The difference between straight and gay men...

It's long been said that the difference between a straight man and a gay man is six beers (and perhaps a back-rub). Here, at last, is scientific proof!

Christmas, Breakfast, and NYE

I'm drawing to the end of my third week hosting 3RRR's Breakfast show, and I have to say, I'm loving it! Getting up around 4am is still killing me, and consequently I've been taking a 2-4 hour nap every afternoon, but I'm definitely getting into the rythym and routine of doing a 3-hour radio show every morning. I'm also getting some great feedback from listeners (as indicated by some of the feedback on this very blog, as well as some lovely, generous phonecalls). Still, when it all wraps up at the end of January and I get to hand the reigns back over to Fee B, Willow and Spang, I won't regret it!

* * * * *

Survived Christmas just fine, despite all my initial concerns. Having mum there to take the heat off worked a treat - especially as she slightly over-indulged and I spent part of the afternoon looking after her: making sure she was drinking enough water, sobering her up with a strong black coffee, etc. Consequently I didn't have time to get into any political arguments with my uncle, so I actually had a surprisingly good day!

* * * * *

Still not quite sure what I'm going to be doing on New Year's Eve, as it looks like there's a possibility that I'll have to do a shift on RRR early on new year's day: the last time I spoke to Kath Letch, the station manager, she was still short of a broadcaster for the 6-9 shift. This puts the kibosh on heading out to Anna and Adam's NYE party at their new house in Chewton, near Castlemaine in regional Victoria. (Obviously I've worked in arts administration to long - I said 'regional Victoria' instead of 'the country'. Oh dear. LOL) This sucks.

* * * * *

And dammit I'm broke again. So broke in fact, that I've been living off a loaf of bread and a carton of eggs for the last four days. Blah, over it.

Today I went and sold a bunch of DVD's and CD's at a secondhand place, so that I could actually have enough cash to live well for the next week, til I get paid on Wednesday. I made enough that I can actually afford to go out on NYE, which is nice.

One day, I will hopefully move past this constant hand to mouth existence. I really must learn to start saving!

Favourite Albums of 2005

In no particular order, they are:

Bang Bang Rock & Roll – Art Brut [Fierce Panda/Shock]

Simple, sharp chords reminiscent of The Buzzcocks or The Fall coupled with semi-chanted lyrics from vocalist Eddie Argos. Art Brut this year were London’s answer to Franz Ferdinand.

Self Titled – Clap Your Hands Say Yeah [independent]

This delightful album skipped, jumped and twirled through 12 tracks of exuberant indie-pop, referencing artists as diverse as Talking Heads and Tom Waits without sounding contrived.

Takk… - Sigur Rós [EMI]

The fourth album from post-rock quartet Sigur Rós was simultaneously more vigorous and less bleak than its predecessor, 2002’s ( ),and with its moments of transcendent, tear-inducing beauty, recalled their 2000 breakthrough album Agaetis Byrjun.

Outside Closer - Hood [Sensory Projects/Inertia]

Imagine the organic electronica of Pretty Boy Crossover fused with the bleaker moments of Art of Fighting, with just a hint of Portishead thrown in for good measure, and you have an inkling of UK outfit Hood’s luscious, late night sound.

Picaresque – The Decemberists [Trifekta/Shock]

Portland US combo The Decemberists produced another combination of literate wordplay and rollicking, shanty-style indie folk tunes on this, their third album.

Empty Beats For Lonely Rappers – Pasobionic [Elefant Tracks]

Best known for his work behind the decks for TZU and Curse of Dialect, Aussie turntable wizard Pasobionic gave us a complex and evocative album of instrumental hip-hop on this solo CD: a moody, stunning and rewarding release.

Funeral – The Arcade Fire [Spunk/Inertia]

Inspired by death but bursting with life and creative flair, Funeral was the debut album from Canadian band The Arcade Fire. Art-rock without the pretension that usually haunts that genre, it was a complex, dense and richly textured album, and utterly engaging.

I Am A Bird Now – Antony and the Johnsons [Spunk]

The second album from this exquisite New York artist, who possesses a voice that encompasses both the falsetto of Jimmy Sommerville and the throaty heartbreak of Billie Holiday, was a heart-breaking collection of torch-songs that captivated, moved and engaged in equal measure.

Christmas Day means...

My mum's homemade shortbread, made from the recipie her mother used, which brings back memories of being dwarfed by kitchen benches, being at eye level with adult's knees, drinking red cordial, and oh, the lolly-jar that was only bought out when I'd been good.

Then there was the Christmas I was given a jumbo-sized package of Smarties, ate them all in one sitting, and vomitted rainbow-colours shortly afterwards.

Wherever you are, I hope it's a stress-free day. Currently lounging about at home in Fitzroy, and calling a taxi to take us out to Epping in half an hour...

The Festering Season

Christmas is not my favourite time of year, although I've mellowed towards it as I've got older.

Back in the late 1980's and early 90's I actually boycotted it for quite a while, for a number of reasons, ranging from my then-idealistic stance towards religion and capitalism, to an unfortunate reaction by my Mum soon after I came out, years ago. She told me that my grandfather would be unhappy with me bringing a partner home for Christmas (which I read as her being uncomfortable with the idea). Fine, I said, then I just won't come home for Christmas at all; and I didn't, for at least five or six years.

During this phase of my life I also refused to give Christmas presents. No I wasn't being cheap; it was a stance - admitedly a slightly pretentious one! - in reaction to the consumer frenzy which Christmas has become; and wherever possible I tried to give back any presents I received (an act which one year greatly upset my late paternal grandmother), while actively encouraging friends not to give me any presents at all.

To explain my position a little more: it frustrated me that everyone seemed so accepting of a social custom that demanded we show our love by giving presents on the one state-and-church sanctioned day of the year. If we really love someone, why not give them a present on some other day, a day that has special significance for your shared relationship for example, instead of on the obligatory Chri$tma$ Day?

These days I do Christmas every couple of years. Traditionally my Mum and my older sister Megan take turns in hosting a family Christmas at their homes in Numurkah (north of Shepparton, in VIC) and in Canberra respectively. I'll usually go to my mum's when it's her turn to host the event, although not every year; and to my sister's slightly less often (due to a combination of factors that include distance, the expense of flying, and a general dislike for being trapped in Canberra's sterile suburbs - if you're reading this, big sister, it's nothing personal, I assure you!).

Other years I'll spend the day ignoring Christmas as much as I can; perhaps doing a radio shift at RRR, or DJ'ing the night before and sleeping through most of the day before going out in the evening to some suitably Bachanalian festivity ie a club or band or party.

This year, I'm actually starting to get nervous about the whole bloody day, to be totally honest.

Because my sister and her family have headed overseas for the first time (they get a white Christmas, in Switzerland I believe) Mum was feeling at a loose end, and consequently asked if she could spent Christmas with me.

"Sure," I said, "but bear in mind that because I largely ignore the event, it won't be very flash: no tree, tinsel, cards, wreaths etc. I will cheerfully drink and consume lots, though."

As an aside, a Watts family Christmas traditionally begins with champagne, strawberrys and croissants for breakfast, and gets more decadent from there. It's one part of the festival which I have no problem with, and if that makes me hypocritical, so be it. It also amuses me greatly that you'd be called a lush if you offered someone a glass of bubby at 9am on almost any other day of the year, so maybe Christmas has its good points after all...

Back to the point of this post now: and time to cut to chase.

Because I'd said that a Christmas day at my flat could be a bit spartan, Mum had the idea of two of us should perhaps have Christmas lunch with my Uncle Trevor and his family out in Epping. I was supposed to wrangle us an invite but procrastinated; eventually Mum did it herself, and so that's where we're going now.

Uncle Trevor is my late father's youngest brother, and an ex-army careerist (he drove tanks in the armoured corp, and I believe was responsible for writing off at least one, although that my just be a family myth).

A couple of years ago he and I had what narrowly avoided being a major argument over the whole 'children overboard' affair during my first ever Christmas day at his place (it was during my Collingwood renaissance, and I'd hoped we would bond).

Trev was firmly convinced that the 'illegal immigrants and queue jumpers' about the SIEV IV literally threw their children into the ocean in an effort to help stop their ship from sinking, and was siding with Howard's 'We don't want those kind of people in our country' argument.

I took the view that the event never happened, that Howard had seized on a fiction in order to help push his racist line about border protection, and had blatantly lied to the Australian people about the event in order to help influence the 2001 federal election, held just one month after the alleged children overboard affair. By December 2001 the truth had already began to circulate, with senior navy officers stating that no children were ever thrown overboard. Trevor didn't believe this, which given his military background, now strikes me as incredibly ironic.

After things got heated, I changed the topic to the fortunes of the Collingwood football club, essentially a neutral discussion, and things cooled down a little.

This year, in fact only last week, Trevor forwarded an e-mail to me applauding the actions of the Sydney thugs who rioted at Cronulla, the original author of which took an 'it's our country and if you won't assimilate fuck off" line - as well as encouraging those people reading the e-mail to forward it on until it reached the "PC bigrade" and woke them up as to what most Australians "really think."

I read the e-mail, shook my head, and deleted it, knowing that Trevor had probably sent it to me deliberately.

So anyway, I'm actually starting to get really uncomfortable about spending Christmas Day at my uncle's place. Essentially, I think he's a bit of a redneck, although he can be a nice guy at times, too; and his wife Brenda is really lovely; as are their kids, my cousins Nicholas and Julia.

Part of the reason I'm uncomfortable about spending the day with my uncle is that I know that, sooner or later, the issue of the Sydney riots, immigration and multiculturalism will arise, with Uncle Trev and myself taking radically different positions.

Essentially I can either bite my tongue when the topic is raised (Mum has suggested that I politely say 'I disagree with your position, but let's not argue about it - an eminently sensible decision but after a boozy Christmas lunch I have no idea if I'll be capable of such an action); or I can help create an uncomfortable, even antagonistic situation on Christmas Day by having an argument with Trevor when everybody else is trying to have fun.

Either way, I'm really not looking forward to going out to Epping any more.

Damn it, why didn't I just tell Mum that she was welcome to have Christmas here so that the two of us could just have some drunken quality time together?

Ho bloody ho, anyway. Have a safe and happy one, my dears!

BREAKTHROUGH MOUNTAIN

Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain is the most important gay film in decades, argues Richard Watts

Despite being a life member of the Melbourne Queer Film Festival, and a paid-up member of the Australian Film Critics Association, I can’t remember the last time – indeed any time – that a love story about a 20-year relationship between two men has generated as much buzz as Ang Lee’s forthcoming Brokeback Mountain. That’s because it’s never happened before.

The hype around this so-called ‘gay cowboy movie’ was immediate once its stars were announced: Australian actor Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal (Donnie Darko). With the Oscars now only a few months away, the buzz is becoming deafening.

Already the film has won the prestigious Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival, and been awarded Best Picture, Actor and Director by the New York Film Critics Circle. It is widely tipped for similar success in the upcoming Golden Globes, perceived by many in the film industry as an indicator of which way the votes will fall come the Academy Awards.

Based on the short story by Annie Proulx, Brokeback Mountain tells the story of two young men, the taciturn ranch-hand Ennis del Mar (Ledger) and the extroverted rodeo rider Jack Twist (Gyllenhaal), who meet while herding sheep in the mountains of Wyoming in the early 1960’s; long before the Stonewall Riots had helped usher in the comfortable gay lifestyle that so many of us take for granted today. Despite a winter spent making rough and passionate love, the two men part, marry, and are forced to live out their grand passion in discrete moments across the following two decades.

Like many of Ang Lee’s films, which have included The Wedding Banquet and Sense and Sensibility, the movie is driven by its central character’s star-crossed relationship. As the director put it, in an interview with The Hollywood Reporter last month, "Repression is a main element of my movies. It's easier to work against something than along with something."

By focusing on the tortuous emotional relationship between his two main characters, Lee encourages audiences to view the film as a classic love story in the vein of Romeo and Juliet rather than as a strictly gay film. While this tactic could anger some elements of the queer community, who might argue that Lee is denying the story’s gay elements, it ensures that Brokeback Mountain will be widely viewed outside the gay ghetto, thus guaranteeing its financial success, and perhaps in turn ensuring that Hollywood green-lights future gay-themed projects.

Compared to the insipid Philadelphia (1993), which was too scared to show its lovers actually loving one another; and more recently Oliver Stone’s awkward Alexander, which neutered the relationship between the all-conquering Alexander the Great (Colin Farrell) and his lover Hephaistion (the sultry Jared Leto), Lee has ensured that his film is unequivocally about two men who are physically and emotionally in love. Although not especially explicit, its sex scenes will undoubtedly please gay audiences hungry to see the realities of their lives echoed in a major motion picture.

Conversely, independent films such as My Beautiful Laundrette (1985), Swoon (1992) and Sugar (2004) have been bolder in their portrayal of gay love, but have lacked the mainstream appeal of Ang Lee’s latest and most moving film.

By pairing a hot young cast with an internationally renowned director, Brokeback Mountain has the potential to touch – and perhaps even change – a mainstream audience’s hearts and minds. It is also a flawlessly executed testimony to the price anyone, gay or straight, can pay for not being true to his or her own nature.

Brokeback Mountain opens nationally on Thursday January 26.

This article originally appeared in MCV #259 Friday 16 December.

Sea Shepherd Conservation Society

I was lucky enough to interview Captain Paul Watson this morning: me sitting in a comfortable RRR studio in East Brunswick; him on the sattelite phone live from Antarctica, where his ship, the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society flagship Farley Mowat, is hunting Japanese whalers with the aim of blocking, obstructing and generally disrupting their illegal activities.

The Japanese ships are hunting fin and humpback whales in the Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary, in direct breach of international law (these two whale species are protected under the Convention on Trade in Endangered Species of Flora and Flora); and our government, and countless others, are turning a blind eye.

As well as violating the Sanctuary, the Japanese ships are violating the International Whaling Commission moritorium on commercial whaling.

Consequently, the Sea Shepherd flagship Farley Mowat will do their best to draw international attention to, and disrupt where possible, the whaling ships, in conjunction with two Greenpeace vessels, the Esperanza and the Arctic Sunrise.

For information and updates about the campaign go to www.seashepherd.org - and while you're at it, try writing a letter to a couple of our politicians to ask why they're so quick to send the Royal Australian Navy to arrest Indonesian fisherman in our waters, but not Japanese whalers who are so clearly and flagrently breaking international law!

Meredith Music Festival

After a late night at Q + A, I was up early in order to be at my friend Glen's place in Northcote by midday. He wanted us all there by 11am, so we could get away by 12, but I didn't understand the fuss for leaving so early, and stalled a little (for which I now apologise profusely - next year I want to get away as early as possible in order to get a good campsite!). Eventually we met, we prevaricated, we packed, and eventually we got underway in the 12-seater Budget minivan that Glen had hired. Talk about organised!

After much music and laughter (and a couple of beers on the road, or ciders in my case) we stopped for a late lunch in Ballan, and then at about 4.30pm we turned onto the dusty road which led to the Merdith Music Festival site, a farm about 2 & 1/2 hours outside Melbourne. We also hit a queue of traffic that was banked up a fair way, but it wasn't long before we were inside, and setting up our campsite, nicknamed 'the Northcote Social Plaza'. By ringing our tents together, with the entrances all facing inwards, and a shadecloth in the centre backing onto the van, we created our own little village of nine people, as you can see in the photo below.

One of the beauty's of Meredith is that there's only one stage, and a very friendly atmosphere, although now that it's grown to 10,000 people, some of the intimacy of its earlier years (this year was the 15th annual Meredith) has apparently been lost. Still, it struck me as a very friendly crowd; much more community-oriented than say, the Big Day Out crowd.

The stage, set in the 'supernatural ampitheatre' is surrounded by trees that provide some much-needed shade during the day. The joy of having a single stage is that you don't have to miss any of the bands except through choice: perhaps you want to wander back to your tent for a break, or decide to go sit in the Pink Flamingo Bar for a while, or the outdoor cinema.

Friday night's highlights included a great set by Melbourne band City City City, who are kind of post-rock, but not really; their decidedly non-rock stylings, which included keyboards harmonising with a trumpet, definitely seemed to confuse some of the crowd (who were probably there to see some of the more hyped rock acts the following night, I suspect). Check out their debut album The Perimeter Motor Show if you get the chance.

Next was Okkervil River, a US indie band with a hint of folk to their cerebral tunes. While I liked them, about halfway through their set I got a little restless, and so went for a drink at the bar, but I made sure I was back for the Bollywood Spectacular, which was decidely left-of-centre, cheesy and silly, but wonderful fun! Yes, camp hi-NRG Bollywood tunes and live synchronised dancing from a troupe in traditional costume. A breath of fresh air after the seriousness of Okkervil River.

Glen loved guitar-and-drums duo The Mess Hall, but while I enjoyed them, I wasn't blown away. By the time they finished it was after midnight, I was buzzing nicely, and had consumed quite a few cans. A midnight ride on the ferris wheel followed (obviously the pic below was taken on the Saturday night), as we wanted to see just how far the twinkling lights of the tents stretched; then, after a few more beers, it was time for the 2am headlining act, You Am I.
Tim Rogers was sober, and didn't fall off the stage once (unlike a Tasmanian show earlier this year), which to my mind, would have made for a better gig. I've never really liked You Am I - I think they're perfectly competent, but also totally unexciting.

I had a good reason for hanging around and watching their gig though, as I was sort-of-trying to crack onto one of the guys who'd come up with us, Rob, who was at his fourth Meredith, and who was a big You Am I fan. I'd been told by a couple of our group that he was 'uncertain' about his sexuality, and since he was damn cute, and since I've always been attracted by the grey area of sexuality that lies between gay and straight, or bi and straight, I decided to make a move. I didn't succeed, cos he is actually straight, but we still hung out anyway; he's a cool guy, and it's always good to make a new friend.

Saturday began with a hangover, so it wasn't until 12 that I wandered back down to the stage to check out The Grates. Unfortuntely I was still too fragile to enjoy them, so I went off and grabbed a massage and a miso soup, after which I was feeling much more wholesome.

I actually spent most of Saturday afternoon just hanging out with friends, bumping into more friends, and drinking and taking speed, rather than watching the bands, although I caught some of Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks (a little too self-indulgent for me) and Cut Copy (good fun, but rather New Orderish).

Next on the lineup was Airbourne, a bunch of kids from Warnambool around who much hype has developed, and who have apparently already signed a massive record deal. I thought they were third-rate AC/DC clones whose attempts at irony fell flat ("This next song's for all you heartbreakers out there. It's called 'Heartbreaker!'). Far too many of the crowd seemed to be lapping up their standard rock poses so I stalked off to the Pink Flamingo Bar in disgust, returning to the stage in order to get down the front in time for sublime Scottish band Sons and Daughters, who put on a fantastic show, and were my personal highlight of the weekend.

To save me trying to describe them, here's their blurb from the Meredith website:

"SONS AND DAUGHTERS From Glasgow, Scotland. Impeccable pedigree. First time visitors to our shores. Who can be bothered describing what they do? Check any of the world's best music press if you want descriptions. 'Think Nick Cave throwing knives at Johnny Cash' say the NME. Throw in a teaspoon of The Cramps' harnessed hotness, and a suggestion of the Violent Femmes' better gothic leanings, but female. And silkier and poppier. With mandolin. I knew I shouldn't have tried to describe it. Album of the Year according to one national Australian broadsheet. Feted in certain circles the world over, and rightly so. Classy, glossy, sexy, punky, traditional, accomplished, exciting in every sense. And good live."

They were too. The gig was given that touch of joy because I ran into the irrepressible Mary-Jane Fenech down the front, a girlfriend from RRR, who it's always a delight to see.

Next was Wolfmother. Yawn. More unoriginal regurgitated rock from a band who need a couple of years to properly develop and stop wearing their Led Zep influences on their sleeves.

After Wolfmother, things got interesting. The Avalanches DJ show kicked in, as did people's drugs. And verily, there was much drinking, dancing, hugging, talking of gibberish and watching 'The Adventures of Plastic Man' until the early hours of the morning. I got to bed just before dawn, myself, and plenty of people were still going in the morning. Sadly I missed the morning Tai Chi class. Oh well, there's always next year.

Sunday was a laid-back musical affair. I really dug the African rythyms of King Marong and Safara, although Claire Bowditch didn't really do it for me. It was around this time that the tree-woman did her thing: hanging upside down by one leg in a tree while licking its bark, humping the trunk, and generally being off her dial on verrrrrrrry powerful drugs. Don't take the brown acid!

Blackalicious converted a lot of people I think, with the best hip-hop I heard all weekend, and not even the heat and the hangovers/coming down could stope the crowd from grinning and gyrating.

Next up, and for me the real highlight of the final day of Meredith, was the running of the annual Meredith Gift, a notorious short and naked footrace. Yes, a nude race. I of course, participated, having discovered the pleasure of public nudity a couple of years ago, when I took part in the infamous dawn Spencer Tunick photoshoot, which saw 5000 naked people draped across Melbourne's Princess Bridge.

Together with new friend Anna, who was nervous but ultimately glad she took part, and my girlfriend Sam and another of her girlfriend's whose name I've unfortunately forgotten, we lined up at the very end of the race. No competitive naked running for us; no. With dignity and decorum, we held hands and skipped along behind the race-runners, to much appreciation from the crowd. Sure wish I had a few pictures. It hardly need be pointed out, of course, that I am a very manly skipper. ;-)

Then, having already packed up our tents, we packed the van, stopped for a final, communal photo, and drove home via Bacchus Marsh's fine fish and chip shop for dinner. Glen dropped me home at about 8pm, and having only had an average of four hours sleep a night for the past three nights, and because I had to be up at 4am for my first stint at presenting Summer Breakfasters on RRR, I was in bed by 10pm.

Huge thanks and hugs to Glen, for organising our posse, and hugs to all the gang. I miss Meredith already, and I can't WAIT until next year. Oh, and Darren, thanks heaps for the photos!

Quick update before bed.

10.26am on Monday night and I'm absolutely fucking exhausted. I had a huge, magnificent, wonderful time at the Meredith Music Festival on the weekend, and promise a full update soon.

In brief, the Friday night Bollywood Extravaganza, the Saturday night set from Sons and Daughters (Scotland) and Sunday's Meredith Gift (the best nudie-run in the world!) were among the highlights.

Huge thanks and hugs to my lovely mate Glen for organising our transport: the homo-bus of love (well, there were two straight people and seven gay guys, but the straights were honorary queers for the weekend anyway). Great to spend more time with guys like Cam and Andrew and Darren, and much fun meeting and becoming friends with Anna and Rob.

Despite the weekend's debauchery I was up at 4am today, after about 5 hours sleep, preparing for my first Summer Breakfasters fill on RRR from 6-9am. Worked at the station til 12, came home, had lunch, caught up with Damien at Melbourne Fringe, then back home and crashed out for three hours much needed sleep.

Tonight I've eaten dinner, watched the news in horror (and despite the bullshit in Sydney on Sunday, Howard is STILL playing dog-whistle politics!!!!) listened to new CD's and written my MCV music review column, and then caught up with my Canberra-based sister Megan for a chat, as she and her husband Doug and their kids are flying off to Europe (for a white Christmas!) at the end of the week. Have fun guys!

Bed now. Blog more soon. Love to all. Respect.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Better now!

My face is back to its normal size, my black eye has faded to almost nothing, and I'm feeling good. Thanks to all for their messages of support and concern, which came from as far away as London, and from unexpected quarters. I've often wondered just how many people read my blog, and from the numerous comments made about my last post, it would seem that there's quite a lot of you!

In other news, I'm off to the Meredith Music Festival this weekend (although I still have to chase up a tent, and find somewhere that sells cider in cans, as glass is not allowed), and then on Monday I start presenting Breakfasters on RRR over the summer, through til the end of January. The early morning starts are going to be a challenge, but I'm really looking forward to presenting the show. I'll be taking a break from Smartarts during this time, but hopefully I'll be able to squeeze a few arts-related interviews into Breakfast!

Today (Monday) I'm trying to catch up on a few things that I've been putting off for the last two weeks, like doing my laundry, washing a sink full of dishes, and going to the gym. Then tonight I'm considering seeing the new Harry Potter film, as well as sorting through 80-plus media releases, and lining up some Summer Breakfasters-co-hosts.

I've also got to find the time to write a 600-word article on the ACMI Stanley Kubrick exhibition for the gay and lesbian newspaper MCV between now and tomorrow, which will involve grabbing a few quotes from leading queer cineastes as well.

Does anyone else ever wish that they had a couple of clones to help them share the responsibilities of life around sometimes? I certainly do, although said clones would also need a means of downloading and uploading memories, so that we all knew what each other had been up to.

I don't suppose there are any mad scientists reading this blog who could help me out on that front, are there?

I've just been assaulted

Tuesday morning


Monday night at about 9pm

About 3/4 of an hour ago I was walking home down Gertrude Street, having just grabbed some fish and chips for dinner, when I saw a guy punching his girlfriend. I tried to intervene. He punched me in the face a couple of times. My dinner went all over the footpath.

I'm sitting here now in something ressembling a state of shock, holding a packet of frozen peas to the right side of my face. I can't see out of my right eye cos the swelling's so bad. I'm gonna have a major black eye tomorrow.

I've already reported the assault to the local cops. Fuck knows if anything is gonna come of it though.

Tomorrow I'll post a pretty picture for you all of how my black eye has developed.

If I had just kept walking I would have hated myself for not getting involved, but now I just feel sore and slightly stupid. Well, maybe sore, slightly stupid, but slightly proud that I tried to intervene as well...

* * *

Tuesday 29th

I've updated the photo so that you now have a 'before and after' shot - well, they're both taken after I was punched in the face, but now you can see how I look after a night's sleep. The swelling's gone down heaps, thanks to the ice my friend Jeff brought over last night which I held against my cheek for several chilly, dripping hours. (He also brought strawberry icecream, which went down a treat!) On the other hand the bruising is starting to colour nicely. Another day or two and I'll have the best black eye you've ever seen.

I'm off to my GP this afternoon to get everything checked out, to make sure that there's no major damage, and also because I need a medical report for the police. I have a vague feeling that I may have a cracked cheekbone or something: I'm certainly not in significant pain, but every now and then this morning I've been coughing up bloodclots, which suggests that I'm bleeding internally via my sinuses or something... Sorry if that's sounds alarming!

The bottom line is, I'm sure I'll be right as rain after a few days rest. Thanks to everyone for their kind words (and ice cream!)

Slightly shellshocked Sunday

What a week. Ack. I can barely bring myself to think about it, let alone write about it.

Everything built towards Thursday: I watched Kubrick films, read a Kubrick bio, browsed Kubrick-related websites, all in preparation for 3RRR's three-hour outside broadcast live from the Australian Centre for the Moving Image on Thursday morning, where the exhibition Stanley Kubrick: Inside the mind of a visionary filmmaker opened that night.

Got to ACMI early, chatting to various wonderful RRR staffers who were getting the equipment set up, running through the interview schedule with ACMI staff, and generally getting nervous about the show.

To give you an idea of how seriously I was taking the broadcast, I scripted all of my intros and questions, which I usually just make up on the spot from a couple of brief notes. Not today though, I didn't want to leave things to chance (which meant that at least one of my interviews was a bit stiff, but more of that later).

9am rolled around, and we opened with the thunderous chords of Strauss' 'Thus Spake Zarathrustra' from 2001: A Space Odyssey, and we were away.

I interviewed Maja Kepper first, from the Deutsches Filmmuseum in Frankfurt, one of the co-curators of the exhibition. Then came one of the interviews I was most nervous and excited about: with Christiane Kubrick, Stanley's widow. She was utterly charming, warm, open and friendly. Hopefully I'll have a transcript of the interview posted here in a few days time.

Actor Malcolm McDowell was supposed to be next, but the publicist said he was running late after a big night on Wednesday. They also said he was grumpy, and had already cancelled a couple of interviews. We rescheduled quickly.

My next guest was poet and reviewer Alicia Sometimes, from RRR's Aural Text program, who discussed a couple of recent Kubrick biographies; then I spoke with Jan Harlan, Kubrick's brother-in-law and the executive producer of several of his films. This was the interview I was least happy with, as my pre-prepared questions were off the mark. Still, one flat interview out of six isn't too bad.

Paul Harris from RRR's Filmbuffs Forecast was next, and a charming conversation it was. Finally, at 11.40am, Malcolm McDowell came on the show. To say I was nervous and excited was an understatement. After all, this is a man who's appeared in 142 films and television programs, including Lindsey Anderson's fantastic If..., one of my favourite films of all time.

From what his publicist had said earlier I was expecting him to be a bit cranky, but he was delightful: funny, frank and outgoing. There'll be a transcript of the interview available shortly, including the surreal moment when I swallowed a fly on air while thanking him for coming on the show!

After the Kubrickian excesses of the morning, I raced home and then down to A Bar Called Barry in Collingwood, where I met up with fellow DJ's Helen and Peter, so we could get the decorations up for Q + A's 10th birthday: we finished at about 4.30. I went home, showered and changed, and headed back to ACMI for a quick drink at the formal exhibition launch, then headed home to have dinner with Helen before we started work.

The birthday was a huge success: one of the best nights ever at Q + A. We had a full house an hour after we opened, and half an hour after that, a queue of 250 people waiting to get in. There was one point during the night where I felt like I was on E: I had this overwhelming sense of goodwill and pride in what we'd created, a queer club that plays rock music and welcomes all kinds of queers, and which has become a Melbourne institution. I got to bed around 5am, completely knackered.

***

On Friday afternoon I had to facilitate the innaugural Youth Access Forum at the National Gallery of Victoria, which is a group of about 12 young people who'll help brainstorm ideas and generate discussion about ways the gallery can engage with a youth audience. Despite being braindead I think I did an ok job.

Next it was out to RRR in West Brunswick, where I met with the station manager Kath Letch to discuss my hosting the Breakfasters program over summer, while the regular team take some time off. This will mean getting up at 4am Monday to Friday for about six weeks, which is going to be a challenge, but it will also be a lot of fun. Plus it's a paid gig, which is even better!

Kath also told me that I didn't get the Program Manager's job, although apparently it was right down to the line between myself and the successful applicant, which was very flattering to learn. We also talked about a couple of other projects for next year, more of which later.

As a sign of how exhausted I was by Friday afternoon though, I picked up my tickets for the Meredith Music Festival while I was at the station, only to put them down somewhere and lose them! I was completely braindead. This is a potential disaster, but hopefully the tickets will turn up at the station somewhere, probably right where I left them, on a table or something...

***

Saturday I caught the train down to Geelong, as I'd been invited to present a 15 talk at the National Ethnic & Multicultural Broadcasters Council annual conference. Frustratingly, I arrived to discover that my 15 minutes had been cut back to 5 as they were running significantly overtime. A two hour round trip to race through some key points about presenting a arts and cultural issues on community radio? What a joke. To say I was frustrated would be an understatement.

I also had to leave as soon as I was done, because I had to get to Steve and Alicia's engagement party: two old friends who've lived together for eight years and who are finally getting married. I also made it to a wild west themed party at another friend's place in Carlton, but the combination of being drunk and exhausted meant I wasnt much of a conversationalist, and I left after about half an hour.

Finally, sleep. Much needed.

Today is Sunday, and I'm still brainfried. There's shitloads of things that I should be doing, but I think I'm just going to vegetate all day. The most strenuous thing I think I'll do, apart from update this blog of course, is write a list of all the things I want to do this week. After that, I think it's time to lounge around on the couch and watch a couple of DVD's with all my critical functions switched firmly off.

Hmm, sounds like a dumb horror movie or similarly brainless Hollywood flick is in order...

STRESSED!!

Ok, the last few days have been more than a little tension-inducing.

On Monday I found out that I had the opportunity of interviewing one of The Strokes, guitarist Nick Valensi, on Tuesday afternoon. Naturally I wasn't going to say no, even though it meant that most of Monday was a right off because I had to get public transport across town to South Melbourne, to the office of Sony BMG, so I could listen to eight of the 14 tracks off the band's forthcoming 3rd album First Impressions of Earth. (It's good, much better than Room On Fire - but more on that in a couple of weeks, once the embargo has been lifted.)

Tuesday I did the interview, although as they were running a couple of hours behind schedule, the whole afternoon was a right off as well. (I'll play the interview on my RRR program Smartarts at the end of the year, or in early January; I'm not quite sure when, yet. I'll also print some of it in my MCV column, despite the fact that the idea of me doing so has got the record company in a tizzy - I can only assume that they think I'm gonna suggest the band are all gay or something!)

I spent all of today, Wednesday, stressing over tomorrow morning's radio show, as I have to host a Stanley Kubrick special live from ACMI for three hours, with guests including Kubrick's widow Christiane, and the star of A Clockwork Orange Malcolm McDowell.

Then tomorrow night is the 10th birthday of Q + A (queer + alternative) the Thursday night club that I co-coordinate and DJ at.

Stressed? Me? Hahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Fakts: A Typical Weekend

On Saturday, I:

• Woke up after a strange dream involving a talking dog which at one stage I was having a conversation with; later on I was the dog. I don't know what breed I was: probably a mongrel.
• Showered and dressed.
• Had a can of coke and a line of speed for breakfast, but not in that order.
• Ran out the front door.
• Caught the Brunswick Street tram into the city.
• Watched Miranda July's sublime debut feature film You and Me and Everyone We Know at the Kino cinema.
• Walked down Little Collins Street into Moviola, where I purchased Michael Herr's Kubrick, a memoir about writing the screenplay for Full Metal Jacket.
• Went back to the Kino and watched the Australian film Little Fish (starring Cate Blanchett), which I thought was strong but still under-developed.
• Walked home through the Fitzroy Gardens wishing it was autumn so there would be piles of leaves to kick through.
• Dropped in on a print-making exhibition at the Australian Print Workshop in Gertrude Street, Fitzroy.
• Had a late lunch or an early dinner at Arcadia cafe.
• Masturbated.
• Worked on a manuscript, a guidebook to an imaginary city.
• Went to a fairly dull party (names have been left intentionally blank so as to avoid hurting feelings of certain people and their dull friends).
• Went to the Empress Hotel in North Fitzroy and hung out with a bunch of Melbourne bloggers instead of actually watching a band: much more fun, and cooler people than the party.
• Walked home up Brunswick Street, horrified at just how ugly some people are: not physically, but the whole bogan-in-trendy-shirt look that passes for sophisticated in the suburbs, offends my aesthetic well-being. Why can't they stay in the bloody suburbs instead of polluting the inner city with their presence? It's not like I go out to Chadstone or Doncaster and stand around dressed in black and discussing the latest obscure Glaswegian band I've discovered while sipping absinthe and feeling angst-ridden, now is it? Fair's fair!
• Dropped in at the Rob Roy Hotel but by then it was 2.30am and it was almost closed.
• Went to Control HQ and sat on a couch smiling at people, talking shit, and drinking until 5am.
• Went home and crashed out.

On Sunday I:

• Slept in until midday.
• Got up and looked sadly at the empty bag of speed.
• Read The Age - well, not exactly read, but skimmed headlines, paying most attention to the arts section.
• Rang my mate Mike to see if he wanted to hang out, but he didn't answer: apparently he was on the phone having a trans-continental blue with his boyfriend.
• Walked down to the Johnston Street Spanish Fiesta: very crowded, very noisy, good fun.
• Strolled up Elgin Street and went to the Nova Cinema, where I watched the Australian film Look Both Ways, which was fucking great.
• Walked back via the Fiesta and ate a fairly poor paella, then ducked into the Spanish Club for a piss, and to check out the new band room: there were no bands playing, but they were teaching people dancing instead. Seeing no cute boys to ask for a dance, I left.
• Dropped into the Brunswick Street Bookstore and found two expensive hardcover collections of photographs I wanted to buy (one of Sydney police crime scene photos from 1920-1950, the other of New York in the 30's and 40's). I didn't buy either, but took notes of their publishers so I could try and scam review copies.
• Came home, ordered Indian takeaway and grabbed a six-pack of Mercury dry cider, my preferred tipple.
• Went down to the video library and hired six Stanley Kubrick films.
• Came home, ate dinner, watched Killer's Kiss (a film noir), drank, and went to bed.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is my exciting life.

DVD REVIEW: What Happened To Kerouac?

This 1985 documentary, co-directed by Richard Lerner and Lewis MacAdams, is a wide-ranging tribute to the life and literature of Jack Kerouac, the tragic chronicler of the Beat Generation and author of the seminal novel On The Road.
The Beat Generation was a group of writers and artists in post-WWII America who provocatively explored their disaffection with an increasingly homogenous and materialistic culture through often-autobiographical work. Kerouac (who died in 1969, aged 47) was widely perceived as the leader of the Beats, although as this documentary shows, he was ill equipped to handle the fame and infamy that the role demanded of him.

From its opening scenes it is clear that What Happened To Kerouac? seeks to further enshrine Kerouac in the pantheon of literary saints rather than critically examine his reputation or the merits of his work. That in itself is no great sin.

Less forgivable is the film’s inaccessibility: viewers who are not already intimately familiar with Kerouac and his oeuvre may find it dense and confusing. The filmmakers’ desire to avoid a classic, chronological tracing of the trajectory of Kerouac’s life results in an occasionally-confusing parade of talking heads. Too, the directors display a reticence to delve beneath the accepted surface of the Kerouac myth: allusions by Kerouac’s contemporaries about his ambiguous and conflicted sexuality, for example, are left frustratingly unexplored.

These criticisms aside, What Happened To Kerouac? is a richly rewarding documentary for anyone wishing to learn more about the author of such works as The Subterraneans, Desolation Angels and Mexico City Blues. Filmed when many of Kerouac’s contemporaries were still alive, the film features revealing interviews with the likes of poet Allen Ginsberg, transgressive author William S. Burroughs, and many of the women in Kerouac’s life; from Beat author Dianne Di Prima, through to Kerouac’s one-time lover Carolyn Cassady and his daughter Jan. Magnificent archival footage reveals the destruction that fame wrought on a man who was psychologically capable of dealing with the public’s demands, and a sensitive jazz soundtrack adds poignancy to some of the starker footage.

While the documentary’s flaws are compounded by a lack of extras (not even a commentary or a trailer are provided) the DVD transfer is sharp; and the subject matter itself – the complex life of Jack Kerouac – more than makes up for the film’s shortcomings. Without doubt, What Happened To Kerouac? is one DVD that any fan of the Beat Generation simply must have.

(Availaible in Australia through Force Entertainment)

Brokeback Mountain

Ang Lee's new film Brokeback Mountain just screened before a very respectful audience of film critics here in Melbourne, of whom I was one. I am delighted to report that the film was magnificent. Understated, subtle, rich in emotion, beautifully shot and superbly acted. It made me cry a couple of times.

All the buzz about Ledger's performance as Ennis Del Mar is spot-on: he really does give a remarkable portrayal of a man who is so emotionally crippled, and frightened of himself and what his feelings mean, that he is unable to express the love he feels for Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal).

The expanded roles for the protagonists' wives (compared to their minor roles in Annie E Proulx's original short story) are well handled, so we feel compassion for them both, and gain a real sense of insight into their family lives.

The sex scene in the tent between Jack and Ennis should satisfy everyone, homophiles and homophobes alike; although to my mind the second tent scene (I'll avoid saying too much to avoid spoilers) is far more emotionally charged and expressive.

Yes, in case you were wondering, there's nudity at various points in the film; none of it blatant and all within context. Yes, Jack and Ennis kiss without the camera cutting away. This is no Philadelphia and does not shy away from the physical reality of a 20 year relationship between two men.

Now I want to see the film again, because I disengaged my critical functions at the start so that I could simply sit back and enjoy it.

It's a masterpiece, but a subtle one: go in with your expectations set too high and you might be disappointed. Now, if I can only get to interview Heath, Jake or Ang, my year will be complete!

This was a quick post I just placed on the IMDB - full review coming soon.

Fuck me, I'm broke!

I have a grand total of $19.50 in my bank account, and apart from a little bit of money coming in from DJ'ing and sporadic, underpaid freelancing for the gay press, no income sources to speak off.

Oddly enough, I don't feel at all concerned, perhaps because I know I can always get cash advances off my credit card, and also because the universe usually drops something in my lap at points like these. Then again, trusting in fate is not usually the wisest course to take.

I need a job, and fast!

My life was saved by rock and roll

Well, not really. It wasn't like I was poised on the brink of suicide when a chance encounter with a Velvet Underground or Sex Pistols song renewed my optimism and sense of wonder about the world and made me coil up the rope or put down the razor blade.

The title of today's post (which hopefully most of you will recognise as a paraphrased line from the Velvet's classic song 'Rock and Roll': if you didn't, you go buy a copy of the band's 1970 album Loaded immediately) seemed like a good intro to a brief discussion of some of the best gigs I've ever been to, which was inspired by my mention of seeing Nirvana live at the Palace in my 20 factoids tag response.

So, in no special order (because how can you determine a scale of bliss?) here are a few of the most mind-blowing-or-expanding, moving, or simply thrilling gigs I've been to over the past 38 years of my colourful life to date.

1. P.J. Harvey live to air on 3RRR at the Rooftop Cafe, Monday 29th January 2001.

Most of my friends are already sick of hearing me wax lyrical about this particular gig. This was an intimate performance by P.J. and her band, live at the sadly-missed Rooftop Cafe in Victoria St, Fitzroy, and broadcast live to air on 3RRR FM. There was an audience of about 150 people squeezed into the Rooftop's outdoor garden, and amazingly, clusters of people on every surrounding warehouse rooftop desperate for a view. Thanks to my position as a volunteer announcer at the station I got in early, and managed to secure a prime vantage point just in front of the middle mic-stand and foldback speaker, beside friends Bec, Mindy and Tom. When PJ and her band came out to play, it turned out that I was sitting literally at Polly Jean's feet.

This was a magnificent, passionate gig that was continued for an extra couple of songs after the broadcast proper had ended. When the band played 'Sheela Na Gig' I almost died from an overdose of sheer joy.

It was also one of the only times in my life that I've had an empathic insight into the attraction of women's breasts for heterosexual men; I was so close to P.J., and looking straight up at her, that every time she took a breath I could see her breasts heave. That makes P.J. one of only two women in the world I've ever had any vague sort of attraction to: the other was the shaven-headed powerhouse Skin, from the band Skunk Anansie.

One of the best things about this gig, by the way, is that you can listen to it by going here, to the archive section of the 3RRR website.

2. Einstürzende Neubauten @ the Old Greek Theatre, Richmond, July 1988

This gig was memorable for a few reasons. I'd bought the ticket as a 21st birthday present for myself, I'd taken a tab of acid, and Neubauten were simply transcendent. Industrial junk, power tools and guitars became resonant instruments that set your internal organs vibrating. An awestruck audience of goths, punks and experimental music fans became a single, seething entity as the band played such songs as 'Der Tod ist ein Dandy' and 'Z.N.S.'

If you're not familiar with the band (which is fronted by the cadaverous Blixa Bargeld, formerly a core member of the Bad Seeds) then I urge you to obtain a copy of the DVD/video 1/2 Mensch, directed by Sogo Ishii, which combines stunning live footage from a Japanese tour, surreal and disturbing filmclips, and menacing, post-apocalytic interludes introducing the various band members. You should also grab the two-disc CD compilation Strategies Against Architecture II, which provides a great synopsis of the band's first decade.

3. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds @ the Big Day Out, 1993

I'm pretty sure it was the first Melbourne Big Day Out where Nick Cave and the band played at sunset, at the end of a hot and humid day, just as a thunderstorm and cold front rolled in from the west. Thunder, lighting, and Nick's crows-nest hair and voluminous shirt whipping and flapping in the sudden wind. When the gods provide your band's special effects, you know you rock.

Then there's:

• Luscious Jackson at the Melbourne Big Day Out 1995, because I got to get up on stage and dance with the band.
• The Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy at the 1993 Big Day Out; one of those bands I knew nothing about at the time and wandered along to check them out simply out of curiousity, only to be utterly blown away.
• The Flaming Lips at the 2003 Big Day Out, whose spectacular live show made me feel like I was tripping even though I was totally straight at the time: lights, giant ballons, trippy visuals, and a stage crowded with dancers in furry animal costumes. Groovy!
• The Polyphonic Spree at the Palace, St Kilda, January 2004. One of those gigs that you walked out of in love with the world. The encore, when the 20+ members of the band appeared at the back of the venue and walked in a snaking, singing like through the crowd and back to the stage, was one of those rare moments of pure, perfect delight.
• Michael Franti and Spearhead at The Laundry, Fitzroy, 2001. Another live-to-air gig for 3RRR. I arrived tired and grumpy; I left grinning from ear to ear, utterly transported into a better world.
• Magic Dirt at Wall Street (now the Hi Fi Bar), Melbourne, date unknown, supporting Fugazi. The first time I'd seen the band live, and one of several times they broke up on stage before our eyes. Two of the band members had just split up (never fuck a band member; like fucking a housemate, it's doomed) and the tension between them resulted in a truly spectacular, abraisive, empassioned gig.
• Fugazi and Shellac at the Collingwood Town Hall, date unknown. Not the same tour as above, but another spectacular show. Especially memorable because of the fantastically clear live sound, and the way Fugazi's Guy and Ian dealt with a wannabe stage diver: they wrapped themselves around him, literally enveloping him with their limbs so that he was unable to move.
• Scottish post-rock outfit Mogwai at the Prince of Wales, St Kilda, 2002. One of the loudest gigs I've ever attended, and one of the most sublime.
• Iceland's Sigur Ros at Hamer Hall, Melbourne, 2005: music of such rich and textured beauty that it made me weep.
• Blur at Monash Uni Clayton campus in 1998; at the time I was mostly hanging out at punk gigs, so it was great fun experiencing something so perfectly pop. Never have I seen more people excitedly dancing and bouncing around the room as when the band played 'Song No. 2'.
• Mid Youth Crisis reformation gig at the Arthouse, Carlton, 2002. MYC were legends of Melbourne's punk and hardcore scene in the 1990's. After a smack-induced breakup, the band reformed to play two amazing gigs at the Arthouse. Thanks to my mate Ian Cook, who was mixing for them, I had a perfect vantage point. A fucken awesome show from a legendary band. There's a great live CD of one of these gigs that was released in 2003; well worth picking up if you find a copy.

I'm gonna end the list here, cos otherwise I'll be writing this all day. Suffice to say there are plenty more memories where those came from, many of them suffused with late nights and sticky carpets at the Punters Club (RIP), The Tote, The Empress, The Corner, The Richmond Social Club (RIP) and many other great venues. Long live live music!

Tag Dag

Ok, so I've been tagged by Ekstasis, so I guess I better play...

(Did you spot the carefully feigned reticence to hide my puppyish eagerness just then? Puppyish eagerness, you see, is not cool. Like, I'm cool? Yeah, right! See point 4, below.)

Twenty things about me, hey? Hmmmmm. Let's see.

1. The only reason I went back to do Year Twelve in 1984 was cos I wanted to be in the school musical. The teachers had promised me that it would be Jesus Christ Superstar, and I figured I'd end up as either Christ or Judas, seeing as I'd had lead roles the two years previously (Joseph in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat with I was 15 and still a boy soprano; and Fagin in Oliver! the following year, by which stage I'd become a baritone). Then the bastard teachers decided to put on Bye Bye Birdie instead. I had to sing 'Put On A Happy Face.' Fuckers.

2. I read The Lord of the Rings 19 times between the ages of 14 and 21. Yes, I was a nerd. I played Dungeons & Dragons a lot too. (These days I play much more mature role-playing games, and no, I don't mean in bed. Get your mind out of the gutter!)

3. When I was about three years old my dad dislocated my right shoulder while trying to save my life. I'd decided to jump into the deep end of a swimming pool, not realising that it was A) really deep, and B) that people in swimming pools generally possess this useful skill called swimming... My older sister Megan re-dislocated it a few months later, which I'm sure must have been a horrible experience for her. Luckily I was young enough that I don't really remember either event.

4. Despite the fact that some people think I'm cool cos I'm a DJ and a 3RRR broadcaster and shit, a lot of the time I still feel totally shy, insecure and inadequate.

5. I spend way too much time downloading porn when I could be doing something creative.

6. At the grand old age of 38 I've only had four serious relationships in my life. Only one of them lasted longer than 2-4 months, and it ended spectacularly about a month before our second anniversary.

7. I've now been single for five years and to be honest, I'm kind of comfortable with that.

8. I get obsessed about things, and totally throw myself into them to the point where I ignore almost everything else in my life. My last major obsession was setting up the Pink Magpies, the Collingwood football club's gay and lesbian supporters' group. That was a few years ago now, so I guess I'm about due for a new one...

9. The only reason I started doing a zine back in the 90's was cos a friend of one of my best friends was talking about doing one, and I wanted to beat him to it. (Yeah I can be a competitive bastard sometimes.) My zine was called The Burning Times, and was focussed on homocore (queer punk rock).

10. I was so drunk when I saw Nirvana play at the Palace in 1992 that I don't really remember much of the night, save for staggering out of the mosh pit during 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' cos I could barely stand, after which I stood on a table so I could see.

11. One of the proudest times in my life was the weekend I got to support Propogandhi at their two Melbourne shows doing my 'in your face queer spoken word thing', plus Bikini Kill the following night, and another Propogandhi show during the following week in Geelong. Me and Jon, the lead singer, had to walked out to the van after the Geelong show surrounded by inpromptu bodyguards cos a bunch of homophobes in the audience (one of whom, I'd discovered, was the local junior heavyweight boxing champion) seriously wanted to bash the shit out of us. Our supporters and theirs were actually brawling in the street when the cops showed up - which is about the only time I've been glad to see the cops in my life! A few months later the boxer showed up to my nightclub Abyss, and I very happily had him thrown out.

12. I used to be a goth, but I got better.

13. As a teenager I studied jazz ballet and failed French and maths. I'm still crap at maths even today, but sadly my dancing isn't what it used to be.

14. A couple of my friends once described my type of man as 'neanderthal'. I protested: I just like 'em blokey and masculine. This might be one of the reasons I've been single for five years...

15. I still get perversely flattered if someone I don't know assumes that I'm straight, which I guess suggests a lingering degree of internalised homophobia. I'm pretty open about my sexuality these days though, so it rarely happens any more.

16. About six hours after having my wisdom teeth out under a local anaesthetic, because I had so little swelling, I gave my then boyfriend a blowjob, and you know what? It didn't hurt a bit!

17. I was incredibly unhappy at high school until I came out. At that point things started to get better because I had nothing to hide.

18. I have four tattoos, and I want more.

19. I like cats, and kicking through autumn leaves.

20. Seeing my young nieces Cate and Sian still brings tears to my eyes because I love them so much, and they love me.

Wow, you know what? That was pretty easy!

Okay, now I tag Sean-baby Whelan, the spunky Gemma, Lady Cracker, Bec and Bob, and Clint Bo Dean. You're it!

Dancer of Darkness

Richard speaks with butoh performer Yumi Umiumare about culture, dance and gender politics.

Tokyo-born butoh artist Yumi Umiumare first visited Australia while performing in the 1991 Melbourne International Arts Festival. Two years later she migrated to Melbourne and now lives here permanently: a decision motivated by personal as well as professional reasons.

"I met a person I can stay with and start a relationship with, but also just the arts scene here for me is very liberating," Umiumare explains. "To see everyone in an audience respond to a performance so individually was quite refreshing for me, because in Japan the feedback you get is quite generic."

Yumi’s dazzling performances, which fuse elements of traditional butoh with cabaret, are equally individual and have gained rave revues at festivals in Melbourne, Adelaide, Edinburgh, Copenhagen and Hong Kong. Her latest production, DasSHOKU Hora!! opens at the Malthouse Theatre next month.

"People who have only seen traditional butoh might think of it as one person walking very slow for 90 minutes from one side to the other of the stage, but some people are very cynical," Umiumare laughs, when asked how she would describe the essence of her artform to an audience who were not familiar with it.

Butoh evolved in post-war Japan in the late 1950’s. "Its name comes from shortening the phrase ‘Ankoku Butoh’. Ankoku means literally ‘dark’ and butoh means ‘dance’, so ‘Dance of Darkness was the beginning of the form," she explains. "Some people think it as a reaction to the Americanisation of Japan, and so we try and get our own identity as a Japanese body, we put the white face on, shave the hair off and run around naked and tried to be radical."

Traditional elements of butoh include slow movement, white-painted bodies, shaved heads and contorted postures, while the dance itself evokes images of decay, fear and desperation, eroticism and ecstasy. It is an introspective artform, deeply connected with internal states of mind.

"We all have internal landscapes and in butoh we try and explain that internal world through very minimal movement," Umiumare says. "But for me the butoh is much more than that."

Uniumara’s work couples butoh’s intense physicality with cabaret, another medium associated with dark emotions, to create performances that are intense, satirical and powerfully entertaining. This fusion of styles has clearly been embraced by local and international audiences, with earlier incarnations of her DasSHOKU productions winning Green Room and Fringe awards and touring internationally.

In DasSHOKU Hora!! Uniumare will draw upon her position as an artist who embraces Western culture while working in an Eastern tradition to provide audiences with a fresh perspective on both Japanese and Australian societies.

"I feel very responsible to show that people can do this, they can live in two cultures," she says. "If I go back to Japan I want to show the influence from my Western culture, and especially because Japan is such a monocultural place; they did not understand what is cross-cultural. Officially it is very diverse, superficially very international but underneath it’s not that strongly international at all, so yeah, I was thinking that this work kind of makes me very motivated to give my desire to express!"

DasSHOKU Hora!! runs from Nov 3 - 13 at the Malthouse Theatre. Bookings on 9685 5111.

Way Up High

Actress Caroline O’Connor talks with Richard Watts about evoking the spirit of Judy Garland.


Agreeing to play the late Judy Garland in End of the Rainbow, the new play by English writer Peter Quilter, was not a decision that Caroline O’Connor made easily.

"I didn’t immediately say yes when the role was offered to me," she says. "I did consider it for a little while, going ‘Oh my lord, what am I thinking?’ but the script was wonderful and original, and to have the chance to recreate such a glorious individual, such an amazing woman, I just thought it would be a fascinating project to take on."

O’Connor is a veteran of stage and screen whose career encompasses Baz Luhrmann’s Moulin Rouge and an award-winning role in Joanna Murray-Smith’s one-woman play Bombshells. Despite a successful career spanning two decades and three continents, she admits to being in awe of Garland, the young star of MGM’s 1939 film, The Wizard of Oz.

"I’d never sung anything that she did previously; I wouldn’t have had the audacity. You don’t sing anything by Judy Garland!"

At her peak Garland was Hollywood’s brightest star but her lustre had faded significantly by the time of her death in 1969, less than two weeks after her 47th birthday. A critically lauded television series in the early 60’s (which Garland herself co-produced) never rated well, and after it was axed she spiralled further downwards, addicted to pills and drinking heavily. It is during this later, tragic period of her life that Over the Rainbow takes place.

"It’s set in a very specific time, when Judy went to London to do a series of concerts at the Talk of the Town in 1968," Caroline O’Connor explains. "but it’s not one of these shows that’s a downer all evening. We certainly do, I think, tell the truth about what these drug dependencies did to her, but we don’t take away her spirit as a performer, or any of the wonderful qualities that she had."

Although she was already familiar with Garland’s legend before beginning rehearsals, O’Connor felt obligated to do considerable research for the role. As well as listening to the London concerts around which the play is set, she paid particularly close attention to an intimate series of recordings Garland made for a never-completed biography.

"They’re just fascinating, and also devastating to listen to, because you hear this poor woman pouring her heart out," O’Connor explains. "Some of them are alcohol induced obviously, but you hear this woman, probably one of the greatest performers of all time, sitting there lonely, sad, impoverished, and you just think, somehow she still managed to keep her talent and her wit."

O’Connor says that the research process brought her closer to Garland.

"I’ve just totally and utterly fallen in love with her. She was a giver, and I think she just absolutely drained herself dry, whether she was performing, or if she was in a room with company."

Melbourne audiences will have their own chance to renew their acquaintance with Garland, whose death provided the spark for the Stonewall Riots and the birth of the modern gay movement, when Caroline O’Connor evokes her spirit on stage.

"God forbid that anyone should come along hoping that I’m going to bring her back to life. I don’t think that that’s possible," O’Connor says frankly. "I’m not an impersonator, for one. I do try and get the essence of her, so that you’re getting carried away by the story and the moment, but there will never be another Judy Garland."

End of the Rainbow opens Monday 14 November and runs until 17 December at the Arts Centre Playhouse. Bookings on www.mtc.com.au or Ticketmaster: 1300 136 166.

Some recent music reviews...

The Last Romance – Arab Strap [Stomp]

Glaswegian duo Arab Strap are an acquired taste. Their alcohol-sodden love songs are delivered in Aidan Moffat’s thick brogue, accompanied by Malcolm Middleton’s tense, minimal guitar hooks. While The Last Romance doesn’t quite lay the pair’s gloomy reputation to rest, a few rays of sunshine have been allowed to creep into the smoke-wreathed bar that Arab Strap call home. Overall The Last Romance is more compact and more energetic than its predecessors, and increased attention to the collaborative process has resulted in a new complexity. Despite these progressions, the sense of late night, last beer dramas still remains. "Sometimes there’s nothing sexier than knowing you’re doomed," groans Moffat on ‘Don’t Ask Me To Dance,’ one of the many Arab Strap songs proving that misery makes good company.

'Teardrops' – The Winter Ship [She Puts Out Records]

Septet The Winter Ship, originally from country Victoria, are now firmly based in inner city Melbourne. They craft rich, warm, sad songs; part Dirty Three, part Silver Ray, part Not Drowning Waving; which taken in their entirety are heart-rendingly beautiful. ‘Teardrops’ is their new single, and displays a vocal dexterity that was underplayed on the band’s two preceding EP releases. The cinematic fragility of bonus track ‘Mirrors Reprise’, with its quavering strings weaving around a hesitant piano, is the clear stand-out.

Une Saison Volée – Françoiz Breut [Remote Control]

A Stolen Season (to translate its title) is the third album from Gallic chanteuse Françoiz Breut, who with her sultry yet vulnerable persona, her velvet-smooth voice, and an exotic presence thanks to her predominantly French delivery, is the Edith Piaf of her generation. Like its predecessors, Une Saison Volée sees Breut interpreting the works of other artists in classic style, combining smoky warmth and icy beauty with aching torch songs and moody rock. Despite its nods to the likes of Serge Gainsbourg, this is a timeless and exquisite CD.

Fractions – Decoder Ring [No Records/Inertia]

Properly speaking this is only the second studio album from Sydney sextet Decoder Ring, given that their breakthrough CD of last year was a soundtrack; albeit the soundtrack to Summersault, one of the most successful Australian films so far this century. On Fractions the band display their genre-blurring virtuosity by deftly mixing power chords, sweet vocals, evocative soundscapes and electro-pop melodies. Guest vocals by Art of Fighting’s Ollie Brown on the restrained ‘Traffic’ suggest Decoder Ring have developed a newfound awareness for the possibilities of collaboration, while overall the album possesses a new confidence, typified by a sense of spaciousness, an opening up of their previously sometimes introspective song structures. From the dark and driving beats of ‘451’ to the cinematic synth-pop of the title track, Fractions is an exquisite triumph.

Road to Rouen – Supergrass [Parlaphone/EMI]

Road to Rouen is the sound of a band in decline. The playfulness of earlier Supergrass albums has been replaced by a sombre solemnity, and while I can’t fault the band for embracing a more mature sound, this new direction appears to have cost the English quartet their originality. Forced attempts at quirkiness (typified by the jarring ‘Coffee in the Pot’) sit uneasily with the likes of the slow, Beatles-esque ‘Sad Girl’ or the middle-of-the-road opener ‘Tales of Endurance’. If Supergrass do manage to survive the crises of creativity that Road to Rouen represents, I can’t see the album holding a prominent place in their back catalogue in years to come.

Cinder – Dirty Three [Hope & Anchor/Remote Control]

The seventh studio album in 14 years from instrumental trio Dirty Three features, for the first time in the band’s career, vocals, as well as a broad swathe of instruments: violin, bass, bouzouki, even bagpipes. Chan Marshall, aka Cat Power, sings on ‘Great Waves’, while Sally Timms (of alt.country band The Mekons) provides subdued vocals buried deep within the mix of ‘Feral’. Despite this progression, and the fact that the songs on Cinder are considerably shorter and tighter than Dirty Three are want to present, the band’s sound remains distinctly identifiable. The focal point is still the mournful and cinematic interaction between violin, drums and guitar. The band’s fondness for improvisation still occasionally results in self-indulgence, but for the most part Cinder is a rich and rewarding aural experience.

Tales From Turnpike House – Saint Etienne [Sony BMG]

A concept album about a day in the life of residents in an outer London housing estate, Tales From Turnpike House is the seventh album from British trio Saint Etienne, and is rumoured to be their last. Should that be the case, it’s a final album to be proud of; a near-perfect encapsulation of the band’s sophisticated yet twee electro-pop aesthetic. Tales From Turnpike House is slickly produced yet warmly accessible, deftly balancing the trio’s devotion to 1960’s pop music with a cooler, minimalist approach to contemporary electronica. The inclusion of guest vocals from David Essex on ‘Relocate’ may cross the line from ironic to excruciating, but this stumble aside, the album doesn’t miss a step.

Takk… - Sigur Rós [EMI]

The fourth album from post-rock quartet Sigur Rós is simultaneously more vigorous and less bleak than its predecessor, 2002’s ( ), adopting a range of moods and speeds in comparison to ( )’s sustained, glacial pace. Takk… (‘Thanks’ in Icelandic) recalls the best moments of their 2000 breakthrough album Agaetis Byrjun, although this new album witnesses the angelic falsetto of vocalist Jon Thor Birgisson emoting in English instead of his invented language of Hopelandish. Highlights include the crashing grandeur of ‘Glossoli’, the yearning ‘Andvari’ (featuring Icelandic string quartet Amina) and the vibrant, breathtaking ‘Soeglópur’. There’s also an almost-comic brass section on offer, not to mention numerous moments of transcendent, tear-inducing beauty.

Plans – Death Cab For Cutie [Warner]

Just because a band’s music appears on the soundtrack of teen drama The OC is no reason to dismiss them as trite or disposable, as this fifth album from US quartet Death Cab For Cutie so aptly demonstrates. It displays a mastery of mood and tone, although the band’s wistful and winsome indie-meets-emo style will not be to everyone’s taste, and Plans does sometimes veer too close to predictable to be entirely satisfying. Warm acoustic hooks and sunny production counterbalance vocalist Ben Gibbard’s penchant for angst, although the second half of the album sees a reliance on keyboards in an unsuccessful attempt to camouflage some weaker arrangements. Although not as strong as their previous album Transatlanticism, Plans is still endearing, engaging, and only sometimes too earnest.

All these reviews have appeared in my weekly column in MCV over the last month or so.

This week on SmartArts...

Ring Them Bells (Freedom has come & gone) - Thee Silver Mount Zion Memorial Orchestra & Tra La La Band
Escape Pod - Decoder Ring
Empty Beats for Lonely Hippo - Pasobionic
National Holiday - The Herd
Tomorrow Never Knows - The Beatles
Get Off Of My Cloud - The Rolling Stones
Sun in my Morning - St Etienne
Come in out of the rain - Engineers
Who Named the Days? - Arab Strap (live)
There's Something at the Bottom of the Black Pool - Augie March
War - Celebration
Footy - Spiderbait
Cody - Mogwai
De Profundis - Dead Can Dance
The Evening Gathering - Le Mystere des Voix Bulgares
In the Dying Moments - SPK
Come on Feel the Illinois - Sufjan Stevens
Dayvan Cowboy - Boards of Canada
God Bless Our Dead Marines - Thee Silver Mount Zion Memorial Orchestra & Tra La la Band
The Final Arrears - Mull Historical Society
Scientists - The Guild League

Strike A Pose Part Two

As promised, another photograph of me in a kilt, taken outside Bec & Bob's flat in Glasgow.

The photographer was fellow Australian party animal and music fan, the lovely Ms. Nat Clark. We were supposed to be striking a 1970's male fashion catalogue pose which Henry (the best man, the dapper chap on the right) and Bob (the groom, centre) have pulled off with aplomb. Me, I went 'huh?', and hastily copied what Bob was doing, having just stepped out the front door and not quite knowing what was going on, which explains why I'm aping Bob's pose and don't have a suitably serious, impassive-male-model-type-expression on my face.

A minute or two after this picture was taken Bob and Harry got into their chauffer-driven mini to head off to the church and Nat and I headed back into the flat. A minute after that there was a knock at the door. The mini wouldn't start, and I was needed to help push-start it. Weddings are mad! Happily though, everyone got to the church on time. Except the bride, who was stuck in traffic for 25 minutes. Talk about making the groom sweat!

So, there you have it folks: Richard resplendent in a kilt. Hot, or not? Answers on a postcard of a giant merino/crayfish/banana/ludicrous object of your choice. Alternatively, I will grudgingly accept answers using the comments button below...

SmartArts Playlist Thurs 27 Oct 2005

Fjarkanistan - Amina
Amy - Dirty Three
A Time To Be Small - Interpo
lMusic is my Radar - Blur
Sister Jack - Spoon
Milk Bottle Trio - Saint Etienne
Modern Art - Art Brut
What Did We Talk About (Before You Had Babies?) - Rob Clarkson
Something in the Way - Nirvana
In A Radio Show - Okkervil River
Ballistics - The Great Fire of London
I've Seen It All - Bjork w. Thom Yorke
Don't Stop Now - Lemon Jelly
Cool Kids Keep - The American Analogue Set
The Chaos Offensive - Oceansize
Come In Out of the Rain - Engineers
Kennedy Killed the Hat - Buck 65
The Happy Sea - Colleen
The Winter Hit Hard - Hood
Dance Me In - Sons & Daughters

Ladies & gentlemen we are now starting our descent...

The last couple of months of my life have felt rather like being in a holding pattern above an airport, circling endlessly, lost in the clouds, waiting for clearance to start my descent from freefall into a new era of my life.

I think yesterday the signal finally came through.

I got a phonecall asking me to come in for a job interview on Thursday afternoon; a job I really want, and think I could do well. If I get it there's going to be a significant period of adjustment, as I haven't actually held down a fulltime job since I quit the public service in 1989. Yes, 1989. That's sixteen bloody years ago. Shit. Let me shake my head in disbelief and think about that for a moment.

Sixteen...years? Wow. I feel suddenly old. Sixteen years of working in part time jobs (as a medical receptionist at the Victorian AIDS Council, as the Text Coordinator of the 2000 Next Wave Festival, and as the Artistic Director of the youth arts organisation Express Media). Sixteen years of falling in love with all manner of music. Sixteen years of writing, spoken word performance, zine-making, and now blogging. Learning to DJ, opening Apocalypse, Abyss and finally Q + A. What a wild 16 years it's been!

Admittedly I'm putting a lot of hope into getting the job in question, but if I don't, well, something else will turn up, I know. I'll have to sign up for the dole first though, as I'm running out of money fast!

The other 'end of the holding pattern' signal yesterday was that after talking about it ever since getting home from Europe last month, I finally went and joined a gym. Today I was weighed and measured, and on Friday I go in to be walked through my fitness routine and be taught how to use the gym equipment without hurting myself.

There are plenty of other changes I want to make in my life (like starting to cook again for starters, and then maybe finding myself a goddamn boyfriend) but it really does feel as if a new direction is opening up before me. Like every other change in my life, I have no idea where it will lead...

Whci I guess is the exciting part!

Procrastination

I should be doing the dishes. I should be doing my laundry. I should be vaccuming the flat. I should be cleaning the bathroom.

I should be reading media releases. I should be replying to e-mails from people who have requested an interview on my show. I should be listening critically to the pile of new release CD's on my loungeroom floor and making notes about them for my MCV music column and for next week's radio program.

I should be joining a gym. I should be drinking less. I should be taking less speed. I should be eating better. I should be calling old friends. I should be making new friends.

I should be finding a boyfriend. I should either tell D. how I feel about him (how I've felt about him for the last two years while being a shoulder for him to cry on when his emotionally and psychologically abusive boyfriend was getting too much) or just walk away.

I should be rewriting my old novel. I should be starting a new novel. I should be writing new short stories. I should be submitting stories for publication. I should be pitching articles to editors. I should start reading the novels I brought back from overseas. I should read all the classic novels I've never read.

I should stop downloading porn. I should stop compulsively cruising internet chatrooms in the the hope that I'll miraculously meet Mr Right in cyberspace. I should get out of the house more.

I should see more art. I should go to more gigs. I should see more films. I should throw dinner parties. I should get my act together. I should get my shit together.

I should.

I should.

I should.

Today's Playlist

For some reason - don't ask me why (who am I to explain my actions to you when I don't even understand them myself?) - I thought you might like to read a list of the songs that I played on my RRR arts program SmartArts today; lists apparently being popular things to write on your blog when you want to write something but are incapable of writing anything insightful, amusing or coherent.

So, today's SmartArts playlist:

Expect the Worst/Cos She's a Tourist - The Dears
Small Change - Gersey
These Wooden Ideas - Idlewild
Been Caught Stealing - Jane's Addiction
Rebellion (Lies) - The Arcade Fire
The Mercy Seat - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
Wolf on a String - Machine Translations
Blood - Editors
Evil and a Heathen - Franz Ferdinand
Love in Fear - Constantines
Spirit Ditties of No Tone - Deerhoof
A Man Walks Into A Bar - Jens Leckman
I'm the Luckiest Guy on the Lower East Side - The Magnetic Fields
Small Memory - Mum
Into the Light - Jah Wobble
After Dark (NDB Vocal Disco Mix) - La Tigre
A Little More for Little You - The Hives
Satisfaction - The Rolling Stones
The Whores Hustle and the Hustlers Whore - PJ Harvey
My Lady Day - Antony and the Johnsons
Non je ne Regrette Rien - Edith Piaf
Let it All Turn Black - Sodastream
The Piano Has Been Drinking (Not Me) - Tom Waits
Over All - Francoiz Breut

Oh, and if you're wondering about the picture, that's the cover of Francoiz Breut's new album Une Saison Volee.

Emptying out my brain on a Saturday morning

'Flying Lessons', a photogravure by Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison (USA)

So it's just gone 10.44am on Saturday morning, and I'm sitting in front of the computer on the new ergonomic desk chair that I bought myself this week. My back will thank me for it, although my chiropractor will probably be sad cos it means she'll see less of me, which in my book is officially A GOOD THING (tm).

Right now I should be working: specifically, I should be reading though, then scoring on their artistic merit, a big folder of Arts Victoria grant applications that's sitting on my kitchen table. Instead I've been successfully procrastinating for the last hour by adding a couple of recent articles to my blog, then scanning through blogs by friends to see what they've been up to, then clicking on their links to discover new blogs (such as Surlyboy's blog: A Falling Out With The In Crowd. Love the name, liked the cynical humour of his posts).

Having done all that, and still not quite ready to finally do some actual work, I thought I'd write a proper, personal post here, instead of just cut'n'pasting in something impersonal that I wrote earlier in the week...

***

As an aside, if you're wondering why I'm supposed to be reading grant applications for Arts Victoria, it's because I'm part of a peer-based advisory panel who advise the staff of that particular state government department on who to award grants to.

It's always flattering to be asked to sit on these sorts of panels. It's a compliment, a sort of arts-industry accolade: "That man over there - yes, the one lounging casually by the aspidistra, a glass of champagne in hand - has refined taste and highly atuned critical senses. He's a mover-and-shaker in the arts community. He knows enough about obscure cultural stuff that we should ask his opinion about who to give money to. Get him on a peer assement panel, quick!"

It's also valuable from a professional point of view because A) I get to read how other people write their grant applications and take notes on how to make mine better, and B) It helps further my awareness of what's happening in the cultural sector.

God, I really must be an arts administrator at heart if I'm getting this excited by a huge folder of paperwork!

***

Things that have happened this week:

• I forgot to send my niece Cate a card for her 13th birthday. I'm a bad, bad uncle.
• I applied for a new job, as the cash payout from my last job (accrued leave that I never got around to taking) that's been fuelling my current languid lifestyle is fast running out. Said potential job is as the Program Manager at 3RRR. If I get it I'd be responsible for coordinating the station's on-air profile, liasing with 70-odd announcers, arranging special events and outside broadcasts, etc. It would be rewarding, hugely adventurous, and insanely demanding. I'm not actually sure if I really want the job, and if it's offered to me I can guarantee a panic attack and serious self-doubts about whether I could actually do it, but I certainly thought it couldn't hurt to apply...an atttude I may yet live to regret, I'm sure!
• I went to the awards night and end-of-festival-party for the Melbourne Fringe Festival last Saturday night and had a truly excellent evening in a room filled with artists, performers, and Melbourne's fringe tribe. I got to know a couple of the festival staff a little better, especially Damien, the General Manager; had some good conversations with people, not just small talk; and got home at about 10am Sunday morning feeling more than a little the worse for wear...
• Last night (Friday 14th Oct) I saw my first show at the Melbourne International Arts Festival and was rather underwhelmed by the experience. The production I was was Fagaala, staged by Compagnie Jant-Bi (a Senegalese modern dance company), an exploration of 1994's genocidal Rwandan conflict between the Hutus and the Tutsis. While I could appreciate the production intellectually, it failed to move me emotionally, which is always the yardstick by which I judge any artform as a success. Some great images, very strong performances, and an amazing score, but still...
• I also had an angst attack on the tram home last night about the fact that I've become such a loner in the last couple of years. I have lots of friends, but I don't really see them all that often. Is this a side-effect of living by myself? Instead of ringing friends and saying 'Let's go see a movie or hang out at the pub for a couple of hours' do I head out on my own because it's easier, less hassle? Or am I really becoming a recluse? More importantly, what the hell am I going to do about it?

Okay, I've been writing this post for almost an hour now, so I really should go and do some work. Those grants have got to be scored by Tuesday at the latest, and I'm supposed to be going to see a movie with my mate Mike this afternoon. Enough angst. Enough procrastination. Although maybe I'll do the dishes first...