It Takes One Solid Weekend Of Training To Get That Badge

I was standing with my friend Curtis on the tram stop near the corner of Collins and Spencer St, engaged in a cheery discussion about the hypocrisy of the Australian government and the inevitable demise of civilisation as we know it. We paused in our upbeat chat long enough to note that we were opposite the new Krispy Kreme donut city shop. The shop looked busy - there was a queue at the counter, despite the fact that it was after 8pm. Both of us agreed that we didnt really 'get' the whole Krispy Kreme phenomenon. Yes, they're tasty, but, you know, they're still only donuts. Why do people go berzerk for them?

Conversation wandered back onto other topics. Suddenly a siren whooped and two police cars came racing down the street towards us, lights flashing, the works. They pulled up outside Krispy Kreme. Curtis and I were like, whoa, maybe a donut fan has gone mental! Riots in the store as punters fight over the single remaining glazed chocolate item! The cops hopped out of the two cars and headed inside. A few minutes later I was like, What happened, are the cops still in there? We checked - and discovered that no, the cops weren't inside now, they seemed to be standing in a little clump around their cars. They certainly didn't look like they were working hard to break up a hostage situation, or even a food fight.

Curtis: Haha, how funny would it be if the cops have actually just turned up to get some donuts?
Me: Yeah, hahah, you know, cops love their donuts, gobble gobble! Like Chief Wiggum!

And it was at this point that a store employee wearing some kind of wacky get-up - possibly a Krispy Kreme sandwich board-type arrangement - scurried out of the store and handed a large cardboard box to the cops.

Curtis: Oh, no way.
Me: They can't possibly be--

The cops rested the box on the hood of one of the cars, opened it and...

Curtis: They are!

Yes, they were. They were eating them. Cops! Eating donuts! On the job! LIKE CHIEF WIGGUM! And they'd driven up with sirens a-blarin' and lights a-flashin', and everything! Curtis and I stood shocked. Complete strangers started to join us.

Businessman: Did those cops just turn up at Krispy Kreme to score donuts--
Us: Yep.
Irish Accent: And now they're all standing around eating them?
Us: Yep.
Businessman: Good God.
Irish Accent: *baffled* You mean... Just -- car -- arrive-- cops-- now -- donut -- eating?
Us: You are correct, sir.

After a bit more head-shaking and muttering from those of us watching along the lines of 'Am I dreaming?' 'I can't believe that just happened' and 'Why don't you go and catch some fucking rapists, you knobs,' the transport arrived and I left, but not before Curtis and I, without a camera or phone to record the incident, resolved I must blog it.

The Jelly Verdict
And so I do, in order that the story not be lost and forgotten forever in the sands of time. The tale must be told. Mine own eyes did not deceive. Your taxes at work. WIGGUM LIVEZ.

Scareapalooza

I have always wanted to celebrate a 'real' Halloween. It's such a cool concept - dress up, revel in the mysterious vibes, frolic around the neighbourhood, receive junk food, consume junk food. Unfortunately, it is not a holiday with an established tradition in Australia.

Despite this, throughout my childhood my friends and I maintained the faith, and did our best to trick-or-treat year after year.

And year after year, the experience was kind of depressing.

Firstly, it was always freezing, and there really isn't as much warmth in a lycra catsuit as you might think. Secondly, thanks to the endless scaremongering regarding razor blades in apples and poisoned lollies (was there any basis at ALL for those urban myths?) combined with the unfortunate spate of high profile child kidnappings that plagued Melbourne during the early 90s, our parents were terribly anxious that trick-or-treating would see us meet a grisly end. So we were only allowed to trick-or-treat at the houses of people we knew, and this, of course, meant forever turning up at the houses of local Lefty academics, artists and social workers who would inevitably react with: "*suspicious look* Isn't this an AMERICAN celebration?" or "Never heard of it. Can you share one Malt-o-Milk between the 6 of you?" or "Chocolate is bad. Here, have some carob!"

It was kind of crushing, especially given that television, books and movies from overseas had given us such high hopes.

I had another crack at trick-or-treating when I was about 13. My girlfriends and I hit up a rich suburb where a much older boy, on whom we all had massive crushes, lived. We found his address in the phone book, disguised ouselves sufficently, worked the rest of his street with some success and eventually rode the sugar high to his front door, where we were nearly savaged by his severely pissed-off dog. Would have served us right if we had been bitten, creepy little band of stalkers that we were. Yikes. The boy looked confused and slightly afraid of us - I can't remember if we got decent lollies from him or not. I do remember that the guy in the preceeding house had shut the door in our faces ("Trick-or--" *SLAM*), and the one in the next house along freaked us out by exclaiming earnestly, "I love the Mexican Day of the Dead! I've got some shrunken heads, do you want to see them?" Again, not exactly what Peanuts, episodes of Roseanne or (in my case) 'Meet Me In St Louis' has led us to expect.

Last year, I was still overseas in October. I was in the States, the UK and Europe for the Halloween lead up, and witnessed the shops busting out their special decorations and the papers featuring spreads on costumes and decorations. Finally, I thought, here was my chance to experience a real Halloween! Yes! Rock! Orright! Except-- not. Sadly, due to a scheduling conflict I spent the night of October 31st sleeping on the floor at England's Stansted Airport, wrapped in some newspaper to keep warm. Memorable - for all the wrong reasons.

The good news is, this weekend I will actually be attending a Halloween party. Belated, yes - but still. Sweet! What to wear? (I've totally planned well in advance, as you can see.) I was thinking about going as Wednesday Addams, but I'm getting my overly long, oboe-playing virgin-esque hair cut before the bash (finally!) and that was half the reason for the choice. My younger brother, the Boy Wonder, is coming too and we had thoughts of a duet. I have a snobbish reluctance to 'hire' a costume. The Fish Family tradition has always been to make one, or adapt an existing outfit. But having failed to get our shit together we might have stoop to the rubes level and sub-contract to a professional. Suggestions are welcomed.

While sourcing ideas I found this site, which (as well as actually good ones) has costume suggestions like:

Ceiling Fan: Write "Go Ceilings!" on the front of your shirt. And don't forget to cheer!
Blinghis Khan: Dress like Genghis Khan (armor, mandarin mustache, etc.), then add "bling," fur trim, etc.
Cardiac Arrest: She dresses up as a big red heart (cut out of cardboard or cloth) and wears handcuffs. He dresses like a cop.
Peace and Quiet: One person dresses like a hippie (jeans, flowered shirt, peace signs, beads, headband, etc.). The other person dresses up like a mime (striped shirt, black pants, suspenders, white facemakeup, etc.). [heh. I quite like that one.]

Also here's some photos of dogs in costumes because I can't help myself when I see them. (Thanks to Snaz for links)














"I could really fucking use some Force rite now kthxbye"

Your further reading for today - Stateside author and blogger Maureen Johson has her own Halloween stalker story - and it's a ripper. Ruth has also blogged some Halloweeny goodness - extra points for the 'Worst Witch' reference. (By the way, if you need to feel inadequate, consider that Ruth has only just turned 21. Freaky genius.)

The Jelly Verdict
I know many people consider Halloween to be just crass US cultural imperialism. I could muster some well-argued rebuttals - for a start, the origins are Irish - but what it really boils down to is this: I simply can't disapprove of a holiday that encourages the wearing of zany costumes in public. I'm sure you'll find some affection for this campy supernatural event in your own heart if you dig deep - it's probably buried under your Christmas spirit or beneath the horseradishy smell left over from Pesach.



Support the underdog. Celebrate Halloween.

All My City Is Belong To Party People

The Sunday edition of local Melbourne paper The Age has always been fairly lightweight. I certainly don't read it in anticipation of a hard-hitting journalistic expose. But I've always enjoyed a leisurely weekend flip through the supplements, especially the arts and entertainment section. So I noticed with interest that this part of the paper has (yet again) been given a new format - it's now called the 'M' magazine. 'M', so the caption tells me proudly, stands for 'More about you!' Cool - More about me! More about my town! More about me and my places and my stuff over a Sunday coffee, how lovely!

And there are so many things to simply adore about the last 2 weeks of 'M' magazine. Like the 'Teens on the Turf' cover story:


which is all about 'why spring racing is the new prom' (was there an old prom? I thought proms were American and we called it 'the school formal' or 'the social' but hey, I only work in schools, what do I know) and featured terrific information about adolescents called 'Kyrsten' and 'Amelia' who go to the horseraces in black strappy diamante heels and pearls and how they, like, looove the races because 'it's all about the excitement of dressing up and getting your hair done. There are aren't that many opportunities to get all glamourous and that's what it's all about'.

Then there's the following week's:

about (OMG, SCOOP) finding designer fashion items in chain stores.

But I think my absolute favorite part, which luckily I managed to find sandwiched in between all the pages of advertising, is this regular column:


You may remember Pete Glutbuster has had words to say about her before. I knew Mik's section would be something special when I saw that the first interview was with a young lady



whose description read:


And I wasn't let down.


Oh, see that? This poppet like, totally has a sense of humour about herself. Let's give her a second chance.


Wow. That answer was brimming with sharp wit and specific detail. Next penetrating question, please, Mik!


NEWS FLASH. Long held rumour confirmed when model-turned-aspiring actress confirms public suspicion that she ACTUALLY ONLY HAS A HALF A BRAIN IN HER HEAD. I knew it! How the hell does she function? Is she allowed to drive? Does she need help using the toilet?


Wonderful. Watch out Cate Blanchett etc. Keep grilling, Mik!


Love. Angel. Music. Baby. Urge. To. Vomit. Rising.

But wait. She said, her passions could 'get her into trouble!' Maybe she's going to make a shocking admission regarding her activities in the toilets at Candy Bar or similar.

And I’m so glad she doesn’t have one of those boring, predictable passions, like most people do, you know? Like creating ground-breaking art or making exciting new music or saving the child soldiers in Uganda or protecting the threatened Indo-Chinese tiger species.


Oh, come here. I'll give you a hug. Just take care that the white hot light of revulsion emanating from my heart doesn’t pierce your smoothly spray-tanned epidermis.

And wait, there's more. Here's last week's offering!


‘Hiyeeeee!’

On your marks, Mik, GO!


Really? Skinny jeans, that's actually what she wears while lying about watching Grey's Anatomy or The Amazing Race? Question Two and she already sounds like an incurable try-hard. (also please note, possible cause number 4 as listed here.)


Great choice of words, Mik. It sounds like a book from the 'Issues' section of the school library, 'My Mummy And Daddy Are Special.' You'll find it in between 'My Sister is Deaf' and 'Zack has asthma'.

Anyway.


Ho, fabulous! StephMc! The soap-turned-pop starlet of 'The Staph Steph Show'! The lass whose struggles with the concept of an album’s 'secret track' were so memorably captured over at Sternzine (if you haven't read that, please do)! The girl who, when asked by a UK fan on this Neighbours video post which charitable causes she was passionate about, could only stammer awkwardly that she was 'an ambassador for McDonalds' (yes, she actually did. It's right near the start, but I highly recommend the whole video for anyone in need of a laugh). The same girl who, when showing the 'Staph Show' cameras around the Neighbours set, helpfully informed her viewing audience, ‘And this is the torunda!’* And she’s her BESTIE! Since Year Seven! Tell us more!


NOTE: to the list of pop songs that may give you goosebumps (Good Vibrations, Thriller, Bohemian Rhapsody, Whiter Shade of Pale etc) please add 'You Should Have Lied' by StephMc. Lyric sample: ' If a tree falls inside of a forest and nobody hears it/It wont affect anybody 'cause no one will miss it.' I don't know about you, by my stomach's tingling. (Or lurching. It can be hard to tell.)

Right Mik, let's wind this up with a few final inquiries.


Ah, but in saying so, she's implying that she might, and that's a new and exciting way to name drop - her 5th so far (I've spared you a few). And I love that clarification- 'He's not just gorgeous - he's quirky.' Deep. But can we fit another name drop in?


YES WE CAN!!


Since I don't know her personally (although obviously having read this I feel very close to her), I'm going to give pastel here the benefit of the doubt and say, maybe this last answer is actually a joke. Am I being too generous? Could she seriously think that a man who looks like he'd enjoy nothing more than an evening of sweaty fumbling with some underage ladies and a video camera is someone worth getting it on with?

Oh Mik, you useless boobhag. Your party people and their inane chatter make me feel ill. And congratulations, 'M' editor Michelle Griffin, you've produced something so vapid that it actually makes reading the paper's other supplement, Sunday Life (which last week featured a half-naked girl on the front to illustrate that it was 'The Health Issue') feel like an intellectual challenge.

The Jelly Verdict
Maybe I'm wrong to complain. What the hell do I know about the throbbing beat of this city and it's partyfolk? I'm a slobby, unstylish musical theatre enthusiast with hair that is presently so unfashionably long that Snaz informed me I look like a virgin oboe player on her way to band camp. And why should I judge those who smugly wear one-offs from Parisian flea markets or S&B skinny jeans when I recently took advantage of the city's prematurely warm weather and walked to my parents house in my pyjamas?

It just shits me, I guess, that after multiple reads of the magazine that's supposedly 'More About Me' I can't find myself, or anything that even slightly relates to my life, inside it anywhere. I hope the rest of Melbourne is as excited as I am about what this weekend's edition may feature.




*Here’s a gloriously bitchy in-joke for ‘Neighbours’ fans (or hataz). In this official ‘Neighbours’ website video, StephMc's co-stars Dan and Caitlin conduct a similar tour of the set to the one Steph gave on her reality series ‘The Steph Show’. When they get to the 'rotunda', Caitlin says with a roll of her eyes, 'And here's the "TORUNDA",' and they both snigger. Oh StephMc, when even Dan ‘The Bulbous-Headed Idol-Singing Virgin' O' Connor is sniggering at you, I'd say your credibility is wearing dangerously thin.