A Life Less Wes

Oh to have the time to live your life like a character in a Wes Anderson film. I love the whimsical nature of his films. Such a beautiful take on life. And what great soundtracks.

http://tenenbaumfail.tumblr.com/

Theology 101

I have spent large sections of the last 24 hours in deep, though possibly not incisive, theological discussion with one of the new brothers-in-law. The evangelical one as opposed to the Low Church Anglican. I have enjoyed questioning his knowledge in the same manner as I do talking to experts in most fields. He holds degrees in Theology and Marine Biology (Yes, I have annoyed him with Seinfeld references). His theological thinking seems to be broad and reasonably accepting although Catholicism and Islam are not popular.

I am in no position to question his faith or to extol the virtues of my own atheism/humanism though. For me the consideration of my own faith, or lack there of, is something that is of minor relevance in my normal life. His life revolves around this questioning and has done for many years. I am in no position to mount a worthy argument. The enjoyable thing is that I feel no need to. I enjoy asking the questions and he enjoys answering them. The fact that the discussions can be had over a glass of red wine makes it all the easier.

I have been listening to The Aerial Maps tonight. I wonder if I will ever be able to explain to the brother-in-law how for some, such as myself, our faith comes to life in that perfect beauty sometimes found in 15 seconds of song or in the wind on a wintry beach? Those moments when the world seems to slow and you never want life to end. Moments when you feel no need to rejoice in anything other than the present.

Each to his own I suppose.

7.30 Report or Entertainment Tonight?

I am slightly concerned about the direction being taken by The 7.30 Report in recent times.

Are we having some slow news days? Perhaps the team needs some story suggestions? This is what I would like to see.

Red Kez skewering The Ruddster over poorly publicised chats with senior Chinese officials.

Or perhaps asking Stephen "I am the epitome of 'unrepresentative swill'" Fielding about his very existence.

How about trying to explain what the fuck is going to happen with the world's economy or why we have had three 30 degree days in a row, in Melbourne, in April?

By the way, I pray on every warm day that the air conditioning has broken down in Andrew Bolt's office. Getting warmer is it Bolts? Melt you bastard, melt. Sorry somewhat tangential there.

What have I been getting instead? Puff pieces with actors and comics. Ricky Gervais, Bill Nighy, Dylan Moran.

I'll admit that I have watched and enjoyed them all but this Kerry O'Brien, Red Kez, the man we all look to when we feel the need to watch a senior politician squirm on national television. We need him doing what he does best.

Why was Wayne Swan on Lateline with Tony Jones admitting that Treasury had cocked up their forecasts? Even for a news junkie like me that is on too late. How about doing it in prime time when the nation is watching with one of our most respected journalists?

What would I know? I am only a second year journalism student. Perhaps they teach us that in third year?

An interview

I might as well post some of the pieces I have done for Rabelais, our uni paper. Well perhaps the ones where an intimate knowledge of campus politics is not required. It sounds like we might have some new neighbours. A rather ramshackle punk band judging by what I can hear. They need some work.

Here is a piece I did on a comic playing at the Comedy Festival.



So you’re asking yourself who the hell is Jim Jeffries? You know, the comedian. Still nothing? Well, in Britain he has done four years at the Edinburgh Fringe, appeared on numerous television programmes and been a hit on YouTube, literally. Footage of him being punched in the head by a punter while performing has been viewed almost 300,000 times.

In the US he has just completed a special for pay TV giant HBO, a prestigious gig for any comic, and is involved in a feud with the Osbornes. Still never heard of him? It is all the more unusual when you consider he is a bloke from Sydney.

Jeffries is quick to admit that it is his own fault that he doesn’t have a better profile in his homeland. “Fair enough I haven’t put the time in over here…so I can’t expect to just swan in and expect a tickertape parade,” he said in an accent that betrays a number of years living in Manchester.

Jeffries’ material isn’t for the sensitive. Sex and religion dominate his story telling style and expletives punctuate every sentence. He was anointed “Britain’s Most Offensive Comedian” by Q magazine, a title he embraces mainly because it helps sell tickets. “I’m not going for dirty. I’m going for laughs. It just so happens that I have a dark sense of humour, so most of it’s going to be dirty or slightly twisted,” he said.

Jeffries comes across as a keen student of the art of stand-up and is proud to be considered one of the “smutty” comics, a group in which he includes icons such as Richard Pryor, Billy Connolly and Lenny Bruce. He feels that comedy festivals often focus on “intelligent” comedy, featuring “acts who play the keyboards and talk about badgers and gnomes,” while ignoring his type of comedy.

Jeffries is in Australia to perform at his first Melbourne International Comedy Festival. “I’ve got to be honest, I’m quite nervous about doing Melbourne,” he said. “I’d hate to do badly in Australia. You don’t want to disappoint anybody.” You get the feeling that Jeffries is putting a lot of pressure on himself to carry over his success to his homeland.

Don’t expect to see him on Rove or Good News Week though. The invitations haven’t been forthcoming. He thinks producers are terrified that he is “going to start swearing or raping animals or something.”

A premier

I'm from Queensland.

I'm from Sydney.

I sometimes confuse myself when I am asked. To be honest I offer up the information, unbidden, more often than I am asked, perhaps in an effort to make myself different from those around me.

I am not sure how I decide which truth to tell. I feel more at home in Sydney but I feel that I need to come from somewhere. A place in the world that I can point at and say "It began there" even if I may never really belong anywhere ever again.

I haven't traveled north of the Sunshine Coast since I was a child. I am a Queenslander whose boundary ends at the Noosa River. I have no affinity with the vast expanse beyond but I suspect this is the case with many from "The Great South East". Does that make me less of a Queenslander?

Now my weather reports are full of unusual place names like the Mallee and the Grampians. Not the Wide Bay or Darling Downs of my youth or even the Hunter and Highlands of my Sydney years. Strange unexplored lands that I have no connection with. Maybe one day.

Until that day I am still from Queensland. A state that voted in the first ever popularly elected woman premier on Saturday. My knowledge of her isn't the best but I like what I see. I think she is an honourable woman. That's good enough for me.

Coulda been a hero.

There is only a couple of seconds left on the clock in the final quarter and your team is down by 3 points. A 50 metre free is awarded and the ball is chucked to you by a back pedalling umpire who is headed off to a point about 25 from goal on a 45 degree angle.

Isn't this the scenario that every kid dreams of? In the dream they kick true and the goal umpire doesn't even have to move. The siren goes and their team mates carry them off the field.

Young Jack Redden had the chance to live that dream tonight for the Lions against Essendon.

Unfortunately for us all he learnt that dreams don't always come true. I really felt for the young fella. He must have been gutted. Hopefully he will have plenty of other chances to be the hero.

Sunday at the pub

Another bit of my Melbourne dream fell into place on Sunday night.

There were two main elements that drew me to these southern climes: football and music.

I spent last football season in despair as I watched my boys battle valiantly but, for the most part, futilely. They always seemed to be missing something, other than the obvious six or seven goals on the scoreboard. Hopefully the kicks up the arse they are surely receiving from Vossy on the training track will put them in good stead for '09. No matter how they go though that part of my Melbourne dream will never be completed until I stand at the 'G, on that last Saturday in September, at full time and sing the club song. May that day come soon.

Music is another matter though. From almost the moment I arrived in Melbourne I have been exposed to great gigs. Billy Bragg, a reformed Weddoes, Arcade Fire, Flogging Molly. Some of my favourite artists but they were all gigs I felt I could have seen in Sydney. Even the absolutely wonderful Still Flyin', who we saw at the East Brunswick Club a couple of weeks ago and Girl O' Sea described as one of the best concerts ever, felt like an event. What I was still searching for was a truly local experience and on Sunday I got that.

Girl O' Sea and myself jumped on the deadly treadlies and pedaled off to The Retreat in Brunswick to see Anthony Atkinson and the Running Mates. I have been a fan of Atko's music since he was in The Mabels and I think his songwriting has only gotten better on his solo albums. The Running Mates comprising half of The Lucksmiths only makes it better.

We walked in to find an unexpected support act playing. Gary Olson from US band Ladybug Transmitter. We had seen him on stage as part of the Still Flyin' musical collective only a week or so before but knew nothing of his Ladybug stuff. We were blown away some beautiful breezy pop music and this wasn't even with his normal band! Just a group of ring ins. A group that admittedly did include three quarters of the aforementioned Lucksmiths and a former member of Architecture In Helsinki. I hope he is able to come back soon with his full band and in the mean time I will be buying everything he has ever released.

As a side note, poor Girl O' Sea unknowingly committed one of the great gig going faux pars by wearing a band shirt that related to one of the acts playing. It is a beautiful, green coloured, head turning Still Flyin' shirt that I am very jealous of and should have been a source of admiration from all and sundry. Unfortunately for Girl O' Sea, Gary's secret support gig meant that there were numerous members of Still Flyin' in the room and when Isabel, in an attempt to show some serious R-E-S-P-E-C-T to somebody in the audience with great musical taste, pointed out the shirt from the stage all eyes turned towards us. Girl O' Sea could not burrow any further into her chair. Poor pet was a touch embarassed.

Ok, so my description so far gives the idea that it was another event. International band plays secret gig. Fair enough call. But Gary finished and left. The crowd thinned out a bit and Atko began to set up. Big, boofy, bearded Anthony. He's a primary school teacher by day. At one of the local schools in these here parts. His "Public and Proud" badge on his guitar strap gives an indication of what sort of school he works at. Atko is never going to have the mainstream popularity of somebody like Paul Kelly or the rusted on support enjoyed by somebody like Mick Thomas or have that wandering minstrel thing that his mate Darren Hanlon has, but he doesn't need that. He writes wonderful pop songs that speak from the heart about relationships and footy and cricket and politics. All of that stuff which means something to me. I don't care if the rest of the world gets him or not, I do. And I saw him play at a local pub on a Sunday night in February with my wife and I had a tear in my eye.

On the treadly coming home it felt as if Melbourne was the only place life could feel this good.