A union, a council, an Independent Media, and where I fit’n'sit

Usually when I write, I like to offer some measure of entertainment. I find the things I have written about below interesting, but if you’re not a student at the University of Melbourne, or a student politician elsewhere, you probably won’t. It’s 1,200 words of discussion on student life and its interplay with the media.

Yeah, I was supposed to be writing something else. Why do you ask?

3AW and the Herald Sun have been saying things about my Student Union that I do not like. It goes beyond the sensationalising of individual issues, which is what I expect of them. What they are doing, with the aid of the Liberal Club on campus, is ignoring the amazing work the union does every day. They are punching holes through the credibility of UMSU with small, contentious events that mean nothing, except to a few people who are now very angry. The problem is that these stories can be used by future a future Abbott government to undo the Student Service Amenities Fee, which is doing a great – if slow – job of involving students in campus life again.

When it reduces down, the jus is that I want students to be students. I want them to look back at University and not think solely of study, but the experience of being students. I think a big starting point is spending time on campus, and I think the Union is the linking thread between students and their place of study.

I have an unfashionable love of unions. Not of mismanagement, spending workers’ pay on election campaigns or theirheavy-footed Labor right lobbying. I like the idea of a body that will fight for my rights as a worker. An organisation dedicated to making sure I stay above the poverty line and have the clout to get shit done.

When Voluntary Student Unionism was introduced in 2006, I knew nothing about the entitled and fraud-ridden bodies elsewhere. In Armidale, New South Wales, the University of New England Student Union was in cohorts with the Belgrave Twin Cinema. In showing the arty flicks without much hope of making money in a small town, the union helped the whole town in keepin’ cultured.

I was keen to join the union when I arrived at the University of Melbourne in 2010. For $99 I received a t-shirt printed with my own face, some pop-corn, bags from different departments, and discounted club membership. I met friends at events organised through union departments like Queer and Wom*n’s in O-Week, and occasionally attended Queer events. I picked up the university magazine, Farrago, and usually read some bits; and often found myself on the computers in the Rowden White Library. I wasn’t at the height of involvement, but I’d say I got my money’s worth. A lot of what I did – reading the magazine, doing Queer shiz, could have been done without being a member, but it could not have been done without a Union funding those departments.

I did all of this because I spent a lot of time on campus, mostly on South Lawn. I couldn’t understand why people were so eager to go home between classes, or as soon as class ended. If you stayed around uni, you could meet friends with interests more interesting than getting trashed or shopping. Sure, my hair wasn’t cool enough to hang with the proper radicals, but on the peripheries were my people.

After engrossing myself in sobriety and study in the first semester of 2011, and finding I was lost and lonely, I started involving myself properly as the year progressed. I was a Farrago sub-editor and began actually attending launches, despite my failure to entice friends into accompanying me. I was more cluey and more confident in discussions and started feeling like I could offer something, and take plenty in return. By showing up regularly to Media Collective and the Independent Media pre-selection, I found myself asked to go on Indie Media’s ballot as a Student Councillor for the 2011 elections.

I agreed immediately. I had no idea we had a student’s council. I didn’t know what an office bearer was, though I’d heard the terms ‘Queer Officer’ and ‘Wom*n’s Officer’ bandied about since I arrived. But I am good at showing up to things… and I liked the idea of an extra line on my resume.

I damn well know what a Student’s Council is now. I spend hours every day in Union House. More than is strictly necessary. I’m writing a column for Farrago and still acting as a sub-editor, and my hair may not have improved but I’m better at defending my opinions in discussions. When motions are moved on Council, I question how it benefits Farrago, and more widely, how it promotes an independent media outside the university. Why did I vote in favour of a motion I find somewhat ridiculous to have been brought up and received a 30 minute debate – that the union sends a letter of solidarity to Chilean students protesting the huge fees they’re charged? Because if everyone in a media system here or abroad comes from one privileged strata of society, it’s harder to foster an independent media – free from the ideological biases of one class.

It’s verbiage like that that recently had me called a socialist. I’m not. My friends would laugh at the suggestion. On a personal level, I doubt that letter will make any goddamn difference, but when I’m thinking in the super-serious Student Councillor mode, those are the issues I need to consider.

But there’s a question, as a representative of Independent Media, of how much I should be weighing into the events stirred up in the media by the Liberals. I should be seen to be above the fray. Independent Media is non-partisan, and I like that. It formed after some abysmal years of Farrago led the people actually interested in writing to form their own party. This way, it isn’t Labor or Liberal running the student magazine as a mouthpiece or a joke. The people in charge are the ones most interested in advancing into careers in the media.

But the Media Office is a department of the Union, and the stories in recent weeks try to undermine UMSU as a body. If the SSAF goes, Farrago’s funding diminishes and it’s harder to advertise for people to get involved, provide launches and picnics where people can network, or create a product people want to pick up.  Additionally, the way these stories have been stirred up is the product of a biased, sensationalist media. The Herald Sun and Vex News, in their pieces on Rad Sex and Consent Week, have ignored facts; used illegal recordings, and failed to seek quotes from people not in line with their anti-union agenda. They have latched on to the Liberal Club’s train which during student elections campaigns on federal policy.

I do think UMSU needs to publicise the good things they’re doing more widely. Sending their own articles and press releases to news outlets and generally promoting themselves with more than chalk, flyers and Facebook. I never knew about so many things the union was doing until I become gruesomely ingratiated. The Union can be for everyone. As niche as a bum massage may be, as betrayed as you feel by Mark Kettle’s failure to lay an ANZAC Day wreath, stop pretending that’s the end of the story. Work out what your interests are and start a club for cider-fans or society of lolcat appreciators. You can get the grants to fund your parties! Sure, it’s a bit of bureaucracy, but you’ll start reaping the rewards of the SSAF you’ve accidentally harvested. If it keeps you on campus, I’ll be happy.

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This would sound more sincere if not written in February…

I really dislike flowers. I don’t like the smell, is the big problem. I don’t like it coming from the flowers themselves or from perfumes or air fresheners. I bought a lavender macaron last month and it tasted like eating my grandmother’s underwear drawer.

As much as I love pumping my body with sugar, I could not make it through that shit.

Some flowers are pretty. But fuck are they not pretty enough to justify the whole industry based around them. So useless. I can’t remember which comedian it was who noted the stupidity of giving people flowers, the whole ‘Here, watch this die’-ness of it.

I rarely have to tell people about this, because I’m not dead enough for people to be showering me with them. I don’t think I give off the impression that floral arrangements are something I find value in, even when I haven’t verbalised it.

So, not receiving flowers today was no great blow. Not receiving chocolates is a bit sadder, but more on the this-is-part-of-why-I-have-no-chocolate front… even then I prefer to choose my own cocoa products. Had I receiver of such a typical gift I might have still been angry… there are 365 days in a year, and it’s a bit nicer to be made feel special on a day which doesn’t lend itself to expectation and disappointment. I feel the same about birthdays and Christmas. Not because I don’t love birthday and Christmas presents, but because in my mind, every new dawn should be a new opportunity to give me things.

Seriously, though, I feel pretty freaking honoured and humbled when friends give me the tiniest things with no such provocation. I don’t think of it as materialistic. I’m dreadful at verbally or physically expressing my thanks, and when I can afford it try to signify to people that their existence is worthwhile with consumer goods… it works both ways. One of those ways is probably capitalism.

OH, that was off the beaten track. I wasn’t really thinking about Valentine’s Day today. I went into university at midday for a meeting of Student’s Council, to discover the meeting was at 2:00pm. Come that time, we failed to reach quorum, so no Student’s Council at all. Between 12 and 2, and 2:30 and 4, I killed time in a library which wards off study. I read back-issues of Farrago and learned an awful lot about the introduction of the Melbourne Model, then borrowed The Room.

Sexy day, amirite?

I then ventured to Misty’s Diner in Prahran, to catch up with a friend over deep fried oreos, curly fries and a Reese’s Pieces thickshake. Misty sprinked our table with love hearts. We were both carrying non-fiction gender studies-ish books around with us, livin’ the cliche.

I would not call my day dissatisfying, but then, that really is testament to just how much I dislike flowers and enjoy feisty student debates.

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Peanut butter is like my family

FACT – peanut butter is one of my favourite foods.

How is it that the peanut, the most basic bitch of all nuts, NOT EVEN A NUT BUT A LEGUME, creates such amazing treats.

FACT – I can’t keep peanut butter around the house because I am capable of eating… around two thirds of a jar in one sitting.

I don’t like it in restaurants when satays become too peanut buttery. I love a good satay, but keep it separate from clearly peanut butter concoctions, or you’re just failing on two levels.

FACT – I will put peanut butter on just about anything. Last night I actually dreamt that I’d put peanut butter on taco shells. Now I really want to do that. Peanut butter on oreos is something we all learned was a good idea after The Parent Trap, but are you aware of the glorious combination of peanut butter on gingernuts? I have put peanut butter ON CHOCOLATE BARS. It makes everything better. I want to try it on ANZAC biscuits and scotch fingers next. And use it as a dip for every kind of cracker.

I used to think France was my spiritual homeland. Then I realised how many American sweet thangs involve peanut butter. I’m pretty sure that’s where I need to be.

FACT – I firmly believe all of the best foods should be simultaneously sweet, savoury, crunchy and creamy.

Top 10 foods involving peanut butter that I have eaten around Melbourne this Summer

  1. Ben & Jerry’s Clusterfluff ice cream, Hoyts Highpoint.

I’ve spoken about this as my primary reason for visiting Highpoint on lip. Caramel and marshmallow swirls (that don’t have the marshmallow texture I can’t deal with), and crunchy popcorn bits coated in caramel. I would actually submit to my work paying me in this stuff.

  1. Hot peanut butter filled churro, Flinders Street Station.

It’s deep fried AND filled with peanut butter. Get them to make it fresh, though, if you’re eating something that deeply unhealthy it had better be fucking worth it. On that note, I recommend getting it from the one at the actual station, on Swanston, rather than the one next to the Coles on Elizabeth Street, as their churro dough tends to be more… doughy. Not pleasant.

  1. Peanut butter and white chocolate crepe, Harajuku Crepes, Melbourne Central

Again with the crunch of the carb and the hot gooey-ness of the peanut butter. They also have a peanut butter maple syrup crepe which I need in my life.

  1. Peanut butter Lindt Lindor, Lindt cafes OR CHEAPER at the discount candy place behind Queen Vic Markets

It’s like a peanut butter cup, but 4x the deliciousness.

  1. The peanut butter flavour from the chocolate shop upstairs from Dymocks on Collins Street

Yeah, there’s a reason I’m not a food blogger. It’s a delicious thing, though. Enough so that I will spruik it despite failing to remember the name of the shop or the chocolate.

  1. Peanut butter and Belgian chocolate brownie, King and Godfree, corner Lygon and Faraday Streets

It is $5.50 and very small… but OH THE DELICIOUSNESS. It’s a mighty fine brownie, tres rich, with the good stuff swirled through. I always mean to try a different flavour when I visit, and always end up with the same thing.

  1. Peanut butter filled pretzels, the sweet shop at Barkly Square, Brunswick.

I do not like pretzels but freely describe these as crack.

  1. Butterfinger, 9. Peanut Butter Twix, 10. Take 5… anywhere that sells American candy, but the place behind Queen Vic is cheapest by far.

Remember what I was saying about that spiritual homeland thing? I’d never tried these until a couple of weeks ago. I can’t deal with peanut butter cups after trying the Lindt Ball, found the Nutrageous disappointing, Reese’s Pieces redundant and the peanut butter Snickers a sad imitation of my dip-snickers-in-peanut-butter experiment. But these three are a triumvirate of excellence. The Butterfinger contains peanut butter flavoured toffee perfectly formulated to bite through without destroying your teeth in the short term. The peanut butter Twix replaces a Twix’s caramel with peanut butter, but also makes the biscuit more like an Oreo. The Take 5 contains, in addition to peanut butter, caramel, peanuts, chocolate and pretzels. Those are the five entailed by the name… I think. It could also be the five years that excessive consumption will take off your life.

 

NOW RUN MY LITTLE PRETTIES, GO GET FAT AND HAPPY.

No, seriously, I’ve put on a good 7 kilograms since November, in part due to this ongoing obsession. No regrets.

 

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On bad taste

I watched The Proposal tonight. It was on the telly, I was in front of it. It made sense. It reminded me of a statement my mother made a couple of weeks ago ‘I was watching a movie with Sandra Bullock. Really funny, I can’t remember the name. She was chasing around a guy called Steve’…

My mother and I don’t always agree when it comes to films. She genuinely wanted to see Jack and Jill at the cinema, because she thought it looked good.

She watches things over and over. For years it was Walk the Line, then Brigadoon. I quite enjoyed Walk the Line… the first time I saw it. Despite my deep abiding love of MGM musicals, I always found Brigadoon a bit dull. But it’s the repetition I can’t fathom.

I spent most of my teen years on the internet. My life was less Skins, more IT Crowd, despite my technical know-how being in deficit. As a pop culture buff, I was always looking up the movies, television programs and music I loved. I’d join message boards or communities, but I never became involved. I could never write the fan fiction or deep analyses because I just couldn’t stay engaged for that long. I always wanted something new. Even if it wasn’t as stellar as the last discovery.

I loved We Need to Talk About Kevin, but I’d rather see Jack and Jill than watch it again.

I don’t know how I feel about that. It helps that I do get genuine enjoyment from seeing films explicitly in order to hate them.

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When I moved to Melbourne, I spent three weeks living with a friend and her parents, while said friend and I searched for a hovel of our own. Their house was lovely, my favourite of its features was not the hardwood floors or pool, though, but the walls lined with books. My friend’s mother writes childrens’ books, and about a month ago I was on the receiving end of this 21st invitation to put all others to shame.

‘I have a simply smashing idea,’ said Julian as he stopped suddenly outside a house in Rupert Street. ‘Let’s have a 21st Party for Rebecca’

‘I say,’ said Dick as he bumped into Julian and didn’t move away. ‘That’ll be a jolly jape.’

‘Let’s make it a picnic,’ suggested Julian. ‘We’ll have a gay old time.’

‘Yes rather,’ said Dick. ‘We can pack a picnic basket with ginger pop and buns with lashings of jam and cream.’

‘But we’re boys,’ said Julian who never once had doubted his sexuality but still hadn’t asked Dick to back off. ‘That’s women’s work.’

Rebecca overheard the boys talking and opened the front door.
She squealed excitedly and clapped her hands. ‘Oh let me do everything,’ she said.
‘I’m just a girl. It’s not like I have neuroscience exams to study for or anything like that.’

‘Quite right,’ said Julian. ‘Girls don’t need an education.’

‘Make sure you wear that maid outfit while you’re at it,’ said Dick who liked to pretend that he wasn’t same sex attracted.

Rebecca was now super excited. She loved nothing more than dressing up and being objectified unless perhaps it was dressing up, being objectified and spending hours working in the kitchen.

Now just at that moment who should peep its head through the door? It was Synia, Rebecca’s cat and her tomboy chum Georgina.

‘My goodness you’re a good little fellow aren’t you?’ exclaimed Julian.

‘Thanks chum, you’re a brick,’ said George gruffly. She thought it splendid of Julian not to call her girl.

‘Not you, silly, the cat,’ chuckled Julian with a chuckle.

‘Woof. Woof,’ barked Synia who had species issues.

‘What’s that?’ Rebecca asked her cat. ‘Edinburgh Gardens?’

‘Woof,’’ confirmed Synia wagging her tail.
‘Ed Inburgh-Garden!’ exclaimed George. ‘You mean that traitor of a scientist who was plotting to sell top secret information abroad?’

‘Meow,’ snapped Synia momentarily forgetting which species she was, or wasn’t.
‘No,’ interpreted Rebecca. ‘Synia wants the party at Edinburgh Gardens.’

Julian turned all queer. His stiff upper lip trembled. If he was a girl he would have cried.

‘Bb-butt yy-you cc-can’t gg-go th-th-there,’ he stammered. ‘It’s ff-full of …’

‘Homeless people?’ suggested Dick.

‘Drunks?’ opined George.

‘Occupy Melbourne protesters wearing tents?’ said Rebecca

‘No!’ Julian shouted. ‘Don’t you see the danger? There’ll be vegans there!’

‘They are a thoroughly bad lot of scoundrels,’ agreed Dick. ‘Let’s go to Kirren Island instead.’

By Helen Chapman (Beckory’s mother)

The party itself was January 2. We were instructed to dress as characters from childrens’ books, but the weather proved a sturdy impediment. My own plan to dress in tights and a swim suit (wizard dressed as muggle) was overruled by how difficult I would find it to go to the bathroom. Instead, I donned a dress, broad-brimmed hat and several layers of 30+ for a 40+ day.

In the shade, with enough food to put Enid Blyton to shame, dramatic readings to Shirley Barber books and spirited rounds of Scrabble and Articulate, it was quite blissful. There was a light breeze, circus people, pirates, scones made by a Dorothy-a-like and plenty of winkle jokes. I haven’t been at a party where so much Blackadder was quoted since we plied a formerly straight-edge friend with all of the spirits one Halloween, and had him spinning on a swivel chair singing the song that runs ‘See the little goblin, see his little feet…’

More than anything, though, the entire spirit of the occasion felt like the poem Lewis Carroll wrote to start Alice in Wonderland

All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretense
Our wanderings to guide.

Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour,
Beneath such dreamy weather,
To beg a tale of breath too weak
To stir the tiniest feather!
Yet what can one poor voice avail
Against three tongues together?

Imperious Prima flashes forth
Her edict to “begin it”–
In gentler tones Secunda hopes
“There will be nonsense in it”–
While Tertia interrupts the tale
Not more than once a minute.

Anon, to sudden silence won,
In fancy they pursue
The dream-child moving through a land
Of wonders wild and new,
In friendly chat with bird or beast–
And half believe it true.

And ever, as the story drained
The wells of fancy dry,
And faintly strove that weary one
To put the subject by,
“The rest next time”–”It is next time!”
The happy voices cry.

Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
Thus slowly, one by one,
Its quaint events were hammered out–
And now the tale is done,
And home we steer, a merry crew,
Beneath the setting sun.

Alice! a childish story take,
And with a gentle hand
Lay it where Childhood’s dreams are twined
In Memory’s mystic band,
Like pilgrim’s withered wreath of flowers
Plucked in a far-off land.

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Why live music blows, and when it doesn’t

 

I’m not a live music junkie. Unless I am very into a band, I am not going to bother. What bothers me more than anything is the waiting.

Doors: 7:00pm

Support band: 8:30-9:00

Headline: 10:00

Standing all the meanwhile, because if I am there I will damn well be at the front, where the air flow is… existent; the view uninhibited, and, with luck, the pushing not bone-crushing.

Then there’s the noise. Even in venues with decent acoustics, the music played between sets and during the performances is deafening and makes me think back to a year 9 substitute teacher who did magic tricks and warned us of his tinnitus.

I hate being at gigs alone, which happens often enough, but I hate trying to hear my friends amid the din.

So for almost all of the music I see live, I can describe the band as a favourite.

Usually when I listen to music, I’m doing it alone. It’s in my ears as I traverse the city en route from work to film; or pumping tinnily from my computer as I absorb the internet. It’s personal. Sure, there’s the playlist of upbeat danceable tracks I pull out for parties, which has the potential to make my friends believe I am no deeper than Lollipop, Milkshake and Danger! High Voltage may suggest, but I’ve stopped trying to inflict my abiding Cole Porter obsession upon them.

Gigs, thus are cathartic.

All of a sudden, the thoughts and feelings and lyrics and rhytms exist in the real world. The musicians are out of my head yet more physically close.

To this is added another layer. When I first heard most of these bands, I lived in Armidale, New South Wales, and was having a middling-to-rotten time of it, depending on the year. I was assured that if I wanted to escape, even temporarily, it would cost hundreds of dollars.

When I see these bands, I am reminded of how much has changed since then. Pro-tip – so much. I’m taken back and brought forward and it makes the whole thing more than the music.

In the next few entries I’ll document some of the music I’ve seen lately. I’ll do it with words, as the sweat which formed has since been washed away.

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100 Things I Loved in 2011

2011 was not my favourite year. It was a productive year, but sometimes it felt like a Mountain Goats song. Ne’ertheless, it had its highlights. I was set to offer marvelous commentary on why all of these things warrant your love, as well as my own. But 2012 has left me with little time for sleep, let alone reminiscing. So, I’m going to just post the list, before everything in it gives way to total obsolescence.

Where non-live entertainment is concerned, there is a hodge podge of things actually from 2011 (a la Beirut, Laid); those which I renewed my obsession in (Buffy the Vampire Slayer), and those which I have come to belatedly (The Clientele, Arrested Development). This does not recount everything I went to, let alone everything I enjoyed. It’s not in order.

Comedy

  1. Daniel Kitson
  2. Doctor Professor Neal Portenza
  3. Zoe Coombs Marr
  4. Demetri Martin
  5. Dylan Moran
  6. Claudia O’Doherty
  7. Sammy J and Randy
  8. Sam Simmons
  9. Lou Sanz
  10. DeAnne Smith
  11. Michael Workman
  12. Watson’s Super Secret Awesome Show
  13. Bob Franklin

Music – Live

  1. Owen Pallett
  2. Belle & Sebastian
  3. Pulp
  4. Mercury Rev
  5. Portishead
  6. Darren Hanlon

Music  – recordings

  1. Beirut – The Rip Tide
  2. Eleanor Friedberger – My Mistakes
  3. Patrick Wolf – Lupercalia
  4. Magnetic Fields – Plant White Roses
  5. Jane Austen Argument – Here in Melbourne/Bad Wine and Lemon Cake
  6. Cats’ Eyes
  7. Broadcast
  8. The Clientele
  9. Yo La Tengo
  10. Missy Elliott
  11. Azealia Banks – 212
  12. Nicki Minaj – Muny/Superbass
  13. Darren Hanlon – All Creatures Know
  14. The Decemberists – The King is Dead

Other – Live

  1. Tom Stoppard
  2. The Merry Widow (Ballet)
  3. Fugly
  4. NGV – Vienna Art and Design

Movies

  1. Dr Strangelove
  2. Robot Monster
  3. All About My Mother
  4. Kaboom!
  5. Submarine
  6. Bridesmaids
  7. We Need to Talk About Kevin
  8. Thor
  9. True Grit
  10. Midnight in Paris
  11. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2
  12. Attack the Block
  13. Winter’s Bone
  14. Le Tigre on Tour
  15. The Women on the Sixth Floor
  16. Beginners

Television

  1. Community
  2. Parks and Rec
  3. Doctor Who
  4. Eurovision
  5. ABC News Breakfast
  6. Good News Week
  7. Laid
  8. Twentysomething
  9. Arrested Development
  10. Better off Ted
  11. Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Books

  1. Girls to the Front
  2. Unbearable Lightness
  3. Submarine
  4. Visit From the Goon Squad
  5. Me Talk Pretty One Day
  6. Naked

Food at home

  1. Home made hummus
  2. Bircher (Also at Spoonful, New York Tomato and so many other joints)
  3. Persimmons
  4. Tim Tams
  5. Peanut butter
  6. Oreos
  7. STEAK. With roast vegetables, no matter how freaking hot it is outside

Eating/Drinking Out

  1. Monsieur Truffe – baked ricotta and stone fruit parcel, granola, chocolate croissant
  2. Ganache – cinnamon hot chocolate, roast coconut and almond praline chocolate
  3. Chin Chin – soft shell crab, oyster omelette, spanner crab and steamed chicken salad, barbequed wild boar, Chinook salmon
  4. Ice cream – Ben & Jerry’s clusterfluff, Fritz’s coconut, and burnt fig and almond; Wendy’s’ Bailey’s and almond, Maggie Beer’s burnt fig, honeycomb and caramel, eaten with Dorito-spoons
  5. Longrain – Lamb shoulder, ocean trout
  6. Birdman Eating – baked ricotta; pea and corn fritters with smoked trout, avocado and rocket
  7. Lindt Cafe – ‘famous’ waffle, almond praline ice cream
  8. Mamasita – corn on the cob
  9. Chez Dre – basil and lime macaron; éclairs
  10. Chai – Seven Seeds; Sensory lab
  11. B52s at The Butterfly Club

Internet

  1. My Drunk Kitchen
  2. Dress Memory
  3. Autostraddle
  4. Effing Dykes
  5. Oh No They Didn’t
  6. Dinosaurs on Westminster Bridge

The actual productive shit I did which was also terrific

  1. Shameless Self Promotion
  2. Farrago
  3. Lip
  4. New and Approved
  5. Writing Journalism
  6. Sex and the Screen
  7. Hollywood and Entertainment
  8. Admitting my ambitions, for the first time since I hit puberty

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