I went to the International Women's Day breakfast, which was my reward for some very hard slog, and I think I rather like this pat on the head, especially if it involves muffins. It was all for charity and niceness, so totally above board, but I surprised myself by enjoying it, as I feared it might be overly earnest and dull like all those female empowerment speakers we used to have at school. Yes, it was worthy, and political, and Ben Lee kicked off the earnest in eatnest by singing a song about women, and mother earth, etc, etc. But one of the schoolgirl speakers (not the one from the really prissy private school) was electrifying and the acid attack survivor from Bangladesh was a beautiful woman, and yes, deeply inspring.
And he brekkie was ace, too. Especially the tomato quiche and coffee (I was starvin' cause I'd not had tea the night before though I had done a big yum cha for lunch).
And, better yet, one of my wishes came true. No, nothing involving the Merlin boys, alas, but a slightly more sensible desire about wishing I knew more about flower arranging as blooms were stuffed without flair of finesse into a vase at home (jasmine and white hibiscus, which had to be trimmed from the front path). Well, I won a flower arranging course in a raffle! Excellent. I'm really pleased. It's something I've always wanted to try. Clearly, upon seeing me ramming fistfuls of hibiscus into the vase upside down like a wayward infant, the universe felt it had to act, and swiftly (an opinion shared by the peanut gallery, and rather too readily, if you ask me).
Bit tired now though as I had to be in at work at 6am to post some stuff on the web before I trotted off to the brekkie at 7am. I caught a cab, and it was a good ride in, and when we drew up outside my building there was a black balloon bouncing in the road, which I rescued (but sadly it popped later at my desk). So I really only got up at my normal time, but ouch, because I went to see Gary Numan last night.
I damn nearly forgot (I amaze myself with the stupid these days) and I was kept back late last night so it was a desperate bolt down to Pitt St to buy a much cooler top, some bling and new boots, then I raced back to the office and changed, and had to catch a taxi as there was no time for the bus. That was expensive, but never mind.
I was too young to see Gazza the last time he toured and rather too old this time around, but never mind. Mr Numan was still deep in his Trent Reznor phase, though, alas. I mean, he still played some of the classics, but I'm really over the whole NIN thing and so is Trent Reznor, even. I mean, it was still a great show, but kinda sad that when I saw the Presets I thought that would be the closest I ever got to seeing Gary Numan. And sadly, it's still kinda true, cause I was wanting him to sound like the Presets, not NIN, but never mind. Too bad though, because if he'd delved back into the old Tubeway Army schtick he'd have been cutting edge and new new new wave, rather than a bit old hat (NIN are just so 90s, man).
Nevertheless he still rocked mightily and it was a thrill to hear a few of the old (very, very) faves. Something I never thought I'd ever see or hear. That was another big tick off the life list.
So my seat might have been broken, but I heard my faves, my new boots rocketh mightily and I got a taxi home really quickly. Didn't get home till 12:30 though, and had to get up at 4:30, so ouch.
Arena has gone bust. That's another magazine gone. Not to mention my fave newsagents closing and several magazines I'm fairly sure are still being published but no longer imported...oh well, I suppose I needed to cut down on my magazine habit anyway, and I do have that 14 year backlog to get through. Because it's March and a young girl's fancy does soon turn to scanning, now that my PC is no longer in danger of exploding in the heat or me sticking to the pages with sweat (Hello pages particularly come off like transfers in the heat and humidity).
But damn, I liked Arena. It was one of the few I actually read, cover to cover, like. Oh well.
PM Update: Eeep! Now Lewis is facing the chop! Ack, wail and gnash. No more Hathaway? Say it ain't so. And I was just reading in the BBC History magazine that the 30s and 70s at least brought us some classic entertainment, so that while we might be knitting shoes and eating raw onions (as espoused in your typical distopian scenario) we'd at least have something good to read and watch. Not from where I'm standing, matey.
Oh well, more time for weeding, I suppose. And flower arranging, obviously.
The new man Numan
Dr Who Dalek found in pond
Constable's parents captured on canvas
Dead men pay no bills, but families often will
Arena magazine to cease printing after 22 years
How to get a decent seat in economy class
The day I checked in to the 'worst hotel in Britain'
How your office makes you sick
Office psychopaths a threat to business warn experts
Worst workplace safety
Why you should always back up
Department for elderly to skip DOA label
Jeffrey Dean Morgan gets darker than 'Grey's' in 'Watchmen'