Email me

Thursday, December 15, 2011

And there it is.
The final email for this season.

Bored Olives will return Sunday 22nd April 2012.

The new address will be
It's that easy.

If you want to be emailed when the next season resumes please email

otherwise you can check out the story from the beginning at the bored olives archives
Again thank you all so much for reading and if you're looking at getting me a thank you present for the holidays please share the site in whatever way you see fit.

Love to all and happy holidays.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

283rd email


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Dom Borax [423.3.510.521]: Connection timed out


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Mon, 31 Dec 2359 09:09:18 +1000 (EST)
Received: from Stacey Marchenkova

31 Dec 23:59:14 +1000 (EST)
Message-ID: Stacey Marchenkova
From: Stacey Marchenkova

To: Dom Borax cc Dom Borax Subject: Happy New Year.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

282nd email

----- Original Message -----
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: Dom Borax
Sent: Monday, Dec 31st, 1999 11:59 PM
Subject: Happy new year

Dear Dom,

I hope you’re okay. I Miss you.

I would love to first foot with you.

Look forward to seeing you in the new year.

Love Stacey.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

281st email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Friday December 21st 1999 1:21AM
Subject: RE RE What are you not getting?

It’s been over a month and I have been silent…but I am worried…I went to your Mum’s the other day… she’s bearing up fine I think…she still makes a fine cup of tea….good to see Oftenbark again…he misses you I could tell… and it was a relief to hear you’re fine…

Anyway…I’ll continue to remain silent…but just so you know…I am not going to stop loving you and regardless of your request I will check in every few weeks until you reply…if for nothing else to remind you I am still alive…and I am still moving forward…and I still want you in my life…

Happy Christmas, dear.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

279th and 280th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Wednesday 12th November 1999 2:35 AM
Subject: What are you not getting?

I just need space for fuck’s sake. Stop fucking ringing me, Stacey.

This is not about you.

I mean thanks for your kindness but if you want to be truly kind: leave me alone for a bit.

I know this goes against everything you want. But it’s what I want. So take a leap of fucking faith, okay!!??

Okay that’s a bit harsh – so let me be rationale.

How the fuck can I love or be loved at this time? Think about that and just – please – leave me alone.

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Wednesday November 12th 1999 10:03AM
Subject: RE What are you not getting?


Love always


Sunday, November 27, 2011

277th and 278th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Thursday November 6th, 1999 6:31AM
Subject: arjingrj3njrnejn

I don't know how I’m going to deal with it all; I’m not going to make it!

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Friday November 7th 1999 14:21PM
Subject: Stay sleeping

I hope you find my note… by the kettle…I’ll be back soon…but in case you log on before making a cup of tea here is a small note saying prepare yourself for the best smoked salmon sandwich ever…

You look so peaceful when you sleep, darling… I changed your pillow slip as it was a little wet.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

276th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Saturday November 1st , 1999 19:27PM
Subject: James Borax

I know you’re in the air…I know you’re flying to a space that is dark… I know you are sitting in a small seat trying to read or watch a bad movie or eating a bad meal or trying to sleep… or drinking a small bottle of booze… (Probably that, right?)

I know these things…

What I don’t know is how you feel…

I can gather it must be horrible…all consuming and dreadful… I can assume these things…

But beyond that I am childish…

What I can offer are my hands, my arms, my shoulder…. You can bury yourself there for years if needed… my shirt is clean and I have no plans…

I am so sorry, darling for your loss… your father is an amazing man…so much better than mine…so much better than many… and the world’s children are truly worse off with his gentle hands no longer being present to tuck us all in…

I’ll see you at the airport…

Sunday, November 20, 2011

275th email

From: Tim Borax
To: Undisclosed recipients.
Sent: Saturday November 1st, 1999 10:13AM
Subject: James Borax 1932-1999

It is with great sorrow that I inform you of the passing of my brother James Borax yesterday evening at from a severe stroke. It came as a complete shock to all as James was a healthy man and though the staff at the Royal Brisbane did all they could, the attack was too brutal.

I do apologise for the global email but I thought it best to send out a group email to all in Dom’s address book. It will save the onerous task of him informing you all that his father has passed.

As most of you know, Dom is currently overseas but upon hearing this news he is quickly making his way back to Australia. I am certain he will welcome comfort from you all in what has been a shocking and truly tragic event.

Thank you for you kindness in advance

Tim Borax.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

273rd and 274th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Friday October 31st , 1999 7:43PM
Subject: RE RE RE A thought

Okay…gotta tell you about the role play at centrelink today…it seemed like the focus was on smiling…you have to smile, said the Pussy Cat Teacher…So when it came to my turn…I walked into the stage (and when I say stage I mean front of the airless, characterless box at the back of the Centrelink offices in Fortitude Valley) just thinking the word ‘smile’ over and over again as the Pussy Cat teacher set the scene.

“You are going for a job in an office as PA, alright Stacey? I am the job interviewer and you are the applicant. Don’t forget to smile.”

I blinked at the scenario…a PA…just like my boyfriend, I thought…this should be easy…just think of Dom...this will certainly make you smile…

“And scene…” She said.

I took a breath and entered this new world of theatre…

“Good Morning…” I said as I approached the Pussy Cat Teacher, holding out my hand.

“Good morning…”She replied taking it.

“My name is Stacey Marchenkova…here is my resume..”

“Thank you, Stacey”

She took the resume and in a few minutes she had gathered all she needed to know.

“So you don’t have that much experience as a Personal Assistant, Stacey.”

“No, I don’t but I am very personal and very good at being an assistant…” I said taking a risk, trying to be a little human…

“Pause scene” she said.

“Now Stacey, that’s good but try and not be a smart arse.”

“I wasn’t being a smart arse..” I replied… I was making light of my lack of…

“And restart scene...” She said, not interested in my justification…

“So again, I ask Stacey – you don’t have much experience in the field…”

I took a breath…I needed another tactic…

“I know…it’s true and I’m willing to learn…and I’m a very quick learner...

This made the Pussycat teacher smile…I was obviously pushing the right buttons…but as is always my case…once I still winning I immediately start failing…I push it too far…I simply trust my instincts…and with this I said…

“And my boyfriend was a PA too…”

The Pussycat teacher dropped her ears…where was I going with this…

“See, he’s in LA…well New York now…but when he was LA…he was a PA…and simply by talking to him…I have a sense of the what the job is and if I get into any trouble I can always ask him…”

The Pussycat Teacher was losing interest and she broke out of the scene for a split second to remind me to smile…

But I continued regardless…

“But I have to be honest I don’t think it went well for him…he found it difficult and demeaning…and who could blame him…it’s kinda like being a servant or slave…now this might be fine in the short term if the boss is kind, benevolent even…but if they’re unpleasant then the job is nightmare…so I guess if anything I have low expectations and some sense of how to navigate the relationship if it indeed (as I suspect) one that is horrendous…

The Pussycat Teacher blinked…opened her mouth…but I hadn’t finished…

“And I know you’re going to tell my to smile…but it’s hard to smile when he’s thousands of miles away and I don’t speak to him that often and he quit his job as a PA because it made him feel like shit…he told me he was fired…but I spoke to his folks and found out he quit…

….and I feel like shit...cause I miss him and in my darkest moments I don’t know if it’s going to work out…or if indeed it should as he’s on his own path and I don’t want him to stop and be unhappy with me…and I can’t fucking smile..not now…I don’t want this job…I don’t want to be here and I can’t smile…as there’s nothing to smile about…nothing at all…”

The Pussycat Teacher blinked and finally said…

“Well you don’t expect to get the job do you?”

And then and only then for the first time did I smile before I picked up my bag and left the room…

So there you have it…there’s my day…and now I’m home I’m trying all I can to remember what made my smile…just so I can feel happy once more…

I guess I’m having trouble with this…

Should I just let you be…?

Love Stacey

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Friday October 31st , 1999 10:43PM
Subject: RE RE RE RE A thought

I love you…

Sunday, November 13, 2011

272nd email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Friday October31st , 1999 2:43PM
Subject: RE RE A thought

Hi Dom…your future seems so much more interesting than mine..I just spent the last two days doing a centrelink course on how to fill out a resume…kinda interesting…and when I say kinda interesting I mean…hellish… depressing…as I realise that when I fill out my resume it comes close to being a blank document...I mean how do I make poetry, failed song writing and nihilism seem appealing to a potential employer…

Nothing like a reevaluation of ones life to make one feel so totally like a failure… (and make one commence using the royal we to make one feel more important…)

Also …as it’s Halloween…the teacher…if I can call her that…took it upon herself to come in costume to today's class…if I can call it that…

So nothing like a slightly overweight woman… dressed as pussy cat (her words, not mine)… to reinforce you have no value…

Anyway feeling a little low…don’t want to bring down your travel…heard from your mum that you’ve booked your tickets to NYC…so no doubt there’ll be silence for a few days…I understand and will now return to this classroom Hades where the the Devil is only a few moments away from cleaning herself while teaching us how to present ourselves in a job interview…

Role play here I come…


Tuesday, November 8, 2011

270 and 271st email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Monday October 27th , 1999 10:11AM
Subject: A thought

Okay…I’ve been thinking about your options after our call and for what it’s worth…I think you should try your luck in the east…

Go to New York, I reckon…they’ll understand you more…you can write about truth…you can watch Woody Allen play his bassoon every Tuesday night…



From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Wednesday October 29th, 1999 3:21AM
Subject: RE A thought

This is not a bad idea. I’ve always had some kind of love for New York. And it’s not all cinema based. See I have an uncle in New York. My Father's Brother. His name is George and he went to New York after he did National Service to carve out some kind of future – to enter a city that would allow him to rise above his class.

And he did.

His did it by managing to fall back into the old family trade – he went into the rag trade.

See my Father decided to do one of those family tree things a few years ago and what they discovered was his side of the family had been London folk for a few generations.

Prior to that they had come from Germany.

Upon arriving in London around the mid 30s they fall into tailoring – based on generations of skill - and for the first time they had success. They actually made some money.

And Uncle George had followed the path.

Now when I say rag trade in a New York context, I mean more the fashion industry for Uncle George. It was high rise buildings; some design and a lot of marketing.

See he was one of the people responsible for coloured nylons.

It made him a lot of money.

So he became an aesthete, populated his small Upper East Side apartment with high end Asian furniture and became friends with Tuesday Weld and Jane Fonda.

He also fell into a deep friendship with a fellow named Carl Stanojikov (who for interest sake was one of the first artists for the Spiderman strip)

Now when I say deep friendship; you can make of it what you will. It’s just my Father can’t quite accept the potential and only refers to his brother as Bachelor with very high tastes.

Now I’ve only met Uncle George a few times.

The first was when he visited when I was about 5. He was a generous man and bought me the most elaborate science kit and spy disguise box. I enjoyed them both very mush – mixing the gifts and creating my own narrative where I played both hero and Villain – secretly mixing formulas heroically and skulking around the house as a spy trying to steal them in shortly after.

I never caught myself and inadvertently ended the world when I crept into George’s room and found what I later realized was gay porn.

The second time I met Uncle George was when he flew all of us to New York to spend a week with him. We stayed in his second apartment (yes he had two) and took us out to a number of Broadway shows and introduced me to BBQ spare ribs in this fanciest of Chinese Restaurants (served by this waitress with the longest black hair I’d ever seen in my life – pig-tail to knee)

The final time I saw Uncle George was back home again when he travelled to us, this time with Carl (His good friend). They were on a world tour as Carl was quite sick and they wanted to see the world in case he passed.

This was a great few days. Carl drew for me and George cooked while telling the filthiest of jokes.

I was sad to see them go.

And now, as you’ve suggested, I should see him again. Carl’s health has deteriorated and I can maybe even help my Uncle out.

Okay, so now I’ve scribbled I am convinced I should go.

Booking tickets now (or at least asking my father or even George to do so)

The big apple, here I come



PS Woody plays the clarinet by the way.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

269th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Sunday October 26th, 1999 11:21AM
Subject: okay drunk man typing

Hey Stacey, I am so sorry for midnight rambling. I just reread it and so much of it doesn’t make sense - and so many typos. It’s really quite embarrassing for a so-called writer to fluff so much.

Anyway just wanted to write and let you know I am okay. I know I dropped the big bombshell at the end and in truth I was only going to let you know when I had made a decision (or one had been made for me) about my next step.

Please don’t tell the folks. I just need to sit on it for a couple of days and work some things out. Then I’ll let them know. I just don’t want them worrying without reason.

My Dad especially will freak out.

How about I ring you tonight and we can through options. Are you up for that?



Wednesday, November 2, 2011

268th email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Sunday October 26th, 1999 4:15AM
Subject: ps

Oh foorgot to say – I got fired too.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

267th email

From: Dom Borax 
To: Stacey Marchenkova >
Sent: Sunday October 26th, 1999 4:11AM
Subject:  Everything closes at 2:00
Hey drlaing, how are you? I am a little druink - sorry
See, evrytnhing closes real ealy here which I don't;l understanf. Kinda weird, I reckon. Cause you just end up wandeinr the streets looking for somewhere to party which I did and found a place some guy I dn’t know but a nice guy he had some wine and a nice balncony so we talked for a few hours before3 I wante d tpo come home.
Then  I walked the streets for a bit and got back to this hotal that I have to miove out fo soon. I can’t keep usinga my dad to pay for me. I have to find an apartment – maybe that guy I met tonight could let me live with him - that would b e good.
God I don't know it dion]t think sio – I don't even know him he might be a killer or another wirter of a actor or even another PA – that would be woerd  - I don;’t think I ciold take that –
Not afyteter this week. It’s been awful. I’m noit having a good time here, stace’ I tell you. IT’S not the city of dreams it’s not. It’s lonely wuith weird values. It’s a company town – it’s just sells oil or bauxite or whatdver theose company towns sell.
Whioch is ironic as they actually wan t to sell human drama but it only sells it in bottles and boxes. Not really selling it. Actually the real drama is such a bad idea or a poison or a virus or something that if it’s really touched the town will fall to hell.
Anwyhows I hope you had a noce weekend. Glad to read that you spent some time with my fokks – they’re nice people not like thwt people here who are so not nice.
And don’;t let me mother get to you – she can do that mother trick of making it feel like its all your fauly – but it isn't – I will rign yher tomorrow –m even from work – fuck them, theyt can take the expense for some happiness occasionally – you know what I eman – I mean they give me such unhappiness that maybe one small call to hoem  is actually a really cheap price to pay for such lashing and lack of caring and shit.
Gotta go now…gfee;ling sleepy and not sure what I;m writoing, I still love you by the way,.


Wednesday, October 26, 2011

266th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova  
To: dom borax
< >
Sent:  Saturday October 25th , 1999 19:51PM
Subject:  My day.
Dear Dom, your folks invited me over to tea today…it was really nice…we sat in the sitting room and drank a Harrogate blend…Yorkshire Gold…and ate some homemade biscuits…it was charming…Oftenbark curled by my feet and your Dad told a story about taking you to see Wages of Fear at the Classic Cinema in East Brisbane….I remembered that you said it was one of your favourite films based on a number of criteria…
1: You’d seen it a number of times.
2: It was entertaining and exciting.
3: it had just the right amount of snob factor.
4: It was your father’s favourite too so it had heritage and grand sentiment.
I told your folks about this and your father laughed…warmly I believe… and then asked if I had seen the film…I admitted I hadn’t and before you know it I was watching the film with your father while your mother made us a roast…
I can’t tell you how lovely it was…and how much I loved the film…I mean the first hour is a little slow…but I understand why it’s there…and though that sounds like a criticism…after watching the whole…the first hour needed to be there to truly understand the desperation and the lethargy of the central characters…
So 5 out of 5 for me…
As are you…
Anyway thought I’d also mention when I was leaving your mum asked me if you’d been a little out of contact lately…I said you had but prefaced it with an understanding of your heavy workload…she nodded taking it in before maternally manipulating that she just gets a little worried sometimes…so it might be worth giving her a ring one evening…just to let her know you’re okay…
Love ya

Sunday, October 23, 2011

265th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova   
To: dom borax

Sent:  Wednesday October 21st , 1999 11:36AM
Subject:  I tried not to write…
…but I can’t help myself…I can see it’s going to be a few more days before you write…
Thank you so much for ringing…it was just what I need…it was such a surprise…so nice to hear your voice…and I will try and not be a needy girlfriend…and I understand that it’s a big deal for you…but sometimes I need a little more…but knowing you understand that...helps…
and I hope you don’t mind that I email you…
Going to bed now…

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

264th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova    
To: dom borax

Sent: Sunday October 18th , 1999 23:12PM
Subject:  Paranoia
Now you of all people should know about paranoia…how dare you speak to me like that…you’re one of the most paranoid people I know…can’t I be worried…I know this is the last thing you want to read…I know you asked me to be patient…but as much as you need time to get to the bottom  of your own art…I need time to be worried and concerned…I’m not sure…is this an ultimatum?
Please don’t let me wait a week before responding…

Sunday, October 16, 2011

261-263rd email

From: Dom Borax 
To: Stacey Marchenkova

Sent: Friday October 16h, 1999 8:12AM
Subject:  RE RE Where are you
I am such a shit boyfriend. I’ll be back soon. Please be patient.

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax

Sent: Saturday October 17th , 1999 10:32AM
Subject:  RE RE RE Where are you?
Dom are you okay…? It sounds like you’ve been kidnapped…are you being held hostage..? If so how much are they demanding…let me know…I’m sure your parents will come up with the money…Oftenbark will beg for it too…I’ll sell everything including my body,,,
…please let me know you’re okay…that your fingers are all present…that your being fed a little…and that there’s no danger of you falling in love with your kidnapper…
Okay…better go…
twangs of jealousy emerging…
green Stacey becoming…
logging off now before it gets too late…

From: Dom Borax 
To: Stacey Marchenkova

Sent: Sunday October 18th, 1999 23:1PM
Subject:  RE RE RE RE Where are you?
Hey Stacey, no, I’ve not been kidnapped. I’ve just being worked to the bone.  And again as always, I apologize for my distance. But you have to let me be with this, Stace. 
It’s so hard trying to get this work done and pander to your worries at the same time.
It’s just too much. Trust me this is not a diss’ but I need you to understand that my silence has nothing to do with you. I simply have no time.
Gotta go. Sorry and speak soon. And don’t be so paranoid. There’s nothing to be paranoid about.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

261st email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax
Sent: Tuesday October 13th , 1999 9:12AM
Subject: RE Hey where are you?

Okay I refuse to be worried – this is normal…you are busy…I’m busy too…see I’ve been trying to fall in love…

…with the city again…

my city…


but it’s failing…the more I wander it…the more I hate it…it seems in stasis...not sure it’s because the empty-nesters are flocking to the hub and the hub responds by becoming a large suburb…not sure…

… all I know is the independent coffee houses are going…the cult retro cinemas are closing…small bars once filled with long term drunks are closing…and the tiny squares where the anarchic youth used to chat about changing the world are bursting with the new youth crimping and posing…

There is a sense of Asian influence however…the Asian students are flocking to the city and holding up in apartments overlooking the casino…Korean flags wave from the balconies while below gaggles of kogal girls strut the streets in cream sloppy socks…

Even the buildings are changing a little, I guess…brighter multi coloured lights shine in various patterns from the office blocks at night…and contrasting shapes creep into the skyline silhouette via the younger architects who threaten to take the floor…

And in the streets…the boys open mobile phone stores and the girls open trinket-thingy stores…side by side they marry a new sense of culture while small arcades now burst with mummyless children eating katsu curry and reading their books backward…

So this I love…I guess…but is it enough, I wonder…I don’t think so…for I don’t think it will win…which is a shame…because Brisbane could become a true Asian city…and this would give our river town a sense of identity in this country…but I don't hold much hope… the old school country mentality won’t allow it, I suspect…the anti daylight saving brigade will enforce their august exhibition ham sandwiches down our throats until we gag and smell so much of pig and fuck off that even the strongest willed tourist will find it hard to make it past customs…

So there you have it…that’s me…seeing hope across the shores but held back by tradition…longing for the colour and the different tastes but left with cold Sunday drippings…trying to fall in love with my city again…but failing…ever so…failing…

Love ya


Sunday, October 9, 2011

260th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova    
To: dom borax

Sent: Monday  October 12th , 1999 10:31AM
Subject:  Hey where are you?
Really where are you? I thought you’d email over the weekend…but you didn’t…are you okay?
I hope you’re okay?
I hope you haven't been hit by a bus because it’d blow up if it went under fifty…
I hope you haven’t been robbed and left for dead at the Griffith Observatory by a robot man from the future…
I hope you haven’t died of old age on top of the Bradbury building with a dove in one hand and a nail in the other…
Anyway…if for nothing else email me and let me know you’re okay and not lost like tears in…(you know the rest)

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

254th - 259th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova    
To: dom borax

Sent: Thursday October 8th , 1999 23:01PM
Subject:  Still frisky
Do you have a suggestion of how to help said friskiness…?

From: Stacey Marchenkova    
To: dom borax

Sent: Thursday October 8th , 1999 23:21PM
Subject:  Going nuts
...cause the tension in my joints is mad…need to distract myself…

From: Stacey Marchenkova    
To: dom borax

Sent: Thursday October 8th , 1999 23:31PM
Subject:  Just punched a hole  in the wall…but
…really focused on you…thought of you…dressed like a man of authority…standing at the foot of my bed…

From: Stacey Marchenkova    
To: dom borax

Sent: Thursday October 8th , 1999 23:31PM
Subject:  Your hands are strong…your voice controlling…
…you say my name…my mouth dries…my stomach aches…I haven’t eaten in weeks…

From: Stacey Marchenkova    
To: dom borax

Sent: Thursday October 8th , 1999 23:31PM
Subject:  I’m so hungry…
…and even, crushed and broken…my jaw shattered from your embrace…
…I eat you…every bit of you…it hurts…muscle and bone snaps…but in the end there is nothing left and I am full…just for a little while…

From: Stacey Marchenkova    
To: dom borax

Sent: Thursday October 8th , 1999 23:54PM
Subject:  Done, honey…done
…and ready for sleep…good night…

Sunday, October 2, 2011

252nd and 253rd email

From: Dom Borax 
To: Stacey Marchenkova

Sent: Thursday October 8th, 1999 21:35PM
Subject:  RE RE RE RE RE change of topic
Hey Stace, don’t do that. I accept your apology, really. That’s all I need.
And it’s damn sweet that you’d consider coming to see me. That’s so cool.
But it’s not worth it. Really.
I’m just having a tough time at the moment. I’m just trying to work it out.
And sure it would be easier with you as puzzle wing-man – just to ease those moments with an offer in a glance that means; “Don’t worry, that simply doesn’t make any sense at all.”
But I don’t need you in person to do that.
I can imagine it.
I can imagine you there with your dark eyes – peering over your glasses, blinking with those lashes. I can see vividly that selling everything you have to be here in person would simply just exhaust you needlessly.
Not that I don’t appreciate the offer. If you were here, I would hold you so tight that I could possibly crush you to death.
And perhaps for that reason alone you should stay safe and alive on the other side of the world.
Because as much as I want to feel our bones break I know that kissing you after would be awkward.
So hear me, darling - I’ll be fine.  Trust me.  I’ll win in the end. And when I do you can come visit me then as a king of this town, as a victor of this city, as a man of the Angels.

Yours crushingly

From: Stacey Marchenkova  
To: dom borax

Sent: Thursday October 8th , 1999 22:17PM
Subject:  Well…after reading your last email
I’m frisky as all get out…

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

250th and 251st email

From: Stacey Marchenkova  
To: dom borax

Sent: Tuesday October 6th , 1999 10:11AM
Subject:  RE RE RE Change of topic
Dom, you win…you’ll always win…you are winner…they lose…they will lose you…and that’s the world’s biggest loss…
I love you…so much…
I hold you in my arms….
I say there-there…
I mop your forehead…
I lift your arm in victory, champ…

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax

Sent: Tuesday October 6th , 1999 11:01AM
Subject:  RE RE RE RE Change of topic
And again I am so sorry about the Tintin comment… I can't seem to get anything right at the moment…I’m  saying sorry so often lately…I hope it isn’t losing it’s power…or meaning..or whatever…anyway…I know it’s fucktard Marcus that likes Tintin...I know that…but I like Tintin too…but whatever…I screwed it…truthfully…and there is no excuse…excuse…except…how about I go into Marcus’s house and destroy everything Tintin related?  Or how about I offer a list of things for me to do to encourage your sympathy…I mean you always do that…you always list… and it works for you… so
1: I sell all my things for a one way ticket to LA to see you.
Okay…that’s all I’ve got…never very good at lists… what do you think?


Sunday, September 25, 2011

248th and 249th email

From: Dom Borax 
To: Stacey Marchenkova

Sent: Sunday October 4th, 1999 07:37AM
Subject:  RE change of topic
Come on Stacey, it’s Marcus that likes Tintin. Not me.
I’ll write more later.


From: Dom Borax 
To: Stacey Marchenkova

Sent: Sunday October 4th, 1999 18:11PM
Subject:  RE RE change of topic
Hi Stacey, I don’t think I’m dealing with this town at all. Probably best if I tell you about last night as an example of my state of mind.
I was recommended to go to a little bar somewhere in Hollywood. It’s called the Coronet. It’s kinda cute; next to a small theatre with the same name.
Indeed it’s all quite bunched up like a mews –
You know, small bar plasticine-squished into the theatre with the smallest portcullis separating them because booze and the art never mix, right Dionysus.
There is also a hint of Anglophile about this small block of drunken arts. A Chester-like Elizabethan black and white crossed thatch design is an obvious influence as is a fake chimney and the plethora or English beers (by plethora I mean two) on tap.
Oh and you can smoke in there too.
Now this in itself is kinda odd, you can't smoke anywhere in LA and even in the Coronet there are a multitude of signs all over the bar proclaiming the circle of hell reserved for you if you light up.
But these signs are just that. Not a Bobby with a truncheon or a Cop with a gun; just a sign.
Now as you know, I can light up after a few. It’s a habit I loathe and love. So with the hint of rebellion I asked the Barman if this bar is is truly English it would allow me to smoke in it too. He looked at me and shook his head.

BARMAN: It’s illegal to smoke in public establishments, Sir.

I nodded. I was pushing my luck.
But shortly after, I became truly confused; he lit a cigarette.

BARMAN: And everyone obeys the rules here.

He said as he blew out smoke and gestured to the room.
I followed his gesture and to my confusion, I saw half the room had lit up.
And then I realised.
My God, I’d stumbled into a smoking speakeasy.
Soon I joined them and for the first time since I’d touched down in this city, I felt that I had a place; that perhaps sitting on this bar, drinking Harps and smoking was as comfortable as it got.
But of course for a true betrayal to work this is exactly what needs to happen.  I need to be made to feel accepted for the betrayal to truly have its sting.
And this is most embodied with the two people that entered in the bar shortly after.
She was blonde. Her name was Mandy. She wore a lot of make up. She limped like liquid. Her eyes were small.
He was blonde too. His name was Tony. He was buffed. His eyes were well rehearsed in sympathy. He nails were clipped. His pants were tight.
It was hard not to notice them.
They illuminated the room with the pearly white capped brightenings and their bleached hair.
They shuffled over to the bar and sat. They knew the barman and talked freely about the night and the locals. This included Matt a fellow drunken Australian who boasted about having sex in the Great Barrier Reef while insisting the bar played his mix tape of Aussie classics.
I all this time was keeping quietly to myself.
I admit to finding it hard to fit in. My experience with LA men has always resulted in supreme disappointment.
In the beginning they’re very welcoming and polite. But after a drink and in single sex company their laboring observations of the opposite sex are shrouded in violent allusions. It’s not about fun or irony it’s about taking. It’s about competition – it’s about winning.

THEM (and by them I mean MEN): That’s America dude. Gotta win. Even in the bedroom or the back of the car or on this bar. You gotta win.

For me, I can’t rationalize this, Stace. I really can’t. I can’t be in this company.
And the LA Women are kinda of the same. Like the men they have this public persona but once this too is stripped a true beast is revealed, a Fame Monster who isn't interested in you at all.
And they want to win too - they’ll do anything to get it.
And once they get together; this LA man and LA woman, the battle is on. Both want to win. And here’s the thing, they both do. Because they’re playing different games.
So when Mandy and Tony entered the bar I immediately went on the defensive. They were so familiar. They were the epitome of the Los Angeles social experience.
But soon I was proved wrong. They both sat at the bar on either side of me. She spoke first.

MANDY: I hate Hollywood, don’t you?
TONY: Yeah, the women are cute and I’d do it but it would be a never ending sense of agony.

Man was this real? Could I believe what I was hearing?
Surely not.
But it did seem that here were two locals who not only understood their neighbours (neighbors) actions but also disagreed with them0

ME: That’s really refreshing to hear. Can I buy you a beer?

They nodded and soon we were chatting.
They seemed genuinely interested in me. They asked questions about Australia.
And I talked about you.
They liked the sound of you. I talked more about you.
They got moved.
And I thought; had I finally and deeply made contact? Did I have friends?
After another drink the conversation finally turned to dreams and ambitions. Not surprisingly both wanted to work in the industry. Why else be in Hollywood, they supposed.
I agreed. I wanted to work more solidly in the industry too.

TONY: More solidly. What do you mean more solidly?

He asked.

ME: I’m just a PA at Fox. But I want to be a writer.

And that’s when it fell to shit.
Upon hearing that I was just a PA, Tony turned to the Barman.

TONY: I thought you said he was a big time Director.

The Barman scrutinized me.

BARMAN: Not him. The other Australian - the one singing along to the mix tape of Australian rock - the drunken one. He’s the director. This guy’s a nobody.

And with that Tony and Amanda moved from their seat and shuffled down the bar toward the ‘other australian’ without saying goodbye to me.
So there I was left alone. Shell-shocked at their behaviour. I caught the barman’s attention.

ME: What the fuck?

I said.

BARMAN: What the fuck, what? 
ME: Them. What’s going on? 
BARMAN: They’re just making friends. 
ME: No they’re hustling. 
BARMAN: Never. 
ME: Come on. They only talked to me because they thought I was someone important. 
BARMAN: Surely not. 
ME: I mean is this what this town comes down to? People will only talk to you if they think they can get something from you?
BARMAN: I’m talking to you aren't I?
ME: Yeah but this is a bar. You're a barman. I buy drinks from you. It suits your purpose.
BARMAN: No-no-no – not at all. To prove it – this one’s on me.

He said as he pulled another drink.

ME: Thanks. 
BARMAN: My pleasure. 
ME: I’m just a little overwhelmed. I’m not about this, you know. For me it’s about socialising, right - It’s about talking, it’s about connecting, it’s about people, it’s about community, the back yard bonfire, you and me and them – us. It’s about us. You know?

The Barman thought about what I said for a beat. It sunk in, I could tell.

BARMAN: And that’s Hollywood, dude. That’s Hollywood. Truthfully.

He said as he finally turned away from me and moved to stand under the no smoking sign and lit another cigarette.

Love Dom

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

246th and 247th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova  
To: dom borax
< >
Sent: Saturday October 3rd , 1999 13:11PM
Subject:  Change of topic
Can I change the topic please…I feel I keep laying little bombs by your feet…not right…even little ones…so trust me now when I say,,,step left, then right…then back… then run to the end of the mine field…I am waiting...and it is safe…

Miss you so much

From: Stacey Marchenkova  
To: dom borax
< >
Sent: Saturday October 3rd , 1999 13:31PM
Subject:  Change of topic
Hey I saw Elsa today…it was really weird…as you know I’ve been getting up early more often…and not just to walk your dog…though this morning Oftenbark was with me…cute as ever...heeling and tail wagging…
Anyway…there we where walking through the Valley again…
Not sure why but I like walking Oftenbark through the valley…I think it’s cause I love the junkies stroking him…
junkies love dogs…
and he also protects me against the hippy craft folk in their cheap oil cubicles at the morning fair…but I confess as much as I hate them…I still look…I still pick up the odd crystal…I still try on the stupid felt hat…I still smell the leather and contemplate buying that TinTin T-Shirt for you…
But I don’t buy anything… trust me…the money stays in my pocket…which is needed…for without it I’d never be able to buy that coffee or cooked (wrote cocked for a second – watch it, mister) breakfast at the Cosmo Cafe…
And Dominique loves the Cosmo…
Do you remember her? She was at my birthday…the pretty gay one…you liked her…you said she was sexy in a gay way…and it wasn’t because you couldn’t have her…or that she had your name…you genuinely thought she was cute and lamented her choice…again, you stressed…not that you’d go there…and if anything you thought…she was going to make some chick very happy one day…
Anyway…there we were, Dominique, me and the dog…we were sharing a big breakfast because we’re girly girls…though Dominique always takes more than her fair share of bacon…lezzo thief…
And as we were eating, I saw Elsa out the corner of my eye…she was at the markets buying some honey, some tatty home made musical instrument and second hand CDs…I swear I saw she had a Genesis CD…
I nudged Dominique…
“See her…that’s Elsa…Dom’s ex.”
Dominique’s eyes narrowed as she took her second sausage…
“I know her.” She said.
“Yes, she dances…maybe you saw her on stage…”
“No, I know-know her.” She said.
It was my turn to narrow my eyes…I took the sausage off her and had a bite…
“You mean know-know?” I asked.
Dominique nodded…and admitted they’d had an affair a year ago when she was doing her design course at Queensland University of Technology.
“She posed for me and later we had dinner…it was nice…she’s a good kisser…”
“But didn’t you recognize her at my birthday dinner?”
“Of course.”Dominique replied, “But I wasn’t going to say anything then. She was with Dom. It was your birthday. It didn’t feel apt.”
“But later, come on! You could have told me later.”
“For what reason?”
“Good gossip.” I replied being a tad selfish.
“Look, Stace’ to be honest…I forgot…I was in love…remember…(not that that worked out)…and it slipped my mind…it’s only now that I remember…just one of those things, I guess…”
I nodded and turned to see Elsa one more time…she was alone and had made it to the plants…she was looking at a cactus…
Dominique at this point turned her look away and stole a piece of bacon from my plate…Oftenbark remained dozing at my feet…either too bored too look or too mean to say Hi…
I think it was the latter…
Miss you, honey…

Sunday, September 18, 2011

245th email

From: Dom Borax 
To: Stacey Marchenkova

Sent: Friday October 2nd, 1999 21:01PM
Subject:  RE RE RE I am so Sorry
Sorry again for lack of reply. I have to confess it was not so much busy workload this time. It was your question.
“You didn’t say what Pamela looked like… is she attractive? I bet she is.”
I was a little miffed at it, I have to say. There was no reason to comment on Pamela’s look. I didn’t mention it because I don't really see it.
But if it helps, she looks tired most of the time. She has transparent veins under her eyes and dark rings. Her hair is always perfect but it dries easily. She is toned but has no shape. You could say she was sorta pretty but there is nothing sexy about her. She wears nice clothes but her knees will always be lumpy.
She is simply not my type.
You are.


Wednesday, September 14, 2011

244th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova  
To: dom borax
< >
Sent: Tuesday September 29th, 1999 21:11PM
Subject:  RE RE I am so Sorry
You didn’t say what Pamela looked like… is she attractive? I bet she is.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

243rd email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Monday September 28st, 1999 9:36AM
Subject: RE I am so Sorry

Hey Stacey, I think it’s me that needs to apologise. I was off the radar for a week and didn’t let you know. I am so sorry for that. It was selfish of me. Of course it would send you into a tizzy (sp?). It would send me into a tizzy (sp?).

For what it’s worth let me explain:

See this city is intense. This job is intense. My boss is intense.

Indeed she’s crazy and not in an interesting way. She flips out one day, crying and yelling and is nice as pie the next.

I’ve even been collecting some of the things she says and writing them down in a little book.

You never know, I might use them one day in that great novel I will never write.

So as a sneak preview, here are a couple of overheard gems from my cubicle next to the toilets, under the air con, at the back of the Fox Television demountable offices.

“I am smarter than you and don’t forget it.”

“I don’t do that emotion.”

“I think I know most of the words in the English Language.”

“Hold me. I need some comfort”

And these are just a few.

Her name is Pamela by the way and she’s addicted to exercise and personal growth.

ME (Wryly to Himself): Two very generous and caring and empathetic ideas. Hey?

But her addiction is only strong if others are addicted too. So she pushes them down our throats; urging – NAY – insisting that we all exercise and read Louise Hay.

Indeed the Louise Hay kick is so strong that we can’t leave the office until we offer up our daily affirmation.

“When I wake up tomorrow, I will be better person than I was today. I will have more money on my pocket, less fat in my blood and I will stop using the word nay.”
She makes us work stupid hours 7:00am to 8:00pm and expects us also to be on call for Breakfast meetings prior to 7:00 if needed.

She is a passionate teetotaler, who thinks those that imbibe at lunch have a problem. And all Australians are alcoholics.

She also monitors all emails – fearing we might be talking about her behind her back.

Which we do.

When we get drunk at Lunchtimes.

So with all this it has been tricky. Not to mention the Mormon Kids show is in a ditch at the moment and Pauly Shore complained to Pamela about me.

Not sure where this is all going. I’ve got to be out of the hotel by the end of the week and there’s no apartment on the horizon.

I’ve talked to Dad about flushing me another week’s tariff for the hotel. But I haven’t heard back. So if you speak to him could you give a nudge?

So again, my darling – I am so sorry for silence. But I am determined to break the rules and send you emails whenever I can. Actually it makes it quite exciting.

Screw Pamela. No controlling moron is going to get in the way of my love letters.

Love ya

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