Saturday, February 27, 2010

A lot of love in the room

George Michael still has "it". He's gracious, dignified, talented, wonderful.

If Monday night was hell, climatically speaking, last night was heaven. A mild, warm late summer night. A light breeze. Aaaahhhhhh!

40,000+ people full of love and respect. It was a beautiful thing to behold and experience.

I loved every moment and the finale of Freedom (90) was perfect.

[Warning! This is the rant part. I hate to finish this post on a low note but I am bitter that he didn't include Wake Me Up Before You Go Go - unless it was the song I missed at the very start. I am also bitter about the moronic female behind us who spoke loudly to her friend throughout all the quiet songs. Shut the fuck up! The end.]

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

For those about to rock...

... we can smell you!

Holy mother of god. What a night. Imagine being at a gym with 60,000 hot, sweaty people. The air thick with humidity and BO.

That was Monday night at ANZ Stadium at the AC/DC concert.

I'm not sure what I was expecting but I think the sheer physical discomfort of the heat and the awful suffocating smell probably made me more critical than I may otherwise have been.

Strangely I couldn't really get into the breast flashing which is (apparently) the tradition during She's Got The Jack. I didn't enjoy Angus Young's recipracol striptese; he is, after all, the Mr Bean of rock'n'roll. Call me fussy but I don't get my jollys from watching an almost 60 year old skinny unattractive bloke taking it off. Do us all a favour and put it back on and throw in a paper bag over the head while you're at it, buddy.

Furthermore I hate solos: guitar solos, drum solos, any sort of solos. So Angus' 20+ minute guitar wank didn't ring my bell. I found it quite sickening actually. Shut up already.

The highlight for me was She Shook Me All Night Long, which I think is sexy piece of raunch rock, that's for sure. The lack of It's A Long Way To Shop If You Want A Sausage Roll was a huge disappointment.

Anyway, I'm glad I went. I can tick ACCADACCA of my list of bands to see and go to my grave having no desire to ever see them again.

In a week of musical extremes we have George Michael on Friday night. Don't forget to wake me up before you go go...

Friday, February 19, 2010

Listen up Alanis Morissette

This is fucking IRONIC*. Precious.

What a movie. What a story. What can I say about it?

Hard work. Actually hearing and understanding Precious, hard. Emotionally, hard.

I'm just not able to do social realism like I used to. Perhaps it's parenthood. The horrors inflincted on children are too hard to watch as "entertainment".

Performances are mind blowing. Even Mariah Carey is outstanding in her small role (who could have guessed). Gabourney Sidibe as Precious is understated and raw.

* To state the obvious, it's ironic because to name a child Precious and then treat her like garbage, like much less then human, is the ultimate irony. Don't you think.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Not Satisfied, Jan

Big Jay and I have been fans of the Showcase series Satisfaction since the beginning. Some people may choose to call it soft port and I can't really argue with that. I'll happily admit to loving that sort of titillation: yes there is plenty of sexy nudity but there are also some good plots, decent scriptwriting, solid acting and very fine production values.

Until Season 3 when I fear the wheels have somewhat fallen of the wagon. It just hasn't captured my attention as much as the previous two series. I was thoroughly annoyed by the "Mel's early menopause" storyline which was plain stupid.

However, the [anti] icing on the cake was the final episode, which we watched last night. Mel returned from a stint running a brothel in the Middle East with a baby girl which she apparently almost accidentally adopted from The Philippines. Don't you hate it when that happens. The scriptwriting around this storyline was complete nonsense. No bloody wonder total bullshit is constantly perpetuated in the media about intercountry adoption and the general public believe it because no-one bothers to present anything approximating the truth.

So disappointing to find a show which started on such a high note ending as a bucketful of incomprehensible drivel. It's possible there will be a Season 4 but I'm not looking forward to it.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Speaking of broken hearts

The source of all things tawdry Tyler Durden writes this about Leif Garrett.

I'm not sure what to think about it really. I couldn't care less to be honest.

What bothers me most is that there was a time in my life, I would say around the time I was 10 or 11 or 12, when I would have tried very hard to come up with that $5,000. That's all I'm saying.

Happy Anniversary, Lloyd and Diane

It's the twentieth anniversary of my all-time favourite film Say Anything.

My sister sent me this link and it brought a tear or two to my eye and a pang to the black, twisted chunk of coal I call my heart.

Thank you Cameron Crowe for this cinematic gift. Lloyd Dobler is my favourite human, ever.

When I take a moment to think about it, it breaks my heart to dwell on the fact that he is not real.

Life is not fair.

It just keeps getting better

Long time readers know of my hate/hate relationship with the ponytailed wonder aka Neil Perry. He has always rubbed me up the wrong way for intangible reasons. However, in recent years more tangible reasons have surfaced and I take great joy in presenting his failings at each possible opportunity.

Imagine my glee when I read this in the back of The Sunday Telegraph this afternoon:

Twitter of the Week

Matchbox Twenty frontman Rob Thomas, who's in town to perform some solo shows, was venting some frustrations on Friday night, tweeting: "My wife and a friend just left a place in Sydney called The Rockpool Bar and Grill [Perry's overpriced, overrated establishment]. WORST SERVICE EVER!!!!! Pouring rain, they were rude and refused to call her a cab. If you live in Sydney, think twice before going."

Nothing we didn't already know Mr Thomas. Yet another piece of evidence in the Neil Perry is a twat file.

[Possibly Rob Thomas' wife doesn't know how to complain properly either Mr Perry. There seems to be a growing group of people who don't seem to get what it is you're trying to do.]

Not for those with a weak stomach

Last Thursday my sister offered to babysit so we took the opportunity to sneak out for a movie.

My choice, so we went to see Daybreakers, the semi-Oz production starring Ethan Hawke and Willem Defoe as well as a few Aussies including Sam Neill. I love a vampire story so I couldn't resist. It had received some OK reviews so I had pretty high hopes.

I enjoyed it, pretty much. It had some good ideas, vampire-wise; but basically it was The Matrix with vampires. There was quite a bit of gruesomeness, with vampires going batshit on each other (blood supply is running out and when vampires are starved of blood they get really nutso, who would have thought!). I love that sort of stuff so I was happy.

While there was plenty of blood and guts and exploding blood suckers there was little by way of acting. Claudia Karvan was truly awful, striding around her scenes looking like a plank of wood with a face painted on it.

Overall I'd say see it if you're a vampire lover like yours truly. Otherwise, stay well clear.

Monday, February 08, 2010

Highlight Reel

We watched Couples Retreat last night. Wish we hadn't.

Nothing much to say about it because it was so horribly dull. The occasional smirk was the best we could manage, and even that felt odd because the whole thing was so unfunny, un-anything really.

For me that's disappointing because I'm a big fan of Jon Favreau/Vince Vaughn, especially as a team. Swingers and Made are two of my all time favourite movies. And if you haven't seen Vince in Clay Pigeons you must do so, right now.

Anyway, Couples Retreat was a very non-memorable movie but it did leave me with a new term which I love: highlight reel. Have you heard it before? Do you know what it refers to?

It's the fantasy movie you play in your head while you're either doing the deed or indulging in a little self love (Ed's Note: put: "euphemisms masturbation" into Google and enter a whole new world of funny). Highlight reel really tickles my fancy, so to speak, because I certainly have some favourites (I'm nothing if not a creature of habit) on regular rotation.

Just thought you'd like to know.

Sunday, February 07, 2010

A Family Moment

This afternoon we returned from two nights at Pearl Beach on the NSW Central Coast. It was a rare time indeed, a pure family weekend. Generally speaking we like to do things in packs, possibly with the idea that there is safety in numbers when it comes to entertaining children. We almost always weekend and holiday with friends and/or family.

But this weekend was just the four of us. The way I was feeling last week I was a little anxious about how the weekend would pan out, especially with the forecast bad weather. My fears were unfounded as it was a tiny bubble of family heaven (and that's not a term I tend to use often).

The house itself, Wildwood, was quite isolated; at the end of the last street, surrounded on all sides by trees and bush and wildlife. Let's not start about my personal feelings on these. Suffice to say I was able to tune out these things and simply enjoy the quiet and the far-away-ed-ness of the place. Of course I couldn't have possibly lasted more than the two nights but enough about my mental health problems.

We arrived late-ish Friday night and pretty much went straight to bed. It was raining, we were tired after a wearying week, it was perfect snuggle and sleep conditions. We did just that.

Saturday morning we enjoyed a leisurely family breakfast at the local cafe, followed by a short walk to discover Pearl Beach (which took all of a few minutes). We then took a drive to neighbouring Patonga Beach to see what attractions (not many/any) it had to offer.

Returning to our hideaway we decided a trip to the beach itself would be nice as the weather seemed to be holding off. We ended up having an absolute ball, a blissful two hours of playing in the surf and the sand. There was hardly anyone else there and it was just pure joy, the four of us body surfing together.

Almost as soon as we returned to the house with our lunch of fish and chips the rain started, and stayed. We were housebound for the rest of the day, watching movies, reading and sleeping. The only downer was the take away Chinese dinner. Big Jay drove to Umina for it and it certainly wasn't worth the drive. Horrendous! Luckily we didn't get food poisoning but I wouldn't have been surprised. If you're down Umina way stay away from the Silver Dragon. You have been warned.

This morning our Central Coast based friends met us at the cafe for a big Sunday morning breakfast. We had already packed our stuff and since the rain was still coming down we headed home. It was a brief but lovely respite from real life. I needed it.

Wednesday, February 03, 2010

This morning

Is feeling dead inside better than constant anger and frustration?

I think so.

Tuesday, February 02, 2010

School days

The school year 2010 has begun and I now have two children at school. The baby days are over.

Will started last Thursday and he is now in Year 5. High school is breathing down our collective necks and is a subject which can not be ignored for much longer. Shit.

Nothing much to report on the Will front. He is happy with his teacher, Miss C, who he had in Year 3. He knows her, she knows him, she understands him (I think). So all is well.

Miss Marianna Grumblebum started Kindergarten on Monday. So two days down and 13 years minus two days to go. She is fine at school but, as anticipated, there are meltdowns happening before and after.

This morning we had a doozy, involving her iPod, her breakfast and a door with a broken knob. Which was shortly followed by a tripping and knee grazing incident on the walk to school. Overall not the best morning of my life and probably not her's either.

It must be hard to be four and have so much expectation on you. To have to adapt to new routines, new people. To try and deal maturely with all these new experiences. No wonder she cracks when she in the safety of her own home, her own family, her own mental and physical environment. Knowing all the shit doesn't make it any easier on me. I'm still the one who has to keep the balls in the air, keep the machine which is our family unit well oiled and running. As always it's all about me, isn't it. HA!

Suffice to say I'm buggered right now. But things could always be worse; I could have to earn a living skulking around on stage dressed in insect screen mesh to a background of creepy music. So, you know, look on the bright side, etc.

That's entertainment

Sunday night I went to the Opera House to see Antony and The Johnsons. I went with my sister J and my long suffering hubby Big Jay. I have to say Big Jay was there by accident; he was feeling guilty for having let me go to so many concerts on my own and when I suggested this one he said "yes" because he thought there were no other takers. When he found out my sister was coming he was a little annoyed. He's more of an AC/DC sort of guy and if you put Antony and ACCADACCA on a spectrum they'd be about as far apart as Earth and Pluto (which will always be a planet as far as I am concerned).

It is worth casting our mind back to the last time we saw Antony at the State Theatre when the support "act" (and I use the term loosely was Coco Rosie). You can re-live this special experience here. Well this time around Antony out did himself. These people made Coco Rosie look like entertainers of the millenium.

How do I describe it? A geeky guy comes on stage and starts fiddling with his Mac laptop. Eerie, horror movie soundtrack-type music fills the concert hall. The lights dim and we all anticipate Antony's arrival. In vain. A shape becomes obvious to one side of the stage. A strange shape. As the light brightens somewhat the shape is exposed as a woman dressed in an old sheer lace curtain with an ugly metal pointy mask on her head. She stalks across the stage, slowly, very slowly. She is wearing odd, high heeled shoe things. She stalks as the music plays. There is anticipation that something interesting may happen. It doesn't. She arrives at the other side of the stage (so far the trip has taken about 15 minutes). She strips off the curtain to reveal a metallic bondagy type outfit. She takes off the mask. She stalks to the centre of the stage where she proceeds to move her arms and legs in a random manner. Another 15 minutes pass. She stalks off stage and relief floods the audience. In vain. Shortly she is back. She is now dressed in what appears to be an old insect screen. She stalks up and down the stage some more. She takes off insect screen. She postures in the middle of the stage. She leaves.

Fuck me! I giggled hysterically throughout. WHAT. THE. FUCK. WAS. THAT???!!! Seriously!

I know courses for horses, entertainment wise, but really. Do the Arts Councils give any old fuckwit a grant to develop their "art"? It was ridiculous, stupid, horrible and downright pathetic.

Attempting to wipe this comedy/horror show from my mind I settled in for the wonderful Antony. He was performing with a 41 piece orchestra and I was excited to see how this would work.

Well, I have to say it didn't work so well. Yes, Antony still has the magical, not of this world voice which blows my mind. But overall the show was strange and disjointed. For a start there was no sign of The Johnsons. While the orchestra played beautifully somehow it was too "pretty" and not edgy enough for me. It was missing "something" I couldn't put my finger on, if I compared it to his last solo show in 2006 or his appearance on back up vocals for Lou Reed in 2007; both of which were perfection.

He did the amazing I fell in love with a dead boy which is a song I simply love to death (pardon the pun). But he didn't do You are my sister or Fistful of love which are my two favourite songs. The songs off the new album all blend in together for me and don't really hit the spot. Not like I am a bird now which is an album I adore.

Anyway, to top off a weird and slightly annoying evening dear space cadet Antony went off on a meandering discussion about hating my husband's employer [evil evil evil ] Rupert Murdoch (or Rupey as I like to call him) and followed that up with some blather about climate change and how his hotel Quay Grand would soon be under water. [Well better sleep with a fucking life jacket on, just in case, you moron. - Believe me it pains me greatly to call Antony a moron, but I call it as I see it.]