The Brit's

Tammy is live at the Brits - I have to come up with some fancy questions.....So Far Nothing.....

I Did It Rozie - I'm On Facebook!!!

I finally did it - I'm out and proud. Frankly I don't see the big deal since Peter Kapusi contacted me, and not via Facebook. Oh the power of Googling one's own name.....It worked for me and it can work for you too. So Rozie - Add Me or I will look like a dork - k.

Holding Back The Years

Holding back the years,
Thinking of the fear Ive had for so long.
When somebody hears,
Listen to the fear thats gone.
Strangled by the wishes of pater,
Hoping for the arm of mater,
Get to me sooner or later,
Nothing ever could, yeah.
Ill keep holding on,
Ill keep holding on,
Ill keep holding on,
Ill keep holding on.
Chance for me to escape from all I know.
Holding back the tears.
Theres nothing here has grown.
Ive wasted all my tears,
Wasted all those years.
Nothing had the chance to be good,
Nothing ever could, yeah.
Ill keep holding on,
Ill keep holding on,
Ill keep holding on,
Ill keep holding on
So tight.

Loving Peter Kapusi - A Tale Of Teenage Angst

Recently I went to a dinner party with a bunch of people I didn’t know where the host insisted on guests answering questions which were read aloud from a book meant to “get the party started”. Of course I found this form of “conversation starting” quite trait but I played along with them anyway. Most of the questions were quite juvenile and I felt like I was playing a game of over 30’s spin the bottle minus the bottle and thankfully the kissing part. So, one question was posed to us all, “Who did you love first”, of course, or rather more strangely every girl in the room said her father or for others it was a sweaty 7 year old boy she once knew, but for me there was absolutely no doubt about it, it was Peter Kapusi. The next question posed to me by startled dinner guests was “Which band did he play in?” he didn’t I replied, “Okay which movie did he star in?” he wasn’t in any movie I replied. “So who was he?”

Well he was the most gorgeous creature that ever lived when I was a teenager and had just started high school. He also knocked my other true love Jerry the helicopter pilot from Skippy off his perch as my first true love. As far as I was concerned Jerry was completely unobtainable and lets face it if anyone had a shot at Jerry it was going to be Clancy right?, but with Peter Kapusi there was the possibility he may accidently brush against my arm whilst sauntering the corridors of our high school and for that reason alone I devoted my true love to the one and only Peter Kapusi.

So on the eve of Valentines Day 2009 some 20 or more years since I last laid eyes on Peter Kapusi I was just about to run out the door to pick up my friend for dinner when I checked my email. Bang there it was an email with the name Peter Kapusi on it. How can this be? How could this happen? Well my first thought was this has to be Cassone playing another practical joke on me, yes you Marky, I know you will be reading this and yes it was me who organised for the plastic snake to go into your sleeping bag at the Tropical Fruits NYE camping party this year. I know you will be seeking revenge for our usual practical jokes but this is too far off the chart even by your standards, still if it is you or Glenn Cameron you have certainly gone to some effort on this one. My guess is that posting a rancid hot chip back and forth to one another for a year is more our style. So yes I think it is my one and only teenage love angst Peter Kapusi who sent me an email.

So who was Peter Kapusi? Well sit back dear reader on a very long post and re-live some 1980’s history with me and I will take you on a journey of my hilarious now, but not so funny then, teenage angst. If you are the real Peter Kapusi of my teenage lust also reading this then by the end of this post you will be left in no doubt as to whom you are.

For as long as I can remember I never referred to Peter Kapusi as just Peter; he was always referred to as “Peter Kapusi” by me and my friends. This may have been because he was untouchable as far as I was concerned so a shortage of his name may have lessened his status in some way.

Picture it, a geeky total nerd girl circa about 1985; I was a Ranga with white skin and a brace face to boot, oh the joys of being a teenager. That sums up me starting high school in Year 7. I don’t remember the first time I saw Peter Kapusi but he was in the same form and a friend of my brothers. Of course my brother had given me very strict instructions upon starting high school, “Never ever come near me, ever, don’t speak to me, don’t look at me and never approach me for any reason”. So I didn’t.

I also can’t remember how I found out Peter Kapusi’s name or any other details about him but I did, and every piece of intelligence found was analysed to within an inch of its life by myself and my friends including my best friend Wayne who was tortured by my ranting of the illustrious and wonderful Peter Kapusi. I would go to Wayne’s house and talk of Peter Kapusi whilst Wayne busied himself with electronics or other nerd boy matter. Peter Kapusi my dark haired wonder boy. I loved him so. I loved his Emerick tennis school bag, so much so I got one to match but it was way too big for me to carry so I never ventured it to school. I loved the way occasionally he would dye a streak of blond in the front of his hair. I loved the boxing boots he wore as school shoes. How 80’s cool are boxing boots for crying out loud. I loved his EH white Holden that he would drive to school in every day. Though most of all I just loved Peter Kapusi, every unobtainable part of his being.

So an obsession was born, and every day after eating my lunch within 25 seconds flat I would proceed to try and watch my beloved whilst he stood talking to his friends in the quadrangle near the art rooms. It was a terrible place in terms of observation as you literally had to stand behind a door to do it. I never heard their conversations as I was too far away but my friend Irene and I would stand there on tip toes waiting to bolt in case, joy of all joys, he decided to buy something from the canteen and we could run back to our post in the canteen where I could watch him in bliss as he purchased something and saunter back to his friends. Before the bell would ring I would be ready with bag in hand to sprint to where I thought his next class would be.

The excitement of getting it right or wrong was a lot of fun and my friend Irene and I whom I always begged to go with me were always late to our own class. A few detentions never bothered me especially if I got an extra five minutes watching Peter Kapusi. His lovely crisp sky blue school shirt illuminating his even lovelier hair and oh that fabulous school boy figure of his. He was like a cross between Scott Baio, every member of Pseudo Echo and Dave Gahan all rolled into my teenage girl supreme dream boy.

I have to say unfortunately for me I have dined out on Peter Kapusi stories in my adult life with my close friends on plenty of occasions. They have laughed and mocked my teenage angst and I cannot continue now without telling the best of those Peter Kapusi stories. They are a great testament to how far you can go when you are teenager in love.

So to begin with I did all the traditional standard teenage love angst stuff like writing “I Love Peter Kapusi” on every desk I sat at during school. Even long after he had graduated I still kept the candle burning and wrote it everywhere. I wrote his name all over my pencil case, school bag, folder, inside books, and sometimes I wrote it on my arms and legs in texta. Heaven knows why but I did. I also baked cakes then wrote his name in icing atop them, named my teddy bear Peter Kapusi, and spent many hours musing in my “I Love Peter Kapusi” diary as to when, where and what we would do when we eventually got together. But most importantly I tried to never let anyone other than my best friends know how I felt, lest I be forever scorned and rejected.

In the course of all this I found out he listened to a singer called Shannon and had written so on his school folder. Of course I worked extra shifts for about a month at my weekend cleaning job to purchase every 12” she ever released. Thankfully I loved the music and still have two of the 12” records in my vinyl collection. I would play them loudly on my stereo not ever finding out where he lived as he was not listed in the white pages or I may have been privy to calling his house and hanging up if anyone were to ever answer or walking past his house five millions times a day. So without an address my thought was if I played the records loudly enough he might just hear it from wherever it was he lived and come rushing to find out who it was who owned the only other Shannon record in Australia. I also ate PK chewing gum being his initials I thought it only fitting. I worshipped Depeche Mode, and still do, but I swore to them at the time by way of holding my hand on their smash hits poster that if it was a race between them and Peter Kapusi I would have to choose Peter Kapusi. So the biggest event on my teenage calendar without doubt at the time was the night of nights held every few months our high school dance.

The anticipation of seeing my wonder boy in a darkened school hall with music playing and the vague and distant possibility that he may notice me and shock horror dance with me was enough to get the planning started many weeks in advance. I can recall getting dressed at friend’s houses; especially Irene’s as we would plan out exactly what we were going to do. Most importantly we were going to act cool. Therefore I would create a look I was sure he would fall for. At one dance I even went to the trouble of finding a plastic letter P and K badge to pin dutifully within the inside of my coat such was my level of devotion. Of course all to no avail. Once there I would sit and watch as he danced, talked and generally looked like God in the confines of my makeshift disco heaven, the school hall.

This now brings me to Glenn Cameron my gay friend/husband’s favourite Peter Kapusi story. I loved going to the school disco, there was always the remotest possibility that Peter Kapusi may just in fact fall madly in love with me in the throws of darkness and a bad strobe light. So on one such school dance I watched in vain as the last song of the night neared. Traditionally it was always a tear jerker, a slow song so young sweaty teens could slow dance cheek to cheek. I sat in anticipation with my friends that this was going to be the night he might pop on over and ask me to dance. Instead he danced and to my complete horror, pashed, another girl. I was completely shattered. I wanted to scream and cry but I was numb. I decided the only way to hide my burning desire to cry was to run from the dance and wait outside for my mother to pick me up. As I left crying my little heart out all I could hear was the last song echoing and mocking my failure “Crazy for You” by Madonna is now burned in my memory forever and Glenn takes great pleasure in calling me and playing it down the phone occasionally whilst roaring with laughter and mock sniffling and crying. Bastard that he is.

So I was shattered for many weeks, crying, declaring to any friend who would listen “Why could he not have chosen me”. Still it didn’t stop my love for Peter Kapusi, oh no, never. It only made me listen to Depeche Mode’s “I want you now” more. How could he not want me? How many times did I have to listen to this song to make it come true? Not long after my school dance horror I was walking with Wayne back to my house when as I turned the corner to my place I saw none other than Peter Kapusi’s car outside my house. I freaked. “This was it” I declared to Wayne. “The Messiah has come”. As we entered the house we heard no voices, just silence. It turned out he was visiting my brother and they were in his room chatting. I insisted we creep unnoticed upstairs and I proceeded to tell Wayne to leave immediately while I did the bravest thing I could think given the situation, hide in my cupboard. I could hear the muffled talking coming from my brother’s room I knew he wasn’t really going to sweep me off my feet by turning up at my house but in the darkness I kept thinking, wow Peter Kapusi is in my house and it blew my mind.

The only thing I dreaded more than death at this stage in my life was the thought that eventually Peter Kapusi would graduate high school, and I would have a long, lonely, path of school ahead without him. The day drew nearer and I hated the thought of not seeing him anymore. I knew he went to nightclubs in the city with my brother and I couldn’t wait to get older to follow in their footsteps. My brother had an 18th birthday party and again I hid upstairs in my bedroom with my friend all night knowing Peter Kapusi was down stairs enjoying himself before he left the party early to venture into the fabulous night clubbing life we were too young to enjoy. I recall lying on the upstairs balcony as quite as a mouse so I could hear their conversations while the party was on. With no real course of action on the Peter Kapusi front I knew the game was up and I had no chance with him, but I listened in just in case he mentioned my name. He didn’t.

The fateful day arrived when Peter Kapusi left high school. I was gutted. Who would I long for now? He didn’t go in the annual high school year 12 slave day sales and it was a pity as I had managed to save almost a few months cleaning wages from my job. I knew it would be too good to be true if I could spend an entire day with my most longed for boy in the world. So instead I put the money to good use by blowing it on more Depeche Mode albums and more posters of them to adorn my walls. So there I was left without him. How could I continue high school now?

I did, of course, but nobody ever replaced the illustrious position of Peter Kapusi as the greatest unfulfilled love of my teenage existence and the reason I sat listening to “Little 15” by Depeche Mode over and over and over. And for those readers who know me and the lecture I gave at the Under the Blue Moon festival a few years ago you will recall I made you all listen to “Little 15” after my lecture. It was a great moment; I the adult Jodie, tapping into the geeky nerd “Little 15” and making you all suffer. It was brilliant fun.

I saw Peter Kapusi a few more times after he left school, due in part of course to my brother. He came to my brothers 21st, where again I hid in the kitchen of the hall where it was held all night. The last time I saw Peter Kapusi was when I was old enough to be in a club. My brother was working at the 729 club in St Leonards and he invited my younger sister and me down to have a drink with him after we finished work. I went along with some work friends and my sister and sat at the bar. I remember looking down the bar and seeing Peter Kapusi sitting at the other end. I almost died. Here I was old enough to approach him so I took the adult course of action and fled. It seemed the “Little 15” in me was still unable to approach my hearts desire, Peter Kapusi.

I never saw or heard of Peter Kapusi again. I did however learn a lot from loving Peter Kapusi. I learnt to tell men exactly how you feel about them no matter how much it may hurt. They are not the most intelligent creatures at times and my new approach won me many a man, in fact I never lost one via this approach it was liquid gold. I also stopped brooding and starting throwing off the shackles and realising I wasn’t that ugly teenager I thought I was after all, note below sequence of photos, from brooding 15 year old to hitting the clubs of London and me now. Most of all I realised Peter Kapusi had no idea who I was or of my undying lusting love for his fabulous piece of teenage arse and if I was smarter I would have simply walked up and told him so.

So twenty plus years on I finally receive a message from Peter Kapusi. So yes I am the eldest little sister of David Trenear of Parramatta high school, now known under the journalistic guise of Jodie Coyote but I still recall the angst of my teenage years, who doesn’t. My hope now is that perhaps one day I will get to slow dance just once in my life to “Crazy for You” by Madonna with Peter Kapusi, if only to stop Glenn Cameron from his continuous mocking and to perhaps complete the circle of life, unfortunately my heart now lies somewhere else but there will always be a “Little 15” in me forever.

Note;
Wayne is still my best friend, a few days before I got married I said to him, “Looks like Peter Kapusi isn’t going to show up on his white horse” We laughed. We then questioned why we never thought to dance with each other at school dances. The answer was simple we never thought of it and also it would have just been wrong even if it had elevated us out of geek land, we never would have done it. As for my “I Love Peter Kapusi” diary that I diligently kept, after his dissent into mischief at the ill fated school dance I ceremoniously and with great drama went to the vacant block of land next to our home and sacrificially buried it. I did however go back a few years later to retrieve it for nostalgic purposes. Unfortunately it had been covered by a towering block of flats which now reside over my written declarations of love for the one and only Peter Kapusi.

Above: Little 15 - Jodie Coyote at her most angst ridden - Darlinghurst.

Above: Jodie Coyote at age 21 living in London, circa 1993. I threw off the shackles of teen angst and also my shirt.

Below: Jodie Coyote circa NOW.......


For those who dont know the music to which I refer; Listen here, some are remixes of the originals but you get the idea.

(Little 15 - Depeche Mode)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lgckVhxsdg

(I want you now - Depeche Mode)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4aYp69-0bls

(Let the music play - Shannon)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPd_XqqAAjo

(Do you wanna get away - Shannon)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sKPvqa26En4

What Sad Arsed Journo Calls Germaine And I Don't Mean Jackson

The integrity of journalists never seems to amaze me. When something happens in Australia they always seem to want to pick up the phone and get the opinion of ye olde Germaine Greer, who from her own mouth never wants to live or return to Australia and lives in London. I mean you can see what sort of a dickhead she is when she would give up her Australian paradise for cold dark days in the rain and sleet. Oh yes she is a bright one our Germaine. Frankly, Germain, Gough and Paul Keating should all be shipped to a very distant ice berg and let free of their burdens, minus a phone line. Why on earth do we give a flying fuck what she thinks. She is nothing more than a shrivelled up old "has been" who needs as one Australian can say to another, "A decent root". Last night I was sitting amongst a large bunch of 25 and unders at a lecture and they didn't know what the word "vaudeville" meant. So if they don't know what vaudeville is then they sure as hell won't know who Germaine Greer is. Is this a bad thing I ask myself. I dont know but to add salt into the wound they also had no idea what the Holocaust was. I kid you not. So the next time a so called journo calls on Germaine perhaps he should call Beyonc'e for her opinion because she is the only person Gen Y have any idea about.

"Darling Do You Love Me"

"Yeah what ever you say lady"

Poor Old Angie

Poor ole Angelina Jolie Pitt. The poor pet forgot her million or so dollar earrings in a hotel the other day and when she sent someone back to see if they were still there, surprise, surprise they were gone. Does anybody who reports on this "happy" celebrity couple not see the bigger picture. Despite nannies or kid wranglers that she no doubt has on hand the fact is she has six kids. I don't know how she manages to leave the house for any occasion with six kids in toe. Though I have noticed she does tend to wear big sun glasses that cover her whole face these days. No wonder she left the earrings what with the zoo she lives in good luck to her is all I can say, six kids, your fucking insane but most of all I cant wait till the "Mommy Dearest" book comes out in 20 years time, it all seems a little bit Joan Crawford to me.

Tammy's Grammy's Tammy's Grammy's NOW...

Were on baby were on......

Listen Live

www.rds.it

Live From The 2009 Grammy's With Tammy

Tammy is doing a live cross for the Grammy's, she is currently in L.A. moaning on the phone to me about how she hates L.A. whilst I sit in Sydney moaning I wish I could be there just to drink my favorite orange juice in the world. Pathetic aren't we. So I am trying to think of non shit things for her to say but the only thing I can think of is "One day Kayne West will end up playing your local RSL club, glowing or not". Oh I'm a journalist extraordinaire.........You can tell by how many full stops I like to use huh.............................................

To listen go to www.rds.it

Howard Jones Live At The Canterbury Hurlstone Park RSL

Last night I slipped through a vortex and ending up back in 1986. Although somewhere whilst falling through the vortex I also ended up at the Canterbury Hurlstone Park RSL. I love Howard Jones and I'm not afraid to declare it. Last night the audience was treated to a small acoustic set then followed by a full electronic extravaganza. It was great hearing all the tunes I so love in their electronic form, and I will enjoy it all over again next Friday night when I slip into another vortex and end up this time at the Honrsby RSL. So enough of the boring, "it was really good" review of Howard and onto the much more hilarious audience members and venue choice.

For a start this is not the first time I have seen Howard Jones at the Canterbury Hurlstone Park RSL, which is scary enough. I try not to think about the fact that a lesser known one hit wonder such as Gary Numan - who has been wrongly given the accolade of "The Godfather of Electro" is also touring in Australia for the first time since the 80's and gets to play the Enmore, when Howard who has been here a few times in the past 20 years has to contend with much smaller audiences at less than glamorous venues. Still I am starting to think he enjoys a smaller audience and has passed up the 100,000 strong chanting Live Aid audience for the comfort of 200-300 adoring fans at the local RSL. Funnily enough the audience were not groovy ex 80's fans all decked out in their finest but more like a bunch of mates out for a night out with dinner and a show.

The ladies who sat behind my brother and I, at seated tables of course, thought it would be a good idea to trade recipe's and gardening tips whilst the acoustic set was on. Yes the gentle hum of Cheryl and her girlfriends squealing and ordering more "Breezers" was enough to make me want to self harm. Mind you the magician who warmed the audience up before the show had already made me leave gaping razored gash marks to the majority of my arms and upper torso so I was already sitting in a pool of my own blood and was unable to find anywhere else to cause mischief lest I stick a cocktail onion in my eye perhaps. Thankfully once the electronic part of the night started it drowned out the sound of middle class conversations going on around us and the girls behind us who were obviously on a big night out on the cans got up and scooted to the stage front to gyrate in an "I'm over 45 and can't dance" year old fashion. One of them was wearing her hair in a banana clip - shall I continue????

Another woman who was jumping up at pivotal songs to dance at the front of the stage would turn around half way through the song and try and dance seductively for her man which also ensured we got to watch her show as well. Again someone needs to apply a topical treatment for these women and tell them to take a load off their hush puppies and never ever dance sexy in front of strangers again. Still the one thing which did impress me now that I am also a middle aged fuck was the fact that not once did I see anyone texting throughout the show. The last youngin's concert I went to being Franz Ferdinand I was appalled at how many kids stood texting through the entire show. I mean next time kids just pre program; "mum meet me out front at 10 k" cause you really need to concentrate on one thing at a time to enable your transformation into celebrity and that is how to perform like one so pay attention next time kids.

So I guess at the end of the day I was appalled that perhaps I am just as banal and boring as the next middle class 80's tragic but I sure as fuck have never worn a banana clip or sipped through the gentle lip of a breezer and i never ever will.

30 Years Since Sid Was Vicious

On the 2nd Feb 1979 Sid Vicious died of a heroin overdose at the age of 21 in New York. This year marks the 30th anniversary of his death. It is hard to believe it's been 30 years and that he would still only be considered young if he had died today at 51. I miss Sid, I wonder how vicious he may have been at 51. Still having read Nancy Spungens mothers book, "And I don't want to live this life" a few years ago about her daughter's life, it would seem after meeting Nancy, Sid had no chance, and a one way to ticket to living permanently underground, or somewhere around Heathrow airport if you believe the story his ashes were lost there. Nancy of course was stabbed to death at the Chelsea Hotel in New York where I have been and wandered the lobby as there is no room 100 so if you want to commemorate the murder of Nancy Spungeon then you would have to stay in every room in the place to make sure you got the exact one. I don't think anyone will ever know who killed Nancy, but it seems like she wasn't long for this world no matter what the outcome. Heroin is a fucking awful drug, and like my tee shirt says - Ten million dead junkies can't be wrong - Smack yourself away forever.

Madonna And Her Yearn For Media Attention - "But I've Grown Spiritually Beyond The Need for Attention" Oh Really I Don't Fucking Think So Love!!!!!!

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to work out that Madonna is almost tripping over herself in a bid for media attention at the moment. Or maybe she is like every other scorned woman in the world and is showing her ex she can get herself any man she wants - even Jesus...... Oh she must be thrilled with her latest jaunt into the pages of The Sun, how much better does it get for the media to report on her latest love, think of all the headlines they can come up with, no more using the old material girl stuff no no sirree this time lads we can splash the headline, Madonna and Jesus, Incest or Love??. So Madonna and her 22 year old Brazilian Jesus. Oh what is she going to do in light of her new love, write a new children's book perhaps or maybe pose nude for a coffee table sojourn which is meant to resemble a book or hows about changing that American/English/Italian/Spanish accent to perhaps adopt a new Brazilian accent whilst feeding her chickens in her English manner house dripping in designer luxury but professing to a religion which is adverse to the display of wealth. Madonna seriously go fuck a duck.

"Cause We Got The Street's Suckers" My Lifelong Obsession With The Warriors

If you know me then you know I like to rant the lines "Cause we got the streets suckers" for no apparent reason when walking down the street. I also like to say "Be lookin good boppers, all the way back to Coney" or my favorite line "Can you dig it" The reason; When I was a child I went to the double feature at Merrylands Mall cinema every Friday night with my brother. Among other fantastic films we saw the film "The Warriors". I still can't believe what a lifelong effect it would have but it has. It is up there as one of my favorite movie's of all time. I don't know why the ushers would let us in to see rated "R" films but back then I guess it didn't matter, "R" wasn't all that bad. I am glad they did because we must have seen the film quite a number of times before it left the cinema and shock horror went to video, which of course we didn't have because we couldn't afford one. But about ten years later we finally got one, a video that is. So I just wanted to clarify why I sometimes write these quotes in this blog or perhaps if you here it echoing throughout your neighbourhood. The last time I went to New York with Chris I begged him to take me to the Bronx and out to Coney Island on the subway to visit the location of the movie. We took the subway early on a weekday morning about 10am or so and it was pretty weird with lots of cops and lots of strange people standing around with nothing to do looking like they may stab us at any moment. We feel sure when we were at Coney we were definitely in an area we should not have been but I didn't care I just wanted to live out my fantasy. Strangely since 1979 not much has changed in Coney Island. I have been back to NY a few times since these photos were taken but I was always to scared to go to Coney again without Chris. Pussy that I am. So I leave it up to your good taste now dear reader to go and hire out a copy of "The Warriors" and re-live my childhood fantasies of Michael Beck and his smooth bare chest.

P.S. Rozie I only wish I had at some stage in my life written my name in wet cement. but I have always been scared some crazed council worker might wack me with a cement trawl. Still I loved the fact some kids in the local area near where I used to work had the audacity to write in the wet cement outside our office one day after it had been laid. And what did they write "Crazy as a coconut" I thought it was so cute and each day when I left work and walked over it I thought perhaps they saw me and wrote it. So your right I might just go and get myself a cement mixer just to have the chance to write my name in wet cement without going to jail.