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Director’s Choice Award at MICF. National tour planned.

NEWS

(Brought to you by the new collaboration between The Kinks and Skunkhour. ‘The Kunks.’)

♥ My Melbourne Comedy Festival Show “Songs From The 86 Tram” went extremely well. I almost sold out all fifteen shows, until I broke my humerus by riding my bike into a car door. I won the Director’s Choice award, including $1000 cash. The show received great reviews, including a personal thumbs up from one of my heroes, Tony Martin. It was sort of devastating having to cancel the show, but it did create a groundswell of support and good wishes, with which I was spiritually nourished. I plan to reprise the show for Melbourne Fringe Festival. Warm thanks to everyone who came to see it and laughed in the hard to reach places. Special congratulations to my chum Matt Kelly (The Harmonica Lewinski’s) who won The Golden Gibbo award along with Richard Higgins for ‘The List Operators.’ Go independent comedy!

♥ At 7pm on April 19 I broke my arm. Specifically, I fractured the greater tuberosity of my humerus. It is a compound fracture on the very corner bit of my shoulder bone. It also means that many of my shoulder tendons have come off the bone, so I can’t move my arm much. There was a slim chance I had to be operated on, to put a pin in and hold the bone in place, but I’ve been able to make do with my arm in a sling. It’s been three 1 / 2 weeks and my arm is out of the sling and I can do basic things like typing and spreading toast, which is 3 / 4 of my life. I’ll be able to start playing guitar in a week. The pain has been relatively minimal so far. Special mention to Janet Mcleod, Emilie Zoey Baker, Jamie Power and Claire Hollingsworth who all dropped off food parcels, and to Andy Hazel for the bone knitting, slightly illegal Comfrey tea.

♥ Fortunately I don’t have a lot of gigs on over this time, apart from Comedy Festival Roadshow. I am doing five shows in regional Victoria. I will be able to play the finger picking songs, and have arranged for stylish comedian Oliver Clarke to be my ‘right hand man’ on stage, should I need to rock out.

♥ The national ‘Brown & Orange’ tour is in place for early July. Check the gig guide. I’m currently trying to book in Adelaide and Perth, unfortunately I won’t be able to bring The Awkwardstra to these far-flung places.

♥ My radio show ‘Lime Champions’ is in full swing. You can stream it every Monday at 7pm at rrr.org.au but no new podcasts planned as yet. The link to the old podcast is working again.

♥ ‘Brown & Orange’ is faring well in the reviewing stakes, with five out of six reviews being quite positive. Melbourne Inpress even liked Wow Wow’s Song, saying it has “the most ridiculously catchy chorus this century has produced. Six minutes chock full of sublime gimmick pop.” It often described as ‘not my favourite song.’

♥ My accident has given me time to catch up on some key viewing. I’ve been reliving my favourite childhood series ‘The Mysterious Cities Of Gold’ and it isn’t disappointing me! Thank goodness. Thirty Rock series three was characteristically brilliant, while I am proud to announce that I’m officially hooked on Gossip Girl. I don’t even think the ‘90210 for our generation’ is trashy, I just think its a good show about hot, rich New York kids and their problems. Also heavily recommended is the album ‘Fate’ from Dr Dog and any Dustin Hoffman film from the 70’s – he was on fire! (Midnight Cowboy, The Graduate, Lenny.). Also, Chris Morris’ experimental UK sketch show ‘Jam.’

♥ I’m 28 and I’ve made an important discovery in life. You can buy a four pack of Drumsticks for about $8. If you buy four individually, they cost $14. That’s a massive saving! It’s the new way to think about icecreams. There’s no reason why you can’t have pudding every night of the week!

LapTopping – 71 – “Nice Slacks”

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LapTopping – The Bit Long, Official E-zine of The Bedroom Philosopher
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ISSUE 71
Friday May 15, 2009.

New album Brown & Orange available now on itunes, in shops, or by mail order with a lipstick kiss from me.

Recent reviews:
“Its a lavish production and a thrillingly entertaining and equally exhausting listening experience.” Inpress
“It is (like the man himself) entirely enjoyable, entirely likeable, and entirely odd.” Album of the week, BMA.
“…ample music invention flavours his dreams of alien abduction, caged bears and Jesus on Big Brother, and unlike the accidentally funny troubadours out there, he knows every joke should have a point.” The Age.

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LT BIRTHDAYS

Happy Birthday Mike Oldfield (Tubular Bells) 56 today!
Happy Birthday Brian Eno 61 today!

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STREET TEAM RECRUITAROO!

National crew required to put up posters in indie record stores and on the back of Nan’s! Put up about 20 posters and get yourself on the door plus a high five hug! (A jump in the air high five that ends in a hug. It’s like ice-skating on land.) Personnel required in Melbourne-Canberra-Sydney-Newcastle-Brisbane-Adelaide-Perth n Hobart. Just email me your name and address and recent blu-tak / sticky taping experience.

Mega turbo thanks to the Melbourne Street Team for their chivalrous efforts handing out flyers during Comedy Festival. Five stars moforino’s!

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PROPOSED SEQUELS TO KUNG-FU PANDA

Lacrosse Camel
Spoken Word Meerkat
Table Tennis Octopus
Yoga Squirrel
Chess Koala
Trivia Doberman
Jujitsu Tetra dactyl
Lawn Bowls Budgie
Circus Sloth
Tantric Gorilla
Origami Kitten
Slot-Car Hyena
Kick-Boxing Dove
Humanitarian Squid
Zen Buddhist Platypus
Swing Dance Whale
Self-Defence Panther
Marbles Lion

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NEW SEGMENT! TINY LEGENDS.

On any given day a meek, beautiful, funny or odd incident may occur – so comparatively insignificant that we soon dismiss it. Here at LapTopping we want to set these moments eloquently in the digital cement of time. These personal moments are the essence of the divine comedy of human existence. Allow me to example:

From Justin Heazlewood:

“I was riding past traffic lights on my bike. A young teenager was with his Mother. As I approached I saw him swing his leg up and kick the traffic light button with his foot. His Mum snapped ‘don’t do that please!’ The kid seemed unrepentant.”

“On the Number 8 tram. An empty Schweppes Lemonade can was having a solo rolling adventure. I started to get emotionally invested in its journey. It was banging from side to side for a while, getting small run ups but then being dashed against a seat. Eventually, it rolled out of sight which made me pleased. Later, it returned and I was scared it was going to be crushed. I ended up taking it and putting it in my bag, singing a song about the ‘little lemonade can’ in my head.”

“I was having a vague out in the Carlton baths swimming pool. I started picking my toe nails. Suddenly aware of how inappropriate my actions were, and the presence of fellow swimmers, I twisted around and pretended I was doing a leg stretch.”

“I was walking with a friend, talking about Black Cat lollies, and how I never liked them. At the precise moment that I mentioned Black Cats I turned to stare directly at a black cat, sitting on the front path of a house. It was almost identical to my old pet cat, Blossum.”

EMAIL US YOUR TINY LEGENDS.

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INANIMATE OBJECT BEREAVEMENT NOTICES

There are currently no notices. Are you or a friend suffering the loss or illness of an inanimate object? Do let the LapTopping community know.

SEND YOUR BEREAVEMENT NOTICES TO THIS ADDRESS.

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GET A WRIGGLE ON GOOGLET!

Phrases people have typed into Google to land on my website:

NOTE: My site is now number 1 for the phrase ‘the world is f@#$ed.’

“books that teach onamatapoeia”
“commodore 64 adelaide club”
“cruskits ingredients”
“hobart airport urinals”
“child is sick and bedroom smells like bread”
“how a shy girl can be seductive”
“girls in the crowd at the cricket”
“how to busk with a clarinet”
“i think what nick sun needs is a big warm hug”
“goth girl smoking on flinders street station steps”
“what is up today at club penguin because things are sopost to be their”
“hexagon colonel urinal”
“drag racing bedroom ideas”
“molly dye how do you get boot polish out of jean”

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TIME IS CHEESE AND MOUSE IS HUNGRY!

The Wolf and Pig, arguably the cleverest thing you’ll ever see.

Tony Martin’s ‘Grant Spatchcock,’ arguably the funniest thing you’ll ever hear.

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A GIGGLE OF GIGS

May 22 – Appearing on a ‘hypothetical panel’ for emerging writers festival. BMW Edge Theatre, Federation Square. 7pm.

Melbourne Comedy Festival Roadshow (w/ Greg Fleet & Sam Simmons).
May 26 – Rutherglen.
May 27 – Yarrawonga.
May 28 – Swan Hill.
May 29 – Robinvale.
May 30 – Broken Hill.

Brown & Orange National Tour.
All gigs feature two sets, solo and w/ The Awkardstra. Special guest Josh Earl.

July 1 – Sydney – Bar Me.
July 2 – Canberra – ANU.
July 3 – Newcastle – Lass’o’gowrie.
July 5 – Brisbane – The Troubadour.
July 9 – Melbourne – Toff In Town (w/ Merri-May Gill (Brisbane). Josh Earl MC.)
July 12 – Hobart – The Republic (w/ Charles Du Cane, No Josh Earl).
July 16 – Burnie – Stagedoor Cafe (Solo)

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STORYTIME

(Brought to you by Lost In Translation the pinball game. The world’s first minimalist pinball machine. See how long you can keep Bill Murray’s head in play, at 100000 release ‘Multiplot’ with Scarlett Johansen entering the fray.)

Until April 19 2009, I’d never broken a bone, and I was proud of my track record. This long lasting love affair with self preservation came crashing down along with me and my push bike. I was three quarters through my season in the Melbourne Comedy Festival. It was the Sunday of a Tuesday-Sunday run and I was feeling somewhat ’emotionally volatile.’ I’d visited a friend to sell her my spare pedal tuner for some cash flow, bolted over to safeway and done my patented ‘shopping without a list wandering the aisles scowling over every item’ routine. I had a backpack bulging with goods and I was in a rush to get home and cook some chops in time to have a nap before my show. I was cycling dangerously, and I knew it. It was night, I had no lights on my bike and dark clothes on. I gunned up to the intersection, which was red and thought, ‘hey look at me, I’m a bike, I can do what I want.’ I burned around the intersection and pedalled as fast as I could down a busy main street. I was hitting my top speed when in front of me a parked car flung open its driver’s side door. I had one second to sit with the fact that I was about to ride straight into it.

HIT!

I flew through the air like a bony ghost. It was dark, the blood was hurtling to my head. Instincts activated. My body braced itself. The bike came with me. I couldn’t tell you the maths of what happened. I landed with a full-blooded thud, directly on my right shoulder. It must have looked terrible. At first I was winded, slightly in shock. I lay on my side, still alive, an instant survivor. A young couple loomed over me.
‘Mate are you all right?’
‘Do you need an ambulance?’
‘Can you sit up?’
‘Move your fingers.’
‘I didn’t see you.’

My first response was to laugh. I was tipsy with adrenalin. ‘Ha, oh man, oh f*&k, I totally stacked my bike.’ I’d been a tightly compacted spring for so long; this crash had unravelled me. Sure, I was stunned and scratched and smacked around, but the pain wasn’t piercing, and there was something already darkly amusing about it. I’d been running myself at maximum speed for two whole months and now I’d been stubbed out in a second by a giant hand. I’d crashed my bike like a twelve year old and was sprawled out like a drugged dog. It felt like life was sharing a divine joke. A hyperactive uncle pulling the rug from under me, leaning over with whiskey breath and grinning. ‘Hey kiddo, seriously, there’s only so much you can do. Take five you bozo.’

I told the couple I didn’t want an ambulance because I couldn’t afford it. Clearly my brain hadn’t been injured in the accident. My first instinct was to check my guitar strumming arm that had taken the fall. I almost cried. My favourite lambswool cardigan was torn at the elbow! The couple who’s car I’d hit offered to take me to a hospital, but I thought I should just go home. It turns out they were off duty policeman! It explained why they were so efficient at checking on me. Once I was home I sat on my bed holding ice to my shoulder as it began to clamp up. I had a little weep. This was appalling timing. I rang my best mate Tammy, and we taxi’d to Royal Melbourne hospital. After an obligatory wait in emergency (I was tempted to reprise the junkie character from my show and ask why it was taking so long) my arm was x-rayed and I was informed I’d broken my arm. I would have to cancel the rest of my Comedy Festival Shows. Alone in the doctors office, my heart sank. ‘You f$%ked up,’ I thought. Like a lung, my heart revived again. I looked up at the bright lights, my arm in a sling, my legs dangling over the bed and chuckled in disbelief. ‘Finally, you get a break.’

Arm-breaking FAQ

Q. Was it really your humerus?
A. Yes.

Q. Was it really on the 86 line?
A. Well, it was just off it. We had to beat up the story a bit for the press release.

Q. You should have caught the 86 tram! Has anyone said that?
A. Yes.

Q. Were you wearing a helmet?
A. Yes, and I didn’t hit my head at all.

Q. Was it the driver’s fault? Are they liable?
A. I was riding at night in dark clothes without lights, and he is a policeman, somehow I don’t like my chances in a court of law.

Q. Were they cranky?
A. No, they were completely lovely. They even knocked on the neighbours door to see if it was okay to chain my bike up. The neighbour brought out some ice in a bag (not the drug). Everyone was very kind. Well, excect there was some old geezer who thought it’d be helpful twenty seconds after the crash to lean over and say ‘you should have had lights on.’ Too soon Pops!

Q. Are you covered by the TAC for loss of income?
A. I’ve put an application in, but I think you have to have an income first. Seriously though, they have a rule where they won’t claim for the first five days after the accident, which would have been my final run of shows. I may be able to average out earnings based on my last tax return, but I’m not sure. They do cover hospital and physio costs though.

Q. Do you have a cast?
A. No, I’m still writing the screenplay. Seriously though, you couldn’t put a cast on it because its right up near the shoulder. It was just in a sling, which started to smell funny after a week so I washed it in the shower. Also, it would get crumbs in it a lot. There was a great moment where I tried returning some Mini HD tapes to Ted’s Camerahouse, but i’d passed the fourteen day return period. So I moped out and stood outside on a busy Elizabeth street just reaching into my sling and flinging crumbs out onto the street. Breaking your arm as an adult isn’t as fun as when you’re a kid. People can’t write on your sling and my Mum was nowhere to be seen.

Q. Do they charge you to cancel your shows?
A. Someone mentioned a rumour that Ticketmaster have a $100 per show cancellation fee, but I’m yet to investigate. The thing that hurts most of all is I could have made up to $4000 if I’d sold out the remaining six shows. Camp me doesn’t think about that. Quick Camp Me, distract me with something…”would Vulcan girls be good in bed? They sure would be logical…”

Q, Did you consider getting someone to play guitar?
A. I did consider it, but there wasn’t enough time for anyone to learn that much of a show and pull it off. Also, I had no backings to the songs.

Q. How’s the arm now?
A. It only hurts when I roll on it in bed. I can’t lift my arm above 45 degrees though, and it may be like that for a couple of months. I can’t do any heavy lifting for three months.

Q. But your ego, how are you going to carry that around?
A. Friends.

Q. What terrible timing. I’m so sorry for you.
A. Seriously, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I was taking my body for granted.

Q. Quit smoking then.
A. No.

THE END.

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LAYTOPING IS MISPELLED, AND FREE! WHAT A GREAT GIFT IDEA, AND IT’LL CUT YOUR ENERGY BILLS IN HALF! SEND IT TO A FRIEND!

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When Indie Becomes Mainstream (Frankie – 2009)

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Who could forget the feeling of first discovering your favourite band or show. Like a seasoned explorer, you sail the air waves, telescope poised, waiting for a particular hook, lyric or joke to glimmer on the horizon like a cheeky lighthouse. Eyes grinning through sea spray you throttle your badge encrusted wheel, drop the striped sail on the Good Ship Indie and lay a course for life-changing island. Reaching shore you dash out, plunge your headphone jack into the coconut tree and immerse your mind in its luxurious bounty. That which lay undiscovered now feels like home, and your map of the world becomes a little more complete.

In 1999 my friends and I discovered George. They were fronted by the mesmerising voice of Katie Noonan, best showcased by first single ‘Holiday.’ We’d go to their gigs at the Gypsy Bar and sit cross legged in the middle of the modest crowd, happy to be sharing our island with fellow explorers. But people like to boast, and our secret location fell into the wrong hands. A few months later I awoke to find George’s album had gone to number one, accompanied by a truly sinister television commercial. Their next gig I stood up the back of the Royal Theatre while a Kon Tiki load of riff-raff scuffed up the sand, burped over the choruses and shouted out for singles. The next day I promptly took my 7-inches and magazine clippings and burnt them, chanting a simple cleansing prayer into the flames. George were dead to me now.

It’s a testament to the human ego, the way we make our role as fan completely about us. It’s as if the art is the spiritual putty we need to patch up our sense of self. It’s such a one-sided, long distance relationship, that the true motives often become confused. We’ve all had that hip friend asking if we’ve heard of The Obscures, their eyes burning with rage and glee when we decline. They are at once delighted that their secret remains safe, and exasperated that such genius remains undiscovered. How to solve the paradox of wanting a band to be big, but not too big.

Dan Le Sac’s song ‘Thou Shalt Not Kill’ goes there. ‘Thou shalt not put musicians and recording artists on ridiculous pedestals. No matter how great they are, or were. The Beatles were just a band. Oasis, just a band. Radiohead, just a band.’ It’s true. Do you think your favourite indie artists are at home running commercial decisions past cynical Myspace fans? ‘Hey guys, even though we’ve struggled for ten years and are on the brink of a major record deal, after extensive messaging with SadGirl79 I think the best way to keep it real is to release an EP in eight years then all somehow die.’ With the decay of the music industry and the DIY Internet age removing the fourth wall, surely there’s a little more empathy and understanding towards artists. Whereas the use of Feist’s song ‘1234’ in a Mac commercial would have attracted cries of ‘sell out’ in the 90’s, it was quietly chalked up as a valid industry manoeuvre.

I recently discovered Six Feet Under, only to find that for most of my friends that good ship had sailed about three years ago. Rather than be deterred I simply persevered and had a sense of rediscovering something beautiful, and have now joined the ranks of ambassadors for the show. Similarly I’ve gone back and found incredible peninsulas within The Kinks, JJ Cale and Boards Of Canada back catalogues. Sure, The Boosh, Kings Of Leon and MGMT are all over-inhabited, and there are those who’ll sit up the back of their Tavern screaming ‘I discovered them first’ to anyone who’ll listen. But the truth is, you’re the captain of your ship and if you feel like it’s yours then no-one can take that away from you. Alternatively – No band is an island.

Social Suicide Bomber (Frankie – 2009)

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(This piece first appeared in Frankie magazine in response to the question ‘What is your super power?’)

You don’t choose to be a social suicide bomber, you are born one. Just like a pre-pubescent Spiderman was caught with goo on his hands, those inflicted / blessed with this conversational gift discover it by accident. With great power comes great irresponsibility; if it’s the ability to unnerve the most robust of people with sheer presence alone.

I first discovered I carried ‘the mark’ (my face) entering teen hood. I was a Junior Nipper at the Burnie Surf Club, and often attended squad training with the older boys. Despite my best efforts to fit in, I started noticing a trend: as soon as I joined the circle, the circle broke apart. I couldn’t understand it. Every time I’d creep in with a swag of fascinating offerings bubbling beneath by bowl cut. These could include ‘has anyone felt the sand today?’, ‘let’s go night skipping’ or ‘does anyone want a bite of my chomp?’ With cold blue eyes the boys would stare out to sea before staggering away like stallions in a cyclone, leaving me tinkering with a KFC refresher towel.

By High School, when Spiderman was at the web building stage, I was on the World Wide Web. In 1995, when the Internet exploded, I was attracted to a primitive, MS-Dos based chat room called ‘Dyslexicon.’ The point was to make aimless conversation in the hope of appearing interesting and being promoted by your superiors. My username was ‘crumpet’ and I’d often kick start conversations with ‘I’m from Tasmania who wants to party?’ only to find myself already demoted two levels. The Dyslexicon was a maze of virtual rooms, and I’d wander about like a Pop at a party. A typical situation went:
YOU ARE IN THE POOL ROOM.
JIVE: Yeah it’s like 30 degrees in Toronto today.
WIZZBANG OPENS A DECK OF CARDS
CAROLINA: Man I’ve gotta finish my thesis.
CRUMPET: Howdy!
JIVE LEAVES ROOM.
WIZZBANG LEAVES ROOM.
YOU HAVE BEEN DEMOTED TO PEASANT LEVEL!

At Uni, when Spiderman was swinging between buildings, I was trying to swing it with the ladies. I found my powers to be growing stronger. On some occasions, I didn’t even need words to obliterate small gatherings. On the dance floor, I felt a powerful force emanating from within as I lurked in the wings. People seemed to gravitate away from my bespectacled gaze, and sometimes, just for fun I’d move them about like chess pieces. I’d only have to take a few steps towards some cagey brunettes, get four flails into ‘Groove Is In The Heart’ before my aura-bomb would detonate, triggering a crater of space around me. It was only broken by ground troops, or ‘bogan’s heroes’ shouting and sloshing beer.

Now I am a fully fledged adult, and just like Spiderman understands and accepts his role as hero, I too feel a sense of honour to be a Social Suicide Bomber. Only now can I be confidently awkward enough to use my powers for good. When stuck at a stale art exhibition, caught in the cross-fire of pseudo-academic Marxist rhetoric, I can simply sit back and detonate my arsenal of anecdotes. Whether it’s ‘Nan and I really miss our bushwalks,’ ‘My sideburns are sore,’ or uncontrollable laughter followed by ‘sorry I had a really funny teacher in grade six,’ I can stand back and watch the circle explode in a nebulous of mumbles and excuses. I feel truly liberated, as the bores pick out the shrapnel of Jatz biscuits and brie.

I’m often called upon by friends to help them find freedom from railroading social situations, and like Spiderman, I have my pale-faced uniform always on hand. My blind confidence is sky high, and my weapons even more sophisticated, you try working into conversation the non-sequitur of ‘Ten Green Bottles’ sung in Indonesian. It’s lonely work, but I know that in the afterlife I’ll be promoted to mega-legend and given my own cruise ship where I’ll keep everybody in stitches.