A Story Of Life And Death

The last time Tamara was in Sydney I offered to drop her off at the airport so she could take her very early Sunday morning flight back to Rome. Tamara has always had a great fear of flying even before the tragedy which would befall her family so taking her to the airport and making sure she is okay is a very important job as her friend. You see Tamara lost her sister Shelly in an aircraft accident off the coast of South Africa, so you can imagine she doesn’t enjoy flying and it makes her nervous and upset, and that is being very general when it comes to how she feels regarding the matter.

So as Tamara was checking in at the Qantas counter she began to get very anxious about the impending flight. I had advised her she should inform the check in clerk of her circumstances so he would sympathize with her and give her the seat where she felt the safest in the aircraft but by the time she was loading her bags onto the conveyor belt she was becoming gripped with emotion. I took charge of the situation because by this point Tamara would not have spoken at all. I just told the check in clerk the truth of the matter, that her sister had died in an aircraft accident and she wanted to sit in a particular row and seat as this is where she felt most comfortable.

The Qantas check in clerk was amazing to say the least. He was probably in his late 40’s and looked like a real true blue Australian surfer boy from way back. As soon as I told him why Tamara was upset he stopped what he was doing and looked us both in the eye and asked if we wanted to hear a great story that he hoped would help Tamara with how she was feeling. He said he was also dealing with the grief of losing someone close to him and he wanted to share the story with us. Of course I was happy for any diversion especially if it helped to calm Tamara’s growing nerves. He told us he had a life long friend who he had surfed with and partied with since they were teenagers.

This friend had been with him threw thick and thin and one day told him he was going to live in Thailand as he wanted to enjoy a more relaxed lifestyle. The check in guy said he was happy for his friend and knew he would see him often as he could travel over to visit anytime with his staff travel. He said he traveled back and fourth to see his friend plenty of times and they always had a great time.

One day his friend called him and told him he had prostate cancer, but that he shouldn't’t worry as he was getting treated and should be okay. Unfortunately he said his friend after a short period of treatment was not responding well and the cancer was becoming more aggressive. Not long after he spoke to his friend another friend of his called and told him to go and visit his life long friend in Thailand as soon as he could as he feared he may not last too much longer. Of course he said he rushed over to Thailand to visit with his friend and they spent the time he was there surfing and doing all the normal things they would do even though his friend was by this point becoming very sick.

When it was time for him to return to Australia he said he felt really sad and didn’t want to leave his friend. So as one last big night out they went on a drinking binge the night before his flight to Sydney. He said he was so pissed he couldn’t recall even getting on the flight home but half way into the flight he started to sober up. He then had to go to the toilet and to his horror noticed his balls were pad locked together with a giant home made chastity belt his friend had obviously put on him as a prank. He said he had to go to a locksmith upon arrival in Sydney to get it removed. He said it was pretty funny, even though it hurt like hell.

Within a few weeks he got a call from his friend advising him that the cancer was becoming untreatable and he didnt know how much longer he had to live. He said his friends main reason for the call was to inform him he had left his sandals at his place in Thailand and not to rush back because he wasnt going to get them back as his friend had liked the look of them and wanted to keep them for himself. He said that was the kind of friend he was a real joker. In fact he said he thought he may have even knocked the sandals off from his suitcase before he left. Who knows.??

A few weeks after this call from his friend the Doctor in the Thai hospital where his friend was receiving treatment called to tell him to come back to Thailand quickly as his friend was dying and he should return immediately as his friend had only a little time left on this earth.

The check in clerk said he flew to Thailand within hours and caught a cab straight to the hospital. Fortunately his friend was still alive but in a semi consciences state and had not spoken for many days to the other loved ones who were also there with him. Upon the check in clerk walking into the room his mate sat bolt upright and started laughing hysterically. He told us it made everyone in the room start to laugh hysterically but nobody knew what was going on or how he could have got the strength to start laughing. His friend never said a word, just laughed until he fell back into unconsciousness. He said within hours his friend died surrounded by himself, family and friends.

The check in clerk then said as he was leaving the hospital after his friend had died a nurse approached him and gave him a letter written by his friend outlining his final instructions for funeral and burial arrangements. The letter said he wanted the check in clerk to go and wash and dress his body and then he was to be cremated in a traditional Thai ceremony then the check in clerk was to return his ashes to Sydney and spread them over the beach where they used to surf together.

The check in clerk said he was nervous to go and do such a job as washing and dressing his friend but he knew he had to do it. He said the nurse agreed to help him and brought him the clothing which had been set aside for his friend to be dressed in. Upon walking into the room where his friend lie dead and waiting to be bathed he said he took one look at the silly bastard and burst out laughing, the reason for his laughter at his now dead friend was due to the fact that his dead friend was wearing the check in clerks sandals which he had left behind in Thailand on their final holiday together.

After the cremation ceremony and all was said and done he was provided with his friends ashes to return back to Sydney with. So he boarded the Qantas flight and began the long journey home with his friend safely placed in his hand luggage in the over head compartment. He said some way into the journey home he just started crying and really wanting his friend back. At this point in the conversation the check in clerk was crying and so were we. He told us how much fun they had together and how whilst flying home he was mourning the loss of such a funny and true mate. He wondered how he could continue on without him in his life. So at 30 thousand feet above the ground and all of a sudden he said he had the sudden urge to just hold his friend, he said he just wanted to be close to him. So he jumped up and grabbed his bag from the over head locker and took his friends ashes out to just sit in his seat and hold onto him.

At this point the check in clerk began to laugh hysterically as he said that for some unknown reason as he went to sit back down in his seat he lost his footing and took a few steps backwards and the lid came off the ashes and he dropped them everywhere throughout the flight cabin. He said he was laughing his head off as he looked around and saw most of the cabin in a plume of his mates ashes.

Of course he said his mate would have thought this was the best possible outcome, bugger the beach this was piss funny. We all stood there at the check in counter wetting ourselves laughing and crying at the same time. There was a huge queue of people waiting and none of us seemed to care, we were relishing in his story of his true friend and mate and the glory of life and death.

WHEN YOUR PANTS BEGIN TO GO

WHEN you wear a cloudy collar and a shirt that isn’t white,
And you cannot sleep for thinking how you’ll reach to-morrow night,
You may be a man of sorrows, and on speaking terms with Care,
But as yet you’re unacquainted with the Demon of Despair;
For I rather think that nothing heaps the trouble of your mind
Like the knowledge that your trousers badly need a patch behind.

I have noticed when misfortune strikes the hero of the play
That his clothes are worn and tattered in a most unlikely way;
And the gods applaud and cheer him while he whines and loafs around,
And they never seem to notice that his pants are mostly sound;
But, of course, he cannot help it, for our mirth would mock his care,
If the ceiling of his trousers showed patches of repair.

You are none the less a hero if you elevate your chin
When you feel the pavement wearing through the leather, sock, and skin;
You are rather more heroic than are ordinary folk
If you scorn to fish for pity under cover of a joke;
You will face the doubtful glances of the people that you know;
But – of course, you’re bound to face them when your pants begin to go.

If, when flush, you took your pleasures – failed to make a god of Pelf,
Some will say that for your troubles you can only thank yourself;
Some will swear you’ll die a beggar, but you only laugh at that
While your garments hang together and you wear a decent hat;
You may laugh at their predictions while your soles are wearing through,
But – a man’s an awful coward when his pants are going too.

Though the present and the future may be anything but bright,
It is best to tell the fellows that you’re getting on all right.
And a man prefers to say it – ‘tis a manly lie to tell,
For the folks may be persuaded that you’re doing very well;
But it’s hard to be a hero, and it’s hard to wear a grin,
When your most important garment is in places very thin.

Get some sympathy and comfort from the chum who knows you best,
That your sorrows won’t run over in the presence of the rest;
There’s a chum that you can go to when you feel inclined to whine;
He’ll declare your coat is tidy, and he’ll say: “Just look at mine!”
Though you may be patched all over he will say it doesn’t show,
And he’ll swear it can’t be noticed when your pants begin to go.

Brother mine, and of misfortune! times are hard, but do not fret,
Keep your courage up and struggle, and we’ll laugh at these things yet.
Though there is no corn in Egypt, surely Africa has some-
Keep your smile in working order for the better days to come!
We shall often laugh together at the hard times that we know,
And get measured by the tailor when our pants begin to go.
Now the lady of refinement, in the lap of comfort rocked,
Chancing on these rugged verses, will pretend that she is shocked.
Leave her to her smelling – bottle; ‘tis the wealthy who decide
That the world should hide its patches ‘ neath the cruel cloak of pride;
And I think there’s something noble, and I’ll swear there’s nothing low,
In the pride of Human Nature when its pants begin to go.

Henry Lawson (1892)

From: Henry Lawson Collected Verse – Volume One 1885-1900

God I Wish Paul Keating Would Fuck Off.

God I wish Paul Keating would fuck off. I mean that with total sincerity. To know me is to know I can’t dare keep my opinions to myself. Not for want of trying sometimes, but I really can’t help myself and so it would seem neither can ye olde Paul. When I had just left school I was thrown into the world with two dresses, a pair of Dr. Martin knock offs and a mattress. That was about it really. I went out into “the recession we had to have” thanks to Paul Keating.

Over the years he was in power it was as life would have it for me the worst years financially for anyone who was on Struggle Street to be involved in. I recall going to what was known back then as the CES the Commonwealth Employment Agency as it was referred to try and get a job. For those of you too young to know the system was a little easier to navigate back then. You were unemployed you rocked up to the CES you walked in they had partition boards up with job cards on them listing what jobs were available. You would choose what you thought might suit you head to the desk clerk who was a retard on crack and try and get them to send you to the employer for an interview which they would arrange. It was hell, but it was the only way to put food on the table for those with no experience and no qualifications. So it was there I found I hated Paul Keating.

I spent many days waiting for even a job card to be posted and when it was there was a score of out of work factory workers who had been laid off also waiting for work. They sneered at me whenever I got up to get the details. Eventually we all got a few days work packing lamingtons at the Top Taste factory in Meadowbank. I couldn’t believe my luck, cake and money. As I worked with these people I got to know how hard my life was going to be if I didn’t soon get a decent job with decent money. Thankfully I did but only through the skin of my teeth and a 50c jacket I got from St Vincent De Paul, god love em. It was never through Paul Keating, the bastard gave me nothing. Now it would seem when we have put him and his ethics to bed he just keeps bubbling back up for more. One minute banging on about World War 1 and Gallipoli being an Imperial War we should not be proud of because it had nothing to do with defending the bounds of Australia and now he won’t sign an item for a charity auction. Cheap skate cunt that he is.

So like Gough who had his arse kicked out of Australian politics and got the sack he is like a disgruntled school kid who had his lollipop licked and wont let anyone forget it. The fact is Paul you got into the job of PM through default, Hawkie left you got the gig and we had to suffer you. Gough got the arse and thinks he is some kind of folk hero. The fact is the Labour Party has turned a new corner, they realise the likes of the “larrikin” and trade union are no longer something intelligent thinking young Australians want for their future and if they try and bung it on they will get the arse. The bottom line is old pollies should keep their noses out of current affairs and go and hop on an ice berg and float themselves out to sea. So to Gough, I’ve been sacked before, I got over it, perhaps you should give up the ghost of Prime Minster past and to Paul, you are pompous arse wipe with a fancy hair cut. Enough said.

I love display homes and I just cant help it

God I love a display home. I just can’t help it. Ever since I was a kid I have loved a display home or in those days it was called an exhibition home. Due to the fact as kids we didn’t have a pot to piss in a Saturday afternoon of entertainment for us was to go to the local display home village on the outskirts of Sydney and dream away the hot sultry summer licking our way through a nice Mr Whippy ice cream from the Green sleeves van. Ahhh those were the days. Of course we would all say we would one day get one of those “display” homes when we won the lottery, which we never did. So home we would trot to the sealed in heat of our fibro home. What a total waste of human life fibro has been. Not only was it the worst type of material to build a home from due to the fact that the floor never seemed to meet the walls hence letting in the elements but plenty of good hard working blue collar men have died as a result of asbestos related dust disease from putting the shit together. So it may be this weekend that I venture to the display village to dream of my five bedroom home complete with four bathrooms, rumpus room, powder room, guest quarters, home theatrette and my favourite buzz phrase, “the parents retreat”. What ever the fuck that is. All I know is that when I win the lottery I’m gunna get me one of those dang things but preferably in a suburb where there is some degree of social order and a corner shop that sells wizz fizz.

Mine And Monica's US Election Prediction

For some time now Monica and I have banged on about what we think will happen in the US in November. I am writing this now so when it eventuates you will think I am Nostradamus. Frankly I'm not I am just looking at the past to predict the future. I believe that there is a good chance that Obama will be voted in. If he is and that part of the prediction I am unsure of but if he is then I have no doubt some nutter will cap him, blow him up or just plain take him out. He will be assassinated for sure. The reason I think this is given the US's history with racial tension and assassination of prominent leaders in the past it almost seems like a sure thing. I really don't think the US could handle a black leader, they are way to worried about more trivial matters like who is sleeping with who and who wasnt than to rise above their own racial shit. Strangely by suggesting such a drastic outcome such as an assassination I could be accused of being racist, but that would only be an accusation from someone who is living in a dream world. Unfortunately we are not and the US despite its great feats in many areas has some serious nutters running about the joint.

It's Rozie

Yes and I won't ever mention a Toto title ever again. I promise.

I slept with James Blunt then he dumped me!!!!!

You know I am not referring to myself in the title. It was however the title of a great little article in that old Sydney rag "The Daily Telegraph" or more precisely "The Sunday Telegraph" today. Some poor 19 year old "model" went to a James Blunt concert, whilst she bobbed about up the front, he spotted her, she got the tap to go back stage and the rest is history. The moral of the story is a good groupie doesn't bother to run to the papers when they find out that "ye old rock n roller" has ditched them for another piece of skirt. I mean did she really expect to become Priscilla Presley the 2nd coming. Of course the story did rise a dry smile from me. Silly twat that she was no doubt thought her model Esq looks and lack of talent may encourage him to dedicate his next album to her. Its possible in the future she may look back on this experience and running to the rags as a big mistake, Or maybe she wont think much past next week. Still call me old fashioned but what people will do to get some amount of fame these days is intolerable. And if she wants to see exactly what it takes to be a rock groupie here is some advise on how to get back stage from Pink Floyd's The Wall;

http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=jwLcti9wpyY

And if you do get backstage with the rock n roller here is what happens next; Beware artistic types who are prone to drug induced tantrums;

http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=hmwUIgLzVEE&feature=related

You have been warned.

Hush Puppies: My Decline Into Fashionata Hell

Today I had a moment to go and try and find myself a pair of new shoes that I am desperately in need of. I even thought I might pick up multiple pairs if a few took my fancy. Many years ago I would never ever even half contemplated getting anything other than a pair of six to eight inch heeled shoes. I worked in heels, I went out in heels and I swore to never give in to any pesky feet complaints. It didn't take much over the age of 30 to convince my aching feet that a pair of well proportioned smaller court heels may have been more appropriate. Still I refused to budge. Till I slipped my tootsies into a pair of well fitted soft leather Hush Puppies. Whilst in some kind of fashion coma I secretly purchased them and would mince around at home with them on promising to never leave the confines of my front gate. But of course they begged to be taken to the shops, then further afield and eventually I was wearing them to work and other social gatherings. Of course I still wore ridiculous heels where I could but I longed for the comfort and undeniable walking pleasure of the Hush Puppy. So today I ventured into a shoe megastore with hundreds of pairs of shoes all lined up and ready for the taking. I tried lots of very ridiculous high heels, then headed to the Hush Puppy section. Thankfully they didn't have my size and I walked away with a breath of dignity intact, I had avoided the lure and appeal of the Hush Puppy. Whilst I know with what I have just confessed this next statement will seem like an outright lie but I totally and completely draw the line at "The Croc". Under no circumstances unless you are a fishermen should you ever be caught dead in them. Ever. The type of people who wear them with socks should be rounded up with those who put frangapani's on their car's and taken to a very very far off distant planet and expelled from our society. So one last time for the dummies, they are fucken fishing shoes people.

Marilyn - "Your so pretty oh so pretty - Vacant"

Like a road accident you just have to turn around and look at I recently got the song "Calling Your Name" by Marilyn into my head courtesy of my friend Rosanna's blog because she had listed tracks she played while deejaying recently at a party. So I You Tubed it.

http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=NRT4-LoQ2XM

then of course I started watching videos of interviews with Marilyn and Boy George and frankly I then spent more time than necessary and finally watched a five part documentary

http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=m_-pR9fowzE with a barely recognizable Marilyn who now lives with his mother as a hermit in London. Oh and he sure ain't so pretty these days. Its a pity because I loved the whole Steve Strange, Boy George and Marilyn New Romantic thing. It was fantastic, and the next opportunity I get I'm going to wear my makeup a la Boy George, if it kills me. I have no doubt Steve Strange would never have let me in to the Blitz, but fuck him because I stood next to Leigh Bowery at the Freezer in London so there. I loved Leigh the most, he was absolutely the best thing ever I always think of his line "Wear it like your life depends on it" and that is how I sometimes walk out of the house dolled up because I wonder what Leigh would think of me being a "normal", I think he would be horrified. So there is no doubt after watching this doco that I will definitely use Steve Strange's line "All the right people are here" at some party in the near future. If I ever get invited to one again.

Ever Noticed Humphreys Hernia

Today I caught a glimpse of that fun lovin bear Humphrey, as in Humphrey B Bear. He is on at the stupid time of 3:30pm when most toddlers worth their salt are having a cat nap. Probably a good thing since he still isn't wearing any pants and frankly I think he is in dire need of medical attention since he has to my untrained medical eye what looks like a gigantic hernia. Poor old Humphrey I guess he really is a funny OLD fellow. What with being mute after all these years you would think he has heard enough nursery rhymes to make him want to scream, at least the word fuck once in his life. I mean he is meant to get "in all matter of strife" Still I live in hope.

Dreaming Of Me

I know, I know, if you don't listen to DM then you don't understand my title. In any case whatever. Yes its true I have done two infamous rocker boys at once. Bon and Keith. Amazing that I would probably have towered over them in "real" life and been able to snap them like a chicken since I get the impression they were tiny. Still they weren't too tiny in my dreams. Its also interesting to note both met a rather un rocker like ending, choking on ones own vomit. Or perhaps that is rocker in any case its not a nice way to end your days. Still it would seem most of the rich and famous bar those who die in aircraft accidents tend to go out in a rather "common" manner, take for instance my favorite celebrity death on this point which is Princess Diana. She had what most commoners could only dream of but she ended dying in a most common way, a car accident. Whether you take out the chasing paparazzi or the pissed driver just about everyone in the western world could be killed in the same way. However I digress, yes Keith and Bon are doing well, and send their greetings. I guess I love Keith because like all The Who tales they may be just that tales. My favorite being he once ordered 100's of cakes to be delivered to his hotel suite. Apparently it was his birthday. Upon arrival of the cakes he cleared the furniture out of the room then proceeded to load the cakes up onto one solitary table he had left in the suite. He then proceeded to call everyone he knew to come over. Once the party attendees gathered he then called a massive cake throwing fight. It is said he jumped up on the table to take aim at as many guests as he could, slipping and falling heavily breaking some part of his body and chipping a tooth. True to form he continued on anyway. On my 40th birthday I intend to do the same thing. I also intend to do it at a Holiday Inn an entire hotel chain in which The Who were banned for life. When they come to turf me to the street I intend to tell them "Keith sent me"

I Slept With Keith Moon And Bon Scott Again Lastnight

I will elaborate more tomorrow when I have time, suffice to say my dreams are pretty insane. And its not the first time I have slept with both of these guys, at once I might add. Nasty Huh?

The Lynda Wolstenholme Strikes Again

A little while ago I mentioned to you the girl in my University class who reminded me of a girl in my highschool Home Economics class. If you didn't read that post here is a re-cap. Always on time, always eager and ready to shoot that hand in the air and wave at the teacher like she just don't care. Generally with long laborious questions which are really really futile and at times bordering on 5th class stuff. Well tonight she excelled herself on the stupid "o" meter. In fact I wanted to piss myself but it may have run down my leg like a torrent and caused me no end of bother since this happened at the start of the night.

The lecturer began our class tonight discussing the different types of ways in which adults learn. There is one group who easily digest subject matter when discussed in group work, better known as a tutorial type situation, whilst others who loath talking to the others in class and would rather focus on the lecturer for a whole two hours, take notes and go home and digest the information in their own way. No sooner had the lecturer began her explanation of these two very distinct types of learning that adults tend to gravitate toward in one form or another than my Lynda Wolstenholme shot that arm up into the air. The lecturer who has obviously become frustrated with her continued questioning on everything quickly nodded in her direction and said "Wait a minute for questions" perhaps like me she was hoping old LW would have her question answered by the time she had finished what she had to say on the topic. No such luck. LW waited till the lecturer had time to pause and shot that arm straight back up.

Her question was, "So what are you if you are somewhere in the middle of these two types of learning". The lecturer waited a moment, smiled and retorted "Uhh then you are someone who is somewhere in the middle of these two types of learning". Frankly at that point I wanted to chortle loudly, fortunately I didn't because I feel there would have been no stopping a snort kick back.

My Little Festiva Did Bathurst

In 1996, I was young and had no idea about loans, owing money or cars, not necessarily in that order. So one day whilst sitting on a non air conditioned, filthy, late commuter train crammed next to someone who smelt like piss and another who thought they were Jesus Christ and mumbling about setting themselves alight I decided it was high time I got a car. So I made one phone call to my old man who told me to get something small, economical and of course a Ford.

So I trotted off to City Ford because they said "Yes More Often" and of course I skidded out in debt with a brand new $18,000 motor vehicle without power steering because it would have been an extra $2,000 and I didnt think I needed it. That power steering decision is one of the few life decisions I deeply regret. It would have saved me such anguish and back pain when trying to park the thing and an awful amount of swearing would not have happened on my part had it been installed. People would be shocked at how heavy the steering was in such a tin can.

As far as spec's are concerned, the festie never got over 60km per hour, but could burn the highway at 100km per hour any more than that and the thing shook like the space shuttle taking off. Generally I could plant my foot to the floor and literally go know here. If you lent into any of the panels or slammed the door with your hand to hard you were off to the panel beaters with a nasty dent. Apart from these set backs the air conditioning was fantastic in summer when it would spit little bits of ice out of the air vents from time to time and in winter it would get so hot I would have to roll open a window. Note I say roll down a window, nothing was power, not the locks or the windows or the fucking steering. Still I loved that car, it gave me more than ten years driving pleasure especially being a two door when you would pick up a passenger and they would always crack their head bending into the back seat, no matter how many times you yelled "Watch your head". It certainly was a good dickhead test, if they cracked their head then you knew they weren't much in the brains department, probably because half of them were left on the top door frame.

So with the annual Bathurst car race on last weekend my old man and I discussed the In's and outs of the race track. I told him I had toured the festie round the track at one stage and how she had faired. Poorly. Going up the straight no problem, heading up the hill, flat to the floor and revving like a demon, coming down the dipper I thought both myself and the car would shit ourselves and then returning to the start and seeing a ten year old on foot lap us. Nice huh. Still the Festie is now a distant memory with it being superseded by the Subaru which in a nutshell is fucking brilliant. The downside to seeing the Festie go was the fact I lost $100 cash out the deal.

You see dear reader I had a secret magnet under the front bumper bar with an emergency stash of money and house and car keys for times when I would lock myself out of either the car or house or both. Believe me I had to replace the $100 plenty of times because I had fallen foul of something or another and I cannot count how many times I slid under the car to get my secret key out because I had locked mine in the car. Whose the dickhead now huh? So it wasn't until many months after the car was gone that I woke one night at 3am to the disturbing memory reminder that I had left the secret magnet with my secret $100 cash in it. FUCK is all I could say. So if you see a claret coloured Ford Festiva number plate QNW-286 then there is 100 smackers under the bumper and oh how I check every claret coloured Festiva now in the hope it will yield my lost cash.

Note: If you look closely at the photo you will see a very expensive wooden racing steering wheel. This was compliments of a friend who felt the car needed jazzing up, I use the word jazzing in refusal to say the word pimping because it shits me. In any case it got a lot of people laughing but it was quite nice to the touch. And for those of you who are really car smart you will notice the Mazda hub caps, these were thanks to a friend who would knock them off from Mazda for me where he worked because I constantly used my hub caps as a way to monitor when I was going to hit a curb when parking. On one occasion whilst waiting in traffic on King Street a young boy about 6 or 7 stopped and started yelling to the whole street about the fact I had Mazda hub caps on a Ford Festiva. Thankfully people didn't question why but where more amazed at how he would know such a car detail so young.

DM Husband or What Goes On Tour, Stay's On Tour

In December 2005 myself and the "other" Jodie, no not one of my other personalities but my friend Jodie R, went on a little trip to New York to see Depeche Mode. The "other" Jodie had no idea who Depeche Mode were, in fact she was dragged to the U.S by my good self because nobody else could either afford to go or be bothered to watch me fall about the place screaming and crying through an entire concert, in fact she actually put up with screaming and crying through two concerts on consecutive nights at Madison Square Garden. She was a trooper throughout the process and I think I may have ended up converting her, but I won't bet on it, mind you she did end up knowing plenty of lyrics of DM's back catalogue by the time we were done. As I wasn't expecting anyone to come with me, since I have travelled to see them in the past overseas on my own I got on the DMMB (Depeche Mode Message Board) in order to talk to other fans who were going to the concerts as I have done previously so I could meet up with other like minded others either before or after the shows. As Jodie was on board to come I kind of thought it wasn't as important to meet anyone. Still a time, club and date were set for anyone wanting to meet up from the nerd board in NY on the evening of the first concert. I was skeptical, generally the people who get on the nerd box are just that, ugly nerds with no life. I had cause to worry since I went over to L.A in 2003 to see Dave Gahan's solo tour and after one of the shows went to a Hollywood 80's club trying to find the nerd herd. I didn't end up meeting anyone I wanted to stand chatting with for more than four seconds so I was forced to dance around my own hand bag and get my own drinks, then return to my own lonely little hotel room and dream of Dave, then do it all again for two more nights. So on this occasion in N.Y I thought we would drop in, check the crowd out from afar and then split. Strangely U.S crowds for DM are peculiar in the fact they are just "normal" everyday Americans who happen to be into DM, unlike German fans who are known as the "Black Swarm" due to their perchanent for wearing the goth uniform. So we rocked up to the venue, sauntered in, and I met my DM Husband. He is a shockingly good looking Scottish lad who has a resemblance to Dave, always a winner for me and had a fabulous accent and a cute brother to boot and they both wore skirts. Could it have got any better. From that point on we connected on a DM level and we also partied like it was 1999. Jodie and I had the time of our lives and we danced, sung and swung our hand bags around like lunatics. After we returned home I kept contact with my find of a skirt wearing man for many a reason not least of which "easy entry point due to skirt" and have had a great online typing relationship ever since. Needless to say we will be hooking up again. Strangely if I wasnt already married I would be very much trying to impress this man with as much charm as I could muster and if that failed of course I would stick to old faithful, flash me tits, it's an oldie but a goodie.

DM That's Depeche Mode not Danger Mouse To Tour

Found out of my DM Husband about the Berlin press conference for DM's announcement of a tour, and new album plus a new signed deal with EMI, needless to say I am wetting my pants over the whole thing. Will post more tonight. Bloody hell am I excited.

Under The Blue Moon Festival

The festival for Under The Blue Moon was on Saturday. You missed it. I was sceptical that this year would be low on numbers due to the long weekend, sporting adventures and Sleaze Ball all being on the same weekend but there was still a decent roll up of Goth kids. I was tempted to go and buy a tee-shirt I recently saw with the words "Cheer up Emo Kid" on the front but I thought they may not understand my humour. Instead I got Peter to squeeze me into my corset and fabbie outfit that I paid a fortune for a few years ago and off I went to give my lecture. Peter accompanied me and we must have looked good because we had quite a few strangers come up and take photos of us. Though I was not in the mood to even have a photo taken but I obliged, and due to my old age crankiness on the day I didn't bother to take a photo of what we looked like. Don't know why, I just didn't feel like it. Frankly I felt like a thick pork sausage tied up in the middle. One pierce and I would have oozed fat all over the joint. I love being corsetted but for the first half of the afternoon I was just miffed for no known reason at all, and don't even get me started on the whole adventure of not being able to breath. We ventured down to see the fantastic orator Professor Wansborough speak about Life and Death and as usual he was profound. Unfortunately for him he was located in a new venue, set aside just for his lecture and I don't think it brought the crowds in. My usual venue for the past three years was Simplicity Funerals and when I arrived after listening to the Professor it was packed for the speaker before me who was talking about death rituals. The kids then stayed on for my drivel and appeared to be interested, god love them. I have to say I really enjoyed it and I think they really enjoyed the subject matter as much as I do. I love talking about the Razor Gangs of Sydney in the 1920's and 1930's I know it blows the kids away because they think we have no interesting history but the fact is we do. It's such a shame they can't teach interesting stuff to kids at school, if they did then I have no doubt people would walk away with an education. In any case it was a great afternoon and it was topped off by walking home my beautiful daughter the length of Enmore Road dressed in her hot pink tu tu and matching jacket. She was adored by many and I beamed with pride.

I Never Thought I Would See The Day

Here are the two most unlikely travellers of all time. Nikki on the right and Renee on the left, both sisters, both never been anywhere and both going on the trip of a life time. I usually nowadays don't go and see people off at the airport as the novelty has worn off, generally due to the car parking prices and the fact that a trip overseas is not that spectacular to me anymore, been there done that. But in the case of Nikki and Renee I made the exception. In fact when they went through the departures gate I nearly cried. Nearly. Not for me I cried but for them, the excitement and the wonderment of a first adventure. They left last Friday for Canada to meet up with the most adventurous of their family, their younger sister Marcy, who has lived in Canada with her husband for two years. I am so blown away to see them both travel because they are so totally and unashamedly blue collar Australian's. They have probably never thought to travel before, or it wasn't high on the priority list of things to do, if they even have a list of things to do. The bottom line is when they venture into the U.S as they are planning on doing an American hearing Renee or Nikki's very guttural Australian accent are quite frankly going to shit themselves, I know I do. Add to this the fact that neither of them has really ventured outside of NSW, been on a long plane trip or experienced life outside of Parrmatta and my favourite thing is Nikki's absolute panic if she has to drive into the city on her own and they are up for the trip of a lifetime. I can't wait for their return to see how they liked it but I fear there response might be "What a pack a moles, callin thongs undies" Of course I wait in anticipation.

Techno Phobe

The mother in law "m.i.l" is staying at the moment, I do love her, but if she asks me one more time how to use the t.v remote
I'M GOING TO SELF HARM......

No Nana In Sight

She failed to show up again tonight. I don't blame her the topic was essay writing. Having written for so many years to the dance of my own tune I am now going to be wielded in like a runaway brumby into a strict equestrian riding maneuver kicking and screaming. The art of essay writing. In a nutshell I am fucked. I can't remember any of the rules because I hate rules when writing. I am the quintessential unconventional conventionist. Though I am going to have sit down and remember what the hell a verb, noun and simile are all about or I will never get into that higher seat of learning I so desire.

All Those Years Ago

Here I am, all of 17 in Hyde Park. This photo was taken by my friend Stuart. I got Stuart to take a succession of photos of me in a vain attempt to give to my ex-boyfriend at the time. It was meant to be something to remind him of me after he dumped me for someone else. Kind of like this is what you are missing. Fool that I was. It didn't work of course. Stupidity like that never does, but at 17 you seem to think it will end like a Barbara Cartland novel. Sadly that is also not true. Still I am glad I have these photos they are truly lovely and reflective of a time in my life when I struggled to know who I was. Its nice to look back and know I finally found out when I never thought I would.

I saw the ghost of W.H Auden at North Parramatta McDonalds

Today whilst sitting in North Parramatta McDonald's I noticed two well dressed elderly gentlemen sitting across from my table. When I first glanced over I instantly thought one of them had an uncanny resemblance to my favorite English poet W.H Auden. Oh how I love W.H Auden, I can recite his poem's and I have vowed if my next born is a boy then he will be named Lawson Auden, Lawson after Henry and Auden after W.H. I then spend the rest of my lunch staring like a school girl at the ghost of W.H Auden chowing down on a Big Mac. I guessed W.H Auden would have been horrified at the thought of himself sitting in a western suburbs fast food outlet since he was a well refined gay English gentlemen who lectured at Oxford. Still he may have seen the funny side of it. He would have also perhaps seen the funny side of the fact I was ultimately kicked out of my 3u English class in the final term of year 12 leading up to the all mighty unforgiving Higher School Certificate on account of his poetry. I found the class I was put in rather annoying as it consisted of six girls, who were all stupid, though apparently we were the top class and they had not a notion of what Auden was portraying in his wonderfully written poetry. They would sit attentively hanging on every word our English master had to say, mainly because he would interpret for them the meaning and linguistic challenges which we all knew they had no chance of deciphering. So after putting up for the last time with them flicking through their dictionaries to find the meaning of words in the poetry I could stand it no more when the best possible word sprang from the page. The poem was "Moon Landing" the line, "It's natural the Boys should whoop it up for so huge a phallic triumph." I sat back as they madly started to look up the word phallic. I waited for a murmur, but it didn't come, I looked as I saw blank expression after blank expression and not being able to take it a moment longer I said to them all "Its a huge cock, ladies" With that I was escorted from the class by the English master and told my comments would no longer be required as was my presence in the class and I would have to study the reminder of the course on my own, which is exactly what I did. At the completion of the year I went to hand in my text books to the old English master when he surprised me by asking me what I was planning on doing with my life. I told him I wanted to write a book. He sneered at me. There was awkward silence. I then said to him, "Yes and I'm going to dedicate it to you." He seemed pleased. I then said "Oh yes and I am also going to dedicate it to the other ladies in my class who probably still don't know what a phallic symbol is but they sure do know how to suck on one." With that he turned on his heel and fled to the staff room.

Get Gothed Up - Under the Blue Moon Festival Saturday 4th October 2008

As you can see every year for the past few years I get gothed up to give a lecture at the festival, Under The Blue Moon. This year is no different. I am giving my lecture at the same venue as always "Simplicity Funerals" Enmore Road, Enmore. I will be on at 4.20pm. My topic this year, "More Murder and Mayhem in Sydney Town." kind of a follow on from last year since it went down well and nobody got up and left before I finished. Always a good indication you are interesting the crowd with what you have to say. So for more information the website is

http://www.underthebluemoon.org.au/

Of course the theme as always with the festival is "an ideal time to do something you've never done before"

Attendance of course is mandatory, as is getting gothed up, corsets and formal wear are optional.

National Trust Photography Competition circa 2006

In 2006 I went on a National Trust tour of the White Bay Power Station. I also thought I might enter a string of photos into their inaugural photo competition. I lost. Here is one of my failed entries. Oh and I thought I was so clever but a rusty old shed is always going to be a rusty old shed. Why am I sharing this with you, well I am yet to drive past the old White Bay Hotel which burned to the ground a few weeks ago but no doubt it won't be long until someone "accidentally" drops a ciggy in amongst this additional prime real estate. I never thought I would have a passion for our industrial past but I have learnt over the past few years through touring a lot of industrial sites through the National Trust and through industrial art work that there is life after work.

There is a Lynda Wolstenholme in every class.

When I was at school there was a girl I was teamed with from year 10 through to 11 for home science practicals, her name was Lynda Wolstenholme. I would arrive at our class unprepared, no apron, and if I did have it then I had not washed it from our last class and it was caked with food, I never had a pen, no notes and no idea of what we were going to do that lesson. Lynda on the other hand had clearly spend the evening before starching and pressing her apron, taken diligent notes from the last class and prepared a list of things "to do" during our practical lesson. The thing which always struck me was her complete lack of not being able to think on her feet. If she wasn't properly guided by the teacher and her "notes" she would literally spin out of control, ending up a red faced cry baby with her head in her hands with the teacher patting her back. Of course it upset Lynda no end that I was unprepared and would always get a higher mark in all aspects of the course than her. On one occasion she begged me to come to her house and "study" before one of our major practical exams. Frankly I knew if you mix flour and water you get glue, but my humour was always lost on her. So reluctantly I went to her house. I was stunned to see her perfect bedroom with its perfect folders chock full of notes for every subject with perfect legibility and easy access. Of course my note taking consisted of writing shit down when I felt like it if I happened to scab a pen of someone and then there was the problem of finding a piece of paper. At then end of year 12 I knew Lynda would go onto University, study something completely useless, then get married young and spit a few kids, and never work a day in her life outside the family home. Correct on all fronts as far as her life plan was concerned so much so I should have written it down for her. So it comes as no surprise today that there is a girl in my course at Uni who is another Lynda knock off. At 36 I still have not lost the want to analyze her level of intelligence to question her on the various aspects of the "study matter", and just see how far I can push, like I used to with Lynda. But. I also remember Lynda's mother. An alcoholic who clearly terrorized her and made her feel worthless. So this could be my opportunity to redeem myself and actually offer the Lynda in my course a few helpful tips. Relax being the first. Who knows perhaps one day she might even end up lending me a pen.

Crunch Female Fitness or Why I Want To Eat A Crunchie

A few months ago I joined the local female gym. It is brilliant they have lovely surroundings, friendly faces, great classes, a creche and all the attention to detail you would expect from a new fresh and recently opened gym. Of course I did what millions the world over do. Join, go once and then never go back. Sadly these fuckers are like having your very own Mafia, and not being content to get my money for nothing they are now holding a blow torch at my bare feet by persisting in sending me letters to encourage me back to the gym. The reality is the gym with all its fantastic fancy equipment is still the most torturous place in the universe, especially when you are over weight and your thighs slap together so violently it causes a small sweat tsunami in your pants which gushes down into your shoes. Add to this indignity the fact I know the whole time I am there I am contemplating what I can gorge myself on upon leaving. Crunch the name of the place is plastered from one end to the other, Crunch = Crunchie my friends, Crunchie, ummm crunch aaaahhhh. I rest my case. Oh and if they think they can Mafia me back by sending me guilt invested letters, yeah well I will go back to the gym, walk in, head straight to the shower room turn the fucker on to hot and stand outside for three hours and let the water run down the pipes. Crunch on that ladies.

Could Nana Be Dead?

Last week at my University course I sat down next to the boy I had originally sat with in the first class, James Bond. Actually his name is James but I always link a person's name to a well known name so I don't forget them. Hence the Bond part. Anyway upon sitting down he had obviously surveyed the room for who was still in attendance a week later and who had already fallen by the way side. On the first week it was hard not to notice a woman who was clearly over 75 in the front row. Her reason for being in the course was to learn more about literature. In any case James Bond noted on our second session she was not there, and said to me "Maybe she died". This week to somewhat confirm our suspicions when she did not appear. I chose not to sit with James Bond this week because I wanted to circulate myself a little and not appear to be frightened of the other students. Which is actually true, I am scared but I refuse to give in to my 10 year old shy self. So alas I did not get to confer with James Bond as to his theory of Nana being dead. So whilst I am meant to be focusing on David Malouf's Imaginary Life I am wondering, Is Nana Dead? Stay Tuned Boppers, till next week.

Ask More Now - Climate Change - Go Fuck A Duck

www.askmorenow.com.au

The best pants pisser that I have seen in a long time was given to me over dinner a few weeks ago by a friend who had been hanging onto a flyer he had received in his letterbox regarding the end of the world as we know it "Climate Change". I am guessing the people who are bank rolling this little gem of wisdom and inaccuracy may not be aware that they may infact be getting ripped off, still if we are to believe a blond Asian woman who is saving the planet by producing full colour brochures in the masses but refusing to eat meat because it will be the fast track to our doom then click the link below and have a laugh. My points on this topic are simple.

1. We have only been recording the weather in Australia for less than 250 years, yet this country has been functioning for more than a few billion, drought, floods and large storms are something which have occurred for a long time before we got here and will continue to do so for many more.
2. Human kind only take up less than 5% of the planet.
3. The rest is water.
4. Washing out your jam jar and placing it in the "correct" bin ain't helping, but it is helping your local government to get some coin.
5. We are yet to discover what is at the bottom of the worlds oceans because we have not yet worked out how to get down that deep, but we are apparently able to confirm the atmosphere is causing catastrophic damage to the world.
6. I'm sorry I can't possibly believe someone who was clearly not born a natural blond.
7. The flyer I have has a picture of a cow a chicken and a pig with the speech bubbles which read "Save our lives! We love you, We pray for you and thank you for your compassion" Umm k.
8. So if I want to become a Madonna spiritualist apparently I can just go to http://www.suprememastertv.com/ and my worries will be behind me.
9. I yearn for the day when the floods in rural Australia come - and they will - and I will be laughing, all the way to my rubber duckie.
10. If you know me then you know my mantra - GLOBAL WARMING - GO FUCK A DUCK!

One From The Vault....

Thanks to Anthony I have now spend a great deal of time away from You Tube and many more fun filled hours on this lovely website. Some of the songs on this site are rare, and some are rare because they were crap, still it is worth a look see.
http://www.80smusicvids.com/

A Song For Muffy

Muffy has a love of music which is most endearing to me. This song is one of my favorites and we have talked about it plenty of times http:www.youtube.com/watch?v=GIYJrFzphQ0
because without doubt we were never being boring.

Survivor's

On Saturday night at Muffy's party I was compelled to think about those who would not be joining in on the celebrations of a Sydney gay man's 50th party, Muffy or otherwise. As I surveyed the room I hazard a guess there would not be one person there who was not effected by the plague in a very profound manner during the 70's, 80's and 90's. So many who were rich in talent, creativity and glamour perished. I wondered what would have happened if there had been no AIDS, would I have been at a different type of party altogether, though it was full of interesting people, opulent surrounds and sublime food I was left to wonder, are these the survivors of such a terrible tragedy in human kind and if so do they think about how lucky they were to escape what seemed at the height of the epidemic a deathly forgone conclusion for them? Ultimately in all situations like this I sit back and look at people and hope they were not one of the unlucky ones who lost a partner a friend or a relative but I doubt it very much. I once had the audacity to ask Muffy how he had come out unscathed. His response was to me profound in as much as it was also the hand of fate which had swung his way at the time. He happened to be in a monogamous relationship during the peak years when we were unsure of what the world was dealing with. Upon reflection it doesn't really matter now because realistically AIDS does not discriminate, a couple of million heterosexual's have found this fact out the hard way. Though back when it all began, not that long ago, the gay community were being ravaged by a disease which ultimately killed many of them because they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and like an accident of any doing this is how in my view so many were taken from us, without doubt through no fault of their own, which makes it all the more tragic.

Watch out John Holmes its Muffy the Mega Star

There really isn't anything to say other than, one should be careful about the type of photos they collate for a birthday feature wall. Though more importantly they should be aware of the person who carries a purse sized camera.

The boy from Oz - Or Muffy in Barbados???

Here he is the man himself, he turned a cool 50 on Saturday and I was lucky enough to be there to chime in his now found 50ishness. I was naughty and took a photo of the photo board someone had put up for the big birthday party. I have to say I love this photo, its brilliant. Stay tuned for a few he will wish I had not seen and had my camera to take proof of.

Aldi Alert!! Aldi Alert

http://www.aldi.com.au/

This week you can get a loaf of bread and some milk and you can get Nana a wheel chair for the bargain price of $199, imagine her surprise when you come home from shopping with this little gem. Or for the more sensual types you can get a "professional" massage table and to kick you off in your new found career a 1 ltr tub of massage oil. Brilliant Huh!! I love Aldi, and no doubt you will to if you venture in this week, oh and don't forget to have a look at the camp bed and portable camp toilet. Who could ask for more when picking up the weekly groceries.

The Universe Looks Down On Me Again - Or Why I Love Hippies!!!

Yesterday whilst perusing the shops for a birthday present for Muffy with whom's party I attended last night, I stopped to have a "la de da" Taro milk tea, no pearl because who knows what they fuck they are, but I digress. I sat down on a seat in the shops and began enjoying my wank fest, when. About two minutes after i sat down a woman approached me begging for money. Normally i might feel inclined to help a poor unfortunate but on this occasion I was just annoyed at the intrusion. I have a baby, I work and I was enjoying my first real taste of money for 18 months. So I said "no I could not help" and proceeded to get up in haste and leave because I was in a vulnerable position which meant she could lean over me and continue to beg. I then headed for Priceline to wander the shelves of 4711 fragrance heaven. When I had made my cheap mascara choice and sprayed at least 7 different nasty perfumes onto each wrist until I smelt like what I assume a big brother contestant might smell like I headed for the counter. Upon opening my handbag my wallet was gone. Strangely I didn't panic. I just stood there calculating how it could be gone and what I was going to do next. I apologized to the counter clerk and sped off to try and find what had happened to it. My first port of call the juice bar, I approached and was told no wallet had been found. I then headed for the seat where I had last been. As I got closer a hippie couple were sitting on the seat, they asked me if I had lost a wallet. I said I had and they proceeded to hand it straight over to me. It was amazing because they told me they had seen it and sat down and waited for my return. I thanked them profusely and offered them money, a coffee or a dodgy pearl iced tea of their choice but they declined and waved me goodbye, no doubt the pungent smell of me was enough to see them take off as quickly as they could. I would love to say I never forget my wallet or lose my keys or lock myself out of my car but if you know me then you are aware I am nothing short of Magoo on crack when it comes to these things. The best part is this is not the first time this has happened, in fact I lost my wallet in the same shopping centre at Chrsitmas time and got it straight back. I do believe since I had just come from my volunteer job at 2RPH and the fact I have always given any wallet or handbag I have ever found bag back to its owner may be keeping me in good sted with the universe, and after yesterday I think I am right.

Fluff for Miss Furley

Not one to let sleeping dogs lie, I thought I might give Rhonda a laugh and any one else reading, if they are inclined to laugh at the odd fart type story. The previous photo of David, the prat who left us for higher learning reminded me of the time the dirty git let one rip inside a night club dance floor. Damn near cleared the joint. After the placed had cleared and he was left standing in his own waft he proceeded to turn around and shout "It was Jodie"....

Driving in cars with boys!!!!! Or the real reason I never went to university...

Here I am, all of 17 or 18 in the back of my friend Claudia's car. I am sandwiched between David on the left, who I never liked, and have never seen pretty much after we got out of the car and he fucked off to university, prat that he was, and Stuart on my right my long lost friend who I am now reunited with and loving every moment of being with. The coles boy would have been 1 when this photo was taken and I could have been his mother, but the notion of children at that stage in my life was the furthest thing on my mind, as was going to University, too many parties, too many people to love, too many places to see and not a pot to piss in .

jodiecoyote or Pablo Escobar

Hard to tell really???? But what a spooky resemblance....

Crumbs that was easy

Wow, I did it, blogging, who would have thought it was this easy, now I can tell the world about my life and whilst doing it forget I have one.