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Monthly Archives: September 2012

Macaron madness

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Do you get this Harbour City Ladurée mania?  Me neither.

Lords know La appreciates a macaron as much as the next overweight sweet-tooth, but when Signor Seriousimo — who loves nowt more than delivering La a news flash — announced Laduree was opening in Sydney, my first reaction was, “Well they won’t be fresh.”

And so La Smugalista gives you this from last weekend’s Sunday Tele:

“They were made in Switzerland in May before being frozen and shipped to Australia to be stored in a warehouse in Alexandria, but Sydneysiders have gone mad for the world’s most famous macarons.”

Srsly?  And people are lining up for more than 45 minutes to pay $3.30 each for one of these formerly frozen morsels, sold here under license?

We have some great home-grown mac-makers, including AZum and Mr Baroque in the Roques.  So it seems like yet another triumph of marketing over common sense. La cultural cringe lives on.

And everyone knows Pierre Hermé makes the best Parisien macarons anyway.

That said, on our recent jaunt to Paris, our hotel was across the road from St Germain’s Ladurée, and all members of clan Trivialista-Seriousimo scoffed at will.  Pierre was a whole three blocks away; sometimes convenience just wins out.

And so to the Boyfriend.

Don’t fret — Seriousimo hasn’t yet been usurped by a toy boy.

I mean the Current/Elliott Boyfriend.  I have these jeans and, particularly for those of us built for comfort rather than speed, they are outrageously nice to wear.  They can be hard to come by on the interwebs, but here they are on My Wardrobe (good, trustworthy UK site, but not free returns last time La looked — i.e., they’ll refund or exchange for you but you’ll have to wear the cost of posting the goods back to those Great United Kingdoms).

Male JCC, who’s 4, announced yesterday his career goal is to open a laundromat.  “You just have to put the clothes in the machine,  then pull them out and put them in another machine.  It would be really easy.”  And this from the boy who took great offence when two girls at gymnastics told him he was lazy for taking a load off in the middle of class.

Next he’ll be telling me he just wants to open a Ladurée franchise.  “You just defrost them and put them on the counter, then take people’s money. It would be really easy.”  Hmm, he may be onto something…

Big in Europe

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Miss A, of meat fruits fame, continues her role in La life as peerless coolhunter.  She’s been twiddling some knobs of her own over there in those Great United Kingdoms, and found us this.  Prepare to feel misty.

And just so you can look chic while you give your lover some time, los old amigos at Tallulah & Hope tell me they’re offering up to 60% off their gorgeous kaftans, it being the dying days of the Euro summer and all.

Here’s my lovely friend, Ms Whis, posing in her T&H ‘tan in St Tropez this past Euro summer.  As you do.

La bank of blog stat multiscreens tells Triv that, in the past week, readers in France, Belgium and Spain have cast their English-reading peepers on this humble blog.  Who’d a thunk it?

Thank you, Euro types.  May you know that I am La huge fan of your part of the world, and I wish you all the very best that you may overcome your fiscal troubles painlessly and sharpish.

On the other  hand, if you’re just some random trawling software trying to pass yourself off as Euro-sophisticate blog-munchers, then I wish a pox on both your mainframes.

On that note, happy Mardi.

Fun (for who?) run

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Yesterday, female JCC and I embarked upon what’s known in the trade as a family fun run.

Here she is, contemplating the beast that must be tamed.20120916-115138.jpg

And here are nos tootsies, raring to go.  Yes, she has raided a local lavender bush for luck.20120916-115216.jpg

Boy, there were a lot of sport-billy punters at the starting line.20120916-115259.jpg

“Look Mum, no hands cars!”20120916-115326.jpg

It was around this point that the female JCC spotted a chum and left La in her dust.  Off she ran, with her little friend (thanks for supervising them, Mr Shasta Daisy — a good man and a fellow TAL fan), while I maintained what I thought was a top-shelf walking pace.  I must have overestimated my speed, however, as I was overtaken by one woman in a wheelchair and two bumblebees.  Lost sight of female JCC within two minutes.  Slightly scary.20120916-115400.jpg

Here’s the view from the road outside the Wordporium.20120916-115428.jpg

I was so far behind the pack at this point — and tired of all the course volunteers shouting, “Come on!!!  You can do it!!! Great work!!!” at me — that I contemplated hopping the fence and lying down for a rest on the stones of HarbourHenge to hide my shame.20120916-115452.jpg

JCC finished six minutes ahead of me, then we walked through the Botanic Gardens.  This is for Faux Fuchsia, in case she ever reads La blog.20120916-115516.jpg

As we waited to be collected by Seriousimo and the male JCC, I longed to lie down in the back of this and rest.20120916-115550.jpg

But Seriousimo fought the closed roads and piled-up traffic and took us to Zinc for a restorative omelette.  Yes, salt was liberally sprinkled.20120916-115613.jpg

La was very proud of the female JCC, who still only has very small legs, but was lonely.  Might have been La debut and finale “fun” run all in one.

Little boys

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It’s nice that, when you continue your long-held tradition of putting the fruits of your loins on carny-built contraptions…

20120915-182914.jpg
…they still love you afterwards.

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It’s fete

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Today is what is known in the parenting game as a s***fight.

9.15 – take Female Junior Cost Centre to a choir session to see whether principessa likey likeys for regular Saturday morning enrichment. So far, things not going well, so happily looks like Sat Slot 1 will remain relatively free.

10.00 – drop off cakes to Female JCC fete. Cakes that would have been larger and heavier but that they were victims of a Triv Batter Attack during production.

10.30 – embark upon schlep to gymnastics where both JCCs tumble and balance in manner of young Nadia Cs. Not.

12.30 – feed troops and hopefully self. Unpack Coles Online order delivered last night (chilled goods already in fridge). Draw breath.

1.30 – drive into innards of Harbour City to pick up ‘bibs’ for silly fun run La foolishly agreed to do with Female JCC tomorrow. Panic when realise have signed up for 9km rather than 3km trot.

2.00 – laundry to lovely David in Darlo due to being time-challenged working Trivialista.

3.00 – head to Female JCC fete to part with large chunks of discretionary cash.

4.45 – prep Female JCC for string ensemble performance at fete. Watch said performance in manner of proud yet slightly menacing stage mother.

6.00 – shuffle Signor Seriousimo over to burger stall to show what an old hand he now is when it comes to communal rissole flipping.

7.00 – head home, slam sugar-charged small people into bed.

7.15 – slam self into bed.

Enjoy your weekend, and remember it’s a time for rest.

Randomania

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This was the sight that greeted me as I waited for la morning java jolt.

Gross.  Does this dude really think we want to share his tootsie sweat?  As if forcing us to look at him inside corporate walls in his cripes-I’m-middle-aged-I’ll-take-up-cycling-rather-than-buy-a-sportscar knicks wasn’t bad enough.  No, we also have to look at (and sniff) his stockinged feet.

In La viewalista, this does little to burnish the already less-than-sparkly reputation of Wide Brown Land menfolk as beacons of class and discernment.

Last night, the Triv Media Control Console directed the bank of mulitscreens to flicker onto Channel 9’s new home-grown drama, House Husbands.  Not bad.

However, what struck La most was who the hell Rhys Muldoon is looking scarily like these days.  Los cogs of la brain spluttered and creaked — and then — pling.

Kenny Branagh.

Man, I’m good.

House Husbands also stars La old friend, Julia Morris.  Julia and I went to school together at St Joseph’s, East Gosford, back in La day.  I was in Year 7, she was in Year 10, and it was L-O-V-E love.  I even tried to walk like her.  The height of my girl crush was watching her play Frenchie in the joint production of Grease with the St Eddie’s boys.

Why did she do all those dire years in TV sketch comedy and wait so long to take on a dramatic role?  She’s great on HH, where she plays the wife of dodgy old Gary Sweet.  Bet he longs for his Bodyline days.

Ah well, old age happens to La best of us, non?

But to fight it, I’m headed out with some ladyfolk tonight.  Look at my amazing Marc by Marc Jacobs clutch.

GOTCHA!  It’s not a clutch, it’s a make-up bag! Can you believe the lining of something so stylish is destined to bear foundation and mascara streaks?  It was a present from my friend Yankee Doodle. She gives great gift, that Miss Doodle.

Today I am wearing a dress that teeters dangerously close to nightie territory.  In fact, after a sustained period of EWIW (eating whatever I want), there’s a lot of reaching for the stretchy and the waistless going on in La Closetta.  This must stop.

Thus the return of la salad days and la walking.  There’s nowt else for it, apparently.

Ciao.

Smokin’ knobs

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The knobs at the Triv Media Control Console are smokin’, so ferociously have they been twiddled of late.  And here’s a taste of what’s flickered into view on the bank of multiscreens as a result.

This is a cracker — by someone called Meg Bignell who lives in Tassie. Go Meg.

Did you all catch Rakey on ABC1 last Thursday?  If not, here are some dialogular highlights.

Cleaver Greene — amazingly, not bedding a single lady in this still from Rake, season two

  • Rakey referred to the court in which he was barristering as “a Palazzo of Justice” (!!!!! — the Junior Cost Centres, if they could, would likely argue for more justice in our palazzo, but I’ll reign as La Dictatalista for as long as I can)
  • Matt Day looking even spunkier than he did in season one — should he be admitted to the yurt?

There’s a lot to be said for a geek-made-good, in La book

  • Toni Collette as the NSW premier (“I’m queen of the f*****g prom!”) was a stroke of genius — as were her Kristina Keneally-esque side hair flicks
  • Cleaver on why he prefers to — ahem — “date” right-leaning women:  “Left wing women are vegan, all about ‘context’ and talk about an orgasm like it’s a pet spaniel”
  • Premier Toni busted by her husband sending naughty texts:  “Has Shane Warne taught you nothing?!?”

But the best — the very, very best — thing about the return of Rake, is that soon the Don Hany-sized hole on my screen will be no more! Yes — he’s back in all his televisual glory come this Thursday night! *grins in manner of Cheshire cat*

Don’s back — happy days for the Australian ladyhood

You’ll notice I’ve served up Don — à la Damien Trengrove in this week’s upcoming episode — extra large.  My treat to you.

In matters less trivial, regular readers will know La’s a huge fan of the radio program, This American Life.  Its poddies play almost constantly on the Triv Mobile Media Control Console (aka iPhone).  A regular contributor to the show was the writer David Rakoff, who died last month.  Last night’s knob-twiddling yielded a Rakoff gem:  his piece from the live show TAL staged in May this year.  Enjoyez.

If you liked this, you will inevitably love this, TAL’s recently-aired tribute to David.

Life:  it’s for living, non?   Ciao x