Movember Stashographic

A little something I put together for the Movember cause: 

"The Moustache – also known as ’Stach, a Soup Strainer, a Lip Hat, a Snot Mop and a best friend. These fuzzy facial fashions have become all the rage during Movember and Cinema Casino’s “Stachographic” is taking a closer look at the types of Mo’s one can grow. If you’re joining the Movember movement, pick from a variety of different creations like the Handlebars, the Horseshoe, the Fu Man Chu, the Charlie Chaplin and many more. Why not try fashioning your ’stash after a famous whisker wearer like Tom Selleck?

This Stashographic has all the tash tools you may need to get your mo looking just spiffy. And what’s even better – if you play at Cinema Casino in the “Spot the Stache” promotion, your playtime proceeds will go to a worthwhile cancer charity."

Character sketches

Panda’s make "L" Poops

We know we’re not supposed to say it first. It’s the unwritten rule… well actually it’s not exactly unwritten. It’s unavoidably everywhere. It’s in every glossy magazine. In every desperately shameful self-help book. It pops up in every wine-drenched best friend conversation. It’s screamed at you from every “honey-take-it-from-me” love pariah. God, they’ve made countless movies about it. Don’t. Say. It. First. But what if I did?



This panda made a L dropping. A four letter word that flows from the mouth like liquid gold. Love.

 I remember when I was little I watched Aladdin and The King Of Thieves. A beautifully sentimental follow up from the classic, where Aladdin finds his forgotten father. They go on an adventure in search of a magic hand that turns everything into pure glittering gold. I remember the scene where Aladdin dropped it into the ocean and it turned the water into a swirling gleam of magnificence. However, the magic hand fell into the wrong hands and when kissed, it turned its beholder into a forever frozen form of unbreakable golden rock. It was beautiful yes. The most beautiful gleaming statue you ever did see. But all life was sucked from it. The beholder became bound within its beauty, trapped and immobile.


See where I am going with this? Probably not. Ok. The word Love is liquid gold, beauty in its purest gleaming form. It makes even the wrong look right. However, the minute it touches the lips, it’s as if everything inside freezes from fear. It feels like time stands eternally still, and the seconds once it has escaped seem to last a Nicholas Flamel lifetime.


I had spent a magic weekend with my best friend, recently turned, boyfriend. To an observers mind it probably wasn’t magic at all. The perfect 48 hours consisted of all-night laughs, cold-nose kisses and post-relationship-spread pizzas. With a full belly and full sighs, I pranced out of the car to say goodbye and it went like this: “bye baby, I loveeeaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh fuck.” Romantic isn’t it. I stood there, static for eternity, then instinct kicked in and I chose flight mode.


So yes. I dropped the L-bomb first. For a while I mulled things over and wondered if I had meant it, and after a weeks’ worth of harping obsession, I think I have decided that yes. Yes I did mean it. It flowed so naturally that how could I not have. At first I was mortified, scolding myself for betraying my better judgement, but then I realized it wasn’t my own better judgement I was betraying. It was everyone else’s. Ok so maybe if so many people are telling you not to say “I Love You” first, maybe, just maybe they’re onto something and I should listen. But then again, I feel like I’m on to something good too so I can’t discount that.


If I had to ask my seven-year-old self about my current situation... my seven-year-old self who watched Aladdin and The King of Thieves… I would be intrigued to hear what that Tammy may say. I bet she’d squeal so loud and jump up in delight, knocking her bowl of Nik Naks flying. Because as much as seven-year-old Tammy was little and knew nothing, when I look back, she knew everything that was important. She knew that “I Love You” was not meant to be pushed under the bed with all the other monsters. It’s not that thing at the deep-end of the pool. It’s not even nearly as scary as what happens in the dark of the night. Love is just too damn pretty to run away from. To seven-year-old Tammy, Love is what a new puppy felt like. It’s a summer afternoon spent climbing trees. It’s Disney.

So where to from here? Well nothing. If I have gained anything, it’s just that I know it’s ok to make Love Poops. Moving forward? Well of course I’m Tamsin now, no longer Tammy. I’ll wait it out for the next best moment when I can’t contain the liquid gold anymore. It’s bound to happen soon. The next problem? Will he Love Poop back?

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Creative Block: An Endangered Imagination

I stumbled across some wonderfully amateur drawings from my childhood this past weekend, and I envy the conceptual capabilities of my 5 year old self. Fish could fly above the ocean surface. You could dance on the back of an elephant. You could run on a rainbow. I look at my curbed mind now and wonder how my imagination managed to flee from me.


Even though we go through life being told we need to step out the box and embrace the conceptual, I fear that we find ourselves more and more restricted. A grown-up’s creative “out the box” brief means “go wild, but make sure it’s the clients description of wild.” It means “think of the most ingenious idea possible, but we might have to cut some things that just aren’t in our budget.” It’s “Say something that will blow others’ minds, but you can only say it in 140 characters.” And if in the odd event you ever do get a limitless brief, you are stuck trolling the internet for inspiration and get deflated when you wish you could have thought of it first.


We find ideas in self-interpreted, non-sensical song lyrics, through others’ smart ideas on blogs, through stumbled photos on Flickr, through humorously relatable gifs. I am beginning to wonder if we didn’t have the magnitude of inspiration right at our typing fingertips, if we would even be able to abstractly visualize again. I long for the moment where a big idea springs solely from the corners of my very own mind, without stemming from a googled influence. Not a spark off someone else’s great train of thought. The more I see, the more I forget. The more I observe other’s experiences, the less time I have to gain my own experience. The more inspiration that floods through the crooks of my mind, the less limitless wonder I seem to be able to pull from it.


I want to be able to paint a picture for sheer thrill -a simple image ingrained in my imagination that has plagued me to come out. I don’t want to have to justify it with “grown-up” conceptual analysis. In some way, the steps I take forward open my mind to the unimaginable, but the sad thing then is that the unimaginable becomes what? Imaginable! It becomes “been-there-done-that”. It becomes “got-the-t-shirt”, “made-the-t-shirt” and “came-up-with-the-concept-for-the-t-shirt. “


I’m unsure how to settle the persistent niggling of creative frustration. I’m not sure if it stems from self-doubt or disillusion with the concept of growing up. However, to me, I find my imagination quite endangered. Or to put it simply, a bitter creative block has hit.

Panda's Freezing Their Paws Off

 

Winter has finally hit and the leaves have fallen. This is my favourite time of the year! There is nothing better than driving down shivering streets as leaves crunch under your tyres in a blustery colour palette of fiery oranges and ochre’s. Here are some of my wintery panda ponderings:

·         A warm winter playlist wonderland - Everyone needs a cold day music collection. I have three top played song spots which repeat themselves at least 10 times a day:

1.       Thrice- Digital Sea: This melancholically chilly song reminds me of looking longingly out of windows, empty town streets, lonely benches and misty fields.

2.       Ben Howard - Old Pine: “Hot sand on toes, cold sand in sleeping bags. I’ve come to know that memories were the best things you ever had.” The words in this song blow my mind and make me miss people in my past. There is no better time than winter for warm reminiscing.

3.       Dustin Kensrue – Consider the Raven: Dustin Kensrue is a musical genius. His sweetly raspy tone and beautiful lyrics always pick me up when I’m feeling low.

·         I always used to think music was what feelings sound like. And this is true. However, I have started to wonder if music makes you feel what just isn’t there.

·         Frosty days make me want one thing: Tea and Rusks! I have a desk and bra full of crumbs as evidence of my winter obsession. Bra? Yeh, so what I’m a messy eater.

·         Prosperity makes friends, adversity tries them, and insularity breaks them. However as my friend so rightly said: shared alcohol unites them!

·         In Harry Potter there was a love potion, Amortentia, that when bottled, smells like whatever attracts the “smeller”. Sometimes I wish I could bottle smells for occasional instant euphoria. Here’s my list of top 10 most wanted bottle smells:

1.       Ouma condense milk rusks

2.       Puppy breath

3.       Cherry scented markers

4.       Teen spirit (whatever it is, I bet it smells nice. Or possible sweaty. Erg.)

5.       My Rottweiler’s paws

6.       New leather

7.       My boyfriend

8.       Rain

9.       Thatch

10.   Old books

·         I wish sometimes I could be a cup against the wall when someone is talking about me.

·         There is a hot spring resort in Japan called Yunessun Spa where you can swim in hot pools of tea, coffee or wine. Shut the fuck up. I sometimes pour my tea in the bath and convince myself it has skin softening properties – guess my assumptions are correct?

 Yunnesun Spa wine pool in Japan

·          I stumbled upon a bonbon delight on Tumblr: http://pinktonguetiger.tumblr.com/. She makes illustrations that look like cotton candy.

·         The moment you know love has died is when you spend a whole week missing someone, and the moment you see them you would rather be anywhere else but there.

Panda weekly favourites:

 

 Deer who have taken acid - Reindeer sketch by Rebeca Losada.

Sugar, spice and all things nice. An illustration by Pink Tongue Tiger.

 Panda's love foxes!!!!! They're friends.

Oh to die and go to an illustrators heaven.  

Winter time is for bear hugs.

P-p-p-p-p-p-pandas p-p-p-p-ponderings on an icy afternoon

I have invested in fingerless gloves to enable me to carry on with my typing love affair this winter. I have managed to tear myself away from the happy furnace that is my bedroom, pulled out my VERY last season boots with a hole in the toe (they are my favourite don’t judge) and drag myself to the nearest coffee shop for rooibos cappuccinos.

Here are some of my frozen thoughts melting quick enough to get onto my laptop now that I have some caffeine in my system.

·         Beijing. Yes. I am putting on my hypothetical blue suede shoes (I would never be caught in real life blue suede) and boarding SAA flight whatever to China on Friday. I think I may pee myself.  I am making a trip to the Great Wall of China and when I set foot up on there I am going to yell through the mist  “quick Mushu, the Huns are here!!” and grab hold of a Chinese lantern and pretend to slide down the side of the wall just like Mulan did. And then I will probably be arrested and thrown into a slimy prison and have to hand over my Wonderbra in exchange for a cigarette.

·         It is strange that in all fairytales, the happy ending involves finding true love and marrying a prince. Not Mulan. She saved China, got a medal and brought honour to her family. I think this black sheep will stick with finding true love; I am not exactly equipped to save my country. Unless I marry Zuma. I’ll be his fifth wife and the wife that can change the course of the future. Oh but I’ll have to wear orange ethnic dresses by Amanda Laird Cherry or some shit. Never mind. I’ll stick to what I know and fashionably find a boyfriend rather.

·         Applying for jobs is a lot more intense than I thought. I had to write an entry piece on gambling to submit after an interview so I decided to take myself along to Monte Casino and be a keen observer. It got me thinking how life is exactly like a casino. Especially in a game of hearts. I always take a gamble on my heart, and I will always choose risk over regret. I am very drawn to the sexy seduction of the slot machines – I can never decide if I am playing them or if they are playing me. And in my opinion, this is just like love. Large payouts and dates tempt me through a dry spell and next thing I know, I am caught up in the most pleasurable frenzy of risk. Sometimes I win and get the guy, sometimes I loose. But I never regret. Except when I drink too many free drinks at the Roulette table. Then I do regret it the next day.

·         Apparently a woman who was trying to commit suicide flung herself off the Eiffel Tower, landed on a car and then married the man whose car she fell on. I’m just saying that this is the most fucked up but possible most romantic love story of our day and age. She literally fell in love. Or on love.

·         I think the sign of true love is if you have a sickly cute love story to tell your grandchildren one day. Thinking back on my past I am beginning to see a disheartening pattern that doesn’t bode well for my future story-telling. “So kids, this one time I was very drunk and I kissed this guy and he introduced me to this other guy I kissed who then introduced me to another guy I also kissed who introduced me to your father.” My “How I met your mother” is dismally short and blurry.

·         On the weekend my friend asked me to do a fashion shoot for her end of year range in town. Yes! At first I thought that this could be my break. It was finally here. Someone would discover me and I would be that shmodel who was found in Africa and signed at a matured fine wine age. However, trudging down the Newtown streets in fishnets, giggling like a child and attempting a pout with a nervous lip twitch, I realized the BIG reality of the situation – I am no model. Sure I had a cigarette in my mouth and was demanding wine so I had that part down, but compared to the other girls, I had eaten one too many cotton wool balls that day.  I think this winter I’ll stick with my MacDonald’s junior chicken burger with extra mayo meal. Large please. Oh and with extra MacFeast sauce. Thank you.

·         The medical term for brain freeze is “sphenopalatine ganglioneuralgia”. Try saying that with a mouthful of bubblegum ice cream.

So now that it is winter it is officially ok to wear fleece and wear cute, warm and fuzzy panda things. So here are some of the things on my shopping list that I am going to buy in China this weekend and i'll come back a real panda yay.

This panda is saying goodbye. Or rather 再见 Zàijiàn

 



Pre-weekend Panda ponderings

My alter ego is panda is still alive. She has not been swallowed by the Joburgian monster called stress. In actual fact, rather than being consumed, this panda has been consuming. Lindt Lindt Lindt Lindt Lindt! I fear that I haven’t had anything to say of late because I can’t talk with my mouth so full of chocolate. But nevertheless, here are a few of my pre-weekend thoughts that have come to light now that I can think clearly once the sugar cloud in my brain has subsided.

·         I don’t like Zooey Deschanel. Bite me. At first glance I can see the appeal. Thick waterfall fringe covering mysterious fairy pool eyes. Monotone voice that is seemingly emotionless but conceals apparent depth. Cute bows in hair – any girl who wears bows in her hair gives off that cute, ditsy, arty, freak in the bed vibe. Trail of men after her because she won’t run after them. Oh and she never cries. Guys dig that. At second glance all I see is a girl that can’t see out of her eyes, who has no vocal variety, who feels nothing and who mysteriously avoids commitment. Conclusion – she is a man.

·         I love the fact that my friends know me so well. And I hate it equally. When someone knows your expressions, different laughs, different smiles and social responses as well as they know their own, it is hard to put on a masquerade. And sometimes a masquerade is all your want.

·         On the other hand, when that same friend who knows you so well, picks you up before you even get chance to fall, you realize how grateful you are to have found the one person who can see into your soul because it is the other half of theirs.

·         Friday the 13^th. I’m flying under the radar so far. Please see Post-weekend Panda ponderings entry to see if I managed to avoid being a target.

·         I have officially declared that my dad is the strangest but most exceptional man that I have ever known. At 65, he embraced the family karaoke evening by lying down on stage singing “Chasing cars” by Snow Patrol re-enacting the music video, while my brother played and acoustic drum solo in the background. Can I highlight the fact that he was wearing Steve Maddon shoes and a Forever 21 shirt? He is a cool dad Regina.

·         I am rather obsessed with Greg Laswell “The one I love” at the moment. It is a long car drive, sun beating down on my head, what am I doing with my life, sing a long and feel eerily lost but at peace kind of song. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VagADNMyJuk

·         I plan to go watch Henry Ate at Tanz café tonight - http://www.henryate.com/. They are a nostalgic connection to my past when I used to listen to them with my first young love, Michael Erasmus, a brilliant artist and heart capturer with a pony tail and phenomal eyebrows.  I plan to pop open the wine, sit in solitude listening to the mind-blowingly sad song “Just” as I wallow in self pity and then try find someone to kiss.

·         I always wonder at the term “Rose tinted glasses.” I don’t like roses very much– I think a rose is a rather ominously sad flower. If a rose was a person I imagine her have raven hair, pale skin, red, wet lips and black eyes. A beautiful disaster. A rose scares me. Give me Barberton daisies. A daisy is the girl next door. I want daisy tinted glasses.

·         I now have my first follower on my bog – Carly Barnes – writer of the epically rad blog http://heelzandhangovers.blogspot.com/. I am a baby blogger and get inspiration from people like her J

4 coffee's down, looming wee pressing - literally pressing please no one push my stomach.

This panda is going to stop pondering and put on her peep toes to join the social Joburg nightlife parade.

Panda ponderings

• If only life was as simple as putting paint on yourself and recreating your entire existance. I feel like someone rather magic on the inside but, i can't seem to be that on the outside. Everything that I want and am passionate about seems to be on the verge of a sort of big bang inside my brain. And i hope that when the big bang inside me does happen that it will be beautiful. And I hope that then I can look at myself and say what I feel is what I am... and then i will be my favourite thing.

• I am absolutely in love with the band “Gypsy and the cat”. Love love love! I love beautifully strange lyrics that don’t make much sense. Their music makes me want to lie naked on a slowly spinning bed and look up at a limitless black sky.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1XOWSfj-mtA

• I love and loathe the internet equally. I love the absolutely mindblowing ideas you see from people all around the world... and loathe it because I didn't think of them first. I love the vast array of amazing "take my money!" things you can buy... and I loathe the fact that I am reminded of how broke I am when i see these things. I love the places I see - the soft white stretches of beach, the playful cocktails, the happy swaying palms - and i loathe the fact that I am cooped up in an office like a budgie.

• If Hello's are hard, and goodbye's even harder then when is it ever easy

• I saw a girl today and she reminded me of a unicorns and bubblegum. Her hair was baby pink and wild like a mane down her back. She was wearing turquoise high waisted bubble shorts paired with a plain tee with a rainbow on it. I wanted to throw my magical styling lasso around her, drag her to Elle magazine and shout and scream at them until they do a feature on her.

• I have realized that no matter how much passion and drive you may have for something; at the end of the day “flair” is what makes you good in a creative career. You either have it or you don’t. Simple.