Monthly Archives: December 2012

I Famiglie Trivialista and Seriousmo were flung far and wide this 25 Dec, thus it was a low-key, four-person gathering beneath the dusty rafters of Palazzo Trivialista yesterday.

La day got off to a cracking start when Seriousimo reached beneath los dusty branches of the old tannenbaum and presented La with these:

Quelle lucky old duck.

And those kind people at J Farren-Price, whence they came, also gave La these:

Did you notice the one on the left is empty open? *Hic*

La loves the whole Santa shenanigan, except for the part where one fails to get due parental credit for choosing amazing Christmas gifts. Like this one:

Yup, a full-on sparkle suitcase. Female JCC loved it; wish she knew I’d chosen it and not the man in red. Churlish, moi?

Robed los loin fruits in their finest and headed off to St Mary’s Catherdral for some churchification. Triv’s pointy elbows ensured we snared a top pew.

Il Grande Formaggio of la church in the Wide Brown Land, Cardinal Pell, was saying mass, so it sort of felt like celebrity day.

Signor Seriousimo is obsessed with organs (stop it!), so our pew was strategically located close enough for him to read the music and observe los workings of the gazillions of levers and pedals. Organs remain a mystery to La.

You know how Triv loves a digi-print? Well, as in life, there is both good and bad in la world of digis. Hard to see from this image, but this worshipper was wearing a digi-print shirt adorned with an image of a magical fairytale coach. Not sure what represented the greater evil: the heinous shirt, or La snapping a pic during mass with the express intention of blogging about a fellow Christian’s poor taste.

It was raining, but the sunflowers still looked reasonably cheery, if slightly bedraggled.

Female Junior Cost Centre channelled some srs kiddie Left Bank chic in her new ensemble. Gods we love J Crew. Los sandals from Santa have small heels, a la Suri Cruise (=bad mother).

Managed to squeeze in a viewing of la favourite movie of all time, It’s A Wonderful Life, starring il favourite thesp of all time, JStew. So sad he’s not around anymore making existential fables.

Had a teary moment when I opened my present from Miss A all the way over there in those Great United Kingdoms (but soon to be a resident of the Cut of Connecti in those Great, if weapon-soaked, United States).

The polar opposite of the gilded carriage digi-print: a Lily & Lionel horsey scarf. La got teary; miss that Miss A.

Now, time to roll credits. Huge thanks to anyone who’s caressed latrivialista.com with even half an eyeball, and especially to people both known and unknown to me who’ve told me they’ve enjoyed it and encouraged me to keep tapping. It still shocks me that I put it out there and anyone who’s not a blood relative reads it. Can’t say I’ll be completely sorry to see la back of 2012; having this to distract has been great fun. So thank you, thank you, thank you — and happy 2013.

x

The male Junior Cost Centre connected with his inner Coco Chanel the other day and brooched it to hell and back.

Anyone else ever seen and fallen in love with the amazing paper sculptures of Anna-Wili Highfield? And do you think the second part of her first name is pronounced “Willy” or “Why-lie”? Seriousimo tells me the latter, and as it has something to do with ancient Greek dudes, he’d know.

Unfortunately what he doesn’t tell me is that he’s off to her studio for a Triv Stocking Stuffer, or that he’s initated a capital raising to buy me something from the shop in whose windows these amazing ravens are currently on display, Hermès.

Now this is la pick of the current crop of gingerhouses. How divine is it? What an exercise in restraint. Obviously not targeting the lolly-lovers and sweetie-suckers, but right up La alley.

La’s aiming to be a creative, fun-type mother figure these coming school holidays, so we got the whole shebang off to a flying start today with a famiglia trip to Spotlight. For los readers in Romania, Brazil, Israel and points further afield, Spotty is a haven of fabrics and crafty odds and sods, the kinds of teeny beadlets and lengths of sparkletwine that get lost in the bowels of luxuriant shag-pile rugs.

This was what the male JCC chose. He’s obviously channeling Il Pappa Trivialista circa 1973, when paternal hairs were in more fulsome supply. (Does anyone else have a father aged over 60 who’s lost all his leg hairs? Freaky.)

Now, that’s its own special shag-pile rug. Thanks Spotty — who knew you were also a destination for Movember wannabes?

And, in happy news, the Female JCC has ended her two-year moratorium on frocks.

And here we circle right on back to Coco C. If any of you are looking for that last minuto gift for the woman — or man — who has it all, look no further than this lush kit of four tennis balls for the bargain price of $500. Strictly not for pooches.

We’re off to do mop-up shopping and sit on the big fella’s knee tomorrow. Is it nasty to make one’s children withdraw funds from los Commonwealth Bank Dollarmite accounts for the purpose of purchasing La Triv a present? Think they’ve squirrelled away enough nuts to buy me an original AW Highfield?

I bet Anna-Wili’s mum took her to Spotlight.

x

Many peoples ask La Triv why she does so much shopping online. Here’s one of main reasons.

Yup, shop-soiled goodies. A very common sight at David Jones. Srsly, these raggedy threadlets are a crime against a perfectly good Ginger & Smart silk top that can do nothing to defend itself.

I may or may not be sniffing glue here, but it just seems to me that goods coming  directly from los interwebs in their clean boxes and bubble-wraps are fresher, less likely to have been stroked and fondled, less likely to have been fannied-about with by the greedy claws of los great unwashed.

Speaking of goods from los interwebs, have you ordered your holly-festooned pudding clutch and matching ballet flats from NAP yet?

Hmm, me neither.

Palazzo Trivialista is on the verge of being crushed by an enormous yuletide meat order from our good friends Grant and Laura at Feather and Bone. It’s due to arrive next week — a ham, a few rolled porks, some lamb shoulders etc etc. Should about cover it for a famiglia of four — including two members with very small mouths.

Helping us gobble will be Signor Seriousimo’s il Pappa and la Mamma. They’re fleeing Londra’s sub-zero temps to join us for Christmas. It’s been six years since they were in the Harbour City together and we can’t wait to host them. They live in a Londra landmark of great historical and touristical significance, so they should feel right at home beneath the dusty, pigeon-poo splattered rafters of our palazzo.

Must warn them to wear their meat boots, and pack clothes with elasticated waistbands.

La’m missing my alternative homeland, those Great United Kingdoms.

Not sure what’s triggered this; could be the wall-to-wall media footage of the exterior of the hospital where Dilatey Katie was holed up trying to ensure her marmalade toast defied gravidarum for a few days. It’s la self-same one where I finally had successful surgery to fix up la knee after the notorious Cafe Neon / Whitney Houston dancing debacle of 1992.

Or it could be all those Facebook friends posting pics of chestnuts roasting on open fires, Regent Street Christmas lights, bright blue, sunny — yes, sunny — London days, and winter visits to alpine chateaux. Oops, did I call them ‘friends’?

Alt-homesickness has also manifested itself in strange late-night eBay purchases.

And that new BA billboard and print ad almost makes me weepy. La knows the Qantas-Emirates tie-up makes economic and route sense. But Qantas, why did you forsake BA?!? You’ve rent la world asunder.

This here would still be my very favourite journey.

Then, generally, six or so months later, my favourite journey’s the one back. Then, six or so months later… you get the drift. Welcome to la life of a geographical malcontent.

La’m missing my northern hemi Christmas lead-up — real wreath from Wild at Heart on Turquoise Island in Notting Hill, stuffing and gravy pre-prepped from Alastair Little at Tavola on Westbourne Grove, copious burning of orangey, clovey Diptyque Pomander candles… *sigh*

Come Christmas Eve, Alastair and Sharon are sure to be missing a harried Triv, wallet open, air of desperation, ready to spend, spend, spend…

Today, shall console self with lunch here:

…and remind Laself that particular, specific pleasure would be impossible in Londra.

x

Reg readers will recall La’s excitement at the prospect of last week’s Wordporium Christmas drinks.

Hell, I even wheeled out a killer shoe for that extra bit of lift and separate.

This was one yuletide celebration right up La alley: bijoux-sized group of quality colleagues, four to six pm running time, delicioso snack-sized gourmet nibbles, bespoke cocktails and a Harbour City viewscape to die for.

Hell, rumour even had it there’d be a man hand-carving individual slices of smoked trout and popping them onto bauble-shaped, lady-sized rye breadlets. With a squiffle of horseradish cream.

But at two pm that day, La got The Call.

Nanny Triv: “Hi. I just vomited.”

La Triv: “Really?”

Nanny Triv: “Yep, really.”

La Triv: “So you’re sick?”

Nanny Triv: “Yep, really sick.”

La Triv: “Think you can hold it down for four more hours?”

So off La skulked, to collect los loin fruits and take the nanny’s place at taekwondo and cello lessons. Some might say to take La rightful mother place, but let’s not go there.

Cementing la status as a Big Person, I informed the unwitting Junior Cost Centres I was missing los Christmas drinks at Wordporium Towers because of them. Churlish? Moi!?

Then I was reminded why I decided to procreate with a very smart man: it helps ensure you have smart children. “Why don’t you take us with you?” chimed the female JCC brightly.

Why not indeed? Cello and taekwondo be damned!

So after a quick dash home for lippy and iPads, off we toddled, back into the festively decorated bowels of the Harbour City.

After nibbling on child-sized chorizo sliders, trout nibbles, lamb cutlets and char-grilled crustacean canapés, the Female JCC took in la view.

And La enjoyed los cocktails. Los bunions, however, had reservations about the killer heels.

Today we welcome some Brazilian readers of a trivial bent to our home here beneath the virtual dusty rafters of Palazzo Trivialista. Sejam muito bem-vindos! We look forward one day to visiting your gorgeous and spirited BRIC country with its enviable year-on-year GDP growth rates!

Yesterday la famiglia caravan responded to the best of invitations: “Come and help us celebrate turning 40 — bring nothing but your swimmers and sunscreen!” Love a day out that involves an exotic destination but absolutely no schlepping of alcohol or foodstuffs whatsover.

We made our way by car then boat. Seriousmo was fascinated by the scenery.

The male Junior Cost Centre had his eye on superior transport.

As did La.

This, though, is probably as good as we’d get without a significant capital raising or flogging the loin fruits on eBay.

The spot was The Basin on the Harbour City’s gorgeous Pittwater. The water was crazy clear.

And even though I’m sure Seriousimo’s lovely work colleague and her hubby only invited human species-type persons to their party, someone else decided the sausages smelt good.

Male JCC tried to make friends with John Eales (well, he’s a wallaby, after all) but JE was having none of it and hopped back off to his bushy hideaway.

It was so beautiful that even La, she of the remedial-level photographic skills, could take a decent snap.

I spied a curious piece of seaweed at one point, a seaweed…with what seemed to be…eight legs…which of course was no seaweed. Mr Octopus (funny — that’s what we used to call drunken, sleazy men back in los single days) sped off; suspect he was as scared as La.

A fab day in the Harbour City — Brazil might just have to wait.

Good news – just like David Hasselhoff, we’re big in Germany!

Guten tag, Deutschland readers! You are most welcome here beneath the virtual dusty rafters!

Don’t you love how the Hoff is doing a man-gut-suck in this shot? To such a degree that he’s making his boardies look too big for him?

Deutschland readers: can you please let us know why here in the Wide Brown Land we understand the Hoff to be ‘big in Germany’? Is this just a myth perpetuated by the Hoff spin doctors? Is it his Teutonic-sounding name, possibly a nod to some Barvarian ancestry? We know you to be people of taste and discipline, lovers of nature and funky eyewear, and none of this seems compatible with Hoff-worship.  Ploise explain.

Onto more myths being perpetuated by those allegedly in the know. Apparently, peplums are:

…the most flattering trend of the last year. They suit all women – curves, no curves, bottoms, boobs – every body shape looks great in a peplum. They’re universally flattering because they visually balance out your body making the waist the focal point and flaring over the hips – the peplum creates symmetry between the hips and shoulders.

Let’s hear it for Paula Joye!  Is she srs?!? What has she been smoking over there at her otherwise great site, Lifestyled? This is a woman on whom los gods smile:  she has unreasonably amazing skin, what seems to be a keen sense of style, and top-shelf fash mag and styling credentials.

“Most flattering trend of the last year”? My upholstered arse it is.

L’am well qualified to say this as I recently invested in a peplum.

Loved it loved it loved it…promo-code stalked it, finally clicked ‘buy’ and waited with bated breath, a good bra and a sucked in gut –à la the Hoff — for it to arrive (which it did with unseemly haste as it was from the Deity Net-a-Porter).

Giddy with glee, La snuck off to the Wordporium toilets to try it on.  After zipping and adjusting, I turned to the mirror to witness what can only be described as a Fash Crash Train Wreck.  It was almost an out-of-body experience, like looking down from above, feeling genuine pity for the person to whom it was happening, but being dimly aware that person was La.

Srsly, if people could have seen it they would have whipped out their phones, tweeted the pics and had a viral hit on their hands.

So, Paula, your gnomic fash pronouncements may rarely be wrong, but this one was way off the mark, and I have the Returns Merchandise Authorisation number from NAP — and thankfully, the full refund on the plastic fantastic — to prove it.

Meanwhile, the downtown portion of the Harbour City is really getting its Yuletide groove on.

We’re having our Team Wordporium Christmas drinks tonight, so an appropriately killer festive shoe was in order.

These were bought ages ago from gorgeous Ms Bionda and lovely Ms Castana on the recommendation of LLG, and don’t get worn often enough. Need to be feeling sturdy and brave; like Christa and Miu Miu, they invite comment.

La’ve photographed them in the fancy-pants toilets on the top floor of the Wordporium. Photographing them on los un-depilated, un-tanned, un-pedicured legs was just a step too far before the cocktail hour.

Bottoms up x

La Triv has rarely been anything other than gainfully employed. This is a source of some regret, rather than a gloat. Aside from taking time out to care for los loin fruits just after they entered the world, squinting at the light like small nocturnal marsupials rudely ripped from their cosy logs, los days post formal education have largely been spent weaving a Triv-sized seam in the rich fabric of corporate life.

Of course, in challenging economic times such as these, a job – and a functioning career – are ruddy handy things to have.

But looking back from the purview of someone now over 40 35, a tad more aimless backpacking, base jumping and reckless love affairs with Croatian motor boat captains wouldn’t have gone astray. But that’s a topic for another time, another post…

In many years at various Wordporia, shimmying between the pods, carels and hot desks, surfing los lifts, clocking in and out and generally nibbling from the corporate trough, La’ve witnessed my fair share of lady officewear trends come and go.

Which is why I am well qualified to say, WTF is with the corporate short?

Every now and then our ladymags trumpet “New Looks for the Nine to Five!” and “Refresh Your Workwear!” — then serve us up page after page of knee-baring shorts paired with tailored jackets. And sometimes, they are even leather. And laser-etched. And apparently us working girls are supposed to sport them within conditioned high-rise air thick with the aroma of testosterone, while maintaining our dignity.

I know women are supposed to be multi-taskers extraordinaires, but this is just a Daisy Duke too far.

No man or woman with whom I work deserves to be exposed to the magnificent spectre of los knees, joints which proudly wear their surgical scars, thanks to the famous Cafe Neon/Whitney Houston dancing debacle of 1990, and excess pillows of flesh due to post-injury atrophication. (That’s my excuse for chubby knees, and I’m sticking with it.)

But wouldn’t it be fun to see the male primates of our corporate jungles swinging from los fluoro lights in these?

It’s a step up from the ‘walk short’ look one might have found Il Pappa Trivialista sporting circa 1978. Or is it?

Please note, this is not Il Pappa Trivialista. He would never have opted for such an inappropriate and gut-emphasising tie length.

I don’t have a crystal ball here beneath los dusty rafters of Palazzo Trivialista, but let’s put it out there anyhow: despite the best efforts of idea-starved fash mag eds, the corporate short will not become a common sight in my working lifetime.

And that’s the leather-trimmed, laser-etched truth of it.

The Male Junior Cost Centre (JCC) has taken to taekwondo with gusto. But sometimes all that containment, stillness, discipline and paying of undivided attention gets a bit much.

Maybe he’s despairing about this lonely little fellow, installed on a prominent corner of the downtown portion of the Harbour City.

Srsly, he simultaneously freaks La out and tugs at los heartstrings. Can you imagine what he does to the bemused German touristas?

Signor Seriousimo and I took ourselves off for a Saturday luncheon recently, and passed these young things getting their groove on opposite Rake’s flat in the Cross of Kings. Maybe Seriousimo is beginning to believe in blogs, as he prompted me to snap the scene for latrivialista.com.

I get la sense he may be mustering his mojo for a guest post. So prepare yourselves for a riveting dispatch on recent twists and turns in the Personal Properties Securities Act, new standards governing the professional short-term Euro debt market and los ins and outs of structuring and executing leveraged debt financings. Srsly, can’t wait.

La eating has continued unabated.  This is happy news for the tastebuds, grievous news for the waistline.

This was la dinner last night — fracking delicious. Was there ever a happier happenstance than fresh asparagus in close proximity to eggs, nuzzling up to some form of cured pork product and Parmigiano Reggiano? (Gods bless that Reggie.)

Has “Dumb Ways to Die” been on high rotation in your house too?

Here’s the Female JCC’s take-out.

Along with la constant desire to Funk Up the Whole Triv Spectacular, there’s an equally pressing desire to avoid Frocking Mutton Up As Lamb. Hoping this morning’s high bun achieves some of the former, and none of the latter.

If only it were socially acceptable for mid-ranking office Johnnies such as La to keep los sunnies in situ sur la nez all day, indoors too, to hide los crows feet and bloodshot peepers. That ‘Ah-na’ Wintour is lucky for oh-so-many reasons.

Enjoyez your Day of Tues x