Grumpy At The Crossroads

Latest Grumpy column coming out in a forthcoming issue of Tsunami Mag. Grumpy sells his soul at The Crossroads and writes perhaps the greatest blues song ever written. Oh yeah baby.

GRUMPY

Grumpy is freelance writer Lee Bemrose (leebemrose666@gmail.com), and he ain't nothing but a loose cannon feeling bad.

Things are pretty bad in the world of Grumpy. I'm feelin' kinda blue. I ain't got no job. Down to my last bottle of bourbon. My girl left me for another man. I'm at a crossroad. Maybe I'm at THE crossroad and it's time to make a deal with the devil.

Recently I had to interview local band The Beards. Maybe you've heard of these guys. They write songs about beards, then they sing these songs about beards. Just beards, beards beards, and mostly just how much better a man is if he's got a beard. Real men are supposed to have beards, and it's offensive to their manhood and the natural order of things to scrape away their beards.

Their song titles are things like No Beard, No Good; Who Told You To Shave Off Your Beard; and If Your Dad Doesn't Shave, You've Got Two Mums. Weird thing is that as basically silly as these songs sound, they're actually pretty good. Get these for some well-crafted lyrics: “I'm not in the mood for strokin'/ For pink bits pokin/ Chocolate sauce/ Intercourse...” Kind of idiotic out of context, but within the context of the song, they work the way, say, Spinal Tap's Big Bottom works (“Big bottom, big bottom/Talk about bum cakes/my girl's got 'em/ Big bottom drive me out of my mind/ How could I leave this behind?”). Inspired, really.

In thinking about my current situation, The Crossroads and making deals with the devil, I recalled the quote from the movie The Crossroads that said “Blues ain't nothin' but a good man feeling bad.” So I made a deal with the devil, and low and behold came up with a blues song that I hope is as good as The Beards' folk/rock or Spinal Tap's metal. My song goes a little something like this...

One day my baby asked me (this was before she left me)

She looked at me through swimming pool eyes,

And asked me what was on the TV (on the TV)

I turned to my baby (yeah this was when she was still here)

And told her through a breath of sorrow and beer,

What the hell kind of crazy-assed question

Is that to ask a loose cannon, rock 'n roll vagina-lovin' guy like me?

I'm just a loose cannon, rock 'n roll vagina-lovin' guy,

With the loose cannon, rock 'n roll vagina-lovin' guy blues.

This other time she asked me (as she walked out the door),

Through a sad smile as she held packed bags,

If it bothered me that she ain't gonna be here no more.

I put down my guitar and looked at her (she was still here, but she was going)

Told her there was no way for a guy like me of knowing (of knowing),

And anyway what the hell kind of crazy-assed question

Is that to ask a loose cannon, rock 'n roll vagina-lovin' guy like me?

I'm just a loose cannon, rock 'n roll vagina-lovin' guy,

With the loose cannon, rock 'n roll vagina-lovin' guy blues.

There is more. Lots more. But we're running out of space, and besides, I don't want my heartache to get inside and mess you up the way it done did me... did, because it hurts real bad, my heartache. You can trust me on that, you can done do.

Right now I'm going to sit here all by myself, out on the porch with my faithful pooch – T-Bone Kincaid – and write me some more heartfelt lyrics to I'm Just A Loose Cannon, Rock 'n Roll Vagina-lovin' Guy With The Loose Cannon, Rock 'n Roll Vagina-lovin' Guy Blues. Sold my soul to the devil for this, but I think it will be worth it in the long run. Don't think my song writing has ever been better.

Love & Crime

New project. Short story collection. I think it will be called something like Love & Crime. I appear to write about love and crime quite a lot. Maybe Love, Death & Crime. I'm getting it ready for the Penguin Monthly Catch gig. I want Penguin to be my publisher because I like Penguins. Failing that, I'm going to look at self-publishing, because this is fun.

Track listing goes like this:

Remembering Argos - A guy grows old. Will make you cry. Promise.

Ruben Jane - Leather jackets, loud music, drugs, love and death. Dark and beautiful. Been known to make people cry.

Blue Angeline - Hypnotic, narcotic, atmospheric. Forgotten trinkets, forgotten promises, forgotten love. I like this one even if no one else gets it.

Love Letter - A headstone can be a love letter. Sweet laughter in the cemetery. Happy tears this time.

Silver Screen Daydream - A loser in love. Funny and sad. You will laugh and want to hug Ewan.

Finding Davey - Family life gone wrong. It happens. Old age happens. Will make you sad.

Boy & Girl - Short and bittersweet.

Two Shadows - Not quite of this world, but close. Lovely and unrealistically heart-warming.

Treading Water At Turtle Bay - Proper melancholy at its heart but with some solid comedy.

Ants - An old family guy has some voyeuristic fun in the park. Unsettlingly amusing.

The Funniest Man In The World Tells A Funny Story - What, you need an explanation?

Man & Boy - I swear I had never heard of Oh The Places You Will Go before writing this. I think Dr Seuss would approve of this one.

Quick - Who is Quick? What is he? We're getting tough now. Everyone likes Quick, dark fucker that he is.

Best Man - Marriage? Love? Hahaha. Blam. It's about revenge. Bitch.

Stabulous The Clown - A story about being on acid, on acid. A vigilante in a clown suit. Fucked up and funny.

Being Groove Terminator - A case of mistaken identity that is a true story, except for the made up bits. Lots of fun. It really is a true story. Mostly.

Grumpy With Twitter

A recent Grumpy column about my bafflement with Twitter. I gave it a go and I just don't get it. It just feels utterly pointless and yet another way to waste time on the internet... and a pretty annoying one at that. It must be me though because a gazzilion tweeters can't be wrong, can they.

Anyway, click n the image, then again to make it readable, and enjoy.

I'm off to post a link on Facebook now and see what everyone is up to.

See? Who needs Twitter when there's Facebook?

Birth Of A Loose Cannon

GRUMPY

Grumpy is freelance writer Lee Bemrose (leebemrose@hotmail.com) Word on the street is that he's a bit of a loose cannon.



A while ago I was told that I was a stalwart, by two separate people on two separate occasions. In one weekend.

I guess this is something of an achievement, something to be proud of. Me, a stalwart. Two people. Two distinct and separate occasions. In fact it's possibly even a little bit cool because both people were talking about me being a stalwart of the doof scene. When they had first started going to outdoor parties, I was there, an entrenched part of the scene, and here I was all this time later still going strong when many other former stalwarts had lost some of their stalwartiness. I was a rock. You could count on me. Definitely, this was something to feel good about.

However, it made me realise that I had always harboured the desire to be called something else. I have been quietly aching to be called a loose cannon. Just once, by one person, on one occasion. Compared to loose cannon, being called a stalwart was like being told you are nice, as opposed to be told you are cool. I hadn't realised how long I had been carrying around this loose cannon thing until shortly after The Double Stalwart Incident. Why had no one ever told me I was a loose cannon?

I had even spent more time than I care to admit coping with my desire to be called a loose cannon by imagining that it was the kind of thing that was happening all the time in my absence.

“Wow, man, I was hanging out with Grumpy the other night and whoa, that guy is a loose cannon.”

“Tell me about it. When they came up with the phrase loose cannon, they had him in mind.”

However, thinking about it, that conversation has probably never taken place. More likely it would go:

“Gee – I was thinking about Grumpy the other day and you know what I realised?”

“Stalwart?”

“How did you know?”

“I was thinking the exact same thing. In fact I think you could go so far as to say he's a double stalwart.”

I eventually asked friends if someone could humour me and just call me a loose cannon, just once. Please? They asked me why they would do such a thing because to be a loose cannon you have to do the kind of things loose cannons do, and I did not do these things. Ergo, they mercilessly went on, I can't be called a loose cannon.

Okay so I'm not exactly Charlie Sheen, but I have my own loose cannon ways. Like, getting ready for a theatre opening night the other night I found I only had mismatched socks left. What did I do? I wore mismatched socks – and got away with it. Loose Cannon.

The other day I ate two rows of chocolate, which is my usual limit, but as there was only one more row left, I ate it too. Three rows. Loose cannon.

I spent a whole day recently being completely naked. Loose. Cannon.

I even posted Killing Joke's Loose Cannon on a certain social networking site as my theme song, just to drive my point home.

The really funny thing about my ongoing campaign – and yes I know my loose cannon activities are a long way from partying with pornstars and saying wild and crazy things in the media like “WINNING!” - but the really funny thing is that my very amused friends everywhere have started doing it. Friends I hadn't realised had been following this ongoing joke... it's been happening in emails, in text messages, and in real life. I imagine strangers overhearing my friends telling me I'm such a loose cannon, and them saying to their friends, “Watch out for that guy – I hear he's a bit of a loose cannon.”

Yes. WINNING!

Grumpy Is A Loose Cannon

This is a work in progresscalled Loose Cannon. It will be my next Grumpy column, I feel. I've started a pretty lame campaign to convince everyone that I am a loose cannon. Odd socks to a theatre opening night? Loose cannon. Eating three rows of chocolate when two is my usual limit? Loose cannon. Going a whole day without wearing pants, I am a loose cannon, and that's how a loose cannon rolls.

More later.

Grumpy With The Internet

A recent Grumpy column from the pages of Tsunami mag. Not the most recent, just the first one I grabbed after figuring out how to make the image thing on Blogger work properly again. And in fact, I didn't figure it out at all; someone else was having the same problem and someone who had figured it out told them how to fix it and I just followed their instructions. Click on the image to make it big, then again to make it readable.

Enjoy.

Christmas 2011

Weird to think that this time last year I was in snowy Lake Tahoe in California having snowfights and snowboarding lessons and drinking in hot spas while the snow fell around us. I was there with The Dreaded One and Kathryn Shreve, two of my favourite people and it was the best Christmas ever. I don't know that it being Christmas was what made it a great time. It was more that Christmas means little to me and is usually a bit of a pain in the arse in one way or another and so I usually like to just get through it. That Christmas though was a happy time in every way.

And there was snow. Lots of snow. I like the snow.

I haven't posted much personal stuff this year because it's been a strange year. It got off to a shaky start, I got a job I was initially looking forward to but which quickly turned to shit. It wasn't all bad but when it was bad it was really bad. I should have left straight away but stuck it out for a bit, lost all my confidence, got lazy and stopped looking for other work and things just got worse. I started looking elsewhere again and got a couple of nibbles but nothing came through and then the end of the year started to loom. Even so, it reached a point where I really wanted out. Told them I wasn't being fair on them or me because I just didn't like the place and didn't want to be there. They said fine but can you hang in until the end of the year. I said sure and although it was tough going, I made it and had my last day a couple of days ago. So good to be out of there. Good people and I regret that I wasn't able to socialise with a few of them.

I'm in that familiar place again; unemployed with no idea what's going to happen next.

Well that's not exactly true. The Dreaded One and I just bought tickets for our next trip. We can't really afford it but we thought what the hell, buy the tickets and make it happen. We're going to fly into Athens and out of Barcelona, with a bit of improv travel on the way. Boom is locked in... oh fuck. Must get my ticket (she has bought hers but the site kept crashing when I tried buying mine. Something known as Error 05). And there is a road trip with a couple of great Spanish friends from Madrid to Boom in Portugal and some chill time planned down Sintra way. And we might hook up with a friend Nadia before that in South France. And we might hook up with our Sydney friends who spend the party season in Ibiza. And The Dreaded One wants to visit a couple of Greek Islands and the Amalfi Coast in Italy on the way to France/Spain... it's going to be a busy eight weeks. Must dust off my Accomodation Man costume. Looking forward to this. Leaving August 1st, 2012.

And I'm working on a play. This has been a very interesting development. The story goes like this... I got an email one day out of the blue saying that this person had been looking for appropriate reviewers of her new production company's play and my name kept coming up and could I please come along to review it. She had also read a bit on this blog, some of the Grumpy columns. This was shortly after we moved to Melbourne and I had only reviewed a couple of things. Her emails amused me. I offered to interview her. There were lots of emails, lots of amusement. I reviewed the play. Very good.

Then it went quiet between us. She was working on her next Tom Sainsbury play and would be in touch.

Several weeks ago she got in touch and asked if I wanted to do it all again. She asked how my writing was going. I happened to have a new short story out in a local lit mag and told her about it. She asked if it could be made into a play. I said no, I don't think so. She said, regardless, can you please write a play for me because I want you to write something that we can produce.

I was a bit baffled by this because... well just because. A play is very different to a short story. What made her think I could write a play? I asked her this and she said she was looking for some good local talent and thought I could write some dark, funny stuff or even just some funny stuff.

I sent her the first act of an unfinished play, something I'd written a while ago and just put aside. I never finished it although the concept was complete in my head. I said here's a sample of what my theatre stuff would be like if I wrote theatre stuff, tell me what you think and we can take it from there.

She wrote back saying that she loves it and lets do it, finish the thing and we'll make it. Just like that.

I've never had such positive feedback... well that's not entirely true. I have had friends and yeah, strangers too pay me really lovely compliments about my writing. It's pretty special each time this happens and I don't think I'll ever get used to it. It will never outweigh the bland rejections.

But to have this happen just after telling The Dreaded One that I need a creative partner or to be part of a creative group because otherwise I rarely see ideas through to the end... to have this person who gets the ball rolling and sees it through and makes a script come to life on stage, to have her wanting to set a date for the season based on the early draft of one act of a play I haven't even finished... man, that's saying something. She said she wants me to cast it, wants me to have my creative print all over it (this after I said she'd be great as the female lead because she really is a very good comic actor and she said if she acted in it we'd have to find a new director but it will be up to me whether to cast her or not).

This is all very unexpected and seems slightly unreal. But these things do happen. I moved to Melbourne on a whim. This person moved from New Zealand to Melbourne around the same time, I think. If it all comes together it will feel like this is what I came to Melbourne for. That play may never have been given another thought, so easily distracted am I, but it's come to life again with additional possibilities. It's not opening at The Malthouse or the MTC or anything. It will be small, but it will be the strangest experience to see actors delivering my made-up to an audience. That is going to be so strange.

So as well as having a job to find and money to save I have a play to finish. And cast. The play should be staged soon after we get back from the overseas trip. 2012 is going to be an interesting year.

Right now I'm going to sit down and finish reading Jennifer Egan's A Visit From The Goon Squad, which for me is up there with Patrick White's The Vivisector, Don Delilo's Underworld and Peter Carey's Illywhacker. Seriously good writing. I'm almost looking forward to finishing this one just so I can start reading it again.

Christmas Day tomorrow, lunch somewhere with The Dreaded One. Boxing Day a friend comes to stay and we party for a couple of days, then we drive out to the bush for Tribadelic for a few days of NYE partying.

Happy Christmas. Hope you're hanging with loved ones.