Saturday, January 03, 2009

2009 - Year of the Conscious Dag

You know, even though I tend to lean towards self-deprecation and can see the zits, wrinkles and baggage under the eyes that remind me clearly enough that I'm now stepping gingerly (and hopefully wisely) into my fifth decade, a tiny part of me still hopes that I'm not classified as 'daggy'.

By 'daggy' I mean in the unconscious sense. Unconscious dagginess can result in people in the street (or your own household) seeing you and sniggering behind their hands at your peculiar dress sense, tastes in enterainment, childish food fetishes or unfashionable footwear. The type of unaware dagginess that produces snorts of derision from folk who'd rather laugh at your innate uncoolness than tell you about it.















That said, I don't consider anyone (including myself) to be daggy if they are fully aware and proud that what they do, eat, enjoy or participate in is unmistakeably daggy but they love it anyway. Being conscious of your dagginess instead confers a small shade of 'cool' on you, because being passionate about something - no matter how fuddy duddyish it may seem - is always cool.

So, I'll be brave and admit that the things that make me a Conscious Dag include:

Chatting to strangers on public transport. Yes, I'm the weirdo that everyone hopes won't sit next to them.
Abba (got all their albums). Even the shocker solo ones by Anna and Frida.
Wearing Crocs. Yes, the bright turquoise ones. Sometimes out beyond my own house.

Still buying, eating enjoying that plastic wrapped cheese that is more plastic and preservatives than lactose and cows' milk. Especially tasty with saladas and Vegemite.
High waisted undies. Only so that my stomach doesn't roll over and give my profile an extra boob-shelf or nose.

Continuing to use handkerchiefs. Dunno why really, except that they at least prevent the 'tissue snow' debris from appearing when doing a dark load of washing. Plus I have a very loud, honking noseblow that I've inherited from my parents. Come Christmas time when we're all in the same house together we resemble a herd of lost and distressed elephants.

Eating Wagon Wheels, handfuls of marshmallows (pink ones), tinned spaghetti on toast and spoonfuls of Milo straight from the tin.

Watching Ferris Buellers Day Off, Sixteen Candles, Planes Trains and Automobiles, The Sure Thing, This is Spinal Tap and The Breakfast Club two decades later. Still wanting Jeannie's reebok ankle boots, Molly's boyfriend, every soundtrack, John Cusack and still crack up at seeing Ruprecht in 'Dirty Rotten Scoundrels'.

Making lists and actually using a red pen to 'tick off' the items completed.

Adding the dog's name to any song that springs to mind and serenading her with it several times a day. Recent classics have had Milly's name inserted in Copacobana (Her name was Millsy, she was a showgirl); Mamma Mia (Milly Mooster! Here I go again, Mi-lly, how can I resist ya?); Strangers in the Night (Milly Molly Moo, Milly-mol-moo-yooo); White Wedding (Hey little Millstone what have you done?).

Eating an orange every single day for breakfast.

Sweeping every single bark chip (kicked out by busy blackbirds) back into the flowerbeds; placing the pile of magazines on the coffee table at right angles that directly relate to the orientation of the rug underneath and the lounge nearby; wiping the toothpaste spots off the mirror the same day they were made; and de-fluffing polarfleece. Hanging my washing so that the underwear is furthest away from the view of our living room and in order of family member for folding and putting away-later purposes. OCD, moi?

Ensuring that I have at least two tins of peeled tomatoes immediately in waiting behind the tin about to be used (same goes for tubes of toothpaste, iced coffee cartons, sweetcorn and bags of fresh carrots). I blame it on my ancient Scottish ancestors who were clearly seige survivors.

Laughing at poo, bum and wee jokes. Reducing intelligent dinner party conversation to poo, bum and wee jokes.

Kissing Skipper the rabbit on the lips.
Oh I could go on and on and on....and might do, at least once a month!

What are your consciously-daggy pleasures?

17 comments:

River said...

My consciously daggy pleasures include going shopping wearing my oldest saggy stretch jeans with the huge patch on one knee, usually teamed with an equally baggy t-shirt, clip on sunnies and an ugly blue sunhat. I'm sure people laugh at me but I don't care. I'm comfortable and what could be more important than comfort? I also use hankies, this goes back to when the kids were little, a hankie could be tied around a scraped knee to stop blood dripping into the sock, try doing that with a tissue. ABBA? yes! Ditto the list thing, and highly organised hanging of washing. More daggy things include taking off my bra the minute I get home, licking the milo froth off the spoon after stirring the mug.

Catherine said...

Wellllll....Watching all of the movies you mentioned, as well as Desperately Seeking Susan and Big. Singing along to Singstar and actually thinking that I sound pretty good (Don't go breaking my heart...I couldn't if I tried). Eating chip butties, weetbix topped with butter and vegemite, and milo sprinkled on vanilla icecream. Putting my pijamas on as soon as I get home from work, and wearing hot pink sheepskin slippers around the house. Taking nana naps in the afternoon. Playing Uno to win. Labelling things with my brother P Touch labeller. Filing all my instruction booklets and guarantees in alphabetical order. Buying a feel good iced coffee or iced chocolate at exactly the same time every day. I could go on and on!

ashleigh said...

Conscious dagginess: just not caring what others think... The important difference between being a bit of a twit and not knowing it, and doing so and not caring.

My goodness your list is a good one. I'll add:

- wearing my sandals bought in 1988 and repaired with various houshold glues 3 or 4 times. Basically every time they fall apart. Daggy yes, but the new mens sandals you can buy are seriously boganly unfashionaly poxily awful.

- not wearing a tie to work. When you are a professional there is an expectation that a tie should be worn. When I started where I work now, all the men wore ties. I did, once or twice, and then stopped - just like in previous jobs. I like to think I set a trend of dagginess here, because now ties are the exception. I can't see how a string around your neck, choking off the blood flow, can make you THINK better.

- driving a far-from-modern car (or in my case, the well known Astra Lemon). Previously I took great pleasure in the old Magna (the model before yours) being the oldest and grungiest car in any car park. It was especially sweet on a holiday to Melbourne to have the worst car in the car park of the apartment we rented in fraffly twendy Toowak.

- sausages. I like snags. They are easy to cook when you need a complete no brainer. Brains and sawdust might be all thats in them, but hey, who cares? Actually, these days you can get some very good snags. The rubbish from the big supermarkets is something I won't go near. There do need to be some standards maintained, even in dagginess.

heh... that'll do for now!

(Todays word verification: poxemot!!! I kid you not!)

Naomi said...

Great list Kath - my boys would like to add one for me - laughing at my own jokes - they are horrified I do that - just makes me do it even more!

ABBA love em! I have been banned from having the Mamma Mia DVD on when they have friends over because they can't stand it when I sing along : - )

Oh so not with you on the washing and OCD stuff here - it goes out on the line any old way - couldn't be a***d with all that organising just to hang it out there.

JahTeh said...

I'm all for making lists, expenses one side, groceries the other and I take to chance to not wear knickers when I go to the corner store.
Since you'll be in Melbourne on the 18th January, there's a terribly refined blogmeet at the Gallery in Bendigo which is showing lovely 50s Paris fashion. Of course our mob is not inclined to be terribly refined but we try.

squib said...

Just three tomato cans? I have 50

Definitely my freebie Qantus pyjamas and pink fleecy dressing gown. Also during winter I read in bed with woolly gloves on

Poor Mr.Squib!

Terence McDanger said...

My Dad does that thing with the dog names all the time. He also affects climate change when he sneezes or blows his nose.

It's absolutely mortifying.

Terri said...

Oh my, you wonderful person - where have you been all my life? I love your list. I don't know what daggy means, but I have given up trying to be cool and actually quite enjoy being uncool now.
: )

Kath Lockett said...

River, your outfit of choice sounds far better than the current summer tragedies walking around wearing micro shorts, maxi-sunnies and gladiator sandals. It is more often than not Love Chunks' will see a gaggle of such fashion-victims at the traffic lights and mutter, "God, if they only knew how hilarious they look instead of the 'sex on legs' they were hoping for...."

Catherine - Uno, Big brother labeller and nana naps - I am impressed!

Ashleigh, I like your tie rant - material for a lengthier blog article? And 'poxemot' is rumoured to be the latin equivalent of 'dag'.

Naomi - the washing OCD experience has saved me loads of time at the other end of the chore - ie taking down, folding and putting away. Then again, you probably have more time to create, state and laugh at your own jokes....?

JahTeh - Bendigo? I might leave it until the next one (are they ever in Melbourne itself?). The last time I visited 'Bendy' I found myself lying amongst some hay bales at an easter wine tasting festival not feeling, er too festive myself....

Squib, I'd also have fifty if time, space and Love Chunks would permit me. Gloves in BED? You could quite possibly be the bigger dag right now..

Terence - having your eardrums bleed from a good noseblow is one of the simplest pleasures in life my friend.

Terri - A 'dag' was originally the awful, fly-blown waste and pooey bits that hung off a sheep's arse, causing them a great deal of disease, misery and pain until a kindly farmer cut it off. In more modern parlance, a 'dag' is someone very uncool. However, the word itself (despite the gruesome origins) is kind of endearing, and we'll often say, "Ah Terri ya old dag" and mean it with love instead of scorn. At least, that's how *I've* been taking it!

ashleigh said...

Kath - re your answer to Terri...

Of course in this context, dag is used as a term of endearment. Not all cultures have quite the subtlety of the Australian dialect.

The are, for example, about 47 meanings in Australian for BASTARD. Only one of them is derogatory.

Baino said...

Hankies . . .yuk all that snot circulating in the washing machine! I'm defo a clothes dag Trackie dacks and t shirts I'm also anal with washing hanging, undies on the inside line so they're well out of view. I'm a chronic bench wiper and cushion fluffer but wouldnt be caught dead in a pair of crocs, thongs for me, Oh and I walk around in fluffy sox in winter that never match

delamare said...

I love to embrace my essential dagginess, which is what I think being in your 40s is about - the absolute realisation that you are not cool, and possibly never have been. I love your list (I've just bought two more tins of tomato today), and would like to add ...

Filing away all of my Jane Austen DVDs (of which I have many) in order of production, in groups based on each of the novels; the novels themselves are shelved in order of writing (not publication).

Storing fruit in bowls according to variety - all of the bananas in one, all of the apples in another - rarely mixing them up. This is a fine idea in winter I might add, but a bit much to keep up with in summer thanks to all of the beautiful fruit on offer!

Complimenting myself whenever I make a great meal, by saying "Oh, this is yum - I'll make this again!". I have been accused by my children of bragging!

I own a pair of Crocs too, and was most annoyed that I left them at home when we went to the beach last week...

River said...

Baino- I don't use the hankies for actual nose blowing, yuk!,tissues please, more for wiping sweat off my face or for holding against my nose to filter the air when I'm walking past a particularly strong smelling flowering shrub or vine that I know I'm allergic to. They also come in handy for tying around the handles of plastic grocery bags to make a softer carrying option that doesn't cut into the fingers.

Helen said...

I'm quite shocked to see how many of those things struck me as normal...
While I must jump into the debate (tissues are so much less gross than hankies!), I will resist.

I always thought that daggy was a kind of disgusting uncool, the daggy you describe is the so uncool it's cool... but not...

We have milo on ice-cream here! And while we have no vegemite I have often eaten marmite straight from the jar with a spoon...

I don't fly much but my dad does and he often brings back the freebie-pyjamas, and I wear them to the gym...

How about dropping a square of chocolate into a mug of hot chocolate ad then drinking your way down and eating the melted chocolate with a spoon at the end.

And we never wear shoes if we can find a reason to get out of it. I've been rock-climbing in flip-flops with a friend who was barefoot.

The problem with being a blue-hared narcoleptic is that people always seem to think that I'm making a statement with my uncoolness, which I might be. Who knows? All I know is that once, back when I had fire-engine red hair and patched up jeans, someone came up to me and told me that i was cool. i think they were being sincere. It was weird.

dedacked... hmmm...

Sophie said...

Daggy pleasures are a big part of what makes life bearable.

1) Wearing my Juicy Couture track pants around the house (and sometimes down the the local cafe!) even though my husband tells me I look like a bogan Britney Spears.

Singing songs to the cat with cat-related words thrown in...
example: 'With a knick knack paddywack give a TAT a bone.'

Calling my cats 'tats.

Baked Beans in Ham Sauce. Nuff said.

Asking for wafer cones instead of sugar cones at the ice-cream shop.

Thinking everyone is cool when other people are saying, 'How lame is THAT person!' Even the over-the-top Russian trophy wives with their fake boobies and peroxide hair that frequent my shopping mall.

Ann oDyne said...

CROCS winter range in the US now is pastel-color gumboots with sheepskin lining and outside trim.
I saw advert in Vanity Fair January issue with Tina Fey on cover.

BoDy anD SouL said...

Hi there,
lol with this one: "High waisted undies. Only so that my stomach doesn't roll over and give my profile an extra boob-shelf or nose"
Same here!
Isa