e.w.j

still here

long time

try to delete you from my heart

don’t know why

i feel you

half full

still fuckn coughin up snot

totally over this flu tell u wot

my throat’s in a tether

i feel worse then the weather

but i’m very glad for the mates that i’ve got

the cardinal sin

today i rode janis into the cbd for a meeting. this was the first time i’d taken her into the city centre during a week day and i was a bit concerned about parking. before i left the office i looked up various web sites dedicated to free parking for motorbikes etc so i had some idea of what to expect.

on approah to my premeditated parking patch, however, i spotted a sneaky lil dodgy park next to this other vespa. it was off the footpath, snuggled in next to a building, all safe and sound. hesitating only slightly i flick my lite, swerve to the left and nestle janis in between the wall and the other moped. it was a pretty tight fit (as i may have mentioned, janis is a bit of a porker).

kill the engine and go to do the ever ungraceful centre stand dance to get her in position when i notice my fatal exception… i’d parked on a bit of tiling that was super slippery so the metal stand couldnt get a grip. i tried and tried to get that mutha licker to stick but to no avail. all that huffn n puffn just kept pushing janis closer to the wall. with me stuck in between.

and then, of course, i lost my grip on her. down she went. over to the right. she went down quite slowly, like the titanic. but then again maybe it was cos i watching in slo mo horror as she hit the deck…taking the other scoot down   in her wake. smash.

AAAAAAAAAGH!

lucky for me a courier came rushing to my aid (he heard my death cry over the engine of his 5 tonne truck). together we quickly got both bikes up and i decided that i should make haste for my planned park down the street. it was at this point that some smart ass came up and informed me that where i’d parked was actually a fire escape (with no signage). i needed no further encouragement. janis and i high tailed it outta there quick smart. it was a crushing moment.

i have learnt the following lessons from this ghastly experience:

– never park on tile. ever.

– motorbikes are very easy to drop.

– vespas are resilient. they hardly dent or scratch and are suprisingly easy to pick-up. must be the full metal jacket.

– someone will probably knock janis over at some point and unless i’m there when it happens, i would never know.

– a blood curdling display of vocal range will get you help very quickly (i discovered this after the push bike incident but its handy to remember for other such ugly situations)

– stick to the parking bays in the city, they are way better then sneaky dodgy cheeky fire escapes that have no signage.

– a good belly laugh after is essential to keeping this shit in perspective. served with beer. 6 pack min.

viva la vespa

ring-a-ding-ding, gots me some new wheels.

aye, she’s a beauty, i’m quite smitten truth be told. she’s pearl white with snake skin trim on the oh-so plush seat. she’s got a massive matching top box and a big fuck off head lamp. the best bit is her size. she’s a lane hoggin monster with 200cc 4 stroke engine which gives me plenty of head room. and she’s FAT. its like sitting on an overfed shetland pony. my flat mates caught me out the back fussing over her tethers and nuzzling in her ear (when she has her cover on, she looks just like a horse). like i said, smitten.

anyhow, i rode her home the other day and tried to organise a small welcoming party. the idea was that everyone would be assembled in the back yard and i would reveal her by fanging around the corner, barging through the gates and come screeching sideways to a well timed halt. of course noone arrived when they were supposed to (dusk, to catch the gleam of the setting sun wink off her flank) so i ended up munching down on the cheese platter and a few beers and by the time everyone rocked up i was pretty well cut. it had also started to drizzle. regardless, we partied on and everyone had their photo opportunity sitting on her well endowed lap. even the palm leaf got busted out for a few of the more burlesque shots – we’d rigged up a makeshift tent thingy with a tarp, broom stick and some string, it looked like we were camping in Cairns.

rode her to work and was grinnin like it was Tweekin circa ’96. so. much. fun.

i’m in luuuurrrve!

p.s her name is either Pearl, Mercedes or Janis… what you think?

fundamentally incompatible

When a guy sweats out his comedown in your bed while you are at work and doesnt strip the sheets.

When a guy sends you a text saying that you have to change the sheets when you get home.

When you get home and find that a guy has left your room in a state of disarray with his clothes strewn all around and the bed smelling like a toxic gymnasium.

Just.

Plain.

Gross.

uncouth

World Youth Day has been and gone, thank fuck. For one endless week Sydney was awash with hordes of flag bearing pilgrims all wearing the same silly backpack and large ID tag around their neck. They tended to move in large packs and bellow football chants which got old quickly. Pilgrims were privvy to free public transport and food whilst the rest of Sydney couldnt get to work or go about their business in peace. We endured this inconveneience by sharing tales of how thousands of cashed up Catholics were shacked up in school halls and freezing on ovals (some even got frost bite!), sleeping on bits of cardboard and getting as much nookie as possible.

Dazzlebatz and I tried to have a beer and pub meal at the Edinburugh Castle during the plague but we were descended upon by 100 backpacks who swarmed in and plonked them selves down at our booth without asking. After giving them a loud serve of truth and justice we moved to another table. They sent over the flag bearer who offered to buy us a drink by way of apology. Whatever. I thought they were supposed to be pilgrims with no money to buy bus tickets and here they were hitting the turps like it was New Years Eve. They even had the audacity to ask the wait staff if they could get a discount on their $8 meals!

das ist das

I got my new passport in the mail.

Feel like slipping into some lederhosen, eating kransky with sauer kraut and guzzling big beers whilst laxin in my beamer listening to kraftwerk on the funken gruven stereo.

Ja.

heavy duty

Numb.

Exhausted.

Feel like I’ve been marinating in legal juices forever

Every day a cold court room with nasty seats. Stiff neck

Every day the warm faces of the judge and his associates. Stolen giggles

Every day some drama, some objection, the C word. Often.

Instant friends. Easy laughter. What’s for lunch?

Scrabble. Cribbage. Sudoko. Crossword

Mario!

A walk in the park if we are lucky. Lap of the fountain. High blue skies

I want to sit on the grass for a while. In the sun.

Stay together, move as a group.

Think as a group.

Decision time. Beyond reasonable doubt?

Common sense.

Yes. No?
Slow mo’.
Over

For me.
I will go back to work next week. It never happened.

making progress

I’m a big fan of lists. Specifically writing them. And then crossing things off them. It really does help me to get shit done.

The idea of me getting my motor bike license has been on the list for a couple of years. Whilst it was only kinda pencilled in, it was on there, maybe half way down, just above learning to sail. I am thrilled to inform you that I have booked in for my 2 day pre-learner rider course for mid July. I am torn between either owning a motor bike or a scooter. Even within these parameters I have a number of half baked 2 wheeled fantasies: a fully reconditioned Italian retro step thru beauty from the 60’s, or a very zippy modern day sports scooter, or some dark creature from Deus with fat tyres. I’ll no doubt just end up with a postie. But I would at least paint it black.

The shift toward a new era of personal transport comes about because I am now car free. I sold the Honda on ebay and got $290 for it. It was due for rego, had no shocks and was riddled with rust. I couldnt justify paying more then it was worth to get it back on the road for one more run about the block. Having never dealt with wreckers in my short driving life, I had only heard horror stories from friends who told of having to pay the wrecker to take the car away, or of receiving pitiful amounts for their hunk of metal. Pretty happy with my ebay sale. It was my first.

I am also on the verge of being smoke free. Until recently I used to have a mild smoking habit that was exacerbated almost entirely by alcohol. I have 3 more chapters of Allen Carr’s Easy Way to Stop Smoking and then it is all over. I’ve smoked tobacco at various degrees of intensity since about age 15, so I’ve had a good dash. Truth is, I’m not enjoying it anymore. When you are the only sad soul puffing down a cigga on a cold windy street out front of the pub you start to think it over. I’ve smoked rollies since 2003 when I revolted against the chemical tang of pre-fabricated dhurris. Even then I had many “smoking rules” that I imposed on myself: no smoking when walking, when its raining, when its windy, inside, near kids, in cars, before midday, when sick, when I can’t get my preferred blend/filters/papers, after a heavy nite of party, during work hours, in a smoking room etc. Couple these self made rules with those enforced by society and I have a strong case to, pardon the expression, bag the fag. Not suggesting it will be easy. I havent finished the book yet and thus am still technically allowed to smoke, if I want. And I do still want to… fleetingly.

Giving up the smokes wasnt even on the list. It just kinda happened.

I’ve been on jury duty for the last 4 weeks. This event will get its own blog coverage in due course but I mention it here because it was the result of a chat I had with a fellow juror that prompted me to enquire about my German citizenship. I was born in Germany and came to Oz with folks at age 3 or 4. Up until 3 days ago I was under the impression that I had no cause to enquire about dual citizenship. Various reports from obviously ill-informed people had me believe that I was ineligible for German citizenship because of a number of factors that I won’t go into here. Anyhow, I wrote the consul an email outlining my history and in true German efficiency they got back to me within 12 hours with a positive response. For a measly $130 and sighting of some documents I can apply for an EU passport. The world has just opened up a million more doors. I am extremely happy and proud to be an Aussie Kraut, and will get the passport shortly to prove it.

As for what else is on the list, I’m still working on it.

memo to self 08

Yikes, I have a lot of ground to cover here since the fateful punk gig. I think I will just make a start on this entry and chip away at it when so inclined.

-February was large. Had my usual birthday month celebrations, this time shared with cuz Simon from Berlin. He was in town for 4 weeks on his inaugural antipodean adventure. We hammered it pretty hard for the first 16 days straight, but it had been a long time between drinks for us and we had some major catching up to do.

It all started on the first nite we met up. I decided that, in the spirit of my early twenties and crazy penchant for Montezumas in Crows Nest, I wanted to eat burritoes and drink beer for my birthday dinner again. This time we convened at Baja Cantina in Glebe for tacos and tequila. This joint had mixed reviews but was accomadating for our rowdy Tuesday nite rabble. High light of the evening was not the sangria but a personal appearance from Leo Sayer! Ever the hawk eye I spied his mop as he entered the room and gave him a hearty welcome and wave. My enthusiasm must have confused the wee lil guy as he bounded over to give me a hug and then realised on approach that he had never met me before. Leo backed away rather quickly, leaving me all deflated after my near brush with disco heritage (I had “You make me feel like dancing” as my recorded message for years). I had seen Leo in the flesh once before, at work, when he was doing sound check and I noticed with glee that his roadies had scrawled Leo Slayer over his roadcases. Anyhow, later at dinner when I had forgotten all about my earlier humiliation, Leo comes back over again and sings me Happy Birthday. I went very red.

A couple of days later Simon and I went to Alice to hang out with my brother Ben. Ben’s birthday is 5 days after mine, so we were there to celebrate his 30th as well as explore the red centre. On arrival we shot off to Ellory’s Creek for a refreshing dip. It was deserted and very very peaceful. Ben was walking around through the long grass wearing thongs. I was a bit concerened about snakes. Ben tells me that snakes won’t bite. I’m not convinced. Back in town we head out for a boogie and go to this community gig that featured poetry reading (gag) belly dancers and salsa demonstrations. I wasnt too impressed by the lack of males in attendance, and threatened to head off to Bojangles. Cuz deployed his diplomatic tactic and convinced me to stay put at our little family reunion. Ended up having a grand old time together bopping around on the concrete slab under the stars with what turned out to be a legion of lesbians.

Ben took us out to the Desert Park early next morning. It was 35 degrees at 930am. We trekked about for a few hours, watched the Birds of Prey show and relaxed in the air con of the Noccy (nocturnal) House . Ben used to work at the park so we had his expertise to guide us even though he insisted we listen to the recordings on headset. It is an interesting place, but fuck it was hot with a nasty Crown Lager hangover. After lunch n a snooze we head off for a quad bike adventure. The guide Frosty was a real militant wanker. We just waited till he was off a fair ways and then carved up the dust. I loved it. Ben and Simon wanted bigger bikes, but as a beginner I had loads of fun keeping up with those two hot heads and going sideways through the scrub.

Simon and I joined an el cheapo 3 day tour of the red centre. We missed the bus by an hour. They had to come back and get us last. Stepping on to a bus loaded with 15 strangers after holding up the tour was smirk worthy. Some dude was making these weird noises which became very annoying very quickly. I thought he was practicing his beat boxing… Within a couple of minutes of getting on the bus cuz n I have hijacked the bus stereo and have ACDC blaring. Off to the Rock we go. We make friends with everyone, the beat box syndrome is actually Turrett’s, there are loads of Swiss, a few Brits and a few smart alex like us. Cuz is easily the eldest, followed by me and the 2 guides. We see Uluru up close and personal as we walk around it in record time, pop in to the Olgas (walks closed due to extreme 47 degree heat), walk/climb Kings Canyon at dawn (brilliant! highlight of tour), sleep under the stars in swags, eat crappy back packer food, drink a sixer each nite, get up at 4am every morning, drive for up to 6 hours at 80 km/hour each day in a mini-bus with pseudo air con, meet the singing Dingo, cook kangaroo tail (gross), make a massive bonfire, fantasize about weed, forget about snakes, swim in dodgy swimming pools, dehydrate and rehydrate over and over again. Had a great time. Would recommend it if you can hack the heat. It was hellish at times. But the landscape is utterly staggering. I am going back to do the 4WD option.

– playground, air, lcd etc

– easter

– mustache burlesque

– still knox adventures

– scottie’s bike day

– sticky date pudding

LOL I got real far tonite