BIG WIN FOR LIVE MUSIC VENUES- BY JASON DOWLING
January 27, 2010
LIVE music venues are expected to be the big winners from an urgent meeting today between the Director of Liquor Licensing Sue Maclellan and representatives of the live music scene.
It is believed the licensing regulator will reverse blanket high-risk enforcement on all music venues, an approach that has been blamed for the closure of popular Collingwood live music venue The Tote.
A State Government source said the director was likely to tell the live music sector that a more case-by-case approach to the tough rules would now be taken.
''The Government, director and industry all want to determine what flexibility can be exercised to ensure the ongoing viability of live music venues,'' the Government insider said.
Inner-city Government MPs faced an electoral backlash at this year's state election against the tough licensing requirements that have seen The Tote close and other venues threatened.
Melanie Bodiam, manager of live music venue The Arthouse, on the corner of Elizabeth and Queensberry streets, said she was extremely pleased about the expected change in approach by the liquor licensing regulator.
''Common sense prevailed - you wouldn't believe the smile on my face now,'' she said. Four bands will perform at The Arthouse tonight.
Apart from higher fees, requirements on live music venues had not changed since 1999. But many of those conditions, such as minimum security levels, have only recently been strictly enforced.
Ms Bodiam said venues would like more information on what a ''case by case'' basis meant. She said the new criteria should be determined in consultation with the music industry. But she said the backdown was a big win for the live music industry.
''It is so exciting to know that people have stood up and said what they want,'' she said.
Consumer Affairs Minister Tony Robinson said: ''The Government is very concerned about preserving a future for live music in Melbourne and we will work towards getting the balance right so we keep our streets safe and maintain the viability of live music venues.''
Under the current blanket approach, high-risk conditions are imposed on venues with live or amplified music and those trading past 1am. High-risk conditions on a licence require the licensee to employ a minimum level of security and install CCTV.
The State Government is also working on a longer-term strategy to help sustain Melbourne's live music culture.
The strategy is being developed by Mr Robinson and will include consultation with musicians, venue owners and managers, police and the Director of Liquor Licensing. The longer-term strategy will also consider issues such as when people move into areas serviced by live music and then complain about noise.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Four and Out
Okay, you all must think I've become obsessed with this Tote business and you be right. I plan to make this my last post on the subject- at least for this week. I'm hoping my next Tote post will be entitled 'SAVED!!!'
Myf Warhurst had this to say in today's Age and it sums up very well -along with Marieke Hardy's article-the feeling of the Tote's closure.
It shows that the feeling of great venues closing are more than just losing a pub, it's losing much,much more.
Myf Warhurst had this to say in today's Age and it sums up very well -along with Marieke Hardy's article-the feeling of the Tote's closure.
It shows that the feeling of great venues closing are more than just losing a pub, it's losing much,much more.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The Tote-Part Three
I can't believe how depressed I am about the Tote. It's got me thinking about my life. Is it a transistion period that life and the universe is forcing me to live an old lady existence? Or just that life as I know (knew) it is being taken over by greedy,self serving bastards who gentrify the areas we love with rampant conservatism?
In case you may have missed it, the 7.30 Report on ABC aired a story on the Tote last night. Good on you Channel 2.
To John Brumby and Co- go fuck yourselves. You go on about alcohol and violence.. your laws perpetuate it because it's profitable. To quote the late,great Bill Hicks -suckers of Satan's cock, each and every one of you...
In case you may have missed it, the 7.30 Report on ABC aired a story on the Tote last night. Good on you Channel 2.
To John Brumby and Co- go fuck yourselves. You go on about alcohol and violence.. your laws perpetuate it because it's profitable. To quote the late,great Bill Hicks -suckers of Satan's cock, each and every one of you...
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
More Tote
I've been google-ing stories about the Tote and found a beautifully written piece by Marieke Hardy entitled 'The Slow Death of Sticky Carpet'.
Comedian Jimeoin once joked that being in the delivery room and watching, agog, as his wife gave birth to their first child, was 'like seeing my favourite pub burned to the ground.' It's the funniest thing he's ever said and therefore quite possibly plagiarised but he's certainly captured the horror of one thing at least - how deeply one feels the loss of a treasured watering hole.
More often than not these days local pubs are limping to their deaths via a series of turgid back 'n' forths in windowless government meeting rooms as opposed to exploding into flames, though the sentiment remains. Our locals define a neighbourhood, steeped as they are in liquor and lingo. When they've also played an important role in our musical history it only makes the bereavement more devastating.
And yet another one has left us, another solid little perfect corner shop of splintered music and barmaids with spectacular bosoms and dangerous sneers.
The glorious Tote hotel in Collingwood, Victoria has closed its doors for the last time, with beleaguered nominee Bruce Milne bowing out with shrugs and sighs. This time it's not even some po-faced inner city resident shaking a fist from their well-manicured balcony and complaining about the noise (move out of the f*cking city then, you twit) that has crippled the place, but a government helpless to control that pulsating, seething morass of testosterone Australian capital cities fondly refer to as 'Saturday night'.
As ruddy men in Ed Hardy t-shirts while away languid weekend evenings in the CBD merrily shattering pint glasses into each others' faces, those in charge are responding the only way they know how: by penalising live music venues whose crowds consist mostly of sticky-limbed music nerds and one local drooling barfly who knows all the words to Dylan's 'Hurricane'.
It's a quick fix, and an idiotic one, like trying to reign in Japanese whalers by marching down to St. Kilda wharf and punching a fisherman in the face. I do hope Victorian Premier John Brumby feels as though justice has been served at last with such a particularly butch and vacuous solution. Perhaps he could celebrate with a mince tart and a nice cold glass of Ribena, the chump.
The Tote hotel was never the prettiest of venues - in fact for the most part it was a stinking, sweaty bitch mistress, luring blinking punters in off Johnston Street with the promise of grubby sex in the toilets and twelve-minute guitar solos, and propelling them back out into the night with bleeding ear drums and the sort of blossoming liver problems once enjoyed by a young and wild-eyed Oliver Reed.
I loved it, helplessly, and was inextricably linked to the place through myriad channels - deep-set family connections, an abode I once resided in three doors down where late at night you could hear the speed metal bands rehearsing, and a long and involved music-obsessed adolescence spent variously staring up at the stage or dodging a lead singer's erratic strands of saliva.
I fell in love while the jukebox played Television's 'Marquee Moon', staggered around the speaker stack wearing a moth-eaten showgirl outfit, and watched the future husband of my best friend projectile vomit in front of an oddly impressed crowd.
Like anywhere that serves as a regular meeting place in one's early twenties it was the joint where we all got happily pissed and manhandled each other on the sticky carpet. And now it has been dragged to its death by tepid bureaucracy and a few rather dull scuffles over money. Nobody ever pulled out knives at the Tote, nobody pawed intrusively at passing women - AFL players weren't usually allowed in, anyway.
There will be recriminations on both sides of course, and finger pointing, and lengthy, smarmy form letters from local MP's who are 'deeply sorry' and 'aware of disappointment' and 'relaying my views, your concerns, and the concerns of the many others who have written to me today, to my colleague Tony Robinson MP, Minister for Consumer Affairs'.
In the end, does it do any good? Young men will continue to be knocked down to their deaths on cigarette-stained footpaths outside lairy nightclubs and one by one the damp, dark, unassuming live music venues where the most violent acts play out onstage between consenting adults will be quietly packed away and left behind. And eventually, state governments will no longer be able to swing their dicks around about which city has the most thriving arts scene, because there will no longer be any.
I'll miss the front bar of the Tote. The gaffa-taped barstools and the languid gazes across the pool table and that revolting, damp sensation of sodden elbows when ordering a round.
I'll miss sitting in my front window and watching the parade of beery rock 'n' roll types peacefully lurching down Wellington street on their way home.
But most of all I'll miss the chapter of time that the Tote hotel will forever possess within its walls - the piss, the pain, the boners, the lewd and bawdy celebration of a wild, musical youth.
And in years to come I suspect I will awaken from many a deep sleep with strands of those memories slipping through my fingers like the wind.
Comedian Jimeoin once joked that being in the delivery room and watching, agog, as his wife gave birth to their first child, was 'like seeing my favourite pub burned to the ground.' It's the funniest thing he's ever said and therefore quite possibly plagiarised but he's certainly captured the horror of one thing at least - how deeply one feels the loss of a treasured watering hole.
More often than not these days local pubs are limping to their deaths via a series of turgid back 'n' forths in windowless government meeting rooms as opposed to exploding into flames, though the sentiment remains. Our locals define a neighbourhood, steeped as they are in liquor and lingo. When they've also played an important role in our musical history it only makes the bereavement more devastating.
And yet another one has left us, another solid little perfect corner shop of splintered music and barmaids with spectacular bosoms and dangerous sneers.
The glorious Tote hotel in Collingwood, Victoria has closed its doors for the last time, with beleaguered nominee Bruce Milne bowing out with shrugs and sighs. This time it's not even some po-faced inner city resident shaking a fist from their well-manicured balcony and complaining about the noise (move out of the f*cking city then, you twit) that has crippled the place, but a government helpless to control that pulsating, seething morass of testosterone Australian capital cities fondly refer to as 'Saturday night'.
As ruddy men in Ed Hardy t-shirts while away languid weekend evenings in the CBD merrily shattering pint glasses into each others' faces, those in charge are responding the only way they know how: by penalising live music venues whose crowds consist mostly of sticky-limbed music nerds and one local drooling barfly who knows all the words to Dylan's 'Hurricane'.
It's a quick fix, and an idiotic one, like trying to reign in Japanese whalers by marching down to St. Kilda wharf and punching a fisherman in the face. I do hope Victorian Premier John Brumby feels as though justice has been served at last with such a particularly butch and vacuous solution. Perhaps he could celebrate with a mince tart and a nice cold glass of Ribena, the chump.
The Tote hotel was never the prettiest of venues - in fact for the most part it was a stinking, sweaty bitch mistress, luring blinking punters in off Johnston Street with the promise of grubby sex in the toilets and twelve-minute guitar solos, and propelling them back out into the night with bleeding ear drums and the sort of blossoming liver problems once enjoyed by a young and wild-eyed Oliver Reed.
I loved it, helplessly, and was inextricably linked to the place through myriad channels - deep-set family connections, an abode I once resided in three doors down where late at night you could hear the speed metal bands rehearsing, and a long and involved music-obsessed adolescence spent variously staring up at the stage or dodging a lead singer's erratic strands of saliva.
I fell in love while the jukebox played Television's 'Marquee Moon', staggered around the speaker stack wearing a moth-eaten showgirl outfit, and watched the future husband of my best friend projectile vomit in front of an oddly impressed crowd.
Like anywhere that serves as a regular meeting place in one's early twenties it was the joint where we all got happily pissed and manhandled each other on the sticky carpet. And now it has been dragged to its death by tepid bureaucracy and a few rather dull scuffles over money. Nobody ever pulled out knives at the Tote, nobody pawed intrusively at passing women - AFL players weren't usually allowed in, anyway.
There will be recriminations on both sides of course, and finger pointing, and lengthy, smarmy form letters from local MP's who are 'deeply sorry' and 'aware of disappointment' and 'relaying my views, your concerns, and the concerns of the many others who have written to me today, to my colleague Tony Robinson MP, Minister for Consumer Affairs'.
In the end, does it do any good? Young men will continue to be knocked down to their deaths on cigarette-stained footpaths outside lairy nightclubs and one by one the damp, dark, unassuming live music venues where the most violent acts play out onstage between consenting adults will be quietly packed away and left behind. And eventually, state governments will no longer be able to swing their dicks around about which city has the most thriving arts scene, because there will no longer be any.
I'll miss the front bar of the Tote. The gaffa-taped barstools and the languid gazes across the pool table and that revolting, damp sensation of sodden elbows when ordering a round.
I'll miss sitting in my front window and watching the parade of beery rock 'n' roll types peacefully lurching down Wellington street on their way home.
But most of all I'll miss the chapter of time that the Tote hotel will forever possess within its walls - the piss, the pain, the boners, the lewd and bawdy celebration of a wild, musical youth.
And in years to come I suspect I will awaken from many a deep sleep with strands of those memories slipping through my fingers like the wind.
Friday, January 15, 2010
The End Of An Era
I guess you've all heard the sad news that The Tote in Collingwood is closing this weekend. It's dodged a few bullets of late but this time, nothing can save it. Bruce Milne,owner of the Tote simply can't afford the money it's going to take to pay for the license and going back and forth to VCAT is not an option for him.
Some can argue that it's a stinky,ramshakle,sticky carpet pub and they would be right. The fact is, we need that stinky,ramshakle sticky carpet pub because it's so much more to people than just bricks and mortar. To many of us, it was a musical sanctuary where like minded people joined together to hear the same bands and drink a few beers. For those in bands, many of them got their start there. It was more than a pub, it was part of the community there. I can honestly say in all my years of going there, I have never seen a fight or even a shouting match. People of all walks of life went there. Even children and babies went there with their parents for the famous Wu B Que and various other barbeques held in the truly authentic beer garden. There was the tiki element of The Cobra Bar upstairs, where bands squeezed into that tiny alcove and hammered out a set despite the atrocious acoustics.
When those doors close, a million memories will be stored there. For me, it was the early nineties supporting bands like The Underground Lovers,The Fauves,The Glory Box,Autohaze,Rob Clarkson,Tlot Tlot and their ilk. Loading up the jukebox with coins and programming all our favorites songs - it was truly the best jukebox in Melbourne. Walking into the place and crawling out after too much to drink. Sitting on the toilet upstairs to find yourself shaking because of a death metal band playing downstairs. Being with friends and connecting with the music and the moonshine.
The Tote closing is not just closing a venue. It's so much more. The funeral is this weekend. I'll be heading down for a few drinks to bid the old girl farewell.
Vale Tote. You'll be missed.
Dinosauria;We
Born like this
Into this
As the chalk faces smile
As Mrs. Death laughs
As the elevators break
As political landscapes dissolve
As the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree
As the oily fish spit out their oily prey
As the sun is masked
We are
Born like this
Into this
Into these carefully mad wars
Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
Into bars where people no longer speak to each other
Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
Born into this
Into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die
Into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty
Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes
Born into this
Walking and living through this
Dying because of this
Muted because of this
Castrated
Debauched
Disinherited
Because of this
Fooled by this
Used by this
Pissed on by this
Made crazy and sick by this
Made violent
Made inhuman
By this
The heart is blackened
The fingers reach for the throat
The gun
The knife
The bomb
The fingers reach toward an unresponsive god
The fingers reach for the bottle
The pill
The powder
We are born into this sorrowful deadliness
We are born into a government 60 years in debt
That soon will be unable to even pay the interest on that debt
And the banks will burn
Money will be useless
There will be open and unpunished murder in the streets
It will be guns and roving mobs
Land will be useless
Food will become a diminishing return
Nuclear power will be taken over by the many
Explosions will continually shake the earth
Radiated robot men will stalk each other
The rich and the chosen will watch from space platforms
Dante’s Inferno will be made to look like a children’s playground
The sun will not be seen and it will always be night
Trees will die
All vegetation will die
Radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men
The sea will be poisoned
The lakes and rivers will vanish
Rain will be the new gold
The rotting bodies of men and animals will stink in the dark wind
The last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases
And the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition
The petering out of supplies
The natural effect of general decay
And there will be the most beautiful silence never heard
Born out of that.
The sun still hidden there
Awaiting the next chapter.
Into this
As the chalk faces smile
As Mrs. Death laughs
As the elevators break
As political landscapes dissolve
As the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree
As the oily fish spit out their oily prey
As the sun is masked
We are
Born like this
Into this
Into these carefully mad wars
Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
Into bars where people no longer speak to each other
Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
Born into this
Into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die
Into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty
Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes
Born into this
Walking and living through this
Dying because of this
Muted because of this
Castrated
Debauched
Disinherited
Because of this
Fooled by this
Used by this
Pissed on by this
Made crazy and sick by this
Made violent
Made inhuman
By this
The heart is blackened
The fingers reach for the throat
The gun
The knife
The bomb
The fingers reach toward an unresponsive god
The fingers reach for the bottle
The pill
The powder
We are born into this sorrowful deadliness
We are born into a government 60 years in debt
That soon will be unable to even pay the interest on that debt
And the banks will burn
Money will be useless
There will be open and unpunished murder in the streets
It will be guns and roving mobs
Land will be useless
Food will become a diminishing return
Nuclear power will be taken over by the many
Explosions will continually shake the earth
Radiated robot men will stalk each other
The rich and the chosen will watch from space platforms
Dante’s Inferno will be made to look like a children’s playground
The sun will not be seen and it will always be night
Trees will die
All vegetation will die
Radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men
The sea will be poisoned
The lakes and rivers will vanish
Rain will be the new gold
The rotting bodies of men and animals will stink in the dark wind
The last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases
And the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition
The petering out of supplies
The natural effect of general decay
And there will be the most beautiful silence never heard
Born out of that.
The sun still hidden there
Awaiting the next chapter.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Nicotine,Valium,Vicodin,Marijuana,Ecstasy & Alcohol
... it will take this and more to get me through the rest of this week...
Who needs words when a shocker like this speaks volumes?
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Whinge
This weather brings out the worst in me. I hate it. Anyone who states 'the hotter the better' should be shot in the head.
Trying to exist in 43 degree heat (celcius not fareinheit my North American amigos) is near impossible and bloody frustrating. My hair is as frizzy as Yahoo Serious's do from the eighties and I feel about as sexy as a road fatality with cascades of sweat running down my face and body. Frocking up has become a nightmare and putting make up on is almost not possible due to said Niagara Falls on my face and the heat melting my cosmetics.
The only way to sleep is wrapped in a wet towel with the fan on you after downing several troughs of beer or/and cider. I drank 2 bottles of Monteith's apple cider (bloody lovely BTW) and it did fuck all. I think I just passed out due to sheer exhaustion.
Today is another 40 degree ball buster and I won't be leaving the building until much later when I hope the temperature has dropped 15 degrees and we hopefully have torrential,tropical rain. What a treat I'm gonna look in my red & white polka dot dress,cycling home-rain soaked... I can't think of anything better.
Just pray I don't get barbequed by lightning.
Trying to exist in 43 degree heat (celcius not fareinheit my North American amigos) is near impossible and bloody frustrating. My hair is as frizzy as Yahoo Serious's do from the eighties and I feel about as sexy as a road fatality with cascades of sweat running down my face and body. Frocking up has become a nightmare and putting make up on is almost not possible due to said Niagara Falls on my face and the heat melting my cosmetics.
The only way to sleep is wrapped in a wet towel with the fan on you after downing several troughs of beer or/and cider. I drank 2 bottles of Monteith's apple cider (bloody lovely BTW) and it did fuck all. I think I just passed out due to sheer exhaustion.
Today is another 40 degree ball buster and I won't be leaving the building until much later when I hope the temperature has dropped 15 degrees and we hopefully have torrential,tropical rain. What a treat I'm gonna look in my red & white polka dot dress,cycling home-rain soaked... I can't think of anything better.
Just pray I don't get barbequed by lightning.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
A Matter Of Opinion
I logged into news.com and saw a headline about some star 'letting himself go'. Curiosity got the better of me to see who it was. The picture uploaded and it was the actor Gerard Butler. I feel the person who put this photo up stating he 'has let himself go' is more into boys who look like this;
Now, I don't know about you, but the above look-six pack abs and waxed bodies on men- makes me puke. I like that GB is a bit paunchy, probably enjoys a pork chop or two, a plate of chips and a few troughs of fine lager and just relaxs. At least he's wearing boardies and not squeezing into a pair of dick dacks.
Thanks Gerard- you're a breath of fresh air. Not all women want a hairless little boy with abs. I like a man who's built for comfort, not for speed.
Repeat after me.... "EWWWW"!!!
Now here is the said pic of Gerard Butler;
Thanks Gerard- you're a breath of fresh air. Not all women want a hairless little boy with abs. I like a man who's built for comfort, not for speed.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Vale Roland S Howard
According to reports, Howard had been ill for quite some time and had been awaiting a much-needed liver transplant. He had been forced to cancel several shows recently due to his illness, including one yesterday in Melbourne supporting the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.
Howard began his career in the late ’70s with the band Young Charlatans and later the Aussie punk outfit Boys Next Door, a group that would eventually morph into the Birthday Party. With Nick Cave serving as the band’s front-man, the Birthday Party sparked an infamous career in the 1980s, filled with violence — both on and off the stage — as well as Howard’s unique combo of feedback-laden blues riffs and dissonant punk noise.
When the Birthday Party broke up in 1983, Howard went on to play in such groups as Crime and the City Solution and These Immortal Souls. He also collaborated with the likes of Lydia Lunch, Nikki Sudden, Einstürzende Neubauten and Henry Rollins, as well as lent his talents to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.
Along with music, Howard appeared in several feature-length films, such as Wim Wenders’ 1987 movie Wings of Desire, 1990’s In Too Deep and the 2002 vampire film The Queen of the Damned.
Howard’s most recent recording was the solo album Pop Crimes, which was released in October.
Rest In Peace Roland. You've left a musical legacy you can be proud of. Shivers will always be one of my favorite songs that you wrote.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Moving and Shaking
We moved over the Christmas break. We're in and we are official suburbanites now.
I never want to move again. Unless it's to this place. I would LOVE to live here. Or here...
I'm dreaming of martini's whilst sitting by the pool in a 50's bathing suit and white cat sunglasses.
Mmmm that's the life for me....
I never want to move again. Unless it's to this place. I would LOVE to live here. Or here...
I'm dreaming of martini's whilst sitting by the pool in a 50's bathing suit and white cat sunglasses.
Mmmm that's the life for me....
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Girl,Interupted
Vale Brittany. I guess it was just your time.
Monday, December 21, 2009
An Early Christmas Present and Other Things
Was woken up by a text message from my friend,Gayle yesterday morning advising me that our friend,Cathryn had gone into early labor. Cathryn's wish last week of 'just wanting to get it out now' came true.
At 2.21pm yesterday afternoon, Ned William Shelley was born. I will see them today.
MM is an aunty again.
Congrats Cathryn and Steve. Another welcome addition to our group.
Friday night was a HUGE night for MM... started off at Stacey's with a classic Martini before heading to the work Christmas do to soak up the bar tab and scoff some mini food down. Once I did that, I high tailed it over to the Bella Bar at Trades Hall for the annual Merry Twistmas shindig which was big fun. I missed the Greasy Hawaiians but the DJed music was fantastic anyway. After that ended, we went to a party at my old place in Collingwood for more beer and boogie-ing. I was pretty smashed at the point and sat down for a wee kip on the sofa. At around 3.30am, my friend Andreas dropped me off in the city where I got on the night rider bus back to Newport. I got the driver to drop me off at the station to get my bike only to find it gone! Thanks to the fucktard that has stolen my means of transport at a time when I cannot afford to buy another one. I only hope my contents insurance covers this once I get a police report. I hope the little c*nt who took my bike chokes on his own vomit and dies a horrible death. Or was hit by a truck whilst cycling off on my stolen cycle.
Saturday was a write off. I got to bed at around 5am (the birds were tweeting as I crawled under the covers).
I think I surfaced at around midday and relocated to the couch where I didn't move for an hour. My hunger got the better of me so I made a humongous pot of spaghetti putanesca and chowed down on that for the afternoon whilst watching Larry Clark's Wassup Rockers. Slow story but great punk music soundtrack.
Saturday night I glued myself together to go to Northcote Social Club to see the Lime Spiders who were actually pretty bloody good. I had only a coke and water- there was no way I was imbibing that night!
Yesterday after sitting around in my jim jams most of the day watching Gidget movies on channel Go, I got dressed and met up with Stacey and Holly for some vietnamese food and a girly catch up. I was home by about 8.45. Sarah sat on her laptop chatting to guys on Oasis Active and I watched a couple of episodes of Weeds followed by Sex and the City.
Here we are again. This week is going to be one of madness with Christmas and us packing and moving. I guess we just have to roll with it. I'll just channel my inner Joan and coast through it with peace and cocktails.
That'll do it.
At 2.21pm yesterday afternoon, Ned William Shelley was born. I will see them today.
MM is an aunty again.
Congrats Cathryn and Steve. Another welcome addition to our group.
Friday night was a HUGE night for MM... started off at Stacey's with a classic Martini before heading to the work Christmas do to soak up the bar tab and scoff some mini food down. Once I did that, I high tailed it over to the Bella Bar at Trades Hall for the annual Merry Twistmas shindig which was big fun. I missed the Greasy Hawaiians but the DJed music was fantastic anyway. After that ended, we went to a party at my old place in Collingwood for more beer and boogie-ing. I was pretty smashed at the point and sat down for a wee kip on the sofa. At around 3.30am, my friend Andreas dropped me off in the city where I got on the night rider bus back to Newport. I got the driver to drop me off at the station to get my bike only to find it gone! Thanks to the fucktard that has stolen my means of transport at a time when I cannot afford to buy another one. I only hope my contents insurance covers this once I get a police report. I hope the little c*nt who took my bike chokes on his own vomit and dies a horrible death. Or was hit by a truck whilst cycling off on my stolen cycle.
Saturday was a write off. I got to bed at around 5am (the birds were tweeting as I crawled under the covers).
I think I surfaced at around midday and relocated to the couch where I didn't move for an hour. My hunger got the better of me so I made a humongous pot of spaghetti putanesca and chowed down on that for the afternoon whilst watching Larry Clark's Wassup Rockers. Slow story but great punk music soundtrack.
Saturday night I glued myself together to go to Northcote Social Club to see the Lime Spiders who were actually pretty bloody good. I had only a coke and water- there was no way I was imbibing that night!
Yesterday after sitting around in my jim jams most of the day watching Gidget movies on channel Go, I got dressed and met up with Stacey and Holly for some vietnamese food and a girly catch up. I was home by about 8.45. Sarah sat on her laptop chatting to guys on Oasis Active and I watched a couple of episodes of Weeds followed by Sex and the City.
Here we are again. This week is going to be one of madness with Christmas and us packing and moving. I guess we just have to roll with it. I'll just channel my inner Joan and coast through it with peace and cocktails.
That'll do it.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Over Indulgence And Under Preparedness
This time of year is mucho loco... we feel we need to go into hyper drive about everything. We run around like headless chickens spending money we don't have only to pay for it interest wise for the next year or five.
We also give ourselves permission to eat things we normally don't have. We also think it's okay to have it in mass amounts because hey, it's Christmas. We need to be reminded to be careful as our sensibilities go out the window as we have too many Martinis and see if we can empty enough beer cans to build a house.
This week, with the many morning teas we've had, I've eaten cheesecake,mince pies,gingerbread men and cheeseballs for breakfast. My snobby, foody self would normally baulk at this. However, after a few glasses of vino tinto last night, I'm feeling slightly seedy and therefore can ignore such things.
I am desperatly in need of another coffee and a bowl of noodles.
Then I can start drinking again.
We also give ourselves permission to eat things we normally don't have. We also think it's okay to have it in mass amounts because hey, it's Christmas. We need to be reminded to be careful as our sensibilities go out the window as we have too many Martinis and see if we can empty enough beer cans to build a house.
This week, with the many morning teas we've had, I've eaten cheesecake,mince pies,gingerbread men and cheeseballs for breakfast. My snobby, foody self would normally baulk at this. However, after a few glasses of vino tinto last night, I'm feeling slightly seedy and therefore can ignore such things.
I am desperatly in need of another coffee and a bowl of noodles.
Then I can start drinking again.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
More Tales From Flinders Street
You all must be beginning to think I spend a lot of my time at the toilets at Flinders Street Station. It's just that 2 nights running, I've had to pass through there on my way home and due to the amount of water I drink, I needed to pee.
Whilst I was sitting there spending a penny, I as usual was reading the walls and took a few pics of the amusing ones. Yes, I always have my camera with me.
Whilst I was sitting there spending a penny, I as usual was reading the walls and took a few pics of the amusing ones. Yes, I always have my camera with me.
Clearly, she is a devotee of Facebook and/or Twitter
One female sees the positives in a bit of back door lovin'
Words fail me
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
The Writing's On The Wall
If the graffiti on the wall of a cubicle of the women's toilets at Flinders St station is anything to go by, this is the latest prophecy:
Careful goths and home boys, you might be next...
Careful goths and home boys, you might be next...
Monday, December 14, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
It Needs To Be Said....
I hate Tony Abbott.
Someone should chop him up and feed him to the pigs.
A blog of note..
http://blogotariat.com/node/185114
And please don't show him in his budgie smugglers anymore. Some of us want to have sex again.
Someone should chop him up and feed him to the pigs.
A blog of note..
http://blogotariat.com/node/185114
And please don't show him in his budgie smugglers anymore. Some of us want to have sex again.
Stray Dogs And Insomnia
Last night I got home from seeing Royal Crown Revue and was met at the gate by a dog that is not ours. She was a friendly thing, wanting to shake hands and have her belly patted. After doing this for a few minutes, I had to retreat due to exhaustion plus my high heels were killing me so I told her to go home. I went inside,told the housemate about the dog and she said that she'd been out there for a few hours. Realising she probably got scared during the storm and did a runner, we decided to hold her overnight and call the council to try and find the owner in the morning.
This doggy rewarded this lovely gesture by keeping me awake most of the night wanting to play and pacing back and forth to the water dish (loud drinker). By daylight, I figured she may need to get out and do her business,so I opened the front door and out she trotted. I went out to get her and she was gone. Oops.
Sarah went out the front to look for her and the lolly pop lady who stands out the front of our house (we live across from a primary school) said that a lady jogger came back and called the dog by name and she happily ran after her. At least we reunited them. Job done, I necked a couple of coffees and dragged my old bones into the office. I am craving a long kip and a bowl of soup.
Oh and looking forward to a dog free night... woof...
This doggy rewarded this lovely gesture by keeping me awake most of the night wanting to play and pacing back and forth to the water dish (loud drinker). By daylight, I figured she may need to get out and do her business,so I opened the front door and out she trotted. I went out to get her and she was gone. Oops.
Sarah went out the front to look for her and the lolly pop lady who stands out the front of our house (we live across from a primary school) said that a lady jogger came back and called the dog by name and she happily ran after her. At least we reunited them. Job done, I necked a couple of coffees and dragged my old bones into the office. I am craving a long kip and a bowl of soup.
Oh and looking forward to a dog free night... woof...
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