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Imported from my blogger dating from August 2005 to June 2010


Entries in update (60)


Moment of silence

Tomorrow I'm out of here kitties. My nails are painted and ready to go with a glaring shade of ruby red. Jag-U-Are. That is actually what it is called. It's the first time I can paint my nails for a long while, they wanted to come out and say hi. Since I'd be meeting people of a more upstanding calibre than usual it was probably best that the colour was something that was more within the accepted range of normality. I'll save the harlequin checks for after I get back.

Two weeks absence, give or...give two days. My level of readiness at what is now roughly 14 hours away from takeoff is tip off to how I feel about the whole skipping town situation. That is to say, not ready at all. At least it won't be the all nighter ordeal that was the 48 hours before my flight back to Australia back in December.

I am feeling somewhat optimistic though. Finally leaving would also mean that I'll finally be on the last legs of being in such close proximity to the giver of my lifeblood, the lioness to my cub, the cause of all this buzzing in my head that I spend all my life trying to get rid of. The last three weeks has not been easy. I was kept sane by occupying what little space between us with things. Filling up all the time with anything but silence, or the promotion of conversation. Movies, mostly. Movies I knew would offer the least amount of argument, mostly Oscar winners and nominees of the past year that I didn't deem to be required viewing at the time of release.

But this post is not about that. This post is about the sunnier, sparkier, sweatier future awaiting my return. It would be July, and it would be glorious. This Summer break has not been much of a break yet, for a lot of people, but July would eventually come and lift the straps off our heavy heavy hearts, expertly running its fingers over our back finding every knot and kneading it back into submission. I intend on not doing very much in July. It would be the long refreshing nap that gets you ready. The one that's full of promise. Reader, we're going to love July.


Slop Bucket

As promised, summery days and nights arrived ahead of its cue, and like an embarrassed child, retracted apologetically. We did manage to slip in a few fun filled days in the park during its brief appearance, as most of you on facebook (read: everyone) already know. That was one way to while away the listless daylight hours now. I suppose I could (should) start the job hunt on the illegal overseas student employment market. If there are any readers out there who are owners of manhattan based establishments willing to take on a neurotic (in an entirely professional way) Asian (= hard working) girl who is constantly on the quest for approval (= fantastic customer service), please, save me the trouble and drop a line.

Apart from that, I think I'll just continue on my mission of watching every episode of shows on netflix I'd always wanted to watch but never had the time to.

That would only be until mother arrives, of course.

I need to make it clear though, here, for everyone to see. I, Alice Bing Qing Tao Qin, hereby swear that my work ethic is going to shape right up, as of, errr.....now. Remember my fuck it manifesto? Well it's now going to include this amendment.

On top of not being afraid of creating and treating it like first time sex (just get it done so you can get on to the much better second and third time sex, according to merlin mann) I will actually go further, do more than the bare requirement. Ask more of myself than what is asked by the other people around me. Not just getting the job done but banging it out of the park. I'm mixing metaphors here but you get the idea. Because let's face it, being "good enough" is too easy, and unsatisfying (shit, the sex puns just want to write themselves). There, it's in print now, and you can all hold me to it.

CALL ME OUT ON MY BULLSHIT, people. If I'm clearly not trying hard enough, slap me, hard.

The fat trimming would begin, coincidentally, with fat trimming. Before you guys start on me, yeah, I know I'm not fat. I'm clearly not thin either, and the truth is I probably never will be simply because of my body shape. But for someone who has always sat on the "underweight" side of the BMI scale, to be smack bang in the middle now makes me sad. Regular regimen, cutting out most of the junk (save for my How I Met Your Mother dates, because girl talk and sitcoms are not the same without chocolate), and throwing out my takeout menus. Earning points on Delivery.com is just not worth it. That's enough airing of laundry for the night.


I have had a fine start to my summer break, people. Enjoyed the company of great people, learned a lesson in managing expectations... there is one thing nagging the back of my head though.

I lost a friend recently. No, no one died, but through an offhand comment, I had manged to offend someone irrevocably. Obviously, a button got pushed that I shouldn't have played around with in the first place. I have went over my words repeatedly and have decided point blank, that I would not apologise for them, because the entire friendship was based on two people who can be brutally honest with each other, and an apology would simply be a lie. Knowing him to be who he is, I am sure he would not see my side of things either. Stale mate, a friend is lost. I haven't thought about this for days now, namely because I've had a blissful few days, and I'm a brilliant compartmentaliser. But today, waking up in an empty bed, feeling a little disoriented and then realising that the person I normally try to make sense of it all to, to jot down these related elements in my life in a cohesive way, I can no longer relate to. For that, on a day that I was already kinda bummed, the arrow ticked over into the blue zone.

Let's focus on the bliss for a moment here. I won't go too much into it, but good food, good friends, and other kinds of good times. The lesson here is to just go with it, that if it feels right, then don't let inconsequential things hinder you any. And High Fidelity is still an awesome film no matter how many times I've seen it.

The Girlfriend Experience is on showtime right now. You know, for someone who performs like a champ in front of a camera for adult activities, Sasha Grey is really an incredibly dull person. Speaking of which, could we pause for a moment to revel in the recently resurrected hotness of scarjo? She has reclaimed her heights at the Match Point levels of hot, meaning, had I not been in the company of people, I may have had a much bigger reaction to that last black widow fight sequence.

Alright, this post is now officially living up to its title, time to call it a night. It is now a Friday though, so you know what that means...

Five scenes from my life in 2010 so far.

* The night before leaving Melbourne, Dean, Maya and Yoyo in my drive way, making things impossible.

* After Jimmy's critiques of the Poetry Projects, the running outside followed by the 45 minutes of uncontrollable sobbing that occurred.

* Studio 2F, Voice and Speech class, the most awkward thing to have happened this year, you know what I'm talking about.

* Corner of 32nd and 5th Ave, outside Chicken Revolution, two girls screaming at each other about life changing things.

* Walking out of Hotel Chelsea with a certain red head


pomp and lustre

It is still freezing. Which is why I'm still not blogging the way I'm supposed to. I still don't have a roommate, so my room is slowly degrading into a slum of nuclear proportions. I should have cleaned it up a little today it's my day off, but the rest of me wanted a day off too.

I got a friend request the other day on facebook, apparently he's a fan of my blog.

I'm sorry Jimmy that I couldn't add you. Because of the amount of information I give out on my facebook I do have a "people I've actually met" policy. Plus then you'll see all the classy(crass) photos and that would tarnish your glowing image of me.


The following is a muddled jumble of fly-by self pity party, proceed with care:


The numbness I'd been feeling in the last year or so is shedding away little by little. It's mostly uncomfortable, but nice to know that within these frozen limbs, emotions still dwell. The last six months especially has been an exercise in loneliness as a crowd experience. Slowly grasping at, and fingering, feeling my way through the parameters of my comfort zone. Rediscovering that I'm not just a set of digestive and sexual organs, that I can feel things as myself, and not some version that I'd like others to see.

Hopefully this signals a return to form. Over the years, even my prose has turned far more direct, sharp, bitter, and all that is left of the humour, biting. Meanwhile my head had become a bag of jelly, the mushy Aeroplane kind. If it is not aesthetics analysis, it refused to produce an opinion. A vessel of receptors waiting for that instant gratification, shameless contradictions of moral values, and self indulgence. Repetition, repetition, repetition, never letting the senses rest. Videos, sounds, music, movies, images, just don't let it stop, play several at once, I know everything backwards already but just don't let it stop, let my mind shut out any thought that needs to be dealt with, just don't let it stop. Relentless saturation of anything devoid of neurological nourishment. I reach out my hand for anything that is safe, old ideas, old conversations, old encouragements. It's an easy high, you ride it fast and it fizzles out, that's why you need the constant injection. Simulated emotions, play acting, anyone could do this, anyone could be me.

One mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi... The constant frustration, over the past, the future, regrets, helplessness, my life, all collapsing on me in spasms tightening my entire body. My hands were clamped, my feet jerked the way they do when I come. I couldn't move or breathe, I could only laugh because suddenly I was not doing a Meisner exercise in class anymore, I was fucking my last two years of existence into the ground. Was I okay? Well I needed more than just a drink of fucking water that's for sure. I want a re-write.

But at least I author my own disaster

Back to the point I was making, I can feel flickerings of past excitements, before I became a shell of external gestures. It's an embarrassingly small shift, coming from the least likely of experiences, but it's hopeful. I can choose to nurture this into a healthy flame and try and steer it away from the madwoman in the attic territory, or just let it go because it would be nice to see the fire before the house burns down. This could mean more shockingly revealing blog posts that are basically romanticised graphic self portraits of wrist slitting. This could be embarrassing for everyone around me. I will try to use pseudonyms wherever possible, (past pseudonyms have included G, Sandwich boy, and Damian Assface. THIS COULD BE YOU!!) but basically anything that you have said, related, showed, or done to me is fair game. I will attempt to be as raw as my dwindling work ethic allows. This is merely a warning, I am giving everyone a week to front up and submit censorship applications. That being said, I change my mind so freaking much that by this time tomorrow I could be off this idea entirely. My Fuck-It Manifesto never took off, but this is an extension. Feel free to express your opinions below, whether on the facebook copy or the original blog.

theme music of this post: The Past Is A Grotesque Animal - Of Montreal


Brooklyn Heights Sighs

That's the weather right now. I'm meant to be going to open up a new Bank account today. But no. There's no way I'm stepping outside this room today.

Time for a New York Update!

I have been here a week now. After a hellish plane ride (where the kid behind me proceeded to kick my chair for the entirety of the 20-something hour plane ride (THROUGH transit stops) I landed in the land of bagels and fake bacon.

There's not a hell of a lot to blog about yet. It's way too cold out to take photos of anything without freezing my little fingers off. This also means I cannot smoke unless I let a cigarette hang out the side of my mouth, Jimmy Dean style, which would be fitting of all the method training I am getting beat over the head with.

I stopped squealing over snow flurries after about 5 minutes of walking through it and feeling my face frost over.

The first week was eventful only in that my roommate came and left. I met her during the half hour she packed up her things and went home. The toilet was clogged beyond belief. I had two remotes in the tv cabinet, either of which were paired to the tv, dvd, or cable box and I just needed a lot of random knickknacks to get everything settled and habitable.

All exploring of the city has been postponed until the sub freezing weather has passed. So as of yet, no museums, no films, no plays, nothing remotely sociable. It took me until two days ago to buy a kettle, and since then my blood has been running tea. It provides a constant injection of something hot to keep my blood circulating.

In fact, my toes are cold right now. So I'm going to go dip them in my doona and watch crap on tv until I fall asleep again. I've been awake since 5 am, I don't know what's wrong with my head. I haven't forgotten my obligation to keep a running commentary on my travels, I have been writing (the pen and 'skine kind) down random thoughts and I will transpose the publishable elements on here, on a day when my head doesn't feel like sleet and my feet don't want to drop off.

So this is just to say that yes, I will blog more, and with eye candy as well, and bubbly anecdotes. Give me some time, until I feel better about all of this, this being away from everyone, this being at an awkward time zone so I can't even just pick up the phone and talk it over with someone, this sick panicky alone feeling. Or at least until the weather turns.


more answers than you asked for

I think my body is preemptively adjusting to New York time. That's the only explanation I can come up with for staying awake until 5:30am despite the two sleeping pills I took. And that explains why at 4pm, an hour until I have to get my lazy ass to work, with piles of parcels I have to ship back home to Melbourne before I'm booting off, I finally feel awake.

At some point during this post, I need to slap some makeup on my face and drag my tired feet to tear tickets for four hours. At least I don't have to do anything too serious or for too long. My last two paychecks have indicated to me that I have spent far too much time slogging it for Palace, and that I can afford to get a few full versions of the free apps on my iPhone now.

I can judiciously say that Fieldrunners (aka Desktop Tower Defense with better graphics and on your iphone), is worse than crack. It's a cheap one off payment, it's on you always, and it sucks the (battery) life out of you. Now that I've had time to absorb, I don't think getting the iPhone was the best cure for my media addiction. But now I can do a Sydney Morning Herald quick crossword puzzle 90% of the way through now! I'm only missing the technical stuff (21 down, a large motorboat starting with L - Launch. Who knew?!). With a little more practice, I could graduate to the NYT Monday puzzles by the time I get there.

interval - slap and slog time

My 4 hour shift got cut to 3 1/2 because it was so quiet, and half of those hours was spent waiting at Don Don's for my manager's food. Fun times.

It's high time I started shipping my ever expanding wealth of stuff home. Somehow I have with me 15 books, 10 dvd's, four cosmetics bags filled to the brim with makeup products, and two trunk loads of clothes and shoes. All in a 3 x 5 metre space, that I was only going to stay for two months in. Granted six of the books are plays and acting related. But did I seriously think I would need 9 recreational volumes of reading material? (That's on top of the magazines, by the way) I can remember exactly what I was thinking. "What if I need some lighter comedic reads? (When You Are Engulfed in Flames - David Sedaris) What if I wanted a high concept epic that was written by someone who still knows how to use language? (Kavalier-Clay, Michael Chabon) What if I wanted some smut? (Delta of Venus - Nin) A modern classic that I can depend on? (Lolita) Some linguistic porn? (Usage & Abusage - Partridge, seriously, have you ever poured through a language manual? I love the bits when he gets condescending, it's delicious.) etc.

Madness. And clearly a sign of things to come as I'm getting to the age of mobility and moving houses, states, and countries. How on earth am I going to go about moving my life with a 25kg limit? I'll have to get friendly with the postal service workers I suppose.

iPhone photo sharing time!!

As an appendix to my last post, I found this ghastly thing on the back of a bus as it was speeding away from me. Luckily I haven't seen it again, so therefore I haven't had to kill anybody.

If you can't read it, it says "Cancer, cancer go away. Don't come race another day." It doesn't make sense, the rhythmic structure is forced, and it's obnoxious. Clearly this is a campaign that does not work because not only do I not understand what they're advertising, my previously intact natural sympathy for anyone affected by cancer is being tested.

Not to be outdone by cancer patients however, we have this shocker.

Let's be clear here. I'm 100% behind the message, I'm all for punk disabled teens with 'tude. But if you need to use fruity capitalisation in your main tag line of the campaign, you need to step away from the myspace, and act your age. It gets to a point when it's no longer market research, but teetering on "online predator".

Now I know why I'm growing my hair to ridiculous lengths. I want to be this creature. She was walking briskly in front of me and the damn lack of auto zoom on the iPhone means this was the best I could come up with. I've been told she often models for the art college nearby. It was like walking behind an elf around Darlinghurst.

Now I need to go crush up 3-5 melatonin tablets and see if it works any better than that Unisom Sleep stuff I took yesterday. I basically need something to replicate what the sun and the heat does to me around 4pm in the afternoon. Seriously, poor Heath, I feel his pain. The world thinks he was partying too hard and having deviant sex, but the damn boy just needed some sleep.

Type rest of the post here