Nice piece of art

16 04 2006

I saw a penis.*

I know what you’re thinking: Well, cialis ampoule Noodle. You are in New York, viagra click surely they’re as common as ciggie ends on the street.

But hold up. Let me clarify. I saw an ‘artsy’ penis.

In showed itself in the name of art, I mean. Not porn.

For the sake of art. You know, on stage. Acting. Well, the penis wasn’t acting—unless the stage direction was ‘disinterested’—but it was part of the act that I was watching. A bit part. Very brief fly-by. A penis. I think. I didn’t have the luxury of TiVo 8-second-rewind, but I’m pretty sure it was a pee pee, wee wee, John Thomas, wang, thingemee.

You can tell I’m very mature about these things.

It is the subject of today’s noos.

Not the penis. Not maturity either. But creation, and the art of it all.

I will illustrate my pyroclastic cloud of thought with three stories about things that have been birthed into the world in recent times.

Some, I have witnessed first hand. These led to me pose serious questions to my psyche about art, purpose and life. Others led me to simply send a gift. Read the rest of this entry »



Torn between two Noodles

29 01 2006

I am split. I am hewn.

I am both solid and hollow. Light and dark. Coated and bare. All at once.

I am a blob of oil paint, cialis sales mind roosting on a painter’s palette. I am being broken down by turpentine. Added to. Transformed into a color to be used as an accent shade, cialis usa sickness or perhaps for mysterious shadows in some grand masterpiece, or even minor work.

If I am blue, am I now grey?

Put on your hard hat. I’m about to hit the panic button.

I’m scared. My accent is slowly packing its alphabet into a haversack and plotting a course back to the mainland. And it’s leaving without me! And I never suspected a thing. I didn’t get advance warning. Not a blackmail note from cutout letters. Not even a text message on my phone. I had to take a trip back to Australia to learn the ugly truth.

I am losing it. I am losing my accent. I am losing myself.

Read the rest of this entry »



Clueless begets unafraid

9 10 2005

Jack: What are your legs?
Archy: Springs. Steel springs.
Jack: What are they going to do?
Archy: Hurl me down the track.
Inspirational running coach Uncle Jack, discount cialis pilule from the film “Gallipoli”

Here I am in a foreign land, cialis sale within a foreign land. I’m in the enigma state. Riddles and mysteries a’wrestlin’ on a Rubbermaid floor. Without the correct ear protection.

This state is called New Hampshire.

Here you live free or die.

The ‘free’ they speak of on their license plates is not related to nudism. The ‘die’ could be spelt differently and have something to do with textiles. But it doesn’t. This ‘die’ is 100%, prescription bona fide death, deadybones, doornail type stuff.

Mix the ‘die’ and ‘free’ with ‘live’ in a stainless steel cooking vat and it can be interpreted thusly:

“If you wear a Yankees baseball cap in our backyard on the day when that bunch of overpaid fat chats with manicures are playing the Red Sox, today is the day of your death. Oh, and if you try to drive normally here—you know, obey traffic rules and that malarkey—well, you might die too.”

I wish we’d known this before we went. Read the rest of this entry »



The wait: a comedy devine

31 07 2005

ACT 1
There are certain things that a buttock will react to unfavorably and one of them, cialis sales cialis according to the International Society for Buttocks Preservation Handbook, sovaldi is sitting on broken glass. Unfortunately, remedy the handbook makes no mention of specific distinctions between glass types. No charts or graphs to indicate which will slice and dice with more enthusiasm: a beer bottle, a Snapple, or the smashed up face of a Rolex.

SIDENOTE: Now there’s an experiment in the making…

Anyways. Glass. Doesn’t matter if it’s dirty, pissed on, downtrodden, beat, busted up and broke. It’s all bad. It’s why the word ’shard’ has a sharp enough sound to make a muscle twitch and go hide behind its mother’s skirts.

Esther, my smart companion on this day, is obviously an avid reader of the buttocks handbook, and keenly attuned to the potential threat of lurking glass. I watch as she sensibly brushes the ground glass-free with her MacGyvered broom (a craggy stick), before laying down her end of the towel.

‘That’s probably a good idea,’ I think.

‘I’ll second that!’

That was my buttock chiming in. It has a somewhat selfish interest in the outcome. Question is, will I have the fortitude to wrestle my laziness to the earth and follow Esther’s example?

No.

My brain has a mind of its own. (Huh? Weird). It turns into a slithery witch and begins to tell me porky pies.

“It’s Central Park,” it cackles. “As if there’s broken glass here. Here, under this majestic fairytale tree. Oh, heavenly tree, mystical and wise. Oh, tree of ample branch and shade-providing leaf. Look, a squirrel to bring you cocktails! Oh Noodle, as if broken glass would dare reside under the Zen-like aura of this tree!”

Solid argument.

Thus verily and with much aplomb I ignore Esther’s example and angle my rump ground-ward. If there is glass, I reason, I’ll find out fairly quickly.

I feel no immediate shard. I feel no slice or carve. Nothing. And for now, the sticks under-arse are only mildly irritating. It seems I have escaped unscathed.

End Act 1. Read the rest of this entry »



Little creatures

15 04 2005

After.
Some people, buy cialis rx returning to their NY apartments after a 14-day slog and slouch along a dusty road a’travelin’, cialis generic unhealthy will be greeted by slobbering dogs (or families); snooty, look yet mewling cats; or the endlessly ‘ahh-ing’ maws of goldfish trying to place the face.

What greets me? Can’t you guess? Remember, the Noodle life mosaic has many cracked tiles. It’s not going to be anything…pleasant.

It goes down like this. I get off my flight from Sydney at JFK and immediately shuffle down low in the back of a cab. We crawl and heave through peak-hour traffic. Bridges and tunnels. Trucks and buses. Horns, stereos, ‘hey buddies’, and middle-finger salutes.

All is fine, thus far.

As we sneak back into Manhattan, I exchange ‘long flight’ stories with my Pakistani cab driver, and we chorus the complaints of cattle-class travelers the world over. I hear my knees sigh and relax into non-economy class positions.

Thus far, all is fine.

Upon exiting the cab, I haul my two bags up the five flights to my apartment. Huffin’ and a’heavin’. Why did I buy so many packets of Tim Tams? Boy, if they weigh this much outside my body…. My hips begin to calculate the impending damage. Finally, my aching arms pull the last suitcase to the top of my landing and I pause.

All is fine. Thus far.

Flinging the front door open, my instinct squeals like a little girl, “Don’t look down!”

I look down. Read the rest of this entry »



Shut the gate

20 02 2005

“I need a new shower curtain, cialis buy ampoule ” I say to my internal tape recorder. This is not as random as it sounds.

I’m in Central Park when I have this thought. Ok, sildenafil remedy so maybe it’s a bit random in that regard, malady but if you’ve had your news beagle nose clued to the tube or the rags or the World Wide Web, you may know of “The Gates”. They’re calling it an ‘art installation’ and it was conceived by that wrapping fiend—though wrapping isn’t his only tilt—Christo. Wrapped coast, wrapped Reichstag, wrapped this, wrapped that.

Initially, when I approached the park and caught a glimpse of a saffron flash through the trees, my first instinct was to recoil in horror. Then I got closer. Then I actually entered the park. Wandered and pondered for a bit. This ain’t nothin’ special. Blah. I churned my legs up cedar hill and down toward the duck pond and great lawn. Snapping photos. Mechanical. Not really feeling it. Thinking being here was more an obligation to artistic absorption than a ‘must see’.

As I got closer to the bottom of the hill at the duck pond, I turned around. And that’s when the sun smacked me through one of the curtains and said, “Look at this gate, ain’t she a pretty minx?” And I had to agree. In fact, the more I loped around, the more I warmed up to it.

From some viewpoints, it’s not that appealing. Militaristic gates standing in formation and looking starkly rigid in their outlook. Then you hit a run of them from a different angle and the breeze catches a curtain at the same time as ol’ sunshine and you go, “Ooh la lah. Do you come here often?”

I stand under a gate to listen for a bit. See if it will speak to me. It makes me think about sheets hanging on my Mum’s washing line. A ruffle, then a flap and snap as it gets caught by the wind and scribbles its secret message in the air. Even the texture of the material is getting in on the song. Each time a corner is whipped up to roll across the surface of the curtain, it’s as though a wave is stumbling in on a pebbly beach.

Soothing really.

It must be nice to have the ping-pongs to do something like this on such a grand scale. I mean forget the money for now. Because we all know $21 million is a lot of note, no matter whose exchange rate you’re mapping to. But putting yourself out there on the slab, letting people hate something you’ve created, is gutsy. Isn’t it? Just putting it out there to see how people react. Hate. Adore. Don’t give a fig. Don’t get it. Get it? How about ‘get it’ out of my park. Love it. Smile. Frown. Rage.

You can’t get past the $21 mil, right? Read the rest of this entry »






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