Tuesday, September 26, 2006

The Informer

I’ve got ‘That 70s Show’ hair. I don’t why it has happened to me and not someone who desires it more sensuously. The worst thing about it is it looks ironic and not even I’m that stupid. However I think I’ll suffer it until after the rock concert on Wednesday, perhaps Ariel Pink will mistake me for Hall & Oates’ soundman and we will share an unexpected moment of personal enrichment. That would be dope. I actually can’t wait for that (grins goofily).

The weekend was pretty dull and uninspired all things considered. I didn’t write a word, so I was pretty grouchy. De Campo and I went to the casino Saturday morning and saw the hilarious new Will Ferrell movie. A thin squirt of one percent milk comes out of my nose just thinking about it. The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. See it now or wait for it to come out on video or don’t see it at all, I don’t care.

Later that day we sauntered up to the schoolyard to shoot some hoops, something I haven’t done for a couple years, odd considering this was all I used to do as I kid when I wasn’t beat-boxing. It’s worth noting that I often did both at the same time, which was pretty funky. De Campo made shots from all over the court. She’s a national icon. She might like to know however that we were playing with a deflated basketball and once we are able to pump it up she may encounter difficulty getting some of those shots to fall. I tried to intimidate her by screaming and throwing my elongated torso into her grill. I’ve never seen someone so unruffled on the court. She reminds me of Larry Bird.

De Campo and I addictively watched Six Feet Under like we were taking crack. It makes us sick and it’s destroying our lives, but we persist and the hole just gets deeper and deeper. I flinch one minute, laugh the next and then suddenly I’m wetting my pants, which as it turns out has nothing to do with the show (I was born with the bladder of a nutria). I yelped several times at the Season 4 finale. It’s a real actor’s showcase, the characters are so real it hurts. Also it’s not a melodrama. It could be if the nightmare sequences were real; albeit one with a high-calibre slug of surrealism, but it’s not I’ve had enough of this I’m leaving this paragraph (I don’t know what I am talking about it anyways). It took two days to recover from the five episodes we watched. Today I feel great.

Not much else was got up to on the weekend. De Campo’s dieting. I made some mix-tapes for a friend I used to get in trouble with back in college. I made CD covers from an old Glamour Magazine De Campo used to understand the profundity of a coordinated outfit. She asked what Lance was like and I said one of Ricky Bobby’s pit crew. Lance lives in Idaho selling real estate.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Hot Fries

Have you heard of a newsletter called Pest Pathways? a colleague asked me today and I was only to happy to respond with a why no, I haven’t. Hmmm. My apologies I am totally exhausted by this already.

Stuff it, here's some cool song lyrics:

Hot Fries by The Hold Steady

all your favorite movies. they ain't all that funny. if you ain't that high. and i ain't that high. all your favorite books. they wouldn't seem so well written if you were just a little bit more well read. jack kerouac is dead. he drank himself to death. i just ain't that high. all your favorite songs wouldn't seem so sad. if you weren't so depressed. elliott smith seems like a mess to me. and you cry way too easily.

the things that make you high will make you die.

i went to your party and your party was got clever. i put a milkcrate on my head and surrendered in the corner. some borderline whore asked me how i'm liking california. i just cried. i saw you making eyes at some quote/unquote gorgeous guy. look a little closer because he's covered in flies. you're hot. but you're fried. you're cool. but you're iced out. you know exactly what i'm talking about.

the crack has got you slipping through the cushions of the couch. dilaudids got your head like a howling haunted house. she said it's my party and i'll die if i want to. you would too if it happened to you.

Pretty much sums up how I feel a lot of the time

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

NY Primary

A multi-million dollar campaign fund and where it got Hillary Clinton’s opponent:

“I got a taped phone call from Susan Sarandon urging support for Tasini, but that’s all I really heard about him,” said Ken Sherrill, a political scientist at Hunter College.

—quoted in NYTimes

Harry and Me

We bought like every great TV show on DVD in Thailand. Which brings me to Season Five of Will and Grace.

I winced when I saw Harry Connick Jr. rescue Grace on a white horse in Central Park after she hit her head on that pole.

Being a big fan of his Dad’s work…who am I kidding. I don’t know the Dad and I don't much care for the son. You know Harry Jr. endorses Connex trains down here in Melbourne. One of the wittier campaigns I’ve come across.

I don’t like him. Even hearing his name used to make me reach for the bucket and don't start me on that gumbo jazz thing of his, I think I am about to be sick, but getting past that I have to admit, seeing him on Will and Grace, it's like I'm watching a version of the man I thought I was going to be, before I became the man I was, who is me, a charming man – usually takes a few dozen oysters and even then it’s not guaranteed.

I am probably owed royalties and all that.

Now I am not here to tell you what I am all about, I won’t do that, I couldn't do that if i tried and I’m not so solipsistic (yes I am) to think everything’s about me, but I’ve definitely picked up some eerie behavioural similarities between Harry and me.

For instance the way Harry works a crowd. Like myself, Harry will say something for everyone and then someone, Will most likely, will say something rude and Harry, like me, will diffuse the situation by pretending what was said about him doesn’t really hurt him too much. He might even sing a few bars.

“I like to eat my pie before my meal
Make a snake with an orange peel”

Good ‘ol Harry.

To be honest I thought that there was a lot more to me than this.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Massive Nights

I knew last weekend’s hangover was behind me when I stared mulling over the pitcher of Bloody Marys I was going to bring to Suzie’s garage sale on Saturday. This was on Thursday. I was on a tram. I was heading to work. I was finishing Jay McInerney’s Brightness Falls, which contains the adverb archly numerous times. I was about to start The Good Life, his follow-up, a De Campo recommendation. I was feeling good. I was listening to Ariel Pink, Hollywood man, he who has struck the raddest chord with me and everything I adore about pop music, the dude is a prince and he speaks to me on a rarefied level shared by only two others, Destroyer Dan and Stephen Malkmus. The pop artist as the great anti-depressant. No wonder I was feeling fine.

Gyna at work continues to terrorise me. She always drinks the coffee I brew. I have solved the puzzle that is the coffee plunger. I can make it taste like a proper espresso. No wonder she likes it. The last time I went into the kitchen at work to check on my coffee the plunger was empty. I told Regyna thanks a lot. She tried to make an excuse with coffee in her mouth at the same time and she spit up all over herself.

It took me until Thursday to start thinking about making bloody marys because I had too much fun last weekend and felt pretty rotten most the week.

It all began on Saturday with the Shooting at Unarmed Men photo shoot. De Campo’s friend Julian and Coops are the OZ rhythm section for Jon Chapple, who moved here a few months ago from Wales. The band arrived at 2pm and we immediately started drinking Mandarin and Tonics. Jon and I argued about Smog’s last album (I liked it; he didn’t) and Nathan Barley (he liked it; I didn’t). Then we all went for a walk around Fitzroy and Collingwood taking pictures. The sun was out. Jon said he was interested in an album cover featuring just their dicks. De Campo didn’t think much of that idea. I assured her he wasn’t serious, even though I knew he was. We all ended up at the Tote and luckily caught some of Penny Ikinger’s set, doing her 5pm Saturday residency during the month of September. Her voice is a big hit of morphine and her guitar is a snake. She is terrific.

Jon was still around, but he needed to be somewhere and so did we: Little Rebel, rock and roll burger joint on Gertrude and after that home because we were expecting company. De Campo took down his details and said she’d call him later from the bar we were going to. We met Marc and Debbie at Little Rebel. Debbie was doing a puppet show up the road but not until later, so Marc and her were just killing time. We ordered burgers and they were fantastic, mine sat there in my stomach soaking up the alcohol, I began to worry that it was affecting my buzz, it had certainly diminished my pizzazz. Mia was at our place when we got home and Carla and two Andrews (one a shoe salesmen, the other a museum curator) dropped in a few minutes later. We drank vodka tonics, listened to indie rock and hit the Rob Roy at 9.15pm. Actor/Model were playing and they were magnificent. My only comparison is Dinosaur Jr with keyboards, so less metal and more pop. Guitarist Ricky French is a big-time groove guitarist playing epic, autobahn-friendly riffs. After the show I told Ricky he is a guitar sorcerer and he looked at me like that was the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. I told Andrew how much I love his drumming and emphasised the fact I knew his name by saying Andrew over and over again to make him feel special (his name is Phil). I was in a bizarre mood. I had at least two other three-way conversations where at least one of the persons walked off.

Jon showed up in time for Baseball, the next act and was very impressed with their sound which reminds me a bit of Les Savy Fav. The rhythm section was female - always a good sign. The singer plays violin and shouts. He lacks the grace of Dirty Three’s Warren Ellis, but still, he has charisma and like Ellis makes the instrument look kind of sexy and more than a little punk.

The headliner was rubbish, so we said goodbye to Andrew, the museum curator, and went to the Old Bar. It was now after midnight. There was a cover charge, so we went to the Laundry instead. Carla, Olivia, Jon, Andrew and myself. Jon told a Steve Albini anecdote and Andrew was like, what, you know Steve Albini? Jon told him Steve had recorded his former band. Andrew said who, Jon said Mclusky and Andrew dropped to his knees in worship. Andrew thinking that Shooting at Unarmed Men is someone else’s band then said what’s up with them they’re shit!

Jon handled the embarrassment with complete dignity. Andrew not so well. However I think it’s the start of a beautiful friendship. We talked about other stuff I have no recollection of and then went to the Old Bar to see Spencer P. Jones. There the bouncer this lovely guy with a tattoo on his face and dreadlocks, saw us staggering up and softly said he didn’t want any trouble from us. We chuckled. He is a laugh.

Later Spencer swooned over De Campo and I supplied him with a pint of Guinness. No idea what had happened to Jon, Andrew and Carla, the three of us then went to a party down the road. Ended up at takeaway shop at four in the morning ordering lamb. De Campo and I woke up on the couch at 8.30 the next morning. Chilli sauce on my shoes and all over my water buffalo t-shirt from Bangkok. Fuck!

We saw Spencer two nights later at the Cherry Bar. He still parties like it’s 1999. He did a song for Steve Irwin. I took some hilarious notes that are around here somewhere. So that brings us to Tuesday. Flash-forward two days and we’re back where we started— thinking about bringing bloody marys to suzie’s garage sale.

On Friday, DJ Unstoppable Forces debuted at the Aleks and the Ramps show. Every song we played was mind-blowing. Here’s a smattering:

Swingers, Certain Sound
Lively up Yourself, Byron Lee and the Dragonnaires
Send in the Clouds, Silver Jews
Keep our Chains, Subway Sect
West Coast Calamities, Ariel Pink
One Million Miles, The Bites
Farrar, Straus and Giroux (Sea of Tears), Destroyer
Dynamic Calories, The Jicks
Germfree Adolescents, X-Ray Spex
Metal Detector, Spoon

Missed Suzie’s garage sale on Saturday after all. Did partake in a Bloody Mary, best in town at Madame Sou Sou’s. We went there to celebrate our anniversary. Marking two years and so many massive nights.

Monday, September 04, 2006

Pants 1, Irwin 0

A recent email exchange:

Me: Picked up my pants from the drycleaners. I shall throw them on shortly.
Did you hear Steve Irwin died?

De Campo: Woo hoo! Pants are the best, baby!