Census for November

Reading: Moscow Rules, Daniel DaSilva.
Watching: Star Trek, have popped my Star Trek cherry thanks to the new Star Trek movie. I have surprised myself by liking this.
Listening:Florence and the Machine. Sia.
Downloading: Beirut. But that was a while ago. Nothing lately.
Website du jour: Cakewrecks.blogspot.com.
Café: Milkd.
Pub: Scotto. In about two hours time.
Club: Went to Connies weekend before last. First time in FOREVER.
Eating: Broadfield has given me salmon.
Drinking: Sparkling mineral water.
Wearing: My gorgeous Gola zip-ups and London retro specials.
Last show: Midnight Juggernauts. Straightest gig I've ever been to. Someone actually vomited on the dancefloor, then kept dancing... in his vomit.
Next show: Sia. (then Cat Power, then Good Vibes on the Gold Coast with Andrew!).
Can’t wait ‘til: CNG Reunion this Friday.
Most recent scoop: Meh, I write IC.
Most recent purchase: Art by THNK. That is to say, AWESOME art by THNK.
Want but can’t afford: So many renovations to the flat. Oh, and a new TV.
Need but can’t afford: Nuffink.
Last bad act: Being way too drunk and short tempered on Saturday night.
Bad news: Very sad about Jack Sue's departure.
Good news: I'm happy. Like, with everything. I'm really quite settled.
Goal: To get into uni next year. I'm off to a promising start in the sense that I have applied.
Yesterday I: Worked.
Right now I should be:Working.
Later today I’m: Catching up with Katrina for dinner at le Scotto.

The secret to happiness...

...is to have them chuck buckets of money at you, to do a job you would do for free.

Lil help?

THIS IS HOT

This a doff of the cap to Crazed and Bemused's "Things that go", here are a few hot things.

THIS IMAGE:


THIS LOOK:


THIS CITY:

I am exceedingly bored

Sorry for the lack of posts lately. What can I say? I am bored as fuck.
Work has taken on a day-to-day doldrum from which I cannot find release. I am bored by midday then spend five hours trying to look busy until I can safely go home.
This week, blessedly, I was given a special assignment. A was commissioned to write a feature on reality television for the Saturday paper. Reality TV is something I know a thing or two about and I was pleased to do it.
But right now I am in the middle of my first afternoon in three days without the piece to tinker with and I feel mightily bored. Mightily.
There is promise of another piece this week, perhaps on a more serious topic, which should with any luck amuse my starved mind.
Pondering on it, last week I did this faux audition for the Channel Seven weatherman job - all as a bit of a laugh and for the benefit of the column. People are now writing and calling thinking I actually want this hideous appointment.
My response has always been "I would be bored out of my brain". And indeed, I think I would. I think the fact that writing half a column a day has me completely numb out of my brain is probably a sure sign that working 3.5hrs a day presenting the weather is a job for no one with any more intellectual rigour than a hamster.

Future proofing

My priorities in life have really started to crystalise over the past couple of years.
There are things I thought I wanted to do, which don't really hold that much excitement for me any more and there are things that used to regularly which just don't feature in my life.
Gin, for instance, is becoming more and more important. Night clubs never feature.
I occasionally get a little man-clucky. I don't try to wear the kinds of clothes people are wearing in video clips.
I was way too impatient to get an education. I just wanted to work. I thought I was going to be fabulous and I wanted to get on with it, rather than wait.
These days I have no desire to be fabulous. I value my anonymity above most things.
But I do have a desire to get the education I never got myself.
If you're reading this you probably know I have been studying Russian with a private tutor once a week for nearly 2 years. Well now my plan is to make that more of a formal thing.
Today I took a step beyond just thinking about it. I spoke to the senior lecturer and head of Russian Studies at Macquarie University. I'm going to do their certificate course, with a view to transferring to a degree after the first year.
And the great news is, I can start at the intermediate level, I don't have to start as a beginner.
They also offer $2000 grants for a month-long unit studying in Russia! It couldn't get more exciting if they could offer me a month as Marat Safin's personal gym towel holder.
My hope is that once I have the language down pat, my loves of politics and history and my background in journalism will combine into a really awesome career opportunity or two.

SMS alert

Very excited by this Text From Last Night.

(+61): yeah so this exboyfriend of yours reckons you're still together and he punched me in the face cos i slept with you last week. you might wanna have a word with him or at a minimum change your facebook status.

Not only was it piss funny I think "+61" is Australia, ladies and gentlemen.

The Onion are onto us

Conservatives Warn Quick Sex Change Only Barrier Between Gays, Marriage

Between you, me and the blog post

Sorry for the lack of posts recently. I can't really explain it. I've just been a little down. Maybe it is winter? Maybe it is a bit of the ol' black dog? Maybe I'm coming down from gossip columnists' high? Who can say?
Whatever it is, I've been feeling a little blue.
I've also been getting exceedingly frustrated and angry with the level of racism in this country, but that's another story.
There are some things which have been cheering me up. Not as much as rolling home to find Wentworth Miller waiting for me in bed or finding Edward Cullen has renounced his heterosexuality, but they are little things which have brought me cheer.
For instance, I've started getting up an hour earlier and spending the extra time in a cafe studying my Russian. It's doing wonders for my Russian skills - which have been as neglected as a grampa in a kerosene bath.
Then there is Thom, who's every apologetic-please-don't-beat-me-again-Chris-Brown facial expression melts my hard-bastard heart.
Then there is the notion I can look forward in just a few short months to being back in Europe - where I always thought I'd spend my life but have, in fact, spent precious little of it - and seeing Dancing Daniel, Pennells, London, Paris, Berlin and Barcelona. I would marry any of them but four of them are cities.
Then there is www.textsfromlastnight.com, which can quite literally stop me from trying to slash my finger tips open on the cheaply serrated edge of my tape dispenser. Oh, drunken shame. How I love thee as applied to others.
And lastly, there is the chicken murder trial. I cannot get enough of this. I look forward to my daily instalment in the paper with the kind of relish teenage boys reserve for sexting. It's so salacious. Our reporter at work, who is a good chum, said the other day he is pretty much writing it with me in mind as his audience. Which is flattering but means he's probably leaving behind anyone who doesn't have my appreciation of the absurd.
Every twist and turn fascinates me. Consider the facts, really. One of two gay millionaires, made rich through a chicken meat franchise, kills the other and then goes shopping with his 19-year-old gay lover, known only to readers as Mr X because his identity has to be protected. There are bloodstains in the bed, an in conclusive post mortem, photos tucked under the bed of Mr X in a choir uniform... and it's all made all the more tantalising by the fact Pennells used to live in the same apartment block and I've been drunk just a couple of metres from the scene of the death. I can almost taste this case.
I don't know what I'm going to do when this trial is over. I hope to God there is an appeal.
Anyway, if you see me looking glum, kick me in the shins and give me something moan about.

This needs no introduction

Just follow this here link: www.textsfromlastnight.com

However, if you need convincing, it contains pearls like these:

(630): The girls stopped by my apartment. They caught me naked with a nearly empty bottle of vodka in one hand, drawing crop circles in the carpet with the vacuum.

(502): i was drunk at family dinner telling about my gay brothers sex ads on craigs list.

(804): omg this kid i'm babysitting is making a penis out of playdough ahhhh.
(804): He just rolled me a 'baby penis' as opposed to his 'big boy' penis that he crafted...he just demanded that I roll him a penis.

561): on a scale of one to ten, how awkward would it i told him i had to go change my tampon and then left?
(914): 11

(212): i want you now
(916): you need to stop dating girls with the same name as your mother...or stop drinking so much...I don't want to see this.

(925): is hooking up with someone you used to babysit wrong?

Abhorrent behaviour

The thing that has been playing on my mind all week, bizarrely, is this rugby league sex scandal.
I'm sorry but it has taken way too long for Matthew Johns to be condemned and other heads should roll as well.
That this time last week Channel Nine thought they could get away with an apology before The Footy Show started was already pathetic. But then it became completely offensive when Fatty Vautin (or whatever his name is) patted him on the back and said "well said mate".
W.T.F?
I'm sorry, no. Not acceptable. As if it was only a problem because the guy got caught. This is a serious issue you douchebags.
And watching Four Corners on Monday told us just how serious. Most telling of all was when reporter Sarah ball-tearer Ferguson said none of the men involved had asked after the girl.
Then the culture of rugby was exposed by those thick-as-fuck young blokes getting sex ed suggesting things like "if you treat em right by putting em in a cab afterwards then it will probably be ok". Terrifying.
Yes, how about you call come round and wank over me while a couple of your mates fuck me sideways and I'll keep quiet as long as you pour me, dripping, into a cab afterwards.
This is a national disgrace and it has been very sloppily handled.

Let this serve as a warning to you all

The whole sordid affair is finally over.
It cost me a grand total of $1500, but my car is back from the dead.
I come bearing advice for young players.
Children of the class of 1997... service your car.

If you don't service your car, you will find yourself 160km from Perth, in the middle of shitcreeknowherefuckmasister with your bonnet up and a wisen, chain-smoking cock of a mechanic giving you a humiliating discertation.
"You've fucked this car," he will say, letting the smoke reel out his mouth.
"When's the last time you gave 'er a service? Sez 'ere due 97,000, you've got 105,000on the clock.
"You've fucken killed this car. Shame. You've only got 105,000 on the clock. You've probably shortened its life by about 250,000 kilometres."
You sir, are a douche. I know it is fucked, I am perfectly aware it is fucked, it has been rattling for the last 50km with the oil light on despite me putting litres of the stuff in it.
All I care about is whether you can fix the fucker enough for me to get home.
"You're kidding right? You ain't going fucken nowhere.
"You've killed this car.
"I can probably fix it for you by Tuesday. Have to get parts from Narrogin. I'll open 'er up for yeh and see 'ow she looked. Probably need a new engine. Probably be a couple of grand.
"Shame."
Well I might be a reporter and not much chop with cars but I do understand research, sir. So I got a second opinion. The RAC came from the next town (having pinched me for $46 for a membership upgrade to cover me for a 200km tow... only to then confirm I needed to be towed 210km, and therefore I was not covered) and towed it to Perth...

...whereupon the princely Gavin The Mechanic fixed my trusty steed. He was also unimpressed with the state of the motor but reckoned it could be fixed for about $500. I said to fix everything that needed doing upto about a grand.
He did.
And he told me killing a car was a rite of passage for a gay boy and not to worry. Apparently we all do it.
From now on though, I shall get my car serviced as regularly as I can. I suddenly drive it with a whole lot more pride and might even get it detailed so it feels like a new beast.
Oh, and I have one last word for that dodgy grease monkey who wanted to charge me for a whole new engine.
SHAME!

Here is the litany of charges from Gavin:

DESCRIPTION:
Source engine rattle. Remove tappet cover and check oil pressure - minimal oil getting to hydraulic lifters. Remove exhaust, sump, etc and inspect - oil pickup blocked, oil black and low.
Clean out pick up and check big end and main bearings for wear (OK). Refit sump, etc, reseal tappet cover and fill with 10W/30 oil. Add flush to engine oil and run engine - engine now running quieter.
Carried out service. Changed engine oil and filter and fit new spark plugs (worn). Fit new spark plug leads (engine misses under acceleration) and check all lights, brakes and fluid levels, etc - coolant gone off.
Flush cooling system, fill with coolant and fit new radiator cap. Blow out rear brakes and pump up tyres (spare flat). Remove belts, timing cover, etc and fit new timing belt, cam and crankshaft seals and belt idlers (noisy).
Refit covers, etc and fit new aircon, alternator and power steering belts. Wash down engine and underbody and fit new air filter. Fit new eye level stoplight and LH rego light globes. Check aircon operation, fit new front wiper blades and take vehicle for test run. Fit new aerial mast.
**Bring vehicle back at 106,000km for oil and filter change. Camshaft chain noisy - suspect tensioner full of gunk.

Ouch. My bad.

Horrific bigots

I am absolutely astonished.
The other day we printed something in the gossip column I write for which suggested a speech by a particular MP was, at least, ironic.
At best it was racist.
At worst it was bigoted racist intolerant bullshit which qualifies as racial vilification and for which he should be censured by his leader, the Premier. He won't be of course.
If you want to read it you can do so here.
We suggested it was intolerant, making his website "Putting People First" a little ironic.
The responses to my comments were among the most offensive I have ever read. Here is just ONE paragraph from the most shockingly racist letter:

Our eventual extinction and possible violent holocaust in decades to come is now more a distinct probability than a possibility as our numbers shrink further, our laws refuse to protect us against race-hate crimes and political correctness further silences our voices whilst promoting Anglo-Saxons as the only racist evil ethnic group ever to crawl out of the swamp.

Seriously?
Another woman also suggested a stroll through Lakemba or watching the Channel 7 doco "The Gangs of Oz" would fix my naivety about foreigners.
I didn't quite know how to respond. So I was thrilled beyond all proportion to find this YouTube moment. It says everything I wanted to:

My ideal woman...

Is Marlene Dietrich. Clearly I was meant to be born a lesbian.



But seriously, this woman just oozes class, sophistication, desire, lust, beauty, poise, grace, elegance. Incredible qualities which I wish I possessed in such abundance.
I loves her. Props.

Holy crap, there is a storm coming!

This is real:

This is funny:

A Gaythering Storm from Jane Lynch

I'm blogging from my phone

Which means this is going to take an incredibly long time to type and will doubtless be filled with mistakes. But I couldn't resist giving it a shot all the same. I fucking love this phone. Love it. Unfortunately I have nothing to say. Fin.

Good service, bad service, lip service

We aren't quick enough to praise in our modern fucked-up consumerist and selfish society, so I'll start by praising the extreme efficiency and attitude of the girl at Vodafone in the Galleria this morning.
She hooked up Thom and I with an iPhone each without a seconds hassle or annoyance.
Beautiful work Carly, very pleased.
It was a rare show of competence from a telecommunications company. They're not my favourite corporations at the moment, generally.
For a month Dad an I have been without the internet at home. iiNet has assured us every second day for four weeks that they are fixing the problem. Sometimes that they were actually working at the exchange at the very second they were talking to us. That's not been the case clearly. We've also been told several times someone is handling our case personally.
Needless to say, we never hear back from them.
The service is merely lip service, which is really disgusting. As Dad continues to remind them, he's been with them since they were a tiny company - an entire decade ago. He's very disappointed in them.
They took a new tac on the phone last night... blaming Telstra for the problem and refusing to do the work on the exchange.
Which is a neat segue to my next gripe: Fucking cunting mother fucking Telstra.
My phone died. Spectacularly. Come to think of it, I've had nothing but trouble with Nokia's for ever so long.
So I went into the Telstra shop yesterday morning. They don't sell many iPhones. The Blackberry also had problems but they sell more of them. I can keep my $80 cap. Plus I have to pay Blackberry. Plus the phone cost.
Riiiiiiiiiight... .
Needless to say, I walked out.
This morning I walked into Vodafone and walked out with two iPhones, it having cost me not a cent whatsoever and on a $79 cap. Ah, bliss.
The only hiccup at all was ringing Telstra to get my account number from them.
They LIED!
I rang them, they know if you're asking for it you want it cos you're changing carriers, so they LIE and give you a different number. The helpful Vodagirl said they often do it.
I didn't want to believe it, but then I called them again to get the correct number and they LIED AGAIN!
I'm going to write a strongly worded letter to The Times. It's a disgraceful practice.
I cannot wait to pay my last phone bill to those WANKERS.
In the 21st Century, in our modern consumerist and selfish century, where plebs like me can broadcast our bile to the entire world through the intertubes, major companies and service providers - especially those in telecommunications - CANNOT afford to give such poor service.

Finally, something to look forward to

We've done it. After a drunken argument about the correct route around Europe and which gay Spanish beach to plonk ourselves on for a week of homo-erotic sunbaking, Thom and I have finally booked our tickets to Europe.
As it stands the itinerary involves a week in London with a possible jaunt to Edinburgh, four or five days in Munich for Oktoberfest with Pennells and Tom, a week in Barcelona, Bilbao or some costa del hot-spanish-boys.
From there we train it up to Bordeaux for Kurve's 50th birthday bash in her brother's house. (Who the fuck has a house in Bordeaux, just quietly?). Then a couple of days in Paris and back to London for the flight home.
We are going to do all of this on the smell of a tick's fart because frankly, we are broke.
I have put the tickets (two people, London-return, $2880 all up, inc taxes) on my credit card which is now, understandably, maxed out.
Thank fuck for Rudd money. Actually with Thom's two lots and my one lot... it pays for the tickets as well as stimulating the economy.
Sure, it's the Singaporean economy not the Australian economy but it is a GLOBAL financial crisis. Right? Riiight?
I don't care, I fucking need this. One month in Europe. Awesome.
Now I just have one minor hurdle to jump... the fact that I neglected to ask work for the time off before I booked the tickets.....

Slightly bored and frustrated

It's one of those ludicrously slow Sunday's at work. I mean I could be busy, but no, I chose to do all my preparation on Friday and then p.r.e.t.e.n.d that I was doing the work today. So I've sat here bored on Facebook all day and metering out the cups of tea and toilet breaks so as to keep my interest.
Oh Bolton, will you never learn?
Meanwhile, bored as I am, I am sitting here wishing I had more time to study my Russian. I love the language and thoroughly enjoy my lessons but I never get time to study at home. It's a source of endless frustration to leave my tutor every Saturday morning so amped to study and then suddenly find it's Thursday and I haven't opened my text book even once. I hate myself.
Work at the moment is an endless source of frustration. I think I am ready for some kind of internal change. I don't mean inside me, you understand, I don't mean I want to move my liver a little to the left to make more room for my kidneys or anything. I mean internal as in within the company. I can't be bothered with the hole interview-stress-impress-people-meet-new-colleagues-fit-into-existing-office-politics-fill-out-forms-inform-your-superannuation-company kinda change. Way too hard. I just want to be shuffled around here a bit.
There is a new position in the offing and I'm seriously considering it. That's despite several colleagues describing it as "the worst job ever" and "a suicide mission".
Hey, feeling reckless is more exciting than feeling bored and frustrated.

Les be friends!

This may just be the story of the year.
There is nothing I can say that will add anything to the story. I can't get crazier, it can't get funnier. It is, quite simply, gold.

Sorry, mandatory what?

Aside from the fact it is almost impossible to find a hard toothbrush any more (seriously, what kind of gum disease-loving pussy PREFERS a soft brush over a hard one?) something that has really ground my gears today is this mandatory sentencing thing.
I have a problem with it. I'm not convinced that serving a compulsory prison sentence because you have somehow injured a police officer is the best outcome we can produce, nor is it the best for our system of justice.
Yes that footage of officer Butcher hitting the ground is sickening and the sound of his head popping on the pavement turned my guts inside out too, but this is the justice system, law, we are talking about. McLeods' lawyer Michael Tudori is clearly a brilliant solicitor, being able to get such a thuggish family who brutally attacked an officer of the law off scot free (see what I did there?). But that's just it. He did his job better than the prosecutor. Case closed.
What worries me is the MANDATORY part of mandatory sentencing. This legislation needs to be analysed very closely indeed before it passed by Parliament. How could it be exploited? Abused? I mean really, you think a dodgy cop or transit guard won't take advantage of these laws where they can?
If an officer smacks me 40 times across the head and I hit back once, is that still self-defence? Or am I going to prison?
The evidence would have to really freakin watertight to COMPULSORILY sentence someone to a term in prison for assaulting a public officer.
I look forward to seeing the detail of Jim McGinty's proposed amendment tomorrow, which would, as I understand it, make the mandatory sentencing discretionary.
That's right folks, discretionary mandatory sentencing.
Too much time bonging on in Freo, methinks.
However, some kind of amendment is the best hope for a fairer law which balances the desire to offer greater protection to Old Bill but doesn't take away our rights as citizens. Rights given to us in Magna Carta, Opus Prime, Optimus Prime, Opus Dei... Oh fuck it, I forget where it's written... you know what I mean.

Census for March

Reading: Top Price, the Matt Price collection.
Watching: Wipeout, Ladette to Lady and right at the second, Top Gear.
Listening:Sia.
Downloading: This American Life.
Website du jour: Loving "Stair Porn", "Worst of Perth" and "The Sartorialist". All links at side.
Café: Milkd, North Perth.
Pub: Been Courting it up and Scottoing it up and Devillesing it up a bit too.
Club: Actually, this is probably where Devilles belongs. My God THAT was a birthday party and a half.
Eating: Just cooked pasta. Was trying the no carb thing but mother-of-fuck... I can't live like that. It's not natural. I'd rather give up masturbation.
Drinking: Soda water. Preferably mixed with booze, but it doesn't have to be.
Wearing: A lot of Top Shop stuff. I love you Kate Moss.
Last show: Goodness, it might have been Camille O'Sullivan (who was freakin AWESOME)... unless I count Rai Fazio's film "Two Fists One Heart" (Read: Two Fists One Arse) which I saw yesterday. Particularly loved the final fight scene for two reasons. Firstly the shameless McInerney Ford advertising (but then I'd want something too Dennis, if I'd invested all that money) and secondly for the spazzy 'ranga in the Everlast t-shirt in the crowd shot. Trish? Zat you?
Next show: Sia.
Can’t wait ‘til: Sia. Seriously. Thom really fucking knows how to give presents.
Most recent scoop: Getting the lowdown, the inside running, if you will, on the underpass at Karrakatta. Hardly a major story, but there you go.
Most recent purchase: New work by my budding Caravaggio.
Want but can’t afford: To pay my bills.
Need but can’t afford: To pay my bills. Prooooooooobably should have partied less on the weekend.
Last bad act: Turning my phone off so I didn't have to deal with a phone call I knew was coming.
Bad news: There are bound to be impending redundancies and sackings as a result of the editor change.
Good news: The bank is interested enough in something I asked them about this morning. On the same subject, I have new plans and goals..
Goal: To not be doing at 30 what I am doing at 29.
Yesterday I: Slept quite a bit, then went on an adventure in the city and in Freo then saw Two Fists then fucking laughed and laughed and laughed.
Right now I should be:Studying Russian or doing something serious like watching Four Corners.
Later today I’m: Catching some Zs.

Creative space

I liked building cubbies in trees and forts using mattresses and blankets when I was a kid.
Drove the family insane, I'm sure but I loved it.
I liked creating little spaces for my hens to nest and nice little nooks in the garden where you could sit and think on your own.
I'm still that kind of person.
I like to live in as small a space as possible. When I had the two bedroom flat in Maylands (Chateau Guildford Road Embankment) and was living in it alone, the second bedroom actually lay fallow, spare and unused.
Now I reside in a single bedroom in my Dad's house, surrounded by my worldly goods, books, music, art and ephemera.
It is, to be honest, a shit-heap of crap and a fire hazard. But it's my fire hazard and I love it.
Recently I had a little re-jig of some furniture to create a good space to sit at my computer to improve my posture somewhat. Unfortunately I have a completely impractical desk and chair so I'm still hunched over like a blonde skank in a porn film spit-roast, but it at least has to be better than being slumped on the bed with all my weight on my cox... coks... tailbone.
I rather love my new "creative space".


I know it is bizarre to post pictures of your bedroom wall, as if I was some kind of teenage girl. And yes, I know a 29-year-old should probably be beyond blu-tacking pictures of movie stars on his wall, but fuck it!
It pleases me exceedingly.

It'smybirthdayyay!

Bloody brilliant day.

Thom made cupcakes. Special birthday cupcakes. With gay icing. He is indeed the best possible boyfriend.
Oh! And tickets to Sia, which I am spastically excited about!

Meditations on turning 29

Well it's not 30, is it?
Which essentially means nobody cares and you have to hang around for another 12 months to get everyone's commiserations.
Although it is, technically, the beginning of my 30th revolution around the Sun.
Over the years I've flipped out about a few birthdays - 23 and 26 were, inexplicably, horror years - but for some reason 29 holds no fear.
I blogged the other day about it being a time of opportunity and I stand by that. What I mean is, I'm not terrified of crows feet, aching joints nor stopping to count how long it takes the drips to stop when I think I've finished peeing.
What surprises me is I'm quite proud of my impending anniversary. I'm usually the kind of person who might just not mention the fact his birthday is tomorrow. But for some reason today I've been running around mentioning it uninvited, like some sort of five-year-old. If I could hold up 29 fingers as I empart the information about my looming celebration I would.
What surprises me even more is, I'm really looking forward to 30. Maybe it's because, like 20, you're starting at a zero year and you have a whole ten years on which to stamp your impromata. Plenty of time to shape your future or fuck it up.
I was born old. Turning 30 is one step closer to looking as old as my cardigan obsession makes me look and/or feel.
That's not to suggest I'll be wishing away the next 12 months. I might piss it away, but I won't wish it away.
You can look forward, in six months time, to me running around like a that five-year-old declaring to anyone who'll listen "I'm 29-and-a-half!".
As to how I shall spend the day tomorrow? Well I've jagged-slash-blagged the day off, so I shall spend it reading, laying on the couch or bed, watching Ellen, picking up my new artistic purchase, and then perhaps heading off to watch the oft-lampooned and greatly anticipated film, Two Fists One Arse.
Happy birthday, me.

Caravaggio's latest

There is a dear young artist whom I have come to know and I am deeply in love with his work.
He paints sci-fi landscapes and strange portraits and it all has an other-worldliness to it that I find engaging.
I bought two pieces from his first exhibition. One for me and one for Thom-with-an-H. They look a bit like cartoon x-rays of beavers. Hard to describe. Awesome to look at.
Here is my latest purchase.

I really shouldn't be buying this. I really shouldn't. But I have my pennies from Kevin and it's my birthday and I thought "fuck it, why not?".
Art is good for the soul.
I love this character, whom I shall call Orange Tie. Why is there a crow on his sleeve? Why is his crown upside-down? Is it because it is a tree stump? He looks like a grammar school boy. Sad and depressed. Or an investment banker trudging home with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The artist's name is Martin Wills (or Martin Wells if you read the local paper) and he's fabulous.
Here is another of his works.

Renovation

Forgive the bad attempt at creating a banner - I have absolutely no program at my disposal and even if I did, I have no skills whatsoever.
That aside, I decided it was time to renovate my blog.
This year is all about new beginnings.
My New Years' Resolution was, essentially, not to see in the next New Year leading the same life I have been leading for years.
At the time I actually intended to see in the 2010 New Year in London. Or at least overseas.
Since then the global financial buttfuck has descended to a degree I have not witnessed in my lifetime. There are no jobs. Friends are coming home from the UK. Those journos staying in London have jobs outside the industry. English are warning me against coming.
In short the US credit crunch has comprehensively fisted the UK job market and Dorothy is stuck in the land of Oz.
Probably. We do have a Plan B which still involves travel and we will certainly go on a holiday to visit our lads in Munich for Oktoberfest. No recession will stop Pennells squeezing me into leiderhosen.
Perhaps the other reason I'm in a renovating mood is that I turn 29 this week. And apart from the fact I'm booked in for my first botox injection and my erections aren't what they used to be, the thing that's really getting me down about my impending celebration is, I've been doing the same job for ten years. Essentially. I mean different papers, editors, roles... but essentially the same job.
I don't have a lot of money. I don't have much to my name. And I certainly don't feel like I have made a difference.
Don't get me wrong, I don't really want to make a difference but surely it's expected as some kind of gratis payment for a decade of shit pay?
No, it's the money I want. And the sense that when I wake up in the morning filled with enthusiasm and initiative and innovation and enterprise, it won't be shat on two hours later when I talk to some disinterested boss who's on twice my salary.
So here's my birthday resolution, if someone could hold me to it:
To not be doing with my life what I'm doing with my life now, by the time I'm 30.
By the time I'm 30, I want to be in private enterprise.
And leiderhosen.

Beautiful, absolutely beautiful

Census for February

Reading: Hippocrene Children's Illustrated Russian Dictionary.
Watching: Planet Earth,I'm always watching my Attenborough.
Listening:This American Life. The Chicago Public Radio program. Addictive listening. I wish my name was Ira Glass. I've also been listening to Stephen Fry podcasts, too.
Downloading: Some top 40 crap including those thoroughly catchy Britney Spears tunes. What?
Website du jour: Facebook is all I'm really looking at.
Café: Milkd, Maylands.
Pub: Being back at The Court a little bit lately, which has been fun.
Club: Can't be bothered.
Eating: Been eating as healthily as possible. Have joined everyone else on the anti-carb thing. My metabolism has changed. I'm horrified.
Drinking: Sparkling water. Preferably San Pellegrino. I'm just so addicted to the taste.
Wearing: My Danger Mouse t-shirt. Thanks Jakarta... best purchase ever.
Last show: Cirque du Soleil. Yawn. You really gotta do something more exciting than turn your vagina inside out by sticking your head up there to get me excited.
Next show: Going to see Camille O'Sullivan on Tuesday night and then the Ballet at the Quarry on Thursday.
Can’t wait ‘til: Thom's plane lands. In about four hours time. It's only five fucking hours late. WHHHHYYYYYY???????!!!!!
Most recent scoop: The one going in tomorrow's paper. I assume it has been listed at least. It's not huge but it's technically a scoop. Yay Landcorp.
Most recent purchase: A new AM radio with an iPod dock.
Want but can’t afford: To move to London. There's a global financial crisis on, you know? Apparently, everyone is shedding jobs so we're a bit fucked on that front.
Need but can’t afford: To spoil Thom.
Last bad act: I can't think of anything. There must be something. Oh, I keep taking the piss out of the fact we have an aviation writer.
Bad news: Thom's plane is running 5hrs late.
Good news: He'll still be home shortly.
Goal: To grab Thom and some plane tickets and head off overseas. Preferably to work but even for a holiday will do.
Yesterday I: Did a massive spring clean and room rearrangement.
Right now I should be:Trying to get a bit of sleep before Thom's plane arrives.
Later today I’m: Er, I think you can use your imagination for that one.

Tyra, I love you

And I'd like to thank all the "fag enablers" out there, too.

The Fruitcake Lady

Enda keeps finding this shit. I have no idea where he gets it from, but this is hilarious.

Now here's a quality Americans look for in a first family

3:25

For the first three minutes and 24 seconds this a pretty standard Eurovision-style song about the Balkans being a place of drinking and dancing.
At 3.25 seconds precisely, it jumps the shark and becomes something else altogether.
You'll see what I mean.


Actually I've just found more of this singer. She's fantastic. This film clip has everything. Her outfit is spectacular (one for Trish, I think) plus there is drag queen eyebrows, ugly muscle men, white snake skin shoes, boats, bendbacks on boats, drag queen eye lashes, motorcycles, greasy slicked-back hair, bad acting and cheesy cheesy fucking music. Oh Funky G, you've made my day! I'm slightly in love. If this is Serbian music, what the hell is the place like?

Hope.

I did it. And I sincerely hope everyone else did too.
I went to bed early last night and set my alarm for 1am. I went to sleep... and woke in time to watch the inauguration.
I'm so glad I did.
I love those moments when you're know you're watching history. Things like Diana's funeral (not that I "loved" that), the apology to the stolen generation, and Barack Obama's inauguration as US president.
It's not even that he's black, although clearly that makes it even more incredible and historic.
What is so special about it is that he really does offer hope. For those of us who have been wildly critical of the Bush administration to the point of becoming "anti-American", Obama says all the right things.
He wants to bridge the great divides in his own community, and in the global community. Extending a hand to all nations, as long as they unclench their fists in return, is an amazing and beautiful sentiment. I hope he can carry through.
Some people are criticising Obama because he says so much yet may yet deliver little.
Well maybe he won't deliver everything. Maybe circumstances will overtake him. Who knows?
But what I do know is, he's given people reason to hope.
It's the right word for the right time.
And I hope, I believe, he is the right man for the right time.
For once, well done America. You guys got it right.

This must be how the rich people live

This is completely irresponsible. Financially completely ruinous. I've totally jeopardised my savings plan for London.
But fuck it.
Today, and I'm not sure really what sparked it, I bought plane tickets to Jakarta.
Why the fuck not?
Sure, I'm the best part of a grand down and I've put little or no thought into it beyond:
1) Thom is in Jakarta, and
2) I have a three day weekend.
The only trouble was I couldn't really get flights when I wanted them, so I had to ask for Thursday off as well, which I did. The Chief of Staff, who was feeling generous perhaps because it was his birthday, was like "show me the roster... done".
And so it is.
I get to visit my beautiful boy, who is doing so tremendously well in Indonesia and at the Jakarta Post. I get to see the city he has decided he rather adores, even if it is mainly because he's followed by a harem of local girls. And I get to meet all these people he claims are rather fantastic.
Oh yeah, and then there is the cultural experience, seeing somewhere new, traveling overseas, going on a plane... and getting it all as a tax deduction by writing a story on it for the travel section.
Well I'm not an idiot.
So. Fucking. Excited.

Finally, a zombie film worth watching

I'm not usually into anything in the horror genre, but here is a film I would watch:

It's the prancing zombies that do it for me.

Here is another one (see the post below first)

Knock it off!

Thank God someone is finally tackling this issue. It actually grinds my gears to hear people (especially a couple of my cousins and close friends) say "That's so gay".
Actually I'd like them to do a "That's so The Pope" version of the ad.

How to clog the court system pointlessly: A lesson

I have no problems with the Police running operations to catch criminals. Or with them operating booze and drug buses and the like to catch those on our roads who are driving under the influence of substances that alter their judgement and potentially endanger the lives of others.
Fine. That's what they're there for and it is a good public service.
But when I saw on the news tonight that they had blocked off the Esplanade train station today and deployed sniffer dogs to catch kiddies going to the Summerdayze music festival who had an ecstacy tablet or two in their pocket, I was really pissed off.
It represents nothing but a waste of resources now, and a waste of resources in the future.
100 people they have charged, almost all of them for having one or two tablets (or a small amount marijuana) on them. How much fucking time do you think that is going to take up in the courts? That is a couple of weeks of pointless clogging of an already clogged system to penalize 100 people who were doing no harm to anyone except themselves.
Make no mistake, they are endangering themselves, I don't shy away from that. I'm not condoning their drug use.
What I'm saying is, it is their personal choice. One or two pills is clearly not an intent to sell and supply - they're not going to hurt anyone else. (They've even taken the train so as not to be on the roads on the way home - in fact, you've targetted exactly the wrong people if you wanted to target people who could potentially prove a danger to people later on in the day).
I've been to plenty of these festivals and there are always ambulances and paramedics on standby. Most often they're dealing with absolute drunks.
I've also never really seen any aggro at the festivals either - you rarely hear of people coming to fisti-cuffs.
For crying out loud, these people have all gathered to have a good time and listen to some tunes and hang with mates.
Take their drugs off them if you must but putting 100 people through the court system when they had enough drugs on them for what probably amounts to an evening's entertainment is a ridiculous and pointless waste of resources.
And it does nothing to stop what is at the core of the problem - the people who make and sell them!
But then perhaps it is easier to pick on teenagers and 20-somethings caged in a traino than it is to bring down a bikie gang?
Weak as piss, WA Police.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Shakespeare.

There is so much of the "what a total cock" about everything to do with this YouTube clip that I had to post it.

All the same, total cock or not, that is quite an impressive skill. I would like to see the out-takes where the skin and flesh peels away from his shinbones like heated wallpaper as he scrapes down the side of the wall though.

So that was totally like, an awesome year n shit, hey?

Before I sit down to spend my day off reading Michail Gorbachev's "Perestroika", I thought I'd take a couple of equally indulgent minutes to reflect on what has, truly, been one of the most awesome years of my life.
I guess it started with PA giving me the Local Government round, which totally changed how I feel about work and gave me focus and purpose. I fucking love writing the shit I get to write - being the first to show people what new buildings which will change the city skyline forever will look like, exposing council junkets and having almost girly chats with the Lord Mayor. It's bloody fantastic.
This year at work also saw more of the Community clutch come across including my precious McPhee, which is rewarding in a million ways. And to top it all off about half way through the year PA asked Beatrice to share the LG round with me. Best decision ever really, because between the two of us not much slips past us and we are genuinely competitive with other news agencies on the issues worthy of daily paper attention. What's more, the girl is fucking fabulous and just an absolute pleasure to go to work with every day.
The absolute highlight of the year is sort of work-related too. It's Joey and Kelly. Making new friends is always fucking FAB and Joey's arrival in the west, at The West, and at the desk beside me has been a revelation. He doesn't know this blog exists so it's cool for me to write this shit. I love that guy. And Kelly. The only problem being Thom and Kelly lead each other wildly and expensively astray... often on money provided by Joey and I lol.
It's been a good year for friends, actually. Travelling to Sydney to spend a couple of weeks with my beautiful Daniel was fantastic. I got to see the Allcorns and some of the Outback crew and then we hired a Wicked van and drove to Dubbo to hang with the Tourles - the nicest and most genuine people on Darwin's Earth. We spent a couple of days on Naroo and I visited Oxley Downs for the first time in four years. It was a crazy and wonderful thing to do.
Then we drove to Brisbane in the Ultra Jackie Chan Van to hang with Andrew - who I'd actually known for like three years as a result of OBH but had never met. Another one of those people who you feel instantly close to.
Then Andrew and the Tourles and Daniel all returned the favour and visited me in November/December. These were the happiest weeks of the year, hanging with these people.
Then, there is the list of favourites for the year:
Person of the year: Obama. His election is truly historic. Not because he's black, but because this seems a genuine turning-point in the direction of global politics. Even hearing just a few words from his acceptance speech on a tv package last night made me choke up with tears again.
Music of the year: This has been a year of MGMT, Santogold and the Presets. My award goes to Santogold.
Concert of the year: Wow, seen so much this year. Buble, Sharon Jones, Presets, Elton John, Goldfrapp, The Go Team, Gotye, Novelle Vague. My prize has to go to Parklife for giving me Alison Goldfrapp and giving me my first festival experience with both Thoms and Big H. It was so so so fucking special cos it reconnected me and my oldest friend. Didn't realise I'd missed him so much.
Book of the year: There are two winners here because my favourite wasn't actually released this year and that seems like cheating. Holding the Man by Timothy Conigrave was my read of the year. My read of the year actually released this year is the delightfully light and deliciously funny Murder Most Fab by that splendid old poof Julian Clary. Actually could whoever I leant that to please return it? lol.
TV show of the year: Huge toss up here between Skins, which I discovered this year thanks to Andrew, and Heroes. I guess it has to be Heroes. Doctor Who was also exceptional this year, thanks mainly to Catherine Tate.
Movie of the year: Wow, well not Australia or Indiana Jones or Max Payne lol. Considering I am a massive James Bond fan, I would have suggested that would be the film I had most anticipated and would have expected to be the best, but I'm not sure it was. I was a little let down by it. As I was with the X Files movie. I think the winner was Wall-e.
Architecture of the year: The new Oslo Opera House

Day of the year: Whatever day my Spirit of the Blitz birthday party was on. I love all my friends so much for making such an extreme effort to dress up for the occasion! It looked awesome and I'm so impressed every time I look at the photos. My Andrews Sisters especially, and of course all the boys in uniform (which could have been my logic behind the theme). Happiest. Day. Ever!
And finally, my New Year's resolution:
To focus hard on four things: Loving Thom properly, my Russian studies, the gym, and squirreling enough money away for the experience of a lifetime later in the year. Not long now... D&T are on their way, Munich, Amalfi, Rijeka and London!
Happy New Year my beautiful blogging buddies x