Archive for the ‘ranty pants’ Category


Stinky jeans

March 4, 2012

Last night the Curmudgeon and I went to the flicks. We ate choc tops and jaffas and saw The Artist – I loved it. I was spellbound but for one thing.

About half-way through, I noticed a mild stink. A sort of unwashed persony stink. I sniffed the Curmudgeon to my right… it wasn’t him. And the pair of ladies to my left were terribly nice nice nice and unlikely to be the culprits. Which left… me. I was generating a cloud of unpleasantness, confirmed when the lights came on and I investigated further. I’m sure the nice nice nice ladies discussed the foetid person sitting next to them as they had a post-flick hot chocolate. Eek!

I was wearing my one and only pair of jeans which have been loitering in a drawer for most of summer. I suspect I wore them once then put them away for months when I should have washed them first. Oh, the shame. Today they were soaked and scrubbed and are drying in the sun and I promise I’ll never do it again.

However, the reason why I’m airing my dirty laundry on teh interwebs is because the NGV has an exhibition called Nobody was Dirty running from 10-31 March that features jeans worn and unwashed for three months. Apparently it’s to explore social norms around cleanliness and germophobic mindsets, blahdy blah.

Now, I must protest… I like cleanth, generally, but I’m not a clean freak. I consider garden dirt to be clean dirt and I consider compost under the fingernails is the mark of a great weekend rather than suboptimal personal hygiene. I buy most things secondhand and dive in skips for treasures. I fear germs not. I think the folks who fall for all the advertising propaganda about germicidal hand wash and room fresheners are nut bars. But I have a sensitive nose – at least, it’s much more sensitive than the Curmudgeon’s. And I do not like to be on either the receiving or delivery end of human-generated stink. So how could anyone wear the same pair of dacks 90 days in a row? How could they bear their own odour? Or does it get to the point where a second wave of bacterial colonisation chases off the first stench-generating germs?

When we got home last night, we startled a possum that was on our front fence. It hurled itself to the ground via the Curmugeon’s shoulders when we opened the gate, then skittled up the back of my leg. Just above my knee, it changed its mind, jumped down and climbed a nearby tree. Was it, too, repulsed by the stinky jeans?


New Idea

July 1, 2011

Standing in line at the supes last night I beheld an execrable example of Photoshop whittling-down of female flesh. They’ve taken Princess Beatrice and hacked away the pixels bestowed upon her by nature and the papparazzi’s lens, then stamped “how I got my best bikini body” over the top.

I’ve circled the evidence for your convenience so you don’t have to think too hard. Notice the discrepency betwixt her hip above and below her hand?

Even I could do better Photoshopping than this, and I struggled to remember how to make a circle that wasn’t filled in while preparing this image for you. But the real problem here is this: they’re saying she’s not OK. Her body isn’t OK. Even when it’s her ‘best’ it’s still wrong. They’ve sliced her away as if she was bacon when actually she’s a woman. Furthermore, they’re saying to readers that THIS is what you should aspire to. This is ‘best’. But it’s not even real.

Don’t fall for it, ladies. Or gents. Magazines suck.


Wheely joy

May 10, 2011

These joyful, pink non-sequiturs are popping up on fences and walls all over Melbourne. I love them. They exemplify all that is marvellous about the very idea of bicycles.

This morning I crossed a very busy street behind banked-up traffic that stretched to the horizon. The last car that made it through the lights contained a solo driver (as did most of them) who was reading a novel as she sat there waiting for the opportunity to inch forward. I thought, that woman would never want to celebrate her mode of transport. She would never be inspired to paint ‘SENSIBLE SEDAN’ or ‘COROLLA’ in curly pink letters on an anonymous wall. And that, peoples, is the number one difference between those of us on pushies and those of us in stuck in traffic.


Carbohydrate crusader. Caped, perhaps.

January 7, 2011

I baked a big fat loaf of bread a couple of days ago. Huge. Larger than my head. Denser than my head. We ate delicious, cakey toast at every opportunity until it was gone.

I marvel at gluten. I would like to defend its honour, too, since it gets such a bad rap. I feel really sorry for anyone who can’t eat it for medical reasons, but I do think it’s become The Bad Guy, like a cartoon villain. (He’s behind you!!). I think I’ll form an advocacy group called ‘Gluttons for Gluten’ and promote this maligned molecule’s millennia of fine work in the fields of cake, biscuits, bread and pizza. Who’ll join me?! We can make t-shirts and chant, “High-gluten flour power!”


New Year revolutions

January 1, 2011

Some people seem to think the start of the new year should trigger exfoliation, emancipation, embetterment of oneself and/or dazzlingly ambitious new projects.

I’d like to have it noted that in 2011, I’ll pretty much be and do just the same as I be-ed and did in 2010. Only with shorter telomeres. So don’t expect anything fancy.


Not a word

November 24, 2010

On pages 717-718 of Big Green, you’ll see:



Nowhere in this list do I see the word ‘luxe’.

Fashion writers, accessories journalists and interior design editorialists please take note.


I’m just mad about…

October 17, 2010

Thanks to re-runs of Absolutely Fabulous on Sunday nights, it suddenly dawned on me who all these Northcote kids in ugly 90s clothes are drawing inspiration from.

Saffron Monsoon. What a style icon.

OK, here’s a drinking-game-question for you… if you had to dress like Saffron, Edina or Patsy every day for the rest of your life, which would you choose?