Street Talk: Emma The Adult Shop Cashier

Dave took it upon himself to help me with Street Talk today. I told him I felt like talking to an old guy so we went up to one and I did my spiel and was knocked back. It's embarrassing when people say no but Dave just laughed. We walked around in the rain for a while until we passed the alley where our local adult shop is.

Laughing, we went upstairs doubting if it was even still open - it was! We walked inside and BANG. A whole host of material assaulted our eyes. I tried hard to act cool, whispering to Dave. I showed him some outfits.

"These are cool hon, what do you think?"

There's nowhere to look that isn't rude. I grabbed something off the shelf that was ten dollars and told Dave I was going to buy it and THEN see if I could ask the cashier a few questions for my blog.

She said yes! Her name is Emma, she has facial piercings and gorgeous tattoos on her chest. She was very self-assured. Sadly, it's store policy that we weren't allowed to take any photos.

"I've only been working here for four days ... it's pretty cool so far."

Dave asked if she felt intimidated and Emma laughed. She is a local and has lived here her entire life. I asked her what the most popular thing in the store.

"Adult DVD'S. They go anywhere from $25 ..... to $109."

The expensive ones usually have multiple discs in them. Emma pointed behind her, said there was still a collection of video tapes that get hired out. She was preoccupied so we left pretty quickly. She was amazing.

(I didn't even WANT a buttplug.)

::

Friday Street Talk is an unfolding art project. I'm so grateful and blown away that people (and on occasion, things) ... say yes to talking with me, trusting me with some snippets of who they are. It keeps changing. 

Previous Street talks:

1. Noelene the Young
2. Megan the Mouse
3. Harpal the Australian
4. Darren the Artist
5. Jo the Interesting
6. John the Telstra Guy
7. Michael the Photographer
8. Peg the Lady
9. Jeff the Preacher Man
10. Andres the Cobbler
11. Honey the Prostitute
12. Mark the Masseur
13. You the Blog Reader
14. Jo the Podiatrist
15. Casey the Uni Student
16. Dream the Horse and Carriage Driver
17. Tamas the Hungarian Accordionist
18. The Dignified Trolley Ladies
19. Alex With The Studded Hot Pink Belt
20. Leaf The Fallen
21. Bel Of The Library
22. Jay And His Big Issue

Street Talk: Jay And His Big Issue.

I was in Sydney today. Walked to Harry's Cafe de Wheels and ate a pie topped with mashed peas.

Then I watched all the jocks exercising in Hyde Park.

And then I saw Jay, selling the Big Issue.

People whirred around past him.

The Big issue is:

".. a not-for profit-social enterprise that develops solutions to help homeless, marginalised, and disadvantaged people positively change their lives." 

Basically, it's one of the coolest magazines in town, notorious for its worthy cause and kick-arse writers. Around the big cities streets you'll find Big Issue Sellers dressed in their distinguished uniforms, all with different and big stories to tell.

Today I met Jay. It was 1pm and he told me I was his first sale of the day and we talked about the weather for a bit .. namely how freezing it is for Sydney. He pointed at everyone in such a hurry around us.

"People are usually pretty good … but they're in a real rush. Most don't stop for a chat. I'm always up for a chat … I chat to everyone." 

I tell him I do, too. I bought two.

They're only six bucks each and they really help people on the fringes of society. It's their job, and all the sellers I've ever seen take it all very seriously.

Jay tells me he also makes jewellery, shakes my hand really hard.

"I don't want to let go."

Meta-Morphic.

Got my hair done for two hours today. Felt like SUCH a waste of time but I really needed it done, the colour stripped back as close to my original as possible. Intentionally left the greys in at the front. I really like it.

Moon keeps poking his head in. He needs everybody to know that maybe things are going to be ok after all.

The guy on the right turns twenty-one this week. We sat up for hours last night talking about a heap of things, big things like conquering yourself and facing your shadow. Gave me a whole new understanding of parenting.

Keep finding pieces of myself that I thought were lost.

Hope the moon is right. Hope you're ok too.

This Guy.

This morning I couldn't find either of Roccos two school jumpers. I looked and looked and found that he'd stuffed all of his clothes into his toyboxes then put all of his toys into his cupboard. I was so cranky, said:

"Oh, I guess you've left it all for mum to clean up all your mess again then, huh?!

Drove him to school and he's chattering away in the back without a care in the world because he doesn't have a care in the world. He keeps wishing it was Halloween.

"Mum WHEN is it Trickle Treat? I want it to be Trickle Treat today!"

For the past few years he's been saying, I THINK MY TOOTH IS WIGGLY. Every time I feel it, it's not wiggly at all. He's just jealous, watching Max lose teeth while his stay firmly put.

"The tooth fairy's gonna give me, just, SO much money one day when my teeth come out."

On the weekend, Rocco and I were a duo. We went shopping, ate burritos, slept in the same bed. We watched the first Harry Potter movie together in front of the fire. Back to the very beginning ... when Daniel Radcliffe was so little! Rocco adored it. We watched the Chamber of Secrets the next day, and now Rocco is obsessed.

"Can we watch another Harry Potter now mum?"

I worry how scary the films eventually get, told him we can watch a few more.

I'm in love with the way his hair grows into the cutest little sideburns, all of their own accord.

While looking for his school jumpers, I ended up clearing out his entire wardrobe. Found a huge bag of his baby things, clutched his teeny clothes to my chest I cried. Still don't know why .. my days of babies are well and truly over (THANK HEAVENS). But this Rocco of mine, who has tested my patience and limits on every level since the moment he was born, is big now.

He's been dressing himself in boots and shorts for years.

He suddenly stopped wearing pull-ups to bed a few weeks ago. He can bounce a ball for ages, run faster than me, and helps bring the wood in for the fire. Last week his teacher asked me to come in for a few words. Rocco was being a bit naughty and teaching the other children exactly how to be naughty too. I apologised, told her I'd be right on it. I told her I was always a bit worried that he'd started school before he turned five, does she think he's doing ok? She laughed, told me to trust her, he's more than ok.

"The whole school knows Rocco. He has so many friends. He's fine."

Last night he sidled up to me:

"Mum serious, my tooth is wiggly ... feel it."

And it was.

Street Talk: Bel Of The Library

Today I was driving to a psychiatrists appointment when they called and cancelled so I got my eyebrows waxed and eyelashes tinted instead. It was *almost* as therapeutic.

What do you do when your shrink chucks a sickie? I took my laptop to the library. It was pretty full, so sat down at a shared table across from a girl with a really cool fringe.

I looked around at all the people I could talk to today - old, young, disabled, normal, weirdos. But kept stealing glances at Fringe Girl - she was just so studious, sitting there studying and writing and completely in the zone. I wasn't in the zone ... just aimlessly bouncing from twitter to facebook to news to blogs, frozen,waiting until I had to pick the boys up from school.

Finally I leant over to her, did my awkward spiel about having a blog can I please ask her some questions? (And thought for the hundredth time why do I DO this?)

She smiled and said sure. I'm always the more nervous one, on these Fridays. But every single time I do it, I walk off somehow enriched and better. For making a connection where there was not one before.

Bel has previously done a Fine Arts degree but is now studying Pyschology. In her first semester, she was in a rush to get all of her assignments done. I tell her that my stepdaughter Phoebe is doing Fine Arts at the same place she did. Bel says she prefers Tafe to University.

"Less wanky."

She's twenty-seven, and with her black hoodie and top knot in her hair we were practically twins! (Except for all of the wrinkles and missed psychiatrists appointments.) Bel was fresh and wholesome and delightful. It was entirely refreshing that she's only heard a snippet in the news this week about all of the shameful stuff in Australian politics and news.

"I'm too busy. But the PM should give as good as she gets."

I ask her if she's getting to know herself more, the further she goes into studying Pysch. She is. We both laugh. Her name is short for Belinda. Turns out we live on opposite ends of the same town, so we'll probably see each other round.

I say goodbye. Bel asks what's the name of my blog, so I give her my card which was wet because somebody left the sunroof of my car open in the rain.

::

Friday Street Talk is an unfolding art project. I'm so grateful and blown away that people (and on occasion, things) ... say yes to talking with me, trusting me with some snippets of who they are. It keeps changing. 

Previous Street talks:

1. Noelene the Young
2. Megan the Mouse
3. Harpal the Australian
4. Darren the Artist
5. Jo the Interesting
6. John the Telstra Guy
7. Michael the Photographer
8. Peg the Lady
9. Jeff the Preacher Man
10. Andres the Cobbler
11. Honey the Prostitute
12. Mark the Masseur
13. You the Blog Reader
14. Jo the Podiatrist
15. Casey the Uni Student
16. Dream the Horse and Carriage Driver
17. Tamas the Hungarian Accordionist
18. The Dignified Trolley Ladies
19. Alex With The Studded Hot Pink Belt
20. Leaf The Fallen

Toot Toot Chugga Chugga Big Red Box!

All of the boys at all the schools I ever went to wanted to know if I had red pubes to match my red hair.

Some of them were OBSESSED with finding out. They'd walk up to me during recess and lunch and just stand there, staring at my eyebrows, relentlessly questioning me.

I never answered them. In the beginning I was beyond mortified, because they'd always ask loudly and everyone, even the girls, would laugh. More boys would come over. Though I was meek and quiet at home, I had to grow tougher at school.

"Just answer us and we'll go away! Do you have red pubes? Do you? DO YOU?"

It was like they felt they had a right to know. Once when I was about eleven I was held down while one of them lifted my skirt and tried to find out for themselves. I kicked all of them in the balls, furiously, my face red. From then on, any boy who came close to me I would kick in the balls because Fuck. That. Shit.

::

Yesterday, it came to Australia's attention via twitter that there was a menu written back in March for a Liberal fundraiser, describing certain politicians in unflattering terms. In fact, they were described as things to eat from the menu itself.

The Prime Minister of this country was described as a Kentucky Fried Quail. With "Small Breasts, Huge Thighs, and a Big Red Box."

Yes, other politicians were put on the menu - Kevin Rudd was a goose, apparently. But the PM was the only one whose genitalia was described in such graphic detail.

I don't care what political party you're in or what gender you are, this is just appalling. I find the use of the word "big"  particularly derogatory. They couldn't have stopped at the breasts or thighs? Had to go the box too - and not just any box. Make sure you let us all know it's a BIIIIIIG box. Fuck this so hard. Fuck this culture - fuck everybody having a political agenda about this today, too. Lots of scrambling and hot-potato tossing.

I'm sick to death of women's bodies being dissected, violated, used, and raped. This menu means so much more than "just a joke" and I'm too tired to explain why. Can you imagine a menu being drawn up in America complete with Obama's Big Black Cock?

I didn't go to the Women for Gillard launch the other day because I'm tired. I'm cynical, jaded, and suspicious of almost every Australian politician at this point. I wish we could shuffle the deck and get some fresh ones, because this stinks.

In the meantime, I wonder if all the bodies of the people seeking asylum to this "lucky" country have been fished out of the waters yet? Maybe they're still there, bobbing up and down while twitter is alight with ridiculous crap?

Running a few polls of my own: 
Do you give a salad-toss about the menu? What "real" issues would you like to see covered in Aussie politics? And overseas readers - would this happen in your country?

::

In the end, when the sniggering boys went on and on about my pubic hair, I finally answered.

"Of COURSE I have red pubes. The hell did you expect .... purple feathers?"

Everyone still laughed but it was a different laugh. I got a bit of my power back.

Street Talk: Leaf The Fallen.

I do my best to try keep Street Talk varied, but also not to stereotype, but also illustrate that we are different and sometimes completely gorgeous or even-keel or quite weird. But basically mostly the same, this experience we are having together.

I slouched off tonight, carrying shopping bags and just too shy to ask anyone, walking out into the blistering cold. Dejected.

Until: 

"Hey. HEY -  Down here. I'll be your Street Talk. Choose me."

So I did. I chose a leaf on this cold cold wet night, lying on the pavement opposite the public toilets. I didn't have to ask it any questions at all because things like fallen leaves have a lot to say if you stop to listen.

"So it's spring, right? There I was, a bud. I grew up towards the warm sun and I gotta say, lady - I was glorious. Top of my game. There was no better looking leaf than me. My colour! Rich green, speckled with dark red. I was the best looking leaf in town and all the trees knew it.

What nobody knew, nobody saw coming ......  autumn. What the HELL? We changed. We couldn't move as freely. Rigid and fucked up, man. I seen some shit looking down on these public toilets for over three months but I aint never expect to see my friends and family wither and die like that and just fall off right in front of me. I lasted the longest. Until a coupla hours ago. Lady you ever fall down and you can't get back up?"

I tell the leaf yes. 

"I'm gonna break into tiny pieces and cease to exist. There is no god. Everything is meaningless! It's just me and this cigarette butt over here, waiting to see who'll go first. I tell you what, those new leaves that start sprouting come September - they're not gonna know what's coming for them. Hey. Maybe that's a good thing. Who wants to know when your time's up?"

"Thanks for listening, lady. Thanks a lot."

::

Friday Street Talk is an unfolding art project. I'm so grateful and blown away that people (and on occasion, things) ... say yes to talking with me, trusting me with some snippets of who they are. It keeps changing. 

Previous Street talks:

1. Noelene the Young
2. Megan the Mouse
3. Harpal the Australian
4. Darren the Artist
5. Jo the Interesting
6. John the Telstra Guy
7. Michael the Photographer
8. Peg the Lady
9. Jeff the Preacher Man
10. Andres the Cobbler
11. Honey the Prostitute
12. Mark the Masseur
13. You the Blog Reader
14. Jo the Podiatrist
15. Casey the Uni Student
16. Dream the Horse and Carriage Driver
17. Tamas the Hungarian Accordionist
18. The Dignified Trolley Ladies
19. Alex With The Studded Hot Pink Belt

You're Welcome, Blue Mountains Tourism!

I'm suddenly receiving a heap of emails on lists of things to do in the Blue Mountains, as curated by Blue Mountains City Council. Perhaps this blog has come to their attention but they don't really know what to do or how to approach me, to ask if I could spread the word?

Well, I love the Blue Mountains - so Council, don't stress. Here's my completely unasked and unapproved Blue Mountains Tourism Campaign.

The Blue Mountains are two hours west of Sydney. This shot was taken from the roof of the Heritage-listed Paragon Cafe.

Katoomba Street is always filled with a steady stream of tourists, locals, fringe dwellers, ex-city slickers. Weirdos, dole-bludgers, and heaps of artists. An eclectic mix.

The air up here is good. After a day in Sydney I come home and straight away wash the pollution from my face. The stars twinkle brightly at night, probably because we're on a mountain so we're closer to the sky, the moon, such things like angels. (And the demons they always win against.)

This is one of my favourite restaurants, the  Avalon. Art-deco surrounds, quirky finishings, art the owners themselves have created hanging on the walls. I recommend the beef medium/well with the jus ... and meringue with berries for dessert.

Sometimes I take my children to the park, other times I find that the meat section in the local supermarket is a *great* way to play vroom vrooms.

There's a new sushi place in town, near the new supermarket which is below the new library and cultural centre.

The Blue Mountains Food Co-Op will make your soul exhale as soon as you walk in there.

The very famous Leura Candy Store, however .... so hard to make a decision. They import their Coca Cola from Mexico. (Damn you, Candy Store!)

We're climbing into winter up here which means that a lot of people will be coming up for getaways to experience "proper" cold. Make sure you go to Fresh Cafe in Katoomba for the ricotta hotcakes. It is a law that you must just slather your honeycomb sauce onto them straight away. SLATHER.

Owen used to work there, best barista EVER. Beard, rides a motorbike, loves his family. I kept begging him to draw me a penis but he wouldn't.

"How about a fish in a fishbowl instead?"

No, come on Owen. Surely you can muster up a penis?

A giraffe, Owen? Lame.

Owen now runs the coolest cat place in town at the bottom of Katoomba Street, the Thunderbird.

Yes. A mexican inspired cafe/restaurant with ethically sourced coffee and free range local produce.

Katoomba also the BEST bakery ever ... have not seen an equivalent in Sydney. It's called Hominy. Their custard tarts are to die for.

And their sandwiches. And orange and cardamon cake. The mountains has such beautiful cafes and eateries.

If you want to go retro shopping there's Mr Pickwicks in Katoomba, across the road is the Old Post Office. In Blackheath there's the Victory Theatre and cafe, a huge park for the kids, and Logan Brae -  great apple orchard where you buy apples straight from the trees, ten bucks a box. Also juice. And apple pies.

If the kids and I get bored in the school holidays, I take them to the nearest supermarket to play:

"Find that hidden camera."

Bonus points if we all look at it at the same time.

Crossing the bridges as they come ... my youngest son's favourite track is the Charles Darwin Walk in Wentworth Falls.

Leura Garage is a recently opened restaurant and has brought some Sydney sophistication up here. I LOVE it.

This dad-in-a-bag is STILL for sale at the best book shop in the mountains, Megalong Books. (Long story ... he's supposed to be Old MacDonald but the instant I saw him I took a photo thinking it's my real Glaswegian dad! In a bag! The likeness is uncanny.)

There's lots of recovery meetings where you can relate to a lot of people and even bring your kid, who falls asleep in your arms for the first time in years which turns you into a blubbering mess.

The local hospital also has a really good mental health unit with nurses who care. You get your own room, therapy, medication, out-patient services. All the help you need. All for free. I never saw that kind of stuff in Africa or India.

THE BEST family restaurant in the Blueys - Papadinos. I've been friends with the owner, Fab, for fifteen years.

Say hi to him for me. After you order - either pizza or schnitzel, you get given a piece of dough to make into something that then gets put into the oven and cooked. So of course it's a competition in our family every time, see who does the best. Max excelled himself with a VERY good skull recently.

When Max was little he used to call it "Rolling Rolling." (Because you roll your dough.) We all still call it Rolling Rolling. And always will.

Dessert - Nutella pizza. Oh yes.

People travel to the Blue Mountains from all over the world every single day, it's that beautiful. Sometimes I am a gargoyle for no reason. Like a lobster telephone.

This is what the famous Three Sisters look like:

Last week the fog was huge and I had a spare ten minutes so I thought I'd go take a photo of them, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to see them. Weird, I know.

Maybe ... to represent something? Maybe that even though I can't see them, I KNEW they were there? Amongst all the disappointed and confused Asian tourists, I took a pic for posterity.

So. The air is clean and the schools are good and after I see my shrink I'm going to make a nice wholesome meal for dinner tonight. Is that enough? It never feels like enough. (Why is it called a shrink? Remember those shrinkies in the eighties?)

So that's where I live. Sometimes I want to move away I hate it so much and feel like Klinger from M*A*S*H staying in Korea after the war was over. Then I love it and can't imagine living anywhere else. It's very tree-y up here and I miss the water. Feels like the mountains won't let me go.

Do you like where you live?

Have you ever worn down someone so much that they just did what you asked for so you'd shut up?

                            Owen you LEGEND.