The Last Christmas

It’s Christmas eve and in a few hours we’ll be having our annual family Christmas party. It’s an Event. Every year. We have a website set up for it. We have a very involved Kris Kringle system. It’s fun. It’s quirky. I really love it.

I’m making Flemish stew for the dinner component of the evening. It’s going to taste amazing. Even if I do say so myself.

But this year, there’s a cloud hanging over us and I don’t really know what to do about it.

My cousin is dying. At this rate she will pass as early as today or as late as New Years, but probably closer to Boxing Day. The doctor has put her into a deep sleep from which she will live out the last days of her life without pain.

I visited my cousin when I went to the Netherlands just a couple of months ago. I stayed with her and her husband. So I kinda got to say goodbye, but not really. By then she was already breathing out of an oxygen tank, but she did manage to get dressed up for her thirtieth birthday party, which I am so happy I was able to attend.

Now, before I continue, I would like to say that I won’t pretend that her death will consume my entire existence or anything that dramatic. There’s nothing I hate more than a disingenuous reaction to a death.

My father’s death shook me to the core and has made me, in some ways, an irreparably damaged person. I am convinced that approximately seven years worth of my innocence died with my father that day. So I do realise that whatever I’m feeling now is not on that level.

But I am feeling a hell of a lot more than I would expect to feel about someone who I’ve only had about five or six occasions of face-to-face contact. Yes, I have kept more in contact with her over the years than with my other overseas cousins, but I still don’t really know her. And she probably knows me even less.

This holiday season has been terrible. For the part of the year that contains my big three of festivities (My birthday, Christmas and New Years), I’ve felt horrible. I mean, I’ve still gone out with my friends to have fun, but it just hasn’t been that fun.

Maybe I would feel guilty if I had fun. I dunno. I feel strange. I feel confused. Right now, for example, I can’t sleep. It’s 5:46 am and I haven’t slept yet! I feel like I need to distract myself. That's probably why I'm writing this.

To keep this semi-concise though, I’d now like to write, in point form, a few thoughts, anecdotes and things like that, in no particular order.

1. I had a conversation with my mum about this a few days ago. And she said something that hadn’t occurred to me before – that for my cousin’s family, Christmas will be dead forever. Every one of them from this year forth will remind them of her death. That kind of stuff sticks with you. And that’s horrible.

2. Her story is eerily similar to the Belinda Emmett story. Both had cancers for a similar number of years and both are about the same age. Both their cancers started with breast cancer and then spread to the rest of the body. Both had gotten married quite recently to men who were quite well aware of what they were getting themselves into.

I was at this lunch not long after Belinda Emmett’s death and a work friend of mine made a joke about Rove being single again but that he would have ‘ghost issues’. I normally quite like this person, but for that moment, I genuinely hated her for saying something like that.

3. A few doctors and a psychic have said that she should have died long ago. Like a couple of years ago. But that she’s stayed alive this long through sheer strength of will.

4. OK, I’ll say this: She’s my favourite cousin. Always have been. With all due respect to my other cousins, this is absolutely true. Ever since I was old enough to actually converse with her, she’s been my favourite. I’m not sure why. But I’m sure this is why her death is affecting me like this. I feel a special bond to her.

5. OK, the next confession: It’s probably all superficial. Thing is, she’s cool. She’s pretty. Hell, I’d say she’s hot and we all know it! She has a certain radiance when she walks into a room. She’s always so cheerful and happy and positive, even when she was sick. I'm not saying she was a perfect angel, but she's just one of those people who are instantly likeable. I want to be related to someone like that! I’m proud to be related to someone like that!

The first time I was in Holland, a few years ago, we were having a conversation about relationships and whatnot, and she said ‘sometimes I feel like all I have to do is smile and guys all want to talk to me.’ And she said that as a matter of fact – lamenting it even; with all honesty, without a hint of arrogance and with a surety that I wouldn’t judge her as being arrogant (which I didn’t). And I love her for that.

6. On my last trip a couple of months ago, I was out drinking with her husband and his basketball friends. It was fun. Undeniably. But when I got back to their home and got into bed, all of a sudden, I started crying. Bawling, more like it. I dunno. Maybe it was the 25 or so beers we had that made me emotional, but suddenly I just felt the entire weight of knowing that this will be the last time I ever see her again. I felt so sad for her. I felt so sad for her husband. I felt so sad for her family. I felt so sad for myself.

7. As I was crying my eyes dry, I started thinking of what I could do. She had planned for a long time now to come again to Sydney with her husband in the new year, but as much as we all talked about it like it was happening, we all knew in the back of our minds that it’s never going to happen. So I thought of doing some grand gesture to keep her spirits up, but the only thing I could think of was to give her some sort of token and make her promise to give it back to me in Sydney. But I had no idea how she’d react to that. Whether it be positive, depression or anger. It was corny so I didn’t do it. I decided not to be so dramatic.

When I got home, I ended up writing a song about her (it’s about a fictional dream I have of her actually making it to Sydney) and I had some plan to record it and send it to her but I just haven’t had the time and she now will never get to listen to it. Which in the end is probably a good thing, seeing as though, let’s face it, any song written with my rudimentary guitar and singing skills is bound to be crap.

But I feel like I need to do something.

__________

I am sure there is a lot more to say but I probably don’t need to say them right now.

This is the worst birthday and Christmas in my recent memory. Probably the worst since my first one without my father, but enough has been said about that. And I know that it sounds selfish that I am talking about myself at this time. But as a man of faith and as one who has gone through a death in the family before, I understand that death is ironically infinitely more painful for the survivors. I must believe that her deep sleep will relieve her of the pain and that when she passes she will go to a better place. It's the rest of them – her husband and her friends and her family – that will take the brunt of the pain. And then people like me just feel the aftershocks.

To Oom Gie, Tante Tho, Cynthia and Johan, I’m really sorry for the loss that you’re about to face. I hope you all can get through this. We’re all here thinking of you and praying for you.

To Patrick, I thank you for loving her and sticking by her and adding some brightness to her life in her last years.

She’s my cousin.

She’s blood.

But more than that, I count her as a friend.

Fiona, I bid you farewell.

I love you.

And may you rest in peace.

I'm in Singapore in transit. My ears hurt from the landing. And the annoying woman in front of me had her seat back all flight (even the seat next to her which was empty!). Plus she watched Sweet Home Alabama twice in the same flight, which I can't respect from anyone except Lillian. I need to go to the toilet now.

Idols (but if you don't want to read about Idol, there's more stuff under this...)

Idol is back in full swing. Here’s my quick rundown of it.

Get the two young pretty boys out. They suck. They have no power in their voices and they’re both way too goody-goody.

Ricky is a less gay version of Anthony. Get him out too.

There are three jailbait girls. Reigan is a passable singer but she’s cute so please keep her in. Likewise Lisa who also cute and has a more interesting voice but has absolutely no stage presence. Jessica is alright too but she likes Whitney Houston so I hope she doesn’t last too long either.

Lavina, Emily’s sister, is better looking than Emily but looks like she could bash me up with one arm and she’s just another rnb singer so I hope she goes soon too.

There are three pub singers. Chris is Courtney Murphy’s brother and looks like him except he’s not really fat and has a beard. Mutto should go because he’s nothing special. Damien is my pick of this bunch. He’s a great falsetto and a certain Irish charm about him.

Klancie is my pick of the women. I think she’s the best singer of the bunch but I doubt she’ll go too far on account of her being a country singer.

My pick of all the singers is Bobby. Kinda fugly, but amazing voice. I’d buy his CD.

__________

The Book of Revelation (nothing to do with the Bible)

I saw this movie today. It stars Tom Long, Deborah Mailman, Colin Friels, Greta Scacchi and some assorted naked women. It’s based on a book that I’ve read and loved so I was really keen on seeing this film. The story is about a man who is kidnapped by three women and is used as a sex slave for 12 days before being released. I think the film does the story justice despite having to compress the events of the novel. The script felt a little stilted and stiff at times but the acting overall was quite good.

Recommended but not for the squeamish or prudish.

__________

xtn’s interview with Sandi Thom (in which she doesn’t reply to any of his questions)

xtn: Hi Sandi, you got yourself a very catchy song.

ST: …

xtn: I was wondering, though… why is there a guitarist in your video clip when there are no guitars in your song?

ST:

xtn: Also, I don’t really get your song.

ST:

xtn: I didn’t think punk rockers had flowers in their hair.

ST:

xtn: Are you sure you weren’t talking about folk singers with flowers in their hair? They sang protest songs too.

ST:

xtn: Folk singers. Like Joan Baez. You know…

ST:

xtn: Well, I mean, if you were a punk rocker during '77 or '69 and you had flowers in your hair, wouldn't you be afraid the other punk rockers might want to bash you up?

ST:

xtn: I guess you could have had dead flowers in your hair...

ST:

xtn: Well did you think of other possible titles for your song?

ST:

xtn: Um… like maybe I wish I was a punk rocker (with a safety pin through my nose)?

[Interview aborted]

About living with me:
It's like masturbation except you can do it in front of your own mother

If my memory serves me correctly, we went through this a couple of years ago. It’s people getting itchy feet and changing jobs or going overseas or both. It’s the couples merry-go-round. Either they’re splitting or consolidating. It’s buying property, moving out. Moving elsewhere. It’s buying cars or expensive toys. Or whatever.

It’s happened before.

I think it also happened again two years before that even. So that would make this the third round of quarter-life crises. I think, personally, I felt it most the first time round. Four years ago. After that, I’m just watching.

The cliché goes… there are two types of people in this world – there are doers and there are watchers.

I’ve always been more the watcher.

I guess that’s probably why I’m attracted to writing.

But I also guess that’s why I’ll probably never become a particularly good one.

Five years ago, I took a month-long trip-of-a-lifetime and came back to a deep malaise. And I plodded through it until I turned 24 and snapped. Snapping was a good thing, it turned out. Living at home was also a good thing. It meant I had quite a bit of money stashed away and a big big itch to scratch. So I became a doer for a while. And over the next year or two, things began to fall into place.

The trip had cultivated a renewed level of spirituality in my life, I had willed myself to face my fears and jump out of a plane, I bought a car that I loved (OK, so it was a car I was already driving anyway, but now it was mine!), I bought myself a home and moved into it, I explored (and was given opportunities to explore) possible career advancements and I met someone who I thought, at the time, could have been special.

(In that order.)

But then when things crashed, they crashed quite spectacularly. In a matter of months, I started to get screwed around at work, then was robbed and then dumped.

(Also in that order.)

So I regrouped. I moved back home, found a job that paid no more (but I needed it) and here, now, I’m watching again.

Just sitting. Watching.

While my friends now fret about their future (again), I’m strumming 4 chords and dreaming of becoming the next Jack White.

For far too long now I’ve been craving my own company above all others.

And I’m strangely content while feeling acutely disturbed by it.

If you’re reading this and you’re expecting me to finish off this entry with some sort of call to action, then I’m sorry to disappoint you but that’s just not on the cards right now. I don’t think I’m changing any time soon.

I’m also going on another big trip soon. Real soon But I don’t think this will be anywhere near as catalytic as my last one.

For one thing, I won’t be on my own this time.

Because God knows more time to myself would be the last thing I need right now.

Truth, justice and how scratching one's nose can somestimes lead to full nasal penetration

Introduction

This is something I’ve been meaning to write for a while. But I haven’t gotten around to it and now that I’ve had a bad week at work and I don’t feel like sleeping and I’m stuck on chapter 7 of Magic for Beginners, I think I will.

It refers to one of Beckster’s blog entries. And if you’ve ever read any of my comments on her blog (I would love to start a blog which collects all the comments I write on her blog), you probably have some idea that her writing, to me, is a source of both constant entertainment and constant annoyance. (And you could argue that annoyance is its own form of entertainment.) This is no slight on her or on what she writes. I respect her for her convictions, whether they annoy me or not. And besides, I am simply stating my opinion.

And herein lies my gripe.

Context

To quote:

Censorship is such a distasteful concept, and defeats the purpose of a blog. I thought about whether I should scale back. I thought about whether I’m sorry I wrote what I wrote. I thought about apologising for being honest, on my forum, with my own thoughts. But I’m not. I am sorry I caused distress, but my writing is my own, and isn’t representative of any other moral, social or ethical standard bar mine. I’m not sorry that I have an opinion and chose to express it here. I’m not sorry that my opinion doesn’t agree with everyone else’s and that those who don’t agree with me chose to interpret my writing in the worst possible way. Despite the fact that ‘those’ eople are held near and dear to me and I hurt over the fact that I hurt them unintentionally, I can’t change anyone’s views except my own. I can’t – won’t - pretend I don’t have one.
Tocca’s Orion is not the place for lies.
(Lam, 2006)

Censorship and freedom of speech are two very well-tread roads within the Blogworld. Fitting really, considering the nature of the medium. So I don’t mean to single Beckster out. It’s simply that hers is the latest example and ‘I’m far too lazy to look at and quote from old blogs’ (Harimanow, 2004)

My gripe about this topic is that it invariably ends with some cliched and inane realisation that opinions are what you hold to be truth and you should stand up for truth, integrity, etc. And to me, this is just crap.

Truth is overrated.

Lots of things are overrated.

Actually, anything not underrated is probably overrated.

Anyway, I digress.

Discussion

Self-censorship is not necessarily bad. In fact, it’s often necessarily good.

To illustrate:

If you have thoughts like: "When I see a pretty girl walking down the street, I think two things: One part of me wants to take her home, be real nice and treat her right; the other part wonders what her head would look like on a stick." (Kemper, 1973) then you probably shouldn’t be saying that out loud.

You should probably also seek professional help.

It has been my belief for many years that morality is not about an objective right or wrong. Nor is it about a subjective right or wrong. I believe that morality is about feelings.

I would go as far as saying that the notion of natural rights (e.g. a natural human right to live) is nonsense, but that may be beyond the scope of this discussion (although I’m guessing that I’ve gone beyond the scope already).

To take it back into context, how you decide whether you want to air an opinion or not is not really about whether it’s right to do so, or about integrity. It’s simply about care factor. It’s about how much you care about the possible adverse consequences of airing those opinions.

Here’s a thought experiment:

If you strongly believed that Elvis is overrated (well, he’s certainly not underrated…) but you had good reason to believe that if you were to post that opinion on a blog, then a crazed Elvis fan would react to reading it by killing twelve little boys and their pet rabbits, would you still still go ahead and post that?

Ergo, Beckster (and other bloggers – myself included) posts controversial opinions only because she doesn’t think that her doing so will create any kind of consequences that could seriously have an adverse effect on her.

First principles

I would like to suggest that the story of humanity is the constant struggle between a natural compulsion to survive and keep oneself happy, and that niggling voice over your shoulder that you should be nice (i.e. make others happy).

And if you literally have a niggling voice over your shoulder telling you to be nice – again, maybe you should seek professional help.

Every other philosophical moral world view comes from how humans deal with this constant struggle.

Examples:

If there was a linear scale between 1 for self-preservation and 4 for ‘being nice’, hedonism would be a 1 and altruism would be a 4. Pure socialism would be about a 3 and capitalism about a 1.5 or 2 (depending on how extreme). The concept of justice would be smack bang on 2.5 and utilitarianism would be about 2.8. Surrealism would be a throbbing numeral 1, absurdism would be about ­374.9 and feminism would be about butch women with hairy armpits (but hey, that’s just my opinion).

Why this is important to point out is that these concepts (e.g. justice, socialism) are often taken as having intrinsic (and universal) moral value when they really don’t. They’re just compromises. They're ways with which our humanity can handle the eternal struggle between self preservation and being nice.

Being fed or feeding.

Fallacy

It is often the case that a ‘morally good’ principle is really just saying ‘be nice’ but disguised as something much grander.

Example:

‘You shouldn’t pass judgements on people you’ve just met.’

False meaning: human beings are complex creatures and so you shouldn’t presume to know them only from a few minutes of meeting them.

Real meaning: be nice.

Explanation: here’s a thought experiment.

How often do you hear this?

‘I just met Joe Blogs’ new girlfriend. She seems like a bitch.’

‘You shouldn’t pass judgements on people you’ve just met.’

Probably lots of times. But how often would you hear this?

‘I just met Joe Blogs’ new girlfriend. She seems like a really cool person.’

‘You shouldn’t pass judgements on people you’ve just met.’

Probably not often.

This is because the phrase ‘You shouldn’t pass judgements on people you’ve just met’ really means ‘You shouldn’t pass unkind judgements on people you’ve just met.’

Ergo, this is about being nice. Nothing to do with the general passing of judgements at all.

Conclusion

So here's what it all means to the context.

People who claim integrity or any other moral principle to justify their actions (e.g. blog writing) and believe them to be basic and universal, are mistaken, in denial or annoying.

Postscript

I realise that this discussion is incomplete and, in parts, incoherent. My apologies. This is a big subject so no zealous scrawling at 3:25 am on a Saturday morning is going to do it justice.

So please, be nice.

References

Harimanow C, 2004 Zen and the art of blogging Sleepwalker Books Pty Ltd

Kempers E, 1973 Heads on sticks and other fun summer ideas Psychopathic Bastards Publishers

Lam B, 2006 My own private Chinese Tragedy Tocca’s Orion Publications Pty Ltd

by request...

Celebrity men who should hang it up because their best days are far behind them (and are annoying me by sticking around)

Jack Nicholson
Sir Paul McCartney
Jim Carrey

Today's list:
Celebrity women who should hang it up because their best days are far behind them (and are annoying me by sticking around)

Madonna
Demi Moore
Ashley Olsen
Mary-Kate Olsen

My little ode to the Killer



On the weekend I bought a DVD copy of The Killer (I already own a VCD version) and went home to watch it straight away.

So now I want to write about this, because it is in some ways one of the most influential films that I’ve seen. It’s a shame that to most movie audiences outside of Hong Kong, Chow Yun Fat will be remembered for such turkeys as Bulletproof Monk and the Replacement Killers. Crouching Tiger was a fantastic movie but it wasn’t really a Chow Yun Fat movie. And Chow Yun Fat is NOT a martial artist.

It’s a shame because the man had a very impressive body of work during the 80s and 90s that most people aren’t even aware of.

The Killer, in my opinion, represents the apex of the careers of both Chow Yun Fat and director John Woo, and set the standard for countless action movies to come.

This may not be Woo’s most polished (Face/Off) or his most visceral (Bullet in the head) work. And it certainly isn’t Chow’s most accomplished acting role (try All about Ah Long or Prison on Fire or a slew of others). But it is their most iconic work. Watch it and you will see many other post 1990 action films in it. It is the ultimate show of choreographed gunplay and bloodbath reinterpreted as dance.

But like many classic films, it’s not perfect by any stretch. The fashion is horribly outdated (striped suits all around!). The script is overly simplistic by today’s standards. And Woo’s obsession with themes of brotherhood/friendship/male bonding becomes grating at times. (Get over it!)

Watch it, though, if you’re at all a fan of action films or if you want to see why Chow is a huge name in Asia despite his crappy Hollywood films or if you want to see John Woo at his peak. Watch this and you will no longer think of Quentin Tarantino or Robert Rodriguez as being original filmmakers.

This is an important film. And now I have a copy to lend out. I’m here to spread the word.

Other Chow Yun Fat recommendations
All about Ah Long (drama comedy)
Prison on fire 1 & 2 (action drama)
God of gamblers (action comedy)
A better tomorrow (action)
A better tomorrow 2 (an exercise in excess)
An Autumn’s tale (romantic comedy)
Hong Kong 1941 (drama)
Once a thief (action comedy)
City on fire (action)

I write more as I think of them.

I lost my internet connection a couple of weeks ago, which is not that bad a thing, except that it happened on a night when I needed the internet to send off an application. But the application wasn't so important, seeing as though I felt it rather unlikely that I would get a positive response. So it wasn't so bad after all. What am I trying to say? No much.

On the other hand, this gives me a perfect opportunity to upgrade to broadband. This (I know) will turn me into a pirate (because I am weak) and I hate that. But I will do it anyway. i'll be downloading my 10GB limit every month, I'd say.

Speaking of pirates, I watched Superman Returns last week. That has nothing to do with pirates as such, but it does give me a convenient entry point to say that I also watched Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, whch I personally thought was better than Superman. It was still a somewhat awkward middle movie (it's a trilogy and part 3 will have Chow Yun Fat in it!) but fun nonetheless.

With no internet and no Xbox in the meantime (I lent the Xbox to a friend for further pirate activity) I have been reading books and have now started my project of trying to watch every single movie that Johnny Depp has been in.

So far, I have seen:
Edward Scissorhands
Ed Wood
Sleepy Hollow
Finding Neverland
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
From Hell
Pirates 1
Pirates 2
Dead Man
Once Upon a time in Mexico
Chocolat
The Ninth Gate
Donnie Brasco
Benny and Joon
Nightmare on Elm Street

There's a long way to go.

And last night I had leftovers for dinner. And then I read a book and then I played a new computer game (well new to me) called Heroes of Might and Magic V for way too long. And then I went to bed.

These are exciting times.

PS. My friend is organising to get me an old laptop so I can take it anywhere and do more writing. If this doesn't turn me into a better, more productive writer, then nothing will. This has little to do with anything that I've been speaking about. So I thought I'd tack it at the end.

I'll miss watching Ned Zelic slouched on his couch

With the Socceroos’ defeat at the hands of the ref, and the Italians, I am reminded of why I normally hate soccer. Here is a game where the end result can have very little to do with the actual game. Yes, Australia has trouble handing the finishing blow to the other team. They just tend to attack and attack and then fizzle at the end. And yes, Harry Kewell (the closest thing we have to a Brazilian player) was missing from the lineup. And yes, I know that finishing off attacking plays with actual goals is part of the game, but… the Socceroos were otherwise the dominant team in that game (remember that Australia was already ahead in possessions long before that red card was given to the Italian dude) and yet the final result does not show that one bit.

Soccer must be the most frustrating game for a fan. If I was following a team, like I’ve been following the Socceroos, for an entire league season, I’d probably have a heart attack ten times over.

I suppose this might also explain why there are more soccer hooligans than hooligans of any other sport (except maybe pockets American basketball fans – like when LA fans started riots and burning of cars after the Lakers won a championship – really nasty stuff). It’s just frustration.

It was quite interesting watching that ‘Song for the Socceroos’ program when Ian ‘Dicko’ Dickson was on. His constant gripe was that all the songs on the show were too positive, whereas a good football song should reflect the frustrations of being a fan as well as the winning and the good times. He scoffed at lyrics like ‘Best of the best’ and ‘We can’t be beaten.’ His favourite football song is del Amitri’s Scotland World Cup anthem ‘Don’t come home too soon’. (he gets extra points for it being a del Amitri song).

__________

In other soccer-related news, just when you thought we couldn’t love Guus Hiddink any more than we already do, it’s been revealed that he actually runs a low-profile charity program in South Korea, helping underprivileged kids over there. His latest project with them is to, of course, build them a soccer pitch. Sure he looks like a high school principal with a football pump permanently up his arse, but St Guus makes winners of underprivileged kids on top of making winners out of underprivileged soccer countries. Wow.

Tosser profiles

This is a new ongoing segment of my blog where I profile people I have met who I think are tossers.
Ratings are from 1 to 10 — 1 being not much of a tosser and 10 being the ultimate tosser.
I encourage you all to start your own Tosser profiles on your blogs. There are so many of them around!

TOSSER A
Who: Guy at work. Kinda high up. Has recently started running a lot of departments.
First meeting: Early 2006
Tosser qualification: Overtly company-focused. Seems to worship Anthony Robbins. Draws meaningless diagrams in meetings. Tends to repeat himself to emphasise a point (see quotes)
Quotes: 1. (to a friend at work) ‘You know why you got the promotion, Sally? Because you’re a gun! You’re a gun, Sally!’ 2. (to same friend) ‘When push comes to shove, some people sink and some people swim, and Sally, you’re a swimmer!’ 3. (to me) ‘You gotta play the game. You gotta play the game.’ (referring to some company procedure)
Overall remarks: Not that bad a guy really. Just corny as Hell and has got way too much ‘go-getter’ attitude without doing that much himself except go to meetings. The phrase ‘All talk and no action’ comes to mind. Pity that these are the kinds of guys that move up in our company. I guess he knows how to play the game.
Tosser rating: 5

TOSSER B
Who: Random guy I met playing basketball. Played a pickup game on his team.
First meeting: Yesterday
Tosser qualification: Has obviously watched too much And1 mixtapes. Did a behind-the-back off-the-shoulder move against a girl who was only playing to make up numbers (i.e. was not trying very hard). Passed the ball off the backboard to himself and badly missed the shot (note: none of us had ever met him before. So he was trying these moves against STRANGERS). Constantly made excuses for his bad play. Talked up his past.
Quotes: 1. (after making a pass that got intercepted) ‘I don’t usually make mistakes like that.’ 2. (… about three plays later) ‘Actually I think that’s the first time I’ve ever made that mistake.’ 3. (when my friend was nice enough to say that he’s a fast runner) ‘I’m just relaxing. You wouldn’t want to play me when I’m at full speed.’ 4. (when he shoved past the girl who was guarding him and she squealed) ‘My girlfriend often makes noises like that’ (what the?!) 5. (when describing his past) ‘… when I was playing really good ball… back in the day…’ (he looks to be about 25 at most, so ‘back in the day’ must have been what… 5 years ago at the very most?!) 6. (after he tells us of how he’s recovering from his injury using medical technology that only elite athletes use, my friend says ‘wow, you sound pretty dedicated’ and he says…) ‘I just wanna be the best, you know.’
Overall remarks: He’s like the Ben Stiller character in Dodgeball (even in his stature) plus the wigger ‘tude. If he used to be an elite basketball player ‘back in the day’ then I’m Michael Jordan’s illegitimate child. Oh, and he inexplicably headbutted me on a drive and kept playing (and I was on his team).
Tosser rating: 9

In which I reach a new low point in my life

Today I got my credit card rejected at JB HiFi while trying to purchase the Best of David Hasselhoff CD.

*takes a bow*

Existential Idle

I spoke to this guy once. He had tried out for Idol and made it as far as the celebrity judges before getting rejected. And when I asked him about it, he was dismissive, keen to change the topic and even feigned a poor memory of it.

I couldn’t understand it at the time. Surely it was more significant than that. Surely it’s like one of those once-in-a-lifetime things that you wouldn’t mind reliving over and over. This was two years ago. I was young and naïve back then.

Now I think I know why he was like that.

My Idol experience on Saturday, I must say, was completely underwhelming.

Yes I went.

Finally.

And no I didn’t get in.

It was a big drama going into it. I’ve been talking about it for years and then finally my friend (whom I shall refer to as ‘May’) and I finally decided to go this year. We had a half-hearted training regime (three trips to happy hour Karaoke World) and for once it looked like there wasn’t much stopping us from going this time.

But a mere week away, May started to get cold feet and I got the cold. By Thursday I was feeling better and we went to check out the line for Friday morning. There were maybe thirty people waiting overnight, and one party brought a tent. It didn’t look too bad. I said that I wouldn’t audition without her and she said OK and so we were back on.

Come Friday, we’re both prepared to camp out the night. I was thinking if I didn’t get in, there may still be a chance that a Channel 10 producer might pick out my dashing good looks and land me a spot on Neighbours.

And then the rain came down. Another setback. So Friday, in the rain I walked down to the Sydney Convention Centre and checked out the line. But there was no line. So I found Hall 6 where the auditions were being held and this lady told me that numbers have been down this year so there was no need to camp out. This was perfect because it just so happened that May and I were not at all keen about camping out in the pouring rain. So we were back on.

And from here, everything takes a downward turn.

I won’t give you a blow-by blow rundown of the audition day because, like that guy I mentioned at the top of this entry, I can’t remember much.

But let’s just say that all in all, it was rather unpleasant.

Was it that we were disappointed for getting rejected?

I don’t think so. We never expected to make it. But I guess I just expected more. Expected it to be fun. Maybe gain some insight. But instead we were too tired and everyone was too half dead for it to be fun. At least the girls could get free makeup and hair done. All I could do was watch the girls getting the free makeup and hair done. And when the auditions finally came around some nine hours later, it was swift and clinical and I suddenly got so nervous and clammed up and felt like a balloon about to burst and my voice was shaky and then one of the judges said ‘Thanks, good effort, but I’ll have to say no for the moment.’ And I was out of there. And in no time during all that did I find any of it the least bit ‘fun’.

If I was to make an analogy about it, I would liken it to waiting for nine hours to download a porno only to find out that it’s actually snuff. There may be a slight perverse curiosity to it, but by the end you'd probably feel lesser for the experience.

Stripped bare of all the wonders of video editing, the rush of reality was not something I was expecting or hoping to see. All the TV bits they filmed looked so fake. All those shots of happy people lining up you see on TV are actually measured lapses where the producers managed to get people to look excited for about 30-second intervals with bribes of naff prizes like free hair products.

This line made me cringe.

‘Spread out a little more so that when we film, it looks like the line is a lot longer.’

The only three really genuinely excited people I saw all day were JP, the heavy metal guy who’s been trying out every year, a little girl in a red beret who wore too much makeup and thought she could dance and a huge girl who acted like she thinks she’s a lot smaller that what she is.

There was also a sever lacking of silliness. The only one was a naked man in nothing but a blanket. And when he took off his blanket it turned out he was wearing undies anyway. (Not that I WANTED to see a naked man but you know, it was kinda disappointing that he wasn’t fully naked)

There was a Kelly Clarkson look-alike waiting with her parents and I told May ‘She’s a shoo-in.’ But she didn’t get in. Came out of the audition area to the consoling arms of her parents. And May said, ‘she must be a really bad singer.’ Another girl, two ahead of me in the audition line said this was her third go and the last two times she made it all the way to the celebrity judges. She didn’t make it either. Those two depressed me.

I think that I no longer knew why I was going to audition except for the fact that I had harped about going for a couple of years and I needed to shush my own hype.

But I think that maybe going made me realise that wannabe karaoke singers shouldn’t be in a place like this and that disappointed me. This was a place for people who are used to singing on stages and recording. There’s no fun to be had here for the rest of us.

I think that maybe I was too tired to take any fun from it.

I think that maybe I should have taken it more seriously.

But I think that maybe if I had taken it more serious, I would be crossing the ‘sad’ line, I’d still not get in and I’d be depressed for it.

I think that maybe this show is losing steam and that this could be the last year.

I think that maybe I’m just too old for this crap.

I can’t say I’m sorry I went because at least now I will no longer be left wondering. And I’m very glad that I had May with me because waiting alone may have gotten me close to killing myself by swallowing lethal amounts of free hair products. But I am sorry that I lost a Saturday of my life that I will never ever get back.

That in itself is bad enough.

Love(tt) is in the air

A couple of weeks ago, a friend was saying that this girl was looking to meet new guys and so I said ‘Cool, bring her out.’ And he says ‘She’s a nurse.’ And I say ‘Cool, bring her out.’ And then he tells me that she actually remembers me. We met something like two years ago at my birthday party. The one with the cage and stuff. Anyway, then he tells me to forget it. I didn’t make a good impression on her. Which is fair enough since I didn’t even remember her at all. He says I’m not her type. I ask him why.

Her reasons:

‘He’s too tall, too smooth and too wild.’

Wow.

That’s outrageous.

That’s the best lack of interest I’ve ever gotten.

The best bad impression I’ve ever made.

That’s like a guy leaving my basketball team because I’m too tall, too good and too flashy.

I’ll take that.

__________

Interestingly enough, I told this story to another friend of mine and she laughed.

‘You? Smooth?’ *uncontrollable laughter*

Yeah, thanks Gina.

I thought it was just the ‘wild’ bit that was off.

What?

Oh piss off. You can all go to hell!

__________

Speaking of tall, smooth and wild, Sleepwalker says you should listen to Lyle Lovett’s ‘Road to Ensenada’. The coolest and smoothest album I’ve listened to since… um… I dunno. I don’t tend to listen to music that sounds cool. But seriously, ignore the hair and the face and the history with Julia Roberts. This guy is witty and oozing with charm and attitude. He’s the coolest cat in cowboy boots. He’s like the Snoop Dogg of country music.

But without the hos.

xtn takes the rubbish out

I hope you get to read this eventually. Or else it should be pretty obvious from how I act around you. It shouldn’t really come as much of a surprise anyway.

As far as I know, we’re square now. And if we’re not, you can tell me and I’ll square it off. And then with that, we’re done. I will not be associating myself with you from this point forth.

Here’s what you did:

- You walked out on us.

- You didn’t tell us about it, which consequently prevented us from even going ahead without you.

- You then stole two of us over to your side (which I guess explains why you didn’t tell us).

- When you eventually wrote us your ‘apology’, you left out details and ultimately claimed that what you did was for our own good.

- The details you left out were who you were going to and who you’re dragging with you. (By now you should know that in our circles, information like this runs freely. It’s whether you want to own up to it or not that separates the decent human being from the dickhead.)

If you had had enough of us and wanted to walk out, that’s fine. No grudges would have been taken. But just be a man and tell us to our faces. Don’t drag the rest of us down in your misery. We’re supposed to be your friends. Who the hell would actually risk friendships over this? It’s ridiculous! You’re a sad spineless little man for what you’ve done here.

If you read this and feel any sort of guilt or regret, then good for you. But if you think you’re in the right and I’m just victimising you like you always think we’re doing, then screw you.

And now, I suppose, having called you spineless, I should justify myself for why I’m doing this in blog form, rather than to your face. Here are my reasons.

- I wish to have no further dialogue with you. At this point I do not ask for or want an apology or explanation or retort of any sort from this. This is one-way rant.

- This is what you would do in my place, so it’s almost poetic… and I’m just petty enough to go there.

- I think you deserve a public slagging.

Whatever you think of those reasons, I really couldn’t care less.

I realise that I will still see you around, and probably often, because we float in common circles. At these occasions you can expect a level of civility and courtesy as is fit for any human being. But anything beyond this, you should not be holding your breath for.

The worse thing to me about all this is that while the other guys I’ve spoken to are miffed by what you’ve done, I know at the end of the day you will get away with this and they will forgive and forget. Because they always do. Because they’re great guys who always let you get away with things for one reason or another.

Here’s the thing. You have great friends. I know because they are mine as well. So please learn to appreciate that. Because if you pull more of this kind of crap on them, eventually you will lose them too and you will have no one. Kindness and friendships can only stretch so far.

I have little else to say at this point so I will close with these parting words.

I thank you for whatever friendship we did once have. I can’t say we were great friends but we were friends no doubt. I thank you for the extended credit. It was generous and appreciated. I thank you for all our years of playing together. We had some hard times, but we had some cracking good times too. Some of the best memories of my late youth.

But really, seriously, what you’ve done here is ridiculous.

Sleepwalker and me

He comes back to me from the dead in these times.

On trains. In cars. Walking down the streets of Chatswood on a late afternoon.

Welcome back.

It's good to be back.

So tell me something.

Love is like an apple. You can pick it up and eat it and it tastes pretty good. Especially the red ones. I'm not so fond of the green ones.

What are you on about?

Nothing. It's late. I'm tired.

Tired?

I'm sleepwalking. It's what I do.

So where have you been in all this time?

Well, after I last left you, I travelled down the allegorical highway. Mostly I walked but ocassionally I hitched rides from passing thought vehicles. Along the...

Where were you going?

... as I was saying...

Sorry.

... yes, well, along the way I met a bird and she told me to look for the wise man. She told me that he can give me all the answers I need.

To what questions?

Um... I dunno. Anything I suppose.

Can you ask him what I should have for lunch tomorrow?

No I can't. I'm not seeing him again. This was in the past. You asked me where I had been.

Oh. I see.

Apparently not.

No need to be rude!

Anyway, so I asked the bird where I could find him. And she showed me the way. Past the twin peaks that look like lopsided breasts and over the hill that looks like... um... well, a big rock. And then you will find a mountain. On top of this mountain is a small cave and in this cave is where you can find the old wise man.

You never mentioned he was old.

They're all old.

Who are?

Wise men! Anyway... so I contemplated the idea of finding a wise man who could give me the answers to anything but the twin peaks that looked like lopsided breasts looked far away and the hill was covered with jagged rocks and the mountain was too high and too mighty for a mere figment to conquer. So I said 'Nah, it's too hard. I wouldn't be able to get there'. And she said 'That's OK. I can fly you to him'. And so I said alright and then I climbed onto her back (in a non-sexual manner - this isn't that type of a story) and she flew me past the twin peaks that looked like lopsided breasts and over the hill that looked like a big rock and up the mountain and then she let me off in front of the cave. You have to go in yourself, she said. And so I did. And I looked back to wave and thank the bird and then I was inside and the old wise man was sitting in front of me on a cushion of whispers.

Is this story going to take much longer?

And so I asked him if he was the wise man and he said yes. And then I asked him if he was so wise, then does he know the meaning of life and he said yes. And I said wow, cool!

So?

What?

What's the meaning of life?

I dunno. I didn't ask.

Why not?

I don't care. I'm a figment.

So that's your story?

That's my story.

That story sucks!

You suck more!

I'm not talking to you anymore.

How I made my way back to the computer

The iRiver has gotten me back to the computer. I have a hell of a lot of CDs and it's been really cool to go through all my old records (I'm old school) and remembering that I had forgotten how good some of this stuff is. I'd forgotten how good Eminem is. How good del Amitri is. How damn good Joan Osborne is. Most of these albums bring back memories of some sort. Of better or worse times. So it's been real good.

How it's bad is that now since I'm online I end up chatting to people on MSN til late. This is why I left the computer in the first place. I just wasn't getting enough sleep.

Oh well...

Here are two of my all-time favourite song lyrics (for cleverness, not meaning or sentimentality) that the iRiver has reminded me...

'They say love only comes once in a lifetime
Well once was enough for me
She was one in a million
So there's five more just in New South Wales'
The Whitlams

'Don't get so distressed
If the good life won't arrive
You've been seeing SOS
When it's just your clock reading 5:05'
del Amitri

And the chorus goes:
'We do not lie side by side
And mock the thought of you
And I don’t take her hand and ask
Is this what he used to do?
’cos I just want to free her from
Your jails of jealous dreams
’cos at least a house when it’s empty
Stays clean'

OK I'm losing you. None of you care. Let's move on...

da Vinci Code

I'm so sick of all this hype over the movie and the book. I've read it and it's fun and all... but is it worth all this? Has it changed my life? Well no...

I think it's extremely poorly written as a piece of literature. It's good pulp but it annoys me when people see it as something more important. There was zero character development. By the end, I stopped caring what happened to them....

*spoiler*
And all that stuff about opening that thing without releasing the vinegar on the papyrus.... just freeze the damn thing and cut it open! Take out the papyrus and thaw it out. It all felt like a waste of time...
*end spoiler*

And what about the crappy romance right at the end... are you kidding?!

And the controversial bits... it was interesting but not really new and, in my opinion, does almost nothing to my Catholic faith. In fact, I haven't met anyone who's read it and said that it shook their faith. It's only one of many theories on Jesus, and if it were true (I personally think there's a high possibility that it is mostly true) it should surely change the history of things, but not the faith. Anyway.... I won't go into that right now.

Having saif all that, I'm still going to see the movie. It's got a great cast (any movie with Paul Bettany and Jean Reno and Audrey Tautou is worth seeing), good solid (if Hollywood-y) director. Should be a fun watch.

Close enough

I finally saw Closer. It was everything that everyone said it was. Intense, theatrical, messy. I really liked it. And my, has Natalie grown up...

Here's another thing. Jude Law plays a bastard so well that he does it so often and every time, I wish his character dead. That's an achievement.

You know the first time I saw Clive Owen was in a computer game. Privateer 2: The Darkening.

Anyway, I'm chatting to my cousin in Eindhoven now. So I'm off.

I’m on a bit of a roll. A mini roll. But a good one. Part of it will be lost because I’m not quite as giddy now as I was last night but the feeling is still here.

We won last night. Our mixed team. I was wrong. We can be OK. We’ve improved a lot the past few weeks and last night we beat a decent team by one point. I scored the last basket with 10 seconds to go… but only after I stuffed up the chance to go up by one about 15 seconds earlier. And I missed eight free throws all up. And… alright no negativity.

My friend, A (clever eh, that I called him ‘A’ so that you won’t be able to tell that I’m talking about Alwin), came back from China for a week and a half or something and I gotta say that that had a lot to do with this roll.

I’ve never believed that you can have close friends that you don’t see or speak to or write to very often. A lot of people say ‘I hardly see Sammy Saussagehead but every time we catch up it’s like nothing’s changed and we’re still best friends.’

I think that’s rubbish. I don’t see how someone can be your close friend if you can’t even be bothered to hang out with them (unless you hang out with nobody… then that would be different, maybe).

I still believe that. But I also believe that A, to me, is an exception to that rule. Maybe it’s because our lack of contact is due to oceanic expanses more than anything else, but whatever.

So he came over, without notice (because we very rarely email each other) and for the past week it’s been catch-ups and whatnot. And I feel great about it. Genuinely great. About a lot of things.

Thursday night was Oriented. I hate these events. Last time I went I was stuck talking to some IP lawyer who was telling me that his job is so hard to get into. He was there again this time. And he remembered me. On the other hand, this time Ben unloaded this drunk Indian guy who was very interested in the fact that my name tag said that I am Jean Lee from UBS. But he forgot who I was ten minutes later. Asked me again if I worked at UBS. I just walked away.

Anyway, the point is, this time it was fun again. I was intoxicated, hanging out with good friends, meeting random people. It was liked uni days all over again.

Then came Friday, Shuai and I went to see The Vasco era (see my last blog). I love this band. It’s the kind of sound that I’m really into at the moment. Think White Stripes, Black Keys. They weren’t quite as good as they were at the festival but still pretty good. While we’re on guitar music, the week before went to see my guitar tutor’s band, Livewire. That was fun. They’re an 80’s glam metal band that just refuses to leave that era. It was obviously a rent-a-crowd. But good luck to them. Ben’s a truly amazing guitarist.

Saturday, I’m tired as hell but it turns out to be another fun day. Both day and night having a decidedly maple leaf theme to it. Lunch at Spice-I-am (my current favourite restaurant) followed by pre-night karaoke and then dumplings and handmade noodles for dinner. After that we said farewell to our friend Gord, who’s going back to Canadia. I’ll be visiting him later in the year.

Sunday I spend the entire day playing guitar and pretending to be a rock star of sorts. Then at night I catch up with my psych friends, including Gina who’s also come back to Australia for a short visit, having been working in Jakarta the past year on the avian flu for the WHO. Psych outings can often be hit and miss because it’s generally a conservative group who are mostly married (and act married). But this night was fun. And we figured out that next March will be ten years since our first year psych camp so we’re hoping that everyone can get together then, which for this group is easier said than done…

Monday, I get myself a 20GB iRiver H10 mp3 player! I’ve been eyeing this for a while, watching as the price slowly dropped at JB. I got it for $336, which I’m happy with. I’m always so far behind in technology and when I catch up, I get the biggest one, choosing function over form. The iRiver is like the iPod’s stocky but reliable uglier cousin. But this is the best toy I’ve bought since my electric guitar!

Monday night is A’s departure vigil. We play Scrabble (my first time – it’s a good game) and then I hang out and chatted with him ‘for about 15 minutes’ which turned out to be 3 hours and I get home and I wake up late to work the next day.

I was going to write something mushy and sentimental about him but I think I’ll just forget about it. It’s pointless. He’s my oldest surviving friend and I love and respect him for that. That’s all you need to know. But I will say this, the two of us having gone our separate ways have brought us closer to seeing eye to eye on many topics than we ever have before. Strange how that’s happened. We have a much more similar world view now.

Anyway… I best be getting some sleep.

Or maybe a bit later.

I’m in a good mood.

My great escape

Tonight I’ve decided to blog. Maybe only because for once I have something worth writing about. I went to the Great Escape Festival on the long weekend and it was mostly a positive experience. I haven’t really been to a big festival before. The only one before this was The Feelgood Festival on New Years Day. That was much smaller. Here are some of my thoughts on the weekend. There’s a lot to go through so just feel free to skim through to parts you might wanna read about.

Friday

Mostly crap, really. Started out poorly too. Our prepaid Moshtix tickets allowed us to line up in the exclusive Moshtix line, which was actually much longer and slower than the line to buy tickets on the spot. The wait was about 40 minutes or so. Oh yeah, we also saw our friend Shuai in the line, laughed in his face for having pre-bought tickets, went to the Ticketek line, got rejected, then had to join the back of the line that he was in. Great start. Here’s the rest of the day.

The Fumes: we heard two songs. I loved it. Hard blues/rock. Awesome vocalist/guitarist and energetic drummer. Actually got a called for an encore. I only saw two other acts who got asked to come back. More on them later.

Unkle Ho: We came into the Bunker, saw a guy starting up his laptop and walked out.

The Dawn Collective: First song – this is ok. Second song – eh, alright. Third – I’m bored. Out of here. There’s a guy playing an electric cello in the band, if that says anything.

Dave Graney: Walked passed his stage. He was telling a joke. Or maybe he was singing.

Arabesk: The ONLY act all weekend that started late. Then when they started, they got my attention for about 10 minutes. Half the stage was taken up by the drummer, and guitarist and whichever other musicians where there. The other half was left empty so that the fiddler could jump around and act like Danny Bhoy doing an impersonation of an Irishman.

Hawksley Workman: Played all 3 days. He’s actually not bad. Like Adam Duritz on weed. Halfway through the show the jumping kangaroos invade the crowd and he goes ‘Oh my god, it’s just like my dream!’ and someone shouts ‘Look, they’ve got testicles!’ and then Hawksley starts unbuttoning his shirt. I get up to leave not long after.

Something for Kate: Solid standard rock band performance. The kind of band that built Triple J’s rep back in the early 90s, when they grew on trees. I find their bass player sexy (NB. Their bass player is a woman).

Mia Dyson: The highlight of Friday for me. Started out a little slow built it up and by the middle of her show, she’d packed out the Grove. She’s like Australia’s answer to Melissa Etheridge but more bluesey and less angst. Very energetic performance.

The Darling Downs: I can’t remember them. That’s how good they were.

Silverchair: I’ve never been a fan but they were pretty good. And really packed out the Village Green like no other act on Friday. I left after hearing Open Fire, which is my favourite Silverchair song. I was satisfied.

Blue King Brown: They played some percussion thing, which was cool. Then the girl said ‘This is a song about freedom. So that we can one day have freedom in this country and not have to tolerate our evil government blah blah blah…’ Are you kidding me?! Do you know what country you live in?! Freedom?! From what?! Bad trains?! I left.

Martha Wainwright: ‘Be kind,’ she says. ‘It’s a folk festival after all.’ Er… no it’s not. Are you sure you know where you are? Granted she got a raw deal by getting a lot of feedback but continually going ‘Sorry I have to stop this song. Can we get more vocal? Can we get more guitar?’ got a bit annoying. When she played she was pretty good though.

From here, it’s all downhill…

Sigur Ros: Headlining? Are you kidding?! Over Silverchair? Really? Where are they from? Iceland? Melodramatic to the max. The guy plays his guitar with a bow and from the silhouette it looks like he’s murdering someone. Slowly. I know some people worship this band but I found them excruciating. I’d describe them as a castrati singing to chill out music. Or a whale trying to impersonate Chris Martin. Here’s a question: They’re from Iceland and they sound weird. Bjork is also from Iceland and she sounds weird. Would Icelandic people listen to Shannon Noll or Delta Goodrem and say ‘Man, what is this weird sh*t?’

Waiting for Guinness: Like Arabesk with singing. Bohemian. I think. I dunno. Didn’t stay long enough.

Stephen Cummings: Pretty good, but man he looks old.

Connie Chang’s Cabaret Roadshow: Three things you need to know about the Connie Chang Roadshow, should someone one day ask you to come see their show. One, Connie Chang sings cover numbers like ‘Fame’. Two, Connie Chang is not Chinese. Three, Connie Chang is a man. I’m not placing any judgements, but you just gotta know these things.

DJ Skoob: We thought he was a guy doing a sound check. For serious.

We went home. It was cold.

Saturday

Better start. No lines.

The Vasco Era: Another rock/blues outfit. Australia’s answer to the White Stripes. Absolutely awesome! The front has real star quality. Works the stage, excellent guitarist, great percussionist, great screamer. And he tends to stick his index finger up in a ‘wait a minute’ kind of sign as he sings. I hope to watch them again real soon. The surprise find of the weekend for me.

Joel Plaskett: Entertaining skinny geeky guy with a guitar of the Mraz mold. Also played all three days. He talked more than he sang, which was fine. Set was ruined because some hippie group about 20 metres away was paying their respects to the sun or a bunny or something. Really loud. The jumping kangaroos came again. Someone says ‘Hey look, they’ve got testicles!’

Eskimo Joe: I like them. Melodic, light, pleasant. I never realised how much like Matchbox 20 they are.

Liz Martin: Girl with guitar. I don’t recall too well.

The Audreys: I’m a fan. Not a big fan but a fan. Light whimsical country/folk. The lead singer, who I think is named Tasha (or I could just be making it up because it’s late), is quite sassy. I dig her.

APRA sessions: These were just Q&A sessions with songwriters about stuff. I just went because Lior was there.

Andy Clockwise: I skipped Juan de Marcos’ Afro Cuban Allstars because generally I’ve never understood the fascination with Latino music. Andy Clockwise turned out to be good value. He looked a bit like Dr Who or Where’s Wally, just scruffier. I wouldn’t pay much to see him but I was borderline impressed.

Femi Kuti: African guy with a sax. I wish I skipped this. Because…

Rodrigo y Gabriela: These guys were the most impressive act of the weekend. Hands down. I wouldn’t buy their CD (but would welcome a copy if someone downloads it…) Just a guy and a girl playing guitars. No singing. Absolutely awesome. He’s the picker. She’s the powerhouse. Combinations of strumming and slapping. Wow. They’re awesome. The Riverside filled up and people were standing on chairs and tables. It was like a secret gathering, everyone feeling lucky they’re not watching some African dude and his sax. These guys would have brought the house down if they had not been playing outdoors. For the record, two tables broke due to them. This was the second act that I saw that got asked for an encore. They obliged.

The Bird: I think we saw them. Can’t remember who or what they were though.

The Black Keys: The main blues/rock act of the weekend but in my opinion, they were outplayed by our own acts, The Fumes and The Vasco Era, or even Ash Grunwald if you want to include him. Not that the Black Keys were bad at all but our local boys are better.

Karaoke: We kept warm. That was good.

Paulmac: Here’s the thing with Paulmac, he’s a DJ so I excuse him for having a deck as an instrument, which I would normally scoff at. And he writes very middle of the road songs (with maybe the exception ‘Just the thing’). And I would never buy his albums, even if it was $5. But… both times I’ve seen him live have been VERY VERY entertaining. I have no idea why. Maybe it’s his energy. Or maybe it’s just cos he’s such a genuinely likeable guy. Whatever, it was a really cool set. ‘Just the thing’ and ‘Sweetness and light’ (I think that’s the name of it) really brought the Big Top down. He’s the final act that garnered an encore call, though due to curfew restrictions, he couldn’t oblige the crowd.

We went home. It was even colder than Friday. And smellier. It was very smelly.

Sunday

Entrance no dramas.

Claire Bowditch and the Feeding Set: What’s the difference between her and Sarah Blasko and Missy Higgins and all those other girls with guitars singing twee ‘singer-songwriter’ songs? Beats the hell out of me. I was very underwhelmed. Not bad. But what’s with the hype? She’s likeable enough I suppose.

Perry Keyes: Another surprise packet. A very likeable folk and old time rock and roll act. I stayed watching him much longer than expected.

Lior: The first big act of the day. Look, I am obviously a fan. Seen him perform five times and counting… but I can’t help but think that he’s lost something. He’s become a star. Not that he’s become an arsehole but I think his act is too polished now. Too much playing it up to screaming girls (like what I said about John Mayer). And fist pumps after songs. His performances used to have a wide eyed ‘man, I can’t believe I’m performing to this many people’ kind of feel about them. I’m sticking with him though. I like the direction he’s going musically… yep… you guessed it, more blues.

Paul Greene: I think we walked pass him.

Ash Grunwald: Yet another surprise. I always thought ‘surfie, guitar, probably reggae’. Nope I was wrong. He’s another hard blues man. (This festival was really a blues and roots festival with other stuff tacked on. Martha was right after all.) Very likeable down-to-earth guy, lots of energy, amazing guitar skills. All his songs kinda sound the same but still very good.

Now comes the dilemma. Xavier Rudd, Josh Pyke and Butterfly 9 overlapping times heavily. I decide to give each act half an hour.

Xavier Rudd: I wish I could have stayed longer. He was really cool. Sitting on the big stage all by himself on a podium with drums, little chimes and other percussions, three didgeridoos and guitars and with a harmonica around his neck. This set had this vibe to that. Made people in the crowd look genuinely happy. I mean, there was a little too much hippie-ness in him for my liking but I left wishing I could stay for longer. ‘Let me be’ was breathtaking.

Josh Pyke: Hmmm… I love ‘Middle of the hill’ but I dunno about the rest of his songs. Not bad, but again, guys like him with guitars singing mid-tempo songs practically grow on trees. He’s like a Claire Bowditch except I like him a bit better because I have a gender bias.

Butterfly 9: They’re a little soppy and daggy and there were maybe only twenty other people watching them with us but I love them. These guys need more confidence because their music is beautiful. I’ve seen them three times now and they remain one of my favourite Aussie acts. Here’s hoping they get noticed…

Bernard Fanning: I love this album, and although his performance wasn’t bad, it was really no-frills and workman-like. I remember seeing him in an early Powderfinger show and he had this charm about him. Now he just seems to play his stuff and then leave. Nothing more to it. Maybe he was annoyed that Donovan Frankfurter or whatever his name is got top billing ahead of him. But this was pretty much just like listening to his CD but really loud.

The Mountain Goats: The guy has the same singing style as Cosmo Whatshisname from Weezer, except the Goats do more folky tunes and less rock. We left early but only after they fortuitously played my three favourite songs of theirs first: ‘This year’, ‘Dance music’ and ‘Love love love’. They’re OK. I don’t love them.

Bob Evans (real name, Kevin Mitchell from Jebediah): I absolutely loved this album when it came out a few years ago. And for some reason, nobody noticed it. They’re great country/folk-tinged pop songs. I was reminded of how much I liked these songs and surprised by how well I remember how to sing along to them. In fact, I sang along more to Bob Evans than any to other act on the weekend.

Decoder Ring: An Apple I-book is NOT a musical instrument. Do I need to repeat myself?

We went home. It was cold again.

My personal highlights

Best act of the weekend: Rodrigo y Gabriela

Best new band discovery: The Vasco Era

Best female act: Mia Dyson

Best male act: Xavier Rudd or Bob Evans

Best party: Paulmac

Best realisation: That there are many random people that I wish I could hit with a rubber-coated mallet. Pity I’m a pacifist, an abider of the law, and just plain non-psychotic, really.

Best sideshow: the be-testicled jumping kangaroos (not just because I know one of them personally through work)

Worst act: Maybe Unkle Ho… all 30 seconds of what we heard.

Worst big act: Sigur Ros… sorry, these guys are a joke.

Most annoying: Either smokers who blow smoke in my direction or random moments of hippie-ness, like random dancing and sun worshipping and whatnot.

Second most annoying: That we have to wear those stupid entry armbands for all three days. Yes they survived multiple showerings, but still…

Biggest stinker: The fact that every night was headlined by an international act, while there were better, and more locally famous, Aussie acts playing before them. Sigur Ros over Silverchair, The Black keys over… actually, there wasn’t anything else that major on that night (Paulmac could fit the bill as a headliner but his set was much more suited to the Big Top anyway rather than the main stage.) and Donovan Frankenstein over Bernard Fanning. I know that this is probably the only way they can get the international acts to come. But it still stinks.

Best food: A toss up between the Hare Krishna food and the woodfire nachos.

Most amusing thing to be followed by moments of disgust and concern: Blowing my nose every night to find that my snot was black.

More Magic stuff

Back with a new chapter!

Woohoo!

Here you go!

Cheers!

The basketball bit (if you don't care, then skim through or skip entirely)
Tonight we lost yet another basketball game and I think it's all beginnng to be a blur. I know that we've never played together and some of our players are new to the game etc. But I don't even think we're playing the best with what we have. And I certainly haven't played my best. Thing is, for me to play my best, I need to be practicing more, training more, get fitter, lose some weight. But you know what, I don't think I can be arsed. I have this idea of me on the court. The kind of player I am. The idea is based on my memories of how I used to play. A whole lifetime and about 15 kilos ago. I used to have so much energy, so much hops. And the game was much more enjoyable. Starting out playing with taller people, I've always envisioned myself playing outside, as a facillitator and defender mainly. I would score in a pinch too. Good for about 10 a game. Now, I try to score more but am more often than not unsuccessful. The one part of my game that remains (more or less) intact is my pride and joy driving game. I still feel that I can drive against just about any defense. Only thing is, I can no longer finish. My hands just don't move like they used to. My mind don't either. Thing is, I'm starting to question whether I was really ever as good as I thought or if I was just playing against really crap competition. That seems unlikely though. I know I was more motivated before. Now I'm kinda on cruise control. Anyway, I'm bored talking about this. I should think of more ways how we can win.

The writing bit (and life and stuff)
I started writing again last night. Wrote a page of my Magic story but then I had to stop. I'm in the worng mood to write. I haven't written any more tonight. That's why I haven't blogged either. I have so little to say these days. That's also why I've put on hold my next big personal writing project. I need to feel excited again. The only things that I feel excited about these days are work possibilities and guitar playing. Two things that are right now not that great but the forecast is bluer skies ahead. Well, at least I'm not unhappy. My friend (the O in H&O) sounds miserable. Miserable and melodramatic. He said one night he snapped and decided to take all his stories off H&O. So now I'm one again. I'm not going to do that. I've left too many things unfinished. The new Christian will follow though. He might bitch and moan about it. And it might take ages. But he'll follow though. Magic for Beginners will have an ending.