Tales · From · The · Heart · Of · The · Apathist

So, I'm a Goth; trad for formal occasions, with heavy punk influences in the daytime. I like to think of myself, when asked for classification (oh, silly people; don't you know boxes are for corpses?), as an elegant deathrocker. But that's neither here nor there.
In my brief adult life, I have had the honour and joy of having been invited to quite a number of weddings, the vast majority of them in the last three years. None of the wedding couples were Goth, and I've picked up a few points of ettiquette, vital to the subcultured attending more conservative or traditional nuptials, that I'd like to share with you all.

Firstly, outfit.
There are three colours it is considered impolite to wear to a mainstream wedding. White (obviously), black (more flexible than previously) and, lesser known, bright red (because it might steal attention from the bride). That knock out pretty much your entire existing wardrobe? Yeah, mine, too. If in doubt, check with the bridal couple; many modern bethrothed have no real objection to a guest wearing black, though you should be prepared for impolite stares and awkward comments from aged relatives, if you go this route. Otherwise, you may have to beg, borrow or buy something new. Unless you have very liberally-minded friends, now is not the time for anything PVC, fishnet or leather. There is no call to sacrifice your personal style completely when shopping for a wedding outfit, however; lace, velvet, satin and baroque stylings can all be found in many colours - particularly sumptuous jewel tones, which will most likely suit you wonderfully - and my personal cheat is to wear either a very deep, royal blue which is almost black but not quite, or something in a gunmetal grey. If wearing a very conservative style of clothing, then don't be afraid to throw on some accessories that express your inner bat! I'm a big fan of the tophat; it instantly turns any outfit from mundane to a little bit eccentric, while remaining oh-so-elegant. Don't forget jewelry, either; while that studded pleather collar you adore may not be appropriate for the sort of wedding in which the bride will be wearing that same strapless white gown that seems to be the only dress design available for mainstream weddings these days, those gorgeous cabochon drop earrings and delicate filigree necklace you've been saving for a special occasion will look incredible. As for makeup, while it might be wise to 'make yourself down' a little, avoiding enormous wings of spiderwebs that fan out over your cheeks and encircle your eyes, and going for something a little more tidy than the Siouxie Sioux look, you can actually get away with quite a lot, provided you keep it clean and classy. Dark, smoky eyes? Perfectly appropriate. Just make sure you choose a waterproof mascara, in case things get sentimental; you don't want to look like Alice Cooper before the evening's end. Or perhaps you prefer a fluoro shadow? Blend, blend, blend, make sure it doesn't eclipse your clothes, and you're home free. Lashings of eyeliner? Keep it neat and precise, and you'll look like Audrey Hepburn. Love your black lipstick? Perhaps swap it out for a very dark purple or red - but, whatever shade you choose, make sure you line and shade with painstaking precision, as there's few things more naff-looking than dark lipstick bleeding onto porcelain skin; you may be an utter teetotaller, but bleeding lipstick will make you look drunk. Also, try to find a transfer-proof shade, for the sake of the bride's cheek in the receiving line; dark lippies stain worse than anything.

And secondly, poise.
Do understand that, even if you follow the above guide, there will be people who will stare at you. Be aware that the Bride or Groom's great-aunt Nancy may very well feel it is entirely her right to come up and make some comment, polite or otherwise, about how you are attired. Be prepared with some smooth responses; "Hadn't you heard? Pale and interesting's back, this year.","Oh, the lipstick? Yes, I blend three shades. I think it makes my features pop rather nicely. Thanks so much for asking!" or, if you're feeling a little more flip, "Do you mean to tell me this isn't the Addams' wedding? Well, don't I feel a goose. Still, in for a penny, in for a pound!" - just make sure you keep it polite and respectful. You are a guest at this affair, and the wedding couple will surely appreciate your tact in dealing with those less well-mannered than yourself. Don't mention politics or religion (really, this is just a good rule for a harmonious mixed gathering, anyway, but particularly important when you suspect the vast majority of your fellow guests may be less open-minded than you are). Do make an effort to make pleasant conversation with the people with whom you are seated, even if you have very little in common; I find poetry and literature a reliable springboard, although this may fail you if you find yourself seated with a group of Monaro-driving, AC/DC-listening, footie-watching sorts who earnestly believe a Mrs. Mack's pie with a dollop of tomato sauce and a VB is the apex of Australian cuisine (although, that said, they may surprise you). Do have a cigar or a clove, if you fancy one. Do not pull out the shisha (no, not even if you have a waterless pipe and you brought enough for everyone). Do make a toast, if called on to do so; keep it short, genuine, and try to avoid mentions of that time you and the Bride or Groom got utterly messy on absinthe and solved all the world's problems before passing out in a cuddle puddle together with seven other people. Do not drink absinthe at the reception, even if the bar has it - this caution is not for the sake of appearances, but purely to ensure that you last through the entire reception and can remember it all later. Dance your arse off, once the music starts, but remember that Uncle Edwin probably doesn't want to slam-dance with you when something faster comes on.

These are the pointers I've gathered over my time attending non-Gothy weddings; I'm sure there are many more, but these are the main points. And, finally, and most importantly; it's not about you. Don't rant and rave about how your sense of style and expression is being stifled, or rock up to the ceremony or reception in full-fledged fetish gear, just to be defiant. This is someone else's party of a lifetime, and they have been sweet enough to invite you. It's not the time to be a making a counter-culture political statement. A loving and reasonable friend won't expect you to go from Lily Munster to June Cleaver, but it is appropriate, if they ask you to tone it down slightly to avoid scaring great-grandma, to accept that they are well within their rights to do so, and graciously comply. Follow these tips, and you can expect to have a fantastic night and be invited to many more.

So, on my doctor's fervent insistence (it was all I could do to refuse an ambulance), Simon Boot and I spent most of last night in hospital. Anyway, after six and a half hours in the Emergency Ward and tests that ranged from the expected (having blood drawn) to the startling (having the bottom of my feet painfully scraped), they concluded what I arrived knowing; I do not, in fact have, the rare and fruity disease my doctor was spooked I might have, but rather just a virus. A spectacularly nasty virus that caused one of the nurses looking after me to remark at one point (admittedly, somewhat gratifyingly, as it made me feel a little less ridiculous about being there), "You are really sick,", but a virus, nonetheless.
So, it's back to the couch and trying to rest up.
Actually, I feel somewhat improved, today. I think yesterday must have been the last really bad day. My fever's worse today - I'm sweatier and shakier, and my wheezing's worse, but I can walk on my own (though not very far), which is a huge improvement, given that I haven't been able to stand unassisted since Monday. I suspect my fever's worse because the illness is "breaking", now. I'm still sick as Hell, but I no longer feel like I'm on death's doorstep. I even ate half a banana this morning! Don't laugh; it's an achievement. Aside from a burger, queasily but determinedly devoured last night after release, that's pretty well the biggest meal I've had in six days. I'm definitely recovering.
Mad props to the staff at the Austin Emergency Ward for being kind, attentive and keeping the pain meds coming, and to the Boot for driving for fifty-odd minutes to pick me up, taking me to hospital and then sticking around for close to seven hours despite my attempts to shoo him off, chatting to me and keeping me entertained. I can't imagine many more pathetic sights than me drifting repeatedly in and out of lucidity under my scratchy waffle blanket on my narrow little gurney, heartrate monitor beeping away, squealing every so often as the blood pressure cuff inflated spontaneously, and I am sure he intends to hang shit on me about it for a long time to come. ;-)

I am soooooo sick. I've been down since Monday, haven't been able to eat more than about a mouthful of food a day and so sore I can't move about and can barely stand to be touched.
Finally getting to see the doctor today.
Let's hope he has something for me.

I now have an IC LJ for my new Req character; strangling_ivy . Feel free to friend or not, as it pleases you.
There's not much on there, yet - mainly just the writeup the pirate attack on the migration, and the scene where she met one of the other members of the Melbourne Court for the first time. Long-time readers of this LJ have seen it before. I promise, there will be more soon! I have so much that needs writing up, it's just a matter of finding time.

Ganked sheepishly fromlord_smeg .
1. Anyone who looks at this entry has to post this meme and their current wallpaper at their livejournal (yes, this is how he got me, too).
02. Explain in five sentences why you're using that wallpaper.
03. Don't change your wallpaper before doing this. The point is to see what you had on.

Reasons:

• The Nazi Holocaust in WW2 was a terrible thing that should never be mocked, trivialised or glamourised in any way (and don't sermonise to me, or I'll pull the Jew card).
• On the other hand, Tyrannosaurs kick all kinds of arse; furthermore, Tyrannosaurs with human-length arms and opposable hands, armed with machine guns, are so redundantly cool that to attempt to explain and dissect the phenomenom would only cause a closed conversational loop, with the speaker ultimately lapsing into crazed recursion, constantly scribbling, "It is cool because our minds make it so" on the walls in his own shit as his sanity bleeds away.
• And Tyrannosaurs in Gestapo uniforms, despite the aforementioned human atrocities for which the world shall always remember the Nazis, are inexplicably wicked.
• This image, therefore is made up of pure, unadulterated awesome.
• Excuse me, my eyes need a tissue and a cigarette.

I went out to a metal gig in Richmond last night, to see Ioanna's son's band play their first Melbourne show - they're called Corporate Takedown - and to hang out with her and Corey.
It's my first metal show since moving down here, and it was bloody fantastic. Melbourne's metal scene is obviously incredible; every band I saw, except the third last one (whose singer seemed to be sleepwalking through his performance - quite an achievement, when your vocal style is grindy screaming) was absalolutey fantastic. Every other bloody one! Pants-messingly brilliant! It was a euphoric experience. My favourite two would have to be CT (and not out of loyalty, they're just that good and it's totally unfair that they had to open, and thus played to a more or less empty venue) and the guys who followed them. Completely fecking electric!
Unfortunately, I got food poisoning (shared by everyone who ordered the same meal, which was at least four people) from a bad burger, so I had to come home at around 1am, which meant I missed the headlining act (Sirkus, for those of you who care). Not too big of an issue, though, given that I went to support CT and I did so.
This morning is kicking my arse. I've got tinnatus that won't go away from sitting close to the stage, a sore neck from headbanging, a tender tummy from the food poisoning, aches and pains from moshing, a sore throat from the fog machine and all the smokers and I have to go out to lunch and then cocktails with Amanda, Sharon, Tina and Amber shortly.
I regret nothing! :-D

I am fecking tired, and it is fecking cold.
There is no milk for hot drinks, and the heater is broken.
I am angry, and sleepy, and I want to crawl into bed, and it is only 11am.
That is all.

So, the weekend was heaps of fun. We did something cool on Friday night, though I no longer remember what it was...anyone care to jog my memory?
Saturday we got up early and did the various chores to prepare the house for guests, and then we went into the City and met Sadhbh and Gemma at Flinders St Station. Lunch was had, then we came back here so the girls could drop their bags, had a beer here and then invaded the Stolberg when the beer ran out. They have Asahi on tap, and chesterfield couches. I love the Stolberg. :-) Grabbed some food, chatted for a bit, and then came back here to get ready for the game before taking a cab into Brunswick to the venue.
The game was great. I can't talk for anyone else, but I loved my ending. Player goals and unrelated plot came together in perfect synchronicity to result in the more sterling betrayal I've ever had the pleasure to orchestrate, and a resolution for my character that had the epic feel of oWoD metaplot. Also got to deliver the following lines, in varying levels of table-thumping THIS IS SPARTA passion:

• "I! Will not die! Tonight!"
• "The prophecy demands a sacrifice. I will save my family, whatever the cost. Though they may hate me. So shall it be."
• "I will be a God!"

The game was a pretty fast one, even given that my story was over by ten and I spent the rest of the night out of game, chatting to Gemma and such. Also got the enjoyment of being an annoying peanut gallery to certain peoples' reset character-establishing RP. Mwahahaha.

Went on to Nic's party after but Beej was ready for bed in five minutes flat, so we left my housekey with Sadhbh and Gemma and piked. Sunday morning, woke up around nine, saw Beej off to his Dignitas meeting, and then hung around until the girls woke up, whereupon I filled them with copious amounts of hot coffee, and then bacon-egg-and-Jarlsberg English muffins. We chatted for a while, everyone was slowly processed through the shower and then eventually they headed off, mid-afternoon. I then worked on my resume for a bit, and eventually went and got ready for dinner with Beej's parents and brother and said brother's girlfriend, who are in town for a few days. Beej didn't get home until after we were supposed to meet them (in Carlton), so, safe to say, we were almost an hour late, but they were so happy to see us that they didn't seem to mind. Had a good dinner, chats, catch-ups, then gelati, then bid farewell to the oldies. Ben, Dylan, Bridget and I grabbed some coffee before saying goodnight, and then we came home and had an early night. Will be seeing his folks for dinner again tonight, at their hotel, before they fly back to Perth tomorrow.
All in all, not a bad weekend. :-)

Khovros stepped towards her, fangs flashing, the Beast rising behind his eyes.
Her blood stained his lips.
"You want your answers, childe? You think you're ready for answers?"
"Stay back."
Aaron's sword was in her hands without her having any memory of having drawn it.
Grasscutter.
It gleamed in the half-light.
The ancient eyed the blade.
His voice was calm, reasoning. No trace of the snarl of a moment before.
"You don't want to fight me, childe."
She twirled her wrist experimentally, rolled the sword over the back of her hand.
A katana. What the Hell was she supposed to do with a katana?
"I will, for my answers," she shot back, hoping desperately that he couldn't hear her fear, "For my family!"
The ancient boy turned his head lazily to the side, cracking a vertebra in his neck.
"I am your family," he murmured, slowly drawing the falchion from its sheath at his hip.

The problem with having hair that grows like grass is that it makes maintaining any sort of highly-structured haircut a pain in the jaxie.
I got the chop last week, and it's already grown noticeably.
Aside from other irritations, this means I'll have to renew my colour a lot more often, since clippered hair shows regrowth really quickly.

Bottle Tree Lane, by Brendon Walmsley. For those who are unaware, the nickname 'Bottle Tree Lane' refers to Heroes' Avenue, in the Queensland town of Roma, so named for the bottle trees that line the street, bearing plaques in honour of local diggers.
This is a beautiful song that gives me goosebumps every time I hear it. I was very sad not to be able to find a video.

( Her grandchildren don't take for granted the reason they're able to play without fear... ).

And another one that always stirs me, as it references the sudden rush of patriotism among the many young men who signed up as extras for the movie Gallipoli, when it was filmed in Port Lincoln in South Australia; most of them went into it looking for a laugh and quick buck, and came out of it sobered with a new pride in their nations history, and respect for the men they were portraying.
Gallipoli, by John Williamson.

( Eight thousand never came back...a-rat-a-tat-tat! )

Brrr, my hackles are all up now.
By the way, thanks,rat_monkey . To you and all your colleagues in each different Service - thank you.

*wanders in, finds a suitable spot, retrieves soapbox from back pocket, sets it up on the ground and climbs on top*

Remember to pay your respects tomorrow to the men who fought and died so that you could live as you do, men  who fought on with horrific wounds, disease and malnutrition, men so hard they made the Spartans look like the Athenians.
Show some pride in your nation's history, and prove you're not just a bitchy, apathetic, self-absorbed, Warcrack-playing, Linkin Park-listening, all black-wearing waste of air.
Get your Anzac salute on, bitches!

*climbs off soapbox, picks it up, dusts it off, stows it in her back pocket, and shuffles out*

Your PC seen through the eyes of mine! Videos provided where decent-sounding ones were available.
Enjoy. Some of these are a bit abstract, so feel free to comment and ask me my reasoning. :-)

Aaron Wilmott: Because Of You, Kelly Clarkson
Ambia:  Maneater,  Hall and Oates
Ash:  I Wish I Were You, Alisha's Attic
Simon the Wicked: Eulogy, Tool
Britannia: Until The Day I Die, Story Of The Year
Caleb Somerset: Carnage In The Temple Of The Damned, Deicide
Dana: Strange And Beautiful, by Aqualung
Discord: Riot, Three Days Grace
Price: Jumper, Third Eye Blind
Gruber: Cruel Man, Intwine
Tommy: Run, Snow Patrol
James Morrow: Policy Of Truth, Depeche Mode
Jorska: Snake Oil, Steve Earle
Jimmy:  Numb, Disturbed
Khovros: Always, Saliva
Karly Finch: Everything Burns, Ben Moody feat. Anastacia
Lucas: Do You Know?, Killradio
Valeron: E Nomine, Vater Unser
Michael Cross: Second Hand Faith, Emilie Autumn
Salvatore: Ha Ha You're Dead, Green Day
Donnie: The Height Of Callousness, Spineshank
It: Sooner Or Later, Micheal Tolcher
Satori: What You Don't Know, Monrose

cryx 
fluffworld 
gabriel_pierce 
ice_phoenix_x 
kittenmorag 
lord_smeg 
orangejuiced 
silverai 
rat_monkey 
rewnad 

So, last night I finally caved to my own morbid curiosity and watched Twilight.
Yes, yes, I know I'm a stooge. Nothing you can say can make me feel worse about having watched it; trust me, I'm already there.
For your edification, I will outline the main points of the film.

• The dead kid from Harry Potter spends the movie alternately acting like an ass, a creepy stalker, or a creepy stalker ass. We are supposed to find this mindbendingly attractive.
• The female lead, who is supposed to be 'plain', looks like this, and has roughly as many slavering suitors as PoTC's Elizabeth Swann (with whom she kind of shares a last name).
• Every single conversation that occurs between any of the characters in the movie plays out with the same awkward strain as two barely acquainted individuals, one of whom has just caught the other experimenting with a jar of peanut butter, Verne Troyer and thirteen of the one hundred and one dalmations.
• Vampires play baseball. It looks exactly as stupid as it sounds.
• They also sparkle in the sunlight. Yes.
• The male lead is obliged to rescue the female lead from danger several times a minute, setting the course of women's empowerment back about two hundred years.
• Most of the movie is shot in uncomfortable closeups of the two leads' faces, gazing at each other.
• There's a blink-and-you'll miss it cameo by some real, Sabbat-style vampires, but it ends badly.
• The male lead tries to break up with the female lead, whereupon she throws the sort of clingy, psycho shitfit that hints at bad things to come.
• They go to the Prom.

Was it a good movie? In all fairness, it could only have been as good as the book material on which it was based, which is to say, not very. Was it a fun movie? Sure, in the same way that fairyfloss is a sound nutritional choice. I'd call it junk food for the brain - not exactly nourishing, but don't we all crave a little meaningless indulgence now and then?