Happy Winter Solstice.

A love poem for Ivan Idea.

Stop touching those candles

and stop

saying those stupid things,

You are fucking ridiculous

and 

repulsive

and the way you put commas in your sentences

makes me sick like a Mintie on a roadtrip

and you are so fucking beautiful that it tears my heart out 

So why can't you just put your tongue

back in

and stop being pleasant and enthusiastic 

Because you look so stupid
and I know you're not. 

And I wish you had loved me

But I wish I hadn't loved you,

because you are

pathetic

and I'm embarrassed by the cliché of loving your fucking face

and your horrible pile of bones.
Although your bottom lip was quite nice
and Jesus
you could speak
like no-one else. 
So I hope you'll be happy one day

but I doubt it because cowards are 
rarely 
happy.
And you 
are a coward
coward
coward. 

Ode to an Education

Since everyone is going through exams at the moment, I just thought I'd remind you all (in case you've lost sight of this via an increased sense of self-importance that is, to be fair, not your fault) that what you're doing is shit. 

Look at it. Look at your exam notes. They are so fucking boring and ridiculous it's embarrassing that you're even reading them. Do you even have the slightest interest in this stuff? And while you tell yourself that you are going to somehow benefit financially from this fucking degrading four year experience they call "getting a degree" that has forced you into pseudo-poverty for your entire adult life, haha, fucking joke's on you mate because the only people who get jobs in their chosen field after they graduate are people who did fucking revolting degrees like law or engineering or business so if you're one of those people then congratulations, they told you you were training to be an innovator and an entrepreneur didn't they? Ha, joke's on you again because what you actually signed up for is sitting behind a desk until you die choking on your own clogged arteries or the bile you've accumulated after fifty years of listening to women talk about fertility treatments and drinking fucking instant coffee like it's the elixir of life. And don't worry creative types, I haven't forgotten about you guys - I fucking hope you like the smell of body odour because you're going to go and do a graduate diploma and become a teacher now, putting all your creative genius to good use marking Macbeth essays and explaining how influential Frida Kahlo was to a bunch of gormless teenagers every year for the next hundred years because teaching doesn't even give you the dignity of retiring you before your tits start to sag below your belly button. Either that or you aren't doing the grad dip in which case, how is bartending/unemployment/living with your mum going anyway? Let's face it these are the prime years of our lives and while we should be using them to see the world and piss people off and prepare for the fucking zombie apocalypse, instead we're choosing to publicly masturbate for four years at Uni while our parents perversely look on in pride. 

Your degree is a fucking joke. I'm sorry but it is. It's going to churn you out along with thousands of other graduates at the end so you can become party to a fucking genocide of individuality whereby in the first five years of your career you undergo a process your parents will refer to as "growing up" but what is in fact the fucking removal of your soul through your anus and the connection of your brain to the mainframe of society so they can refill the space where your soul used to be with an interest in fad dieting and Siromet winery tours. And before you get your metaphorical knickers in a twist at me for being judgemental, I would just like to point out that I am currently, at this very moment returning home from an exam that was part of my own ludicrous tertiary education efforts so it is only in sympathy and solidarity that I tell you that you'd be better off dropping out and joining the fucking army or becoming a prostitute because let's face it, you're never going to look better than you do now and time is a-ticking till the day you'll want to pop out some miniature versions of your sucker self in the hopes that one day you'll be able to watch them publicly wank their way through a university degree just like mum and dad.

I wish you all luck with your exams and degrees, and hope that unlike me, when they dangle you by the ankle over the bog of eternal banality, you have the good sense to scream your guts out in protest before they drop you in it and you reek of disappointment for the rest of your days.

06/11/12

I was up all night and all day watching this happen. 

I'm glad.

Excerpts from "Four Years on the Southside."

"I'll never forget it, but I sometimes wish I could. That house. That horrible house where three of the people I've loved lived at one time or another. The sad one. The disappointing one. The one across the hallway.

After that it was a series of different houses within a short distance of the first one. One to pass the time. One to start over. One to recover from the first two. 

...

The Southside had its appeal. It was on the other side of the river. It was wide and open and had fewer trees and more trucks, which I liked because it spoke to my sensibilities as a reluctant and abashed member of the upper middle class. I thought looking at trucks instead of poincianas as I walked to work was giving me valuable life experience. Sometimes I would walk from Greenslopes to Buranda station trying not to let the construction workers see me crying, but I didn't think about what kind of life experience that might be giving me. 

I see now that it was probably more poignant, in this respect, than trucks."

1974.

This is my mum Tina at around the age I am now. 

She has been probably the best mother anyone could ever hope to have. I hope she realises this when she looks back on her life so far. 

Also, still waiting for these genes to kick in for me. Both the ones that made her such a good person and the ones that made her look like a 70s Calvin Klein ad. 

Abandonment issues, part 5; On the farm.

From the first glimpse of a horse, small and kindly-looking, with a yellowish coat and black mane;  the first trip to the chicken coop, a haphazard tin-and-wire structure in the corner of the yard; the first game of tug-o-war with a foolhardy but benevolent dog – I was hooked.

I don’t know how my somewhat estranged brother ended up owning a farm. I wasn’t really at the age where I was inclined to ask conveyancing-related questions. I was at the age where I looked cute wearing a leotard and a tutu and carrying a basket of fake flowers at said brother’s wedding. So were my sisters. It was, I think, mainly for this reason (the wedding, not specifically the leotards and tutus) that we took a seven week trip back to Australia just before I turned nine.

While we had moved to the UK, my brother, whose name is Nicholas but who has been known as Harvey all of his life for reasons unknown, lived on a stud farm near Busselton, Western Australia. I think their main source of income was a giant, rather frightening horse named “Chopin,” whom everybody called “Chops.” I didn’t get the joke until many years later when I started piano lessons. I thought the horse’s real name was simply “Show Pan,” and that like Harvey, he had been given a pseudonym that had nothing to do with his actual name.

We did a lot of things on this seven-week stint back in the motherland. We circumnavigated Uluru, visited my grandparents in Newcastle – I vaguely remember something about Sydney Harbour too, but really, one never remembers specific visits to Sydney. They all just mesh into one. But we also stayed on my brother’s farm for a while. I remember absolutely nothing about the house, or where we slept, or even talking to my brother much. I was eight and he must have been about twenty-two. At the time I thought he was old – a man – and placed little distinction between his age and that of my parents. It’s only now that I realise he was younger than I am now, and certainly quite young to be getting married.

What I do remember is loving the farm itself. I loved the hot sun on the coarse, browning grass. I loved the shrill, metallic notes that each steel gate sung when opened or closed. I loved the sacred sense of responsibility when entrusted with the task of collecting eggs from the chicken coop each morning; the sense of wonder each time that, overnight, these unassuming feathery dimwits had produced such miraculous feats of nature, and that we could eat said feats of nature for breakfast. There was a novelty in it that was appealing, for sure. But there was also a longer-term sort of personal satisfaction that as an eight-year-old, I was more inclined to phrase as “this is so cool.”

When I was in grade nine my parents bought Ironbark farm; 902 acres in the Hogarth Range, just southwest of Casino, NSW. For many years it too was a source of novel pleasures, from Schoolies week to renovation symposiums for Chinese PhD students. It had the same squeaky gates and scorched grass. But over the last few years I’ve begun to see its value as a living, breathing entity too. Its lack of mobile phone reception, internet or television, along with its constant need to be renovated, cleaned, painted, fixed, demolished and rebuilt is addictive. I have been unashamedly guilting my parents out of selling it for three years.

I’ve seen my brother maybe six times since his wedding, with increasing sporadicity. I know he moved to Melbourne and no longer seeks his fortune in farming. When people ask me what he does I say “he's in IT,” because he is, but that’s all I know. I’ve never asked him what inspired his brief period as a stud farmer. I’ve never asked him what inspired his decision to stop being a stud farmer. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever asked him a single question about himself except for “Harvey, why did you cut off all your hair?” 

As I move closer to the time at which I am bound to have a mid-twenties identity crisis (also known as finishing university and facing the prospect of starting one’s career) and entertain, with increasing enthusiasm, the notion of abandoning my aspirations as a schoolteacher and moving down to Ironbark full-time and becoming a hermit, I can’t help but wish I had, in fact, asked my brother these questions. Perhaps I will now, and maybe while I'm at it, I'll ask him exactly what it is he does in IT. 

Abandonment issues, part 4.

Abandonment issues, part 3; Does your prom dress still fit?

Today I did a good portion of the cleaning out of my old room wearing a $2000 silk prom dress because six years on, I don't really feel I've got my money's worth out of it. 

Abandonment issues, part 2; The third or fourth house.

In 1998, we bought our first family computer, on which my father wrote his 1999 book, Uses of Television. 

I suppose I was about eight, and used the computer to play the Babe computer game, which was fantastic, and make endless, horrible place-mats, cards and name-tags using some sort of Disney software that allowed you to cover all these items in different 101 Dalmatians pictures. 

I also used "Notepad" (wasn't allowed to use Word; not sure why) to write some of my first short stories which, if memory serves (it does, freakishly so) included the tale of a girl who lived inside a light bulb, a fairly generic rabbit story, and the various adventures of my many Mary-Sue-type characters of the day. I abandoned all attempts to write fiction soon thereafter. 

The computer room, pictured above, was the other half of the living room, and one of the many reasons why this particular house was and still is my favourite of our many houses between 1989 and 2001. 

1996 to 2000 was spent here, a deceptively lovely terrace overlooking Cardiff Bay, but not on the Cardiff side. It was stairs, horrible blue carpets, rocks and perfect Christmases spent on the floor in this living/computer room. Every house on the terrace had a bay-window at the front, and if you didn't have your Christmas tree and lights up in it by December 1, our neighbour Pauline would ask you why (she also hated the Willow tree you can see in the picture because it blocked our view of the Bay. She poisoned it one summer and it died). 

The room also had an over-the-top wooden fireplace. An ornate carving of five long grooves on either side of it reminded me of claw-marks and I ran my fingers along them almost every day. After we sold the house, it stood empty for a few months, during which this and the wrought-iron fireplace from upstairs were both stolen. I sometimes wonder where they ended up. 

Abandonment issues, part 1.

My younger sister Sophie has moved to Edinburgh to get a much better education than me and hang out with gay Spice Girls fans named Trent. 

Here is a picture of her as Draco Malfoy.

I miss her quite a lot. 

Abandonment Issues.

By February next year, almost all my close friends and family will have moved away. My sister has already moved to Scotland. My folks are in the process of moving back to Perth. My other sister is moving to Hobart and my two housemates and friends are moving to Melbourne. 

I will be documenting this fascinating process of mass-abandonment over the next few months, starting with the emptying and sale of our family home. If you like nostalgia, a few self-deprecating jokes and being nosy about what other people keep in their closets, you may enjoy reading my forthcoming blogs. 

Excerpts from "Orphans."

“The world hurts and I don’t want to live in it anymore.”

One of the many manic but truthful confessions I will carefully print into a Moleskine notebook, only to rip it out and re-write it because I used the wrong pen, or formed a letter imperfectly, or spaced the words unevenly. You can’t use white-out in a Moleskine – the slightly textured, off-white pages give you away immediately. Besides, if you’re going to leak all your inner pain onto a page in hope that it will somehow stay there instead of leaping back down your throat, you don’t want something as crude as white-out involved.

...

“You are beautiful like a thunderstorm.”

This one was for a long-lost lover. I was quite proud of this quaint little simile at the time. He was exciting and unpredictable in a way that made it impossible to do anything else while he was around – rather like a storm. He wasn't quite as pretentious as I was – he would have chosen Spirax over Moleskine to save money. But he was beautiful, that much was true. Far more beautiful than I was equipped for. When he left I realised I’d had an avalanche sitting on my chest for six months. 

Disappearing.

I am. I'm at least six kilos lighter than I was a week ago. My clothes are hanging off me like old bedsheets. My hair has faded so much it isn't even a colour. I wonder if I will completely vanish soon. 

How quickly we forget.

Travel blog part 24.

What was it?
Spinach and ricotta ravioli, cuppa tea. 

Where was it from?

Bar Roma, Sydney Airport.

How much was it?

Total $18.50 or something ridiculous like that. Yep, you're back in Australia. 

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

BECAUSE FUCK I WAS SO HUNGRY. After enduring about 26 hours of United Airlines no-vegetarian bullshit, I was about ready to eat a horse, which ironically I couldn't even do because I'm a vegetarian, so I settled for eating a very large amount of pasta. 

How was it?

In all honesty it was probably pretty average, but by this point I was so happy to see a non-aeroplane meal that it might as well have been five star dining. 

This also marks the end of my travel blogging. I will now resume the sporadic, aimless and probably somewhat inane blogging of old. Thanks for reading :)

Travel blog part 23.

What was it?

Tomato, hummus and cream cheese sandwich, air-popped chips. 

Where was it from?

United Airlines.

How much was it?

Free in-flight meal.

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

Because it was the only meat-free thing I was given in fourteen hours. 

How was it?

Kind of lumpy and slimy and generally pretty unpleasant. 

Travel blog part 22.

So because my trip had to end and spit me back into my comparably mundane life, you now have the pleasure of reading the rather pitiful account of my flights home. Apologies for the varying degrees of crappy phone-camera picture quality. 


What was it?
Beef & tomato pasta, salad, breadroll, "butterscotch brownie," tomato juice.

Where was it from?

United Airlines.

How much was it?

Free in-flight meal.

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

Well, I think saying I "ate" this would be rather overstating things. Because United don't have a vegetarian meal option I was just given this on my flight from LA to Sydney. I asked if there was some sort of alternative and the flight attendant suggested that one would be to "pick around it." 

I suppose that's basically what I ended up doing. I noticed several other vegetarians around me having the same conversation with flight attendants, some angrier than others, and also heard said flight attendants congregating at the back of the plane and referring to us as "the stupid vegetarians" later on. You can't beat American customer service. 

How was it?

I mean, I'm probably the wrong person so ask since I didn't really eat it and was sort of offended by the suggestion that I should. The salad was basically a pile of lettuce, cleverly disguised by one slice of tomato at the top. I more or less lived on tomato juice for the remainder of the trip. 

Travel blog part 21.

What was it?
Pumpkin and chickpea soup.

Where was it from?

MoMA Cafe, NYC. 

How much was it?

$6.50.

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

Because I accidentally spent the whole day at MoMA so I figured I might as well eat there too. I ordered this because it was the cheapest thing on the menu, and also because it was small, so I could eat it quickly and get back to being totally awestruck and overwhelmed by the wonders of MoMA. 

How was it?

As far as museum cafe type deals go this was actually quite a pleasant dining experience. I mean, there wasn't anything trashy or re-heated about it so that was a definite plus. I love MoMA. 

Travel blog part 20.

What was it?
Eggs Benedict with potatoes.

Where was it from?

Miller's Tavern, Brooklyn NY. 

How much was it?

About $13.

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

We went for brunch in Brooklyn because it was the weekend and why not? And I think there's something nice about going for brunch and just ordering eggs Benedict. This usually comes with panccetta but I asked for it meat-free and they were kind enough to oblige. 

How was it?

Perfect. Eggs perfectly poached, potatoes perfectly cooked, bread had that charred-on-the-outside-soft-on-the-inside thing going on.

Although, I should probably add that although my meal was perfect and delicious, Adam's was kind of average in the sense that the eggs were, to quote, "overcooked as fuck." Bad luck. 

Travel blog part 19.

What was it?
Pickled beetroot, hummus and watercress sandwich.

Where was it from?

Depanneur, Williamsburg NY. 

How much was it?

$7.50

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

Because we were procrastinating in the process of (not, in the end) installing an air-conditioner, and went to this very nice deli-type sandwich place in Greenpoint. You know, one of those places where everything is pretty and people say please and thank you. I ordered this because it had hummus on it, basically. 

How was it?

I was so hungry at this point I probably would have eaten a shoe, but let's be fair to the sandwich, it was pretty great. The place was nice and I would go there again. It was also in a cool area with some good bookstores etcetera. 

Travel blog part 18.

What was it?
Vegie burger and fries.

Where was it from?

Mikey's Burger, Ludlow St NYC. 

How much was it?

$10.50 (burger $7, fries $3.50).

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

Because - look at it - it's clearly the quintessential American food experience.

How was it?
As far as vegie burgers go this was actually right up there. Super strict vegetarians be aware that these are cooked on the same grill as the meat burgers, but a substantial distance away. I figured that unlike other places, these guys cook the burgers right in front of you so I'd rather they're cooked on the same grill and know for sure that they weren't actually near the meat than just be told "yeah we cook them on different grills" which is not true 95 percent of the time.

This is a real no-bullshit, diner style kind of burger which they don't really do in Australia - there it's either pay $11 for a giant stack of too many ingredients and a burnt pattie at Grill'd or go to Hungry Jacks. So I liked the authentic simplicity of this burger. I think there's a lot to be said for authentic simplicity, in burgers and in life. 

Travel blog part 17.

What was it?
Pesto and parmesan salad.

Where was it from?

Gaia Italian Cafe, LES NYC. 

How much was it?

$7

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

I am currently writing at Adam's place of employment because it's dark and quiet and full of strange pictures, which is conducive to creative productivity. This is the Italian place around the corner. 

How was it?

A minute ago I said "man, that salad was good but it was not worth $7," and Adam said "are you serious?"

So I guess my only qualm about this meal was a little unfounded. It tasted good. Like spaghetti but with rocket instead of pasta. 

Travel blog part 16.

What was it?
Pasta with tomato, basil, lemon and cheese. 

Where was it from?

Ingredients by Whole Foods, cooking by Adam. 

How much was it?

Not sure, but we spent about $45 at Whole Foods that day. Expensive-ass cheese.

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?
We went to see John Maus at Hudson River Park last night, which was a very inspiring experience, so we had to make a quick dinner before we left (and by "we" I mean Adam, because I have completely surrendered to the fairly novel experience of having someone else make nice food for me).

How was it?
Fucking good.

Travel blog part 15.

What was it?

Tlacoyo de Tres Marias - basically a corn boat-shaped thing stuffed with goats cheese, with beans, rice and salsa. 

Where was it from?

Cafe Habana, NoLita NYC. 

How much was it?

$11.50

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

This was the night we went to a book launch at Ed Varie in the East Village, which was lots of people in a very small space drinking beers and looking at some very nice photographs. This also resulted in not having dinner until 11pm and having trouble finding a place with an open kitchen. So we went to this Cuban place which is apparently a bit of a tourist trap, which I feel is quite fitting because I am a tourist. I ordered this because it was one of those vegetarian dishes that included all the various elements of this kind of food that I really like so it's almost like ordering multiple things.

How was it?

Really big, for one. And needed more salsa than the weirdly tea-spoon sized amount there was. But besides that it was delicious. 

Travel blog part 14.

What was it?
Strawberry cheesecake.

Where was it from?

Toad Hall, NYC. 

How much was it?

I didn't pay, Adam did. What a guy. 

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

We went to this opening at Swiss Institute which turned out to be not such a hip and happening event in the sense that there was hardly anyone there. So we went to this pub for dessert instead, and I have sort of mentally resolved to myself that if there is cheesecake on a dessert menu, I order the cheesecake. So I ordered the cheesecake. 

How was it?

It was a little difficult to eat because it was sitting in this strange puddle of strawberry-flavoured liquid. I mean, I like my cheesecakes very unembellished. But besides that it was very nice. 

Travel blog part 13.

What was it?

Mongolian tofu and brown rice. 

Where was it from?

Pho Grand, Chinatown NYC. 

How much was it?

$9

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

Because the restaurant is across the road from the apartment and apparently really good.

How was it?

The initial experience was one of culinary disappointment because my meal came out full of prawns, which I do not eat because I identify as a herbivore. In hindsight I suspect this may have been my fault, because the waiter asked me if I wanted something which sounded like "shoe," but I assumed was "chilli," and I believe was in fact "shrimp." I suppose the optimistic view of this event would be to say that at least my meal didn't arrive accompanied by a shoe. 

But once the shoe/shrimp situation had been rectified it was a very nice meal. The tofu was that really amazing squidgy kind that you can't even pick up with chopsticks. It was also gigantic and I took the leftovers home and had them for lunch the next day. 

Travel blog part 12.

What was it?
Eggs and beans on toast, technically. 

Where was it from?

Adam's kitchen.

How much was it?

Strictly speaking this is irrelevant, because it was leftovers. 

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

Adam made this amazing Mexican dinner the night before which I neglected to blog because I just wanted to eat it. Said meal actually resulted in me asking Adam to marry me, to which he replied, "I'll consider a Harem-type arrangement but nothing else." Oh well.

Anyway, the next day we had this brunch with eggs and Mexican leftovers on the roof. 

How was it?

Like drinking out of a hose on a summer's day - pure indulgence, pure enjoyment. 

Travel blog part 11.

What was it?
Tomato and chilli rigatoni with pecorino cheese. 

Where was it from?

Ingredients by Whole Foods, cooking by Adam. 

How much was it?

I can't remember who paid at Whole Foods - I need to blog more regularly.

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

Following on from the trend of posting pictures of the food we've been eating at home - we had this the other night because we were too tired/poor to go out for dinner. And it's really nice to eat dinner on the roof.

How was it?

Looking at the photo of this meal is making me hungry and giving me food nostalgia. 

Travel blog part 10.

I got an email from my mother the other day saying that she was concerned that my blog didn't seem to feature much fruit and veg/healthy food. Aside from the amusement this caused me by way of stereotypical motherly concern, I realised that I have neglected to post some of the food we've been eating at home, which has certainly extended beyond the realms of mac & cheese and pizza. So.

What was it?
Two eggs with tomato, arugula, garlic & vinegar. 

Where was it from?

Adam's kitchen.

How much was it?

I don't know what the combined total of the ingredients would have been, but Adam said he got a heap of arugula for $5. Good deal. 

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

Because we woke up late and wanted to have brunch of the roof. 

How was it?

I continue to be highly impressed by what Adam can do with small numbers of ingredients. And by that I mean, this was really fucking good. 

Travel blog part 9.

What was it?
Cherry pie with yoghurt and blueberries. 

Where was it from?

I have no idea, but we had it at a dinner with friends in Brooklyn. And by friends I mean, these Australian girls I just met a few days ago, one of whom I'm fairly sure is clinically insane.

How much was it?

Not sure how much our host paid for it, but she has an unnatural aversion to the concept of poverty so I'm guessing a fair bit.

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?
It was very nice of these people to invite us to their home and feed us.

How was it?
Fuck yeah cherry pie. 

Travel blog part 8.

What was it?

Roasted eggplant sandwich with carrot, coriander and jaggery, & mango mint lemonade. 

Where was it from?

Bombay Sandwich, Brooklyn markets.

How much was it?

Food + drink $10. 

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

We went to the food market in Brooklyn. It was overwhelming. Think of a bunch of things you'd probably really like to eat and put them in the same place and you might start to get an idea. It was like one of those Australian multicultural festivals except they do it every week so there's nothing ridiculously over the top about it. 

How was it?

I don't think it would be an exaggeration to say this was one of the best sandwiches I've ever had. Like, really simple, but I'm definitely stealing this recipe. I can't say it's the cheapest food I've had in New York, but it was fresh, delicious and vegan and the guys who sold it to me were super nice. I'd pay a nice person $7 to make me a delicious healthy sandwich any day of the week.

Travel blog part 7.

What was it?

Masala mac and cheese. 

Where was it from?

S'mac, East Village NYC. 

How much was it? 

Massive skillet $7.75.

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon? 

Because it's an entire restaurant devoted solely to mac and cheese. Further justification is clearly unnecessary. 

How was it? 

Cheesy, greasy, big, tasted amazing. 

Travel blog part 6.

What was it?
Margherita pizza, water. + Milk chocolate gelato. 

Where was from?
La Famiglia, Broadway NYC. And this really weird gelato cart vendor in Washington Square Park who seemed very concerned about the fact that my shoelaces were untied.

How much was it?
Pizza + water about $5, gelato $4.

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?
This was my first day in New York by myself because Adam was working, so I just wandered around trying to get my bearings. I walked all up and down Second Ave looking at places to eat, but then I decided I wanted to go to the park and eat because it was about a hundred and fifty thousand degrees and there's a fountain you can sit in at Washington Square Park. I've discovered that in New York, people just pretty much do whatever the fuck they want - the idea that you would be able to swim in a fountain in Brisbane is totally ridiculous. So I just got a pizza and went and sat in the fountain and read the New Yorker. Yeah.

How was it?
American pizza is a real revelation to me because in Australia "good pizza" is like, Pizza Capers or something, which, let's face it, isn't that good and is offensively overpriced. So yeah, big fan of the pizza. And you'll never hear me saying anything bad about gelato, although to be honest, $4 is definitely the most I've paid for such a small amount of food since getting here. The guy I bought it from was so unusual though that I sort of felt like, okay, guy could use a break. Give him the $4. 

Travel blog part 5.

What was it?

Rajas (roasted pepper and onion) and hongos (sautéed mushroom) tacos. (+ chips and guacamole, salsa and various Mexican sauces).

Where was it from?

La Superior, Williamsburg - Brooklyn NYC. 

How much was it?

All tacos $2.50 each. 

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon?

Adam and I went to dinner in Brooklyn with Adam's friend Jacob - I'd never been to Brooklyn, so we walked across the Williamsburg Bridge and had dinner at this Mexican place near the river. I ordered these two because they were vegetarian, basically, but also because they were the most pronouncable on the menu. Tourist scum. 

How was it?

Pretty amazing. First of all, I can't get my head around how cheap food is here. There is no way you'd find Mexican this good, this cheap in Australia because there's just not enough competition I guess. Second of all, it was really no bullshit type Mexican food and I really like that the menu said "this is food as it would be served in Mexico, so please do not ask us to add lettuce, sour cream or cheese to our tacos." And the people were nice and gave us lots of chips with our guacamole. If you visit New York you should eat here. 

Travel blog part 4.

What was it?
Some kind of vegetarian dumpling.

Where was it from?

Vanessa's Dumpling House, Eldridge St NYC.

How much was it?

A bunch of dumplings plus a sesame pancake sandwich thing was about $4.50. For real. 

Why did you eat this, Rhiannon? 

Because Adam told me to. 

But really, we had this for lunch on my first day here by a kid's playground in Chinatown, because Adam says Vanessa's has the best dumplings and I fucking love dumplings. 

How was it? 

I honestly don't know what I was expecting from this much food for under $5, but it certainly wasn't that it would be delicious - which it was. It was also messy and greasy so I thought it was a pretty good "welcome to New York" type meal.