ASH LONDON'S COOL BLOG

When I was a kid I wasn’t allowed to own a Barbie Doll.  As far as my mother, an educator, was concerned no 6 year old girl needed to play house with a tall, skinny, blue eyed, big breasted plastic doll.  Perhaps if there was a short, curvy, monobrowed ethnic version she would have been a little more open-minded.  But there wasn’t, and Barbies were off limits. So was ‘The Brady Bunch’, but I think that was more for the cheesy scripting, predictable plot lines and Peter Brady’s constant quest to overcome puberty. 

Even at a young age, while I wanted to have the same sorts of toys as the girls around me, I understood where Mum was coming from and part of me respected her decision. 

As a result of that decision, and many others along the way, growing up I honestly believed that my brains and hard work could get me the job of my dreams.  It’s the job that I currently enjoy, hosting a Saturday morning music show.

As a side note - 80% of the clothes that are sent over for me to wear on said show look horrendous, and won’t fit over my awkwardly large boobs let alone button up.  This would probably be an issue for me if my wonderful bosses hadn’t made it clear that they hired me for my brain - not my ability to be a clothes horse.  Kudos to those legends.

As well as being the best job in the world, it gives me quite the insight into the psyche of the average Aussie teenage girl.  Yes, I know the names, ages and hobbies of each member of One Direction, and I can sing you just about every Bieber song word for word.  I also know that the Barbie dolls of my generation, are now living, breathing things.  And they are called popstars.  

Three years ago, one of our most popular and revered female singers was physically abused by her boyfriend.  Images of her bruised face were plastered all over the media, and we were all suitably disgusted.  That was three years ago.  Now when she’s not posting half naked images of herself smoking cigarettes seductively in a messy bed, she’s posting pictures of her happily reunited with this unpleasant man (who is still selling out shows and being nominated for Grammies, and who still refuses to apologise for beating her black and blue). The message that sends to our young girls is a whole different article…one that I’m yet too angry to write. 

It seems even Beyoncé, who is one of the most talented performers and business women in the world can’t simply rely on her immense vocal talent to sell records.  I’m not sure if you’ve seen her perform lately - but she rarely bothers wearing pants.  Maybe she’s allergic.  I’m not sure.  Beyonce, if you’re reading this and you are in fact allergic to pants then I apologise… and wish you all the best finding a suitable anti-hystemine cream.

But ladies, I don’t wanna know what faces you pull when you have sex.  It’s awkward when you wink at me through the tellie with those seductive eyes.  And I’d really really love you to not dry hump the nearest surface every time you sing. Don’t call it female empowerment - because it’s not.  All it’s doing is adding to the number of 12 year olds I see with their butt cheeks hanging out of their short shorts every time I go to my local Westfield.

Let’s be clear. Both of these women are incredibly talented - Beyoncé’s Superbowl performance is one of the best pop performances I’ve ever seen.  These women have worked hard to release successful albums, build huge followings, and massive empires.  Yes, they should be celebrated. But I’m sick of seeing them dumbed down and stripped off. Surely these intelligent, successful, talented women could be marketed solely on their intelligence, their success and their talent?

I love music.  I love pop music.  I will always buy it, listen to it, spread it and celebrate it.  But we must start to champion the talent of these performers over their ability to look good naked.  Because I bet most teen girls would rather have Rihanna’s body than Adele’s voice.  But I guarantee you 20 years from now only one of them will still be selling records.  And if you ask me - she’s way hotter than Rihanna anyway.

It’s kinda fun and sometimes you run into cool mateys like Timomatic.

Our team lost by like one point tonight - the best part was being courtside - aka close enough to the players to mouth off to the opposition.  YE-YEAH!

Big love to Sydney Kings for having us along :)

When I was 17 I snuck into a club to see the Cat Empire play and my French teachers totally sprung me.  She was a legend about it and never told…even when I rocked up to school a little worse for wear the next day.

Fast forward a couple years and here I am stepping out onto a stage in front of 20,000 music fans to introduce that very band at the St Kilda Festival.

I was joined by my new pal Saskia Hampele from Neighbours (this chick is legitimately lovely) and we had an absolute blast. Australia is a very cool place to live if you love good music :)

We also got to introduce two of my favourite fellas - Jake and Stav of Bluejuice fame….

Having a music loving brother 10 years older than me meant that growing up I was exposed to some pretty cool music.  Well, cooler than what most of my mates were listening to.  The result was a love of The Smashing Pumpkins.

Today I stumbled upon their cover of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Landslide’ and I was beyond excited.  Then I listened to it. And my ears cried. WHY BILLY WHY? 

Admittedly the above live version is better than their studio recording, and I dig the guitar…but…just…no.

This got me thinking about some standout Landslide Covers.  And yes. There are many…notably:

The wonderful local boy Lior who can do no wrong. Simple and wonderful with some weird but acceptable synth action:

I am also a closet Dixie Chicks fan so have to include their cover…but let’s be honest…they’re a female country music band…so it makes perfect sense that A) They would cover it and B) it would work:

But of course…the best ever cover has to go to Santana, Britney and GWYNETH PALTROW’S seminal performance of Stevie Nicks’ classic on GLEE. 

It’s funny that you think I’m joking

When I was a kid mum bought a pie maker.  In my mind this was up there with the time she decided to make HOME MADE pizzas.  I was devastated because this meant we would no longer get Pizza Hut delivery with that disgusting/incredible bright yellow garlic bread that contained more butter than bread.  Despite the fact that I kinda enjoyed Mum’s homemade pizzas, I pretended to hate them for a whopping 10 years in disgust.  Yep. Everytime she would make pizzas for the family I would turn my nose up in disgust and opt for WHATEVER the other option was - even if this meant having vegemite on lebanese bread for dinner.  I know. What kind of 8 year old is THAT proud?

Where were we? Yes. The pie maker.  To cut a long story short, this week at the age of 26 the pie maker was handed down to me.  And I am now on a journey of pie-obsession which I am calling my ‘Life of Pie’.  

I’m starting with the simple recipes - your basic fruit pies, meat pies…then I’m gonna get creative.  And yes.  Whether you like it or not - I will be documenting that shiz.

So ladies and gentleman…I present to you day 1 of Ash’s Life of Pie journey…APPLE AND BLUEBERRY 

Ok I should have taken a photo of the pie after it’s been sliced open otherwise all the pies are going to look the same. I know for next time SHUTUP.

NOTE: I don’t actually eat pie as I’m a glutarded (yep I just made that word up) so every pie I make will be judged by whoever I can rope in and force these baked creations on.  

TODAY’S JUDGE: My boyfriend Rick. I know. Massive babe. Here is a photo of him giving me the finger which is a pretty good indication of how excited he was to be taking part in this exercise…

THE VERDICT: “Delightfully brown crusted, the appleberry pie delivered on its hype as the first pie off the heat.  It was cooked to the clock and avoided the temptation of an oversweet filling.  Safe first dig. 7/10”

A couple of weeks ago I had some friends over for dinner to see my new place.  I cooked them up a big pasta, they brought some wine and we made a night of it.  We then decided to make it a regular thing, and last night was part 2 of this cute little tradition. We properly caught up, chatted and laughed. Ryan made a delicious stirfry that changed my view of mushrooms forever. In a good way. 

This morning as I lie in bed deciding whether or not I can be bothered going to the gym (a daily routine may I add) I am realising just how wonderful and rare last night’s catchup was.

These days we think we’re a part of people’s lives because we read their facebook updates and follow their dining habits via instagram.  We know who they’re dating, we know all about the idiot at their work who has bad BO and how long it took them to get home via public transport today. Armed with that information, it’s so easy to think that we’re a part of these peoples lives.  But. We’re kinda not. 

So I challenge you this week to call up some friends and invite them over for dinner.  If you’re not a super capable chef then make one of them bring dessert and make a pasta bake. Coz noone can stuff that up.  Sit down at the dinner table, open a bottle of red, and put your mobile phones away.  I guarantee you’ll leave feeling energised by genuine interaction with the people you love. 

And the next morning - work off that dessert by getting your arse out of bed and going to the gym.  Which is what I’m about to do right now. 

Peace

THIS COULD BE YOU!

One year ago on New Years Eve I silently wished for a TV gig, and maybe even a spot on my favourite TV show.  This New Years Eve I did I live cross on that very show.  And then another the next day :) The moral of the story? Dream big people!

You can check them out here and here