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Monthly Archives: November 2012

Los big questions

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Things were bats**t crazy at the Wordporium last week; lost the will to blog. Particularly after La also lost The Race That Stops A Nation and the $100m Lotto.

Really missed Yankee Doodle, winner of La’s Colleague of the Year crown for eight years running; she was on holiday last week but back tomorrow so finally there’ll once again be someone to moan to who’s both sympa and less than two metres away during business hours.

En route to the Wordy this Day of Mon, various Big Questions elbowed each other among los cogalinos of la creaky old brain. Here they are. Health warning: some are not trivial.

1. Does fatherhood give some blokes pause about past behaviour? Heard a song on the radio, the self-same song a particularly cruel former flame put on a cracker of a mixed tape for La sometime around 1995. It was by Los Wannadies. La srsly nearly wore out the magnetisation on that tape, such was la love for it, and for him. Let’s just say that, for a nasty couple of years there, he was the cat and La was the ball of string.

Despite the fact this particular bloke is on los TV screens on a regular basis (but not Palazzo Trivialista’s; we’re mostly an ABC news famiglia, with the occasional viewing of TEN News at Five if we’re home), La rarely if ever thinks of him. But music is a powerful trigger — godammit — and I found myself thinking back to how mean he was, and wondering whether, now that he has a female loin fruit, he ever thinks about how blokes will handle her heart.

This gives away satisfactorily little about his identity; suffice to say he is an occasional tie-wearer

2. Have you ever eaten here? If you have, you’ll know it’s crazy good. If you haven’t cottaged and frottaged up to its mid-20th century Scandi-inspired gorgeousness and top grub, you should.

3. Contemplating a party in the Harbour City for your loin fruits?  Call Mr Soccer. He traipsed his fabbo inflatable boundary and his amazingly upbeat, energetic coaches to La neck of los woods yesterday and did the male JCC’s 5th birthday party (which I can’t talk about yet in any more detail than that, otherwise los ovaries will hurt).

Party was an unadulterated H-I-T. Sarah Terrific-Home even mooted the possibility of us pooling spondoolies and getting Mr Soccer to come every Sunday morning. May instigate a capital-raising.

Remember how funny we thought it was that there were three of them but they called themselves “twins“? Oh, how La misses that crazy knee-slapping 80s humour!

4. Do you miss vinyl? I don’t, as I was an early adopter, hugely ahead of la time, and made the leap from transistor radio straight to cassettes. But this gem was gifted by my amigo Lali to my male JCC, so he could form some understanding of what a “record” was. La’ve brought it into the Wordy as I’ve been called upon to make a the-world-is-changing-fast style video production, and this will feature prominently in a highly original, un-cliched and truly unpredictable montage spanning a gramophone to — you guessed it — an iPod.  Shove over, Spielberg, there’s a new wunderkind on the block.

5. Are you happy we have four more years of elegance and eloquence in the White House? I am, as is the entire Famiglia Trivialista-Seriousimo, as we Know People Who Know People. Word on the Hill is that our good friend, The Colonel, will rejoin the administration, which can only mean one thing for our famiglia caravana: another trip to DC and another whirl or two around that amazing building. Bring it on.

6. Have you been wondering what it’s like to stay in my fantasy Paris appartement? You know — the one I was to buy with last Tuesday’s winnings? Well, in an amazing co-inky-dink, La Triv reader Ms Vampire Slayer, herself an exercise in chic Parisienne glamour, has reported that she recently did just that! Here’s her guest post report: “It was impressive. Large – two rooms were left unused [Ed: And she has several loin fruits]. Bigger than our house. Twas a melancholic farewell.” Good on you VS!

Enjoy the day. Be the cat, not the ball of string.

x

And they’re racing…

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On the way to the Wordporium this morning, La took a call from the female Junior Cost Centre (JCC).

“Who are you voting for today?”

Los cogolinos of the creaky old brain whirred away. La first instinct was to remind her that, as we are not Yankee Doodles, we are ineligible to vote in the Obama/Romney face-off.

Sizing up my silence as the general maternal cluelessness she’s becoming increasingly frustrated by, she continued, “Which horse? Which horse are you voting for?!”

Today, mes amis in Palestinian Territories, Occupied, Belgium, Singapore and Turkey (though La suspects the Ottoman reader was La Mamma Trivialista during her recent holiday) and ports closer to home, is Melbourne Cup day in the Wide Brown Land.

For many it’s a srs horse race, a chance to make good on form well-followed, a day to be wined and dined and do crazy things with fake flowers, headbands and a glue gun.

Today is also $100m Lotto day.

For La, winning against the odds is a simple matter of supply and demand.

Currently, supply of these things is low.

Mulberry frocks. In fact, Mulberry goods in general. There’s always room in La Closetta Trivialista for more Mulbers.

Miu Miu shoes. Again, demand is high and supply frustratingly low.

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Real diamonds. These fake Country Road brooches will have to do for now, or at least til la luck comes in this afternoon.

Flash handbags. This is Whistles, but now that I’m over 40 35, it’s high time for a bit of Dior ladybag action.

And there’s always room beneath the dusty rafters of Palazzo Trivialista for more Alexis, and sparkly accoutrements in general.

So that about covers current demand.  Oh, other than this.

Courtesy Havens in Paris — gods bless those people

My appartement in Paris.

And here’s how the demand will be met.

Yes, TWO Lights of Heaven… that nag had better get up

May the gods of fortune smile on you and me this lucky, lucky first Tuesday in November.

x

Angry ants in los rantypants

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In the famous words of Florence:

You hit me once
I hit you back
You gave a kick
I gave a slap
You smashed a plate over my head
And I set fire to our bed

And that about sums up La mood on this Day of Mon.

So what’s got the angry ants going in los rantypants?

  • Fighting loin fruits. Which they were all weekend. I try to impress upon each of them that the existence of the other inoculates them from solo care of a one-day incontinent La Triv, but they appear not to give two craps.
  • Seriousimo staying up til midnight for the past five nights fighting his way to the top of a tower of legal briefs. Then, no matter how quiet he tries to be, waking La up upon his ingress into la marital bed of deceit*.

  • Then this morning, this chump and his fracking dual leaf-blowers. Gods, La hates leaf-blowers.

  • Forgetting los wedding rings, then needing to worry that some cougar-fancying bloke will try and pick me up they will go missing from Palazzo Trivialista and I will be forced to blame loin fruits or domestic help for their disappearance.
  • Uploading picture of naked left hand and becoming depressed at increasingly scaly, aged nature of formerly plump, youthful handskin.

  • Unreconstructed Harbour City residents farting on the bus. Leave it at home, people.

  • Unforgiving nature of Harbour City sunshine taking too high a toll on formerly plump, youthful handskin and faceskin. Egads La dreads summer.

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  • Being greeted by enormous dead tuna upon entry to the food court beneath the Wordporium.

  • Owning 22 tubes of Nars Tempest lip gloss (approximately one per handbag) and finding none in il rucksacko. Srsly, who do you have to pay around here for a functioning brain?

  • Discovering presence of no more than 20 cents in la wallet. So no nerve-calming java jolt for La this morning. Not good news for anyone.

  • And, finally, there was this.  La works on Level 20. Say no more.

Let’s hope my Day of Mon improves, and that yours is already infinitely better x

*For morally inclined readers or those who might accuse La of oversharing, the term ‘marital bed of deceit’ relates to the underside of the bed in its occasional role as a hideyhole for unapproved purchases. They rest there until such time as it’s officially the truth to say to Seriousimo, “What? This old thing? I’ve had it for ages…”

FrankenWrap

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An unashamedly celeb-focused wrap this weekend. Still guaranteed to furnish you with insights and wisdoms, but unlikely to impress fellow luncheon- and soiree-goers into the breeding patterns of Beluga whales, quantum physics or Kant. Do your best.

Do you think Anna W would recoil from this decor? Thought she hated black. Maybe monochrome’s OK if it’s six stars.

Sandy Shunts Manhattan’s Shiniest to Top Hotels. Hmm, all not sounding too bad to La. Marc J, Anna W, Carine Roit etc have popped their plastic across the mahogony front desk of the Mark — a gaff La’s always dreamed of staying in. (Come on Seriousimo, get your act together, facilitate a debt-for-equity swap a la Nine Entertainment, and discover something called hotels.com.) Know there was much devastation and some loss of life, but fluffy towels at the Mark? It’s what I’d be doing if all goods, chattels and loved ones were in order I needed to charge my Triv Mobile Media Control Console and enjoy a cuppa slash cocktail.

INFphoto.com, via MailOnline

MillAsh Visit The Harbour City; Few Care. OMG, are they here? Sorry, La was too busy inspecting los t-zone pores to notice. This perpetual male kidult has always annoyed me; there’s no place in my world for men over the age of 11 who wear peaked caps backwards. And La srsly doubts he would do better than a straggly ‘tache. And los thoughts on Milla are well-known: having a moment with the Dior campaign, and triumphed as a ladyloving swan. However, wonder how she’ll feel in 2033 when she’s on the cusp of 50 and the gorgeous, talented and youthful Apple Martin, fresh off a world-beating cinematic turn as the wheelchair-bound winner of a vocal talent show, sidles up and pinches her kidult man.

“Her and that director? I thought it was hilarious..!”

All Is Forgvien for RPatz and KStew. La’s always had a cougar-sized soft spot for this fella. Handsome, brooding, and with fabulous hair, he seems to be a cut above the average dumb-as-a-box-of-hair teen pin-up. And this minx? Well, she strayed but paid. That global glare — not to mention the bile she copped from the world’s Twi-Hards — must have been tough to take at 23. Looks like nothing unites a couple quite like the impending propsect of a global blockbuster publicity tour.

Photo by Dave Benett, via MailOnline

Sophie and Jamie Prove Height Mismatch No Barrier To Growing Family.  Love these two. He’s scarily talented, she seems to be too, and outrageously beautiful. Love how the two of them together kind of reminds La of that bit in Sex and the City where Samantha dated the bloke who bought his clothes from the boys’ department in Bloomingdale’s. They’re having their second loin fruit. See, who needs to know about intifadas?

Princess Charlene And Prince Albert Pose Looking As Awkward As Ever. What do we think is going on here? Do we think Princess Char has come to terms with her 27 step-children to 27 different baby mamas dotted about Europe? They always look very uncomfy, these two, as if posing together is yet another step in delivering on some kind of pact. One smile and one click closer to being where — and with whom — they want to be. In a former life, La met Alberto in Lausanne, while I was on some undercover IOC corruption business. He was really very charming. And, during another covert operation, Seriousimo and I passed a blisteringly expensive weekend in Monte Carlo. OMG, that place is surreal. Can see why it sends people a bit la-la.

So — no Kant, and only a passing reference to the intifada. But hopefully you’ve gleaned something that will help you capture the attention of the cognoscenti this weekend.

x

Ca-tache-trophe

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Ladies, it’s that time of year again. La time when our aesthetic senses — and sometimes, sadly, even our physical ones — will be assualted by small hairs protruding from the top lips of men we know, and occasionally, men we love.

Yep — Movember. That ghastly invention of a cluster of well-intentioned male health charities, jealous of the wallet-conquering power of pink ribbons. An event created with all good thoughts of funding a cure for cancer, and no good thoughts whatsoever about ladies’ visual pleasure.

Sure, Clarky Gable owned the mo’.

…as did Dennis Lillee, and Matthew Le Nevez as Dennis Lillee.

And, of course, Newk rocked a mo’ like no-one before or since.

Tom Selleck was lucky enough to have one that accentuated his dimples.

And there’s only one man-of-a-certain-age who’s looked better with a salt-and-pepper ‘tache than Sean Connery…

…and that’s Il Pappa Trivialista, channeling his inner Bond on a Yuletide visit to Oxford Street.

But…does the world really need this?

Or this, I ask you?  (As does his mo’.)

As aesthetically offensive as these last two are, it’s the fellas who struggle to grow two hairs to rub together for whom La feels the greatest sympathy. Like…

…Olly Bloom. I know he’s married to everyone’s favourite alien-eyed, fecund breastfeeder extraordinaire (no, srsly, I think MK’s great — if only I could achieve that amount of distance between los boobs and la navel — v jaloux), but am I the only one who’s ever suspected Il Bloomster’s a little — ahem — weak-chinned and straggle-tached?

And that’s being charitable.

Speaking of charitable, better dash — la inbox is threatening to buckle under the weight of requests for dosh from hordes of fuzz-lipped Wordporium men. So how will I apportion los charity spondoolies this mo’ season, I hear you ask?

I’ll tell you how: on a cost-per-hair basis, and only to growths that La deems to be an improvement on the greenfield sites that were.

Suspect there won’t be a pressing need for a capital raising.

x