Christmas Cards.

You know those piss-weak, self-indulgent, christmas cards that you get every year from over achieving families (usually people that your parents used to hang out but haven't seen since back in the days when people smoked inside at parties, or you are distantly related to through marriage). They suck. Here's mine for 05'

Season's Greetings and Happy New Year from James Ross-Edwards incorporated!

I hope you have all had as fruitful a year as everyone at J.R-Einc has!
Just to let you know just how proud we are of James, and all his achievements, we thought we would take some time out from silly-season festivities to list every single step James has done this year, in the process hopefully making you feel like an under-achieving twat.

2005 started with a literal bang this year as James bumped his head while drunk in a tiny, dank hostel/motor Inn in Canada that he called home for three months. Being an outdoorsy traveller type, there was no pinning him down, spending the best part of January and February unblocking toilets in the worst 3.5 star hotel in Whistler! On the occasions that he actually did go skiing with (insert friends names here) he enjoyed it immensely saying often that 'my favourite part is lunch'.

After a brief trip to the city that never sleeps, James made a stop off to catch up with his younger brother Pubes who has spent this year living in Ireland. James soaked up the atmosphere in Ireland, quickly learning that you do not get thrown out of pubs for vomiting inside and that 'gypsy's don't like being called "Pikey's"' it was time to get back down-under and take legal action against Guy Ritchie.

The low flying buzz of the march-fly signalled the start of James' third and final year studying arts at the University of Sydney. Politically minded from his fantastic upbringing, James involved himself actively in the STOP VSU campaign, finding that the best way to get the message across was to sit quietly at the back nodding in agreement but not getting to close...Everyone knows that hippies smell like crap. Throwing himself back into University life, James was involved in (insert clubs and soc names here), and needless to say was often a little too familiar with some of the 'more social' aspects of university life (insert pause for understanding chuckle from baby boomers whose education was paid for, and thus had way more money to spend on booze).

James still works as a bartender at the infamous Albert's tavern, and is said to have a top rapport with staff and customers alike: 'James not only sucks the marrow out of life, but also the fun out of a workplace and the tar out of cigarettes'.

James' year was also filled with a visit to Perth, in which some Hari Krishna's tried to poison him and some guy in a pub called him a 'queer bastard' as a stab at his highly acclaimed boy-george style fringe. With a BA behind him, our young hero is thinking of getting a job this year as a CEO or maybe a heart surgeon.

(This is the part of the christmas card, in which the family/individual pretty much just squeezes anything they think could sound respectable/credible, and thus invoking jealousy)
Oh yeah, did I mention that James met (insert band members names here), has no problem getting into (name cool bars/nightclubs) here. I wish he could be hear to sign this card now but he's down on Crown St posing and telling people that he knows the Banggang DJs and is somehow related to one of the guys from Sneaky Sound System... Did I mention that he knows someone at Cabana bar...so any 18 year old girls, he can't get you in, but if he eventually buys a collared shirt and a pair of shit square toed leather shoes then maybe he'll see you in there eh?

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all,
Hopefully catch up with you all very soon (hopefully this letter has made you want to catch up with me more... By sending you this card I'm probably just gloating about my achievements or want something from you.)

James Ross-Edwards Incorporated
xoxo

21 years in Freddy Mercury's shadow

It was my 21st birthday last Saturday.
Just another year that I have not yet achieved my life goal of making it into the social pages in the Sun-Herald. I like to think that all is not lost though, I have made progress.

Alot has happened this year though, I would be lying if I pretended that it was a vacuous space of nothingness. I finished uni, got a radio show, learnt how to drive a forklift, picked up the phrase 'whatever, get over it', stopped saying the 'c word' so much...I'm not sure about my social skills, I have either become more awkward - or maybe have stayed the same but have begun to realise that I should make the decision to either shut or open my mouth and go with it. Halfway town is frequently the wrong place to be.

My last birthday was spent in the hallway at a disgusting hostel in Canada, this one was at home... Props and love to the few consistencies!
- Brad
- Annika
- Booze
- Peter Stuyvesant

Thank you to everyone who has been a part of my life for the first 21 years. I couldn't have done it without you all. Notable mentions to PUBES who is still swanning around in Ireland with his best mate Tim Rogers - I will see you soon Pubie... Also I hear Beaver got a ton! That's good isn't it Pubes? Ps. Cheers for the perfect present, a fiver in a card.

In regard to Saturday night:
Also rans go to Brad, Sam, Adam and Will (not Spencer and Anderson) for insisting that we keep drinking until 7:40am at Vegas in Kings Cross... It was just like old times, except we used to have souls... Also to Ng, Emma, Nick and Andy, soul-less freaks indeed.

Last but certainly not least, Annika, for contending with me and Brad, the two most inadequate tour guides ever. People from Sydney should know more about their own city than people from Perth. Also for my present, which is the coolest thing I've ever got.

So cheers, I'm off to go find my own style... or I might just copy the Strokes, cos noone else has done that yet.

Anyway, please comment. (there's a shit load to comment on here, trust me... If you don't think this post was funny, go back and read it again.)

NEVER GIVE UP (just thinking about Dawn)

The last several weeks I've been doing 'real work', in fact real mans work. Here are several facts I think you pampered, blog-reading, modular-tsubi christmas party going, bang-gang dj befriending, jobless cretins may find useful:

1. If you come across a fork-lift driver known as 'grandad' be warned... Especially if you are 'one of those fucken dumb sluts pickin kids up from school...Fucken bitches can't do a U-turn, can't park, Jesus!'

2. There is this massive industrial hardware place in Bankstown called 'Express'...It's like Bunnings except the staff don't wear tomato-coloured shirts and are far more manly. I have been there numerous times to pick up orders (yeah thats right, orders!) of (sniff) various nuts, bolts and other(sniff) components necessary to (sniff) erect scaffolding... Anyway, I have never been anywhere in my life with a) less women and b) more homosexual innuendo...When I first walked in there I thought it was the set for gay porn. A word of advice... don't bother trying to explain this to co-workers.

3. Attaining a Bachelor of Arts majoring in History and Performance Studies does not qualify you to use an angle grinder, drive a forklift or indeed make you a passable worker.

COMPLETELY UNRELATED NOTE:
Potential radio names:
'Trousers Naroo'
'Monkey Allan'
'Undies O'Halloran'
'Joost Van-Tastic'
- LISTEN TO JAMES, STEVE AND SOME BAND FROM PERTH FRIDAY 2ND OF DEC, 1-6AM - FBI 94.5FM

You will know me when you see me... I'll be the one with the pink carnation

A few things you might not know...

* Backpacker cruises make for shit hangovers the next day... I think its all the English people in novelty t-shirts - 'Fuck me I'm famous', the more simple 'sleazy' or the classic pun 'I'm not a vegetarian but I'm off my chops'.

* It's quite an empowering feeling sitting in Kings Cross maccas late at night. Whether it be chatting to the guys from the year below at school that have made the lucrative career move of permanent part-time cocaine user or staring at junkies thinking 'that's sad... Remind me never to do that' - It's a great way to think you have over achieved... How does that song go?

* The bongos at Cargo Bar have a microphone in them (after the cruise, it's not like I go to Cargo all the time... God. I'm way cooler than that, I listen to music and go to late night venues that you've never heard of - Most of the bars I drink in you need to knock on a red door, then a doorbitch stares through a gap in it, decides whether you're cool enough then either lets you in or rejects you... Out of all the times I have been to these said bars if have only been turned away like 13 or 14 times, but I go out alot, and a few of those times I was with a few really ugly people...so). When I got up to play them I realised that instead of wasting the microphone on amplified percussion you could turn it around and yell things into it, it was bloody loud. Of everything profound or funny I could say to the entire bar do you know what I said?
"Brad purrs like a Wolverine" (to this I have to give a footnote-style nod in the direction of Roland Ellis).

* I have $1.77 in my bank as of this morning. It's actually not that bad because I have money in a different account. Still, a man needs really expensive pants and shoes.

* According to Chuck Hahn the James Squire porter ale goes really well with ".....Mudcake"

* I'm going to open a thai restaurant... I'm thinking of calling it Thai-burculosis, Clauds thought it was a Thai-ribble idea though.

Selection of Quotes vol. 1.

* 'He/She has a head like Parramatta Road'
- Noone actually said this, I was just thinking of new localised insults when I was driving down the road and this one came out on top.

* 'He definitely has a fair dash of Anglican in him'
- Will, offering insight on a good friends hate for an unmown lawn

* 'Calm down mate...There's a fucken drought on!'
- Apparently the solution to any argument in Wagga (courtesy S. Lloyd)

* 'Gin is the new vodka'
- Not quite apparently, 'but it is up to us bartenders to continue the education of gin with our customers...' according to Bars and Clubs magazine. October, 2005

* 'It's not exactly 9 to 5, you know... It's all over the place a bit...so...'
- Awkward conversation involving the question of 'what are you up to now?'

* 'Do you mind if I whip out the back and suck down a fag?'
- Lucas' constant request, sometimes not even at work.

* 'PENS DOWN MEANS PENS DOWN!'
- Angry old lady examiner said to girl today in exam in response to the question 'can I please write my name on the exam?' She did not relent and the girl had to hand in her exam with no name on it. Irrational following of rules, anyone?

* 'Yes.'
- The answer to the posing challenge to creative design: 'Is there such thing as a pair of sunglasses so obnoxious that even Jesus would look like a dick if he wore them?'

* 'It's absolutely fantastic!'
- Cameron Shepherd on being selected in the Wallabies touring squad, and nearly every question he has been asked in the last 5 years with exclusion to apologies about jumping on a car.

SEPERATED AT BIRTH? KRISTENSEN CALLS FOR FULL INQUIRY

When I awoke on Sunday morning, my bitterness over having to do a take-home exam slightly subsided when I realised that while I was asleep I received a text message from the very-soon-to-be-in-Sydney Annika.

She had written to me suggesting that she had just encountered my long lost twin brother, he was on stage singing in the band Faker. After receiving this message I did some research and found some photos of the guilty impersonator posing to be me: it appears the band name 'Faker' is more than appropriate doesn't it...hahahaha.

I don't really look like him that much I don't think...Sure we are both the front-men of New-wave rock bands and we both look great in tight denim...But the similarities end there. And we both have 'lovely fair skin' - quote an old lady in the shops last week.

Personally Ak, I think I look more like my brother Bernie pictured below...but I guess we will have to wait for the DNA samples to come back from 'the lab'.

A rock and a hard place

Today (Tuesday) being Melbourne Cup day was a very interesting day at work. Not only is work strewn with decorations and real-life ponies with real-life shit as part of the theme, BUT, we are extremely busy, AND, we have to dress up. This is not always a bad thing, last year I got to be a bookie and wear a cool polyester plaid suit and hat. This year I had to be a jockey.

Having anticipated that we would be dressing up I did not wear my work cl0thes to work as I could not be bothered ironing a shirt that I would inevitably not be wearing anyway (actually my mum usually irons my shirts for me anyway) so I wore 'normal clothes'. When I woke up this morning to put on said normal clothes I noticed a t-shirt in my drawer that hadn't been worn in ages: the best bit about this is that is was a 'Human Nature t-shirt. It was given to me as a birthday present about 5 years ago in a flurry of year 2000/2001 humourous irony.

Anyway, so I was wearing a 'Human Nature' t-shirt underneath pink and purple jockey silks - Camp, granted. After the race at 3pm everyone else changed out of their costume into other stuff. What was I to do? Do I wear pink jockey silks all night or take them off and expose my 'Human Nature' t-shirt to a crowd of people that had been drinking all day and probably would not appreciate the humour that I find when I see myself or a fellow human wearing boy-band merchandise? I ended up keeping the jockey silks on all night and getting more compliments than abuse... there is something about when a long-haired, chemical abusing, boy-predator tells you that 'it's your colour' that makes you think again though... or not.

take home exams.

James' Take Home Exam (take that HSTY 2009!):
Students must answer two questions. You must not use the same material twice. Also you can't answer two questions referencing the same material.

1. 'I wish Brian could speak so he could say 'I love you' back to me':
- Is Brian my elderly mute lover or just a small dog? Discuss

2. Critically analyse the way Brads jaw clicks when he chews.

3. If Ng was to wear white tennis shorts to a party at the Mandarin Club, to listen to Levins play mash ups of Britney and Gwen Stefani in an ironic display of coolness would you go? How many more layers does this story need to be postmodern?

4. 'It's like 10 000 spoons when all you need is a knife' - Alanis Morissette
Discuss with regard to irony.

5. Explain with reference to Foucault why Goonbag likes going to Cargo Bar so much.

6. Critically analyse End of Fashion's appearance at the Arias. Cutting edge young talent or wankers with shit hair? If you were Luke Steele would you be upset that
a) That guy from End of Fashion is going out with your sister
b) You kicked him out your band, only to have him form a new band that sold more records than 'Sleepy Jackson'.
c) Your little sisters band is also doing better than your band.
d) Ironically, in the last year, the only time anyone heard 'Sleepy Jackson on the radio' this year was indirectly through a catchy Ben Lee song.

7. Explain in less than 50 words why you would like to work at General Pants Co.

Holy General Pants!

I took my younger brother Peach to Macquarie centre this arvo because he needed to buy some stuff so he could be cool at a party tonight - I wonder what Governer Macquarie would say if he saw his own shopping centre, he'd probably be pissed off because he couldn't get a park near Bayswiss.

Anyway, we went into General Pants because they are the preferred outfitter of cool teens. On entering the store, a hip young dude with an eyebrow ring approached us and said 'How ya going boys? What you up to?' I mumbled something about being 'Good thanks' hoping to end the conversation - not because I don't like hip dudes, I'm just not very comfortable in a retail situation. Alas, he then followed up on this with 'Dude, where'd you score that jumper from? Its rad!' I responded with 'Umm I got it from the Glebe markets ages ago...Its pretty old' (All of a sudden feeling very Fernando Frisoni 'Who's Looking Hot in Sydney' from the Sun-Herald). Fair enough, being nice to potential customers is a good way to sell stuff, but does he have to bring me to a General Pants level of wankerdom when I am clearly trying to appear distant and suttle (read blase and cool).

It didn't end there. The second, more-senior young hipster (he had a bigger set of keys, so perhaps a manager) approached with a similar opening line. He then followed up with a stare followed by 'man I have the exact same jeans, where did you get them from?' My timid and vulnerable response explained where I got said jeans from. Despite my prayers to the God of awkwardness and public-relations the conversation did not end hear. He then started to say, 'Really, I didn't think (said store) stocked (said pretentious clothing label) anymore'
'Umm I don't really know...' (read I want to go home).

He then started to regale me with an awesome story that his cousin managed a store in the Strand Arcade that was having a sale, and that I should go down. I don't really understand his logic, I'm apparently already a big enough spanner by virtue of owning these pants, why do I need more? The somewhat one-way conversation then went down the inevitable path of him telling me how many pairs of these jeans he owned, 16 I think it was? I hope he kept the tags on them, he could take them back and refund them for a deposit on a house or maybe a tank of petrol for his mums landcruiser (see, now I'm being slightly hypocritical, granted - even though my mum drives a hatch-back).

Only last night at work I was wearing the offending jeans, when a friend Kym pointed out that I was a complete hypocrite as I always am the first to call people wankers and place them in bored and generalised categories. So this story is dedicated to Kym, who has made me think that - maybe I've lost my edge? Have I sold out? In all fairness when you're as skinny as me, it is hard to find pants that aren't massive - thus jeans made to be painted on for your normal fashionista on Crown St fit me pretty well. So maybe I have sold out Kym...At least I'd blend in if I ever need to go undercover in Darlinghurst.

The Vagabond Paper's

*This column is now being renamed 'The Vagabond Papers' after this rad book I've been reading. The book is selections from a 19th century journal of this guy known as 'The Vagabond' who travelled around the world and wrote about all he saw. He was quite the humanitarian consider he was from respectability-obsessed Victorian-England, and he appeared to show a dislike for upper middle-class brats from Melbourne. I only know one of those, but I share his sentiments 150 years on and thus am keeping him alive in name at least.

*It has recently been brought to my attention that I haven't done much lately. This was pointed out to me yesterday by Brad, who upon arriving at my house to drop something off asked me what was up? I thought about it for a minute and then realised...Shit, nothing, at all - unless you want to hear about an essay I'm writing about on 'Respectability and Larrikinism' in 19th century Sydney... a gripping analysis of a dichotomy that divided the colony and I will argue, led to an notions of an imagined 'egalitarianism' that many people still think exists in this country today... Speaking of that essay, its due in 2 and a half hours and I am a good 800 words shy of finishing it, and I'm wasting all my best words here... Like amelioration and propensity!

*Additionally, my attention has been roused by more stories of this columns favourite celebrity, The Mysterious Goon Bag. The Silver Handbag has reportedly been swanning around with Brad at the races, receiving free drinks, and even meeting a bunch of Cops and getting taken home by one of them (allegedly a lady one) to their palatial Hornsby studio... Goonbag wasn't available for comment, however his mum did confirm that 'Dave's just having a sleep now but I'll get him to call you back later James'. Thank you Mrs Goulter.

*In other news, I am the flavour of the month with a selection of people's baby photos on my fridge indicating that they are having 21st Birthday parties and I am in fact invited. When discussing how to deal with multiple engagements on one night it was confirmed by a multiple sources that 'Unless you're good mates with the guy having it, you should go to the chicks one, cos there'll be more chicks there and, deducing to a greater chance of pashing someone'... For more great insights like this, stay tuned to this column, or this columns sources.

*A certain someone has let the cat out of the bag by claiming that another certain someone has assaulted their game badly by being recently seen to a certain someones former certain someone. Someone will pay for this, certainly.

*Is wearing matching aqua tights and a billowy shirt OK if you are a middle-aged Eastern Suburbs childless trophy wife? What if you aren't?

Good Morning!

www.jamesandsteve.blogspot.com
I'd never looked at this myself until just then. Steve apparently has a blog about our top-rating late-night, fortnightly radio show on fBI 94.5FM

Good news you can now listen online at www.fbi.org.au

And no, we still don't have presenter profiles yet... One day, and I'm going to write the most amusing answers to that questionairre when we do - I will outwit and outquirk everyone if it's the last thing I do.

Highlights:

1. Very early last Saturday morning at the Crowie (yeah, so what) I said hi to this guy who was two years above us at school whose name I won't mention 'cos I might be scared of him. Anyway, being very civil I asked him how it was going. His reply went along the lines of
'Fucken, I'm fuck fucken (c-word that I never use, not even if a car ran over my foot... Unless it's an amusing word play: for example 'Don't take that rubbish from them. Stand up and be cunted!')
So I said 'Cool, so you've had a good night then?'
....
The story goes on, but you know those people who always get aggressively defensive (oxymoron anyone?) For example, if I were to ask you, the reader, 'Where are you working at the moment?'

non aggressive-defensive response: 'I'm working in a pub at the moment, I quite enjoy it'
aggressive-defensive response: 'What am I doing? Mate I work in a pub, I don't give a fuck, whatever y'know... Yeah I live with my parents, fuck, I don't care...Fuck, I do whatever the fuck I want...'

A defensive-aggressive responder has many of traits of an aggressive arsehole, with the difference being that an aggressive-arsehole usually doesn't feel the need to justify themself to other people that haven't even called them into question.

* On another note my brother met Tim Rogers in Ireland last week. They had a short conversation before the Youami frontman said: 'You better go to bed mate, you look pretty fucked'
The Pride inside me! Pubes has kicked a goal!

* Rumours:
A certain someone is in a certain someone elses bad books after a certain someone called that certain someone a junkie. In all fairness to the certain someone, apparently just cos you take a butt-load of drugs it doesn't make you a junkie. It just makes you cool as shit.

Stay tuned for previews of this Spring Carnival's blockbuster: 'There's Something About Brad'. Brad has been reported to be suited, booted and carving up Randwick and surrounding night spots - Despite a few losses on the horses, Brad appears to have more than enough Philly's to soften the blow (hahahahaha)

I'm starting a 'The Streets' cover band. I will be on lead vocals...

PICTURES OF COOL SHOES TAKE OVER JAMES'

HOTMAIL ISN'T WORKING SO I'VE BEEN SCOPING MY NEXT TACTICAL MOVE WHEN IT COMES TO PURCHASING SHOES FROM OUR GOOD MAN 'KEVIN SELLS NIKE'. HIS NAME IS 'KEVIN SELLS NIKE' BECAUSE HE DOES, AND DOES IT DAMN WELL TO.

IN OTHER NEWS:

+ GOING TO PRESETS TOMORROW NIGHT AT SYDNEY UNI!
+ DAVID HICKS HAS BEEN SPOTTED AROUND TOWN, MORE THAN OFTEN ON A PINK YOUNG GIRLS MOUNTAIN BIKE... WHEN QUESTIONED ON REASONS FOR FIRSTLY RIDING A BIKE PRESUMABLY STOLEN FROM A GIRL UNDER 14 AND SECONDLY BUT ONLY SLIGHTLY LESS IMPORTANTLY: 'DAVID, SHOULDN'T YOU BE AWAITING TRIAL/ROTTING IN GUANTONOMO BAY - WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON SYDNEY'S NORTH SHORE?'
DAVID HAS FREQUENTLY REPLIED... 'I'M TRYING TO SCHEME CHICKS... AND COULD YOU CALM DOWN FOR A MINUTE? THERES A DROUGHT ON! aLSO, DO YOU KNOW WHERE I CAN GET A "FREE SCHAPPELLE" SHIRT AND MAYBE EVEN THE NEW GWEN STEFANI ALBUM? THAT SHIT IS BANANAS MAN!!!!!!!!'
+ I KEPT GOING WONDERING WHY MY BLOG SEEMED REALLY DIFFERENT FOR THE PAST FEW DAYS... MORE GEEZERish THAN NORMAL, THEN IT DAWNED ON ME... FIRSTLY I DON'T WEAR FRED PERRY OR BEN SHERMAN JACKETS, MY URL ISN'T www.thestreeets.co.uk, AND I'M NOT MIKE SKINNER - I'M JAMES (identity crisis solved!!)O!! d'ya know what I mean mate, I was well confused n'that?
+ IN LIGHT OF THE LAST BREAKING STORY I WILL NO LONGER BE TOURING WITH DIZZEE RASCAL AND MIA AND NO LONGER HAVE PLANS TO 'head back into the studio to record my 3rd full length album: "Lager, crisps and E's...yeah mate, sorted"'
thats it for the Breaking News today, good afternoon

...dog on surfboard with sunglasses at charity benefit...
...credits
...the end

THIS WEEKS HEADLINES

FINALLY A RHYMING SEQUEL TO 'ANGRY LONERS KILLED SEQUINNED JEN'!

after a several month hiatus 'Big Coronas or Tiny Men' is back in production! (for first two chapters read - bottom post of this blog).
BCorTM's brainchild James stated from his writing studio the other day:
'Yeah i know its been a while coming, I'm just glad to be back... I'd just like to thank my trainer and my family for keeping me fit in these not-the -least-bit-trying times. full credit to all the boys, they done good, they run strong and we'll be back even stronger next year - the location less exotic, the observation even wittier and the in-jokes more pertinent'

IN OTHER NEWS:

- A workmate told me that i had a way with words last week... does that mean that Sara Blasko might dig me? Does it matter that the words that I had a way with started with F and C???

- the show on FBi 94.5fm (FBi Luvs U!) that is sometimes known as 'Overnights - w/ James and Steve' is excited to announce that FBi may be commenciing internet streaming!! this means that you can listen to me and super-Steve talking about each others The horoscopes and stuff. Internet streaming comes extra handy if you live in hard to reach places that aren't sydney eg Perth or more specifically at clauds, annika, tim or bolts' houses or maybe in Adelaide in toms college dorm in between spankings and easter egg hunts with homoerotic over and undertones. Such technology could even be handy if you are my brother in Ireland trying to balance being Aussie all while being the ladsiest geezer outside of the Gallagher brothers and maybe the Libertines on a bad day. Finally this technology would be handy to listen to your good mates radio show if you are an in-love, balding red nut from Canberra who didn't even call me or email me to tell me how Vietnam was.

- I've finally made a new uni buddy that is in all the same classes as me. His name is Teenaged-starry-eyed-sweep-fringed Monster, he is the nicest guy ever and even though he wears badass black acid-wash tight pants, Reebok pumps and has multiple lame tattoos including mainly stars and lightning bolts he is great and I love him - stay tuned for a photo (actually a drawing done in biro) once i work out how to use a scanner.

- BREAKING NEWS:::JAMES' NEW UNI FRIEND (the monster looking one in Reebok Pumps) IS AVENGING SEQUINNED JENS DEATH BY ATTACKING HER KILLERS - ANGRY LONERS - Angry loners at the top of the Monster's hit list appear to be Thom Yorke from Radiohead and David Campese, former Australian Rugby Player and St Ives Sports store owner. Yorke and Campese have been seen together several times often just waterrunning at West Pymble pool or doing lunch with North Shore mothers at the Coonanbarra Cafe. Yorke as described by one such mother who shall remain anonymous as the most flagrant of gossips and bitch-ers in the cappucino circle:

'Thom is a riot. He brings a whole new perspective to gossiping... at one point he bought in a drum synth and just rolled up in a ball whining for hours. It really got his point across and I agreed that his son should have been picked in the A's cricket and that it was all politics'

- Visit the James and Steve blog!!! www.jamesandsteve.blogspot.com

- a lady just called my house and asked to speak to 'Mrs Maloney'
I immediately said 'I'm sorry I think you have the wrong number'
The lady then said in her best annoying-lady-trying-to-sell-something-voice 'Well is mum or dad there, I'm looking for the home owner' - because someone with my voice could NEVER own a house you evil televampiress.
I then replied 'No... this is a rented house anyway'
The televampire then said 'Oh... I'm so sorry - thank you.'
I then said 'No its OK, they say rent money is dead money in the ads I know, but with the price of real estate around here at the moment - who could blame my parents for not wanting to buy a house right now... and why would they want to buy a house in Pymble anyway lady? Pymble is just a convenient place to live as my younger brothers and sisters go to schools around there. i doubt mum and dad will want to hang out there forever and pay off a mortgage for multiple bedrooms and backyards they won't need once they get rid of the kids. Y'hear?!\
But she'd already hung up and moved onto the next sitting duck in his parents house, wearing a white woollen cardigan, playing solitaire and eating a massive wagon wheel...bitch.

AND FINALLY A LIGHTER STORY: ...dog riding surfboard

credits...
the end

josh homme and me...

just got home from seeing QOTSA at the UNSW roundhouse===was good - the problem is the first word i used to describe it was good. had it really blown my mind I probably wouldn't be typing about it now.
seriously though Queens of the stoneage or the josh homme show as i like to call it were at the end of the day RADD.

JAMES'S LINXX
still don't know how to put links in this thing so i will give you some here
www.fireenginesanddumpsters.blogspot.com - claudia's version of news in sunny perth
www.dopecomics.com the art of ozzie wright and dashenka and the official website of the Goons of Doom
www.itsverypleasant.blogspot.com - levins' rants about music and shite
www.fbi.org.au - fbi radio 94.5fm - best radio station in the world!
www.youami.net - the best band in the world that sings about washing lines and milkmen! tim rogers is my hero.
www.alberts.net.au - this is 'totes' where i work. check out the photo gallery - there is none of me there now but there are some beautiful people that i work with in there.
www.sneakerfreaker.com - cool shoes for those obsessed. by a bunch of melbourne hipsters (not jeans, people)

Still Perth

I am still in Perth, however more sober this time. On the whole everyone around me does not have my drinks on them and there are no ethnic minorities ganging up and trying to kill me through vegetarian dishes -
After sensing cultural tension between myself, a pin-up boy of western civilisation, and the Hari Krishnas, a peace loving people who offer top rate meals at a pay-what-you-think price, things looked like they were going to head south.
thankfully my mate Tom was able to calm the waters by communicating with the foreign peoples with some universal words of people of 'non-Western' civilisation: 'Durka durka, Muhammed Jihad'.
Thanks to Tom quick wit and faultless elocution I was saved and with the help of some Zyrtec lived to fight another day on the mean streets of Perth.

News:
-Sarah Blasko is hot, her beauty surpassed perhaps only by that of her keyboard player.
-James Ross-Edwards, prolific blogger and man about town has now officially inundated his seldom viewed web log with so much in jokes that it is has the equivalent audience of whatevers on channel 7 during big brother up late.

Personal correspondence:
Rhythm section of Gelbison: OK guys, look, I know its only a support slot and that Sarah Blasko is pretty mellow herself but you guys could have at least turned up to play for even a bit. Furthermore, thanks to you your band let down the rest of the bill as you were far below the required scarf quota for live music in Perth.

the truth is actually...

just got back from large night out in perth, hanging out with mates i lived with ie not young liberal, (shes from melbourne... not st kilda ie secret life). the closest i got to picking up was this peroxided hair girl saying that i looked like the brady bunch and that i needed a hair cut, thanks. next time i will get a real mans haircut... a number two blade blended step... undercut maybe??????????????????????????/


= have further discovered that im not very goood at night clubs and that the true way to love is to charm girls with the benefits that comes from knowing my family: ie my mum is a nurse and can seriously hook your grandma up any aged care needs and my dad knows his shit when it comes to scaffolds andscissor lifts.in addition ny younger brother is a proper geezer and when it comes to pin striped pants and diesel sunnies and oasis he is a wealth of knowledge - go pubes (i call him pubes sometimes.. its funny, trust me)

bRAD has been hassling me that i owe him money cos i didn't have any and he paid for many drinks,,, yes i did smoke four cigies tonight although i have quit but 2 my credit i threw thr rest of them at happy punters. i also tipped a glass of bacardi over my friend annikas friend (sorry ak), which is bad news as her dad has the most rizzzocking clizzogs this side of the EU.

despite ppl chewing off their jaws i was not tempted ny ecstacy, event thgouth many arthouse0ish songs came on... not that way inclined... at a point in wchich someione said 'wanker' toow wchich i repolied: your the wanker mate, if anyone is.

tonight i saw harry, g-units wa branch,,, G-UNIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

better go soon as am playing on someone elses computer (tims) and that i have a double bed to pizzzzzzzzzzzzassssssss out on for shiizurre... taste the radness mother fizzuckers

yours sizzincercely
james

War and Peace

I would like to commence this post by giving mention to one person in particular, namely Claudia Newstead, her research into the accents of annoying girls from Melbourne that love tennis and football players is second to none. she also provides valuable insight into my area of research. visit her work at http://fireenginesanddumpsters.blogspot.com

in an attempt to rival clauds, i will fill you in on some antics of my own
- goon bag (a person) picks up apparently now, often, mainly at cargo downstairs but has also been known to venture upstairs and even get let in sometimes on his own merit, not having to drop a single name like 'brad' or 'brads brother'. reports also place him 'tearing up' the newly opened Cabana Bar (formerly less glamourously known as The Norths Club).
- i have started a new life in which i don't bite my nails (thank you horrible tasting nail polish!). my nails are long and are making opening cans 80% easier
- the fbi party at the mandarin club rocked on friday night, ng dressed as the fresh prince of bel air, levins dj-ed arrogantly but well - a guy called 'shag' called steve (half of radios duo 'james and steve') 'that jockey boy' before mumbling something about steve being a woman hater.
- Levins quickly retorted to my comments on his capacity to dj with 'hey its after midnight, shouldn't you be doing a radio show noone listens to?' - touche levins, touche
- i fell asleep on the bus home and had to walk home from turramurra (not that close to my house)
- ask lucas about 'the mum'

The Diary of A Socialite: Crazy Brent's Story - Entry 1

Hi guys! Crazy Brent here! Man am I scattered! I've hardly eaten in weeks, its been all party prescriptions and Marlboro Lights for this one I'm afraid! Oh well, I might just get myself into those size 28 tsubi's before 'We Love Sounds' like I aimed for - Yay! I'm going to be brief because I'm meeting my great friends from Sydney's own Sneaky Sound System for Caprioska's at Hugo's Pizza this afternoon! God... I ran into this girl this morning who said she's seen me one night at Kink? As if I've been there in the last six months! i think she was from Melbourne as well, she had that 'Heidi Middleton having coffee in St Kilda while wandering past the set of Secret Life of Us-chic, try-hard thing going on --- like i said, tacky...

anyway guys lovely to check in and I'll seeya really soon!
xo Crazy Brent

Big Coronas or Tiny Men... the book

BIG CORONAS… OR TINY MEN?


Starring James & Brad
Based on the seldom entered diary Cruel Intentions in Canada by James Ross-Edwards and email correspondence to and from james_rossedwards@hotmail.com between 25/11/04 and 1/3/05. During this period the author primarily spent time in Whistler in Canada’s British Columbia, but also documents time in Vancouver, BC., a brief road trip to New York, Ireland and many hours in transit on aircrafts and of course Greyhound buses.


INTRODUCTION:

When deciding to write this document I had a lot of trouble deciding how to present the information and stories I had amassed throughout my travels. Having recently read Scar Tissue: The Anthony Kiedis Story I thought that perhaps I could do something along those lines as in many ways I compare myself to Kiedis of Red Hot Chili Peppers fame. Unfortunately after several hours of typing away it dawned on me that this was not going to work, as not only was I raised by a chartered accountant and a nurse rather than a Hollywood-celebrity-drug-dealer-to-the-stars but the last time I saw a syringe was the tetanus booster my GP gave me before year 10 camp. Alternatively, I had noticed a lot of people all over the place reading The Da Vince Code by Dan Brown. To me this seemed a perfect way to reach my audience – everybody’s favourite Professor Robert Langdon braving a season in Whistler living in a share house with 14 Australian uni students all while… At this point I was cut off by someone who happened to be on the Da Vinci Code bandwagon who said that not only was it a ‘stupid idea’ but in fact I was being ‘a sarcastic cockhead’. Well I seemed to have expended the last of my genre options with the exception of the ‘Steve Waugh tour diary’ mould, failing that I have opted for the more streamlined and time efficient ‘Microsoft Word cut and paste job’ padded out with photos and plagiarism. I hope you enjoy this tale of discovery, joy, sorrow, indifference and exaggeration.

CHAPTER 1:

25/11/04 – Leaving Sydney International Airport for YVR Vancouver

From when myself and Brad decided to travel months earlier I had built up anticipation of leaving which had transformed into me becoming weary of Sydney and home life. Despite my excitement over leaving the maze of tennis courts and leafy surroundings that was Sydney’s upper North Shore there was unquestionably an element of doubt in the dark side of my brain that did not trust me to not fail in the relatively safe mission I was about to embark on. After farewells to the family and an inevitable duty free stop in departures I was sitting on the plane. Disgusted at the poor in-flight entertainment on offer I turned to my 192 page Artrite exercise book to which I had already assigned the duty of ‘journal’ (later to be renamed ‘Cruel Intentions’ in an attempt to make people want to read it). Here is an excerpt from said journal, recorded in airspace between Sydney and Los Angeles on 25/11/04:

entry 1: thurs 25th of November 2004 - on plane- quite exciting, mixed emotions- am surrounded by large group of friends of which fit on an easily definable sterotype: late 20s males, polo shirts and cargo pants, one of their nicknames would most definitely have been pubes.- all without fail are reading either the da vinci code of a book by one of the waugh twins - don't they know they all end up the same?- one of the music channels is playing a feature on missy Higgins, am finding myself truly believing that me and her are actually ‘the special two’ she sings about… Who would’ve thought?
Have been quite bored during this plane trip so I created a new world for myself where I am my own version of Evan from the Secret Life of Us except instead of inner-city Melbourne the setting would be around my house in Pymble.
It works perfectly with the exception of a few adjustments:
- Pymble pub would have to be a lot cooler and change its name to something like Foobar.
- Add in a rocking live music scene.
- Make all my friends better looking and become quirkily alternative, no more sensible polo shirts!
- At least two people I know would have to turn gay, again in a way tha8t’s cool and funky so we can all be accepting in the stern knowledge that Channel 10 wouldn’t actually let us see two naked men, and would probably cut the show in favour of ‘Queer Eye’ anyway.
- Loudspeakers would be set up around all of Sydney so my self reflexive monologues can be for everyone to hear at least daily….no wait, bi-daily - end


The rest of my journal during my time on the plane is quite disturbing to read back now. Most of it contains detailed notes about Brad, and me amusing myself by picturing and attempting to draw pictures of Brad in the cold weather wearing a skivvy. Haha… Brad in a skivvy. I also couldn’t help but notice the extent to which my journal was written in the stream-of-conscience form ala David Malouf. It was around this point that the voice in my head, this time in the resonant form of the real Evan (Samuel Johnson for those who have not had the privilege) spoke to me. He mentioned something about a rooftop party later that evening before adding that I was not at all funny and was in fact 'a sarcastic cockhead'. It was at this point that I decided to give Lantana a go on the in-flight entertainment, the journal was rested and I had never been more proud of independent Australian cinema.

30hours of travelling later, no shower, no sleep, yet somehow the same date as when I left home:

After a solid 30hours of travelling I arrived in YVR, Vancouver International Airport CANADA. I thought I would be slightly more excited than I was, but all I felt was discomfort and sinusy. As is apparently standard form of Alaskan Airlines my luggage got left in LA and would have to be tracked down and delivered to me later – but that was a minor glitch, I had made it! After spending about an hour waiting in lines, sorting out work visas and things I was directed out the front to where a shuttle could take me to downtown Vancouver to the hostel that the travel agent had booked for our first two nights. By this stage it was about 9pm, as the shuttle took about an hour to arrive I had plenty of time to chat with the other people I was waiting with. The group of about eight of us exchanged pleasantries which was quite easy as (surprise surprise) they were all Australian, uni students and (you’re joking) they were all heading to the ski fields for the season and with exception of one particularly earnest lad from Melbourne (who wouldn’t stop talking about the fucking Da Vinci Code) they were all off to Whistler. Nb I was beginning to feel less adventurous and original by the minute, especially as the neutral-seat-hog next to me on the plane was going to build a primary school in Bolivia. Feelings of comparative selfishness welled inside me (almost to the same scale as someone who writes at length about nothing really but themselves). Anyway, enough about the aid-worker – what about your story James? (The loving masses scream).

Now I have never been deluded to the fact that Brad and I had never been the two most organised and prepared people. It wasn’t until I got on a shuttle bus with these mustard-keen travellers the extent to how disorganised and unprepared I was. These people were talking excitedly about how they had organised a place to live and jobs, and how ‘impossible’ it was to find jobs and accommodation in Whistler, and that ‘it was OK’ because there mum gave them a credit card for emergencies and if they weren’t having fun would chopper them directly back to Toorak. Exaggeration is being used by I could definitely sense a pattern forming.

After staring out the window of the shuttle staring at the Vancouver night, mouth open exchanging observations like ‘they have Starbucks here’ and ‘I wonder if they have Boost Juice places…Oh yeah there’s one’. We arrived at Vancouver’s Hostelling International location. It was here I realised that our lovely travel agent Juni’s weaknesses stretched much further than a basic lack of knowledge of international airlines and work visa conditions. She also struggled slightly at telling her clients which hostel they should be staying at. When I got to the front desk to ask where I would be staying I was told that I wasn’t booked in there, it was eventually confirmed that I was meant to be at their other location on the other side of the city about a kilometre away. Armed with a map, I set out on walking to the hostel with all my stuff straight through Vancouver’s gay district – at least I had my pink shoes on, otherwise I might have stood out. As I emerged from the gay district unscathed I reached the light at the end of the rainbow painted tunnel, Cracktown! This was precisely where my hostel was, always easy to find: down Granville St past the pantless man playing the recorder, three sex shops, two 79c pizza venues on the right.

After checking into room 217 in the hostel, and making small talk with some blokes from some exotic place (Brisbane I think), Brad was not due to arrive and meet me for another few hours so I decided to go for a walk around the town. So I away I went with the Kings of Leon, Youth and Young Manhood coming through my headphones and my tightest pair of jeans strapped on. I was quite pleased with myself, feeling very rock’n’roll in the city that probably still hasn’t got the mail that the Guns’n’Roses have split up and that the mullets that I saw have outlived the entire last two decades and their owners who wander Granville St in packs are now ironically cool again. It wasn’t long though before Vancouver put me in my place… Distracted by the bright lights and excitement of a new city I was not paying close attention to my line of walking and accidentally bumped right into a large smelly man in a Pantera t-shirt. Of course I was quick with ‘sorry mate’ and a smile the man stared at me through his angry black fringe and said ‘what the fuck are you looking at faggot?’. As I quickly walked away I still kind of felt like a rockstar although slightly emasculated – I had gone from tough and cool like Josh Homme from Queens of the Stone Age to a complete softcock ala Ben Lee from…Ben Lee.


Being called a ‘faggot’ by the angry lover of heavy metal brings me to an interesting point. At that stage I brushed it off as an isolated incident and thought nothing more, although this was not the case. By the time I left Canada over three months later I had been called a ‘faggot’, an ‘indie-fag’, asked several times politely if I was a homosexual, been approached on a dance floor by a European gentleman and I am paraphrasing. The thing that interested me the most out of this (I’m not gay by the way) was that in my hometown of Pymble, north of Sydney I cannot recall my sexuality ever being questioned. My only hypothesis thus far lies in the assumption that from the parts of Canada I saw tended to be slightly more conservative than Sydney – particularly in dress sense (my pink shoes I think were seen as a universal litmus test of homosexuality in Vancouver). This was the first time I had taken into account that different places have completely different social structure. For example where I come from the traditional male bonding involves firstly complimenting matching polo shirts, a degree of chat, followed by the tipping of Von Dutch hats and wishing each other a very Merry Christmas and an even better Field Day.

…What was my point? I think I have fitted all the arbitrary jokes I wanted to in this paragraph. In case you got lost, lots of people in Canada thought I was gay… I’m not.

So eventually that night I met up with Brad. We exchanged brief stories of our efforts in making it to the point we were at before deciding to get drunk and discussing our plan to take over Whistler. The next three days in Vancouver were spent doing much the same amongst continually being the tourist suckers that gave all the homeless people money. I cannot remember with any vivid detail but my first email home was entitled ‘me and Brad are actually pretty good looking in Canada’… sarcasm perhaps? Although on our last night there a girl told the two of us that we looked ‘just like Heath Ledger and Russel Crove’ but then again I think I had seen her once before in a year10 PDHPE video entitled: ‘Ecstacy: the long term effects’.




CHAPTER 2 – Hostels and Husky’s
Two hours on the Greyhound and we had arrived in Whistler Village, the place that was going to be our home for the next three months. We checked into the Shoestring Lodge dumped our bags and went for a cruise into the village. We soon found a pub to drink in, it had pictures of naked women on the walls in the toilets and a fat, obnoxious Canadian man wearing a Hockey jersey and yelling at ladies curling footage on the TV screen (the NHL was cancelled for the season). Sitting there having a drink, reflecting on what we had done so far and what was ahead of us we were unable to get over the beauty of the place (let it be known that in this particular section no sarcasm has been used). There was excitement in the camp and a very camp excitement it was at that (we were jumping up and down, squealing).

The Shoestring Lodge:
This is where Brad and I stayed for our first ten days in Whistler. During this period our opinion of the place somewhat plummeted from the initial ‘this place is cool’. When we initially checked in coming straight off our Vancouver accommodation we were impressed that the 4-bed dorm rooms had there own TV. I was particular impressed as we walked through the door that they were playing a Ben Kweller CD in the lobby, he must be pretty big over here! I later discovered that I was the only one hearing the music, my discman had been left on in my backpack and was playing my Ben Kweller CD through the headphones… I never found one other person while I was overseas that had heard of, or could appreciate the whimsical loveliness of Kweller.
Our first night of the Shoestring Lodge was particularly interesting. After we returned to our room from cooking and eating some dicey pasta in the communal kitchen that smelt like the bottom of the inside of a drain, we discovered that we were not in fact alone but were blessed with roommates. The two guys were Canadians (quite rare for the Shoestring) and introduced themselves as ‘Kurt’ and ‘Wayne Gretsky’ (I can’t remember the other guys name so I will call him that instead). Dynamics in the room slightly awkward as it was 9:00pm at night, all the lights were out and Kurt and Wayne Gretsky were in bed. The only light in fact in the room was from Wayne Gretsky’s head, who was reading a book about avalanches by the aid of a small light, strapped to his head.
A bit of small talk pursued and we confirmed that Chesty was as we suspected doing an avalanche course (I never learnt what that actually meant). Kurt on the other hand would not tell us where he was from ‘I’ve been around places’ and was here ‘for a while’. On that note we left the room and flicked cards at each other in the lobby until the horrible strangers were asleep.

During out time at the Shoestring our days were filled with wandering the village looking for jobs and wasting time expensively in the internet café. Nighttimes on the other hand usually entailed sitting in the second floor hallway around the Coke machine and getting drunk with the rest of the people (mostly Aussies) there. Chat in the hallways was generally dominated by the lack of work in Whistler, Australian Big Brother and how the world was small enough that everyone there had common friends from home. After this we would either go to bed or head downstairs to ‘The Boot’, the pub attached to the hostel which featured ‘The Boot Ballet’ Tuesday to Friday nights every week. This ‘ballet’ entailed female strippers aged between 35 and 43 years old ‘exotically’ dancing around a pole often implementing beer bottles and whatever was in closest reach much to the delight of regulars: Whistler’s redneck clique , balding middle-aged men in hockey jerseys and the local drug dealer – an English guy with grey teeth named Pickle. During this time I was sending a huge amount of emails for lack of anything better to do as we were unemployed and ski passless, this period thus is quite well documented through email and also journal entries. This entry from the 28th of November exemplifies the niggling tension in the Team Ross-Edwards/Simon camp (this tension further exacerbated on my insistence to call it that and not the Simon/Ross-Edwards camp). The background to the entry involves us sitting in the smelly kitchen at the Shoestring trying to find a place to live in the local newspaper (called the ‘Pique’) late at night because our strange roommates were whispering sweet nothings into each others ears of or whatever Canadian’s do (at this stage we didn’t know).

-‘ … So now to look up accommodation we have to sit in the kitchen, eating our only food source (nutella and bread) as to not disturb Kurt and that other guy in our room. I’ve said it before but Brad has never looked healthier: long, unwashed hair, 5-day growth and the same devil-may-care attitude that we all know and love.
-
Brad also continually mocks me for wearing too much clothing outside, implying that I’m soft… Before leaving the warmth of the hostel with nowt but a t-shirt and jumper on – in the snow! He finally admitted it was cold half and hour later. The joke was on him as I chuckled while wearing two layers of thermals a vest a jumper and a scarf – calling him a wanker under my breath…’

By this point Brad had become bored of the long-term rental listings and had begun reading my journal over my shoulder. Worried about potential legal ramifications I quickly amended my journal by defaming myself to make it appear that I had not written it, and its content was objective:.

- ‘…so. James is a fuckwit, I can’t believe how funny he thinks he is with his warm clothes and his rock-star chic sex appeal that I would die for… He probably doesn’t even have a date to the prom. Additionally he laughs at his own shit journal, out loud and indulgently’

Another potential conflict avoided… Excellent work.

Over the next week, niggling conflict with Brad continued. I even wrote a personal correspondence note to him in a group email to ask him politely to stop continually referring to himself in the third person.

Things must have made a turn for the best though, in an email sent only several weeks later I referred to him as ‘my north and south poles’ – I’m not sure why but he again took offence.


About 4-5 days into our stay at the Shoestring:
After about 4-5 days into our time at the Shoestring, a time filled with sleeping in until midday, walking around largely aimlessly before going out each night and repeating the cycle. We eventually decided that it was time to firstly stop drinking coke for breakfast, secondly to find a job and thirdly to find somewhere to live as we only had several days left before we were homeless.
So off we went, disorganised and shabby to find somewhere to live and work (the first bit of the epiphany was quickly abandoned as there was a coke machine right outside our room). The living situation sorted itself out quite quickly, as most people were more organised than us we were able to quickly fill in spare bed spaces that our new mates had kindly offered. The working situation however was no small battle, as not only were we without resumes or references, but quite frankly we were male, we had bad hair and we were in Whistler during the job opportunity equivalent of the Great Depression. Every man and his massive husky had flocked on Whistler Village and raped it for all the employment and benefits her fertile soils could provide… two weeks before we got there. There was only one way to get a job and that was to lie and give as much proverbial fellatio as possible. Brad and I headed out for one long day of resume dropping, gentleman’s hours of course: start 11-3 with a lunch break. This featured the following incidents/rejections
- Me getting told by the manager of the supermarket that he did not think I was suitable for a shelf packing position.
- Myself and Brad both getting interviews at a fancy wine bar, but me getting told that my ‘personal grooming’ was not up to scratch.
- Brad applying for a job at a small childrens clothing store. Surprisingly he did not get the job. Which was astonishing: why wouldn’t a shop like that want a 20 year old, long haired, bearded South African male?
- Myself getting an interview at ‘Zog’s’, a hot dog stand at the bottom of the gondola. Going into the interview smelling like alcohol and smoke in the same clothes I had worn the night before and accidentally admitting that I had no money and no place to stay… I didn’t get the job… politics.
- The following day we met an eccentric old man shovelling snow in Creekside, who came up to us and asked us if we were looking to work. After chatting to him for a few minutes he suggested that we start working shovelling snow the following day… at 6am. Eager to take anything we agreed, had an early night, set an alarm for 5:45am only to wake up and never hear from him again.

Walking around with a bunch of resume’s feeling like a bit of a dick that arrived too late got slightly old after a while. Eventually I decided to be proactive and get up early and go snow shovelling in the market place, who hired people based on turning up on the day. A guy I’d met had told me that they pay $10.50 an hour and you could just rock up at any time. Brad made no effort to get up, despite being almost completely broke resolving that ‘I’ll get a job soon’. So I took myself down to the market place, signed up, got a shovel and an ice pick and started shovelling pathways at a set of townhouses in the market place called Glacier’s Reach. Well I’ve never claimed to be the toughest guy or the hardest worker but after four hours of this and I was ready to die. The worst part came just before my lunch break when I hit myself in the foot with my own shovel and limped around… for the following month. I was all of a sudden eternally grateful that I was not born into a society that still revolved around the Darwinist idea of the Alpha male, and that our world has room for the spoilt, weak and lazy. As luck had it however, just after I smashed my own foot with a shovel my phone rang, to which I got offered a job interview as ‘houseman’ at a hotel in the village - which I later ended up getting. That was to be my first and last day of snow shovelling. The pathetic end to that story is that I never ended up going to pick up my paycheck for that days work, so my efforts in the end were futile.

As I have already mentioned, during this jobless period I spent a lot of time sitting around in the ‘Internet Daisy’ café talking shit and sending emails. While having received many group emails in my time from people overseas and of course never replying, I found myself somewhat angry at the lack of feedback to mine. This makes perfect sense, noone sitting at home bored wants to reply to peoples self indulgent life updates. I started to wonder if my world at home was the same or even still existed. My mind was set to ease soon, when I received an insightful email from my younger brother Peach who let me know that devastating tsunami or not, the world was still in order:

hello j-man its peach here
i have been in contact with ‘kevin sell nike’* and i am recieving my shoes asap. they are very wicked to see a picture of them go to www.tubgirl.com or www.trannyhouse.com but there is this really good picture at www.ratemypenis.com any way im on the last island in gta** and i had to kill ryder. is canada bitchin?

ps brians getting his goolies choped off***
pps your gay
ppps im typing this email naked****
( ' )
/ /
/ /
/ /
/ /
/ /
( )( )*****

8======o
_______ _______ _______ _______ _______ _______
I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I
I____ I------------I I ____ I I I I
I I I I I I I I I
I I I I______ I I______I I I
* My brother buys shoes on the internet from a Chinese man named ‘Kevin Sell Nike’ – they turned up last week, approximately four months after this email was sent.
** Here he was referring to Grand Theft Auto – the Playstation game
***Brian is a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel
**** I later found out that he actually was, and keeps the habit to this day.




CHAPTER 3: ’8 hours work, 8 hours sleep and 8 hours sharing a loft with a young liberal’

A work in progress