A Moving Feast

I have eaten SO MUCH food recently, because I’m trying to clear out my cupboards in the kitchen. Naturally, the best way to do this is to EAT. ALL. OF. THE. FOOD.

Okay. So. Feeding everyone at the party definitely helped put a dent in what I had left, but I’ve been trying my best to get through the rest of it.

It means that when I’m up packing at 3:00 A.M., and I think “hmm. I could probably go to sleep.” I then remember, “NO! Sleep is for the weak! Make yourself another meal, and then KEEP GOING!”

Which is what I’ve been doing, and it’s been fine.

We’ll ignore just how many times I’ve managed to walk into doors instead of *through* doors this week, mmkay?

I finally finished packing, and I was doing up all of the straps on my backpack, and pulling off the old stickers from previous flights, and my housemate got this look on his face like “wow. She knows what she’s doing here.” and I was all “Pssht. Yeah. I might just be old-hat at this.” and then I walked into the door.

Hi friends. My name is Classy Action. How’s it going? -_-

Quills in the Kitchen

I used to make quills. I had collections of turkey feathers and peacock feathers and sets of carving tools for carving different styles of tips. I used to make people seals, so we could send each other mail that had been written with quill and ink and sealed in wax.

I left all of that when I started travelling (customs often frowns upon feathers. It’s just one of those things that I’d just rather not try).

Several weeks ago, I found a freshly-dead bird on the street in front of the house. I took the wing and tail feathers big enough to make decent quills. I boiled them and carved them, but I didn’t have any ink.

I live in an art house, so I thought I’d probably ask, and we’d have some somehwere (I love living in houses like that).

Weirdly, I think someone unearthed an ink stick during the party? I’m not sure where it came from, but it was on the living room table after everyone had left.

So, tonight, we stayed in the kitchen, we ate the end of the food left over from the party, and we stained the countertop grey with ink, and made art.

It was beautiful.

Still Party!

It turned out to be the sort of party where everyone ended up on the front porch watching the sun rise.

The party was amazing. There was one of those weird moments when I feel like the actions people take is hard-coded into our genes from paleolithic times, and there were just people sitting around the fire, but nobody ever had to worry about whether it was being tended or not. There’s just something about fire… people want it to keep going. Some people found big sticks, other people would bring handfuls of kindling.

We wrapped potatoes in foil and baked them in the embers. It wasn’t spoken, but everyone left smiling and smelling of campfire.

Our ex-circus couchsurfer thought that the best time for me to attempt to learn a new circus skill was directly after learning how to properly guzzle goon straight from the bag though, so we’ll see how that affects my learning curve.

I made everyone breakfast. People fell asleep on pretty much every flat surface available in the living room.

The last person left at about…6:00 this evening?

The best part of cooking way too much food is not having to cook after everyone’s left the party.

I’ve given up on waiting for an “appropriate” hour to go appreciate how wonderful my bed is.

My bed is wonderful.

I’ve heard sleep is as well, but I think I haven’t had enough experience with that recently to confirm or deny those rumours.

I might go fix that now.


Everyone in the Hipster House has a birthday in the next ten days.

So we’re throwing an EPIC BIRTHDAY BASH.

It’s gonna be *AWESOME*.

Playlists have been made, a campfire has been built, I baked a kick-ass cake, there’s a *giant* pot of soup on the stove, and we have enough goon to keep the bogans happy.

We’ve got bubbles and instruments and music, and we dragged a couch out back, and all kinds of cool people are coming and I am so excited!



(Only, no pool…)


One Last Laugh

Last night was my final night of stand-up in Melbourne.

It felt quite fitting.

Situation Comedy, the room that my housemate runs, has found a new venue, and it is *beautiful*.

The last place was lovely, but it was a constant battle on where to put the comedians. There was just no space that was lit well enough to be a good place to perform from. (Lighting is a thing with me. It defined my life pretty solidly for a good five years at least. It’s generally the first thing I notice about any performance space.)

They could stand in a dark corner, or they could stand outside the reach of the microphone.

We tried many things to try and improve the situation (which led to some pretty spectacular unintentional shadow puppets, and…several busted lamps. So then we gave up on that plan.)

This new place is a really cool bar called Habitat, which has an upstairs room that is incredibly well suited to the current iteration of Situation Comedy.

And the lighting is *WAY* better.

I went, because it was the launch party, and a bunch of my friends had sets. However, one of the cool things about Situation is that there is a hat where people can put their name in to be called up for a mystery spot.

When my housemate saw that I was there, she just assumed that I wanted my name in the hat.

So, then, I got pulled out of the hat for a spot that I hadn’t even known I was in the running for.

Not my smoothest start ever.

Once I got my brain in gear though, I managed to not suck, so that was awesome.

It was a good farewell. A bit slap-dash, with plenty of room for improvement, but good, and getting better.

I think that’s a good thing to take with me.

Melbourne Tour Guide

Today I met up with a couchsurfer originally from Denmark.

I haven’t had a chance to hang out with a couchsurfer in a while. I’d sort of forgotten how much fun it is. (I find that happens, with things that are fun things that don’t happen regularly in my life. I get kind of a fuzzy-vague association of “yeah, that’s good” but I forget how much by “good” I really mean “TOTALLY AWESOME!”. It’s sort of the thing I do with comedy. I forget how awesome it is to go out for a night with the intention of laughing.)

We met for dinner, and I realized that I’ve spent enough time walking around Melbourne, that I actually know where stuff is. We checked out a couple of music venues and ended up at a really cool pub that had a table that was also an game console for arcade classics. We ended up playing a couple rounds of Ms. Pacman and the original Donkey Kong. We sucked pretty hard core, but it was stupidly fun.

We walked to central Melbourne, and I showed off my ghost-tour knowledge.

Then we proceeded to get extremely lost searching for a karaoke bar.

We never did find the one we were looking for. It didn’t really matter though. It’s really nice to hang out with someone who has a good time just going on walks.

A Poetic Farewell

It was my last poetry night in Melbourne last night, and it was beautiful.

We had a man recite to us in Persian. There was a pregnant woman who dedicated her work to a friend who had gone into labour an hour previously. There was a balding, stooped old man who read us the Alan Ginsberg piece The Lion For Real. I ended up doing a piece that was less poetry and more performance art, but it was fit the night. There was Shakespeare and Dr. Suess, and sing-alongs that ended up with participation from everyone in the bar.

People were pressed into each other, sharing space on the floor.

It felt like the first time in a long while I haven’t been cold.

After the poetry ended, someone put the Beatles on the speaker system, and everyone danced until we got kicked out of the pub.

If I could distill my hopes for life into a single event, it might well be that one.


Styles of Plans


I’m not very god at short-term planning.

Maybe that’s not right.

I’m good at having long-term goals. I’ve got heaps of them. I can plan for futures that I know, intellectually, will most likely never come to fruition.

I’ve got that down.

I’m good at short-term planning in the way that, if I have a time frame, I can make it happen. If I know that I have this many days to accomplish a given task, I can work that out.

What I’m not good at is planning to be spontaneous.

Some people seem to be good at this. They can just say “I’ll figure it out when I get there.” and then, go there, and…figure it out. Or something. Apparently.

It’s a bit weird, because that is turning out to be the framework of my plans more often than not lately. My plans have a basic outline of “FIGURE SOMETHING OUT LATER”.

The thing is, most of the folk who live by “I’ll figure it out”…don’t feel a need for capslock.

I feel like I’m missing some inherent gene of chill that’s necessary for just…going with it.

I can change my plans. That’s not something I have an issue with. If I find I need to be 10,000 miles away in two days to do the things I want to do, I’ll make that happen.

The difference is that one of these things is actionable. One of them is going somewhere, doing things. The other is…suspension. It’s just…waiting? for something to come along.

I think I’m not very good at waiting. It stresses me out.

I don’t like to look at my life and think “what am I doing?” with the only answer to be “waiting.”

It’s a lot easier for me to look at my life and think “what am I doing”, and it may look like the same thing on the outside, but in my head I feel like I’m building towards something. I’m moving forward somehow.

This is my life. I can’t trust it to…hoping something will come along. It’s my responsibility to make sure that I’m still going somewhere. Some people can make it work, just being pulled wherever, doing whatever.

I can’t do that. I’ve got a lot of world left to see, and I can’t trust the path of the currents to get me there. I need a boat.



Back to Backpacking…Really. Eventually. I Promise…

My friend recently wrote a novel. I volunteered to be a test reader for it.

I read about 2/3 of it last night in an attempt to pretend I was doing something productive.

(Really I was just avoiding packing.)

(I may or may not be posting to continue my trend of avoiding packing.)


Why does packing always suck?!?


(It was a really good novel.)

To Listen

Recently, I’ve been reminded how important it can be to simply listen.

I don’t always need to have a response ready, I don’t need to have a similar story or relevant advice.

Sometimes, the most important thing is just to have another person willing to listen to your story. Sometimes, the important thing is for a person to listen, to validate your experiences without needing to have input.

Sometimes silence is what is needed to give a delicate story the safe space it needs to be told.


Listening isn’t always something that I’m best at. It’s good for me to remember that my voice is not always necessary when I want to show support.