Late Night Haiku For A Fucked Up Species

Ruin

The slaves of their God,
Creator of life and love,
Or Satan's minions?

Imagine No Batshit Crazies

What the fuck is going on in the world? Idiots in a desert calling on  holy war in the name of some guy in a book, and idiots in other parts of the world killing innocent bystanders in the name of the idiots' agenda.

Sadly, the civilised part of the world has no other option to respond to this idiot, psychotic aggression. And nothing good will come of that.

But what else? What else does the civilised world do in the face of this archaic, barbaric idiocy?

Nothing good - absolutely nothing - has come from  religion that you can't get from compassion and common sense. Why are we as a species so superstitious? And how as a species have we seemed to degenerate into such levels of hatred, genocide and probably suicide? What is wrong with us?

Above, there is a lovely clip from John Lennon. I think he understood.

I've included, below, a lost verse from this great song of love and peace.

Imagine no batshit crazies,
It's blissful if you try,
No idiocy to deal with
You just poke 'em in the eye...

When The DJ Drops Your Jam

In light of not having anything happy to write about during these shitty (but in a first world problems kind of way) times, I give you this. I absolutely fucking hate this style of music, but absolutely love the pairing of this footage (the kid, I believe, was reacting to another piece of music) and the hellish tune. It makes me smile.

Looking forward to a fun weekend of debauchery with easy-going friends.

Peace.

Junk

I enter the cafe, walk through to the back and hang my bag on the rack and immediately hear the front door being knocked on. It squeaks open. A customer already wanting a coffee, fuck it. I don't agree to make coffees until I am at least 95% set up because it can just put you on the back foot very quickly. You spend time making coffee when you should be setting up, you will get another customer who also wants an early coffee and it's just a bad way to start the day. Which is why I leave the lights off and keep the door shut until I'm ready to start.

But I forgot to close the door. And there's this guy in a hoodie already inside the darkened cafe.

"We're not open yet," I tell him as I walk towards him.

He's hanging onto the open door, because if he lets go, I realise, he'll fall over. He's a smackie so high he's almost falling asleep on his feet.

"Okay - get out," I tell him, waving him out. Just then The Dreaded One arrives after parking the car. She sees the guy and stops, wondering what the hell is going on.

Then the guy says something. Says the same thing again. I notice that he's clutching some money in one fist and some empty tupperware containers in the other. He says that thing again. It's a question, and suddenly I wonder if he's not a smackie but someone with physical disorders in need of help.

"Sorry - what are you saying?"

He says that thing again, and now I understand.

"Any job vacancies?"

He is totally a smackie, totally whacked, and he's asking me to give him a job. It's funny and tragic. I tell him no, there are no job vacancies as I guide him out. The Dreaded One comes inside and I lock the door. I watch our whacked out friend make his teetering way up the road and into the day. There's a part of me - the into-the-abyss part of me - that envies him for his blissed out, fucked up state of mind.

But mostly I feel grateful that I am mostly okay, and that I have a little cafe to set up and a day of work ahead of me.

You Bet You Are... The Many Voices In Abbott's Head

"I'm going to shirtfront Mr Putin, you bet you are - I bet I am."

The most intriguing thing for me about this recent bit of idiocy from our PM is the 'you bet you are' bit. What on Earth is that all about? What is actually going on in this guy's head? Was this another voice in his head backing him up? Does he have multiple personalities in his head in constant discussion with each other and this bit of dialogue accidentally slipped out?

Maybe the full, uncensored quote could have gone a little like this: "I'm going to shirtfront Mr Putin, you bet you are. Ooh by crikey you are sooo going to shirt-front that bear-cuddling fag, and Tone, my man, when you shirtfront someone they know they've been shirtfronted. You bet they do. You know they do, don't I... erm who's speaking now? Me, I am, and I don't want a pansy shirt-fronting, I want to bend Putin over and poke him from behind like that cellar scene with the gimp in Pulp Fiction, man that was a hot scene, I really liked that scene... didn't we? You bet we all did." 

Or something like that.

Team Awesome Is Awesome

Have had a few worrying weeks in the cafe. One of our workers, knowing we have been quietly stressing, gave us a bottle of wine to say thanks or cheer us up or whatever. She went to the pub across the road where we sometimes drink and asked the guys behind the bar which kind of wine we drink.

I think we chose well with our current team.

Conversations With Our Customers: I'm Beth Patterson, Bitch

We certainly seem to get our share of performers in Grumpy & The Dreaded One's Little Cafe Of Awesome.

I was packing away the outdoor furniture for closing yesterday when this intriguingly kooky looking chick with an American accent asked if I needed help with carrying the table. I told her I was okay and went inside. She followed me inside. I asked what she wanted. She said she wanted to recharge her phone and have something to eat. I looked at the outdoor furniture stacked upside down  - a pretty good sign that we are closing up - and said  "I'm sorry, but we're closed."

She apologised and left, and something about her intrigued.

She came back in this morning and I apologised about yesterday's confusion. No problem. She ordered some breakfast. She read one of my Grumpy columns on the clipboard menu as she ate. I always watch for a reaction. Much blankness until a certain point when she opened her mouth in a silent, still, laugh. A good reaction.

She  said she enjoyed her meal, said she enjoyed my writing, mentioned writing of her own. Conversation ensued. From what I could glean, she seemed to be a writer, musician, performer, here on tour from New Orleans.

Sometimes people can be well-known even though you know nothing about them, and asking them what their name is so you can Google them can be awkward. But I asked what her name was so that I could Google her.

"I'm Beth Patterson, bitch."

Pretty fucking funny..

Anyway, I Googled, and yeah, she's good. Amaaaazing bouzouki player and gorgeous voice. She seems like a bit of a nutter too. Awesome.

Once, The Musical, A Review.

Once

Reviewed by Lee Bemrose



I have to start out by admitting that I don't like musicals. The last one I went to was six or so years ago and it was an accident. Musicals just seem a bit stupid, with their singing-instead-of-saying approach to story telling. What I want from theatre is just a good story well told. Song and dance? Bah.

Having said that, one of my most well known dirty little secrets is that I am a total sucker for a good romantic comedy, and as far as that goes, it doesn't get much better than this.

I think where Once stands apart from your garden variety musical is that it is about music. My usual seething hatred of musicals isn't justified here because this is not about people spontaneously bursting into song and dance for no logical reason, it is about music and the love of music. When the characters sing and dance here, it all feels more natural than in other musicals. The story is so clearly told and thoroughly engaging that you could forget you were watching a musical, if the music wasn't so damned good.

Once is about a guy and a girl. Well, two girls, really. Guy is a broken-hearted busker about to turn his back on his music. Girl sees that he is about to do this but feels so passionately that his music and song-writing is great that she encourages him to do whatever it takes to get back into it. The romantic tension between them is the stuff of all great romcoms, but the outcome is what stays with you and makes this so memorable. Once is a story, perhaps, about three kinds of love: selfish love; unrequited love; and selfless love. This last one is the main one here - the most noble kind of love- and it's a bitter-sweet thing.

The stage is a bar in Ireland, and the show starts with audience members up on stage ordering drinks and standing about as a couple of performers start jamming on a variety of instruments and singing seemingly impromptu songs. It's how you imagine traditional Irish pubs to be. It's a good way to entertain those of us who arrived on time while we wait for those who didn't arrive on time. Gradually, the audience exits the stage to go to their seats, the lights go down and our story begins.

It opens with a song of melancholy, and our man (Tom Parsons) can sing. (And strum and act, sometimes all at the same time. He's good looking too. Bastard). But as soon as Girl (Madeline Jones) takes to the stage, there are laughs. She is a quirky and forthright Czek, a fellow music lover. She knows what's ticking in Guy's heart and she quickly becomes an important part of his world.

The leads are both well drawn, engaging characters, and as they slowly get to know each other, we get to know them and their very different worlds. There are multitudes of other characters – all warm, engaging and funny – played by head-shakingly talented actor/musicians. The casting process for this must have been an interesting experience.

Every musical instrument bar the theremin appears to be in the show, all played with precision to create feelings of warmth, melancholy, humour and fun. Lots of fun. The actors at all times appear to be absolutely enjoying themselves and playing their instruments. It's a wonderful thing to see. It's probably unfair to single anyone out from such an impressive ensemble of mostly local performers, but Amy Lehpamer perhaps best demonstrates this joy that I'm talking about; she shined brightly when she had her floor-stomping moments with her violin.

Once is a big, slick production, again not the kind of thing I'm usually drawn to. I'm usually found at banged up little theatres who put on edgy independent productions. I like risk takers like recent Fringe dwellers Stephen House and the Mellow Yellow crew.

But without reservation, I loved Once. It's a good story well told, with some wonderful tunes.

On at Princess Theatre, Melbourne until... erm... not really sure. But it's on now and you should definitely go see it. It's good. Really good.

Read about the show and buy tickets here.

In The Shop Of Infinite Sadness

Hello.

Hello.

How you?

I sad.

Oh.

How You?

I sad too.

Oh. How sad?

Hmm. How to say... I sadder than yesterday.

Oh.

But not as sad as I will be tomorrow.

Ah. That is sad.

No, that is not sad.

It's not sad?

No. It is happy.

How so?

This is the least sad I will ever be.

Ah. You are wise. This is the least sad I will ever be too.

Oh. Okay then. Bye bye.

Bye bye. I see you again tomorrow.

Yes, see you tomorrow. Bye.

See you.

Once, The Musical

I don't generally go to musicals. They usually annoy me. But this one has something about it... just ticks a lot of boxes. I'm about to head in now and see the Melbourne preview. I am quite excited and expect I'll be writing one of my gush reviews. I can feel it in me waters.

Laugh. Just Laugh. If You Don't Laugh, You Won't Laugh

I don't know another industry that is so open to criticism by absolutely any knucklehead as the hospitality industry is. (Aside from Hollywood). Who writes detailed reviews for social media of librarians or cab drivers or security guards? Why does the hospitality industry have to cop it?

And there are sites everywhere that give voice to illiterate, moronic, anonymous criticism from bitter trolls, and small businesses have to just sit back and take it with no right of reply. It's so wrong. Constructive criticism is a great thing. Just being negative while you hide your identity is not.

We're struggling a little at the moment, but we have to deal with this anonymous twat. This is his diatribe and my response to it. My response isn't posted in full on the website in question, which is frustrating because I thought the way to the thing of whatever was humour... I'm getting increasingly tired of this world.

All I ask is that if you are publicly slamming me, use your own photo and your real name. Otherwise, shut the fuck up. Your opinion is nothing unless you are prepared to stand behind it.

Have some integrity.

Here's this, for what it's worth:

Little cafe of terribleness

Doesn't like it

Diner from Melbourne • paul-fergs • 2 reviews

The food is quite uninspiring and the coffee is very bitter to the point of tasting burnt. The guy making the coffee certainly lives up to his nickname "grumpy" and never cracks a smile, but i kind of feel he needs to break away from that tradition if he's working in a customer service industry as he just comes across as rude. As for his co-owner, she seemed friendly, but when asking for water on the table, this never arrived even though the cafe was quiet, which reduces the chances of her being caught up in the hectic nature that cafes can sometimes become. As well as this, they are a bit too quick to clear your plates and cups which is a pet hate of mine as it feels as though you're being rushed out the door.So in summary: The coffee tastes cheap and there's better food quality and customer service in the surrounding cafes. This place would probably fit nicely in a rural area where there's less choice and people are not as aware of how fantastic coffee can taste when done well.

My reply to this idiot, who doesn't have the initiative to stand up and get the water for himself when the getting the water thing has gone awry for him...

You're kind of right when you say Grumpy never cracks a smile, but only kind of. Technically speaking, he rarely cracks a smile. He is someone for whom smiling and indeed laughing is a genuine response to the external stimulus of happiness, and like many people his mood-integrity is set to quite a high level, thus making the facial contortion that indicates genuine happiness to be a rare thing. This does not mean he is actually unhappy or as you suggested rude, he is just in a constantly ponderous, thoughtful mood. He is mostly quite happy, it just takes a lot for him to burst out in smile.

Unfortunately, he was born with an ugly head (we can't help but wonder how you neglected to mention this in your wide-ranging “review”). The ugliness of his features, the natural severity of his countenance even when his mood is so frequently mild and placid, has plagued him since childhood. He has spent his life explaining to friends and family and strangers that nothing is wrong, that he is not upset or angry, that no his best friend or pet budgie hasn't just died. He just has naturally severe features. It's quite the curse.

The thing is, when Grumpy does smile... on those rare and worthy occasions when he does crack a grin, it is a thing to behold. The heavens open and the angels sing and all the unicorns and fairies and dragons (the happy kind) throughout the magical kingdoms frolic together in unbridled joy.

And when he laughs – a far rarer thing than a simple crack of a grin – the sweetest cello sounds like crushed gravel by comparison. The angels and the unicorns and the fairies and the happy dragons are silenced in awe. So many musical notes of mirth spilling from such a butt-ugly head is like a... a rainbow emerging from a cat's arse. It is purely and utterly astonishing.

But criticism has been taken on board and Grumpy will attempt to crack a grin more often; the singing of angels is not heard nearly enough these days.