And Then They Were Gone

Today in our banged up little cafe... a family walks in. Light's kind of funny from my end and light sometimes plays with my eyes. I notice that the guy has dreadlocks or the beginnings of them. Dreadlocks in the cafe always make me feel happy. I know dreadlocks are not a guarantee of integrity, but in my circle I've been lucky, and dreads = good.

I said hello to the guy, probably kind of blankly because it was nearing the end of the day. He said hello back, equally as blankly. I looked past him and recognised his beautiful wife. Looked back at him and recognised his rough head too, now smiling.

It was our friends The Hepworths. Haven't seen them in years. And now they are here in our banged up little cafe.

Hugs. Of course there are hugs.

We talk as much as we can. We've always been in touch online, but seeing them in real life is a different experience. Voices. Seeing the changes in their faces. Their boys now, so much bigger - quite cool young human beings, the result of good parenting. Expected nothing less.

We talk as much as we can, which is not very much because we are working and even when the cafe is quiet at the end of a busy day, there is stuff to be done.

Seeing these people, these friends we met in the doof scene, I wish we could have them over to ours for a meal. A dinner would be nice. But you need to plan these things. And we are all so busy and everything is so transient and we are all so far away.

And there were hugs and a photo and goodbyes.

And then they were gone.

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.

Birth Of A Loose Cannon

GRUMPY

Grumpy is freelance writer Lee Bemrose (leebemrose@hotmail.com) Word on the street is that he's a bit of a loose cannon.



A while ago I was told that I was a stalwart, by two separate people on two separate occasions. In one weekend.

I guess this is something of an achievement, something to be proud of. Me, a stalwart. Two people. Two distinct and separate occasions. In fact it's possibly even a little bit cool because both people were talking about me being a stalwart of the doof scene. When they had first started going to outdoor parties, I was there, an entrenched part of the scene, and here I was all this time later still going strong when many other former stalwarts had lost some of their stalwartiness. I was a rock. You could count on me. Definitely, this was something to feel good about.

However, it made me realise that I had always harboured the desire to be called something else. I have been quietly aching to be called a loose cannon. Just once, by one person, on one occasion. Compared to loose cannon, being called a stalwart was like being told you are nice, as opposed to be told you are cool. I hadn't realised how long I had been carrying around this loose cannon thing until shortly after The Double Stalwart Incident. Why had no one ever told me I was a loose cannon?

I had even spent more time than I care to admit coping with my desire to be called a loose cannon by imagining that it was the kind of thing that was happening all the time in my absence.

“Wow, man, I was hanging out with Grumpy the other night and whoa, that guy is a loose cannon.”

“Tell me about it. When they came up with the phrase loose cannon, they had him in mind.”

However, thinking about it, that conversation has probably never taken place. More likely it would go:

“Gee – I was thinking about Grumpy the other day and you know what I realised?”

“Stalwart?”

“How did you know?”

“I was thinking the exact same thing. In fact I think you could go so far as to say he's a double stalwart.”

I eventually asked friends if someone could humour me and just call me a loose cannon, just once. Please? They asked me why they would do such a thing because to be a loose cannon you have to do the kind of things loose cannons do, and I did not do these things. Ergo, they mercilessly went on, I can't be called a loose cannon.

Okay so I'm not exactly Charlie Sheen, but I have my own loose cannon ways. Like, getting ready for a theatre opening night the other night I found I only had mismatched socks left. What did I do? I wore mismatched socks – and got away with it. Loose Cannon.

The other day I ate two rows of chocolate, which is my usual limit, but as there was only one more row left, I ate it too. Three rows. Loose cannon.

I spent a whole day recently being completely naked. Loose. Cannon.

I even posted Killing Joke's Loose Cannon on a certain social networking site as my theme song, just to drive my point home.

The really funny thing about my ongoing campaign – and yes I know my loose cannon activities are a long way from partying with pornstars and saying wild and crazy things in the media like “WINNING!” - but the really funny thing is that my very amused friends everywhere have started doing it. Friends I hadn't realised had been following this ongoing joke... it's been happening in emails, in text messages, and in real life. I imagine strangers overhearing my friends telling me I'm such a loose cannon, and them saying to their friends, “Watch out for that guy – I hear he's a bit of a loose cannon.”

Yes. WINNING!

The Doughnut Of Love & AC/DC Wine Grumpies, Print Versions

A couple of hard copy scans of recent Grumpy columns (click on image to enlarge, then click again to make it readable), now that the mag has started sending them through again. If you've already read them, apologies for the repitition. It's just kinda nice for me seeing them in print.

Was noodling with a Grumpy plan today. 365 Grumpy columns together in one book, The Book Of Grumpy or The World According To Grumpy. Or maybe The Year Of Grumpy. It's an idea I've been toying with for ages but a while ago I sent the idea to an online lit agent modelled on New York's Miss Snark. Big mistake because this person shot the whole thing down. Really crapped all over my confidence about it.

But to hell with it - the column has been going for years now and why not put a whole bunch together in book form? Mainly, it would be fun. And who knows, maybe it could be the best seller I need to not have to work at crappy jobs anymore. Maybe my new vocation could be sitting on stage in an armchair, sipping wine and reading from The Book Of Grumpy to Leegions of adoring fans. Maybe this time next year I'll be appearing at the Melbourne Fringe instead of reviewing Fringe shows. Perhaps I will be reviewing my own show...

Also, and I hope this works, here is a link to some recent photos taken at a party called Dragon Dreaming.

Grumpy And The Little Voice

Back from four days partying in the bush. Drove to Braidwood just out of Canberra and had a lovely time. Compared to the last doof we went to (our first in Melbourne that wasn't Rainbow), we knew so many people. It was really good to be at a party with so many friendly faces again... well the faces at Maitreya were friendly, we just didn't know any of them. This, on the other hand, was a real gathering and much fun was had. It was really good to get a solid hit of bush, barefeet and beats.

Needless to say, the apartment looks like a bomb went off. Clothes everywhere and we're trying to dry two tents out on our small balcony (it rained on the last morning we were there).

I've spent the day trying to get the tents and a hammock dry, washing clothes and writing. Had to write the Grumpy column below as well as editing a Q&A from Deya Dova for her new album of remixes and writing up a 550 word story from 1200 words. I haven't done that in ages and I still enjoy it.

I'll post the Deya Dova stuff shortly. For now, here's some Grumpy...

GRUMPY

Another long weekend, another road trip to another festival. This one's an interstate one involving quite a long drive so we decide to break the trip up and stay somewhere overnight.

“Where do you want to stay?”I ask.

“Don't know,” The Dreaded One replies vaguely, packing her bag days before we are due to leave. I, on the other hand, am Last Minute Man. The fact that she is planning so far ahead and I leave everything to the last minute makes things all the more ironic.

I look at the map and pick a couple of places that appear to be halfway. I suggest these halfway places. The Dreaded One is more interested in whether she should pack one corset or two, which tutu goes best with the chosen corset.

“Why don't we just wing it?” she suggests. “Just head off and stop somewhere on the way.”

“What – not book a room?”

“We'll find somewhere.”

I'm not sure about this. “But it's a long weekend. These places, they're halfway places. They're very popular stopping points. What if we get there and everything is booked out?”

“You worry too much. I'm sure we'll find something. Worst comes to worse we can always set up the tent.”

I make a thinky face as I watch her pack her big stompy fluffy boots. She is being completely delusional about using the tent in transit because although we always say this, we have never done it. Setting up the tent once in a long weekend provides quite enough friction; twice is simply out of the question.

“Okay,” I shrug casually. “Fine. Cool. We'll wing it and see what happens.” I am not convinced that this is a good idea.

And sure enough, we cruise through the first halfway place after several hours of driving and the entire town appears to be made of No Vacancy signs. Parking lots are full of cars while weary travellers enjoy cold beer in the pub, settling in for a night of pizza and telly. We don't say anything to each other as I gun it out of town heading for the next halfway place. I wanted to avoid night driving but it's looking like that isn't going to happen.

Two more halfway places, both full. Nothing is available and now it's fully dark.

“Why did we do this?” I lament. “These towns – they're where everyone stays halfway along. People probably booked their cosy hotel rooms days ago. We could have done the same. And if they weren't booked, people have already pulled over and taken the last available rooms. Why oh why didn't I listen to the little voice?”

“The little voice?”

“The little voice! The one that knows things. I should always listen to the little voice. The little voice is always right about everything.”

“How is it,” the little voice asks, “that you can so readily admit that I'm always right, yet you constantly choose to ignore me?”

“You stay out of this,” I blurt.

“What?” The Dreaded One asks.

“I was talking to the little voice.”

In the end we drive for almost an hour inland to a much larger town where there is more chance of finding accommodation because these shitty little towns along the main route are, well, shitty little towns. This town turns out to be a shitty big town, but it's late and at least there is a hotel room, beer, pizza and telly.

Will I listen to the little voice next time? Probably not.

Grumpy is freelance writer Lee Bemrose (leebemrose@hotmail.com). He suspects he will never learn.

Soulclipse Memories

Just came across this clip on youtube, the first of many this person took of Soulclipse in 2006. It captures the experience beautifully. The rain, the mud, that ridiculous storm that swept through the place and destroyed mainstage, sitting on the bank of that green river, the smiles and dancing... even that bloody awful Effes beer I hated so much, I loved every minute of it. Ann and I were in that crowd watching the birdpeople dancing to Simon Posford's gorgeous music. I've just properly wandered down memory lane with tears in my eyes and a smile on my face. Amazing to think we made it to that festival. Wonder if we'll make it to Easter Island for the next eclipse party.

Bra Pee

-->

GRUMPY

I'm in Turkey for a week-long dance festival. There's going to be a total solar eclipse smack bang in the middle of it. It's all going to be a little bit awesome. Farthest I've ever traveled for a party and there's a light show you just wouldn't want to miss. I haven't been to this part of the world before, so I know for a fact that everyone's a dodgy fucker looking for a way to do you over. What do I do about that? I get in shape before I leave. I shave my head down to a five oçlock shadow and generally try to exude the air of someone it would be wise not to fuck with. It's a plan that works well. Walking through markets and down dark alleys, I play the theme from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly in my head. I assume dodgy fuckers everywhere can hear that theme song because no one fucks me over.

So I've got this Clint Eastwood thing going on, which is why it surprises me so much when I'm mistaken for another Hollywood hot-shot. And I must add here that modesty usually prevents me from telling this story. I'm really quite a modest person, so I find this a very hard story to tell.

I'm in the communal room of a pensione outside of Effes. I've been talking to a Canadian traveler. I'm chilling with my girlfriend at the time, sitting on a cushion with my back against a wall. When suddenly a couple of Japanese travelers comes crashing through the door. I do some menacing squint action because you never know – they could just be ninja assassins or something. We stare at each other across the room. I cue up the theme from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. It's a tense moment packed full of... um... tension.

Suddenly the Japanese girl points at me. I chew on my imaginary cigar and tighten my grip on my finger gun as the girl excitedly says, “Rook! Is bra pee!”

I give a WTF look at the others. They WTF back at me. I WTF the intruders. There's a whole bunch of WTF ricocheting about all over the place.

“Bra pee!” Ninja assassin chick accuses again.

“What did you just say to me?” I Clint back at her.

“I get camera. Oh my God. Bra pee!”

“Why do you keep saying bra pee at me?”

The Canadian seems amused by the whole thing as she says dryly from the back of the room, “She thinks you're Brad Pitt.”

The girlfriend looks at me like she's very amused and barely able to hold back hysterical laughter. I look at the girlfriend like aren't you the lucky one, Angelina. I also get a bit excited in my pants but the excitement goes flaccid when I realise that the ninja assassins must have dined on some of the most powerful hallucinogens known to mankind.

And, so, there you go. It's just one of those little stories that modesty forbids me from sharing with anyone else.

Grumpy is Lee Bemrose, freelance writer. Contact him at leebemrose666@gmail.com

New People

Oh funny. I accidentally came across this post from many months ago. The irony of me actually wondering if I should have met this online person in real life. And the irony of that tone of... it's kind of like I had accepted that that one meeting was going to be it and that I'm glad that at least it went well. I really thought I wouldn't be seeing her again and was so grateful that we got on in real life as well as we did online. Almost a year later and we've hung out many, many times in spite of the distance between us. Just made me laugh to think that after she went I really thought, that was that then. We'll be hanging out at another multi-day dance festival in just over a week and celebrating our birthdays together (her, I and The Dreaded One are in the same few days).

Same thing with this post, while I'm indulging in a little nostalgia. It now seems ludicrous that I actually wondered if this "new person" and I would stay in contact, given the many adventures like this one we've had since.

DOGS!

GRUMPY

Sitting at a doof, talking bollocks to a friend. Two dogs come thundering by, yapping at each other and generally just impossibly happy. But happy about what? Happy to be dogs. Doesn't matter what happens around them, they are dogs and they are bloody happy about that. Armageddon? Doesn't matter – we're dogs!

“But listen, dogs, it's God here and I have an offer for you. Being dogs must be fun and everything but it has its drawbacks too. Your body odour isn't always sensational, you have fleas to deal with, dog food, smelling each others bottoms all the time etc. If you could be another creature, what would it be?”

“Dogs!”

“No no no. You don't understand. I'm giving you the opportunity of being absolutely any other creature in the world. You name it, you're it.”

“DOGS! Fucking love being dogs!”

“Right... so not humans with their opposable thumbs and... and spoons and iPods and -”

“Nup – dogs mate. Just dogs. It's awesome being dogs. We totally love being dogs! Being Dogs is the best! Woooo!”

“But humans have the Internet and socks and... okay. Forget humans. Not my best work, just between you and me. They really lost me when they came up with that telemarketing sub-species. Urgh. But what about, I dunno, dolphins?”

“Dogs!”

“Meerkats? Meerkats are adorable.”

“Dogs!”

“You could be butterflies? Butterflies are beautiful.”

“No way! Dogs! Dogs dogs dogs!”

“Aw c'mon. It can't be that good. What about... imagine being a lion. King of the jungle...”

“Technically it's king of the savannah. And nup – DOGS! Yay dogs!”

“The savannah? Are you correcting me on this? Your creator?”

“You bet. Lions live in the savannah. Look it up. Faaaarck we like being dogs. Dogs totally rock!”

“This is ridiculous. Being dogs can't possibly be that good. What about... what about dragons?”

“DAWGS... dragons? You could do that? With the wings and the fire breathing?”

“Ha. Gotcha. Yes, I am God and I can make you anything, even dragons. Whaddaya say?”

“Naaah, dogs mate! We heart being dogs! Dogs forever!”

Sitting at a doof. More or less an actual conversation. It went on for quite some time but I think we'll leave it here.

Grumpy is Lee Bemrose, freelance writer. Contact him at twobluefish@bigpond.com

New Psycle, New Year, New Pants

Hello and welcome to 2010. Wonder what this year will be like. For me, it's already off to a better start than the last couple of years.

Christmas day was fun. Had a couple of friends around for turkey, wine and nonsense. The day is a bit of a blur now but it was a lot of fun. The moment I remember most clearly was when I decided that it would be an awesome idea to light the entire box of sparklers at once rather than going through the packet one at a time. I was half joking when I made the suggestion but a friend, Lizzie, whipped her lighter out so damn fast I knew there was no going back. I'm not sure what I was expecting but what I got was a hand-held solar flare. It was blindingly bright and really quite hot. Fortunately I had the presence of mind to take the sparklers out onto the balcony. Unfortunately our inflatable wading pool is also out on the balcony... was out on the balcony.

We managed to get a late night soak in the pool before it completely deflated. The Dreaded One was a bit pissed that not only did I break the pool but I also used up all the sparklers in a nanosecond AND she didn't even see it all happen.

Anyway, much merriment was had with the last of our guests leaving at about 5am. It was then that we realised how loud the music had been. Boxing Day was very sleepy.

Filled in the next few days hanging out with my spiritual kid sister. Had lots of laughs, played tennis and a fun game called Connect 4. I think I've got the tennis bug again... except that both of us got pretty sunburned and my knee is doing weird things, which could be a result of stomping at the New Year's dooof or when I took a pretty hard fall on the rocks on the dry river bed.

Ah, the doof. The directions I printed out were next to useless but we found our way there anyway. We've been to the site twice before but it was stilll difficult to remember details. We were greeted at one of the inner gates by the owner of the property who knew the rain was going to make the roads tricky when leaving and had spent all day laying hay in the muddier sections. He was covered in mud and gave the car a glance (family station wagon and not the 4 wheel drive we should have been driving) and said, "You're all totally fuckin' mad. I hope in fuckin'rains and yers get stuck her for a fuckin' week. Look at me, eh? Covered in shit... looks like I've been sleepin'with the fuckin' pigs, eh?" Lloyd is actually a really nice guy (who believes his property is inhabited by yetis and frequently visited by UFOs).

There were a lot of good friends at the party. The music leading up to midnight was pretty diabolical - a puffed up MC and dub step and drum n bass... yes yes my loathing of both styles of music is well acknowledged but it wasn't just me. The dancefloor was devoid of energy with a handful of stragglers wandering around wondering what the hell was going on. The MC was probably fine and in another time and place with another crowd the music might have gone down well but it was not what this particular crowd wanted. Proof was when they did the countdown to midnight and the psytrance came on the dancefloor was instantly rammed and jumping. Insto-energy. Suddenly, musically, everyone was having a great time.

Oh - back track a few hours. After setting up our tents by the river I sat down with my friend from Chicago. We met accidentally online and here were, somehow, sitting in the Australian bush having a beer. I just never thought it would happen. Hadn't considered it a possibility. I said words to that effect and it was a nice moment. Then a couple of dogs came thundering by over the moon with happiness at being dogs. It set me off on an imaginary dialogue about dogs being given the opportunity of being any other creatures but they just wanted to be dogs. DOGS! Ann later said she could hear my friend's resulting laughter off in the bush... a nice moment made nicer with laughter. (The dog thing willl be the subject of a Grumpy column, I feel).

Dancing in light rain all weekend. Various levels of intoxication. Couple of moments of drama that weren't needed but were unavoidable. Many hugs and a lingering appreciation of having good friends close by, friends who don't think twice about hugging you and voicing their feelings for you at random moments.

I had two wardobe malfunctions - I ripped the arse out of two pairs of pants in exactly the same place. Excellent work. Especially given that on one occasion I was going commando. Apologies to the beautiful warm and fuzzy friends who saw my fuzzy arse cheek.

The drive out was an hilarious adventure. Come back later for that one.

Meantime, hope you've had as good a start to the year as I have. Counting down the days to Rainbow Serpent. Hope 2010 is a good one.

Ixchel Promo With The Dreaded One & Me

Promo clip of what was a good night and a particularly memorable one for me.

I think there will be more DJing coming up. Stay tuned.

An Exciting Doof Adventure

Picture an enraged Cherokee warrior screaming hysterically at the two in the picture and a couple of their friends. I mean, what could they possibly have done to be screamed at? They are quite obviously floppy and happy and wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone. She's even wearing a chicken hat and he's wearing a purple shawl thing he likes to think of as a shoulder poncho. What could have lead to the screaming, war cries and bulging veins and threats?

What happened was this... we're at a doof. We're wandering aimlessly and find ourselves at a pretty empty dancefloor. Music is good but everyone's just chilling and mucking about. Someone starts to kick this really silly looking green rubber ball with nipples on it about. I vague out for a short time. Maybe I've gone into the forest for a quick forest wee. When I return the others tell me that they accidentally kicked the green nipple ball into the sound deck and the sound guy went a bit apeshit.

Brilliant, I think, I'm going to peg the green nipple ball back into the sound deck to see what reaction it gets. The others look unsure. No one actually says no don't do it, however. I take aim and boot the ball but it hits a banner and falls short, coming to rest at the base of the raised sound deck. It's a scaffolding set up with the viewing platform maybe ten feet in the air. I pick the ball up and gesture a suggestion to the others that I shoot the ball up into the booth. They laugh because it's just too cheeky. They look unsure. They don't actually warn me not to do it. The chicken hat wearer is daring me with that irresistible grin.

I take aim. I pop the ball up like I'm shooting a hoop and the green nipple ball sails jauntily through the air and into the sound booth, bouncing harmlessly across the floor. From where I am I can see the legs of the sound guy, and suddenly he's on the move.

One second it's the funniest thing ever, next thing there's this full-blown Cherokee warrior going absolutely batshit about the green nipple ball. Geronimo is coming at us and he's fucking angry. Woopsie.

If I had seen the original reaction and had any idea what I was getting us into, I would not have popped the ball inside a second time. The guy is totally unhinged. He's screaming about his equipment, about fucking stupid balls, about the drink the green nipple ball knocked over (it didn't) and how we have to get him another can of bourbon and coke and we have ten minutes to do it. He chases the green nipple ball and tries to boot it deep into the surrounding forest but kicking stupid green nipple balls is clearly not his forte. The kick is what a football commentator might call a dead set shocker. Hilarious.

I'm trying very hard not to laugh as the sound guy gets into a tug-o-war with the chicken hat chick over the ball. I'm shouting at the guy to chill, he's shouting at me to stop laughing, one of the others is shouting that he witnessed the drink not being knocked over... it's pandemonium out there, folks. Totally insane, and I'm watching this lean, mad, war-path fucker and wondering what his proud ancestors would make of all of this.

Things calm down. Guy goes back to his sound booth. I feel a bit bad because it was a pretty juvenile thing to do.

Funny as fuck though.

Later we're back at our campsite and Geronimo On Acid walks by on his way to a nearby tent. We giggle a bit. Someone from another tent comes over and asks what triggered all the mayhem on the danncefloor earlier, he having seen the sound guy's explosion as well. We tell him it was all a bit of an accident and that we shouldn't have kicked the ball into the sound booth. I don't think we realised just what a commotion we'd been caught up in at the time.

The guy nods at our explanation and then says, deadpan, "He was pretty pissed off... I'll give you a hundred bucks if you peg the ball into his tent now."

I would like to say that it was the funniest hundred bucks I ever made, but even my stupidity has its limits. Mostly.

Farewell Big Pointy Building

A bit of an era started around here. Alas, I'm wandering again and The Dreaded One has also left The Big Pointy Building. Times, they are a changin'.

Off doofing this weekend. Celebrating a wunth anniversary of adventures with a not so new person. Going to dance in a forest at Dragon Dreaming. I think I'm going to go as some kinda cyber Viking.

I think The Dreaded One will be missed at The Big Pointy Building. But you know, new stuff ahead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Introducing DJs Stompy & Grumpy

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

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

Totally hilarious.

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

The Hotness The Hotness

Three friends I like. They're pretty hot, huh?

Reminded me of a stupid anecdote another friend who is not so hot (sorry Nick) told me.

He was snoozing back at his campsite when a mate came back and woke him up with these words: "Dude. Dude! The hotness here! The hotness."

And passed out.

For the rest of Rainbow 'The Hotness The Hotness' was on high rotation, in various forms. Like, if I was hungry? "The hungriness the hungriness."

Or when we used our pumpy shower thing in our melted esky ice, "The coldwetness the coldwetness.'

The tentness the tentness.

The messiness the messiness.

The doofness the doofness.

Really, a lot of fun. There was a lot of hotness.

Playa Dust = Doof Dust

There's a bit of a running joke between me and The Dreaded One about my ridiculous sense of coordination. I can buy something random like a pen with nothing else in mind but I like this pen, but later I find it coordinates spectacularly with every other random thing I have. Yeah, that's my super power - I coordinate to the tiniest detail. I am Captain Coordinate.

This doof chick is a kindred spirit. I was in awe. Her dreads, her top, her skirt and shoes... fuck me if she didn't coordinate with her surrounds. I'll bet her new pen has that whole Autumnal tone thing going.

She was a bit spectacular. I was too scared to say hello. (Especially after this incident). One very stylish doof chick. I like doof chicks.

I came across a thread on a site recently titled You Know You're A Burner When... and I loved it. I haven't been to Burning Man so I'm not a Burner... but I think I kind of am a Burner because I read the whole thread (it's long) and I related to so much of it. I guess that's because you could swap 'burner' for 'doofer' and there's a hyoooge overlap.

I don't think the thread will appeal to everyone, but for me... ah. Dumb grin on face the whole way through. I almost registered with the site just so I could leave a comment saying, "You know you're a burner when you haven't been to Burning Man, but you've read this thread all the way through with a smile on your face."

I need to go to Burning Man.

Colour & Light

Before shot, looking up from the wet part of the river to the dry part.
After shot. Playing about with colour and light.

Gone Doofing

This was a hot party. Maybe you heard about the fires in Victoria? Same heatwave here, less fire.

Beautiful spot. Loads of good friends. The Battle Of The Lilo was hysterical. More pics later. In the shots, Ann andMick and Mick and me and Ann and then me and Vannessa and Dannielle... fun stuff.

Felt quite a bit like we drove a long way to sit in a muddy river for a lot of hours. Fun though.

The dancefloor was big and mostly empty because of the heat. The three of us dancing in that shot? Friend was playing to a completely empty dancefloor so we gave the camera to him, ran out there and danced madly for a bit, just so he was playing for someone. We could only take it for a short while before heading back to the river.

Bit bloody sobering to realise that while we were partying on, Victoria was in flames. Worst bushfires we've ever had. Weird when you go away doofing - the outside world just gets put on hold for a bit.

Twatarazzi

Think I'm just going to add random photos with each post even though they have nothing to do with the text.This was one small part of one of the camping areas at Rainbow Serpent... with some chick standing in the way.

There is not very much work around at the moment so I've done the only logical thing there is to do and started writing a stage play. I've never even seen a script before so I basically haven't got a clue what I'm doing. Not having a clue what I'm doing has never stopped me before, so I'm just going to dive in. So far it's a lot easier than writing narrative because it's just dialogue. As far as I know, the director will fill in direction, a set designer will fill in the details and props, and the actors will inject feeling into the words. So it's just the words. No describing of the weather, clothing the characters are wearing, no mention of the tones they use when talking or the thoughts that are going through their minds when they are not talking. It's so easy. Why didn't I start writing a stage play before now?

Of course I realise that it could be complete rubbish that I'm writing. But I have a plan. There are going to be three acts. I'll write the first act (I'm almost halfway through it now), then I'm going to ask someone who knows such things what they think of it. Maybe this theatre director I interviewed the other day and who I seemed to get along with okay. If they tell me it's crap I'll cut my losses and throw myself clulessly into some new venture... or I'll tell them to shove it up their arse and keep going. And if they tell me it's good, I'll keep going without telling them to shove it up their arse... after all, I'm not Christian Pottymouth Bale.

Word of the day: Twatarazzi. A guy came over when I was faux chefing the other night and asked if we could feed the paparazzi before feeding the guests. We said no, go away. The Dreaded One muttered "Twat," as he left, and I gave birth to twatarazzi.