back to school

I meant to spend today taking photos, unearthing my bedroom floor from whatever semi-sentient thing has taken over, working on my Mozart piece and finishing my book.

Instead, I spent the majority of today asleep under a tree using my book as a pillow. Sydney is having its usual winter weather wimp out, in that the weather goes "UGH! So many people in BLACKGREYPLUM clothes. This will not do!" and chucks a spree of 20 degree plus days, which means that nearly everyone strips down to their singlets and short shorts. Then the weather glares at people like me, who are glaring at the weather, because "its winter. I want to be cold and wearing my wool dress, thank you." Today though, I gave up and removed my stockings. The paleness of my legs worries me. It's like looking at two pieces of chalk. I know that I'm not uber uber pale, but I think because alot of people are so violently orange that sometimes my lack of melanin seems odd. It's not.

What was odd, however, was how I managed to eat two punnets of strawberries and still be grumpy. I worked out a reason for this whilst working my way through another punnet of strawberries - it's because Australian strawberries, despite being the size of my head have no flavour unlike their European counterparts. There are also, on average, 9 strawberries the size of my head in one punnet. Which means that I ate roughly twenty seven strawberries today and possibly accounts for the tummy ache I got, and the nap I had to take in order to get rid of the tummy ache. I live such a hard life.

University went back this week, which was a bummer. I'm not taking any English subjects this semester which fills me with dread - what will I complain about without John Donne? Will Shakespeare get a big head without me there to point out his flaws? The reason that I'm not taking any English is that I'm not allowed to. Having completed enough credits last semester, I was expecting to be ushered into 2nd Level English (and hoping for a trumpet fanfare). However, it turns out that I've been moved to UNSW's new Bachelor of Arts, which only started this year. And because the new BA Program came in this year, there are technically no upper level courses available**. My student advisor Michael laughed alot when he told me this.

Michael also declared that I had to declare a Major and Minor. So, I did declare English as a Major and Critical/Cultural Studies as a Minor, mostly because nobody at UNSW seems to know anything about C/CStudies, and I enjoy that sort of thing. Plus it sounds vaguely more useful than bloody Metaphysics. Michael agreed with me on my final point and proceeded to tell me all about his one man war against the philosophy department.

So this semester will see me attempting three subjects, "Media Society & Politics" "Women & Gender" and "Working with Image and Sound". I have to admit I have little or no idea what to expect from any of them. I'm slightly terrified of "Image and Sound", as it involves lots of practical film production stuff - I predict there'll be a whole bunch of 'experimental' films being made which will rival "Paper Soldiers" in frustration and fury. "Women & Gender" will probably involve cliches and granola. "Media Society & Politics" will probably focus alot on the triviality of Australian Media.

Signs point to awesome term. Kissinger nowhere to be seen.

Despite today being Wednesday, I haven't actually had any classes yet. For some mad reason, Gender Studies has put back the classes until next week, which was the reason I was asleep under a tree today when normally I'll be in class. Tomorrow I have my two other lectures, but tutorials don't start till next week. It's a bit iffy. And despite being a slacker and only doing three subjects, I'll be at uni four days a week, a weekly total of 15 hours.

All this entry was really , was a way of longwindedly saying that I have to get up very early tomorrow morning.








**This has also befallen my poor friend Alan, a mad arts/science student. They told him he couldn't take English or Physics this semester. I think he nearly cried, then decided to take Linguistics and Electrical Studies. I think he may be building a Frankenstein Monster. Or a TARDIS.

all the notes in your heart.

(my cello)

Saturday morning I make my into town, to The Music Practice for my quartet session. I play Cello, my father plays clarinet, tiny little Jan also plays clarinet and Canadian Mike plays Bassoon. Poor Alison has to look after us, and try to make sure that we don't slow down too much, or completely maul whatever it is we're working on. At the moment it's a Mozart Adagio. It was my first week back today because my Cello had a problem with its fingerboard, which made it sound like there was a very enamored bee accompanying me. So my cello, in its sparkly new blue case, was sent of to Edgecliff to be seen to. I'm very pleased to report that it now sounds like the beautiful full blooded beast it is. And it turns out that I own what is called a "ladies" cello, as its not quiet 3/4, not quite full size. It's a beautiful red colour, and its new sound is just begging for me to learn the Bach Cello Suites.



this is my very favourite cellist, Peter Wispelway. There's a recording of him playing these Bach Suites where you can hear him breathing, the clack of his bow and the tap of his fingers all underpinning the incredibly beautiful Bach music. There's something very intimate and personal about it that I love - the cello is a much more intimate instrument than the other strings in my opinion. I played (at knifepoint) for eight years at school, but it's only since I came back from Europe that I've picked it up again, and to my surprise I've turned out to be much better than I thought - and now that I own the sheet music for the Bach, I think it's going to be one of the best things I do this year. I'll let you know how I go, and maybe try to put a recording up if any one's interested?

While we're talking about music, the darling Renate, who is my Norwegian e-pal, asked me what music I'm listening to at the moment. So I thought I'd do a proper music post, so that I can link it to a bunch of forum people and get my hand back in at it. Alot of this will be old stuff that you've probably heard, but I refused to do a Top 10 albums last year, and got yelled at, so consider this a sort of apology.

Voxtrot - Trepanation Party
Voxtrot have kind of always been a band that I like to listen to best on Sundays. Because their music is sort of quietly bouncy, very gentle stuff full of romance and whiskey (they have a song called Whiskey that's just heavenly) but "Trepanation Party" is darker and disco-y-er. It's like the band went so some hipster club in LA one Friday night and spent the entire time sitting in a corner, nursing a drink (because they could only afford one drink because hipster clubs are overpriced) and wondering what the hell they were doing there. And then on Saturday night, instead of going out, they wrote this song. I may be projecting slightly, but that's what this song sounds like. Lead singer Ramesh has such a gentle voice that to hear him sing things like "everyone i know is losing their mind, everyone i know has a really good time" and "how does it feel to be one of the beautiful people" sends a shiver up my spine. I can't wait for their new album.

Orphans and Vandals - I Am Alive, You Are Dead (album)
I have been curled around this band protectively for over a year now. I saw them supporting Broken Records and the Twilight Sad last year in London, and decided that I didn't want anyone to know about them ever because their words and music is spectacular and epic and intimate. And then their album (which shares a title with my favourite biography ever) came out and I knew that I had to share this with the scant few people who read this thing, because I Am Alive, You Are Dead is the most real thing I've heard in years. It's not rehearsed and there are mistakes and it's all so endearing that it's like the musical equivalent of long conversations with people you love. The songs are primarily odes to Europe, London in particular, and fill me with nostalgia for a city that I found big and overwhelming and unfriendly. My favourite song would have to be '"Mysterious Skin" which was the first song I ever heard from Orphans and Vandals. It's a letter to Arthur Rimbaud, in which singer Al Joshua goes on a quest to Paris, to Charleville where Rimbaud was born. The song is interspersed with observations of modernity, the fickleness of life. At over ten minutes, it's emotionally draining, but beautiful. Other favourites are Terra Firma, because of the casual elegance of the lines "this town is like Jericho, the walls will come down if I tell them to" I don't know, there's just something so very genuine about this band. The gentle strings, the drumming that underpins every song like a heartbeat, and the ease with which mistakes are made and ignored. I love the evilness of "Metropes" which casts a devilish air over "cocktail parties for the rich and influential/walking on my hind legs feels unnatural", adding a cruel undertone to London nights and social circles. That this band choose to sing about sex like it's just sex as opposed to a toll for advancement also endears them to me greatly. This album is diverse and raw and honest and I think you should go listen to them.

Idlewild - 100 Broken Windows (album)
Is there a post where I haven't mentioned this band? I don't think so. The 100 Broken Windows album was Idlewild's second full length album, and has always held a very special place in my record collection. As much as I love their later folk-ier stuff (and the crazy dance track No Emotion, complete with pinata), I adore the way this album ebbs and flows between teen punk and indie rock and mellowness - it sounds like a band coming into their own and working out who they are without losing their sense of humor. There's energy in this album, semifrantic energy that's even visible in the slower songs, like "Bronze Medal", which always puts me in mind of winter nights. Most of the songs use repetition in such a way that you don't really notice the repetition until Woomble starts singing about it - which may or not have been intentional. But what I love about this album the most is how literary it is, how intelligent. I love Woomble's sneering "i bet you don't know how to sell conviction" in "These Wooden Ideas", which is the only song about post-modernism that has accurately captured the bullshit of postmodernism and mixed it with the fun of po-mo. "Roseability" has probably inspired hundreds of people to read Gertrude Stein (although I still haven't because, well, I'm recidivist like that). This is a gem of an album, perfect for winter walks and an even more perfect soundtrack for trying to write English essays.

Bloc Party - One More Chance // Intimacy (album)
As I'm a cultural studies student at heart, Bloc Party provide me with hours of speculation and interest. They're one of the few bands to tackle the post 9/11-7/7 culture of fear and isolation in both grandiose and intimate ways. Their music is always epic. But "One More Chance" is. Well. A bit flat after too many listens. It's a lovely idea for a song, the desperate lover trying to get back into his partner's good graces, but I'm a little over all the 80s music that's around that moment (hinthint, Lady Gaga and La Roux.) Still. It's probably a good songtoexerciseto, and I suspect that it will grow on me, the way Bloc Party tend to. Kele's voice sounds fantastic on it, and the video is pretty awesome. Until that happens though, I think I'll continue listening to the mad genius that was "Intimacy". From the opening thunderstorm of "Ares" to the operatic "Zepherys" to the vicious "Talons" this album is mad in the best of ways. It's music for the dark streets and rainy nights. It's simultaneously a portrait of global paranoia and a detailed breakup. You know what this album (and Bloc Party in general, probably) is? A perfect example of GLOCALISATION. HA. I think I've just decided to write my thesis on Bloc Party. Oh, I overwhelm myself with my intelligence. But seriously, go listen to this album. It's a rollercoaster of techno beats, ravishing guitars, intertextual imagery overload and e.e. cummings makes an appearance. What more do you want? (Apart from a decent explanation and review of this album, I mean.)

Phoenix - Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix (album)
It either takes balls or French finesse to take your album title from one of the greatest composers in history. Seeing as it was French indie band Phoenix, I'm guessing they have oodles of the latter. (And considering they're an all male band, probably the former too, but y'know, 'it takes balls' is very American and I suspect the French would sneer at it). That they also make reference to composer Liszt is cunning yet verging on twee. Happily Phoenix has far too much cool to be twee. The slight hint of French accent adds a jauntiness that conjures up images of ray bands at the Lourve. This is an album you should listen to on sunny days lying in the park with a crisp white wine and a copy of Mozart's biography. I think there's a harpsichord (or a spinet?) involved at some point. "Rome" is a very clever sweet extension of the old "Rome wasn't built in a day" and "Lisztomania" is one of my favourite songs (and videos) of the year so far because of it's summery nature and jangly lyrics. I don't really want to go into massive detail with this album as I know here's been a lot of talk about how this is the *breakthrough* album for these guys, and I don't really see it as such. It's just lovely music that seems like the soundtrack for a movie I haven't seen yet but really want to.

The National - Ashamed of the Story I Told (Polaris cover)
Another band I'm always raving about (I should throw in an Editors song, just to complete the trio) The National continue to surprise me and tear at my little heart strings. This is a cover of a Mark Mulcahy song, part of a tribute album to Mulcahy's late wife (I know nothing about Mulcahy's work - now I'm furiously researching it). Considering The National contributed/put together the AMAZING Dark is the Night compilation earlier this year, I can't wait to hear the entirety of "Ciao My Shining Star" to see who else is contributing. But in the meantime, this is just beautiful, and perfectly suited to The National's style. If you haven't heard them before, go out and buy "Boxer" right now - their songs are portraits of the mundane - and the moments when the mundane becomes magic. There's much drinking, hiding in corners and wondering when it all when so wrong (but how did it go so brilliant). And in "Ashamed of the Story I Told", the strings are so gentle, the piano chords like drips in time, and the drums (which are sort of The National's secret weapon) will beat in time with your heart. And over that all, Matt Berninger sounds like a man quietly, calmly losing his mind. The song ebbs and swells with sadness - like when you know you have to so something that you really don't want to do, even though you know it's bad for you. It's a song about goodbyes, ones that hurt, ones that are one sided. I put this song on repeat yesterday and felt the earth spinning. That's The National for you. Now, when is their new album coming out?????

Editors - A Thousand Pieces
Ok, ok. An Editors song. Part of what annoys alot of people about Editors is the whole Joy Division/Interpol thing. For me, this has never been annoying. I love Editors over the other two bands because the music has always had what the other two lack - a kernel of hope. It's that feeling that even when you've fallen over and don't want to get up, you know you're going to be able to. There's a ferocity to Editors that you only really begin to understand when you see them play live - its in front man Tom Smith's mad scientist dancing, Chris Urbanowicz's commanding guitars, Russell Leetch's body shaking bass, Ed Lay's frantic drumming. This is a band that crept up on me and demanded that I hand myself over. And the song "A Thousand Pieces" is the closest they've come to replicating that live ferocity. This song postively snarls determination - its a sort of war cry for love and loving and wanting to be loved - when Tom howls "don't pick up the pieces" I can feel my whole being burst into a thousand billion pieces. It's about reaching out, it's about trying and it's sort of almost kind of a second "Bullets" for me, which is my favourite song ever. It's the machine gun guitars, the way the song is so anthem-esque that I just want to see them play it live and watch people's faces be filled with wonder. (Sorry, I'm gushing.)

Faux Hoax - Your Friends Will Carry You Home
I don't know anything about this band, except that I love this song and it's James Joyce-like stream of consciousness style. I love the quiet bassline. I love the shoutyspoken lyrics. I love the write up it got on "Said The Gramaphone" which has much better writers on it than I could ever hope to be. But most of all, I love the imagery that this song presents - that of my friends doing what they always do - getting my sorry arse out of trouble.



xx


There, apologies for the gushing and complete lack of musical professionalism that I used to display. I sort of prefer writing about things I love. Which is why the new PATD song is still unlistened and unopened in my inbox, along with a shitload of other stuff by boys with pretentious haircuts.

these walls will come down if i tell them to.

The attacks of the Blue Meanies just keep coming.

until things improve:

1. What are your current obsessions?
The 1940s (the fashion, the shift from war-time to peace to cold war), Merlin (the television show and the books by TH White) sewing my own skirts in the morning to wear in the evening, dreaming about how to redecorate my room as it seems i'll never be able to move out and be an independent adult, books by the irish.
2. List three things you must do.
- have my spanielravaged blue shoes repaired
- organise a folio of my 'best' writing
- attack the reading list for this semester's english course
3. What do you see outside your window?
dark dark storm clouds and a winterstripped jacaranda.
4. What is your favorite colour?
Red and blue. Preferably red lipstick and blue smarties.
5. Your weakness?
Pimms and not speaking up when I should.
6. Which animal would you be?
A grumpy grizzly bear that roars all night and sleeps all day and is suprisingly nice to children
7. What would you like to learn to do?
Swing dance, speak German and play the jazz trumpet. so that I could go to Berlin and do all three at once.
8. What do you never want to happen in life?
I never want to suffer through another accounting lecture.
9. What is on your bedside table?
A precarious tower of books, my glasses, a packet of chewing gum, my cache of tablets, hair elastics and my ipod.
10. What's the last thing you've bought?
Casablanca on DVD and a hot curl roller set.
11. What's something that you want to buy?
That fabulous little 1940s suit on etsy. That book about Elephants that I saw the other day, or some vintage bowties to wear as hair clips. A popcorn machine. Colourful mixing bowls.
12. What's your favorite childrens book?
The Secret Garden, The Little Princess, The Hobbit, Anne of Green Gables, David Copperfield, The Three Musketeers (I was a precocious voracious reader as a child. They gave me The Handmaiden's Tale by Atwood when I was in year 6. It put me off children for life)
13. Who do you want to meet in person?
Roddy Woomble from Idlewild, or Fyfe Dangerfield from Guillemots. I think our conversations would be awesome and rambling.
14. What did you want to be as a child?
A success.
15. What did you dream of last night?
I dreamt that I was stuck inside the song "Tiger Tiger' by Bishop Allen, and that everyone I knew was imitating the action of the tiger.
16. Do you prefer day or night?
The space between afternoon tea and supper.
17. What's your favorite piece of clothing in your own closet?
At the moment? My blue lace gress from Glasgow, or my red french maid skirt.
18. What's your plan for tomorrow?
Play with my quartet in the morning (my cello has been fixed! yay!), wander to the MCA, try to read some James Joyce, learn how to use my new hot rollers.
19. If you were going on a long trip (you don't know where you're going), which 10 things out of your wardrobe would you take with you?
My blue coat, my glasgow dress, my wednesday adams dress. my boyfriendbuttonup shirt, my faithful black top, black/blue stockings, my bluethriftstorefabric skirt, my deadbambi skirt, clean underwear and my black flats.
20. What would you like to have in your hand right now?
Lots of strawberries, or a kitten.
21. What is your must have at the moment?
Red Lipstick. It brightens up everyone's day, according to the boy who complimented me in JBHIFI.
22. What's your favorite tea flavour?
Lapsang Souchong or Peppermint
23. If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
The Lakes of Alberta in Canada
24. What colour is the sky where you are?
Very grey, with streaks of sunset peaking through.


xx

Sacre Bleu

I've been feeling blue recently, because it seems like I can't put a foot right. So today I had a blue day; and wore a blue skirt, blue shirt, blue scarf, blue stockings and blue coat. I would have worn my blue shoes, but they were destroyed in an act of CockerSpanielTerrorism. I took a photo, but my hair is giving me grief at the moment (not to mention my skin. eurgh.)

If I thought wearing blue would improve my mood, I was quickly proved wrong. So after two hours in Newtown (which is nowhere near as cool as it likes to think these days) I stomped home and resolved to move to outer space where, I'm presuming, I won't have to deal with pedestrians stopping in the middle of the street, or people asking me for money, or bloody strollers. Just because you own a baby and a stroller does not make you the Aston Martin of the sidewalk.

This was a reaffirmation of a thought I had on Sunday, when my brother and I went to Rozelle Market. After I bought a lovely little hat, we then dodged strollers, toddlers, overly pregnant women and a CAT ON A LEAD (???) to get to a patisserie that I had read about and wanted to investigate.

The investigation concluded that while Adriano Zumbo's patisserie is teenytiny, and that you wouldn't have been able to swing that poor cat we saw that was ON A LEAD, our purchase of 18 Macaron's was possibly the best food choice I had made in ages. Even if the girl behind the counter looked at me oddly when I royally proclaimed "oh, two of each flavour please"


The green ones, Pistachio flavoured, were my favourites. And the peanut butter. And the mandarin. And the glitteryone. I now have to learn the bicycle route to Balmain from my place, so that I can justify buying many more Macarons. I should just learn to make them, but I suspect it will involve serious amounts of washing up, and that I can not abide. I hate washing up almost as much as I hate, well, everything else, let's be honest. So cycling to Balmain it is. I could get the bus, but cycling means opportunities to alarm people with strollers.

Because the weather has been so gross here in Sydney, I've been getting a lot of reading done. I tore my way through Mallory's La Morte De Arthur 1 & 2, mostly so that I could shout at the television when Merlin was on. And then I reread The Annotated Alice by C.S.Lewis, which is the sort of overly detailed thing that someone as easily distracted as me loves. I found our old copy of The Once and Future King by T.H. White, and devoured that in fits of giggles on the train (and then watched more Merlin). Now I'm alternating The Crimson Petal and The White by Michael Faber, (which is wickedly funny, clever and raunchy) with Paris to the Moon by Adrian Gopnik. This book has become my morning coffee book.

Full of lovely stories of an American raising his son in Paris, this book is love letters to Paris, and insight into why so many people fall in love with France. If you can get hold of this one, do. It's lovely.


So what happens when I'm not indulging in pastries, or scowling at things, or reading? Well, I'm quite often to be found napping. I find that this pastime keeps me out of trouble, keeps me from dwelling on the petty things that tend to send me into dramatics. Although I noticed that recently my hands have been so very very very sore. I worked out why when I woke up in the middle of the night to find that my hands were clenched into fists. Presumably I have taken to doing this incase of nighttime warfare. I don't know. My father said "that tells you everything we need to know about you, Madeleine."

In response I scowled over my book, crammed a pastry into my mouth and went to have a nap.


x

i want to be in the circus

Today, I found this:its called "And With Unspoken Ease, I Was Your Pet" and is by the Amazing Amanda Atkins. Her work can be found here

And I desperately, desperately want it. I'm not much of an art critic, (mostly because I'm under60. In my experience its people who are post60 that know everything about art, including (and especially) that any opinion you have about art is wrong.) but this, is lovely. The colours are fantastic, and if I could convince my hair to sit like hers, I'd be one happy monkey.

And the tattoos! I was fantasizing over my coffee this morning about what I'd like to get next- I think that it's going to have to be something colourful and beautiful and I want it nooooowwwwwww. Just like I want this print. Gah.

I've always been attracted to tattoos. I like the signposting of them, as well as the complete idiocy of them. I remember going to The Illustrated Man with Emma to get her first tattoo, then back again two years later to get my first one, a lightning bolt that hovers over my wrist. At the time it meant my devotion to BRMC's request that I rip back my rock and roll. It was an underpinning of the dirty basslines that run through me everyday. To everyone else, it was Harry Potter. Now, its there and a part of me, and I think that has more meaning that I could put into words. And then six months later I had a crossword within a jigsaw piece added to my elbow to remind me that the words don't have to be there to matter. And then in Iceland last year an ex criminal wrote some words on my left foot to help me find my way home and "to increase your popularity by 17%!". Now, I think I want something a little less serious, a little more fun and vibrant.

People are strangely rude about my tattoos, particularly people who I would expect to behave a little better. I think they're so disparaging because they're scared of self expression, they're scared of wearing themselves on their sleeves, as such. For someone so intensely private, I don't have a problem with it - but I want you to work it out yourself instead of me telling you. It might read like I've told you everything in the above paragraph, but its the gaps that tell you more, promise.I like the idea of road maps, of stories. On a train trip from Geneva to Zurich I talked with a couple about their tattoos and mine. The girl had a beautiful peony stretching across her shoulders and the boy a dragon flying up his calf. They were lovely and we shared our dinner together. I probably wouldn't have talked to them if it hadn't been to say "I really like your tattoo" in halting French. See, people with tattoos aren't scary! Most of us aren't criminals!

The only thing that's really stopping me from getting a sleeve tattoo (apart from the financial aspect) is the fact that when I'm old, I'm going to be all droopy in the arm. And that's not going to please me. So for now, I think I'll buy this print and stick to little signposts along my skin.

x

bones

maxmusic, a teev channel available on cable here in sydney, just gave this review of Editor's "An End Has A Start" album

Stand Out Tracks: Smokers, An End Has A Start, Escape The Nest
Sounds Like: Shakespearean indie rock with a dark disco edge
Best for: Intellectual Shy Types

Shakespearean? I hope that means we see Tom, Chris, Ed & Russel in hose and doublets. Tom would probably be an awesome Hamlet, albeit the only one to ever say "um" and try to hide behind a piano.


They're so wonderful :)

Stop stalling. Make a name for yourself.

I've been putting this entry off for about three weeks. People have started to hassle me about it. I really really don't want to write it. Well. It's more that I don't want to have to put picture of a certain someone on my blog, but I know that it's kind of inevitable if I'm going to explain myself.

....I just realised that in order to put the pictures on my blog, I'm going to have to actually look at this person. Christ. Fetch me a neat whiskey. No, I don't want ice. Make sure it's at least 30 years old and smells like formaldehyde. I want to be able to wipe the next hour out of my brain. There's probably only one person who is going to be able to help me cope with this. King Ridiculous, otherwise known as Brandon Flowers. Quick, put Day & Age on. It might help. Sigh. I'm ranting, sorry. I should just come out and admit it.


I own a dress named after a member of Panic at the Disco.

This guy, in fact. Ryan Ross.


Yeah, I know, right? You're thinking, why would Maddie, who regularly complains that these protégées of Pete Wentz are out to cause her maximum damage and death, name a dress, let alone willingly wear said dress if it was named after a member of the aforementioned band? It must be a pretty ugly dress, right?

Um. It's actually my favourite dress.(See? It's adorable, even if I do look embarrassed about the name of it.)

Clearly the universe has chucked a shit fit, right? I know. Which is why when Georges christened my dress "The Ryan Ross Dress” I scowled so much that I actually did look like Ryan Ross. I got better though.

Ryan Ross Scowling (pouting, wtf. with minion, Brendon Urie who looks like someone I went to school with) (jeremy and i just discovered that RRoss may actually have been HSelicks inspiration for Coraline)
and look, i can do pouty too!!!

It couldn't continue. I had to rename the dress. And also, Georges had some serious explaining to do. He's French. They're supposed to be masters of seduction and subtlety. Coming out and saying “that dress looks like something Ryan Ross would wear” doesn't exactly cut it. He then tried to explain why the dress held special Ryan Ross repelling powers. I was a little more receptive to this idea, which is why the dress was renamed (Except by the Fail-tastic Frenchman, who still asks how RRD is. Every day.). The new name was designed to be a slight crack at the enmity between me and Ross. Which has been going on for nearly three years now, and seriously, Ryan, if you're reading this, could you cease trying to kill me? Please?

Oh. The name. Right. It's taken from the bridge to what wikipedia informs me was the bands third single, “Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off”. (One of the many songs that has a title almost as long as the song itself). The bridge runs as follows：

“I've got more wit
a better kiss
a hotter touch
a better fuck than any boy you'll ever meet,
sweetie you had me
girl i was it look past the sweat, a better love
deserving of exchanging body heat in the passenger seat
no no no you know it will always be me”

and the rest of the lyrics are here

Really, the thing that strikes me here is not the vindictiveness of the vocab, but total desperation and the absolute campness of the word “sweetie”, I hate being called sweetie by anyone except old gay male hairdressers. The last boy to call me sweetie got read a riot act. It's demeaning. But I'm tangent-ing in my own special fashion again. Aha. Fashion. Clever segue back to what I was originally talking about. The renaming of the Ryan Ross Dress.

It's now known as the “More Wit, Better Kiss”Dress. Because sweetiehoneydarlingryan, I guarantee my wit's more clever, better integrated, has hotter aim and leaves a better scar than you could ever hope to. See what I did there? Yeah, very fucking subtle. I must be French.

At this point, you've got a few queries, yeah?

Firstly, you want to know why I'm convinced that four people I've never met would want me dead.

Secondly, you want to know why the dress reminded someone of Ryan Ross.

Thirdly, you want to know how the dress has magic powers.

The first one is the easy one.

In 2006, I started at Mac Uni. And didn't like it. So I smoked a lot of dope, drank a lot of booze and listened to a lot of bad music, for reasons unknown (I blame Brandon Flowers for not living next door and putting on a gig for me every day). And then one morning I woke up to a Black Rebel Motorcycle Club song that slapped my hangover away and threw me across the room. I slipped on a copy of NME that turned out to have the scowling faces of Panic at the Disco on it.

And then I started noticing them. EVERYWHERE. on the radio. on the teev. in the newspaper, on the internet. I saw people wearing their shirts, I saw people who looked like them. I began to have nightmares about them trying to kill me. I then took some illegal substances and had a horrid hallucination in which they actually did kill me and I couldn't convince myself I was alive even though I was. That was a pretty fucking horrible night.

So I wrote something about how I wanted my rock and roll back, and it got published in a small zine in America. I don't know if they've read it, I don't want to know. But Panic at the Disco are still everywhere. I dare not go into a JB HIFI alone. Or Dangerfield. They even got me at the Opera House once.

The second query basically, it comes down to Georges rather bizarre interpretation of paisley. Ryan Ross seems to favour paisley.
Georges thinks the More Wit Better Kiss Dress is paisleyprinted . Therefore, in his small brain, the two are linked. Which lead to much scowling on my part. And incidental mirror posing.

However. I don't really think my dress is paisley. Paisley is defined as “intricate interlocking curvilinear pattern originating in India” And I think that my dress is more angular. I don't know, any takers???

Third query – magic powers of protection. Yes. I have to say Yes, this is true. The dress is magic. I feel fantastic in it. Everyone loves it, and everyone (except, we can assume, members of Panic at the Disco) loves me in it. It's my most complimented dress. And there are few greater weapons than a piece of clothing that makes you feel superb. Add some red lipstick and danger heels, and you're invincible.

Also, I have recently noticed that when I wear this dress out, the number of Panic at the Disco-panics decreases. Perhaps I just don't notice them because I'm too busy feeling good? I don't know. I don't want to question it too deeply.

So. There you go. An explaination of my favourite dress' name. And an insight into why French boys can be bizarre. And also an insight into my small mind. Make of it what you will. I'm off to bleach my brain by staring at this:

this is the most manly i've seen him look without the tache. more manly than a burst sausage, as Jeremy Clarkson once said.