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.

Concussion Review, STC

Here's a review of Concussion that I wrote for Australian Stage Online. I saw The Removalists at the same theatre a few weeks ago and thought it a far superior play. But Concussion wasn't all bad. I just couldn't shake that feeling that the writing was trying to be too clever for its own good.

Going to go see what the other reviewers are saying about it now.

And yes, given that I've started writing a play of my own, it feels very odd to be reviewing other plays. It also feels odd saying negative things about a play when I met most of the cast after the play and think they are all pretty cool people.

Friends & Clouds

Okay, the layout is a bit sloppy but I like the pics. This is part of Sunday in Perry Park, Alexandria March 2009. Pictured in no particular order are Lizzy, Ann, Barry (aka Third Drop Reflection, Harry, Jocie and Bindi. All good people... although I don't know Harry so well.

Favourite quote of the day? Someone was telling a story about a kid who broke his jaw.

"He broke his jaw doing what 15 year olds do..."

"Wanking?" said my friend. "He broke his jaw wanking?"

Perfect comic timing.

Jim Jeffries Review, Sydney Comedy Store

I wasn't sure if the mag was going to run my review of Jim Jeffries. I thought they'd at least asterisk a few words out because it's a bit, ahem, fruity. Bit sweary. Bit potty-mouthed. But totally in keeping with the show. Gawd bless 'em though, they're a bit rock 'n roll after all.

Anyway, click on the image to make big and read... but not if swear words make you cry.

Funny show and I'd write more about it here but this week's starting to freak out on me a little. I'm due in at work at 6am tomorrow morning and my very long chat with Warren Ellis has to be made into a 650 word story by Thursday and there's another one due on the same day

Metamorphosis at the STC

I'm interviewing Warren Ellis from The Bad Seeds tomorrow night. We'll be talking about his score for the STC production of Kafka's Metamorphosis.

The soundtrack is spilling through my brain right now and I don't want it to stop. Insanely good stuff.

Come back later for more about the interview.

Not I, Said This Writer

I've just read a magazine review that I wrote of a music gig I saw last week. I really enjoyed it and I had fun writing the review because I love it when I get to open the floodgates of gush. If I think something is good, I want you to know about it and I want you to know why I thought it was good.

Hilarious thing though... the editor clings to some antiquated style nuance about not referring to yourself directly. They think good editing means there is no such thing as "I". Even when you are writing about your personal experience of a performance.

Hang on. Let me demonstrate. I'm going to re-write what I've written above using the style guide this particular editor uses:

"This writer just read a review that this writer wrote of a music gig this writer saw last week. This writer really enjoyed it and this writer had fun writing the review because this writer loves it when he get's to open the floodgates of gush. If this writer thinks something is good, this writer want's you to know why he thought it was good."

Sadly, I'm not joking. All these "this writer thought" and "this writer believes"... Eh? Wot?

I wrote a line about a guy on stage tweaking knobs on his mixer who was being very extravagant with his knob-twiddling, and I said that I was mightily amused and that from now on my reviews would be written with Beethovenesque flourishes.

Ed changed it to, "From now on, reviews will be written with Beethovenesque flourishes."

Wot? Not just this writer's reviews but all reviews everywhere throughout all the lands and kingdoms?

Okay. That's all for now. Clearly I have to go beat myself about the head repeatedly with a 1956 edition of The New York Times to see if some of this shit sinks in.

HALPHONE

My new phone... I'm calling it HAL.

Friends are coming around for dinner tomorrow night. One of them asked what she should bring. I started to write back "Just bring a bottle of wine."

HAL had other ideas. I like predictive text, but this was taking things to new levels. I got as far as "Just bring" and HAL suggested "some".

I got curious about what HAL had in mind and accepted "some".

HAL's next suggestion was "ppl".

Curiouser and curiouser, accepted ppl. The next predictive suggestion popped up: "around".

I really wanted to know what HAL had in mind so I accepted this and the next suggestion was "for".

I'd gone this far, what the hal? Next suggestion? "dinner".

So I had been going to write "Just bring a bottle of wine", but my phone in all its hospitality generosity had typed out "Just bring some ppl around for dinner."

How does that work? How does it manage to string a sentence together like that? Why is it so generous?

And how the fuck did it know I was planning to have friends over for dinner and not lunch? Has it been eavesdropping on my conversations?

Creepy, man, really creepy.

grumpy

The good thing about hitting your head against a wall is how good it feels when you stop.

I give up.

Reviews: Tattoo, and Late Night Lounge (And A Non-Mancrush)

Couple of brief theatre reviews. Very different productions. Tattoo was unsettling, Late Night Lounge at The Opera House was just a lot of fun. Not sure why I was asked to keep that one to 200 words, but that was the brief.

Off to see Lady Windermere's Fan tomorrow night at Darlinghurst Theatre.

Oh and last night I watched the movie Step Brothers. I giggled like a fool through the whole thing. I haven't read what the critics are saying but I suspect some probably think it's a bit infantile. Me no care. It is a very, very silly movie, the running joke of 40 year olds Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly acting like a couple of kids just didn't wear thin with me. Writing and acting nailed it. There's not nearly enough of this kind of silly on our screens. When it's done well, it's the best.

And there was a little bit of heart in it too, a nice dollop of optimism.

Alsotooaswell... check my Unabomber mugshot. Makes me laugh. I'd be scared of me. The very cool BVV at farrangirl pondered whether my skinheaded hirsute look wasn't in fact a subconscious desire to look like musician Paulmac. Oh ha-fucking-ha.

The joke here is that a looong time ago when we were both editors of a dance music mag, she was over at my place for dinner and I mentioned that I had just bumped into Paulmac in an elevator in another friend's building. We had chatted a bit because I think a few nights earlier he had made some really funny comments at a music awards night I was at. There was something about a broken trophy too. Anyway, I must have appeared untypically excited about the elevator encounter because BVV was all, "Oooh... Lee's got a mancrush on Paulmac."

Goddamn people with good memories.

Bloody Stupid Clock

If all of my neighbours look so normal when I see them in the corridors or out in the streets, why the hell do things like this happen?

Door buzzer rings. I pick the handset up.

"Hello?"

"Yes - hello," comes the slightly grumpy voice.

"Yes?" I prompt.

"Yes. Are you the one who gave me the bloody stupid clock?"

"What?"

"I said are you the one who gave me the this bloody stupid clock. Someone gave a me a clock and it's broken."

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't give you a clock."

"No? Oh."

"Goodbye."

They all look so normal, yet...

The Removalists Review

Saw this last week. It was funny taking my seat in the theatre because the audience was such an old one. Right behind me a little old lady said to her little old husband, "These are good seats."

"Whaaat? he replied loudly.

"These are good seats."

"Whaaat?"

"I said these are good seats, aren't they."

"Yairs."

Fuck me, I thought, if he can't hear her what's going to happen during the play? It amused me, and once the play got underway they were quiet.

I was almost as amused when at a climactic point in the (very violent) play, someone boomed in a rasping voice the observation, "Ooh! He's killed him!" Said into the silence with the conviction of someone completely absorbed, it caused quite a few stifled giggles.

Good to see so many old people out and about. Mostly they enjoyed the play although looking around occasionally I think some of them weren't expecting the violence and they didn't seem to understand why so many in the audience were laughing.

Oh - this amused me too. I posted a photo of myself elsewhere on the interthing because it makes me look like a dangerous mo'fo', which in itself is funny. A friend left a comment saying "I LOVE your headshot more than I can express... but I always have had a thing for the unabomber."

Zakly.

Gary Numan at The Enmore

Review of last night's gig below. I'm not sure if it was 1979 or 1980 when I heard Cars on the radio, and I know Triple J back then was Double J, but this (below) is a first draft review written late at night without the luxury of fact-checking.

This youtube clip is, as far as I can tell, the original version of Are Friends Electric. I think around the same time I was into Mi Sex, Ultravox, Debbie Harry's Blondie, Bowie (natch) and ACDC. See? I have always lacked focus.

I was very impressed with what Gary Numan did last night. I've seen none of the other artists I just mentioned except for Bowie twice. Laurie Anderson was to come a year or two later and then live around 20 years after that. I also remember The Church around the same time. It kept going, I kept hearing new stuff that had a big impact. Mixed bag.

But hearing Numan in a bland suburb on my shitty radio in my grandparents' house... it was a memorable moment. What the fuck is this? I wondered, cranking the volume. Next day at school, about three or four of us were all oh my God did you heard that song Cars on the radio yesterday? The rest looked at us like we were freaks.

Happy times, last night. Numan is gruntier with the same soaring synths. The guitar playing was masculine, and Gary knew the crowd loved him. I never knew he could smile such a high beamer.

Anyway, I know it's not everyone's music, but for me it's stirring music. It's electronic and it's like he was always going for escape from emotion or something, stripped wires and sterility, but there's actually shitloads of emotion in there.

I had a fucking great time last night.

GARY NUMAN

Indulge me for a couple of seconds... back in the late seventies when I was (probably not) doing my homework, Triple J played Gary Numan’s Cars. Everything stopped for me because this was a sound I’d never heard before. It was lush synth, rich, layered with some kind of detached yearning in the lyrics. I think my friends were into The Angels at the time (they were good too) but for me, Numan was where everything was heading.

It’s been more years than I’d like to think since that afternoon, but Gary Numan was in town and I wondered if he still had that thing. Most recent album I listened to was Hybrid, a blend of his ethereal electric synth and gutsy rawness of Trent Reznor from Nine Inch Nails. I liked it a lot.

So how was the 50 year old guy who wanted to do punk but discovered the synthesiser keyboard and went electro-goth instead? Pretty fucking awesome, actually. He’s said he wasn’t going to do his old stuff, but he did do his old stuff. He just twisted it in gutsy style with some of the most muscular guitar work you’re likely to hear.

Support band Pivot did an admirable job. I’d not seen them before but they were good. Drummer was exciting, vocals were ordinary but willing, and the guy on the lap top and mixer was pretty fucking funny in how much he was putting into it. From now on, I type my reviews with Beethovenesque flourishes.

But Numan, baby. One old one, one new one, one old one new one. The nostalgia freaks had a blast with tracks like Down In The Park, and oh my God the impromptu singalong to Are Friends Electric was just beautiful. I caved and smiled a lot and also joined in.

Numan was flanked by two synth players and two guitar guys, one kick-arse drummer behind. His voice was as fresh as it was a thousand years ago. He prowled the stage, played guitar, and sang his songs with very obvious enjoyment, whether in that detached tone or menacing whisper. For me, this was not a nostalgia trip. Numan knows music, knows it has to move forward, and he’s doing an excellent job.

LEE BEMROSE

I Loved You Yesterday

I loved you yesterday
When you weren’t expecting it
You didn’t even know
I was watching you
Didn’t know
I was thinking about you.

And truth is
I wasn’t expecting it either
But in those moments
Buried under countless other
Millions of moments
I loved you yesterday.

All over again.

Chins, Cellos, And Everything Between

Here is a couple of stories out in the current issue of Drum... with photos of chins. Both productions sound good to me.

And as chins go, I think both ones pictured are fine. They are fine examples of people's chins.

I'll be seeing Tattoo tomorrow night and hope to catch Travesties. I did see David Williamson's The Removalists the other day and really enjoyed it. Blackly funnier than expected. Will post review later (with a shot of someone's chin).

Also saw something called Late Night Lounge at The Studio, Sydney Opera House. Wonderful show. Highlight for me was cellist Zoe Keating. I was insto-fan. Lots of great stuff, some really funny stuff... crazy sexy woman called Julie Muz Atlas did a weird thing with getting her gear off while getting inside a big balloon. Loved Amanda Palmer too. And Meow Meow... hilarious as ever. Oddly, she sat down at our table for a bit (right next to me and everything) and I was about to ask what in the hell is going on with my song, but some clingly guyfriend came between us. Probably a good thing because I don't think she had a clue who I was, but if I reminded her of the song my stalker status would have been confirmed.

Really loved Zoe's cello playing. Really.

Seriously, really.

Oh and PS etc... really don't understand why editors think it's okay to insert their jokiness into your writing. Have only just now had the chance to read the printed pieces properly, and I just don't get why you would do it. I didn't write the (luft?) balloons bit and have no idea how that adds anything to the story. Yeah - it was a German pop song, but wot? I just don't get why people feel the need to do that kind of thing.

Here's an idea - run your joke by me first before you think it's a good thing to try to jolly up my writing. I mean, my name is on it, I'd like to be responsible for the good and the bad.

Why? Why?

The Refrigerator Of Fame

One I like most? The one of Chloe aiming her finger at me.