What the fuck is going on in the world? Idiots in a desert calling on holy war in the name of some guy in a book, and idiots in other parts of the world killing innocent bystanders in the name of the idiots' agenda.
Sadly, the civilised part of the world has no other option to respond to this idiot, psychotic aggression. And nothing good will come of that.
But what else? What else does the civilised world do in the face of this archaic, barbaric idiocy?
Nothing good - absolutely nothing - has come from religion that you can't get from compassion and common sense. Why are we as a species so superstitious? And how as a species have we seemed to degenerate into such levels of hatred, genocide and probably suicide? What is wrong with us?
Above, there is a lovely clip from John Lennon. I think he understood.
I've included, below, a lost verse from this great song of love and peace.
Imagine no batshit crazies,
It's blissful if you try,
No idiocy to deal with
You just poke 'em in the eye...
In light of not having anything happy to write about during these shitty (but in a first world problems kind of way) times, I give you this. I absolutely fucking hate this style of music, but absolutely love the pairing of this footage (the kid, I believe, was reacting to another piece of music) and the hellish tune. It makes me smile.
Looking forward to a fun weekend of debauchery with easy-going friends.
I enter the cafe, walk through to the back and hang my bag on the rack and immediately hear the front door being knocked on. It squeaks open. A customer already wanting a coffee, fuck it. I don't agree to make coffees until I am at least 95% set up because it can just put you on the back foot very quickly. You spend time making coffee when you should be setting up, you will get another customer who also wants an early coffee and it's just a bad way to start the day. Which is why I leave the lights off and keep the door shut until I'm ready to start.
But I forgot to close the door. And there's this guy in a hoodie already inside the darkened cafe.
"We're not open yet," I tell him as I walk towards him.
He's hanging onto the open door, because if he lets go, I realise, he'll fall over. He's a smackie so high he's almost falling asleep on his feet.
"Okay - get out," I tell him, waving him out. Just then The Dreaded One arrives after parking the car. She sees the guy and stops, wondering what the hell is going on.
Then the guy says something. Says the same thing again. I notice that he's clutching some money in one fist and some empty tupperware containers in the other. He says that thing again. It's a question, and suddenly I wonder if he's not a smackie but someone with physical disorders in need of help.
"Sorry - what are you saying?"
He says that thing again, and now I understand.
"Any job vacancies?"
He is totally a smackie, totally whacked, and he's asking me to give him a job. It's funny and tragic. I tell him no, there are no job vacancies as I guide him out. The Dreaded One comes inside and I lock the door. I watch our whacked out friend make his teetering way up the road and into the day. There's a part of me - the into-the-abyss part of me - that envies him for his blissed out, fucked up state of mind.
But mostly I feel grateful that I am mostly okay, and that I have a little cafe to set up and a day of work ahead of me.
"I'm going to shirtfront Mr Putin, you bet you are - I bet I am."
The most intriguing thing for me about this recent bit of idiocy from
our PM is the 'you bet you are' bit. What on Earth is that all about?
What is actually going on in this guy's head? Was this another voice in
his head backing him up? Does he have multiple personalities in his head
in constant discussion with each other and this bit of dialogue
accidentally slipped out?
Maybe the full, uncensored quote could
have gone a little like this: "I'm going to shirtfront Mr Putin, you
bet you are. Ooh by crikey you are sooo going to shirt-front that
bear-cuddling fag, and Tone, my man, when you shirtfront someone they
know they've been shirtfronted. You bet they do. You know they do,
don't I... erm who's speaking now? Me, I am, and I don't want a pansy
shirt-fronting, I want to bend Putin over and poke him from behind like
that cellar scene with the gimp in Pulp Fiction, man that was a hot
scene, I really liked that scene... didn't we? You bet we all did."
had a few worrying weeks in the cafe. One of our workers, knowing we
have been quietly stressing, gave us a bottle of wine to say thanks or
cheer us up or whatever. She went to the pub across the road where we
sometimes drink and asked the guys behind the bar which kind of wine we
I was packing away the outdoor furniture for closing yesterday when this intriguingly kooky looking chick with an American accent asked if I needed help with carrying the table. I told her I was okay and went inside. She followed me inside. I asked what she wanted. She said she wanted to recharge her phone and have something to eat. I looked at the outdoor furniture stacked upside down - a pretty good sign that we are closing up - and said "I'm sorry, but we're closed."
She apologised and left, and something about her intrigued.
She came back in this morning and I apologised about yesterday's confusion. No problem. She ordered some breakfast. She read one of my Grumpy columns on the clipboard menu as she ate. I always watch for a reaction. Much blankness until a certain point when she opened her mouth in a silent, still, laugh. A good reaction.
She said she enjoyed her meal, said she enjoyed my writing, mentioned writing of her own. Conversation ensued. From what I could glean, she seemed to be a writer, musician, performer, here on tour from New Orleans.
Sometimes people can be well-known even though you know nothing about them, and asking them what their name is so you can Google them can be awkward. But I asked what her name was so that I could Google her.
I have to start out by admitting that I
don't like musicals. The last one I went to was six or so years ago
and it was an accident. Musicals just seem a bit stupid, with their
singing-instead-of-saying approach to story telling. What I want from
theatre is just a good story well told. Song and dance? Bah.
said that, one of my most well known dirty little secrets is that I
am a total sucker for a good romantic comedy, and as far as that
goes, it doesn't get much better than this.
I think where Once
stands apart from your garden variety musical is that it is about
music. My usual seething hatred of musicals isn't justified here
because this is not about people spontaneously bursting into song and
dance for no logical reason, it is about music and the love of music.
When the characters sing and dance here, it all feels more natural
than in other musicals. The story is so clearly told and thoroughly
engaging that you could forget you were watching a musical, if the
music wasn't so damned good.
Once is about a guy and a girl.
Well, two girls, really. Guy is a broken-hearted busker about to turn
his back on his music. Girl sees that he is about to do this but
feels so passionately that his music and song-writing is great that
she encourages him to do whatever it takes to get back into it. The
romantic tension between them is the stuff of all great romcoms, but
the outcome is what stays with you and makes this so memorable. Once
is a story, perhaps, about three kinds of love: selfish love;
unrequited love; and selfless love. This last one is the main one
here - the most noble kind of love- and it's a bitter-sweet thing.
stage is a bar in Ireland, and the show starts with audience members
up on stage ordering drinks and standing about as a couple of
performers start jamming on a variety of instruments and singing
seemingly impromptu songs. It's how you imagine traditional Irish
pubs to be. It's a good way to entertain those of us who arrived on
time while we wait for those who didn't arrive on time. Gradually,
the audience exits the stage to go to their seats, the lights go down
and our story begins.
It opens with a song of melancholy, and
our man (Tom Parsons) can sing. (And strum and act, sometimes all at
the same time. He's good looking too. Bastard). But as soon as Girl
(Madeline Jones) takes to the stage, there are laughs. She is a
quirky and forthright Czek, a fellow music lover. She knows what's
ticking in Guy's heart and she quickly becomes an important part of
The leads are both well drawn, engaging characters, and
as they slowly get to know each other, we get to know them and their
very different worlds. There are multitudes of other characters –
all warm, engaging and funny – played by head-shakingly talented
actor/musicians. The casting process for this must have been an
Every musical instrument bar the
theremin appears to be in the show, all played with precision to
create feelings of warmth, melancholy, humour and fun. Lots of fun.
The actors at all times appear to be absolutely enjoying themselves
and playing their instruments. It's a wonderful thing to see. It's
probably unfair to single anyone out from such an impressive ensemble
of mostly local performers, but Amy Lehpamer perhaps best
demonstrates this joy that I'm talking about; she shined brightly
when she had her floor-stomping moments with her violin.
is a big, slick production, again not the kind of thing I'm usually
drawn to. I'm usually found at banged up little theatres who put on
edgy independent productions. I like risk takers like recent Fringe
dwellers Stephen House and the Mellow Yellow crew.
reservation, I loved Once. It's a good story well told, with some
On at Princess Theatre, Melbourne until... erm... not really sure. But it's on now and you should definitely go see it. It's good. Really good.
I don't generally go to musicals. They usually annoy me. But this one has something about it... just ticks a lot of boxes. I'm about to head in now and see the Melbourne preview. I am quite excited and expect I'll be writing one of my gush reviews. I can feel it in me waters.
I don't know another industry that is so open to criticism by absolutely any knucklehead as the hospitality industry is. (Aside from Hollywood). Who writes detailed reviews for social media of librarians or cab drivers or security guards? Why does the hospitality industry have to cop it?
And there are sites everywhere that give voice to illiterate, moronic, anonymous criticism from bitter trolls, and small businesses have to just sit back and take it with no right of reply. It's so wrong. Constructive criticism is a great thing. Just being negative while you hide your identity is not.
We're struggling a little at the moment, but we have to deal with this anonymous twat. This is his diatribe and my response to it. My response isn't posted in full on the website in question, which is frustrating because I thought the way to the thing of whatever was humour... I'm getting increasingly tired of this world.
All I ask is that if you are publicly slamming me, use your own photo and your real name. Otherwise, shut the fuck up. Your opinion is nothing unless you are prepared to stand behind it.
The food is quite uninspiring and the coffee is very bitter to the point
of tasting burnt. The guy making the coffee certainly lives up to his
nickname "grumpy" and never cracks a smile, but i kind of feel he needs
to break away from that tradition if he's working in a customer service
industry as he just comes across as rude. As for his co-owner, she
seemed friendly, but when asking for water on the table, this never
arrived even though the cafe was quiet, which reduces the chances of her
being caught up in the hectic nature that cafes can sometimes become.
As well as this, they are a bit too quick to clear your plates and cups which is a pet hate of mine as it feels as though you're being rushed out the door.So
in summary: The coffee tastes cheap and there's better food quality and
customer service in the surrounding cafes. This place would probably
fit nicely in a rural area where there's less choice and people are not
as aware of how fantastic coffee can taste when done well.
My reply to this idiot, who doesn't have the initiative to stand up and get the water for himself when the getting the water thing has gone awry for him...
kind of right when you say Grumpy never cracks a smile, but only kind
of. Technically speaking, he rarely cracks a smile. He is
someone for whom smiling and indeed laughing is a genuine response to
the external stimulus of happiness, and like many people his
mood-integrity is set to quite a high level, thus making the facial
contortion that indicates genuine happiness to be a rare thing. This
does not mean he is actually unhappy or as you suggested rude, he is
just in a constantly ponderous, thoughtful mood. He is mostly quite
happy, it just takes a lot for him to burst out in
Unfortunately, he was born with an ugly head (we can't
help but wonder how you neglected to mention this in your
wide-ranging “review”). The ugliness of his features, the natural
severity of his countenance even when his mood is so frequently mild
and placid, has plagued him since childhood. He has spent his life
explaining to friends and family and strangers that nothing is wrong,
that he is not upset or angry, that no his best friend or pet budgie
hasn't just died. He just has naturally severe features. It's quite
The thing is, when Grumpy does smile... on those
rare and worthy occasions when he does crack a grin, it is a
thing to behold. The heavens open and the angels sing and all the
unicorns and fairies and dragons (the happy kind) throughout the
magical kingdoms frolic together in unbridled joy.
And when he
laughs – a far rarer thing than a simple crack of a grin – the
sweetest cello sounds like crushed gravel by comparison. The angels
and the unicorns and the fairies and the happy dragons are silenced
in awe. So many musical notes of mirth spilling from such a butt-ugly
head is like a... a rainbow emerging from a cat's arse. It is purely
and utterly astonishing.
But criticism has been taken on board
and Grumpy will attempt to crack a grin more often; the singing of
angels is not heard nearly enough these days.
Random writings, stories, magazine theatre reviews and interviews, fiction, and occasionally my bi-weekly column Grumpy, which used to appear in the pages of Tsunami mag. Oh and be sure to check out my ebook, 17 Stories Of Love & Crime.