It’s funny, when i was little i remember going to visit my Aunty Mary who only lived two suburbs away, when you’re little that’s like the moon. One thing i always noticed is that her family would buy, and read ‘Tv Times’, where as my family were of the Tv Week variety.
Even at that young age i was aware of ‘differences’, i guess this was my first taste of ‘us and them’, i always thought it was exotic that my Aunt would read something different from us. It fascinates me to look back at childhood perceptions, and how something so simple was almost a metaphor of what was to come in later life, the bigger differences, the bigger ‘Us’s and them’s’.
I blogged earlier about finding a photo of me as a very small child in a push car, and how it was an adventure for me to ride to the end of the back path, but how later i found myself in Los Angeles thinking ‘Gee, that wasn’t all that far from the back path in Wollongong’.
I guess i was always wondering what lay beyond the back path, as a child of about four i went missing, and was found in the next suburb in my push car, apparently trying to visit my sister, i still wonder where that path will lead me.
For all things Number 96 click “Here“.
There is a lot to be said for keeping old school mates as friends, people you’ve known since you were about ten years old, and shared the experiences, trauma’s and triumphs that school brings is nothing to be sniffed at.
Fear not my Hollywood prince, my dumb ass star of questionable sexuality, you still have a corner reserved in Miss Tammy’s black old heart.
It’s been a while since we’ve checked in with my friends at Jowlers, as per usual we have a fine display of the cranial distorted.
Jan-Maree, equal best musical director i’ve ever worked with.
Nico is just the best singer, sometimes he can been on the telly in sex scenes and holding a gun.
Alex and i go waaaaaay back, since i think we were about fourteen, his kids are now in the theatre performing, taking after there performance artist grandad Neil.
“I hope, Cecily, I shall not offend you if I state quite frankly and openly, that you seem to me to be in every way, the visible personification of absolute perfection”. Oscar Wilde.
My nephew Dax and i mocking someone trying to earn an honest dollar by walking around in an ‘A’ frame advertising board.
Twas a hot parching summer in Melbourne, and one got hydration where one could.
Rock cave at Hanging Rock.
Hanging Rock.
Hanging Rock Queen.
Chokito.
‘Posters Anual Polly Waffle Pool Party’ our friend Rick at the back seems to have perfected a rather unique style of consuming said confectionary.
Look what i found in the pool.
Crackers over the Yarra.
Princess Stephanie, me and Phillip from Melbourneloft.com in our favorite Melbourne laneway for breakfast.
Me and Sherbie after hosting the ‘Let it be Beatles Radio Show’.
Aunty Em!, Aunty Em!!, it’s a twister!, it’s a twister!!.
Outside my favorite joke store where i purchase all my fake dog shit and vommit.
Spooky Tammy shadow.
Fruit.
Standing guard.
My host Phillip, and i.
In an act of solidarity and empathy for his Lesbian sister and her partner Emily, my nephew Dax insisted on being photographed in front of a Birkinstock store in Melbourne .. his heart is in the right place 🙂
If you’ve ever wondered where i get my class, grace, style, piss elegance and just general fuckin’ niceness, well now you know. This book never leaves my boudoir table.
Me and my beloved Converse sneakers, let me count the ways ..
When asked what i wanted for my birthday, non greedily i responded ‘Tommy’s chips and burgers’ .. my wish was granted.
Dioh, Steve (Princess Stephanie, me (Miss Tammy) and Peter. Wonderful summer day at my formerly favorite cafe, i have since issued a shitlisting upon this place for changing owners and menu .. i have that power.
Tho now past the stage of my life where i live in nightclubs, i still like to get my fill of busting the odd .. and i do mean odd move, and a non attitude drag show, nothing tires me more than a drag queen who has to rely on being nasty and cruel to get a cheap laugh, it insults my intelligence. None of this is found at Pollys i L O V E this social group. If you ever want to meet me, hit on me, buy me a cordial, spike my cordial, share a gas mask or ask for favours in return of a photo with me, this is the place, i’ll be the one on the dance floor screaching with delight as the first bars of ‘Amarillo’ strike up, it really is worth the trip just to watch Miss Tammy’s patented dance moves to this song .. old time gay, that’s what i like.
All bases covered.
Silly J B HiFi, they had a display of iPads, and it was set to the app that allows you to write and draw on the screen, it was fantastic to stand back and watch as a stream of people stepped up to write the most offensive message possible, and then the specially stationed, droopy shouldered, shop assistant step forward to erase the latest missive.
With the growing popularity of my Beatle Photo Blog i’ve joyfully noticed an increase in the number of offensive, homophobic, angry and just plain loopy comments and messages i’ve been recieving. Never one to let excellence go unnoticed, i’ve started awarding the ‘Angry of Mayfair’ award for the worst letter, or comment of the week. Anyone around my age (young and gorgeous) should remember the Kenny Everett show, that used to be on the telly in the late afternoon. My favorite character was ‘Angry of Mayfair’ an insanely conservative character, who used to come out screaming abuse at the filth and imorality of the world, after hitting the camera with his folded up umbrella he would turn and storm off, revealing his true self. RIP Kelly.
This one is for ‘Miss T’. I have no idea what to call these hair ‘Do’s’, i mean they aren’t really mullets, i guess they’re just ‘Jerry and Larry’s’.
Imagine my shock and surprise .. and fear, when i came home recently to find a cardboard box on my front door step, i of course (seriously) assumed it was a bomb, or a parcel containing anthrax, after carefully opening it with the longest knife i could find, and a squint in my eye, i let out a squeal of delight, to find this most welcome gift from my buddy and Pal D-san. Running my tongue up the side of a cup*, to lick up dribbled Horlicks has never been so much fun.
* Some slight censoring has had to be applied to save the delicate dispositions of some blog viewers, besides, it looks twice as dirty with words missing, but make no mistake .. you would projectile vommit if you read the ‘raw’ mug 🙂
Myself and the ladies here at the Tingle Manor gusset group had a wistfull time yesterday, as we spend our tuesdays reinforcing the urine weakened gussets of our cottontails, we couldn’t help but cast our minds back to the time when we were initiated into womanhood.
Recently a ‘Hey Charger’ advertisment came crackling over my National transistor radio, it took me right back to the time i had my hymen, and dignity, torn apart in the back of a burnt orange Charger, one foot pressed against the collapsable steering column, and the other with a toe jammed into the lighter socket in an early attempt at automotive electro play. Ahhhh yes, the begining of a life long love affair with anything that holds a charge, that includes licking discarded 9 Volt batteries, and walking swiftly to cause a little St Elmo’s fire between my thighs when my stocking rub together. What a warming touch it was, as my boyfriend Ray* done a lap of honour at the Bellambi surf club car park, before driving up my parents driveway to deliver me safely home. Alas, poor Ray* was in no fit state to stand and usher me to the doorstep, i think he pinched a nerve trying to negotiate himself around my bionic-esque hymen, which was stretched taughter than a crepe paper streamer.
The following youtube clip is a pretty fair representation of the sounds of passion i was emitting at the time from the back seat, i’m sure it got Ray* all the more frisky (To quote Marian Cunnigham) ..
*Name changed to save the goats dignity.
I have no idea where this clip is from, i found it on the net, and i can’t help but be drawn to it, i was such a placid child, but inside i really looked and acted like this little lass.
POISE:
Some people only need one name for instant recognition, Diana, Elvis, Jocelyn, Obama and of course ‘Marta’. It’s been four years since Marta featured in a fashion spread on the pages of my Blog, four years where her star has risen even higher in the sky. The first photo is Marta, it’s the poise, the arrogance, the ‘fuck you’ stance. The crisp white scarf is almost clinical in it’s perfection, in it’s lines, The black polo neck harks back to the beatniks and the existentialists of the early 1960’s. Being a friend of fur Marta wears a faux sheep skin jacket that probably came as a one off from Stella McCartney. Marta owns this scene, she is to be followed, she is to be heard, she is, quite literally, our very own Maggie Taberer.
BALLET AND LACE:
More detail on the frock will follow in the next post, but first i want to highlight Marta’s ceaseless push for the world to wrap their legs in white stockings, be they lace, nylon, silk .. whatever, just so long as they are white, because everything else is highlighted by them, i wouldn’t mind guessing that’s a glimpse of garter at the top her leg, or perhaps an unlaced truss. Not sure where she has them made, but Marta’s foot ware is always like no other persons on this or any other planet, the male size 15 foot she has looks so delicate here as its set off with a ballet shoelace tie.
SO 1973, BUT IN 1969:
What to say here?, Marta is all business, with it’s ‘Tetris’ pattern and slight hounds tooth shading around the line of the grid, Marta looks to confuse us here, and thrown we are, the low and wide cuff suggest a slight nod to the bell bottom of the sixties, but Marta does our heads in by having then on her sleeve cuffs, the drop earrings soften the harsh, possibly metallic necklace, with our primate princess it’s all about mix and match.
ARABIAN MISTRESS:
Marta risks getting sand in her Manolo’s all for the sake of glamour, no one before or since has made beige work like Marta, it’s a theme with her to push her beauty through this vortex of banality, wisely she goes for light coloured bangles around her wrist that wont attract heat, but the fashion masochist See’s her back wearing her full metal frame sunglasses, I’m sure the lenses were searing through her retina’s like a child with a magnifying glass frying ants, but Marta does not give a flying fuck, if cataracts mean she’s gonna look like her fashion face furniture does not suck, then pass her the white cane of glamour. Did anyone think for a second that Marta would appear in the desert without in your face earrings?, didn’t think so. It’s interesting to note that while shading most area’s of her face, the one area Marta wants in the direct desert sun is her Cindy Crawford beauty spot, in Marta’s heart that spot can never be too dark.
KITCHEN HAND:
In a down home moment Marta makes a mock breakfast to show off her earthiness, but Marta fools no one, least of all her devoted fans, who else but Marta would have heavy lace stockings around such flammable hardware, a mini skirt is functional so as not to get caught in the undercarriage of any white good appliances. A white apron is draped over the mini skirt in tribute to ‘Little Edie’ and I’m betting my left nut Marta left that apron on the whole day even when she went out later that evening. A highlight is the Lacroix-esque puffy sleeves that pre dates the designers use of them in 1986 by about twenty years, in your face .. in your fucking face!. Marta can’t get a fashion shoot in without toying with your mind, by casually leaving her industrial patent leather hand bag on the kitchen counter, it’s all about smooth surface kitchen chaos.
ROLE PLAY MARTA:
Nobody said super model simians had to be conservative, here Marta, just for shits and giggles, Don’s a nurses outfit, if truth be told I’m hard pressed to think of anyone who hasn’t slipped on a white uniform and done a little suppository digital rectal penetration role play, but as ever Marta grabs fashion by its shedding fur and fucks with your head, no one can tell if Marta has hacked at her patented white stockings here to deconstruct them, is it something of a sanitary nature she’s picked at and draped over her legs?, or is it a bandage she’s pulled from a child’s stuffed toy that had been filled with medical waste from India?, Marta gets off on the tension, and you know we’ll never know for sure.
