Life, the universe, entertainment and finances

Normal programming will return as soon as I can drag myself away from catching up on season three of Heroes. I skipped season two altogether on the advice of several friends, and jumped into season three yesterday, only to find myself watching eight episodes back to back (my excuse being that it was hot outside and, being a delicate, retiring sort, I needed to stay indoors).

There's all sorts of things I should be doing instead - reading through the 273 emails in my inbox, planning my radio show for the next few weeks, listening to the pile of CDs I've been sent and the masses of unread media releases that are building up into a dangerous heap on the coffee table, lugging a pile of washing to the nearest laundrette, vaccumming, dishes, etc - but I think today all I can be fucked doing is watching more TV.

It's a bit indicative of my life these last few weeks since I quit MCV, and I'm justifying it by claiming that it's some much needed downtime.

In the last two weeks I've devoured three new Torchwood novels, which is amazing in itself - usually it takes me two weeks to read a single book given how busy I normally am. Of the three, my favourite was James Goss' cracking yarn, Risk Assessment - some great plot twists and an extremely memorable new character - while the weakest was the short story collection Consequences, although the latter did feature one excellent story, Andrew Cartmel's 'The Wrong Hands'.

I've also seen several films, including three at the inaugural Nordic Film Festival: the wartime thriller Flame & Citron, the cerebral gothic horror flick Sauna, and the exquisite and entertaining The Man Who Loved Ingve (pictured above), the most refreshing coming out film I've seen in ages. I've linked to reviews of all three films I wrote for Arts Hub, but as ever you'll need to be Arts Hub members to read them.

But here's a sneak preview if you're not an Arts Hub member, and as a bonus, each review excerpt contains a link to the official site of each movie in case you want to learn more. Never say I don't spoil my blog readers!

Flame & Citron: "Less a film about noble partisans fighting the good fight, and more about the way even the noblest of intentions can lead one astray in the fog of war, Flame & Citron is a dense, dark and ambitious tale, and one of the most successful (and most expensive) Danish films to date."

Sauna: "Annila has crafted a very European horror story in Sauna, with the emphasis on suspense and atmosphere rather than shock and gore. He successfully utilizes all the elements of the film’s broad palate, from the central characters’ sibling rivalry and the all-too-fresh tensions of a 25-year long war, through to a palpable sense of unease and decay and the gothic motifs of the ghost story. The film’s production design is visceral and vivid, and performances are excellent – especially Ville Virtanen as the war-haunted Eerik Spore, whose spectacles hide the self-loathing eyes of the habitual killer."

The Man Who Loved Ingve: "Featuring charming performances from some of Norway’s best young actors, and incisive direction from newcomer Stian Kristiansen (who was still studying at Sweden’s National Film School in Lillehammer at the time he was appointed to helm the production) The Man Who Loved Yngve avoids clichés and sentimentality while telling a fresh and authentic story about adolescent life. Characters are appropriately inarticulate, avoiding the faux-adult teenage dialogue depicted in such staples of US drama as Dawson’s Creek, The OC and more recent productions such as Gossip Girl; and the pangs and pains of adult life are fleetingly though accurately portrayed."

I've also seen the new Australian film about love, dreams and trucks by writer/director David Caesar, Prime Mover, which I wanted to like but didn't - to quote Don Groves from SBS Films, it's a 'straight-forward, cliché-riddled tale' - and writer/director Roland Emmerich's disaster-porn epic 2012 - which I enjoyed a lot more than I thought I would: it's big, it's dumb, but it's surprisingly fun.

I've also been stressing about my finances, since I don't have a new source of income to replace the money I was making working two days a week at MCV; and I've been worrying about how much I've been drinking while I've been off work - it's getting a bit excessive, in all honesty. That said, I guess I can only fight one vice at a time, and since I kicked a major speed habit earlier this year I probably shouldn't beat myself up too much. However, when I do get paid next week I think it might be time to buy some running shoes and take up some serious exercise, since I don't want to end up like my old man, who dropped dead at only 47. That's just five years away from where I'm standing...

Anyway, since I've been meaning to properly update this blog for a couple of weeks, I'm actually pretty happy with this morning's output. That's one thing I can cross off my long list of things to do, which means it's time to watch a few more episodes of Heroes!

And so it begins

Today was my last day at the MCV/Canvas office for the week. As of today I am only working two days per week, with the other three days of the week being devoted first and foremost to freelancing, my responsibilities as Chair of Melbourne Fringe, and producing and presenting my weekly radio program SmartArts on 3RRR.

This means I've cut my salary in half in the middle of a recession with no guaranteed source of income until I can start generating some regular income from writing for the arts section of The Age etc. Mad? Possibly - but fuck I'm looking forward to the challenge. Wish me luck!

Considerations

I've had a couple of things on my mind this week, including work issues and lifestyle changes; the catalyst for such contemplation being the imminent departure of my housemate to his new abode.

Mike moved in at the start of last year, and having recently entered the world of the home-ownership (namely a one-bedroom apartment in Clifton Hill) he's moving out tomorrow. It's been fun having him around, and certainly having someone to share the bills and rent has made my life a bit easier, though in some ways it's also allowed me to continue my somewhat eratic and indulgent lifestyle. With Mike moving out, I'm now facing the decision of whether to find another flatmate (recognising that finding someone who can put up with me could be tricky) or go back to living on my own, which I did for six years before he moved in.

At the moment I'm leaning towards living by myself again; I miss having a study - a dedicated workspace is advantageous when I'm writing - and with the spare room freed up again for my computer and bookcases, I'll also be seriously able to de-clutter the loungeroom, which, as any of my guests will testify, is in something of a state, with books piled on the floor, stacks of CDs everywhere, and media releases and invitations scattered across it all like confetti on a church's steps after a particularly crazy wedding.

However, going back to living alone will mean making some significant financial readjustments. I'm already facing having to save some serious bucks for the Morocco trip in October; added to that is the fact that I'm about to be going back to paying the rent and bills on my own again.

Given that I'm something of a wastrel when it comes to my finances; and that for the last several years I've lived decadently and excessively (balanced out with periods of poverty because I've splurged on a couple of CDs instead of remembering to buy food); and that I drink to excess far too often; if I want to be able to afford living on my own again, it's time for me to make some changes.

I have to start cooking instead of getting take-away from the local restaurants every night. I have to start having several alcohol free days a week, instead of drinking a bottle of wine every night. Basically, I have to grow up a little, and stop living like I did when I was still in my mid-20s; get some focus back, and then see what life turns up. It should be interesting.

And of course, while all this has been running through my mind, I've also been maintaining my usual ecclectic lifestyle. In the past week I've:

• Been to the opening of the 11th Spanish Film Festival, the character-driven comedy-drama Seven Billiard Tables (a little slow-moving, but full of solid performances, especially from the two female leads, Maribel Verdu and Blanca Portillo); and watched the contemporary flamenco-inspired musical Scandalous - Why Do They Rub Their Little Feet Together - another Spanish film with three strong female leads, representing three generations of one family; as well as some rather cute squatters... The festival is on until May 25 at Cinema Como and the Westgarth; I'm rather keen on checking out its horror/thriller program, Cine Fantastico.
• Attended the opening night of the biennial Next Wave festival, curated by my mate Jeff Khan, its Artistic Director. Go you!
• Watched some classic film noir in preperation for an interview on RRR on Thursday; as well as some classic old episodes of Doctor Who from the 1970s (the Tom Baker era, for those of you who were wondering).
• Angsted over whether to attend the opening night of Mathinna, the new work by Bangarra Dance Theatre, or the opening night of Opera Australia's new production of My Fair Lady on Friday night (the dance piece won out).
• DJ'd at the Laird Hotel, playing rock and indie, at a new monthly queer night organised by my mate Glen.
  

It's been rather hectic, as you might imagine!

Normal service will resume...

You'll have noticed I've been lying low, blogwise, for the last week or so. Partially it's recovery from the Comedy Festival, which means A) I've not been going out much or getting up to anything really blogworthy in the last seven or so days, and B) what has been going on, such as my flatmate buying his first apartment, I've either been too tired to blog about or it just hasn't been that exciting, eg fuelling my nostalgic spirit by catching up on old episodes of Doctor Who from the Hartnell, Troughton and Pertwee eras. Talk about painting the town red!

On top of all that, my preoccupation with comedy and the general chaos of my life meant that last week the phone was cut off at home, as I hadn't had time to pay the bill, and consequently I also lost my internet connection. Ack! It's like losing part of your brain! I hadn't realised just how often and how useful the net was until my access to it was suddenly terminated. Hopefully when I get home from work tonight it will be back on-line, so I can continue to detail the fascinating minutiae of my life for you all...

That said, I have been occasionally kicking up my heels. Last Saturday, for instance, I started the night at Enoteca for a long overdue catch-up over a glass of wine with Tim and Lefa and their mate Steve; moved on up to road to the truly scrumptious tapas bar Anada with Mike and a couple of his friends to celebrate his becoming a home-owner; then headed into the city to have birthday drinks with an old and dear friend, Martin (who's turned 41 about three and a half months before I will) and our mutual girlfriend, Kerryn, who was on one of her regular flying visits from Hong Kong.

We started out at Spleen, moved on to Madame Brussels, thence to The Rooftop, and eventually to Kerryn's hotel room for champagne. When everyone else piked I headed on to The Peel for a nightcap or three - shots, as I recall, with Ryan from Anada - before finally staggering through the front door at 7am...

There was a point, about 2am at the Rooftop, when another of our friends turned to me and asked, "What would be a typical Saturday night for you these days, Richard?"

I pondered the question for a moment, looked around me at the highrise lights of the city that encircle the bar atop Curtin House, gestured with my drink, and said, "Oh, this."

Normal Service Will Resume

The last month has been mad.

In the week before Christmas I had to put two issues of the paper to bed in three days. Then I co-hosted Summer Breakfast on RRR for two weeks; the second week of which I was back at work at MCV, and having to put the year'sfirst issue of the paper to bed on the same day that the office re-opened.

Then, this week, I had to put a 64 page magazine to bed, which I signed off on at 8pm on Friday; as well as the regular weekly issue of the paper, which went to the printers as per the usual course of things on Tuesday.

No wonder I've slept in until 11am the last two mornings; I've been exhausted.

So, now I can try and get my life back to its usual chaotic state of affairs, rather than the turned-up-to-11 intensity of recent weeks. In fact, I'm actually going to try and gear down even more; not a New Year's resolution so much as a New year's re-programming. There's a few things about my lifestyle that I not only need to change but want to change; there's debts I have to pay off, new priorities to set and a mixture of both new and old goals to achieve.

As I write this, things are still turbulent and out of focus, but I'm hoping that in the coming days, I'll begin to develop a clearer picture of where I stand, where I want to be, and the best way to start moving forward. Good heavens, I'm actually sounding optimistic for a change!

Stuff and Collingwood

Collingwood won through to the next round of the finals last night. A close game which saw Pete and I sitting in his car outside the Glasshouse, listening to the last five minutes and willing the siren to sound. We were catching up at Disco Attack, a monthly night run by Tim, whose first ever DJ gig was at Q+A, my old club. Last night was subdued but comfortable; gossiping with friends and drinking by the fire.

At about 1:30am my friend and I strolled to a rather quiet Control, then on to Witness Protection Program; from there to a somewhat claustrophobic Pony, then home. Today I am ruing spending all my money last night but looking back, it was a happy evening. Happy is a word I am trying to use more often.

This blog post, you will note, is somewhat scattered and sporadic, probably due to the loss of a few more brain cells last night. You'll also probably note that I haven't been writing much about the arts lately. I haven't been going out a great deal, and when I have, I haven't seen anything worth writing about in detail.

Stompin's Home at the Meat Market, for instance, was pleasant enough but unremarkable; though it must be said that the language of dance is the artform I'm least fluent in, so perhaps I missed subteties that enthralled others. A cardboard house, different dancers in each room, a montage of sound and body evoking different eras and emtions; a youth company. Simplistic and somewhat predictable, though sustaining my interest nonetheless.

Otherwise, a bit of downtime is perhaps in order prior to the opening of the Fringe.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm trying to muster the enthusiasm to sort through some books and CDs and see what I can sell secondhand, so that I'll have enough money to get through the week until I'm paid on Thursday...

Midlife crisis or weekend angst?

Having already had one drunken crying jag this week, where I angsted over my substance abuse issues and chronic singularity (sorry Mike - thanks for listening though!) I wasn't planning to spend this Saturday night mired in a swamp of self-analysis and misery.

Nor have I - well not exactly - but I haven't exactly had fun, either.

The night opened with me I watching Collingwood beat Sydney in the first round of the AFL finals; all well and good (hot Pies!) after which I headed down to Abbotsford gay bar, The Laird, with a mate for a couple of drinks.

It's no surprise that I didn't really relax there: long-term friends would know that I've never really been entirely comfortable in gay bars, which I don't think is attributable to any hangover from the internalised homophobia I used to battle - not these days, at least.

I think it's more because I've spent so much of my life - the formative stages of my adult life, particularly in my 20s - socialising in straight clubs, seeing bands, whatever. The whole 'everyone is subtly checking everyone else out' cruising vibe of The Laird, like most gay clubs, is not something I'm competely comfortable with, for a variety of reasons.

Then I moved on to Lambs Go Bar, in the hope of catching up with another mate, but he couldn't make it. While I was there, though, I also felt out of place, because I was an average of 10-15 years older than everyone else there. Is this the real reason the middle-aged disappear from our radar, because they subtly, perhaps even conciously, feel they no longer belong so they retreat home, to a safe and controllable environment?

I don't want to become fossilised, so I intend to keep going out; but at the same time, I don't want to become old and sad and tragic and still trying to be down with the kids when it's clear I should have been put out to stud ages ago.

Essentially, I'm flumoxed. Oh well, getting drunk seems like a perfectly adequate temporary solution...

20 hours with an Irishman

It's Monday morning, and I should be working.

I should be blogging about the exhibition opening I attended on Friday night (A Constructed World's idiosyncratically wonderful Increase Your Uncertainty at ACCA), or the somewhat subdued opening night of the play I went to thereafter (Hoy Polloy's production of Irish playwright Conor McPherson's Shining City). I could blog about the excellent Is Not magazine's second birthday party, which I attended on Saturday night as Miss Libertine, or the fun I had hanging out at Murmur that same evening, celebrating MsKP's 30th birthday in the company of many excellent bloggers and other peeps.

But no. I'm going to blog about the bloke I went home with on Saturday night, instead.

So there I am, happily tipsy after a cocktail, an absinthe and a couple of champagnes, leaning against a wall at Miss Libertine, happily surveying the crowd in the courtyard and thinking about nothing in particular, when a drunken brogue mutters, "You're that bloke what runs Q + A. I like what you're doing with MCV as well," into my ear.

Somewhat startled, I turn and see a stocky, dark-haired Irishman looking at me very intently, albeit somewhat blurrily. Very handsome in a scruffy sort of way (which is, you might have guessed, exactly my type - I don't go for show ponies). We talk. His mate turns up, who doesn't know that Mr Irish is bisexual, so I obfuscate. I'm not, at this stage, planning anything other than a conversation. But perhaps the half-a-pill I was given earlier has given me confidence, because out of the blue, I ask Irish if he wants to come home with me. To my surprise, he says yes.

We walk, we talk, we fall into bed and immediately both fall asleep. In the morning - and the afternoon - there are cuddles and conversations but, surprisingly, no sex, which suddenly seems unimportant. It's as if we've cut straight to the post-orgasmic afterglow and the 'getting to know you' sharing of intimacies instead of all that sweaty, awkward, first time fumbling. We sleep some more, talk some more, touch some more. Repeat. Rise at 2.20pm.

We walk into town. I decide to skip the debut performance by the Melbourne Complaints Choir. We have lunch instead, in Chinatown, then a drink afterwards. There is a sense of easy rapport with this man. We go back to his place in the city. We open a few beers and he plays me some of his favourite bands. We talk more, about films and relationships and moments of pure joy. He says he's not really looking for anything serious at the moment. I tell him I'm definitely on the market.

It's 7pm by now. Out for another bite to eat, then into the Exford Hotel for Guinness and cider and sitting at the bar listening to a covers band and talking some more, and laughing, and drinking, and then back to his place again.

At 10.30pm he walks me a couple of blocks to Spring Street so I can catch a tram and we kiss goodbye. I press my business card into his hand and ask him to call me. I hope he does. I'd like to see him again.

Farewell to the Palace

According to The Age online this afternoon, St Kilda live music venue the Palace has thrown in the towel. The 'entertainment complex' will close next month, having lost the battle with developers for whom its site is a juicy piece of beachfront real estate.

I can't say I'm grief-stricken - I'd be far more upset if the POW was to close - but that said I'll be sorry to see the Palace go. I've had some fun times there, from cavorting on stage half-naked and covered in fluro paint with The Ergot Derivative, to memorable gigs from the likes of:

and

and

and even

Farewell, Palace. I shan't miss your sweat-box conditions and crowds, but I shall miss the opportunity for new memories.

Pause For Reflection

A couple of people have recently mentioned of late that the frequency with which I've been posting has reduced somewhat. To these people I say, "well aren't you the observent ones!"

For a couple of reasons (workload, too tired to go out, having some virus-thing for the last week or so) it's true I've not been posting much. Thus, anecdotes about dinner with that lovely couple, Mr and Mrs Path-Android; seeing both the play and the film of The History Boys, and enjoying both despite their flaws; the excellently entertaining way my Eurovision night played out at the soon-to-be-reverting-to-its-non-rock-and-roll origins Spanish Club; none of that has been recorded for posterity on this here blog.

So, you miss out on my self-indulgent ramblings, and I miss out on recording my day-to-day life, as this blog is as much my diary or journal as it is anything else. Such is life.

That said, ever since I became the Chair of Fringe a few weeks ago I've also been contemplating being a little more circumspect about what I write here, because of its potential for adversely impacting on the organisation. On the other hand I really don't like censoring myself, no matter who may or may not be reading (Hi mum! Hello Drug Squad!) my posts.

So, after due contemplation, I won't be censoring myself overtly. You can still expect occasional tales of wild nights on the tiles and casual sex with anonymous men in parks and alleyways on the rare occasions I actually get lucky. You'll also get details of the various films, performances and exhibitions that I get along to, when I find the time to post about them. On the other hand, I might not be posting as often as I used to, if the past couple of weeks is anything to go by.

Now that we've got that settled...on with the show!

Oh, and to maintain the self-indulgent trivia quotiant of the day, have I mentioned that I'm trying to grow my hair? It's at the stage now where I'm seriously tempted to grab the clippers and trim it all off again, but god dammit I intend to persevere to the point where I can actually have a hairstyle again for the first time in some eight years; even I do have to wear a hat for the entire winter while my hair grows out...

Need.... new.... brain

As much as I'm enjoying my latest incarnation as editor of Melbourne's queer newspaper MCV, I so want my old life back. I've gone from working two days a week to virtually full time, which means I'm now always tired, preoccupied, and never seem to have the time to do all the other things in my life, like attend board meetings, read emails, plan my radio show, and do my freaking* laundry. *sigh*

I got to sleep in this morning til 8.45am. Decadence!

Tonight I'm off to see the Pixies, although I'm definitely going to need to get home for a quick this evening before I can muster the energy.

That's how tired I am - I can't even muster the energy to be excited about hearing 'Debaser' or 'Monkey Gone to Heaven' played life. Waaaaaaahhhhhhh!



* Non-swearing for Bevis's sake, just 'cause.

My life has become a Smiths' song

"If you're so funny
then why are you on your own tonight?
and if you're so clever
why are you on your own tonight?
if you're so very entertaining
why are you on your own tonight?
and if you're so terribly good-looking
then why do you sleep alone tonight?
because tonight is just like any other night"

- The Smiths, 'I Know It's Over', The Queen Is Dead

Blessed indolence

After a rather madcap couple of weeks, I am delighted to report that I face a weekend of lolling around decadently.

The next two days should entail little save socialising with friends, attending a couple of parties, catching a play, doing my laundry, and possibly placing a man-trap on the street in order to snare myself an eligble bachelor.

Actually, now I consider it, the latter sounds far too demanding. Instead I shall limit myself to gazing out the window and loooking A) mysterious, B) handsome, and C) available but not desperate.

Concerns about work are henceforth relegated to my subconcious for the next 48 hours, where they are politely requested to manifest in colourful and unusual dreams rather than tediously literal dreams about deadlines, angry designers and co-workers in paroxysms of hysteria.

There may or may not be live rock and/or roll. The sin of Onan may be practised, if I can be bothered.

Right now, it's time to heat some more sake...

I wonder if the Japanese Bath House has many bookings tomorrow?

I've been a bad, bad blogger

As a result of taking on the role of Editor at Melbourne's Weekly GLBT newspaper MCV, I've been stupidly busy the last two weeks, and consequently haven't been a good blogger: I've fallen behind on both posting and reading other people's blog entries, for which I can only apologise.

Too much to do, so little time...

In the past two weeks I've:

• I've worked a 15 hour day trying to get the paper to print;
• Discovered that even an office with four staff has office politics;
• Put two issues of the paper to bed;
• Seen fellow blogger Travis Cotton perform in the 20th anniversary production of Michael Gow's play Europe;
• Attended the launch of this year's Melbourne Queer Film Festival;
• Started to discover just what having a mobile phone means, the good (excitedly texting fellow political-tragics after watching Kevin Rudd on Lateline and actually being impressed - not because he has gravitas and conviction, but because for the first time in years I'm actually starting to think that Howard can be beaten) and the bad (being harrangued by publicists keen for coverage for their latest client in one of my three media outlets);
• Enjoyed having a housemate, although I rarely see him as a combination of my hectic life and his spending time at his boyfriend's place;
• Failed to find time to continue re-arranging my even-more cluttered house;
• Consumed more alcohol than is good for me;
  
• Walked regularly;
• Complained about the heat;
• Put off reading a book and then reviewing it for ABR until the deadline is not so much looming as threatening to crush me with its weight;
• Started swotting for next week's conversation with Rupert Everett at the Atheneum;
• Contemplated popping over to Adelaide for the Fringe, or up to Sydney to see Holding the Man;
• And generally been over-committed - so much so, for instance, that I failed to make the most recent bloggers' meet - sorry D.U.P.!

This weekend I'm heading out of town, to visit my mum and catch up on some reading on the train, so I won't be around much. I am, of course, reachable on my new mobile... ;-)