Monthly Archives: August 2012

Here we go again — all the goods you need to be the most popular personista in the room this weekend.

Neil Armstrong Embarks on the Eternal Moonwalk. What a classy man he was. Vale Neil. And let’s all admire the fact that he didn’t give in to the siren call of cosmetic intervention, unlike his former Apollo mate, Buzz Aldrin.

“Hmm, what is that we spy on the surface of the moon? The Sea of Tranquility or the Bride of Wildenstein?”

Rupert Murdoch Takes to Twitter to Defend Harry’s Nudey Rudeness. “Prince Harry. Give him a break. He may be on the public payroll one way or another, but the public loves him, even to enjoy Las Vegas.” And Rupert loves to be able to print — and profit from — los picturos that result from the antics of that poor motherless child.

La finds the concept of Rupes tweeting an hilarious one. Would love to be his ghost tweeter. Do you think Wendi does it? Guess as long as that’s keeping her so busy she no longer has the time to implore him to dye his diminishing locks a rusty hue in the manner of a fuller-haired Chinese man, we should all be grateful.

“Loving those glow-in-the-dark stars we popped on the ceiling — aren’t you?”

‘Hope Springs’ the Fillum to See. Meryl and Tommy Lee getting plaudits from discerning viewers for this alleged gem. Can’t wait to see. Ye gods we love Meryl here beneath los dusty rafters. And by ‘we’ La means ‘I’. (La is aware that the first person pronoun is a hard one to get your noggin around on this blog.)

Legend Live Venue the Sando Bites the Sawdust. Poor old Sando in Newtown. Yet another victim of the march of the pokies and the opportunity cost associated with retaining space for live music. Many an afternoon / evening was whiled away by La, Miss A and Lady Dublin, swaying away to the highs: Whitlams (Tim *swoons*), Black Eyed Susans, Bean…and some of the lows: Cosmic Frontbum (yes, really). Sad, sad, sad. There’s nothing that’s good for anyone — whether you go and see it or not — about the demise of live music in inner cities. Bah grr.

Charlotte Dawson Calls Out the Twitter Trolls. Good on her. Good to see too that there are some real-world consequences for some of these abhorrent people. God knows, La gets montanas of dodgy comments that end up being blocked by the cyber guard dog*.

TomKat Officially Neutered. Yep. it’s all over in a formal sense. And Katie will be forced to subsist on no more than $400,000 a year in Suri support. Exclusive of school fees. Hardship times in Chelsea. Oprah, please come back for real, deploy your most amazing powers of mind control and will-suppression, and convince her and Nicole to plonk on your couch and diiiiiiish. We need it.

It was a quiet night under the rafters. Signor Seriousimo was stuck at work on a conf call. How uncomfortable. Anyway, his absence could mean only one thing:

Yep, a guilt-free night of “Girls.”

Have you watched this show? It’s GENIUS . And here’s the genial anti-heroine of whom La speaks:

Lena Dunham. This 26-year-old (!!!) New Yorker created the show, and writes, directs and stars in most episodes. She — and it — is a revelation.

Okeydoodle. Have a great, and well-informed, weekend.

*Not really.

Still slightly sickialista, so here’s another raid of the Mobile Media Control Console and various Trivtastic observations that could end up teetering on the brink of rants.

First off the rank:  copycat fashions. Note to Karen Millen:  Peter Pilotto called…

…and he wants his print back.

And French Connection:  Missoni called…

…and they definitely want their print back.

Never let it be said La holds back from letting you know exactly how things really are beneath the dusty rafters — warts and all.  In that spirit, here’s a current vignette from La Fridgialista.

On La left is some crazy canine from a doggy dental care ad which the JCCs spotted in a magazine.  They giggled like drains, so he made it onto La Fridge.  And on la right is a Captain Underpants ‘Wedgie Power’ sticker.  Yep, here it’s all highbrow, all the time.

(Astute readers will observe the sticky tape holding Crazy Doggy Fangs in place…why the hell aren’t ‘stainless steel’ fridges magnetic anymore?  And… there’s the rant.)

This came from Fishpond today. Those campers are cheap but boy their books take a looong time to land.

Can’t wait to read it.  JL has been writing some amazing stories on the consequences of the GFC for the Troubled Eurozones and those Great United Kingdoms.  La’s a GFC junkie who also loves a good parable that sees avaricious chalk stripe-sporting types brought low by their greed and dicky moral compass.  Will report back.

Little male JCC announced to me a couple of nights ago that he’s been kissing the girls.  I asked who and how many.  He began counting them off and — worryingly — ran out of fingers very very fast.

Lock up your daughters

La Triv is crook. So crook that the entire Trivialista-Seriousimo caravan schlepped off to the local a&e early Saturday morning in an attempt to alleviate the teeny problem of, ooh, LT’s inability to breathe. This is what the nurses gave me. Then they packed me off with La tail between los legs, shouting unsympathetically, “Suck it up, princess! It’s VIRAL!!!”

As a result of sub-prime health, today’s despatch will be random and visually-driven, with the odd raid of the Mobile Media Control Console (i.e. iPhone)’s archives.

In the first of our “Omelette of the Day” features, here’s what the female Junior Cost Centre broke the fast with this morning. A basic model, good organic googs with a teeny splash of milk, cooked in lovely Lurpak butter and filled with a good old Bega slice. (It’s worth pointing out that the omelette is actually TINY — it’s being cooked in a frypan barely 15cm wide. Unrelatedly — one of the female JCC’s eight-year-old “friends” last week told her she was “fat”. Can you believe it? Girls, I tell you…)

This, apparently, is a man called Lawrence O’Donnell who hosts a program on MSNBC in the US. An anchor from central casting if ever there was one. Can you believe his manly square jaw? You could go fracking with that bone structure. Do you think he’s stored nuts in his cheeks for winter?

A while ago I wandered past the new Pushmatahaa shop in Paddo.

They make gorgeous earrings. Last year, before the era of frugality set in, I bought myself not one but TWO pairs. They lay beneath the marital bed of deceit for the requisite cooling-off period before being unveiled. Believe me, unless I want my children growing up in a broken home, it’s best that way.

When I wondered into their store recently, though, there seemed to be a lot of skulls. Skulls on rings, skulls on earrings, skulls on skulls. Look, I love Alexander McQueen’s work as much as the next duchess, but what the hell is it with skulls? I just can’t force Laself to see the appeal.

This ad caught my eye last week — it’s for an alternative financial services institution (which we should all support — say no the Big Four and their stranglehold on Wide Brown Land retail banking!). But not for obvious reasons. This man says things like, “I’m on your holiday”, “I’m in your plunge pool”, “I’m getting your spa treatment” etc. He also says, “I’m eating your crustaceans” as he glares at you over a massive platter of juicy pink prawns. No sirree bob, no-one would be eating my crustaceans. Sr Seriousimo often jokes there are probably thousands of Wanted for Genocide posters beneath the deep blue seas in areas heavily populated by prawns, plastered with the smiling face of La Triv.

You probably can’t read this, and my photo edit thingo isn’t working, but it’s the New Yorker review of the fillum Magic Mike, and it says of Matthew McConaughey, “now in his early forties, [he] looks like a muscular Peking Duck”. I think they have a point.

“Would you like hoisin and spring onions with that?”

Now, what do you think…a twist on the urban public space vertical garden, or just ivy growing up a lamp post?

Still not sure where I stand. Oh, that’s right, I barely can. I’m sick. Back to bed *sniffs*.

Black may well be the new black, but for La lira right now, there’s nowt as superior as navy.

My good ladyfriend, Brunswick Browser, would say there’s never been anything but navy — her loyalty to this royal shade has never wavered.

Mine, on the other hand, has waxed and waned over the years — but right now I’m cottaging and frottaging up to navy like there’s no tomorrow, and La Closetta Trivialista is all the richer for it.

Take this:

My very favourite Skin and Threads longline navy cardi — slim profile, great colour and provides fantatsic buverage (bum coverage).

And this is semi-permanently affixed to La noggin.

Especially great for the school run when tonsorial care duties have been neglected (i.e. hair’s oilier than the North Atlantic).  Thanks to those clever folk at Elk.

Mind, both you and I would prefer to have this permanently affixed to our noggins…

…but until La Mamma Seriousimo rekindles her friendship with the ex-Crown Jeweller, he comes out of retirement and resumes his old job, and Seriousimo and I renew our vows (unlikely, as we can barely get organised enough to renew our drivers licenses) it’s probably not happening *swears*.

Love this handy hold-all from my friend Marc by Marc Jacobs.  Take it from La, it’s srsly difficult to find a good navy handbag.  (I know, penthouse problems…)

But Marcola has come through for me twice now:

Clutchtastic

The man is undeniably a genius.  Even if he frocked up thus for the Met Gala.

“Do my boxer shorts look big in this?”

This is an old faithful from Jiggy Jigsaw, when it was having one of its slightly less catastrophic seasons.

Then there’s this — a Trivtastic navy bracelet given to me by my friend Yankee Doodle, from Jim and Jane.  Thanks Miss Doodle!

These lovelies were organised for me by the wonderful Miss Jo — the infinitely clever and talented creator of Piamento. She asked the nice people at Vickies Shoes in Hong Kong to whip them up when she was passing through on a buying trip.  Thanks again, Miss Jo.

Then there are these flowery trews from Whistles, which La loveloveloves, but hasn’t yet had the ticker to wear.  What’s with that?  And did you know Whistles does ten quid shipping to the Wide Brown Land?

And, yes, you would be right in thinking I’ve neatly folded in the edges to make La waistline and trouser profile appear slimmer

And another Piamento treasure, the Cashmere Mini-Cape.  You can wear this wonder of nature five different ways.  It even comes with steak knives and a built-in iPod*.

And finally, my all-time favourites, the kind of shoes people stop you in the street to comment on.  The kind of shoes that make complete strangers actually want to talk to you.

Readers, meet Christa.

“In these shoes? I don’t think so…”

La’s giving her to you extra large, because both you and she deserve it.  If ever you’re in the market for a completely transformative clodhopper experience, you need look no further than the amazing creations of Natalia and Jennifer at Bionda Castana.

Get your calf muscles in training now.  Oh, and prepare to tell your bunions, “Suck it up, Princesses.”

*Not really.

Prepare to be armed with all you need to know to be popular at this weekend’s events.  Seated comfortably at the Triv Media Control Console, I scan the big issues so you don’t have to.

Harry… Say No More.  Feel free to read the tawdry details elsewhere.  But La Triv’s meta-analysis of Harry’s alleged expolits in Vegas is this:  we will soon see a situation of wedge politics emerge between him and his straighty-180 bro.  After all, the latter is now ensconsed in domestic bliss, happily fulfilling his King-in-waiting duties.  And Harry’s still with the wild oats and the barley seeds.  Didn’t he know what happens in Vegas never stays in Vegas?  Does he care?

Kidman Booty Covers V Mag.  Do you think it’s been photoshopped?  Or is it really just down to jogging and Pilates?

You know what?  I could insert something here about Wide Brown Land politics or our role in South Pacific security or offshore processing of asylum seekers, but frankly, right now I’m watching paint dry and it’s much more fun.

Think I’m bored of the wrap for today.  And I’m sick *sniffs*.  So let’s move on to photos of my Junior Cost Centres when they were bambinos.

This is my female Junior Cost Centre — cute, huh?  I miss my Bugaboo, I miss being off work and walking with her through parks and just staring at her, for hours and hours and hours.

And here’s my male JCC, in all his chubtastic glory, albeit drooling.  Miss pushing him around in prams too, though he wouldn’t object if I offered.  And he’s almost five.

So there’s all you need to know for the weekend:  babies are cute.

Ciao.

Happy, happy days here beneath the dusty rafters — twirly knob-twiddling last night at the Triv Media Control Console yielded much longed-for news.  That old cad and bounder,  Rakey — Dickie Roxburgh at his impish best — is bed-hopping his way back into town.

Here he is deflowering a Wide Brown Land television sweetheart / girl next door / butter wouldn’t melt type

Honestly, for my lira, the first season of this ABC effort was among the best progs ever to shimmy their way across our Wide Brown Land TV screens.

If you’ve not met our beloved Cleaver Greene, here’s the wrap:  he’s a barrister d’un certain âge (i.e., old enough to know better) who lives in a divey flat in Kings Cross, and cavorts with ladies of the night, friends’ wives and occasionally clients, but all with a smile and a heart that’s sufficiently well positioned to ensure he comes off as the good guy.

To his 15-year-old son, he’s the living embodiment of the other day’s George Bernard Shaw quote that it’s better to be a horrible warning to your kids than a good example.  (Must consult the Deity Google at some stage on how that worked out for GBS and his Junior Cost Centres.)

“Wasn’t me didn’t do it can’t prove a thing”

And you know how the world really is nowt but a spooky exercise in prescience and serendipity?  Well, on Saturday night La was driving locally and stopped at a pedestrian crossing to let a woman traverssimo.  And guess who it was?!?

“You’re beautiful, but you might benefit from some ear candling..”

Missy!  Or, rather, the actress who played Rake’s prostitutional love interest — you know, the damaged hooker-with-the-heart-of-gold type.

So it’s all meant to be.  Can’t wait to see Toni Collette let loose on Cleaver in season 2.  Don’t miss out come 6 September.

Enough froth.  Onto serious matters:  raincoats.

Boden’s latest offerings are lovely.  Get in fast as these puppies go like the clappers.  Whenever I wear mine to collect the female JCC from school people mow me down with inquiries as to its provenance.  Despite that, things are pretty relaxed at our school gates on the fashion front, thank the gods.  Unlike elsewhere in the world:

Yep, a feature on a UK website called “School Runway”* that solicits information from school mums on who they’re wearing and who their style icons are.  La is in several states of disbelief:  there is a corner of a foreign land where women dress this well for drop off?  Some women are actually willing to throw some posey shapes outside the school gates?  Said women are happy to namecheck the elements of their ensemble:  Dries van Noten, YSL, Chloe, Mulberry etc?  They wear these labels to school?

Everyone knows Dries should only ever be worn to the GP.

It’s this quote from one of these women that worries La, though:

“When my eldest daughter started school, I felt scruffy compared with other mums in designer clothes and bought myself a few new outfits. I felt I had to up my game. Now she’s in year three, I think I’ve chilled out.”

La Triv is all about making an effort and feeling good about Laself.  For me, this has meant ditching the Havaianas, slopping on some slap, buying less but buying better and washing La locks more than once a week.

We often say women are hard on each other, but now I’m over 40 35, I’ve come to believe no-one’s harder on you than you, or me than me.  (Suspect web features like School Runway don’t help.)  Time to cut ourselves some slack.

After all, no-one’s more rumpled, scruffy and down-on-his-game than Rakey, nor more lovable.  That said, he’s a bloke and the world cuts them a hell of a lot more slack.

*Thanks to our woman-on-the-ground in those Great United Kingdoms, Miss A

A few years ago, just before we became marito and moglia, Signor Seriousimo and I travelled from our practical home at the time, Londra, to our spiritual home, La Costa Amalfi, for a long weekend.  That weekend lives on in the mistiest, dreamiest recesses of our memories.

What’s that got to do with a lime spliced g+t on a Tuesday night, I hear you ask.

Well, everything.  On that minibreak, we stayed at the Santa Caterina, and had drinks and dinner at the divine Sirenuse hotel in Positano (where Miss A had her honeymoon, cow), and these were the vessels from which we sipped.  Amazing Carlo Moretti glasses, produced especially for the hotel.  We called our bank, extended our overdrafts and bought two.  Somehow, though, that never seemed enough.  So on our return to London, we instigated a signficant capital raising, headed to Selfridges with the proceeds (us to puchasers of our debt paper:  “we promise you’ll get your money back — and more!”) and bought a further six.  All different, all hand-blown and coloured.  Ye gods how I still love them.

Nearly had a cardiac infarction when a friend housesat for us once and we arrived home to see they’d gone for a spin in the dishwasher.

Speaking of los nuptialos, here’s what I wore on my noggin.  Feast your eyes.  Gratuitous pics of this will appear from time to time here at La’s virtual home, because — let’s face it — they can.

Yep, seriously.  La Mamma Seriousimo happened to be friends with a man who was very Plugged In in the jewels world, and very generous with it too.  To cut La long story short, this sparkly puppy winged its way to me pre-nuptials in a Tesco bag just in time for the big day.  Truth be told, I wasn’t sure what gave me more joy that day:  snagging Seriousimo or wearing the tiara.  (Just as well Signor Seriousimo still doesn’t believe in blogs and will never read this.)

Sometimes, like now, I think about La Tiara and wish I could wear it every day, everywhere.  To the Wordporium, to the bath, to bed.  Til death or an over-zealous metal detector do us part.

“There’s some rich pickins here for a couple of cougars like us, Nola.”

This is La Nonna Joan and La Aunty Nola at the Trivialista-Seriousimo nuptial celebrations.  Neither is with us anymore, and the world is infinitely poorer for it. *Sobs*

Tets, I bet you offer one of those to all the girls

It’s coming up to La wedding anniversary, and ritual dictates we head to Tetsuya.  Generally, we eat our weight in bread rolls smeared with truffle and parmesan butter, then battle bravely through 11 more courses.  La normally opts for the extra oyster course too.  The jovial sommelier, Stuart Halliday, always pretends to remember us and welcomes us like old friends.  We love this; I lap it up like oyster liquor.

Have a sparkly Tuesday.

This New Yorker story — believe it or not, written from the point of view of a condom — caused much laughter beneath the dusty rafters last week.

Podcasts on La Triv’s Mobile Media Control Console (aka iPhone) provide much diversion during the commute à pied between the Palazzo and the Wordporium.  La toggles between Desert Island Discs (DID) with the gorgeous Kirsty Young, and This American Life with the equally gorgeous Ira Glass.  Here they are.

“These shoes are a bit high, even for me, so I’ll just continue reclining attractively on this chaise”

“Don’t be fooled by my bookwormish glasses and slight frame… I’m a TIIIIIIIIII-GRRRRR…”

You may have noticed that this particular Ira is extra large.  Yep.  Don’t say La never does anything nice for you.

Anyhows, quote of the week from George Bernard Shaw via this morning’s DID:  “Better for a parent to be a horrible warning than a good example.”  Parents among you, do with that what you will.

And speaking of a parent who was a bit of both:  Diana.  Loving Naomi Watts’s transformation from bike-riding West Village mum of two to the People’s Princess.

Genial.  Looking forward to this one — we love a good biopic here between the dusty rafters.

Speaking of transformations, am toying with a new high ponytail.  Behold La look I’m aiming for.

“I was going for an unevenly highlighted, unpolished, kind of shaggy-sheeps-wool-meets-Brillo-pad look like my friend La Trivialista, but I’ll settle for this instead…”

I’m falling short but I’ll get there.  Ira’s wife, Anaheed — who, in the main, remains comparatively un-Googleable — has a pixie cut.  Time for a change, perhaps..?

Ciao.

The Wordporium released some important hot air words into the atmosphere on Thursday, and La Triv got an early mark.

Got a chance to see that Jigsaw’s back to doing what — aside from a couple of out-of-the-ordinary seasons — it does best:  frumpy Mother-of-the-Bride pastel chic.

“Hyacinth Bucket called — she wants her clothes back.”

Not sure how closely you follow coverage of NSW politics *yawns* but impending funding cuts mean the Copperati are more (choose your own wordplay cliché) under the gun / in the crosshairs / staring down the barrel than ever, particularly with all the glassing and king-hits going on among the youngfolk.  Appears they’ve had to call for out-of-town reinforcements.

“With great power comes great skin-tight lycra”

La wondered into Zimmermann.  Always a visual feast, if a little Bondi-babe-meets-Maypole-dancer-meets-Pigalle-hooker at times.  Cottaged and frottaged up to this floral loveliness.

Zimmermann Balance Eclectic Twist dress, yours for $750

Might look a bit MOTB, but really quite gorge.

Come Saturday night, Signor Seriousimo and I lived on the edge and popped out for a 6.15 dinner.  (Home by 8.30.  Crazy times here.)  Went to one of our long-time favourites, Fish Face in Darlinghurst.

Do these fellas look scared to you?

Well you would be too if you were on Crab Death Row with the beady crustacean-loving eyes of La Triv and Signor Seriousimo trained on your tank.

But we resistsed — in manner of James Bond, those crabbies will die another day.  SS opted for scallops (“You just can’t beat a good scallop”) and I went for kingfish tartare.  Delicioso.

Crabs and eggs are becoming a common theme here at La online home.  Female JCC and I are engaged in an ongoing Pepsi challenge to find the best eggs.  So far nothing beats these:

…but they are rare as hen’s teeth (boom boom!).  So we’re working our way through a selection of others.  Many factors are taken into account when judging, but the most prominent one is, I’m sorry to say, faecal.

Yep, a good egg must still have some poo on it.

And that’s about as rural as we get around these parts.

No — La Triv hasn’t been oogling old NWA and Beastie Boys vids at the Triv Media Control Console and dancing inappropriately for a middle-aged white woman.  This is the weekly news rundown, so you’re armed with insights and opinions for this weekend’s luncheons and soirées.

“Gooseberries for dinner? Yummy!”

The Torygraph Decrees Harry Must Hurry and Marry.  Poor Haz.  There he is, sowing a wild oat here, a barley seed there…and the organ of his class wags a disapproving finger at his gooseberry status, even going so far as to say he’s begun to cut a sad and lonely single figure.  I dunno, but every time I see pics of him stumbling out of Mahiki in the early hours, ciggie in hand, shirt untucked and hair obviously post-pash mussed, he looks to me like he’s having a fine old time.

Jen and Justin Getting Hitched.  Well done to the lovebirds.  Of course, now the breathless column inches dedicated to what she’ll wear and when they’ll pop out a pup have begun to appear (like their single status was a barrier to having a baby).  Has anyone noticed the woman is 43?!?!  And have any of the celebrity tabloid media overlords considered for even a second that Jen may well have been struggling with infertility for the past 20 years?  Sheesh, don’t get me started on all this incessant Bumpwatch bull****.

“What I lack in years and grey hair I more than make up for in shiny wedding jewellery and amazing karate chop action.”

Next Possible Deputy Head of the Free World Scarily Close to La Trivialista’s Age.  Some may not consider this newsy current affairs, but La does.  The day your GP is younger than you is a scary one.  The day the captain of the Wide Brown Land cricket team is younger than you is even scarier.  And the day the PM of the Wide Brown Land is only single digits older than you borders on nightmare territory.  But this?  This is JUST TOO MUCH.

Photo courtesy of our friends at Daily Beast

Travellers Pile on to Bangladesh Train on Special National Holiday.  What the hell do Harbour City commuters have to complain about?  Penthouse problems, people.

They may be trampy, but their larger and far less forgivable crime is that they are ugly

Target Slammed for Selling Trampy Clothes for Little Girls and Tweens.  And people are surprised about this?  Every time I’ve visited Target with the aim of purchasing for the JCCs, I’ve fled the store in manner of someone who’s been locked in a room with a severe flatulence sufferer, gagging on fumes of syntheticocity and cheapness — but, worst of all, unattractiveness.

Now, I know not everyone is as profligate in their spending habits as La Triv was before the Era of Frugality began yesterday, but people would do better to go visit La friends at Boden, or go elsewhere (and this is possible) for well-priced junior attire.  Pay more, buy less, buy better.  Target’s only selling the worst of this stuff because people with the worst possible taste are buying it.

“Bloody hell guv, I’m starved… reckon I could pop in and grab some diplomatic ceviche?”

Julian Assange to Run the Bill Gauntlet en Route to Ecuador.  This is going to be up there with OJ’s I405 dash in the white Ford Bronco.  The rozzas’ mission is to arrest Jules for breaching bail and then bundle him off to Sweden.  Jules’s mission is to get to Quito and kick back with his laptop and a canelazo.

“My ideal man? Hmm… possibly — how you say in English? — a ‘silver fox’, interested in computers, like me from the southern hemisphere…someone who likes to live dangerously a little…”

Maybe he could prevail upon his new Ecuadorian friends to facilitate an introduction to Miss Ecuador 2012, Carolina Aguirre Pérez, who has a declared interest in playing her part to bring about World Peace.  After all, dig deep and surely this is all Jules is after too.

UPDATE:  The Bill is apparently storming the embassy!  Or do they just want some ceviche?

And there you have it, all the analysis that’s fit to blog.  Consider yourself armed — and  dangerous.

Bon weekend.