In her final column of 2011, Carrie Miller looks back over the year and reminisces on the memories… Illustration by Bruce McMillan.
Dear [insert your name for a personal touch here],
What a year it’s been. I’ve barely had time to scratch my lightly bleached arsehole.
Bruce and I have been busier than ever. We celebrated our fifth anniversary this year. It seems like only a few years ago since we first met. I still remember the sick feeling in my stomach when he introduced himself. Then he explained that he’d changed his name by deed poll for artistic reasons. His real name is Jasper – ‘Bruce’ was a knowing nod to the famous Monty Python sketch. The relief I felt when I found out his name was an affectation was, as you can imagine, fucking unbelievable.
Cate Blanchett’s cousin’s event management company micro-managed our anniversary party to look as if we’d decided to throw it at the last minute. Perfect. Wa Wa Nee played. How ironic! People were throwing themselves off our balcony to get away from the awful noise.
Bruce spent a lot of time in his man cave (ie: OUR garage) this year, which didn’t go down so well with yours truly. I can’t understand why he would want time away from moi, but our therapist said I needed to cut him some slack since he signed that contract agreeing not to eat carbs after three. As an adult victim of satanic ritual abuse, it’s crucial that I don’t have an overweight partner, so I’m prepared to compromise-.
He’s got some fascinating stuff down there. There are four boxes of a publication called Double Stuffed Asian Sluts that he’s currently collecting for what he says is its “cutting-edge mix” of low-res images and old school font. Personally, I can’t see the aesthetic value in it, which just shows what a sharp eye he has.
Anyway, he was fiddling around with his set of retro Norwegian power tools, tinkering with various lifestyle concepts he’s been developing, and came up with something he likes to call ‘gay marriage’. We took it to a dinner party in the Eastern Suburbs and everyone went crazy over it. I thought it would only have a niche market but it turns out heterosexuals really love it. Left-wing celebrities have been hounding him wanting to endorse it. There are some legal issues that need to be worked out, but it looks like a goer. He’s already thinking about patenting ‘gay divorce’.
In January we saw an Annie Lebovitz exhibition in New York. Amazing. Or, to put it in the popular vernacular, AMAZEBALLS! (LMFAO!)
In February we were in San Francisco where we managed to catch an Annie Lebovitz exhibition. She is a true artist.
We squeezed in a brief trip to Europe in March and felt truly blessed to be able to take in an Annie Lebovitz exhibition in Rome. What can I say? Brave.
Our plans for the rest of the year were interrupted in April when something truly wonderful happened. As you can imagine, from the moment Bruce and I met, we just knew we were meant to have children. And by this I mean we recognised our incredible attractiveness as a couple. But, thanks to his inability to keep his dick in his pants, Bruce had contracted a virus that had made him permanently useless to me. So began our long and painful journey, treading in the genetically gifted footsteps of our celebrity Doppelgangers, Brad and Angelina.
Well, after years of struggle, I am overjoyed to announce that we have finally realised our dream of becoming parents. I know, I know. We can’t believe it either.
We have successfully adopted a multi-media artist. He’s fully grown. We had originally sourced one from China, but the market really peaked before the adoption went through, so we put in for a transfer. This one’s Indian.
We’ve named him Andy Num Num. Andy – well, that’s obvious. We’re both mad for Warhol. Unlike Robert Hughes, we have always been able to see the man’s genius. Num Num is a more obscure pop cultural reference, particularly for the younger generations. Talk about cultural amnesia. Num Num’s an allusion to that hilarious line “birdie num num” in the movie The Party. You know, where Peter Sellers tries to feed a macaw. Anyway, the 60s decor in that film is to die for and it’s really the only Indian cultural reference we could come up with besides Slumdog Millionaire, which is way too mainstream for us. Obviously, we want Andy to always feel connected to his culture. Both of us were heavily influenced by studying Edward Said’s Orientalism at university.
At first we were worried it sounded a little too Aboriginal, but then we realised that wouldn’t exactly hurt his prices.
So here we are. Me, Bruce, Andy, and Frida Kahlo (you remember Frida Kahlo, our Mexican Hairless). We couldn’t be happier. As Descartes so wisely put it: “I think therefore I am.” Words to live by.