THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

I know exactly what you are thinking... Hang on, if it's Christmas Eve, all the journalists are on holiday. What if something huge happens? Who is going to decipher newsworthiness for the country's most widely-read broadsheet in the middle in the early hours of Christmas morning?

Residents of NSW, fear not. I am here.

Alot of stuff actually happens on Christmas Eve. It isn't usually stuff you can publish, most commonly families beating each other up, and people threatening to do use themselves as a tree decoration. Dark humour aside, here is an example of a vital newspiece that only I am privy to:

"We have one POI - male, 18-25 wearing a pink shirt and a pink truckers hat running in front of traffic on the Pacific Highway in front of The Greengate Hotel."

From that description alone I can almost guarantee that I went to school with, or the private school two kilometres down the road from that guy. He is happy as shit because "everyone is here!" So happy that he even decided to match his shirt and cap. He is letting all the cars on the road know, that when is drunk he is invincible - and trying to stop him enjoying his evening jog is useless. He has been waiting all year for this and nothing will stop in, counting down days from August, and saying to everyone he runs into: "Greengate Christmas Eve? Gonna be huge!"

Anyway, as there is no paper to be released on Christmas day, I am the only one here. 27 floors of building, and I am on the top of these in my little room, flanked by darkness - If I walk to the window I can see the distinct mist of hopeless addiction rising out of the vents at Star City Casino. My regular security brother-in-darkness is rostered off, so I exchanged brief banter with a different man in a similar uniform who suggested I didn't fall asleep - to which I replied "I'll try not to!" Disappointed with my own wit I excused myself, returning to Sam In The City's yearly wrap-up post (I have since discovered that with my public holiday penalty-rates, I made over $15 reading it - which is more than I have ever made writing anything, kudos Sam).

Hurstville Channel has just informed me that two 20 year old females are fighting out the front of a pub somewhere. The bouncer believed that they were fighting over the attention of a male, I prefer to think that they were arguing over what the guy listening to the police scanner would think of it all. He thinks that girls fighting is a cliche fantasy championed by the likes of Al Bundy and Tim "The Toolman" Taylor. He would be interested to see, but is pretty sure you a both complete DON'Ts - the kind of folk who seem to be always in the regional train terminal at Central Station.

Eastwood Channel has piped up, letting me know that a man (I didn't get any earlier details) is standing on a street with his (tracksuit) pants down masturbating (probably furiously, I'll chase it up). The hardest part of my job is to know when something is important enough to wake up the Pictures Editor and Chief Of Staff to get them out there. I'm a bit worried that if I get them out of bed, by the time they get there he may have climaxed and the front page would be lost.

Merry Christmas from everyone currently in the Fairfax Building (just me).

-

If anyone needs to get in touch with me over the Christmas and new year period, I'll be the guy at Falls Festival wearing yellow zinc, footy shorts, an Australian flag and a t-shirt reading

"The Boys' Falls Trip '06

Beers, Bitches, Blunts & Biccies (sic)

GET A HAIRY DOG UP YA!"

Sincerely,

The Boys

working on Sunday...

Seemed like a great idea, it's not like it's Saturday night, I can still go out and sleep in on Sunday morning (which I did).

However, being horribly hung over after Saturday night means that I will feel like this until I get home from work at approximately 6:30am on Monday morning... around 24hours after I got physically removed from the Judgement Bar and sent out into the beautiful Crown Street morning: birds were chirping, the sun was shining people in a new-romantic state of dress were trying to remember where their phone was... so they could call their dealers, and I was having a laugh (not at women, with women).

Nina's birthday (why is it always Nina's birthday?) was good cause for food and longnecks to be consumed. After that we went to The Brag's Christmas party where I made my job sound far more important than it was to the door-list people - "I just didn't think I would need to RSVP... I am James from The Music Network!"

After our group managed to all get in (cool, much?) it wasn't long before I found myself in one of those states where the only thing going through your mind is "how did I get this drunk, I was just making fun of Ng today for falling asleep at dinner last night... And I'm not even Asian!"

At risk of turning this into "holy shit I got drunk last night, it was off the hook, you don't even know!" story, I will end it as I do not have the energy - it took everything I had to muster the energy to read Sam In The City tonight... Lucky I did, it turns out confidence is in and urinating on partners chest's is out.

The night was really summed up when, a touch before 7am I strolled through the door at home to dicover that our house now had a Christmas tree with presents underneath. I wrote a note to my flatmates expressing how impressed I was with the tree.

It read:
Nikki + Gerar(scribble)
You tree so beaatiful I wanted ta cry
- Here I signed some kind of name, I couldn't read it but I'm pretty sure the word "wanker" was in there.

Those who can, do. Those who can't, go into advertising.

"Is it unAustralian to watch cricket just because it makes Weiss Bars taste better?" I mused from my couch yesterday afternoon. Not having to work made me very happy indeed. The answer came to me quicker than Will Gilroy (you probably don't even read this) at a 'short tailored shorts and all-white canvas shoes' sale. "
Don't be a bloody idiot James," Australian Idol Damian Leith sneered at me from across the couch. "The simple fact is, Weiss Bars make watching cricket far more enjoyable. When was the last time you enjoyed watching cricket without one?"
"Well Damian, I can't really think..."
"Of course you can't! Dumb Fuck. That's the whole point. Weiss Bars make cricket more enjoyable."
"I get it now! Weiss Bars make everything more enjoyable!"
"That's right" (launches into song about Weiss Bars, entirely falsetto)

Considering that I may get sick of working in the middle of the night at some stage, I decided to start freelance ad-writing. The above was the script for a TV ad for Weiss Bars based loosely on a true experience I had yesterday. In reality, the afternoon panned out very smoothly. Steve shared a few of his innermost thoughts with me.

The first was not so controversial, being that he found "something very attractive" about the girl in the MBF ad that is aired frequently during Nine's coverage of the cricket. Observation number two proved far more newsworthy. After a minute or so silence during a seperate ad-break, I was just about to resurrect an earlier conversation discussing the pros and cons of a particular individual ("he's just a fucken' cunt," being most notable contribution) when I was interrupted with, "I really like the jeans Pat Rafter wears in that undies ad." He quickly pointed out that it was not so much the sight of Rafter in the jeans that he enjoyed, rather the thought of owning and wearing them himself.
I made him a cup of tea and suggested that he contacted someone from Bonds or Pacific Brands to find out where he could accquire said pants. If anyone knows, I think they are placed at number two on his Christmas wishlist, just under a pair of Mark Weber's driving gloves (signed preferably). My second day off lacked the same sheen. After an early sleep in I decided to do my washing.
"Who Cares?" you say, doing a bad Simmo impersonation.
"You do," I say (nodding).
In an attempt to wash my sheets and towels, I managed to also wash my mobile phone. My annoyance at being uncontactable on a boring Tuesday off work was only enhanced by the fact that I would also be unable to source a pair of jeans for my close friend and sometimes broadcast partner.

I also read an unauthorised biography of Ricky Gervais. Good read, no major suprises, he's still a comic genius, that feels nearly nothing for BB06 contestants:

"I watch reality shows to hate the people in them. Desperate wannabes. What will you do for fame? Anything. I'll show my fanny and wank off a pig. Well done."

I thought Gervais was particularly out of line with this call. Not all gays have fannies.

The Veronicas, Max from Big Brother and Myf Warhurst (myfwar-HURST)

INTRO - Irrelevant My security guard mate did not greet me with his regular warmth as I arrived for work tonight. I feel something may be on his mind. If I was a regular day time worker, I would ask him if he is alright. However, it is my strict duty, as a fellow night-shift worker to only talk about working at night, usually with jokes

'NUB PAR' AND END OF INTRO:
A commonly used example of one of these jokes is simply: "good morning!" This is hilarious as it is 10pm, and not morning at all. Regular "day-folk" (as we have come to know them) may use a variation, say, "good evening" when a co-worker arrives at 9:15am instead of the regular starting time of 9:00am.

CONCLUSION: I have recently discovered that having membership cards to nightclubs in Sydney make you a better person. Until last Friday I always assumed that this law of thumb was limited to members of the Cargo Bar/Bourbon ideology, who invariably preach the following:
1. Losers in pastel tsubis (ksubi?)/popped collars/both go upstairs
2. Bigger losers in pastel tsubis/popped collars/both with no female company downstairs
3. Females are usually granted entry, on which level will depend on various things: calibre/lack of male company, looks AND age
4. Ethnic minorities need not apply, unless they are a) Of Asian appearance, but "ok, because you talk like us and play sport"*
- Example 1: Yumi Stynes
- Example 2: Richard Cheequee (former NSW cricketer and rhythm guitarist in Brett Lee's musical side project "Six And Out"
- Example 3: Anyone that works in high-end street fashion retail
b) The exception in a group
- Example 1: The one Indian male that seems to inhabit every cricket team
- Example 2: Akmal Saleh hanging out with Shane Bourke, Tom Gleisner and Fifi Box after filming Thank God You're Here nb Tony Martin and Arj Barker both agreed that a night club was "a bit much for a weeknight."
- Example 3: The singer from Bloc Party
c) Refreshingly not-white, but popular with white people
- Example 1: Jessica Mauboy
- Example 2: Ernie Dingo
- Example 3: Singer from Bloc Party

*Special thanks to Simon Ng for use of that brilliant quote from unnamed ex-student of a school that has a girl in it's cricket team.

... Well, having been given a members card to Vegas, which lives just above Q-Bar, I met up for my scheduled date with The Veronicas on Friday night. Having heard great things from Lowie (unemployed) I was a bit disappointed to here them use the "c" word so many times in each sentence. Apparently they learnt it from a Channel V presenter of Asian descent who, funnily enough, gets the nod for upstairs Cargo on even the busiest Saturday night. My spirits were lifted when I finally (see previous post) got to meet Myf Warhurst (read: Myfwar-HURST) as she was sans security for the evening. The conversation laid itself out in the following way:

Pierced lip Veronica: "James, this is Myf"
Alan Borough's opposing captain in Spicks and Specks: "Hi, nice to meet you"
Simmo's oldest and most loyal subject: "Hello Myf! I know you from television!"

As I watched my chances of being on Myf's team during next series evaporate into the busy smoke-vents of the Vegas Lounge I shrugged, turned, and went searching for a TV personality stupid enough to appreciate the level of conversation that the evenings consumption had left me with.

This didn't take long at all, as just as we spilled out onto Oxford St, after exchanging quick hugs with the most huggable member of Roshambo, we ran into Max, the not-at-all-loveable intruder from BB06, who (and I don't have a fact checker handy, my security guard friend downstairs firmly takes no interest in the cult of the celebrity, and decries the idea of fame for fames sake) I believe pashed Camilla.
My line worked far better this time, and resulted in not only one, but three photos. The best of which I have pictured here.

The Veronicas and BB06s very own Max.

A lesson in not caring.

Having a job that starts at 10pm and finishes at 6am, with only minimal tasks to complete leaves alot of time for getting things done. So far, I have spent most of my downtime in the toilets thinking: "wow, Sam Brett has probably urinated in here". It took me two full weeks to realise that I was in the men's, and that Sam Brett probably saves all her urine for the chest of her older lover. She's very sexually open minded, you see.

I've also managed to make friends with the security guard down stairs. When I ask him how he's been going, he usually replies:
"Good mate, finished work this morning, few bourbon and cokes, few ciggies, read a magazine, watered some plants. Slept like a baby mate." I tried to explain to him, that if he is listing things with commas in between, he should say "and" between the last two: "read a magazine (AND) watered some plants".
He wasn't interested. This is part of the reason we are so close, it is a friendship built on working during the night, and continually justifying to other people why working all night is awesome, and that you wouldn't be doing anything else. When really, people work during the night because the people that are better/more experienced at the job, prefer to work during the day.

Last night, in between listening to licence checks and whispering sweet everythings to my security mate, I decided to write a blog entry. An hour and a half later, I had covered nearly everything: Nina's party last Friday, wanker dress policies at shit pubs in Double Bay that you didn't want to go to anyway AND why Myf Warhurst had five female body guards surrounding her at all times at said party. Alas, blogger.com failed me, and I ended up losing it all. Rather than recreate what I lost last night, I thought I might to a textual tribute to the career of Ian Thorpe. This proved harder than I initially thought, as you really can't do Thorpie justice with text only, pictures are essential. Nevertheless, I did a few "20 to 1" style interviews with people on what they thought about Thorpie, his career, his early retirement AND what his future held for him. The only people that were available to comment were Molly Meldrum, Tracey Grimshaw AND Simmo. Here for your reading pleasure is the only one of the three subjects that really captured what the "20 to 1" format is really about.

TOP SECRET: BCorTM's INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPTS WITH SIMMO RE IAN THORPE'S CAREER.

BCorTM: So Simmo, what does the name Ian Thorpe mean to you.
Simmo: I think it's fair to say, without any reservation, that Thorpie was not only a bloody fantastic swimmer, but also a fine ambassador for this country in every sense of the word.

BCorTM: I hear you are quite close to Ian?
Simmo: Well, I'm not gay like you if that's what you're suggesting. You probably need to leave the interview early to go set up for the Mardi Gras you're so gay.

BCorTM: What about...
Simmo: (cutting in) Where's this interview going anyway. My agent said that this gig would just be a few "kicking arse" quotes, then shots of me saying "Pie-Powerade-Bed". I only came here to plug my book, this shit would have never happen if fucken Rove hadn't cancelled his show. You probably haven't even read Simmotown... Who do I have to root in this city to get some publicity? Fucken Borat has taken all allotted "novelty alter-ego" attention and there is nothing left. Well, fuck this, there are too many unopened beers in this world for me to be fucking around with this publication. You aren't worth me wasting any quotes of pre-packaged suburban cricket vernacular on. Welcome to first grade, I don't think you'll last long.
INTERVIEW END

Simmo was seen later that day yelling "WHO CARES?" at terminally ill children out the front of Randwick Children's Hospital.

Great Humanitarians Of Our Time: Garret, Healey , Ross-Edwards

From: James Ross-Edwards
To: savebarkercricket@hotmail.com
Cc: reception@barker.nsw.edu.au, jeremy_von_einem@barker.nsw.edu.au, prudence_rogers@barker.nsw.edu.au, matthew_macoustra@barker.nsw.edu.au, hm@barker.nsw.edu.au, heather_graham@barker.nsw.edu.au, john_mock@barker.nsw.edu.au, peter_miller@barker.nsw.edu.au, colin_reid@barker.nsw.edu.au, len_nixon@barker.nsw.edu.au, newsdesk@smh.com.au, newsdesk@theage.com.au, newsroom@news.com.au, hugh.martin@news.com.au, Peter.Garrett.MP@aph.gov.au
Subject: SAVING BARKER CRICKET?
Sent: Tuesday, 24 October 2006 9:06:53 AM


To those campaigning to SAVE BARKER CRICKET,

Never have I received an email forward that has been sent to such a high calibre of Barker personalities, it really is the who´s who. Kudos, savebarkercricket@hotmail.com. I also liked what you did with the red sign, I honestly nearly shed red and blue tears of nostalgia. What a great idea to let Peter Garret know about your valiant crusade as well. I´m not sure about the MPs politics now, but I'm pretty sure I remember a Midnight Oil song that championed the tradition of a male-only cricket team, or was it Indigenous land rights?... I always forget, great band though!

I'm frightfully concerned to hear that Barker cricket is under attack, when I read the subject I thought it may have been terrorists or (far less likely) a lack of funding and resources. Imagine my shock when I read that Barket cricket needs to be saved by... a schoolgirl who happens to be talented enough to play with the boys.

Is this particular girl going to really destroy the game? Or just bruise a few egos of old, conservative Barker/cricket tragics who can't seem to see the role of the female on No. 1 Oval as venturing past The Marks Pavilion cutting oranges.

Perhaps still being in a post-adolescent stage of rebellion, I don't like to say this to the school I went to (and loved, nearly always), but to whoever is in charge of cricket - good on you. I'm sure this girl deserves her place in the team, even if it means a few whingeing old boys, and one poor kid feels emasculated for a few weeks in the seconds... It's probably a good lesson anyway, it happens alot in the future - just try studying any tertiary level humanities.

I thank you for alerting me to this problem. And in the future if Barker cricket ever comes under serious threat again: fire/flood/famine. Please, do not hesitate to contact me, I will gladly help: water/bucket/bread.

Yours sincerely,
James Ross-Edwards, Class of 2002

The end for Jeremy.

Jeremy, yet again, sat on that balcony, judging everything that walked by, from plastic bags to men dressed solely by Material Boi. Before he could even think about pondering and analysing who was a wanker, and who was not, his life flashed before his eyes. The reason for this was uncertain, but soon became relevant. Jeremy was dead. He had been killed by a man, dressed solely by Material Boi, mind, who had made use of the most beautiful plastic bag he had ever seen to strangle him. Jeremy's last thought was about nothing, as he was pondering, because, as many had picked up on, Jeremy was a wafty character with a rubbishy name, and deserved death.


Noone cared. People were relieved to know that Jeremy had nothing to do with James Ross-Edwards, a great man, who just happened to share the same balcony in a parallel universe with a fictitious wanker whose rapid shoot to prominence was matched equally with his demise.

Dancing me down.

I would like to sincerely thank all the "very clever" people that made connections between myself (Simmo's mate James) and the characters that have appeared in the last two postings of this publication. I would also like to let you know that I must be brief as I borrowed this condescending tone from brad-rules.blogspot.com and have been told that I must return it by last drinks or I shall be "knocked down within a poofteenth of a second".

If you keep knocking my stories, dear reader, then I will return to discussing things I did on the weekend, and stuff about people I hate, perhaps in list form.

For example,
THINGS I DID ON THE WEEKEND:
1. Rode on the back of a motorbike
2. Went to a picnic
3. Ran home from The Clare Hotel
4. Drank for 45 minutes on my own at The Rose (out of a jug mind you) because people were late for various reasons including and not limited to "Watching Grey's anatomy DVD".
5. Made a new mortal enemy
6. Found new relevance to The Holdsteady song, "Little Hoodrat Friend"
7. Started reading a book about America.
8. Told a customer at work to "get fucked," except it came out in a girlish shreak, and prompted someone to ask me if "I was alright," in the same fashion a simple, but morally upstanding paper boy would ask a young aristocratic woman after she was struck down in the street by her evil, patronising, older, wealthy husband.

I hope you're all very happy.

look at my range, part 2.

Emaline sat outside on the front door step of the entry way to her house, intermittently sipping Earl Gray between watching the typically torrential, "fuck you for suggesting that summer is on it's way after one blue-skied weekend" rain force leaves and bits of garbage on a fish killing mission, via the stormwater drain. She felt that, had an artistic photographer been present, her lonely door-step dwelling figure in this miserable weather would make a lovely and timeless piece of photography. This was contemplated for a few seconds, and accompanied with a feeling of stoic pride, the same kind she imagined, that depressed songwriters feel when their heartbreak and chemical addiction is harnessed via accoustic guitar for the enjoyment of drunk, happy 20somethings at music festivals in coastal towns. Emaline was certain that she must be suffering for someone, maybe a dirty, old man is undressing her with his eyes from the second floor of one of the terrace houses across the street? She checked. He wasn't. Anyway, comparisons to rock stars were almost completely beside the point, as aside from a strange name, there was nothing particularly wrong with Emaline. Except that she attracted wankers of the opposite sex, almost exclusively. This had not particularly bothered her until the previous day, when a typically drunken and obnoxious male friend had given her some typically drunk, and obnoxious advice. The main concern, aside from the angle of the rain, which was reaching under the cover that normally protected the door-step and surrounding area, was that this particular piece of advice, rather unlike most drunk and obnoxious advice, reeked of something, that smelt like beer and smoke, but was probably truth. When Emaline had explained her relevations re attracting wankers, almost exclusively. Her friend looked at her sideways with a cocky gaze that six beers and no dinner usually blessed him with, and turned around in his stool to face her, reslishing the chance to talk at someone, uninterrupted. "In fact Emaline," he said (this friend didn't care for shortened versions or nicknames). "You don't attract wankers, rather, being an attractive young female, you attract straight males... The problem you have is that the straight males you choose to acknowledge for this, are the wankers. There-fore, rather than wankers being attracted to you, I reckon it is YOU that is attracted to wankers, as they are the people you show initial interest im... Sorted? Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go and flick Matt in the junk while he's talking to that girl, because if she won't go home with me, she's sure as fuck not going home with Matt."
The friend then wondered off to cruelly sabotage his supposed best friend's chances at love, in the name of jealously, truth, justice and the Australian way. Emaline felt comfort that her friend Jeremy's drunken insight could be legally vetoed after his highly hypocritical actions and more disturbingly, use of the word "junk". Unsure of the meaning of the term, "subpoeana", she decided that it would be best not to use it in her next thought. While Jeremy typically had the emotional maturity of a very emotionally immature man, he could be painfully good at analysing the problems of others in a similar field. He has always claimed that he knew J-Lo and Ben Affleck were doomed before they had even got together. If Jeremy could be right about Bennifer, he could potentially be right about Emaline, or was his advice just as stupid as he dressed, acted, and was? Emaline frowned at the remaining ring of residue in the bottom of her tea-cup. She could be such a wanker sometimes.

Look at my range.

Jeremy sat on the balcony pondering nothing in particular, as pondering, he firmly believed, was not the best process for exploring specific events and detail. He sucked slowly on his cigarette, a habit which would allegedly end his life prematurely, before taking a sip of green tea, a habit which would allegedly prolong his life. The irony of these two things together was not completely lost on him, but as someone who keenly observed irony, it did not register high enough to be considered as a highlight to the evenings proceedings. A plastic shoppilng bag slowly floated down street below, dancing with a unique arrogance that seems to be reserved solely to plastic bags that have the freedom to dance after 1am, despite restrictions that generally confine such bags to carrying shopping and lining bins in household kitchens. Jeremy watched it float all the way down the street. He momentarily entertained the thought that it may have been the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. This thought, like other things done momentarily, did not last long as he realised it was a highly unoriginal concept, and he had always maintained that Life Is Beautful was well thought out but, like most bands from Perth's second albums was, "a bit wanky". Jeremy knew that he was no longer pondering, as he had moved onto a more specific topic that the limited definition of pondering allowed. Although, he could not for the life of him ok out how the cocky translucent Coles bag had shaken him out of this state, and forced images from the previous nights television into his head. He made a mental note to have Kyle Sardilands killed, although Australian Idol would probably continuue without him, it would hopefully be considered a "warning shot". Yes, Kyle Sandilands would play the same role the front windows of Gas Nightclub played several weeks ago. In a moment of unprecedented spontaneity, Jeremy extinguished his cigaretre in his cup of green tea. This time the irony was appreciated, as the best irony is usually subtle and symbolic. Jeremy smiled and started rehearsing exactly how he would explain this to his coworkers in the morning. This following thought made him frown in self disapproval. He could be such a wanker sometimes.

Look at my range.

Jeremy sat on the balcony pondering nothing in particular, as pondering, he firmly believed, was not the best process for exploring specific events and detail. He sucked slowly on his cigarette, a habit which would allegedly end his life prematurely, before taking a sip of green tea, a habit which would allegedly prolong his life. The irony of these two things together was not completely lost on him, but as someone who keenly observed irony, it did not register high enough to be considered as a highlight to the evenings proceedings. A plastic shoppilng bag slowly floated down street below, dancing with a unique arrogance that seems to be reserved solely to plastic bags that have the freedom to dance after 1am, despite restrictions that generally confine such bags to carrying shopping and lining bins in household kitchens. Jeremy watched it float all the way down the street. He momentarily entertained the thought that it may have been the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. This thought, like other things done momentarily, did not last long as he realised it was a highly unoriginal concept, and he had always maintained that Life Is Beautful was well thought out but, like most bands from Perth's second albums was, "a bit wanky". Jeremy knew that he was no longer pondering, as he had moved onto a more specific topic that the limited definition of pondering allowed. Although, he could not for the life of him ok out how the cocky translucent Coles bag had shaken him out of this state, and forced images from the previous nights television into his head. He made a mental note to have Kyle Sardilands killed, although Australian Idol would probably continuue without him, it would hopefully be considered a "warning shot". Yes, Kyle Sandilands would play the same role the front windows of Gas Nightclub played several weeks ago. In a moment of unprecedented spontaneity, Jeremy extinguished his cigaretre in his cup of green tea. This time the irony was appreciated, as the best irony is usually subtle and symbolic. Jeremy smiled and started rehearsing exactly how he would explain this to his coworkers in the morning. This following thought made him frown in self disapproval. He could be such a wanker sometimes.

All dressed up with no suit party to go to.

Not all blog entries for BCorTM come out as easily as the reader may expect... Behind all the lists, over-punctuation and Simmo-related humour is just a young (arguably post-adolescent, yet no chances of growing a beard/going to a bucks night/buying a house in Kellyville has presented itself as yet) man. Did get a suit though.

Questions for the week:
1."Good Australian sketch comedy." Oxymoron? Discuss with reference to The Wedge, The Late Shift, The Big Bite, SkitHouse and Comedy Inc.
2. "If you knew you looked like that with shorter hair, why did you spend so long looking like you did with long hair."
- Spoken to me by a regular customer at my workplace. The ideal response would have been... "Have you ever thought what it would be like if you weren't an alcoholic arsehole with no mates? It really is nice waking up around 5 days a week without a hangover."
Real response: (polite smile) "... $12.20 thanks."
3. "The American incarnation of The Office. Rubbish or just misunderstood?" Discuss.
4. "Having a personal relationship with Christ... Seems a little gay doesn't it?" - Larry David
5."How was Cargo?" - posed to Brad by me this morning.
Response: "It was good... Really good. Goonbag picked up... Twice."

Tentatively titled: "I went to Splendour in the Grass on the weekend... What have you done?": Part 1.

Much like Australian band Youami´s latest offering, this post is to be considered a comeback post for this blog, which has been recently put its place by a younger, cooler equivalent in the form of www.brad-rules.blogspot.com ala Davey Lane´s side project The Pictures. Much like The Pictures, brad-rules, while good in content, has still a bad case of "little brother syndrome" or even, and after a few appearances at Rove and a small national tour will rightfully return to its place. Below the original.

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The weekend started unlike most weekends, most weekends start on Saturday, this one started ten minutes before 6am on Friday. I awoke to a call from Nina, confirming that she would pick me up in 20 minutes. I got up, put on my mildly offensive tracksuit pants reserved for long trips in Brads car and ate some stewed apples.

The road trip commenced smoothly until we reached the Harbour Bridge when the following conversation took place.
"Do you have your ticket?"
"No."
"Are you serious"
"Yeah I don´t have it"
"Can I just say before we go back that your're a fucking wanker"

After a brief return stop, we were soon rocketing across the bridge to pick up Perth and the Notting Hill area of Perth´s finest en route to The House of Brad (intentionally capitalised), in which five people would squash into what has been previously been called The Spruce Moose (1998, silver, two-door Mitsubishi Lancer).

The rest of the drive preceded smoothly, with stops at the Big Banana and Oyster widely acknowledged as respective highlights.

Upon reaching Byron Bay, we checked into the surprisingly well furnished Bunkhouse Hostel, in which it was declared that the only appropriate way to celebrate our arrival would by aggressive and obnoxious drinking.

During this period the following things were observed:
- Milo rides a girls bike, this is only further accentuated by the fact that he has a basket on the front of it.
- Cheeky Monkeys ("Restaurant and 3am Party Bar") has 15 beer taps, all of which serve Tooheys New.
- 12 males, all from Brisbane, singing a Rancid song to each other:
"When I fall back down, you're gonna help me back up again" (while pointing at each other and hugging)
- One of said Brisbane males falling off a table.
- Another Brisbane male helping the first male back up again.
- $2 pasta is rubbish.
- The official nightclub MC/public relations renegade coming over to our table: "Alright guys!.... Eating pasta, fish and chips, beers... All good... all good."
- The best person to guard your wounded body after a comical run in with a large bouncer is always someone who was given the highschool nickname "Fagmullan"
-There are actually people around who use terms including (thank you urinal conversations at Cheeky Monkeys):
"You are a loose cunt on the cans"
"All the boys are fired up for a big one. We´re a fucken slick unit this weekend"
"I'm gonna get so fuck-eyed on the doofers this weekend"

James and the City... Not that good a post.

So I´m sitting at home trying to get past what just happened on the pre-recorded, ad-less episode of the OC I just watched. Blogging lately has been minimal, and admittedly rubbish. In between paying my student union fees, and deciding exactly how I am going to get through the car trip to Splendour in the Grass (5 people, Sydney to Byron Bay, in Brad's two-door 1998 Lancer AKA "The Spruce Moose") I decided that I should get going on with one of my two project
1. Solo project drama series based on the life of five 20-somethings in Sydney, quite possibly based around the yellow house in Macleay St in the Cross.
2. A collaborative project with my brother, given the working title "Pubes The Musical"

Relevations so far this evening:
- No AA meetings can help Kirsten Cohen. Simmo is in the same boat, except in more of a lunatic role than that of a concerned wife/mother.
- The leaving of Tim and Tom left a whole in my heart, and a mild sting for a beer. I don´t even feel bad that this cruel city defiled their previously pokie-innocent persons. As they jet back towards their respective smaller cities, I can fondly recall the disgusted face of the latter

"I am NOT chicken!"
"You don't cry when other people fart"
"Yeah because I haven't been marinating in it since the Great Australian Bight"

Kudos to he who has a way with words that makes even Sara Blasko feel complicated, and also to Tim who was heard say on Sunday "Is a wanker. Can cross roads." I've been thinking about that moment Tim, I decided that being a wanker has nothing to do with the crossing of roads, unless perhaps the road was Abbey Road and you were attempting to do a bad impersonation of the photo made famous by the Beatles album of the same name.
- Wanker is my most used word. It made me think that perhaps I should reevaluate the company I keep, or my standards of acceptable dress (enter skinny-legged, low-crutched tracksuit pants).
- The best way to deal with the car trip will be write a list entitled "10, 000 reasons why Brad is my best friend", and read them out ten at a time, pausing to explain each one adding brackets into speech eg "Wanker with a capital W and an exclamation mark in brackets".
- Dannielle of Big Brother is a twat, circa her BB Uplate appearance as I type.
- Mike Goldman is a twat, circa the day the vile Jackal shot him out of her demonic uterus, put him in a pair of red tsubi's and changed his name from Damien.
- Sandy may have his bad days, but he is still a saint.

James and the city.

James and the City:

Like the multi-award winning Sex and The City. James and the City explores the day to day lives of a cosmopolitan young male living in Sydney's inner-west.

Episode 1: The Fireman
Summary: James and his boyfriends go out trying to seduce sexy firemen. They have brunch later and talk about it while puffing on white-tipped cigarettes and drinking macchiatos.
Reality: James and his friends get drunk in a dark room with strange people in it. They end up at The Gaslight Inn talking to big lesbian women from New Zealand. They all get just drunk enough to still be able to stand, but to repel any eligible women in sight. James goes to McDonalds, before walking home from Kings Cross. On his way home he starts talking to an English backpacker called "Keef". James and Keef try to walk into every pub on Park St and then down George Street, before finally not being turned away from Star Bar. They see a young man being violently arrested on the pool table. James walks home, misses brunch.

Episode 2: The 30-something
Summary: James and his gay-best-friend, Stamford catch a matinee. Afterwards, over cocktails, they realise that it isn´t so bad being in your 30s. James celebrates and spends $400 on shoes.
Reality: James and his brother, along with Nina and Milo go to see Youami at the Enmore. James and brother Nick stay at Bar Broadway until 5:30am claiming, "What? Tim Rogers would definetly still be drinking!" James falls over on the way home.

James and the city.

James and the City:

Like the multi-award winning Sex and The City. James and the City explores the day to day lives of a cosmopolitan young male living in Sydney's inner-west.

Episode 1: The Fireman
Summary: James and his boyfriends go out trying to seduce sexy firemen. They have brunch later and talk about it while puffing on white-tipped cigarettes and drinking macchiatos.
Reality: James and his friends get drunk in a dark room with strange people in it. They end up at The Gaslight Inn talking to big lesbian women from New Zealand. They all get just drunk enough to still be able to stand, but to repel any eligible women in sight. James goes to McDonalds, before walking home from Kings Cross. On his way home he starts talking to an English backpacker called "Keef". James and Keef try to walk into every pub on Park St and then down George Street, before finally not being turned away from Star Bar. They see a young man being violently arrested on the pool table. James walks home, misses brunch.

Episode 2: The 30-something
Summary: James and his gay-best-friend, Stamford catch a matinee. Afterwards, over cocktails, they realise that it isn´t so bad being in your 30s. James celebrates and spends $400 on shoes.
Reality: James and his brother, along with Nina and Milo go to see Youami at the Enmore. James and brother Nick stay at Bar Broadway until 5:30am claiming, "What? Tim Rogers would definetly still be drinking!" James falls over on the way home.

A different ring in your ear.

Last night saw Pidge´s farewell from the Olympic city. Next week he will be relocating to the place of mafia-related shootings, cannabis plantations and teenage pregnancy. Griffith.

The evening started conveniently for me, just down the road from my house at the Rose Hotel. Having offered to get the first round I settled into what seemed like at least five schooners before I first stood up to go to the toilet. The crowd, like the venue was celubrious, with a great turn out that cumulatively sliced through what could only be described as "a bloody mountain of tin."

The evening was soured slightly when an obnoxiously drunk member of the party got into a vocal argument with two girls over the high proportion of males in our group wearing cardigans. Some of the better quotes from it:
"What´s your definition of cardigan?"
- J.R-E to two girls.
"It´s not a cardigan... It has a zip and a hood. Cardigans have to have buttons by definition!"
- J.R-E on allegations that he himself, is wearing a cardigan.
"What do you want? Do you want me to just say straight out that I´m a wanker?"
- J.R-E in a final ditch attempt to take the moral high ground.
"Yes"
-Girl #1 answering above question.
"Mate, lets go"
- Pidge to James.

Purple Sneakers was a short stroll down the road, and after a brief run in with an extended line-up out the front (it feels weird lining up for the Abercrombie, in a gravel driveway that smells like sewage) we danced our way through to some ironically cool music. After the bar ran our of post-mix, gin and juice was the order to beat. Myself and Brad had declared that the night indeed would be an RAAF Airshow (reference to flying: "I´m flying"). Feeling slightly old amongst the 18-20 year olds with quirky hair, I was relieved to find The Chaser´s own Chris Taylor dragging up the average age in the venue to an acceptable level.

Great night had by all. Farewell for the time being Will, I hope your expensive jeans serve you as well in regional NSW as they have here in Sydney.

GOONBAG

I wrote this post about 6 weeks ago, but never finished it. I don't think I will ever bother doing so but heres a good chunk of it.

NB - Since I wrote this, the affable Bag Of has got a job.

Last week during a lunch-break at work, me and Dan found ourselves, over lasagne and chips, discussing ways to make money in a world where virtually every cash-cow has been milked dry. I was telling Dan how a cousin of a friend used to organised cruises around the harbour for Sydney´s somewhat scabby, yet lovable backpacker population. Dan, a well seasoned traveller himself agreed that while Sydney´s backpacker population were indeed quite scabby, they are large in numbers and usually bring British Pounds of Euros to spend. We started brainstorming different ways to make money from backpackers... I suggested maps of Sydney pointing out of this cities three most beautiful and picturesque attractions: Bondi, Coogee, Scubar.

This got me thinking about tourism in general. You always see and/or hear about tourists, when in LA, going on the "Desperate Housewives" bus tour or the "Celebrity Houses" bus tour.
"Perhaps there would be room to do this here in Sydney?" I asked myself out loud, whilst eating crackers and philadelphia cheese and pacing around my small living room in the dark.

Rather than focus on famous people, I think I will focus on soon-to-be famous people, this way I will be a step ahead of the rest of the celebrity bus-tour competition.

TOUR #1:
The David "Goonbag" Goulter Bus-Tour.

Who ?: David is a future star of Rugby Union. At the tender age of 21 he is already the tight-head prop for Eastwood´s first grade side.

How much?: $130 per person.

Target bus-tourers: This particular bus-tour will target the Eastwood clubs international fan base, the proportion of females aged 16-49 that like "big husky guys" (around 13% according to the ABS), North-shore mothers as well as select demographics from the lucrative "up-stairs at Cargo" contingent.

::ITINIERY::

* After picking up tourers from the International Airport and Central Station, the bus (renamed the Goulter-bus[!]) will travel down Victoria Rd and out to it´s first stop at Eastwood´s home ground, T.G. Milner Oval.

9:00am - T.G. Milner: Passengers will be let off the bus and shown around the place where their hero played his first games of Colts, and for the first time took to the field in a first-grade jersey (no different to any other grades jersey... More of a metaphor). Passengers will be each given a film cannister containing a small piece of grass from the in-goal area.

9:10am - Changing room/Clubhouse: After doing a lap of the oval, "just like Dave does at the start of every training", passengers will be shown into the changing room that Goulter first was officially "welcomed to first grade" in. Passengers will be given the option of purchase a limited edition print of Dave standing on top of the physio table naked, singing the club song, with their own head superimposed onto the great mans body! Prints will come mounted on cardboard, each print is pre-signed "David Goulter #1", by Eastwoods own Tim Donnelly as Dave was (naturally) too busy. Prints can be purchased at $37 for 1, or $105 for 3. Limit six per person per tour.

9:40am - Passengers will be taken for a guided tour of the Eastwood Club. Morning tea and refreshments will be provided courtesy of Spotless catering: Each traveller will receive one red granny smith apple, two scotch finger biscuits, a Just Juice popper, and a three baby chicken wings. Tour organisers should be contacted 48hours in advance for special dietary requirements eg vegetarian, siliac, poof etc.

10:40 - After a nice digestive walk back to the bus, passengers will travel to North Ryde RSL, official sponsors of EDRUFC! Here passengers will be given a guided tour of the monstrous club/pokie filled cesspit. Passengers will be spoken to by a spokesperson from the RSL about the importance of poker machines in society, and how without them we would all be miserable. Interstate and International visitors will be shown "how to have a slap" on the pokies, while local passengers will be entertained by the RSL´s latest amateur theatre production: "Kicking the shit out of Tim Friedman".

12:20 - Passengers will be given the option of purchasing a counter-meal at one of the RSL´s 48 bars/bistros.

13:00 - Arrive at the house in West Pymble that Dave grew up (and still lives) in! The bus will circle

Now that the iconic Aussie band Youami has realeased an awesome come-back album, "Convicts", I could provide the Youami bus tour of Sydney.

Calista Flockhart: "I thought I was going to die"

Apart from a small cash-flow crisis, having too many unpaid jobs and two massive assignments due next week, it is a wonderful time to be alive.

Tickets to Splendour have been purchased, lust of tar has almost been coughed up, overall sense of confidence and well-being is reasonably high. If I were the character from "Doom 2," I suspect my health would read a respectable 92%, any minor complications would be represented by a slightly bloody nose on the face of the muscular hero. My weapon of choice would of course be the chainsaw, aiding me as I hack my way through the trials and tribulations of life. All my worries and problems would be represented by aliens and armed soviet troops, all my solutions and happiness being them chopped up on the ground - there ammo and extra lives picked up by me on the way. The various levels would be named things like "Researching and Reporting Feature Article", "Allnight radio show", "Carrying plates", "Calling Centrelink", "Thinking up new things to call Simmo". Stuff like that mainly.

Tip of the day: Do not go grocery shopping when you are hungry.
Saying of year: "Shelfing" (verb) eg: "Fuck, that bloke can shelf piss"
"I am stingin', when are we gonna start shelfing piss"
"A fair bit off piss was shelfed"
Quote of the last six weeks: "A complete lack of remorse for tin"
- W. Gilroy.
Handy Household hint of the week: Why not convert an old living area into a funky entertaining space!?
Tooheys New Cup Player of the Week: D. Goulter (Eastwood)
Award for best money invested in the last year: Norths Rugby Club for 1. Cabana Bars Thursday nights and 2. Wendel Sailor (They took the Dell burger off the menu because Wendel "isn't fucken hungry mate (sound of jaw grinding and lips licking)! ... Can I have a ciggie?"

4:38am Monday the 1st of May, 2006

YIPPEE, HOORAY I AM FINALLY FREE!

As a wise man once said: "God bless the fucken lot us us!"

Drew Barrymore is going to be very upset...

This post is written in response to popular blogger and high-end-street-fashion purveyor Claudia Newstead. Newstead's latest post has called on the fair opinion of 'Sydney boys' to provide a character reference for one 'Patty' (not female) and 'Lessio' (By the way, it's not enough to just wear "drainpipe" cut jeans. If you want to be in the Strokes you have to at least smoke, even if you don't play an instrument. I'm pretty sure Fabrizio Moretti didn't bag Drew Barrymore just by delivering a pear, rocket and blue cheese pizza to a table of taste-curious brewery visitors.)

Perth is a strange place. 'Paddy' is spelt with two T's (Patty) and wanker is spelt with a capital "W" and an exclamation mark (Wanker!). Special mention also goes to the guy in the flat brimmed cap who is apparently in some gang called 'ANKLESNAP' but hasn't quite gathered the sand to get it tattooed on the inside of his lower lip. His name was Dane and what he couldn't express in words, he more than made up for by stumbling and curb-sleeping.

My long standing suspicion of people with new-age names has been taken up another peg to say the least. After all that happened I'm suprised someone named Corey didn't try to scissor-kick me on the strength that my friend's (Pidge) jeans were tight. After Pidge's galant efforts both talking to girls and parents of girls having parties I think it is necessary to change the 'Chuck Norris facts' to the 'Will Gilroy' facts. Example:

"Will Gilroy decided it was a good idea to bottle his urine. We’ve come to know it as Red Bull! "
- Thats right, Pidge pisses red bull.

Brackets aside. We just visited Perth to see the usual suspects, aforementioned in this blog. Timing was on everybodies side as our visit coincided with the 21st birthday parties of Tim and Annika (and a big online happy birthday to you both[!]).

Hopefully I will get around to talking more about this trip as it was one of the best weeks I've ever had (1:00am-9:30am 20/4 - morning after Tim's party a possible exception for digestive reasons). From Pidge and his boots trying to pick up everything that moved to Brad's apparent alcoholism the week went off like red-cordial at Bible camp.

LIST OF HIGHLIGHTS:
- Arriving to see Tom Hill drinking a pint of Lager in the arrivals lounge of Perth domestic.
- Drinking what was apparently really nice red wine when we first arrived at Tims place, but not appreciating it or even being able to differentiate it from a cask of Stanley´s finest.
- The cutting edge and oh-so-quirky floor staff at Little Creatures Brewery.
- Tim showing me how to kick lights in the park so they turned offf.
- Foregoing tradition and trading in the late-night kebab for ´just the half kilo of brie for me tonight´ to soak up the booze at 2:30am.
- Finding a BP staff cardigan.
- The parallels between the Perth´s Western suburbs and The OC evident at Anna´s "white party"
- Riding the dirt-surfer down the hill.
- Debating over whether or not to put 'love,' on a birthday card addressed to someone we didn't know.
- Everything except leaving. What a , for want of a better term, fucken grouse week! Thank you, each and everyone of you, for putting us up (again!) and having us at our inebriated worst!

Find out just what pain means, In purple sneakers and grey jeans.

Just in case anyone was wondering why Tim Rogers was my hero...

Rove, crap show, but Tim Rogers was on tonight wearing a pink pirate suit complete with skull and cross-bones hat... Who ever said that Hillsong was the only great thing to come out of the Hills district?

1997 trapped inside a conversation, The party was so loud I felt like an abbreviation of myself.

I had an interesting experience on the walk home from uni tonight.

Finishing my Regulation of the Media tute at 9pm, I had just picked up some dinner and was walking down Broadway to my humble but lovely home. I was strolling past the Abercrombie Hotel nodding my head sympathetically to the drum ´n bass that pulsed through its smelly, beer and smoke infused walls when I noticed a group of three or four lads walking in the other direction. They were pretty young, probably 18 or 19, and judging by the presence of open Woodstock´s and TED´s coupled with their attire and cocky gait, they were most likely residents of St Paul´s College at Sydney Uni. Maybe young country lads, sent out by their hard-working bush parents to experience tertiary education and (a type of) urban living. Maybe they were city kids, most likely private school types from suburbs like Vaucluse, Clifton Gardens, Pymble (where I lived until about a month ago). They were almost certainly one of the two. Maybe they were a mix. I don´t care.

As our paths crossed several of them sniggered at me as I walked past. I couldn´t really work out why. The biggest of the gentleman leant over as we past each other and in between giggles said ´hey sexy´.
Hey sexy?
Without the chance to respond I started to compile a list of possible reasons for this in my head. Was it
a) Because I was eating sushi?
b) Because I was wearing a purple shirt?
c) Because I was walking down the street instead of rowing?
d) Because they were jealous of my sexily-matted strawberry-blonde hair and used-to-be-an-active-child-but-now-mostly-sleeps-during-the-day complexion?
e) Because difference is funny... And in this case I was not in accordance with the boat-shoes/collar up policy found in Section 4, Subsection A, Paragraph 12 of the ´College Boys Handbook of How to Dress, Act, Talk and Walk: Fitting in perfectly on the inside, Appearing like knob-ends to everyone else´

I´m not sure exactly which of these reasons, if any were the cause of this display. It does not matter. What I thought was funny about it was that they had clearly mistaken me for the wrong person...

While I may live in the inner-west of Sydney now (making me cooler than all of you. Fact.), and dress in a way that makes me appear different to them, and may be humming a song that wasn´t by Pete Murray... At the end of the day I´m still a private school wanker just like you! I have spent virtually my entire life on the upper north shore, I went to a prestigious private school where I played footy and was often a dick to people... If anything I am way more like you than you are(?). We were arrogantly strolling around passing judgement on people when you dicks were still innocent enough to respect those of different class, colour and creed. We were turning up our collars and wearing our real-life blinkers fused on by christian studies classes while you were still wearing speedos and painting yourself in black body paint for your primary school´s annual play that sent a powerful message about tolerance and the Rainbow Serpent´s whacky adventures during the Dreamtime.

The point is, high school is over now, and even though we were all pompous wankers then, there is no stipulation stating that we must remain the same for years to come.

College boys are quite possibly the very last on my list of groups in societies that scare me. Just tell them that they are looking a but thin and should probably think about creatine if they want to play Uni 4ths Colts this year. Oh yeah, and for the way you act most of you guys are suprisingly shit at footy. I´ve got mates who are not even a tenth of the wanker you guys are, that are playing in way better teams than you. If you really want to leave me intimidated with nothing to say, send some angry surfies from coastal areas of NSW. You can´t reason with some of those guys. Before you´ve even made a quip about how sick their mum´s Commodore looks when its smoking up the car park, especially with their little sister´s pre-HSC baby seat in the back they´ve usually screamed ´Fuck off blow-in´ and punched you.

By the way, this post is mostly for humourous effect. Most people from all demographics are at the end of the day quite nice... It is fun to stereotype though.

´Remember the first time I gave you a big old shake?´

The title of this entry quotes the exact words spoken to me by one L. Forbes at around 6am, Saturday, the day after St Patricks day...

After a suitable post-work gunning, it was decided the best way to end the night would be to trespass on the grounds of a prestigious Sydney boys private school and admire the view of the harbour... This evolved (obviously) into the aforementioned waking up the one homeless man in Waverton to ask him if he would like a cigarette, to which his response was to say ´no mate´put his blanket back on and go back to sleep. Mr Forbes, deeply offended, then proceeded to question this man´s homeless status asking loudly ´What kind of bum turns down a smoke?´ and ´His blankets look dry-cleaned! What kind of bum has dry-cleaned sheets?´ (the obvious answer would have been a bum in Waverton but it was very early in the morning). I attempted to reason with him suggesting that the gentleman may not be a smoker to which he replied ´bullshit, every bum smokes. Fact. You look like you need another shake Ross-Edwards´. He followed up this statement by aggressively shaking me from the shoulders.

Sources confirmed that later in the day another incident occured when Mr Forbes ran into said derelict at a local bottle shop. The resident of Waverton Park´s only bench had allegedly ¨just popped down to pick up a case of Crownies, just in case I entertain at some stage of the weekend and someone isn`t a wine drinker¨. Mr Forbes had simply been inquiring to the shops management why they did not keep their methylated spirits in the fridge. After a heated debate CCTV footage shows Mr Forbes violently shaking both the stores manager, and the young female assistant before he purchased a bag of ice and quietly left.
Mr Forbes is quoted as saying ¨ït was one of those good violent shakes where you slap them a bit and you almost feel bad about it after¨.

I didn´t come here looking for no fix.e

I would like to firstly apologise for the huge amount of time it has been since I have last posted something here. I know I have let thousands of you down, and that for many the closest they can get to me is to read my cunning and witfully crafted takes on modern/post-modern living in the vague hope that one day my name will be added the list of contributors in the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations. Hopefully my entry would be in the ´last words´section where before my glorious death I would have said something witty like ´Put me back on my bike you tramp´ or ´did you here what Simmo got up to on the weekend? Maniacal bastard! Also I feel pretty rubbish myself, I feel I may never live to watch said lunatic smash another tin of Vic...´

Simmo aside, there has been numerous reasons I have not been able to post lately, some of which I will list here.

1. I moved out of home. I now live in the tranquil inner-west suburb of Chippendale where the pubs are cheaper, dingier, smokier, far more numerous, a lazy stroll and in general a much greater laugh. So I´ve been getting pissed a fair bit more regularly lately. At home the only pub I could walk to was the Pymble Hotel, that place sucks. Additionally, not owning a computer has put a fair dent in my ¨online time¨. Luckily my flatmate, the dashing Chilean Gerardo or ¨FES¨ has not only a computer, but worked out how to get free wireless internet from our apartment. The result: I am currently sitting on our households equivalent of a couch (fold up camping chairs with drink holder arm rests) typing away while Gerardo sits next to me in our households equivalent of a sunken lounge area (tired looking royal-blue beanbag stolen from Peach´s bedroom) whilst slaying fantasy demons and rooting fem-serpents courtesy of Playstation 2. My other flatmate Nikki away at our households equivalent of The Hamptons (North Sydney. At work.)

2. My life has been lacking the usual pizazz that has previously made BCorTM hot property on any self respecting persons web-history. This has translated to very little to write about, except looking for places to live for a month straight, with the only worthy topics to come out of that being that most Real Estate Agents are, and I don´t like to use this word often, cunts. I have been even more non-threatening than usual lately, unless you are the licensee of a certain bar in North Sydney with the initials V and C, in which case a showdown is inevitable. James´tip: bloodbath.
- I also slapped a woman in the face about a month ago, pretty hard too.

3. I´ve been busy taking on the world at squash. By the world I mean Pidge, Brad ´Simmo´ Simon and my brother, once a week for an hour usually. They´re all rubbish, I kick arse. Fact.

the abercrombie...

* Sunday afternoon saw myself, Will, Brad (aka 'Simmo' aka 'B-unit' aka 'Big guy' eg 'Simmo is a lunatic on the cans') ventured down to the Abercrombie for some Sunday afternoon beers and some tunes courtesy of the travelling Levins music machine which included Spod dj-ing. We were just getting comfy on a favourite disgusting old couch inside and finishing our first jug of beez neez when we were priveleged enough to be joined by Ng - whose glazed look suggested that he was still quite hungover from the previous night which no doubt consisted of nice shoes and comic-speak.
After our second or third round we were lucky enough to be joined by Nina, who still hasn't gotten over the fact that she met the Kings of Leon (poser).

The great company did not end there people... Several rounds, and some toilet graffiti later (I wrote my name above the trough in biro) we were joined by the one and only Steve Lloyd and his girlfriend Emma. Steve had been excited into a state when I rang him to say that Spod was playing... After making the effort to come down he realised that not only was Spod ONLY playing a DJ set but he had in fact arrived half an hour after Spod had left the building... or courtyard as it may be. At some stage some guy that Ng knew called Zander or something was also there - who attempted to ask out the bar girl named 'Uncye' (that is a vague guess at the spelling based on the pronounciation). Uncye politely said no and kept cleaning the bar.

The following things also happened during the night:
* I saw Quan from Regurgitator and made Nina dare me to go up to him and say: 'Hey Quan, I like your old stuff better than your new stuff!! (exclamation marks strictly optional). After finally convincing Nina to dare me to do something so edgy and smart, I ended up mentally preparing for to long and Quan had left... Probably to see how the other guy in the band and Yumi are doing.

* Ng went for a walk and fell asleep down the road... Someone had to bring him back. I think it was effects from the opium him and his people have been smoking for the last several hundred years... Cursed yellow peril.

* We listened Snoop and Dre's 'Next Episode' I think.

* Brad got angry at me for repeatedly pointing at him and saying 'Simmo!' and things like 'Simmo is wild' or 'Simmo is ann absolute mongrel on the cans'.

* On the bus to Newtown later, Ng's friend with a funny name tried to make people sing... The only song that got any reception was John Farnham's 'You're the voice'. One guy joined in...he had two hearing aids and was a great singer.

* Me and Will had a text messaging war on the way home. Will cut me deep with this one:

Will to James:
'Hi im James, an arts
graduate. Got a parent who could
give me a leg up?
Cant help falling in love. give me a girl,
a blog and a bar. Im
so lonely...

The joke's on him though. Your grammar and punctuation suck and so do your pants and hair!

... A good night all around.

he stage dived and he missed, he staged dived and he missed

Lack of inspiration... Nothing to write about. My brain is clogged with menial labour, Eric Bana, OC series 1 and 2 and voices in my head telling me to sail to Tahiti (fucken OC again).

We had a radio show on Wednesday night/Thursday morning... We are sucking a fair bit less than we used to. I got the following comment:
'Steve sounds like an actual professional...Not that you sound bad, you just sounded like his guest or something'
- I can't believe I actually immortalised that in print... That will get Steve out of bed for the next week. I reckon maybe longer.

Personal notes:

Having just come off the largest week in a while (Randomly pissed at the Crowie on Tuesday night, White Stripes gig Wednesday, BDO Thursday, 6 hours of 'OC' season 1 on Friday, and a mates birthday cruise on Saturday that started at 10:30am on a boat in the harbour and ended 4:00am Sunday tired, drunk, penniless and fast losing the term 'loveably' from the phrase 'loveably obnoxious'). In reflection of the week that has just been I thought I would direct a few questions at certain individuals.

Jack White: Jack, I think I am going to ask Meg to marry me... What will that make us? Brothers? Lovers? Enemies? I hope you won't beat me up like you did the guy from the Von Bondies... Do you mind if I write some songs for Meg's solo album?

Meg White: Will you marry me?

Meg White: I have an idea... How do you feel about starting up a 2-piece, husband-wife band? Sure I'm not much chop on the guitar, and can't sing for shit... No need to look at me like that, you're drumming is sub-par and often out of time.

Tom Hill: Thomas your blog is splendid reading. www.alcoholicsanonymouswithanajaxkicker.blogspot.com

Organisers of the Sydney BDO: I'm sorry about urinating on some of your tents and scaffolding, and floors... If you don't want this to happen in the future perhaps you should give me a VIP card or something.

Wolfmother: What is a 'Mind's Eye?' Is it something Ozzy Osborne taught you?

Tex Perkins: If Tim Rogers fell over and died one day you would be my new living hero of Australian music...

Kings of Leon: How did you guys get those pants to do up? Was it nice meeting Nina?

Steve: Are you trying to beat me at the only thing I can distinguish myself with? nice entry... I like the way it was largely about me. www.jamesandsteve.blogspot.com
- I'll see you on the airwaves! Or maybe in the car on the way!
- 1-6am, 2nd of Feb 94.5 on the FM dial.

Tim Rogers: Look out behind you man, I think Tex Perkins just tried to push you down the stairs.

Seth Cohen: A few questions...
1. How do you maintain your sharp, satirical wit with all the drama that goes on around you all the time?
2. Do you ever miss Anna? She was great eh!
3. Self-deprecators are kings among comedians don't you think Seth... All us tall, skinny wankers know that (Am I right or what?... Anyone?)

Kym: Now that you are no longer a 9-5er I hope that you still read this fine publication.

Sandy Cohen: Does it wear you out being a Saint amongst men? Because you look bloody fantastic for your age.

And I will fully like, love you, always...how does that song go?

This is an inbetween post - like a solo album between touring with the rest of the band...
The rest of the Falls journal is on it's way.

Three important points:

1. First and foremost please visit www.jamesandsteve.blogspot.com , it's a blog dedicated to following the every move of Kyle Sandilands and Jackie O... I just don't know how they can be so funny every morning!!!!!

2. Thanks I had a great weekend, I went to Kym's party, then the Mandarin Club to pash Ng and firmly molest Levins, then to what I swear was 'Gasworks' the heavy metal nightclub from the first Wayne's World but I'm told was 77 on Williams St... Holy shit, I have never seen such immaculate posing... Oh and to whoever was DJing? By playing The Clashes 'London Calling' I think you almost fooled 'ironically cool' into thinking it was someone else. It's like the people at these places (much like the crowd that frequented the Pacific Blue Room for 'Death Disco' several years back) are the type of people that simply don't exist in daylight, it would certainly not be practical if they did. Perhaps at the break of day they turn into pumpkins or maybe the plastic bags that line the bins on Crown Street... Making them the receptacle of (devestatingly appropriately) 'Crown Street trash'.

3. I don't know if the Falls' diaries will ever be completed. To save everyone the suspense that may never convert itself into realised satisfaction...
- Falls was great
- broke radiator on some arseholes tow-bar (my fault completely - Sleeping Beauty aka Pidge wasn't a great help either) on the way home
had to leave the borrowed CRV in Lorne (just over 1000kms from my driveway)
- public transport to Melbourne (the 5 dickheads next to me on the Lorne-Geelong bus took acid as soon as we got on the bus... about half an hour in the guy turned to me and said: 'Did you just call me a fucken loser?'... This suprised me, I didn't know that acid enabled people to read minds).
- stayed at Brads cousin Cheryl's house in Melbourne
went to the Espy, got a counter meal, stupid city hasn't even invented buzzers for bistro food, decided that despite lackm of buzzers and bitchy bistro staff Melbourne beats Sydney
- oh yeah the guy in the record store in Brunswick St was smoking behind the counter at his shop... you would never see that shit here. Not passing judgement either way, just saying... you would never see that shit here.

Oh yeah... to the two girls who put their deposit on that cool apartment in Ernest Street two minutes before us on Saturday... Get used to a seedy guy in nowt but a trenchcoat standing below you're spacious balcony, furiously masturbating and watching you eat your morning cereal...
That's right, I'm sending Brad around until you give us our house back.

Day 1 of The Falls road trip - 'Are those thongs watermelon coloured?'

Happy new year to most...whatever to others!

The Falls Festival Road Trip Diary:

28th Dec -
Arose around 6:30am tired and a bit sweaty as is characteristic of a Sydney summer. Had to jump straight to action as we were due to leave at 7:30. After 25minute shower (sorry farmers) I got dressed, finished packing and waited for Will to arrive so we could leave.
8:10 - Will arrives pretending he isn't late.
8:25 - Doug has called asking for us to come and pick us up from his parents place, this is impressive as with no landline, mobile or idea of where he was staying the night before - I had my doubts he would materialise let alone call us at such an early hour.
10:00 - Doug is in the car, the borrowed CRV is rocketing towards Melbourne.
10:05 - Will to James: 'Did you bring your tickets?'
10:25 - Back at my house, searching for tickets.
12:00 - Goulbourn Maccas.
12:26 - Goulbourn Subway waiting for Doug to get his vegetarian option...selfish.
14:17 - Three-way sing-along to Alanis Morisette 'Ironic' so loud that we needed to pull over in a landlocked town with a massive submarine as it's chief attraction to remind ourselves what irony really is.
14:20 - Did a poo in the toilets next to the big submarine.
14:58 - Finished an argument on whether or not it would be ironic if it rained on your wedding day if you were marrying Tim Bailey... Agreed that it probably would be but too many variables presented themselves: indoor or outdoor venue, legality of gay marriage, do you really love him or is it just the 'weatherman' you are marrying? etc. etc.
16:47 - Met up with other vehicle in party, they were at the 'Booma Hotel' in Albury and only convinced Brad to stop for a rest because someone had told him that there was a shop that sold pastel sweaters at low low prices... Sam felt bad for deceiving Brad but felt it was necessary as he was 'stinging for a schooner'... Unfortunately for him we were far enough away from Sydney that only pots and pints were on offer, but we were still close enough that the pub bore all the stainless-steel, pokie-lounge, mutton-dressed-as-lamb attributes that plague suburban hotels of Sydney.
16:58 - Me and Brad decided to swap the plugs in his green thongs with those in my pink thongs. After some effort we achieved our goal.
17:14 - Realised that me and Brad could no longer safely walk side by side with our heterosexuality intact... This matter was inflamed when I had to leave the beer garden and walk through the public bar in watermelon thongs and pink shorts, to the sultry stares of clearly impressed local workers who I'm sure wanted to know where they could themselves accquire such manly fashion.
17:30 - Back on the road, charging towards the city of vintage couches and zero no-smoking signs.
17:42 - Having just crossed the border and left the arse-end of Wodonga Will shows a touch of his pre-going-to-uni-in-Canberra conservative cautiousness suggesting that we stop for petrol.
'Nonsense!' James declares loudly, 'the light hasn't even come on yet! We have at least 100kms after that!'
17:43 - The petrol light on the borrowed CRV lights up.
18:51 - (Around 100km later) I am slightly nervous as we were due to run out of petrol near a service-stationless town that declared itself 'The horse-capital of Australia' - not a horse in sight... irony? Maybe it's on Alanis' forthcoming ''b-sides and rarities'. Additionally, about 20 minutes earlier Will had declared that if we were to run out of petrol due to my stupidity , he would be allowed to take advantage of me while he was wearing nothing but black Clark's school shoes and a lime-green industrie polo shirt with the collar up.
19:00 - Found service station in town that declared itself 'The next one down from the horse capital of Australia'. Pumped petrol while still shaking a little bit with relief.
19:11 - Made Will put his school shoes back in his bag.
19:44 - Entering Melbourne finishing an emotional conversation about how much travelling and experiencing different places opens up your mind. Started an emotional conversation about how much we hate people with different cultures and ideas.
21:12 - Finally found our motel 'Best Western - Tullamarine'. Wondering in fact how close it was to the airport (we had to pick up Milo early the next morning), it was quickly noted that we were in fact sleeping within metres of the long-term parking station and were quite possibly in the same street as the Kerrigan family. It wasn't a motel, it was a fucking home.
22:00 - The four of us in the A-party (myself, Will, Doug and Liv) scrubbed up and presented ourselves to the bar/bistro for a somewhat limited choice of dinner: Wedges or fries. I chose wedges.
23:45 - The Ten Networks summer series 'Shopping for Love' was finished and so were we. I fell asleep in my foldout bed dreaming of scoring a dream date at Conrad Jupiters on the Gold Coast with Sharon - the knockout that kept her 'Miss Indy' winners sashes on her bedposts.

- stay tuned for day 2: 'Are youse going to Falls?'