Thursday

Until yesterday, one of my favourite hobbies of the past year was to go in to a DVD retailer, find a copy of The Devil Wears Prada, and smugly confirm that the word 'unfortunately' was spelt incorrectly, as 'unfortunateley' on the back cover blurb of every copy I picked up. It was something I could always count on.

Thus, I spent most of 2007 searching out DVD shops in Melbourne, New York, Washington DC, Boston, London, Berlin, Brisbane - and wherever I travelled throughout the world, the word 'unfortunateley' shone out dazzlingly from the back cover; the only certain thing in a life full of uncertainty.

I don't know why it gave me such satisfaction. Well, actually, I do. It vindicated my view of the world, a world where editors and proofreaders are shunned. But in the back of my mind I guess I always knew that one day it would have to come to an end - that eventually, a new edition of the DVD would be released, one that had gone through the proper editorial process by an experienced professional, or at least someone who was vaguely literate.

So, this brings me back to yesterday, when I was in JB Hi-Fi on Adelaide St. The first thing I was drawn to when I walked in was a special pink Breast Cancer Foundation edition of The Devil Wears Prada, with, sure enough, the word 'unfortunately' misspelled on the back cover.

But as I was lining up at the checkout seven hours later, I noticed a different edition of the DVD. It was just a regular version, with no special branding, positioned near the front of the checkout for point-of-sale opportunity; just a very unassuming, normal edition of the DVD. So, out of habit, I picked it up and spun it around to check the back cover, and then the world slowed down and I started seeing double and I could vaguely hear the checkout girl saying, 'Miss? Miss? Are you okay?' but her voice sounded very distant like she was speaking to me from outer space.

And when I finally came to, the kindly old woman standing behind me was holding out the four Barbra Streisand films I had just dropped in shock, and as she gave them back to me she patted me on the shoulder and said, 'Christmas shopping takes its toll on all of us, dear.' And I smiled weakly and put my DVDs on the counter and as the checkout girl was swiping through Funny Girl, Funny Lady, What's Up, Doc? and The Main Event, I thought about how strange it is that your entire world can just change like that - in an instant. Because, as you might have guessed, the spelling error on the back cover of the first twenty million copies of The Devil Wears Prada, the mistake I had built my entire identity around, has finally been corrected in the new print run.

As you can imagine, I have mixed feelings about it. A huge part of me is glad that order is restored to the world and that multinational companies are doing their best to spell words correctly again, but it's ultimately a big disappointment as I will now have to find something else to feel smug and superior about. The only real consolation is that millions of people around the world still own the 'unfortunateley' copies, so I will be able to continue my quest whenever I go rummaging through other people's DVD collections as I flit purposelessly from country to country around the world.

NB: For those of you who think I'm always right and believe me completely when I tell you that every single first edition copy of The Devil Wears Prada on three different continents had a spelling mistake on the back, please listen to Maxwell Perkins when he says: Editors are extremely fallible people, all of them. Don't put too much trust in them.

I always have to remind myself of this, or else I would probably believe everything I said, too.

Monday

You probably think I'm really pathetic and hate me because I'm so stupid, so you may not have noticed this, but sometimes I wallow in self-pity and feel really sorry for myself, which are the days I make sure I stay away from knives, bridges, and this blog. But it's not like I'm not the only one who's hurting - we've all suffered, I know that. My pain is just so much worse than yours.

My one consolation is my career. Even when it's not going well I can write about how it's not going well, and then suddenly my career is up and running again because writing about anything is what my career is all about!

But I've been thinking over the past few months that I really need to branch out and write in something other than the diary I carry around with me, as I think my diary is probably only a compelling summer read for myself alone - not because it isn't a psychologically fascinating Portrait of a Young Woman Trying to Find Her Identity in a World Gone Mad TM, mind you, but more because I'm the only one who can read my own handwriting.

So I asked my friend Ben, who is a successful freelance writer, how do you write for magazines, because even though I've got a degree in this sort of thing, I still don't always understand how to do it because I can't seem to get interested in any other 'issue' besides myself. And there are always articles about babies and euthanasia in magazines, and I've never had either, so I just wouldn't feel comfortable writing about them.

But do you know what Ben said? He said, 'Hey, freako, you don't even need to write articles! All you need to do is write a numbered list centred around a common theme and magazine editors will love it.' And I said, 'What are you telling me, Ben, that you don't even need a degree to do this stuff?!' And he said, 'You don't even need a degree, Lorelei! In fact, totally uneducated people write magazine articles every day!'

So after that, I spent a month sobbing and dwelling over the wasted years at uni, and then I pulled myself together and I wrote a list. The first one was a Coles list, because we've run out of washing detergent and rolled oats, but the second one was written using Ben's advice.

So because I have been ruminating over the themes of loss and suffering, and because the target audience of this blog is myself, I have decided to write a list about:

Six Things I've Lost and Will Never Get Back
By Lorelei V

1. Anais Nin's diaries, seven volumes in total, which I had to leave lying on the side of a street in Brooklyn because there wasn't enough room in my suitcase.
   
2. My band.
   
3. My ex-boyfriends. I'll never get any of them back, I've already asked.
4. The urge to write a fan letter to Ani DiFranco.
5. Two amazing vintage business suits, including a Chanel one, delivered in a box to my Swanston Street address in early 2003 and either stolen off the doorstep or never delivered.
   
6. Between ten and fifteen kilograms I gained eating Turkish food in a palace for a year.
   

Friday

This week was going to be a whole week of Kate Bush interviews, one-a-day, but it didn't happen I'm sorry. Here's one of my favourites anyway: