Nonsurgical facelift unveiled at Perth Fashion Festival (Story by Tang/Maurice Meade)

I can’t imagine a time when I’ll willingly lie back and let someone introduce my face to the cold steel of a scalpel. Call me crazy, but baring an accident, it’s not on my list of things to do, besides I’ve lived with my imperfections for this long, I may as well keep them. However at the Perth Fashion Festival, Story by Tang parade, I may have uncovered a workable alternative. 



© The Ponder Room

 
Story by Tang was one of the must see events at this years Perth Fashion Festival and the first stand alone event at the WA Museums Fashion Paramount. As luck would have it I was in a position to take up a good offer. Yes there were beautiful frocks and glitterati aplenty, but I was sidetracked by the nonsurgical facelift on display.

While I sat precariously balanced on my section of the long wooden stool, backstage the canny stylists of Maurice Meade worked their magic, including Ailsa (see two-words-women-dont-want-to-hear)

As I watched the glam set arrive I thought of Ailsa and crew teasing, crimping and blow drying their hearts out, after a full days work. No doubt right about now, a five minute break on my rock hard stool, would feel like an hour on a Jason Recliner massage chair for them.

© The Ponder

 

Finally the last VIPs took their seats and the photographers turned their cameras to the walkway. While the dresses were stylishly subdued and feminine, it was the hairstyles that first peaked my interest......

Fashion dilemma solved with the power of celebrity (Perth Fashion Festival 2011)

© The Ponder Room

Following is a lesson in Fashion Marketing - the power of the celebrity endorsement.

Imagine you’re going to see the Story of Tang, one of the hot ticket items at the 2011 Perth Fashion Festival. Now add in the fact that one of the event sponsors, hair stylist Maurice Meade, has organized your ticket for you. Your mind tells you you’d better get amongst your wardrobe and see if there’s anything remotely fashionable lurking in its depths, but your heart just says, panic!

© The Ponder Room

Instead you adopt the usual strategy that has served you well in the past - you get sidetracked by work until the eleventh hour, thereby eliminating days of shopping, trying on outfits and basically, more panic!

The day comes. You sleep late, the morning passes, lunchtime ends, the afternoon blurs, early evening sets in and you can’t put it off anymore.

You venture into the shower, wash your hair and after drying it discover that, for some unknown reason, you've taken on the fluffed resemblance of sideshow fairy floss, minus the pink hue thankfully.

Straightener to the rescue you start to breathe again as your hair falls back into a style that would pass on any norm day. But this is the PFF and Maurice Meade…no pressure! Looking around the bench, the small number of hair products you usually rely on, appear to have conspired against you, and run off to join the infamous Bermuda Sock triangle. What to do?

© The Ponder Room

Thinking Museum, where the event is being held, you start fossicking under the bathroom cabinet and soon put your hand on a large tub. Phew, saved by the hair gel. But on retrieving your hand you find yourself clutching a tub of ….Draino. Not good. In a moment of sheer desperation you ponder whether your fluffed up ‘do’, could be tamed with olive oil (extra Virgin ofcourse), in lieu of hair wax. Thankfully you decide against it, and resign yourself to constantly running your hand through your hair for the next two hours, in the hope of stimulating its natural oils.

Hair tragedy averted, you stand in front of your wardrobe for half an hour wishing something to emerge, a la the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. Eventually you settle on a tried and true outfit and think, not to worry you’ll be sitting up the back anyway.

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Half an hour later, entering the WA Museum you instantly lament not taking more time, as hundreds of fabulous outfits stream through the door. Taking your seat you look at the row immediately across from you  - designer Christine Tangs ‘bestie-model’ friends Tiah Delaney, Amy Finlayson and Sonya Kukainis along with Kim Ellery. Just as you try to slink a little lower you see it…relief is at hand. Some poor couple have rocked up in tracksuits, tracksuits! All is not lost.

© The Ponder Room



Looking closer however you realise that far from being a fashion mistake, this was actually a deliberate fashion statement, a new venture for Chad Fletcher and his girlfriend Teagan Phillips, in their Onzies. Slinking lower still you ponder if you’ve ever felt so out of touch

© The Ponder Room

As you sit waiting for the show to start your mind drifts back to the Perth Women’s Expo earlier this year, and an insignificant stall at the back of the Expo.....Bam’z Quirky Bitz n’ Bobz was the title.

©The Ponder Room

Central to the stall was the heading ‘America’s No.1 Pyjamas, Big Feet Pj’2s, footed pyjamas for men, women and children’.

The flyer boasted the ‘All in one footed PJ’s with optional butt’,.... true.

A fairly sad looking stall, displaying its wares on a wire coat hanger, it was overlooked by most show goers. If only they knew.

Little did you think you’d see the ‘All in One’ rise like a phoenix, and take up front row position at the Perth Fashion Festival.

In a clear case of Fashion Marketing 101. .....Take a product, any product, modify it slightly to suit market tastes (e.g. replace the bumflap with a zip for easy ablution access), add in a celebrity endorsement, and there you have it….from the bowels of the Perth Women’s Expo to the front row of Perth Fashion Festival in less than 12 months. Let that be a lesson to you

Personally I’ve decided that if I attend anything next year I’m going in my long johns. What? Don’t laugh I’ve just read that David Beckham has launched his own range – true story. One mans idea of fashion is another mans…..

Pool showdown ducked with a careless giggle (Australian wildlife)



© The Ponder Room

This morning the ducks stood no chance, as I found a solution to my pool duck dilemma (duck dilemma)

The day began with the usual visitor, however he was soon replaced by a massive kookaburra.

Not only did said kookaburra descend onto the surface of the pool, he splashed around, making it his very own personal Turkish bath.

post bath  © The Ponder Room

 

© The Ponder Room

Finding the water to his satisfaction he was soon laughing hysterically.

Next thing I knew two mates joined him, and I was instantly demoted to towel boy in my own backyard.

I’m waiting to see what kind of output the kookaburras leave, but if all bodes well, I'm contemplating turning my backyard into a tourist attraction to rival Steve Irwin’s Zoo.

What will tomorrow bring…hippopotamus lurking in the deep end? Now that really doesn't bear pondering about.

How ducks may hold the key to good health

Recently I came across a piece of research about the perils of desk dwelling, which resulted in some heart palpitating pondering on my part.

According to Mark Hamilton from the University of Missouri, people who sit at their desk all day long, only to go home and plonk themselves down on the sofa all night, are subjecting themselves to health risks as insidious as smoking, or over exposure to the sun….evidently.



thanks madmcmojo


Great, so why have I been bothering with lentil salads and carob chocolate for all these years, then? Clearly I was stuffed.

Ignoring my flashing laptop screen for a moment, I contemplated a quick trip to the shops, to stock up on a bottle of wine, a bucket of fast food and a packet of Winfield Blue (do they even make them anyone?), before taking the whole lot out into the backyard, and stripping off under the glare of the midday sun. Well why not?

Just as the thought was cementing in my head, I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye, two dark shapes approaching at speed.

Sailing in, heads back, backsides dropped, leaning back, their feet set in an upward right angle position, they skimmed across the previously stagnant surface of my backyard pool. Like two MiG fighter jets landing on an aircraft carrier, they touched down at one end of the pool, then careered along the surface until they nearly ran out of water at the other end. The scourge of backyard pool owners everywhere – the duck, or ducks on this occasion.

thanks madmcmojo

For those of you not in the know, ducks have a number of specialties. Their ability to appear graceful while inwardly panicking, has been well documented over the years. However a lesser known skill is their ability to generate an enormous amount of squelchy, colour removing, poo in a matter of seconds. Maybe it’s all the pond scum they eat I don’t know.

And so the battle began.

Moments after the ducks descend, I’m on my feet, sprinting out the back door flapping my arms about in the air, reminiscent of Steve Martins character in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels screaming , Oklahoma, Oklahoma, Oklahoma . Understandably the ducks immediately hightailed it over the side fence, quacking a belligerent farewell, before splashing down in my neighbours pool.

Panting, but back at my desk I was left to ponder on…

1. In an hours time, as we three meet again to perform the same ritual, I think I’ll let them linger a little longer this time. After all if it wasn’t for their hourly distraction, I’d be a prime candidate to prove Mr Hamilton’s theory correct. Besides if truth be known I’m actually quite jealous of the fun they seem to have skimming over the waters surface.
2. Are ducks feet called feet? I know chickens have feet, I’ve seen it written on a Yum cha menu, but what of ducks?
3. Has anyone else got any suggestions? and yes I've already tried intimidation in the form of a casserole dish, a bag of oranges and the MasterChef theme playing on loop.

The Great Carrot Cake Valentines Day Deception

While we're talking about Fly in Fly Out mining jobs....

Years ago I went out with a Fly in Fly out mining exec, no surprise there after all I grew up in Western Australia. In fact I’d suggest that any West Australian female, who didn’t marry her childhood sweetheart, eventually went out with either someone working on the mines, a member of the SAS, or both.



© The Ponder Room



Anyway the Miner romance lasted for a surprisingly long time, especially given the six weeks on, one week off work arrangement. If that wasn’t hard enough, it was during the pre-mobilephone/internet era, which meant communication could only be made by mail, and the mail service only operated once a week. While this sounds harsh the reality was it made for some very creative, romantic letters and even more romantic reunions.

As an example Valentines Day would often see a 'pamper pack' winging its way to a far off sandy destination. The contents – a home made carrot cake, a smuggled minibar bottle of Galliano (it was pre-alcohol testing days), and if I was feeling particularly generous a 'boys magazine', of a non-car variety, you can make up your own mind whether this last addition was a naughty or nice thing to do, to a fella trapped in a male-only minesite for six weeks.

Years followed with Mr Miner declaring the virtues of my home made carrot cake to anyone who would listen, even to his mother, a member of the CWA, who took it on the chin.

Then the day came……

There I was in the kitchen combining the ingredients for said carrot cake....an egg, some olive oil, water and …… the upturned contents of a packet cake mixture.

Jumping around the corner in a surprise visit, Mr Miner was mortified with the sight before him, no doubt reliving all the years I’d been deceiving him with my wily packet cake ways......oh the shame.

Little wonder I guess that the relationship fizzled out a short time later, after a far greater deception was committed on his part.

Remembering this does make me ponder…

1. What constitutes homemade? After all I still had to use 'hand power' to mix and ice said atrocity.
2. Would it have been such an affront to humankind for a city boy, sans CWA links?
3. Or was it a forerunner to our eventual irreconcilable differences?

Changes in the sandpit (Impact of the WA Mining Boom #1)



thanks fotologic

In the past the big boys in the world’s sandpit were content playing with each other, spending their days driving around in oversized trucks, occasionally crashing into each other and play fighting until an adult stepped in to break them up.

As the ignored little brother we soon learnt to slink off to the furthest corner of the sandpit and satisfy ourselves with building miniature mud pies, no mean feat given the high sand to dirt ratio in our patch, but I digress. Recently however the sunlight reflected off something shiny in our section of the pit and caught the eye of the big boys. Alert (but not alarmed) they became fascinated with our dirt and soon coveted it for themselves. As a result our lives have changed in a multitude of ways, this is just one of them……

© The Ponder Room

This year I’ve spent a fair bit of time in airports, including the W.A. domestic airport.

Gone are the days of entering the terminal and seeing a sea of families desperately trying to tether their brood together around a bundle of battered, mismatched suitcases.

Nor is the cavernous space filled with mobile wielding businessmen brokering monumental deals, or desperately trying to give the impression that they are. 

Now days you’d swear you’d been transported onto the backlot of the latest Baz Luhrmann film set. An ocean of extras set out before you, their Moulin Rouge sequins replaced by bright orange safety jackets. While no doubt warming the hearts of any long time single females, the sight is less palpitating for everyone else.

thanks to postbear

For a start there’s the interesting dynamic when the two fly-in-fly-out (FIFO) subcultures collide. The first group on their way out to work sit silently, headphones on, looking incredibly bored while waiting for their flight. The second, those arriving home after weeks on a dry camp, focus on one thing….destination pub. And then there’s a third group, the long line of guys ahead of you in the security queue.

Since 911 the need for everyone to go through the security scan is understandable. What airport management hadn’t bargained on though was the preponderance of FIFO workers having to walk under the metal arch. One by one each man moves off to the sitting area and letting out a heavy sigh begins untying the long laces on his steel capped boots.

As I inevitably end up being asked to remove my shoes, the sight around me still makes me giggle as I too sit down and ponder on..….

1. The array of socks. Loads of safe black, grey or brown socks. Several thick red pairs harking back to the owners skinhead roots perhaps. Some novelty Mr Men socks no doubt a father’s day gift. A few mismatched, barely holding together socks, causing me to move away slightly. And every now and then I’m rewarded with a pair of fluro pink socks or a pattern of male genitalia, which instantly have me turning my head to see the owners face. Sometimes this results in a sheepish smile, other times a glare from a stern set of eyes while a tattooed covered hand rubs the owners chin.
2. I guess I should be thankful that the security scan doesn’t extend to the removal of all those navy blue hard yaka shorts.
3. Why is it that all these FIFO workers arrive at the airport in uniform ready to go? The only thing missing is an equipment belt hanging off their hips. What happens on these flights up north? Are the planes fitted out with workbenches instead of seats? Once through the door are they strapped in and immediately put to work forging the latest pink diamond seeking widget?
4. Or does the competition for highly paid mining jobs mean that, once landed, the doors open and the workers sprint, Amazing Race style, to secure the best job?
5. On a side note, any single ladies out there experiencing a draught, forget about bars, nightclubs and singles groups, get yourself to the Perth Domestic Airport, you’re sure to find something to appreciate at the FIFO smorgasbord.

WA film More For Me wins Best Documentary at NYC International Film Festival

Some of you may recall a post about local father Lincoln Fenner who’s film More For Me, was entered into the New York City International Film Festival (NYCIFF) and being shown in Times Square.WA film lights up Times Square Well.....

If like me you’ve been pondering about what happened to Lincoln I’m thrilled to report that he’s back from New York where his movie picked up the Times Square Audience Award for Best Documentary at the NYCIFF. Fantastic news….and there was no bomb scare at the premier, unlike Perth. 

What’s more the film is now up for an IF Award in Sydney!

One of my hopes for The Ponder Room was that it could develop into a platform for inspirational people who are getting out amongst life and having a go, but not necessarily being seen in mainstream media.

Lincoln is a perfect example of this, so I'm thrilled to pass on his news.

If you’ve seen More for Me and would like to support Lincoln in the IF Awards, you have until September 16^th to rate his film. Go to ifawards. If you’d like any more information just contact me or go to my earlier post above, for a link to Lincolns site.

When I hear about these successes I'm always left pondering how can I find out about other inspirational people who are having a go? Do you know anyone?

Mothers resolve beats interrogation

Junior MasterChef judge Anna Gare, recently alluded to a childhood dish called ‘shit on a plate’, which consisted of fried mince and tinned spaghetti on toast. Hardly surprising her mothers dish didn’t make it into her new cookbook Homemade. It did however trigger a memory….

thanks to LexnGer

For much of my youth, the re-grouping of the family at the end of the day would herald the common refrain….

‘What’s for dinner?’

One by one the question would be asked as each family member walked through the front door and collapsed onto the couch. One by one we’d be told the name of the night’s dish.

In our house the most popular dish was ‘Wait and See’ which was served at least three times a week for well over 20 years.

Throughout these years we’d tried all sorts of tactics to break down the head chefs defenses. However we soon learnt that probing for clarification was pointless. It was far easier cut our losses and walk away hoping the accumulation of well placed grunts or heavy sighs might one day eventually break her resolve. Sadly in our heart of hearts we knew it was futile, even the mostly highly decorated SAS interrogator didn’t stand a chance.

thanks to mateus27:24&25

Now as an adult I ponder….

1. Does every family have a ‘shit on a plate’, or ‘wait and see’ dish?
2. Where do mothers learn this skill?
3. Do they learn it, or is it an innate ability that rises to the surface around the same time that breast milk stops flowing?
4. Have the SAS course administrators ever considered doing away with 10 hour sand dune hikes and water torture stints, and replacing them with three hour Question Avoidance courses run by mothers? I’m sure many a hardened, tree-trunk-esk soldier would buckle under the pressure, forget his captains instructions to remain monosyllabic at all times, and fall to his knees screaming….‘Sergeant Toughnut, 555731, for the love of god I just want to know what’s for dinner.’....or maybe it's just me?

Staying in the dance of life after 911

My recent ash cloud experience gave me a minuscule glimpse into one aspect of 911, namely the phone calls made on the planes (Ash Cloud experience)

Thanks to dixie-law

In honour of the people onboard those flights, and the loved ones left behind to muddle along, below are three quotes that I stumbled across when writing 50 Ways To Grieve Your Lover, and continue to keep in mind ……

Death is more universal than life; everyone dies, but not everyone lives. A. Sachs.

Make an effort to take part in the dance of life. James Van Praagh. Healing Grief.

For three days after death, hair and fingernails continue to grow, but phone calls taper off.’ Johnny Carson.

Thanks to Nuno Darte



So this year I’m once again left pondering……

1. How do we make the most of this one life so that it counts? Any thoughts?
2. The growing importance of keeping a bottle of laughter in your medicine cabinet.

A childhood of brown food proves no barrier to cookbook author Anna Gare (MasterChef)

On a beautiful spring-like day family and friends gathered on the Fremantle Arts Centre lawn, to help celebrity chef Anna Gare launch her first cookbook Homemade: simply delicious food. Interviewed by Nathan, Nat and Shaun from Nova 93.7, Anna explained the recipes had been tested by her family including husband Luke Longley  (ex-Chicago Bulls), who she described as ‘as fantastic as he is tall, an incredible eater, and good at criticizing my food, when I ask for it’.

© The Ponder Room



If like me, you grew up in the pre-MasterChef era, you’d have many memories of tuna mornay, chicken casserole, mushrooms on toast, and lamb stew. Evidently they also formed the backdrop to Anna’s childhood, where she grew up ‘eating brown food.’ Thankfully Homemade is full of colour.

The 75 recipes that did make it into Homemade are ‘all totally edible’ according to Anna, and drawn from her Deluxe Catering business, along with..... ‘simple dishes straight from my family dinners, lunches and impromptu feasts with friends. While I cooked, friends and family took notes and this book started to take shape.’ Recipes such as.....

© The Ponder Room

©The Ponder Room

Cheats Sausage Rolls;
the family Christmas cake;
a Pistachio Soup;
and
Never Fail Chocolate Cake
which was moist even after sitting in the sun throughout the interview.


Anna’s children make the chocolate cake and take it to school, but when asked for the recipe they say ‘you have to buy the book’.

The book has been described as ‘easy reading’, ‘not daunting long recipes’, and full of colour photos using ‘real light so it looks like real food’. It also has 'a peak inside the family fridge'.

© The Ponder Room

‘For me, food has always been about much more than kitchens and recipes. It’s about homes, the people in them, the music, the paintings on the walls, the friends who drop by. All the things we share. That’s what Homemade is all about’ said Anna.

If you’re thinking about writing a cookbook there is one downside however. According to Anna, she hasn’t been invited to dinner for a long time.....‘I’d eat toast if it meant I was invited over’.

© The Ponder Room

As the crowd lined up for signing, the Rising Soufflé’s, (made up of Annas family members including the delightful young singers George Gare and Lottie Elton), sang two toe tapping food related songs.

Watching the long signing queue made me ponder on  …

1. Anna’s laid back approach reminded me of times past spent watching her in The Jam Tarts.
2. Her success is another example of what happens when someone simply follows their passion. Anna spent her childhood in the family kitchen, asked if she could leave school early, then spent time working in kitchens while singing in her band.
3. Wouldn’t it be fantastic to be at their place for Christmas dinner. I guess our family will have to make do with making the Christmas cake.

Hopefully this is the link to the short book launch video, if it doesn't work and you want it, just contact me  Anna Gare Book Launch video link

Chilli Sex (Fremantle Chilli Festival)

In honour of Fathers Day I thought I’d let you into a little secret I recently discovered. Wandering around the Fremantle Chilli Festival, I stumbled across a little known fact.... chill has a sex….who knew?

 

©The Ponder Room

Arriving at the festival I couldn’t get over the colour palate before me, if it wasn’t red it was black. Red I could understand, it was a chilli festival after all, but black? I’ve been to many festivals and never seen so much black. Then there were the product names. Names like Taipan Venom or Devils Tears, and the portions, everything was huge, ‘dainty’ it appeared was outlawed.

Coaxed in by the black t shirt wearing boys at Pan-o-rama, I was soon ploughing my way into a plate of chilli. Half way through it was some relief to see the sign for ice cold drinks.

Moving clockwise, next came a taste of chilli mussels, and a side order of iced tea. As I gulped a full mouthful of tea, I realised my error of not reading the sign correctly. As the iced chilli tea hit, my nose started running.

Coughing and sniveling now, a huge man dressed in an equally oversized Mexican sombrero thrust a piece of soft bread towards me declaring ‘this might help’. Stuffing the plain bread into my mouth I was thinking anything would be better than the burning sensation on the roof of my mouth. Anything that was until the hidden cheese filling sprang forth, bringing with it a full hit of tobacco sauce. Looking up the man had scarpered.

Panicked I ran in the direction of the water sign I’d seen earlier, and was soon praising the immense intellect of the person who’d included a water tank on the strategic plan, though I was unsure about the relevance of the 'no parking' sign in front of it. 

© The Ponder Room

Quenched I returned to the festival only to be handed a cracker biscuit by an average looking man dressed in a black t shirt that declared he was ‘Really Hot’. Thanking him, just as I was deciding whether to launch into the finer points of false advertising, he stepped to one side and pointed to his Cane Fire products. The realisation hit me just as the heat of the cracker did.

My face taking on the hue of a rapidly boiled crayfish, I noticed the stall next door was offering Mango Lassi.

© The Ponder Room

Silently pointing to my choice I handed over five dollars, while watching a life sized hot dog wander past, complete with dripping chilli sauce. As I swallowed I realised they’d served me Spiced Tea instead of the soothing Lassi.

© The Ponder Room

Unable to feel my lips I bypassed the Devils Tears stand, wondering if anyone would notice if I threw myself into the ice truck that was offering bags of ice for $4.

On the way, however, I did spy one small haven of femininity. A delightful middle aged lady had taken it upon herself to sell aprons and oven mitts with chilli motifs. Ensconced in her stall, she declared ‘I was worried as I put up the tent, it’s all white, I should have got a black one’. Smiling I told her not to worry, that it was nice to see and wished her well. Besides there was something that I found far more worrying.......

The Ponder Room

The decided lack of toilets, 16 to be precise. Thankfully it was only mid morning when I visited them.

At least the organisers had the sense to place them next to the St Johns Ambulance First Aid station.

As I sat inside one of the orange cubicals I pondered....

1. What kind of last minute chilli induced emergencies would require the use of a quad bike?
2. After the preponderance of chilli branded products I did notice there was one product missing. There was chilli chocolate, chilli beer, chilli ice cream, even chilli soap. The only thing left to put chilli on was.... toilet paper. No doubt that hole (pardon the pun) will be filled next year. Here’s hoping it will be a stencil version loving crafted by the lady in the white tent, not one of the sadistic black tent men. It’d be just like them to market an innocent looking toilet paper, only to find out way too late, that it had been infused with real chilli…now that doesn’t bare pondering about.
3. But mostly I pondered that I’d never been to such a blokey festival, even car shows have a female presence, albeit scantily clad, but female just the same. Clearly chillis are a male bastion...don't say I didn't warn you.