the melBourne Identity
A bit techy at times, periodically political, more-than-averagely-angsty with occasional overshares of 'orniness but that's me, I'm afraid.
1538 degrees today. Hellooooo Melbourne summer!
Sounds like fun, etc…
I always hate people that have these fucked up priorities in life. The kind of people who will pay $7 for a juice smoothie but at the same time wear $10 jeans. Or people that own a fucking luxury sports car and subsequently have to live in some bullshit outer-suburb which seems to have been built around some mega-McDonald’s. In case my readers aren’t aware of what it is, Rekorderlig is a relatively expensive and quirky cider that cool girls used to drink about 5 years ago at parties to basically let guys who played in shithouse indie rock bands know they were interested in sex. I’m sure there was more to it but that was the basic idea. While it was actually a reasonably enjoyable drink, it was obnoxiously sweet and the only thing it could possibly be paired with was more Rekorderlig or intercourse (or loneliness, life’s eternal possibility). Nowadays, girls occasionally buy it at bars and most people sort of laugh under their breath at them and extremely-late-to-the-game sex-pest hipsters move in for the kill.
Serving Rekorderlig to your wife in a wine glass with packet pasta and sauce and cheese toast is divorce. It’s fucking food divorce. It’s saying “I disrespect you this much, I don’t care, I fucking hate you, I hate you so much that I hate your stomach”. I bet he has a his and her Cadbury Curly Wurly for dessert, just in case she is too stupid to work it out (she is married to this guy, let’s be logical here). Your cheese toast looks like shit as well. Everything looks like shit. Your pasta looks like shit. Your table looks like shit. Your wife’s hand looks like shit and her ring looks like it was from Tiffany & Co or whatever insta-marriage bad-decision jeweller is closest to the life hole you call your home. One more tip: trim the fucking stems and lose some of the water from that vase or your flowers will die you poor excuse for a husband.
fucking ZING.
(Source: lovingmalemodels, via iwant-jeveux)
iwant-jeveux asked: Who are your style icons?
John Legend would be the style icon I follow the most. Non pretentious, clean cut, churchwear fused with streetwear really well, and his style swag is more in the small details than ostentatious showy displays of bling (Kanye West, most other RnB stars like d’Angelo etc). His cardigans are always well fitted, his facial hair’s always well maintained, his shirts well-tailored, his trousers pressed, his shoes (always subtle but sexy) always polished and clean whether they’re Chuck Taylors or Armani boots. He’s polite, well-spoken, articulate, respectful of his self and others and intelligent - all shown in the way he dresses. We also have similar builds and skin tones so he’s a good style icon on a personal level as well.
Others who I admire are Andre 3000, for sheer quirk and colour, and Ryan Gosling for a little dark and dangerous sum’m sum’m. Will Smith is also a big one, for most of the same reasons as John Legend.
TL;DR: John Legend. Well-tailored without being a dick about. Brogues over bling.
A well stocked market always has a well stocked bar. Night markets in #melbourne (Taken with Instagram at Queen Victoria Market)
A pictorial history of #gastronomy in #Melbourne #Australia (Taken with Instagram at State Library of Victoria)
The states secondary schools will dump their ‘just say no’ approach to drug and alcohol education. Students will learn about first-aid for overdoses, pouring standard drinks and study drug-free ways to achieve a ‘high’ in a new curriculum.
Front page of that trashy tabloid the Herald Sun. Sounds an awful lot like you’re training junkies to me, Melbourne…
(Source: beyonce)
