Anger Man

Heated early morning conversation. Verbatim. Much anger in the air. I hate starting off the day like this, but unfortunately day to day life just has its sour moments.

A while ago a good friend did shitty stuff and we parted ways. Once we used to give each other matey hugs in greeting but on the last time I saw him, he went for a handshake and I snubbed him. Didn't even say goodbye. Mostly, I'm not a hater, but when bad stuff happens and I think someone is not worthy of my friendship, it stays that way. Once we go down that path, there simply is no turning back.

So we get an email from this former friend and it's all chatty, starts off with 'Hi, how are you guys?"

I'm not a violent person, but the email makes me want to punch the computer monitor right in its face. I refrain and instead rant. Can you believe the fucker etc.

I shower and when I come out to make sure the fucker really does have the gall, I see a reply not yet sent from my beloved Dreaded One. She has opened with, "Hi X, we're good, how are you?"

I cannot believe it. I rant again. You send that email I will totally disown you I swear etc.

"Stop being silly," comes the reply from the kitchen. "Can you send that for me please? I forgot to hit send."

I really really cannot believe this. "I absolutely will not pollute my fingertips by sending that message. The fucker's a fucker and will always be a fucker."

"Oh stop it. What's the point in bearing a grudge? It's juvenile."

"Seriously - I am disgusted that you think it's okay to send that message. You are wet. You are a sap. You need to feel more hate. Sometimes it's justified."

"There's no point. Life's too short..."

I don't hear what comes next because I have left the room in seething disgust. When I calm down enough to return to the same room as the traitor, I hear the sound of email being sent and when I check, she really has actually sent this email of betrayal.

I am speechless.

When I am finally capable of speech, I come up with this: "What you're not understanding here is that every superhero needs an arch nemesis, and X is my arch nemesis."

"Well you're not much of a superhero if your arch nemesis is X."

"At least I have an arch nemesis," I counter with justified superiority.

"That's fine. I don't need to pretend I'm a superhero. C'mon - get your chef jacket. We're running late."

"Okay."

Heard On The Dancefloor

Sunday evening, I'm unexpectedly going a bit silly on the dancefloor. Been a shitty few days working at a pretty crappy job, so when we bump into someone who asks if we're going to the party, late lunch plans suddenly veer.

So I'm blowing off steam and having a blast. Big grin, lots of laughs, sexycool people dancing and living it up.

Then a friend walks up to me and leans over to say something.

"What?" I ask, expecting something flirty or funny, some silly bit of hilarity.

"I said SJ - I just got a text message from him. His dog died."

Possibly the last thing I expected to hear on the dancefloor. It is kind of funny in its inappropriateness, but kind of baffling too. Why did they think they needed to interrupt my mood to tell me right there and then? It could have waited. Maybe it's just me, but I really don't want to be thinking about dead dogs while I'm on the dancefloor. I'm odd like that.

The People We Used To Know

Got a random line of poetry
Got a dream
Got a memory
Got a destination, an idea,
Got a place I want to be.

I’m saying goodbye
I’m saying I’m coming
I’m saying it’s good to be back
To a place I’ve never been before.
I want to know what’s next.

I’m a dream
I’m a memory
I’m just some vague notion
Of how things might have been.
Just like you.

We swim through time
Drowning slowly
We remember sometimes, another time
We wonder what happened
As we fade
And become the people we used to know.

A Week At The Office

Today while manning a kitchen at Sexpo, I was surprised to feel in a good enough mood to be singing (quietly) out loud. My song of choice? It's Scandal In New York, featuring Uta Dare. I'm used to the Satoshi Tomiie remix so it was interesting to hear the original. Almost as interesting as it is to hear me singing the lyrics (you have to hit the 6 minute 40 second mark before the fun lyrics kick in).

Can't remember if I told you, but The Dreaded One and I are booked in to play a set in a few months in spite of never having DJ'd. We've got a pretty interesting track selection going, and Scandal In New York is one of my tracks. I'll probably make it the Satoshi remix, but the original is pretty good. So far, our set is going to kick some major butt. We're thinking our DJ name will be Grumpy & Stompy, because I am Grumpy and she wears Swear boots, which are stompy. Also, it's going to be a psytrance gig which involves a lot of stomping.

So, anyway, Sexpo. Got a call from someone looking for casual staff and I only had a couple of days at The Big Pointy building so I said I'd do three days at Sexpo. It's been funny and shit at different times. The food standards... well there are no food standards. It's fucking horrifying actually. I'm embarrassed to be seen there wearing my chef jacket. But it's swapping dollars for hours so there's no real room for weirdo concepts like professional pride. I do wish I had my shit together enough not to have to do silly jobs like this though.

Having said that, it's had its moments and the people are good (one of the service staff was one of these girls) and I've never seen porn stars in the flesh or giant walking penises before, so it's one to chalk up to experience. Got asked by a cute promo chick if I was going to the afterparty and I said probably not. She pouted and giggled off somewhere I'm kind of thinking I might try to find her and say oh all right you've talked me into it.

Both days so far have seen me start off in a foul mood because I am just used to things being better. Standards at The Big Pointy Building are high, man. This morning started off so badly - first job for me was to change the deep frying oil after I told them the night before it needed to be done earlier the previous day - that I swore if anyone gave me any shit I was going to leave. Someone asked about stock and I replied, "How would I know - I haven't looked yet because I'm changing the fucking oil."

Ooh. Cranky Lee.

Not a good start and not really a dynamic day, but you put the systems in place and do the best you can and you lighten the fuck up. Seriously, how can you stay Grumpy when a giant penis has just walked bobbingly by?

Also, I had been to see some really good theatre the night before. Go see Bubble if you're in Sydney. Really good stuff. Pity I wasn't reviewing. Maybe I will here later. I am going along to see Our Country's great for review tonight.

And the other night during a function at The Big Pointy Building, who should come into the kitchen to say hello? David Helfgott. What a bizarre and wonderful experience it was to meet him. Remarkable human being. A lovely little moment.

So, you know, I really shouldn't complain. I really should start off each day feeling happy, even if I am temporarily serving up bought-in, pre-packaged slop to the Sexpo punters.

A Person Dressed As A Blogger

I always root for the bull when it comes to bullfighting, so this story about a small stadium of bloodthirsty spectators comes close to amusing me. It was a bit like an extreme Mexican Wave.

What totally amused me was that when our sultry late night news reader told the story, she said: "The bull came in for a closer look at the damage only to be distracted by a person dressed as a clown."

Okay. It wasn't an actual clown, merely a person dressed as a clown. We need to make the distinction between real clowns and persons impersonating clowns. Because it makes all the difference. I want to know when my clowns are real clowns and when they are regular persons impersonating clowns.

Then again, maybe the emphasis was on "person". Perhaps they wanted to make it clear that it was someone on the humans' side and not a friendly fake clown, like a bull dressed as a clown.

Or perhaps the clown-dressed person looked like, say, a wombat, and the newsreader wanted to make it perfectly clear that nononono, it's not a wombat but a PERSON dressed as a clown.

I started seeing the rest of the news very differently. Suddenly there was a person dressed as a policeman, a person dressed as a politician, yet another person dressed as a person.

All brought to us by a person dressed as a news reader.

Vamp

Nothing to blog here. Nothing funny has happened.

Oh other than minutes ago picking up this brochure and thinking ooh it looks like... and turning it on its side to see if in fact it is a picture of the woman I wrote this really stupid song for and accidentally knocking over a glass of wine on my dining table in the process and completely smashing it. (Glass, not table, obv).

Nothing ever came of the song. See that heel on her left shoe? I feel it through my heart every waking hour...

I thought it was kind of funny that I smashed a good glass because this shot distracted me. I like to think The dreaded One thought it was funny too... even though she told me she thought I was a bit pathetic.

Assassins Review, And An Unexpected World Youth Day Rant

Here's the review of the musical theatre I saw last week. I didn't know whether to mention that all ticket sales go towards the Prostate Cancer Foundation of Australia or not. In the end I thought it best to just focus on the performance itself. It's hard enough to write a satisfying review in 300 words.


Saw a funny thing yesterday. On the way through Circular Quay where thousands of singing, dancing Catholics were gathering to catch a glimpse of the Pope, there was this frail looking old guy, stoop-shouldered and not a hint of happiness about him. He was just standing there staring out at the world through dull eyes. He was wearing a sandwich board that carried a message that went something like, "Wake up, ignorant people. God is just a concept created by stupid humanity."

I know I bagged World Youth Day and maybe there's some truth in the old guy's sentiment, but looking around at all this happiness and celebration, as manufactured as it might be, I couldn't help thinking yeah - but what are you offering?

It was a weird day. I worked on a barbecue outside The Big Pointy Building and we got slammed. I had brief conversations with some of the pilgrims. Almost all of them were happy and smiling, even the old and broken ones. They came from all over the world, a kaleidoscope of accents and skin colour. One guy took his meal and said to me, "Thank you brother. I am going to remember this day for a very long time."

Someone else held up their steak roll and their friend took a photo with us and the Harbour Bridge in the background, like: This is how Australians celebrate everything including a papal visit - with a barbecue."

I've been in those food situations before where there are massive queues and I can honestly say this was the most pleasant of them all.

So, miserable old guy with your sandwich board message, as manufactured as The Church may be, with its often grim history and with all of it myriad problems, the good bits are actually pretty good.

Better to dance and rejoice in something than stand around feeling pissed off because people are happy, don't you think Sour Old Guy? I mean, why the fuck did you even bother getting out of bed? I can't believe that your level of bitterness is so great that you thought it would be a good idea to get up out of bed, put on that ridiculous sandwich board and go outside to try to rain on someone else's parade, you misery stricken fucker. In fact you know what? Just because of you I really hope God is real, because I would love to see the look on your craggy old face when you realise that not only have you been a miserable bastard all this time but you've been wrong too. Haaha! That would be hilarious. You before God with your ridiculous sandwich board feeling like the utter twat you are. In fact I'm half tempted to go back down there where I don't doubt you are still standing like the morose cadaver you are, and gaffer tape you inside that sandwich board and spray a smiley face on one side and "The Lord Is Great" on the other. My God, Sour Old Guy, your version of hell would actually be a happy place, wouldn't it. A place filled with laughter and smiles and people doing good things for each other. You sad, sad...

Ooh. A rant supporting World Youth Day. Didn't see that one coming.

Mee, The Musical

There's been bugger all Faux Chef work for me this week so I've been saying yes to everything Drum has been asking me to write.

"Can you go to Underbelly Arts Festival and review it for us please?"

"Yes." (review to come out next week. Feature to the side came out a couple of weeks ago).

"Can you interview the guy from Kino Short Film Festival please?"

"Yes."

"Can you interview someone from Legs On The Wall about their new show Bubble please?"

"Yes."

"Can you write something about Reefer Madness - "

"Yes!" (This one is going to be a blast).

"What about doing a review of Assass - "

"YES! Okay? Yes. Whatever you've got, I'll do it."

Made me feel a little bit of a writing whore, but what the hell.

Then I'm in the shower and I start to think about the show I'm getting ready to go and see, and I'm thinking, wait on - why does Stephen Sondheim ring a bell, but not a very big or nice one. I think harder. I stop mid-lather... Noooooooooooo... doesn't Stephen Sondheim do musicals? YES! Don't I really really hate musicals? YES!

Fuck.

Jesus Cares

I have designed a T shirt. You can check it out here and even rank it and maybe even buy a shirt. I think it's funny. I think you should vote for it and maybe even buy one.

Something good has come out of World Youth Pointy Head Happy Clappy Cheesy Go Away Please Day after all.

Dear World Youth Day Sydney 2008

Dear World Youth Day,

Thank you for coming to Sydney. I work on a casual basis at The Big Pointy Building and although it's been pretty quiet for the last couple of weeks and there hasn't been much work, next week was looking good again. Lots of functions were booked in and I was looking forward to a couple of good shifts. But then the full extent of World Youth Day and its impact on access to The Big Pointy Building became clear and everyone canceled their functions to hold them somewhere more easily accessed. So guess what? No income for me. Hoorah! Thanks heaps for that.

Also, I recently joined an agency and they told me that it's really quiet at the moment because of World Youth Day. No work for Faux Chefs and not even any work for the legions of waiters relying on the catering industry for their income. Because although there is lots of catering taking place on your happy clappy day, it's all being done by volunteers. So on behalf of everyone struggling to make a living in the hospitality industry, thank you, World Youth Day. Big hugs and kisses of gratitude.

And look, it's not your fault especially, but all these ridiculous 'annoyance' laws? Thank you for being indirectly responsible for the authorities introducing yet more dodgy policing laws. Thank you so much.

And thank you for totally buggering up our roads and city access. Thank you so much for imposing yourself on those of us who didn't invite you here in the first place.

I love you World Youth Day.

Lots of love,

Lee.

Grumpy In The Flesh

Lazy post because I am lazy. But here's what the ed of Tsunami had to say about our deliciously boozey first meeting. Nice to know that I am not grumpy in the flesh. I really enjoyed that night. Gavin and Eliza are good people.

Recently I was telling someone about the difficulty I am having with my eye and because I couldn't remember the name of the condition, they laughed. That's nice, isn't it. Nice one, fucker.

Had no option but to strangle him with his own dreadlocks.

I'm giving this eye thing six months max. After that... I guess I'll give it another six months. Or laser the fucker. Am very over it.

The Mystery Of The Mysterious Poem

Cleaning out my bedside Drawer Of Shit, I came across this poem. A poem for me. A poem written about me. A poem written about me by someone called Jo.

Thing is, who the fuck is Jo?

It mentions my purple Turkish poncho, so the poem must have been written in late '06 or '07 after my Turkey trip... and I'm really hoping it wasn't written any more recently than that because I really don't remember Jo.

Getting more Sherlock on its arse, it has to be a doof Jo because I only wear my purple Turkish poncho to outdoor parties. So it was a winter doof (can't have been this year then as it's only winter now). The only doof Jo I know has really short hair and always looks at me suspiciously, like she knows I'm up to something and even though she doesn't know exactly what it is, she's on to me. There is no way she would write a girlycute poem about me being lovely and cuddly.

I think where the author says the bit about "a kool friend forever till the end", they must have meant till the end of the party. Or the end of the poem.

Baffled, I am.

Eye-ronic

I've been talking to The Cosmos a lot recently, my theory being that if I make friends with it, it will be good to me. Each time a nice thing happens to me I say, "Thank you, Cosmos, that was a very cool thing you just did for me and I appreciate it a lot."

And if a shitty thing happens to me I figure it's better not to point the finger of blame at The Cosmos (which would be pretty difficult anyway, when you think about it) but to accept that it was my fault and I had a shitty thing coming: "Ah - fair enough, Cosmos, I did that shitty thing the other day so I had a shitty thing coming my way. My bad."

Sitting here just now I've just realised what an ironic sense of humour The Cosmos can have. Some time ago I realised my vision was not as perfect as it once was so I had my eyes tested. I needed reading glasses. Then recently my left eye developed something called Central Serous Retinopathy, an annoying condition that in most cases goes away by itself after a few months.

The irony at play here is that it is now pointless wearing my reading glasses because although they improve the vision in my right eye, they magnify the shadowy distortion in my left eye... "Ha ha, Cosmos, good one. What a wicked sense of humour. Funny fucker, you are... love your work. So ironic. Love it. Brilliant."