|
The bits
of stuff that fall in the cracks between Life, Music and outrageous
fortune. |
|
| |
| |
| |
| September |
|
Close
this window to return to Mike Rudd & Bill Putt's Stop Press |
| |
Bob,
(left) tuning up, to the amusement of Trevor & Co |
Providers
ease the pain
30.9.05 - In a belated response to
a generic e-mail from Bob Valentine, I drifted down to
the Prahran Hotel last night to check out who was in the
band that night. There was a desultory crowd of good-time
Cook Island girls and other odds and sods in attendance,
but by far the biggest guys in the room were in the band.
(pic) Bob and Piledriver guitarist, Co Tipping,
are about first equal in the enormous blokes' stakes and
could stand in for the Hunter brothers in a Dragon tribute
band any old day. Maybe the humour wouldn't be quite sardonic
enough, but who could resist when the two of them ganged
up on me and insisted I join them for a couple of songs?
Not me.
Providers are at the Prahran Pub every Thurs. night |
|
| |
1)
Urine tea radiating health 2) God! I feel so much better
now! |
Medical
frenzy Part Two
30.9.05 - Not that too many people
have enquired, (thanks Pam), but my ECG came up clear
- no embolisms lurking in the ventricles of this ol' heart.
But, it got me thinking, and I remembered a conversation
with Billy Thorpe at the Aztec label launch at the Corner
Hotel, about the curative powers of urine. It seems Ronnie
Burns is an advocate, and Billy seemed to give the idea
some credence. Puts another perspective on the 'suck more
piss' rave.
Anyway, I thought I'd give it a go, and I've been taking
some 'home brew' down to the Starpark to sip while I'm
reading the paper. It's magic! |
|
| |
Life
is a Cabaret, old chum, come to the Cabaret..
|
Something
is rotten..
27.9.05 - Although the Fishy's gig
comes over as all sweetness and light, (Sept. Stop Press),
there was one incident that soured the evening. Apparently
I managed to upset three gentlemen with my introduction
to San Andreas, which they claimed was a)
political and b) anti-American. I smoothed things
over by apologising to them singly and collectively (it
was a protracted discussion) if anything I'd said had
been construed as either of the above and had offended
them, and there the matter ended. But the undercurrent
of intimidation rattled me a little, and I wondered if
this was perhaps a symptom of the 'war on terror' and
augered a return to the good old conformist values of
the Third Reich. |
|
| |
Look
at this Peter, pies aren't on this menu either.. |
Canberrans
come in from the cold
27.9.05 - I am blessed with a small
circle of friends, but any lack of quantity is made up
for in quality. The Canberran Greaggs are actually Victorian
expatriates, and Peter Greagg has to satisfy his hankering
for various Victorian sporting rituals by popping down
to the G for a fix of AFL Grand Finals and Boxing Day
test matches. More often than not he's accompanied by
his wife Jane, with whom my late wife Helen and I formed
a friendship back in the Ariel and Heaters' days. Jane
has succumbed to the ACT culture of burning rubber in
her street dragster, but is normal in most other respects.
I was able to briefly show them the high life in Camberwell
(pic) before they fled back over the border. |
|
| |
Wipe
your mouth Michael - you're embarrassing me! |
The
Brothers Grim at it again
22.9.05 - I fought my way through
the madding throngs of footy nutters in the city today
to keep my brotherly tryst with Richard The Second. Today
we tried our luck at Bento Food & Drinkies, which
establishment is in the same geographical area as the
Nostril, but gastronomically inclined to the Far East,
i.e Japan. Neither of us was particularly hungry,
but managed to eat far more than we'd bargained for, before
retiring to a specialist coffee joint a few paces down
the alley. We had further discussions about the movie
project, and I gave Richard a print-out of all the short
film festivals in Australasia. We decided to meet in two
weeks to investigate locations - and have a nice meal,
of course. |
|
| |
 |
Perfect
nigh on perfect
22.9.05 - You'll remember Natasha
- well, she's working as stage manager at the Malthouse
(pic) for a show by Eddie Perfect called Drink
Pepsi, Bitch!, and she very kindly gave me a comp'
ticket for the opening night last night. As I've only
vaguely heard of Eddie, I arrived as a perfect novice
so to speak, not knowing exactly what to expect - although
Natasha had tipped me off that it was a musical show.
Well, I thoroughly enjoyed the night - he's a very clever
chap, a fine musician and songwriter, with a keen eye
and matching handbag. If I were to nitpick, I would suggest
that the second half of the show loses its shape a little,
and a couple of the songs that don't quite match the ascerbic
intensity of the others could be culled and the interval
dispensed with. But that would be nitpicking - I highly
recommend it to y'all. Check
the Malthouse
for details |
|
| |
Melbourne's
weather resumes its normal transmission |
Medical
frenzy
17.9.05 - Since my mystery foot explosion
at the McCausland exhibition, I've been seeing my doctor
to find out what might have precipitated it. The latest
in a series of tests was an echocardiogram, or ultrasound
of the heart, to determine if there were any lurking clots,
apart from the obvious one, of course.
After the initial mix up with the date of the appointment,
which saw me hanging around for an hour or so longer than
I might have, it turned out to be quite an interesting
exercise. While I was waiting, I entertained myself observing
people's reaction to the automatic door, which would've
no doubt kept Jacques Tati in a mild state of delirium. |
Eventually I was ushered in
to a small changing room adjoining the ECG room and invited
to take off my t-shirt and jumper, and then asked to lie
down adjacent to some fairly impressive looking machinery.
The young lady in the lab coat, who had incidentally sacrificed
her coffee break to include me in the morning's festivities,
('I simply ask myself, what if you were my father?'),
asked me to lie on my side after attaching various electrodes
to my chest, and proceeded to poke at the area round my
heart with a probe dipped in gell. I was able to get a
fairly good view of the resultant picture of my heart
and its various comings and goings on her monitor, and
when she turned up the audio with the typical (I hope)
heart-type thumping and squirting sounds, I was as entertained
as I've been at any movie recently - maybe it was the
personal involvement, or maybe it's the dearth of decent
movies of late, I'm not sure.
Anyway, next week I'll find out the results. If nothing
else, the exploding foot episode has prompted some overdue
testing on this ageing vehicle that is my body. |
|
| |
Sweetie
Melissa and her Tweetie |
Naughty
Uncle Mike!
12.9.05 - We actually worked on
Saturday night, so when it came to the crunch, I wasn't
really up to being at St Blah's at 11.00 for my sister-in-law
Sue's youngest's first communion, but managed to struggle
along to the Manhattan for a celebratory snack at 1.00-ish.
I reminisced (not too nostalgically) about the days
when the Manhattan was just another venue for the likes
of Ariel, the Chisels AC/DC etc, along with
the Donnie Inn, Matthew Flinders, Village Green and
Waltzing Matilda.
Today, like the others, the Manhattan's succumbed to
the pokies, and there's even junior gambling adjacent
to the eaterie for when the kids tire of adult gossip.
Melissa, the fledgling communicant, was pleading unsuccessfully
with her mother for some coins to snare a soft toy,
so naughty Uncle Mike slipped her a couple of dollars.
Melissa came back with her fireman Tweetie and confided
that she liked gambling. Welcome to the world of mixed
messages, Melissa! |
|
| |
1)
What'll I do today? I know, I'll become a musician.. 2)
If only I knew now what I knew then... |
Hair
today..
9.9.05 - Warren
Sellers, a former Art school mate now living in Wellington,
sent me the whimsical monochrome shot (above)
of me blowing a raspberry at Life in the careless days
of the '60s. Until yesterday I was trying to
grow my hair out again, but it was so bloody uncomfortable
I had most of it professionally removed, just in time
for summer. I've put it out on the nature strip with the
remains of the tree.
I met up with Richard again today, and we eventually got
round to mentioning the five minute movie project, whilst
sampling the Nostril's fine foods and wines. It's debatable
how serious we'll become about this project, but it's
an excuse to get together in the most congenial fashion
in the meantime. |
|
| |
 |
Ex-tree
for free!
7.9.05 - The
neighbours up the back spoke to me, oh, it must've been
four years ago now, about getting rid of the enormous
ash tree that grew on their property abutting my back
fence. Well, on Monday the tree-loppers arrived promptly
an hour late and started hacking away at it big time,
dragging the bleeding remains through my backyard, chipping
the foliage and leaving the bigger bits on the nature
strip. These bits should be dry in twelve months or so,
and supposedly good, if slow, burning fuel. Let me know
if you'd like to collect it and I'll give you my address. |
|
|
| |
1)
The Larder macchiato 2) The pillbox in Swan St - quietly
idiosynchratic |
Bits
& pieces
7.9.05 - I
did manage to get to the Terminus again on Monday, and
I'd just ordered my standard G&T when Natasha accosted
me. She'd read some drivel I'd written about curtailing
my coffee consumption and was concerned that I shouldn't
forego the pleasure altogether, and proceeded to give
me a list of acidic and non-acidic foods I should watch
out for. I spent the rest of the evening in her and Phil's
company, watching Gerry bust a gut (and the regulation
string) with the Innocent Bystanders. The mando player
and guitarist from last week had been replaced by the
one guitarist - Phil told me it was his fourth band in
as many nights - and he was one of those smart young players
that makes you realise that you should've taken up weaving.
Anyway, for those of you who might've been concerned,
I still quite happily indulge in the odd coffee (pic)
so that's under control. I'm looking round for items
of interest to chat about, and I notice this building
(pic 2) which I realise to my surprise, quite
pleases me. I don't know about you, but I can hardly wait
for the current crop of architects to get over their obsession
with externalised framework, à la Tennis
Centre and the new Spencer St station etc. Maybe
we should call this era of dreary artifice the crustacean
period. In the meantime I'll just have to make do with
the odd detail here and there. |
|
| |
 |
Is
nothing sacred?
3.8.05 - Walking past the dog shampoo joint (sigh!)
this morning I caught sight of something odd about one of the
cute doggies painted on the wall. After scrawling his challenge
to all graffiti comers, the local graffiti-ist had taken an
extra couple of seconds of his precious time to deface the samoyd
(pic) looking forward to (or reminiscing about, it's
not really clear) his luxury shampoo, by unnecessarily adding
large Japanese comic-style eyes. This leaves the footpath critic
in a bit of a quandary. Is this defacement, or enhancement?
It surely started off as simply kitsch, but the added
eyes have a different reference point altogether. There's a
bit of the classic Aussie larrikin in the new eyes that can't
be denied, and if you look carefully, I think you can see the
beginning of a wink in the right eye, adding a conspiratorial
element to the piece.
No, I'm going to have to think more about this.. |
|
