Daisies In The Gutter

Look, Pappy, I Is Manure ...er, Mature!

2007-07-02T19:08:00.001+10:00

Saw this blog rating system thing on Darkneuro's House of Musings and decided to be a copy-puss. This is the rating I received:

Mingle² - Online Dating

One of the reasons given as to why it got this rating is because I've used the word 'gay'. Strangely, my usage of the word 'homosexual' wasn't deemed as problematic to them! What the fuck's all that about? Weird. And undeniably offensive! Especially when you also consider that writing things like 'cunnilingus', 'foreskin', 'orgasm' and 'I squirted ivory sap from the borehole of my log' doesn't seem to bother them at all. Silly manure-heads!

Unhealthy, Poor and Foolish

2007-06-30T23:47:00.000+10:00

I haven't been posting much over the last little while because I have been either too busy, too stressed or too tired. My sleeping pattern is all out of whack - I had been living in the vampire hours until a couple of days ago when I began resetting my internal timepiece to the conventional pattern for human beings by forcing myself to go to bed earlier and rising earlier in the day. It seems to be working, although I am as yet still spending all my awake time in a sleepy state. Coffee has been helping with this, and what's been helping at night are sleeping pills (unfortunately, a necessary evil, so to speak, at the moment but I figure this is okay because I won't be taking them very many nights). Anyway, I plan to start posting more regularly again next month, which begins in about three minutes! I'd better go get my pinch and punch ready!

We Two Are Four From Twins

2007-06-18T01:00:00.000+10:00

I am now two Uncles. Shantoozy is now two Aunts. On Thursday, my brother and sister-in-law were the recipients of miniature twin female humans. Not that I support anyone thwacking out more than one child - in fact, I am steadfastly against such idiocy on this horribly people-plagued planet - yet the sporadic occurance of twins, triplets, etc., being unintentional, is as welcome as any singular birthing. Shantoozy and I shall meet them in about a month or so when we fly up North for familial visitations. I shall attempt to inform them about the original "Star Wars" trilogy in an attempt to warn them early against the abominable so-called 'special' editions from the Nineties. Yes, they shall learn much of use from their wise Uncle Me.

In other news, I hear that Britain's Queen who don't play majestic rock'n'roll tapped something sharp a few times and then did arise Sir Salman Rushdie. Well, I'm sure that the author of the magnificent "Midnight's Children" should find it all a bit of silly fun, so, why not, eh? (At the risk of being an embarrassment to Sir Sal, I ended that sentence thus because I couldn't be bothered trying to extract an intelligent comment from my fractured brain; and aren't you glad I explained that?)

News the third: I have yet due four asses (as I call my uni. assignments for short), having procured extensions obtainable because of the tiring stress of being me at present. Fear not, for I am fine despite, and am handling the craziness of my life by the grace of the Divine Powers of the universe and beyond, whilst utilising a wondrous capacity for consuming diet ice creams. I need to kick these asses in themselves and get them bared for lecture-ous eyes to critique! Then I shall be free to ... well, by the time I'm finished them all I shall be free to start more, for semester 2 will have surely begun. Errggghhhh!

Here

2007-06-07T05:08:00.000+10:00

Here on Earth my current feet, although they are inside blue ug-boots, feel cold and brittle. My flannel pyjamas have planets and stars on them. My sinus cavities are murky. My teacup is yawning hollow. Well, actually, I have some Chinese Medicinal herbal broth here in another cup, to try to increase my energy levels. I am somewhat sleepy. I recall what is probably my latest dream, which, from memory, involved my hearkening to an unreal version of Allen Ginsberg’s Ballad Of The Skeletons with what seemed to my sleeping soul like quite a good lyric, but Philip Glass was nowhere to be heard. My current artistic endeavour has me working at finishing a short story I began many years ago; it is pretty shitty but can perhaps be made worthwhile. The two cats slumber upon their heated mattress. The clock tick-tocks. It is early and the sun shall be rising soon. I’d better get a move on, off to bed once more. I like bed. Bed provides a raft above the chaotic sea.

Hay, Hey

2007-05-19T01:48:00.000+10:00

I’ve been feeling really wasted lately, which is partly to blame for my lack of posting on mi blog. However, I’ve started a treatment of acupuncture and boiled herb broth so disgusting tasting I thought my mouth was going to be permanently disfigured from the pained contortions they put it through, so hopefully that’ll help. I think maybe I am getting another cold or something, or have hay-fever, or hey-Judaism, where you become a piano-playing, bearded Beatle or some such. I’d love to be one of those people of whom it can be said, “ He was never sick a day in his life.” Although, that doesn’t stop the sentence degrading into, “But then he just dropped down dead one day, aged 50.”

Various Vicissitudes Aside...

2007-05-02T23:22:00.000+10:00

Hello again all! Yes, I have been away too long, I know, I know. Please, as The Kinks say, stop your sobbing. … Oh, you mean to say you’re not crying because I was … oh, I see, well, then, rest assured I shan’t be staying long. Fine!

(He-he, and a jolly good laugh was had by all over that cute opener.)

But, seriously, this is just a quick ‘pop-in’ post to assure you all that I still breath here in this virtual gutter.

The main reason it has taken me so long to post again is that I’ve been wanting to compose a little paragraph or so in tribute to Kurt Vonnegut, who recently passed away, as you doubtless are all aware. I’ve been busy with uni. shit and dealing with the various vicissitudes of my body and mind, and once again I find my feet lagging behind the days on the calendar.

Anyways, I shall produce that post real soon, and then onwards and beyond unto the realms of more musings and illiteracy from the bilious gut, er, of the Idyller.

Wacky In The Noggin And A Boot To The Buttocks

2007-04-17T21:01:00.000+10:00

I don’t know what to write sometimes. Hmphh, some writer! Moving on, however...

I think my o.c.d. has been acting up lately. I’ve been thinking that all the books I own need to be in near-perfect condition in order for me to be a ‘proper’ writer because that’s the condition of ‘proper’ writers’ book collections, except I’m told that it isn’t, that I’m just being a little wacky in the noggin, and I think I might perhaps believe that may well be true, quite possibly. Ha-ha.

And I’ve been thinking that my poetry isn’t ‘real’ poetry. I’m not talking ‘real’ in the sense that Yeats or Bukowski or Verlaine is ‘real’, coz that’s really REAL poetry, from the tendons of the earth beneath well-worn slippers, and mine’s certainly not real poetry like their’s – it’s but a fact that few genuine poets exist – at least, I think that’s probably correct – although my slippers are slightly scuffed, shall we say? – so, no, I’m not talking ‘real’ like that. I mean that my poetry doesn’t feel ‘real’ to me (at the moment, anyway) because I don’t have a clear understanding of the varieties of poetic form. Most of my so-called poetry is free-form stuff, but does not, for example, the painter need to be able to draw accurately before legitimately experimenting with line and form? I think there are a lot of sloppy, semi-skilled poets in the world today, myself included; and I feel a pressing urgency to improve my poetical understanding and skills. Yet, am I just talking rubbish? I mean, perhaps Bukowski couldn’t adequately descant upon accentual-syllabic verse in relation to the iambic pentameter and its caesurae, and I think my o.c.d. has been acting up lately and that can be debilitating to me.

In fact, yesterday I was so discombobulated, and at times so dang tired, not to mention busy trying to get a uni. assignment in on time, which I failed to do – I think I missed the papers box closing time as the office was closed by the time I arrived, a bit after 5pm – that I didn’t do anything for the 118th anniversary of Charlie Chaplin’s birth, beyond pleasant well-wishing. A big-footed kick in the buttocks for me! I plan to do something this weekend, if not before. Watch a short and eat some custard pie with Shantoozy, at least.

Happy Birthday for yesterday, Sir Charles!

Chilling Facts

2007-03-23T22:41:00.000+11:00

I am so very sick of this weather. (I’m so very sick of being sick, too, and in this horrid, torrid weather – I think I got over my last cold just as I was getting a new one!) Melbourne used to have pretty good weather – excellent, in fact, with coldly crisp winters, regular, if shallow, rainfall throughout the year, and the summers, while occasionally providing very hot days, were never humid and relentlessly sweltering like nowadays. Apparently last night was almost the hottest March night in Melbourne on record. And that is chilling news. Hurumph! Shantoozy & I simply must move to somewhere in the world where the weather is not going to become unreasonable despite old man Global Warming. But who knows when that will be possible? Hopefully someday in the not to distant future.

One can reason that 'twas, therefore, unseasonably hot at 12AM this morning when a new playing-station games console thing-um went on sale, so I hear. I also hear that the reception of the thing was lukewarm, yet, still, can you believe this?: a big deal is made (concocted, that is, by the company’s marketing division gits) whenever a new version of this machine is released, as though it were something really worthwhile. I don’t know for sure, but I doubt any new book release by Kurt Vonnegut has ever had a midnight launch anywhere in Australia, if even the world. It doesn’t make sense to me. Don’t get me wrong, I think the occasional computer-game playing is a fair enough diversion but there are people who will spend time at this entertainment preclusive to ever experiencing an Ibsen or Chekhov play in their lives! (And it seems to me a problem endemic to most computer-games that the player must spend a long, rather than a short, time in order to master but one of the blasted things.)

Now, if this sounds pretentious, well, then valuing depth and wisdom over flippant self-indulgence is pretentious – which it isn’t, and so there! Not that I mind flippant self-indulgence – au contraire, I cherish it like a googly-eyed pet, such as those rocks that were once such a fad – but all things in healthy balance, y’know, what-ho! And, frankly, if people spent more time developing their minds and hearts and less time fiddling with their joysticks then I hassit that there wouldn’t even be such problems as Global Warming.

Yeah, I know it doesn’t help that computer-games are something I, personally, get bored over after a mere few hours’ indulgence at, yet even regardless of this I find it rather sad and a bit irritating that so much cruciality is placed on something so ultimately insubstantial, over something that can prove enlightening, like a good book. …Or, just as good, if not better: a substantial, ‘real-life’ experience.

Anyways, enough bitchin' for me (but only for the moment - mahaHA!). There'll be information in my next post about what I've actually (not merely virtually) been up to of late, ol' beans, so hold onto your throttle-jostlers!

Pinnipeds, Penguins, Cows, Poo-Poo, Einstein...

2007-03-30T20:42:00.000+10:00

I am not surprised, as I’m sure neither are you, Dear Peruser, that it’s been a whole week since my previous blog update. Time goes by so quickly these days. I’m 34 years old and that cliché rings truer and truer every year. Oh, well. I have actually come to the conclusion, or to what seems like a supportable conclusion but may well just be a product of my own tiresome human arrogance, that I shall possibly die fairly young. I mean, is it likely that I will reach a colostomy-bag-usage age when I have Type 2 Diabetes, Fatty Liver Disease, and a weak immune system due to the constant stress of having fairly severe Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and the resultant colds, ’flues and such that regularly bombard this wretched body in which I reluctantly squat? I have my doubts. Oh, well. There is, perhaps, a tad of self-pity here but more so just a bluesy sense of acquiescence. Maybe this mood extends from the fact that I think I am now onto my third viral infection in a row. Yippee!

On a less disconsolate note, here be information on some stuff what I has been up to in the recent past:

On Sunday the 18th of March, Shantoozy and her sister, nicknamed Turkey by me, who had flown down from Brisbane to visit, went for a drive across to Phillip Island, which is about 90 minutes away, by car, from ol’ Melbourne town. Our main reason for this trip was to see the fairy penguins, small groups of whom come back home each dusk from being three weeks at sea. Actually, I should mention that these li’l blue-coated chirpers are now officially called ‘little penguins’ as that is more true to their Latin name but I prefer ‘fairy penguins’ as it seems to suit them more, and also because they are all homosexual, except that that is a falsity I just felt like inventing and the real reason is the former one, that it just seems to suit them more. Aaaaanyways...

Firstly, we went to the Nobbies, where you can look out to Seal Rocks, which is a small rocky clump of land jutting out of the ocean just off the western tip of Phillip Island, where Australian fur seals make their homes. You must look through a telescope for a good glimpse of the critters; you can also take a boat tour out to there, which actually leaves from Melbourne, and I shall certainly be doing that in the near future! Seals and sea lions are my favourite animals, and long have been. So endearingly clompy on land, and so sleek and nimble in the water. Intriguingly odd, those pinnipeds.

We then went to Summerland Beach to watch the penguin parade. Shantoozy had the intelligent idea of asking a ranger there where the best position to view the penguins from was and they replied, on the sand in the upper right corner of the second stall of seating. So we sat there on the beach and the penguins did their best Charlie Chaplin impressions within a metre of us. You might think me a sentimental old fluff (to borrow a phrase from another favourite comedian, Groucho Marx) but I found it very funny and sweet. Some of them had such bellies full of fish that they could barely ‘tramp’ the shingle! We trod the boardwalk then to watch them returning to their abodes in the dunes, and to their partners and young-uns waiting there to greet them. By the time we left, the hubbub of their squawking had grown quite outrageous.

In my photo here, you can see some of the penguins’ housing as constructed by researchers on the island; there are also natural homes all about in the dunes as built by the penguins themselves, of course.

This is one of the penguins who was already home, who I snapped as we made our way along the boardwalk down to the beach:

We ended up spending the night on the island at the Tropicana Motel, which is an interestingly named place considering that Phillip Island is just the place for strutting about in nothing but a lei and promptly dying from hypothermia!

The next day we checked out some secondhand shops, visited a winery for some wine-tasting, and drove across to Churchill Island (a little island nearby) where we encountered the grooviest cows I have ever seen. They are called Highland cows. Here is a photo Shantoozy took of one of the quirky chaps:

And here is a photo I took of one the Highland cows’ poo-poos:

Now, in more reportage of my recent activities:

My episode of the quiz show “The Einstein Factor” was recorded last Wednesday (21st of March). I’d arrived as merely a stand-by contestant in case one of the scheduled contestants proved unable to go on and was initially informed that all looked fine and that I wouldn’t be required to substitute for anybody that day but then, about half an hour before taping time, the situation changed and, lo and behold, my time was up, the plank was laid, and I was forced to walk …straight to the make-up department and to have a shave and to get a substitute shirt from wardrobe as the one I was wearing was too dirty-looking and crumpled – so, as you can tell, I had arrived well prepared that day! (The silly thing is, of course, that I had arrived all prim and proper on my previous days as stand-by!) I won’t say as yet whether or not I won but you can find out when it airs in June – on the 24th, I think – but I’ll let youse know for sure closer to the date. Man, did I ramble on in my responses to questions about myself and my subject of Sir Charlie! Not to mention the lacklustre puns I injected into the activities, now nestling on the ABC’s cutting-room floor, no doubt (I hope!). Well, actually, there’s one stupid comment I think they will have difficulty editing out, unfortunately. Oh, well. Still, it was good fun.

Last Saturday afternoon, Shantoozy and a uni. friend - whom I shall here refer to as Jafar, not that it probably matters but people like their privacy, and could anyone be blamed for wanting to distance themselves from connexion with an Edels like I? Of course they could! However, I am so dang interesting that I can stand alone, a veritable king among poo-bottoms (AKA mammals, like Highland cows, humans, Einsteins, etc.)! – , well, we went to see Melbourne Theatre Co.’s current production of Arthur Miller’s “All My Sons”. Was it any chop? Make no mis-steak, it was enthusiastically devoured by me. It cost a mere $16.00 on a ‘day ticket’, where you turn up at the box-office at 9am on the morning you wish to see a play and hopefully are able to grab one of these tickets, which don’t provide the best seats in the house, of course, although they are perfectly acceptable to me at a discount of around a whopping $55.00! We were fortunate this day because we just managed to secure the last three el-cheapo seats for the day! It really is a very good play, too. My enjoyment was barely hindered at all by the actors’ affectations of United States of American accents – the lead male actor, John Stanton,’s was the most sustained and believable (even ol’ Yankee Shantoozy said it sounded genuine) and the lead female actor, Janet Andrewartha (of the soap, “Neighbours”), 's was the worst. This John Stanton chap’s performance was wholly excellent, in fact, and I certainly would like to check out some more productions in which he features. Or at least acquire video footage of him struggling to remove a too-long hair from his nostril - yes, he may prove entertaining doing even that. He may not, too, though. Why am I rambling on like this, in such a foolish and prosaic fashion? Is it in avoidance of composing a 1,250-word critique of Saturday’s production for my Theatre And Drama class? I would not dare to guess!

Moran and Morons

2007-04-08T23:43:00.000+10:00

Last night Shantoozy and I saw performing at Town Hall as part of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, that red wine drinking, cigarette smoking, cake and chocolate loving Irish chap from Ireland in Ireland, Dylan Moran.

Here's an accurate description of Dylan's performance style from The Internet Movie Database:

'Moran’s live stand-up comedy is unique in that it merges two strands of stand-up that seemed incompatible for a long time: sharp observational humor, and surreal and fantastical language-based absurdity. On the one hand, he has a clear influence from what could be called an American school of stand-up comedy that is heavily observational. On the other, Moran’s comedy is characterized by a use of language similar to the stand-up comedy of Eddie Izzard and Ross Noble: surreal associative leaps between on the one side observations and on the other fantasies, verbally painting bizarre and absurd worlds, often through a use of stream-of-consciousness narration. His language is often highly poetic, resembling a James Joyce that has had one too many.'

Some morons in the audience may have gasped when he posited that it really wouldn't be all that bad to have sex with one's own mother ("What's the worst that could happen? You might both feel a little embarrassed afterwards."), but Shantoozy & I laughed considerably during his one hour show, and now he's got me wondering, what are the spaces between the teeth of a comb called, and does Batman have nipples?

A Fresh One (Again)

2007-03-01T22:58:00.000+11:00

University has begun afresh for the new year. My first semester subjects are Writing Fiction, Advanced Screenwriting, and Modern Drama. For that subject, this week, we are reading Henrik Ibsen’s ‘Hedda Gabler’; I have read ‘A Doll’s House’ before but that’s it, so this should be interesting. We watched a clip from a TV dramatisation of Henrik's ‘The Master Builder’, and I felt (rather cornily, I admit) that it should perhaps have been entitled ‘The Master-Bator’ instead, ’cause this whole scene was basically about how the dirty old builder wanted to erect big, firm spires on the tops of houses and how his young female friend, remembering (or fantasising – Ibsen couldn’t work out which aroused him more, I think) how, when she was 13, he’d kissed her, and who knows what else beyond – the builder’s fingertip hammering at her clit? or even more? - , was groaning in hot desire for him to take her out and show her his biggest erection. Very funny stuff!

Speaking of unfunny stuff now, I have some kind of viral infection. I got it free, and didn’t even have to pay a tip. My body was all so ache-crimped for a couple of nights that falling asleep and remaining under was none too easy, and by last night I had developed a cough but was physically drained enough to get a good, long slumber and now this morning my throat is feeling rough and swollen and my nostrils a bit drippy and, yeah, I just feel like crap all-round. Unhilarious stuff!

… Onto other news, I hear that the great Martin Scorsese finally won an Oscar statuette. This is a real shame. No-one that good deserves the insult of winning something so shoddy as an award from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Look at the wonderful company of ne’er-do-wins he leaves (and this is even excluding the so-called ‘foreign’ directors, who are too many to list here, what with my headache and drowsiness): Charles Chaplin, Orson Welles, Alfred Hitchcock, Preston Sturges, Hal Ashby, Charles Crichton, Stanley Kubrick, and Robert Altman, to name big 'uns who never won a best director Oscar and but come to mind just now. And besides many other problems endemic to such silly rubbish, since when was art or entertainment supposed to be a competition? If you want that kind of aggressive shit, watch or partake in some sporting activity. Although, I don’t begrudge Scorsese his acquirement, for he’d long declared how much he’d love to win the award, and, despite how daft it is for him to have yearned thusly, I am happy for him because such a great artist and entertainer as he deserves to get what they want.

As a footnote to this, if I were ever in such a position to be nominated for an Oscar I would almost certainly accept it. The main reason for doing so would be the benefit of the public exposure that (often, not always) goes along with it all. And so let’s hope recent winners like Roman and Martin are now finding it easier to get proper funding for their projects, for even such big directorial names as these have, of course, experienced difficulties with this in the past.

… And the most important news of all: Shantoozy and I have been together for nine years today! Happy Anniversary, Shantoozy!

The Beat Niked My De Soto

2006-11-19T03:02:00.000+11:00

So, I’ve had bad sciatica for the past couple of weeks, the longest that my back muscles, and the nerves in my back and legs, have suffered with this ever for. It’s painful and makes me hobble like an old fart, or sometimes like the Little Tramp and that’s ne’er a connexion I’d ever wished to share with Chaplin. It’s annoying, too, especially in how it sometimes is too distracting for me to carry out any more complex mathemalogical thought processing. I’ve also had a few bouts of irritable bowel syndrome, which wouldn’t be so bad if I actually enjoyed the pungent, bitter odour of diarrhoea.

I just watched Memento (written and directed by Christopher Nolan) again; showed it to Shantoozy, who had not seen it before. She found it a bit painfully confusing for her mood at the time, which was one of a certain intellectual exhaustion. She appreciated its being a great thriller, though, which it is. It’s up there with Les Diaboliques (The Fiends) (dir.: Henri-Georges Clouzot), Vertigo (dir.: Alfred Hitchcock), North By Northwest (dir.: Alfred Hitchcock) and The Narrow Margin (dir.: Richard Fleischer), as an exposition of clever, really well crafted pulp fiction.

Then, later, and a change of mood it certainly exemplifies, we watched two classic episodes of the classic 1950’s program, the Groucho Marx -hosted You Bet Your Life. The wittiest ad-libber on the globe! (…Yes, S. Gregory, and Groucho’s not too bad, either.) “Go see your local De Soto (automobile) dealer today, and when you do, tell ’em Groucho sent you,” and he’d waggle his eyebrows and wiggle his cigar. Yep, Groucho was an odd duck. Thank goodness for that! Makes me want to track down an ol’ De Soto and drive it around, with an electrically modified engine, of course. I’d be a regular Prince Charles, puttering around, telling everyone that Groucho sent me.

I’ve been writing. More on that probably in my next post. Hopefully. You see, I am not one of those writers who talks a lot about his projects as he is at work on them. Afterwards is okay, but during is a bit tedious, it somewhat dampens the mood for me. There are a large number of writers who love to talk of their own work in progress, so it certainly works well that way for some, which I am completely respectful of; it’s just that, for me, it works differently. I guess my method shows that part of me, at least, is living the experience I write about, and that part is exercised quite rigorously by my imagination. When I was younger I thought I didn’t have much of an imagination, if any at all. I used to think that adding things together in intriguing lateral ways was a simple talent we all had, and could hardly be the same as imagination, for that was a magical thing that ended in fireworks and orgasms. Although, it isn't.

I’ve been getting stoned and enjoying it. Not every day, just sometimes. Also, three of us shared a small bag of ... Coca-Cola, shall we say? ... that I’d found on the street on my way to a drama performance early one frosty Sunday morning not too long prior. (Please note, seriously, that just because I do something, like emulate a Doobie Brother, for instance, doesn't mean that you should, or that I wasn't in the wrong in doing so, or whatever.)

I’m getting my guitar overhauled this week. It’s finally actually going to happen. It’s quite a nice acoustic guitar, all solid wood, with a curved, two-piece back, and nice, gentle action, manufactured by Aria of Japan, probably in the ’70s. It’s a bit banged around but I really like it. I bought it … Well, I bought it twice, actually. The story goes as follows.

I bought the guitar for around $350.00, I believe, in the year 1990, in a pawnbroker’s in Brisbane City’s limehouse region, the dark and dirty Fortitude Valley. The nite club, Family, which was voted Australia’s very best nite club, is in the Valley nowadays. I was still attending high school back in 1990. My proficiency on the instrument improved at a greater pace now than previously with my first guitar, a disgustingly blunt clump of shit of plywood construction.

After some quite serious time at the instrument I changed direction with things and basically forgot about the guitar, and so I sold it to a friend of mine for some cheap price. He had it for many years but didn't play it much; his band's guitarist used to play it a lot though, and had it in his possess for much of that period. Eventually, having no tangible use for it himself, he sold it back to me. He actually, and fairly, traded it with me for some Transformers toy robots I had. I feel happy to have the ol' twang thang back.

1990 was the year I properly discovered and befriended Ernest H. Shepard and A. A. Milne, and the characters of their illustrated stories of the great Winnie-the-Pooh and his friends. A friend of mine dug Paddington Bear particularly, and another friend I had was most hep to Rupert the Bear, but for me it is always Pooh Bear. Isn't funny how there's comfort in bears? Just the other day I won, on eBay, a copy of the rare The Pooh Song Book, containing simple guitar chord tablature which will be perfectly suited to my out-of-tune fingers. I shall learn to play the songs. The music, apparently possessing just the right degree of whimsy, was composed by H. Fraser-Simson as handpicked by A. A. Milne. So, I’m not talking any Disney Company reinterpretation shit here. This is the genuine article. Proper Pooh. And, yea, I’ll play the songs on my steel-string guitar.

…Smoking ganga, playing acoustic guitar… What am I, an hippy? Hot dang, I’d sooner be a beatnik, and that ain’t no great thing. Too affectatious. I gotta be keepin’ it real, dig?

I am, incidentally, reading Milne’s adult comedy play, The Dover Road, and am enjoying it immensely. Fellow-humourist P. G. Wodehouse cherished this play as his all-time favourite. I don’t know if I’d choose it over Wilde exactly, but it is very humourous, and philosophises with an amusing, old-fashioned sense of fun and absurdity. The premise is very clever. But I shan’t ruin it for you by outlining a synopsis here; you’ll have to track it down and read it for yourself – I think it’s available for free in ebook format through Project Gutenberg dot com.

Well, there’s still something delectable and black at calm near the bottom of my coffee cup. I shall depart and drain the contents, just as you have taken the time to nourish your mind on my brief words here, and I thank-you for it. Until next time, goodnight and pleasant orgasms.

Das Capital Marx Collexion

2006-11-27T23:55:00.000+11:00

First year of uni. is done! I haven't got my results back yet, though. Soon they shall come to me. Soon. Ooh, yeah!

This is not much of a post so far, I know, but then this is not much of a world. People kill people, tear down too many trees, blah, blah, blah. I get sick of the crap sometimes, humans' sickness crap.

Anyway, I picked up this little beauty at a second-hand shop on Saturday: "The Marx Brothers Silver Screen Collection". It's at least AUD$80.00 new but I purchased this for a mere AUD$29.00! It was the most desired DVD(s) by me so I was quite ecstatic to obtain it so cheap; or, indeed, to find it for sale in any shop at all, for it is an import from U.S.A., having not been released here, which no doubt it never shall be. I thought I'd be waiting a while yet before being able to order it in, due to the price. But Fortune smiled.

For anyone interested, it contains the Bros.' first five movies (excluding Humorisk, which was a short silent flick that was made first but never released - late in life, Groucho offered $$$s if a copy could be procured but, alas, it is still currently a 'lost' film). The six-disc set contains The Cocoanuts (1929), Animal Crackers (1930), Monkey Business (1931), Horse Feathers (1932) and Duck Soup (1933), plus a disc of bonus materials containing three interviews - one with Harpo, one with Groucho, and one with Harpo's son, Bill.

Sometimes fellows like the Marx Brothers make more sense to me than most anything else in this world. Honestly.

Also, they make me laugh lots.

I Thant Cin'k Traighst

2007-03-12T23:32:00.000+11:00

I have caught the virus Shantoozy has been suffering with for the past half a week or so. My throat hurts, my ears are imploding and I thant cin'k traighst.

Citing Sightings Sites

2007-03-11T22:59:00.000+11:00

On the 19th of March, 2005, at Mayfield’s Bar in Collingwood, Shantoozy (the floozy - hee-hee!) videoed some footage involving a certain Northern European sex poet called Jerzy Beefkowski, who, if you must know the embarrassing details, holds a resemblance to a certain Northern Melbournian Idyller called Edels. You can view the creature HERE. It’s really not an especially interesting video but if you like bulky torsoes with skinny legs then check it orrn out!

Also, the short film, “Cedric”, with which I was involved late last year, should be ready and up on 'youtube' by about midyear. I didn’t mention it on “Daisies” at the time ’cause, well, I was just helping out on the shoot in a small capacity, and I may end up onscreen in a couple of shots, but that’s about all for my meagre contribution. The really good thing about this shoot was that they were actually working with film. 16mm. One of the filmmakers, Ed, was accepted into Victorian College Of The Arts on the merits of his work on this production, and the other co-writer/director, Yianni, is hoping for the same. I must admit that I was somewhat taken aback by just how good the rushes look. Although I’m not a filmmaker, I have done some work in the films or video-movies of others but never had I seen rushes that actually look professional, like these do. These young fellas, in my opinion, may possess real talent – from a technical standpoint, at any rate - and, who knows?, perhaps even artistically. I'm not guaranteeing anything, of course, because, well, the simple fact is that I really don't know nuffin'!

Anyways, dear bloggeroonies, check 'youtube' around midyear for your chance to win a sighting in this next spot-an-Edels contest, otherwise known as the blink-and-you’ll-miss-the-Edels event.

My Holiday by Edels, mental-age zero

2007-01-10T23:51:00.000+11:00

I was in Queensland again, over the Xmas period, up ’til New Year’s Eve’s eve. Familial visitations. The weather, usually unfit for an Edels of my Irish-stock physique, was unseasonably acceptable, warm but not excessively hot, and not very humid; except for the last two days, which were not feral, yet, still, not to my liking. I still needed the air conditioning most of the time, but could handle it when it was not available so long as a fan was.

We spent Xmas Eve with Shantoo’s family, Xmas Day with my family, and Beat-’Em-Brutally-With-Boxes Day back with Shantoo’s family at her Aunty L’s house in the mountains.

Shantoo and I stayed at the house of one of my sister’s on the night of Xmas Day, where I drank excessively, something which I had only recently been able to do, and this is due, I believe, to the fact that I now know I have type-2 diabetes and am on medication and a better diet (except for the boozing, but, hey, it was the festive season!). I actually need to improve my diet some more still, but I have an appointment with diabetes specialist and dietician type humans next month so that should help me out there. More on this ailment in another post.

(And some of this post has been shamelessly pilfered by me from Shantoo’s blog, so apologies to those who may be hearing some of the same stories twice.)

Apparently, at Shantoo’s family’s house the festivities were not going so well. Her sister, T, loves playing pool volleyball whenever there is a gathering so she and her sister, C, and her 70-something plastic surgery victim Aunty B all got in the pool and were playing when C sister asked if anyone minded if she played topless, and there were no objections. After a while, however, Aunty B got jealous and declared her boobs to be just as good as Shantoo’s youngest sister’s and took her top off as well! Sister C was horrified that her 70-something year-old Aunty was taking her top off in front of her 29 year-old boyfriend. Shantoo’s family is a little bit ‘normal’ perhaps, but only a little.

… Okay, instalment 4 coming tomorrow, kiddlies!

On Hooky

2007-03-05T23:09:00.000+11:00

Didn’t go to uni. today. I only had a one-hour lecture for Writing Fiction. I’d like to attend them all but it’s really the tutorials of this subject that are, for me, the important classes not to miss. Being that I have been out of high school and working at my writing for, ooh, about three or sixteen years, I feel that I am, frankly, less in need of attend these second-year lectures than most of my younger fellow scholars. In fact, let me face it, this subject is gonna be a bit of a breeze. And, no, there is no chance that they shall prove to be ‘famous last words’, I dare posit, touch wood, and may I try to resist causing that parasol leaning against the stereo cabinet nearby to bloom indoors.

I didn’t go to uni. today because my back muscles went haywire again yesterday. That will teach me for standing bent over for too long whilst shaving the missus’ legs! Oh, yes, indeed it shall, for I shall never help her like that again! … Oh, it’s the standing bent over part of the equation that elicited the bastardly response from my back? Well, shhh… Any chance to get out of chores… Nah! I actually enjoy the satisfying “chipper-chop! chipper-chop” of the electronic razor as it snips against the leg like a small shears-scissor through iron filings.

But mi back. Aww, mi POOR back!!!

Distillin' Mi Illin'

2007-03-03T22:57:00.000+11:00

Laa-dee-daa. What to write? Nothing. …Well, obviously not nothing – I wrote that previous sentence, didn’t I? – and this one. Wow, aren’t you glad? I’m not, particularly.

…Ergghhh! Man, I’m feeling crappy. Still ill.

I've just finished watching ‘The Benny Hill Show’. Prior to that, I’d watched ‘On The Buses’. Prior to that, it was ‘Are You Being Served?’ And prior to that, ‘Some Mothers Do ’Ave ’Em’. (No ‘George And Mildred’ tonight, though, disappointingly.) All part of Saturday night television’s regular Comedy Classics revue, hosted by some chap called Russell Gilbert whom I think is supposed to be funny but comes across instead as intellectually disabled, the poor dope. I feel awful watching him in case he is being exploited by the TV network somehow.

Anyway, I guess that makes me seem pretty dull, spending my Saturday nights like this, as I do. Yet, I suppose I am a bit dull. No more dull, of course, than anyone else, though. We are but human beings. I try to think of alternative things I could be doing tonight, of what might be more fun. Hmmm? Well, certainly not being ill would be better, for starters. Assuming I was, what then? What does society do? Go out to a pub, drink depressants and talk about inconsequential things and look at asses of people they are almost certainly never going to ball. – Blegghhh! Depressingly drab. Besides, I’ve got enough inconsequential things to think about without having to sit around a bunch of alcoholically retarded fellows exchanging such rubbish.

Um, what else?

Go to the movies. – No more exciting than watching good TV programs like I did tonight. Certainly, I don’t find such activities boring – provided that I am in the right mood – but they’re not exactly what one would deem wild and exciting. But, what is, really? And why do people (myself, at times, included) sometimes (or more often, for some people) feel that life need be wild and exciting? Comfort and contentment are much more tangible emotions.

…Ha! My mood is certainly a bit flat due to my being ill, so apologies to anyone reading this if my tone is coming across as a bit whingey. The fact is that, if you are feeling like it is, you can go take a long jump off a skinny peer – try Nicole Ritchie, if you’re young enough!

Um, what else could one do of a Saturday evening (besides jump off people suffering from eating disorders, what-ho!)? (What ’ho’? I don’t know that she doesn’t give it away. Boom-boom.) Um…

Go over to someone’s house and eat dinner and get pissed. – No more or less dull, really, than doing that at home with one’s partner.

What else?

Go on a date. – Well, that’s not applicable when you already have a partner. Of course, one could go out with the intention of having sex with someone (or someone else, if you’re in a sexually open relationship). – I could find that fun, but only if I were in the mood for it. Sex is overrated, I think. To me, it works nicely as one of life’s delicious side-dishes but the main course must consist of more substantial stuff. I’m interested in what this existential electricity is that passes through my whole body – indeed, my soul – and not just through my genitals. Ultimately, I much prefer having sex than merely having thoughts about it, as, frankly, it really doesn't seem particularly mysterious to me.

What else?

Go and keep reading Henrik Ibsen’s ‘Hedda Gabler’. – Okay, I shall!

Amazingly Delicious, Deliciously Amusing

2007-02-16T02:32:00.000+11:00

I’m feeling happier now, thankfully. I’m feeling good, in fact.

Tonight (well, technically last night now, for it is past 2:00 AM as I write this) we went to dinner for Hissy Kitty’s birthday at a most amazing vegetarian restaurant. It’s called "Enlightened Cuisine". It’s at Southbank. It’s a Chinese vegetarian restaurant where they serve fake versions of duck, chicken, lamb, beef, prawns, crab, fish, and even shark fin soup (which we had and which was delicious – in fact, I believe we tried all the “meat”s except the crab), along with regular tofu and vegetable dishes and what-not. It’s basically for people who like the taste and texture of meat but don’t like to eat it for ethical reasons, and for those vegetarians who just want to try something novel. Seriously, the food is as nice as any similar food I can recall ever eating that contained real meat. The service was fantastic, too. Highly recommended.

I should also mention that Shantoozy took Hissy Kitty on the “Neighbours” tour, where you go in a little bus filled with British backpackers to visit Ramsey Street and other places around town where they film the show. It’s a ridiculous show, of course, and these two loonies are into it and had a jolly good time being intentionally ludicrous by taking this tour. They got to meet Harold Bishop AKA Ian Smith, who was one of the top handful of actors they’d hoped to meet. Shantoo said to him, “I’ve heard you would bring porn onto the set.” This shocked the attendant Brits, apparently. Ian replied that, no, he didn’t, then going on to confirm, however, that he is a dirty old man who eats meat, smokes, drinks and womanises (unlike the vegetarian, prudishly Christian Harold). Shantoo then went on to explain that what she’d meant was that she’d heard that he used to bring pornographic photos onto the set and hide them in places like drawers and such where they wouldn’t be seen on film but would certainly be seen by the actor opening the drawer while acting their silly character. It seems like it’s probably true, but of course he didn’t want to admit it at the official “Neighbours” tour. Hehe, deliciously amusing, however.

Back 'N' Black

2007-02-13T02:04:00.000+11:00

Well, my birthday came and went, as they are wont to do, and a slurpy-lipped thank-you to everyone for their wonderful pressies – and company, of course – but especially the pressies! Hawww-hawww! That was last month. Fuck, I’m a slack-buttocked entity!

Well, life has been moving along and I find myself intermittently surprised by the fact that my heart is still beating and I’m still breathing; I read the signals and know that I am still alive. Some moments have been good, others have been mighty crappy - such as they are just now, but I hope the down-ness ‘off’s itself soon and so ups the anti-depressive quantities of my existence on this calamitous globe, which is what it has always seemed to do when my horizons have been grey-skied and bleak. I am back here with a new post but - bleggghhh! - I’m not a ‘happy camper’ at the moment. In fact, if and when I do become happy again, if I had to go camping I'd slump right back down again, but, because this sentence is largely irrelevant, I advise you to not have read it. A-hem. (...a sleeve, a cuff, a leather-patched elbow on a cordouroy jacket...)

Well (yep, that’s three of ‘em in a row now – perhaps I should begin every sentence I ever write from now on with a ‘Well’ – or not, actually, for it would be stupid),…

Well, I recently had my audition to appear on ABC TV as a contestant on “The Einstein Factor” – subject: the life and films of Charlie Chaplin – and the other day received a confirmation telephone call, letting me know I’ve been accepted and that my episode shall be recorded in April. Now, those of you who read Rupert’s blog will, of course, recall that he appeared on this same program last year espousing on the subject of Errol Flynn. (Also like Rupert, I have been asked to be a stand-by contestant for a couple of tapings before my own comes up – which is good, as I could do with the money they toss one for these little endeavours.) I remember that neither of us were too surprised at the time that he got accepted, being that his subject was one of Australia’s greatest movie stars (if not, indeed, its greatest) – this is what made it such a clever idea of his to apply for the show, knowing they'd raise a patriotic flag to his idea (although, a cocaine-dappled erection would have been more appropriate to raise, but, hey, it's a family program) – yet I didn’t really think that they would be too keen to go for Chaplin as a subject – after all, isn’t he some English banana-peel-slipper from the dayes of yore, before our primordial ancestors evolved ears? – however, Barry at the studio said he thought it was an excellent subject and seemed genuine in his interest, even discussing with me the problematics of Richard Attenborough’s “Chaplin” biopic, and wondering if Sir Charles was a good person or not (which, doubtless, he was - a strange angel, in fact). I shall let youse know when my episode will be broadcast.

Well, there’s more I could say right now but I won’t. This is due to tiredness. Tiredness eventually makes one sleep. I shall be one of those ‘one’s, therefore, and trundle off now to slumberland. Nighty-night, dear reader.

I may not be happy but at least I am tired.

Happy New Year, Earthlings!

2007-01-23T18:47:00.000+11:00

Well, it's not exactly the day after my last post but installment 4 is here finally. Aren't you relieved?

To continue...

I spent New Year’s Eve with HissyKitty and her partner S., and, of course, Shantoozy. We all agreed it would be amusing to dress up and go to a goth club, so we did. (I remember that Rupert and I had wanted to do so, for entertainment purposes, a while back, but we never had, so I embraced the opportunity now.) We attended an event in the city, called 'Lash'. Didn't stick around there for long, though, as HissyKitty and Shantoozy wanted to go and hang out in the Botanical Gardens. We saw some of the fireworks and then spent an interminable time trying to cross the bridge over the Yarra River, stuck as we were in a massive, conjested crowd of revellers, but eventually we got to the Gardens and had a good ol' time with our brains in unnaturally enhanced states. I'd have liked to return to the club, as would S., but the femmes were adamantly not into it. It was a pretty good night over-all.

More soon!

Writing Of Writing

2007-01-09T23:56:00.000+11:00

To continue along my backlog of Terran exploits:

Writing of writing, as I was yesterday, things are looking positive for my having some writing, and an illustration, published in an hard copy anthology over in the States. I won’t be paid for my work but the publication is legitimate and the fellow behind it seems to genuinely like the work of mine that he has seen so far. So, hopefully, I shall be in print soon! Small cookies, of course, but it’s a step up from merely being published on the internet.

Not that there’s anything wrong with internet publishing – I’ve done some myself and shall no doubt do some more – but I’ve never been all that enthused by it. I suppose this is because it’s pretty darn easy to do – whether on a 'net-page of one’s own or by having a piece ‘published’ on someone-else’s site, it’s less significant to me because it’s considerably easier for someone to ‘print’ your wordings on the internet than for them to produce, or get produced, an actual, physical document. If someone is going to put in the effort to produce a professional, or even semi-professional, hardcopy volume of writings and they want to include some of your own work then, well, that seems to me to be a bit more significant, is all.

So, yeah, it’s a nice little recent seedling in my life, which shall hopefully come to fruition soon.

…Tune in tomorrow for part 3 in the mildly interesting saga of what I’ve been up to recently!

Well, Well, Well... Well?

2007-01-08T23:11:00.000+11:00

Okay, ’bout time I updated this fucker – ’tis a different year now, after all.

Well, well, well, how are we all? Well, I hope.

For your catching-up pleasure, I shall delineate some of my existential, experiential, monumental stuff and nonsense – in other words, sheit what I’s been doin’. Here’s the first part:

I received my uni. results for the final two subjects I had to do to complete First Year. Did well in English – a solid B. Was kept just 1/2 a percent away from a B in Theatre, though, same as in 1st semester. They obviously don’t fancy the idea of my undertaking Honours within their school, but that’s okay because neither do I. I actually received a letter from the English Dept. inviting me to major in English and go on to do Honours if I keep my results high enough, and this sounds more like it to me! Although, I am also considering possibly majoring and, if I am able, doing Honours in Cinema Studies. I’m not sure either way yet but I’m thinking that teaching movies may prove more fun (and less hard work) than teaching literature, when (or if) I eventually need to get an academic job to support my (possible – or probable?) insufficiently remunerative writing career. Then again, becoming a literary professor may make more sense, my being a writer and all. Besides (and this sounds more appealing), I’d prefer to try teaching the creative side of writing, rather than, say, the history of the modern English novel. Hmmm… I’ll have to see what transpires in the forthcoming school year.

Checking Of Your Head

2006-11-06T20:39:00.000+11:00

Handed in my 2,000 word short story, now all I've got to do is hand in my 2,000 word short story. My other 2,000 word short story, that is. All of 'em autobiographical! But this last one is written in a third person narrative. So, like:

'Shane was a man. A great man. A sexy man. He would rise and go to the mirror and admire his hideous paunch and excessively grand family jewels. He then sat back down and continued writing his blog post with nobody the wiser. O, except the readers, of course. Yet there shouldn't be too many of them to worry about, maybe not e'en one.'

Anyway, to offset the possible bathos that scene might invoke, I shall briefly talk shopping. A recent purchase was the Star Wars Trilogy (Originals, of course) on DVD in their unaltered, unadulterated (or in other words, non-raped) versions. Limited Edition, so they will eventually become collector's items. Haven't watched them yet, nor e'en opened them; we are waiting for our big TV to get fixed (soon!) and these shall be the premiere films to be watched.

Then, I want to show Shantoozy Fellini's Satyricon, which is another one of the best things I've ever encountered in my life. It, too, is truly epic. It's about the ancient Roman demigods. The whole thing's real Ancient Rome type shit - barabaric and excessive yet a massive civilization! Highly recommended to anyone who likes good motion pictures.

Check your heads and later, dudes!

More At Last, Hooray, Ooh Boy, Big Whoopie, Who Gives A ...!

2006-11-01T01:27:00.000+11:00

Sorry again. I’m late again. Yet, then again, I was always a late starter. Later than my friends did I enter into puberty. Again, I was probably the last one of my friends to lose my virginity after a ludicrous amount of missed opportunities where I was far too timid and gentlemanly for my own libido’s good. I am the tortoise, not the hare; through patience I hope to succeed where certain others rush about madly, like ol’ Busy Backson, Rabbit, woodland friend of Pooh Bear, with no clear goals in mind and not actually achieving anything really worthwhile. Don’t misunderstand me, please, for I know I am not guaranteed of creating anything really worthwhile either, but I think the slow but sure path is the best way to high quality, truly professional work, and go suck eggs if you don’t agree, hee-hee.

Anyway, I have been quite busy of late. Uni. has been winding down for the year. Or should I say, rather, winding up, because end of semester is always the most stressful time on the scholastic clock. Theatre is finished with for the year. Our last production saw me directing for the most part, with only a small speaking role and also an onstage appearance as a dead man. The play was “Mad Forest” by Carol Churchill. It seemed to have gone across well.

I puttered along to the uni. bar afterwards with other budding thespians and got thoroughly trashed, a rare occurrence for me because I generally find bars and the people who go there a terrible bore (ooh, how Evelyn Waugh of me!), but I liked my drama class this semester and it was a good night. I wouldn’t want to do it very often, though. Me, an unexciting homebody? To some, perhaps. But not to the ones who matter to me. I like my hobbit-hole, that’s for sure. Yet, I am also aware of the importance of getting out there a bit and mingling with dickhead society every now and again, if only to make me vomit up a bit of chutney or something I’d gotten lodged in my throat. Ah, psychotic humanity! When will sanity and peace reign strong?

I am currently writing an autobiographical short story about ‘a place that has a particularly resonant presence in my memory,’ to quote from the question I am answering for English 12WYL. The story is about ‘a dark and mysterious place which my semiliterate adoptive father used to refer to as, “The lowboar’”. This place was a weird area of our abode that my siblings and I hadn’t really explored before.’ This place was on the ground floor of my double-storey, very Nineteen-Seventies, suburban Australian childhood house.

‘One of the bricks constituting the far wall was vented, and sharp pricks of light serrated the gloom of the room from out of the vent holes in the brick. Looking through the little windows in the vented brick one day, I espied green shrubs and yearned for the vast lush jungle lands beyond, which I could barely glimpse.’

I hope I can make it better than it is at present. I mean, I quite like the segments I quote here but, over-all, she’s kinda shaky.

More soon, Daddy-O’s!