the challenges facing modern youth

This is a conversation I heard whilst waiting to cross the road into Uni this morning. It was between two girls, no more than 19-20 with percelain skin and immaculate hair.

"So like that's it for me, I'm just not gonna drive my car any more 'cause petrol's gonna be a dollar thirty."

"Oh my god how come?"

"'Cause of what happened in America"

"What happened in America?"

"well only like a massive tornado ripped through half the country and like totally flattened it. Thousands of people are dead, millions of people are homeless."

"Oh my god when did that happen?"

"Yesterday"

"Shit. What's it got to do with petrol though?"

"Dunno, suppose that's where we get petrol from."

I wonder what they're studying? I was really enjoying them and wanted to hear more but I couldn't follow them without feeling like a creepy stalker. Still giggling about it now.

internet pixies

got offended at the image quality from countess' last post and had to fix it :P

Holier Than Thou

I have been meaning to buy a copy of this record for ages:



(That's an image of Metallica's eponymous album, often (and obviously!) called the 'Black' album by fans because of it's completely - except for the coiled snake in the lefthand corner - black cover)

and today I ventured down Brunswick Street on my lunch break to secure my very own copy. I was more excited than a normal person should be, to be honest, but I have just discovered Metallica. I didn't really like them in their Black-and-pre-Black heyday, but I fucking love them now.

Those readers familar with Brunswick Street will know what store I bought the record from when I say that I checked Sister Ray first, which strangely had no Metallica discs at all. So I hiked in the opposite direction to this other place, where I ultimately found it.


I don't particularly want to name and shame this store, because independent outlets should be supported by us all in the interests of cultural and commercial diversity. However, I was initially chagrined and then enraged by the staff's reaction to my musical taste. They sniggered and rolled their eyes at my choice, saying 'what this? Oh Met-al-li-ca' the same way one might say 'what's this? oh, dog vomit.'

Humph. Did I breeze into their store and complain about what they were playing and the band tees they were wearing? 'Ugh. Sufjan Stevens is soooo tedious and pretentious' or 'Fuck, I would rather kill myself than listen to Laura/Deloris/some other indie band named after a girl.' Maybe their tastes are so refined from working in the *ahem* music industry that the Black album is unforgivably populist, and therefore unworthy of notice? I'm not so ignorant of Metallica's entire oeuvre that I'd suggest that Black is their finest hour; it's a bloated riffy colossus, typically overproduced by Bob Rock. But I could have done without the supercilious 'tude and tut-tutting about my poor artistic judgment, reminiscent of the manner in which old codgers carp on about 'kids today...'. The record store dudes were most likely younger than me, goddammit, and their listening regime of indie music made them arrogant and judgmental. And yet metal gets blamed for anti-social behaviour. Sheesh.

Worship Satan with your cock out...

Not entirely safe for work, kids, but I think I am in love...





























ALL HAIL THE PRESUMABLY UNINTENTIONALLY EXPOSED BALLS OF HOST, SINGER WITH TRUE NORWEGIAN BLACK METALLERS TAAKE!

Do normal people dream of espionage and Slayer?

A friend of mine just described a vaguely unsettling dream she'd had recently. And while many of you will roll your eyes thinking that 'there's nothing more tedious than hearing about other people's dreams,' you are dead wrong. One of my favourite pastimes is practicing psychology without a licence, and so taking my lead from Sigmund Freud, who didn't have one either, what easier place to start than with The Interpretation of Dreams?

Anyway, her dream was unsettling because it was so realistic - the things dreamt of could conceivably happen in waking life. And there was a particularly disturbing, not-quite-right twist making the whole thing a bit skin-crawly. Her dream-self was engaged in behaviour that her awake-self would never countenance. Plus she should have slapped that aggressive-aggressive bitch down when the threats were made! This only makes sense if you know the context of this dream, and client-therapist privilege prevents me from divulging more, even pseudonymously.

The short version of the story is that Ms X had a dream that was a simultaneously a reminder and part of the process of putting certain things to rest. Basically, her unconscious was burying a vampire or similarly ghoulish and draining entity at a crossroads with a stake through it's heart so it may never rise again.

I had a dream that I went to see Slayer, which is an occurrence that could likely happen IRL, but not soon enough for my liking. Anyway, for some reason they were playing the Hi-Fi Bar in Melbourne - which is kinda strange, considering that they'd easily sell out a bigger space. And it was also strange that the stage looked like a magic carpet bazaar - you know, like one of those Persian rug emporia that are constantly having going out of business sales. It was certainly uncool for proscenium curtains (which I doubt actually exist on the Hi-Fi stage) to keep sweeping closed, obscuring my view of the band. Thinking back now, it was more than odd that they didn't rock one tiny bit. But the truly unnerving part that made me shiver upon waking was that my dream-self was not unduly concerned by the fact that Slayer were not blowing my mind.

This is quite preposterous and I know that there would be no dearth of pure metal fury up our collective ass should Slayer ever tour here again. I woke up feeling all strange and out of sorts, and am now coping with the echo of that feeling by reliving it in this post.

Was it cheese before bedtime? What do Slayer represent to me? Why am I so infuriated by the the pictures of Buffy and 'gang' that clog up my screen when searching for images of Slayer? I realise that we have discussed dreams and dreams in the context of cheese consumption close to retiring on S?ITYS , but that was tchick's post and dream about prawns and this is mine about Slayer.

news from duntroon

I just had a wonderful conversation with our Defence Force correspondent who is five weeks into his boy's own adventure at RMC. Apparently after 5 weeks of crawling through mud, under barbed wire, and through water pits covereed in ice at 6 in the morning, the staff cadets get an afternoon of R&R to call home, drink instant coffee and ponder what the hell they've got themselves into.

My security clearance allows me to tell you that Officer Cadet M. has learned to sleep with his eyes open, that you can still hear the chink of brass cartridges hitting the ground when you're firing a machine gun with ear muffs on and that you should never trust a sargent who tells you you can sleep in until 7am.

OCM has asked me to let everyone know that he's alive and well, and it's all "a bit of a lark". He will be graduating towards the end of September (I think), so if anyone is up for a road trip, we can go see him "parade around in silly unifroms".

I'm looking forward to hearing all his anecdotes, including more information on a ten hour caving session that cadets had to abseil into. Apparently you wouldnt want to be claustrophobic - it took some of the boys up to half an hour to contort themselves through the tighter apertures in this cave. You can count me out, I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I have to get on a PLANE to get to Perth.

I'm going to Perth

How much do we love the AUC?
I'm nereding on at SAGE again this year
over and out from the shortest post ever.

a face only a mother could love....

You know, while I'm not a maniac cat lover who "wovves her little cute baby catty-watty", I find it somewhat disturbing that cats evoke such a strong negative reaction in some people...that I find downright scary and offensive. Like today, I was editing a photo of my cat (yes, during work hours and as you do) to send to one of my nearest and dearests, which provoked the strong reaction of "Oh my god that's scary" from someone from the cubicle over from mine. Which isn't to say that my cat isn't scary looking, and as some people call him, "ugly and ill-tempered", but hey, that's my ugly and ill-tempered that you're talking about.

I should have turned around and told him that his mother was fat and stupid.

But I didn't. The point is that it bothers me somewhat that people feel that they can insult someone's loved and cherished pet as if its "funny" and a "harmless" joke. People have taken to arms over less is what I say.

And I really don't think that its necessary to have to say that you'd like to use my cat (or any cat) as a football - as the man says - "if you don't like them, leave them alone."

Images have been edited to protect the innocent

I blog, therefore...

I am bored. And usually at work. Madly procrastinating.

Which speaks volumes for the esteem in which I hold this medium. It serves a purpose, which is to distract me from things that are more important. Blogging is like eating fast food for me, in the sense that it fills a gap rather than ultimately satiating. That's a crappy analogy, but most of the time I feel like a bit of a blogging fraud - I don't talk about my 'deepest' feelings, my relationships, or any mental traumas suffered. I don't post photos, meet fellow bloggers IRL (aside of those I already know, of course) and I don't post on the blogs of others. I guess the one blogging 'convention' I do have down is that I use 'I' a lot

Anyway, I'm bored a fair bit but I don't spend every moment of that time blogging. About how bored I am. Which is dull and self-indulgent and the essence of blogging... anyway, the point of this all is that when I am bored but not bored enough to blog, I am often doing something else fairly pointless on the 'net.

For the most inane chat ever, I visit the forums at vogue.com.au. How many fake designer handbags do you have? Stand up vs lie down solariums. This model is ugly/that model is stunning. I am dumber for just having read this stuff.

I sometimes correspond with people I know and see on a regular or semi-regular basis here, where we talk about things like the best songs to listen to on Black Friday, who would win in a fight between Glenn Danzig and Trent Reznor, and have roll calls for various gigs and events. It's not really any more substantial than voguechat, but please, I don't tan and I don't have any designer fakes. And I love Danzig.

Because I'm not a complete dimwit, I also read international papers online, and regularly check out various news and opinion sites. Like Christopher Hitchens, who I admired so much once and am now somewhat confused by. Hence my keeping an eye on him.

But my secret (well, not any more!) passion is checking out other blogs. Should I just kill myself now because my life has been reduced to this? I could (and have) spent hours of precious work time reading about other people's sexual excesses/frustrations, looking at pictures of their pets wearing clothes, or marvelling at the depth and power of their political analyses (John Howard is a cunt-rag! Amanda Vanstone is fat! These are slogans and policies that must be adopted by the ALP post-haste! *pauses to ring relevant Policy Committees*).

As an aside, while exploring the blogosphere I discovered that there are people (well, a person at least) who felt as saddened and ripped off by Tim losing to the Logans on Big Brother 5 as he/she did when the Howard Government was re-elected last year. And no, I am not making this up to support my thesis that other bloggers are inane to the point of idiocy - as much as I wish I was.

Wanna know where to go for a laugh, and where to go to waste precious minutes of your life that you'll never get back? Call me.

Is there anything beer can't fix?

I'm stuck at home today. With the flu from hell. I feel like I've been hit by a train. So I figure now is a good a time as any to get the house phone fixed. The phone hasnt worked properly since anonymous the housemate flooded half the house (ducking for cover).

Now the Optus tech is really friendly on the mobile; "Oh, you sound really sick" he says, "I've just had the flu, yeah, two weeks I had to take off, went into my lungs, like pneumonia it was, whole family had it, doesnt seem to matter how young or fit you are these days, it just really knocks you about, you'll proboably end up in hospital like aunty kath did".

Thanks mate.

LUCKILY it turns out that it isnt an internal fault, so I don't have to pay for it. "What exactly is the problem?" I ask languishing on my death bed three hours later when they call me back. Turns out it's just a little bit of water damage .... must have been something to do with the wild weather we've been having lately....

So the phone is under control, but my flu is getting worse by the minute. I need drugs, I need to get out of the house, I need food and tissues, and orange juice and supplies. So I jump in the trusty old 'rolla and off to the chemist. Simple mission. BUT NO, Tchick has a head full of cotton wool and obviously no depth perception or in fact any concept whatsoever of three dimensional space.

Et volia, after 15 years of a spotless driving record, I've finally done it.

That's right kids, I'VE PRANGED THE CAR.

Mangled the front left panel. Squashed in so badly it's preventing the tyre from moving. So with a bit of determination, a club lock and large rock, I can bend the panel away from the wheel enough for me to get the car down to the smash repairs place round the corner where I'm met by a short round jolly man with a pink nose, blue overalls and cheeky eyes. A cursory glance over the car and "new bumper bar, forward left panel, lights set, ra ra ra, you're looking at around a thousand dollars"

Often silence is the best defence in these situations, and after only 20 seconds of watching me blink incredulously he's offered me an alternative. "of course if you run down and grab us a slab I could knock some shape into it for you."

Now you're talking.

I wish I had a digital camera to take a photo of the results,because it's fucking hilarious - Kissa, I might ask if I can borrow yours..

I got the job!

Back on the air

So it's been a while since I've been around in blogland. been keeping an eye on it from afar, but it's been so hectic in tchickland i've barely had a second to scratch myself.

Good to see blogheadfuckroll back up, brilliant rant about VSU, but you really should have left your last rant up, there are a few people around these parts who I'm sure would have had something to say about that :P

There was an article in the Weekend Australian today (which I can't find online) about a fundamentalist Christian Shortwave radio station intent on spreading the word in Far North Western Kununurra. Local residents are campaigning to have it shut down for fear that it may make them terrorist targets. What caught my eye was not the exploration of australian nationalism and xenophobia (is that really surprising?) but this little gem:

"HCJB grew out of the ham radio movement, which was at its height in the 1920s and '30s. The invention of wireless was akin to the invention of the Internet - an amazing technological breakthrough that overcame the limits distance placed on the human voice. Anyone with a shortwave transmitter powerful enough could be heard in every corner of the world. Today's Internet bloggers, offering their voices and opinions to anyone who clicks on are the direct descendents of these ham radio nuts"

I'm having a little trouble drawing this comparison myself.

When I was about five years old I was given a pink transistor radio. It had three channels, FM, AM and SW (Shortwave). At night I would lie awake late, flicking through Shortwave channels eavesdropping on everything from banal weather reports to the illicit affairs of local farmers. It was better than soap operas. Husbands and wives filling each other in on the events of the day, SES workers mopping up after minor disasters, kids chatting to each other about their lives.

Ok sure I do the modern equivalent of that from time to time - that is i browse randomly through people's blogs. I once spent an entire afternoon enthralled by an incomprehensively vapid twenty year old american chick's blog. She had just bought a pair of sandals at the mall with her mother that morning and couldnt decide whether to wear the pink or the black dress to the party that night. (She was also trying to convice her boyfriend that just because she sent him a catalougue of diamond rings, she didnt really expect him to propose - but I digress).

Anyway, It's late in the day and I've had a cunt of a week, so I'm having trouble explaining why this comparison doesnt sit well with me so well. I guess what I'm getting at is just because the internet makes it easy for the average joe blow to write down their streams of consciousness for all to see, doesn't necessarily mean they're offering "voices and opinions", nor does it mean that anyone is actually listening. Operating on the idea that "i blog, therefore I'm interesting" is not enough.

I simply don't think the advent of blogging can be seen as a "amazing technological breakthrough that overcame the limits distance placed on the human voice" Just because you're in the public sphere, doesnt mean you're interesting. Take Big Brother for instance.

So before I start ranting on and drawing comparisons between blogs, Big Brother and Foucault's panopticon or Lyotard's "death of meta-narratives", I've decided I need to get away from my computer and get a life. So guess what I'll be doing for the rest of the weekend ....



only kidding ...

What's a girl to do?

My friend is in a bit of a bind.

And no, it's not me. I'm not lurking behind the friend chimera because this is not the kind of dilemma that gives me pause for thought.

Anyway, my friend would really like to go and see:














but has already made other arrangements, the kind that can't be blown off. This is the Drones' last gig for ages, but plans for that night have even been diarised, which is evidence of their immutability.

Hmmm, this is a toughie. On one hand, there's the karmic aspect that can only be satisfied in the positive by honouring the original commitment; but there's an anarchic thrill to be had by giving into impulse and just doing whatever you want, when you want it - circumstances and friendships be damned!

I have another friend who is going to see this, uh, 'collective':














There's been no wailing and ululating at the threat of missing this, as we (okay, me) madly invent 'prior' engagements in order to avoid it.*

* yes, I am aware that taste in music is very personal , that many people love the dub, that rock'n'roll doesn't satisfy everyone's souls yada yada yada. To which I say: NO SLEEP 'TIL VODAFONE!

the quiet observer...

there's a site that I really like at the moment that involves a guy taking photos every day at a subway station in the US somewhere. What I like about it is the fact that he quietly observes the people in every day situations, and captures their thoughts, fears and private moments which he then publishes on his site.

Its not so much the creepy "take photos of strangers and then publish on the internet" thing that I like so much but the fact that even halfway around the world and back again, it shows the people all over have the same kind of lives and do the same kinds of things - sleep, play, eat, love....i like that it demonstrates a solidarity and a uniformity to human behaviour which cannot be classed by colour, race, creed or nationality. I mean, if you didn't know that this was in the US, it could be in London, Paris, downtown Melbourne...or maybe not.

I'm also intrigued by whether or not these people know they are being photographed and if they know that they are on the web....I know that I'd feel pretty invaded if I saw a photo of myself on the web that was taken without permission and then launched in the world wide web. Which reminds me of a story that I heard recently of this image...

This photo is apparently the Pulitzer Prize winning image taken in 1994 during the Sudan famine. The image depicts an infant crawling towards a UN camp located a kilometre away while a vulture is watching him intently.

The story goes is that no one knows what happened to the child, including the photographer who took the image, Kevin Carter who left the place as soon as the photo was taken.

Three months later, he was so depressed he committed suicide.

What concerns me isn't whether the story is true or not - I guess its the ethical dilemna of where journalism begins and humanity ends. What is the responsibility of the "war correspondent / political journo / news reader" ? Is it to report facts and take photos from an objective and remote perspective or is it to the human touch so that we feel more connected with the world at large ?

Could this child now be alive if the photographer had taken this child to the food camp instead of taking a photograph ? And why isn't this considered to be "snuff" if the end result is death when it might have been prevented ?

Have we gotten so cold and unfeeling ? and if so - when ?

We laugh at the joke that asks us to decide between colour fim vs black and white when watching George W Bush cascading down a river....but really, how many of us would jump in and save him ?

I guess the question is - where does the line between helping out and intruding on someone's privacy begin ?

baby don't fear the reaper

I'm having a rock and roll moment and I just had to share.

Down and Out is partying on in london

Countess is rocking on at QOTSA (and about to see the english version of Carmen)

randomweirdo is kicking people out after his housewarming .

I bought this album for five dollars at an op shop today and i'm cranking it through the stereo at annoy the neighbours volume.



Check those funky hairstyles


rock on Blue Oyster Cult

no more gorgonzola before bed

i had an apocolyptic dream that aliens had made contact with earth. They had taken the form of giant majestical prawns hovering menacingly in the night sky.

Countess thinks i'm mentally unbalanced.

I say takes one to know one.

Yucking it Up

I was bored and greedily speculating on what I might eat for dinner tonight, when I had the genius idea of searching for recipes on the ‘net. It’s not like I don’t have enough cookbooks, magazines about cooking, and bits of scrap paper on which I’ve scribbled down someone’s dying grandmother’s recipe for houloumopsomi cluttering up my house. Thing is today, Lucullus wasn’t looking to dine with Gordon Ramsay or Joel Robouchon – I wanted to find food that I could feel superior about; to point my finger and be sniffy about other people’s use of stock cubes, Hamburger Helper and French onion soup mix.

I am a horrible person, I know. But I wanted to feel all (self) righteous about ill prepared food lacking taste and nutritional value. Did I mention that I was bored and at work already?

At the site of an – who woulda thunk it? – American food (and who knows, possibly armaments and other evil stuff) conglomerate, I found some recipes that made me simultaneously giggle and feel more highly evolved than the Cro-Mags chowing down on this sort of rubbish.

Welcome to http://www.kraftfoods.com, where recipes featuring KraftSingles, that cheesy spread in a jar, and also that cheese in a box that doesn’t have to be refrigerated at least until you open it, are lauded.

According to Kraft, all you need to make 10 different ‘appetizing’ dipz are a packet of Philadelphia cream cheese and a jar of Miracle Whip mayonnaise, which you apparently spread on a plate and the top with combinations of salsa or spaghetti sauce and layers of Mexican, Greek or Italian (depending on the cuisine that you have aboslutely no respect for) ‘style’ cheese.

Interestingly, it doesn’t look anywhere near as disgusting as it sounds:




And paydirt! A recipe starring the cheese in a box I talked about earlier, which I assume is Velveeta® Pasteurized Prepared Cheese Product. Is it possible that Velveeta bares so little resemblance to actual cheese that Kraft are not allowed to market it as such because that would be misleading and deceptive? World, get your crackers ready for VELVEETA® Hot 'N Cheesy Crab Dip!:



I think that it looks very much like a bowl of sick. Don't forget that it's served hot, peoples.

And for something that could be kitsch if it wasn’t so appallingly jingoistic, try the ‘Wave Your Flag mould’ for dessert. If only there were pictures… Did you know that you can buy jelly moulds in the shape of the American flag? Yes, my mind is boggling too. Wave Your Flag is basically jelly set in a flag-shaped mould – blue jelly for the bits with the stars, red jelly in the stripey part and the white piped on in the US equivalent of Dairy Whip. Tasty and patriotic! or utterly disgusting in all aspects!, depending on your political and culinary views.

I need some Mylanta now.

try harder...

for those who have time....and nothing to do.....try this

the laughs just never end..the london bomber conspiracy

Can't kill 'em, can't chop 'em up into little pieces and leave the bits in a locker at Flinders Street station

What do you do when someone shits you completely?

I was in a murderous rage about five minutes ago. I've cocked it down a couple of notches to just fuming. Hopefully, another five minutes will pass and I'll be indifferent.

So, I did end up getting a QOTSA ticket

Due to 'popular' demand, I was going to review the show for y'all, but reading DAOILP's Euro scene guide has kinda put me off. Plus, it was a week ago, and I've forgotten quite a lot about it, which probably says everything about the show - except:

1) there was too much emphasis on songs from the new records and not enough of the old stuff. No 'Regular John', 'How To Handle a Rope' or 'Mexicola', despite the constant adjurements of the bogan standing next to me. Just play it next time, guys!

2) There would have been time to play 'Regular John' et al if the band didn't indulge in unnecessary soloing and improv like they were Led Zeppelin or somesuch. I love QOTSA, but as a band they greater than the sum of their parts because each part is competent, but not genius.

3) I didn't see this myself (see '3)'), but apparently Josh Homme was wearing the tightest jeans eva and has unfeasibly large cods. Is anyone really surprised? I personally never imagined Josh being anything other than extremely well-hung.

4) I didn't see the Josh pants action because the show was at the Palace and unless you are as tall as Josh Homme, you can't see the stage. Especial thanks to the girl with the big perm who decided to squeeze in front of me and block what little view I had... until I kicked her in back of the knee to encourage her to move on.

So was it worth the stress, the frenzied bidding on ebay, and the lurking on rock'n'roll related message boards, pleading for a ticket? Despite my bitching, yes, 'twas good.