LizWis - Lady of Leisure

Lamb-enting on Aussie Day

2008-01-31T08:46:00.001+10:00

Happy Australia Day to you all. Admittedly a little late with my sentiments I know, but don't worry, I didn't come to any harm in a freak kitchen-dancing related disaster or anything or the like, I just needed a few days to digest the lamb burgers, lamb kebabs, lamb cutlets and lamb roast (and i'll point out, I can think of a few better reasons to turn down a date with Tom Cruise these days). I would have done Sam Kekovich proud.

Aside from eating our nations fauna icons (kanga banger anyone?) one of the biggest Aussie Day traditions is the Triple J Hottest 100 countdown. Do I lose some of my music credibility when I say i'm one of their many annual listeners, that only tune in once a year for the Big Event? That in the days since Wil and Adam left the morning slot, i've had The J's programmed into my car stereo somewhere between the easy listening station and the gold coast station that doesn't even pick up signal further north than Dreamworld. I know that this should negate my rights to comment on what actually makes the list, but don't think that's going to stop me.

And while we're admitting stuff, I hang my head in shame and say i've never been to a Big Day Out. I did attend the M-One Festival debacle held at QE11 stadium a few years back (headline, Billy Idol). My only comment on that still stands today: Worst. Venue. Ever. I've been there since, The U2 Vertigo concert, and I don't know what was worse, Bono's incessant preaching, the fact that I could occasionally only glimpse the top of The Edge's head from where I was standing, or the lousy acoustics.

Back to the countdown. As i've said, being an Annual Listener, a decent proportion of the music i'm only hearing for the first time. Most years it's the songs in the 50 - 100 positions that i'm not familiar with. This year there was a pretty good spread of things I know and liked, didn't know and liked, and didn't know and hope i'll never need to endure again throughout the whole list. In fact, i only knew half of the Top 10.

Had I bothered to vote, my picks would have been:

Foo Fighters (I know their current album isn't their most popular, but i'll make a big call and say it's my favourite)
Kisschassy (I love how those boys sing with such an ocker accent)
Regina Spektor (Saw her at The Tivolli last year, was even more amazing live)
Powderfinger (as i've previously stated, just for the fact they're my faves)

Some of the other entries I really enjoyed this year were Faker, Kaiser Chiefs, Angus & Julia Stone, Feist, Hilltop Hoods, My Chemical Romance, Ben Kweller, Clare Bowditch, The Fratellis and Josh Pyke.

The biggest surprise for me was the lack of Ben Lee - I quite like some of his 2007 releases; perhaps the fact that he 'sold out' with his song used in the current Coke campaign didn't go down well with the regular listeners. Surprise number two - how highly Operator Please ranked. Now, I think it's awesome and all that these gold coast kiddies have had such success, and I saw their performance at the Arias and it seemed to go down well, but as the lyrics clearly states, it was just a song about ping pong.

Whilst i'm only feeling lukewarm to Silverchair these days (I did think Straight Lines was an impressive effort and the only Young Modern song I still have on rotation), I was surprised that it didn't pull the number one spot. Which leads me to the final admission of the day.

Mark down in your diaries that Saturday 26th January, 2008 as the first time that i'd ever heard Muse. I've heard of them before. Couldn't name any of their songs, but if someone said Muse, i'd assume they were talking about a band, and not their spiritual artistic guides. And I thought they were ok. Enough for a second listen. When I watched the live broadcast (thanks ABC 2, you rock!), I think the film clip really helped put the song in context, and actually quite enjoyed it. This week i've made the effort to acquire some more of their songs, and while i'm not putting myself down as #1 fan at this stage, i like their style.

In conclusion, whilst it was no 1997 (and yes, as per my first post, '1997 in Music' blog still pending), it was worth the listen. If i still bought CDs, i'd go out and buy the CD. Sadly, the one thing missing was not a favourite band, or a favourite song, but the lack of 'false' number one. Perhaps the idea of the fake out peaked in 2002 when instead of Queens of The Stone Age 'No One Knows', they ran Nelly's 'Hot In Here'. This year, it should have made a comeback. I think that no song for years has been worthy of the honor like 'Hey There Delilah' by the Plain White Tees.

A Cold and Chilli Night

2008-01-23T10:45:00.001+10:00

The following is a true story, set a long time ago (November 2007), in a kitchen far, far away*

*depending on where you're reading from

The scene:

Husband comes home from work to find wife sitting on the couch, tears (and mascara) streaming down her face, somewhat incomprehensible (nothing to do with the cooking wine).

The history:

For as long as I remember, i've always resisted cooking. Even back as a youngin' when mum tried to engage me in baking patty cakes and rice-bubble chocolate crackle, i remained completely unconvinced of the merits of food preparation. Anything requiring more than one or two steps was deemed completely unnecessary, and usually those steps involved convincing someone to escort me to the nearest Hungry Jacks. One of the first phone numbers I ever memorised as a kid was '892 11 11 Pizza Hut De-liv-er-y' (y'all should remember the jingle; and yes, that was before they added the extra 3 at the beginning).

Not to say that staying out of the kitchen in my teenage years was completely unwarranted. Do any other non-cooks out there remember when they changed cooking directions on the back of Easy Mac? ('easy' my ass). That can be partially attributed to yours truly. I was left to my on devices for an afternoon, and thought i'd give it a shot. There were minimum steps required. And some really ambiguous advice on the order of boiling milk, and adding processed cheese. Needless to say, the parents were not happy coming home to a house reeking of burned pasta and cookware. In my defence, it wasn't the only parental complaint received by Kraft. And we did get a a few free boxes of said Easy Mac a few months later (sans ambiguous cooking directions).

When I moved out of home, I survived on basic skills (I was now fairly competent with a wok), and a copy of Margaret Fulton. Before long, I graduated to Stephanie Alexander. And just to throw another random fact at you, that's one of the most stolen books in print. Understandable at $99 rrp. But it matches my stripey kitchen decor so well (and no, i did not steal it - i did what every other law abiding citizen does, and bought it with a 40% off voucher printed off the 'net).

Fast forward to late-last year. Now a lady of leisure, I decided it was my duty to get my Nigella on and become a Domestic Goddess. I won't bore you with gloating of my successes, minus a unfortunate Swedish Meatballs incident. I will say I now view a good deli like I used to view a good shoe shop, and i've even managed to successfully pull off a few small multi-course dinner parties, with positive reviews.

So how did an archetypal evening in the kitchen end in tears?

At the time, I was going through a fairly 'hot' phase, the more bite the better. One of the new household favourites was a mix of seasonal veg, and small chillies. I've made it numerous times before, and i don't doubt i'll be asked to make it numerous times again.

So there I was, chopping away. The veg were sizzling, so I started on the chillies. There's no doubt I would have had the stereo blasting. There would have been some singing along, and probably some dancing too. Yes, I do believe that life needs a soundtrack. All of a sudden I got an overwhelming urge to sneeze. That's when things went awry.

I was nearly finished chopping, so I tried to hold it in. I was now distracted enough to bring the knife down over the side of my finger, drawing a little blood. No big deal. These things happen when you participate in the nightly Kitchen Musical Extravaganza. However, I lost complete control, and there was no holding that sneeze in. I did the automatic thing any polite sneezer does, and brought my hands to my nose region.

And now I know now there is no burning like inhaling chilli through the nostril.

If anyone would would like a copy of my 'Chili Veg Delight' recipe, feel free to e-mail me.

Across The Great Divide

2008-01-18T15:23:00.001+10:00

A blog about the Silverchair/Powderfinger collaboration you ask? That's so 2007. Had I joined the blogging bandwagon on the first of September last year, this would be all about how I now refer to the former as 'The Dissociatives + The Other Two Silverchair Guys' (TDTOTSG for short) , or how I haven't seen anyone own good ol' Boondall like the latter since the Brisbane Bullets played there in the early 90s.

Instead, i'm talking about the other great divide, the one that plagues our great city and has caused many a long winded debate with friends over chocolate frappucinnos and tequlia-coladas - The Northside vs The Southside.

To begin with, i'm very patriotic about my city as a whole. My favourite band hails from Brisbane (the aforementioned 'Finger), my favorite author resides here (and, if he's reading this - i've banished all semi-colons for his reading pleasure) and I sing "We Are The Pride of Brisbane Town" with much gusto during the footy season. Hell, i've even decked out my living room with Brisbane-related artwork (i love a good abstract of the Story Bridge).

Yet i keep getting drawn into this debate. May this act as a word of warning for anyone out thinking of defecting to the other side of the river (regardless of which side you originated on) - people will question your ethics.

My history: I grew up on the southside. My family all live on the southside. My friends all live on the southside. I went to a small private girls school on the southside (and any southside readers would know exactly which one I mean if i refer to it as 'the pov one'). Yet I had the gall to grow up and buy a house on the northside.

Logistically, it was a matter of living close to my (southside) husbands' place of work. An old friend I hadn't heard from for a while recently referred to it as My Move To The Darkside.

I look at it a little differently. Before, I lived 5 minutes up the road (driving) or 20 minutes (walking) from the monstrosity that is Westfield Carindale. Now, I live 5 minutes up the road (driving) or 20 minutes (walking) from the monstrosity that is Westfield Chermside. No big deal.

I now know when is the best time to travel over the Story Bridge (day-time hours, being careful to avoid the new speed traps), or the Gateway Bridge (night-time hours, or peak hour, if I feel like sitting in traffic having a radio sing along for 2 hours). Yes, I often make the trip myself, because for those that have spent their lives on the south like I had, coming over to the north side is a BIG DEAL. Now, i'm not throwing blame in any direction. Until I moved over here myself, i'd never toyed with the idea that there was anything worth travelling over this way for (though I will point out one amusing exception, which almost proved my point: The movie adaptation of He Died With A Felafel In His Hand was a limited release, and for some reason, only shown at Indro. That's now known as the evening that we got locked in a shopping centre, and had to find a security guard to let us out - in our defence, the cinema carpark was pretty damn full when we got there, so parking the other side of the centre seemed like a reasonable idea).

So now I shop on the northside. I go to movies on the northside. I eat at restaurants on the northside, and most importantly, know exactly how to get to five of the nearest Baskin Robbins, all on the northside.

Of course, you can take a girl out of the southside, but you can't completely take the southside out of the girl. If I need some beach time, I head straight for the Gold Coast, even though the Sunny Coast is a far quicker option. But that's a can of worms i'm not willing open at this point.

So, now I say let us all unite with a big "my, the river isn't as brown as it used to be" and blur those north side / south side boundaries with a City Cat Pub Crawl. Start at the Regatta, make your way down to Oxford Street, Bulimba via The Ploughman's at Southbank and Friday's in the City. That's when you'll be grateful for those that chose not to take sides but reside 'inner-city'.

Let's Get Physical

2008-01-15T11:28:00.001+10:00

It's not a secret that i like heading to the gym. So, sometimes i'm a little erratic about it, a little lazy if you will, but overall, i enjoy the whole experience. OT note: as per my original post, Crikey! check out all the commas in that little beauty! I remember reading a novel a while back, i believe it was a Nick Earls one (please don't sue me if i'm wrong on that point), but basically the character in the book was saying that in the world of punctuation, commas could be eliminated in pairs. Even though it was a work of fiction, i think that maybe i should have taken that on board.

So, back to the gym.

Firstly, the most important element in a visit to the gym is the ambiance. When you step into the main workout area, the first thing you notice is not the sea of cross trainers, treadmills, exercise bikes and recumbent cycles; but the pumping pop music circa early-to-mid-90s. Yesterday I was treated to such beauties as Dr Alban's Sing Hallelujah! (and just to throw you another random music fact that now permanently pollutes my brain - that bloke really was a doctor!) and East 17's House of Love (and now a shout-out to J if you're reading).

Always being well prepared in the case of a musical emergency, this is the point i whip out my trusty i-pod. So, you think the best way to combat mediocre 90s pop would be with the far preferential early 90s rock. Sadly, for some reason it just won't do. Believe me, i've tried. The only thing to override it is to make like Kylie and Step Back In Time.

Ahh the 80s. Now being a child of the early 80s myself (early enough that if the need arises i can just cite 'too young to remember'), it's a birth-rite to diss the time of leggings, oversized t-shirts, and fluro, fluro, fluro (and no, i'm not talking about the current Supre window). My secret? Music of the 80s is by far the superior workout music, the cheesier the better. Some of my favourites include such classic hits as

Together In Electric Dreams - The Human League
Here I Go Again - Whitesnake
Jesse's Girl - Rick Springfield (I always thought the lyrics to that one was "I wish that I was Jesse's Girl - how awkward)
The Final Countdown - Europe.

If you're a little overwhelmed by all the audio stimuli I just hit you with, it's now time to get visual. Directly in front of you is not one, not ten, but twenty television screens. You've got free to air - including Bris 31, you've got a choice of 3 music video channels (lets all say I Want My MTV), and finally, the talk shows. One morning last year, and i kid you not, I had the choice of Jerry Springer, The Maury Povich show (and The 'Pov is a really classy number, i tell you), The Tyra Banks show and our very own Kerri-Anne Kennerly (proof that I do get up before midday).

Sadly, sometimes I do schedule my visits around the TV. Monday afternoons, 4pm, is Scope, brought to you all you lucky double helix club members by the CSIRO. Oh Dr Rob, if only I had you as a high school science teacher, I could have gone on to study what part of the brain stores all the celebrity gossip yet manages to never retain where I last left my keys.

The final element of the gym is the other patrons. The old folk completely kicking my butt on the elliptical trainer, the muscle-bound guys grunting in the weights room, or the young lady in the barely-there hot pants running up a storm but barely breaking into a sweat (i like to mentally shoot daggers into the back of her head). It's not about acknowledging them, or avoiding them. It's all about being in complete control and not accidentally breaking out into Bon Jovi's Livin' On a Prayer. Some days, easier said than done.

After all of that, you're probably left wondering 'WTF is a recumbent cycle?' and now you're going to find out. Picture riding a bicycle in a reclining position with your legs on the pedals out in front of you. I'm sure if they were ever going to bring back corporal punishment, that would be the best way to do it.

I Are Serious Liz, This Are Serious Blog

2008-01-14T11:19:00.001+10:00

O Rly? Ya Rly.

Ok, i got that out of my system, so now i can proceed with my Serious Blog. Or, my ever-so-slightly-less-frivolous-blog than my other one, located here (bonus points for shameless self promotion). One day the whole internets will be mine *evil laugh*.

From what i've discovered in the world of blogging (and if you've got this far, you'll probably be saying "not very much by the look of it"), this should be an introductory post about me and my life. Me, i don't think that's necessary. But we'll set a few ground rules for good measure.

I love dot points. Deal with it.
(ditto parenthesis)
A sentence with numerous commas does not make it any less of a sentence (though perhaps makes me less of a writer) (bonus points again for double parenthesis).
If I could have it my way, this would be in the font Tahoma, because, as i discovered last week, that's the one that looks very much like the font used on an i-pod.
Thank you, i'm very aware that the letter "i" denoting myself in the middle of a sentence should be capitalised. Call it one of my less-than-endearing quirks.
I might update every day. I might not update again for another month. I might update again in 3 hours. You get the picture.
I love getting comments on my musings, it feeds my ego. Bigger ego = me sharing more on here :)
If you wish to think less of me for the above smiley-face, go ahead, i don't care.
.....well, maybe a little.
There's no official symbol to denote sarcasm. That's why i invented one. If you see +these+ around a sentence, read with caution. If i forget to use them, and you can't pick up on the fact i'm being sarcastic, you probably won't enjoy my blog very much.

This whole introduction is starting to remind me a little of Disclaimer from The Offspring's 1997 album "Ixnay on the Hombre". That was, and is, a great album. And, a great year for music. But, we'll save that conversation for a later date.

Mental Note of Possible Future Blog Topics:

- Which is the best Offspring album

- 1997 in Music

As you will learn, i have a tendency to go off on tangents. It's what makes people like Ross Noble comedic geniuses (is there a plural for that, Comedic Genei perhaps?). I don't know what it says about me.

Anyway, i'll finish off with the obligatory welcome to my few hundred thousand bites of fame on the internets. Thank you, come again. Passengers please depart by following the warning lights to your nearest exit.

Bonus points for you if you mentally read the "Thank you, come again" in the voice of Apu from The Simpsons.