is gifted another cinematic masterpiece from maverick auteur Erik Blevins: Cancer Pond!
The powerful concluding sentence:
They symbolically eat the fish, and mom makes an ornament out of the dead bird (a new artistic endeavor = hope and possible fucking in the near future) and that’s what the credits are rolling over – the dead bird ornament and it makes the audience think.
It’s March and, as promised, I’ve come out from under the bed
. I’ve also run out of cheap nasty hooch
so I’m inspired to go mooching around art openings again. Not that the scene is making it easy for me to get back on my wobbly, alcoholic feet.
I’m used to frowsy little artist-run spaces misplacing their mailing lists
from time to time, but I didn’t expect ACCA
getting all sketchy on me: New05
has opened and they haven’t said boo to me about it. Maybe they want to keep emails down to a monthly newsletter, but wd it kill them to mention what their upcoming shows are, not just what’s already up? I presume they plan that far ahead, at least for their annual exhibitions.
If I sound bitter it’s because ACCA doles out free booze at their openings. Of course they don’t tell you when these are on the website and regular mailouts but you can figure it out.
New frontiers in legal testimony!
She later told police the gunman was a good-looking, fit man about six foot tall and aged no more than 25. She told the court the gunman reminded her of a young Bert Newton.
Random image from someone else’s blog!
Bad Toon Rising is a collection of drawings of well-known cartoon characters produced by amateur artists entirely from memory and without any reference materials whatsoever. We can all picture what Mickey Mouse or the Pink Panther look like in our minds, but getting that image down on paper is another matter! Never mind, we think that some of the worst drawings are the best.
In Korea, expect a traditional breakfast like this:
Nick Hornby: About A Young Boy.
It was Monday. I was at home listening to my 10 inch original of Turquoise’s “Tales of Flossie Fillet” on my stereo. It reminded me of when I first heard that Arsenal had signed John Rape from Spartak Lowestoft. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, as I’m a sad bald cunt with only football memories and crap ELO records for friends. Also, my son is some sort of spastic and he can’t knock on doors. He can tap them, though; he’s got a headstick which John Cougar Mellencamp signed. I hope he doesnt snap that headstick. It’s got sentimental value now. Anyway, it was a young boy. About 10, I guess. And black like my favourite black singer. You won’t have heard of him, but trust me he’s very black.
Anyway, this boy appeared to be bleeding heavily. I went to phone an ambulance but then I saw this boy’s vein spurting blood all over my floor – some of the blood was trickling towards my pile of old bus tickets. Nooooo! I kicked the little bastard out to die on the stairwell. Then I turned the volume up on the stereo and waited for the police.
I’ve been tinkering with the site a little bit, so there’s not quite so many italics to read, a few more links on the side, and some other minor tweaks.
Blogger has finally fixed the comments section so you can put a name to your messages without having to register. Also, in case you don’t know about it already, the links on the side of the page now include Bugmenot
, a useful site if you land on a website that expects you to register before you can read anything. (According to The Age
, my name is rewt.) If Bugmenot doesn’t work and you have to register, tell them your email address is something at real.com and pretend you’re teaching them a lesson about making bloated, intrusive media players
Some of the tweaks on this page don’t work exactly right all the time, for reasons I have not yet figured out. In all likelihood I will never figure them out. You probably won’t notice the broken bits, but they’re there and will never get fixed. Every time I attempt to improve this thing it will get a little more broken until it disintegrates into an unusable wreckage of lousy code, but hopefully I’ll get bored and stop updating before that happens.
An ambitious Australian film… you don’t really care very much about… any of the characters in the film. As a comedy, it’s a very academic exercise… sterile… keeps you at arm’s length from it… humour which you sort of register but you don’t laugh out loud about. But, you know, you sort of feel that all the ingredients go towards some sort of interesting mix.
AN extortionist who threatened to kill building workers unless they received a $50 million ransom from construction giant Multiplex used a 400-year-old code to communicate with the company. The Vigenere Code – made famous recently by best-selling novel The Da Vinci Code – was invented in 1586 and not broken until 1860.
The extortionist has been communicating with Multiplex via newspaper ads. It appears the extortionist, who threatened to kill crane drivers unless he was paid the ransom by Tuesday, made the company use the code to communicate with him.
The Daily Telegraph
yesterday deciphered the message, which appeared as a public notice in The Weekend Australian on February 19.
If you think most movies are crap
, at least you can thank kooks like this for reminding you there are plenty of worse movies that could be made. Dozens of them
Imagine Julia Roberts, Pres. George W. Bush, Mick Jagger and Olympic Gold Medalist Marion Jones all in the same room. Suddenly the doors to that room are locked behind them, and the famous four are forced to play ingenious and twisted games of survival until only one is left alive.
This is the first screenplay in a planned trilogy. It is told in a non-linear narrative style. A group of kids form a math club which turns into a nightmare of bureaucracy and ends up consuming their lives. It eventually leads to someone’s murder.
“Eyna!” (South African for “Ouch!”) is the comedic tale of a man, a manly-man, a sports-legend, national hero, nay a cricket god, who finds himself… pregnant? Ah, the fickle finger of fate and misguided storks.
Actually, I can imagine that last one as a comeback vehicle for Yahoo Serious.
(OK, this was actually from the “Readers’ Requests” section immediately below, but in the LRB it cd easily count as a personal too.)
Jesus, if it’s not Peter Phelps
it’s Johnny Farnham thrashing about in his tiny, inflatable wading pool of insular celebrity in the misbegotten belief that you can endear yourself to the world by acting like an egomaniacal tool.
I won’t say she is a real dog. I wouldn’t say that about my mother-in-law … and she is.
Charming bloke; fragile sense of self-worth. I suppose we shd be grateful he didn’t call her a dopey, hairy-backed sheila
. Or at least grateful if we weren’t at his gig on the weekend, judging by the playlist (posted after the article above). “Hold On I’m Coming”? “It’s A Long Way To The Top”? Brrrr!
Now to show how topical and up-to-date I am here’s a photie of Michael Moore
or somebody from last year’s Oscar ceremony.
My apologies to anyone who may have read the title and was worried I was going to post something about the Fred Durst sex tape.
“Oh no, the cat’s eaten all the toilet paper.”
is all grown up and working at The Age. Can’t help but notice the publicist’s disturbing definition of the term “doing well.” Perhaps she’s rehearsing for the old “died in hospital, said to be in a satisfactory condition” gag.
I haven’t felt the need to add to the justified sneering
at the contrived and cynical abortion “debate” that just happened to spontaneously pop up at the end of the silly season. But now that whatever point was to be made has been lost in a welter of jokes
about discovering your dad is really the Mad Monk, one burning question has been left unresolved.
What the hell happened to Family First?
These were the guys we were told had Changed Australia Forever by every political columnist staring down a deadline and three more years of status quo
. Isn’t this type of issue supposed to be their bread and butter? So many hacks were telling us a few months ago how influential FF is going to be, and now not one of them can be bothered hunting down one of the happyclappers for a soundbite. According to their website they haven’t said boo
since December. Did the entire party take their Christmas vacation in Aceh? Or is it possible that their good luck last time at the polls was just a teensy bit overstated?
Experimental + interstate music: With or without it, you’d have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, it often takes religion presents…
Ewe bleats harshly after lamb / Grows the seed and blows the mead
Thusday [sic] 24th Feb 8pm – 12am
impromptu lons – hi god people – barrage – meatwave – scraps – grey skulls -night crash – das butcher – rory brown / dennis rappoport – old timey dj -an unknown film – plus guests from queensland
Sweatshop Warehouse, 140 Barkly St (off Sydney Rd.) Brunswick
(near the Brotherhood of St Lawrence)
Donation for entry (money please)
This is in Melbourne, don’t go to your nearest Brunswick
expecting to find it if you are in another city. I don’t write this stuff myself, it’s all dictated by higher beings
I’m plugging this because I’m playing that night as a “guest” (even though I’m not from Queensland – brr!). Expect to find me lurking in the background messing with some bits of balky electronic gear with one hand, nursing a beer with the other and clumsily propositioning girls.
It must be dead because an ageing manchild complains
that even air guitar isn’t as cool as it once was, even in that stanky pen of rockpigdom, Hawthorn:
One conclusion was inescapable: the imaginary guitar is in grave danger of vanishing into thin air. As I see it, it’s part of a long and insidious plot to take rock’s power out of the hands of the common man and woman and towards the whims of corporatised music fashion. My own story is perhaps typical…
Next week: a scorching exposé of how they’ve changed the formula of Fanta. It’s so sickly sweet these days, what they hell were they thinking?