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Monthly Archives: October 2012

Wick of Rand, Wick of Chis

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Last night, as we were sitting down to the televisual joyfest that is Rake (membrum virile, anyone?), Seriousimo and I felt like wetting our whistles. (Cleaver Greene kind of makes you want to hit the bottle.) We scoured the cellar — nestled beneath the dustiest and most pigeon poo-splattered nethers of Palazzo Trivialista — and stumbled upon this gem. Twas gifted to us by our very good chums, Los Harissas of the Wick of Rand, for Seriousimo’s last birthday.

La looked askance at Seriousimo. “Shouldn’t we wait, share it with Los Harissas?” And it took us all of, ooh, a third of a second to agree that it would be best tasted there and then.

Surely no-one would lop us off the friendship tree for that?  Would they?

20121012-201800.jpgToday La enjoyed a real treat: lunch at Matt Moran’s new Wick of Chis in Woollahra. Good place, but the larger treat was the company — three gorgeous McK woman, currently visiting from the Land of Queens.

20121012-201830.jpgThere was an interesting spud vignette going on near the entrance to the toileys. Not sure whether I’ll try this at la Palazzo just yet, but certainly something to keep in mind for those under-utilised corners.

20121012-201857.jpgI know this is La second mention of toot paper in the past few posts (have you been stocking up on 20 packs of Quilton for $10?); don’t want to appear obsessed. But this was a fetching meat safe/bog roll arrangement in the gorgeous loos.

20121012-201918.jpgWick of Chis had some albumens arranged near the reception desk. Snapped a pic of this one, which was the first ever member of the Trivialista Musica Viva collezione.

After some pranzo and prosecco, we wandered along Ocean Street and into Parterre. I bought Laself a Fat Bird for the blue room.

Here’s the magnificent fellow in side profile. I am loving this Fat Bird.

What I am not loving is having been summoned for jury duty on Monday. Civic duty be damned — La did it in Londra a few years ago and there’s no more torturous experience than having to sit in a room with 11 complete strangers and come to an agreement. Apart from genuine torture.

Wish La luck.

Welcome to Ryantown

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Benvenuto to the space beneath the virtual dusty rafters.  Today, you find La in a wistful mood.

That’s because I’ve just returned from Ryantown.

Ryantown (which bears little resemblance to Smugtown, home to La’s occasional juiced-up alter ego, Smuggy McSmugginson, after she’s tracked down a bargain) in East London is inhabited by the incomparable Rob Ryan — poet, dreamer, artist extraordinaire.

Rob’s recently added another string to his bow and — for my lira — possibly the most exciting one thus far.


We’ve barely touched on the topic of scarfage here at the virtual palazzo thus far.  Suspect this is because every time I contemplate a scarfalista post, I’m crippled by the fear that words will fail me.  La loves scarves like Tony Abbott loves Alan Jones.  Possibly more.

(And not just because they’re a more effective and comfy way than this to hide an encroaching turkey neck.)

Which leads me to Rob’s handiwork.

‘Every night at the same time, I go outside to look up at the moon. I hold it tight and think of where you might be, a thousand miles away, looking up at the same night sky. I feel you in my heart thinking of me.
This same moon that looked down on my parents and your parents and all the parents that there ever were looks down at us now still sharing its light
These same stars and this same sky hang over both you and I, in our dreams and in my heart, they help us feel less far apart.’

And the best thing is, this amazing necksheath is a whopping great 2.5m x 73cm.  La bigger, la better.

He’s also done some smaller ones in three different colourways — too cute by half.

‘I miss being a small girl.’ So do I sometimes, Rob.

Smallies are $135, and the misty-making big one is $205 from misterrob on etsy. Silk, and made by some impoverished ladyfolk at an Indian co-operative, so good for both the wattle and the conscience.

While we’re in Ryantown, let’s take a wistful look at some of Rob’s other laser-cut and screen-printed masterpieces.

‘Can We? Shall We? One day very soon, let us go away together just you and me. Can We? Shall We? Call in sick one day and travel to the sea and hold hands all day. Can We? Shall We? Eat our sandwiches on the train, get drunk on fresh air and come home tired and never tell anyone… Ever.’

‘Can We? Shall We?’ hangs, hopefully, above the Trivialista-Seriousimo marital bed.

And — at the risk of over-sharing — this one srsly, srsly makes los ovaries ache.

‘The father-to-be turned upon the window ledge to face the city (if not the entire world) that lay spread out beneath him. And swelled up with pride, he burst out into song – louder than he had ever sung before. He could not tell you where the words came from, he certainly didn’t plan them in his head, they rose directly from his heart up to his beak and from there they travelled out across the whole town and beyond… A Child we are going to have!! I already feel like the proudest Dad! And I don’t think I could be anymore glad! All of my life I dreamed of this day! And I will teach him or her how to fly, just like my father taught me. I want every bird in the whole world to know… A Child we are going to have!’

And finally…

‘My home will have no windows, doors or floors nor bricks or mortar.
My only home is in your arms and nowhere else.’

Come on softies, join me on the count of three for one enormous collective cyber*sigh*.

A Lawsons unto itself

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La lives in the vicini of Lawsons, an auction house. Sarah Terrific-Home got me on to their Friday weekly auctions — you know, drop-in-and-bid stuff. Palazzo Trivialista can always do with some more items to catch the dust that drifts from the pigeon poo-splattered rafters so, a few weeks ago, I happily went along.

Trust me, between STH and La, we’re talking four extremely eagle-eyed peepers, capable of a laser-like lock on a bargain. Although we missed the bulk of the auction action, we did spy a few gems. Out of curiosity and a rabid desire to know when I’m on to a good thing, La looked back through the auction results from that day to see what some of the aforementioned gems ended up selling for.

Pair of lovely bedside tables. Would have been yours (or mine!) for only $75. As we all know, a good bedside table is hard to find.

Oak dresser — went for the princely sum of $130.

Sweet Art Deco cabinet — made someone’s day at $120.

Sweet ladydesk — something I’m kicking myself I didn’t snaffle for $260.

And the piece La’m truly regretting I didn’t raise a paddle for: gorgeous mahogany drawers that sold for $200, and are now being displayed in the window of a local antique store for — wait for it — $1,850.

Even those of truly quirky tastes are catered for.

Anyone for a $150 antique wire lobster trap? Surely the handy among us could do something amazing with this, a deck of playing cards and some LED lights.

There are also major art, glass and ceramic bargains to be had. And it’s not all mouldy oldie loot, they also hold C20th auctions. Scandi rosewood sideboard that would sell for (trust me, I’ve looked, lusted and left) $6,000 in Great Dane?  At Lawsons, yours for $1,500.

Even if you have to engage the services of a handy French polisher for zsjoozsjing, much of this would still be a bargain at twice the price.

La’s set to be all over the Friday auctions like a cheap suit. Planning to cottage and frottage up to the dusty goodies like no-one’s beeswax with my eagle-eyed friend.  When that happens, you can look forward to another guest post from Smuggy McSmugginson from Smugtown, Smugstralia. Blogging from atop a $85 turned-leg Victorian chaise.

Wish you were here..?

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On the weekend I took the Male Junior Cost Centre to the party of one of his little pre-school chums. After approaching the event with an attitude of let’s-get-this-over-with resignation, this ended up being one of those kiddie dos during which I texted Signor Seriousimo thus: “Suck-ahhh! You’re on the sofa and I’m here!!!”

This was the view from ‘here’.

Got back?  Well this house has front.  Waterfront, to be precise.

What La loved most about it, though, was that it belonged to the birthday boy’s grandparents, who bought it 35 years ago or thereabouts and have resisted the urge to ‘zsjoozsj’ it. It’s a real, functioning, working family home where children have been raised and where grandchildren now visit, complete with cork tile kitchen floor and much-loved, lived-in furniture.

Sure as eggs, one day someone will get their mitts on it and knock out walls, do a Candy Brothers makeover and deplete it of every shard of its charm.  This must be one of the most beautiful palazzos in Sydney and I’m so glad I got to see it. And male JCC was glad there was a reptile show, so smiles all round.

Spotted this on the way home.  Assume it has something to do with football, about which La couldn’t give less of a fig.

Enough twaddle and nonsense — onto matters of serious import.

Am srsly not loving this wedge boot phenomenon. It’s all over the shop in the northern hemi, so will hit our fair shores post the summer sales. La for one is unlikely to boot up for this trend. Do you think it’s inspired by the cankle? Ruddy hideous.

\Had some not-so-good feedback from a couple of readers on their trip to Ojay. Feel bad!  But I am liking my v v v buona value Wordporium frock from there, particularly with la new turquoise neckpiece. Maybe I relieved them of their best stock.

A more body confident woman would snap a pic of her whole person, but not this one; not til we see more benefits from the salad days here at Palazzo Trivialista.

But anyhows, this is what I want to look like when I’m — wait for it — 81.  It’s the incomparable Carmen Dell’Orefice at New York Fashion Week.

On the one hand, am happy I have something to aspire to. On the other hand, am depressed that I’m aspiring to look like an 80-odd-year-old, albeit a foxy one.

How times change.

Leading the way

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Very few among you would doubt that, when it comes to setting the tone for what’s new and spangling, La Triv is up there with the best.

Coolhunter has nothing on La. Photo agencies have a stack of images they just can’t sell of fash editors pulling faces, looking like they’re choking on something.  It’s my dust.

That’s why I barely raised a surgically tweezed brow when I spied piccies from Mimco’s latest campaign.

“So what?” you ask.  “Noodle-thin clotheshorse, killer clodhoppers, pool, SoCal vibe…what’s the big deal?”

Does this look familiar?

Yup, it’s La and SoCal resident Glammo Amo taking in some rays from beneath the cool of a beach brolly at the Parker Palm Spring around this time last year. La came back, made a few calls to those who’d give their eye fangs to be quite so in-the-know, and before you can say imitation is the sincerest form of blah blah, campaign after campaign is being shot poolside.

Courtesy Mimco’s Facebook page

Palm Springs is fabtabulous.  Formerly the out-of-town destination for Old Hollywood legends, nowadays home to the retired and the gay. Suffice to say, small canines abound, and the cocktails are amazing.

Brunny Browser, Glammo Amo and I were there for a joint watershed birthday ladytrip celebration. Man, we had fun. Some singing into hairbrushes and inappropriate discussions about past loves may or may not have featured.

Headless ladies on the tear — watch out, old people and gay men of Palm Springs

It’s very healthy and restorative to have ladytrips with besties.  If only it were possible way more often.

If you’re interested, here’s some more Mimco / Parker Palm Springs p**n.  FYI, Triv is not on the take from either of these business interests — remains incorruptible.  That is, until Miu Miu gets in touch.

Bush whacking

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Today, la famiglia Trivialista-Seriousimo did something it rarely does.

Bush walked.

We embarked on the Spit to Manly walk, a legend among Harbour City trots.

It afforded outrageously beautiful vistas.

We also met some locals.

La could have been feeling paranoid from exposure to all that fresh air, but do you think he’s giving me a dirty look? I was guilty of thinking he’d make nice pair of summer sandals and a clutch, but only for a second or two. Then I remembered he’s one of the Gods’s Own Creatures.

Seriousimo was eyeing off these harbourside palazzos. Sure, he’d fancy the peace and quiet, but he’d need a stack of paperweights to ensure his legal briefs didn’t flutter off through the heads.

Then, some way before our destination, it all got a bit too much. We ended up here.

We arrived at our destination and partook of one of these — well, those of us over 18, anyhow.

Not a typical Trivialista tipple, but a well-deserved one on this occasion.

Hope your Sunday involved sunshine — and some form of chilled refreshment.

Ciao x

That’s how we wrap

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Feeling a gap in your hard news knowledge? Wish you could command the room with sharper insights into los grande issues? Feel and wish no more — merely read on.

Chihuahua Gets Blessed at Annual Pet Mass in Brazil. La never promised intifada insights here at the virtual palazzo. Nor coverage of issues that would have Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein scratching their pates. What strikes La about this photo is how strangely naked this pupster looks in an ecclesiastical setting. And it did happen this week, so it does offically qualify to join la weekly wrap. Justification for funny photo over.

Justin Beiber Listens to Own Music, Loses Lunch. Oh Justin, you expect us to beliebe it was down to too much milk? Male JCC was hugely distressed by the news of The Beaver’s illness. Seriousimo didn’t help the situation by replaying la vomit vid multiple times at the Triv Media Control Console. How do we all feel about Beave’s ability to make the leap from cutie-patooty teen sensation to adult hip hop bop überstar? La’s not so sure — but don’t tell my youngest loin fruit.

Jones. For the information of los readers in Palestinian Territories, Occupied and points further afield, this man is a highly influential radio announcer. I’m here to tell you, though, that he gets a bum rap. He is a deeply misunderstood man, and a good friend to disenfranchised, marginalised young right-wingers everywhere. His greatest act of friendship and support thus far has been to take them into his confidence, sharing deep, personal insights with them. This week it was reported that he said, at a ‘private’ gathering of young acolytes, that our Wide Brown Land Supreme Leader’s father “died of shame” at his daughter’s “[ongoing lies]”. But he didn’t mean for other people to find out! He thought he was among friends! He didn’t ever think she’d hear! All the poor man was trying to do was give some pudgy, rosy-cheeked outsiders a view from inside the the tent. Give the fella a break, vindictive, latte-swilling lefty media types.

Palazzo Versace on the Market for $70m. Now you know what life looks like beneath the dusty rafters of Palazzo Trivialista: much like this, just with a few more bits of lego and pairs of Crocs dotting the terrazzo. Do you think Donatella et al ever had any real connection with the Plastic Paradise gaff that shared their name? La GC always seemed an appropriate spot for their famiglia to have a hotel outpost, but somehow the Wide Brown Land did not. Anyhow, check your spare change to see whether it could be yours in time for the next school holidays. Then invite me.

Slow news week, folks. Aside from these razor-sharp issues, not much to get excited about.

Buona weekenda x

Smug is in the air

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Today, we have our first guest blogger!  She’s Smuggy McSmuggerson, from Smugsville, Smugstralia.  I’ll let her take it from here.

Actually, let’s not bother with masks and subterfuge.  It’s juste La (geddit? *sniggers in manner of Mutley*).  And why is La smug?  Because, today, I discovered Ojay.

Apparently, I discovered it after it had gone into administration, so let’s hope it stays around long enough for more of us to enjoy it.

L’awoke this morning…despondent. Careful thumbing of the contents of La Closetta Trivialista yielded sweet bugger all in terms of summer Wordporium workwear. After moaning to Seriousimo about the need to cut out our evening ritual of choc-bikkie gobbling, I determined to pop to los shoppes today and see what I could dig up — at minimal cost, this still being the Era of Frugality.

Headed into Veronika Maine, always a reliable hub for lady workwear.  Pfffft!  What a load of tired dross we found there.  (Note for newer readers: you can tell La’s feeling smug when she starts to employ the collective pronoun to refer only to Laself.)

Then, next door, something caught my peeper in the window of Ojay.  This was it.

So I wandered in.

I flicked and flacked as is my wont, enjoying the satisfying sound of coathanger hook on metal rack.  Mentally cottaging and frottaging this top with that skirt already resident in La Closetta, thumbing through the virtual sartorial Rolodex in my head to see what could marry up with what.  And it was rich pickings.

The clincher was the fact that everything, everything, was reduced by 40%.

So this was what I bought.

L’aforementioned frock.

This fab digi top.

This va-va-voom bombshell pencil skirt in super thick suckemin fabric that srsly makes me look like I have Marilyn Monroe’s arse.

And this amazing kimono-ish jacket scenario, which will see me through much word-generating during summer days at the Wordporium.

And do you know how much this haul set me back?  $360.  Would otherwise have been $600 (though those among you who’ve moved on from using your fingers and toes to add and subtract didn’t need me to tell you this).

Ojay’s website is full of absolutely stonking buys — and their winter stock is actually 50% off already heavily reduced prices. By way of example:

This fabbo silk shift will set you back — ooh — $39.95.

And this one will lighten your debit card by $49.50, as will this one.

And how cute is this skirt for 60 spondoolies?

So look for me swanning around the Harbour City in my new — cheap — purchases. I’ll be the one with the cat-that-ate-the-canary* grin. You know what they say:  there’s nowt as smug as folk.

*Anyone know how many calories are in a canary?


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Loving Laself in my Clover Canyon top. It’s happy clothing.

Took the JCCs to brekkie at our new local this morning.  Do you see any problems associated with this name, or is it just me?

As the JCCs observed, “Will they serve us burnt toast?”

It’s a new café incarnation at a site where the previous incumbents were, in La humble but well-caféd opinion, a bunch of surly would-be hipsters, all of whom had the hump that they had to serve babycino after babycino to crusty-nosed infants rather than single origin Kenya Kichwa Tembo to fellow dudes with low-slung dacks and ears and noses full of spacers.

However, not much seems to have changed.  The previous dudes have been replaced by newer dudes, the latter bunch perhaps sporting more piercings and ink than spacers and ink.

FFS, it’s pram-and-school-jam-central where we live; if you don’t like it, hop on back over to the other side of Parramatta Road.  And take your snarl with you.

And now to a topic of which a would-be hipster would thoroughly disapprove:  loo roll.

For La money, this is the pick of the bunch.  Always $10, always reliable.  So cheap for 20 rolls! Anyone else of fan of the Quilton?  We seem to eat the stuff in our house, so achieving a suitable price v quantity ratio is important.

Any mention of toily paper reminds me of my old working days in Londra.  Not the very early days when I was so impoverished I had to steal the stuff from my employer (a charity — gods forgive me!), but the time Miss A and I were working together at a past Wordporium and had to come up with a crisis management strategy for the launch of a new range of bog roll. We were called upon to cover issues of such import as “poke-through” (manufacturer’s terminology, not ours) and “flush resistance”. It was around that time that both of us realised it was time to find a new Wordporium.

The weight loss mission continues.  In the Era of Frugaility, the best thing to do is go shopping in one’s closet. Sadly, either the moths have nibbled some of La clothes smaller or La girth is getting larger. All clothing cupboards beneath the dusty rafters of Palazzo Trivialista are chock full of moth balls, as I live in fear of cashmere-ocide at the hands of the winged beasts.  So dang, I guess it’s the latter.

Thus, bo luc lac. This was delicious.

Happy Wednesday.