you know you're a northsider if...

After reading Catherine Deveny's column, 'You know you're from Melbourne if...', I decided to put together my own little list.

You know you're a northsider if...

* you know the best pick-up place is Piedemontes IGA
* you shudder at the thought of going south of the river, or even as far as the City
* your favourite ice-cream is a choc top from Nova Cinema
* you visit Readings on Lygon Street at some stage during your weekend - EVERY weekend
* you think it's weird to own a car

Carlton gardens is a lovely spot for a Sunday picnic, if picnics happen to be your thing. After recently being invited to attend a picnic with some friends, I had to kindly decline because I really don't like them. My friend was quite taken aback by this response and decided that me not liking picnics was like not liking Santa. I quickly explained that while I very much liked Santa, I find picnics good in theory but not so good in reality.

Here are just a few reasons why I don't find picnics particularly appealing:

* sitting on the ground is NOT comfortable (I have not been able to comfortably sit on the ground for a long period of time since I was in primary school)
* why must I have to look at people's feet while I eat?
* bees...I'm allergic to them and therefore play a dicey game of death every time I'm on their turf
* children - they're usually everywhere
* getting hit in the head by a ball or frisbee
* lack of bathrooms

Apart from that, sure, picnics are great.

(As a side note I should mention that I did end up going to the picnic with my friends, just to see if I was making a big deal out of nothing. That was all forgotten when I realised the people sitting next to us included very toned guys without tops on, a blow up doll and many suggestive photographs being taken with said doll. Maybe I have been wrong about picnics.)

oh edward

Possible spoilers. Don't read if you don't want to know.

I saw New Moon the other night. I thought it was a well-crafted piece of cinema, with a fine plot.....oh hell, I LOVED it. It was so ace and I want to see it again right now! The CGI was great, the characters gave much more subtle performances and everyone was HOT. (While I'm still Team Edward, I completely love Jacob, especially with the longer hair. And I kind of have a girl crush on Kristen Stewart.)

The Volturi were amazing - I still can't believe that Martin Sheen was one of them! - and one of the best scenes was when Bella knocks her head after being thrown from a motorbike and Jacob takes his t-shirt off to stop the blood. There was a very audible, sharp intake of breath from everyone in the cinema during that scene! Also, when Bella and Edward kissed, it clearly looked like they were going to pass out from the sheer passion of it all.

The director, Chris Weitz, completely has my vote to re-make the Twilight film. The characters looked so much better. Their make up wasn't too pancake-y and when wigs were used, they actually looked realistic and not like, well, horrible wigs.

Here is a link to even more reasons why the film was so rad.

a loose stroke

Anger is weakness, patience is strength (Out of the Blue)
Try not to give advice you can't follow (Left & Right in the Dark)
Art is the image of life, it's purpose simply to enhance it (11th Dimension)
Being nice is most important when others are not (4 Chords of the Apocalypse)
Drunkenness is cowardice, sobriety is loneliness (Ludlow St)
People don't want to be greedy, they want to be happy but they're often too greedy to notice (River of Brakelights)
Talk about those absent as if they were listening in (Glass)
Unlocking life's mysteries is the responsibility of dissatisfied people (Tourist)

These are the Phrazes for the Young according to Julian Casablancas' debut solo album. I've been listening to this a bit today and have decided that I like it. The album is pretty fun and completely unexpected. My favourite line - 'Yes I know I'm going to Hell in a leather jacket' from Out of the Blue. My favourite track (at the moment) is Left & Right in the Dark.

If you've been craving something new from The Strokes, then this might just tide you over until the boys (hopefully) release their 4th album. (However, do NOT listen to this album thinking/hoping it will sound like The Strokes. It doesn't...there's a bit more CASIO demo music involved in Julian's work.)

slight detour

The new, shiny, luxurious Chadstone was officially opened last Wednesday. I braved the crowd with mother and sister in tow and we had a ball. The new sections were a delight (and reminded me slightly of Selfridges) and most stores had champagne to help the festive mood.

Yes (gasp) I was south-of-the-river but I do that every now and again, just to remind myself how good I have it in the north...expect Chadstone now has Jimmy Choo, and Coach, and Chanel, and (soon) Prada...just sayin'.

do the mos have it?

It's Movember month and I'm sure your workplace, like mine, has been overrun with Mo Bros and Sistas donning mustaches for a very good cause.

Having seen dozens of handlebars, many naturals and even the odd Fu Manchu during my daily November activities, it started me thinking about men's facial hair in general.

Beards, moustaches and what have you seem to have made a startling comeback, especially on men under the age of 35. Now, personally, I think a beard makes a man look a lot older than he really is. I prefer a fresh face, or just a hint of stubble, but that's beside the point. What I'm wondering is why this latest trend? Is it that men want to look older than they are? They're too lazy to shave? Or do they think a mustache gives them an air of wisdom and gentleman-ness? Well, good luck to them. Movember is the perfect time for the mens to grow their facial hair and swan around looking like 70s porn stars. (But, fellas, if Brad can't pull it off then you may want to rethink things.)

However, I expect that the 40 degree days we've got coming our way will sort out the men from the boys. Maybe facial hair should just stick to coming out for one special month a year.

Here's to seeing some clean-shaven faces in summer. (Oh, but this guy can pull off manly facial hair.)

next door

Our neighbours have decided to rent out their place while they spend more time at their beach property. (They're a lovely older couple with a very cute dog.)

What do you think the probability of a couple of hot, single boys moving in will be?

Yeah, thought so. (Still, I'm keeping my fingers crossed!)

man leggings

Friday morning at Flinders Street Station, I saw a man wearing brown tiger striped leggings. Sure, his legs and butt were toned, but still, no. Just...no.

i heart my ipod

I think my ipod knew I'd had a shitty day at work yesterday. I had it on shuffle during my commute home and it kept playing my favourite songs. Bless.

flash mob

I love the flash mob.

Here is their tribute to Janet Jackson...watched by Janet Jackson!

(Oh, and this version of the clip shows the dancers shakin' their stuff a bit better.)

sour cherries

There are things that just make life better. Like puppies. Dance skating. And freshly baked pie.

The sour cherry pie at Sweet Source not only makes life better, it's also one of the best desserts I've ever had.

one drink, two drink, drunk drink...wait....

There are many, many wonderful watering holes in the north. However, the volume of pubs, cafes, restaurants, and bars can be slightly overwhelming. Thankfully it didn't take long for me to establish a 'local'.

My local, for the time being, is a little known pub on Bell Street. Okay, a well known pub in Bell Street. It has a great beer garden, terrifically tasty parmas and friendly staff. However, it was the friendly staff part of the equation that recently caused me some hesitation about re-visiting said local.

After a particularly long Saturday session (completely with lightening show), I became quite taken with a particular bartender. I found him to be very cute and nice - having chatted to me each time I'd ordered some drink or other (I started buying drinks for people at my table, regardless of whether they actually wanted one). So by the night's end, my sister and friends were eagerly encouraging me to slip him my phone number. Now, had I stopped drinking earlier, I would have laughed along, cried 'oh yeah right' and realised his niceness toward me was the usual bartender banter and read nothing more into it. Unfortunately, I was pissed.

So out came a piece of paper and a pen and I wrote down my name and number (very retro). As we all headed toward the exit, we awkwardly stood around, waiting for me to make my move. Thankfully, my little group realised an audience was the last thing I needed and went to wait for me outside.

Even though I'd had a bit to drink, I still felt slightly nervous. And then completely chickened out. I walked out of the pub, head down, feeling ashamed and little disappointed with myself. So I made my friends wait in the now drizzling rain while I gave in another go.

I went back inside, headed for the bathroom where I have myself a talking to in the mirror and walked back into the pub. Just as I was closing the door behind me, my cute bartender was heading toward me. So with all the confidence I could muster, I murmured that if he ever wanted to grab a drink, to give me a call, handed over the slip of paper and made a mad dash for the exit.

I joined the waiting throng, excited to tell them that I had done it! I couldn't stop smiling at my efforts. One small step for girls, one giant leap for drunk girls.

Watch this space to see if he calls....well, obviously he's not going to because why would you call some crazy girl you don't know who walks up to you and gives you her number...or he has a girlfriend...

biking hell

Ah, bikes. I have a love/hate relationship with bikes. Actually, that's a lie. I have a hate/hate relationship with bikes. However, until moving to North Carlton, I didn't have to worry much about bikes. Sure, I'd see them on the streets and shake my fist angrily if they nearly ran me down on the PEDESTRIAN footpath but my mind wasn't consumed with them. I even had friends that rode bikes.

Then I moved to 3054. Suddenly. Bikes. EVERYWHERE. During the first few weeks of the move, I attempted to embrace the two-wheeled menaces and even attached one to the front of the house. It looked like we were true locals. We had a BIKE attached to our FRONT FENCE. But guests and friends alike weren't fooled. The bike quickly developed a condition known to happen when objects remain in the same place for long periods of time unused. Cobwebs.




And so I went back to my initial stance on bikes. Not for me. The one at the front of the house was pure decoration. The rest of the north could have them. And so I attempted to be accommodating on my walks to and from the tram stop. I always made sure to look both ways when crossing a particularly bike-heavy street. I tried not to get too angry when bikes cut me off on the footpath or had ridiculouly small night lights which meant I could barely see then when it got dark. (Here's a tip, bike people, small flashing night lights DON'T WORK).

But then came November 5th. I'd had a particularly stressful day at work and decided to walk home from Parliament Station instead of catching the 96. It was a warm day. I was hot, bothered and stressed. Not a good day to mess with me. So as I waited patiently for the pedestrian lights to turn green (on the corner of Albert Street and Nicholson Street), I was none too impressed when it felt like someone had accidentally bumped into the back of me. But the person didn't stop, they kept pushing me so I was almost forced from the footpath onto the road. I turned around and a man with grey hair, a ridiculously coloured lycra outfit and a BIKE had run into me! His front wheel had hit the back of my leg and the rest of the force had hit me at on my right shoulder blade. I was standing on the footpath which is my turf as a pedestrian and HE rode into ME. Well, I turned around and politely inquired 'WHAT THE FUCK!' before he mumbled an apology and rode off.

So until someone presents an apposing argument that I warm to, I will continue to not like bikes.

tram story #2

oh.hell.no.

I think...yeah, I think I got mistaken for being a little pregnant on my tram ride this morning.

It was peak hour, I'd had to skip taking the first tram that passed by because it was too crowded so by the time tram number number two clanged by, I was not in the brightest of moods. Thankfully, tram number two had plenty of room so I made my way to the end of the carriage and stood, listening to my ipod and generally minding my own business.

The next thing I know, the lady sitting down to my left politely, though loudly (she too had her ipod in her ears), inquired if I wanted a seat. After saying no with what I can only imagine was a confused look on my face, she asked if I was sure. WHAT THE HELL??

There are usually very limited reasons why a fellow commuter would be willing to offer up their prized seat. One reason is that the person standing is a stone's throw from death and has looked at you longingly until you vacate the seat they'd like. The other reason is that the person standing is very obviously carrying another small person in their stomach and what kind of arse would you be if you didn't offer the poor woman a seat - especially in summer. Now, I'm not saying this out of conceit but I have frequently been told that I look younger than my 30 years. So this leads me to believe that the kind lady was offering me a seat because I looked like I was CARRYING A BABY IN MY STOMACH!! The worst part about this is that I must immediately stop wearing one of my favourite NYC-purchased dresses which I was wearing at the time of this debacle.

Unless she thought I was drunk and offered me a seat because I looked unsteady on my feet. Yeah, let's go with that.

foxx on cup eve

Melbourne Cup. The race that stops a nation. It happened over a week ago but the hint of fancy hats is still in the air. I didn't quite make it to Flemington this year but I did remember to watch the race before heading to the pub. But I digress.

The night before the cup, it always feels a little strange to come home from work, change into funky night attire and hit the town. It's a Monday night after all and I haven't gone out on a Monday night with the intention of getting blotto and staying up past 10pm since my uni days.

Anyway, this year on cup eve, a few of us headed to the Birmingham to hear Foxx on Fire. I must admit I hadn't heard much (if anything) about said band. They were a treat, and launching their EP 'White Sands'. The sweaty back room of the pub was full of folks out for a good time and Foxx on Fire was the perfect band to play the soundtrack. Some of their songs reminded me of the latest Rapture album and many songs proved dance-able which is always a plus in my book. (Oh, and they are pretty easy on the eye too...) Have a listen to their stuff on myspace. Go on.

tram story #1

'I had to take out my nose-ring, they didn't like it,' lamented a fellow, slightly intoxicated, commuter on the 96. It looked like she was discussing her day with her extremely attractive boyfriend while those around her glanced nervously out the tram's window, hoping their stop would magically appear next.

I didn't mind her slightly loud, slurred monologue. I was quite enjoying it, although I was jealous she'd managed to have a drink (or ten) before I had gotten home from work. Oh, and did I mention her boyfriend was hot?

I love the 96.