Archive for April, 2009

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Whoop! Whoop!

Roughly 36 hours left until I make my way to Rio. I’ve been in such disbelief that I haven’t even given my itinerary much thought, other than making sure I visit the Vila Mimosa(which is a slightly scary prospect). In fact, all I’ve been doing is wasting my energy thinking pointless, annoying drivel about the girth of my hips and how there is nowhere to hide when you’re wearing two minuscule swatches of lycra. Why oh why do we do it to ourselves?!

 

Anyway, I came across an old video from 1953 of the previous incarnation of the Vila Mimosa, before it was moved to its current location. I would recommend watching it to anyone interested in the subject, and even those who might admire this vintage recording’s eery, unsettling quality on a cinematographic level. The current Vila is  still eery and unsettling, yet in a way the cinematographer did not capture in this video. You can watch it here.

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Acrobatic vs. Pornographic?

Why is it that when I mention to anyone I would love to learn to poledance I get this stifled snigger? I swear the boyf would take the mickey out of me for years if I dared to take a lesson. Either that or dump me.

I almost did once, because I thought it would be a fun way to look after my figure. And then I found out I was 4 months pregnant. And pregnancy+poledancing seems like a bit of a dangerous sport, so I gave up on the idea.  No drinking, smoking or pole dancing allowed when you’re up the duff.

 

And then I came across this video and it really made me wish I could do it:

It’s a wonder I never ran away with the circus in my youth. I think this is amazing. And not in a wink-wink, nudge-nudge way either! I think I have a complex about being born in the jungle and not having opposable toes.

Nothing to Dread

I find this song really comforting.

Reads out like a lullaby:

Don’t be scared no, no
We ain’t prepared no, no
Dreamt of ventures and
Woke up to the sound of the trenches you dig in my mind

Ah, you’ve got a lot to learn

What’s a kingdom
To the man who has sold off his soul just to claim it

Sirens, harlots, bohemians, coloured haze of the street horizon

Ah, you’ve got a lot to learn
Oh, he’s got some time to burn

Don’t you know you got nothing to dread
Don’t you know you got nothing to dread
Don’t you know you got nothing to dread
though you know you’ve got a coffin to drag

A hit and run is just not fun
Lock up your fine sons my dear
The grave of love
We’d cuddle up
Drink summer beer
And then smoke tea

She’s like the devil to the moon
she’s howling, laughing, joking like a kingsnake crawling, crawling

And the herd and the masses, The rings and the turkey, The trimmings the trappings you know you’ve gotta have it all

Don’t you know you got nothing to dread Don’t you know you got nothing to dread.
Don’t you know you got nothing to fear,
every girl’s got a secret to wear

You know you got nothing to dread
everyone’s got a secret to wear
You know you’ve got nothing to dread
every girl’s got a secret to bury
To dread, to dread, to dread, to dread
To dread, to dread, to dread, to dread

It’s Only When You Become a Mother…

… that you can fully appreciate what an incredible achievement it is that we grow up to think of our toilet habits as second nature.