Peace Attack

02/12/2009

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27/11/2009

» A True Hipster

This is what he was like. I’d drive over to his place to play guitar and he’d be lying on a bed reading a book. Grant never felt guilt about this. The world turned and worked; he read. That was the first message. He’d offer to make coffee, and I knew – and here’s one of the great luxuries of my life – I knew I could ask him anything, on any artistic frontier, and he’d have an answer. He had an encyclopaedic mind of the arts, with his own personal twist. So, as he worked on the coffee, I could toss in anything I liked – something that had popped up in my life that I needed his angle on. I’d say, “Tell me about Goya,” or, “What do you know about Elizabeth Bishop’s poetry?” or, “Is the Youth Group CD any good?” And, his head over the kitchen table, he’d arch an eyebrow just to ascertain that I was serious, which I always was. Then he’d start. Erudite, logical, authoritative and never condescending – not one ounce of superiority came with the dispensing of his opinion. God. I’m going to miss that. And of all the holes his departing has left, this for me is the biggest: the person you can go to who is so much on your wavelength, stocked with shared experience, whom you don’t ask for life advice – Grant would be one of the last people there! – but who, as a fellow artist, you can go toe to toe with and always come away totally inspired by. Well, that’s a great thing.

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The QVB Tree is up!

It looks a lot better than it ever has, I suggest visiting.

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26/11/2009

GOOKS WITH DRUGS

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24/11/2009

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watching the news/reading the news:

intrazone:

I am infinitely glad that I am not going to schoolies or my school formal.

But schoolies was awesome what

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TODAY I WAS SAVAGELY ATTACKED

planettampon:

By a magpie.

The horrific incident happened on the way back to my car after buying a bottle of Portino (poor version of Portello) and some lolly mint leaves. I was innocently pondering whether the cashier at the shop was a homo or not, when the hateful creature swooped down into the back of my skull, clicking and flapping as it connected.

So I screamed and threw things in the air and crouched and looked to see if anyone was watching me. Across the road were two tradies eating fish n chips, laughing at my misfortune. Sweaty palms, red face, clumsiness ensued. Apparently The Birds is a movie and it turns out I’m not as graceful as Tippi Hedren like I once assumed.

I picked my shit up off the ground all the while frantically searching the sky for the wretched animal. I got into my car just as the fucking magpie came swooping in again, clicking and flapping once more.

There is nothing more hilarious than watching magpies swooping people and at the same time, there is nothing more embarrassing than it happening to you. It’s the same as unwanted public nakedness, spilling coins at a vending machine with a line of people behind you or farting and having no escape plan/no one around to blame.

The only way I can justify the crippling embarrassment caused after being swooped by a magpie is if I drive over one of them in my car. Magpies of the world, you have been warned: fuck back or die.

Today at work I was kneeling backwards on a swivel chair with my hands resting on the back. Suddenly the back snapped off (due to INTENSE PRESSURE) and my face landed on the nearby desk. It was hilarious.

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