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@daleyrant on #Hottest100

Sunday, July 12th, 2009

This week, Aussie non-commercial alternative radio station, Triple J, held its Hottest 100 Songs of All Time as voted by its listeners.

It was a particularly cold and dreary day on which they played through numbers 50-to-1, so I decided (read: couldn’t be bothered getting out of my PJs and away from computer and heater) to Tweet my way through them. 

Here’s some of my inert running commentary:

  • Silverchair are embarrassed by the immaturity of Tomorrow but what about “You’re the analyst, the fungus in my milk”, like, TEN YEARS LATER?!
  • Thom Yorke recorded Fake Plastic Trees in one take, then burst into tears = Thom Yorke cries after a wank?
  • Reckon if we play Thriller loud enough, MJ might climb back up to the surface and do the dance again? …Too soon?
  • Teardrop by Massive Attack. So good. V.glad Madonna didn’t sing it as per original plan. I like my trip-hop to be pole-dance-free.
  • Reckon if we play These Days loud enough, Heath Ledger might climb back up to the surface and do the dance again? …Too soon?
  • Mixed feelings about Bittersweet Symphony (I’m here till Thursday, try the veal, etc)
  • Bless you, Jonny Greenwood, for trying to destroy Creep with grindy guitar noises. You’re way cuter than Thom.
  • “Radiohead’s DNA worked its way into Vanilla Sky“? OMG, my comedy gland just ruptured…
  • “Oasis could do no wrong”? Uh…
  • I could never like Wonderwall after a stalker sang it at me.
  • Under the Bridge! *gets out lighter* *accidently sets fire to post-1995 Chili Peppers albums* *realises it wasn’t an accident*
  • Reckon if we play Last Goodbye loud enough, Jeff Buckley might climb back up to the surface and do the dance again?
  • Love you Jeff. For realz. Would totally become a zombie if it meant I could marry you. HOT.
  • Bohemian Rhapsody plays. Neck and spine specialists rub hands together with glee.
  • @triplej drags out lead-up to top 5 like Eddie Maguire drags out answer to million-dollar question
  • Love you Thom. For realz. Would totally become a zombie if it meant I could marry Jonny Greenwood. HOT.
  • Take Five by Dave Brubeck Quartet for number one!
  • Seriously, did the Joy Division frontman also do vocals for The Monster Mash?
  • It took Jeff Buckley 20 takes to record Hallelujah – and I bet he still didn’t cry afterwards. I’m looking at you Thom Yorke.
  • I loved Jeff Buckley and Radiohead most when I was most depressed. Australia, is there a boy you like who doesn’t like you back?
  • Reckon if we play Teen Spirit loud enough, Kurt Cobain might climb back up to the surface and do the dance again?

A careless wish

Thursday, July 9th, 2009

“Oh,” I said with the longing of a peasant girl at the start of a fairytale, “I wish I could take a few months off (from, what, tending to millet crops?) and just write.”

Carelessly, I made my wish. And, in perhaps an equally careless way, it was granted. Now I have to damn-well make the most of it. Right.

The show

Two of the months I’ve been awarded are, for the most part, governed by Princess Cabaret – the comedy cabaret show, already established as a winner with audiences, that I’ve ever-so happily stepped into.

We’re in the middle of a NSW tour – beginning with Canberra and Wagga Wagga last weekend, continuing with Katoomba tomorrow night, and rounding off with a five-day run at Bondi Pavilion next week. Then it’s off to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival for all of August. I know, right? Like, wow.

When I first joined the show, barely two months ago, I was pretty sure I’d have fun being a part of it. I’d enjoyed watching it in a few different incarnations since early 2008 and was incredibly flattered to be asked to join them for their Edinburgh Fringe run (truth is, I nearly fell off my chair reading that email from director Brydie). What I didn’t expect, though, was to enjoy it THIS much.

“The audience stopped us in the middle of that song and clapped and cheered!” I exclaimed last Friday night after my first show as Princess Aurora.

“Yeah, they do that,” my castmates dismissed. And then they realised: “Oh wait, you haven’t done this before!”

No, I hadn’t. But I could get used to it. Just waltz into a show that already works? Don’t mind if I do!

So… so far, so good on that front. It’ll be interesting (read: all the more terrifying) to perform in our hometown next week, but hopefully the three out-of-town shows in the lead-up will have fortified me (read: been enough practice for me to stop stuffing up moves in the opening and closing numbers).

We sang for the Canberrans who loved the clever musical jokes. We sang for the Waggan footballers who loved the crass, edgy jokes. And somewhere in between we got lost, nearly ran out of petrol on a deserted road, had a key-locked-in-car scare at a servo, met with a few of bouts of carsickness, and had our bladders nearly explode outside a pub in Yass – which, incidentally, wouldn’t let us in because it was after midnight.

There was also a plentiful supply of car games, including Travel Guess Who (played with personality traits rather than physical attributes. Eg: “Do you use humour to mask underlying pain?” “Do you enjoy macrame?”), 20 questions, the form-the-alphabet-from-words-on-road-signs game, and my old favourite: the song lyrics substitution game (heart = arse, love = knob, baby = c***face, and any place name = Yass). No plebeian I-spy for us.

I was a teensy bit worried before I started this show because, compared in age to everyone else in the cast, I’m less like a princess and more like an elderly post-monarch. But thus far, be it my immaturity or the girls’ grown-up-ness, it hasn’t really factored in. Even amid the ups and downs of taking a show on the road, everyone has been welcoming and generous and a joy to be around both on and off stage.

But don’t tell them I said that – if anyone asks, they’re a pack of bitches and I’m planning to stage a coup on day three at the Gilded Balloon. I may even pee on the floor.

The job

After the whole restructuring fiasco at work, there was only one thing to do: skip the country. Actually, that had been planned months in advance and, in a glorious coincidence, took me right through till two days before the redundancy date. HA!

So I flew off to America and played tourist for awhile with my mum who had never been overseas before. We marked the occasion by springing for a helicopter ride into the Grand freaking Canyon!

After three weeks of city-hopping, show-watching, photo-taking (and sunburning) fun, I landed back in Sydney. The next day, I returned to work where I spent two semi-surreal days answering emails and tying up as many loose ends as I could.

Then it was over. Three years, one month and fifteen days after it began.

Two days later, I was on the road with Princess Cabaret.

Excuse me while I wait for my brain to stop spinning.

I’ve spent most of this week with a nagging feeling I should be doing something somewhere, as opposed to faffing at home. Though I do suspect that’s just where I’ve needed to be. Plus, though it feels like weeks, it’s actually only been two days of genuine bludging.

The words

I did say, though, that I wanted time to “just write”, didn’t I?

Well, now that I have the time… I’m suddenly petrified.

This blog entry alone has taken me days to even build up the courage to start. I figure it’s just because life has been so bizarre (in a good way) of late that I’m “reconfiguring my senses”, to steal a phrase.

But in good news, I re-read the TV episodes I wrote back in April for Script Frenzy and, surprisingly I don’t hate them. The characters still make me smile, and I still like the idea. The writing itself isn’t too horrendous either – especially for something written for quantity over quality. Not sure what to do next, exactly, but I’m hoping my enthusiasm will pave the way to better rewrites and funnier scenes (especially in the bits where I wrote “[insert something undoubtedly hilarious here]”).

In any case, I have time now. Time to make it count, Daley!

Antagonising killjoys made easy

Saturday, September 20th, 2008

(not that it isn’t already)

Anyone who knows anything about psychology - or dealing with people in general - knows that as soon as you tell someone not to do something, it will be all they can think about.

For example, if I say “don’t think about chocolate”, I’m pretty sure your head will be swimming in images of molten cocoa, floating down a canal built from a hollowed-out Boost, through a town of towering Twixes.

In short, as soon as you say “don’t do this” to people – and children especially – you’re screwed.

There are exceptions, of course.  Like, if you’re standing at the open door of a plane, about to skydive, and your tandem guy says “don’t jump yet”, chances are you’ll obey.  Ah life – it’s a keeper.

But if you’re, say, at Luna Park’s dodge-’em cars, and the dude on the microphone spends a lot of time telling you everything you shouldn’t do, and less time cranking the music, flicking on the fancy lights and letting you bump the proverbial out of your chosen target, you may feel an uncontainable urge to break the ‘rules’.

Bringin dodge-em back

 

This guy was the epitome of unfun, clearly hating life and everyone in it.  I’d have felt sorry for him… if he wasn’t such a d0uc#ebag.

He sounded like a voice-over wannabe – using deliberate and rehearsed inflections that you only ever hear on radio ads or in ice rinks (I suppose a carnie can dream).

As soon as people got in their cars, he’d start barking orders that went on for a good five minutes:

“No head-on collisions. If you are wedged somewhere, turn the wheel away from what you’re stuck against. Keep your foot on the accelerator at all times…”

The ugly yellow fluoro lights would stay on for the first half of each go, and there was no music until the last five minutes!  Once it was on, it was some kind of mellow trip-hop – as opposed to Born to be Wild, Eye of the Tiger, or any number of bogan rock tunes, as it should be.

And the dictation continued:

“No head-on collisions. If you are wedged somewhere, turn the wheel away from what you’re stuck against… turn the wheel away…”

Surely the point of dodge-’ems is to slam violently into each other, get wedged between the barrier and seven other cars, and have your car go wobbly while your steering wheel does 360s of its own accord.

When you first start playing with Lego, nobody stands there telling you, “Do not put the bricks squarely on top of each other or else your wall will fall down in pieces! Stagger them like a brick wall – I repeat, stagger them like a brick wall…”

Working things out for yourself, making mistakes and enjoying the ensuing mayhem – these form the point of child’s play, don’t they?

As I watched from the queue, I realised that, with every bellow, this sour-faced guy was killing the fun!  Not in a quick, painless way either.

There was only one thing to do - bring dodge-’em back.

My friends and I brainstormed while we were in line.  Flip him off every time he used the mic?  Seems too easy.  Shout abuse at him?  Actually, I was already doing that from the queue.  Collide as violently as possible?  Well, that was a given. No, it’d take something far more demonstrative to make a point.  And the right time was obvious.

We had our go at dodge-’ems, slammed violently into each other, and it was all over too soon.  The cars slowed to a stop.  And our killjoy friend started up again.

“Do not hop out.  Do not hop out,” he began.

We obeyed.

“As you leave, walk - do not run!  Do not run!”

You can guess what happened next.  We pi$$bolted.

“I said, do not run. Walk, do not run. Do. Not. Run!!!”

I kept running, weaving between the cars and leaping out of the dodge-’em track.  And I kept running out into the park - now with my arms spread like I’d scored a goal.

And I had.  As my friends and I high-fived, I turned around to see the mirth-murdering jerk glaring at me with poison daggers.

Childish?  Yes.  Satisfying?  Ab-so-freakin’-lutely.

I Like TV

Monday, July 7th, 2008

Watching TV shows is a legitimate hobby. And I don’t mean the kind of mindless channel surfing kind. I mean the deliberate appreciation of drama and comedy series made for TV. It’s as legitimate an art-form as any other, I feel. In fact, I think mainstream TV is doing a much better job using the motion picture medium than most films are.

I watch TV shows but don’t watch actual TV. I’ll gladly watch a whole disc of Futurama in a sitting, but so much as a 30 minute show that’s airing right now will see me skipping off to do something else in the ad-breaks – not to return.

It’s the way of the future – you buy/borrow DVDs, or download files, and watch stuff when you feel like it. Without being advertised at, and without missing out on stuff if you took too long to brush your teeth in the ad break. And just like stamp collecting, playing golf or learning a language, TV viewing a hobby because it’s on your own schedule. You’re in control. You can start and quit anytime you want… right? Right?!

Now that I’ve justified sitting on my arse eating Snakata rice crackers and Lindt Chilli Chocolate, watching hour upon hour of images on screen in lieu of doing something more social (some would call it “having a life”), I’ll tell you the two main shows I’ve been watching.

Dexter

Oh dear lord, this show… It’s “the show that everyone’s talking about”, but for good reason. It’s quite amazing. In case you don’t know, it’s the story of a man who’s a serial killer. But his adopted father, a world-weary cop who has noticed his boy’s violent urges and not-quite-right-ness, taught him to channel his energies into, well, killing ‘bad’ people – and not getting caught.


Morally questionable? Yes. But no more so, I feel, than any TV hero or superhero who goes around killing ‘the bad guys’ – and they do it with far less self-reflection and questioning than Dexter does. Even though he’s a sociopath, he knows it’s questionable territory too.

The dialogue is sharp and deep, the characters complicated and compelling, the twists and turns squeal-worthy, and the performances and direction just beautiful.

But another element that may slip under the radar in many appraisals is the cinematography. Some of the shots are downright strokes of genius. Some are so long and winding you think “How the hell did they shoot it like that?!” Other shots give sinister characters exquisite moments, or turn kind or appealing characters into sinister, almost repulsive ones.

And in all of this, it doesn’t take itself too seriously. It’s disarmingly funny in parts, which makes you suddenly realise you can relate to Dexter – a serial killer, no less. Everyone has felt like an outsider or pretender at some stage. Everyone has, however small, that ‘dark passenger’ inside. Everyone at times wears a mask.

I ploughed through seasons 1 and 2 very quickly. So during season one I was having nightmares – so what? It was worth it for such sublime entertainment.

Arrested Development

I’m a real latecomer to this show, but that makes it no less bloody marvellous. I’m about two-thirds of the way through season 2 now and it’s going from strength to strength. Or, perhaps, from insane to barking f–king crazy.

The Bluth family are the biggest pack of double-crossing, self-serving, amoral @r$e#ole$ you’d ever have the misfortune of meeting. Yet I want to hug them all (except, maybe, Lucille who I’d be afraid might stab me). And for some reason I can’t shake off, I find Gob (Will Arnett, who I knew first as Devon Banks in 30 Rock) really attractive. Michael is the cute and virtuous one, but there’s something about that gung-ho idiot magician… you know, it’s probably his chicken dance.

The show is peppered with brilliant cameos too – Henry Winkler as the astonishingly hopeless lawyer (“The will is in my office, next to the hotplate with the fraying wires”), Liza Minelli as Lucille 2 with incurable vertigo, Julia Louis-Drayfus as the ‘blind’/'pregnant’ lawyer… all solid gold.

The image of Gob being ‘skilltestered’ into the air by crane – while wearing a banana suit – may forever make me smile.

By the Hammer of Thor!

Wednesday, January 30th, 2008
Things which make me exclaim…
  • I’ve discovered the TV series 30 Rock. This show understands me.

“In Cleveland I’m a model!”

  • I had tonsillitis recently. Incapacitated, I started rewatching an old TV show – Lois & Clark (and yes I am aware of how tragic this is). I used to watch this show between the ages of 13 and 16, during which time my room became covered in posters of Dean Cain – who, I’ll add, I still think was a dreamboat (there’s another word I never use). So I grew up watching a geek/superhero with perfect hair, perfect teeth, a gleaming moral compass, the body of a god and… no freakin’ wonder I have such unrealistic expectations of guys. But, as they say, the first step is admitting you have a problem…

This poster featured prominently on my wall, circa 1995.