Archive for October, 2004

“My interests include tapdancing, sodomy and helping others.”

Monday, October 25th, 2004

Remember how I mentioned a few entries ago that I won a short story competition? Well, I’m currently in the process of answering some interview questions about it via email for a local newspaper. Tomorrow they’re coming to take my photograph, which will be a million kinds of fun. I’m a reasonably attractive girl, but you wouldn’t know it from photographs. Something about the inner workings of cameras makes me turn out looking like Frankenstein’s half-finished female monster after a particularly memorable encounter with a bucket bong. Or it could just be that I have such a high opinion of myself that seeing the reality is a shock. I doubt it, though: I do, after all, look in changeroom mirrors when trying on clothes. There are no delusions here.

I should be flattered, I suppose, that they’re interviewing me. And I am. It’s just that it’s kind of weird and nerve-wracking and I don’t know how I should answer the questions. This is going to sound incredibly disingenuous coming from someone with a personal blog, but I really don’t like talking about myself. Not without being able to use toilet humour and foul language and hide behind a thin veil of sarcasm and irony, at any rate. When it comes to being serious about things, I kind of lose it, which is why when I say “I love you” to Stuart, it’s often followed up with something of the lines of “even if you are a total fuckwit”. I don’t like having to speak seriously about myself.

Of course, I realise I’m taking this all way too seriously, especially considering that within a week or so, my image and pull quotes will be lining kitty litter trays around my suburb. But I can’t not, because I genuinely am flattered and a bit proud and also I don’t want to sound like any more of a complete tool in the article than I inevitably will once my opinions get homogenised for the local rag.

It doesn’t make it any easier to answer the questions though. I am the sort of person who, when told to “say something,” promptly forgets every single word in her vocabulary. So being asked to answer questions about writing, a subject which for me is as natural as breathing or kleptomania, feels weird and uncomfortable.

I’m battling along to the best of my capabilities, however. Here’s my answer to the question, Tell me a little about yourself?:

I have been writing stories and poems since I learned the alphabet, at age 18. I hope to eventually get a Ph.D in English Literature. I love music, theatre, and hitting myself repeatedly in the head with giant plastic phalluses. My prize money from this award was spent on crack for me and my boyfriend, which was great because it meant I went nearly a whole day without having to turn tricks. I get really excited when I walk into a bookshop and breathe in the smell of new books, to the point where I have had to be physically restrained on several occasions. Policeman says I wouldn’t get so many uncomfortable papercuts if I kept my knickers on.

Obviously, this answer needs a bit of work. I should probably try to rid it of fabrication, too. For example, it’s a complete lie that I learned the alphabet at 18. I was actually 17. Which is pretty precocious for a Gippsland girl.

Further questions that pose problems:

What is the best thing about writing?

The joy of putting words together in a creative manner and realising what an impact they have. Also, the whores and the fact that alcoholism isn’t just accepted, it’s expected.

Because every fiction writer should aim to channel Hemingway.

What can we learn from your story?

That gruesome murder can be highly entertaining. Also, that killing people isn’t wrong if you don’t believe it’s wrong.

Of all my answers, this is the one I am most tempted to submit to the newspaper as is. I don’t wish to pick on the poor old hack journalist conducting this “interview,” but seriously? If this question were any more retarded, it’d be licking the special bus windows.

I Have Been Far Too Readily Influenced By Pornography

Sunday, October 17th, 2004

Once upon a time, back in the days before I was a fresh-faced library employee, I was a fresh-faced porn store employee. In addition to giving me a healthy scepticism towards people and their motivations, it also scarred me irrevocably. You see, I have always had what some might call a smutty mind. This was exacerbated somewhat by spending vast amounts of time (or three shifts a week, at any rate) in the presence of pornography.

While it’s been a good year and a half since I quit the porn store job, I still finds it affects my life in little ways. I have trouble not snortling when I hear certain perfectly innocent words, such as “Greek”. My female friends have all given up on telling me anecdotes about their trips to beauty parlours, because the word “facial” turns me into a 14-year-old schoolboy.

I realised the other day that I still suffer from what I like to call Porn Association Syndrome. That’s when you misread or misunderstand something with an invariably pornographic context. A couple of days ago when I was working on the returns, I came across a whole pile of Mills and Boon romances, and starting scanning through them quickly. I didn’t really take any notice of them since I’ve got no interest in romances, but I did glance down as I went to put the pile on the shelving trolley. I was startled to see that one of the books appeared to be called One Night in His Ass, complete with lovey-dovey couple on the front cover. “Wow!” I thought to myself. “Mills and Boon have really changed with the times! Fancy a romance novel where the love interest is into pegging!”

Upon closer inspection, the actual title was revealed to be One Night in His Arms, and I was quite disappointed. Obviously Mills and Boon have decided not to try to corner the deviant sexually progressive market just yet.

Porn Association Syndrome has other disturbing consequences, like when my father asks why I never wear the pearl necklaces he gave me. I try not to contemplate that one too heavily.

The Pain Keeps on Coming

Friday, October 15th, 2004

I’m still depressed over the election results. Not that I see that changing anytime within the next three years.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, I went to my lovely friend Nick’s house for lovely drinks with lovely company last night, and that in itself was great, except that this morning when I woke up, I realised my alcohol tolerance really isn’t what it used to be. Thank sweet uncoordinated Jesus that it’s a quiet day at work.

An Open Letter to the People of Australia

Sunday, October 10th, 2004


I can’t believe you elected Howard again. What were you thinking? That he’ll protect your precious precious interest rates from the nasty refugees and marriage-seeking gay people?

I’ve been telling myself that you lot got the government you deserve, complete with input from the kind of right-wing interest groups whose members stare fixedly at your left year when they speak to you. Unfortunately for me and my leftie, femmie, queerie ilk, we got the government you deserved, too.

Guess I’ll see y’all at the bonfire. Looks like I’ll be the one tied to the stake. Barbie’s up!


Yours in enmity,


I Throw Rocks at Toddlers and I Vote

Friday, October 1st, 2004

At the risk of proving precisely why I don’t write about politics on this blog (i.e. that I’m a bit of a Ralph Wiggum about it)…

I’m feeling pretty despondent about the upcoming federal election. I’ve only voted in a federal election once before, and I was all young and excited and proud to be doing my part for democracy. Then I got the hell over myself. Stupid teenagers.

This time around I’m having trouble feeling enthusiastic about any of the political parties, because unlike the halcyon days of my youth (or, given my current age, younger youth), I don’t feel particularly represented by any party. I’m not completely happy with the idea of giving any of the current contenders my vote, and while I know that 100% happiness isn’t even really the point, it still makes me feel a bit sad, mostly because I used to be so eager and excited about state and federal elections and now it all feels a bit blah. I’m not as starry-eyed about the Greens as I once was, and as I commented to a friend of mine, having to choose between the ALP and the Liberal party is a bit like having to make the choice between fucking your uncle or your dad.

I think this is what’s called “apathy,” or “naivete” (in expecting politics to actually be about serving the people), or possibly “hearing one’s parents bang on about politics a bit too often.”

And now, back to our regular scheduled programming of…er, not much really.