Blood Latte?

Check it out...

A KISS Coffee House.

Right here in Melbourne.

Can you imagine? What would be on the menu I wonder? Cold Gin Macchiatos? Deuce-a-cinos? The mind boggles.

I'm betting it's Gene behind all this. From what I saw of him in Family Jewels (remember my post about that show? Was ages ago. No? Here's a reminder); he's one canny businessman. I reckon Paul just says "yep, yep, whateves... just whack my percentage in the offshore bank account in the Caymans and I'll be happy" and leaves all the grunt work to Gene. Ace and Peter would barely get a look in... KISS has been the Gene'n'Paul show for at least the last decade.

I've always had a bit of a soft spot for KISS... in fact one of my earliest blog posts was about my purchase of Unmasked. Still one of my fave albums.

So how successful will this venture be? I'm guessing pretty successful. There's a load of old KISS fans out there... some are probably a little quiet about it nowadays, but I'm willing to bet that they'll pop into the coffee shop and pick up a hotter than hell platinum latte.

And you can be sure that I'll wander down for a caffeine fix and a nosey around. If they have Ace Frehley's silver boots anywhere on display I'll be in heaven.

Bluffin' With My Muffin

That Stephanie Germanotti is one frrreeeeakkky chick.

Last week the old Gagster turned up in Australia for her sold out tour, sporting coke cans in her hair.

What's the matter Gag - couldn't afford rollers? In flight movies didn't take your fancy? Bit bored up there in the first class cabin and decided to while away the time playing with coke cans?

In any case, her Australian fans appear to have latched onto the look.

Whilst working the box office at the gig tonight I served not one, but SEVEN freaks sporting cans in their bleached blonde hair. And not all of them were women.

I'd also hazard a guess that there were even more can-headed munters inside.

Amongst the other freaky Gaga fans there were:

• A bloke who'd made a sort of Mad Hatter type hat out of paddle pop sticks and matched it with fisherman pants with a ruffled mini skirt on top;
  
  
• An anorexic looking chap who decided to wear big old KISS-style platform boots, despite the fact his skinny little legs were barely strong enough to lift them;
  
  
• A million Asian girls wearing cheap platinum blonde wigs;
  
  
• More blokes wearing sequins and glitter than I suspect entered in the Mardi Gras parade this year; and
  
  
• Enough zig-zag eye makeup to make you think you were at a convention of David Bowie fans, circa Ziggy Stardust.

Ah well, I guess everything old is new again. And I hear she puts on one hell of a show.

Just a pity I was gaga-ed out after that freak show and couldn't be arsed going in. It might have been quite interesting.

Baker's Dozen

So if the stats are to be believed, if I write another 13 posts, I will have outdone last year's dismal blog-posting effort.

That's not so many. I'm sure I can do it. I'm just not sure what to write about today. Just like I wasn't sure what to write about yesterday. Or the day before. Or the day before that.

I could go on, but I respect your intelligence too much. Let's just say the day before ad infinitum (well, until you reach the date I posted the rant about celebrity douchebag husbands).

On that note, did y'all see the great article in The Age yesterday about Sandy and Jesse? Aside from them referring to Jesse as a "grease monkey" which tickled my fancy, I must admit to having a snort or two over the journo's description of the hussy he's alleged to have slept with... "an Amish-raised stripper with so many tattoos on her body (including her face) she looks like walking wallpaper". LOL.

So true.

I think Sandra should just dump Jesse and get together with Keanu. They'd make a great couple.

Anyway.

I'm heading to bed with my latest book. Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger (she of The Time Traveller's Wife fame). Apparently she received a $5 million advance for this novel. Thus far into the book, I don't think that's entirely justified... the only character I'm liking is Martin, the chap who lives upstairs and has OCD. He's rather intriguing but not terribly utilised so far. The main protagonists are giving me the shits with all the twin clichés and ouija boards. Yawn. But I do want to see how it's all resolved and I'm quite close to the end so I may as well persevere.

Again. Anyway.

It's off to bed I go.

Adieu. (Adieu. To you and you and you)

x

Call Yourself Men?

First off, don't slate me for reading the Daily Mail. It's my trashy indulgence even though I know it's just a little bit wrong.

What's upset me in the last few days is reading this. And this. And this really upset me.

So the first we know to be fact. Well, the bit about them splitting up anyway. Which is a shame because I quite like Kate Winslet. I thought she was ace in both The Reader and Revolutionary Road and I still adore watching Sense and Sensibility. I never really cared much for Sam Mendes but they seemed to be quite a devoted couple and happy. But clearly that wasn't the case. And it seems as though he's been having a bit on the side.

The second is not yet proven. And I really, really, REALLY hope that it's just some skank who once met Jesse James in passing and is being paid a small fortune to pretend that she slept with him. Because if it's true I am going to lose my faith in men altogether. Sandra Bullock seems like one of the nicest, funniest, most caring actresses in Hollywood and in marrying Jesse she took on a whole bundle of baggage including his two ex-wives, three kids and a nasty custody battle and has handled it all with decency, dignity and grace.

Decency, dignity and grace don't appear to be among the attributes possessed by this McGee woman. Perhaps if she had some she wouldn't have sold her story to the tabloids.

And it took Sandra so long to find a nice bloke, I really thought she had finally found one and it gave me hope that one day I might find one too.

I'm losing hope.

The third scandal hurts me to even write about. Mark Owen you were the NICE one! Well, you and Gary. But Gary is a bit dull and you were nice and cheeky and funny. And you seemed so smitten with your missus and you had two cute kids. And Emma looks like a lovely, normal girl. So... WHY. THE. FUCK? You've lost a lot of love from me fella. And I've had a lot of love for you since the early 90's. We're talking nearly 20 years of love. Gone. Down the drain because you couldn't keep your dick in your pants and show some respect for the mother of your children.

I'm so disappointed by these men. I'm not claiming that the Kate and Sandra and Emma were saints - I'm sure they have their flaws - but the fact that these men had so little respect for them that they would even consider cheating is really sad.


Perhaps if Sam Mendes and Jesse James and Mark Owen (and Tiger Woods and John Terry and Ashley Cole and a whole other bunch of men in high profile roles in society) learned some respect for their wives, other men might take note and the world might be a little nicer.

Then the Daily Mail would only have to report on happy and funny events, like Smithy's Sports Relief sketches.

Death By Stereo*

I seem to have developed a habit over the years of setting my alarm and waking up at the precise moment the death of a person I was a fan of, or admired, is announced on whichever radio station I happen to be tuned into.

It's happened to me in Adelaide (River Phoenix and Kurt Cobain), London (Michael Hutchence), Sydney (JFK Jnr, Heath Ledger) and I'm sad to say it happened again this morning.

Corey Haim was one of those really talented child actors. Really talented. And if you don't believe me, watch Lucas. This was an oft-overlooked but really sweet film and if you haven't seen it I definitely recommend it as a good example of the 80s teen genre.

But as so often happens with child stars in Hollywood, Corey was chewed up by the Hollywood machine and spat out into about a thousand pieces. He appeared to spend most of his adult life desperately trying to put himself back together.

It can't have been easy and I'm sure as hell the support network around him was about zero, while the hangers-on and leeches who wanted a piece of his fame were vast. It's actually really sad that so many former child stars who are used to having people around them all the time are suddenly thrown away like a used towel when they lose their childhood cuteness factor. The few that successfully make a smooth transition into adulthood are far too rare.

And it really saddens me that yet again, another guy in his 30s is taken away from the world too soon. It's happening so often lately and I can't help but wonder what it is about that age bracket that causes this? Celebs notwithstanding, I have had three male friends in their 30s in the past few years commit suicide and I just don't get it.

Anyway. RIP Corey Haim. I always thought you were the cuter of the two, if not as quick with a comeback as your partner in crime.

To me you'll always be remembered like this:















* What was that? A little vampire humor? Well, it wasn't funny!**

** The Lost Boys. If you've seen it you'll get it. If not, just ignore it.

My New Baby

Meet my new bike.

Ain't she a beauty?

Well, I don't have her yet, but I paid a hefty deposit for her on Friday and when she arrives in a couple of weeks from the USA, she will be mine.

Sooooo pretty.

I'm very excited. I haven't owned a bike since I was a teenager. That bike was a silver Ricardo 10 speed racer which rode me the 3kms each way to and from school every day and over the years carried a viola, a clarinet and a flute, as well as a massive school bag. It was a fab old bike. I have no idea what's happened to it... it may still be in the shed at the Mater's, or she may have thrown it out in a fit of cleaning madness.

But that was then. And this is now. And this new bike is totes awesome.

Ye olde silver Ricardo was named Fox. After Michael J Fox. And because my dad said it was a "silver fox". I never got what he meant by that... but I have a feeling it might have to do with Ricardo Montalban.

But I think this bike is a girl. And I haven't quite decided on her name, but the top runners are a bit old-school. Like her. Tell me what you think suits her best:

• Betsy Lucy
• Peggy
• Stella
• Scout
• Audrey
• Ginny
• Gracie
• Lalla
• Maisie
• Martha

I'm leaning heavily towards Betsy Lucy, but am still open to suggestions.

And I'm counting down the days and planning our shopping trips together with great anticipation.

To Write, or Not to Write

I don't know if I mentioned it before (I'm fairly certain I didn't but I'm too lazy right now to go back through the archives), but I recently enrolled in a creative writing class. I thought it might help me to solidify some of my ideas for my writing, which are, to put it mildly, all over the fucking shop. It was a 6 week class, with tonight being the final class.

But I didn't go.

I went every other week (except for one, when I was in Adelaide attending a funeral). So ok, 4 out of the 6 weeks. Which is pretty good for me. I'm notorious for never finishing what I start. Quite frankly I'm amazed that I've kept up with this blog for so long.

But I digress.

The first week started promisingly, tutor was a playwright, so was theoretically right up the alley of the area of writing I wanted to explore. We hit the ground running, with some good tips on getting started. We even did mind maps. Totes ace. I have loved mind maps since I was first introduced to them whilst doing my faux business degree*.

From the word go (pardon the pun) we were encouraged to read our work aloud to the rest of the class and give and receive constructive feedback. Some people baulked at this, but eventually everyone gave it a go. I must add here that I had not realised that reading aloud was such a difficult task for some people. And I don't mean in courage. I mean in articulation and annunciation. The vast majority of people in this class were appalling at reading aloud. Too fast, too soft, too mumbled, too stumbling... I guess all those years being surrounded by performers has spoiled me. It took all my powers of listening to even begin to understand what some of these people were saying.

But again, I digress.

We were encouraged to read aloud and in the beginning everyone gave positive feedback and was nice and polite and encouraging and all was good.

Until last week, when we had to choose a memory of our own and then write about it from the perspective of a character who was the total opposite of us.

I should interrupt myself at this point to give you some perspective and explain that the most vocal feedback-givers in the group were:

1. A woman in her late 30s who was very articulate and positive and explained why she did or didn't like something very well. I liked her and thought she was very good at giving feedback.

2. A 19 year old girl who'd just finished her VCE, wrote very well but spoke in a baby voice with a lisp and couldn't articulate her thoughts coherently (well, on paper she could, but verbally she was a bit ordinary).

3. A 20 something girl who pretty much sneered at everybody's work and prefaced reading out her own work with "this is shit". Not the most positive person I've ever met.

The majority of the other participants rarely gave feedback or when they did would limit it to "that was funny" or "I liked the description of the room" or some other inane comments.

The teacher would give some useful advice occasionally, but really didn't contribute much, other than endless stories about plays she'd written or why she hated Jane Austen or how she was a huge fan of Buffy.

For the first few weeks all was ok. I wasn't shy in reading my work aloud and some of the feedback I received was genuinely useful. And I think the feedback I gave was encouraging and helpful. That's certainly what I intended.

And all was good.

Until last week. Last week I chose a memory and wrote my piece. It was a funny memory and one I hadn't thought about much since it happened, so I needed to do a little research and dig out some old diaries and do a little google-ing. It certainly wasn't perfect, and had lots of room for improvement, but I thought it was pretty good and I was quite happy with it. So I read it out and waited for the feedback.

First up, the 30-something lady. She was very articulate in her feedback and had some good suggestions for improvement.

Next up, the baby-voiced lisper. No positive feedback from her... just an abrubt comment about my use of the word "youth" to describe a group of teenagers, which she thought was "dumb cos like no one uses that word".

"Well, I do. And this character does"

"Yeah but it sounds retarded"

"Great. Thanks. Noted."

Then the teacher jumps in, I thought to perhaps admonish Miss Lispy for not being more constructive in her feedback. But no. Teacher's comment was "Yeah, that term is stupidly old fashioned - I don't like it either."

I really had no response to that so I sat there quietly.

At that point Miss Sneer jumped in.

"You know that ending? That was shit."

"What in particular didn't you like about it?"

"I dunno. But it was shit. I didn't like it."

"Well, that's not terribly constructive, do you think you could articulate what in particular you didn't like or offer some useful suggestion for improving it?"

Silence.

Enter Miss Lispy again.

"Yeah I didn't like the ending either. And 'youth'. That's just dumb. Its all dumb. You should say 'kids' or 'thugs'."

At this point I looked over to the teacher to see if she was going to continue to allow this to continue, but she was laughing and nodding along with them. And then other people in the class started laughing and saying "youth... who says that?!"

To say I was outraged was an understatement. I sat there quietly steaming for the remainder of the class and left without saying a word.

And I decided on the train home that I wouldn't be going back and I certainly wouldn't be allowing those girls to pass judgment on my work again.

That may be a little overly sensitive of me, but I think I'm a little bit justified, don't you? No one deserves to have their creative work derided like that.

Anyway, I'm feeling just a little down about my writing ability now. But it has helped me make the decision that I don't really need a class or a teacher to tell me how or what to write. I should just write for myself, not to please anyone else. And the only person who should judge my work is me. And if I'm happy with it then that's enough.








* A degree in Human Resource Development which included subjects in how to do mind maps cannot really be argued to have been a business degree

300

No, not that dreadful movie with Gerard Butler, Dominic West and Diver Dan...

It's my 300th post!

[Insert general cheering and merriment here]

Snaps to you if you've been along for the whole ride. It's been a bumpy one.

There are so many possible topics for me to choose for my 300th post, that I just can't decide. There is so much swimming around in my head right now (writing-wise) that I'm having trouble getting everything out.

So I'm going to just say Happy 300th Post to myself and leave it at that.

I'll save the rant I've just written for post 301.