N's First Post

Back in January this year, we were denied a refreshing drink at a then new ‘well to do’ bar in the valley. We promptly wrote them a letter, as below:


To the owners of said bar,

We are writing to advise you of a very unsatisfactory experience we had whilst attempting to frequent your bar for an early evening cocktail to start our Saturday night.

We arrived at your venue at around 6:30pm on Saturday the 24th of Jan - the sun still lighting up the valley streets. After reading a positive preview piece in Rave Magazine, we were looking forward to a “casual, relaxing night out”.

After greeting the security guard warmly at the entrance and asking about the venue upstairs, we were told we could not enter because men are required to wear long pants, and in this case, the male of our partnership was wearing dress shorts.

If we do say so ourselves, the pair of us were looking hot, hot hot!

She wore:

Slim, black, mid-calf halter neck summer dress with cute ballet flats, the usual manicured hair and makeup, and a little dazzle with some low earrings and a simple bracelet.

He wore:

Pressed, collared, super-chic 70’s funk business shirt and knee length black dress shorts, brand new loafer style semi dress shoes, topped off with the appropriate hair grooming (not too much gel, just some fastener to help arrest those cool summer breezes).

She explained to the security guard that the recent preview in Rave and also The Courier Mail had extolled the virtues of your venue as an ‘unpretentious’, ‘unintimidating’ bar for “those who are gracious, well mannered and have a sense of humour”. Said clients were mentioned to be “more likely to find themselves in the venue than the well heeled, well dressed and arrogant.” She explained pleasantly with a smile that she understood the need for ‘smart casual dress’, pointing out the smart collared shirt as he twirled with a laugh, mocking an amateur K-Mart model. A quick check of the iPhone showed the temp to be 29 degrees and a lazy 80% humidity – not long pants weather.

We were still rejected and sent out of the too chic valley, into the wilderness of a bar down Paddington way.

As mid-twenties Brisbanites, we feel that if there is something that Brisbane needs, it is more interesting and exciting bars - and we fully applaud this new concept bar and would have loved to have experienced it. We are also careful to only visit bars and nightspots that limit their exclusivity – but do understand that some level of discretion is required to avoid patrons whose attire may lower the tone of the establishment.

As this was not the case with us, we are very confused and disappointed that we were turned away – learning that staff wear polo shirts and shorts adding to our bemusement.

We really do wish you all the best for your exciting venture, but are concerned to see that perhaps, despite your media releases, reviews and previews of a “laid back ambience” that your bar will instead end up a tad more pretentious – with security personnel trained to focus on the size of your patrons wallets rather than their personalities.

We would love to hear some, any response from you. Many thanks.


We did not hear back from them. It seems the famous Groucho Marx quote, something along the lines of ‘I would not want to be part of a club that would have me as a member’ rings true in Brisbane to this day!

Today......how lucky I am!

Grainy toast with peanut butter, a pot of coffee, the Swell Season on the stereo, and a whole day to write before an evening of stunning music at KiLN, and then a party with the most beautiful girls around (and my most divine husband)..............sometimes life is just gorgeous!

This is a really brief post, to express my gratitude for all of the above, and the billions of other blessings in my life.

This has been hard year, but generally I think I'm just someone who tends to find things harder than they really are, a very sensitive being. Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed by the weight of sadness about what has happened, and anxiousness about what might be, that I forget the gloriousness of each day and the little things that fill it with joy- like taking my shoes and socks off after a big sweaty workout at the gym, making a really good dinner and overeating, having a good snuggle up on the couch with my beloved, getting all the washing done and drinking many cups tea after work in our little garden.

Marriage and happy ever after

Today I took my Granny to see the gorgeous movie Julie and Julia, with the truly glorious Meryl Streep and the darling Amy Adams. It tells the story of Julia Child - an American who learnt to cook in Paris, circa 1950ish, and revolutionised cooking in America by showing Americans the French way with food.

It also tells the story of Julie Powell, an unhappy office worker circa-now, who cooks her way through Julia Child's seminal cookbook, hoping to add a bit of spice to her life, and blogs about this process (and has an international following, and gets a book and movie deal through this - wow!).

I loved every minute of the film, every second of it. Of course, it was not a perfect film, but it was beautiful - the food, the location, the storyline, the writing, the characters, the recipes.

I absolutely loved Meryl Streep's depiction of Julia Child (whom I knew nothing about before this film), she just seemed to be such a fantastic woman. Her physicality was fascinating to me - tall, big (not fat, but big - wide hips, large hands, sturdy thighs, long feet), with great frocks and toweringly tall high heeled shoes, and she adored food and was not afraid to eat healthy portions of good cheese, butter, meat and dessert.

As a tall, big woman myself who absolutely lives for food (and cooking) it struck a chord. I particularly adored the part when Julia's sister came to stay and was also a superbly tall and big lady with a healthy appetite and a great personality. It gave me a nice boost of self-appreciation to see these two magnificent, tall, gloriously grand characters; they just wouldn't have been the same had they been short, fine boned, small bottomed gals.

Anyway, all of that is an aside to what I really wanted to write about today, as indicated by the title of this post. Because the thing I loved most about this film was its depiction of marriage.

I got married this year, back in May N and I tied the knot. We'd been together for almost five years when we did this, and we'd tossed up whether or not we wanted to get married for a long time, but in the end decided it was the way for us.

I tell you this because I do not wish anyone reading this to think that we see marriage as essential to a meaningful, commited relationship, nor are we religious and therefore following a guideline. We just thought it was right for us, it's what the two of wanted for our lives. Therefore my discussion below portends more to commited relationships in general, rather than marriage in particular.

That was a bit of a convoluted way to get back to my point, but........

Julie and Julia shows two delightful marriages, filled with love, passion, sadness, loss, frustration, anger, and the billion other experiences and feelings that exist in a committed relationship. It was just wonderful to see marriages depicted that way because I am worn out of films, books, television shows, songs etc. etc. that tell endlessly depressing stories about marriage and relationships and there inevitable and bitter endings.

I am tired of hearing the statistics on relationships that end, and I want to hear about relationships that continue, that grow and flourish throughout peoples lives even as life throws up its various challenges.

Reading some different reviews about Julie and Julia many writers said they hated the 'sex scenes' (if you can call them that, it was more 'kissing scenes eluding to the fact that sex might happen'), they didn't like seeing the grand Julia Child getting down and dirty with her husband. I liked this, it's nice to know that people have sex even when they've been married awhile, and it's nice to know that Julia's husband enjoyed her big bottom, wide hips and sturdy thighs.

I also liked that both couples in the film had fun together. They ate delicious meals with candles and the TV off, they held dinner parties, and both couples, but particularly Julia and her husband laughed a lot together (oh, the delightful Valentine's postcards they sent their friends!). I loved seeing this, instead of dreary story after dreary storyof marriages where the couple don't speak, or if they speak they are hiding hateful feelings behind closed faces. Where they watch TV together shovelling in their food rather than eat a meal at the table, and if they have sex its vengeful and hate filled rather than loving and playful (i.e. Revolutionary Road or The Slap anyone, reading/watching those depictions of relationships made me want to vomit!).

Or, if a commited relationship is described positively it's just the start of that relationship that is discussed- the first kiss is shown, and suddenly we flip forward to 5 years down the track, and it's all smiles, and the woman has a pregnant belly or baby on her hip.

Before I wrote this post I read that Julie Powell actually cheated on her husband about two years after she completed the blogging project which is the basis for the movie. Obviously this incident is not mentioned in the film, nor should it be because it happened a long time after the film is set. But, this depresses me no end, could a real happy ever after not happen?

But still, the film tells the story of two lovely marriages and I'm going to concentrate on that. And it's now one in three marriages that end in divorce, I think, but that means that two in three marriages last and I choose to see the glass as two thirds full, rather than one third empty.

I try Brisbane, I do try!

Our Story Bridge

Their Harbour Bridge

After finally handing in evil mini-masters thesis on Thursday last week N and I descended south to Sydney-town for a weekend of revelry with our expanding network of friends and family down there.

We stayed just off Oxford street, right near Hyde Park, on the cusp of the city, in Darlinghurst. Great location, mediocre hotel, sky-high prices........but that's Sydney, it's a big city, we expected this. So, Thursday eve, after we checked in, we ventured out for a vino or 7 to celebrate the end of 6 months+ of pure stress and anxiousness over study, and life generally.

Being Sydney, and near Darlinghurst, we of course found the cutest, chic-est little bar just around the corner and there we sat and sipped on lovely pinot gris, ate delicious prawn risotto balls and loved our lives for a few moments. When N went to the bar I flipped through a nearby street press (checking out the Sydney SP stakes as I write for a fabulous SP here in Brisvegas), and discovered that our favourite band Fat Freddy's were playing in Sydney the next two nights. Of course the gigs were sold out. But, as I looked through the street press I thought 'bless this city' that has a billion and one great things on all at once, rather than a city that has one great thing on and a billion and one people coming to it!

Anyway, the next day N and I got energetic and caught the bus to Bondi to do the coastal walk along all the gorgeous Eastern beaches. Kitted out in our walking boots, hats and long sleeved shirts we overlooked glorious spots such as Tamarama, Bronte, Clovelly and the beautifully tanned half-naked bodies spending their fridays lazing in the sunshine. We walked past a magnificent graveyard just past Bronte ,with all those resting there having prime ocean views for eternity.

We then raced home and dressed for our evening, as we were going to see our Cate (Blanchett) light up the stage as Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire. We decided to walk to the theatre from our hotel - possibly not the best move as we ran hell late for dinner, but just walking through this lively city on a Friday night is a treat. And walking out of the city we were once again bowled over by the harbour views and those iconic structures which amaze even after 10, 20, 30, 100 sightings.

The play itself was magnificent, with Cate the most accomplished performer I have ever seen live, and the rest of the cast clearly stronger for her ability. The theatre was packed out, literally not a seat was spare, and famous people - minor and major - caught our eyes with each head turn.

On the following day we went over to Cremorne Point to catch up with our family, and see our beautiful little nephew who's grows more and more like a little boy than a baby each time we see him. We sat in the sunshine on the harbour, eating chicken, coleslaw and fresh bread and watching boats race each other. N and I were in absolute shock at how stunning it was, just down the road from where our family live, there is all of this.......unbelievable.

Each time we go south, N and I always, without fail, say to each other 'I couldn't live here', and this is very much the case. The traffic (I don't care what the Sydney people say, traffic in Brisbane is NOT like that), the expense, the very poor public transport, the fact that there just seems to be hundreds of people without homes on the streets each night - it's not the city for me. But, by goodness, it is so lovely to visit.

Brisbane I try, I do try. I try to create fabulousness within you, staging exhibitions and events; I try to attend as much as I can to support your growth; I try to inhabit your beautiful spaces by the river; I try to enjoy your simple beauty. But, sometimes I do get struck down by what a battle it is up here. For example, we would never even have the option of having Cate Blanchett co-directing our theatre company, so we will never have the packed houses and the famous faces attending the events, we will certainly never have Pink! performing at our fundraising events for the theatre company. We will never have the multitude of great cultural events on every night of the week, meaning, sadly for me, we will never have the multitude of great cultural jobs. We don't have beaches right in the city (and I'm sorry Southbank does not count, not one bit), we don't have the range of gorgeous bars, cafes, cute shops, beautiful galleries etc. etc. that sit on the corner of each street down there.

And, I try Brisbane, I try not to be jealous. Because I am here because I want to be, I want to add to the cultural life of this place; N and many of our friends can start small entrepreneurial businesses here and give them time to grow and not be washed down the sinkhole by huge rents and vast competition; I want to build this city with all the other marvellous creative minds that stay and fight for your cultural development (and I know I sound very majestic, and very full of it, but it's true). Sometimes though, the thought creeps in, it would be nice just to go South, walk into a pretty great job with one of the plethora of cultural organisations there, and just enjoy the beach 10 minutes down the road, have 500 choices for what to do on Saturday night, and where to eat and where to drink.

You know, if you're reading this, that sometimes you feel this too, and my goodness it feels fabulous to breathe out and admit this occassionally. But, it makes me all the more determined to keep living in, appreciating and adding to our own gorgeous city and to bring to Brisbane a different kind of magnificence, but one that is cheaper, has better public transport and less homeless folk.

Well, it’s two weeks today since my last post. So, for fear that this will become yet another me-like idea that dies in the bottom because time escapes me, I am trying to focus some time each week on writing for ‘Gilpies’. Unfortunately, once again I haven’t done much, nothing of great cultural import by any stretch. But as I outlined in my last post, there is always a bit of interest in the everyday, and last Saturday I did have that most intense of life’s experiences, a trip to IKEA.

My friend J and I had discussed going a few weeks ago, but I got the guilts about leaving my masters work for the day, and so rainchecked to focus on my studies. But, I have now moved well past the point of studious to avoidance of study by any means possible and so was very happy to use the IKEA excuse this time around.

In reality N and I have needed to buy a fold-out couch for a few months now. We have lots of interstate dwelling friends, sisters in Melbourne and Sydney and my Mum lives in Tasmania, so there is a need for a spare bed. We previously had a double bed in our spare room, but the space it required meant that it was basically a scramble across the bed to access the door, so we gave this to N’s parents about two months ago. Since this giveaway my Mum has come to stay twice and we have inhospitably sent her north to stay with my Granny, or told her that a mattress on the floor, or a night in a hotel would be a good option!

We had looked at a range of other sofa bed/day bed styles to avoid the IKEA route, but our fold-out couch budget is minimal, so IKEA really is the last man standing for a purchase under $500. So, Saturday morning rolled around and J picked me up at the nice IKEA crowd-avoiding time of 8:30 and we embarked on our journey, Logan bound.

When I was doing my hair that morning I thought about the day ahead, and wondered at my decision to partake in this experience. I have panic attacks when I get stressed. Lately, there has been a wealth of things stressing me out, so the number of panic attacks has skyrocketed. On IKEA day I wondered, could this be the day I finally lose it, could IKEA be the trigger to take me from panic attack to full-blown breakdown?

You see, the thing is with IKEA trips they always seem like a good idea in the beginning. As well as being mates J and I work together and had actually discussed our journey for a few days. When the trip was days away I had rose coloured glasses on and raved about the cheap cafe, with quality Swedish meatballs, the gorgeous fabrics, the bargain plant section and the yummy Swedish food section which greets you once you’ve been through the major check outs, just before you exit the IKEA domain. We laughed together saying that we could basically we could get everything we ever wanted at IKEA, no need to go grocery shopping this week - we’ll fill our cupboards with gravalax, cranberry sauce and other Swedish delights.

Once ‘I-Day’ arrived the rose coloured glasses began to crack. In saying this I was still looking forward to the adventure, hanging out with my friend and sorting out this couch business once and for all. Things started well initially. We discussed our potential purchases, were prepared with catalogue in hand and pages marked, and both wore relatively comfortable ‘shopping shoes’. We had thought that we would have an early lunch about 11ish, but when we arrived I was seduced by a sign that advertised a ‘full breakfast’ for $2.50, so we cafe’d first.

Hmm, $2.50 breakfast, yes, you guessed it – cheap fatty bacon, lard ridden hash brown, dried out fluoro yellow scrambled eggs and lips and asshole pork sausage – all for that one low price of $2.50, add a push-button machine made cappuccino and there’s breakfast for $4.50. I knew it would be foul even as I ordered it. I had to have it though. $2.50 breakfast, I couldn’t turn it down - even if it gave me food poisoning, even if I could never ate bacon or eggs again, the bargain made me do it. J looked at the cafe options and went for the much more sensible choice of a pastry and coffee. But, while she made her choice she was basically bowled over by the obvious IKEA cafe regulars whizzing their trays about with no time for learner drivers.

As I shovelled the fluoro eggs into my mouth (not looking at them for fear that bile would rise in my throat) I looked around and made a note to myself that I must go to the gym that afternoon. It’s like when you go to airports and suddenly realise there really is a fat epidemic in Australia. I actually think many of the cafe clients weren’t actually at IKEA to shop but this was their Saturday breakfast out, they came to IKEA with the family for a nice cheap breakfast treat, you could seriously feed a family of four twice over for under $20. No judgement, no judgement.

By the time we finished our breakfast I think both J and I were a bit dubious about the trip ahead, but we ‘sucked it up’ and went forth. In reality, we got through it all very quickly. I found the couch, she found some new rugs for her puppies’ bed. We bought a few unnecessary extra items, but were generally quite restrained.

Towards the back of IKEA is the fabric section, which is truly fabulous, great colours and prints – very bright Marimekko-esque designs. J was good and refocussed, choosing some beautiful fabrics to make cushions. I on the other hand had lost it by this point, I was ready to crawl onto the fabric-cutting table and dream I was in a much more peaceful place. Post-fabric we looked through a few more sections then entered the store room and put the couch pieces on the trolley to make forth towards the check out. Any notions we had of shopping at the Swedish food store had flown out of IKEAs sliding doors by this point. Instead I hightailed it to the delivery centre, organised couch delivery for the next day and then we departed, without looking back.

IKEA you’ve now done your dash for another few years. Hopefully it will be a fair while before we require a new table, or set of outdoor chairs, and by that point I will have forgotten you and your all-consuming ways. You entice me in with your plethora of cheap goods and then you suck me dry, like the blood sucking leech you are. I always look back on the experience wondering why I ever came to visit you again because you actually represent everything I hate about the way we live today. You trick people into buying more stuff they don’t need – luring us with your economy and selling us goods built for the short term so that we are forced to return to you year after year to buy more. But I do it, I always come back for more.

It's all happening!

Well, it was a fair while ago now that we set this space up ready to 'blog it up' with information about things we love to do in Brisbane and our lives generally. Unfortunately life got larger than we could have imagined and lots of things, including this blog, had to be put on hold for awhile. But, by goodness, we're back baby!

Soon, N and I will embark on our big journey around Australia and plan to blogarama all about the interesting places we visit. But, first of all we'll whet your appetite with updates about the fabulous city that we live in, and the adventures we have in and around this place.

Currently, there is not a lot to report, as I am in the depths of masters writing and N is working hard and has just embarked on a well earned holiday. Of course there's really always stories to tell, I probably just think they're uninteresting because they're normal life for me.

For example................... I work at a fabulous gallery in Paddington called KiLN a day or two each week. It is such a lovely art space. Located in an old tram substation on the corner of Latrobe and Enoggera Terraces it is a stunning building, with beautiful light and a gorgeous cavenous space in which to view art. Obviously I work there, and so am somewhat biase, but the thing I love most about KiLN is that it is unpretentious. There is no requirement to 'know your product' when you visit KiLN it's all about the pleasure that comes from viewing art and helping people find this pleasure. Even if you don't really understand the deeper meaning, or the social constructs represented, you can just like a work because it's pretty, or the colours a nice, or you like way it makes you feel.

When the Flower Beetles Flowered II, Sarah Mitchell, 2009


Currently, we have an exhibition of works by Sarah Mitchell, a printmaker from Tin Can Bay. These works are exquisite, the detail is astonishing, the patience Sarah must have to so beautifully carve out these patterns and create whimsical images of fish swimming, beetles running and flowers blooming. There is an environmental message to her work as well, questioning how we alter the lives and form of these animals and plants when we tred so heavily on the earth. Sarah also writes poems which sit alongside her work, and are stories about the inner world of the lifeforms she creates, or reflections on her own life as explored in her images.

We also had a classical music concert on Sunday afternoon, which we hold each month on the weekend of an exhibition opening, this concert is called KiLN Classics. Each month a different configuration of the Brisbane Chamber Collective plays, and this month it was woodwind and brass. Sarah also told the audience a little about her work, and read her poetry for us. As always it was a spectacular afternoon of music and art, washed down with a nice glass of wine. I think it's so lovely to have a new space in which to see classical music, and even more special to combine it with art.

If there are any two art world domains that are often uncomfortable to enter as an outsider, it is the visual arts world and the classical music world. I think that Tom and Danielle, the directors of KiLN, have opened up this world to new audiences by creating a space in which to view art and listen to classical music but not feel intimidated.

So, that's the latest that I've been up to in our great city, I really should get back to my studies, I'll post again soon with more news! Love, C

Brisbane....... you're so hot right now

Hola Guapos et Guapas

Welcome to Gilpies. N and I decided to start this space so that we, and other Brisbane people we like can post writing, photos, gig guides, reviews, and stories. We feel that there is an extreme deficiency of discussion about culture, and life in general in our city, and we hope to fill that void a little.

Yes, it's slightly self righteous of us to see ourselves as cultural beacons in this dark, dark place but we are actually very wonderful people.

If you'd like to have something posted, please email us at gilpies@gmail.com. We will check this account each week or so and then post your work if we think it is nice.

xo
N and C