Stompy & Grumpy's DJ Debut at Ixchel's Sadaka

Played my first DJ set the other night with The Dreaded One. We played as Stompy & Grumpy, and in spite of not doing any really serious practice until this week, and in spite of nerves and technical glitches, the feedback has been pretty damned good.

The day saw us get up and get stuck into the set for a final run through to make sure the time was right. It clocked in almsot to the minute of our 90 minute allocation. Still, one DJ friend had said it's a pretty ambitious first set and there were indeed tweaks to be made. The day sped along. We were running out of time but adjustments had to be made. A couple of times I felt like we just couldn't do it and part of me wanted to call the whole thing off. We were still making changes hours before we were on.

Arrived at the party with a knot in my stomach and didn't really want to talk to anyone. I felt in a very strange headspace. The party was quite full and filling up fast. By 11pm it was going to be very full.

Oh - the equipment we would be using was nothing like our small set up at home. It was a LOT bigger.

Few drinks to calm the nerves without straying too far from sober. Lots of friends, some of whom knew we were going to play, but as it turns out, there were also a lot who would soon be surprise to see us behind the decks.

Guy before us played a pretty dark, night time set. Pretty hard for 10pm. Danced a bit. Tried to get a look at the mixer. Had accute sphincter spasms.

Maybe quarter to 11, a rush of friends showed to give their support. Truth was in the beginning I hadn't really wanted to be heard or seen by friends in case we sucked. But here they were smiling and reassuring us we'd be all right. A couple even said they just knew we'd be good. How they knew that, I don't know. I wasn't sure of anything. Things took on a slightly surreal edge for me. The room was near capacity by now and nothing felt real. I'm just not a get-up-in-front-of -a-crowd kind of guy.

We moved into the DJ both as DJ Dukie put on his last track. Weird seeing the room from that angle. Everyone looking. I spotted even more friendly faces, but there were also plenty I'd never seen before. Fucking nervous. Fumbled with my headphones. Cord in knots as I pulled it from my bag. Chat with Dukie about the equipment. Stompy - who I later discover was even more nervous than me - tells me to cue my first track immediately instead of talking; only minutes to go. But I'm trying to be cool and calm about this.

Things move fast and too slowly at the same time. I find the headphone jack and this all feels very fucking weird. I am not a DJ. What am I doing behind the decks, in front of an eager crowd?

Couple of minutes to go before the end of Dukie's set ends and ours begins. Our set, a bunch of tracks we've put together over the months because we like them and we think they fit together. But we're punters, not DJs.

I cue the beginning of our first track. A proggy favourite, a remix of Scandal in New York. Things just feel weirder hearing this familiar track alongside Dukie's dark night time menace. I have no idea if this is going to work. I'm kind of on auto pilot now. For now it's detail and movement and paying attention. I cue up where I've decided to come in from, just like I have at home. I'm going to hit the cue button and hold it down twice right when she says her first "Pay attention!" Then I'm going to hit play. A third Pay Attention! and we'll be underway. Oh yeah - I have to pick the pace up by several BPMs before we even start. First two tracks are around the 130 mark and we have to nudge it up to just over 140 quite quickly. But smoothly. The fuck am I doing?

Pay attention!..... Pay Attention!..... Pay Attention!

And we're on. We're going. We're playing one of my favourite tracks to a room full of friends and strangers. I look up briefly to see if anyone is hanging around. Room is still full. People are dancing. Funny. Scary. A friend comes behind the booth to tell me we need more volume. We nudge it up and it's awesome hearing this track coming out so loud and perfect. Not a bad start. Just have to keep going for the next hour and a half.

During the day I've been fucking up the mix into the next track but Stompy nailed it a couple of times, so plan is, I'm going to take the bass out while she hits the cross fader and play and we go into the next track with a bang. This has to happen on the 2.44 (seconds left) mark. 2.25 comes up and I kill the bass, but Stompy does nothing, even though she's poised ready for action.

"Weren't you going to cross at 2.44?"I ask as I ease the bass back up.

"That wasn't 2.44... oh fuck!"

We aim for another similar spot and try our best but it's a train wreck. Our first train wreck in our first set. At the first mix. Not good at all.

But the punters are still dancing, this time to Wizzy Noise's Sabotage. I ease the BPMs up, and it just sounds so fucking good, that Wizzy Noise, big fuzzy beat, almost a glam rock beat. I cue up the next track as quickly as possible. I'm all concentration because I want to get this right so much. Cue'd up, nothing to do for about six minutes now but wait. I look up into the crowd properly then. And I smile because they are really getting into this. There are smiles everywhere. Some are dancing with their eyes closed, still smiling, their heads in a place I know so well. I'm really happy all of a sudden. The track is thundering and wobbling, somehow ominous and joyous at the same time and I can't help it. Smiling like a fool, I start to stomp and dance and really get into it.

Stompy and I take turns at mixing, two or three each at a time. Some of the mixes don't work so well, others are nailed. The crowd doesn't seem to care either way. It's wall to wall now, totally full to capacity and it's jumping. It is totally lapping it all up. We dance behind the decks. I see strangers in the crowd smiling. Big smiles of thanks. Eye contact lingers. It's quite possible they think we are not bad DJs. Hilarious.

And I see other smiles. From friends who are maybe thinking this is all a bit of a cack too: what the hell are they doing up there? Other friends seem to be smiling with happiness, knowing that this was all a bit of a laugh that appears to be coming together quite well. I think I see pride in a couple of smiles. One smile, all the way from The Windy City, shines brighter than the others and just makes me feel ridiculously happy. I jump about just like I would on the dancefloor until it is my turn to concentrate and mix.

There is a lot of equipment failure. At one random point the cross fader starts working in reverse so that you mix to the right deck by crossing to the left. Confusing but we have to just work around it. There are other problems to with the monitors and headphones, but we somehow get through it and minimise the damage. At no point does the crowd thin. It just seems to swell and it doesn't stop dancing once.

Such relief when the end is in sight. We've relaxed into this and managed to have fun. I feel comfortable up there. People have approached the decks throughout to say things like awesome set and Hello my friend - I did not know you DJ'd. First time, I reply through the smile I cannot get off my face.

The following DJ is Haig, a friend and a good DJ from way back. He is smiling as he comes into the booth to set up. "Enjoy that?"he asks, knowing the answer.

When our last track dies out, there is applause and cheering, a whistle here and there. It was not the smoothest mix ever played but overall the crowd enjoyed it and we made it through to the end.

Friends congratulate us with hugs and smiles. They say things like I knew you could do it and I knew you'd be good. One guy we've rarely talked to is all smiles as he tells us that he was so surprised to see us up there because he's only ever seen us on the dancefloor. All through the rest of the night I have complete strangers approach me, slap me on the back, say things like awesome set brother. One really got into the theme we had going, and I guess that means the tracks did go together. One guy was suripsed when we told him we had played downstairs and he said he was down there then, couldn't see who was playing from the back of the room but was really getting into it.

One of the promoters said she wanted us to play at their next party. Same promoter that about a year ago asked if we wanted to play at a party and I had drunkenly said hell yeah, maybe thinking it was never going to happen.

But it hapened. Stompy & Grumpy DJ'd, and the people, they danced and smiled. It was a pretty special night.

Meow To The World: A Crisis Is Born

I don't normally post reviews until they come out in the mag first, but given that the magazine review won't be out until this very short season is over, I thought I'd break that rule. If any of you are in Sydney this weekend and you want to see some great theatre, see Meow Meow at The Studio, Sydney opera House.

You could also see The Promise at Belvoir Street. Very different theatre but well worth seeing. Here's this review, which I agree with. Will post mine when the magazine is out... although there's probably little point given that Diana Simmonds' is more detailed than my little 300 worder.

For now, here's my 300 word review of last night's Meow Meow performance. I went along with three freinds who had no idea what to expect other than a cabaret performer I like a lot. All three had a great time and came away raving, instant fans. You probably can't get a better endorsement than that.


Meow To The World: A Crisis Is Born

The premise of this show was a Christmas in July deal, but on a budget. So the planned Christmas extravaganza the crazed cabaret Queen had in mind doesn't go quite according to plan. Then again, this is Meow Meow, so you pretty well expect mayhem and chaos to sashay into the rooom at any moment.

A short time into the show, after the audience is brow-beaten into adulation and flower-throwing (uncouth lot we were, Miss Meow supplied her own flowers), a props guy arived to take delivery of a couple of props that had been rented by the hour and not for the entire show. Meow Meow reluctantly took off her cocktail gown, glove and earrings and handed them over, then quite reasonably made her male band members also undress to their underwear while unleashing some hilarious invective on the Opera House's budget.

There were cabaret classics in various languages, some Christmas classics, a bit of fund raising by bare-kneed orphans, a chorus line of dolls, a dreamy dream sequence and of course a lot of crowd surfing. As with all Meow Meow performances, the mood swung from sophisticated to silly in seconds.

Musical highlights? For this besotted fan, Nick Cave's Red Right Hand and Laurie Anderson's The Dream Before. This last one was sublime, with Meow Meow imbuing what is a really poignant song with unexpected humour with the merest hint of inflection or subtle physical gesture, yet retaining the overall sentiment of the song. I truly didn't want any more after this. I wanted the performance to end on this note of perfection.

But perfection will never do with Meow Meow, and she brought her undies-clad band back for Surabaya Johnny. Touching, stirring, unpredictable... the night ended on a different kind of perfection.

Season ends July 26
LEE BEMROSE

Introducing DJs Stompy & Grumpy

Over the course of my silly little life I've accidentally managed to get my name on a poster or two, the cover of a novel (someone else's, not mine), lots of columns and feature pieces in magazines, and now - as you will see if you click on the image to the left - a flyer for a club night.

Yes, that's right, The Dreaded One (Stompy) and I (Grumpy) will be DJing at the Abercrombie next Saturday night.

Totally hilarious.

Do come play with us if you're in town. It will be fun. Promise.

What's Right With This Picture?

A secret special prize goes to the person who comes up with the best explanation for what the hell is going on in this picture. I mean, what is that expression all about? Why are the tins of minted peas and a little bag of lollies wrapped in cellophane? And check those girly purple mittens. Why is it happening on a Melbourne tram? What the hell is going on?

Any suggestions?

Bendy Grumpy

Most recent Grumpy column in Tsunami. Weird in that it's the third version of something I was trying to write for the blog. Came out different each time. Quite like this version. It's basically an amalgam of many benders had with good friends. Some of them are faint memories from years ago. Others are more recent fun times.

I love swan-diving into the abyss, I really do. But I also like that feeling of swimming to the surface and seeing the clearness again.

New people in my life now, and I totally adore... hang on. Tour de France. Gotta go.

Melbourne Memories

The days were long and sometimes lonely, but it was a pleasant kind of loneliness. Perhaps loneliness is not the right word at all... aloneness. Sometimes I wondered what I was doing there at all.

But the nights, short as they were, brimmed with laughter and good times. Countless funny little episodes as we gazed at the wonderful weirdness that is Dali, huddled laughing in a tiny theatre, or sunk into a couch in a bar and laughed at the antics of fellow drinkdancers.

On those short nights, I didn't wonder, was just glad that I was there at all.

The Weather And Your Health

Drained. Empty. Bit broken. Do love that I love people though.

Here's a thing I saw a couple of days ago: The Weather And Your Health. Sorry about the typos.

Need food. Going out for supplies. Back soon.

Peace

Peace is meeting an old friend, one who has angered you and who you have angered. Peace is accepting you have been wrong and they have been wrong too. Peace is that familiarity that is the foundation of love. Peace is the happiness you feel because you are in the same room as them, same life on planet Earth. Peace is the hug and the smile and the silent look that says I'm glad you are part of my life. Peace is accepting that although you may never see them again, there is a bond. Peace is the happiness you feel because no matter how far away they are, you know they are happy.

More Adventures With Faux Chefing

With regard to faux chefing, things have been quiet on the Big Pointy Building front so I've joined an agency and I've been a chef-for hire. (I was going to mirror the gun-for-hire thing but no chef tool sounds cool. A whisk-for-hire? A spatula-for-hire? A wooden spoon-for-hire?).

Anyway, I've picked up a bit of work and it's been interesting. I'm out of my comfort zone and I'm having to bluff for real now. It's okay at The Big Pointy Building because, as Leonard Cohen says, everybody knows.

But these new people, they don't know that I am not a chef, but rather than being up front about it, I am now willfully acting like I am a chef. I have to. These places are hiring freelance chefs, so I have to be a freelance chef.

My life of deception was going along fine until this week I was hired for six days by a large, very serious catering company... who from henceforthwithforth shall be refered to as The Very Serious Catering Company (VSCC).

The VSCC is located... oh it's located everywhere, but the venue I'm booked for is big to say the least. This is major league, kick arse stuff, and on the first day I'm running not quite late but sort of kind of getting into the red zone. It's a hike to get out there, and this massive stadium... it just feels empty this time of the morning. And I cannot for the fuck of it find this secret underground security entrance I'm supposed to enter through.

By blind luck and tippping my head in different directions to read the You Are Here bit on the map, I manage to find the underground entrance. I buzz for security. Affable security guy gets me to sign in, gives me my security wrist band.

"There ya go," Affable security Guy says, nodding me on.

"Right. Thanks - but go where?"

"Oh you've never been here before? Right. Haha. 'K. Go out here, hang a right, blahblahblahblah. Blahdy blah blah where you should find Bay 16."

I head off, by now deep into the red zone of being late, without technically as yet being late, and it quickly becomes apparent that the little underground road I'm following is the circumference of the stadium. I've had to go halfway around the damn thing on ground level to get here, now it feels like I'm walking the other half to form a complete circle.

I find Bay 13 and Bay 12 and it appears that I've been heading in the wrong direction. Fuckity fuck. I head back and back and pass the security entrance and keep going and going until I see some cleaners on a golf buggy and I ask them where Bay 16 is.

"Oh, it's back that way... it's a long way but you have to go back around...

You get the idea. By now I am definitely going to be late, I just hope it's not going to stand out too much.

Bay 13, it turns out, is the bay I should have been looking for. This is the catering entrance. I'f I'd just walked a bit further along I would have seen evidence of catering, like the signs on the doors saying things like 'Catering inside'.

I see a loading dock guy with a chef's apron on and ask him where I have to go. He takes me inside and it's the biggest, shiniest kitchen I have ever seen. I smack my gob. Seriously. My God.

Loading dock guy hands me a white frilly thing and tells me I have to have it. It's a strip of frilly paper. I have no idea what it is. I ask what it is. He smirks and pulls it apart and I realise I have to start the chef deception thing. I go oh riiight, and pull the frilly thing apart and put it on my head, hoping that it is indeed a hair net.

The guy takes me through these massive, empty kitchens to a couple of doors while I briefly wonder where the other chefs are. He send me through the doors and into the middle of a room of attentive chefs, maybe 60 of them. They all look impeccable in their chef whites and they listen to head chef concluding a rundown of the event as well as asking some pop questions about food handling.

They have all turned to look at me as I quietly sneak into the room dressed in my cargo pants and cammo hoodie, my kit slunbg over my shoulder. I squat down at the back of the room because there are no chairs left, and I listen to head chef go into so much detail about his demands and expectations and I realise that I am possibly very deep in the shit now. It feels very much like those dreams you may have had where you turn up for school not wearing any pants.

But this is so very real. Time slows as I wonder, really, what the fuck am I doing here. The room is so white with all this chef gear that it may as well have been a flamingo that just walked into the room. I think very seriously about bailing as soon as the meeting is over because I am clearly in over my head.

And then I wonder if I'm even in the right place. Maybe there's more than one catering facility at this massive venue. There must be. Maybe I should be at Bay 16 after all.

Back in the days when my insecurities fully had their way with me I would have been crushed. But mostly robust me was howling with laughter on the inside. It was too perfect a fuck up. But I also wondered, how the hell did everyone know about this meeting and that they had to be changed into their chef gear? Why was I the only one who didn't know?

Found out later in the day that it happens to a lot of newbies. The agency just doesn't know or doesn't bother to tell first timers.

Anyway, it was an up and down day but I seem to have gotten away with it. For two days now. Two down, four more to go.

Shun

He gets drunk again. He passes out on the couch again. He sleeps the sleep of the dead. Again.

In the morning she comes to him. They lie in each other’s arms and murmurtalk. She sits up and sees the knife on the coffee table. She stares at it for a while and eventually asks him, why is your Shun on the coffee table?

He looks at the knife. It’s a beauty of Japanese craftsmanship. So balanced. So sharp. It’s one of his beautiful things. His pen made from wood and stone. His mobile phone. His laptop. His special coffee cup from that market stall all those years ago. His Shun knife.

I don’t know, he says, I don’t know why the knife is there. It’s not where a knife should be.

They both think about this. He got drunk again. He passed out again. The warm living room, their soft place, it’s not where a knife should be. They both stare at the knife until she gets up and takes it to the kitchen where it belongs.

All day long he thinks about this. Why the knife, why there, why does he get so drunk? She probably wonders the same. It disturbs him a little because he really can’t remember. Things are not good, but are they that bad? There are still laughs. There are still wonderful people, the thought of them can make a smile. Are things that bad? Why the knife?

All day long. All day long, he wonders.

Then it’s time to go. It’s cold out but they want to go for food and wine. They want to go out and be amongst others. He must get dressed now. He thinks of his shoes. More of his nice things... and then he remembers. He is relieved and amused, tips his head back and laughs the laugh of the living.

What, she asks, smiling, what are you laughing at?

And he laughs and laughs.

Because he tried to go to bed. He made it into their bedroom. One shoe off with a drunken slip. The other shoe not so friendly. No slip. Stuck. Trapped. Struggle. No finesse with tight tight knot. Fingers fumble. Only one solution.

And true enough, there is the evidence. The shoe, slashed lace. They laugh and laugh, relieved. So him. So typical of him. So hopeless. So funny.

He threads new lace, smiling, knowing this will be fodder to make them laugh, but the fact remains, as the smile fades, he’ll get drunk again, he’ll pass out again, he’ll sleep the sleep of the dead again.

A Review of Jeff Green, Interview with Darren Gilshenan about Elling

Here are a couple of things seen recently, out in recent issues of Drum. Both were pretty good, although I thought the play was a bit long. Maybe I was just in a mood but I felt it could have had a substantial slab taken out of each act.

Still, it was good. Funny and really very moving underneath the humour. I thought Gishenan as Elling nailed it in the second act. Very impressive comic acting. And Yael Stone... what a talent. Saw her in the same theatre playing The Monster in Frankenstein. Inspired casting, shining talent.

If you've seen this production I guess I'm talking about scenes such as the poetry reading scene. As funny as that was - and it really was funny - it was just a diversion that didn't move the story forward. You can afford to do that in some plays but I just didn't think they got away with it here. But maybe I missed the point. I really felt the first act took a long time to get going, then after a solid start the second act slowed right down again.

Still. I still enjoyed it a lot. This isn't my review - that comes out next week (after I stayed up until 2am writing it because the mag said they needed it first thing in the morning... grr), these are just some notes off the cuff.

I interviewed a man called Serge today. French puppeteer behind Cabaret Decadanse. Story's due this Friday, out next Tuesday. Would like to post the audio but I think my technology is all wrong. Just seems a waste to, erm, waste interviews when they go all right. I think it went all right. He was pretty gracious, and the word 'sock puppet' rolled off his tongue only as it can when said by a gay French puppeteer. He seemed pretty cool.

Dance Like No One's Watching

This is currently a hot youtube hit. There are a couple of versions out there. I posted one on Facebook in which someone has dubbed over the footage with a track they are clearly promoting, cashing in on the popularity of the visuals. I had been a bit suspicious and found this version with the original sound. It's an hilarious clip. The guy's name is, apparently, Collin and he's from Canada. He's a dancing legend. Watch the clip all the way through. You willl smile so much it will hurt.

Get Out Of The House

I had to run across to Surry Hills Shopping Mall late one night last week for some last minute necessities. It can be a bit of a circus over there sometimes with some of life's fringe-dwellers passing through in all sorts of condition.

I went in, quickly hunted and gathered, got the hell out of there. As I passed an obviously down-and-out couple sitting on one of the benches, cheesy muzak playing emptily in the background, I overheard a bit of their conversation.

"But this is the second night we've been down here and it's been really boring both times."

She was obviously trying to convince him there was a better place to be. He was staring blankly at whoever walked past. It struck me as a particularly hilarious thing for her to have said. Brilliant!

Then as I returned to my warm, nice little home with its comfortable mess and its nice things, with its echo of friends and hugs and love and laughter, happiness and messiness, the full sadness of the woman's comment and the couple's situation really hit home.

There is funny shit everywhere... sometimes it's just not as funny as we think.

Bonkers... A Guilty Pleasure.

Funny - I've never been a Dizzee fan and Arman Van Helden doesn't do it for me... but this track kind of cracks me up. I like it.

Hank And Mike

Just watched Hank And Mike, an indie Canadian movie from a couple of years ago. It's about a couple of blue collar Easter Bunnies who lose their jobs due to down-sizing. Lovely concept. It's quietly very funny with one or two laugh-out-loud moments... although if you're more prone to laughing out loud than I am, which you probably are, you will enjoy a lot more than one or two laugh-out-loud moments. Not sure this trailer does it justice but it gives you an idea of what you're in for.

I liked it a lot.

The Adventure Of Logface And The Grumpy Chef And The Horrible Chips

What else do you do the morning after staying up all night working up an appetite but go out for beer and chips and more adventures. The beer was nice, the chef was the grumpiest chef in the world and the chips were not nice, as you can see. We spied Logface in the wood pile and were going to take him home but he looked like his taste buds were primitive enough that he might enjoy the chips. Christine fed Logface the chips while we continued to talk and giggle.

Shortly after, we caught a bus with a nice number and somehow made it back home... but that's an adventure for another time.

A Good Thing

You're going to die soon.
Too young.
Too soon.
Have you loved enough?
Have you laughed enough?

I think you should love
And you should hold
And you should love
And laugh
And laugh


So when it's all over
The ones left behind
Will smile.

That will be a good thing.

Dear Les Murray

A million years ago I had a fire in the belly. Eye of the tiger and shit like that. I thought I was going to be a successful writer and I was punching it, baby. I've just been talking to a friend who means more to me than she probably realises and somehow these documents from the past came up.

In case you can't be bothered clicking on the images and reading the details, I sent a story called Treading Water At Turtle Bay to Quadrant. Les Murray wrote back (looking through these rejection letters, I really have a lot of detailed, encouraging letters of rejection) saying he didn't want to go with the story. I sent the story back to him with a letter in which I actually tell him that I think he got it wrong... arrogant fucker I was.

Anyway, he did accept the next story I sent to him (Love Letter) and Southerly accepted Turtle Bay. But I just wanted to share my correspondence between my humble self and Australia's most celebrated poet.

Adventures In South Durras.

For once The Dreaded One and I escaped the city for a weekend that didn't involve doofing. We went away to a little bit of paradise on the South Coast called South Durras with a lovely couple we met at a doof late last year. It was a weekend of food and wine and laughs and late-night talks.

A few hours after arriving we had a bloody nice barbecue and many bottles of wine. Talked a lot, played lots of music. Got a lot of enjoyment out of two bloody enormous moths that moved in, and who we christened Herman and Hermione. No, I don't know either. Just the first two moth names that popped into my head. Typically, I stayed up all night, talking to Christine who also fell asleep when the sun came up. The other two succumbed several hours earlier. I wandered to the beach by myself, eating a sausage from the night before and drinking a beer. Took some ambient shots of the beach because it was so damned gorgeous in the morning light.

I got back to the house and where my late-night-let's-talk-bollocks partner had been snoozing was a small pile of hats. Mysterious. Upon her return we kept talking until the others got up and we drove to Pebbly Beach. This is a beach famous not for it's pebbles (there are none) but for its friendly kangaroos which come down from the bush and onto the beach. Unfortunately there were no kangaroos while we were there either. Not to worry because there were plenty of kangaroos back in South Durras. We did a lot of wandering and bird watching and thinking and drinking and it was very cool.

My favourite photo of the weekend is, I think, the one at the top here of the sign at Pebbly Beach. It's obviously the internationally-recognised symbol for the message "Please do not shoot the local marsupials in the face with hand-held firearms. Thank you."

Oh yeah - fatigue was clearly setting in because when I first interpreted the sign for the others, I said "The sign is saying don't shoot the wombies in the face."

They others kind of laughed and kept looking at the sign, and after about half a minute, realising that something was wrong, I said "What did I just say?"

"You said wombies instead of wallabies but we knew what you meant."

Cupping

My friend in the first image showed me how to do the stuff in the second image. Back whe we first met I never would have guessed she would one day be capable of studying such weird and wonderful things. I am genuinely impressed with her knowledge, her learning, and her desire to do good things for people in far flung places.

The third image is my first attempt at cupping when Chloe was not present. The flame was big and made me make The Dreaded One move off the rug and onto the fire-proof floor. Unfortunately the little ceramic cups were not concrete floor proof. Woopsie.

17 Pings Only

My Internet access just went down big time. At first I thought it was my beloved new lapppy, but the desk top also wasn't working. I isolated the source of the problem which was the new wireless router. Red light = not good.

Don't know about the rest of you but no internet access sends a chilling fear through to the very core of my being. No. Internet. Access. Fuck. Is life really worth enduring with no internet access?

I dug out the pieces of paper that claimed to have all the relevant information to end this hellish torment. Any of you regular readers will probably already be smirking because you know very well that when it comes to things technical, I'm a bit of an idiot. I'd rather not consult pieces of paper with all the relevant information on them but fuck man - no internet access! Dire situations demand drastic action.

Armed with my pieces of paper, I logged into the router wotsit on the big computer. I entered the top secret password and username and stuff came up on the screen. There was too much to choose from. It wasn't even colour-coded so that I could work my way through my favourite colours (yes I am bunging it on just a little bit... but as a tip to techies who set these things up, colour coding would be nice for idiots like me. You know, you start off with the friendly colours like greens and blues and work your way through to the angry colours as it becomes apparent that we are dealing with a very serious problem here).

I entered some numbers and sent a ping. I was quite chuffed with that. Ping indicated that something was okay but that still meant something was a bit buggered. I sent another ping because I liked the sound of sending a ping. Made me feel like Sean Connery in that submarine movie.

I ran some diagnostics which was even more impressive than sending all the pings I'd been sending for the last five minutes. This involved me hitting the diagnostics button and the computer doing something mysterious. I then attempted to analise the diagnostics. This involved me scratching my chin as I stared at some numbers on the screen and wondered what it all meant.

I sent another couple of pings.

I rebooted the router and for a short time it looked like the sun would, in fact, shine again. But nope. I switched everything off, unplugged everything, crossed my fingers and said a little prayer before hooking everything back up again.

More sadness. Another couple of pings and I stormed off in a huff to take a nice hot shower.

After my shower I returned to the computer armed with a whole lot of attitude and the light on the router was green. Green! A Happy colour!

Just goes to show, a nice hot shower can do wonders.

Justice Of The Peace, Man

So lemme get this right... the bank in another state I'm taking out a loan from wants me to get a statutory declaration signed by a Justice Of The Peace stating that I am the one and the same person. Welcome to my life. Oh wait on, this is my life.

It all started because for as long as I can remember I've loathed my middle name, and at some point in my adulthood I just stopped using it. But it does pop up from time to time and as a result on some legal documents I am Lee Mysteryname Bemrose (obviously it's not really Mysteryname... I'd probably keep that one), while on others it's just plain Lee Bemrose.

So everythings cool with the loan guys until the loan guys' legal guys notice the Mysteryname thing and go what? Could this be two people? Two people who look the same and live at the same address and who were born on the same day but are potentially two people? Hmm. Hmmmm.

So to put their minds at rest they ask me to get some Marvel Comics character called Justice Of The Peace (dunt dunt darn) to promise them that although he's never met me, I am one and the same person.

I pick a random Justice Of The Peace from a directory of Justices Of The Peaces (if only there were as many Supermans the world would be a much better place), and he obliges. Signs his name swearing I am one and the same person and I send it off to the imaginative solicitors in another state who have never met me or my Justice Of The Peace (yeah, he's my personal Justice Of The Peace now).

I try, but mostly I just don't get stuff.

Real DJing

Scared about the DJ gig I've dug myself into on the 20 somethingth of some month? Nah. Have to remind myself that I taught these guys everything they know.

Seriously, watch this clip and not smile. I dare you.

The Mysterious Fogman

Catching a cab home from The Big Pointy Building last night just before midnight, I saw a group of four people who struck me as kind of odd. They were walking purposefully down MacQuarie Street looking really outdoorsy. They were rugged up against the cold and had gear slung over their backs. First thing I thought of was hikers. Travellers with all the right gear. Obviously backpackers, but why were they sightseeing at this time of the night. They could have just stepped off the plane and be heading to their hostel, such was their look, but there was no hostel around. Just the harbour and The Big Pointy Buidling. I watched them walk by as we sat at the traffic lights and just thought there was something odd about them.

This morning I read a story about a 26 year old guy who was caught climbing the sails of The Big Pointy Building at about one o'clock this morning. Aha. Mysteryy solved. If only I'd been more on the ball I could have given the police a tip off and nipped their little criminal adventure in the bud.

But I wasn't on the ball. I was suddenly distracted by something as I watched them through the passenger window. My window was misting up. It was cold outside and I'd been working pretty hard. I watched my window as it grew increasingly difficult to see through. Then I looked at the front windscreen. The fog was creeping across the front now. I started to feel a little embarrassed about it. It just kept covering the windscreen millimetre by millimetre. I willed it to stop before it moved across to the driver's side but it just flippped me the bird and continued on its merry way. I was really embarrassed but also a little impressed.

Eventuallly the driver, unable to see very well through the by now totally fogged up windscreen, wound down one of the rear windows to let some cold air into the cabin.

"I'm sorry about that," I told the driver.

"It's okay."

Silence.

"It's like I'm Fogman."

"Who is Fogman?"

"The Mysterious Fogman. He fights crime. He uses fog to... never mind. I'm just making it up."

"Oh. Okay."

Connection

Why do we connect with some people more than others? How is it that complete strangers become close friends? What is this connection thing all about? It always works both ways. You recognise something in each other. You laugh at the similarities. You accept the differences. But there is this connection. A real connection. What is it all about?

Mystery On The 301 From Circular Quay

I was sitting on the bus after work on Friday night when a woman sat in the vacant seat next to me. The bus was filling up but there were plenty of empty seeats around. Bus continued its journey.

At a random moment, without warning and with no apparent reason, the woman got out of her seat and relocated to the seat directly in fron of us, next to another complete stranger. Just like that.

Now I know my self-confidence can occasionally be a bit wobbly, and I know I have my fair share of neuroses, but I defy those of you with the most robust self-confidence to not - in the same situation - think to yourself, "WTF was that all about? Do I smell?"

It's not like she was moving closer to the doors for a quicker exit, and she didn't know the person in the other seat any more than she knew me. I wasn't having an annoying phone conversation or playing music too loud through headphones. And I know I didn't smell because I took a surreptious sniff at my underarms.

I even came very, very close to tappping her on the shoulder and asking, "Excuse me - I couldn't help noticing you sit in this seat, then relocate to that seat. What made you do that?"

But I said nothing. I just sat there wondering why she did that. Couldn't help thinking that everyone behind us would have seen what just happened and would probably be thinking wow, he must smell, smelly man. I wanted to explain to everyone that I don't smell, that I''m a two shower a day guy and that it was just a prep day in the kitchen so I didn't even work up a sweat and I am absolutely definitely not the kind of person who farts on public transport.

I could feel them all staring at me for the rest of the journey. I was relieved to finally get off at my stop. I will never know what made the woman change seats like that. It was such a small act but it made my mood pout with sadness for the rest of the night....

Numbers

A couple of weeks ago my profile views counter stopped clicking over. It was up to 2,200 back then but in reality I'm sure there have probably been millions of Earth-dwellers just like you checking out my profile. Millions. Maybe billions. Cazillions, even.

There must have been lots of you. A few at least. One or two? Maybe just you. Yeah you. Yeah thanks. Ta.

But it's still stuck on 2,200... even though I know cajillions of you have been checking out my blog.

Nice thing is, all 20 billion of you who drop by are all cool people. I like you all.

Especially you.

An Apology...

... to the guy who asked me if I had any pingers when I was eating a nice pie in Kings Cross a couple of weeks ago. Not sure why you asked me, not sure why I said with such confidence, "Go to The Bourbon. There are people there."

Pretty sure I knew why your eyes lit up so quickly. Sorry about that.

Sorry about the disappointment, but fuck it dude, I was enjoying my pie. I needed you to be not talking to me about pingers when I was trying to enjoy my pie.

(I can't tell - was that a nice story? I think it was a nice story. Then again, I'm in a late night mood).

Lily Allen: Sexy Or Annoying?

I could post my recent interview with Bad Seed violinist Warren Ellis, but instead I'll present you with my in depth analysis of the talents of Lily Allen, as published in the current issue of Tsunami. Me high-brow? Oh yeah.

Love In All The Wrong Places

I'm awake at a stupid hour right now, writing up questions for a couple of email interviews I have to have in by the end of the week.

But I just saw on my Recent Documents bit something called Love In All The Wrong Places.

Ooh, I thought, catchy title. Obviously the start of a short story I've forgotten I'd started writing.

I opened the document and it is completely blank. And I have no idea what the story was going to be about. Other than, probably, love and how sometimes you find it in all the wrong places.

Clearly I was inspired at another ungodly hour.

I'd better go sleep and maybe I'll come up with the plot to Love In All The Wrong Places... Jesus - is it the title of a cheap pulp... You know what? I've just remembered. It was to be the new title of a noir short story I wrote. Haha. Oh dear. It is late. But this seemingly pointless post has done it's job. Mystery solved.

As you were.

From Dugongs To Doof.

More pics tomorrow. Lots of sweetness this weekend. It's life. It's good... actually, for more pics of the weekend, go here.

From Crust Pizza On Crown Street, Surry Hills: Weirdest Pizza Ever

There are some things that just should not go onto a pizza. There are some obvious things like, I dunno - cigarette butts, underpants and small dogs.

But other totally wrong pizza toppings are a little less obvious. Pizza makers out there with a sense of adventure stroke their chins and think ,"Hey, this is so crazy it might just work." That's how prawns make it onto pizza. Look, I don't mind the occasional prawn, but for the love of humanity, please keep prawns the fuck away from pizza. It's just wrong.

Likewise... I like pizza and I like shepherd's pie. I thought the crazy guys at Crust Pizza on Crown Street in Surry Hills might just have the flair to get away with this, but wrong, wrong, wrong.

This cannot possibly have been the first shepherd's pie pizza you have ever built. You must have experimented. You must have made at least one before this one. Why, I'll go out on a limb here and bet that you've probably tasted one. At least one.

And what was the result of that test run, huh, Crust Pizza people from Crust Pizza on Crown Street Surry Hills? Did you go, "Mmm - mmm! This is good pizza!"?

Or did you also realise that no matter how good your other pizzas might be, it's just madness to put big blobs of mashed potato on a pizza? If the latter is the case, which it would be if you had a clue, what the hey? Why are you still making and selling shepherd's pie pizzas?

It's not pretty to look at for a start. It looks like Frosty The Snowman has taken a few satisfying dumps on my pizza. And if you can put the snowman poo image out of your mind for a minute or two and try eating the pizza you'll quickly realise what you've been suspecting since you saw the pizza guy using something you'd buy in a hardware store to get the mashed potato onto the pizza: it's a completely shit idea. It's a rubbish idea. It doesn't work. The dried mash potato goes into your mouth just long enough to suck all the moisture out of it before you have to hack it out into your napkin.

This is pizza insanity. It's Dali-esque in its breathtaking weirdness. Please come to your senses and keep the mashed potato the fuck away from pizza.

Tim Tams & Cyberfriends

Strange weekend. It's Monday afternoon and I'm feeling unexpectedly down. Don't know why. Probably just the comedown after the high of a totally cool weekend.

I spent the weekend with a complete stranger I know pretty well. Not sure I really ever expected to meet them in the flesh. Our cyber-paths crossed and although she lived in another part of the world, suddenly she was here and we spent the weekend drinking and laughing and talking so much talk. She has a totally infectious energy about her, at times a hyper-activity. It made me smile. She's like, I don't know, like some exotic creation, a force of charm. We've chatted online, written emails, commented on each other's blogs, but it was strange to actually meet.

I met her outside the local train station. I had been going to ask if hug or handshake was preferable to get through any awkwardness, but as soon as we spotted each other there was no need to ask. We just hugged like the friends we are. Smiles and so good to finally meet you. But kind of a nervousness too. We'd been so relaxed online - what was this going to be like? We already know each other so although meeting for the first time, there wasn't really much getting-to-know-you talk to be made.

Right now, because I'm a moody fucker, I'm feeling a familiar melancholy and wondering if a friendship starts online, should it stay online? Are you risking a perfect little thing by meeting in real life?

I don't know the answer to that. I'm not sure. On one hand I think if it's a perfect friendship online, leave it that way. Maybe they have personal habits that will annoy you. Maybe they have a laugh that grates. Maybe they just won't be as perfect in real life as they are online.

Can't say any of the above applies in this case. I was charmed and captivated and drank in the energy and had a great time. The Dreaded One was tired after work on Saturday night so my cyberfriend and I went out for a few hours of dancing and drinking and oh man, what an all round totally fucking enjoyable night. Sooo many laughs. As nights out go, it couldn't have been much better. Outside the club for some fresh air, we saw the funniest fight between two grown men you could possibly imagine seeing. One guy throws his jacket down in blind rage and starts shouting at his ill-suited mate, "Come on then! Let's finish this now! Let's get it over with now!"

The other guy walks away, so the enraged guy starts flapping his arms about as he kind of boings up and down on the spot in a fit of retarded star jumps. Seriously. It was hilarious. Onlookers everywhere start laughing. But this guy is serious. He wants to sort this thing out now.

They move off down the street but have our attention, interrupting more of our getting-to-know-you chat (there is quite a lot to be had after all). So we decide to cruise past to find out what the fight is about. They're just by that dandelion fountain (El Alamein fountain?), and when we get there there's a crowd of amused onlookers sitting on the edge of the fountain. People across the road have also stopped to watch, because this guy's doing this ridiculous jumping tantrum again. We take our seats and share smiles with those around us. We take photos and some video footage. They scream at each other with faces so close they could kiss. I've already made my prediction that not a single punch will be thrown, and I'm right. You can just tell. All threat and bluster and very real anger, but they won't hit each other. More jumping. A finger poke. It's the best street theatre.

Police arrive and it just gets funnier. They move apart. They call it quits. They come back in for more, and on it goes. One guy phones someone and tries to hand the phone to one of the cops. What is this? He's called someone to prove to the cop that the other guy started it? The cop doesn't want to take the phone. The guy tries to make the cop take the phone. But the cop really really doesn't want to take the phone. The really cranky guy has so much pent-up rage that there is blood; he's bitten his tongue and there is blood. But we crack up each time he does his jumping tanty. Which he does at totally random moments. Fucking hilarious. Up and down... flapflapflapboing boing boing. Or... FLAPFLAPFLAPBOINGBOINGBOING!!!

Oh yeah - adding to the surreal vibe of it all, a busker with a life-sized reindeer head with antlers and (I think) glowing red eyes has stopped right next to the fight to watch what's going on. Reindeer doesn't look very impressed by what's going on before his glowing red eyes. He's just all, "Hrrrmph. Whatevs."

We go back to the club and we dance and meet friends, then make our way home. My friend is amazed at the mess Kings Cross is at 4am on a Sunday, and I am too. Been ages since I was there. She takes photos of the street carnage, and we wander in awe.

We get a cab. The cabbie is a cheerful motormouth and I'm already starting to be amused. I make secret chatterbox gestures with my hands. The guy finally shuts up when his phone rings.

"Hello? Yes? I'm sorry, I can't talk now - I have customers in my car. I'll call you back later."

Silence for a few moments. Then I lean forward a little and ask, "So who was that?"

Like I've got a right to know. But I've dead panned it and my new real life cyberfriend doubles over in silent laughter at the arrogance of the question, at the deadpan conversational tone. And I start to laugh silently too.

"Oh just another cab driver," the cabbie replies earnestly, like it's perfectly normal for me to want to know who it was, like I'm perfectly entitled to know.

"Oh right. What did they want?"

My friend has lost it completely by now. I don't know if I'm conveying it here, but there and then it was the funniest thing ever. We're trying not to look at each other or make any noise, but we are totally losing it with suppressed laughter.

"He just wanted to chat about things," the cabbie says with a shrug.

Silence.

"Why don't you call him back? See what he wants. We don't mind."

Somehow I've managed to keep the laughter at bay and I just sound like the most sincere fucker you could hope to talk to. Like, you know, call him back, it might be important.

It's exquisite, forbidden laughter. We don't make any noise... not very much noise, but we are pissing ourselves. My stomach is hurting and I am sweating with the effort of keeping it in. It's all just too funny.

Anyway. Anyway.

So anyway. Yesterday, lunch and wine and laughs as The Dreaded One, cyber friend and I head out to lunch. Talk long into the night. Everything about her is endearing and charming and just generally pretty damned lovely. Mannerisms that could be potentially annoying just aren't. She's just this incredibly unique creation that I feel like I could hang out with forever. She just feels like a really good friend whose company I enjoy and who I care about a lot. It's a nice, stable feeling, because in the end it's been over a year now of getting to know each other, just not in real life.

But is it all just the novelty of someone new?

She's gone now, and I'm feeling that melancholy. I can still hear her voice. I keep expecting her to come bouncing into the room (she does bounce). I miss her but I'm glad she's heading out somewhere with friends to cause trouble. I think the melancholy is just the getting back to reality after a pretty cool weekend. A very fucking nice weekend indeed.

And I'm just left wondering, with no answer, is it better to leave it all online? If that's the nature of the thing, should that be the nature of the thing?

I'm wondering this as I sit by myself smiling at the weekend just gone and eating more Tim Tams than I should.

Update: I wrote this a couple of hours ago during which the new friend texted me to say what a great time she had. I think that answers my question, actually. If shit is meant to be it's meant to be. A reasonably excellent time was had. It was real life and it was good and I appreciate every fun moment I had. So much fun. I love this kind of stuff.

Meet Desmond

So in a really exciting piece of news... I get an email out of the blue from this guy who wants to catch up for a beer. Says we have a lot of catching up to do. I tell him I don't know anyone called Desmond but he insists we go way back.

Turns out he's my long-lost 70's pornstar identical twin brother Desmond. And I'm like, "Oh that Desmond! Desmond 'Money Shot' Bemrose! Too cool!"

Fuck, man, good times.

I'll bring him along to the next doof.

Down In Perry Park

And here, thanks to Barry, is one of my favourite photos of The Dreaded One and Me.

And another that perhaps says a lot about my attitude to stuff.

Total Eclipse Of The Heads

Plans are afoot. There is an eclipse festival just over a year away on Easter Island. The razor thin path of the total eclipse makes its way through the vast emptiness of the Pacific Ocean and crosses over the tiny speck of landmass that is Easter Island.

The Dreaded One and I plan to be there.