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Monthly Archives: August 2012

“I thought I was balloon”

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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.

Egg-citing times

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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.

Yo! The Wrap

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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.

Clover Canyon in the Closet

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Very happy with this little purchase currently winging its way across the oceans from the master cottagers and frottagers, NAP.  Taking La Mamma Trivialista out for her birthday soon so may press it into its debut service.

It’s by Clover Canyon.  Hadn’t heard of them, but liking their work.  Very Penguin-esque home page (tick of approval), and an embarrassment of digi print riches.  So far, what’s not to like?

Sometimes even someone of such historically profligate spending habits as La Trivialista needs a nudge to click “BUY”, particularly in this new, self-imposed era of frugality.  (Take it from me, if you don’t know it already: I’ve twiddled lots of knobs at the Triv Media Control Console, consulted some economic seers and chatted extensively to Signor Seriousimo, a finance lawyer who currently has NOTHING TO DO, and — money-wise — the world is indeed heading down the crapper.)

Anyhow, the nudge came from Ms Whis — thank you Whis, La closest closet confidante.

La resisted the Miu Miu clutch that would have matched perfectly, so some restraint was shown.


The gods said a sunny winter “gods morgen” on my way to the Wordporium today.

It’s been a busy few weeks at the Wordy, but we’re about to send some major words out into the world and then breathe a few kilowatts of sigh in relief.

BiPolar FashMash Disorder

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Now, enough frivolity.  On to serious biz.

There’s still a Hany-sized hole on the Triv TV screen.  Where has the man gone, for gods’ sake?  I know I put him in the Yurt, but that was figurative.

Just to remind you what the hole looks like.

Don Hany, making an immeasurable contribution to the cred of the TV Week Logies.  Srsly, they couldn’t buy this kind of endorsement.

And based on this photo someone needs to give this man a watch contract.

In other serious current affairs, what the hell is Seed up to?

While their kidstuff looks great but is of questionable quality and insanely unjustifiable prices (Boden is superior in all respects) their ladystuff is suffering a serious case of BiPolar FashMash Disorder.  (And they’re not alone in the ward with the unfashionably padded walls.)

One season, charcoal and sack-like with swathes of cheap Chinese jersey, next season some weird acid neon lovechild of J Brand and Katies.  Good gods, fash investor overlords, what are you thinking hiring these people to design for you?  Or do you get good talent then squish the lifeblood out of their creativity by screaming at them to rip off random images from style.com?!?

And said overlords have the cheek to whinge and wail about Wide Brown Land ladyfolk flocking to the interwebs en masse to cover ourselves with better clothes at far better prices.

Grrr.

In other news, does anyone with Junior Cost Centres find themselves saying this as often as La Triv does?:  “Hmm, I’m not sure, we’ll have to Google it.”

I said this to the JCCs — in response to such questions as, “What’s the smallest country in the world?” (though Signor Seriousimo helpfully jumped in with, “Either San Marino or the Vatican” before I could hit the keyboard); “What country steals the most money from its people?”; “Did the Carpathia end up sinking like the Titanic?”; “What makes tears come when you’re sad?”; and finally, “Why when you laugh sometimes does a bit of wee come out?” — approximately 21 times last week.

Boy, back in the golden olden days mothers and fathers must have just had to USE THEIR BRAINS.

And, just ’cause, look at the gorgeous perfection of this mandaroodle (as they are known beneath the dusty rafters).

Remind you of anything?

Yup — Heston’s meat fruits!

What a clever little pom that Heston is, taking inspiration from nature.  And thanks again to Miss A for her cameo appearance and for not making a fuss that I’ve never made her sign a release form.

Oly wrap

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What are the young royals going to do now that the Rolympics (as the male JCC refers to them) are over?

And what are we going to do here beneath the dusty rafters?

The Bolt has generated much excitement and impersonation among the small people.

For the gods’ sakes, look at the guns on the man.  For a sprinter, he’s a man mountain.  Very pleased for our Jamaican cousins.  If each Australian gold medal cost the Wide Brown Land taxpayer $10m, what do you think the huge swag of Jamaican neckwear cost the average Jamaican?  Surely poor old Jamaica’s punched far above its weight — isn’t its GDP only about $10m?

Such is the popularity of the fastest man in the world that La Poocha Trivialista, Diggers, is already being mentally dispatched by the Junior Cost Centres and replaced by a new four-legged friend, to be known as “Bolt”.

Don’t have the heart to tell them this is not entirely original thinking.

And at the close, Poshy showed us she’s still quite the showgirl…

Hats off to any mother of four who can dance in ladyshoes that high without inducing a pelvic floor accident.  Well done Victoria.

And that Lord Coe is quite a handsome devil.

Methinks I read one of his parents is Sri Lankan..?  Which puts him in the Jamie Durie silo of handsomeness, minus the Chippendale past and presumably without the stack heels or green thumbs.

Well done to those United Kingdoms.  Jolly good show.

Great omelettes of the world

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La Triv is a woman of many passions, and jostling for pole position among them would be omelettes.

I tackled my first omelette in Home Ec in Year 7, and never looked back.  Never has a bad word been uttered about an Omeletta Trivialista, except by Nana Joan, who once gently proposed that I fry my onions before installing them in their eggy home.

Will definitely be giving the above spagel, schenken and fontina om a whirl beneath the dusty rafters — thanks Brigitte.

And on every trip to Paris I’ve been meaning to try this fave of LLG

Parisien omelette porn courtesy of Liberty London Girl

And, of course, who could forget The BePonytailed One’s “famous” om from last week?  I’m still yet to grabby me some crabby and bring this to life, but it’s in my near future.

One of La favourite local omelettes is to be gotten at Cafe Zinc in Potts Point.  It’s a very simple scenario of herbs and a lovely cheddar.  Tell Peter and Nigel La Triv sent you (and watch for the blank stare).

Suspect will soon start to sound like Stacey’s mother, Gwen, from Gavin & Stacey.  To quote the Deity Google, “she is a housewife and regularly offers to cook omelettes.”

There could be worse epitaphs.  Might even like the housewife bit — more time to hang beneath the dusty rafters (does that make La sound like a bat?), sweating the small stuff.