Timely Reminders.

1) Desperate Housewives starts tonight. Don't forget. It will no doubt change our lives, rock our world, etc. And because I'm going out, I will be taping it, so a tape will be available for any people who happen to miss it. I'm all about the prevention of suicide.

2) Footballers' Wives is on again at midnight. Well, at least the bastards are airing it. Bastards. I have to be up at 5am on a Tuesday! But, I'll be out tonight anyway. So that will be taped too.

3) Um, The Nanny reunion show is on. *ducks*

Random news items.

1) Iraq votes, and I hope things are good. Because, we fucked them.

2) Meanwhile, so angry right now. Aaargh! Cunts.

3) And finally, um, just, WHAT?

Went to see Closer today. Hmmmm, so-so. It was clearly trying to 'drip with adult truth', or something. And sometimes it was really good. But overall I'm not going spastic over it, so the verdict is, "Hmmmm, so-so". Anyway, during our post-film analysis, Guy said that Working Girl remains Mike Nichols' best work. So I guess his verdict on Closer is, "Hmmmm, so-so. It's no Working Girl."

I know it's impossible to really measure these things. You know, taking into consideration what has come before, and, um, what will come after and all that. But, fuck. I mean it. Tonight. At the Corner. The Hives.

BEST GIG EVER. EVER EVER EVER. EVER.

Don't you just LOVE it when your obsessions infect those around you? I do. And boy is my immediate, deep, deepening, over-invested (this is a comment on this post, if that makes it any clearer), bordering on obsession now, and presently fully blown and slightly sick obsessive love of Peter Sarsgaard spreading nicely. It's a movement, people. You looked at me funny and were like, "Why?" when I was gushing madly about how I'd fallen immediately in love with him while watching him in Garden State, and you were like "Who was he in Garden State?" and I was like "The awesomely cool one! Der!" Still, I got funny looks. But ha! Anita was the first to crack. And now I'm randomly getting phone messages from people who have been struck down by Sarsgaard love, or are ensnared enough in my madness to actually give a shit. Here are some SMSs from the past few days that made me gleeful, and then psychotically jealous and possessive.

Leah
Sent: 02:26:41pm
26-01-2005
Hey i saw kinsey... Think I now understand yr obsession with peter sarsgaard who is just the hottest thing ever. Ever.

Laurie D (taking time out from her holiday in Queensland to think of me. My obsession is encroaching on holiday fun. Score!)
Sent: 01:57:11am
28-01-2005
I am saving the peter sarsgaard spread from In Style for you... So hot right now!

Leah (again. She's reaching the over-invested stage. Love it.)
Sent: 02:12:27pm
29-01-2005
I didn't know maggie gyllenhaal was seeing peter sarsgaard. This is a good celebrity couple!

DO YOU SEE WHAT I HAVE DONE? Perfectly rational people have saved the spelling of "sarsgaard" into their moblie phones! Because of ME! Ah ha ha ha ha. God I love that man.

Mmmmmm, boozy hot sun goodness.

It's Australia Day. And I didn't really know what to say, so I looked up the website, and it cracked me up. Firstly, the catchphrase is "Celebrate What's Great", which I find delightfully ambiguous. Well done. And then there's a list of "what's great", which is more declarative than ambiguous, but hilarious nonetheless. For example, did you know that in Australia, 'the people' are great? Check them out;

The life savers on the beach and the farmers in the bush; the larrikins; our sporting heroes, artists and visionaries; the volunteers who dedicate their lives to others; the spirit of pulling together in hard times and achieving beyond expectation; the eminent Australians from all walks of life, the battlers and the ordinary Australians who are anything but ordinary.

Anyway, this morning I did some listless manning of the 3CR booth at this Survival Day festival, and now I'm hot and grumpy and even more listless since I found out that Julia's not running, and I've switched on the JJJ Hottest 100 and I've gotta get my lazy arse ready to go to Erin's BBQ. Or not. I'm pretty damn lazy right now. And it's so hot. But anyway. God, I'm loving Talking Heads. I can't believe it took Suddenly 30 to finally kick me into making time for them. That's embarassing. And fucking excellent. I can't get enough of songs like Psycho Killer and Burning Down The House and, well, all of the others. God, they're great. My favourite 'song moment' right now is in Uh-Oh, Love Comes To Town, when it sounds like he sings, "Love, love is syphilis, 1-2-3". I know he's probably singing, "love is simple as 1-2-3", but it really really sounds like syphilis. And I'm like, hey, maybe love is syphilis. Deep. Kate Bush is also rocking my socks. Guy's musical influence is not always corrupting and shameful.

Oh, what an awesome trashy night! No, I'm not talking about getting wasted or anything, because, come on. It's me. So of course, I am talking about TV. Specifically, the awesome trashy goodness served up by the TV programming gods the other night, the tape of which I have just watched. Wow. Talk about a bumper night, hello! Paris Hilton getting the South Park treatment and then three episodes of Nip/Tuck back-to-back and then two episodes of Footballers' Wives?! Was anyone else as bonkers with joy as me when they saw this line-up in the Green Guide on Monday? Or, do you not read the Green Guide obsessively each day, to make certain you haven't missed anything, and then cross-reference it with the daily updated program in the A3? You don't? Well, aren't you a weirdo. Anyway, it was wall-to-wall excellence. I mean, I had qualms about the Paris thing, because, you know, they were going to go there and do that thing that I usually bitch-slap people for; that is, call her a skanky whore. But, how can you not laugh when she's looking rough and hacking up cum all the time? Hilarious! And the whore-off was prime. And the suicidal doggies. But, anyway, I mostly want to talk about Nip/Tuck. Because, you see, it had actual mother-fucking! DUDES, I was like, WHOAH! I will re-create how 'Whoah' I was. You see, I was sitting on the couch and watching the show and la la la doo di doo, oh, look, those two are sitting and talking in the dark and being intense, getting a bit close now... WHOAH! Gobsmacked. It was totally awesome. I actually leaped up, gape-mouthed and blinking and pointing at the TV madly, until I recovered the power of speech sufficiently to go "DUDE! THAT'S YOUR MOTHER... AND YOU KNOW IT!" I mean, it wasn't like one of those daytime soap opera put up for adoption slash mistaken identity deals. It was INTENSE! Whoah. I know she's Famke Janssen and all, but still, she's your mother. And HE'S YOUR SON! He is pretty cool, though. I like him. Psychotic obsession suits him. However, I think he should get the hell away from her. Just run. She's what Oprah would call 'a toxic person' but what I call 'mean'. She's mean. God, listen to me. There's incest going on and I'm telling a character to get away from his mother because she's mean! I am mental. But still, she is mean. She talks to him in a really fucked up way, like, every word is barbed to fuck him up more. Just get away, kid. You're cool. Er, yeah. So anyway, DE-VEL-OP-MENT! God I love that show. Footballers' Wives wasn't so brimming with cool fucked up intenseness, but it did have an hermaphrodite baby. Finally! And that Italian dude is such a sweetheart. Aw. So, anyway, BUMPER AWESOME TRASHY-NESS! Yay! A warning though. The TV programming gods, though I love them and praise them and don't want them to smite me or be withholding, are tending to be a bit tricky and obnoxious about putting on the latter two shows. So keep your wits about you, and your TV guides close*.


[* I think I have just found my trademark 'signing off' deal, for when I have a talkshow or something. Sweet.]

OH. MY. G-D. The Hebrew Hammer ROCKS!

Yay! Thanks to a searchterm query leading to this blog, I just found out that Demetri Martin is coming to this year's Melbourne Comedy Festival. Hooray! I've been hanging for this dude to come down here since he cracked me up badly on Letterman a few years back. Score! And the rest of the line-up is beginning to emerge too. Joining the incomparable Incredible Melk on the list of stars about whom I'm deliriously ecstatic so far are Mike Wilmot (he's blue, and he will make your guts hurt), and Chris Addison, (who's just a very good chap, really. I like him). And I'm really glad Lawrence Mooney is doing something too, because his Lies Lies Lies show from a few years back was hilarious and had the best joke about Freud in it that I've ever heard. But he's in a Harold Pinter play this time around, so maybe he won't be bringing his own material. Anyway, this is all good, but I hereby order you all to now begin praying (well, not praying, but, you know what I mean) that the following excellent beings also come: The Boosh (or just Noel, or just Julian. Please, at least one of them has to come!), Daniel Kitson, The Flight Of The Conchords, and Brian Munich And Friends (I really hope they're still 'friends' and have a show to perform, because the last time I saw them was when they came in to my work and seemed a bit pissed off at each other, and then I embarassed myself by saying "You guys are so great" when they paid at the till. I AM A LOSER!). So, get not-praying, NOW!

Last night turned out a little unexpectedly. See, on Wednesday at Clare's party, my friend-and-third-cousin Bridget asked me to accompany her to a gig one of her friends was playing at on Friday. I said I would, because, well, I didn't have plans. And then on Thursday I realised that what I actually wanted to do on Friday was go and see Snap! Crakk! at the Nortchote Social Club. But, oh well. I was locked in to some unknown friend-of-a-friend gig. It happens. So we went to the East Brunswick Hotel and watched as Bridget's friend Bernie played drums for Emma Wall. It was good. And after the set, Bernie came and told us that she had to be off, as they were playing an 11pm slot at Midsumma. And so they went off. And Bridget and I listened to the first few songs of Monique Brumby's set, and then decided to go to Fed Square, in a ooooh, aren't we the hippest straights way. And it turned out very nicely. Because we got into the city and messaged the sure-to-be-there Andrew to make sure he was there. And he was. And so we joined him at the Charmaine's bar. And he had a brand new sleazy moustache, which enhanced the creepiness of all the paedophile jokes he was telling. Oh, Andrew. And then I thought, hang on a tic. Guy is probably here too. And so I messaged him. And he was! And so he and Marty and Camille found their way to us. And then Tim and Catherine joined us too. And then David came, newly returned from Cambodia. So, I was quite unexpectedly surrounded by friends on a Friday night in the city. Nice. And we chatted and drank and went "did you get Scissor Sisters tickets?" and "are you going to Le Tigre?" and "have you seen the Kylie exhibit?" and "are you going to Sandra Bernhard?" and yes yes yes yes and "ohmygod I am so gay. Seriously. I must be" and blah blah blah. And as time went on our numbers dwindled. Actually, the whole of Fed Square just cleared out. And then we were asked to leave the bar as it was closing. And then we went to Andrew's swinging bachelor three-storey apartment on Flinders Lane. His house-warming is five months late so far, so I was eager to see the place. And we had a few drinks in his rooftop courtyard and, when we eventually left, Andrew was crawling on the floor back into his lounge room, still with some strangers upstairs to either boot out or succour.

Anyway, so I got home at 3am and set my alarm for 9am because I had an 11.30 brunch date on Rathdowne with Guy and Laurie and Ben and Megan and Camille and Jock, and Simon A, freshly returned from that bright neon sporting, Celine-spectacular loving burb, Las Vegas. Anyway, I slept through my alarm, and scrambled my way to some poached eggs and hollandaise sauce and bacon and sausages by noon. After brunch, I took myself off to the Nova to see a movie. I decided to see one that nobody else seemed very interested in seeing, but which I really wanted to see anyway. So I saw A Very Long Engagement. And I highly recommend that you do too. Because it is fucking excellent. And heartbreaking. But not in that stupid crap lame-o emotional way. No. In that cool arresting way. I cried quite a bit. Seriously good. Ah, Jean-Pierre Jeunet. He makes good shit. Don't be a snob and diss him because you think Amelie was too mainstream, or whatever. Relax, okay? And, if you need to, tell yourself that he also directed the arthouse classics City Of The Lost Children and Delicatessan, so really, it's perfectly okay for you to get yo ass to this seriously excellent film. DO IT.

Then I went shopping, and broke my month-long CD-buying drought by picking up a Talking Heads best of, Depeche Mode's Songs Of Faith And Devotion, a Kate Bush best of, and some more of The Clash.

Anyway, I'm loving social engagements at the moment. Now I must be off to a dinner thing with Erin. And tomorrow, Amy has organised some YUM CHA. Mmmmmmmm.

I've just discovered that I am EASY. Damn. See, you know how fucking dickheads sometimes theorise about how the best way to get a girl into bed is to devote all attention to loser girls, because loser girls are 'easy marks', so wretched and love-starved that they will flip out and fall for anyone who gives them the slightest bit of attention? Which is total bullshit. Bastards. I HATE the fucking dickheads who say that shit. I want to punch them. They are punch-worthy turds. But anyway, today I discovered that, politically speaking, I am that wretched and love-starved, 'throw me a bone and I will jump yours', girl. You see, I found myself turning into a quivering puddle of ecstasy when I read this:

"I think the party has to be stabilised, but the party has to be pointed in
the right direction," said Ms Gillard [...] While Mr Beazley has put
experience, stability and unity at the heart of his campaign, Ms Gillard
yesterday told reporters: "I think the qualities in opposition which we need are boldness. You need the boldness to seize the agenda."

Oh. My. God. I'M HERS. That's all it takes to bed me. So starved am I of anything resembling this kind of talk, that the simple use of a few words like "pointed in the right direction" and "boldness" and "seize the agenda" and BAM! I'm enraptured and devoted and wanting to have her babies. I AM SO EASY!

What a truly excellent day/night I have just had. I mean, it was hot. Which might have been annoying had we not made plans to go to the beach. That's right! Yay! Beach trip! Guy and Laurie and I went to Half Moon Bay, and were joined later by Leah and Jamie. And I went in the water. And I baked on a towel on the sand. And I read NW. And we chatted gossip/politics. And I got a lemon gelati. What an excellent afternoon. And then I went home and got ready for Clare’s cocktail party, feeling rather fabulous [for me] by dressing up my basic black-and-pearls uniform with a pouffy white tulle underskirt and some blue Minnie Mouse-style bow stilettos from Savers. Ooooh. I felt chic. So what if the backs of my legs were throbbing from sunburn, and the tulle was scratchy on them? So what if my feet ached as the night progressed? It was a great party. And I caught up with people I haven’t seen in ages. And chatted gossip/politics. And stood around and chatted some more. And attempted to pry goss about Leah’s secret life out of Jamie. But it’s a secret even to him! And then managed to get home with a taxi fare split four ways. FOUR WAYS! And got into my house and switched on the teev to see, what’s that, Interpol on Letterman! Oh my god. Awesome day! And now I'm off for a Peter Sarsgaard fix before retiring to bed. Ah, perfection.

Ah ha ha ha ha. "P-Mate Hostess". That's gold.

Wow. Latho's gone. Like, really truly gone. He's resigned his parliamentary seat and all. So, um, who's good? We really need to get someone great. Because Labor really needs to stick it to Howard and start a gutsy fight. We can't do Beazley again, surely. Come on. There are more people in the Party than him. There are even women. Please pick a good one. Please. I want to be delighted by the choice. Ya hear me, Caucus? Ya hear me?

It's been a while. But as I attended Grogblogging, I feel I should actually blog something. SO what's up? Well, I've been working soul-destroying customer service jobs while going quietly mental on the inside, ready to snap at any moment. The next teenager who sidles up and asks for "BMW XXX on Xbox", beware. But it all ends soon (about two weeks) as I head off on my "mini-tour" of, well, the world, and then slot back into my, ahem, "academic career".

Back to the other night, it was great to catch up with fellow bloggers, although I felt hampered by shyness and a total inability to hear what the hell anyone was saying. Thus, much head-nodding. Forever a wallflower.

But let's not get carried away. The real blog trigger was Elanor's mention of J.Lo, so let's get started. Firstly, what is WITH her new clip ("Get Right" or something). As Marty suggested, possibly shaking at the time, "this is her vision", and it is scary. For those who haven't caught it yet, J.Lo plays about four different party-goers who enter a nightclub within which her image is displayed everywhere. Words can not capture the ego contained within it - and it SUCKS. Also, someone should tell J.Lo that she cannot dance, and that she should dump those lame-O house moves that she picked up while "fly-dancing" on In Living Color. Once again, I'm ashamed to own all the albums of someone so tasteless. Ahem.

Secondly, did anyone capture J.Lo in Selena the other night? Whoa - what was with her old face? Nose-job? Eye-job? I'm undecided, but something has changed. As awful as the film (or miniseries?) was, she did quite a good job of channeling the late Selena, whose album I also own, astoundingly.

I don't know why I suddenly went all J.Lo 'cause that's all I have to say. And Elanor, how freaky is Ralph Fiennes in Maid in Manhatten???!!!

Whoops. I thought Guy was going to do today's post-Grogblogging post. So I blithely spent the day away from the computer, watching DVDs. Can you believe that I actually did an IMDb search on Peter Sarsgaard, and then went to the video store in search of movies he's been in? I am such a loser. Anyway, I ended up getting this kinda erotic one called The Centre Of The World in which he plays this sweet-natured computer business guy who pays a drummer/lap dancer chick $10,000 for three nights of 'erotic play' in Vegas. Awww. He's so sweet. I love him. However, sitting and watching scenes of Sarsgaard masturbating and talking dirty to a stripper and getting pulled off and having ice cubes pushed into his anus (I think) is perhaps not the most comfortable way to spend an afternoon with my dad. But still, Sarsgaard manages to be a sweetheart doing even that. Sigh. He's just so great. I also rented Maid In Manhattan because I wanted to finally see if Guy and Laurie's claims about its paedophilic undertones were true. They were, by the way. But there is so much more in that film that's just wrong wrong wrong. Especially the politics. I mean, Ralph Fiennes is a Republican. And he falls for Jennifer Lopez, and all her working class hospitality service provider friends cheer and, by implication, vote for him?! NO! He's a REPUBLICAN! That's not 'feelgood'. That's a horrible swindle! Also, I was completely uncomfortable with the premise that it was her mother, rather than shitty social policies/prejudices or what not, who was keeping hard working Latino single mum J.Lo down and stifling her upwardly mobile aspirations. WTF? That made me sick. Shame on you, Maid In Manhattan. Her mother is bad but a Republican Senator is okay? God! He's a REPUBLICAN. And he's creepy about the kid - "You wanna walk my dog? Look what I have in my pocket. Paper clips. You want a paper clip, sonny?" Eeeewww. But hey, that's not what this post is about. This post is about our sheepish attendance of the very first ever Melbourne Grogblogging last night.

So, Guy, Anita and I arrived together, after 'casually' meeting at a completely unplanned location elsewhere. And once inside, we panicked. "Oh god, where's Mel? I can't see Mel! What do we do now, with no-one to greet?" Well, we sit down and have a 'social shield' ciggie while Anita goes to the bar. Yes, that's right. We are very busy having a smoke. We are chatting and amusing each other very amiably. Guy is looking a bit green, yes, but only because he doesn't actually smoke. But hey, that's alright. Our hands are occupied. So please please, don't look at us! This goes on for some minutes. And then we ask each other, "Where's Anita?" And we realise that she has social skills. And has been at the bar, and has chatted to strangers. Then there is enthusiastic yelling, as Mel busts through the throng. THANK GOD. She's here. We're here. Now we're good. And her housemate Agent FareEvader has a completely natural reason for coming over. And so we actually meet a blogger who we didn't know before they were 'a blogger'. HISTORIC! And Anita sets us up with name-tags. And we get a drink. And we move to the back of the place. And we try to make conversation with the people around us. And they leave. And we look around. And I nudge Guy and go, "Hey, I think that's Angus. Let's go force ourselves upon him. Shall we?" Yes. Let's. So I just blunder straight up to his cosy little table and say, "Are you Angus?" And he says, "Yes." So, phew. We finally meet. And he's with Whitebait. Phew again. And so we spent the rest of our time at Grogblogging pestering them for their time. And we liked it a lot. And Marty came. And so did Faj. Blog readers reprezent. Also, Guy chatted with Emanated Text, and I busted in on the conversation to signal my approval of his Felicity-renting, Ben-preferring ness. But, did you know that Guy is a Noel man? Shocking! So anyway, we pretty much spent our time there with people we know, or feel like we know. And it was nice. And then we piked at eleven. But we heartily promise to haunt the dark corners of what we hope will be the many many Melbourne Grogbloggings to come.

My brother got home last night and puked a lot. He was hurling in the bathroom quite powerfully for a while. And then he came out and chatted and said he felt much better. And then he went to bed. But later, I was out in the backyard having a cigarette and I heard this sound of heavy wetness hitting the grass at the side of the house. And some kinda animal-ish noises. And I thought, "What are those possums doing? Spraying each other with hoses?" But then I went, "Oh man. Simon, are you puking out your window?" And he said, forlornly, "Yes". And I was laughing my arse off. And then he was laughing. And then he puked some more. "Stop laughing. It's not funny. I didn't even drink that much. This window is handy though." And I have been teasing him all day. Even when we had company and I was pretending to be a short film script editor, I still teased him. But a few minutes ago I was in the bathroom rifling through my make-up bag. And it was all wet in there. And kinda slimy. And I pulled out my hand and smelled my fingers. OH. MY. GOD. "Simon! Did you puke in my make-up bag?!" And I stormed into his room. "Did you?!" And he just kind of paused and thought for a little bit, and then it dawned on him. "Oh yeah. I forgot about that." Gah! Gross.

Anyway, ohmygod, mad movie car chase, but for real. In Melbourne. How weird is that? Whizzing bullets, car hijackings, mistaken identities, and a spectacular climactic car flip outside the Kino. Which may or may not have happened in slow-mo. Weird.

Hey Guy, do you have to work tomorrow? Because I was thinking that we could maybe check out the Kylie exhibit at The Arts Centre. So that I could totally blame you for having seen it. And then I could take you to see the Ramones documentary at the Lumiere. And you could totally blame me.

Jesus christ, Inpress just gave me the fright of my life. Don't do that! You scared the fuck out of me! I actually went into shock. I mean, have a read of this sentence and just try to keep your composure; "Rumour has it he's quit The Herald Sun and taken up a $300,000 a year gig at The Age." Are you flipping out yet? Well, you will be when you find out that the "he" in question is Andrew Bolt. Eugh. Le Douchebag. At THE AGE! Breathe. Breathe. BREATHE. Well, I have firmly decided to think that this rumour CANNOT POSSIBLY BE TRUE [oh god no. IT JUST CAN'T!], so I say, DON'T DO THAT TO ME, Inpress. Don't even speculate. Don't even joke. I almost died!

Hilarious article in MX today about Prince Harry and his swastika outfit, which further cemented the ongoing problem of not being able to have a favourite Royal heir. You see, it used to be that we struggled with the dilemma of 'which heir to love?' Would we favour Wills or Harry? It was a tricky question. And a while back, Anita thought she had it sussed when she found out that Wills was considering entering the armed forces. She felt this terrible misstep of seeking a career in the killing arts settled the argument on Harry. That is, until I rudely informed her that Harry was already in the Army. Quandary indeed! And so, we were both shocked into the realisation that we might live in a world where it was completely impossible to love either one of the royal heirs! Shocking! All our painstaking pro-con lists might have been for nothing. All our fretting over which one which one which one? A total waste of time. And the MX article only confirms this. Because, for serious. Check out who they hang with.

"Harry, 20, was a guest at a fancy dress party thrown in London by Olympic show jumper Richard Meade. Sources say he was accompanied by his brother Prince William, who went dressed as a lion. Both boys are friends with Meade's son Harry, who was among a group of pro-hunting activists that invaded the Labour Party conference in Brighton last September."

Dudes, they hang with RABID TORY SHITS! Young Liberal types! They are friends with them! They probably even laugh at their Tory jokes! Their racist-sexist-classist idiot Tory jokes, with a no doubt menacing fascistic bent! THEY CANNOT BE LOVED! Confirmed.

Have just seen Kinsey. It is excellent. I urge you to see it. And not just because the lovely Peter Sarsgaard is in it. Though he is. And he's lovely. And Marty said he could kinda understand my mad crush. He said he's like 'ugly hot'. And highly lovable. With a great tender way about him. These are my own words now. Anyway, this film is seriously good. I mean, the subject matter, the endeavour. It's all so interesting. Like, how fucked up people are about their own sexual behaviour. Especially with nowhere to get some perspective on it. And hearing Kinsey promote the idea that diversity is the only constant in nature. The social free-thinking ness. All that. It's great. Sometimes I was like, "Yeah, you go Kinsey." And it was funny too. But later on, when the group dynamic began to feel seedy (Timothy Hutton and Chris O'Donnell creeped me out. They weren't cool and lovely about it like Peter Sarsgaard), and the filming started to happen, I think my inner prude started to come out. I was like, "Hang on a minute. These people are sentient intelligent beings, man. They're not just science and animal behaviour. You guys are intruding on their privacy by watching them like that. Also, I think it's weird that you're actively taking part. And watching it back. And making notes. In a dark room. It's intrusive and creepy." But I think I was supposed to feel that. As the film went on it moved towards a confrontation with the darker side of sexuality, the potential harm of it. Culminating in that meeting with that sexual predator guy in a hotel room. That scene was done really well, by the way. With his manner and initial story lulling you into thinking he was just a more advanced version of everyone else, a Kinsey doppelganger with the same zeal for documentation, but then he just kept talking and talking and talking and you began to feel the horror and not rightness of him, and to see that he was pathological rather than methodical. It was a really well-paced scene, the way it unfolded. And then struck an important point of difference between healthy and harmful sexuality. Anyway, the film is full of stuff like that. It's just so intelligent and great. Really. We loved it. Go see it.

Man, our Prime Minister really is a bastard. Such a shit. And I know that none of the other astoundingly shitty things he's done in the past have been the end of him, but surely, please, this has to make people disrespect him in the extreme. Come on. It has to! I mean, an Australian citizen was locked away for three years, and Howard didn't exactly bust a gut trying to help him. And now that Mamdouh Habib is going to be released, without charge, after three years of incarceration, you'd think Howard would be going, "Shit. You've had an horrific time of it, haven't you? Torture and shit. Man, this whole situation is deeply deeply wrong. And we haven't been very good to you, have we? We didn't even fight for you on the principle of innocent til proven guilty or anything. We just left you to rot in an unaccountable legal black hole. And we called you names and always took the side of your captors while we were at it. But welcome back. Freedom is great isn't it? That's what we're all about in Australia. Freedom. And mateship. Yeah, mateship is key." It's just so wrong. Please, Howard has to at least be aware of how shamefully bad his behaviour throughout this has been. It's a black mark in history and such. He's got to be appalled, right? He's got to be shaken alive by the horror of it all and his contribution to it, right? But still, he acts a prick. Oh why do we have this guy? Please, JUST STOP IT.

Oh thank god! Finally. Some BALLS! I’m sorry, but I’ve been watching The West Wing since its return, and boy has it been shit. Like, really really shit. Creatively, ideologically, passionate intensity-ally, SHIT. Gah! They've been fucking up so bad. And last week was the worst. For serious. Lowest. Point. Ever. Oh god. An insupportable level of ineffectual mawkishness was reached and breached. I mean, Josh yelled at a building! Sure, it was the Capitol building, but big frickin whoop. It was lame. I mean, there is no excuse for anyone to make their characters do that whole "What do you want from me!? Huh?!" thing, to either God or Congress or the serial killer hiding in the bushes, EVER [with the exception, of course, of Scary Movie's excellent pisstake of such behaviour. That was freakin genius]. There is also no excuse for how lame the President has been. I mean, getting all self-indulgent and lame, imposing himself on some people in a natural disater area? Shudder. I was like, "Could he be more annoying? Somebody. SHAKE HIM UP! This is super lame, even for him!" And then CJ gave this incredibly lame speech to him that so didn't 'get there'. And I was like, "No. Please. That can't have been the powerful shake-up speech. PLEASE TELL ME THAT WASN"T THE POWERFUL SHAKE-UP SPEECH!!" So, yeah, throughout last week's episode I just wanted it all to stop. I was actually begging, “Stop. Please. Stop.” Eeuuh. It was bad. And it's been bad for a while. And with this show, even when it's good you have to put up with a lot of toolish grandiose sentimentality anyway. But you do it for the pay-off of a great principle winning the day or something. Which hasn't happened in a really long time. For ages I was surviving on Mary-Louise Parker alone. And then last week they got rid of her too. I mean, a girl can only take so much. Okay okay, maternity leave, but I was barely hanging on as it was. I really thought it was all over. But not anymore! Not after this week's episode! Because finally, it's on. I was quite giddy with relief for a while. And I had West Wing afterglow. And then I thought about it. And then my mood turned. To anger. Because like, now I’m thinking that maybe the bastards have been making the show uber crappy intentionally. Like, it's some story arc thing. A purposefully infuriating descent to 'rock bottom' that I have been mercilessly put through because all the alcoholic a-holes who work on the show just have to make hitting rock bottom the necessary precursor to a gutsy fight. JERKS! But, anyway. Hurrah. A gutsy fight. A GUTSY FIGHT!

I remember talking to Tim about dance hall music and we were like, "Damn, I really like it. It's so fun and makes you bob your head. That's wrong isn't it? Or is it? Oh, what to do?" Anyway, this article about homophobia in Jamaican dancehall music is really great. It doesn't salve the conscience or anything, but it's bloody interesting. Do read it.

Also, ever since Simon A returned from London touting the excellence of Jerry Springer - The Opera and the perfect suitability of the material for the artform, I have been itching to see it. So I only hope that the BBC's decision to air it is followed up by our own ABC.

Way to be a jerk. You drop a bomb on someone's house and kill everyone inside it, but when you admit that you bombed the wrong target, you do this weird thing. You say you deeply regret "the loss of possibly innocent lives". Nice. That is an astounding level of jerk. I hate you.

Huh. Brad and Jen have split. Now the world makes sense again. I don't know about you, but I always found it quite an alarming irregularity that they were a couple, and not only that, the couple. They just didn't feel right. I mean, apart they're okay, but together they're kinda less so. Do you get me? They just seemed an odd pairing, but not in that cool Vincent Cassel-Monica Belucci way. So, kudos to them for resigning the post.

It feels like the world is trying to right itself. And we need to take the chance we've been given. Let's not waste this rare opportunity, okay? We really need to get the next Hollywood Glamour Couple right. Because it's just been embarassing these past seven years, frankly. And can you really stand faking your enthusiasm all over again, for another few years? Don't you want your Hollywood Glamour Couple to make you ridiculously excited every time you see or hear about them? Yes. That's the spirit! So...

Who should be the next and rightful Hollywood Glamour Couple?
Who do we want? What relationship is there out there with all the requisites? These are the criteria as I see them; 1) the couple is made up of individuals that people actually want to be, 2) the union improves the cool of both parties, 3) it's one of those special 'right on' relationships that makes us all go, "Wow, that's cool. I'm feeling things. Excellent love is possible", and 4) wattage.

I advise you to take this very seriously. It affects us all.

Oh yes. There's this thing. Guy, I should probably let you know. You're going to this thing.

It's Official. 2005 is the year of Kate Bush. Yay.

Does this news make Johnny Depp seem cool or pushy? I can't decide.

Man, that Metallica movie I saw last night was damn hilarious. And irritating. Geez they're lame. And they suck. Like, I thought maybe I'd get a glimpse of why people love them so much if I saw them making their music. But, like. No. I mean, their moments of inspiration were just fucking crap. Weirdly, I found that I liked Lars the most. I've heard that's uncommon. Anyway, much of the hilarity came from the therapist. I mean, he clearly had no idea what he was doing and lived in terror of being found out. You'd watch him in the room with the band and they were talking about something and you could see him thinking "Oh god. I have to say something so it seems like I'm doing my job. But what the hell can I say? I've got nothing. I have no idea what I'm doing!" And then he would wait for a pause and say "So, what does that mean? How does that make you feel?" [I am not kidding. He actually said that!] And I would always wait for the people around him to just go silent and look at each other like, "Is he fucken serious?" But they wouldn't. Instead they somehow became reliant on his 'guidance'. One of the funniest scenes for me was when James Hetfield was talking about not wanting the recording to end and not wanting to feel sad and putting up a wall just in case he went into a depression but also thinking that maybe he was just sad about the process finishing rather than depressed, and that he shouldn’t fear feeling things [wank wank wank. He also talked about 'abandonment issues' at one point in the film. Hilarious!] and then he thanked the therapist for laying down 'the tools' for them to work with in relating to one another. And the therapist said something like, "Wow, I wanna thank you for your words." And then, as if he was an expert telling them something profound and unknown to them, he continued with an emphatic, powerful statement; "There is a difference between sadness and depression." Ah ha ha ha ha. Thanks for that. Anyway, there were so many more golden moments and you just have to go and see it. My brother and I were cacking ourselves all the way down Chapel Street and kept forgetting to keep an eye out for a taxi.

Also saw Festival Express, which was great. I love Buddy Guy. And that dude who was wasted on the train leading Janis Joplin and Jerry Garcia in a singalong. That dude was awesome. And when Jerry Garcia asked the crowd for "half an hour of coolness while we sort something out." He he he, that ruled. And everybody saying "man". And the crowds being all 70s and iconic looking. And The Band. And The Flying Burrito Brothers. And that scream that Janis did at the start of her song. Amazing.

Anyway, an important historic development occurred in my house this morning. While the rest of us were asleep, my mother performed an act of CENSORSHIP! See, under my direction, my brother had borrowed some DVDs out yesterday, Suddenly 30 and Irreversible. So he woke up this morning wanting to watch them, having been unable to the night before because I had dragged him out to see rock documentaries. And you know what? Irreversible was gone! And we were like, what the fuck? Where is it? Then we looked at each other, sharing the sneaking suspicion that had formed in our minds, which we still really really hoped was baseless and wrong. But I called my mum anyway. And I asked her where the DVD was. There was no anger in my voice, as I still had the hope that she would go, "I don't know. Have you looked around hard enough? I wouldn't want Simon to miss out on seeing such an excellent film." But no. Quite without shame or guilt about her improper and ridiculous behaviour, she said, "I took it back this morning. I didn't think Simon should see it." And I was like "Whaaaa? Mum, that's SO WEIRD! You're being WEIRD!" And she was like, "Well, there's so much bad stuff in the world anyway..." And I was like, "Bye mum." LAME! And shocking. I'm reeling here! I mean, I don't live in a house where I need to hide the fact that a movie pivots on a nine-minute rape scene. Do I? I mean, it never even occurred to me, before now, to keep stuff like that schtum, because I assumed [and have always done so] that no member of my family would ever be the kind of freak who dismisses a movie as unsuitable for any reason at all. GOD! Now, I'll just have to face the fact that I'M LIVING WITH TIPPER GORE! So my brother is sitting on the couch watching Suddenly 30, a movie in which all these thirty-year-old men attempt to have sex with a thirteen-year-old girl. And that's funny. That's why we borrowed it. And it's okay. That "Cause of death? Chicness" line in her rival's presentation is gold. Jen's redesign concept is fucken shit though. But anyway, I am having one of those "I feel like I don't even know you, man" moments. This is horrifying to me. So shocked right now.

Wow, such exciting things I have been up to since the new lease on life / clean slate that a new year brings. Oh, all the things I have done. Like bumming around the house watching DVDs and cooking meals and not showering. Interesting discovery; do you know what that made me smell like? Vagina and garlic. That's interesting, isn't it? And disgusting. So anyway, last night, after watching You Got Served [ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha] I showered off the stench and dropped in on Erin at Revolver. She was playing music and waiting for Robert Turner of B.R.M.C to arrive and relieve her. And you know that mack truck bullbar thing they have around the DJ booth? Well, it actually has a purpose. As I was attempting chit chat with Erin, this crazy-dancing girl's crazy dancing got a little more crazy that she could handle and she slammed right into the bull bar. Ha ha ha ha. Anyway, the 'decks' and so forth were unscathed. So you see, it's not just an aesthetic bull bar. Wow. That's yet another interesting discovery to file away. Anyway, Leah and I went to the bar to wait and order drinks. And I spent the time pointing out, very subtly of course, the notable faces thereabouts, because Leah was blind without her glasses, and what else can you do when you're waiting at the bar? So, as we waited I talked out the side of my mouth alerting her to the presence of the drummer from Spiderbait and the lead singer from The Living End and Missy Higgins and Nic Cester. And then we eventually got to order some drinks. And Leah said, "That guy down the bar just greased me off for getting the bar lady's attention." And I was like, shrug. "Which guy?" And she nodded towards him and I was like "Ha ha ha ha ha. Oh blind Leah. That's Nic Cester. Ah ha ha. He greased you off. Tee hee hee." See the hijinks and scrapes we get into? Anyway, we found a couch and sat around chatting and stuff. And then Robert Turner arrived and I was all excited inside and then quite amused that there was not a ripple in the room as everyone studiously avoided giving any outward sign of having noticed. Anyway, he started by playing some new stuff from their forthcoming album and it sounded freakin fantastic [I really hope they tour again, and that the hot drummer has returned to the fold when they do. Sigh]. And then Erin came over and informed me that he was a dick. And I was like "Stop doing that! These people are gods to me!" And then he hid his face in his hoodie and Erin made up a scenario that he had done it because "All the girls are LOOKING AT ME!". Ha ha ha ha. Anyway, so we went home after a bit more lounging and chatting. And Leah told me this hilarious story about having woken up that morning to hear her recently dumped little brother wailing along to Hank Williams. Ha ha ha ha. I mean, condolences. And now I'm at 3CR doing my volunteer reception shift. A psychic clairvoyant woman just called in wanting to see if she could get on the radio. And tonight I'm going to the Astor to see a double bill of Festival Express and Metallica: Some Kind Of Monster. Alone. Should be prime.

Went to see I Heart Huckabees today. It was such fun. Excellent casting and the characters' reactions to things were just perfectly funny and/or cool. There's a lot to like about this film, but I don't want to talk about that. No, I want to talk about what an important contribution this film makes to the 'six degrees' game. And hey, maybe that contribution is intentional because one of the film's themes is like, the possible interconnectedness of like, everything and shit. Deep. Anyway, fun times were had by me in noting and appreciating the casting of this movie. Seriously, I think you could actually make a game called "Six Degrees Of I Heart Huckabees", which would rhyme in a fresh exciting way, but more importantly, would totally work for every western movie actor, ever. And for some other people too. Like, Debbie Harry is only one degree away. One degree! Aren't you totally jazzed about that? I am. But I will tell you how that happens later*, because it's not that interesting, and I want to keep you excited. Are you excited yet? Yes you are! Like, don't even get me started on the numerous ways you can get to Spike Jonze. The ways are like, so numerous. Even just by going through Jason Schwartzman you can get to him a number of ways. [By the way, just so you know some rules, I do count personal relationships and work relationships, because it makes a more fun game, utilising more useless information than a simply professional association based game.] Like, Huckabees' Jason Schwartzman is Sofia Coppola's cousin and Sofia Coppola is the ex-wife of Spike Jonze. Done. Or, Huckabees' Jason Schwartzman was in Rushmore with Bill Murray who was directed in Lost In Translation by Sofia Coppola who is the ex-wife of Spike Jonze. Or, Huckabees's Jason Schwartzman was in Rushmore with Bill Murray who was in The Royal Tenenbaums with Ben Stiller who was in There's Something About Mary with Cameron Diaz who was directed in Being John Malkovich by Spike Jonze. You can do it however you like. You can just as easily get to Spike through Huckabees director David O. Russell because of Three Kings. It's so easy. And fun. Yes, it is fun isn't it.

I just want to wet your appetite for the game by showing you some of its potential, but really, look at this cast. You could spend hours on this. And you should. Anyway, some important things to remember. Tippi Hedren is in this movie. Ohmygod. That's Melanie Griffith's mother. [You see how exciting all this is already?] And she's old, so that means she brings in connections from a long way back, like Hitchcock and stuff. Okay? Awesome. And Isabelle Huppert is in this movie. That brings all manner of French shit into it, like Ozon and Godard and Daniel Auteuil. Which pretty much gets you to everything French. And Jude Law gets you the Brits and a lot more Americans too. And Jason Schwartzman's mum is in this movie, the 'guinea brat', which gets you to the whole Godfather thing even if you are some kind of stickler and don't want to go the personal relationships route. Lame-ass. You can still get to Brando without any problem. And Kevin Dunn is in this movie. Not only does he have one of the best lines ["She said Fuckabees"] but he is also the brother of Nora Dunn, and has been that nondescript guy in too many movies to count. He's a rich source of connections, and if you add his sister's connections you've got, like, a lot. And Isla Fisher is in this movie, so any Australian action you can't get through Naomi Watts, you can probably get through her. Also, her Ali G connection opens up Britain's TV comedy action too. Also, Shania Twain's presence gives you Mutt Lange which gives you Def Leppard and AC/DC and so forth too. And I haven't even mentioned Lily Tomlin and Dustin Hoffman yet. So you see, the possibilities are endless, I think. But I would like to make sure. I'd like the answers to important questions like, "Can I get to Vin Diesel?" [The answer being, yes. Huckabees' Mark Wahlberg was in The Truth About Charlie with Thandie Newton, who was in The Chronicles Of Riddick with Vin Diesel.] I'd like to test this game to its limits, so I propose a challenge. An exciting challenge.

THE SIX DEGREES OF HUCKABEES CHALLENGE.
Suggest ANY western-ish actor or famous type person, the unlikelier the better, and I will try and get to them in six moves from the Huckabees movie, [or, get back to the Huckabees movie in six moves from them, however you wanna work it]. Yes, I WANT SOMETHING TO DO. I am sick of crosswords, and anyway, the general knowledge crossword only comes out on the weekend, and that's the only one I like. PLEASE PLEASE MAKE SUGGESTIONS.

* Oh yeah, the Debbie Harry thing. Jason Schwartzman was in a movie called Spun, possibly the worst movie I have ever seen. It was bad. Really really bad, and tried very hard to be gritty and about drugs but also 'edgy' and cartoonish. It was so shit. The only reason to watch it is for its additional connections in this game, because it has Brittany Murphy and Patrick Fugit and Mena Suvari and John Leguizamo and Mickey Rourke, [yes, Mickey Rourke] in it. Do you know what that means? You can get to the chick in Wild Orchid in like, three moves. Ha! Anyway, Debbie Harry played Jason Schwartzman's neighbour in Spun. ONE DEGREE!