33 And As Yet No Third

If there were a stick to poke me with …it would probably hurt, actually… Well, anyhows, here it is: a new post.

Truth be told, I have been quite busy this past week’n’more. Naw, really, it’s true. At some point last week there were birthday celebrations to be had for I turned 33. (Is that what you call ‘busy’, S. Gregory? How about gettin’ a job? No, not in Arts, ya poofter! A REAL job! Like truck-drivin’ or housepaintin’ or any other such job what let’s ya get the ‘blow’ type off another tradesMAN in the front seat of your transport but ya conveniently rationalise to the Kinsey-like reporters that that doesn’t count as a homosexual experience because you ain’t no bloody poofter, ya just like havin’ ya prick sucked and if ya close your eyes it feels just the same as a woman’s mouth.) It was a disgustingly hot and humid day so I didn’t do much, except for a tasty pizzeria dinner with a few friends. Got some funky pressies (never a bad thing!), including a lot of printed Chaplin material (items like songs, programmes, books) from money Mum gave me, ‘Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls’ soundtrack c.d. with liner notes by the film’s co-author, Roger Ebert (from Rupert), ‘The Tragedy Of Hamlet, Prince Of Denmark’ (as embarrassing as it sounds, I’ve ne’er yet read it) (from Michael), a six d.v.d. set of Groucho Marx’s ‘You Bet Your Life’ (from the Bru’), ‘The Poems Of Samuel Taylor Coleridge’ (a lovely gesture by the lovely Darkneuro) and, most impressive of all (I must declare), a first edition copy of ‘My Autobiography’ AUTOGRAPHED BY CHARLIE CHAPLIN!!!!!!!! (This was from the most beautiful, wonderful Shantoozy.) So, thank you one and all!

(Only thing is, regarding the Chaplin book: It came with a Certificate of Authenticity but we have so far been unable to locate the ‘Saville’s of London’ who authorised it. Shantoozy contacted the seller, who claimed they bought it in London but that the shop may no longer be there for such is the way, claimed they, of Charing Cross Road. Hmmm. On the other hand, the book is inscribed to Arnold Haskell (famous for liberating the ballet from aristocratic snobbery, rightly promoting it as anyone’s domain, not just that of the so-called ‘upper-class’) and has (what seems to be) his bookplate laid in. Shantoozy was willing to take a risk on the purchase as she was getting the book at a much lower price than such an item usually demands. So, I feel that I must, to an extent, reserve my enthusiasm about it until we can procure more definite indication of its genuineness, which hopefully we shall; yet, at the same time, I lean pleasantly towards the belief that it is genuine until reasonably doubtless otherwise.)

Right now, I can hear Iggy Pop coming in live through my open front door. The weather is hot. Pop is in town performing just over the way. Henry Rollins was performing, too, earlier, spoken-word. (There’s a delightful tidbit for you, Darkneuro; or a bit to delight your tids, hee-hee.)

I went to see the Stanley Kubrick exhibition at The Australian Centre For The Moving Image this afternoon, with Shantoozy. Props and scripts and sketches and motion picture equipment and film snippets, etc. from the great filmmaker and his films. The costume Lord Olivier wore in ‘Spartacus’. The helmet from ‘Full Metal Jacket’ saying, ‘Born To Kill’, while sporting, also, a peace medallion. That crazy lens used to film the entirety of ‘Barry Lyndon’ in only natural light and candlelight. Moonwatching apemen costumes, an H.A.L. computer eye, the starchild figure and the model of that really, really long ‘Jupiter mission’ ship from ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’. Masks from ‘Eyes Wide Shut’. A typewriter that Jack Nicholson used in ‘The Shining’. Selections from the world’s largest book collection on Napoleon, which was owned by Stanley. (Will I someday hold a similarly mad record for my Chaplin book collection?) And much, much else. The event had been previously presented in Berlin and Frankfurt and today was its final day here in Melbourne in what is actually the largest Screen Gallery in the world, and possibly the messiest for someone had scrawled ‘REDRUM’ on the walls in a couple of places, wouldn’t you know? …Huh? Shouldn't I know...? Ohhhh, yeah, right…

Well, this is Arnold signing off for now and wishing you all a wonderful acceptance of the fact that obviously my name must now be changed to that for my copy of Chaplin’s ‘My Autobiography’ says that’s who I am ’cause I own it and it says ‘Dear Arnold’ and so, yeah, okay, I’ll shut up now and let you all get on with it or get it on which is actually more fun if you know the ‘wrong’ positions, you dirty scamperers.

My ga-ga continues soon…

Sigmund, Realised

I saw the edit so-far of ‘Realising Sigmund’ on Friday and it is almost ready for its first screening – a private screening at ‘Glitch Bar’ in North Fitzroy in two weekends’ time. (It can have no public screening before the Tropfest awards.) The music score is being recorded today with a five-piece bluegrass combo led by the talented and eccentric banjoist, Chuk C. Thornley. Above is a still from the production.

Also being screened then is the video clip to Mr. Owen’s song, ‘I Don’t Want To Go To Nashville’, which is now complete. I play a randy bull hick in a moustache who enjoys cactus rootin’, Shantoozy plays a whip-cracker, Rupert plays a weird guy in a yellow velour jumpsuit called Rupert, Frank Baressi plays the cactus, and there’s a talking vagina in there somewhere as well. “Howdy stranger!”

I am now working as actor (Elliot Gould is one, for example) again in another short film. ‘So, You Have An Idea For A Film?’ is written and directed by Travis Sutherland and produced by Rupert Owen. It shoots on the 25th of this month. More about it later on.

So I must thank Messrs Owen and Sutherland, film producing duo of Son of Marshall/Snuffboxfilms, for the recent acting opportunities given me. (…Realizing, as they do, my supra acting talent, of course.) Thank yers, chappies.

12:01 AM And The Clock Strikes Twelve!

Screw posting in order! My New Years’ Eve wasn’t anything spectacular. They usually aren’t and that’s pretty much how I like it. A bottle of creaming soda and a good movie with a good woman is fine and dandy by me (she, fine; I, the dandy). And, also, behaving as a New Years' Adam and Eve under the fig tree out the back would be nice for us to do. There were 240 arrests made in Melbourne this year - but you know they probably weren't for anything as pleasant as outdoors sexual intercourse. We were in the city centre but the crowd was rowdy and banal and we were actually in a cab homewards when 12:01 AM struck and then it became 12:00 AM suddenly again – all to do with the need for the planet to catch up with the sundials this year or something, as those goated chronologers tried explaining to those of us less aware of solar clock-hand resynchronism.

My New Years’ Day was something else, however, but I’ll post about that in the very near future, when a relevant accompanying photograph can be taken with Shantoozy’s new digital camera (a Xmas gift, from her Mum).

Now Rupert is over, sleeping on my couch. He is an idiot. (Hee-hee.) He wants to enter the Archibald Prize for portraiture and he doesn't even paint. He wants to enter a painting called, 'Sperm On White Canvas: Portrait Of An Unborn', or else another equally white work entitled, 'Portrait Of God.'

He chuckles as I read him that.

No, he actually does have a serious idea for an artwork and I want him to create the piece. It is a clever idea. He says he will start it when he moves house next month. He had better!

Well, well, well, what have we 'ere to say else than that? Nothing for now. It's 4:30 AM. Fluid is drizzling down my nasal passages and my brain feels like vinyl with migrating plasticizers. I start coughing. Oh, bloomin' heck!

Silly Ol' Xmas

I am a tad behind in my blogging so I’ll start now, posting in order. Okelee-dokelee…

All I wanted for Xmas was my two front teeth to be brushed but I didn’t have the energy, nor to brush all my other teeth, something I’d also wanted to do as part of the ‘all I wanted’ package. As a matter of fact, I had a lengthy afternoon sleep in the spare room at Hissy Kitty’s, at which venue we were for Xmas gormandising. The aforementioned package also contained other desirables – some, like books and d.v.d.s, I received as gifts from family and friends, but the energy I wanted just never arrived in mi socks to thus motivate feet and legs and body, let alone my mind. And I HAVE let alone my mind, as must be obvious to you reading this, and so now that it’s on the mantel permit me description of what also I've recently started displaying there – in other words, my Xmas gifts.

From the most lovely Shantoozy, I acquired a cute 1963 French Charlie Chaplin comic book, ‘Charlot: Charlot au Regiment, et Charlot et les Gangsters'; I can’t read French but I am going to learn, hopefully beginning at university this year. Also, a 1921 French Charlie Chaplin biography, ‘Charlot’ by Louis Delluc (the French filmmaker), but in its 1922 English translation by Hamish Miles, ‘Charlie Chaplin’, so I can start reading it soon; it is a paperback book which its former owner, probably back in the 1920s, promoted via custom-production to a gorgeous-looking hardback with golden embossing. This is a rare book and I have been wanting to read it for a long time; this book was, I believe, the first ever to be a biography of a film personality. Also, ‘The Picture History Of Charlie Chaplin’ by Gerald MacDonald, published in 1965. (Yes, I think that Sir Charles Spencer Chaplin was not exactly a poo-poo head!) Plus, also, she gifted me a copy of ‘Flying High’ (a.k.a. ‘Airplane!’) on digital virtual disc, although it feels quite real to MY tentacle ends.

Other gifts Edels also received include ‘The Goodies: The Tasty Box’ 4-disc d.v.d. box-set (possibly my all-time favourite t.v. show, or tying with a couple of others - it was certainly one of the most amazing events of my life to have met the three legends when they toured last year), an l.p. recording of Harpo Marx playing the harp, a book on the films of that man who wouldn't drink water because fish fuck in it, W. C. Fields, a book of Woody Allen comic strips drawn by Stuart Hample, and one marzipan candy bar by the name of ‘Edel’! Humourously enough, they were mainly all comedian/ comedy related gifts! Someones have been readin’ mi profile here and they learnt I ain’t just a toss-pot.

But wait, there’s more! Two joint gifts to Shantoozy and I were Hissy Kitty’s INSANEly lovely present of a d.v.d.-player with a very eccentric remote-control (to stop a disc simply press the 'KARAOKE' button - what else, dunderhead? - and it's the 'DISPLAY' button, obviously, if you want to shuttle backwards), and Toxic Lash’s lovely present of a copy of her favourite book, Dr. Suess’ ‘Oh, The Places You’ll Go!’

Yes, well, quite a score for this Hobbit-hole dwelling, hedgehoggin’, Womble-like accruer of things. I don’t like to keep what I deem TOO much stuff; just the good stuff, like books and d.v.d.s and music-platters and glittering nic-nacs and good ideas… I think everyone liked their gifts from me, especially since I decided not to go with smacks in the mouth, as the saying goes and I wish it would for good.

I spent the next couple of days recovering from the festivities leading up to silly ol’ Xmas, treating my liver well again 'n' all.