few of my favourite things...

No, not raindrops on roses. Not even doorbells and sleigh bells. We at SIDAR are material girls, so here's a list of material things I would like to spend my hard-earned (non-existent) money on when I win the lottery and split my time between by Darlinghurst terrace and Northern Beaches bungalow...

1. Beautiful Waste- Poetry of David McComb

Like Bob Dylan and Jim Morrison, lead singer of Australian band The Triffids David McComb also wrote poetry. Now deceased, this book acts as a tome of beautiful words detailing everyday life, addiction, fame and other topics.

Introduction by John Kinsella... score! This is definitely one for taking down to Paradise Beach, forming a little nest amongst the tinnies and reading for a few hours in the sun. Positively delightful.

2. Declaration of Dependence-

The new Kings of Convenience album is due for release on October 2nd... this is a full month and a bit too long for me to wait.
Oh Erland Oye, why must you be such a charming wordsmith? You have already charmed the pants of me with your Whitest Boy Alive track Gravity. The line "she's the gravity my life circles around..." is fantastic. Absolutely brilliant.

And now you have to come up with track Boat Behind as a little teaser. Oh featuring a delightful cello melody I have already had a play with on my viola, this track is an exercise in simplicity and pure joy. It is a testament to the fact that folk pop does not have to be mediocre, but unabashedly beautiful.

www.myspace.com/kingsofconvenience if you want a little look. And to partake in the agonising wait for the release of this LP.

3. Dylan GPS-
Despite the fact that I contribute to this blog, I am vehemently anti-technology, and following a few glasses of Merlot will quite readily share with you my views on iphones.
Summarised, it's a little something like this: If you put too much technology in one device, one day it will become so intelligent it will seek to escape the slavery you subject it to, creep up on you in the middle of the night, and rape your face.

No one wants sexual assault via iphone.
However, this deep-seated aversion may be challenged following the announcement that Bob Dylan is set to return to the studio. Oh to have that drawl navigating my sojourns across the far corners of the earth....
Imagine blending philosophy with navigation.... "How many roads must a man walk down, before you can call him a man? Well for a start, hang a left in two sets of traffic lights...."

4. Uni Open Days-As the final chapters of my five years of an Arts/Law degree draw to a close, I am faced with the horrible realisation that at the conclusion of ones' university experience, one is expected to go out into the real world and get a job.

Oh the horror. Truly.

No longer can I spend my days lying on the Campus green in the sun, pretending to complete my law readings. I cannot sit in Surry Hills cafes and dingy Darlinghurst hole in the wall pubs discussing political theories with like minded folk. I am expected to bid farewell to the beautiful land of abstract, theoretical ivory towers and become a productive member of society, contributing, rather than detracting from our GDP.

Oh bugger this I say. I'm going to do a Masters degree. So it was with this mindset my friend and I popped on down to the UTS open day, so she could fulfill her dreams of being Legally Blonde (well, brunette in her case) and I could become a posey journalism student.

Upon arrival, not only were we greeted with an abundance of shiny young high school students not yet disillusioned with the reality of university-induced poverty, but free things! UTS tried to bribe our lovely HECS/HELP money from us with free fairy floss, pencils, lollipops, coffee, vitamin water and veggie burgers!

I had forgotten this annual joy, and wondered why I had not pretended to be a student every year in order to satsify my yearly stationary needs.

What simple joys...

And as M and I sat in the sun, enjoying our free food, we wondered if it was entirely inappropriate to find the 17 year old school leaving boys attractive? Probably. Oh well

your world is going to change nothing

Oh oh oh.... I like this song. It's been around for a while, but I have been indulging my youtube sensibilities categorically viewing the cover versions posted as part of the Okkervil River cover project.
Basically, last year Will Sheff and his magically musical bandmate buddies asked their similarly tunefully inclined friends to record a cover of one the songs featured in upcoming album The Stand Ins.

After watching the covers, I revisted the Okkervil River originals, and was reminded just how much I love this song.
Whilst it lacks the deep introspectivity of tracks such as Starry Stairs (wonderfully covered by our own Jack Ladder), the cheeky meaning permeates the cultural references.

The song has a fantastic Carly Simon quality to it. Confused? Allow me to explain. Okkervil River is seen as a musician's band- the strong fan base is generated not through massive airplay, but underground word of mouth. Therefore to be invited into their clique is somewhat of an indication of your worth in the creative scene.

Ergo, is Sheff having a bit of a go at himself? Someone specific? Or the generic throbbing mass of people who believe that their music tastes and fashion stylings render them unique and culturally valuable?

OR, is it a greater attack on creativity? After all, a world without Shakespeare, Stoppard and Sheff would undoubtedly be far duller, but at the end of the day, would history be fundamentally shifted?

If you choose not to follow my overly complex lyrical pondering, just enjoy the killer guitar refrain and Sheff's Austin-cum-Brooklyn vocal stylings.

And here's the David Vandervelde cover, as I cannot find a good quality youtube video of Okkervil. Maybe head over to elbo.ws for a sneaky listen. But don't tell them I sent you... go musical copyright and all that.

N is for Nose (aka an Open Letter to Dave Rennick)

Dear Dave 'Wiley' Rennick:

I feel compelled to pen a little letter to you. As this is a blog, and is hence inherently public, this note takes the form of an open letter.
Some of my readers may not know who you are (I KNOW- shock and horror Dave, shock and horror), so I will give them a background so we are all in a position to fully appreciate my grievances. Dave Rennick is a guitarist and vocalist in Sydney based band Dappled Cities. He also formed indie 'supergroup' The Curse of Company featuring none other than frequently blogged identity Mr Jack Ladder.
Ok, now everyone knows who you are, and we can forget they ever momentarily doubted you. On to my issue...

Dave, why oh WHY do you have to be so gosh darned cute? You have old world good looks accompanied by schoolboy charm. You write beautiful ditties and form fantastic little groups that make delightful filmclips including flags, recorders, tubas and Mr Ladder fondling seaweed. FONDLING SEAWEED!

Dave... what are you doing to me??

Furthermore, you sing delightful falsettos on crazy little keyboards, and dress up in suits adorned with lights. LIGHTS! Daft Punk costumes have nothing on you Wiley.

You talk about hunting buck in Mona Vale "where no one knows your name". Mona Vale is my town! You are speaking to me!

Alas I am not alone in this affliction. In fact, whilst I was taking a shine to your tall, delightfully dimpled Curse of Company counterpart, my good friend LG remained faithful in her love for you. Mine has increased incrementally with each youtube video I clicked.

My fondness of you was moderate, and I was coping with my everyday life..... until tonight. You see, I was supposed to be spending my night reading my Media Law textbook in preparation for my tutorial. I have not done this. Instead, I have spent the night on the ABC Childrens' Television website.
Why you ask? BECAUSE OF YOU! If I fail this subject, I shall blame you Wiley.

(for all those not in the know, THIS is what I am referring to)

Dave..... Wiley..... Rennick..... how can ANYONE resist a man who sings childrens' songs? How can LG and I go about our daily tasks whilst being distracted by such amazing songs as:
N is for Nose
K is for Kazoo
G is for Gong (when you bang it, the sounds goes BONG!)

Oh Dave. Why would you do this to me? I am paralysed by childrens' songs at the age of 22.

Hmm.... what are you going to do about this then Dave? Huh? Well?
I'm just going to sit here, watch youtube and await your call...

An Open Letter to Bob Dylan continued...

Dear Bob (or would you prefer Mr Dylan.... I don't mind),

Recently, my fellow blog contributor L contacted you asking why you had to go and be so gosh darn sexy and force women to swoon over men with somewhat odd appearances.

I concur, as I share this affliction. Whilst I don't suffer the same weakness for the 'ranga fro', my friends can all attest to my absolute and utter love for the lanky musician complete with tousled bouffant and Ray Ban Wayfarers. So I continue her angry rant...

Oh the wayfarer. Oh the musician in a suit complete with guitar and harmonica. Oh a bluesman, detailing the woes of existance.

OH F YOU BOB DYLAN! Why would you do this to me? I don't need to detail my contemporary troubador possessing all of these qualities as regular readers will know to whom I refer(it is an open letter after all).
But nontheless, YOU, Bob Dylan, have created this state of sexual attraction in my mind to awkward, arrogant but bloody sexy musicians.


Whilst I am complaining to you, I would also like to complain about the song Just Like A Woman. Rumoured to be written by you about Edie Sedgwick. This has sparked a related desire of mine to be forver captured in song by sexy musician. Why Bob, why?


Final complaint: Look, I know the character Hayden Christensen played in Factory Girl was meant to be a fictional character, but WE ALL KNOW IT'S YOU! It's a giant 'guess who, don't sue'.

Oh my goodddd...... Hotness personified. 5 points if you guess who it reminds me of?
He was sex on two legs. Seriously. Way not NOT help my little problem. Apparently you are born in 1941, which makes you quite old now. But I reckon you are probably still sex on a stick

F You Dylan. Way to make me angry.

**special guest blogger.... Wayne Coyne!***

Hello lovely readers. This is a special post by me, Wayne Coyne. Perhaps better known as the lead singer from The Flaming Lips. You may not have recognised me without my giant bubble, vagina passageway and posse of frogs and various other dancing creatures.I recently received a letter from the delightful L, questioning why we would so blatantly highlight the inevitability of death with scant regard to the feelings of our readers upon such a realisation. I feel compelled to reply, detailing the reasoning behind our lyrics. Mainly coz I'm such a nice guy, and hey, I don't want to upset my fans.

Little L, before getting so upset that we pointed out what was in fact, a universally acknowledged fate established well before our arrival onto the music scene all those years ago, consider our perspective on death as pointed out in song Talkin' Bout The Smiling Deathporn Immortality Blues (Everyone Wants To Live Forever):

Imagination, that's the way that it seems

Man can't only live in his dreams

Oh, it seems so hard.

If I'd lived a thousand times before

And if I'm gonna live anymore

Always brings me down

Everyone wants to live forever

Thinkin' that it'd be a lot better

Everyone wants to live for ever, whoah

The feeling in my head starts heading south

It seems it stops the fever from shootin' out of my mouth

Life gushing all around

Therefore, if you choose to take our word as gospel, living forever is perhaps not the best outcome?

Similarly, perhaps take note of our advice dished out further in the song you so object to.

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know

You realize that life goes fast

It's hard to make the good things last

You realize the sun doesn't go down

It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

And if that doesn't comfort you, perhaps realise that we devoted the vast part of an album to a fantasy character battling a pink robot. We have lyrics such as this:

I know a girl who thinks of ghosts

She'll make ya breakfast

She'll make ya toast

She don't use butter

She don't use cheese

She don't use jelly

Or any of these

She uses vaseline

VaselineVaseline

So perhaps we're not all that profound. If all else fails, consider taxidermy. I have my pets stuffed. Then I line them up in a row in my recording studio and make them be my audience to test out new ideas. You should have seen the reaction when I first debuted the giant labia. They went mental, so I knew you all would too.

Hope this makes you feel better dear L. I, Wayne Coyne would hate for you to be upset. Maybe try running down the street in a giant bubble or frog suit. Always worked for me when I needed a cheeky pick me up.

What Goes On

Hello! I promise, there is an *actual* post which does not consist of us linking photos of Vampires and sexy musicians in the works. It's quite fun actually.

Will it be worth the wait? In all honesty not likely, however I truly doubt there is a populace of anonymous readers desperately hovering over computer screens awaiting a new installment. Fairly sure everyone was enjoying the most perfect weekend weather conceivable for a Sydney winter.

So I am being a truly atrocious blogger and doing a sneaky list-cum-diary post. I know- the worst form of update imaginable as no one actually cares what I do with my time. So if you don't want to know, feel free to click away. I won't be offended. But I will know. I know everything. Why, I can see you right now. That's right- wave hello! I'm watching you, I'm the Edward Cullen of bloggers.

1. FLRL-

So that 'venerable' little hipster joint Oxford Art Factory turned two this week and had a big fat bash for all the scene kids to come down and fight it out to see who in Sydney could rock the thickest nerd-googles, tightest jeans and most offensive vintage gear.

I was more interested in checking out a band I have been intending to catch for some time now without success.

Fashion Launches Rocket Launches (FLRL) is a bit of a Sydney music collaborative with members drawn from Lost Valentinos, Midnight Juggernauts and the now-defunct Mercy Arms amongst others. They have quite the verbose and assumptive musical manifesto posted on their myspace, so I recommend that as they capture their vision far better than I could.

Their shows are performed with all members forming a tight circle, with dominant vocalists even facing away from the audience for the majority of tracks. There is very little in the way of theatrics or fanfare beyond that which exudes from the evidently flamboyant members own spirits. Instead, the audience feels as if they have been welcomed into an extended jam as songs blend seamlessly, with musicians rotating between instruments, interwoven by the symphonic, effects-heavy drone of Kirin Callinan's guitar work.

Late in the set, audience members/band friends are picked from the crowd and asked to interact, with percussion being passed over heads and drumsticks thrown hopefully.

Overall, its an experience unlike any other available in Sydney at present. The energy is both tanigble and infectious. It's impossible not to be swept away on some form of imaginary journey as the band guides you on some form of trip without the assistance of illicit substances.

Well worth a listen, and until they list their next Sydney gigs, check out track Poppies on their myspace.

2. Saturday Hopetoun fun-

Following the bliss of FLRL and Leader Cheetah, we here at SIDAR swung by the Hopetoun to check out long time favourites Kid Sam.

Launching single Down to the Cemetery, Kid Sam were supported by Kirin J. Callinan. If you haven't already seen a Callinan solo show, then what are you waiting for?

Words cannot do justice to the spectacle that is a Callinan performance. SIDAR have seen him perform several times now, supporting Jack Ladder as well as at Spectrum, and every show delivers a new angle.

Callinan is captivating as he shapes an orchestral cacophany of sweeping guitar loops exacted through a heavy reliance upon effects pedals perfectly executed. His vocal stylings and on stage mannerisms are certainly confronting for the uninitiated and unexpecting, however the entire combination soon emerges as more than endearing.

Highly recommended, however you shall not see SIDAR at a Callinan-related performance for some time now lest he believe we are actually bizzare for having attended performances on consecutive nights.

Callinan was followed by Otouto, a Melbourne-based three-piece fronted by Hazel Brown and including Kid Sam's Kishore Ryan. I won't devote too much time to them, as to be perfectly honest, cutesy female vocals are not my style, save for the redemptive qualities of stellar performers such as Sarah Blasko and Lykke Li. However for their niche, they were enjoyable, but perhaps their brand of quiet, inquisitive melodic ditties were a poor fit for the rambunctious Hopetoun crowd.Similarly, please see our previous review of Kid Sam from their Jack Ladder support slot. It really is a shame that the Hopetoun crowd was not more appreciative of the understated, utterly sublime musical style of this duo. Having seen them in intimate form at the Annandale, and then at the Brass Monkey in Cronulla, I know just how captivating the Ryan boys are when not challenged by inebriated punters more concerned by their own little game of 'spot the hipster' than the delightful tunes.

3. Sunday Sublime-

There really is no better way to spend a perfect Sunday morning than at Paradise Beach, Avalon. Taking my notebook, banana and sandwiches, I sat at the end of a pier watching yachts sail past and tinnies chug by, leaving me with that instantly recognisable smell of petrol through an outboard motor.

The sounds and smells of summer have come early, and I couldn't be happier.

4. Self reflexive, or just plain rude?

You may have noticed I am a little against self-important scene kids perceiving their brand of music/art/design as earth-shatteringly unique and culturally significant. In a form of total hypocrisy, many of the lyrics I have written address this type of person, therefore implicitly living up to L's allegations of hipsterdom on my part.

So it makes me happy to hear artists write about what I choose to detail, but far more effectively and enjoyably than I ever could.

Try:

-Fergus Brown: Nerds in Love (too cute)

-Okkervil River: Singer Songwriter (oh Will Sheff you little genius).

Hope your weekend was just amazing... only 5 days until the next one. Until then, go totally fucking Mexico.

Napoleon Says...

... click these links for some Sunday evening/Monday morning cheer.

This is just the most amazing thing ever. I want to party with him.
Admittedly we have been a little inefficient in posting content of late. Blame it on the weather- 28 degree days in the middle of winter simply demand time spent in sunshine, enjoying picnics and cheeky sips of seasonally premature Pimms'.

Substantial, detailed posts requiring thought shall be posted in due course as means of procrastination from university demands, but in the meantime, some links which have made us smile this weekend.

1. The Model School-

An independent band from right here in Sydney, these guys are well worth checking out. With a lead singer whose voice at times perfectly channels Beck, I can attest these boys are fantastic. L and I caught them last night at the Excelsior Hotel and their mix of self-deprecation, conscious reference and pure musical delight is a fantastic combination.

Check their myspace and give lead track "Not My Town" a listen...

www.myspace.com/themodelschool

2. The Big Pink-

This band has an awesome name, which as you know tickles me pink (oohh, awesomely bad pun!). A London duo, the name is a little risque if your mind resides with mine (in the gutter). However in all honesty I'm going to take a stab and say it references the debut album of The Band rather than tawdry smut.

Anyhoo, their track Dominos has been getting a bit of play on jjj and it is truly infectious. Here's a youtube clicky. I couldn't be bothered to find an official one, so here's a dubious image of two men in a toilet, and some pubic hair for you to gaze at for a few minutes. Thank me later.


3. I'm not fat, I'm cool!

Check this article. It is so fantastic. In keeping with our weekly theme of hipster ridicule.

Interestingly enough, it appears this little trend may have permeated through to the Sydney scene somewhat? I spotted a number of potbellied indie elders on Saturday night.... I must say, I don't mind a little cushion. It sure beats a boyfriend with skinnier legs than you.

4. Hot, skinny, smoking 14 year olds.....

This is an oldie, but a goodie. I'm fairly certain everyone know knows about Lookbook. But if not, check it out. Catch a glimpse of the looks which shall be overly repeated on the indie, supre and every other form of Sydney style clone for summer. (Ok, I admit it. I'll be doing it too).

But make sure you have a tub of Connoisseur cookies and cream ice cream on hand to counter depression at the sight of fourteen year old girls strolling the streets of Stockholm, Paris or Copenhagen, cigarette in hand looking oh so fabulous.

But to dream.... and then pause and think "What kind of idiot gets gratification from spending all day posing in front of a camera and posting said photos of themselves to an internet site?"

I'll spend my days drinking Pimms' instead thanks

Over and out! I promise substance tomorrow. In the meantime, keep it foolish!

Collective Individulism

So lately I have been thinking about the idea of generational identifiers and legacies, and the notion that different generations can be specifically labelled and described. Generalisations of Gen Y as expecting the best and offering less than are proffered by the media on an almost daily basis.

We shudder inside and cringe at another article espousing the same tired old shit. So, on that note…. Here’s another one! jokes.

What I am instead interested in is the idea of individualism in the citizenship of Gen Y. It seems that now more than ever before, the youth of society seems to regard defining themselves as unique from their cohort is an almost full time quest. We constantly shape and reidentify ourselves with reference to what others are doing.

An example? The emo dresses in black and listens to a particular style of music with which he can empathise as an expression of his individualism and unwillingness/inability to conform to mainstream society. Indeed. It seems he is so different and confronting to the ‘norms’ that a new retail market has emerged, with special ‘emo’ stores opening where said sad little teen can stock up on his chains, eyeliner and razor blades.

And this little gripe is not unique to the oft-maligned emo movement. This is a widespread phenomenon, and it leaves me thinking why is it that in seeking to define ourselves, to brand and identify our very beings, we have become so backwards focused?
Some examples you request? Why certainly.
-the Gen Y male sees the daily toil of those older than him, and is frightened of a corporate suit clad future. He grows dreadlocks, smokes pot and denounces capitalist inequality, envisaging himself as the contemporary embodiment of Marx. Expressing his manifesto not through timeless literary doctrine, he instead chooses his weapons as facebook, twitter and blogs, detailing his perceived alternate, groundbreaking profundity (smoking pot, dropping acid and drinking red wine with similarly inclined self-satisfying buddies) with his thousand dollar digital SLR camera provided through Daddy’s slavish devotion to the ‘Capitalist captors’, failing to acknowledge due gratitude to market forces for his privileged position and enviable Surry Hills terrace.

To a lesser extent, the proliferation of creative arts careers stands as a testament to our unwillingness to conform. We are no longer content with being teachers, accountants or public servants. We are educated citizens of society and have something to say! We seek to express our ideas through music, journalism, public relations, poetry, filmmaking, photography and art. And we expect compensation for our efforts dammit!

-the Hipster. Ah the Hipster. What to say here? The Hipster exists as a purely aesthetic cultural paradigm. He is concerned not with being at heart ‘different’, but merely appearing so. And let me clarify here. He is not concerned with difference, but merely anticipating the future mass trend and being one step ahead. Consider: skinny jeans, checked shirts, leather jackets, Wayfarer sunglasses, Palestinian scarves as an expression of style devoid of political context. The Hipster was there way before Supre. The same can be said for his music taste. He likes those bands which cling the periphery of success so that when they do taste that sweet achievement, he can bask in their glory by virtue of his long time support.

But being so fashion forward is tough work people! Not only must the Hipster balance his hairstyling and accessorising (a good hour of daily toil), he must also digest enough popular alternative literature to hold his own in a five minute superficial discussion of how Jack Kerouac and Hunter S. Thompson have been seminal influences in his life mantra to indicate faux-intellectualism, whilst ingesting sufficient illicit substances to maintain his hazy life view whilst being photographed by Hobogestapo AND updating his twitter on his iphone detailing just how different he is coz he drinks at Oxford Art Factory and plays in a shoegaze band too indie to even get a slot at Spectrum on a Wednesday night.

I could go on forever, but needless to say, it’s a busy life being different! (and on a side note, I completely reject L’s accusations that I am a hipster. Never!).

To a lesser extreme of offence, this definition of individual style by virtue of reference to the past into mass consumption is still unavoidable.

Woodstock is a Sienna Miller bohemian rhapsody of shit moccasins and fringed pleather. We can get our grunge acid wash fix channelling the subversive, alternative 90’s movement from that sartorial slut of a fashion assault, Supre. The 80’s have been further tarnished from their original sin through the bombardment of festival fluoro, slogan shirts and American Apparel technicolour shirts. Factory Girl taught thousands of teenagers how to emulate the style of my original icons, Edie Sedgwick and Nico from Warholian New York. Indeed not even the unique legacy of the British Mod movement is safe, with website Modcloth.com offering unique, vintage Mod pieces. Unique, but just a click away? Hmmm…

But this back referencing is not limited to fashion. A band lists Velvet Underground as an influence, and in doing so believes it asserts a timeless self-referential attempt at relevance. A group such as Tame Impala can dominate the alternative music scene despite blatantly ‘referencing’ British psych-rockers of the days of old, Cream. Little Red can whip women into a frenzy with a Mod Rock/Be-bop/50’s fusion. The many thousands of nouveau-folk and anti-folk groups exist purely by virtue of the original doyennes of folk.
Why is it that we so openly reference the past? Is it a similar phenomenon to the re-emergence of Keynesian interventionism in national economics at the failure of unstructured market flow? By this, I mean do we so slavishly adhere to an idealistic reimagining of times and styles past, that we have in our own typical nature, homogenised them? Has the individualism espoused by our dominant economic model and political paradigm manifested itself into a cultural behemoth so transiently integrative it has transformed us into one individually collectivist cliché?

Are we now so connected that immediacy leaves us pining for a time when we did not participate in a viral cycle of text vomit, status updates of pathetic, bland and inane stupidity typified by those imbeciles that communicate lyk dIS 2 eAcH oThEr bRo???

Do we wish for an age where style and identity were indeed individual, and not plagiarised from Chictopia, Topshop and other mass media outlets accessible through the click of a mouse?

Or do we just have a false conception of times past? An understanding of eras shaped by cinematic, romantic depictions of reminisced moments of an idealised youth which seem so separate from our own realities and responsibilities?
Or have we just lost any sense of individualism and creativity of spirit?

oh the hilarity

Just had to share a brief snippet of conversation between myself and dear friend E today....

E: "Yeah, you know in hindsight, I should have realised we were different after the first date".

A: *thinks to herself everything someone can do wrong on the first date* "Oh no...what happened?

E: "I sat in a corner trying not to pass out as he donated blood"

A:"What, that was your date?"

E: "Yes. Just that."

After recovering from bouts of uncontrollable laughter, I pondered the poor man's thought process behind scheduling romantic interaction at the blood bank...

Was it an attempt to impress E with his philanthropic tendencies? Or was he channelling the spirit of Cullen?

Who knows, whatever it was, its hilarious.

Thanks for the giggle E.

And here's a completely gratutious, vaguely related shot of everyone's favourite Vampire in Wayfarers.... I have to admit even I think this is quite delicious. Mainly as he is wearing my dream man outfit... oh beanies.

A's Angry Abuse

So yeah. I probably shouldn't spend so much of my life cracking the shits about people's lax facebook etiquette. I'm fairly certain there are much bigger things in the world I could worry about. But you know, climate change, world poverty, personal and governmental debt and whatnot are the fodder of my other writing (yeah, the serious kind. When my mind ventures beyond facebook and other brainless procrastination fodder).

But for now, facebook.

I have previously detailed by vehement hatred for those who cannot contain their affection for their other half to the real world, and instead clog my newsfeed with nauseating saccharine shit which reeks of insecurity rather than infatuation.

However, this rage has been not only maintained, but increased by recent pollution my poor sweet home page has had to incur.

And what is this internet crime you ask?

VIRTUAL INTERNET PORN!!

A recent e-trend which appears to be on the rise is the tendency of couples to post sexually explicit comments to each other, with absolutely NO regard for the many mutual friends who are subjected to this filthy overshare.

An example?
'Babe, you are so hot.... I can't wait for you to cum home... im going to drag u 2 bed...'

WHAT THE FUUUUUUCK????? Grammar and abbreviation issues aside, what person thinks this is acceptable?

I nearly spat dhal all over my laptop screen when reading this whilst eating dinner the other night.

I cannot fathom who undergoes rational thought process and concludes such a posting is indeed a good plan of action?

Ugh. Words fail me right now... However I'm feeling this may be grounds for defriending? I know I have personally been defriended for lesser crimes (heh heh heh).

And now for something happy...

SINGING CATS!! Like singing dogs, but better, coz they're like, you know, cats and all...

kinky and a little wrong

So we spoke of our embarrassing crushes we held throughout youth (Harry Potter and Zac Efron for L, Taylor Hanson and JTT for myself). But a similar consideration with all things crushes are those secret ones you are afraid to admit for fear of public scorn, and enquiries as to your sanity and basic taste.

And no, I don't refer to basic taste differences. Whilst my friend G believes I deserve to be committed for my love of musicians that stink of cigarettes, sweat and week old jeans, I cannot fathom M's fascination with the Efron/Pitt/pretty boy mould, nor can I completely understand L's appreciation of Kirin Callinan.

What I am talking about are those very secret desires which you cannot explain nor rationalise even to yourself. Let me give you an example or three of my own weaknesses....

1. Paul Keating-

I had previously hinted at this little lust, however now it is time to come clean. I cannot explain it, perhaps it's the receding hairline, or his blatantly crude political insults. Perhaps its his almost deranged hatred he has maintained for John Howard after all these years. Whatever it is, this former Prime Minister gets by blood going.

On that note, it seems I have a bit of a thing for former Labor PM's, as I also have a soft spot for Gough Whitlam and Bob Hawke. Please all pray they I do not suffer the same affliction once K-Rudd is ousted from power. He is a sanctimonious little shit.

2. Matt PrestonI know he has become somewhat of a gastro-sex symbol post Masterchef, so perhaps this isn't such an odd fetish. However I just cannot go past that amazing head of hair, impeccable dress sense and perfect fusion British-Australian accent. He is the perfect gentleman- amazing meals would be shared whilst discussing politics (we both have politics degrees- what a match made in heaven!).

The only downside? I take offence to people criticising my food.

3. Tim Freedman-
Universally despised as the quintessential 'Newtown Wanker', the lead singer of Australian group The Whitlams has always tickled my fancy. As a twelve year old, Love This City provided the soundtrack to my summers, and I clearly remember shouting "there's no aphrodisiac like loneliness" completely oblivious to the song meaning.

As a twenty year old, my classical music upbringing had me watching The Whitlams accompanied by a symphony orchestra. As Tim sat by the piano, sipping red wine between verses, I imagined becoming his young lover for a few months over a Sydney winter. I would be schooled in poetry, wine appreciation and foreign cinema.
Our parting would be painful, however through my substance-addled mourning period, I would produce profound lyrics and melodies and re-enter the world culturally schooled.


Quite clearly I was an odd twenty year old. Or maybe I just have an obsession with Sydney musicians named Tim? Hmmm....

I'm very much looking forward to L's contribution to this topic.... I'm sure it shall be just fabulous

midweek mixtape

So I don't really have anything to say today. But apparently being a 'good' blogger means regular updates, and I just don't think my posting pictures of food cuts it as proper journalistic contributions. So I am adopting another form of no-brainer post pattern... a list of genius things that make me happy, and hopefully make you happy too...

1. Bands with awesome names.

These days, its not acceptable to have a boring band name. The indie world goes ga-ga (PUN!) for cutesy plastic fantastic names and I have to admit I share this love. I am far more inclined to do a sneaky elbo.ws download of a band with a sweet name I have never heard before than something dull. So here's a couple I am loving at the moment:

>>> The Phenomenal Handclap Band.
What a brilliant name. How can you not smile? What also makes me smile is the fact that in their myspace top friend list, they have not one, but two people sharing my name with correct spelling and all.

Aside from this self-indulgent appreciation, they are actually jolly sweet and have been getting a bit of play on Triple J as of late. They are currently supporting Friendly Fires in their US tour.... August 12th New York anyone? Meet you there.www.myspace.com/embassyproductions OR phenomenalhandclapband.blogspot.com

>>> We Were Promised Jetpacks.

A four piece from Glasgow (aaaah Scottish bands) popping out some cute little singles which have a happy-go lucky beat, strong guitar melodies and a lead singer who could easily fill in for Brandon Flowers should he ever vacate The Killers.

Check out 'Quiet Little Voices' and 'Roll Up Your Sleeves'

www.myspace.com/wewerepromisedjetpacks

2. Tim Rogers

No, not the Tim Rogers we usually write about here (aka Jack Ladder), but his musical predecessor, and (for now) the more famous musical Tim- frontman of seminal Australian band You Am I.

I have had a long-time love affair with this man, despite him being perhaps twice my age. His face tells a thousand tales of rock and roll debauchery, and he seems to have adopted an affected eccentricity which is ever so endearing.

He was most recently spotted gracing the Splendour in the Grass stage, joined by the *other* Tim Rogers (Jack). Whilst Jack Ladder wore a beautifully fitted jacket and oh so tight black jeans, Rogers rejected the need for formal rock stage attire, instead making the poncho his own. What a stunning combination.

He was also a guest on the ABC's Tuesday Night Bookclub last night, and his faux American narrators' voice coupled with bow-tie made me weak at the knees.

Cheers to old man crushes

3. Meat Free Monday

I eat a vegetarian diet on average five days a week. This is not from any political/social/moral urge, but due to the realisation that my body just seems to work better without meat/gluten/dairy products.
Hence dhal, soups and lentil-based dishes have become my favoured meals. However the recent push for 'Meat Free Monday' as a means of combating climate change means I am a lean, mean green machine without doing anything. Sweet. Go social activism and all that.

4. Photos with messages.

They may be a touch twee at times, but over the years I have saved them on my hard-drive hoping to have an occasion to publish. I have deemed today to be the occasion.

5. This gin:

South Gin is made in New Zealand by the same people who make 42 Below Vodka. Featuring all kinds of deliciousness, it is pretty much the best drink invented. South gin is the way to my heart.

*update*

I had previously written detailing the brilliance that was Woolworths Select Honeycomb Crunch biscuits.

Well check out the Coles alternative!

Not only do they have shiny gold packaging, they are called SQUIGGLES! This is kind of awesome, and has really made my day perfect.

Spotted at Coles Mona Vale for under $2 on special...

I promise I will post something proper soon other than my review of Northern Beaches supermarket specials. But seriously.... chocolate squiggles? It's sex in a biscuit... kinky sex?