Why shouldn't the lil facebook dude be laughin'?

yes, Mark Zukerberg does suck, but so do you

So, you want to have your farmville and super-poke too, and all without even the trace of a smirk from the lil whipper snapper responsible as he logs on to the pleasing sight of his (net)bank account?

Yep, I know, I hate the smug little bastard as well...Bloody Mark Zuckerberg...he is barely old enough to drink and yet he's been hacking into the Pentagon database since he was but a wee tyke not even toilet trained.

Now, you almost beg him to extract every snippet of status info, all in creating a magnificent sidebar of attractive products placed just for you...including helpful ways to lose weight and get laid...all of which imply some kind of monetary or barter practice?

and yes, he's havin a laff...at your expense, though you think cos it's a free site there is no charge, but there's the whole thing of only having yourself to blame for that really.

From the reported conversation in question (though whether it was actually with anyone, seems rather suspect..)

Zuck: Yeah so if you ever need info about anyone at Harvard

just ask.

Zuck: I have over 4,000 emails, pictures, addresses,

Zuck: People just submitted it.

Zuck: I don't know why.

Zuck: They "trust me"

Zuck: Dumb f--ks.

Well, in a nutshell, bloody oath those preppy college kids are dumb fucks, and he has every right to belittle this blind faith in the guy who created a glorified platform for obsessive ex lover's and nosy parents to spy?

But in fact, he has backed down since this smug little exchange, quoted as "absolutely" regretting being caught out...sounds pretty definite

Oh, but, hey: just in case this public lack of respect is the final dealbreaker for you, i hear farmville is shithouse anyways..but rumoured to make cameo appearance in upcoming movie bout ole marky mark. 

I say, hmmm, perhaps i misjudged the prosperity in shackin up with a plain ole doctor..but errr, might leave this lil one to his toys...

Why does the idea of a musical intelligentsia scare you so?

Given our current musical landscape, it is hardly surprising that the brain work is notably absent from the majority of musical compositions..




In an era of jailbait chart-toppers and the MDMA sampling culture - "Blow my whistle, bitch!" - churned out across clubs all over the world, good lyrics are hard to come by...


Particularly when faced with the daunting predicament of belonging to the "punk genre" where your mark is made from telling ditties accompanied by gritty and minimal instrumentals...


A far cry from anarchy in any vicinity, the average pub-band punks I believe was best epitomised at a recent "live acoustic" set behind work  where the repertoire consisted of working class anthems such as "Pissing in the Shower" and "Called her a BITCCHHHHH!!" 


Whilst perhaps not quite what the Hammersmith crowd were hoping to leave in its wake, it is fair to say that lyrics have lost significance over time..


Where then do we fit the storytellers of the old school era: those who wish to evoke a telling visual picture with the most complex of their songwriting tools: a healthy vocabulary and an appreciation for  poetic style...


Hence my joy and elation is materialising once again as my favourite singer, Australia's answer to the postmodern musical Bard, Darren Hanlon (left) has achieved yet another milestone, his latest musical magnum opus, "I Will Love You at All"*..


For those who enjoy music to serve a wallpaper purpose, quickly tune out those short attention spans and resume youtube trawling, but for those who pine for genuine, attention-grabbing ditties, here is just one couplet exemplary of the genius of Darren "Dazza Hazza" Hanlon:

I finally got around to vacating the nest

But my knowledge of survival was pedestrian at best... 

That is why I regale Dazza and have done so for ten many happy years...It's been a decade since his amazing minimalist compositions jam-packed with lyrical insight and yearning have given me goosebumps and it feels like only yesterday..


So I wish all of those out there who appreciate the art of "cerebral songwriting" a happy anniversary to whomever you have stayed musically committed towards...


don't forget the relationship may experience some problems, but a good musical marriage shall outlive petty quibbles... 


* having slight qualms of grammar with title

Why I just may out po-mo* you all!

I have been in a crisis of augmented existence: My two worlds seemingly transposed, so that during the last 6 weeks where I have been without a home, so too, have I been without a home(page)...This posting obviously indicates a happy ending in both the virtual and real worlds...


What this retracted online presence may have done for the marginal perusals i may have once accumulated, i must accept...i may now resort to desperate BP like measures in order to direct through some traffic via google...


Though, arguably, I was in such a state of shoe gazing, wistful crisis, the one thing I may credit myself for is willful restraint from using any such social networking site to articulate my internal dilemmas.. 

I read recently with great amusement over the furore caused - from some protest, or fundraiser...or street fight - when people were accused of being grossly offensive by making the statement of adorning themselves in the attire of a homeless person.


You know, that whole bum thing scarecrow like stuffing of mismatched shirts; some - gasp! - worker pants (but for the purpose of the character, I am sure that these brave pioneers acting in the name of the un-resident-ed would have ripped a couple of token holes around the knees for added measure)..


So then, I guess if this is the seasonal look of the homeless, I may just have been considered, haute couture...


What? An audible gasp (wtf? i thought i was on myspace!?) This precious lil postgrad wants to clutch at the poverty chic of the uni days (mi goreng noodles resulted in an ulcer)  by identifying as homeless...


..."Well, try harder, you upper middle-class scum, you!!" You are thinking as you prepare to pound out an anonymous comment to that effect.


Obviously someone had a more enriching study plan for their HSC, not having to add "Life Management" to their timetables...Because, in fact, one may be "homeless" according to its scale that measures the varying degrees, with #1 = sleeping on the street and #10 = an extensive hotel stay****


And whilst I (thankfully, blessedly) was not on category 1 terms, but when it gets to the stage where you are taken for a drunk dickhead from a land that boasts a better economy and you are staying in a skanky arse Backpackers in Bondi, you are probably not having dinner parties...


Actually, the one fun part was pretending to be a tourist from an assortment of different countries, and for the first time in my life (except when I was in France) I was accepted as a frog! Quel dommage!


Not to mention the slightly dubious insinuation by an ex-cop from oppressed Fiji, now acting as a caretaker for some serviced apartments in Drummoyne that I could come and stay "anytime..we could, you know, work something out.."


That'd be right, the girl known around the UTS Radio Journalism class as "Rent for Sex Girl" (long story, even for me, my dignity remains intact though), could well have been propositioned for a similar type of deal...


Though imagine the awkwardness of settling the bill had we, indeed, got our wires crossed...


*Unnecessary to define to all those who are "true", but this means postmodernism; as in pomo-mofo**


**Unnecessary to define to anyone


***This is a completely inaccurate representation of the scale

Why ageing rockstars of the yester-year should go to rehab instead

Cryogenic freezing was once only an honour to be bestowed upon our favourite anti-semitic and slightly delusional cartoonist, Walt Disney...

..And even then, it was only one of those long-term urban myths, but why dream about it when we have the technology to do it??

So why not apply such God playing modern miracles towards all these poor, haggard and washed-out musos, whose hay-day pre-dates 25 years as a bare minimum.

Cases in point include: the unexpected release of a new album from the Hoodoo Gurus, and, of course, the busy touring schedule of them grungey rockers that inspired the likes of "Smells like Teen Spirit" and other such hits of the 90's angsty youth, before they were emos...

 I am talking about Pixies (Kim Deal pictured above; Frank Black, below), who are finishing up their "Doolittle" touring extravaganza of Sydney tonight after a three day touring stint in Sydders...

And never will you find two band members placed so strategically far away from one another:Kim occupied the far (far) right of the stage, whereas Frank occupied the opposite end towards the left.

It's no secret that the band cannot stand one another, so my question is: Why bother???

Both Frank Black (aka Black Francis) and Kim Deal, have both arguably achieved moderate corporate success off the back of various side projects...Breeders, anyone???

Now, don't get me wrong, I bought these tickets about a year ago, and eagerly awaited a very fan-friendly set, which included an encore of favs not featured on "Doolittle", such as "Gigantic" and the track that saw a resurgence after that movie about a dead Brad Pitt and a busty Meatloaf, "Where is my mind"...

And I was happier still to have seen them previously about two years ago, when i thought that realistically, I would never be allowed such an opportunity to revel in the bands of my pre-teen revolt...

It is obvious that they're preying on the nostalgia of disgruntled gronks and skanks such as myself - lost and confused in a labyrinthine array of soft (cock) rock and nympho poppets entirely dependent on post-production -

In the past 18 months alone, our fair shores have ultimately been invaded by Coppel-endorsed baby-boomers, like:

- Leonard Cohen

- B-52's (yeah, sure, it was a rock lobster...)

- Brian Eno (and Wilson)

- Toto*

- Tears for Fears

- (an amended) Buena Vista Social Club

- Smashing Pumpkins (or what little does remaineth..)

But the ultimate would have to be the news that riot grrrrl and junkie pin-up, Courtney Love, has crawled back into the studios to release a new Hole album...Dang!!

Might I suggest Betty Ford as the slightly less appealing, but ultimately gratifying long-term solution???

* debatable as to whether Toto ever in fact had a hey-day...

Why I may end up on tour with Billy Corgan...

So...it was definitely one of the greater disappointments in my life when - after a mighty manhandling effort  to boost my arse over the barricades to ensure the closest look possible - I saw a band for whom I have been passionate about since the tender age of ten, The Smashing Pumpkins...at a festival which I do not wish to inadvertently promote, but starts with V...


Disappointing..How so, Mig, you ungrateful cretin?? you may ponder...Well, it is because, in fact, it was more of a sad exercise in exhibiting Corgan's inflated ego...


In fact, all that represented the "Pumpkins essence", was the former disgraced member, heroin addict, Jimmy Chamberlain... At least I THINK it was his vacant stare meeting the crowd behind the drumkit...

Gone are the amazing factions presented via James Iha and D'arcy, instead replaced by trashy chicks donning display guitars in an effort to plug the 2008 release, Zeitgeist...


And now it's even worse: instead of generously standing aside in order to allow new and emerging musical talent, he publishes a book of poetry and does open callouts for auditioning new members...


So all ye bassists and keyboardists (I wonder whether they're still hunting down a replacement following the death of their previous touring keys player who OD'd on heroin, hence, busting Jimmy in the act..) if you have a shred of talent, proffer your services to the rather sad decline of a band that once rocked my world...


My mellon collie and my sadness, is, indeed, infinite...

Why our beds will end up burning...

I have always been wary of that spindly limbed, elastic Gumby-like physique projected onto Peter Garrett, and not just cos of his shithouse dancing - which, incidentally resembled "The Monkey" on crack, but cos he's highly questionable..

And this creepy, sinister shadow was cast even BEFORE he sold his tree-huggin soul out to the Federal government, embraced by some indulgent, bullshit ministerial role.

So, Kevin Rudd reasoned:

"he's a rock star and he likes to sing about hardcore greenie type issues, so let's make up this all-encompassing portfolio of, say, the arts and the environment or something...we might need to whack water onto it at some point.."

With a trademark flash of his beady eyes and a recoiling gesture from his play dough wrists, he went about mass destruction...laughing maniacally to himself, he noted to himself one night in front of the bathroom mirror:

"It's just too, too perfect..I mean to cut most of National Music Academy's funding now that I've milked the bloody industry for all it's got...then...oh then, those, bahhh haaaa uranium mines! The irony is almost lyrical, like one of my awesome songs.."

 Then there was that sinister little warning he issued by reuniting with the Oils only to sweat and pant over the yesteryear hit of "Beds are Burning"... at the bushfire relief concert..

I figure that the sick bastard has been plotting national genocide all along, from the day he formed midnight oil..the power and the passion should not be applied to our pink batts in any case..

Well I am glad almost that I suffer in sweaty pools of security knowing that I have no midnight oil in my music collection and no bloody insulation in my roof..

Is this the scary pre-emptive glance into a bleak political future cluttered with homicidal and washed up celebrities, dumb as shit? 

Sorry, this little outburst has stemmed from a bit of prior Pobjie study...click above for reference..

**Let me be explicit in disclaiming this as a JOCULAR blog posting, simply a JOCULAR posting**

Why Steve Jobs' all Apple(s)

Come on kids...I gotta ship three loads of them new ipads we started demandin' of ya, what do ya reckon, ipods, ibooks, they're all gunna get smaller, and so will you...


Ahh such a life, ordered into an early retirement at the grand old age of ten due to an extension in those nimble little Chinese fingers...


But dang, I mean, it's no picnic being Steve Jobs, now is it?? Sure, sure he's loaded (even more so from this lil shonky buck-passing exercise of endorsing sweatshop labour), but you know he's come from adversity, fought the good fight...is perhaps, terminally ill..?


So from this smh article it hits me: that's why there has been a mass influx of teeny tiny versions of the originals...ipod shuffles are the size of thumbtacks and the like...i almost feel a bit rank owning one myself...then there's been those constant outbursts whereby I loudly extol the virtues of his bloody computers over Gates' Vista friendly PC...("Once you Mac, you never go back," i would declare beaming at my own shameful emac..)


and you know what, the worst thing is that a google search would be all over this as a bloody product placement...and i aint nuffin but a corporate whore..


And for what? It doesn't seem like I would be scoring any bonuses anytime soon off "Give everyone else the" Jobs...


Apologies to Descartes when I say:

iPod, therefore, I am...

with apologies for the numerous template changes, this one is finally vaguely visible i've found, so no more from now on!!!

Why shouldn't I aspire to be the doctor's wife???

It seems that because I have a set of (genuine) tits, I am therefore required to take a hardcore on-air stance come International Women's Day - May 8, and NOT as I mistakenly babbled at 5:59pm this arvo, next Monday. 


I must take the chair habitually occupied by everyone's favourite ranga and music trivia host, Al Erskine, whilst trawling over the likes of websites which advocate the breast-feeding of puppies...These inherent bottle-fed issues are certainly crucial to the notion of women over the likes of my own feminine guiles, surely..? 


This would in fact, be 1 March and seemingly appears numerically and chronologically superior to the following 8 March.


However, I am apparently a woman of great disregard, to promote its existence in a false or misleading  manner by which, come Monday, poor old Al may have to close that browser window in order to assert his masculine presence..


Not to mention the fact that I sound somewhat like a male, albeit a vaguely castrated one, as well as the death stares I managed to direct squarely at self by suggesting we all incinerate our bras whilst dancing around skyclad chanting nonsensical statements of feminist affirmation...


But I want to be a kept woman!!! Hence, I am a fraud...


But hey, when it gets to the point in your life when you march defiantly past the fluro vested Centrelink earners, muttering: "Mate, I've got bigger issues..." and you owe the debt equal to a house deposit on Bugger All (excuse me, I mean, extensive Tertiary education....) and the extra hit of the Master in Bugger All and bugger all to speak of, can you blame me for checking whether my GP's is wearing a wedding band????


I don't think I quite epitomise a young Germaine Greer...though I do agree with her post Hormone Repalcement Therapy treatment ideas: Steve Irwin asked for it!


I may, at this stage, need to point out that I do, in fact, love and adore MY FAV RANGA AL! The master of trashy drunken post-show trivia!

Why Sarah Henderson wants Abbott's ass...

And not in a sexy, budgie smuggling frolicker, tank-driving Opposition Leader kind of a way, either...


...more like, she wants his ass for dead...


It was the perfect set-up, he was even there to discuss road safety


and then dang, too bad about that narrow escape..


In fact, the smug bastard used it as a political ploy expressing his concern over the very road which nearly saw his car written off...


Perhaps next time good ole Hendo could ask Peter Garrett over?

Why Children Should be Seen and Not Heard

They especially aren't worth hearing if they are as determined as this young whipper snapper, like so many other young and socially deprived pubescents with a knack for robotic like communications.

Kind of along the lines of Stephen Hawking (but who could argue, the guy is damn smart...he managed to summarise the history of time AND used his subsequent fame to seduce his nurse... how cliched!)

As usual, I digress, this was a story posted on the excellent National Public Radio (NPR) site. Check out the story, here! 

Why we are corporate whores to music industry pimps

Music festivals

Summer hosts a mutlitude of them and I know everyone goes, and most people try and relay enthusiastic reviews to all and sundry, trying to drive them to envy you and admire how cool and rock you are..


But isn't there just like this small, tiny part of you that is just over being one of the great mass of swarming, sweaty human beings; all of whose excretions leave a particularly foul that permeates all around you in the skanky portaloo (a la Kenny... for 12 twelve hours)..

Why did you bother with the JJJ 100!!???

So, we are all aware of the culture inherent to Australia Day, much akin to that of Cup Day, basically requiring all patriotic participants to get inebriated and carnivorous, quite often, to the background sounds (and betting pool) of the hottest 100...

And, as predictable as this countdown may have become of late, it hardly takes it quite so far as the all important #1 was leaked onto an ABC website way ahead of time....it's all like Mumford and what now?

I feel out of the loop with all hip in musical popularity, but I don't recognise this tune by its title, and I certainly wouldn't have felt in any way vindicated by the crappy pseudo-surprise of getting them to play it live in the studios. This is what happens, j, when you leave important work to the likes of kiddies...even if they are tapping into the slowly declining age demographic..

Oh Mig, so bitter, so obviously seething with envy over a lack of listenership for her own pezzy lil show on Tuesday - and yes this may in part, be true - she has a go at them poor j bangers...yeah well, suck it up, I say, you wouldn't have picked what I had playing on the show...

But fear not, (I tell this to myself more than anyone else...) for here's a nice true blue ocker lookin tape in green n gold so you can enjoy the talks based stuff which doesn't see me in court if I publish it...

ON TUESDAY OVERDRIVE LAST WEEK, AUSTRALIA DAY:

I was reunited with the Pobs as well as catchin up with major success story: Oh Mercy, as they grace our presence for the St. Jerome's Laneway fest...in its new, completely anti-laneway venue of Callan Park!!

Why hasn't our PM got something better to do?

Perhaps it's a ploy to scare Tony Abbott..


No wonder this blessed little cherub is going to extremes in demonstrating her political disdain towards KRudd: by picking her nose she is probably making her own solid attempt to scrummage up some Haitian aid whilst our PM is hot on the publicity trail alongside ex-play schoolie, Rhys Muldoon, co-author of literal nightmare, Jasper and Abby and the Great Australia Day Kerfuffle.

Having recently visited the humble chambers of Kevin Rudd during an exciting excursion with my Political Reporting class, I can now attribute the wealth of Harry Potter editions adorning his bookshelf (ironically, alongside, The Bible..hmmm...) as research for his own venture into the world of children's book authorship...

Not using the publishing world as an attempt to maintain financial independence form ball-busting wife Therese Rein, apparently proceeds from the book will go to Centre for Community Child Health.

The grammatical errors featured in title alone: "Jasper, Abby and the..." would be much more appropriate (what did commas ever do to you Ruddy..?), are enough to make me hurl

There is alsthat a niggling issue that continues to goad me: the Haitian crisis, over which Rudd seems to be sitting pretty..(much like Mark Latham post-Boxing Day tsunami getting caught poolside at a Terrigal resort instead of attending press conferences..)

Righto Krudd, you've proven that any idiot can write a book, especially when the target demographic may not even be able to read yet, do as the US have done (come on, you must be pretty used to that "monkey see, monkey do" mentality by now...) and join hands - and chequebooks - alongside Howard and Keating, and hey why not Hawko! in an effort to help Haiti, so you can find something else to add to that "What I Did Over Summer" Parliamentary report...

But it seems that, alas, the only leaf Kev wishes to draw from regarding US politics descends dangerously close to the recent Sarah Palin deal with Fox...with plans for Krudd to take on Kochie in the breakfast TV stakes...Glad to hear he's got nothin better to do....

Hopefully I shall further pursue the issue of Krudd and the kid lit tragedy on Tuesday Overdrive tomorrow from 4.30 with my old fav, Ben Pobjie, who is keen to return to the airwaves following his axing from Melbourne community station 3RRR...

Why Peats Ridge Festival was my Skank Nirvana

I may still be picking the dirt out of my toenails but, check it out, I got to go to the spectacular spectacle of all things arty farty, musical, zen and environmentally sustainable - yet, in a refreshingly skankier, un-concdescending, un-preachy Tim Flannery-ish approach - hosted by the glorious Glenworth Valley on the Central Coast over 3 days, concluding in the early hours of the new year...(well, 11am, but that's pretty rough post NYE...)

Why Islamic Propaganda is Disturbing Spam...

Is this some sort of bizarre karma or an attempted virus (of mass destruction) a file was attached after all but this was a bit too pomo not to include... ****(actually it went on for about 2 pages, but i haven't actually published this for the sake of being reading material...for a really great story, however, you can always scroll down to learn about the awesome underworld of opera, or why that guy that no one can stand is always a bass player...)***

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plase dont angry me......

i inform you about Islam acording to Islam.

BISMILLAH AR RAHMAN AR RAHIM (In the name of Allah Most Gracious Most Merciful)
Peace to all who follow hidayath (guidance, the correct path)!
Islam…for whom? For every person upon whom Allah has bestowed life and intellect. For those who can see the blessings of Allah. For those who can hear the Words of Allah. For those who can comprehend the evidences of Allah. For those whose hearts are full of love and gratitude to Allah. For you, for me, and for those whose blessed hearts are open to faith in Islam.

I invite you to Islam for your eternal happiness. Eternal felicity, salvation and peace are in Islam.

Allah jalla jalaluh revealled Prophet Muhammad (pbuh): Say: "What has come to me by inspiration is that your Allah is One Allah: will yet herefore bow to His Will (in Islam)?" (21: 108)

THE REASONS OF KNOWING ISLAM WRONGLY: 1- Unfortunately, Most of human exactly does not know Islam according to Islam. Most of mankind has lost its own sense faculties because those people are in comfort, amusement, has the passion of earn much money. Most of human is in being drunk of amusament, football, music, secularism, ideologies. Sustanance and blessings are not favour of Allah.

Why I Hate Bass Players

The Bass Complex

If you're a guy and you play bass guitar, then you can frankly bugger off, cos more than likely you are furtively donning a massive bass complex - i.e. musical insecurities trying to be disguised through arrogance and egotism: both personally and musically...

He can never keep in tune “Your guitar needs tuning,” I might say to the lame-arse guitarist, not really aware if it was the bass, or indeed, the player himself.

“I have no concept of pitch,” he would reply, though not in so many words. I snort aloud at the thought of him so openly admitting to any of his weaknesses. Especially musical weakness, although he’s never even played a scale in his life.

His frustrated attempts to tune a guitar against his tone-deaf ear tells me what his words never will… The result of his tuning efforts only ever become more strained and raspy than before.

But it was his own fault really. He would always try to jam along with the likes of Angus Young, Trent Reznor, Syd Barrett. Blasphemous, really, for a bass palyer to assume himself in such a high regard…especially one of his calibre.

It happens to the youngest child. Those once hampered with an Oedipal complex and no idea of how to act upon it, they start to play the bass guitar.

How many bass guitarists could you name? In all seriousness, they’re the Kris Novoselic’s of the world. And if you haven’t heard of him, then my point is even further proven: i.e: he’s the only dude from Nirvana with no obvious acclaim (albeit, a lot of bucks..) But they want it so much more...

The bass players are always the ones who want the tiring rounds of publicity and in their live attempts to elbow their way to the spotlight centre, right in the thrust of the frontman, further attempt to ascertain their musical genius. And yet they can't even play a simple chord...

Ah, the bass complex. Yes boys, your penis's may be very large, but you still can’t play music for shit. Perhaps you should just whip out your dick onstage and blow the audience away in the more literal sense.

Why I HAVE to Start a Right-Wing Hip-Hop Crew

So, I saw that crap-arse video clip on "Rage" in the wee hours of the morning, something along the lines of: "From Little Things, Big Things Grow"...Not only did it feature the revoltingly emphatic lefties such as Missy Higgins and my all time favourite "indie artist", John Butler...

Australian music lovers alike, this is seriously uncool...Now that K. Rudd (or, as I like to call him, Krudd) is in power, what are the likes of The Herd et.al going to rap about? The government's in a state of relative peace...I mean, sure, we're pissed about petrol prices and puny pensions, but generally, all is amazingly cruisy, governmentally speaking.

That's why I need to take over the hip hop world and do tracks such as, "Do you want Fries with your Whale Burger?" and "The Howard Lament" just to even up the balance and stuff...I mean, what, with Bush almost out, and the potential of a black president arising, what will rap stars have to complain about???

Why I'm not THAT desperate

Thinking that her baby may end up a spinster, my dearest mumsy was at me last time I was up in Newcastle, to "settle down" with someone. She is aware that she won't get the grand-kiddies out of my lazy bum sister*, I am her only hope.

Not wanting to fail her, I saw an email offering a chance to write a story about the Desperate and Dateless Ball (which has since been kindly refined to D&D) and thought that it would make both a good story and a very happy mumsy, if I was to meet "the one". And, if nothing else, a free ticket (to the value of $110) and all the piss I could drink - how could I lose?

And right there I acknowledge my massive mistake. For, the event in question turned out to be nothing more than a scarily glorified meat market.

There were moments of disgust, whereby I had to run away from a group of desperate dudes chasing me, whilst crying out: "Journalist! Journalist!!" Who ever thought that I would be so ashamed to admit to being a part of the career I so aspire to having...

In any case, you could totally smell the desperation in the air. And the fact that the men totally outnumbered the women, I was at leats hoping to get a good story out of a good old gay hook up. There were many times that some guys would offer to make out with each other, but sadly, it never eventuated on my camera...ahhh nuts!

Suffice to say, it was one hell seedy night and I count myself lucky that I escaped completely unscathed...

So, sorry mumsy, and sorry Deepthi (Reportage editor), for I have nothing positive to say about my experience in desperation...thinking that from now on, I shall stick simply to going out for the gigs - NOT the guys...

* It would appear that the publication of this post has ultimately defamed the person in question. The author wishes to apologise for any mortification this has brought about to the victim...

Why Tropfest is the Arse-End

Since when did amateur film comps become a corporate spectacle?
Tropfest is now the blue blood of a concept that was once considered classless.
But with Polson comes power comes money and so them's the brakes for any struggling film students out there with no connections.
Well, this kind of thing really pissed off three artsy Newtown types, Martin, Spiros and Bill, who now dig into their own pockets to fund the now annual Newtown Ficks Film Festival (as well as JVC's - but they're NOT sell-outs by any stretch)...

Anyone who can, should get down there, it's over the weekend of the 31st May - 2 June at the PACT Theatre (Erskineville, right near Newtown)...it'll be 3 days of keeping it REAL...and we should all encourage that, right, peeps?
Plus, film-makers make the best bar buddies ever (heaps better than pretentious actors, who end up breaking down in a messy heap of self love when too blotto...trust me...)

In the meantime, check out my feature on it! It's going to appear in the upcoming edition of Precinct, which makes it official - my Precinct cherry's been popped!

Soon it'll be Reportage after I go undercover to the D&D ball this Saturday night. I'll be vox-popping whilst trying to pull some poor bloke and make my poor Mumsy's wishes come true, and I might actually settle down with some nice, desperate dude and hopefully getting blind on the virtues of a press pass...stay tuned, it'll be posted!

Film festivals, in the height of their popularity, seem to be neglecting the grassroots notion that they once encapsulated.

With the likes of short film extravaganza, Tropfest, which has made a sharp ascent into the mainstream, there is little opportunity for up and coming film makers to put their work out there and be guaranteed a screening.

In light of this, three Newtown locals: Martin Kelly, Spiros Hristias and Bill Jordan got together in 2005 to put together and are the directors of what is now known as Newtown Flicks Short Film Festival.

“As we saw it, these were the facts,” says Kelly. “The Valhalla and Cheval Theatres had closed down and the likes of Tropfest was unattainable for most film makers.”

Now in its third year, running May 30-June 1, the festival is determined not to become like Tropfest. “It’s the brand-name festival, that’s what we call it.” Says Kelly, only half-jokingly. “We were pretty concerned about making sure that we weren’t just going to be another branded festival, what we want to do is really support, assist and showcase young people.”

And, of course, being centred around Newtown, the festival is possessive of that slightly eccentric, bohemian feel that makes up this Inner-West suburb. “We want that Newtown vibe, we want that Inner West sort of vibe,” agrees Hrsiatis.

In terms of its conditions, the only criteria is that films are twenty minutes or less in duration, and all are intending to be screened during the festival. “If we do get too many, then we guarantee that we will find other venues to show it at a later date.” Says Kelly.

Newtown Flicks awards four prizes: The Open Category, Film School, Director’s Choice, and, one of the first of its kind, the Treehouse: a special award dedicated to children’s film.

“I haven’t really seen any other festival in Australia that had just a childhood category it’s quite uncommon. It’s one of the reasons why I entered it,” says Tonnette Stanford, 2007 Treehouse winner with her film, Wally.

When it comes to the categories, Newtown Flicks is about moulding itself around its entrants and not the other way around. “We’ve got an award chosen by the directors.” Says Kelly. “For those films that don’t fit into those that have tangible qualities

Last year’s directors prize went to Sarah Antill, and that was something that didn’t fit within the other categories.” Antill, whose featured documentary, Not Sitting Still, was produced as an educational film, used Newtown Flicks to raise the film’s profile.

“Since winning, I’ve begun working on much bigger projects with two documentary makers,” she says. “The Newtown Flicks win gave me the confidence to approach them, and an award that got them to look at me.”

Stanford has also achieved a large degree of success, with her production company, Stickybeak, producing films that are currently being distributed around the world.

With a festival that prides itself on ditching production values in the name of a good story, Newtown Flicks, again, stands alone in the world of film festivals. All three directors are sceptical of film makers and their use of special effects.

"They’re looking for prouction qualities and sound editing, etc etc…” says Kelly of usual festival standards: “Newtown Flicks is an opportunity to have your work up on the big screen for everyone to see, for everyone to hear – to have their voice heard.”

And with some big-name judges on board, such as Garry Maddox and Genevieve Lemon, it also enables film-makers a chance to be offered objective criticsm.

“The entrants are being at least measured by their peers or people that they aspire to be and I think that that’s very important that they get a realistic vision when they get the opportunity to show their stuff.”

Stanford acknowledges the assistance that public attention can bring for a film maker: “Every time you enter a film festival and it gets screened, especially if it wins an award…it expands its profile and the fact that Newtown Flicks was especially good was because they organised a lot of media and stuff surrounding it.” She says.

Newtown Flicks is also intent on focussing on the importance of the ultimate critic: the audience. “Catering to and considering what an audience wants is crucial,” says Kelly, acknowledging the importance of the audience perspective in terms of educating the film maker: “so it’s about planning for them as well… the program considers not only about presenting a show for a film maker, but about presenting for an audience as well.”

Antill agrees: “When Not Sitting Still was showing at Newtown Flicks, I sat just in front of a woman who had obviously come to see someone else’s film, because when it started, she was rummaging through her handbag for chocolate. At the end, she was dabbing her eyes with a tissue and snuffling,”

When looking towards the future of Newtown Flicks, for film makers, audience and director’s alike, Kelly and Hrsiatis remain enthusiastic, but uncertain. “We’re much better placed now than we were then – but it’s the Great Unknown.” Says Kelly.

Further plans involve the expansion of Newtown Flicks to the western suburbs, thereby capturing the voice of Sydney in its entirety.

“Their story is as valid as someone who has a beautiful, carefully constructed production.. That’s the point we want to make about the festival.”