Slake that thirst

A more mellow and positive vibe has permeated my aura since the silly season was officially declared over.

I only realised this new state while in the queue at Coles on Monday when i espied a new guarana energy drink displayed en masse in stands at the end of every aisle and by the checkouts. The drink must have been launched that day. Well it was the first time that i had encountered it and i do pride myself on being on the qui vive for new products.

The new energy drink has the most impressive packaging and name.


Talk about laugh out loud (that means LOL, kids) which is indeed what i did. It really tickled me no end. I was almost tempted to point it out to my fellow queuer, a stern looking young man, but I am not quite that mellow so just collected a can as a memento.

At first glance the drink can appears to be targeting the metaler market but on closer scrutiny the mother referred to is of the nature not the other variety. Shame.

Beverage has a most unpleasant taste, rather bitter and medicinal, a cross between floradix and chinotto.

Name, please

It first happened when I purchased a beverage at one of those coffee house chains. Apart from giving my order and relinquishing my moolah I also had to provide my name. I was taken aback but obedient, and waited in the queue for Ms Ann Thropy to be called out.

This trend for forced and false familiarity has now become customary when purchasing fare and beverages at most outlets in the ceebeedee.

And I do NOT like it.

No I do NOT.

NOT one little bit.

In keeping with my philosophy to carp and demean, and wail while I rail, the last couple of instances have been, hmmm, how should I describe it, somewhat fraught, a teeny bit mental, utterly self-involved and mildly undignified. Just another day of laughs and high kicks with the Mistress.

At a Mexican joint while placing an order, my name was requested. I asked why, and this unctuous buffoon expounded the forced and false familiarity manifesto. I suspect he had had anger and self-esteem issewes and had undergone all types of therapies to resolve them but to no avail, and consequently had only recently emerged from some vile week of Vipassna meditation in the Blue Mountains and landed this plum new job. So I gave the chump a chance and acquiesced. 10 minutes later I jumped out of my skin and yelped when he called out my name and I collected my burrito. My cheeks were burning as I stomped, no longer anonymously, past the neighbourhood centre and along Enmore Road.

The final straw was Monday at the healthy juicey extend your life loveyourliverbar. It was 7.15 am and a work day. So pets and lambs, cats and dudes, can we please just stick to the basics, no time for making new fwends . Please note that when i say basics i mean that when I place an order I always wait my turn, smile, look people in the eye, say hello and please, and pay.

IS THAT NOT ENOUGH?!

Everybody wants a piece of me. Well no more, you hear, no more. There are some things I just want to keep to myself and be left unsaid. If I wanted that kind of familiarity in my life I would have changed my name to Candy .

"What’s your name?", enquired the young woman. I replied that I didn’t want to give my name. Serveuse was a bit taken aback and raising her sulkiness to my petulance, instructed me to just make one up. I suggested that she just call out the name of the drink and I’d collect it. She explained that they liked to use names as it gets busy. I said, "well there’s only you and me, and that other customer I am sure we won’t get confused. " She grunted, processed my order, no doubt instructing juicer guy to piss in my drink, then went and served the next person.. Once the fruit juice was ready she slammed it on the counter without any announcement. I placed digit to bottom lip, popped my eyes, placed right hand on chest's centre and exclaimed "ooh is that mine" and jauntily collected the drink from the counter.

Oh I know; they’re only trying to make a living and I’m only trying to make it that little bit harder.

Old friends' night* #2017

Following a tip from Nickers i've been trawling youtube all evening watching old Dragon film clips. Oh don't get me wrong, sugar, i wasn't copying off him, i was into you tube way before he! I had just previously spent my time on the youtube channel trawling other important business - checking out Dragon had never crossed my mind.

Hey, do yourself a favour and have a look, at the clips not my mind, there's nothing to the latter.

Frankly Marc Hunter seems distinctly wilder than he did when i was 11. MH was one louche, dissolute, rangy cat. I just find it odd that in the same year, 1976, that i saw this time I just sniggered and enjoyed the bop and the carry on of the lads in the El Alamein Fountain whereas i was silenced and intrigued upon seeing Mickey J prancing about to hot stuff, must have been the scarf and that alcan foil on his arse, crotch and jacket. Grrrr tiger. Both singers were patently off their scones and i was sober, possibly razzed on some GI or red cordigal and playing with swap cards. I guess it's a question of über, that term is just not used enough these days, star quality.

In the promo film clip for this time Marc Hunter is a total caution, completely wild and full of cheek. Oh glory here's a link from grandma and then compare and contrast and of course, discuss amongst yourselves, this.

While marvelling at the high jinks of that MH in this time i can't help but worry about the future adulthood of my more rambunctious nevews.

Looking at the film clip for hot stuff now i find the appeal of the old Micksmaster somewhat comical. Any 11 yo worth her/his salt really would have been struck by how cool that Charlie was. How about Keith and his stripey trou, he'd been wearing that pair since the goddamn rocknroll circus. Special Scag or what. Not to mention the ensembles in this time - Todd and his super silver space boots. Anyway thanks for humouring the mistress and her little plastic inevitabel multimedia extravaganza. Oh technology where would we be without it. Oh and yes, i do remember the sex pistols on the goddamnmikewillessee a current affair but can we just focus on Marc H and Mickey J. You want to rekindle those kind of memories go to youtube -the Mistress, while a trailblazer, is not renowned for street credibilité.

Hanyways i could blog and bore you like this for hours, and let's face it have done, will do and did to most of you last weekend in the flesh, youtubethatnow.

Yes, so you know i spent the weekend par-taying in Mel and it was like being 19 all over again, oh good times and i guess if it were like i was 19 again the correct term to use would be raging.

The wedding celebrations seemed to generally go very well and the Bride and Groom enjoyed themselves as did the majority of the guests. I had a great time and was really happy to socialise, contrary to my big funk before attending which i attribute to pre-wedding jitters. I've said it before and i'll say it again - sweetheart, if i cannot personalise your experience it is not worth my while. Thank you to the Bride and Groom for their generous hospitality, the post-wedding hosts and crew, and of course to Lorraine.

I had a really wonderful weekend and am missing you all already, even those i possibly offended, but that's the ways it's got to be, little darlings.


*term copyright gha.

Sets by Mr Bob interior decorator

The new year in Neighbours has brought some incongruous fittings and fixtures to some of the sets, not to mention swearing and that new look and wardrobe for Karl Kennedy and his pursuit of self-sustainable living. Karl is looking quite dishevelled, almost grunge (hey, i cannot take credit for coining the word grunge, but gee imagine if you could, imagine making up a term, oh my brain hurts just thinking of the creativity required). A spin off sitcom about Karl and Susan and their self-sustainable living is imminent, if only their surname were Good and not Kennedy. Perhaps the show could be called glad i'm not a Kennedy .

Back to the sets.

In tonight's episode of Neighbours i was struck by the curious decor at Erinsborough hospital.
While Stef was telling Mad Max that they could not reunite, in the hospital's family break-up room, she was standing beside a wall shelf that held an array of coloured cocktail glasses , none of which, unfortunately for Max, had a splash of Mr Booze. The hospital corridor now features this amazing fish tank like decoration on its wall. It is lit by an aqua fluorescent light and appears to contain some kind of marine plant.

One mobile phone was persistently ringing in the background during most scenes at the hospital. It's very hectic there.

Off to Melburn tomorrow and i really must take the opportunity to further examine those sets.

Big treat and major gush

Jo and Craig treated me to Lou Reed's Berlin at the State Theatre last night.

It was A-mazing.

The Australian Youth Choir was just brilliant, i wonder if any of them or their parents had heard of loubear before this tour. Quite a night for some of those tots, as it was for all, really.

horn and string sections were incredible as was the rock'n'roll band.

Lou's voice, alternating between staccato and drawl, was magnificent, rich and resonant. The performance really came into its own from Men of good fortune onwards.

Spellbinding.

multimedia event, natch.

audience stoked, lou choked and gracious.

There was an encore after the performance of Berlin.

It began with Lou singing Sweet Jane with Sharon Jones who led after the first chorus and was sensational. Antony Hegarty sang an utterly sublime version of Candy says.

Then LR.

Then it ended.

Audience was quite a mix featuring: the lord mayor - sporting a particularly glittering ruby red dog collar, state alp pollies, rocking cats from dayze gone by with names like si the pie, jase the face and little jimmy scannerz, double and triple J and M deejays and abc newsreaders of yore (yes both James Dibble and Bruce Menzies were there!!), 1980's Surry Hills types, young indie wearing horizontal stripes, old new wavers looking like bumble bees in their horizontal stripes, old rocking daddies sporting Miami vice fashion, interesting looking women, Sydney eastern suburb blondes - tanned, toned and tucked, and people like us. Unfortunately no Tina Bursill, Ita Buttrose nor Joe Hasham, who would have definitely raised the tone. Perhaps they'll be going tonight. Must have been some crush in that Green Room post-performance - and some fly is still trying to make sense of it all.

Pink wasabi premonition

Don't worry not a single by a number three idol but the statement on a pale green t-shirt worn by a passenger sitting opposite me on the bus.

Oh wasabi it means nothing to me.

People appear to get a little irritated when you squint at their chest trying to decipher what is written or illustrated on the shirt covering their treasure but really they should just get a grip. You're making a statement, duds, be prepared to be read.

The only words worth writing and wearing on a t-shirt are

big fat mothertrucker

Oh, and in this our Federal election year,

Llady, love your Krudd.

cannot get enough of these goddamn carriage returns.... ooh and those dots, hoo ha

Neither of those t's will i be a sportin' this weekend when i make a special guest cameo at the wedding of the 21st century.

The wedding is in Melbourne, and i'm flying ass'n'stuff herself - the Qant. No more verjus bleurgh for me (see 6 March 2006 posting).

Back to the nuptials.

They are to be held in the suburb that Dame Edna once called hoame. One day, not in your lifetime, but probably mine, that Dame will be the patron saint of the Ponds. My monster prediction for 2033. Mind you, canonization could be a bit too much of an RC concept for the Dame who is probably CofE. However, towards her later years she will convert as all the best brains do. Well, actually the best brains are atheist.

It will be a marvellous celebration - the wedding, I mean, admittedly it pales in comparison to the celebrations that will ensue with Our Lady's future canonization.

Victoria being in the grips of a firestorm, I fear that the weather will be insupportable, hotter than Hades - 40 degrees, and that is one hot mothery cockadoodledoo, is forecast for Saturday 20107 ( man i hope i stil have this blog on the 9th february in 2010, but will shannon doherty still be alive? will luke perry still be dating renny zellwelleger?And Brian Austin Green still obscene?)

We will be jolly but sweaty puddles with fallen fascinators and skewiff ties, having celebrated the nuptials with great verve and joy, and once the newlyweds have bade farewell, we will re-group in a circle, it will be too hot for a group cuddle, as we flatly sing, not throw your arms around me but it's so hot today, a dirge like ditty popular in daycare centres nationwide in the early 90's.

it's so hot today
40 degrees in the shade
pour me some lemonade
it's so hot today

(refrain x 10)

Carry on matron is on Channel 2 at 4.30 Friday morning. I am a glass is half full person after all.

Back with a Wimpie burger

Happy newie and a happy new year too.

Well it's been some hiatus.

I guess it was caused by the lack of frivolity, self-deprecation, general fun and celebration of the superficial in cyberspace and their supplantation by the pretentious, self-congratulatory and misguidedly self-important, see postings November, October and all of September worldwebwide.

I could no longer be part of that kind of blogosphere. I yearned for some laughs, just one more ride on the merry-go-round for the sake of a good time, a pause from the bottom's not dissimilar from foot know-it-all and his good friend right-on Roger Bore. I had also recently read Debra Byrne's life story and had slumped to a new low. If only Gerald Samper had ghostwritten her horror story of a bio.

My blogjo had gone and i felt rather glum. What was i to do now that i'd given up public navel gazing and lame but carefree jokes. Inertia had consumed my very core, gone was the pitter patter banter of my tiny mind. I felt sluggish, washed up and cast aside, not to mention juiced up and sloppy.

It then dawned on me that it was time to engage physically with people, and i don't mean hooking up with strangers at swingers' fleshpots as advertised on the telegraph poles that are strewn open slather along City Road, let's leave something for 2008.

So socialise i did.

I went to the work Christmas party and caroused until the wee hours, I went out to luncheons and dinners with some new acquaintances who i'd met at group therapy, i met up with old friends and family to celebrate the birth of the J baby, Jesus the man lingers at Waverton Station, danced till dawn at the Lord Mayor's NYE part-ay with Tina Bursill, Ita Buttrose and a handful of other personalities, not to mention their tiny bodies and big heads, from the 70's and the 80's - a night of nights.

In essence and ultimatively i took a reality check. A hard pill to swallow indeed but i did, loved what didn't choke me, and am as proud as Shane Warne, but possibly not as proud as Simoane (that's French for dumb, former model - French is a very succinct tongue) and I eagerly anticipate and embrace the end of 2007.

For love, adventure and cash to spend, like Goldmark, or rehab, are just around the corner.