morning

this is one of those mornings that I wrote that stupid "ode to my mattress" about. Where you need something to guard you against the morning, and the sun is so oppressive.

his name is Zac Efron

here's a nice thing about blogging: I can say just how much this beautiful boy disturbed my peace. I liked the scene in 17 Again where he and the mum were dancing, because I thought, yeah, I'll probably be the kind of middle-aged woman who would find that kind of 22 year-old beauty affecting.
My brain had a lot of trouble with the idea that VH gets to wake up to him, sit and eat breakfast with him, make him laugh...then I saw the Dolly interview, where he had this little shadow of a boyish mustache and I thought, oh, you really are just like anyone else.
I sing in a church choir, and the minister this morning was talking about role models. He said how full of grace Stephen was--and how that made him beautiful, charismatic, people were drawn to him. It made me think of the superstars like ZE who are that to so many more thousands of people, and I wondered about what they preach. When the young go to them, to their webpages to have magic made real all over again.
He could be as beautiful as you like, but if he wasn't so famous you'd get used to him, no doubt.

my name is

I've been thinking about blogging, and it's kind of weird, the reason I've finally done it.
I'm sitting here in my flat in Melbourne, looking out at a pretty spectacular sky, listening to that Postal Service song with the "seems so out of context in this gaudy apartment complex", and it's the kinda cheesy song rather than the sky that makes me miss Glasgow like crazy.
And for the moment it's not enough to just miss it. I need to make sure anyone could know, by accident, that I do.
And that a cheesy but somehow addictive song is the thing that made me.
A year in Glasgow left me so well-watered, that I'd almost become restful inside. It made coming home in time for Black Saturday all the more terrifying. I'd forgot how to let days like that strip your skin off.
I dunno about calling it that. It makes it sound like history, like it's taught in schools already. Like we know the effects of it already. And like I have the authority to say, yes, it was a black day.
I spent the day: swimming in St. Kilda, lying on the loungeroom floor with most of my family under the ancient AC, at Nova watching Slumdog Millionaire, pretending the world wasn't ending outside.

eeeeek! I blame the clouds.
I can't resist melodrama with clouds like that just outside my window.

So- now to create a dinner of gnocchi with sweet pot. something-yum, as promised by text to Aaron. Dinner, because I've no idea how to let him talk about Pen leaving.