highlyeccentric: (Sydney Bridge)
... in all these years, the only Sydney icon I've made is my default 'one way both ways' road sign - which is, alas, no longer in situ.

After seeing my boxes off in a truck this morning, and taking some more accumulated household items to the local Salvos Store, I set off into the city for to see the exhibit 'Sydney Moderns' at the Art Gallery of NSW.

Herin I talk about arts )

I came away with a stack of postcards, and a mounted card copy of Cazneaux's "Sydney Bridge". Just, y'know, in case I move away or something.

Also I took some photos in the parks on my way back to the station. On my phone, which has very poor ability to manage light and shadow (the trick which used to work on my old point-and-shoot camera, of focusing on something in the shadow to get the right light setting before moving your frame to take in sunny parts as well - doesn't work on the phone). I'm regretting not having taken my actual camera, but some of these are OK.

Photos under here )
highlyeccentric: French vintage postcard - a woman in feminised army uniform of the period (General de l'avenir)
A friend - a small, fey man - and I were at the bar, buying last drinks. A large happy drunk man was "dancing" next to the bar, and by dancing we mean full-blown karaoke style, down on his knees singing and at some point putting his arse in the air and waggling it around.

Friend, quietly, to me: when did this become a gay bar?
Me: I... do not know.
Friend: Not that I'm complaining.
Me: *shrugs* Arses!

Friend commences ordering his drinks. Next thing I know, large hands are cupping my butt. I become somewhat confused, because the individual most likely to be placing large hands on my butt is in another country. I turn around, and Mr Arse Dancing is groping by butt.

Me: That's my butt!
Mr Arse Dancing: It is?
Me: That's my butt. (Moving my butt out of his reach)
Mr Arse Dancing: Is it?
Me: Yes. It is my personal property.
Mr Arse Dancing: Oh. Is looking ok?
Me: Yes. Looking is ok; touching is not.
Mr Arse Dancing: *makes a big show of examining my butt*
Me: I hope it is satisfactory.

Mr Arse Dancing steps back a little, and I insert myself between Friend and the bar, instructing him that he is not to leave yet, because my butt is under contest. Friend says of course, and seems a little surprised that I felt I had to specify this to him. I don't think to put Friend between me and Mr Arse Dancing, which perhaps would've been a good idea. Tiny he may be but he still occupies space. For some reason, perhaps boyed by drunk logic, I thought I had accurately asserted my position and Mr Arse Dancing would resign himself to looking.

Mr Arse Dancing waits until I'm ordering my drinks and resumes handling my butt. At this point the general manager, who may or may not have noticed, but is friends with Mr Arse Dancing, turns up and engages him in a strange homoerotic wrestle on the bartop.

What. Just what?
highlyeccentric: Demon's Covenant - Kitchen!fail - I saw you put rice in the toaster (Demon's Covenant - kitchen!fail)
Sunday night I had a small assortment of people over for a two-course fondue dinner. As I'd managed to sleep until 1pm (don't ask), most of the day was taken up with preparations. K made almond macaroons; I soaked lentils for a lentil, basil and tomato salad side dish. Then a tedious process of grating cheeses, slicing breads and chopping chocolate.

The end products were thus:

Roast Pumpkin with cheese fondue. Which was a-fucking-mazing. The pumpkin turned a glorious bronze colour and smelled fantastic, and infused the fondue with a delightful sweet tang. I'd used gluten-free countrygrain bread for the bread layers, which worked remarkably well. And in the absence of anything identifying itself as gruyere, this was made on a mix of emmental and generic made-in-germany "swiss style cheese".

Slightly less heavy, Swiss Cheese Fondue, which caused me to buy brandy for the first time in my life. Again, not made with the recommended cheese, because although the extra food miles involved pain me a little, the extra cost in the Tasmanian-made version was alarming.

We served these with an assortment of sides: salami, very popular; potatoes, likewise; broccoli, mostly consumed by K; proscuitto, popular but i think it was overwhelmed; and pickles, not so popular. Obviously pumpkin could be scraped out of the former dish.

Then for dessert:

Choc-orange fondue, made on cointreu instead of brandy. Candied orange rinds were also provided, but not the macaroons from the recipe (K made Campion and Curtis' easier version).

And a variation on the Family Circle "Fudge Sauce for Ice-Cream", which I don't think I've ever chronicled here:

Instructions! )

I made the above on white chocolate, since we had a few blocks to use up. It was sickeningly sweet and amazing. Strawberries and marshmallows rounded off the dessert portion. We, that is I and Peta and Kiera, also drank two and a bit bottles of wine, including the "Shook me all night long Moscato" I've been saving for a suitably hideous occasion. It was in fact hideous, and Peta dubbed it 'Angus piss'.

This was all well and good, although I was sad to throw out the pumpkin at the end of the night. I suppose I could've turned the remaining fondue and pumpkin flesh into cheesy pumpkin mash, but we had ZERO FRIDGE SPACE left after storing the small side dish of cheese-and-GF-bread fondue and the leftover white wine fondue. And the chocolate ones, of course.

Just as well we did save the savoury ones, though, because K and I just had a most fantastic leftovers experience. You know those moments when you suddenly feel like you're living in someone's unrealistic fantasy of what young professional people do in their child-free evenings? Yeah. We fried mushrooms and chorizo and made toast and broccoli and reheated some roast veggies and a dish of fondue and stood around in the kitchen spearing small food on forks and laughing at what ridiculous foodies we are even when eating leftovers.

Photographic proof )

I think the chorizo and mushroom were better fondue sides than anything we came up with on Sunday, actually.
highlyeccentric: I've been searching for a sexual identity, and now you've named it for me: I'm a what. (Sexual what)
Girl: He's bisexual. But like, a cool bi guy.
Guy: Not like A***. Not one of those homophobic bisexuals.
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (Default)

YES ME. Also [personal profile] kayloulee. And it was fucking amazing.

Here is a long ramble! )

TL;DR I had a fantastic time and we sang and danced and it was fantastic.
highlyeccentric: A green wing (wing)
Partly for [personal profile] tree_and_leaf, who likes to see where her flisties live, and partly Just Because:

Marrickville )

Also, plants! )
highlyeccentric: Firefley - Kaylee - text: "shiny" (Shiny)
[profile] clavicularity came up on Sunday night, and we (that is, she, K and I) got all dolled up (well, I got dolled up, they got dressed in respectable clothes) and went out to see clavicularity's brother play lounge jazz in a bar up the top of the Shangri-La hotel. I liked this bar: it's a long way up in the air, and they don't let you in unless they have a table free, and it has nice couches and it's quiet. Also the cocktails were delicious. Expensive but delicious.

We left there with time left over to go down to the waterside and the quay and see Vivid Sydney before they shut it off for the night. The interactive displays in the park weren't very interactive - we think they might have worked on shadows, so not much fun in the dark.

We had fun with a tree full of artificial fireflies which was a model of social interaction or some such - basically the lights responded to other lights, so the ones clumped together were very active, and the ones all alone at the far side of the tree were sad. I got a bit too attached to the sad fireflies and spent quite some time with the installed torches trying to make them feel like they had more friends.

The light show on the sails of the opera house was pretty, as was the one on Customs House, but the best thing by far was the Fire Dance in Campbell's Cove. As K says, humans are simple creatures. FIRE! IN WINTER! With music! We missed the first half of Firework - I think I want to go back and see the whole thing.

So there you go - I do get out of my cave sometimes.
highlyeccentric: Julia Gillard making a Lleyton Hewitt salute (Gillard)
I just received a parcel. At 8.30 at night. Hand-delivered by the contracted parcel-deliverers of Australia Post.

To made the whole situation weirder, it was in a postal sack which could only be opened with a blade, and in that sack was a cardboard box very securely taped up with masking tape, and in that cardboard box was a book wrapped up in butcher's paper.

I have unwrapped the book, and it appears to be a perfectly ordinary - if hard to get hold of - cookbook. After all that, I was kind of hoping for magical properties of some sort.
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (One Way)

I know this, because, on the way back from seeing Avenue Q (it was good), [livejournal.com profile] sjazzmreow noticed that the post box on the corner was smoking gently. It turned out to be unusually hot to the touch, so, after some consternation (Sjazz: should we call someone? Me: but who? Sjazz: *examines box* there's no number on here! K: We could call triple 0. Sjazz: It's not an emergency... Me: we could call uni security and ask what they think?), we went into Gould's and the strange old man called Newtown police.

By the time we got back out, the box was smoking like a chimney stack, and had attracted a couple in evening dress and some staff from a nearby restaurant. The couple turned out to be plain-clothes cops, and I rather embarrassed myself by insisting they weren't, because I'd just got off the phone to the cops. Then someone pointed out that the lady had guns.

A waitress poured an icebucket of water in the box, to no avail. The policeman in the nice suit disappeared off with her, and reappeared with a jug of water and a bucket and a pile of napkins. Much fuss was made about the suited fellow throwing his jug into the postbox, but mostly it just splashed off the mail-chute door and did no good.

Then two uniformed police turned up.

A passerby tried to hit on Sjazz, and K scared him off. Then the firetruck showedup, and four firemen spent ten minutes getting a hose into the postbox and thoroughly dousing the contents.

After a while we gave up and went home. Many people are going to be upset with Australia post when their mail either a) disappears or b) turns up in one of those Damaged Mail bags covered in grey-brown sludge. We would rather like to see the postman's face when he (or, of course, she) opens the postbox on Monday morning and finds charred soggy debris.

Interfering with Her Majesty's Australian Mail, kids. It's a serious offence.
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (One Way)
#1: Anonymous, for 'Timetable: 423, Kingsgrove to City'

Anonymous' sparkling creative efforts have hitherto been sadly unappreciated by the community of Sydney. In this stunning comic fiction, Anonymous' biting satire will have you in fits. The bright, easy-to-read format of 'Timetable: 423' cleverly mocks the convoluted ways of the Kingsgrove route; the weather-beaten but ultimately competent figure of a bus driver belies the chaos of public transport.
From witty parody, we move to the surrealism of the timetable itself. Strings of numbers, bearing no relation to reality, beg the question: is there such a thing as reality at all? Are we not all lost, standing drenched at a bus-stop, in a universe of meaningless numbers?


highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (Default)

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