and I still call Bondi home . . .

Just around the corner from Bondi - the bit jutting out between Tamarama on the left and McKenzie's Bay on the right is my favourite spot to stretch out with a book before jumping in off the rocks

Surf photographer Eugene Tan is part of the scenery down at Bondi and Sydney's surrounding beaches. I often passed him while out for my morning run, him with camera poised and shuttering or sitting cross legged with pad and pen, facing the horizon. Aside from producing stunningly beautiful images of our stunningly beautiful beaches and the beautiful people that surf them, Eugene also runs the Aquabumps Gallery in Curlewis St and keeps Bondi up to date with his blog and noticeboard. Strangely enough, his blog is one of the best places to look for a vacant room listing or a for a casual job in Bondi.

Being on far Western shores I can no longer pop into the gallery, but photos like these (the top one was put up online yesterday) go half-way to curing homesickness. Subscribe to Eugene's daily emails here.

Bondi

Bondi at sunrise - I was treated to this view every day

My beloved North Bondi

Tamarama

Hot Tip.

In an effort to earn some extra cash and stop spending frivolously on eating out, I recently crossed the dining room floor and joined the ranks of tippees. No longer do I while away my evenings drinking, eating, having my plates cleared, and doling out tips. I watch others drink and eat, I clear their plates. The tips, however, have proved to be few and far between.

Living in a small city (Perth, a glorified country town, darling as it may be) my diners are perhaps less cosmopolitan than those in larger cities, where people may be more well-travelled and aware of tipping etiquette. Nevertheless it astounds me that investment bankers, lawyers, engineers, ladies-who-lunch and business owners will happily spend $100 a head on dinner, another $60 on a bottle of wine, and then think it acceptable to scrawl in a $2.40 tip on the credit slip at the end of the night. In the words of Super Nanny, “that is NOT asseptable.”

I suspect that stingy tippers suffer from extreme self-focus. Anyone who has considered what it might be like to walk a mile in the shoes of the person serving their meal would surely go red at the very thought of tipping anything less than a good 10% for their efforts. After all what is a waiter going to do with Scrooge’s loose change at the end of the night? Save it up and buy a loaf of bread? Excuse me while I scoff.


No one likes a Scrooge

I personally have a rule of thumb that I reserve a minimum 10% of my dinner budget for the tip – so if I budgeted $100 for dinner (sides, water, and wine included) then I will order up to $90 worth and the last $10 is the tip. On a table of 4 people that’s a fair $40 tip for the waiter.

As Australia doesn’t have clearly established guidelines for tipping, it really comes down to common sense. It’s kind of like the whole ‘should men open doors for feminists?’ thing. Always better to err on the side of goodwill and manners. Let the feminists (or in this case anti-tippers – not that I have ever come across anti-tipping service staff to date) have a tantrum if they will; at the very least the money goes into your karma account . . .

Portman Props

It's old but it's funny and I just rediscovered it.

and now, for a pro

My grace period for wallowing in misery post move to Perth has expired (I allowed a very reasonable seven days) and so I now begin listing pros so as to induce a positive state of mind.

To begin with, we look at vintage shopping.

Finding a bargain in an inner city vintage store is equally as challenging and unlikely as finding the needle in the proverbial haystack. It's a case of the quick and the dead when thrifty fashionistas get pillaging as the weekend approaches, and the old biddies at Good Sammy's are catching onto the fact that they can charge high street prices and get away with it (well, it's still cheaper than buying designer off the rack).

Now, imagine a city one quarter of the size of Sydney, with the nation's highest number of millionaires per capita (and therefore a higher number of designer goods falling into the Salvos' hands) and nary a fashionista in sight (at least, not the full-time-fashion-is-my-life-and-I-spend-all-of-the-money-I-don't-have-on-it type).

More spoils + less competition = bargain-hunter heaven.

Today's find at a Salvos store in the outer suburb of Mundaring: a pale pink 90's crepe jacket with cut outs in the back for a trifling $16. Keen beans can find a list of op shops in Perth by suburb here.


Channel your Mother with a vintage reindeer jumper.


Channel 90s all-girl pop groups with a vintage sunflower hat.


Or channel ageing, coke snorting rock gods with vintage lame pants.

Perth, the city with no street signs

The upside of living in Sleepytown is that one has all the time in the world to drive round in circles, completely lost, because of the patent lack of street signs.

Efficiency is not a buzz word in Perth, and I have cried several times in frustration (my very zen, anger-management style of road rage) at that fact since I moved West-side from Sydney four days ago. I have also developed a nervous tick from listening to people talk (slow, and with much repetition, much repetition, much repetition) and the number of people wearing Crocs in earnest is giving me reflux.

But other than that, the glass is totally half full, like, spilling over.

get smart

Just watched an old re-run of Get Smart in which Max was assisted in his crime-solving tom-foolery by a Chinese laundry-man. Except that the Chinese laundry-man was a caucasian actor speaking in a ridiculous Chinese accent with a tiny black moustache drawn on. Too good.

The Big Rig Diner – Not The Ticket

The Big Rig Diner

Traversing the backstreets of Darlinghurst and Surry Hills in a rusty Ford last night, we were in search of cheap eats. The little hand had just passed 11 and, not being inclined towards pizza or kebabs or Mexican (I carry the fussy gene), we were drawing blanks.

"Ruby Rabbit!"
"No I don’t want to dance I want to eat."
"No, the diner. "
"Oh yeah, the diner. I heard it’s shit."
“Let’s just go. It’s near your bus stop."
"Oh yeah it’s near the bus stop. Clincher."

And so we stacked ourselves into a booth at the Big Rig Diner. Sweaty skin sticking to vinyl, sceney kids nodding ‘hey babe how’s it going’ from the other side of the room, lip reading as top of the pops circa 1982 blared over conversations. I’m about to say that it was the worst food I’ve ever been served, but before I do, I would first like to say that the staff are darlings.
They mucked up our order and comped us our starter to make up for it even though we didn’t complain or particularly mind . They smiled and smiled and smiled, all of them, and they’re a bit cute to look at too.

The problem with cute staff, however, is that the chances of them also making great food are slim because their ‘good looks’ genes crowd out the ‘good cooks’ genes. At the Big Rig Diner they fail in the kitchen with flying colours. The Caesar salad came so heavily doused in dressing that oil literally dripped off the lettuce leaves into a big puddle in the bottom of the bowl. It was slimy, at best. The ribs tasted of burnt meat and nothing much else, and the steak wasn’t much better. The only thing they got right was the chips, and I would venture a guess that if we’d ordered hotdogs they would’ve been good too because they’re almost impossible to screw up and tend to taste better when served in genuine diners (as opposed to cafes), you see.

As I don’t like hotdogs, I will never eat there again. If only there was an all-night organic salad bar on Oxford St. With hot staff.

you just got friended

Sometimes, when I log in to Facebook, I think I am popular. But then I realise that all the messages in my inbox are from promoters pressuring me to come and spend all my money in their bars. If they were really my friends they would have pressured me in person.

Ksubi Book Club: Eyewear for Nerds

The new Ksubi eyewear range, Book Club, drops into stores this week. I have three pairs on order because they are amazing.

This may be a little known fact, but Ksubi are actually very big on quality - all their shades are fully UV protective and are made by the same group that produces specs for Karen Walker and Oroton. The design is still all done in-house though, which is why the frames are all quite unique. I'm yet to see a Le Specs knock off in General Pants (touch wood it stays that way).

The look for this range is all about flat frames. A couple of previous styles have been reworked (the Regor is a sleeker reincarnation of the Ksubi classic, the Old) and the long-awaited Tiga will finally be available in three colours.

Head down to the Bondi or Paddington stores (or Armadale if you live in Melbourne) to see the full range.


Crux in black, $329


Skeleton in black/tortoiseshell, $329


Bellatrix in matte clear, $289


Tiga in mottled black/clear, $289


Lyra in ksubi leopard, $289

there's no such thing as a free lunch

Why must free drinks always taste like water?

Why is it that free pizza always tastes like cheese, just crust and cheese?

And the most probing question of all:
Knowing that we will be served free water and melted cheese, why do we still turn up to events promising free drinks and free pizza with the expectation that they will in fact taste of alcohol and pepperoni?

Albert Einstein said the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. We are a generation of party-going nutters.

Pow-Wow

“But women never know when the curtain has fallen. They always want a sixth act, and as soon as the interest of the play is entirely over they propose to continue it.”
Lord Henry to Dorian, The Picture of Dorian Gray (Oscar Wilde, 1890)

It is a universal truth that when it comes to douchebags, women just can’t let go. This phenomenon, otherwise known as Doormat Syndrome, is as common as the, er, common cold. Now I’m not a man-hater by any stroke of the imagination. I visibly cringe at feminists' remonstrations to the sisterhood to unite against people who are not in the feminist sisterhood. Nevertheless, when I was recently stood up for the third time by the same guy and STILL wanted to call him, I did feel the need for a little girl-power pow-wow. So, this one's for the girls . . .

Doormat Syndrome has many faces; Needy Girl, Naive Girl, and the Masochist are but a few. Personally, I'm your garden-variety Fixer, that being a woman who thinks she can save the world, one jerk at a time (no pun intended).

Fixers turn people into projects. They are the ones who say such ridiculous things as “he will change because he loves me,” and “ I think I should give him one more chance,” and “but underneath all the B.S he’s really a good person.” They unwittingly attract human train-wrecks and go to work at once on putting them back together again. The shittier the man’s behaviour is, the more necessary the Fixer believes herself to be to him, and the harder it is for her to down tools and move on.

Luckily Doormat Syndrome in all its manifestations is not terminal. He’s Just Not That Into You (in either book or movie format) is recommended in initial stages of recovery, as is vigorous discussion of the offender’s douchbaggery with friends over a glass of wine. If you lack self-control, deleting his number will prevent drunken texting. Ladies, take your cue from Oscar Wilde and let the damn curtain fall.

this will be fun

What: Pete Versus Toby summer range launch
Where: Ivy Pool
Wear: As little as possible (30 degrees people, 30 degrees!)
When: from 1pm
Perks: drinks are freeeeeee til threeeeeee


Outside the PVT store in Bondi

The PVT boys set up shop on Curlewis St in Bondi a good year or so ago (a lopsided mash up of office, shop and hang-out goings on) and are seeing the beginnings of a cult following with their tongue in cheek tees and quirky prints. They remind me of the early days Ksubi crew only with less hype - relaxed, artistic and a wee bit 'devil may care'.

Anyone who calls their new range ailartsuA Dreaming (I'm assuming copious amounts of weed were involved in the range naming process?) is surely the thrower of good parties and so this coming hot, hot Sunday, the Pool is where I shall be. If you want to come too make sure to RSVP to ivy@peteversustoby.com


So are you coming? Don't say no. That would be so uncool.

Punctuation.

If only there was such a thing as a CAPITAL EXCLAMATION MARK, I would use it all the time(!).

Flash Mob hits Bondi Beach

The whole flash mob thing's probably getting a bit tired - there's been a slew of half-arsed, badly done mob dances lately - but this latest one is cute, mostly thanks to Mr Red Budgie Smugglers, who gets the whole thing started.

Crazy, this whole thing happened four days ago while I was at work only 200m away, and yet I first heard about it on the net.



My ALL-TIME favourite flash mob video:



Fancy being a mobster? Visit the official website for worldwide flash mob updates.

Highbrow Goodtimes on Low Dorra Budget

Good news, people. For the piddling price of a Goldclass movie ticket, highbrow 20-somethings can indulge in a night at the theatre, thanks to Sydney Theatre Company's policy of offering $30 tickets to under 30s.

Coupon-clipper that I am, this year I have taken full advantage of STC’s overt ageism. Seeing Cate Blanchett in full force on stage (first in War Of The Roses and then in A Streetcar Named Desire) was worth the ticket price alone.

Next on my ‘to see for thirty bucks’ list is The Mysteries: Genesis. Back in times medieval the masses couldn’t read, so Bible stories (ie: The Mysteries) were performed on wooden carts in village squares, and that is how people learnt that Eve was a sneaky wench and Cain was a murderous douche. The Mysteries are the very antithesis of the King James Bible’s court language. Raucous, rollicking, theatre for the everyman. Book tickets to STC’s reimagined Mysteries here.


Smart people buy cheap tickets to the theatre

Incu presents Topshop and Topman

Two months ago I was in London and practically raped and pillaged Topshop, only to return two days later and find the three floors of entirely new stock. Blimey. You can literally shop till you drop in London and then some.

When I heard Incu was bringing Topshop and Topman downunder I was curious - how will a high turnover business model like Topshop work in such a tiny market, especially when selling from the racks of what is known as being more of a boutique, higher end store? The launch last week was much talked about but will it translate to sales?

I waited out the weekend and ducked in today to flick through the racks, looking for telltale signs of frantic ransacking, but no. There was plenty of stock. Every size in every style was neatly displayed, boutique style, and in a way I was quite disappointed - this is not the Topshop experience! I should be elbowing some minger out of the way to get the last size 8. If the slag beats me to the punch I should miss out and have to wait two whole days for the next shipment to arrive. This is how Topshop works, this is the thrill of it!

The prices are on par with UK prices, which is pretty darn good considering that it's apparently bloody expensive to import. That said, 20 quid sounds so much cheaper than $40, even though they're one and the same. The buyer's done a pretty good job in terms of the selection although, just quietly, some of the pieces in Incu right now are items that I saw in Topshop last season. Which means that they may well be on sale online. Like the Kate Moss Halter Mesh Dress. Maybe (definitely).

Overall I am ambivalent. It looks like Topshop, it smells like Topshop, but at the end of the day it's still just Incu selling things that the Northern Hemisphere got to buy/wear/get over months ago. I still wonder if it will be a money-spinner long term, or if the novelty will wear off and highstreet shoppers will just go back to their Sportsgirl bargain dumpbins. I did buy a cute top . . .


My new top, $40 at Incu Oxford St


Kate Moss for Topshop dress, $120 instore at Incu
or 35 pounds (approx $70) at www.topshop.com

How Lovely, the Western Sun

The light is special in Western Australia. Shadows are long, dusk is golden, and sunsets are peachy. My friend Jai took these photos in Margaret River and I especially love the shot below (portrait). All the different shades of white and Valli's sweet but knowing expression suggest a sense of purity that is multi-hued; that lies in the grey area between the poles of black and white.

Darlo, you're bangin'

Grungy indie kids (Gaslight), dancing pill poppers (Oxford Art, Q-bar) or same sex pashers (Slide, The Columbian), Darlinghurst has had many lovers. She was used up of late and had begun to look like the hussy who stays out till tomorrow and then moves on to a recovery bar. Seamy and stale, in need of a spruce up.


BEFORE: Darlo, letting it all hang out

The Crown/Burton/Oxford St triangle has seen a flurry of bar openings these last few months, which has transformed the dingy end of Darlo into a hive of BondiScenesters+DoubleBayDollies+SurryHillsHipsters hobnobbery.

Ching-a-Lings, Low 302 and Pocket round out the small bar trifecta – finally somewhere cosy to drink where you can get a proper cocktail, listen to bang on music and get bar food other than birdseye wedges. The Winery is Gazebo’s Surry Hills sister and lends a bit of chic (tiptoeing on the border of being oversized and commercial) with a great wine list and an excellent menu upstairs, although the cocktails are average.

Doctor Pong came next and I predict a limited lifespan. Kitted out with ping-pong tables and chesterfields, the idea should work but it just plain doesn’t. Soulless, sparse, and populated with leftovers from The Gaff – I lasted five minutes before leaving because of an allergic reaction to the backpackers.

Last out of the stables, The Pond. A short stumble from Pocket, the Two Thousand crew have set up a home away from home. The basement bar, with low couches, crates and an adjoining courtyard is all dimly lit nooks and crackly jazz music. Upstairs the menu of local produce changes daily and is served at long wooden tables, much like eating in a country house kitchen. The food has been cracked up to be one of The Pond’s main selling points, but I’ve sampled about half of the bar menu and three or four of the mains and they were good but not amazing. Bang for buck, I’d say.


AFTER: Darlo, bitching

Cops In Jeans

Based in Bondi, this leggy blonde (whose name I failed to catch) sources vintage fabrics and whips up all sorts of dresses, skirts, body suits and the like. She'll mostly make just one or two of each item (depending on how much fabric she can get her hands on), so you won't catch anyone else cruising the eastern suburbs in the same outfit.


Cops In Jeans floral trapeze dress $149

You can buy Cops In Jeans creations from the online ebay shop www.copsinjeans.com - best thing about the website is that Blondie is also a bit of a hack at styling, so every piece has a little pictorial accompanying it showing how to get your retro/sex-pot/cutie-pie on. And if you happen to live in Bondi and want to try your pick of the bunch on before you buy, drop a line to copsinjeans@people.net.au and if you ask very nicely Blondie might be able to pop over with a little selection.


Cops In Jeans lace bodysuit $79.99


Cops In Jeans leather skirt currently on auction

BEST.