Important news, readers. Auditions are being held for the next season of Aussie Ladette to Lady.
There’s actually a large portion of my brain (or if not my brain, then my kidneys) that would very much like for me to go on that show.
Sadly, a friend did point out the other day that I don’t regularly binge drink, swear at strangers, or moon people. Well, maybe I should learn. We’re talking a free five-week course in cookery, dress-making and etiquette, here. After all, I’m hardly a perfect lady, so it can’t be too hard to head in the other direction. Right?
A few days later, while recording some spoken word demos, Nerissa pointed out that to ‘pass’ as a ladette I’d probably have to be hip to whatever young people today are into. I am a young person; I must be hip. Right? Hmm. Actually, right now I’m thinking of the number of times the high school students I tutor smack their heads against their desk when I try to make up-to-date pop culture references.
I’m just trying to make it interesting for them. Okay, so I don’t completely understand these sparkly Cullen people listening to bands composed of young men who sport fringes at jaunty angles and jeans that are half falling-off, singing about how much things bleed when you cut yourself shaving. Maybe they shouldn’t use Aspirin, or something. Doesn’t that thin the blood? Maybe they should buy safety razors and make sure to use shaving cream.
I don’t know.
I should probably get back to pretending I know which poems I should submit to Publications of Interest.
I should print a zine titled ‘prominent literary magazines’ so that everyone who’s in it can put that on their CV and feel great.
Oh. This photo. This is a picture of the inside of my head:
Here’s a small poem to reward you for getting through this blog entry without your brain also turning into feathers and sparkly things.
I see the moon half-empty
behind spilled-milk clouds.
In the backyard hammock,
I drink gin and tonic
and wait for the sun.
That sun has so much
to be glad about.