Can't get this song off repeat:
Pressure Suit by Aqualung
Two spinning spheres, they spin together
I'm gon' spin alone
I don't know how I can do this
I don't know how to get through
It's alright, It's alright
I can't stop loving you
It's alright, It's alright
I'll be your respirator
I'll be your pressure suit
It's alright, It's alright
I'll be your four leaf clover
I'll be your pressure suit
I'll be your angel wings
I'll be your parachute
I'll be your running reason
I'll be your only reason
Ohhhh, ohhhhhh
I can't stop loving you
Now go and analyse THAT.
Sunday 22 July 2007
Tuesday 17 July 2007
Seven
One of my closest male friends, Ll___, asked me for a film concept based on the theme 'Seven'. We were sitting outside in the winter sunshine on a Saturday afternoon, casually enjoying a joint, and my mind instantly turned to sex. I lie - the thought preceding sex was an idea based on the seven days of Creation - but that it so done.
Back to Seven and sex. I spoke of a film that follows the first seven men a woman had slept with - how she changed throughout the process, how the men changed her, how her approach to life and men and relationships had shifted and strengthened through these intimate relations. I'm not sure if it sounds so good now that I'm writing about it - but when you're stoned, ideas like these are pretty fucking clever.
I started thinking of the first seven men I had slept with - who they were, where they were from, where we were at the time, how long I had known them. As I counted them finger by finger, I had nearly forgotten about 2 - my ex-boy of three years. Now, what does this say about our sexual relationship? Not much. Not that memorable. Maybe I'm being unkind here, but when I credit the man who made me sexually confident, it's not him. No, 2's the boy who, while still being called his 'supermodel', made me doubt myself and my attractive qualities. I was his prize, perched high on pedestal, the virgin jewess who occasionally played naughty in the bedroom. His excuses became my excuses, and soon weeks lapsed into months of nothingness. I loved him, and I probably will continue loving him. Even though I fell out of love with 2 a long time ago, he'll always have a small piece of me - you can't live three years of your life for nothing.
They say that Jews fool around with non-Jews, they 'practice' til perfect, but when it comes down to it, most of them will end up with a Jew. I fit into this charming label. When sex doesn't equal relationship - and both parties MUST acknowledge this - then practice all you want. You can only get better. Well, I'm finding I do.
But Jews and non-Jews like, I'm discovering the patterns in my attraction, and how they differ to my Australian Jewish girlfriends. Most of us come from Eastern European backgrounds, our grandparents immigrated to Australia over fifty years ago. Most of us went to Jewish primary and secondary schools, and most of our friends are Jewish. Insulated? For sure. Exclusive? Not intended. Racist? Don't ever call us that.
So our Jewish dating pool is considerably smaller than those of other communities - as my boss at work has recently exclaimed to me and a Greek girl, "I'm so glad I don't belong to any ethnic group. You guys have so many hassles!" I tried to explain to my boss that it's these hassles that make us precious, but sometimes I dabble in pondering the value of it all.
But I have a problem - I'm not so attracted to the Australian Jewish boys. Namely, those boys who come from the same background as me - we listen to our mothers too much, we grew up in the Australian sun and laidback culture, and by golly, we're Ashkenazi.
Ashkenazi - European Jews, historically Yiddish-speaking, who settled in central and northern Europe. We're the Fiddlers on the Roof, the Klezmer tooting bandicoots, the Shtetllers, we lived within the Pale, we eat gefilte fish and herring.
We are also more susceptible to genetic diseases. Fun.
And, to date, I have never had a relationship with a Ashkenazi/European man. They're Portugese, Persian, African, Italian, Israeli, African-American, Indian, Moroccan, Yemenite, Venezualan - man, it's a small world after all!
But what does this say about me? Or the difficulty of finding a Jewish date on a Saturday night? Do we have to go outside our comfort zones, our communities, our own countries to find a guy? Why does it have to be so complicated? It's easier ordering takeout from my local felafel shop than holding down an Israeli.
So, back to Lucky Number Seven. He knows who he is, he reminds me of sunshine and subtlety. He's always up for a good time, easy to get along with, passionate about writing and music and culture of all sorts. He calls me darling and gorgeous and doesn't wear any underwear. I met him in one of my favourite countries, he lives in my favourite city, and it was one of the favourites.
He's not Jewish.
Back to Seven and sex. I spoke of a film that follows the first seven men a woman had slept with - how she changed throughout the process, how the men changed her, how her approach to life and men and relationships had shifted and strengthened through these intimate relations. I'm not sure if it sounds so good now that I'm writing about it - but when you're stoned, ideas like these are pretty fucking clever.
I started thinking of the first seven men I had slept with - who they were, where they were from, where we were at the time, how long I had known them. As I counted them finger by finger, I had nearly forgotten about 2 - my ex-boy of three years. Now, what does this say about our sexual relationship? Not much. Not that memorable. Maybe I'm being unkind here, but when I credit the man who made me sexually confident, it's not him. No, 2's the boy who, while still being called his 'supermodel', made me doubt myself and my attractive qualities. I was his prize, perched high on pedestal, the virgin jewess who occasionally played naughty in the bedroom. His excuses became my excuses, and soon weeks lapsed into months of nothingness. I loved him, and I probably will continue loving him. Even though I fell out of love with 2 a long time ago, he'll always have a small piece of me - you can't live three years of your life for nothing.
They say that Jews fool around with non-Jews, they 'practice' til perfect, but when it comes down to it, most of them will end up with a Jew. I fit into this charming label. When sex doesn't equal relationship - and both parties MUST acknowledge this - then practice all you want. You can only get better. Well, I'm finding I do.
But Jews and non-Jews like, I'm discovering the patterns in my attraction, and how they differ to my Australian Jewish girlfriends. Most of us come from Eastern European backgrounds, our grandparents immigrated to Australia over fifty years ago. Most of us went to Jewish primary and secondary schools, and most of our friends are Jewish. Insulated? For sure. Exclusive? Not intended. Racist? Don't ever call us that.
So our Jewish dating pool is considerably smaller than those of other communities - as my boss at work has recently exclaimed to me and a Greek girl, "I'm so glad I don't belong to any ethnic group. You guys have so many hassles!" I tried to explain to my boss that it's these hassles that make us precious, but sometimes I dabble in pondering the value of it all.
But I have a problem - I'm not so attracted to the Australian Jewish boys. Namely, those boys who come from the same background as me - we listen to our mothers too much, we grew up in the Australian sun and laidback culture, and by golly, we're Ashkenazi.
Ashkenazi - European Jews, historically Yiddish-speaking, who settled in central and northern Europe. We're the Fiddlers on the Roof, the Klezmer tooting bandicoots, the Shtetllers, we lived within the Pale, we eat gefilte fish and herring.
We are also more susceptible to genetic diseases. Fun.
And, to date, I have never had a relationship with a Ashkenazi/European man. They're Portugese, Persian, African, Italian, Israeli, African-American, Indian, Moroccan, Yemenite, Venezualan - man, it's a small world after all!
But what does this say about me? Or the difficulty of finding a Jewish date on a Saturday night? Do we have to go outside our comfort zones, our communities, our own countries to find a guy? Why does it have to be so complicated? It's easier ordering takeout from my local felafel shop than holding down an Israeli.
So, back to Lucky Number Seven. He knows who he is, he reminds me of sunshine and subtlety. He's always up for a good time, easy to get along with, passionate about writing and music and culture of all sorts. He calls me darling and gorgeous and doesn't wear any underwear. I met him in one of my favourite countries, he lives in my favourite city, and it was one of the favourites.
He's not Jewish.
Sunday 15 July 2007
Under my Skin
As Ella Fitzgerald croons the Cole Porter song, "I've got you under my skin...", I've got someone under my skin.
And I don't like it.
It's quite funny, really, because I want to write so much about all the thoughts I've had this week, but no words are flowing to my fingers - my hands are too stiff to type.
Caught me off guard - I was expecting some sleazy 'man crumpet' of an Israeli to indulge in a winter fling - yet I was pleasantly surprised when the boy in question turned out to be a decent, intelligent, polite, GORGEOUS person. Or so I thought.
Never heard back. To this day I wonder why...
Gotta get over this Israeli addiction - is it poisonous? Hrmm, well, perhaps not the most healthiest habit.
And I don't like it.
It's quite funny, really, because I want to write so much about all the thoughts I've had this week, but no words are flowing to my fingers - my hands are too stiff to type.
Caught me off guard - I was expecting some sleazy 'man crumpet' of an Israeli to indulge in a winter fling - yet I was pleasantly surprised when the boy in question turned out to be a decent, intelligent, polite, GORGEOUS person. Or so I thought.
Never heard back. To this day I wonder why...
Gotta get over this Israeli addiction - is it poisonous? Hrmm, well, perhaps not the most healthiest habit.
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