Boots & Photos
Going shopping on Enmore Road with cute little not-goth-not-punk grrl who says it "goff" in the most edible possible way is probably bad for my budget. This is my third boot purchase in about a month. I am strangely exhilarated- I never make purchases like this on the spur of the moment, I always think about it for a few weeks, check out the options, consider my existing wardrobe, puzzle over the financing... but I am powerless to resist being looked up and down by hot grrls and told "Yeah, they look sexy". I tell this girl she should get a job in one of these shops, she'd make the best commission.
Last night was one of those wierd time-is-a-circular-thing events, a housewarming party at the same house I used to go to in first year uni, when I was learning how to be a spunky baby queer. First time I got stoned was there, first time I rolled in grass after a night on pills, first obsession with a tree, first time getting dressed up in ballgowns to go to the bottle shop at two in the afternoon, first time I met my first girlfriend (peeking up at me from a short bleached fringe). It's been out of the family for three or four years, and now it's back. The people at the party were a crazy cross-section of the past seven years of my life. And there was a baby- cute, fat-cheeked, grabby-handed baby. I hadn't realised we were people who had babies at our parties already. Is that the sort of shift that should be noted?
I've been taking lots of photographs lately, assigning myself the role of 'photographer' at events that ought to be recorded. It's fun, different, I'm getting much better at it. There is something seriously exciting about perfectly capturing the energy in a room around a cutting, or the way people look at each other when they think no-one's looking. Having a bunch of people go, "Wow, these photos are amazing!" and thinking, "yeah, aren't they?". The photo on this post is not amazing, because taking photos of your own shoes is hard.