Chez Clumsy: The Search for Nazi Gold

You expect, when you renovate, to make a few little discoveries here and there.

For example, it turns out our kitchen water pipes all run from the ceiling down, not the floor up. This means rejigging a few things, but it's one of those small hurdles that are simply a part of the renovating experience.

What we did not expect to discover, on a sneaky Tuesday evening reconnoissance, was this:

"Is that.... is that a swastika?" I heard The Wah say as I was checking out the space where the kitchen used to be. I spun around and stared at the ground.

"Ah... that's ... that's a swastika!" I confirmed. Then shock. "What is a swastika doing in my house?!?!"

But there was no denying, there was a swastika in the house.

Painted on the concrete, then tiled over.

For six years, The Wah and I - and all of our friends and family members - have been walking upon the world's most infamous insignia.

Our urbane, sophisticated inner-city unit had all over a sudden become an Anti-Semitic hate den, or perhaps a repository for hidden Nazi gold.

Of course it begs the question: WTF? Who PAINTS A SWASTIKA ON A FLOOR?

We know our apartment building used to be an office building before it was converted into flats in the early 2000s. We don't know who did the conversion - but we think they, or their sub-contractors, might have had at best a terrible sense of humour, and at worst, DIY tattoos and a dire need for therapy.

The problem is of course - how do we get rid of it? Sure, we'll be re-tiling, but if we don't destroy the swastika underneath, we will forever know it is there, lurking, like a Gestapo officer in a ghetto. We will be compelled to blurt out to anyone unfortunate enough to walk over that spot "DO YOU KNOW YOU'RE WALKING OVER A GODDAMNED SWASTIKA?" and then people will start questioning whether we're obsessing a bit too much about the swastika, and they might think perhaps that we sympathise or share those views, and the next thing you know A Current Affair will be bringing in a hidden camera and we'll end up on hate crime charges and that Girl Clumsy and The Wah always seemed so nice, but then it's always the nice ones who turn out to be rotten fascists...

NO! Like Churchill, I will not surrender.

We need ideas. I'm not a big believer in negative energies and whatnot, but I am a big believer in not having a f***ing swastika under your tiles. So what image should we paint or scribble over the top?

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A Bubbling Source of Inspiration

Chez Clumsy is being renovated.

Starting within hours, in fact, of me typing this.

It's been months in the planning, and now we're at a point where most of the to-be-renovated space is clear, a metric f*** ton of clutter has been decluttered, and the old bordello is ready for her facelift.

Here's a picture of the kitchen with a slice of the balcony area as it was mid clear-out - you can get a sense of the mess:

If you're my father reading this, you will be currently on a boat somewhere off the west coast of America yelling "What mess? That's how it looks normally!" and feeling very proud of your joke. 

If you're my mother reading this, you will be on the same boat, probably rolling your eyes at my father's joke, but secretly agreeing that you're not sure how the daughter of two neat-freak parents managed to turn out a slob.

Well, slob I am, slob I shall probably always remain.

However I have been taking a rather perverse pleasure in the act of decluttering. 

Every bag of rubbish taken down to the bins is a small victory in the never-ending war against stuff.

I'm not even being as brutal as I probably should be. Once the renovation is complete, I can see myself ditching more things because they a) don't suit, b) are shabby or c) I just don't need them.

It can be hard to part with certain things - particularly travel mementos or little personal trinkets received   as gifts or picked up randomly somewhere.

And it's not to say I don't like stuff. I'm just seeing the attraction of less stuff. I want to be more agile in the spaces where I exist. I think I just want to be less. It ties in a bit with my desire to lose weight (not that anything has happened there; if anything living off mostly take-out and having no time over recent weeks probably means I've stacked on again). Some part of me feels that by being less, I will actually be more - more active, more creative, more capable of managing my time and more of a contributor.

It would also just be nice to not live in a midden.

Another experience that is relatively new for me is the willingness to shell out for more expensive items even though there are cheaper options available.

I realise I've become a bit of an appliance/fitting snob.

It's not that I'm flashing cash around willy-nilly - I'm still wheeling and dealing and buying on discounts and specials. But when The Wah and I visited a big builders' discount-type warehouse recently to look at taps and sinks, all I could really see is how.... cheap... they were. 

You start to think - I'm paying out a fair slab of the folding to get a custom-made kitchen. It's not the Rolls Royce of kitchens, sure. Maybe the high-end Hyundai of kitchens. But I still don't want to fit it with Bargain Bob's Retreads 'R' Us tyres, you know?

So all of my appliances are Smeg.

Heh. Smeg.

And I've forked over more to get some swish Swiss fittings.

Look at this baby - my new tap, Eve.

The instruction sheet for Eve refers to her as "a bubbling source of inspiration" for your kitchen.

It's airy promotional material, sure, but you try brushing your fingertips across Eve's stainless steel curves and tell me she isn't one sexy culinary muse.

I look forward to sharing the final results of the renovations with you - a few people have been laughing at my optimistic attitude that it will all run smoothly, but I have no reason to fear at the moment.

We shall see.

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Raven Mad

My Raven On Game of Thrones episode recaps are still going on over at the mighty Brisbane Times and affiliates - supposedly they're doing quite well in terms of audience response.

Read them, or I'll smite you with infinite prejudice

The S3E4 recap is up today, and I was greeted first thing this morning by my inaugural complaint email.

Leaving aside the gentleman's name, I reproduce his words here, because they are glorious:

Why oh why do you insist on spamming us with your articles on Game of Thrones. FFS it's just a TV show and no other TV show gets weekly episode reviews.... give it a rest !!!!

I can't tell you how thrilled I am to receive my first "Why oh why" email. It's an even better feeling than I had imagined.

I really want to reply to this gentleman's email. It's taking me a great deal of effort to stick by the philosophy that you shouldn't poke the angry bear.

But in case he happens to journey around the interwebs, and perhaps come across this blog, I just want to make a few points that perhaps he didn't stop to consider:

• It is actually impossible to be "spammed" by a news website that you yourself choose to visit.
• There is no requirement for you to actually click on the recap and read it.
• In fact, many TV shows are recapped weekly on Fairfax sites, including Mad Men, My Kitchen Rules and The Voice.

For the most part though, I've been absolutely delighted with the response of commenters on the recaps, so do join in the fun if you're willing and able.

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Fake Disneyland

My poor blog, how I neglect you.

I'm in a frustrating position where I want to post here more often, but find myself without the time or inspiration for an entry. Or I twist myself in knots trying to think of the wittiest possible take on a subject before abandoning the idea as ultimately fruitless or "done somewhere else, probably better".

Then when I do get some time - such as a few stolen moments on holiday in Beijing last week - the Great Firewall stopped my upload attempts.

Anyway, that's enough self-flagellation - hopefully I will get a chance over the next few days to post a few things that have been sliding their way through my brain meats.

For now, I thought you might enjoy this short film made at the Shijingshan Amusement Park in Beijing's west.

My fellow improviser Amy - who I had travelled with to attend the fourth annual Beijing Improv Festival - was keen to check out the so-called "Fake Disneyland.

And so it was that we arrived on a Monday morning to find one of the strangest places on Earth.

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Raven On returns...with a twist

I was looking forward to Game of Thrones returning, not just because it is the MOST BRILLIANT SHOW EVER TRULY EVER EXCEPT MAYBE XENA: WARRIOR PRINCESS WOAH CAN YOU IMAGINE IF THEY DID A GoT/XENA CROSSOVER SOMEBODY SHOULD WRITE THAT AS FAN FICTION ACTUALLY WAIT THAT'S A TERRIBLE IDEA, but because I really enjoyed writing my Raven On recaps last season.

I was sitting at work early last week pondering how good it would be to have a regular requirement to blog, as I am very aware of how derelict I have been in my recreational writing over the past few months.

Then I remembered I work for a national news organisation that might be interested in recaps. A few emails/calls later, and there it was: Raven On is going national.

I do hope fans of the recaps will keep reading over at Fairfax; I've kept the same format and the same unwieldy length.

Now that I'm an official "reviewer", I've been given previews of future episodes - they are marked and totally traceable so I won't be uploading them to the internet. They're not high def anyway, so it's not like you get the best boob-viewing experience.

I'm off to Beijing on Saturday, so I have to get a couple of recaps done in advance. But I will give you a bit of a random cryptic clue about Episode 2: the cheesy bit is the best.

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Stop the Bookshelf Porn

Everyone on the internet loves bookshelf porn.

You know what I'm talking about.

That constant stream of photos that do the rounds on social media, attracting drooling "likes", adoring retweets, and gushing comments:

OMG IT'S A PACMAN SHELF CAUSE PACMAN
WAS RENOWNED FOR HIS LOVE OF CHERRIES & BOOKS

It's a bookshelf that says READ, because that's insightful
and encouraging, you know?

I'm going to get a pointy house just so I can build this!

ARGHGHGH IT'S A POD A READING POD SO ERGONOMIC

It's an ideas tree, can you FEEL your creativity GROWING?
Also books are made of trees so it's like a life cycle.

I realise I sound like a bitter illiterate (billiterate?) sow, but honestly, have you people never heard of dust?

Sure, these bookshelves are marvellously creative and appeal to our collective sense of whimsy, but let's think of the practicalities.

You show me one of these bookshelves IN REAL LIFE, and I'll show you a warren of so many dust bunnies you could re-enact Watership Down.

Honestly, all these internet people with fancy bookshelves must live in hermetically sealed, climate controlled environments, where no dust can permeate.

Or maybe they clean regularly or something. Whatever.

All I know is that it seems sometimes that these pictures appeal to people because they fancy themselves as "book people".

You know, the kind of people who imagine themselves as thoroughly literate types, with iced tea and organic mini-muffins on hand as they tuck themselves into their bohemian book nook to take in the latest insert 'posh' or 'cred' author here.

Bless you, if you are one of those people. I often wish I could be like you. You probably wash your hair in pure mountain streams and knit your own hemp trousers. All very admirable, until your allergies play up from all the dust collecting on your stack of Frankie magazines.

Me? I'm trying to clear out books from Chez Clumsy. I've got too many. Of course there are a few favourite fictions and cherished non-fictions that I'll always hold onto, but the vast majority have no re-read value. They're just dust collectors.

Before you slam me as having no romance in my soul, please remember that bagging books does not mean I'm bagging reading.

I bought myself an iPad before heading to Burma last year, and I can tell you that the main thing I've used it for is reading eBooks. The damn thing's a bloody marvel. I don't even have to dog-ear a page to remember where I'm up to. THE iPAD REMEMBERS.

And sure, while the first books I read on it were Stieg Larsson's Millenium Trilogy, followed by A Clash of Kings (aka Game of Thrones Series 2), I have just finished Hilary Mantel's Bring Up the Bodies, and that's PROPER literary.

Also, you can't get paper cuts from iPads. Paper cuts frighten me on a level only topped by geckos. Just consider this for a moment: getting a paper cut ON YOUR EYEBALL.

Yeah.

I once thought of that, and then almost vomited. The thought has haunted me ever since. I shouldn't even write it here, lest the mere noting of the fear helps it manifest in the form of outraged hemp-knitting, Frankie devotees baying for my blood in between cups of dandelion tea.

Point is - is it OK to not like having books around the place anymore? Have I completely lost my soul because I want less dust in my house?

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Clotheshorse #3

I'm pleased to say that I managed to get through my February "Wear My Wardrobe" challenge - in fact, there are a bunch of clothes left over that I didn't get around to breaking out. They were mostly tops and dresses, and some sadly because they didn't fit.

However, due to general busy-ness and forgetfulness, I missed out on taking pictures of all of them.

So here's a few:

It became necessary to break out the jeans
once I'd exhausted all my skirt options.

You can't really see the black Cue dress I'm
wearing, but who cares? A cute puppy is
the best accessory.

I know this isn't an outfit, but I've become slightly
obsessed with my regrowth. Sure, I've been calling
it "targeted balayage", but it's actually my natural
hair colour. That's the most I've seen it in years.
It's so bland and devoid of personality.
It's like the Miranda Kerr of natural hair colours.

This was the outfit I wore on February 28,
the last day of the wardrobe challenge.

Now I have a confession to make about the final day of the challenge. You'll see I wore a smart green blouse with a fairly regulation black pencil skirt. The skirt was a relatively recent purchase; only worn two or three times before.

At some point during the day, the zip on the back of the skirt broke. Just busted clean apart. I only noticed around 3pm, so I could've been walking around for up to six hours with my underpants hanging out.

Not only that, but they weren't nice underpants. They were flesh-coloured underpants. So it may have appeared as if I was walking around with my bottom on display, like some sort of journalistic baboon.

The busted zip was such a complicated affair, I couldn't get the skirt off myself. I had to get The Wah to physically rip it off my person, and while that sounds a little bit saucy, it turns out it wasn't remotely erotic for anyone involved.

I'd like to lose mass so that the prospect of ripping clothes from my body was appealing, rather than a medical necessity.

So now it's March, I'm trying another challenge. I've put a blanket ban on crisps and lollies, and have ruled out eating any chocolate besides Red Tulip (it's Easter time, and it's just cruel to rule out Red Tulip, when it's not available the rest of the year).

We'll see how we go. I'm sure the exercise and nutrition experts among you will tsk-tsk, believing that a well-rounded holistic approach to mass reduction is the only way for true success.

But for some reason at the moment my only chance is to make a game out of this stuff.

Now I've just got to follow the rules...

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Comedy & Tragedy

I did another stand up comedy spot last night.

It was another ill-advised, hasty decision, the kind I like to make when I'm full of bravura and confident a bit of make-up and a "she'll be right" attitude will see me through.

Yeah, not so much.

It's been two years since I tried to make the funny in a five minute open-mic slot, and I wasn't very good.

Now I mean that in a positive way. I've been developing a habit of looking at creative things I'm doing through a more objective, constructive filter, rather than bursting into tears every time I'm not instantly perfect.

If only I could apply the same rationale to eating and exercising. First things first, I guess.

I'll be writing more about the experience for Brisbane Times, as part of a fairly epic upcoming month of the Brisbane Comedy Festival.

But the key point is that five minute stand-up spots require tight writing.

My preference, in writing as well as speaking, is to go off on long, rambling tangents that are generally reasonably whimsical and hopefully end with a point or a laugh.

"So then I said..."

That does not suit five minute open mic-ing - you've got to deliver, and fast. I flubbed this time around, and pondered whether I was in fact cut out for stand-up. Perhaps I'm not, but I won't really know until I can get a better grip on the actual format. Which means I will have to try it a few more times before I can truly say I "failed". And that's a nice sentiment to take away from the evening!

Something I'm quite excited about however, is the opportunity to perform in White Rabbit, Red Rabbit at the Brisbane Powerhouse this Saturday 23 February.

I will admit I somewhat bullied my way into the festival programmers' vision as a potential candidate for this. At the launch last November, my attention was grabbed by the idea of a cold-read script, in which there is no set, no director, no rehearsal - just one performer handed the script and reading, discovering the words as the audience does.

It's important to recognise one's skills as well as one's failings, and just as I have acknowledged my poor attempts at the comedy craft above, I will here admit to being reasonably proud of my ability to cold read - to pick up a document and read from it with relatively few errors, and with relatively appropriate emotion.

I once inspired an English teacher to break into applause after giving a monologue from a play about Lachlan Macquarie as part of a verbal presentation. I really put my back into that one; I even looked up what the word "chicanery" meant.

Also - I'm an improviser, damnit. I love exploring things without having all the information. So when someone pulled out and they asked if I was still interested, I responded with a resounding yes.

All I know about this play is that it was written by a young Iranian man when he was restricted from leaving the country because the government wouldn't grant him a passport.

I will learn the rest on the night.

If you are interested, please consider coming along. I don't know what it will be like, but I can promise you I'm eager to make this a brilliant experience and will work my heart out as soon as that script is placed in my hands.

And because it is written, you know you won't be risking some of my long and rambling stories with no point!

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