Category: happiness
Just A Gent – Friday 18th November, Northcote Social Club
Friday night felt a lot like a bunch of friends in a mate’s garage having a mini rave; it was a team effort both on stage and in the crowd (for the purposes of this review I’ll be calling the audience the team now).
Supported by Kuren, feet were lifting and heads were rolling in a good way through the crowd by the time Just A Gent and his trademark curls and waistcoat unceremoniously strolled out to greet his sold out, max capacity team.
The sprite-like Ella Vos truly belongs in a daydream, bringing the hyperactive team to a standstill as she told us all to come on come on and close our eyes… Staying on stage for most of the set, she arguably held as much attention as the Gent himself.
Crowd fave: Rolling dice
Personal fave: Heavy as a heartbreak or arguably sounds of her mind for its live quality.
I feel as though I have so many questions about the night; Were there three artists on stage at all times? Did everyone make at least two friends? Is Northcote Social always like this? Why didn’t he pass out wearing a waistcoat and shirt for the whole set under the lights? How was I almost off training wheels when he wasn’t even born yet?
Didn’t take any photos as I was too busy dancing with my new friends , but just looked at a photo Just A Gent posted from the stage, and no way did it feel as packed as it looks (a good thing, no?).
Would see again, especially with Ella Vos and Kurin in tow. Yas.
Stream of consciousness, yabba dabba doo
9:53pm
It’s funny how the thoughts that visit to annoy you late at night can hardly cross your mind during the day. I often find myself lying rigid in bed, torn between getting up and smashing on my keyboard for a half hour, or taking deep breaths and trying to meditate myself to sleep like a bae once tried to teach me. Tonight I felt across the room for me’ trusty laptop.
My pestering thought is this: Why do people sometimes write and conceal their true meaning? So often I read blogs (actually, rarely, but on the occasion that I do) and feel as though the writer is trying to shape the thoughts of the reader through manipulation, rather than statement of fact or honesty. They try and tell you what to take out of their writing, rather than letting you derive the meaning for yourself. Sometimes, of course, they have one specific point that they are shaping for you to take away. But don’t you think part of the duty of a writer is to encourage others to think for themselves?
There’s no more powerful tool for connecting writer to reader as a stream of consciousness style. If I were in any kind of position to offer advice on writing (not saying that I am, but this is my blog so boo hoo to you), I would just say let it come. The writing I have received the best responses from has always been the pieces I have word-vomited out in two hours, my fingers on the keys struggling to keep up with the thoughts in my head, rather than the pieces I have toiled over for days, come back to, deleted and re-drafted.
Sometimes when I can’t sleep I end up naked, lying on my stomach, typing furiously at 1am (I’m nudie-typing now, whaddayathinkathat) and waking up to something I’m proud of. People are strange. We start the day like little flowers, closed off and self-protective, guarding our opinions and putting on clothing to shield us from the world. By the end of the day we’re more likely to be unbuttoning our collars and putting up our feet, showing our true colours, hugging our colleagues and saying the things we weren’t ready to at 9am. It’d be great if I was feeling brutally honest at 9am, and could schedule regular morning time to write, but the reality is that I rarely am.
The point is, if it takes you all day to be ready to ‘get real’, strike while the iron is hot. Say it if it needs saying, to yourself, or to whoever. If you need to write, write it while the honest thought-stream is there.
If you’re going to write, be brave, be real. Write like Jack Kerouac or Ernest Hemingway. Jack Kerouac makes me want to writeandbumarideinthebackofatruckanddrinkwhiskeyandmakeloveandLivejustLIVEbecause FUCK! It’s raw. You can feel his energy jumping off the page, just feel it, but no one can really tell you how you’re meant to feel about it. The beauty of it is you can feel whatever the fuck you want.
Write what you mean and state how you feel, no matter how mad or unimportant it might seem at another point in time, because right now, that feeling, or that thought is what is real to you. You needn’t share everything you write. I don’t. I share about 20% of what I write with anyone. I have a journal on my computer that I write thoughts, short stories, poems, opinions and anecdotes from my day. My only regret is that I hadn’t started this sooner; writing honestly for yourself is more important than your audience, in that it continues your momentum. (But also, what if I get dementia and forget EVERYTHING I’ve ever done?)
When you write, be true to yourself. Mean what you say but let others decide what it means for them (if you share what you write, regardless of whether its a letter to your partner, a card for your mum or an essay for your tutor). It might be a fleeting thought or a joke that you laugh at later for the wrong reasons, but so be it! That’s life, isn’t it! Life is laughing at your shit, someday in the future, and I’d rather laugh at some real, honest shit.
At the end of the day, I’d rather embrace a stream of consciousness style and write thirteen honest words that no one understands than a thousand intended to tell you what to think. I may have my word processor, but we all have thought-processors, and I know you can do that part all by your self.
Now, an hour later, having satisfied my brain, sleep will come easy.
Real.
For all the men and women out there that think this woman, or any other putting on her makeup everyday is being ‘misleading’ or is guilty of ‘false advertising’, you need to take a step back.
Watch it.
The comments that lead to this video are horrible, both from men and women, scrutinising this woman’s appearance without considering that she is reading your comments. Or do they simply not care? I’d like to hope that most people have more of a conscience than that.
We are all human, regardless of whether we are in the public eye. I know this is old news, but how bad is it that we have to keep reminding each other to show a little respect?
If this was your sister, would you not encourage her to do whatever it takes to make her feel confident and happy in her own skin?
Chances are, she isn’t wearing makeup to impress you; she is probably wearing makeup for herself, in the same way that many women dress for themselves, or for other women, over men. You are not her target market.
If you are unsure whether you should post a comment, the simple test goes like this: If somebody posted it on Your photo or Your social media platform, would it upset or offend You?
Remember that anything you write on social media, negative or positive, has the potential to come back one day to haunt you; in this day and age, even mother dear knows how to screenshot.
Everyone should feel safe enough to post a picture of themselves, as they are, without fear of criticism; makeup or no makeup. I should be able to walk out in public or post a photo of myself to reflect however made-up or natural I feel that day.
Introducing: Jac, Early morning, pre-exam, make-up free and focused on the intellectual challenge ahead; not my skin-tone.
Jac; Dropping past the library, on the way to the beach with my petit-chien; happily make-up/filter-free.
Take it or leave it, I don’t care.
If you don’t have 21,000 Instagram followers and perfect abs, don’t let anyone tell you that’s not good enough.
You are real.
Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken. – Oscar Wilde
Eight Indicators that you are Just Not Ready to Adult
Older generations love to tell us how little we know. They love to tell us that we all expect to be given everything, right now. But how can we expect to be given everything, right now, when we don’t even know what we want?! Some of us. Just. Aren’t. Ready. (#sorrynotsorry?)
1. You still live with your parents.
“Yeah, but I just need to save up enough money…” “I’m just about to go away so there’s no point…” Let’s face it, life at home is amaze. There’s a magical list in the kitchen upon which you write things, and they appear in the fridge a few days later (alongside leftovers that prevent you from ever having to cook). There are pets (aka bff life companions) that you only have half a responsibility of. There’s a magical basket into which you toss dirty clothes… You get the gist. You’re not ready to adult if you don’t shop, clean or pay for your food and housing. Soz.
2. Fuckboys/girls and the pursuit of them still takes up 50% of your time.
Procrasti-tuning is your favourite hobby, besides the gym, and/or all other activities that centre around attracting said fuckboys/fuckgirls. You don’t even really like fuckboys (also known as fucksticks, assholes, jerks and Wastes of Space on this Earth), you just want some validation that doesn’t come from your best friend. You have not yet figured out how to attract nice boys/girls, so you continue to hang out with fucksticks, and complain about it. R e a l M a t u r e B r a d l e y . I don’t care if you’re in the middle of a massive merger at work, if you’re sending Snapchats under the meeting table to five different girls, you’re just an overgrown child.
3. You don’t make phone calls and collect surnames instead of phone numbers.
Ever meet someone and have them hand you their phone with their notes/Facebook open so you can pump in your full name, ready for their morning-after stalk? This happened to me on the weekend. I politely elbowed them in the ribs and put my phone number directly into their contacts instead.
Adults send a text rather than a Facebook inbox, and even better, make a phone call instead of sending a text message. Aforementioned person hasn’t rung yet, so my blatant old-school method must have frightened them, and they must not be ready to adult…. Either that or, refer to point #2 (nice guy or fuckboy? Take your pick, I clearly cannot tell).
4. It hits FriYAY and instead of settling for a few after-work wines, you get shit-faced in your fancy work attire and write off your free Saturday.
You may have secured that post-grad job, but the 9-5 continues to hit you for a six, and by midday Monday you’re sitting at your desk reminiscing on your uni days, when you definitely still would have been asleep right now. Come Friday, that itch needs scratching, and you’re overwhelmed with the desire to get WGW.
The second part to this one is having to fight the urge to go dancing on a Sunday night, when you know you have work the next morning.
Potential solution:
- Save up your annual leave days.
- Take an annual leave day, every Monday.
Sound clever? It’s not. You’re just not ready to adult.
5. You’re not saving for a house, you’re saving for your escape.
No long description necessary; you just want to shirk your responsibilities, and get the fuck out of this town, yet only have a vague notion of where that plane should take you. That’s not very responsible, you quitter, you. It’s probably a good idea however, if you want to save those around you from your constant, pestering immaturity. Fuck the lemons and bail.
6. At some point in the past fortnight, you’ve eaten breakfast foods for dinner.
Cereal and eggs and smoothies are great. Entree = Muesli. Mains = Omelette. BOOM.
But technically, in adult terms, this is illegal meal behaviour.
Your nanna wouldn’t be impressed.
7. You admire people with their shit together in the same way you might admire a mother of five.
I see what you did there, and I’m impressed, but I just don’t… I can’t… How did you do that?
8. You’ve lived long enough to know who you… Aren’t.
Your age is substantial enough to know a few things about yourself. You have some beliefs, attitudes and behaviours, but they are constantly evolving. There are so many options, it can be difficult to narrow it down and figure out who precisely your adult self is going to be.
Trial and error is the only means, and you’re slowly getting there. So far you’ve discovered that harem pants are itchy so you can’t be a hippie, white collar work makes you lonely, you don’t support the Coalition, and you are not suited to a Buddhist lifestyle.
Well… That’s good. You’re getting there. Just keep at it.
It’s hard to adult. Some people choose to embrace it when it works to their favour, but run from it when someone mentions babies or health cover. These are fence sitters. You’re allowed to sit on the fence, these days. I think you should sit there as long as you like… Until that picket up the butt gets too much and you fall over to the dark side, crying adult tears as you buy Life Insurance over the phone, sitting in your court shoes and pant suit inside your silver sedan.
You have your whole life to adult; you can either fake it til you make it, or enjoy taking it slowly. Let’s be honest, if you rush it, your mid-life crisis is going to be that much worse.
C r a z y
If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a thousand times.
Bitches be cray.
My old boss would take any opportunity to remind us female staff members that we are all insane. Here goes the end to every story about any one of his many many exes, in his slightly clipped South American accent; “She was an awesome chick, like seriously, Jac, she was really cool, and hanging out with her was the best… Ya-da Ya-da… And then I realised she was fucking c r a z y.“ Like a full stop. Like someone ripping off a mask to reveal a face with skittles for eyes and only one nostril. “Then she showed her true colours ….. And turns out she’s insane. So I dumped her. You’re all insane.” Well, boss, as much as your ego might obscure your view, have you ever stopped to consider whether you, in fact, are also a few screws loose, and when your current favourite flavour of crazy (eg. Girls with neck tattoos and a penchant for martial arts) isn’t exactly reflected in your love interest’s colour of crazy (loves chasing birds and flirting with security guards), just maybe you’re writing allllllll of them off as crazy as an excuse to dump them?
Anyway. Crazy. It comes in so many delicious flavours. Since this is a post about crazy, and the word is so loaded, from now on let’s make it C R A Z Y. God, it even looks dangerous.
So here I have compiled some of the types of crazy that are lurking among us, and inside us… On the street. In your workplace. In your bed. Because everybody is some kind of C R A Z Y whether they like it or not. And see how I said everybody? This means you guys, too. Because as much as you all love to get around writing all us women off as C R A Z Y, from what I’ve experienced in my short 23 years, you don’t get out of this lightly. We’re all mad.
1. Drunk Crazies. They may be completely sane, most of the time. Almost boring, even. We all know one of these. Your friend’s boyfriend, who normally seems like a sweet guy… But give him ten beers and he has his girlfriend on a chair in the middle of the dance floor, while his naked form gyrates over and around her nervously giggling body. Or it’s the dad who, at dinner parties, disappears for a moment and then wakes up at 4am in one of the children’s wardrobes, lets himself out and walks home. C R A Z Y. And excellent. Subtypes include those next-day-dubbed BOG (best on ground) and WGW (white-girl wasted).
2. The Dweller. Remember that time you accidentally spilled your drink on that girl at Distill in 2010? Nope? Well she fucking remembers. And she is out to get you. The dweller is crazy because they have selective memories and are living in the past, and they cannot get over any wrongdoings done to them, whilst often being incredibly hypocritical. Your classic example is Kristen from popular ridiculous reality show Vanderpump Rules, who seeks to destroy her ex boyfriend’s Tom’s girlfriend Ariana and their relationship, because Tom kissed Ariana one time while they were still going out… However, Kristen has a selective memory, and seems to forget that she slept with her boyfriend’s best friend Jax… And that she has a new boyfriend, James, who she should probably pay some attention to. But she is too busy uncovering how her ex boyfriend Tom has been cheating on Ariana. Who she hates. Because that is really relevant to her current life. Did you follow that? I tried. However, the point is Kristen is fixated on the distant past and cannot move on. Kristen is C R A Z Y.
3. People ruled by their emotions. Ah yes, one of the classic crazy flavours, and the one the fairer sex gets the most stick about. These are the people who experience random fits of energetic ecstasy (HEYHOWYAGOINGIMSOHAPPYTODAYLETSGODANCINGILOVETHESKYITSSOPRETTYYYAAYYYY) and expect everyone around them to match it. Or who get rubbed up the wrong way at the local pub and in a fit of rage peg an ashtray at the offender’s head. You might call them hurricanes. Emotionally driven people will cry when they’re upset, scream when they’re angry, squeal when they’re excited, and fall into hysterical laughter when they are happy. These types often experience word-vomit and say exactly what they think, their words and behaviour being filter-less and powerfully real. They might see their girlfriend talking to another guy they are vaguely suspicious of and turn green with envy before your eyes, making empty threats and plotting to “Rip the cunt’s fucking face off, you tell him I’m going to fucking kill him!” (Happened.)
On that note, a strong sub-type of this flavour of crazy is C R A Z Y in love, love being the emotional thriller that it is. I guess most of us act crazy in love, honestly. When it’s real. When we fall hard we do crazy things. Jump buildings, spend half an hour writing the perfect love-text, daydream about being in an isolated cottage, on a fur rug in front of an open fire, drinking wine while wearing nothing but their lover’s sweat… Sorry what? Ahem. We have thoughts we never believed we could think. We do things we never thought we could do. People ruled by emotions and blinded by love so often act irrationally. They feel and they respond. Sometimes it is wonderful, sometimes it is C R A Z Y. But their hearts are normally in the right place. These people are passion-fuelled and it’s a ride, alright.
4. Those who do the same thing over and over and expect different results. This is my personal favourite. This category includes that person who messages you every third day or so to see what you’re upto, with no response from yourself to encourage said messages… See below.
They just keep banging their head on that brick wall, don’t they?
The other large part of this kind of crazy could be referred to as those with addictive personalities. These are people normally with big mouths, who resolve to change their lives ten times a year. Often disguised as overgrown boys with ADHD and drug problems, these people will loudly declare that they are getting clean, going to start going to the gym, eating well and saving money… Only to quickly hit a low and snapchat you a picture of their 11am beer and/or dinner plate pupils three days later. Repeating this cycle over and over is akin to banging your head against a brick wall. You haven’t changed a thing, you have just made an empty statement. You are still hanging around the same people, at the same places, and exposing yourself to the same situations. You are fucking C R A Z Y.
4. People who refuse to allow themselves to be happy. Whether fuelled by pride, or fear, these people are so insane that they make up little excuses as to why they just can’t. You tell them to shoot down a slip & slide down a hill on their belly into the river, and the idea thrills them… But they won’t do it. They may love someone, but give that person x y z reasons why they cannot be with them. In this case, they refuse to swallow their pride, and then when the poor person who thinks they are loved starts acting like somebody that is loved, the lover tells them in so many words (not really but we are reading between the lines here), “Stop this madness. Just because I love you doesn’t mean I’m going to be with you. Gosh. You fool!” C R A Z Y. Life is too short not to be with the one you love, while you still love them. Swallow your pride and jump, you crazy. Or get on your stomach and slide down that damn hill. You might just find that if you set aside your bullshit reasons, shock horror… You could be happy! You could have some fun!
So go on, write them off as crazy. The girl that pulled your ponytail last night. The guy who you woke up to 22 missed calls from. Write them off as C R A Z Y, if you must. They are. But you’re a hypocrite.
Because if you can honestly tell yourself that there is nothing that you do, either with your best friend, with your partner, in public or in private,
that there’s nothing that you think,
or say,
or feel,
that someone wouldn’t consider C R A Z Y, you are potentially a sociopathic liar. Or boring as batshit.
And let’s be honest, wouldn’t you rather hang out with crazy people with feelings than sociopaths, liars and boring old-soul nanna types?
CRAZY. I’ve written the word so many times by now that it’s started to look misspelled. Strange. C r a z y. Jack Kerouac said through his character Sal Paradise “the only ones for him are the mad ones.” It is the epitome of human passion. Embrace it.
An open letter to my future (wrong) partner
Hey you.
I can already guess what you look like… You’re tall, dark and handsome, with a twinkle either in your eyes or the corner of your smile that subtly says you’re not as innocent as you look. You probably have broad shoulders, and hopefully prefer spending time outside to sitting inside. That one’s not a deal-breaker, but the last two suitors have been one of each… and I definitely felt more myself with the adventurer than with the couch potato, or as he liked to put it, “movie buff”. I have a few things to tell you, future partner, both for my own good, and for yours, because we are never going to be happy if we don’t address this. Answer me honestly. Do you see the glass half-empty, or half-full? Is your base mood rooted in light, or darkness? If you answered honestly, future partner, and you found you have admitted to yourself that you probably see the glass a little under half-way, please walk away. Please. Because if I love you, I’m not going to leave you, as whether or not we are functional and making each other happy, it doesn’t make any sense to me at all not to be with the one I love. You probably know by now that my base mood is a bit like a bird; humming and tweeting and flitting around happily most of the time, interspersed with brief hysterical fits of elation; like the bipolar, without the depression. Do you disagree? Then that means, future partner, that you are the darkness to my light, and you are bringing me down. Like a chameleon, I adapt to my surroundings. I can sleep on the floor, or in the back of a car. I can happily convert to an entirely new cuisine and routine within days. I change my style as often as I change my underwear. Continuously converting, adjusting. So if your base mood is sombre, mine will become sombre too. If and when you are sad, you know I will try my hardest to make you happy, but if you insist upon remaining in your self-indulgent dark headspace, I will inevitably join you. And I don’t want to, not with the Big Love. I want my Big Love to be happy, and if you really care about me, you will want me to be happy too, right? Think about our time together so far, future partner. Have you seen me cry? No? Then maybe I don’t care that much. Or maybe you are That wonderful, and lovely, and happy, and don’t make me doubt myself every two minutes. If so, thank you for being you. Please keep being you forever, and I’ll keep being me, and we can be happy, wherever in the world we choose to be… In the winter in our homestead up in the hills, with our five bright wild children running through the orchard in their gumboots between the geese and the piglets and the chickens and the dogs, and collecting eggs and planting flowers and climbing trees and picking oranges and baking muffins and building bonfires and playing music, always music, from every decade, the soundtrack for the private movie that is our life always playing, while we plant, create, build, love, forgetting about everyone outside our little family on the hill… …Tangent. Excuse my brain, I fell deep into that one. Anyway. My girlfriends would say that I’m pretty resilient, and that they never see me cry, except in love for them, when they are exiting and entering the country, as they do. What they know is that the only thing that can make me cry is love, and I know that they worry, because so far, as you probably know, my dear, I have had somewhat self-destructive taste in men, before you. Maybe including you. But I don’t want a sad, tearful love. I deserve a bright love. So if you’re a glass-half-empty kinda guy, you’re going to have to do it, ASAP. You’re going to have to cut the cord, because you know I won’t. I’m too stubborn and romantic and idealistic, and I would try forever and a day to bring out the light in you, future partner, and maybe I can, to an extent. But if you have that negative base mindset, if you can’t see past the problem to the solution… Well, I don’t want to waste another two, ten years, because I can’t change you, not truly. I don’t want someone to be the yin to my yang. I want another yang, dammit! I want us to be so happy that we eventually die simultaneously of heart attacks, in our beach house (yes we’re having a farm house and a beach house, you know this) age ninety-nine, in the midst of a hysterical fit of laughter. Yang, yang. So please don’t drag this out if you’re a Negative Nelly, even if you love me, and I love you… But be honest when you do end it, because you know that if you make up a reason, I’ll inevitably try to find a way to fix it. Just say this is for my own good. Say it will all be okay. Say that I’ll thank you someday. Because I will. Maybe I’ll even write you a thankyou letter, old school, from my writing desk in my farmhouse on the hill, and lick the seal, and put a stamp on the envelope, and give it to my trusty mail-eagle… My future future partner might want to thank you too.
Love, your Jac.
The Beauty of Random Walk
In Finance, specifically the share market, there exists a theory called the Random Walk Hypothesis.
This theory states that the past trends and upward or downward movements of a share price have no influence on what will happen to share prices in the future.
Prices are unpredictable.
A stock may be plummeting for seventeen days.
It might move from $37 a share to $17 a share.
All of Wall street might be running around like headless chooks, with angry investors on the phone asking what the hell is going on.
Random walk tells us that, regardless of all this dramatic falling that the price has been doing, we cannot predict what will happen to the share price tomorrow. It could just as easily move upwards as it could downwards.
It might recover slightly to $19 a share. It might drop further to $16. We cannot predict it.
Past movements cannot be used to predict future movements.
Flip a freaking coin.
Having a fairly active ticker, I have been considering lately how this theory can be applied to choosing to live a beautiful life.
Say you get hurt.
We all do, it happens. It’s life.
But just because you are hurt today does not mean you cannot be happy tomorrow.
You might be! But you might not. You will not know until you reach tomorrow.
Today cannot tell us what tomorrow will bring.
So if there’s no point trying to guess the future… Is there any point in trying to look back in order to predict it?
No. No there is not.
Look forward.
Just because you were treated without respect today does not mean you will not be given respect tomorrow.
Just because the sun shone today does not mean tomorrow the rain won’t soak right through your white shirt and embarrass the shit out of you in the mall.
Just because you drank one too many Tequila shots in your favourite basement and tried to have a D&M with the bar staff last weekend does not mean you will do it again this weekend. Sorry guys.
Well, okay, you probably will.
But the point is, you needn’t look back.
Don’t bank your future on what your life has been so far.
Sure, take from it what you may. You are standing where you are because of what you have come through; the sum of your parts can be attributed to your past experiences.
But it needn’t overshadow the possibilities of tomorrow. Or tonight.
Look up. See what is before your eyes. Behold the mystery that is your future!
Because for chrissake, if I had a shitty breakfast I’ll be damned if that means I have to have a shitty lunch.
jac writes 