Is blood thicker than styling serum?

My dad and I have a complicated relationship. It's not all penny whistles and moon pie, despite what you may have been lead to believe in this blog. Sure, there are the cutesy emails and lovely 21st speeches but there are also the caustic blow-ups fueled by bitter, bitter resentment. One inevitable source of tension between the two of us is, oddly enough, my hair. Dear old Dad simply does not understand how to broach the topic of a new haircut with a style-conscious person such as myself. More irritatingly, he does not appear to care that he lacks this skill.

Up until recently he has had trouble recognising when I've changed my hair. Even drastic things like a new colour, or a new fringe. However, recently he has begun to notice my follicle alterations and, additionally, has begun to offer unsolicited opinions on them. Here are some actual, genuine, real-life comments that he has foisted upon me after seeing various 'dos for the first time:

"What happened to your head?!"
--The unfortunate implication here is that the haircut is so horrible that it actually makes it seem as though my cranium has been disfigured.

"Did you do that on purpose?!"
--I am still struggling to imagine a set of circumstances where a person might have an accidental haircut. Feel free to leave a suggestion in the comments.

"Have you actually seen what it looks like?!"
--Ouch, Dad, ouch.

However, yesterday he reached a new level of derision that mere words could not adequately express. Upon seeing my hair he simply sniggered in my face and walked away to brush his teeth. Thanks, Pop. I'm sure one day I will recover from the wounds each of those guffaws cut into my little heart.

My family outside our house, circa 2003. Don't be fooled; underneath the smiles, waves and anti-war posters there is conflict and thinly veiled hostility.

The Bold and the Beefcake

Even though I was always more of a Zack Morris girl, I still felt great joy when I realised where I'd seen Dr. Ramirez of Bold and the Beautiful before.


He is none other than Mario Lopez of Saved By The Bell fame! w00t! (Seriously, how great was that show?!)
That's right, he was Bayside High's resident dumb, misogynistic wrestler A.C. Slater. You may remember him for such classic lines as...

Slater: [talking to Jessie] Guys are great at math. It's just a shame you weren't born a man.
...
Jessie: Slater, since we're together, I think we should share the household chores.
Slater: Sure, you cook & I'll eat.
...
Jessie: Slater, haven't you heard of the Women's Movement?
Slater: Sure..."Put on something cute and MOVE it into the kitchen."

Whatta guy, huh? Meanwhile, the man has done enough beefcake shots to sink a small ocean liner. So if 'built' is your thing (I prefer weedy, but that's just me...), then you should really go trawling the net for some pictures whence next you have a bit of time on your hands.

Mario like you never saw him on Saved By The Bell

A lady's tongue must always match her dress, and other things I learnt at my 21st...

Staged at the rather chic Murmur Bar, my 21st birthday was easily the best party I've ever hosted and was one of the most fun nights I've had since the time I streaked across the Warburton Highway (an event which, naturally enough, came up in the speeches).

Alex and Tash. I don't know why I love this picture, but I do. I think it shows how much of a good time I was having but without the cheesy, posed smile that appears in most of the other pictures. Yeah, OK, I look like a drunken semi-loon but I'm not just any old drunken semi-loon... I'm a drunken semi-loon in a great dress.

Anna, Lorena and Lia, and, Chiara, George and Jess. Speaking of sartorial stylishness, all my friends possess it to an amazing degree. Particularly my female friends. Hotties, every one of them. I didn't realise until the night of my party that I seem to be collecting beautiful and nicely spangled women as though they were butterflies to be pinned on a board and then affixed to my wall. (Sounds like the plot of a Morgan Freeman/Ashley Judd crime thriller.)

Chox, Seb, Svet and David. And yet more sexy, beautiful creatures of the night. OK, so these ones are slightly less dignified than those above, but that's OK... It takes all kinds. Plus, they gave me good presents.
Seb and Karina. Oh la la! As evidenced here by a certain morally degenerate pair, there was plenty adultery on the dancefloor, if a distinct lack of murder (... Oh well, I'm happy for people to break whichever of the Ten Commandments they want).

Alex and Adam. And here is a perfect example of why one shouldn't get photos taken with exes; one ends up looking cheesed off. The scary thing is, I can't remember there being a reason to pull this face at the time the picture was taken. Maybe I always look this way when I'm around him!

John. My now famous father, who, after delivering a killer speech and generally being awesome at my shindig, has become widely considered to be cooler than me! (Imagine that if you can.) Due to popular demand, he has subsequently promised to start a blog in retirement. Meanwhile, can you imagine what it would be like to go to a grog blog with your dad?! That is surely too much lameness for any one person to bear.

Drew and Alex. The other day my dear friend Svet mused,
"I wish you and Drew would get together."
"Do you think we'd make a good couple?" I queried.
She responded; "Well, I like him and I've already established a rapport. I don't want to have to do that with some other guy."
...Good to see that she has my interests at heart.

Sealed section: BLOGGERS GONE WILD!
Not since grog blog 2005 have I seen bloggers hit the bottle so hard, and with such interesting results...

Russ, Hannah and Jon. It seems that writing a blog proves to be an irresistible lure where the ladies are concerned. Meanwhile, if there is a photograph out there of Jon where he is not pulling a stupid face, I am yet to see it.
Adam and Andrew. Speaking of irresistible lures, that skank Andrew could hardly wait until his girlfriend's back was turned to start making moves on a certain part-time blogger, full-time Casanova.

Nick. That shifty bastard stole my lollipop! Actually, a few people did. That lollipop probably got the most action of anyone at the damn party.

Hannah, Alex and Karen. Could I be more of a poser? Seems unlikely.
All in all, I had a fabulous time. I generally do when given the opportunity to get dressed up and ponce about, but it was especially nice because everyone kept showering me in praise and lavish gifts, as well. (I really must turn 21 more often!) A big thanks to all those who came and indulged me, particularly as you all managed to restrain yourselves from buying me cocktail shakers, oversized keys, or chintzy Champagne glasses as presents. Props to that, bruthas and sistas. Mad love to ya!

Correspondence Between a Father and Daughter

I suppose my dad must've been reading my blog because today he sent me this email:

Subject: Which One Is Sterne?
I'm guessing the one on the right. He must be a man of parts, infinite jest, and sensibility if he is a fan of Alfred Jarry and Cab Calloway! What a combination! Did you tell him my anecdote about the 1963 (or so) production of Ubu Roi when Mr Plod turned up with a warrant for the arrest of Alfred Jarry?



No, wait a minute, knowing your obsessional neatness Sterne will be the one on the left. The picture doesn't do him justice.

I attach a Cab Calloway clip.

xxYrDa

P.S. I assume Sterne knows he can hear right here in Melbourne a man who has played for Calloway...

To which I replied;

Subject: Hold the weddin'

Yes, he's the one on the left! And yes, the links on my blog beneath the picture are in order of the individuals' placing in the photo because, yes, I am obsessional.

Two guys write Sterne, which is named after Laurence Sterne, not one of the bloggers themselves. There is one called Tim and one called Jon. Jon is the one in my photo. I have a hunch he put up the Alfred Jarry quote (though, I'm not sure), but he didn't write that entry that has the Cab Calloway picture in it; Tim did. (You can see who has written each entry by looking at the very bottom of the post.) So, while I agree that indeed he is a man of infinite jest, and sensibility (for he is, and he's extremely clever, too), I can neither confirm nor deny his liking for either Jarry or Calloway. But I will find out, and if he does, I will try to seduce him away from his girlfriend so that he and I can get married and make your son-in-law dreams come true.

xox Yr Dau

So, Jon, it seems you have a new fan. My dad gets very excited when young people have the same tastes as him. Could you please clear up your feelings on Jarry and Calloway, so he knows whether or not to get excited? And just so everyone knows, this is the Jarry anecdote in question:
In the early 1960s the one of the Melbourne Uni theatre companies run by the union put on a production of Ubu Roi and somehow the cops got wind of it. They found out that the play contained the word "Merdre!" in it, which was, even though it's misspelled, close enough to the French word for "shit" to be a punishishable offence. So, they went down to raid the performance and, thinking that Alfred Jarry must be a student at MU, demanded to interview him. The other students thought it would be amusing to play along and yelled out "Run, Alf, run! The police are here!", which sent the fuzz scurrying after a man who had been dead since 1907.
The moral: Cops are not only swine, the are specifically uncultured swine. My father never tires of telling that anecdote.

Also, the musician in question (who has played for Cab Calloway) is a guy named Gil Asky. He has does regular gigs at Dizzy's Jazz Bar on Swan Street.

And to Russ and ns, who seem to have been left out in the cold, I found out my father also sent this email around to his some of his friends:

Subject: From Leggsie's Blog: I Am Interested To See Bloggers Are Not A Species Of Geek, But Quite Charming
Yeah, that's right. That photo, and your blog urls, are getting passed around among my dad's crazy friends and you didn't even know it. Scary, huh?!

Eurodance: the unlikely secret to winning friends and influencing people

OK, so I realise that I am hopelessly behind with the times but last Thursday I finally got a hit counter up and running. I must admit, it's pretty lame that I've been blogging for almost a year and a half and yet only started monitoring at who's actually reading it less than a week ago, but what can you do?! Not much to report so far but something that has struck my interest is that so far all the people who have googled to get to me have been looking for Eurodance related stuff! One had typed in straight up "Eurodance", another was specifically wanting "2 Unlimited" and another wanted "Ghetto Pussy" (I hope they meant Tokyo Ghetto Pussy, and weren't looking for porn from da 'hood). Those 3 hits happened in 2 days! I'm thinking that Eurodance might just be the key to my success on the web, so I'm considering changing this blog's theme... OK, not really, but it has set the cogs of my mind in motion. FYI, the Eurodance Track O' The Week for this week is Corona's 'Baby Baby'. That song was solid gold. There isn't much I wouldn't do for a copy of that album, I must say.

Olga Souza was a little more cheery on album covers than other pouty Eurodance musos I could mention.
Survey update: I've got enough data now. Thanks to everyone who commented or emailed me to help out! You guys are total dolls, I love ya. Come to grog blog to claim your prize!

Like, omigod, you missed a killer party...

So, here's a taster of what my 21st birthday party was like:


Judging by this photo alone, you'd probably conclude that I got naked in a bar with a few bloggers I know. Well, I'll set the record straight after I finish panicking about my essays.

Speaking of partying naked, two of the above bloggers are organising a grog blog. In my limited experience grog blogs are actually really fun (despite how potentially unfun they may sound if you've never been to one), so make sure you come along. It will begin at 6:30ish on Friday, June 16th at the Lincoln Hotel Carlton (cnr Queensberry and Cardigan Streets). Bring a chaperone if you feel so inclined!

I will be there and so should you. Let's face it, you've already missed one killer party... You don't want to miss another one, do you?

Didn't think so.