High Fives: Winter Tunes

I don’t know why, but I habitually purchase more albums in winter. I get a great thrill out of owning a cd rather than downloading – probably because it’s so rare.

Below are five albums I have put in the car and listened to from beginning to end and on repeat, as they compliment the weather and the cold nights so well.

 

Cloud Control – Bliss Release

 

‘Meditation Song’ sounds so familiar, almost like I’ve turned on something that used to play in dad’s garage when I was a kid. I love it when songs do that, even when you hear them for the first time – they take you back to the time it reminds you of. ‘Gold Canary’ summons my bellowing vocals and I actually feel like it’s dangerous to drive to this song for fear that I will clap along instead of steering. My other favourite is ‘My fear #2’ – a melancholy melody that makes you close your eyes – also dangerous.

 

Bon Iver – Bon Iver

 

Justin Vernon has done it again. Not like we didn’t know he would. The first time I heard Michicant on the radio it was raining and subsequently I got goose bumps from the two combined. It’s the best thing I’ve heard since Roslyn.

 

City and Colour – Little Hell

 

Just such a beautiful voice. I am forever thankful Dallas Green did something so completely opposite to Alexisonfire (which is probably the only band of that genre that I ever gave my full attention to purely because I’d heard Save Your Scissors so long ago. Kudos to you, sir). He seems to have grown a bit; Little Hell is generously magnificent, like you’ve walked in to a grand old house and you’re instantly welcome.

Jamie Woon – Mirror Writing

 

It’s sort of a despondent beat, I find myself tapping my feet to but pondering my years at the same time. It actually blows my mind that he’s supported Amy Winehouse. Dear God man. This thought aside, the song Blue Truth is a really eclectic mix of soft melodys and an almost edge of R&B, and then an almost Middle Eastern ambiance. All I can say is it’s soo good.

Foals – Total Life Forever

 

Blue Blood makes my blood turn blue. It’s enchanting. The whole album is. 2 Trees brings that feeling of when the party’s over and you’re home and warm but all you want to do is go back to the night. Maybe because I did come back to my warm home after a party and put this song on, but it will forever remind me of that.

High Fives: Winter Wonderfuls

Winter can be absolutely ghastly. There are things I thoroughly detest about it, namely getting out of my warm bed in the morning and then going through the same horrific departure with my shower. But there are few things that I do adore. Here are my top 5:

1.

Winter Sun

A sunny winter morning, preferably a Sunday, where one has slept in. It is such a treat soaking up winter rays with a cuppa tea and the Sunday paper. I love feeling the sun warm your skin after when the morning can be so brutally chilly! Team with a pair of ugg boots (which one should never, I repeat, NEVER leave the house in) and a cosy knit and you’ve got your morning sorted.

2.

Baking

My humble abode is on par with Baker’s Delight in winter. Apple pies, warm moist muffins (I can’t believe I just said the M word… and I don’t mean muffins), scones with jam and cream…ahhhhh. But there is one thing I look forward to every chilly June. And that is My Mother’s Sticky Date Pudding. I cannot stress the brilliance that is this pud. I was fortunate enough to experience it in double quantities this year, as we used it to celebrate my brother’s winter 21st birthday. This is one of the only dishes in my 23 years of life that give me a true foodgasm… all the other times I’m just faking it. Recipe to come!

3.

Tea Not Made Yourself

When someone brings you an unexpected cup of tea to warm you up. I’m a huge tea drinker, I drink more tea than water. So that feeling when you’re all comfy and cosy and someone delivers you a steaming hot cuppa… well it’s just dandy! My darling companion bought me this one and it brings a smile to my face every time I sip from it.

4.

Winter Cuddles

If there’s no one appropriate to snuggle your pet/pillow/blankie will suffice.

the same tree two weeks apart

5.

Leaves on the Ground.

It just looks so pretty, and I love that crunching sound when you walk over a scattered pile of them. Winter can be absolutely beautiful.

He Who Rejects Change is the Architect of Decay

I have just been spread all over life’s sandwich like tomato chutney, had some succulent ham and salad thrown on top of me, squished between two pieces of deliciously fresh grain bread, shoved into life’s mouth and chewed by life’s sharp yet impeccably manicured teeth, swallowed, bathed in life’s oesophagus, churned and squished in life’s stomach, and eventually been shat out of life’s anus like an almighty quantity of excremental factors, defecation, faeces, poo, shit.

Before I started talking about poop that sounded like a top-notch sandwich. It even made me a little peckish. But the journey from sandwich to poo is an excursion I have recently endeavoured. Not a smelly poo, don’t worry.

I do realise this is a ridiculous analogy. (Get it…?…Anal?)

But I have recently split with my partner of (nearly) five years, quit my job of four, cancelled a year – long awaited trip / move to London, thrown myself into a new career working ridiculous hours… and sometimes the sandwich looks so good. Looking back on things after they’ve been and gone can give it a positive light. Like how people are forever forgiving those goddamn 3am kebabs that make them viciously ill.

No doubt this lack of sandwich has significantly increased my consumption of alcohol (also thanks to a job in media you’re basically payed to drink – amazing), crushed every plans of diet and exercise, violently abolished all commitments to family and friends with a happy smiley face – instead I’m a grumpy, grouchy old woman pointing her finger at the youth of today. I not so suddenly feel so suddenly old.

It appears I’m not alone in this series of humungous changes. It has been pointed out to me that from here on in, life is just change after change after change. It is very easy to get used to regularity; to be humble in the same trip to the same job, seeing the same people, doing the same things, eating the same sandwich. I feel like the decisions we’re making now have immeasurable impacts on our future. And how sudden these impacts can become evident.

I do have this hovering ambition to grab life by the balls at the moment, but, pessimistically, I don’t quite know how to do it! There is a lot I take for granted, particularly the company of my very wonderful chums, my family, the beauty of the city I live in and the things I have access to; my health and happiness… but naturally we always want more.

This feeling of wanting more or seeking change is seen by many as selfish, but I think if you stop wanting more then you’ve lost your desire to live.

Bowie knew it.

iFine Dining.

I would like you to consider the process one embarks on each time they assemble themselves for a nice meal out on the town.

1. You greet your companions / dining associates
2. Perform the awkward Rebecca Black fashioned which-seat-do-I-take dance,
3. Park yourself down with an ‘aaaahhh isn’t this nice’ and mutter other related comments on the décor
4. Place your napkin on your lap, not forgetting that recent orange-curry-white- jeans incident
5. Pull out your phone from your handbag / pocket / jacket and delicately place it in a position where if it should vibrate / ring / light up / alert you of any changes in the atmosphere – you will be able to respond, post haste.

Don’t deny it. I do it. You do it. The fellow three tables down does it. The couple over in the corner aren’t even looking at each other – they’re checking themselves in on facebook. Example: “OMG this shnitzel is like, a-m-a-z-i-n-g….@The Pub.” And half an hour later, “Sooooo drunk, schnit was a bad choooice @The Pub.”

Eff off.

But,  your head nodding in agreement with the annoyingness that is checking in to eat schnitzel confirms and verifies my point: we need to put the iPhone DOWN. Soon every eatery’s table in town will possess be a position especially designed for the accommodation of your particular communications device. It goes fork, knife, spoon, phone. Scan the mennnuuuu, scroll through Twitteeerrrrrr, prepare witty retort to Facebook comments, respond to Words With Friends, aaaannnd finally decide what to order the fourth time poor waitress has approached you.

I’m not advocating a Logies-style Twitter / mobile ban in all restaurants or anything, my question is more along the lines of this: Why can’t we just be happy with the experience we’re having at the present time, instead of needing to tell the world what we’re doing before we’ve even done it?

I’m not the only one who thinks table manners are of high importance. See here, my wonderful friend at Love That Red agrees.

Goodness Gracious Me

I beg of you, your pardon.

 

If you don’t mind, it would bring me much joy if you’d let me enlighten you about the importance, nay, the magnitude of the concept of manners.

mãnn’er n. social bearing, compliance with conventions of behaviour.

I cannot stress how valuable a good set of manners is. I truly believe that – being a model of politeness myself – a set of manners has given me a more contented perspective on societal issues. It is stupendous to have a door held open for you, implausible to have your drink poured first at the table, absolutely marvellous to have someone say ‘thankyou’ when you do something for them. I may be talking to you, you hoon drivers – for eff’s sake, if I let you in my lane, I’ve sat with my foot on the effing brake out of the goodness of my heart, GIVE ME AN EFFING WAVE. THANKYOU.

A few nights ago, some dear friends and myself were subject to a ghastly exposé of social etiquette at the hands of a grumpy and grouchy waitress. I know being a waitress can sometimes suck, not that I’ve got the experience to support this. But as a person who has been in customer service since I was legally allowed to work, I do believe that being polite can make yours and your customers experience far less painful. Nevertheless, our evening went by with service that was unquestionably rude, to the point of being offensive. And we paid for it.

Perhaps the concept of manners should be legally enforced. A further punishment than the simple tut tut’s that a nanna may mutter in the presence of an unmannered perpetrator. In my opinion, pleases, thankyous and you’re welcomes are invaluable.

Ahem. I am a lady, therefore you should let me order my drink first. (I don’t really think that, but it would be nice.) BUT if you are a gentleman, you should indeed offer any lady / the disabled / the old hunchbacked lady / miss pregnant with a pram the seat on the train. I actually saw this happen. Scene: Macquarie University station, Sydney. Enter, Miss Pregnant With A Pram. All seats with available pram room are occupied. Not   one   person   stood   up. My mouth almost hit that disgustingly unhygienic and likely to be contaminated excuse for a floor. It made me realise how much we as human beings suck at polite behaviour. When did we stop caring about each other?

Being polite is good for your heart. Even Oprah said so here. Being kind makes you feel better about yourself, and people are therefore more likely to show you respect. Why would you treat people any other way?

A Ramble of Hugs & Cupcakes

Now, I’m not an outstandingly huge advocate of any form of affection. (For proof of this, see here.) In fact, quite often I shy away from it unless I’ve got a few drinks under the belt. But there are occasions that call for a big fat bear hug. A display of love, comfort and friendship. I’m not particularly good at hugs, which is something I’m not proud of. I am one who prefers to offer other things that demonstrate my fondness. For example, today I made my dear mother cupcakes. Which she will probably hate me for.

But it got me thinking, how effective something like a hug can be. My heart has just felt shattered seeing the most horrific images of the recent natural disasters. To have your whole life literally swept away from you or crushed, your friends and family, your home, your pets, your belongings, heck – I get upset when I can’t get the internet working on my darn phone, I just cannot imagine the gravity of the position these poor people are in.

It really has made me reconsider the magnitude of any of my own tiny problems. My problems can mostly be bandaged with a cuddle. Suffice to say, of course I’ve donated my ‘love’ (i.e. moolah) to several charities. [send your love to Japan here, to Christchurch here, to Queensland here] But it doesn’t really seem enough. There should be a way to send them a hug.

Off the somber subject, here is the delightful recipe to the cupcakes I offered my mother as a substitute for a hug.

Hazelnut Chocolate Cupcakes.

I’m not a huge fan of Nutella on toast. I’d eat it from the jar as a kid, which was a real no-no in my house. But wack it on a slice of Tip Top and you send me running. It does absolutely nothing for my appetite. However, I’ve never been to France. Apparently Nutella is enormously popular on anything from crepes to croissants. This I’d be up for. Mostly because I am more likely to trust what the French are doing to my plate than anyone else.

But this recipe is not from France, it happens to be taken from the beautiful Hummingbird Bakery cookbook, which my darling friend brought me back from London. And oh, my god, they are amazing. If I do say so myself.

You will need:

100g plain flour

20g cocoa powder

140g caster sugar

1 ½  teaspoons baking powder

a pinch of salt

40g butter, at room temperature

120ml whole milk

1 egg

120g chocolate hazelnut spread (such as Nutella)

about 36 whole, shelled hazelnuts to decorate

hazelnut and chocolate frosting:

250g icing sugar, sifted

80g unsalted butter, at room temperature

25ml of whole milk

80g hazelnut and chocolate spread (Nutella)

Makes 12

Preheat the oven to 170 °C

Put the flour, cocoa powder, sugar, baking powder, salt and butter in a freestanding electric mixer with a paddle attachment (I unfortunately do not own one of these so had to use my lame old electric whisk) and beat on slow speed until you get a sandy consistency and everything is combined.

Slowly pour the milk into the flour mixture, beating well until all the ingredients are well mixed. Add the egg and beat well (scrape any unmixed ingredients from the side of the bowl with a rubber spatula).

Spoon the mixture into the paper cases until two-thirds full and bake in the preheated oven for about 20 minutes, or until the sponge bounces back when touched. Leave the cupcakes to cook slightly in the tray before turning out onto a wire cooking rack to cool completely.

When the cupcakes are cool, hollow out a small section in the centre of each one and fill with a dollop of hazelnut and chocolate spread.

For the hazelnut and chocolate frosting:

Beat the icing sugar and butter together, on medium-slow speed until the mixture comes together and is well mixed. Turn the mixer down to a slower speed. Slowly pour in the milk, then when it is all incorporated, turn the mixer up to high speed. Continue beating until the frosting is light and fluffy, at least 5 minutes. The longer the frosting is beaten, the fluffier and lighter it becomes.

Stir in the hazelnut and chocolate spread by hand until evenly mixed into the frosting. When the cupcakes are cold, spoon the frosting on top and finish with about 3 hazelnuts per cupcake.

Perfect with a cup of black tea.

P.S. Speaking of hugs, remember this? Love it.

What’s in a Valentine…

What I am about to say may come as a shock, as I happen to be notorious for being outrageously unromantic i.e. I cringe when poor Boyfriend attempts to convey any sort of affection, I loathe PDA’s, I think cupid is stupid, I despise those abhorrent pet names, I think a bunch of flowers is a waste of a bunch of money. Boyfriend and I don’t go out on dates for fear of partaking in the ‘couples convention’ and looking like those wanky swingers holding hands through the most unnecessary circumstances – for example, you do NOT need someone to hold your hand when you are riding escalator. Some people are on tight schedules and need to get to the next floor in a jiffy and your handholding is BLOCKING MY WAY.

This all said, I’m just going to put my bipolar opinion out there: I have a bit of a crush on Valentines Day. Not even Boyfriend knows this. After all, it celebrates everything that I am repulsed by i.e. affection, devotion, romance etc. Ew. But every February 14^th, I find myself craving those stupid heart shaped chocolates, pining over roses, hungry for a dinner date and following perhaps a rom com. All of these darling gestures that just make you feel LOVED. And who doesn’t love to feel loved. However, Valentines Day for the coupled up does have the potential to be the most pitiful day of the year.

1. Your significant other actually paid money for one of those appallingly tacky teddy bears from the local 7 Eleven which probably had ‘I Wuv You’ written on it.
2. Your partner decides that V-day is el lamo and doesn’t want to celebrate it and/or even bother to see you even though you already went out and purchased some la-la lingerie. Humf. Just saying.
3. Your boyfriend and/or girlfriend forgets that it’s Valentines Day. I don’t know how anyone could do this unless they have been walking around with their eyes closed for the past 4 weeks. Which some people do, clearly.
4. You think you’re masterchef and cook your other half a batch of inedible, vulgar and in fact sickening batch of cupcakes. Inedible because they did not include egg, or the correct sugar to flour ratio. Vulgar in that the icing was a ridiculous lumpy texture. Sickening, as I had actually thought that Valentines Day cupcakes were cute and adorable and that boyfriend would think so too. Clearly this lovey-dovey pressure got the better of me.

Whilst, evidently, I adore the idea of it and take a lot of pleasure putting effort into making the day special in the form of a cupcake, V-day can sometimes be a little sobering. Perhaps it’s that grim reminder that a. you don’t have someone to celebrate it with or b. you don’t have any romance in your current relationship to rejoice in.

But the day of Valentine’s doesn’t have to be honoring romantic love. I love love. Love of all kinds. I love Boyfriend, of course, but I also love my chums, my buddies, my ma & pa, my dog, my bed, my cupcakes (when recipe is dutifully followed), my morning coffee, my afternoon coffee, my pajamas, my Macbook, my Dior perfume, the list goes on. Hence I have come to the conclusion that V-day should just be a reminder of the things we love, and one should express their love to all things listed above on this day. Christmas in February basically.

Love the day. Love, Cait. xoxoxoxoxo

P.S. Do note that I will never ever give ex’s or oh’s ever again on this blog.

P.P.S. Boyfriend, all I want is some effing chocolate.

Here’s a treat:

The Best Things in Life Go Woof

If you’ve ever felt the loss of a pet, you know it’s something that can be very difficult to overcome. It’s tough, because the passing of a pet is not an occasion that many people give you a lot of sympathy for. You can’t take a day off work, you most certainly can’t be caught crying in a corner over it, and the hardest thing is that there’s always that dense individual that rubs salt in the wound and says ‘oh well, you can always get a new one.’ That person has never owned a dog.

My dog Bailey was the embodiment of the word friend. Bailey would sense my feelings, completely unaware that whenever I was sad or in a foul mood, a cuddle from her was the only thing that can cheer me up. This unabashed, blissful life of hers completely swayed and manipulated my own. Each and every time I’d walk down the steps to my front gate, she was there to greet me – albeit the most maddening and irritating welcome in the form of a yap – but it was like she’d missed you for years. The recollection of this makes me never want to walk through my front gate again.

I think the reason why the loss of a pet dog impacts on its owner so severely is that they are integrated into every single day of your life from the moment you bring them home. Everything in my house reminds me of Bailey. She used to sit right on my feet as I’d eat dinner, so now I don’t want to eat. She’d sleep outside my window and I’d hear her snoring, which was annoying and comforting at the same time, but now I can’t sleep. She used to roll around on the concrete in the morning and I’d wake up to her ridiculous growls of pleasure, and now I don’t want to get out of bed. If I went to shower she’d sit right outside the bathroom door and now I don’t want to shower (don’t worry, I also happen to be a hygiene freak so that ones out of the question).

All of these things are attributed to Bailey only. No other dog is like her. Never have Î felt so loved by anyone or anything, this uncritical, completely perpetual and interminable love that was unwavering between the two of us. If I was sad, she’d give me a cuddle with a look of sympathy in her eyes, as if to say ‘I’m here’. But what is so heartbreaking is that, when she was sick, she was so sad, and all I could do was sit with her and cry.

To own a dog brings you not only companionship, but also it is believed to improve your physical and mental health.

I know beyond a doubt that I will be a dog owner for the rest of my life. I cannot envisage a life without one.

P.S. i hate cats, cats suck.

P.P.S. watch this if you want to cry.

 

The Lady Herself

The Fear of Rejection

Rejection

re·jec·tion

[ri-jek-shuhn]

Isn’t it the ugliest word you have ever read?

(Ok, well it’s not the ugliest. It isn’t as bad as moist. Nothing is as bad as moist. Moist. Ugghhh I actually shudder every time I hear that. Moist.)

Well then I guess one could conclude that the worst thing one could ever hear in one’s life would be ‘moist rejection’.

“Hello there, at present I am wet, in fact I’m moist, and you are fired.” = moist rejection.

Before you judge me as a severe psychotic and conclude that you’re not to read any further, I’m going to trail off that moist path and continue with the intensity of the word rejection. Rejection. The idea of being rejected is possibly up there with losing a limb. I loathe it. I lose sleep over the thought of it. I will do anything and everything to avoid that horrendous feeling, when you have poured all your might into an idea of something working, and the recipient of these efforts simply says ‘no’. How harsh, how callous, how ruthless that no feels.

Of course there are many different kinds of rejections one can face.

1. “We’re very sorry, but we have no tables left for a booking tonight. But we do have some available for tomorrow?” I’m hungry now, a-hole. Stomach filling will not be postponed.

2. You added Lolita Leggings on Facebook and weeks later view her page and realise she never accepted. Lolita’s a slut anyway.

3. “I’m sorry, your credit card has been declined.” Meh. Deal with that pearler later.

4. “I’m sorry, you do not meet the requirements needed for this position.” Ouch, okay.

5. “Uh, nah I don’t really want to dance with you, thanks though.” Oh. My. God. I cannot feel my legs.

6. “I’m sorry, I just don’t like you like that.” OH MY HOLY MOTHER OF GOD I CAN’T BREATHE. My heart is NOT working. I will just walk over to this corner in the dark and DIE.

I have recently been riding a very long train of rejection. Lucky for me it hasn’t had anything to do with numbers 3, 5 or 6. (P.S. Lolita, I hate you and I only wanted to stalk your lame photos.) No, my rejection is fundamentally stemming from attempted career advancements, which ought to be filed in the simple ‘ouch, okay’ category. But this nature can only apply to the first, let’s say, 500 rejections. Once that number of rejections escalates to 1000, you sort of begin to think that you cannot bear another rejection. That if you hear the word ‘no’ again in your life, you might just keel over.

So, rather than keeling over, I have conjured a number of uplifting solutions to deal with the horrific life experience that is rejection.

1. Make a booking at a restaurant. For tomorrow. Then call back, tomorrow, and cancel. Rewarding.

2. Add Lolita’s boyfriend on Facebook.

3. Buy several credit cards and watch your money evaporate muhahahaha

4. Apply for ten jobs you don’t want. Cunning lines such as, “I’m sorry, I’ve accepted an offer as an astronaut instead” may be used here.

5. Wait for feeling to return to legs. Use legs to stomp on said person who will not dance with you’s toes. Now he can’t dance. Or walk.

6. There is nothing you can do to deal with the rejection of a prospective partner. It sucks. It hurts. It lingers. And the only thing you can do to overcome this agony is completely erase any pain from your memory. Or at least that’s what I do, and I would thoroughly recommend this mechanism. So, from memory, I have never felt such rejection. HA!

P.S. One should be aware that the ramifications of the above suggested solutions may outweigh the expected result of satisfaction. But one valuable lesson someone once told me is this:

Never expect rejection.

It never makes rejection suck any less. And if you expect it, you’ll never try.

It's the fish John West reject that make John West the best

The Quarter Life Crisis

  There comes a time in everyone’s life where a period of intense physical, physiological and psychological transitions occur. Your balls have already dropped / you’re way out of training bras, and you’ve been stripping yourself of bush for years so you’re definitely far off puberty. And you’re not forgetting your address or going grey so it’s not a midlife crisis. You happen to be fit and nimble, and everyone is telling you that the world is your oyster. But call me shellfish, this comment is fine until you sample said oyster and realise – heck – you don’t actually enjoy having freakishly slimy, slightly chewy yet soft, weird, brownish snot ball look-alike things in your mouth.

   As a Gen Y, I myself am a product of the best educated, most technologically savvy generation alive. I literally do have opportunities at my doorstep. But on occasions I find myself envious of the Baby Boomer parentals that produced me. For the life of me, I do not remember a day that I did not look at a computer screen. Having said that, I can’t really remember what I had for breakfast. But would you care to take some interest in the fact that I can recite plenty of Marketing jargon terms and their meanings? As a graduate, this is a superior and enviable skill. One which has not delivered me a job but this is not the point.

   This feeling has brought me to beseech the question, is it possible that our brains are cramming up? Seriously, though you may think I’m stupid. And though, when I was a child, I did believe that I possessed a brain so brimful that it would swell and explode, as an adult I am once again pondering the issue. I should note that in my time as a youngster I also believed that you could run out of voice, as your voicebox contained only so many noises that if you used the same noise over and over you would eventually run out. There were many more beliefs comparable to those aforementioned but if I delved into them now you’d probably believe I was partially retarded. Which I am not. But back to my valuable and credible point, I do believe we are overusing our brains.

   It appears that this overuse results in us twenty-somethings burning out. What else could explain this incessant desire to ‘chill out’, or our nostalgia for our childhood coming 20 years earlier than it should. We constantly seek reassurance and are aiming for unrealistic goals and working jobs we hate to keep up appearances, because if we’re not educated, not well travelled and not earning big bucks then we are not successful, and the levels of depression amongst 20-somethings is soaring. But we are LIVING. And should be LOVING this LIVING.

   Consequently, I shall take it upon myself to cease filling up my brain with anything I don’t want to know. So if you’re conversing with me about that really weird dream you had last night, or that terrible run-in you had with your long lost aunt who buys toilet paper at the same place you do, or your mortgage, you may see me nodding my head and losing my gaze. This is me filing your boring story into the ‘do not need to remember’ folder, and I will therefore lead a happier and healthier life.