I pulled out my Bourke Street Bakery book last week thinking I was going to make sourdough bread and eat it hot with butter, tomatoes and salt. I leafed through it first, looking at the pictures and pretending I was the kind of person who baked like this all the time and could measure out tablespoons of olive oil without a tablespoon. I found the sourdough recipe on page 50 and skimmed through the ingredients; I had flour, I had water, I had salt, I turned to pages 42-45 to find out how to make 405 grams of white starter.

White starter for those who, like me a few days ago, don’t know what it is only has two ingredients; flour and water. But, it takes four weeks to make and by make I mean feed and discard until it’s fermented and active enough to use. That’s a big committment for someone who doesn’t really bake like the Bourke Street Bakers, at any time.

So, I made chocolate prune brownies instead. I didn’t begrudge the three days it took to soak 300g of prunes in 200ml of hot black tea; combined with lots of dark chocolate, cocoa powder, butter, sugar, sour cream, flour and baking powder, they made delicious moist brownies that were a little bit sweet despite all the dark chocolate. Because of the prunes Eddie only ate two, so I took them to work, so I didn’t have to eat them all by myself.

Mixing it all together with some help from Madonna

The photo test: do my brownies look like their brownies?

Happy New Year from Copacabana Beach 2012

Last January when I bought three pairs of running pants from Adidas the shop assistant asked “Oh is this your New Year’s resolution?” and I said “Ah, no, I just thought it would be a good idea to go for a run during my lunch break and I need some new pants to do that” and she looked at me like I was a bitch, because it was still January, which clearly made my decision to run at lunch time and buy new clothes for it a New Year’s Resolution. She was just trying to be friendly, so I didn’t hold it against her like I did the girl from Sheike who opened the dressing room curtain and asked me “how did you get on?” and I said “I don’t think this dress is for me; my boobs don’t fill it out” and she said “that’s what push up bras are for.”

So, it’s 2012 and I can’t help but think of a book called ‘The fingerprints of the Gods’ by Graham Hancock. Back in 1998 a friend gave it to me and said it was what everyone was reading when he went to Mexico and I was going to Mexico, so. [Spoiler Alert] There was all this stuff about Sphinxes, Pyramids, lost continents and ice ages and then the conclusion, which was we’re all gonna die in 2012. I remember thinking “what utter bullshit, but damn” and then, “oh well, it’s only 1998 I’ve got a good 14 years of living left; that’s heaps”.

Now I’m wondering, if I believed the world was going to end this year, would it change my New Year’s resolutions? Would I make some? Would they be better than the ones I’d make if I thought I had another thirty years ahead of me? I don’t have any answers to those questions. I’m still at the wondering part. I’m fairly sure though, if everyone knew the world was going to end it would all descend into total fucking anarchy and I wouldn’t get to do what I wanted anyway, unless I wanted to take part in a more realistic version of Survivor.

I’ve made three resolutions that assume Graham Hancock and the Mayans are wrong and life will go on after 2012.

Resolution number one. I just counted how many books I read last year and it was a little under one per week. My to-be-read pile is high and it’s only going to get higher now that I’ve happily given in to the pleasure I get from reading about and buying books. So, I want to read at least one book per week this year. Yawn, but I wanted to make at least one resolution I could actually keep.

Resolution number two. I want to live through next winter without going mental. Current strategies include turning on the heater without thought to the cost and staying under a hot shower as many times and for as long as it takes, and they’re good strategies, but I need to add to them, because they are not the complete solution. This year I want to go outside more in the daytime for the vitamin D, so I resolve to go for a walk during my lunch break at work, for at least 30 minutes and at least three times a week. Ah, yes, well spotted. The running pants I bought last January were not followed up by lunch time running sessions.

Resolution number three. I read an interview with Joan Mitchell by Cora Cohen and Betsy Sussler in BOMB magazine the other day. I love art, but discussions about it are usually really boring, to me, but this really wasn’t and part way through Joan gave Cora some advice about starting out in the art business, which I think could be applied to my life in general. “I think you’re a little girl going into her first ice skating competition and scared like hell she’s going to fall flat on her face in Madison Square Garden… And I’m being my mother to little Joan and I’m saying-so you fall.” That’s the attitude I want to take with all the stuff that freaks me out that I want to do this year, so I’m gonna give it a go.

Yes, I think three resolutions are definitely enough. Now it’s time to go and roll another coat of white paint on the kitchen walls.

I’m not sure if I’ll be posting more or less over the next two weeks.  It’ll depend.  But, if I disappear more than usual, that’s why.  Have fun at work tomorrow!

The second half has just started and Australia has scored a try and there’re only four points between them instead of 17. “Useless! Already.” “Oh don’t say that. Just enjoy it.” “I won’t enjoy it. Useless bastards.” Sigh.  A few minutes later Samoa scores another try. Eddie can’t believe it. “Go! Go! Go!  It’s not the full Aussie side, but still.”  I’m excited too, but I’m also trying to find a funny article I read on Jezebel called What to do when you realize that horrible smell is you.

It’s 29 – 16 to Samoa and there’s a break in the game, but I’m not sure why because I’m not really paying attention.  Eddie says “I was thinking maybe we should go and watch Harry Potter or something, but.”  “Seriously?!”   “Yeah, but the Samoans are doing good.”  “Yeah!”  “Robbie Deans has held back his big guys ’cause he doesn’t want them damaged, but still…”  “It may be their B side, but they’re still getting pasted.”  “I know.  Oh, now he’s sending out the big guys.  They’re upping the ante.”

In the mean-time, I’m thinking about Australian Census night, which is in three weeks.  I can’t remember what I wrote down for the religion question last time, but on Tuesday night I plan to stay up past my bedtime to watch John Safran talk to people who seriously mix their popular culture with religion in Jedis & Juggalos: Your Census Guide.  Apparently, there are people who will write down Jedi and Matrixist with no irony intended.  A couple of people have already seen it and reviewed it here and here.  And at the end of the first review John Safran mentions a new project… ”I’ve been reading a book about gay people in the deep south in the 1950s; about how there was this quiet accommodation of them, whereas in the north, you couldn’t be gay at all. It was something different to being in the closet or being out of the closet… But I’m still a while away from revealing what it is. At the moment, it’s still my top secret little project.”  I can’t wait.

There’re about 15 mins to go now.  Eddie says “I hope they hold on.  The Aussie side isn’t treating them with respect.  They wouldn’t play like that against the All Blacks.”

I’m trying to make sense of this post, which is going in directions I hadn’t intended.  I’m also telling myself it’s OK to listen to Veronica by Mary Gaitskill on the train tomorrow even though I said to Heather I was reading The Brothers Karazmov as part of our informal book club, which I am, and I’m enjoying it too, but I’m distracted and I really want to listen to Veronica…

There’s about a minute to go in the game.  “That’s it boys.  Wind down the clock.  Here we go ten seconds.  Here we go.  Here we go. Woo hoo!  Fuuuucckkk!”

Copacabana

Macmasters

Avoca beach

…
We’re about to drive past Avoca when we notice a big set wave push into the beach. “Shall we check Avoca before we go to Terrigal?” We park the car and as we walk past a newly built complex next to the beach track Eddie says “I thought it was going to look better than that.” “Yeah, they’ve used cheap windows haven’t they?” “I suppose you can only build what you can afford.” we reach the beach and see a surfer drop into an overhead right that peels down the beach and I can’t help but hoot and we wonder why there aren’t that many people out there. But the paddle-out looks tough and there’re probably better waves elsewhere. “Look at the swell going by on the horizon. It’s huge.” “Yeah, I checked the weather charts and there’s a big pulse going underneath [Australia]… it’s gonna be better on the points today. The beaches aren’t holding it as well. Let’s go to Terrigal.” I take some photos of the surf and we agree to buy a better camera.

Terrigal Haven

• William would only let biscuits pass his pursy little mouth last month. This month he’s eating all the tuna and chicken in jelly we give him and then grapple tackling me for more. OK, it’s not a real grapple tackle, because he’s a cat. But if he was human it would be a grapple tackle, that’s how hungry he is this month. He reminds me of Castiel when famine came to town (in Supernatural) and his vessel Jimmy who hadn’t eaten in months craved burgers, so Castiel ate them all.

• Even though I had to go by myself because I was so disorganised and my friend Heather couldn’t keep up with my going, not going, going thing, I loved seeing John Safran talk about being an Archibald muse at the AGNSW.  But I promised myself after getting all gushy about Marcus Lush, who I recently went off because I was so disappointed to read he’s anti-freedom camper and that’s a deal breaker for me for a celebrity crush even though I’d understand and get over it in real life, that I wouldn’t do it again and I love John Safran’s work and that pretty much guarantees I’d get all gushy.  Anyways, the AGNSW posted his talk so now you can hear all about the artist who painted him fat for the Archibalds and how he got her back in John Safran’s Race Relations by pretending to steal her knickers.

So, I registered with Yates, chose four vegetables from their list of vegetables to grow, bought packets of seeds and then the fertilizer suggested on the backs of the packets of seeds. I chose which spaces in the garden would take which vegetables and dug up the dirt until it was less stony, and fertilized those spaces according to the seed packets’ suggestions. I made indents and trenches in the soil and planted the seeds in them. I watered the seeds, crossed my fingers, and hoped for the best.

The snow peas, broad beans and carrots grew fast and that was satisfying. The beetroot seeds didn’t grow as fast, but they weren’t supposed to so I didn’t worry too much. Then the rain came and washed most of the beetroot and carrot seedlings away and that was less satisfying. Then the broad-beans got all covered in ants and squishy little black things, which I found out were aphids that had to be squashed, which I did and that was fun. Then the snow-peas’ leaves turned grey and I couldn’t describe to Google what was wrong with them well enough to find out what was wrong with them. And then I got bored

My snow-peas are two metres high and flowering now.  The broad-bean plant that wasn’t sucked dry by the aphids is flowering too. But, I’m up to day 106 of the challenge and I haven’t written a post on Yates about my garden for a month because I haven’t done anything and because I don’t have anything to write that I haven’t already written except that I’m bored and I can’t write that because it wouldn’t be in the spirit of the challenge.

I’ve decided not to beat myself up about it. Even though I said that’s what the Yates challenge was for. I’ve loved imagining, preparing, and digging my garden, but the real work, the care, the cold hands, and the everydayness of gardening just isn’t for me. Give me a broom and I’ll sweep leaves, give me some weeds and I’ll pull them out, give me a hardy plant already in a pot and stick it in the garden and I’ll empty the dregs from the teapot on it, but give me a proper garden and I’ll cross my fingers and mostly leave it to its own devices.

As I scooted across to the window seat Eddie sat down beside me and the guy with curly brown hair leaning against the window two seats up and to our right answered his phone. “Hey. Thanks for calling. My son got hit by a truck this morning and I’m going to the hospital now to turn off his life support. I want you to be there.” The man sitting in the seat facing him stuffing hot chips in his mouth five at a time stopped chewing. The girl sitting two seats up from us snapped around and then back again. I whispered to Eddie who had on his headphones that I was OK but that the guy-over-there’s son had been hit by a truck. Eddie frowned and took off his headphones. The man sitting in the seat facing the guy with curly brown hair swallowed his mouthful and picked his nose. Everyone else looked out the window.

The guy with curly brown hair answered his phone again. “My son got hit by a truck this morning. I’ve gotta go and turn his life support off tonight. It’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” And then again. “Yip. I’m on the train. Can you pick me up at *****? I’d like that. Yip. I’ll call you when I get close.” And again. “I’m sorry Darl. I’m coming. I’m on the train. I’m just past Hornsby. I’m coming as fast as I can.” When he stood up to get something from his bag, Eddie and I turned to see what a man who has to travel by train from Sydney to Newcastle to turn off his son’s life support looks like. And then we looked away because he wasn’t on TV.

We got off the train at our stop and as we walked along the platform Eddie said “The poor fucker” and I said “Yeah” and we walked to our car, got in, and talked out our differences on the way home.

• Two months ago I said we’d had enough of our commute and were planning to move back to the city.  I also said I never believe anything is really going to happen until it does.  Which is a good thing, because it didn’t take long for us to change our mind.  So yeah, this month we’re not moving back to the city.

• I deactivated my Facebook account just over a year ago and three weeks ago I signed back up again.  I got sick of asking Eddie how our friends were and him saying why don’t you just get back on Facebook and find out yourself.