a metre away from my previous desk, and it was a job I was already doing part-time.  Now it’s a job I’m partly doing full-time (*baboom ching* “I’m here ’till Thursday, try the veal - I had to because I still don’t know the Greek word for ‘vegetarian’” [I'm lying, I've never eaten veal and the word is 'khortofaryous'...ish]).

Aside from that, I’ve done a bit more singing, I’ve called it a day on improv (I know, right?  It’s like losing a limb that keeps doing things I haven’t told it to), I have a few new items of furniture, I’ve watched so very much amazing TV (on computer and DVD, of course – who watches TV when it’s actually on?), and I’ve overhauled my blog.

homerBut it’s not progress.  I sang, but I also took an arseload of time off and now my (as it was, underdeveloped) middle voice is off receiving therapy because it feels I’ve ignored it in favour of its siblings, chest and head.  Loser.

As for The Daley Rant, in changing it I fear I may have schtupped myself.  I miss the candid semi-anonymity I once had, and the way that helped me side-step defamation suits.

In the end, though, a year enjoyed can’t be a year wasted.  And although it wasn’t moving forward, it was at least moving sideways.  That has to count for something – I mean, some crustaceans have no choice.

So maybe now I’ve learnt to have fun, I can finally stop being so heavy and get on with things.  Or at least know when to have a Wii break.