The Rest of Your Life (v3.0)

Listening To: Sexplosion : My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult

Current Horn Factor :

Quote of The Day

goferdude What’s “hockey” ?
zamros REALLY YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT HOCKEY IS ?
Funk It’s like boxing, except it’s on ice and there are teams

Hi gang, you may have noticed a pretty major change to TROYL today – I’ve done away with the ‘teaser’ format for all existing posts – i.e. where you previously had to click-through on a ‘read more’ link to get the full text of a post.

I need your feedback on this – do you think removing the ‘teaser’ format makes the site look too ‘bloated with text’, or do you prefer NOT having to click through, and getting the full text straight away ? I’ve got the original database backed up, so I can always restore the ‘teasers’ to the way they were before, if the majority of consensus is you guys would like the posts the way they were originally.

PLEASE REPLY VIA COMMENTS !

The Rest of Your Life – listening to it’s readers

Listening To: Fear Of A Black Planet : Public Enemy

Current Horn Factor :

Quote of The Day

Miyomei2 I had my portable CD player,
Miyomei2 and took it in the bathroom with me while I went to pee.
Miyomei2 And the second I whipped my penis out,
Miyomei2 the theme song to ‘Rocky’ started playing.
Miyomei2 I’ve never felt more manly than in that moment

It was Mardi Gras on the weekend, so today groovers I’m going to give a little blast from the past, so to speak. A little glimpse of personal darkness from less than two years ago. It’s a story about a girl … although you might have to read between the lines to divine that, considering the ostensible subject matter. All I can say in hindsight is – I’m soooooo very glad this person isn’t in my life anymore. It started out well enough of course – these things always do. In the end though it all went very much to shit, as this story so amply demonstrates.

I live in Sydney, Australia … one of the universally acknowledged ‘gay-capitals’ of the world. I’m prone to wearing tight little singlet tops (slightly less-so at the moment considering I’m having another of my bi-annual battles with the bulge, although they’ll be back on a daily basis again once I shed the pounds), baggy hipster flared jeans (or REALLY tight, black stretch ones), black leather armbands, and spiky, product-rich haircuts. I use various male skincare products, still remember how to apply my own nail-polish and eyeliner (damn those teen-goth days), know the difference between Manolo Blahnik & Fendi, and will freely acknowledge that Jai Rodriguez is a bit of a cutey. Given the preceding information, you may therefore be surprised to learn I’m actually straight, if you haven’t met me before or are a new reader to this blog.

I’ve documented elsewhere my brief teenage flirtation with ‘dating’ a guy (which essentially boiled down to a few bad kissing sessions while we were both conveniently ripped on various substances), and the few occasions since in my early 20′s when I snogged random guys at clubs. I won’t rehash old ground here – the point is simply that I can safely say I’m very secure in my heterosexuality precisely because I have flirted with the idea of ‘playing for the other team’, and know without a shadow of a doubt it simply isn’t for me.

At times though, this can be a bit of bummer (pardon the pun). Mainly because sometimes life would be so much simpler if only I ‘swung the other way’ – or even swung both ways. Y’see gang, ever since my late teens, and for reasons which still remain a mystery to me, I’ve found that gay guys will often be attracted to me. I’ve literally lost count of the number of times I’ve had guys come up and offer to buy me drinks at clubs over the years, proposition me, try to do the ‘bump and grind’ on the dancefloor or whatever. From the sweet-looking 60 year old grandpa at someone’s 21st in Sweden (who asked me if I wanted “some gay sex” in front of the girl in question, and when I replied in the negative, made sure to try his luck again a mere twenty minutes later “just in case you’ve changed your mind”), to the chubby, stalkey fuck who took my refusal of a drink with a scowl and then proceeded to follow me to every goth club in Sydney for the next 3 months and would try to ‘catch my eye’ on the dancefloor (or worse … try to dance up close behind me until I’d tell him to “fuck off dickhead, I tell you I’m straight every time – can’t you take a hint ?!”), it seems sometimes like every queen and his corgi have tried to cop a feel of the package over the years.

“Where am I going with this ?”, I hear you ask. Let me take you back now, to a warm spring night around August of 2004. I’m drunk, half-lying, half-sitting on the bed in my ex-girlfriend’s room in Paddington. She is also pissed to the eyeballs. We’ve just been out for drinks at the Fringe Bar with our boss, the bosse’s boyfriend, and the bosse’s obnoxious friend Howard. I’m not entirely sure (since I’m way too drunk to make sense of anything much), but it appears someone made a revelation a little earlier in the evening about my ex, the boss and the boyfriend of the boss having a Boy-Girl-Girl 3-way pash-session.

My own relationship with my ex has been slowly deteriorating for ages – she ‘broke up’ with me almost 6 months ago, we’ve both been going on dates with other people, and the sex has been getting less and less frequent to the point where we haven’t done it at all for the last month. This ‘no sex’ policy was instituted by yours truly just before we started working together (again), and just after I found out she’d slept with a sodding male model (of all things) who she’d specifically assured me she wouldn’t sleep with when she’d first met him. She’s also started ‘seeing’ someone else in the last fortnight – a scumbag commercial litigation lawyer; but that hasn’t stopped the ongoing flirtation on her part, or us regularly hanging out to drink and talk after work. Predictably enough, even with all these balls twirling up in the air, it doesn’t take my ex-girlfriend long to try seducing me again. Horny as I am in my drunken state, from somewhere deep within my sense of indignation rises.

“Piss off, N ! I’ve told you before … I’m not sleeping with you anymore !” I tell her.
“Why not Pete ?” she asks.
“Well coz you had sex with a fucking male model, for one thing ! How the hell is that supposed to make me feel ?”!” I spit back (it makes me feel like shit, of course).
“I told you I’d start sleeping with other people sooner or later. Besides, that thing with S just kind of happened” she says, not at all apologetic
“Oh really ? What about P ? You’ve been ‘seeing’ him now for what … 2 weeks ? What would he think about all this ?” I ask sarcastically.
“He’s not here right now, so forget about P. We’re both horny, we’re both drunk, and you know we both have a good time when we do it … so why fight it babe ?” my ex replies slyly.

I can’t believe the shit I’m hearing out of this girls mouth ! I can’t believe I used to be in lust with this person, let alone in love. The love did a Black Eyed Peas a while ago … but in that moment, it feels like the last stray tatters of lust flutter in the wind for a second … then … whoosh … they’re gone. My anger crests in a wave that actually manages to cut right through the alcohol haze for a few heartbeats, and quicker than you can quote the Poppies with “Wise Up Sucker”, I’m out the bed ‘n out the door. I manage to run safely down the first flight of stairs from the second floor before my drunkeness re-asserts itself. Consequently I stumble down the second flight and wind up in a crumpled heap at their foot, painfully smacking my ankle against the solid wooden runner in the process. “Fuck !” I scream in frustration, past caring what all the losers who live in this ‘rooming house’ complex along with my loser ex-girlfriend think.

I hobble out the door and into the night. Five minutes of walking, and I’m starting to feel a little sorry for myself. Ten minutes, and I hit Oxford Street. I ponder going back to Fringe Bar for a moment, “but the place is full of wankers” I think to myself and elect to press on. With no set agenda, a head full of alcohol, and a 1001 confused thoughts racing through my brain, I start walking towards Town Hall station. Another quarter hour later, I’m starting to feel really bad, and really lonely. As luck would have it, that’s when I realise I’m walking (nay – stumbling) past Stonewall Hotel. For those of you unfamiliar with the Stonewall, let’s just say it’s to the ‘Naughties what DCM was to the 90′s. In a city full of gay clubs, the Stonewall is to many the glittering jewel in Queen Barry’s Sydney gay & lesbian party ‘scene’.

Now as I’ve mentioned already I’m strictly hetero, but gay guys have always hit on me. Right now, I’m feeling pretty damn lonely – I don’t think words can really do justice to just how bad I feel. So on the spur of the moment, I decide to venture in to the Stonewall. Now let’s be clear about this. It’s not that alcohol or my feelings of self-pity have eclipsed my judgement to a degree where I would actually do anything with any of the guys inside. However, right at that moment I need to feel ‘desired’, and it needs to be by someone other than my clearly demented ex-girlfriend. “Any port in a storm, eh guv ?”

Now I could go on to give you a blow by blow (pun fully intended) description of the next painful hour, but I won’t. Suffice to say, the one time in my life that I was actually looking forward to the pink brigade approaching me with their usual directness, they let me down big-time. No-one offered to buy me a drink, no-one tried to catch my eye across the bar, and no-one tried to grope me as I sweatily danced with my gammy ankle and my baggy hipsters, to exactly the same music you hear every Saturday @ The Slip Inn and a thousand other generic nightclubs for the disaffected trendset. Essentially I think it came down to one thing – they could all smell the loneliness, self-pity and desperation just rolling off me.

Ultimately then, instead of making me feel better, my little sojourn to the Stonewall just made me feel worse. “Fucked over by my ex, rejected by queens … nobody fekkin wants me !”, was the disjointed line of thinking running through my mind as I finally stumbled back out the door. For a second I think I actually lost it altogether … one moment I’m standing on the pavement in front of Stonewall, the next I’m out on the road with an irrate Lebanese taxi driver honking at me and smoke drifting off his tires from the sudden stop he must have just made.

I babble out an apology and try to regain the safety of the pavement. Hands reach out to grab me … bouncers from the pub no doubt, but I manage to make a quick duck and dodge them. Then I’m running, running, running as fast as my feet will take me. Running away from the Stonewall, away from Paddington, and far away from the ex that’s messed with my head for so long until I sunk to feeling like this.

I’d like to say I never saw her again. That’s not quiet true – we continued to work together for another few weeks, and continued to be on ostensibly cordial speaking terms. That night finally killed any desire I had to be anything ‘more than friends’ with her though, and when ultimately even this casual friendship started to fade, I didn’t mourn the fact. Eventually in December I met my future fiance, and a few weeks later my ex (supposedly) moved back to India. Thanks to that fateful night in Paddington, I can safely say I have absolutely no regrets about the fact she’s gone – and I never will !

There ‘ya go peeps … that’s my Stonewall story …

Listening To: Fear Of A Black Planet : Public Enemy

Current Horn Factor :

Quote of The Day
DemonEater wtf
DemonEater ESPN is showing 2003 national jump rope championship
DemonEater who the hell watches jump rope competiti— ooh bouncy

Hi Gang,

It’s another one of those weeks . . . I drop in only briefly to hit you with a plug for some stuff I’m selling on Ebay. This time though, we don’t just have computer parts (although those are present), we also have some original artwork by yours truly. So step up, step up my friends . . . who wants a piece of ‘tha man’ ?

 Radeon 9200 Graphics Card
* SOLD *

 MSI Wireless PCI Network Card
* SOLD *

 Angry Sarari Man Is Not So Happy Fun-Time
* UNSOLD – XUNTS ! *

 Roach-Boy Likes Bondi/The Barbecue
* UNSOLD – XUNTS ! *

Listening To: I See Good Spirits, I See Bad Spirits : My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult

Current Horn Factor :

Quote of The Day

Graeme yeah, don’t be nasty. my grandad died in a concentration camp……!
Graeme he fell out a guard tower. broke his neck

You’re probably wondering friends and fans, why DB hasn’t been posting much of late. You might even be thinking I’m a lazy git who just can’t be bothered with regular posting anymore. Sadly, this couldn’t be further from the truth. For the most part I’m still full of new ideas and the same enthusiasm I had when I started this blog more than a year ago.

Unfortunately guys, I work in a far from ‘blog friendly’ workplace I already had one run-in with my old supervisor about spending “all your fucking time on the internet”, and a few weeks ago at my annual review my new supervisor also mentioned that there are apparently “concerns” about my online usage.

My PC screen faces an area of “heavy traffic” within our floor, so a lot of people walking past have a chance to peer over my shoulder and see what I’m up to. I’m also being saddled with ever more shit I have to do for everyone as the days wear on, meaning more people have a ‘stake’ in seeing me spending my time “productively” i.e. doing their shit instead of my own.

All of which sucks arse … but it does mean unfortunately, that I’m finding it extremely hard to blog regularly these days. My sincere apologies to all you readers – I promise I will make more of an effort to try fit regular blogging somewhere else into the daily schedule (perhaps after I get home from work and before I start cooking dinner), since doing it at work is becoming increasingly out of the question.

Sorry guys – I’ll try to write a ‘proper’ post soon !

Listening To: Wanastowi Vjecy : Wanastowi Vjecy

Current Horn Factor :

Quote of The Day
Fulgore whats the complement to a 43 degree angle ?
sparks My you’re looking “acute” today
Fulgore fuck you

Guys – just selling some stuff on ebay – check these out and please bid if interested -

* SOLD *

* SOLD *

Rock on

Listening To: Herzeleid : Rammstein

Current Horn Factor :

Quote of The Day
tom_0369 man
tom_0369 im never moving to seatle washington
tom_0369 i flew over it and it was raining and gray as fuck
tom_0369 it was depressing
sammich when was this?
tom_0369 flight simluator 2004

Sorry I haven’t had much to report of late, kids. ‘Tis officially the silly season, so in between attending various office Xmas parties (more on those later, perhaps) and being flat-out at work, I haven’t had much time or inclination left to post.

However given that I live a stones throw from Bondi Beach (one of last weekends officially designated ‘no-go zones’), and given the depressing events of two weekends ago in Cronulla … I thought it was about time I gave you my two cents worth on Sydney’s current ongoing beachside turf wars / race-riots. Strap yourselves in – this ain’t gonna be a ‘light and airy’ post ! First though, for those of you unfamiliar with the DB story, I should give you a bit of background so you’ll have to proper context to put my forthcoming rant in.

I was born in 1977 in Prague, in the Czech Republic. Both my parents are also Czech, and we emmigrated to Australia in 1984 after living in Pakistan for 6 years where my dad was a trade attache to the Czech embassy. ‘Emmigrated’ is not quiet the right word though of course, since back then the world was still in the grips of the tail-end of the ‘cold war’, and (then) Czechslovakia was one of the ‘iron curtain’ Communist countries. So in actual fact, my parents didn’t simply emmigrate with me, they ‘defected to the West’ – with all the attendant hush-hush secrecy that implies.

Since then, I’ve spent most of my life living in Australia – and indeed I feel ‘Aussie’ – as much as anyone born here. I have the citizenship and passport papers to prove it. I also happen to possess a Czech passport however, and I’m as equally proud of my Czech heritage as I am of being Australian. Personally, I never thought the two were mutually exclusive.

Unfortunately groovers, I’ve had people trying to tell me different virtually my whole life. In the current debate on ‘racism’, ‘national identity’ and similar themes stemming from the events at Cronulla two weeks ago and the ongoing beachside tension since, anyone who has publicly expressed dismay at the racist sympathies apparent in some sections of the Australian electorate is, in my opinion, either a naive fool or trying to manipulate the debate for their own sinister ends. Growing up a migrant kid in the 80′s and 90′s, from the get-go as a 7-year old I was made painfully aware of the fact that Anglo-Saxon ‘aussies’ weren’t entirely comfortable with people from different backgrounds.

Bullied, taunted and regularly beat-up at school for everything from my accent, to the lunches my mum would pack for me (never mind that in those early days my parents were often so poor they could barely afford to feed themselves, yet they would save the ‘best’ food for me), to my clothes and even my last name (which is Czech but might as well be Arabic for all the good that did me, and certainly sounds it) . My experience is far from unique – the European immigrant families of the 50′s & 60′s would have faced similar prejudice when they came out here after WWII, as have our waves of Asian immigrants (the so-called “boat people”) in the 70′s and 90′s. Coming into the new century and the new millennium, it seems like it’s the turn of migrants of ‘Middle-Eastern Appearance’ and background to be the targets of this undercurrent of racism.

Like any migrant who has come to this country in the last 20 years I can attest to the fact that a level of racism has always been inherent in the Australian mind-set and always will be. Being from a communist country in the 80′s certainly didn’t help either. Yet, trying to paint this country and its people with a racist brush is to do it a great dis-service. For every fat, freckle-skinned 7 year old of Irish stock trying to beat me up for being a “communist, wog, poofter” (never mind that a 7 year old doesn’t even know what a ‘communist’ or ‘poofter’ is), there was a kid from India who wanted to know what living in Pakistan was like. For every 6th-generation ‘Australian’ making fun of my name or stealing my raw-capsicum and my salami sandwiches in order to throw them over the playground fence, there was another 6th-generation kid whose uncle had married a woman from Yugoslavia and was thus curious about life in Eastern Europe. I think a quote I read the other day in the Herald sums it up best -

“Our society can be both warmly welcoming and capable of deep, dangerous racism”

As a matter of fact, I think in some respects it was easier for migrants in the 80′s & 90′s, when the successive Hawke and Keating governments were committed to a little social policy called “multiculturalism”. At its root, this policy and its attendant legislation were about building a homogenous national identity out of many disparate wholes. Somehow, it seemed to work too – more or less. Certainly as I’ve already stated, an element of racism has always prevailed; but at least under multiculturalism this was discouraged on a national level, and the government policies of the time were all about trying to combat the racial and cultural divisions in Australian society as a whole, not about trying to exploit them. Unfortunately, if one examines the policy agenda of the Howard government over the last 12 years (and indeed Howards’ personal political agenda over the last 20), it would appear that exploiting social divisions is precisely what this government is about.

All that aside, it has to be said that in this debate and this situation, the Lebanese (and to a lesser extent Muslims of other cultures) youth certainly aren’t helping themselves either. Naturally, it would be a gross generalisation to claim (as some commentators in the media have) that all Lebanese/Muslim men are ‘troublemakers’. Unfortunately, there is a small but very visible minority giving their wider community a ‘bad name’, and said community seems reluctant to reel these trouble-makers in. Partially of course this is precisely because of the perceived ‘racism’ they feel, as all migrant groups do at some point, from the wider ‘Australian’ community. They feel victimised, and in many cases are simply unwilling to entertain the belief that ‘their’ sons could be capable of the terrible things ‘we’ accuse them of.

The problem of course, is that some of the aforementioned minority; such as convicted gang rapist Bilal Skaff and his cohorts, the unidentified gang who attacked the volunteer lifesavers at Cronulla two weeks ago and others, have been up to some truly awful things. To give you an example which directly impacts on my own life, earlier this year my lovely fiancé IG went to Europe for a month. Whilst in Spain she too was attacked a gang of Middle-Eastern men, and only managed to escape thanks to a combination of kung-fu, quick thinking, and glassing her lead assailant in the face. Whilst it’s clear she managed to avoid gang rape, she’s naturally reluctant to talk about her ordeal, so I will probably never know for sure to what extent her first attacker managed to assault her before his friends got there and she managed to escape. Regardless of ‘how far’ this first cowardly arsehole actually got, the point is he attacked my fiancé and tried to force her into having non-consensual intercourse with him. For that, he deserves to rot in hell, as do all rapists and attempted rapists. It’s precisely this sort of behaviour which makes it so easy, and so tempting, for otherwise ‘tolerant’ people like you and me to start hating young men ‘of middle eastern appearance’ as a group.

The thing is though – I simply can’t do it kids. I can’t. I’m not a “hater”, to borrow a phrase from one of my favourite hip-hop bands, Australia’s own 1200 Techniques. Don’t get me wrong – I definitely hate the fucktards who attacked my baby in Spain, as surely as I hate the little (Slovak) shit who sexually abused me a few months after I first came to Australia with my parents. However I hate these people as individuals, and not as representatives of any particular “group”, save perhaps the group of “scumfuck sexual predators”. I don’t ‘do’ hate based on race, creed or other such generalisations – the only ‘hate’ I have is based on demonstrated, individual, abhorrent behaviour. In other words -

Just because some middle-eastern men are rapists, doesn’t mean all middle-eastern men are rapists. Just as some Anglo teenagers beating a pair of innocent Arab men to a bloody pulp on the train at Cronulla station doesn’t make all Anglo teenagers viscous, violent racists.

I know some people may see this attitude as naive. Perhaps I’m “backward” for trying to cling to the multi-cultural dream. Or perhaps only ‘ignorant migrants’ like myself and my generation of ‘wog kids’ actually fell for those great Aussie ‘myths’ like “a fair go” and “we come from different places, but we’re all Australian”. Nonetheless, I would hate to think this is actually the case. I would like to think that the Australia I grew up in, or at least thought I did, isn’t dead or never existed at all – it’s simply been forgotten in the heat of the moment, as tempers have flared on both sides of the current conflict, egged on by everyone from Alan Jones, to Stormfront, to various gang-leaders and the Prime Minister himself, and his governments’ 12 year reign of divisive public policy and public statements.

I have to believe that Australians of all ages and backgrounds can come together and work these issues through. That I’m not the only one who is prepared to stand up and say “this senseless violence isn’t what our great country is about”.

I want to, and have to believe what I always thought generations of Australians always knew – namely that ;

“The beach is for everyone”

For my own sake, and (clichéd as it may sound) for the sake of my future children.

I’m not Derryn Hinch, and that’s my view.

Listening To: Pure Cult : The Cult

Current Horn Factor :

Quote of The Day
Raven I tried setting my hotmail password to penis.
Raven It said my password wasn’t long enough. A week to go till BB06 auditions, and I’m having a bit of dilemma gang. Y’see, I’m not entirely sure I want to audition anymore. Part of it is to do with the lukewarm response I’ve received out in Sydney blog-land to my ‘Bloggers for Big Brother’ idea i.e. that a bunch of us Sydney bloggers would congregate in Newtown on the Saturday night before the auditions, and proceed to audition as a group on Sunday morning.

To my mind this would have been a great social evening and pop-culture experience rolled into one – but with the exception of the divine IG and the sympathetic Steph, it seems like everyone else has poo-pooed the idea for a variety of their own twisted reasons.

What’s wrong with Sydney bloggers ? Here’s a chance to get right into the thick of pop-culture, and everyone is like “we can’t be arsed”, if they’ve dignified my emails/comments with a reply at all !

While I’ve auditioned on my own in previous years, I thought going along to the auditions with a group of fellow bloggers had the potential to be heaps of fun … so I’m surprised that the majority of you out there don’t seem to share this view. As such, unless I get a sudden torrent of emails / trackbacks / comments in the next few days telling me it is a good idea, I’m definitely not going to bother organising any pre-audition meetup. If I end up going at all I might post something the night before with a photo / telling y’all what I’m wearing on the off chance any other bloggers out there decide to come the auditions ‘on an individual basis’ … but that’s it. So if you wanna meet up peeps, let me know SOON !

Another reason I’m rethinking the auditions is because IG and I have now set a definite date for our wedding. It’s going to be late July 2006, it’s going to be in the Czech Republic, and it’s going to be in a castle (yup, you heard right – a castle !). As such in the unlikely event either of us were actually to get on Big Brother, this could present a problem because we would need to leave the house by the start of July for the wedding to go ahead as scheduled. Right now it’s still in the planning stages and a venue hasn’t been booked yet (the Czech Republic has numerous castles to choose from), so conceivably if ‘worst came to worst’ and we were successful during the early stages of the audition process the wedding itself could be put temporarily on hold. One of us would still lose out by just over two grand though if we didn’t travel in July, because the airfares have been booked already.

Yet another reason for my current indecisiveness about trying to get on BB again is that I’ve been giving some serious thought of late to the nature of celebrity itself, particularly BB celebrity. Y’see, for most of my life, before meeting my fiancé, I was convinced that I wanted to be famous. It always thought it would be nice to be famous for a creative reason e.g. writing or music, but at the end of the day the reason wasn’t as ‘desirable’ to me as the celebrity-status itself – I just knew I wanted fame as an end in and of itself. I suppose you could say I felt like there was a void in my life, and I thought only fame could fill that void. Just as I was conditioned to think by the media, I suppose. Since meeting Lisa though, I no longer feel like my life is ‘lacking’.

Sure, I still have money problems (and saving for a wedding is gonna be fun). Yes, I still feel underwhelmed by my job, wish we had a bigger apartment, suffer problems communicating with my family at times, and have a desire to do something ‘more’ with my life in terms of writing / painting / recording music. However, despite all these things I no longer feel like ‘there is something missing’ – these days they are just ‘challenges’ to overcome, rather than a ‘void’ which ‘fame’ will fill. Given the above, ‘celebrity’ no longer holds the same appeal it once did.

Couple this with the fact that any level of fame leads to a corresponding loss of privacy, and you can see why I’m suddenly hesitant to expose myself and my wonderful fiancé to the kind of media circus being a BB participant brings. There’s still a part of me that does want to be famous despite all that, but these days my attention has shifted and if I’m ever going to be famous then dammit the reason has to be a good one (such as the aformentioned writing / art / music) and not simply for the sake of fame itself. Being a contestant on Big Brother, unfortunately, doesn’t fall into that category. Sure – it can be a springboard for launching other creative ventures later on – and if I end up auditioning again it will be with that end in mind – but essentially, BB contestants’ fleeting ‘fame’ doesn’t spring from anything more than being on the program itself.

So there you have it folks – do I audition for Big Brother 06, or don’t I ? It’s a dilemma …

(Update 29/11/05) :

Ok gang, it’s official – IG and I are pulling out of the running this year. The final nail in the coffin were the persistant rumours doing the rounds of the message boards that the 2006 season may run for as long as 6 months. Not only would this definitely prevent us from going ahead with our wedding as planned, but also while 3 months apart would be hard enough (especially going on past experience with Lisas one month overseas trip), a six month separation at this stage in our relationship is virtually out of the question. The upside of this is you can expect the usual armchair commentry from me again in 2006 concerning the latest BB season … and I’ll try to do an even more thorough job this time around.

That being said – good luck to everyone auditioning this year – I’m looking forward to watching those of you who make it on BB in 2006 !

Listening To: Sarssipius’ Ark : Infectious Grooves

Current Horn Factor :

That’s right folks … the BB machine is already getting ready to rev up again … according to the official site, Sydney auditions for Australian BB06 are being held December 4th-6th at Sydney Uni. For the first time this includes a Sunday – which means there’s a strong possibility of me going out clubbing till the wee hours on the Saturday night, then rocking up to Sydney uni to camp out for the remainder of the night and trying my luck (again) on the Sunday. I just hope they don’t have the same stupid rule they had last year about (ostensibly) not taking people in steady relationships – since I’m very much “taken” and quiet happy with that fact, thankyou very much !

Watch this space !

16/11/2005 Update: ‘Lo again … so … I’ve hit on a cunning plan. Let’s call it “Bloggers for Big Brother” shall we ? Basically, this involves a bunch of us Sydney bloggers meeting up in the city on Saturday the 3rd of December for a night of drinking and whatever else takes our fancy. No doubt starting somewhere in Newtown, and working our way from there. Some time later during the night we will migrate en-masse as a group to the Sydney uni campus, and all audition together on Sunday morning @ 9 a.m. (more like 10 or 10:30 if last year is anything to go by) for possibly the last (depending on how ratings go, and if TCN 10 renews the contract with Endemol) series of Australian Big Brother, BB06. Surely at least ONE of us should be interesting enough to get in ? So – whose with me guys ?

Listening To: Public Domain Vs Ultrasonic : Various Artists

Current Horn Factor :

Hi Gang, I know it’s been a while between updates – same old story- too busy at work, and just spending quality time with the quality girl. I guess you’re officially entitled call me a neglectful blogger !

Anyhoo, just thought I’d update y’all on a great gig I went to see with my fiancé on Friday night @ the Yallah Roadhouse in Wollongong. Paul Greene is an old friend of Lisa’s from her Glebe days via Jervis Bay, who moved back to the latter with his family a year or so ago I believe – hence I guess the focus on more country gigs on his website of late. Paul’s also a very accomplished singer/songwriter/guitarist, about to put his next album – so this gig was also about giving his fans a taste of what to expect from the new record.

I’d never been to the Yallah before, and being a city boy I have to admit I was expecting to be underwhelmed by the venue. I was very pleasantly surprised then to find the Yallah wasn’t the run-down tin-roofed shed full of surly country-folk that I was expecting it to be. Tin-roofed – yes. Run down – no. Think warm-hued, freshly varnished timber and high ceilings. The food was pretty good too. Granted, by the time we’d arrived from Sydney after our 3 hour drive the kitchen had run out of the ‘home-made pies’ and the tandoori chicken, but if the Buffalo Wings we both ended up settling for were anything to go by, their chef definitely knows what he’s doing. The bar staff and other patrons seemed pretty friendly too, nary a true ‘bogan’ in sight, at least not that night.

You’d expect the acoustics of a shed to be pretty poor, but I guess the Yallah’s sound-tech knows what he’s doing because the sound levels were fairly spot-on for the majority of the gig. On to the gig itself then. First up we had the support act, a little trio called Note To Self, consisting of two female vocalists and a guy on guitar who looked like someone out of Radiohead but had the unfortunate (at least to my mind) name of “Dusty”. I’m thinking to myself “oh great … a guy called Dusty and a few chicks from Wollongong … this is going to be country-and-western cheese for sure”. Not so I’m happy to report, friends – not so at all. I’m not usually a fan of acoustic music, and the majority of these guys’ set consisted of deceptively simple arrangements utilising only the two vocalists and one or more acoustic guitars (the girls occasionally sharing playing duties with Dusty).

Nonetheless I have to say they blew me away, managing to sound in turns like Bjork, Alanis Morrisette, Hole (Unplugged) and … well I’m not sure really … at least to me, their sound was pretty unique (as I’ve said already, I’m not usually much of an acoustic fan). Expect big things from Note to Self, that’s all I can say.

Next up of course came the stars of the show themselves, namely Paul Greene & his band. I’d heard them play once before @ the Vanguard in Newtown so I knew what to expect, and they certainly didn’t disappoint. Paul’s voice and playing were both in fine form, as he and the band treated the audience to a mixture of old songs from Happy Here With You, This Way and one or two from The Miles. As already mentioned, we also got to hear some of the new material which is going on the latest album. They didn’t strike me as much of a departure from Paul’s previous material, but I don’t see that as much of an issue given that when you’re onto a good thing you should definitely stick to it !

The trio from Note to Self also got up to help Paul & the guys out on a few numbers, and by the end of the night they had the whole pub (including the girl trying her best to look like Shania Twain, complete with cowboy hat, figure hugging midriff top and pointy boots) dancing away to the ‘big sell’ tunes (if they were with a major label, which they aren’t – just another reason you gotta respect Paul) like Work Love Dance Trust. All in all, a fantastic gig !!! Well worth the $15 cover charge and 3 hour drive

Listening To: Goodbye Country, Hello Nightclub : Groove Armada

Current Horn Factor :

So I’ve mentioned previously the pressure to look good, now that I’m living in Bondi – Sydney’s epicentre for well tanned, superbly muscled surfer dudes. In a serious bid to start trying to get back in shape, I went and bought myself a new bicycle a few weeks ago. Check it out -

Isn’t is sweeeet ? Shopping around online, I managed to pick up the sexy bit of engineering you see above brand new for less than I paid two or three years ago for a second-hand bike with fůcked up gears and dodgey brakes. To date my riding is going well, and despite not being a morning person I’m actually managing to get up at 6am and go for a ride most mornings. On the weekend I also managed to finally motivate myself to pick up the free-weights again after going for an extended ride, and topped that all off with a bit of session using our flatmates punching bag. Buffness here we come

Now that the weather is getting warmer, IG and I have also been going to the beach most weekends. We had a lovely picnic the other day at Coogee, overlooking the beach and the headland, complete with good wine, an assortment of great cheeses and stellar conversation as usual. “Choice bro” as the Kiwis would say One thing that I’m finding a bit perplexing at the moment though is the thong situation …

Basically, I need a new pair of thongs to wear to the beach. Now for our American readers, I’m not referring to the item of female underwear we here in Australia call a “G-String”. I am of course talking about the quintessential piece of antipodean footwear which I believe you call “sandals”, and the Brits designate “flip-flops”. What I want is a cheap, nasty, generic $2 pair of paper-thin rubber-soled ‘double pluggers’ made in China, Vietnam or an equivelant third-world country which I can pick up at my local thrift store. Surely not too much to ask, is it ?

Last time I purchased a pair of said no-name thongs for the princely sum of $2 was a few years ago in Parramatta. For those unfamiliar with Sydney’s geography, let me tell you Parramatta is an inland suburb in Western Sydney which is nowhere NEAR a frikkin beach nor any similar body of water. Sure … you can go to Parramatta Lakes … but this in the middle of bush reserve where one of my highschool friends once almost stepped on a red-bellied black-snake but for my quick reflexes. Not exactly thong-friendly.

I’m telling you this because I niavely assumed that living in Bondi, finding a similar pair of thongs at my local discount store wouldn’t be a problem. How wrong I was ! Logic of course would tell you that if you can buy cheap, nasty thongs at a cheap, nasty store nowhere near the beach, finding an equivelant pair in an equivelant store in Bondi would be a breeze. Nyet, nyet, nyet ! I’ve been to every bargain and convenience store in the Bondi Junction mall strip, and a fair few down at the beach, along with most of the beach front souvenier stores. Most of them simply don’t have thongs at all … the few that do have hideous patterned ones obviously aimed mostly at the female market and costing at least $6.95

I could of course duck into any of numerous surf-wear shops and pay $15-30 for a pair of suitably branded ‘designer thongs’ … but who in their right mind would do that, except a tourist or a tragic fashion victim ? We’re talking thongs people, not fØcking Manolo Blahnik stillettos …

so why the F#^R&*#$ can’t I find a cheap, ordinary, no-frills pair ‘o thongs within a 20km radius of the sodding beach ?

Tell me that, coz I wanna know ! Gaaaaaaaaah !

Thongs Update: (13/10/05) OK, so I caved and got meself a pair of thongs from Target (our equivelant of Wall-Mart) for $6 a pair. Granted, they might be better than the $2 pair I got last time … the sole is about as thick as my pinkie finger, as opposed to being the thickness of a (jamless) pikelet. But it’s the whole question of principle … I shouldn’t have to pay six dollars for a pair of measly blue and white, basic flip flops. Oh yeah … and the Target I got them from is @ Macquarie Centre, just near my work. Which … surprise, surprise … is nowhere near the fekking beach again !