Kiss Them All Soundly, The Owl And The Pussycat, Review

KISS THEM ALL SOUNDLY

Lee Bemrose

It's Likely that it has been a while since you've heard nursery rhymes such as Simple Simon, Georgie Porgie and Mary Had A Little Lamb, although you probably still know at least some of the words. It's also quite likely that you've never given these rhymes any thought.

Apparently inspired by his own mother's slight modification of The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe – changing the line about her whipping her children and putting them to bed to “Kissed them all soundly and sent them to bed” - Jason Cavanagh gave these rhymes quite a bit of thought. Specifically, he wondered what made Simon simple; how did Georgie Porgie make the girls cry; and what, exactly, happened to Mary's lamb?

The result is this darkly comical re-imagining of these already quite strange vignettes from childhood. They have been brought into the modern world, their whimsy replaced with an unsettling reality. Where the originals have an inevitability about them, a feeling of simply being, Cavanagh has pulled them apart to explore the possibilities, and suddenly things are not what they seem.

Four actors (Susannah Frith, Adam Willson, Peter Rowley and Brooke Smith-Harris) play out the three separate stories with the first three taking on dual roles, Peter Rowley doing a particularly good job. His switch between damaged and potentially dangerous George and the patient healthcare worker Martin was instant and complete each time. Adam Willson also did a good job of changing between Simon and Mary's long-suffering husband James in the Mary's Lamb story, this latter one acted out hamily like a 60's sitcom... it isn't clear why this was done and I couldn't decide if it was jarring next to the others or effective. Perhaps it was a reflection of 50s and 60s middle class America and the culture of smiling and pretending everything is just fine, no matter what. It was amusing and certainly there was something off-kilter about it, and in that respect it fitted in with the things-aren't-quite right feel that hung over the whole play. Susannah Frith seemed to relish the sit-com part of her two roles and Brooke Smith Harris as schoolgirl Alice did a wonderful job of being at once street-wise, compassionate and vulnerable.

The unfolding drama of each of the stories sustained suspense throughout the almost hour and a half. Once you settle into the extreme cosiness of The Owl & The Pussycat theatre and get the hang of what's going on on that tiny stage, your curiosity is piqued. You know things aren't right and you want to know what is going to happen. The ending is inventive, a little haunting and yet leaves you with a sad smile on your face. Well worth seeing no matter how cold and rainy it is outside.

On at The Owl & The Pussycat Theatre, Richmond, until September 22^nd.

Grumpy On The Amalfi Coast

Hmm. Not sure what happened but this column went missing in action. It was supposed to be up on the mag's website weeks ago. I was just tweaking my resume to send it off and suddenly remembered I had written this but not seen it. Funny little brain with its random way of thinking. Anyway, better late than never. Enjoy. I'm back to rubbing my face in the fact that I have not had a very sensible work life, and that it's nearly impossible to get any paid work as a writer. Oh joy.


GRUMPY

With the magic of the internet it is possible to keep working while you are travelling. I go a bit stir crazy if I don’t write for a few days, so it’s brilliant to be able to sit here like I am now on my hotel balcony with a view of Mount Vesuvius across the Bay of Napoli and write this column. That's not what the photo is; that's me on the Amalfi Coast.

Last week, however, I got an email invitation to attend a theatre opening night for review. Unfortunately, the opening night was in Australia. My reply to the invitation was “I would love to come along but unfortunately (wrong word entirely) I am on the Amalfi Coast.”

I just fired it off without thinking. Then I sat back and said it out loud. How often in my life, I wondered, am I going to get the chance to say that? I can’t make it because I am on the Amalfi Coast. Possibly never again. Hmm.

I logged into Facebook where a few invitations to club nights were left idle. I had intended to just ignore them but decided to post replies now. “Sounds like a great night but I won’t be able to make it because I am on the Amalfi Coast.”

A friend was having a birthday drinks get together so I told them that I would love to come but I am on the Amalfi Coast.

Another friend was online, so I started a conversation.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Grumpy. How’s the trip going?”

“Good, good. What are you up to this weekend?”

“Not much. Having the gang over for dinner tomorrow night, other than that, having a quiet one.”

“Dinner? That sounds lovely. You know, I’d love to join you but I’m on the Amalfi Coast.”

My friend went quiet for a while, so I said, “The Italian one.”

“What?”

“The one in Italy.”

“Sorry - got a few conversations going. The Italian what?”

“The Italian Amalfi Coast. I’m on it, and that’s why I can’t make it to dinner tomorrow night.”

“I didn’t invite you because I know you’re away. Been following your adventures on FB. Why are you banging on about the Amalfi Coast?”

“Because I’m on the Amalfi Coast.”

The friend must have had a bad connection because they dropped out shortly after that.

I emailed friends at random to announce that if they had any parties/marriages/anniversaries/funerals etc, I couldn’t make it because I’m on the Amalfi Coast.

I wondered if I shouldn’t have been doing this two weeks ago when I was in Santorini.

“I can’t make it because I am in Santorini,” I said out loud.

The Dreaded One looked up from her book. “What did you just say?”

“I said I can’t make it because I’m in Santorini.”

“Why did you say you can’t make it because you’re in Santorini?”

“Because I wondered if it sounded better than I can’t make it because I’m on the Amalfi Coast.”

“What are you actually doing? I thought you were supposed to be writing your Grumpy column.”

“I am. Kind of. I just need to tell one or two people that I can’t make it to one or two things because I’m on the Amalfi Coast. It would be rude to simply not respond to an invitation.”

The Dreaded One’s gaze lingered for several long moments, as though she suspected me of being up to something rating extremely highly on The Stupidometer.

I got back to work. I got in touch with long lost relatives, old school friends, even one or two friends I’d had fallings out with, just to say we should forgive and forget and we should catch up for drinks sometime soon - just not right now because I’m on the Amalfi Coast.

Finally done, when I didn’t think there was another living soul who needed to know that I couldn’t make it because I’m on the Amalfi Coast, I decided to indulge in a long, lathery shave before getting ready to go out for dinner. I was feeling pretty good about this Amalfi Coast business. I felt like a pretty smooth mofo. Yeah baby, can’t make it to the thing because I’m on the Amalfi Coast.

Then I reached for the bidet towel to dry my face.

Oh yeah, I’m one smooth mofo.

Grumpy is freelance writer and smooth mofo Lee Bemrose (leebemrose666@gmail.com). If he can’t make it to your thing, it’s probably because he’s on the Amalfi Coast.

50 Shades Of Portugal.

Hello again. In Barcelona now and loving it. Saw the Sagrada Familia again today after 12 years. Amazing changes. We missed it last time we were in Barcelona and I'm kind of glad because the differences would not have been so drastic. It really is the most beautiful building I've ever been in. I love the place. Took about a hundred photos of it. Fucking amazing.

Anyway, can't stop and chat right now. So much to do here. So much we still haven't seen. And we have to slot in a few lunches and a day or two on the beach. And see stuff.

Here are some photos from our post-Boom fest road trip through Portugal with our friends Annye and Danny. Lots of them, but soon I'll be up to date with our last week of the trip in beloved Barcelona. Did I mention that I love Barcelona? Because I love Barcelona.

And yeah, that's a picture of me reading the appalling 50 Shades Of Grey. Morbid curiosity carried me through 320 pages of this badly written sludge and I had to put it down. I wish I could have put it down in a dying-horse sense.

More soon.

Boom 2012

Hello. Having a great time. The Dreaded One and I are in Madrid for one last night before catching the Very Expensive Train to Barcelona tomorrow. We had intended to catch the bus but weird shit happened so we're getting the fast train. We'll be in our spiritual hometown tomorrow early afternoon, 3pmish.

Lots to write. Really. So much stuff I need to get down. And so many photos still to upload. Here are a few of them from our first few days in Madrid and our week of partying at Boom. Many more to come.

Still Alive

Still alive. Somewhere on the coast of Portugal. Drifting. Chilling. Back in Spain sometime next week, reluctantly making mt way to our final week in Barcelona at the end of the month. Hundreds of photos to be uploaded. Back with more as soon as I can.

Ciao.

Postcard From Atrani, Amalfi Coast, Italy

Getting a bit behind here, but we're actually on the Amalfi Coast, Italy. Specifically a little town called Atrani. Since the last post we've been to Corfu and Naples, or Napoli. The shot above is one of our Group Shot series, this one being Group Shot With Mt Vesuvius. We're in Pompeii in the pic, which was pretty damned amazing. Napoli was less amazing, but unfortunately we have to go back there for at least a day to fly out to Madrid next week... not the least because The Dreaded One left her phone there.

There is so much to write about that I feel I'm drowning in unwritten... erm... writing. I want to write reviews of hotels and restaurants we've been to - this hotel we're in now, Hotel L'Argine Fiorito is going to be such a fun review... they have the weirdest rules and are quite Nazi about them... and it was a fucker to get to. Wasn't a good feeling finally making it here to find no fridge, The Dreaded One had left her phone and the adaptor for the lappy in Napoli (say that three times quickly) and there appeared to be no internet connection anyway. All good though. Bought an adaptor, we can have a fridge for a small fee and the internet connection is fine if we move the desk and chair out onto the balcony... it's actually pretty damned nice writing out here beneath these massive cliffs with a stunning view and to the sound of birdsong, church bells and waterfall. Pictures of the Amalfi Coast will no doubt be posted when we're in Madrid, or maybe towards the end of our week on the coast. It's a bit stunning here.

Today is a designated Lazy Day. It really was a trek getting here. So many people, the usual language problems, a bus ride on the edge of a cliff, cab drivers who are clueless about the true delicate art of ripping off tourists... God, so many details that I'm worried that I'm going to forget, and I have Grumpy columns to write. Think we're going to visit a very cool looking grotto today then laze on the beach, and I'm going to make loads of notes, reminders for when I have time to write properly. We've also got some serious walking to do (it's famous for its walking tracks here), a day trip to The Isle Of Capri, and of course some serious lunching.

For photos of Corfu, click here. 

For photos of Naples and Pompeii, click here.  (And make sure you click on the first photo and use the arrows to go through the photos because I've captioned most of them and you might get a smile out of some of them).There are more of Pompeii than Naples because Naples didn't really inspire us. Kind of cool in that any big city is kind of cool, but it felt quiet on the weekend for such a big city, and it's possible that we just didn't find the cool bits, no matter how lost we got or how much we walked. We even went to the most legendary pizzeria in Napoli - Da Michelle, and quite frankly it was disappointing. It's really old and Julia Roberts ate there (it might have been written about in Eat, Prey, Love), but the pizza was okay, the experience ordinary. Massive queue to get in - well over an hour - two choices of pizza, beer only and not bottles of wine because they want you out of there as soon as possible to herd fresh cattle in. Anyway, ticked off the list, will write a detailed review for Tripadvisor as soon as I can.

For now, got to get out there in the amazing Amalfi sunshine. The town of Amalfi itself is a 15 or 20 minute walk along the coast, so going to head in and see about Grotta dello Smeraldo, or The Emerald Grotto.

Hopefully later I can come back and do links to these places. Just don't got no time.

Update - here are the first batch of photos from the Amalfi Coast. Capri tomorrow, I'm sure there will be more photos.

Postcard From Santorini

Yes, Santorini really is this beautiful. I took a shot of an old boat on a rooftop, and this yacht was a speck in the background. A few steps along I took another rooftop shot still with this speck in the background. Then I zoomed in a bit to make the yacht the focus of the photo. Think it turned out quite nicely. Check out more Santorini photos here.

Gotta make this quick because it's yet another stunning day out there. Ranty first draft and I'm not checking it so ignore any typos, will fix them later. But. Santorini is gorgeous and I want to stay here longer. Yesterday we took a boat to an active volcano (Nea Kameni). Never been to a volcano before and it was, well, very volcanoey. There was even a weird hole in one part at the walking path where steam was coming out and I couldn't decided whether it was volcano steam or they just rigged up a pipe attached to a tank and they turned it on for the benefit of the tourists.

Kidding. It really is an active volcano. Apparently when it went off 3,600 years ago it was 40 times greater than Krakatoa. And here we were climbing on the bloody thing AND swimming in hot springs at its base. Everyone looked at me kinda weird when I started telling them, "Guys - do you know why the water is hot? Do you know what's happening right under our feet? Don't you think we should be running for our lives?"

Main thing that has stayed with me about that tour was the tour guide, Zoe, or Mama Zoe, as she called herself, and the way she railroaded the whole boatload of us into a taverna that had clearly paid her or was somehow related to the boat company. I know that's what these tours do and it's one of the reasons I don't like them, but they serve a purpose when you're on limited time. Thing is I had read somewhere about the taverna, Captain John on the island of Thirassia, so I thought it probably was the one to go to. In hindsight, we really should have done what we usually do and explored  for ourselves.

You have to walk through the first taverna to get to Captian John, and the little guy there was doing his damndest to get people to stay in his place. But Mama Zoe had drummed it into everyone that the best place was Captain John. She explained time and time again that you have to keep walking through the first one to get to Captain John. She even told us that the first taverna had been serving the same octopus for a week, basically implying that it was a health hazard to eat there.

Is this not slander? His food looked as fresh as the food in Captain John. I felt for the guy but it all happened quickly and was too late. Captain John was twice the size of his place and it filled as tour boat after tour boat arrived, and his stayed empty. Not only that, there were other tavernas further along, as we would later find, that were clearly getting very little business. Two of them were Kamapa and taverna Tonia. Again, they were meticulously clean in front of house with open kitchens that appeared to be spotless, the food looked fresh, but no one made it past Captain John. We stopped in for a glass of wine in one of them and that's when it properly sunk in. Whoever owns Captain John probably paid for a mention in whatever guide I had read about it in and there is clearly something going on with the tour boat company and Captain John - and the thing is, the food there was as nice but ordinary as anywhere else in Greece. Greek food is the same everywhere for Godsake. It's just grilled seafood or meat, Greek salad, tzatziki, moussaka etc (although they do some really nice tomato fritters here that I haven't experienced before).

The reason I got so angry about all of this is that some restaurant down the stretch had already been abandoned. There was a small market stretch from the boat that ended at Captain John, and these other little places are run by locals who are clearly suffering. It's their fucking livelihood and because of shrewd business dealings and greed, Captain Fucking John is choking them. Soon they will go under and there will be nothing there but Captain John. How short-sighted. What the hell is wrong with people. Why can't they see that it's a community that needs to work together. It's a gorgeous part of the world and it could really be something special if all the tavernas did well and the market stretched all the way along the waterfront... but no, Ship's Joint Venture and Captain John are screwing the place.

End rant. This is largely for me to try to follow up and write in detail about after doing some research.

After this (and it was a lovely day otherwise), we went to Ia and rode donkeys up the hundreds of steps to one of the prettiest towns I have ever been in. Had some wine, stared in wonder at that magnificent panorama for ages until we caught the local bus home to Fera Stefani and our gorgeous little hotel Reverie with its own stunning panorama. Totally recommend this hotel. Reasonable rates, very clean and run by really friendly family members. Love it. Check the photos link to see it for yourself.

Right then. That's probably all from here until we get to Corfu tomorrow.

Postcard From Athens

Hello from Athens. What a trek it was getting here. Our flight from Singapore to Athens had been cancelled so we had to go from Singapore to Zurich and then on to Athens. I think we were in transit for well over 30 hours. Grumpy? Hell yeah.

Anyway, made it with no dramas. Have a little hotel room with a view of The Acropolis and there's a rooftop bar with a jacuzzi in the deck also with a view of The Acropolis, which looks especially pretty at night when they light it up.

We've spent the last two days seeing things like The Acropolis, the Acropolis museum, The Temple Of Zeus, the original Olympic Stadium (perhaps my favourite old thing so far), as well as getting lost... these old cities and their bendy roads... what were the ancients thinking? I was reassured to see many other tourists standing on street corners turning their maps at various angles, waving their arms in all directions and enjoying intense discussions.

We've walked lots and learned lots. The history of The Acropolis is amazing and in the museum there was a video that in one part showed the complete history in a short time and it's really powerful and sad to see what a great building/set of buildings/monument it was treated with such contempt in relatively modern times. I kinda wish Goddess Athena would come down and smite everyone who played a roll in its destruction. But that's humans, innit; destructive bunch that we are.

The Panathinaikon Stadium was great. You get to go into the stadium, onto the track, into the seats and into the tunnel where all the athletes came onto the track, and the gladiators before them. That bit was totally cool because the tunnel is an old, old cave used for pagan rituals, in particular, the local chicks nuding up and dancing about a fire to bring their perfect partner into their lives. A very cool place indeed and very cool to have been inside.

And naturally we've been eating well. I wasn't sure what to expect from Athens and guess I didn't have high expectations. We only booked three nights because many people said that was all you need, but many people were wrong. There are day tours we could have done as well as all the other stuff to see in the city, as well as just hanging out and enjoying the place. We're staying in Plaka district which is a mixture of tacky tourism and sophistication, and we also wandered down to Psiri which is where a lot of the locals seem to go to hang out in the many eateries, and both were really pleasant experiences.

I know Greece is in the shit economically, but you wouldn't know it looking around. Well maybe looking around at some of the buildings that have fallen into a state of disrepair (not just The Acropolis), but it also feels like a vibrant, bustling city that knows how to enjoy itself. It has passed expectations and we could easily stay longer.

For now, though, we have one final night before catching a 7am fast ferry to Santorini, which means getting up at about 5am. Not that time means a hell of a lot after all those time zones and lack of sleep getting here.

Funny shit has happened, so there will be funny stories coming up. But that's all for now.

Lots of love, Grumpy & The Dreaded One.

PS, check out the first trip photos here.

Grumpy With Travel Luggage

                                                        

The Dreaded One and I are lucky enough to be heading overseas again. We dusted off our luggage recently and while she looked fondly upon her trusty steed, I instinctively lashed out and kicked the living shit out of mine, screaming hateful insults at it.

“Grumpy – what are you doing?”

“Sorry Dreaded One,” I panted from my exertions, wiping sweat and spittle from my face... and giving that son-of-a-bitch suitcase one last, heartfelt kick. “I think it's like when war vets have flashbacks. I just had a flashback.”

“It's a suitcase. You put clothes in it to go travelling. How can you compare that to a war flashback?”

“You weren't there,” I say as I massage the trauma from my forehead... attempt to massage the trauma from my... attempt to ease the trauma inside my head by massaging my forehead. “You didn't see the horror... the horror...”

“You are not Marlon Brando and I was there. You just chose poorly, that's all.”

Her words become echoey and my world goes wavy like some b-grade special effect indicating a shift back in time...in time... time... time...

It all started out pleasantly enough. After The Twisted Back Incident in Turkey, 2006 in which I had hoisted my back-pack onto my shoulders in such a swashbuckling manner and, well, twisted my spine into the source of the universe's most excruciating pain, I decided that I'd try one of those bags-on-wheels. Dragging, surely, must be less painful than hoisting-and-lugging.

My big mistake was in choosing a narrow wheel base model. Everything else about this bag was well made. Solid stitching. Handles made for heaving. Sturdy in every way.

Until you walked for more than 20 steps. Inside the shop when test driving, you could only go five steps. So you didn't get the death wobble effect that kicked in around 15 steps which got worse and worse until the bag keeled over on its side around the 20 step mark. On European streets. Every. Fucking. Time.

In Arles, Southern France, brief home of Van Gogh and his fleeting friend Gaugin. Two of the greatest artists of our times. In one year Van Gogh painted more than 300 paintings, such was the inspiration of this city with its ancient Roman ruins. But what is my burning image of this place? The combination of The Dreaded One's Nav Bitch sending us on a wild goose chase while my suitcase tipped over for the … oh I don't know... the squillionth time?

While bucolic French types with their baguettes tucked under their arm stopped to watch in Gallic bemusement, I lost it. I vented spleen. I raged. Seethingly, I bemoaned that we were not in America, because in God Bless America one of these bemused bystanders would at least be carrying a Smith & Goddamn mother fucking Wesson instead of a loaf of bread, and I could finally end this thing once and for all you Goddamn falling-over piece of shit luggage!

And it shames me to admit that as no Smith & Wesson was forthcoming, yes, I bludgeoned my luggage with a stolen baguette... baguette... baguette...

Echo and wobbly visuals and I was back in the here and now with The Dreaded One. Her with her expensive, well-chosen wheely bag with its wide wheel base and lack of death wobbles.

“So you will choose wisely this time?” she asks as I come back from my journey into the past. Arles... it had been the last in a long string of similar events. She had paid good money upfront. Time and time again I had thought how can you go wrong with cheap stuff made in China? Only to be now regretting the small mountain of discarded shit luggage I had contributed to. Death wobbles. Crap handles that fall apart at the touch. Wheels that fall of if you so much as frown at them. Never will I buy luggage made in China again.

“Yes,” I nod solemnly. “My back pack. Now there's some sturdy luggage.”

“The one that wrecked your back in Turkey? Oh. Oh good.”

Grumpy is Lee Bemrose, freelance writer and luggage basher. If you want him to write something for you he might just put down the baguette and take up his keyboard. He's at leebemrose666@gmail.com

Counting Down... Leaving In 7 Days

Here is my new Grumpy column logo wotsit. I think it's better than the old one. The old one was chosen by the mag and while funny initially, I don't think it really captured the spirit of Grumpy. This one comes closer. Grumpy the character is not actually grumpy. He's just a bit... he's a bit like he is in this picture, which was taken by The Dreaded One at Maitreya 2012. He's a bit... baffled by life. Baffled by his own ineptitude. He's a bit head-shakingly amused by absolutely everything. The original was funny enough, taken as it was just as a dubstep set started, but I really like what the designers have done to it.

So. Anyway.


I have left my current job and The Dreaded One and I are officially less than a week away from leaving the country on another adventure. Our home is now filled with boxes of our stuff, which will be put into other boxes in a storage place by men who specialise in moving boxes. This move will be much easier than the the previous move. This time, we are moving just down the road to East Brunswick. We have nothing lined up but like the suburb. Stuff will fall into place. I was very touched when I left this last place of work. Sweet things were said, sweet thoughts were shared. I bumped into some lovely people who I'd be happy to bump into again.

 Meantime, first stop Athens. Ferry to Santorini, which I keep hearing from people who have been there is possibly the most beautiful place on Earth. Then heading across to Corfu, Italy, heading into somewhat familiar territory of Spain and Portugal. Boom - a week of partying. Friends along the way. Friends at Boom and afterwards.

I know some people think I'm lucky to be doing this again. Some people who don''t know how hard The Dreaded One and I have worked might think we've had help along the way. Not so. Our luck has been our luck and our hard work has been our hard work to enjoy as we feel we should.

And there's the living-for-now outlook on life; we just think if you're going to do it, do it. So many people talk about the things they'd like to do... sometimes you just have to say fuck it and do stuff that doesn't make sense.

So fuck it - we're putting our things in boxes again and going on an adventure to see amazing things and be with wonderful friends.

Getting My Geek On

The above is soon to appear in the real world.  Having these cards printed to use for promotional purposes. They should be in my sweaty little hands this week, maybe next week. My friend The Design Assassin has put it all together and I'm pretty happy so far. Especially the QR code, that weird square pattern thing. It's a little bit of Shit That Is Amazing.

Got a smart phone? Download a barcode scanning app, then aim your camera at the square of Shit That Is Amazing and follow the prompts.

QR Codes (Quick Response Codes) are already out there and have been for a few years now, but it's new to me and therefore the newest, coolest thing ever. I love that it was a barcode invented by Toyota for factory purposes, but someone realised that with smart phone technology they would be perfect for marketting.

Shit is amazing.

Two weeks tomorrow and The Dreaded One and I take off. How do I feel about that? A bit strange... but it's strangely familiar. Only eight weeks this time but a lot of ground to cover in that time. Then back to Melbourne with no home and no job. Scary. Reckless. But living. Proper living.

Also, read my interview with Camille, who I happen to think is a gorgeous human.

Links 2012

Here is what I thought of Zoe Keating's performance at Toff In The Town.

Here is my Q & A with Zoe Keating.

And here is my book, 17 Stories Of Love & Crime.

Been busy. Countdown has begun to leaving for Europe again. Am very lucky, if a bit concerned about coming  back homeless and jobless again. Loving Melbourne, loving life, but really... it's just a little bit scary doing this sort of thing AGAIN. But it will be fine.

17 Stories Of Love & Crime by Lee Bemrose, Loose Cannon Publishing.

Well this has been an interesting process, but 17 Stories Of Love & Crime is finally up on Amazon. It's about three weeks since I got all buzzy about doing this, and it has been frustrating, challenging and rewarding. There are websites out there offering to do it for you for a fee, and I can see why. But it's so much more satisfying to do it yourself.

I'm happy that it's out there. But what do I want out of it? Hmm. It was reading the success stories that motivated me, but it was as much about the fact that you can do it yourself as it was about the hope of becoming one of those success stories. Naturally I would like it to take off, but ultimately I'm happy enough to finally have a collection of stories together and available to share with others. I've enjoyed putting these stories together, even if they have been written over many years. Each is individual and written without the others in mind, yet when I compiled them I recognised something in each of them in the others. And in compiling them I have kept the others in mind and there are fleeting references to each other throughout, characters or situations in one story referred to in other stories.

And for me, it's strangely autobiographical. Usually a single thing happens that sparks a story, and re-reading these stories I remember so much about that single thing and the time in my life that it happened. The passing of The Dreaded One's father was largely responsible for Remembering Argos, though of course there are many moments within that story. The passing of my grandmother made me think about the home I usually dream about when I dream about home, even if my own fleeting passing and subsequent rescuing is at the core of Blue Angeline. A troubled conversation with a beautiful former friend on a sunny day in the park was the spark for Ruben Jane, even if Ruben Jane's troubles are more personal. That one also came from my urge to write the darkest love story that I could.

In a way, all these stories are very real, or have some foundation in reality. They didn't happen, but in a way, they did. At a wedding when the wind was blowing and I couldn't hear the ceremony, my mind wandered and I thought up The Best Man. The woman who twists her ankle getting out of the car in Finding Davey, that was a real moment, as was the final scene in One Moment. The crane in The Funniest Man In The World Tells A Funny Story really did fall and crush that hotel, narrowly missing a group of us drinking out the back. The funniest man himself came about because of how sad I felt watching Spike Milligan doing something naff before a group of reporters and seeing them falling about in sucking-up laughter. Being Groover Terminator all happened, and none of it happened. I wrote that one as a series, painting the character (me) into a corner each week... a guy really did think I was DJ Groove Terminator, my hairdresser Jasmine did ask me to put her in the story and she really does like tequila. We really did get stoned and go on about the biiiirrrdeeees, and Jez and Ann are in there. And GT's manager did phone up and ask if they could post the story on GT's website, and weirdly I met GT and we bumped into each other a few times in the following years.

The bouncer in Stabulous The Clown? Real. The clown? Fucked if I know where I get some stuff from. As real as so many details and moments are in these stories, others are pure fiction, their origin baffling. Quick? His name is short for Quixotic, which is how I view the so-called war on drugs. Some of the characters in there are real. The setting was Home nighclub, the menacing bouncer there was also real. So many small moments make up these stories. The artist in Losing All Of You was a sideways glimpse of a guy on Swanston Street when I was there a couple of years ago with my friend Kat, alongside the essence of conversations real and imagined.

Turtle Bay all kind of happened... thinking about it, sometimes it's hard to remember what actually happened and what was made up. Maybe all of it happened. Maybe none of it happened. Why ask me? What do I know? I just wrote it.

And The Dreaded One, she is there throughout. If you squint, you can even see her there on the cover, which is a photo I took in Prague in 2010. I can't imagine a better cover for this book. I like its moodiness.

If people read it I hope they enjoy it. As far as hoping for any success, like I said it would be nice but mainly it was just a thing to do, a process to go through. I'm aiming to go through the same process (only more smoothly) in compiling The Book Of Grumpy, which as you'll know if you've been to this blog before, is all about the larfs.

Grumpy & The Dandy Warhols

Grumpy

Grumpy is hard-hitting journo and freelance writer Lee Bemrose (leebemrose666@gmail.com). He takes his craft very, very seriously.

When I was asked if I was interested in doing an interview with The Dandy Warhols, I jumped at it because... well because I happen to like the Dandy Warhols' music quite a lot. I know Courtney Taylor-Taylor has a bit of a reputation for not exactly snuggling up and canoodling with the media. It's not like you see Courtney Taylor-Taylor and The Media wandering through sun-dappled parks, holding hands and whispering in hot breath into each others ears about how much they need each other. You don't see them sitting on beaches at sunset with Courtney's head nestled comfortably on The Media's shoulder as he murmurs lovingly, “Media – I just don't know what I'd do without you.” These are absurd images that only the mind of an absurd person would conjure.

In fact, as you are probably aware, Mr Taylor-Taylor has said that he fucking hates doing interviews and would prefer not to do any at all. Apparently when he finishes a project, such as the new dandy's album This Machine, he spends as much as half a day each day doing interviews. I don't think this would be a bad way to spend half a day if you enjoyed talking about your latest creative endeavour, and if you spent all that time facing genuinely interesting and original questions. Sadly, I don't think interesting and original is how the Dandy's frontman would describe most of the questions he has to face.

Thing is, before any interview like this, I read up big time. I like to find out as much as possible about the interviewee and what makes them tick, which topics get one-line answers and the kinds of things they really like to open up to. I want to know which questions keep coming up so that I can avoid those very questions.

I had to interview a local playwright recently and read an interview he had done the previous week. The piece sucked the proverbial dog's dangly bits because the interviewer based her whole line of questioning on the playwright's Wikipedia profile and (apparently in awe of being in contact with him) she barely mentioned the play he was pimping and just asked about his life and thoughts generally. You could almost hear the yawns in his printed answers. I put in some effort and was rewarded with answers sometimes longer than her whole piece. It was like we'd interviewed two different people.

Sometimes you can get away with a couple of uncreative questions. Sometimes you have to completely come at the thing from left field. I interviewed comedian Sam Simmons once and after seeing the Youtube clip of him having a staring competition with actor Seth Green, I challenged him to a staring competition. Over the phone? Yeah. He loved it. I loved it. My suggestion that the mag run an intro, the staring competition challenge, then a blank page... the magazine, they didn't love it so much.

With Courtney Taylor-Taylor, my in-depth profiling came to the conclusion that it was pretty well impossible to come up with the kinds of questions that were going to genuinely engage the man. And hell, he's busy and would rather cut down time spent interviewing so that he can make music.

So I came up with a multiple choice interview. I've written all the answers so he just has to spend a few minutes ticking the appropriate box. It could be a fun read, or it could fall flat on its arse.

Personally I think there is real potential for the multiple choice interview. Your thoughts?

A. That is an awesome idea, Grumpy. You should should take it to the big league like Letterman and Craig Ferguson. Interviewing Hollywood A-listers by multiple choice rocks! Wooh!

B. As a revolutionary concept it's as dumb as planking.

C. Stupid idea but if anyone can pull it if it would be you. When it comes to stupid ideas, you're the go-see guy.

Hmm. Stay tuned.

Jam Xpress Interview, Stephen House Interview

Story I did on Jam Xpress for Forte mag. Soooo not my kind of music and not my scene. I really didn't know how I was going to handle it, but I think I did okay. I don't think you can tell it's very very not my kind of music. And very very not my scene.

Next interview is with The Dandy Warhols.

Oh and there is this interview with Stephen House , re his very excellent Appalling Behaviour, which I reviewed briefly here last September. Well worth catching. Four nights only at the quirky Butterfly Club in South Melbourne.

I am still in formatting purgatory with 17 Stories Of Love & Crime, but I am getting there. See below post if that doesn't make any sense. Soon. Soon...

And this is what a professional does. Thank you, Design Assassin. I love the look of this. Book out soon.

Can't Wait For The Penguin

I am about to enter the world of self-publishing. I came very close today to publishing 17 Stories Of Love And Crime on Amazon's Kindle, only to find that it's not quite as quick and easy as it sounds if you live in Australia. It was a good day of learning though, and I think the stories will be up during next week. For all the frustration the internet provides, I am still amazed by its seeming magic. It will be fun to put writing/marketing skills to the test. I don't expect to make much money from this little project, I just want it to be fun and will be chuffed if a few strangers buy my book. It will be a good practice run for The Book Of Grumpy. I expect that to make me a bill-io-naire, and I will demand the finest wines known to humanity, and I will want them here, and I will want them now!

The shot above is the one I have chosen for 17 Stories Of Love And Crime (there are actually 19 stories... you get two freebies). It's a photo of Ann reflected in an artwork in a gallery in Prague in 2010.

Oh and I've just updated the cover shot by adding words to the image, something I had no idea how to do an hour ago. Not a bad job for a chump like me. Still, as I was working out how to do it I asked a friend, The Design Assassin, for advice. She has kindly offered to do it for me, so expect a better quality update soon.

Still, not bad.

Sanderson Jones' Comedy Sale, Melbourne 2012, Revenge Review

Grumpy

Draft copy of my... what the fuck has blogger done? They've changed shit and I don't know how to right justify. Crapping crap. Anyway... draft copy of new Grumpy column. Have to shorten it a bit for the mag. But it's late and deadline is sometime in the morning. And I am Grumpy.

There's a comedian called Sanderson Jones who could be coming to a comedy festival near you. He's been doing the world comedy festival circuit and has been getting pretty good reviews, so I thought I'd check him out.

Thing is, he doesn't always appear on the comedy festival program and you can't book tickets to his shows through the usual outlets. Contact has to be made. You need to follow him on Twitter or friend him on Facebook to find out where and when he'll be to sell you tickets in person. At the transaction he takes your photo, and then between the time of the ticket sale and the show, he does a bit of internet snooping on many of his audience members. Intriguing stuff. There is the potential for mass public humiliation, of course; who can remember every little comment or picture they have posted on Facebook or their blog? I have seen some inane shit posted in my time, but I didn't think I'd have anything to worry about because most of my inane shit is like this column; intentionally inane shit.

On the night of the gig, as the audience of around 400 filled the theatre, Sanderson Jones made his way through the crowd to the stage as we took our seats. Bit of banter with the punters, and suddenly I wondered if I should be worried after all, because he paused, looked down to me and said, “Hello, Lee.” Could have been my imagination, but he was sounding a bit like Christopher Lee in one of those old Dracula movies.

The show started and indeed many in the audience were singled out and amusing posts and status updates were projected onto a large screen. Including a couple of my intentionally inane ones. All good. All sweet, if a little weird to see your name and your words meant for friends splashed onto the big screen in front of guffawing strangers.

All was going hilariously well until the comedian let some laughter die down before asking, “Do we have any critics in the audience?”

I quickly checked out the various exit signs and picked my best options.

“Critics like Lee Bemrose,” he said as he squinted into the lights in my direction. “Are you here, Lee Bemrose?”

Fuck.

“No!” I shouted back. “He is not here.”

“Because I'd like you to come up on stage and compete in The Critics' Obstacle Course!”

Oh the Colosseum was into this. I gripped the arms of my chair and made it clear that everyone could just fuck off because no way was I competing in any kind of obstacle course designed by this vampire for the amusement of 400 utter utter bastards whose joy clearly came from the fact that they were safe whilst I was about to be made a spectacle of.

Ringleader was, of course, The Dreaded One, who thought it was all quite hilarious. “You have to do it! It will be so funny!”

Needless to say, I ended up on stage with one other reviewer. A third reviewer who had been called had clearly been a faster runner than the two of us onstage and had made it to one of those emergency exits and was nowhere in sight.

The first stage of our obstacle course was a spoon and egg race, to be followed by a pie fight with the vampire-comedian, followed by the critics dashing back across the stage to jump through hoops held by His Minions.

It was as the comedian was telling us the bit about the pie fight that I turned to my onstage victim and asked if he would mind holding my spoon and egg for a moment. Looking confused but happy to help, he took my spoon and egg and I tried to sneak back off stage, leaving him standing with both spoons and eggs.

The Colosseum erupted with equal parts laughter and boos, and a hellish glare from Dracula returned me to my starting position.

The obstacle course itself was a bit of a blur. Because I had been trying to sneak off the stage I missed the bit about throwing the pies at each other. I just arrived at the pie table and didn't know what to do next. Suddenly there was lots of pie throwing, however, and always quick to catch on, I threw pies. Later The Dreaded One would ask how on Earth I managed to not get a single drop of cream pie on me when the others were covered in the stuff. What can I say? I'm a Pie Fight Ninja. You have been warned.

And the minions holding the hoops? Naturally they moved the hoops each time we jumped.

The thing about all this is, is it really so smart to get revenge on your reviewers before they have reviewed your show?

“No,” Sanderson Jones admitted when I asked him this over a post-show drink. “Don't know what I was thinking, really. Especially when I've read many of your Grumpy columns now, Lee, and I have to hand it to you, you are one funny bastard. Way, way funnier than I am. In fact I'm going back to the drawing board and learning from you, the master, I'm going to try really really hard to be a better comedian.”

“Well that's good to hear, Sanderson,” I replied. “The promising thing is that you have a lot of room for improvement. A lot. In fact here's a Venn Diagram... this tiny little circle here is how good you are now, and this separate great big circle over here represents your 'room for improvement.'”

“Ah. I see what you mean. And hey... this Venn Diagram thing... that could be a great addition to the show. You mind if I borrow that?”

And so my story ends... except I'm wondering... if it's a mistake to take revenge on on a reviewer prior to their writing of the review, is it a mistake for me to be getting my revenge here when cyber-stalking comedians can have their revenge at another comedy festival, in another Colosseum?

Damnit. I really should think this through before publishing, shouldn't I.

The Pomposity Of The Knife

So what's just concerned me is that there are three forms of cutlery. How, though, is it that the knife is the one to claim the collective naming rights of cutlery? The fork and the spoon are equals in this arrangement - why are they not called pokelery in honour of the fork? Or scooplery in honour of the spoon?

The big questions, they keep me awake at night.

Fishing

Here is a recent, slightly strange photo of The Dreaded One and me having fun at an outdoor party. Lots and lots of fun. Oh the fun we are having.

I have no idea what is going on in either of our heads at that point in time, but we are clearly very focused on whatever it is we are focused on.

And here is a recent conversation between The DreadedOne and me:

Me: "I'm going to put music on, so unless you want to use your phone it will be my iPod, and I know how much you don't like my music."

The Dreaded One: "I do like it."

Me: "But there will be Nick Cave and Tom Waits and Rowland Howard, and I know how much you don't like them."

The Dreaded One: "I do like them."

Me: "But I will sing along to them, and I know how much you hate my singing."

The Dreaded One: "I don't hate your singing."

Me: "But you don't like my singing."

The Dreaded One: "I do like your singing."

Me: "Yeah...but you don't like my singing a lot...

The Dreaded One gives me The Look.

Pajama Men Review

These guys are reeeeeeally funny. Check out my review of them at Australian Stage.

The Histrionic Review, Malthouse 2012

My review of The Histrionic is up on Australian Stage.

Think Appreciate Love

I can't see how old I am,
And I can't see how closer to death I am,
But I am older,
And I am closer to death.

Grumpy With Compliments

GRUMPY

Grumpy is freelance writer Lee Bemrose (leebemrose666@gmail.com). He likes being in his bubble.

I quite admire those people who always manage to say the right thing at the right time. Small, random compliments can really work some magic. I see peoples faces light up as a friend tells another friend how well they are looking, or how they like a piece of jewellery or they way they are wearing their hair today. I'm no stranger to these little compliments due primarily to the fact that I have some kick-arse clothes. I love my clothes, and I have an uncanny, sub-conscious knack for buying clothes that coordinate perfectly with all my other clothes and accessories. The Dreaded One finds this hilarious. It's like I can't buy stuff that clashes. If I had been born in the rugged wild west, it's a dead certainty that I'd be a dandy. If I was a superhero, I'd be Captain Coordinated. I'd look fabulous. All I'd have to do is walk into the room and the baddies would drop dead with envy because I'm just so impeccably dressed. I've been asked if I'm gay on many an occasion, simply because I'm such a stylish mofo. Given that I am rampantly heterosexual, do I take offence at this? On the contrary, I take it as a compliment. Water of a duck's back. The Dreaded One also finds the are you gay thing hilarious because, well, she knows how absurd the idea is. Queer eye for the straight guy? Pu-lease.

Erm... so anyway. Thing is with dressing well enough to get these compliments, you have to go for a look that isn't like everyone else. Sure, you can look stylish and like everyone else, but Grumpy's Secret To True Sartorial Excellence is to be individual. Avoid brand names. Avoid all the designers labels. Designer labels are for chumps. Don't shop at chain-stores. Look for the unusual. Looking sensationally stylish is like being funny; whatever you do, don't go for the obvious. And always remember...

Sorry. Getting a bit carried away again. What the hell was I getting at? Oh yeah... so I've got some pretty cool clothes and I sometimes get complimented on them. And it's nice. I have an AD 2013 jacket (this is a label worth checking out because no one in Australia knows about it and they make drop-dead cool stuff) that routinely has me stopped in the street with strangers saying “Oh my God that jacket is awesome!” And I shrug and say, “I know!” And then they usually ask if I'm gay.

Thing is, I admire people who compliment other people. It shows that they are being aware and it's just a bloody nice thing to do. It just doesn't seem to be in my natural make up to think to compliment other people. It's the bubble thing; I'm usually in a bubble, thinking about, I don't know – being a dandy in the wild west or something.

So I decided to make an effort and start complimenting people. As well as being a well-dressed mofo I was going to start being a really nice mofo.

At a trendy bar where everyone (except The Dreaded One and myself) looked fashionably identical, I was introduced to one of The Dreaded One's friend, and I really, genuinely admired her look. It indicated true confidence and true individualism. I was about to pay my first unprompted compliment.

“You know – it's really refreshing to meet someone who clearly doesn't care about their appearance.”

It was as though the world stopped.

“What do you mean?” The Dreaded One's friend asked.

The Dreaded One was looking at me with a familiar expression; don't say anything else, she was telling me with her eyebrows.

“I just mean,” I explained, “take your hair for instance. It's just so... bleh, and you're cool with that. I really admire... why has absolutely everyone in the bar stopped talking?”

I retreated back into my bubble. It's much safer in there.

Brainspill April 2012

I've just read Nam Le's Hiroshima. I'm not sure I got it and feel I have to read it again. I think it is cleverer than I am. Probably not a good idea to be reading something as tragic and poetic at 6.30am on the tram on the way to work.

And yet it got in there. I remember the sample from Single Gun Theory's Metaphysical... "The day was clear, when we dropped that bomb." I've been in London and Berlin and Paris, and sometimes you think it was a bright sunny day like today when tanks rolled in and evil was being done. It does your head in.

Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Big days. Clear days. Fucked up shit.

9/11 was a big day too. Atrocious shit. The worst of humanity. The photograph above is being discussed again. The article I read yesterday morning is here. I don't like the tone of the article at all. The writer comes across as a novice. We know that the Twin Towers destruction was murderous and unacceptable; there is no need to keep driving that point home in your clumsy way.

But because I had just read Nam Le's story Hiroshima, I thought I'd do some background reading, and oh man. We really should not let 9/11 eclipse the enormity of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The only times weapons of mass destruction have been unleashed have been by the USA. No warning to the innocent civillians they were about to murder. Hundreds of thousands of them. Dropping these bombs on innocent civillians as the Russians turned on Japan and within such a short time of Japan's wartime surrender anyway.

And the Americans... their big dilemma was after these two weapons of mass murder, do we drop the next few as they roll off the production line or save them up and throw handfuls at them?

Seriously, after such disgusting mass murder they were ready to drop more nuclear bombs on unsuspecting civillians.

Despicable cunts.

But the tone of the story above... it would have you believe that the 9/11 mass murder was the worst mass murder in the history of mankind. Sorry, it was not. Not by a long way.

So as the anniversary of 9/11 comes along - and an awful moment it was in our history - maybe do a little reading. Think about Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

An Interview With The Beards

I'm doing the occasional music/arts feature again and I do still enjoy it. I even had to interview electro Jam Xpress the other day and although not at all into their music or the scene where you'll hear their music played, I enjoyed the struggle of coming up with relaxed, intelligent questions that received relaxed, intelligent answers. With Jam XpressI did feel I had stepped through a hole in time and was back at my 3D World editor desk because researching music acts and DJs I didn't know about was something I did all the time... and the tone of promotional copy hasn't changed a bit in all that time. Everything is "a dancefloor stormer" and the artists have been "tearing it up across the country" etc etc. So cheesy.

But it's fun, especially when my editor is on my wavelength and lets me inject silly into the stories. It's like writing for my editor back at Drum who loved my stuff because she never knew where I was going to come from with a story. Ones like this. Fun stuff. And my current editor is pretty much the same.

If I could make a living from doing this stuff (and my Grumpy column), I would do it.

Long weekend now. The Dreaded One is champing at the bit to party today, we are partying tomorrow night (pirate party - woo!), that it's a long weekend means any form of recovery party is going to take place, and the Jam Xpress story and a Grumpy column are due on Tusday. And there may be another, unexpected writing project underway. Hmm. My Hunter S. Thompson style of partying does get me into trouble sometimes. Must be strong.

Meanwhile, have just opened a bottle of white. Cheers.

Oh and amusement... had this conversation with The Dreaded One Last night:

Me: You know before you said it's not always all about me?

Dreaded One: Yeah.

Me: What fantasy world are you living in?

Hannah Wants A Wife Review

My review of Hannah Gadsby's Hannah Wants A Wife, for Australian Stage. Go see it. She is funny. I like her.

The Daktory Vending Machine... A True Story With A Bad Accent.

GRUMPY

Grumpy is freelance writer and really bad Kiwi impersonator Lee Bemrose (leebemrose666@gmail.com).

If you love a good, true stoner story as much as I do, read on.

A couple of weeks ago it was reported that a cannabis club in West Auckland, New Zealand, had come up with a great way of avoiding being closed down and the licensees being arrested again. The club – called The Daktory after the owner's name Daktor Green - had already been forced to close its door after being raided in 2011.

The cannabis club appeared to be somewhat tolerated as a venue where patrons could consume pot for “medicinal purposes”, but obviously boundaries had been pushed, arrests followed raids and the Daktory closed its doors as a cannabis club and became the headquarters of Norml, the National Organisation for the Reform of Marijuana Laws.

Recently, however, The Daktory reopened for business, with a particularly crafty way of protecting its purveyors of medicinal pot, and it's here that I will take a few modest Grumpy liberties whilst still delivering the facts of the story (apologies for the dodgy accent, eh bro)...

“Hey bro. I figured out a way to sell pot without the cops realising who is selling the pot.”

“Yeah bro?”

“Yeah bro. I was wuth the kuds at the shopping mall, and we spunt like hours man on one of those skull-tester things. You know those glass boxes with the fluffy toys and the luttle crane thung, and you have to puck up the fluffy toys wuth the crane... I could have spent all day watching the little crane thing eh bro, kind of moving across and pucking up the little fluffy heads... it was mesmirising as eh...”

Long pause.

“That's a very nice story bro, but is there any more to ut? You said you had a plan bro.”

“Ah shit bro, yeah, got side-tracked thunking about the luttle crane thing eh. So anyway, what I was thunking is we take all the fluffy toys out of the skull-tester, and we replace them with bags of mull. That way, the cops can't bust anyone for selling the pot. Smart plan eh bro.”

“Ut's almost smart, but have you ever actually managed to puck up a fluffy toy wuth the luttle crane thung? Ut would take us all year to get the toys out of there. And ut would cost us shutloads of coin.”

“Nah bro – I checked that out and there's a luttle door where they put the fluffy toys in the glass box, so we just hire the machine bro and make ut empty before we put the pot unside.”

“Really? A luttle door? That would speed the process up a but. But then... it's stull so hard to actually grab anything with that luttle crane thung. If it can't pick up a fluffy toy I'm not sure of our chances of pucking up bags of mull bro, eh.”

Long silence.

“But hey bro! I've got it. We can use your basic concept but wuth a vending machine instead of a skull-tester. Then the punters can just put their money un and out pops their pot bro.”

“Awesome idea bro. AND we can also put Tum-Tams and Wagon Wheels in there as well. Kull two birds wuth one stone bro, eh bro.”

“And Chokitos. I like Chokitos heaps eh.”

“Hmm. And no one gets busted dealing. Unless...”

“Unless what bro?”

“What uf the cops install undercover vending machines?”

End of dodgy New Zealand accent. Basically, the club did install pot-dispensing vending machines in an attempt to fool the police, but a week later arrests have been made and the club has been forced to close its doors again. Seems the cops weren't fooled. Whether that was a result of undercover vending machines is unknown.

Grumpy With Celebritism

I keep forgetting to scan and post these. This is a few months old now and I had forgotten about it. Found it neglected and sobbing in the corner today and thought I'd make it feel better by finally posting it.

Haven't Stopped, Just Taking A Breather

Treading water right now. Content enough in a pedestrian job but have my fingers crossed for an eventful 2012.

Until I write more, here are a few photos from a recent adventure. I live for these parties.

Currently reading Nam Le's The Boat. Loving it. Makes me feel excited about writing again. Do pick up a copy. Very good writing.

Oh The Places You'll Go

Man I love this so much. I think Dr Seuss would like it too. I hope I make it to Burning Man in the next couple of years, but aside from the visuals in this clip, it's the story. I love the grounded optimism behind it. It really is quite beautiful.

Grumpy With Conspiracy Theorists

I haven't been posting all of my Grumpy columns because I'm a bit slack. Either that or I've been taken over by lizard aliens who think it's in the wider population's best interests that not all of my Grumpy columns be read.

I was reminded of this semi-recent column after reading that some sheriff in Arizona has fluffed up the Obama birth certificate conspiracy theory again. It's the conputer generated/layer thing again. It's not new news... in fact it's not news at all. Interesting that the sheriff in question demands an investigation into this old chestnut at the time he himself is under investigation for racial profiling (apparentlyhe don't care much for Latino types in his parts). Also, apparently, this layering in electronic copies of scanned documents is common and does not prove a document has been forged.

And yet conspiracy theorists jump on it. Thing with conspiracy theorists is that it doesn't matter what the conspiracy, they will subscibe to it. For them, nothing is random. There are no coincidences. There is just a great, all-powerful sinister force manipulating everything.

I wrote this Grumpy around the time of the approach of doomsday commet Elenin, whic many believed was going to flip the Earth over or something. What did it do again? Oh that's right - not a Goddamn thing.

I feel sorry for the doomsday wishers and conspiracy theorists. They create so much angst for themselves.