Liz and I = kinda dix

Sorry to pull you into this Lizliz, but you kind of deserve it.

"I think we need to have a talk"

Liz is such an intellectual. (NB: Liz I think you should wear your doghat while writing your masters, or maybe to a really serious meeting about climate change. It would make my day, if no one else's).

In Elizabeth's office. We realised we have the identical pair of glasses, except in slightly lighter/ darker shades of pink. Both from Cotton On. We are so horrendous. *puke*

Anyway, we had to take advantage of such a situation. Below, I think I look like a fly.

Bzzzzz ....

Opa Gets a New Battery

My darling 91 year old Opa Gebhard just got out of hospital, after having the battery in his pace-maker replaced, as it was going to run out of energy.

Opa said to the Doctor: "You didn't mention that this would be necessary when you installed the thing (ten years ago)..."

The Doctor laughed, shook his head, and said "Well Herr Quinger! We didn't think you would live so long!"

Here's to another ten years!

It's So Hard Being Rich, Young + Pretentious

"What do you mean the money is gone?!"

"That's just fascinating, Mandy, what an exotic time you had"

"When I say I don't believe in the 'State', what I mean is ... "

"Mummy always makes this look so easy!"

"No one understands, but I love her. Even if she is a bit LMC."

Found: approx 2003 in Los Angeles

Text: "YOUR MARTINIS ARE SERVED."

Found: Ripped out of a spiral notebook, in Los Angeles, in 2003.

<3

p.s. Ladies + Men, I am going through boxes of old things at my Mother's so will be posting many such things, including many rawther self-involved things I wrote/ did myself. Excitement?

In Which Leilana Always Has Excuses

So, it has been roughly a million years since I last updated so I thought I'd give you some excuses I prepared earlier.

1. My computer + Internet is SO slow it actually takes some time to upload photos.
2. I live in Dunedin.

This is not a complaint - I am actually really enjoying my life here - but not really a lot happens. Look here, a beautiful sky. Ok, that was actually quite cool. Above is the school Columba, I think and below is my roof and a Logan.

This is not to say that Dunedin has no intrigue at all. Tune in, now, for a tale with a beginning, middle and end. On one fortuitous Monday evening, Miss J, Mr V and I decided to try to finish off the liquor supples from the Arthur's Pass trip. This was a lofty goal and we took to it with vigour. With so much vigour in fact, that we had already succeeded by about 11pm (no one remembers exactly when) and made the informed decision to up the ante.

This led us into a walk, taking several hours, past such Dunedin landmarks as the one shown below, the North Cemetary, PAST the Gardens (could not go in, they were shooting bunnies - this has happened to me before) and down North East Valley up into that gorge thing. All in all, it was an exciting, terrifying time, involving such highlights as standing in the pitch-black in a forest, in the cemetary and ALL hearing the distinct sound of human foot steps. We all ran like the wind or like wild bandicoots.

We had, however, messed with the universe. In the course of the evening, we had:

1. Become convinced a building on the North Cemetary was being used for strange purposes, as it had tacky NEW curtains and the lights on in the middle of the night.
2. Made a giant mess of Miss J's kitchen.
3. Accidentally adopted a cat. AND:
4. Lost Logan's keys.

Unfortunately, I don't have a picture of the 'Strange Building' but we returned the following day, after basically no sleep, and found it to be an information centre. Especially detailing the horrendous life and end of the Larnach family. I'm glad I don't live in that mansion.

Below is a shot from that day, walking around North Cemetary. The cat and the kitchen had to wait, but we wanted to sort out the situation with Logan's keys. He had a vivid memory of rolling down the Rhododendron dell by the SPCA on Warden Street, so it is to this location we trudged, whispering about the universe and the magic that could happen if we find the keys.

It is at this point in the tale I must interject to confess something slightly heinous; namely, I wasn't only hoping that 'we' would find the keys, I was hoping - rather more specifically ' than I would find the keys. Like a western philosopher building the British empire, I was thinking in individual terms, and I really wanted to be the one to find the keys and have that moment of glory of seeing them glinting in the grass. Not for honour, but just because I never find things and I imagined it would feel great to spot them.

*Glint glint glint* ! Yay !

Giggling and overly pleased with ourselves we returned to the home of Miss J where her gorgeous flatmate had already cleaned the destroyed kitchen. We thanked him profusely and went back to see about the cat. It was no longer crying in my garden, and I was concerned - I hope little idiot isn't lost. "Ding ding ding" I called out, to no avail.

Note: Later I return to my house with the ever-amazing Lucy McConnon and hear a quiet cat sobbing from the vegetable patch. We run over and Ding ding ding, little maniac is there and runs into Lucy's arms. Could this be his new Mom?

Side note: A beautiful house and car on Warden Street. Noticed directly after the euphoria of finding the keys.

FILF

So, I do really love Bill Bailey and probably would F him, given the chance (at least, I would after he did this), but what I especially love is feminists. I love old feminists, young feminists, men feminists and women feminists, HOT feminists and feminists whose other views I don't really agree with.

But what I like most of all is feminists from Islamic countries, mostly because they are so hot, but also because they are brave, cutting and complex. And because I am so lucky to be able to do my dissertation on something so interesting, and so full of eye candy.

Below is a picture of Queen Soraya Tarzi of Afghanistan who reigned for a very short time from 1926 - 1929 at which time she and her husband were overthrown and forced into exile due to their feminist (and otherwise liberal) beliefs. Most notably, encouraging the education of girls and tearing off her veil in public. After being exiled, she lived out her days in Rome.

Interesting fact for your day:

1964: Women in Afghanistan are granted the right to vote.

1970: Women in Switzerland are.

xox

Everything J.D. Salinger

For the last small while I have been hanging out in Johnsonville with the always lovely Anthony and trying to catch up with everyone in Wellington, while taking in such ridiculous events as: Neko Case live (!!!), Campus a Low Hum (<3) and Joanna Newsom (Oh God).

Despite all of this, my friends, my ever-overdue dissertation and the time-consuming internet, I had found the time to begin re-reading the Catcher the Rye. I love it so much I have a hard time not reading it aloud to everyone within earshot. Three days, eleven chapters, in I heard the news that Salinger had died at the very respectable age of 91. Maybe a solitary life is the secret (I don't think it actually is).

Apart from the strange coincidence of being part-way through re-reading his novel when I hear about him, he has been a somewhat large focus in previous moments in my life also, and in the days following his death.


I first read the Catcher in the Rye in the sleepy, colonial, and flooded, town of Luang Prabang in Laos. I had gone to the little book exchange shop and seen shelves and shelves stocked with absolute nonsense; fantasy, trashy crime and romances. I was dying, since I was also experiencing my first bout of serious isolation and desperately required a book. Then I saw a very old Penguin Classic spine (of the edition pictured above), realised it was Catcher in the Rye and almost opted out - I thought it would be some pretentious 'great' American novel; serious, self-indulgent and overly important. I bought it anyway, and spent a large part of the next three days sprawled on my perfect bed, in my bright riverside bedroom.

I really felt like Holden Caulfield had rescued me, in some way.

"The thing is, it's really hard to be roommates with people if your suitcases are much better than theirs — if yours are really good ones and theirs aren't. You think if they're intelligent and all, the other person, and have a good sense of humor, that they don't give a damn whose suitcases are better, but they do." - p. 115.


Notable mentions of Salinger in the last week: millions of facebook statuses, a hilarious Onion article, Joanna Newsom mourning him at her gig - in a sweet, silly but earnest way and an online debate with a lecturer about the character of Holden Caulfield.


Notable historical nonsense: walking in the snow in Munich, after going to a small English bookstore and buying "Nine Stories" (Salinger), "Breakfast At Tiffany's" (Capote) and "Understanding Empire" (Negri). Taking my own passport photo in a booth in an underground train station, dressed in my Hanoi velvet coat and feeling like my heart is burning a hole through it.


"Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them — if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry." - Mr Antolini. The Catcher in the Rye.