Feeling: LANCEOLATE (an alternative to the usual “pointed”)

Feeling: LANCEOLATE (an alternative to the usual “pointed”).

Righto, a few points (or lanceolates – how sensational is that word!) of note. 


1. Notice (and not be) Bored 

One of my most beloved acts to engage in is engrossing myself in the coummunity notice boards at local supermarkets and malls. 
I cannot even begin to describe the mirth I feel on encountering the more quirky adverts. The delectation I experience on taking in some of the “for sales”. The jollity that overcomes me on the “wanteds” or classes/services/trades offered. 
Quite often if I have some time up my armpit (or more often is the case, am procrastinating or putting a task off), I will grab a broccoli/bag of tomatoes/mango/bag of carrots/[insert edible of current fixation here] and stand at the supermarket of choice’s notice board, having a leisurely perusal as I snack. I can go a good twenty minutes if the board is offering some juicy little cards, though sadly of late such indulgences extend to a mere 4.20 (mins, nothing of deeper implication there). 

Although I much prefer grocerying at my local Countdown over the other supermarkets on offer (one of my best friends works there so I enjoy making it my number one stop in case I should see her cheery face) (Also, Onecard specials are sensational) (And old Donald on the self serves and I are boys and have good yarns) (And it’s easier to get a park) (A myriad of reasons, really), I must admit that sometimes I purely go to New World just so I can read the notice board there instead. For some reason it far surpasses what Countdown has on offer, and the extra $0.50/kg on carrots is worth it to get a goof giggle in on someone trying to offload a broken bed base with no mattress for two hundred huck. 
Whenever I venture into a new suburb or region I always make sure to stop and have a geez at local notice boards. Different areas make for very different compliations! My favourite of late was when on route to Auckland, I suddenly swung into the Huntly Countdown carpark purely to have a forage through what their board had on offer and request. And when I was journalisming such boards proved gold mines for story ideas and pursuals. And the Meadowbank “mall” (I use the term very loosely for the complex housing a supermarket, four $2 shops, a closed down King Pie and a Paper Plus) has three – three! – notice boards so I always spend a good while mulling over them there.

But my favourite, most sensationally savoured aspect of these boards? (Why on earth are they called “boards”? They are anything but! They should be renamed “jouissances” or “exuberances” or “euphorias”). Rearranging the little cards so ads and their answers are side by side. It blows my mind how an ad seeking a “Home to rent needed ASAP for family of three, close to town, $300-$400/week, has to be ok with cats” jammed into the bottom left has not not taken in the “Three bedroom home available now, $350/week, pets ok, five minute walk from main street” card centre right. Or the gel penned sparkly number advertising the baby sitting services of a “very responsible and reliable 16-year-old girl – with a full license!!!!!” (Why the multiple exclamation points I always ponder? Granted obtaining the full license is a grand achievement, but all those lines and dots conjure to mind a giddy, fast yapping teen with crimped hair in pigtails and glittery, chapped nail polish that says “like” every fourth word and bleets “OMG” – oh em gee, that is – and “lol” out loud in a shrilly bleeting tone that makes you yearn to strangle her a little) pinned in pride of place dead centre on 22/11, right above to the left of a card asking for a sitter for her two well-behaved sons from Monday through Thurs for an hour and a half after school, dated 19/11? 
It pains me how some people whack up their own little cards but seem to disregard the others around. So, like the Good Samaritan I am (on occasion), I rearrange the pieces of paper pairing Q&As together. If some remain unanswered, I group into similiar sections so searchers find ease in finding what they’re looking for. And sometimes, if I have a really big bag of carrots (and a job I really want to put off as long as poss) I reshuffle and rejig within these new groupings in date order. 

Oh the satisfaction! The glee! It’s like completing a Was Jig with no aid of the box at all. Definitely therapeutic and good for the soul (also fantastic if you fancy a “only used once magenta mountain bike, $200 ONO” or tai chi lessons on the weekly for a fiver a pop).

2. Toppled Bun

A rather humourous occurrence of late last week; I ’twas working my one-or-two-days-a-week shift in the clothes shop with one of my favourite gal pals Tarsh, and we got a sudden influx of customers all needing attending to at once. I was rushing at pace to retrieve a pair of shoes from the back (white chucks, canvas, “women’s-8-but-sometimes-I’m-a-9-so-can-you-bring-both-and-in-the-black-too-and-high-cut-as-well?”) whenan overhanging   rack of jandals twanged my haphazardly bobby-pinned-in bun and wrenched it from my head and to the floor. In my flummoxing (and partial clothes lining) I dropped said seven boxes of chucks (“sorry! No women’s-8-in-high-cut-black-canvas”) and a shower of converse, shoeboxes and encasing tissue paper rained down. 
Tarsh pulled opened the sliding door to check what all the commotion was; on seeing my mound of dreadlocked synthetic dirty blonde (I really need a new one) curled up in the corner and my natural Einstein-esque do stray and startling, she burst out into pearls of laughter. Uncontrollable guffaws and hearty hoots. It was incredibly contagious, and soon we were both bellyaching away. How insanely good does it feel to just laugh and laugh? 

(Then followed a frenzied re-securing of bun). 


3. Groin Still Giving a Grimace

(Above image was chosen for its well depicted highlighting of injury, not because it is a representation of my own, i.e. I don’t have a penis). 

Unfortunately, the old groin is still causing great grief. 
Well my lovely Irish physio has actually diagnosed a strained quad, but when attending to the area it certainly appears as a case of fiddling with the fanny. As I learnt when taking to my inner thigh with a pottle of Anti-Flam in a crowded cinema last night (The Hunger Games; I’ll say good, but not overly great). When manipulating with a vengeance, be aware for those sitting behind it appears a lot more intimate than you may think. 


4. Rare Review; Let’s Rave! 
Last week a peer I went to Uni with emailed and asked if there was a chance I’d be interested in writing a review on her soon-to-be-released EP. Now, one point of popyarns is no plugging for any reason other than genuine like/love/affinity with a product/purchase/work, so believe me when I say there is no motive behind such mentions. Said girl is not a friend of mine or anything, (I actually don’t think I’ve ever met her in person) she just has a raw, gemstone talent that I find enthralling and want to share with you. This is the (absolutely true) review I wrote for Elcee’s album Heart over Mind, which will be available on iTunes and Spotify November 27. 
Heart over Mind – utterly enchanting. Elcee’s debut EP captures the essence of a painfully private diary with the individual intimacy quite the paradox; it’s escapism in the notes, yet triggers ruminating over one’s own similiar woes with ardour. 
Evocative of a first-born Florence (and the Machine I allude to, not the Tuscany region), Elcee yields a magisterial mastery over matters of the sense and sentiment. Almost Passion Pit-esque in its spellbinding floaty chimes and elements of twinkle pop, Elcee embeds emotion in the tunes’ soulful sense of story with subtle sass. 
The playful, more poppy Gold Paper Boxes sets an immersing beat, with its relatable lyrics wanting you to almost clap along and just remark, “YES”. 

The five songs flow from halcyon to unabashed, painting an emotional landscape in lyrics. Lose yourself or let them instigate immense introspection; the album allows either admission.”
Now, Elcee did not ask if I could share the review here; I have done it purely on my own accord because when this girl takes off – which she most definitely will – I want to be able to claim I introduced her to y’all. 
Pop on point! No, I mean, Pop on lanceolate. 

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