Icehouse In Concert In the Riff

Every time I drive to Penrith I remember that it is an awfully long way away from the city. In fact and I don't mean any disrespect, but, What on earth is there out in the "riff" that would warrant some musical greats to venture out that far? In any case it was the only venue I could see them play apart from some, ahem, "Ute Muster" that the famed Icehouse were to perform. Of course they are due to do some shows with Hall and Oats but I didn't want to wait that long to see my Australian musical hero, Iva, strut his stuff Penrith style!

I knew Icehouse would not disappoint and it was apparent from the very beginning that the band were as tight as ever. Every detail of the sound and lighting and audio visual show had been timed to within an inch of its life. It is so refreshing to see a band take such pride in producing and delivering a quality show that every instrument is balanced and the sound guys appeared to be completely into every note that they mixed to perfection.

Now you might be thinking that being such a big fan that of course I would say something as predictable as "Oh they were so brilliant blah blah blah" but the fact is that I have been to see many a major musical genius in the past and come away wondering what on earth I was thinking some of these highlights include;

Public Enemy, who were crap, walked out half way; George Clinton, so bad I demanded my money back and oh yes who could forget ye olde Barry White who took about an hour off my life which I can never get back. Oh oh and I almost forgot to mention REM where I got the tickets for free through industry friends and fronted up to a completely blacked out Sydney Entertainment Centre except for the floor seating. You don't have to guess how shit that evening was. Stipey needed a Bex and a lie down let me assure you. Actually the truth is by the end of the night I considered taking up a crack habit. So yes Icehouse were fucking brilliant no doubt about it.

So after Iva played all the classics and then some he played "Don't Believe Anymore". The fact is that I honestly felt like I had borne wings at that moment and was floating on the roof. It was superb. The song is pure genius and I have probably listened to it about forty million times and I doubt I will ever grow tired of it or its sentiment. Of course when I asked Iva about it a few years ago he said that he didn't think it was anywhere near as melancholic as he had obviously felt at the time of writing it. Oh yes Iva it is melancholic personified times a thousand. So a long drive to the Riff was worth it and I look forward to seeing Iva again very very soon.

Passengers

"If you want be a passenger

Climb aboard with me we're leaving now

Step outside and see another world

Only if you want to be a passenger"

Lyrics to Passenger by Powderfinger.

In the course of my life I have picked up an awful lot of passengers. Some have stayed in the car, some have got out half way through the journey, some ran off and didn't pay for petrol and some jumped out whilst the vehicle was still in motion. Of course there were also some who were outright hitchhikers that I should have left by the side of the road in a plume of dust.

I am amazed at how many people you meet in a lifetime. They are passengers and some stay with you and some either jump, push, run or walk themselves out of your life. I am fortunate as most of the people who come along for the ride don't get out of the car and its a brilliant journey with them in the passenger seat. Though those who grab hold of the wheel and push you into oncoming traffic are more often than not the ones that are a car crash waiting to happen.

Recently I have been reminded of some of the hitchhikers I have picked up and the lessons they have subsequently imparted upon me for being naive enough to stop and let them ride for free. Interestingly I seem to stop less often for hitchhikers these days. Maybe the car is full? or maybe I have learned that it is only wise to pick up full fare paying passengers who have no destination.

Have We Learned Nothing

I was saddened to hear of the recent death of David Ngoombujarra. I feel this way as we have come so far but have learned so little as a society. Australian history is a topic that is only now being served up to a relatively clueless Australian society. Most Australians are unaware of the past and it is largely because as I have determined from a great deal of study that Australia has largely been embarrassed by its convict heritage. We have been embarrassed by the dissemination of the initial inhabitants of the land and the disastrous ways in which previous governments have dealt with the correct way to provide Australian history to the masses in order for them to feel proud of their heritage and learn from our mistakes in order to help the country and her people in the future.

So yet again another black male has been wronged by our society. A society that has failed to look at the past in order to rectify and assist the future. A society that is too busy to stop and take stock and a society which should only look inward to assess where it went so horribly wrong.

Woollarawarre Bennelong was a senior man of the Eora, an aboriginal who lived in the Port Jackson area at the time of the arrival of the British First Fleet. Arthur Phillip who was the governor of the colony ordered that Bennelong be brought to him to establish relationships with the indiginous populations. The fact is that Bennelong was kidnapped by Phillip who held him against his will for a period of six months, after which Bennelong escaped.

A few months after his escape Bennelong made contact with Phillip and requested that Phillip meet him at Manly for a meeting. During this meeting another aboriginal man threw a spear at Phillip hitting him in the shoulder and wounding him. Perhaps it was retribution for holding Bennelong against his will but suffice to say that Phillip had the good sense to leave well alone and accept that the ways of the indigenous population should be left to their own devices, for the time being anyway. I assume at the time that a dirty big fucken spear through Phillips shoulder made him see their point of view quite clearly.

In 1792 Bennelong travelled to England. The details of his trip are not particularly clear but it was said he was sent in order to meet King George III. Upon Bennelongs return to Sydney Cove in 1795 his health was declining and he was suffering from the effects of alcoholism. He was drinking to excess and nobody thought to stop him. They just provided more and did nothing.

On January 13th 1813 Bennelong succumbed to the disease and died at Kissing Point in Putney.

My point in telling you this story is the place in which Bennelong died and was subsequently buried. The estate of James Squire.

James Squire was a convict transported to Australia for stealing. His claim to fame is he founded Australia's first commercial brewery. If you desire you can still drink in James Squire's name the beers brewed are a special testament to our history and James Squires legacy.

So it was on Sunday July 17th 2011 at 2:40pm some 198 years since the death of Bennelong that Australia loses another of its sons. Why does this continue to happen. Because we allow it to.

Take Your Passion, And Make It Happen!

Winter usually conjures up visions of warm fires, comfort food and layers of clothing but for me it also conjures up "Flash dance"! Yes at certain times during winter I am reminded of a great childhood night out. It was a Friday! - It was Winter! - And it was Great!.

My friend at school during this time was Irene and she was from a strict Italian family. She lived in the classic big "wog" house which was not far from my place and I thought she lived in a right royal mansion. Of course I was of the firm believe that her father must have been involved in the Mafia! How else could they afford such riches because as far as I was concerned at the age of about 8 or so they were rich beyond my wildest dreams. They had a two story freaking house they MUST have been rich!

Of course this was due to my childish observations as I lived in a two bedroom fibro home that you could barely swing a cat in. The back yard was five times the size of the actual dwelling. There was lice in the roof and holes in the floor where the walls would not meet - therefore exposing - well - the soil underneath the house! It was paradise! The fact that we lived only a few streets away did not deter my believe that they were in fact the richest people in the neighbourhood or in fact the entire world.

I was not jealous of their riches I was resided to being systemically poor for life and I loved going into their home. It was completely different to mine. The floors were tiled and the house was always immaculate although we shared that in common as my house was like a hospital theatre. Irene's home smelt different to mine, it felt different to mine and the cultural activities that took place at her home made me feel like I had stepped off Earth and into another planet. Though these are where the differences ended.

The things I do know we shared was the fact that we didn't fit in. She was different because of her cultural background and I was different for reasons that I still can not explain. Even when pressed in a lecture full of teenagers waiting for my big response on the matter. ("Wear it Purple" lecture circa 2011) I now feel that we also shared a common but unspoken of bond which was the pain in our lives during that time. This was due to factors outside of our control as children.

My family life was tearing apart. Nobody discussed divorce in those days, it simply wasn't spoke of and it certainly was not discussed with children. This was because of course as we all know it wasn't about the children! It was about the parents. Their loss, their pain, their sorrow. (Incidentally as this is in written format let me assure you I am being sarcastic. Divorce with children IS in fact all about the children. At least in perfect world it would be about their welfare but it rarely is)

Irene on the other hand, and it is only now as I grow older, and emotionally wiser, that I remember that she may have been a late baby for her parents. Her brother and sister were much older than her so she was kind of brought up like an only child, the baby of the family. However I don't believe this was a problem for her. What I know is that her brother was killed in a car accident. I remember it very clearly but as a child I did not have the emotional maturity to know how to deal with this sort of thing, what child does.

I remember feeling awkward around her mother in particular. Perhaps because I felt so sad about what had happened I could feel she was terribly devastated and I felt by being around at Irene's house I was just a hindrance and in the way at a time for many years they just wanted to be left alone. The fact that I could not speak Italian and I was an alien in many ways didn't help convince me that having another child under toe was a wonderful diversion for her family.

Of course now that I am a fully paid up member of the adult club I realise that they probably didn't think anything like that. No doubt as hard working people they were simply trying to get through their lives as best they could under such terrible circumstances as losing a vibrant young man, their son.

Irene and I would walk home from school each day together the distance not being particularly far but it took us all afternoon. We talked and talked and talked in fact I think I collectively spoke more words to Irene in those early years than I spoke to any other person in my life at the time. How I wish I could go back in time and walk behind those two young girls, chitter chattering away. I am sure I would be shocked and stunned, in fact I know so. We were both mature for our age but under the circumstances we had to be. And it was this among other traits that drew me close to Irene. She like me had to prepare the house each evening as our mother's worked. We were responsible for starting dinner preparations, cleaning the house and getting our homework completed. We also spent the rest of the afternoon that we had left talking on the telephone to each other.

I remember how much we both loved food. I loved going to her home because the food was so different to what my mother prepared. I loved going into her father's cellar and looking at all the bottled goodies that they had stored up. I loved wondering around in her garden and feeding the chooks. I especially loved when we convinced our parents that we needed to complete some homework together on a Friday night and we could steal away as much chocolate and salt and vinegar chips as we could eat and gobble them up without having as much as drawn a border on our project cardboard. It was great.

I remember when she went to Italy and the excitement of receiving a post card from - Abroad! I fondly kept an ashtray she brought back for me from San Remo and when I actually went to San Remo as an adult I thought I had made it as far as the ash tray had come. Wow!

Though my fondet memory will always be when her sister on one freezing cold winter's night took us to see Flashdance at the movies. A really big treat. I remember feeling very grown up with my hand bag and friend on a big night out. We possibly were home by 6pm as it was day light saving and the sun had gone down early but I am hoping it was later, perhaps 9pm? I remember the movie theatre being packed out and the subject matter that we were seeing was as mature as we clearly thought we were able to cope with. The one part of that night out which was a lucky escape was the fact that neither of us had grandiose dreams of being instant dancers. In fact I don't even think we talked about that aspect of it, phew! I would have been washed up as a dancer about a year later when they worked out that ahem I could not in fact dance. Okay, okay a week later!

It was simply brilliant, the movie, the friendship and the great childhood memories.

By the time we went to high school we remained friends but we went in different directions.

It was a normal and natural part of growing up.

So in the dead of winter I often crack open a packet of salt and vinegar chips and snuggle up to watch Flashdance and remember my friend - Irene -Who I hope took all her passions and made them happen.

The Tyranny Of Time

Coyote txt msg to Jodie: I'm here, can't wait to see you!

Jodie txt msg to Coyote: Me too! See you soon miss. I'm coming from town hall on train.

Coyote txt msg to Jodie: Hurry!

Jodie txt msg to Coyote: I'm walking to Enmore Theatre, This is like a bloody first date!

And so it was that Jodie + Jodie = healed.

I never thought this day would come that I could actually say that I have finally healed a part of my past that I never thought I would, but I have. After posting my blog regarding my school friend Jodie we got in contact. We organised a night out and a rather big catch up. We starting talking at 6pm and did not stop until 3am and I have no doubt if we could have physically kept talking we would have.

It was like no time had come between us but it was glaringly obvious that it had. We are older and wiser and as I said on the night our sixteen year old selves would have been very pissed off that we no longer swing from the chandeliers. As we sat talking it was as though we were the only two people in the pub and eventually we were. The whole world stopped around us and we transported back to our old selves. Laugh, laugh and laugh some more the chortling must have been deafening for anyone seated around us but it was like our parents had gone out for the night and we transported back into the naughty little school girls that we once were.

I always knew that we would have lived one degree of separation away from each other all these years and we certainly did. Though I am left with little doubt that the wires that we crossed and the doors that closed in around us and our friendship were all due to one merciless and basic young and inexperienced fact. Emotional naivety.

So at one point we both had to go to the bathroom. As we stood dolling ourselves up about to depart the bathroom Jodie said "Wouldn't it be a blast if we opened up the door to the bathroom and we stepped back in time, transported back straight into a school dance.

In a way I truly wished that it had happened because there are two things I would have done;

1. Pashed Peter Kapusi on the dance floor.

2. Told Jodie that her friendship will always hold a very special place in my heart and even though we will be subject to the tyranny of time in our future eventually time will mean little and we will be friends for life.

The above is not necessarily in order of how I would execute them in my portal back in time but I can tell you I would not leave without doing both. So all there is left now is to play you a song.

A Cracker Of A Time If You Don't Mind Losing An Eye

The weekend just passed in Sydney Australia my homeland was what is commonly referred to as "The Queens Birthday Long Weekend". Not unlike all Australian traditions it is strange that we take a holiday for a monarch we no longer seem to have a lot of reverence for. It is even more ironic since her birthday is actually in May and not June. Still a birthday is a birthday and it gives everyone a chance to take Monday off work at the tax payers expense so nobody complains, not even her majesty.

Unfortunately like most things in life a vast amount of strange traditions have disappeared in the wake of the remotest possibility that someone might in fact loose ones eye or perhaps even a limb. Therefore allowing the tradition of the general public to let off fireworks at home in their backyard during the Queens Birthday Long Weekend has now sadly evaporated. Well actually it was made illegal. The memories of those "Cracker Nights" exists now in the dark recesses of older people's minds and in some it may now be a permanent reminder every time they look at a fingerless hand or an open eye socket.

You see "Cracker Night" was a time during generation X's childhood that comes with mixed emotions. Here is a little of how it went for those readers who are uninitiated into the world of letting young children loose with gun powder, matches and poorly made home explosives.

For many weeks before "Cracker Night" children throughout the land would save every cent they could get their hands on, prior to blowing their fingers off, in order to purchase fireworks. Once money had been saved the child could then take themselves off to their corner shop or newsagent and procure a complete array of fireworks. These fireworks were generally kept by families in a large cardboard box (in the case of my household) and it was with great pride that the box would be filled up to the brim prior to the big night. I know all you Gen Y's are thinking "Didn't you need a license". The answer is no, you could be a primary school kid and purchase a highly dangerous one light of a match and your head will explode off your shoulders firework. So Gen Y shove that in your boring little cake holes and light it.

To give you an example of the types of fireworks we had access to here is a brief description of some of the more "popular" and well known varieties.

There were "Throwdowns" - (little packets of gunpowder wrapped in paper and when thrown against a hard surface or at the back of someones head would explode with a loud, pop). No lighting required hence they made a great gift for the under five year old set who could pop away as long as they had their slippers on.

The 10 ball "Shooter" - (a long stick that was lit via a fuse, after much preparation of the surrounding lawn where a hole had to be dug in order to stick the stick. Smart people did this during day light hours but dumb fucks - practically everyone else - did it just prior to lighting it then running really really fast in order to get out of the way) Then the family would stand in delight and count down the balls being shot into the air - 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,......Hang on........9..............................................."Fuck the last one didn't go off"............................................. "Its a dud, its a dud".........................."Hey someone go and check it and see if the fuse is still lit"................... Then of course some goose would approach just as the last ball shot into their face and blew their eye out. End of Cracker night and a long wait at casualty with all the other ball shooter victims.

The "Catherine Wheel" a firework that consisted of a gun powdered filled spiral tube, or even better an angled rocket mounted (generally in the dark with a rusty nail to a rickety old wooden fence) with a pin in the centre. Or to break it down for Gen Y it was a round disc not unlike a CD that you nailed to the back fence, lit the wick and run like all fuck. This was because they always popped off the fence and chased the entire family through the back yard as it spun wildly out of control. It is interesting to note that the Catherine Wheel firework is in fact named after a instrument of torture "the breaking wheel" of which, legend has it that St Catherine was martyred. I can only speak of my experience that having a CD that is shooting sparks in every direction and approaching you at the speed of sound is nothing short of fuck off scary.

But I leave the best till last, the most exciting and generally the firework that was left at the bottom of the box so as to cap off an evening of potential skin grafts, eye losses and third degree burns oh not to mention the roof of your house catching alight, the Catherine wheel burning down all the clothes left on the line and the $2000 + vet bill after someone forgot to put the dog inside the house. Yes this was the one that had the potential to make you get out of bed the next morning and jump for joy, that is if you still had skin on the bottom of your feet and run the streets looking just looking for the...........

"Parachute" firework. Yes ladies and gents this was a stick that again you stuck in the hole in the ground and lit the fuse and run like hell. Only this time it was one or two balls, or so it seemed that would shoot up into the air. Then just like magic a little parachute would emerge, glowing like a lantern in the night sky, along with the neighbours roof alight after it caught on fire from the ball shooter. But I digress, yes the parachute it would gently waft down, down, down, down to whence you could not be sure. Could it have landed on your property, could it have landed up the road, who could tell in the pitch black but in the morning you could wake to the surprise of. "Oh yes yes yes holy fuck I found a parachute in our tree". It was the icing or the plastic skin on a third degree burn delight. The said item of the parachute could then be displayed by the owner as a badge of honour. I found the fucken parachute. Wooopie.

So there you have it, aren't you just disappointed if you are Gen Y that you were not old enough to sport a pirate eye patch in your later years. Poor pets. Of course there were some people who not only let off crackers but who spent months and months collecting wood and making a giant fuck off bonfire ta boot. Of course these were usually rich fuckers that I didn't know so I can't comment on whether it was as much fun as watching your neighbour put out a fire on his shed roof with a garden hose.

So yes "Cracker Night" ahhhhh it used to be the most environmentally unfriendly night of my life and you know I loved every moment of every carbon emission glee. So here's to you "Cracker Night' and to the wonder of holding a firework in your hand whilst you light it and run for your dear life, and of course limb.

The Next Chapter - Jodie + Jodie = "We Ain't Never Gonna Be Respectable"

Jodie and I are in contact. Yes it is almost like a scene from an un aired Oprah episode. We will be reuniting on Saturday 18th June. So stop hassling me I will post pictures, stories, tears and tiaras. In the meantime readers I expect you to learn every single move and "Get Fresh at the Weekend" especially Saturday 18th June.........

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ll73OafWYE

Jodie + Jodie = Jodie

In a never ending universal conundrum it turns out that my name is Jodie. Surprising huh! I had a best friend at school called Jodie, I worked with a girl called Jodie, and I used to go to a restaurant on the other side of the planet with a girl called Jodie. And to bring it all back to date I have now ended up with a woman I now consider my sister who is strangely called Jodie. It’s enough to make you want to change your name or at least add an H to it.

So it seems that I never knew what happened to my school friend Jodie. I was recently asked if I could find one person from my past who would it be and in all consideration it would always be a resounding – Jodie. The answer is often met with a raised eyebrow whilst consideration is given to the fact that I am referring to myself in the third person and they leave my answer to contemplate the fact that I would like to meet myself in the past. Whilst this may or may not be plausible even to my level of strangeness I am certainly not willing to meet myself, future or past, and I will leave that to people who chew on tofu and rub themselves in patchouli oil. You see it goes a little something like this.

When you are odd you tend to meet up with odd or in fact team up with odd. This has been the story of my life, meet up with odd, become best friends with odd and stay odd forever. Of course there is little in the past to differentiate with my future in this regard and hence why I gravitated toward my best friend at high school Jodie, we were odd or at least I felt I was.

We loved all the same things and were virtually inseparable which suited me fine as I enjoyed her company during the darkest of years in my family life and what hell that was and became. Perhaps to this end she probably never knew that her friendship with me and the time we spent together away from my home in particular were some of the best of my teenage years. They were carefree and exploratory and never had to be explained and I never did. That is until it all came to a crashing end through no fault of my own or at least that was my perception of it. There is no need to loath you with the story of how it all came undone and I still find it hard to think about the night it all came apart but suffice to say that ultimately it ended my friendship with Jodie and a little piece of this Jodie also ended as well.

I was horrified at what occurred, I guess I still am even more than twenty years later some things just don’t really get better with time. I was embarrassed and knew things were irrevocably changed forever I wanted things to be different but they never were or could be. Of course I tried in vain to make the friendship work despite the very obvious fact that it was clear it couldn't but it plagued me. So from that time on one of the best friends that I had was gone and unfortunately for me it hurt a lot. I thought she was the coolest person I had ever known. She was one of a kind and I always felt second fiddle to her she knew the coolest clothes to wear and the latest next best thing but even if I felt she was cooler than me she never made me feel I wasn't cool like her, she always made me feel great about being me and I loved that. I always trailed and struggled with trying to be cool. Guess I am still trying. Aren't we all.

Memories are a grand pleasure of life and I often smile when I think of the times we spent together, doing the things “not normal” teenagers do. We loved boys and we listened to music, okay okay I loved Peter Kapusi she was smart enough to love all boys. We had sleep over’s and concocted great ideas to order home delivery pizza when it first got “invented” just to see which lovely boy would deliver it, umm a girl of course. Laugh! We damn near almost pissed our pants. We dreamt of nights spent with Pseudo Echo and watched every gore film we could get our hands on. We wore clothes that nobody else did, we had hairstyles that nobody else did and we certainly never ever ventured to listen to “their” music so trips to Disco City were executed to avoid anything untoward, we went to clubs that nobody else did and we did it all before anybody else did. I loved the fact that she was alternative and I hope she enjoyed this about me. I can still listen to certain music and remember what it felt like to be me back then. We spent hours planning out our attire for school dances and even more time analysing and picking apart the whole evening afterwards. We had mud fights and food fights and laughed ourselves into stupors and with the naivety of youth I never thought it would end. It did. It was sad and devastating.

I hope she has all the riches that one deserves from life and I know that she would never settle for a boring UN alternative life. I have travelled the globe and met thousands of people and I know that I will never meet another Jodie, when it comes to a childhood friend you never do, it’s just the way life is. I also know that she is the one person who might get a laugh out the fact that twenty years on, Peter Kapusi finally contacted me and he found me through this blog. I never would have thought that this blog could yield such a catch but after reading one line that I had randomly written bang there was the email from Peter Kapusi that I had waited a whole high school career for and nobody could have understood better or laughed along with me more at the irony than my dear friend Jodie.

So I am Jodie and I have a best friend called Jodie and I had a best friend called Jodie who may never know how much our friendship meant to me.

My Hot Pharmacy/Chemist/Drug Store Guy!

I now live at the pharmacy. Yes that is right ever since I delved into the world known as motherhood I spend every waking hour working out where my local pharmacy/chemist/drugstore is and what time they are open and what time they will close. I have been known to call them up 2 minutes before closing time begging for the last bottle of baby cough medicine then bolting in my spewed upon clothes and making it just in time to watch them turn the lights off. So now my latest dilemma is the hot looking pharmacist. If presumably there is a higher god or intelligence or who knows what then surely the laugh is on me. It seems only when I have to buy something that I would rather not have to ask a hot looking male pharmacist for that I am forced to.

Today I had just such an experience and my thought was "Where in fucks name are those annoying women who always hassle the shit out of you when you are walking around looking like you don't know what you are doing".

I tell you I have travelled the world and it seems I've been into every type of drug selling booth from Sydney to Reykjavik and believe me there is always one of those women who is just aching to sell you some unnecessary vitamins. But where were they when I had to tell the hot pharmacist about my vagina?. So I sometimes wish I could revert back to my childhood because when I was a kid growing up in the suburbs of Sydney there was a chemist called Cincotta in a dainty little town called Merrylands. There was nothing you could not get at Cincotta, camera's, Donkey Kong, chocolates, dolls, flashes for your camera oh and film, remember that stuff, film, and not to mention drugs. Oh and the whole lot could be gift wrapped for free. Cincotta was open all the time and everyone and I mean everyone who lived around there remembers going to Cincotta and picking out there Birthday/Christmas presents. Of course I always chose liquid morphine. So Mr. Cincotta, the actual pharmacist, was thankfully an old man who rarely ventured from behind the counter and he left it to his swarm of "ladies" to assist customers with itchy twats.

So to the hot looking pharmacist please never walk around the counter to assist me ever again because I only end up walking out with a whole heap of shit that I really don't need to avoid telling you what I really had to purchase. Thanks..........

Dear Me......

(Dear Me is an idea inspired by a book entitled, Dear Me - A Letter to My Sixteen Year Old Self, edited by Joseph Galliano, published by Simon & Schuster in which celebrities give advice to their teenage selves. Here is my letter.)

Let me start off by telling you that your life now is no reflection of how your life will turn out. For all of your brooding it will never reflect what is going to happen to you. So all the countless hours you spend dreaming of your future and how it will turn out is nothing in comparison to how good it will be. It is so much better than you could ever dream and dream you do my girl, dream you do. Still you need to know the truth first off and it's going to be brutal. I know that once this is out of the way and you see reason you will understand it is just the way life is and being reasonable is something you are very good at.

First of all, you will never marry Peter Kapusi! Harsh aren't I?. Secondly you will also never marry Dave Gahan, Morten Harket or Julian Lennon. Sorry but the amount of hours you wile away on them will amount to nothing except for the fact it teaches you valuable lessons which is always a good thing, right? So now that is out of the way and you have finished crying yourself into a stupor and emerged from your cupboard you can find out the good stuff.

You will travel the world my dear ending up in far reaching places not least of all Iceland and Japan! I know Iceland, you probably don't even know where that is right now, so look it up because you are going there. You will live in the motherland of England and the United States ta boot, imagine that, you can't can you? You will watch hot mud boil in New Zealand and make your husband, yes you get married! bathe in thermal mud, though he complains about it endlessly, the mud, not the marriage. You will wonder the streets of Paris and dance the night away in New York. Oh and not to mention dips in the Adriatic sea, Chinese food in Hong Kong and relaxing massages in Fiji, and you think you won't get as far as Budgewoi. Boy are you in for a treat, oh and expect it all to be done in Business Class, you marry well my dear, you marry well.

If the travel isn't enough for you well you end up meeting every musical hero you ever dreamt of. Ready! Okay! You will attend after show parties with Depeche Mode in Los Angles, yes that is right my girl sipping champagne with the lads at the Hollywood Bowl, if you don't mind. You will meet Tony Bennett and have his driver drive you back to your hotel in L.A, yes L.A. You spend an afternoon chewing the fat with Iva Davies and you chat up Howard Jones, not to mention bumping literally into Prince. Oh and I have saved the best till last. You kiss Billy Idol, on the lips!! Gasp! Yes, let me reiterate, a proper kiss on the lips. See things aren't too shabby at this point huh?.

But what about the rest! Well you will start working in a place at the age of 19 that is so unusual and different that there is no way of explaining it to you at 16, even though it is only three years away. Suffice to say that the people you meet through this experience are without doubt the most vibrant, amazing, creative, intelligent and crazy bunch that exist on the planet. You don't feel you fit in at the moment but by the time you are 21 you will be the toast of the town let me assure you. The people you surround yourself with will lead you out of your darkness and into a whole new way of life and the lessons they teach you turn you into a strong, confident and vibrant young woman who doesn't take any shit from anyone. You will work hard, but you will be rewarded and working hard is something you are never afraid of.

Okay Okay I know you are salivating to find out who you will marry. Well my dear you already know him. He is in your life everyday and it turns out that he will eventually spend every other day of your life with you as well. You manage to get it together in New York of all places but there are some hurdles to jump before he finally leaps and you are happy to go with the flow. It also has something to do with you being patient and reasonable oh and he is as well. Once you are together he is the love of your life, your partner, your friend and someone who is able to be with you in your darkest hour and your finest hour and always respects you for who you are. A rare trait in many people. So if you tell him that he is cute occasionally and scratch his back he is like an old dog, loyal, loving and dependable. And no it isn't Peter Kapusi - Get over it!

You will have two children, yes two! Don't panic, you don't have them until after you have travelled, eaten out at a bazillion restaurants, partied like it was 1999 for many many years before and after 1999 and finally found that if you didn't have a child then there wasn't much more trouble you could find for yourself so you add two people who can do that for you. The big surprise is that no you are not having boys. It will be girls, girls, girls. They are funny and cute and you will love them more than you could have ever expected and they will love you so much it will make your heart heal.

As for your friends, well what you see is what you get. Once you make a friend they are for life. You always have an abundance of friends and there are a few who fall by the wayside but it isn't for want of you trying. So 99% of the friends you have now will still be by your side in another 23 years and they don't appear to be going anywhere soon.

As for work well you will be earning more money than you can poke a stick at but it takes a while and you will toil in dead end jobs for a while I'm afraid but that will eventually change. In the end you will be the topper most of the popper most and it will come when you least expect it.

So where will you live?. Well you will eventually own your own home. Strange concept isn't it?. In fact if you are smart with your money, and let's face it you are not little miss spend thrift you may even end up with more than one. Let me just put the location down as a place that you have always wanted to live and leave it as a surprise because frankly you need something to keep you brooding and sitting in your cupboard listening to Depeche Mode it's what makes your teenage years so memorable and your skin so palid.

You learn young that your life is only going to be good if you make it that way. Nobody will help you, only you. So you make the most of your life my dear, you really do. At the moment your life is nothing short of fucken horrible. You feel rejected and tortured for who you are, who you want to be and who you want to be with. It won't take long for this to change and the lessons of loneliness and exile you feel will help you be compassionate, honest and tolerant of all people no matter who they are and no matter where they come from. So in the end you will be many things to many people an artists muse, a mother, a best friend, a lover and a fighter all in good time. You won't always sit in your bedroom listening to the same album over and over wishing your life away eventually you get out and actually make one of your own.

Happy Trails...........

BOGOF

Poor Bob they are now flocking tickets to his show for the old Two For One deal, BOGOF, which is pretty hilarious, Bob Geldof as a BOGOF!!!!!!!!!!! Fuck me I can't stop laughing, BOGOF, never a better term has been uttered and never a better term that so suits his name... So chaps By One Get One Free. Now I just might take him up on that offer.

Bob's Back Baby! - Rock And Rebuild Concert!

It should go without saying but due to the recent "sell out" performance by Bob Geldof at Star City Casino he is going to back it up with another show on the 1st May. Only this time he is not going to do it alone, no no no he is in fact going to tread the boards with the likes of Jon Stevens and Danielle Spencer, if you don't mind. Tickets are cheap, $150 and all money raised will be going to the Australian Red Cross to assist in the recent events such as floods, earth quakes and other disasters in the pacific region. Will I be going, umm possibly alone at this price and also I will probably not be around. Sorry Bob I have never missed you in Sydney but this could be a first, frankly I don't want to share you. We will see though, we will see.

One Day I Woke Up And Looked Like Col Gaddafi

I recently watched a documentary all about the removal of hair, from ones head, face, back, bum, legs, underarms and the list is endless pretty much everywhere. I know I enjoy quality television what can I say. Whilst watching it I thought well this doesn't really apply to me. Turns out it does, turns out the more I watched the more I thought how utterly ridiculous the human race really is about such nonsense. Though I thought I would impart on the young ladies some practical advice. The day you turn 30 you will wake up, look in the mirror and over night you have turned into Col Gaddafi. Facial hair my loves, facial hair so put down that Cosmo quiz and get fucking worried and shares in Remington because you will need it. Here I am before going out to dinner on Saturday night, grimacing because I just had to have a shave since I was going out after 5pm, nothing like a ginger shadow to ruin your evening out. Read it and weep ladies, read it and weep!

Scary But Nobody Cares!

(Above: Me, shitting myself, at the Vatican - Roma! - Just so you can see what scared looks like. Of course I wasn't scared until I looked down from the top of the dome of the Basilica turns out its fucken higher than I anticipated)

This time last year I was sitting watching television when I put my hand up to my neck for a moment. It was then that I realised that I had a honking huge lump in my neck. Two in fact. Fuck this can't be good I thought. Perhaps it could be hormones?, umm no, perhaps you idiot it will be cancer. I sat literally thinking, fucken hell how didn't I feel this before. So I called my GP explained the situation and "Come straight in " was her reply. Hoping for a friendly face and a yes its only your glands and go home explanation I was struck as she said. "Yes more tests for you and no I have no idea what it is" Oh Fuck this can't be good. I didn't hang about and got more blood tests. The next step was an ultrasound. I went in hoping again to have a friendly face tell me it would all be okay. How about no. How about yes we can do an ultrasound but if you have cancer we won't be able to tell and we will have to do a nuclear scan. Great. So ultrasound done and yes they couldn't tell what it was, next step, nuclear. So off I trot to find out the real deal. I was warned that if they suspected cancer they would biopsy on the spot. Yay!. So I layed on the table with the scanning machine hanging over me like the proverbial dark cloud. Oh Fuck this can't be good. After the scan I sat in the waiting room, shaking. I am too young for this, yes I know I say I have had a great run but I am not in the mood for this right now. They call me in. You are okay, no cancer came the stone cold reply. Oh Fuck that is good. So I came home to a teary best friend Jodie who was here to greet me good or indifferent. We did some crying and I breathed a sigh of relive. I won't forget this experience it scared the shit out of me. Perhaps one day I will experience it again, perhaps not. I take advantage of each day and I know that I did before this happened but it just shows me yet again that if you don't then something can always come along and bite you on the arse.

P.S The Title refers to an advertisement from the 1980's watch it and weep.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Orl8uNuQqew&playnext=1&list=PL6AB19F42D2D9A10C

The Foetal Position

Last week I was at the birth of my friends baby. A water birth at that! This is not the first time I have been on the other side of the fence. My sister Jodie, not me in the third person, Jodie I am so pretty, I am an air hostess Jodie, well I also went to the birth of her second spawn. So the difference with this birth was the fact that I was able to experience it from the first contraction through to the all encompassing screaming fest which is pushing the baby out. Unlike Jodie who still looked like a supermodel after only spending 2 hours from zero to baby, yes she is a total bitch and I hate her, this birth was a little more full on.

Another dear friend Simone has made it clear to me on a number of occasions that she feels that the business of natural birthing is barbaric and unnecessary and as she had a wonderful Cesarean she is totally against pain when you don't really need to go through it. Too posh to push so to speak. I have to say I am still not an advocate for the old "quarter chicken and chips" that is where they cut you open like a chook to get the stuffing out. Although I am starting to think that well I guess it is an option for the piss weak. All the women who were present at the birth, myself, Jodie and Mandy the poor dear who was screaming for her dear life to end had all had two children. Well actually Mandy was giving birth to her second child at that very moment, so between us we had some experience.

Jodie and I did all we could during the contractions to ease Mandy's pain, rubbed her back, feet, and body, held hot compress to her belly and generally stayed positive. When her waters broke and it was serious "game on" we filled up the bath and prepared for the 1960's water birth minus the dead kid at the end. I have to say that Jodie and I know the type of screams that means that the baby is imminent and about an hour before "those" screams came we kept saying to Mandy, "sorry girlfriend you just ain't going to have him right now" How true that was. So by the time we got down to the business end of the evenings proceedings Mandy was screaming like all holy hell and I felt every fucken inch of what she was going through.

When she couldn't catch her breath in between pushing and contractions I almost burst into tears, but then we should have all enrolled in the "breathing in birth" classes lest it may have helped, umm not! And then there he was and the pain was over. Birthing is an amazing thing and for me after spending a million years on the latest diet, going to the gym and pretty much loathing my body after watching it do what it is meant to do it leaves me wondering why I worried so much about it. Still those screams left me in the foetal position. So no Miss Scarlett, I ain't birthin no babies.

Labour - Birthing Not Christina

I know I have been slack with my blog, and I know how you all sit by your little nerd boxes checking in anticipation for a post but things have been crazy. So stay tuned I am writing all about the business of birthing, I know you are so excited you might just stop watching repeat episodes of Knightrider. So stay tuned.

Annihilation

Yes that is what the NSW labour Party has just been served, a lovely hot dish of annihilation. So fuck off you bunch of blood sucking thieves and thank fuck I don't have to sell my house in Sydney lest the people of NSW be rooted up the arse another day longer by them. Oh and this isn't an anti Labour rant it is merely a fact, bleed people dry and they tend to get the shits its just a tip.

Last Chance

Tomorrow is your last chance to see me at a Museum, that is before they show my sad old carcase as a dinosaur in the years to come. Yes that is right the 80's are back is literally going back, into the box as it were. So if you are in Sydney, grab your gel, frizz your hair, throw on your Doctor Marten's Boots and go and see what life was kind of like in the 80's at the Powerhouse Museum. Because if you don't then after tomorrow you will just have to accept as I do that it is now 2011. But on a serious note it has indeed been an honour to be involved in the exhibition and it has opened a lot of doors for me and also made me realise that despite everything when I saw a door closing in front of me I always managed to slip in through the back one and make my life as fantastic as I possibly can.

Tammy - James Blunt and Those Boobarama's

Tammy interviewed James Blunt. Yawn! But the saving grace was the fact that she looked boob o lishous. Yet Again! I mean if this keeps up that marriage proposal from Demis Roussos is as good as mailed. For more info on what we do here you are boobs and all.

I Was Wrong - I Still Love You Ignatius!

I was wrong, and as usual I am happy to admit it. The Mardi Gras parade as viewed by my good self via the wonders of cable TV last night proved that perhaps there maybe just maybe is a chance the gay community may revive itself from its ten to fifteen year hiatus. I am not sure if it was merely the telecast that made it look good or the fact that perhaps it was good but something has shifted and thank fuck for that. The parade was once a political hot topic with a message of equality, love and a certain slant on naughtiness and last night the community dipped its toes back into a very large pool of clever ideas. I only hope it continues because for once it made me want to be there, something I have not felt for a very very long time. So Ignatius you did it my love and whilst I doubted you for a mere moment I never stopped loving you and your message, "I'm not like everybody else" and once again, Thank Fuck For That!

Happy Mardi Gras

Sort of goes without saying but then in 2011 it is all about being as beige as possible and no doubt tonight will deliver that in spades.

This Blog Site Is Crapiola and I am so out of here!

I know I keep saying it but fucken hell this is the worst site to host a blog. The bloody thing doesn't show my posts as per how I write them. The photo upload is just nothing short of fucked in the head and as for the other features like how many people have visited your site it goes from 220 readers for an entire three fucken years to 20,000 in one day. Save me please!, I know I have read my own blog more than 220 since I started it so that is just fucken codswallop. Computer nerds please help me move to another site!

Blur + Alison Moyet + Donner Summer = Moby Disk

Even hard line christian fundamentalists can get it wrong when it comes to their religion and even though some in the name of their God travel to Mecca to be crushed or blow themselves up in the name of Allah or give money via mobile ATM's to Brian and Bobbie Houston I bet none of them had to do it whilst listening to Blur mixed in with Alison Moyet and topped off with a hint of Donner Summer. There is a bloody limit to how far one should go in the name of their religion and I draw the line at this I really do.

So I stood with a mere handful to watch Fletch spin his records in my hometown. I have to say I had gone with a great amount of expectation but it didn't take very long to realise that there was a reason this event was free. I mean I guess if I went round to Fletch's house for dinner and he was putting on some tunes then I guess he can play whatever he likes but I am still at a loss as to his play list selection?

I felt it only fitting to show up since Fletch was decent enough to have me on his door list at every show in LA last tour. I was grateful for the free drinks, nibbles and idle chatter with Martin but if he ever invites me over to his house to listen to some tunes, well I think I will stay at home.

Fletch!

Only one more sleep till Fletch hits the decks in Sydney. Strange, spooky and surreal, Fletch in the flesh, in SYDNEY and all this for FREE! Two words I love and they are DM and FREE! Hey it beats legging it to the Wiseman's Ferry and having to share a fucken Tepee with a bunch of teenagers, so I am taking the free DJ slot in the big smoke, heaven knows what it will yield.

Oh Yeah And She Can't Type Either!

Don't expect a response from the other Jodie about how I talked her up, she can't type. That is one thing I forgot to mention, can you believe in 2011 that there is someone who can't type, well there is. Poor Pet!

Jodie + Jodie = Love

Above is a photo of the author, right and the sister Jodie, stage left. I know Jodie occasionally reads my blog, like she needs to know what my mind is up to when I only speak to her about four millions times a day.

Rare in this world do you meet someone that you pretty much experience the biggest moments of your life with be it marriage, children, husbands, friends, hard times, good times and all those times in between and even rarer still do you meet someone that you can talk continuously too non stop from Sydney to L.A to New York then spend a few weeks talking then get back on the plane and talk NY to LA to Sydney non stop and then some.

We have seen and done it all and every now and then we find out something new about each other and it excites us no end.

Yes I hate marzipan and have a sick fascination for doors I am a klutz and am incapable of holding too many bags without tripping I also potter around anywhere from between 30 minutes to an entire day before being forcibly dragged to the shower, yes I want to be clean but dang it if it doesn't mean I can't keep talking.

And as for Jodie part 2 well she puts cream in her coffee has no idea who Margo Fontane is, listens to Christian radio in the car eats Kentucky Friend Chicken but stays slim, cant blow dry her hair, doesn't eat fruit and always always laughs at my fluffs.

We have travelled the world together, many times over and never grown tired of the continuous conversation or passengers handing their rubbish to us. And I ask how many of you out there can claim to have seen each others Kiama blow hole and come back for more? How bout none.

So you see if it weren't for the fact that I like to have a front row seat at wedding rehearsals then I would not be saying that Jodie is without doubt the best friend I have ever had.

Mowing The Lawn! Again!

There is a guy I used to know a very long time ago that uses social networking sites to communicate his thoughts. I am at a loss and wonder why he feels the need to only post about the fact that he has "yet again" had to mow his lawn, or sometimes when he is feeling especially excited he posts that he mowed his "in laws" lawn. Holy Fucking Hell is this as good as it gets for some people. I read it with a morbid fascination in the hope that maybe just maybe he will one day write that he cheated on his wife by fucking the next door neighbours cat and was arrested for espionage. But then again I know it will never happen and his life will only ever be as interesting as just mowing a lawn.

Gary Numan - I die you die

This is not love
This is not even worth a point of view
In Echo Park I
Pause for effect and whisper "who are you?"

They crawl out of their holes for me
And I die you die
Hear them laugh, watch them turn on me
And I die you die
See my scars, they call me such things
Tear me
Tear me
Tear me

Now I have your names
Screaming "you will suffer" and "your all too late"
Now I feel young
Does everything stop when the old dame falls?

They crawl out of their holes for me
And I die you die
Hear them laugh, watch them turn on me
And I die you die
See my scars, they call me such things
Tear me
Tear me
Tear me

But I'm still frightened by the telephone!

I Keep Forgetting To Mention

Recently I have been asked by readers of this blog about the Peter Kapusi story which was posted some time ago now. I guess I wasn't clear that in conclusion he had in fact;

A. Contacted Me via this blog as a response to the post regarding his once hot teenage arse.

B. Assured me he would stop the nightmares by having a slow dance with me at our school hall one day.

Therefore;

C. I live in hope.

Fletch Is Touring!

Yes Australia, and Tasmania??? I am finding out more details via the DM Husband but as yet nothing. Oh and by touring I mean playing some of his friends songs via a record player. Great huh? Well we will see, well maybe if I can be bothered and he offers to buy me some drinks and nibbles just like in LA but I will live in hope.

R - 101 - Somwhere near Venice - Recorded live from Rome!

That is the new station where the sister is currently broadcasting from. I told her it was a sign and that she should sign with them. 101? DM! Get it!

If you don't then it is Depeche Mode 101 not Danger Mouse!

Finally some old school music instead of all those Gen Y's, perhaps now things might be easier in terms of interviews and perhaps now she may well keep her appointment with Bono I mean how many times can we apologise for her tardiness and opss I left him standing in a bar waiting for me, well now we are in the big league baby, or at least still wearing black and waiting at the bar.

I'm Still Here

I know, I know still here! I have not been able to get the tech head to move my blog just yet of course in the world of the computer nerd other more interesting pursuits have taken a precedence you know important stuff like seeing Tron and playing online games so here I stay until I can get my website in order. In the meantime I have been filling my days with trips to the Sydney Museum where I saw the lovely Amelia who assures me she is looking in to getting me the memorabilia I desired from the recent exhibit at the Powerhouse. Actually she is looking into it lest I smash the case and take it and cause a public mischief. Whilst at the museum Peter and I saw the Edwardian Sydney Summer exhibit and it was quite good although whilst these people were swanning around having picnics and sunning themselves the other half of Sydney were dying of horrid diseases and sweltering in tin sheds.

I also managed to see the exhibit "Sin City" at the Justice and Police Museum, yet another fantastic exhibit that they should be proud of. It was great to see Elizabeth Burton in the interview they had about the Cross. I will be forever kicking myself for not really understanding when I was the subject "art" matter for Elvis Richardson's exhibit all those years ago that I would be alongside such well known and talented individuals such as Elizabeth Burton, all I can blame is my youth, but at least I managed to come up trumps on the opening night and hopefully the Sydney art community fell for my ramblings, at least I hope so.

So all and all a lot of fun and I even, gasp, caught the bus there! I know I couldn't believe it but yes I reverted to my youth and found that in fact there is a reason I no longer catch buses or public transport and that is mainly due to the fact that I always ring the bell too late and have to walk a million miles home from the bus stop. So the only time in the future you will see me at a bus stop is when I will be dancing to it. I don't have a luxury vehicle for nothin!