“All Right: Stop, Collaborate and Listen”

(it’s a sad day when it can quite strongly be argued that Vanilla Ice has a better grasp of negotiation than the majority of current world leaders.)

This post has been a long-time coming. Buckle in, it's gonna be a while.

It has been a long time since last I posted, but this time frame does not indicate the writing I have been doing in the meantime. Writing with the main goal being to update this place of fevered and frequently alliterated fabrications. Now, with your mind-rebuttal, I can hear you forming the questions: “So Smart-Guy, if you’ve been so busy writing, why’s this place stagnant?”, “Good! Well crafted writing, and quantities of it! But where?” and lastly “I saw that, f’s all over the place, how come you are so cool?” To be fair, I must answer these questions before launching into my most recent soliloquy, satire and vitriol cocktail.

a) Because I haven’t posted anything – it just didn’t feel right. It’d be like taking to the football field wearing high heels: you could do it, but you’d deeply regret it.
b) Well, to be brutal, I’ve actually posted all my well-crafted writing in this downtime…yep, it’s true – you are most definitely your harshest critic. (probably pretty close to the truth though!)
c) Hey, maybe I was born with it: maybe it’s Maybelline. Mostly, it’s merely a method of manipulating the minor messages to more melodically move into motion together.

I discovered that no matter what topic I attempted to write on, to update you on and to fill your minds with vaguely philosophically points of view, it always fell back to the one constant. It was really getting on my nerves, every time I had an original idea to write on, this one theme would worm it’s way back in, like a platoon of greek warriors hidden in a giant wooden idea – Trojan Themes, clad in leather armour and brandishing topics sharpened to a point. But what is that theme, I see on mental-semaphore. (it’s like morse code on flags, but in your head. No really.)

It’s Jesus.

Parody and satire are my bread and butter. Which gets spread on the other, I don’t quite know, but it’s a liberal layer of one, on a thickly-cut chunk of the other. And I wanted to write about movies, and how the whole Hollywood machine is becoming outrageously out of control…but everything I did came back to Jesus.

When you boil it down, there’s only a certain number of stories Hollywood can tell. They can throw a twist on (they’re all ghosts! ARGH!), they can even change the setting (can you just be whelmed?), but it’s the same story. Now Jesus, he’s one cool cat whose got the story well and truly down-pat. You know what you’re getting with a movie about Jesus.

Or do you?

The problem with Jesus’ story, is you know exactly what you’re getting. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but the whole idea of getting a director on your film, is to get their personal take on the idea or story. With a premise over 2000 years in the telling, your ability to be dynamic is a little hindered. But I’d like to see a few different takes on the story.

Like, you could have a telling where the son of God was brought to us in the near future. He could keep the same hairstyle, same name just trim the beard a bit. He could have served in the compulsory armed forces, won the admiration of many, but then rebelled against the ruling class (all legit, true-to-the-story). Things go bad, he loses an eye and eventually goes down…or does he? Rumour surrounds that he lives, then he’s finally called in – they need him, they need his unique skills. He goes back into action to hunt down Guevo Judas, a gun-runner who has taken control of the local area with his militia and his charisma. And along the way, everyone JC runs into recognizes him, spawning the classic exchange.
Guard: “Hey JC, I thought you were dead!”
JC: “Yeah…I get that a lot”
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you a rollicking story of sci-fi takes on biblical bad guys, as Kurt Russell portrays Jesus in John Carpenter’s “Escape From Nazareth”

And then Mr Carpenter and Co. get lynched.
Even with the trivial name connection that the director shares. (No, I’m not spelling out both jokes there) See, the problem with the Jesus story is that if you were to view it as a franchise, much like those for Spider-man or Star Wars, the built-in fan base is arguably a whole lot bigger, and a whole lot more zealous. A studio put nipples on Batman, or flames on Optimus Prime – to do the equivalent with Jesus would have you on a cross of your very own in record time. And this is where the movie world comes unhinged.

We could very easily have a languid, Lynch-ian flash-back telling of the story, from the eyes of a recently risen Jesus, trying to piece together his memory, only to find he was really a failed starlet whose life was over on the corner of a particular Hollywood road. Or maybe a heart-touching outsider in a Steven Spielberg story, highlighting the importance of the father-son relationship (whoa, that’d work)
Or maybe even further, he could be from another planet (symbolistic!) and sent here to help us become all we can, and reach our own potential. He will eventually give his own life to save the entire world from an evil that we ourselves have caused…and then, miraculously get a second chance due to his own self-sacrifice.

Unfortunately, Bryan Singer already made that last film and called it “Superman Returns”, so maybe there is a way to tell the fabled story in a newer way. Or maybe Bryan Singer’s 2.5 hour love letter to Richard Donner required some kind of camouflage and he stumbled across the analogy.

Either way, I think without allowing a director to do his or her thing, we’re not going to have anything worth watching in a few years time.

In the mean-time, the little green men are lurking. They gather in the craters of their home turf, readying neon-rayed weapons and chattering to one another in an obscure dialect, which we hope will share enough similarities with English for us to interpret…hopefully before they announce their plans to render us all down to pet food for the omnivorous octo-dogs.

Me? I’m growing my hair and putting on an eye patch. There’s nothing that Snake Plissken can’t stop, he’s even beaten the fashion police into submission.

Snake, you’re the man.
*special thanks to Mr d'Licious*

Q: Learned anything new today? I learnt not to kick the corner of my staircase, and then learnt not to fall over after not doing the first action - how's that?
Song For The Day: "Radio Nowhere" by Bruce Springsteen

Don't Ask Too Many Questions, My Son...

(because I'll get confused and thus muddle the answers...)
Wicked men, you face...THENICK!

Greetings and welcome back to this ill-maintained and esoteric archive of my thoughts, recorded for all posterity (or at least until the account gets WIPED).

I have to admit that looking at the date-stamp on the last post makes me cringe andback off ever so slightly...it's been a while, hasn't it? I have a good excuse! Well, I have a good excuse for a portion of the lapse. As the last post suggests, Cabaret was a pretty big thing. Turned out good, too! The show did indeed go on (as they say in the silent movies), and we didn't sink the company, and we got good reviews too! DAMN THE NAY-SAYERS! IGNORE THE CYNICS! SCREW THE CRITICS! Well, except that one. SO yeah, was busy for a while. That excuse ran dry on about July 10. But I have a good new one.

I've been hiding from the Martians. True.
After a few of my previous posts, they seem to have actually twigged on to the fact that the human race (read: ME) is ready for them. They're everywhere. On the streets. On the television. On the moon. I've noticed them at my train station, pretending to read their newspapers (hint: us humans read them with the titles at the top), I've seen them at work. I had to lie low...I feared for my life.

Ahem.

And what has happened since then? A whole bunch, but nothing of much importance. In fact, it was only on musing over a recent news story that I realised my particular brand of stupidity has been in short supply when it comes to the internet. So I figured it was time to dust of the old Stupid Text 9mm, chamber a few rounds and see what kind of idiocy I hit. (don't ask about the gun analogy, I cannot explain at all - I'm listening to Jackson Browne for crying out loud!) But what can I speak of, you ask? Well, that's a very good question. As a long-time reader knows (and that goes for anyone who's ever seen this junk before), I ignore the big stories, I eschew the main-stream, I LIVE FOR THE LITTLE-KNOWN AND FABRICATED.

So the first thing I did was assess the impact this ranting has made on the internet. The first indication was the search results off googling for "Trouble Waiting To Happen". This implied I was less noticeable than spitting into a cyclone. So I did a search on the URL, thinking that if someone is talking of it, they're likely to link it...lo and behold..

I HAD A SEARCH RESULT!

Somehow, I was found due to my mentioning of Cesar Romero. You might remember him for looking like this. Now my interest was piqued -I wanted to know what they'd said about me, where I appeared in their list. I WANTED THE GLAMOUR AND FAME. But apparently there's none to be had, I couldn't even find myself in the full list. And so sadly I shuffle back to my crypt to come up with new schemes for world wide infamy. Got any suggestions?


Strictly no Martians.

Q: What do you see when you turn out the light? Daemons?
Song For The Day: "The Man Who Sold The World" by Nirvana (original by David Bowie)

ARC Theatre Needs YOU!

This is half-a-post, meaning that the entertaining half will come shortly, whilst I give the informative bit now.

Right now I'm involved in a production with ARC Theatre of Cabaret. Yes, "life is a cabaret old chum" Cabaret. Our production is reaching a point of critical mass, where due to a number of production and financial calamities, the show is looking more than a touch dubious.

To make sure we go to the stage, we need to reach 50% ticket sales by Tuesday, 9pm. If we reach this number, the show continues and we wow audiences. If we don't make it, the production closes and we slink off into the background.

I'm not interested in slinking.

The cast have done a phenomenal job of working through everything thrown at them, to the point that they have taken on artistic duties, as they are damned if they are going to have the show NOT open. Now I am laying my cards on the table, and asking, nay, BEGGING that all of you who can, and have even the slightest interest in theatre, ring this number and book your tickets:

9480 5309
(for performance details: www.arc-theatre.com)

And this won't just be a goodwill gesture - no! The show is packed with gorgeous dancers, saucy costumes and I personally guarantee a great time.

Thank you all.

-thenick

Being a short discourse on pop-culture’s ill-defining of stereotypes. Part TWO

It came to my attention shortly after writing the older sibling to this post, that I actually know a little bit more than I claimed.

I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was very wrong of me.
But I do. I know stuff. And apparently, to know stuff is a good thing. The stuff I know is not quite as robust or well-rounded as I may wish it to be, but I am pretty sure that between strategic exaggeration of the fact, and outright lies, I can probably cover myself adequately in that field. You will leave this piece convinced of the veracity of my writing, and you will spread the word, not unlike a gospel from a messiah.
Or a particularly virulent infection.
I’m not fussed – both work a-okay with me. On with the show!


Werewolves
To prove a point I only just made, I’m going to open this section with a warning: I don’t know much about werewolves.
At all.
What I do know is the following:
- They love Chinese food.
- They always have perfect hair.
- They howl around the kitchen door.
- They like London.
- They like dancing with the Queen.
- They drink Pina Colada’s.
As you can see, this is by no means an extensive or thorough analysis. But let me make the following suggestion:
AWOOOO.

Oh yeah. NOW you see. Outside of the above, the only other things we know about werewolves are the clichéd ‘silver is deadly’, ‘full moon makes them transform’, ‘re-runs of “Friends” irritates them’ kinda stuff. The other things I can say, without a doubt, are that werewolves are in fact one of the main ingredients in humans.

If humans are made of werewolves, and soylent green is people, then it’s a fair statement to say that soylent green is werewolves. Which I think you’ll agree makes a tremendous amount of sense out of the current events.


Clowns

Ah. A subject I know a whole lot more about. The modern interpretation of the idea of “clowns” is a gaudily dressed performer who is a possible master of a range of arts including (but not limited to) juggling, acrobatics and macramé. Derived from the character “Arlequino” and the traditional role of a court jester, it’s a clown’s reason for existing to be silly and amuse many.

Unfortunately, modern society hasn’t allowed clowns that opportunity, and due to this shortage in jobs, they are becoming a twisted version of the once permanently happy entertainers. They are becoming twisted and evil. Just look around you! Any examples of clowns you can think of, are a horribly perverted version of the above described performer. Krusty The Klown, Pennywise, The Joker – all are evil, twisted individuals whose lingering trademark is their pasty white complexion, affixed grin and shock of wild hair. All dress in outrageous manners, cackle maniacally, and scare children. I know personally that I have a problem with clowns, and it’s something I’ve had other people also relate to me – clowns are a hideous source of trauma and sleep-loss.

I put it to you, that pop culture has elevated and promoted this traditional prat-falling physical comic from light entertainment, into the coveted role of the Bogeyman.


Things go bump in the night. And now we know that they also go honk, wear red noses, and leave banana peels to be stepped on.

Q: Is There Someone Who Pops Into Your Head At Random Times? Ronald McDonald
Song For The Day: "Mexican Hitler" by the Doug Anthony All Stars

Fortune Favours The Bald

You know things are really beginning to suck when you’re listening to Roxette, and not only can you identify with the lyrics emotional content (odd European accents notwithstanding), but you also feel that they were an awesome band.
There’s an inordinate amount of broken glass in my world at the moment. It’s making life quite a delicate process to conduct. Egg shells are bad, but at least the most they offer in regards to physical sensation is odd discomfort, akin to walking on floorboards of peeling varnish. Walking on broken glass is just nasty - just when you think you’ve cleared an area, more of the stuff pokes it’s nasty transparent way into both your life, and the fleshy pads of your foot.

NOT. AMUSING.

Well, okay. The hopping and whinging routine is slightly amusing in retrospect, but only the first time. Getting three shards and the associated injuries in one day lessens the chance of me catching up with the event in a few years time and chuckling at it all over a beer.

My original post for today was to be the second part in my updating of a number of stereotypes spawned by that ADD-suffering social concept that we call Pop Culture. I guess it has kids, I don’t know. If it does, then I’m assuming they had a rough childhood, one of the parents being scatterbrained and changing it’s career daily, and the other being absent. Maybe due to work, maybe due to not existing, I don’t really know. All I can say is that those kids are messed up.


So that post is now waiting until another day for it to see the e-light of the internet. It’s okay, I still have it written, but the last week got me incensed and I had to write about it instead.

I had my car broken into midweek. Something about my car must have attracted the crème de la crème of thieves with an automotive leaning, but more on that later. I remember reading those urban legends about cars where the owners put a sign on the windshield reading “NO RADIO” only to return later and find a sign inside reading “JUST CHECKING”. Or cars locked up safely in a garage with all kinds of safety measures only to be found the next day facing the opposite direction, with a note describing that it was just to prove a point. I was always hoping that when the criminal element finally got around to my car, I’d come back to find the gearbox put in backwards, or the number plate re-arranged into a humourous slogan, or rebuilt as a 1960’s Volkswagen. Something I could be impressed by, shake my head at and keep as an anecdote for later.

Instead the perp in question is probably someone who wears Velcro-tabbed shoes, has a name they’ve reduced to a single syllable, and fists of solid iron. Returning to my car after a highly entertaining show, my closing comments to my friend had been jokes along the line of not being able to find the car due to the crazy backstreets. For a moment, I actually thought I HAD lost it, but then I saw the sleek grey shape that has this extraordinary ability to not reflect paint. OOO. Running all crazy-like to my vehicle, I flick out my keys and notice something odd. The locks on my car have a small glowing light behind them, hidden by a small panel that keeps the lock covered until a key is used. What this means is that without using a key, you barely can see the light, so imagine my surprise to return and find a veritable beam of light shining out. Yes, the alarms bells started a-ringing. The lock now is a bit chunky, but still works. (I think it’s sheer luck that the assailant couldn’t figure out what they were doing, as the lock was neither sprung nor ruined – it’s integrity and reputation are intact!) So I unlock and jump into the pilot’s/driver’s seat, start the car and zoom off into the night.


Then I noticed the breeze.

Turning in my seat, I saw what appeared to be a rolled up windscreen sun-protector in the back seat. Odd, I thought – I don’t own one. Reaching out, my hand came into contact with cold hard reality. My fingertips soon established themselves as the first officers at the scene of the crime, and politely informed me that the curled-up object was in fact the passenger-side rear window. We cordorned off the area, and awaited CSI, Columbo or Inspector Gadget. None of them arrived, I was crushed.

Which made me not that dissimilar to the window…


All right, I’m all out of anger now. One final thing to say: Lex Luthor, Daddy Warbucks, Ernst Stavro Blofeld, Dr Evil – They all wear suits, they all have no hair, and they all have lots and lots of money. I think my future is now secure.

Q: What do you see when you turn out the light? I can't tell you but I know it's mine.
Song For The Day: "Hit Me Baby One More Time" by Kind of Pluto (they make it sound good)

Being a short discourse on pop-culture’s ill-defining of stereotypes.

(thenick thinks he’s being intelligent with that phrasing…)

I thought I’d give you all a bit of a treat today, and expose you to a side of my life I have previously kept hidden from this blog. Yes, the time and effort I devote to stupid photoshop jobs is indeed a large proportion of my life…it could be for the best, if I end up replacing the head of God on the Sistine Chapel, for example.

Instead I do this

Also, as the title suggests I would like to give my point of view on the way that a number of valid professions/ways of life have been distorted. These stereotypes have been given a fair amount of stick through uninformed commentary that has spread through the geek community like some kind of mental wildfire, igniting the dry-brush of your collective minds. (see what I did there?)

If there’s one thing I know about, it’s zombies and ninjas.
If there’s two things I know about, it’s zombies and ninjas and how to rip off Monty Python routines. (see what I also did there?)

Zombies

Zombies are not quite the shambling idiots you have been led to believe they are. If anything, they are actually a whole lot better than you or I. Their new state of being has left them completely oblivious to social convention, and so they live a blissful life of no stress. Man at the supermarket gets angry at you? Eat his brains. Getting booked for not having a Metcard? Eat the inspector’s brains. Cops going to shoot you for eating brains? Eat THEIR brains. Yes, zombies have it good.

Plus, zombies are never ever in a hurry. They live an idyllic, easygoing life that has them doing what they want when they want. It’s like living a perpetual holiday, and it doesn’t have the looming back-to-work date that a normal holiday is accompanied by. To be brutally honest, if it weren’t for the fact that they have such an insular community and are hard to find, I’d have signed up already. (in fact, at a number of parties people I have encountered have been convinced I’ve achieved this already)

The only thing that is preventing zombies from enjoying their post-lifestyle? Fascists like George A Romero, Danny Boyle and Zach Snyder. People who create their propaganda pieces portraying zombies as a swarming menace of unstoppable cannibals, or at best an allegory for consumeristic behaviour, and issues such as racism. Why they can’t have zombies represent what they are: a group of individuals expressing post-mortal athletic behaviour, I don’t know…

Ninja

The internet has got this one completely wrong. COMPLETELY. Like, so far off the mark that if it was any further off, it would hit itself (that sort of makes sense. Think “in the foot”). Ninja also lead a blissful existence. How can you do so, when your entire existence revolves around killing in a professional manner? I’m glad you asked. Ninja do this through the power of…well, I don’t really know. They refuse to tell me. In fact, real ninja refuse to do a lot of things with us normal people. Because we don’t share their same exclusive skill set, they look down on us. Real ninja don’t make public appearances, or make their profession known, or record regular blog videos.

Real ninja are machines of such destruction, that they have to be registered with all authorities (this includes the Spice Girls Fan Club), and monitored at all times. Due to such restrictions, real ninja don’t usually own up because living a life where you have to sign in every second gets old real quick.

Real ninja are a complete unknown. But like with zombies, because the stories are so persisitent, the chances of them actually existing are pretty good. They are out there, running the rooftops at night, and having a hell of a good time, whilst we slumber away…

Ninjas are real. And they love Danish pastries.

24 Today...24 Today...

Why didn't anyone ever tell me I talk out the side of my mouth?!?!



Oh, and everyone should head over to Trash Europe and wish Drummerthan a very happy birthday!

WITH CAKE!!!

JESS WINS! FATALITY!

fwawess victowy...

Wow, check this place out! I’m away for a month, and it DOESN’T fall down! I’m pretty damn well impressed. And here I was, having been convinced by certain ne’er-do-wells that without my constant attention and manipulation, it would fall in a deadly heap of broken words, and sharp fragments of mental imagery.

Harsh…

SO yeah. Through a campaign that involved pressuring of me to write, suggestions for titles, and a deluge of fan mail demanding I update (read: one comment pointing out the time gap), I have bent to public opinion and returned with a tirade of half-thought out opinions and even less-thought out plans through which I aim to make the world a better place.* (hint hint: spread the word and get more people reading- then I will be that much easier to guilt-trip into updating!)

And I have news. Oh yes…such news that you will not be expecting AT ALL! It’s true. In this last month, I have delved into those uncharted areas of science. The little cracks that form between rock-solid theories and discoveries. In these crevices of the unknown are the mysteries that we know are out there, but have yet to ask. They are the secrets of the cosmos that will change our world, but we have yet to unlock.**

But what is it? You cry with your mind-words. (Oh yeah, I know all about mind-words. Discovered in 1901 after a meteorite struck Russia and uncovered the first natural-occuring source of vodka.) It’s quite simply A NEW STATE OF MATTER! Yes! Naturally, we have four main states of matter: solid, liquid, gas and plasma. Well, now I know of a FIFTH.***.

It was a few weeks ago, I bought a container of jelly snakes with the intent of devouring the tasty reptiles during a particularly long and arduous meeting. In my infinite wisdom, I left them in the car. DUMB! But, by doing so, I completely forgot about their existence. (Reptilian hypnotic suggestion? You never know. Hiss) A week later, I returned to my car from somewhere, and was ravenous. I was so hungry, that the friendly neighbourhood horses looked panicky and tried to assure me their meat was stringy and tasted of old tyres. I ignored the horses (I had no sauce…in rhyming slang, ‘sauce’ is replaced with, ah forgeddit), and got into the Rhino**** And there, was the container of snakes – I had to eat them.

I popped the lid, and stuffed the first of the squirmy-looking lollies into my ravening maw. My teeth closed on it, almost ensaring my fingers in their eagerness. And they sunk in, chopping the snake into smaller jelly fragments, and then it happened – what had been a solid piece of confectionary, had altered it’s form and become a liquid substance not unlike PVA glue. My frenzied mastication paused, for at that point I realized I had made a significant scientific discovery. Jelly Snakes, left in the sun, take on a new form – for all intents and purposes, they are solid, but as soon as you damage the fragile ‘skin’, they dissolve into a gloopy, gelatinous mess.

But they still taste awesome.

I existed on a diet of these morphic snakes, and Kool Fruits during the training courses that were held last week. Kool Fruits are surprisingly addictive. They have something in them that gives you an initial rush, and then leaves you with a piece of rubberized lolly that you can only finish with, by crushing back down to it’s base molecules.
And then you want another one.

I had a shower this morning at President Ford’s place (I crashed well and truly last night. Indeed, there was a trail of debris that led to the site at which I came to rest at), and his bathroom has full-length mirrors. In those mirrors I caught sight of an out-of-shape, pale blob of a figure that depressed me and gave my self-image a beating*****. So on the strength of that, I made a resolution.

I’m not having a shower there again.


In other news…

-We have started our rehearsals for CABARET! I urge you all to get in early and get tickets – it’s bound to sell out this year.

-Big Big News: Warren Zevon’s back catalogue is getting re-issued, along with a brand spanking new collection of never-released material. Very happy thenick, indeed.

-Big Big BIG News: Ivy cat has returned! Yep, my itinerant cat has been re-captured and brought home. Harley cat was very pleased to see her sister, although is mystifed as to why Ivy felt the urge to go travel the world and not bring back and souvenirs...

Q: Would you get your nipples pierced? Highly unlikely. More so if the piercer is a guy named Ahab carrying a harpoon...
Song For The Day: "I Want To Par-Tay" by the Crash Test Dummies

*just not for Martians.
**much like the ability to balance a spoon on your nose.
***it’s not Milla Jovovich.
****The Rhino is my car: It’s grey and runs into things.
*****probably with a phone book.

Words To The Wise

A double-post: I highly doubt this will ever happen again, but I'm incensed.

DRINK ON YOUR OWN
There are many benefits to this - if you get sad and morose, there's no one there to have their ear talked off. So you deal with it on your own. Also there is no need to try and keep up with everyone else.
You can play drinking games: hide your wallet, drink a bottle of scotch, and try to figure out who you are.

BELIEVE HALF OF WHAT YOU SEE AND NONE THAT YOU HEAR
Simple as that. The world is full of garbage, and the meaning of a sentence can be changed with a single word. A healthy level of skepticism will keep you alive and well. Much like the proverbial apple, if you believe that...

THE FORCE IS A CROCK - BUT GUTS ARE COOL
There are fanboys haemorrhaging right now, but I stand firm. There is no fate, no destiny, (karma is a dodgy concept that I think really just hinges on interpretation of coincidence), but GUTS, they have a level of perception that we can't gain with our minds. At least not consciously. Trust in their guidance, they know all kinds of stuff and they are rarely wrong.

WHATEVER DOESN'T KILL YOU ONLY MAKES YOU STRONGER
Neil Finn found a punchier way of saying that, and it's true. (one person I knew extrapolated this to a ridiculous conclusion - if you survive having your arms and legs removed you're NOT stronger, in fact you're in a very poor position)
We live and learn. If you learn, then yes you are stronger for the experience. If you don't then you deserve to go through whatever ordeal it is, again.

BE SELFISH - RULE YOUR OWN WORLD
It is a virtue to be able to consider the effect your actions have on others, and to work accordingly. It's also time consuming and highly inefficient. There are times when you should throw caution to the wind and live for yourself. Just do it. Don't think twice. LIVE A LITTLE.

Enjoy!

I’ve Got The Music In Me

(so someone please call a doctor – invasive surgery urgently required)

For those who don’t follow my every waking moment, I am going to give you a little insight into my musical history, and aspirations relating to said area. For those who DO follow my every waking moment…

Stop. Now.

At a young age, I fear I must have shown some aptitude at arranging noises into sequences. Whether this was done consciously, through a trial-and-error process to find the combinations that were least uncomfortable, or whether it was more of a Rain-Man-esque ability, I don’t quite know. But I do know that I was put into violin lessons at a very young age.

This was so far back that I often don’t believe it happened. But it did, we have proof – a very small violin which squeaks just the way I dream/remember it to. As you may have guessed (and quite rightly), I don’t play the violin anymore. There is no empirical proof, but I believe this is about the same time I discovered cartoons, such as Astro Boy, Voltron and Transformers.

Interesting Yet Useless Fact: Astro Boy and Mickey Mouse both have a peculiar design rule that requires both of their ears to be in sight, no matter what angle they are viewed from.

Next cab off the rank was what I can assume is some kind of industry standard – the piano. At the time, I don’t remember particularly liking it. And lessons were held before school, so we had to be up and out earlier than usual. (anyone who does know me, knows just how much I LOVE mornings. LOVE THEM.) But I soon grew bored of the piano. An instrument that allows you to accompany yourself, is fairly easy to pick up, and I now hold in the highest regard, and not even bribery/incentives could keep me playing. HOW FOOLISH WAS I??
(note: past tense – I’m no longer foolish. Ask anyone.)

Then there was the compulsory battle with the recorder in primary school – that instrument perplexes me to this day. It does not record. It does not AID your own ability to record…the name is a complete misnomer. I hate the name. I hate the instrument too, by the way.

Interesting Yet Useless Fact: In the original story that “The Little Mermaid” is based on, she had to kill the Prince and his wife for her to become a mermaid once again…rather than kill them, she threw herself in the sea and dissolved into foam.

During high school, I still wanted to play something. Something capable of creating pleasing noises. I ended up dabbling with the clarinet for a number of years, but the real problem with woodwind instruments (apart from very few being made of wood), is that it takes so much damn effort! Anyone who plays the bag-pipes is some kind of pulmonary masochist. Nay, I say, no more of the black and silver blowpipe.

Interesting Yet Useless Fact: “He-Man and The Masters Of The Universe” was created after a fantasy range of Conan-styled action-figures had been commissioned. To all intents, the cartoon series was just a collection of 22min ads for the toys.

So for a long time I had to do with no instruments, as I was pretty crap at them, and I really had no interest to master a piece of expensive and intricate machinery that I really had no use for. So I sang. That’s been an activity with mixed responses, let me tell you. But now I have SELENE! The black beauty who is always close at hand, morning noon or night, and is easily coaxed into life by a quick strum.

Yes…years later…I have aspirations of starting a band, with my new-found talent that is slowly emerging. Over the last year, with nothing but the internet, an awesomely thorough book and at least a good dozen hours of practice, I have been teaching myself to play guitar. And yes, the aspirations of a band. I’ll be the first to admit it, but I’m not really that crash hot at being serious about things. So if I was to be in a band, it’d have to be a band that took the piss out of itself, or was one big joke that everyone was in on. I like to rock, too, so the band would have to do that.

The line up is yet to be confirmed (I’ve called some people who know some people, and they are all going to go have lunch), but it looks like this could actually be happening. The band’s name? The most important element – the feature that will draw in the crowds, and make them wonder at the bizarre performance that will unfold.

SLAPSTICK APOCALYPSE!

Oh yes, we are here to rock and laugh your socks off. YOAH!

Q: Do you remember singing any songs as a kid? The Indiana Jones theme. Repeatedly.
Song For The Day: "Strange Condition" by Pete Yorn

It Would Make The Maxim True.

They say there’s no rest for the wicked. Considering my life over the last few weeks, I think that I must have been a pretty bad boy recently, as I have not had time to stop and reload.

Following on that train of thought, that would also explain why super villains always have master plans – as they are super-wicked (not street slang, just emphasizing how bad they truly are). They are soooo wicked, they must perpetually be busy, as there can be absolutely no rest at all. They are probably also insomniacs, and sleep deprivation can’t be good for the mental state. Probably accounts for some of their crazy, which in turn, makes them more wicked, and so on…that’s one vicious cycle they’ve got there.

Exhibit A: The Vicious Cycle – A Harley Davidson modified with chainsaw blades for wheels, and rotating spikes in all directions. Powered on Dettol, the bike had great mileage, and was remote controlled…and can go from 0 to 100 in less than a craft market.

So yeah, busy busy. That’s why I haven’t posted. (Thank you, QOD my ever faithful motivator) Right now, I’m in a hotel room in Sydney, a lamp shining down on me, a too-big-for-one-person room spread about me, a lovely inner-city view (ie: no view) from my fifth floor balcony, and a whole bunch of stress. Yes, that’s right – I ran away from Melbourne after robbing a bank with my new freeze ray. Not really.

Actually, Zeeds and I almost planned a bank robbery once. It hinged on our belief of how the insurance on the bank worked. We were probably wrong, so it’s a good thing we never committed the robbery. (That’s also probably a good thing) The belief was that a revolving door is technically within the bank’s premises, and so would be covered by any insurance policy. One person would withdraw a large amount in cash (say, a home loan), and go to leave the bank. The other person would attack them whilst in the revolving door, jamming the door with an appropriate tool, beating the withdrawer, and stealing the loot. As the door is jammed, no one from within can prevent the getaway, and as the robbery was technically in the bank, insurance will reimburse the loan…nice plan, huh?

I think the revolving door assumption was very very wrong though…

I went for a walk around the city before. It’s amazing how similar, and yet different this place is to home.
The streets are narrower, and many of them are one way (which according to my taxi driver is “a good thing, good thing”).
The place is dirtier, and much much busier.
I witnessed an intersection with 24 hour convenience stores of the same chain on diagonally opposite corners. The other two corners were a shopping centre and a building “for lease” – cynically I wondered how many 24 hour convenience stores of the same chain one intersection could sustain.
All of the stations here look old. I mean, our city loop is dated, but these places are archaic.
I saw a chinese dragon practicing for something, probably Chinese New Year.
I stopped counting McDonald’s’ because I lost count, there is way too many.
I saw one bottle shop.

Tomorrow I have to work. This could be very interesting. I will be looking respectable, and carrying nothing to protect myself from the hordes. Oooooh dear…

Q: Do You Like Brand Names? Only if they start with “DC” or “Marvel”, but that shows just how extremely dorky I really am.
Song For The Day: "You Will Remember Tonight” by Andrew W.K.

The Greatest Conspiracy Since They Changed The Coke Recipe

What I’m about to share is a terrible, horrific discovery that we made this weekend. When I say we, I’m referring to my partners in crime, Rhycimus Prime and Tabs-ula Rasa. That’s right, if you want to silence the truth, you have to take down all three of us, and I’ll have you know that none of share the same weaknesses. But the word will get out, we will share the truth with the world at large, the people will soon know your deepest, darkest secrets, and there’s NOTHING you can do!

Except kill us and issue counter-statements of a far more insidious nature that completely undermines our attempt at free speech. But that’s just nasty.

I am of course, talking about pop music. But more importantly, the secret code carried in it that has ultimately revealed great secrets and wonders that have been repressed. Through a very subtle network of influence, the secret message has been passed down, fragment by fragment until now we are in a situation to put them all together. Now let me return to the start, so you can see how this all began…

It started innocently enough. Like any other world-shattering event, the day started normally. The sun rose, breakfast was eaten, and then the sky rained blood as the vanguard of Heaven swooped down low. All in all, nothing unusual. So it was that Tabs-ula and Rhycimus began dissecting the meanings of various songs. We found this quite amusing for a long time. It’s amazing what silliness gets into songs.

Some songs are outright lies, whilst others are very informative on their chosen topic. For instance, Phil Collins sang “I can’t dance, I can’t walk, the only thing about me is the way I talk” in the Genesis hit “I Can’t Dance”, which is a blatant lie if anyone has seen the film clip. Then you get the weird, such as “Stairway To Heaven” – there’s absolutely no chance Plant or Palmer actually thought that was a possibility. And this is where the trouble began…

We began to look for the more nonsense-driven songs to have a better laugh, and we tore strips of Huey Lewis, who it has become increasingly evident, knows very little about the world. I present the following as evidence:
”You don’t need money, don’t take fame / Dont need no credit card to ride this train
Its strong and its sudden and its cruel sometimes / But it might just save your life
Thats the power of love”
I put it to you, that if Huey is unaware that trains don’t actually require a credit card to be ridden, he’s probably not the greatest person to be trusting for advice. And he’s pretty vague about the potential of love’s power over all, in that his definitions are ‘maybe’s ‘ or ‘sometimes’. The problem with this is…

Huey’s right.

We looked into it deeper. Love is the most talked about topic, and the one that has the most mystery surrounding it. After a bit of additional thought, we realized that the abovementioned song is the Professor Sauniere in our Da Vinci Code. (this is not to say we found Huey Lewis dead in the Louvre…) The problem is, Huey’s not quite sure about the power itself…but we found it.

(On a tangent, it was also found that according to Luther Vandross, “The Best Things In Life Are Free”, and as advertising has taught us the simple things in life are often the best, we can deduce that Vandross’ song is all about Corn Flakes. Thus, we can therefore discredit any further input from him.)

By taking a leaf out of Foreigner’s book, I decided “I Wanna Know What Love Is” More investigation yielded the following:

#1. It’s addictive: Bryan Ferry confirms this, as “Love Is The Drug For Him”. We also found that Barry White “Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love”, further proving the demand that Love creates in a user. Robert Palmer was also suffering, as he was “Addicted To Love”. The Beatles were also heavily into it, as evidenced by “needing your love – Eight Days A Week”.
#2. It’s expensive: The Beatles also made reference to love’s price by stating you “Can’t Buy Me Love”. Not many artists are brave enough to comment further on the economical standing of Love.
#3. It has substance. John Paul Young stated that “Love Is In The Air”, implying that is currently in an aerosol form. The Darkness later went on record stating they wanted “Love On The Rocks With No Ice”. Whether it exists in multiple states of matter, or it is transmutable is yet to be determined. (The Clovers also possessed “Love Potion No.9”, strengthening both this and point #1.)
#4. It’s trafficked: Matt Munro first broached the subject through “From Russian With Love”, which the Sonics also alluded to with “Have Love With Travel”. John Lennon also reminded us “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away”.

So we’ve now found enough evidence to establish that Love is indeed a drug of value, many forms, and of a very illegal nature. But the question remains, why does Love hold such a strong appeal? What do people get out of it? The answer was found, not in a small chapel in Scotland, but in a track by Jackie Wilson, which was later adopted and brought back by Rita Coolidge, and then again by Harry Huntsberry. The track itself? A deceptively titled “(Your Love Has Lifted Me) Higher And Higher” This continued exposure is a sign that the Underground don’t want us to miss the importance of this track.

Wilson states, with no measure of uncertainty, that Love has the effect of giving the user a vertical lift. There is no denying it, Wilson was giving away the big secret here and now: Love is responsible for the power of flight. Burt Bacharach was dead right – “What The World Needs Now” is indeed love. This also explains the World Wars and ongoing conflicts in the world, whilst we are fighting, we cannot share the love and progress in human evolution. Once this has been surpassed, and love is freely available (the hippies almost got it right, but for the wrong reasons), we will then be in a perfect position to TAKE OVER MARS.


What’s that? You thought I had forgotten? No chance. Mars will be ours yet.

QoD – thanks for the message, I am pleased you think my content is good. I know it’s rubbish, but entertainment is multi-faceted. :)

Q: Who Do You Love? This was an album released by KC and The Sunshine Band in 1978. Title track was track #6.
Song For The Day: "Vampire Love" by Ash

The Next Album To Go Number One With A Bullet

(why this album is going to be a violent one, I cannot say, but chances are it’s all the fault of youth culture)

The first part of today’s post is a response to a comment I received. I don’t normally respond to these. This is mostly due to the lack of them, and if I were to set a precedent by responding, I would then be thoroughly let down when there was a lack of missives requiring replies…

(guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip guilt trip)

So. The first letter for today comes from “Nonetheless, you may call me Queen” who wrote...

“Am I missing a joke? Am I really, really stoopid? Or have you made a boo boo?? ‘We spell it 007, we say double-oh seven, therefore it should be spelt 007?’”

No dear Queen, you are not missing the joke. This is actually the result of two things:

1. an interesting formatting quirk when moving text from MS Word to Blogspot, and
2. me noticing it, and dismissing it to see if anyone else sees it.

I originally typed ‘oo7’ is the correct spelling, but Blogspot corrected that.

Youth Culture 2, thenick 0.

By bringing said boo-boo to my attention, you are proving that at least one person is reading these rambles, and digesting the contents in more than a cursory manner. I appreciate that, and you should find a complete horse in your letterbox as a token of my gratitude.

But the real thrust of today’s rant, is a concept album unlike any you have ever heard. Ideally, this would be a live concert, as that’s the only way to truly experience these people, but as the logistics would be phenomenally hard to work, I’ll settle for a studio album. What is the concept, I hear you type? (I have good ideas – better than Youth Culture, take that!) It’s simple: Cover Music.

Cover music is a very potent, very powerful style of music. What you essentially do, is take an already great song, with it’s own unique ideas or hooks, and then you build on this by adding your own distinct “stamp” – something that identifies you, but also weaves that identification into the song…

A good example of this is “Knocking On Heaven’s Door” – Bob Dylan wrote this, and it has been covered a billion times, but Guns ‘N’ Roses version is one of the most renowned or recognized. (have a look for the song on wikipedia – the list of coveree’s is damn impressive)

I have a real appreciation for cover music – I once wrote a lengthy post about why it intrigues me so, my collection and what I get a kick out of, but that’s a horse of a different colour to burn a bridge once we’ve crossed it and cracked eggs in one basket.

But this Concept Album won’t be just any cover music…noooo, this will be classic rock, pop and well, anything else, covered by some of the most distinctive voices of our generation. People such as: Patrick Stewart, Michael Caine, Christopher Walken, Sean Connery, and more.

Just imagine! Sean Connery singing “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls! Christopher Walken out-creeping Johnny Cash in a disturbing rendition of “When The Man Comes Around” and wrap the whole thing up with a powerful upbeat revitalization of “Ice Ice Baby” by none other than Bob Dylan.



Well, I thought it was a good idea.

Q: What are you wearing? Grey pants, no shirt, no shoes. I look like a Caucasian mid-fight Bruce Lee.
Song For The Day: “Somebody To Love” (orig. Jefferson Airplane) by Jim Carrey

2007 – The Year Of The Secret Agent

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned (ie: not updated for almost a week)”

Say one “Our Father”, five “Hail Mary’s” and one “Glory Be”…

I was originally going to label this the year of the Cheese (big in-joke, but one that is pervading every facet of my life…like a cheesy virus), but after mentioning this to Rhycimus Prime, he looked at me, perplexed and said “The Year Of The Secret Agent”. Of course! I cried, slapping my thigh with my face, how could I have missed it.
But later, as I drove home, I was thinking. We call him “Double-Oh Seven”, but we write it “007”. Note the issue? See it? It’s right there!
See it?
Stupid-head…
We’re spelling his name WRONG!!!! We should be spelling it “oo7”. How can we possibly have been insulting such a dangerous person for so long?! You see, he’ll get us all yet…I’ll just tell him I thought we should have stuck with the cheese.

“Forgive me father, for I have cheesed (ie: made cheesy puns)”

Say one “Our Gouda”, five “Hail Mozarella’s” and one “Glory Edam”...


SO yeah. Back. Here I am before thee. I’ve had a rollicking week, learnt stuff, did stuff, broke stuff (yeah go on, tell us something new, thenick). But really, no, I did. It was just after midnight on New Year’s Eve, I was looking over the balcony and staring into the distance, watching as the brightly sparking fireworks launched haphazardly, but oh-so energetically into the sky, finally reaching their true flight path only to erupt into a completely self-destructive incandescent array…and a thought struck me.

I’m a firework.

No, really, hear me out. I come out with this insane ideas, and I am temporarily convinced of the complete and total genius of the plan. During that time, I forge ahead, my confidence and willpower being the perfect weapons to defeat the depressing forces of reality and common-sense (I hate those guys). Hatred is a sin.

“Forgive me father, for I have hated very reasonable and rational elements of the human psyche”

Say one “Abracadabra”, five “Hip-hop Hoorays” and one “Lordy Lordy”…

So yeah, off I go, leaving a trail of burning gunpowder, magnesium, barium and other flickering debris that is my genius (it deteriorates rapidly – what a metaphor!), and then just as I’m reaching the apex, the summit of my mad plans…BANG! And down I fall…
Down…
Down…
Down…
Burnt out. A husk of ruined cardboard and trace elements that is potentially bushfire-starting material.

And that’s how my plans go.

SO! My New Year’s Resolutions:

#1 Get Fit: Self-explanatory, but ties in closely with #4
#2 Do Something Creative: Kind of like being a firework…but without the explosion (and having somewhere to actually fly towards, I guess. Metaphors suck)
#3 Learn Something New Everyday: They aren’t exactly rocket-science, are they…
#4 Declare War On Mars: Read the last few posts – this will fall together. See, I decided they are not to be messed with, we need to be ready for them. I’m storing all kinds of weaponry for the inevitable war. I have colds, flus, microwaves mounted on cars (think about it…directional evaporative weaponry! VWAP!) I’m ready Mars. Oh yes. Let’s take this outside and settle it like bipedal carbon-based life-forms.

Q: What did you want to be when you were a kid? I wanted to be a scientist. Lord knows why, I'm crap at maths and cooking.
Song For The Day: "Down With The Sickness" by Richard CHEESE