Brought to you by Michelle Law, James Butler, Sam George-Allen and Chloë Reeson.
The 2013 Academy Awards: A summary.
Those bits of dust that get on your eyeball sometimes
— James Butler
You know how sometimes you get dust particles on the surface of your eyeballs and then tiny squiggles infringe on your vision? That’s been happening to me a lot this week. I’m not certain why. Maybe it’s because I haven’t consumed as much alcohol as I usually do (hydration????), maybe it’s because I have cried more often lately (that being three times as opposed to never ever), or maybe it’s all the time I spent staring at lightbulbs as a child. (I would always stare at bright objects so that when I closed my eyes a light show would play behind my eyelids.) I don’t really know how I feel about these alien squiggles: on the one hand it is annoying to have something interrupting your line of sight; on the other it is a comforting reminder of my physicality, of the fact that I am an object that things land on and live on and that I am something other than the inner-workings of my brain.
That Time I Went Blind At The Hi-Fi
I swear to god I’d only smoked half a joint (I was going to Katchafire, man, what do you WANT from me, just to not try and be on the same vibe as everyone else, huh, do you want me to stunt my gig experience, is that what you want) but I guess I hadn’t had many fluids that day because when I went to the bar to ask politely for a glass of water I almost fainted and then I went blind.
This gets high embarrassment points because upon almost fainting (the bar was pretty packed and I didn’t actually get horizontal, more just collapsed with all the grace of a structurally unsound pop-up tent into the dudes to my right) my body released a huge quantity of foul-smelling gas, apparently from nowhere (some kind of primitive defense mechanism designed to deter predators who would take advantage of my vulnerability?). Despite the biological warfare, people around me seemed to grasp that something was wrong (as I mumbled, glassy-eyed, “I can’t see, I can’t see”) and some angel with rough hands got me a bottle of water and mashed it against my face, then clumsily steered me downstairs and outside, where he palmed me off to a security guard and vanished.
I sat down on the curb and suckled at my water bottle and thought rationally about how to contact my boyfriend without being able to see the screen of my phone, and then my sight came back and I ate a Cherry Ripe and went back inside. Overall I would categorise this experience as A Bit Weird but it sort of affirmed my faith in the general goodness of people, especially those who like Katchafire, and it’s a good story and feeling my eyes start to work again was REALLY good.
A denim jacket I bought
Welp, this is a story about my jacket that is equal parts awesome and horrifying. I was in LA with my friend Meaghan and we went to a place called ‘It’s A Wrap, Hollywood’. Lonely Planet tells us that you can go to IaWH and buy second-hand clothing worn by your favourite celebrity because lots of the film and tv productions in Hollywood send their used wardrobes here. This, we agree, sounds amazing. We are so excited by the prospect of wearing famous people’s stuff that we take two buses from our hostel on Sunset Blvd to get to this place, which very clearly is not in Hollywood as its name suggests but rather some super dirty LA suburb.
It is a very excellent second hand store, but none of the clothing is recognisable because presumably all the good stuff gets sent to museums/rich people buy it. However, a little while in I have a beautiful second-hand store moment of finding an amazing denim jacket with a faux-fur collar and it is the best thing ever and I even say to myself ‘oh man, this is so cool but I bet it wont fit’ but I try it on and it FITS PERFECTLY and I feel like I am in the sisterhood of the travelling pants only I sure-as-shit am not letting Meaghan wear my jacket because it’s all mine baby etc. etc. It is second-hand store euphoria.
So, I take my jacket up to the sign on the wall and look up its production code to see what movie/tv show this super cool jacket has come from and the sign tells me it is from a production called Jack and Jill. And it doesn’t even hit me straight away, maybe because my brain was trying to protect me or maybe because I’m just stupid but I think for about half an hour I was imagining Jack and Jill as some sort HBO program that did a really edgy, really dark take on Jack and Jill and it had probably come out in America but I hadn’t heard of it yet but once it got really big and all the kids started tumblin’ about it I could be like ‘wa-hey I have a jacket worn by one of those dudes’. It wasn’t really until we were on the bus home and Meaghan was sitting next to a very well-dressed drag queen that it dawned on me. Jack and Jill is the name of that god-awful Adam Sandler movie where he pretends to be his own twin sister. I realise my beautiful, beautiful jacket has the stink of that movie on it and I am devastated.
The other night I tried to watch Jack and Jill to see if I could spot my jacket in the background. I thought maybe if Al Pacino was wearing it (remember how Al Pacino is in that fucking movie?), it wouldn’t be so bad. But I only got about 10 minutes in before I had to close my laptop and walk away, that movie is even worse than you could imagine. The jacket though, is even better than you’re imagining and so I continue to wear it.
Jack and Jill: NEGATIVE EVERY STAR EVER
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