Listening To: Cuz Its Hot : My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult

Current Horn Factor :

Horn Factor = Mmm ... happy :)

I know, I know – it’s a few weeks overdue, but here for what it’s worth is my Australian BB05 wrap-up. It’s going to be a fairly short one, since every other BB blogger has already given you the blow-by-blow account of the show itself. I’m just going to comment on the final outcome itself i.e. the shock-win of ‘Logan’ Greg, the former CUB sales rep, over everyone’s favourite housemate ‘Lefty’ Tim Brunero, erstwhile Newtown journalist & Workers Online contributor.

To say this result was a bit of a disappointment would be a major understatement. Don’t get me wrong – Greg seems to be a genuinely nice guy, and is certainly the nicer of the two ‘Logan Twins’. Nonetheless I feel cheated, as I’m sure many Lefties do, by the fact that for once the major prize of a contest which is essentially the ultimate televised physical manifestation of the right-wing paranoid psyche was within ‘our’ (Tim’s) grasp, but was snatched from us at the last minute by the nutty voting whims of Australias pre-teen & teenage female demographic. “FÇ”ck it !”, I say. Fuck it hard with the distressingly phallically-shaped Bratzâ„¢ “Electronic Spin the Bottle Game”, suitably lubed and primed for action. I think if we have a similar situation next year where we’re down to a likeable Leftie contestant (“pick me, pick ME !”) vs a good-looking, generally likeable but ultimately right-wing guy like Greg, I’m going to start spreading the rumour that voting for the ‘wrong’ housemate will give your Barbie syphillis. Who’s with me ? :)

So there you have it … that’s the ‘ending’ referred to in this post title. “What, pray tell, is the ‘beginning’ ?” I hear you ask, gentle reader. Thanks to the miracles of modern videotape technology and a grandmother with too much time on her hands, I’m proud to announce I will shortly become probably the only English speaking blogger in the world (and certainly I’m sure the only one in Australia) to hold the dubious honour of commenting on the first ever Czech series of Big Brother, kicking off this week just outside Prague. Yaaaaay !!! :-P

This is being produced by the Czech “Television Nova” network, previously known in the Western world primarily for its nude late-night weather forecasts. This station is also renowned by the natives for its racey (Czech dubbed) Brazillian & Argentinian soap-operas, reruns of the ‘Red Shoe Diaries’ soft-porn series starring a pre-X-Files 1980′s David Duchovny, and Spelling Entertainment productions which are an average of only 5 years behind their current US counterparts – making them some of the most ‘immediate’ American soaps in all of Eastern Europe. As such I can almost guarantee you we’re going to see lots of T&A, and I’m also fairly certain to learn some new Czech vulgarities, which are certain to come in handy next time I’m in Prague and having to tell a gang of skinheads to fuck off without exposing myself as a traitorous immigrant who grew up overseas. I’m very excited, let me tell you !

To cap it all off, the current super-model & pØrnstar statistics would bear me out when I say that the majority of Czech/Slovak women are majorly good looking, so the Czech HM’s are all bound to be Jo Ashton & Kate, rather than Vesna & Sarah-Maree Fedell, if you get my drift. All I can say is – “DÄ•kuji Christe, za Sametovou Revolucy !” (Thankchrist for the Velvet Revolution !) Granted – my commentary is going to be somewhat delayed by the fact my grandma is streaming a feed straight to the antique 1970′s valve-powered, Russian-made fileserver grandpa has running in the communal boiler room videotaping it for me and sending the tapes over my snail mail once filled with a few episodes. Nonetheless I reckon it’s better than no commentary at all on this world-important, cross cultural event (in other words, I’ll let you know about the major T&A hotness and/or funny bits, lads).

However, before the hotness I’m going to give you a little teaser-pic of one of the other HM’s I’ll also be watching with interest when my videotape arrives from the Czech Republic. His name is Jaroslav, and I’m going to be watching him because … well dammit, I haven’t seen such a hideous permed-mullet and handlebar ‘tache combo since the 80′s. Man, are we Czech men stylish or what ? *smirk*

Jaroslav - Czech BB Housemate

Finally then, “just another” night of clubbin’ to report on in the world of DB. Saturday night I made my way over to Bondi in anticipation of taking IG out to her first-ever goth club. Giving her a bit of glimpse into the ‘scene’ that was at least partially responsible for making me who I am today, what with my decade+ association with it in various countries and various levels over the years (to the point now where I’ve finally weaned myself off to maybe one goth club in 6-8 months if I’m lucky). ‘Twas not to be – Lisa’s copy of the Drum was a week out of date and the night in question had actually already occurred a week previously. Although we were both suffering from the flu, and somewhat tired, we were determined to go out so after some quick debating decided to head to one of IG’s old haunts instead, to whit the uber-yuppified “too cool for school” hangout of coked-up City investment bankers, known as The Tankstream Bar/Tank Nightclub.

Scanning the crowd at the door (Habibs with $200 designer-dishevelled haircuts, women in fur coats & Prada dresses, Patrick Bateman-types in suits), I got a pretty good idea of what lay in store for us, and some of those impressions were certainly spot-on. Dècor was a rough imitation of the kind of ‘big money decadence’ in places the elite (i.e. Mafia … haha) go to in Europe, complete with dancefloor area & downstairs bar in what appeared to be a genuine cellar. Having seen the real thing though I’m unfortunately hard to please when it comes to that sort of thing, so I was fairly underwhelmed. Particularly on finding out later that the cellar area seemed to feature no discernable ventilation at all, niavely trying to rely instead on its impossibly high ceiling (by normal above ground standards) to disperse the hot air generated by a dancefloor full of clubber shaking their bootay. Here’s a tip guys, if you ever stumble across this blog – mount some fucking fans on the big wooden pylon holding the ceiling up, because your stupid Aussie “we’re unfamiliar with how cellars work because Antipodean architecture doesn’t usually feature them” ventilation plan is utter bollocks, meaning anyone who spends any length of time on the dancefloor is in serious danger of developing heat-stroke !!!

In terms of the music itself, alas I must also confess this wasn’t really to my taste. I tried my best to enjoy it, and got a groove going with IG on a few songs, but either the DJ’s had stuffed up the EQ levels somehow or they were trying to emulate the Prague clubbing scene in more ways than one. With very few exceptions, Czech music always sounds like it’s had the bass surgically removed. No doubt this is due to its historical reliance on second-rate Russian knockoffs of early Moog synths and a few broken Yamaha DX-7′s ‘liberated’ off the back of a truck by Russian forces going on unauthorised rece-leave to West Germany. This is why all the good clubs in Prague won’t touch that shite with a 10-foot-pole, and choose to play strictly imported (American/European/UK) tunes instead. This is also why trying to emulate the ‘Prague Sound’ is a bad, baaad idea – since the only GOOD Prague sound is the one that resembles Rotterdam/Ibitha/London/Sydney … i.e. indistinguishable from the JBL-powered acoustics of a good club anywhere on the planet.

Finally then, lets talk about the club patrons. As mentioned earlier, the predominant motif seemed to be ‘the beautiful people’ / Spelling Entertainment refugees. Don’t get me wrong … I know I’m a wanker too – I love all the (other?) Merrivale venues (Establishment, Slipp-Inn, Hotel CBD, Angel Place), Greenwood on a good night, Commodore Hotel, Cockle Bay (on occassion … though not TOO often) etc etc. Yet somehow to me at least, it felt like this particular crowd epitomised my wankerdom taken to another level again. It’s taken me around two years to get really comfortable and stop feeling like I’m something that Pussy Galore, the Western Suburbs Moggie dragged in at the aforementioned places I usually frequent, but after all of 5 minutes in Tank I was already feeling that old familiar vibe of “oh my god, I don’t think I belong here”. Turns out I needn’t have worried though – as I stood at bar getting drinks for my fiancé and I, a drunken queen who looked a little bit like Andy from the Peregrine Gig proceeded to lisp in her ear “you’d better hang on to him girlfriend, he’s not gonna last long in here coz they’re a pretty pushy lot”. Not more than 30 seconds later, I felt my arse being fondled. I’d like to think it was the blonde girl and her brunette friend behind me … it wasn’t STRICTLY a gay crowd … but I’m not sure – it could have been Andy.

Directly after that, a drunk & fairly plain looking mediterranian girl came up to us and proceeded to start flirting with Lisa, and telling me what a lucky guy I was to be with her (“yeah thanks, I know”). A bit freaked out, we retreated to the other side of the bar to have our drinks, then headed to the downstairs area for a dance via the restrooms (which were freaky in and of themselves, with an entry area which made it difficult to asertain where the club-proper ended and toilet began, and which was the mens & womens loos). Now I’ve already talked about the dancefloor and downstairs bar so I won’t rehash that. Instead, I’ll just mention briefly that we ran into Andy-Clone & Drunkgirl again on the way (the former actually having to show us where the stairs were, the latter reiterrating how lucky I was to be with my girl), and that the dancefloor was packed as the Zion party-scene in Revolutions.

Andy-Clone turned up again at one point to point out a blonde chick and brunette guy he claimed were his “brother and sister”, although I didn’t see the resemblance and the couple in question both shook their heads as if to say “we don’t know what the hell this freako is talking about”. Perhaps he got it into his brain to set up the two ostensibly straight-couples for a bit ‘wife-swapping’ ? You can never tell with someone like Andy. Drunkgirl also put in an appearance to ask me if I “minded” if she dance with my fiancé ? I don’t think it would have mattered either way what I said, but all the same I answered good naturedly “of course not”, and she proceeded to twirl IG around in a salsa-esque display for about two minutes while the woggy guy standing in front of me (who had just arrived a few moments later and hadn’t seen the lead-up) gradually racked up his grin and attempted to get his crotch as close to both of them as he could without actually appearing to dance.

It was just after the point where Drunkgirl attempted to stick her tongue in IG’s ear that my fiancé decided she’d had enough, and nimbly side-stepped wogboy and his mates to come back to dancing with me. That was a very thankful DB right there, let me tell you ladies and germs ! It’s not that I would have a problem with my fiancé pashing or even getting it on with another girl, particularly an attractive one (which this one wasn’t) – per se. That is after all the stuff many male fantasies are made of ! This particular girl however came across with a very scary “I don’t really wanna share” kind of vibe … and while I think I do alright at tongueing the pink pearl (see … watching lots of pá»™rn CAN be good for something hehe) I don’t have one of my own so it’s conceivable if someone that does and who didn’t want to share took IG to “the darkside of the force” – I couldn’t be guarenteed of getting her back :-P

Eventually, all temptations successfully batted away and bodies drained from dancing to bass-lacking tunes in the poorly ventilated cellar, IG and I bade the Tankstream Bar farewell and stumbled off exhausted for a cab and home. Not before Lisa had almost backed inadvertently into Geneva from BB05 on the dancefloor mind you … which brings us neatly back to the start of this post.

Funnily enough – despite all my bitching above, I still wouldn’t classify it as a bad night. Certainly not the best night out I’ve had, but there were enough moments of quiet internal amusement, grooving with IG and curiosity at seeing an old hangout of hers to still make it an “OK” evening of clubbin’. Just lemme work on my tan and my beer-belly before I go there again :)

Bonnes noches, mis amigos !