Life Think #76: Celebrigoss

February 20, 2010

I am certainly no stranger to the entertainment industry having written several lauded “celebrity watch” columns (unsolicited) for the Illawarra Mercury – none of which were published. On reflection I believe my mistake lay in naming the column “Friedhof On-The-Prowl” and including a picture of myself (shirtless) prowling provocatively toward the camera, with a come-hither-to-my-bed-chamber look on my face; an unflattering pose for a gentleman afflicted by what my doctor has unkindly described as “a chronic case of the man-teaters”.

Nevertheless I learnt a thing or two – one of which was to ensure celebrity names are always printed in bold. The second and final thing I was forced to learn was the use of a QWERTY keyboard, despite my insistence that the DVORAK Russian model was the superior typing apparatus, notwithstanding its objectionable communist links.

Of course my musings harked back to the halcyon days of quality Australian television. Hey, Hey It’s Saturday? Brilliant. Even the title of the show itself was factual, informative and, no doubt, true. In most cases it was indeed Saturday and though I disapproved exceedingly of the second, superfluous “Hey” (something I made palpably clear in several candid letters Kerry Packer) I couldn’t help but be drawn in by the show hyperbolically described as, and I quote, “reasonably alright I guess” (Germaine Greer, when I made repeated requests for her opinion after a taping of Tony Jones’ Q&A).

What unquestionably appealed to me most was the ubiquitous taciturn violence on the show. The repressed fascism of Red Simons; the merry-go-round of stuffed Ozzie Ostriches which contestants had to vigorously beat with a bat; the thinly veiled attacks on Molly Meldrum’s sexuality during his segment.

But my unique take on celebrigoss™ comes not just from watching television on a Saturday night, whilst wearing a t-singlet and eating corn kernels directly from the can with a plastic camping spoon. No more than eighteen years ago I was entertaining the Iranian Shah at my illustriously appointed villa in the southern hills of Cessnock when he asked me in his endlessly amusing and kitsch accent (British) to give him a blow-by-blow account of my friendship with the wealthy robber baron J.D. Rockefeller.

During the stock market crash of 1927/28 I advised Rockefeller to stop giving out dimes to passing children and switch to nickels thus saving him billions in today’s money. He tried to thank me by buying me an allotment of land (Canada), but the looks on the children’s faces were payment enough for me.

One time he asked me if I would speak at his wedding. “Of course I’m going to speak!” I shrieked indignantly “What, do you think I’m going to spend the entire evening in silence stuffing my face with canapes like a ravenous mute?”

Even years after his death in 1937 Rockefeller still had the women screaming and going weak at the knees, though some say this was due to the foul stench emitting from his rotting corpse. In hindsight it was a mistake not to bury him sooner but these were the days of World War 2 and many couldn’t be bothered.


Have you ever considered that right now someone may be reminiscing about you in the future?

Life Think #74: Fictionary

February 10, 2010

Definition: Acupuncture [noun, verb, -tured, -tur⋅ing] Something you do to your body that your landlord won’t even let you do to the walls of your apartment

Life Think #72: Flanlol

December 15, 2009

I bought a flannel shirt the other day. I think the worst thing about growing up during the grunge era must have been the chafed nipples.

“Pretty convenient.”

“My keys are right here. Look.”

“I’m married now. Your mother doesn’t care.”

“You can borrow it if you ever go travelling. This is where the passport goes.”

“I don’t need to impress you or your friends.”

“I know fashion, believe me. Have you seen the photo albums?”

“Nobody even notices it.”

“See how quickly I just answered my phone?”

“Have you heard of anyone’s wallet being pick-fannypacked?”

If I was Christine Anu’s mother I’d be grateful for the apostrophe in the grammatical possessive case.

Q: What did the obsessive-compulsive photocopier repairman say to the careless executive?
A: “Get your fax straight!”

Completely Unacceptable Things (things which are completely unacceptable)

All-day Breakfast

Exactly what kind of clientele are you trying to attract with this insane offer, you insalubrious café-owner? The only people who want a full English breakfast at 8pm are confused and jetlagged tourists or psychopaths. “But, Andy,” I hear you whine, “I love some ham and eggs when the midnight hour strucketh twelve.” Well, I have just three shouted words for you, hypothetical and slightly archaic naysayer. Socially acceptable quiche! Wait…no…that’s not right…quiche my arse!!

Inspirational Back Tattoos

Stop inspiring me with your pimply, freckled back! L. Ron Hubbard put backs on the back for a reason. Who are these pithy axioms for? Me? You? You are aware you’ll never be physically capable of reading it? Ever. Oh, perhaps one day some refractive Einstein will work out some mirror configuration which enables you to read your own back in moments of self-doubt, but until then the only back-related reflection that will be going on will be behind the rolling eyes of passers-by, wondering how anyone could be so daft.

Political Graffiti in an Alleyway

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for stickin’ it to the man, but exactly what type of coterie are you attempting to attract to your political viewpoint here? Garbage collectors? Cats? Disoriented motorists? It’s like putting a petrol station in a cul-de-sac or the Woman’s Day in the frozen food aisle. No-one’s buying it. So put down your book on Marxist economic theory and pick up the textbook “Foot traffic: A beginner’s guide”.

Asserting Copyright on this Picture of a Stickman

I respect artists and intellectual property as much as the next man (i.e. not at all), but not if that next man happens to be a horribly-drawn, poorly-centred stickman. Hey, I can understand your eagerness to protect the copyright on something I could whip up myself in MsPaint in under three seconds, but I refuse to forgive your inconsistent use of pen weights.

Mankind’s Hubris

2 cloves of audacity—roughly chopped
Juice of one (1) superego (id removed)
¼ cup vanity
14 oz (400g) of canned disdain (haughty)—rinsed and pretentious
½ cup of insolence
1 teaspoon of ignorance

Directions: Place all ingredients in a potent symbol of godless technological materialism (or blender) and process until smooth, scraping the sides occasionally to avoid humility. Variations: If you like a scornful hubris add a dash of gall (diced rakishly) or a pinch of conceit, or try a little chutzpah for a more exotic variation. Tip: Why not prepare extra quantities of hubris—it can be covered with false modesty for up to 1 week and frozen smugness for up to 3 months.

French Onion Diplomatic Tensions

No need to travel all the way to UN headquarters in New York to make this simple yet delicious ambassadorial furore! It’s so easy and so awkwardly creamy; you’ll want to make it every four-year term, regardless of objections from the State Department. Serve with your favourite rhetoric.
Prep Time: 15 Minutes (according to latest intelligence).

Directions: In a medium bowl, blend (using swanking stick) the cream cheese and dry French (Freedom) onion soup until mixture resembles a swampy quagmire. Add milk until your nomination is filibustered by obstructionist partisans.

Carouse Cake

Mix your drinks carefully with two teaspoons of unease, and a tablespoon of forced bacchanalian desperation
Sift and fold in 1 ½ cups of self-raising confidence (roistered)
Add 250 grams of shredded dignity (ensure that no large chunks of dignity are present)
Bake in pre-heated 50 square foot dance floor for 1 hour
(This is my favourite part of this recipe): Add three blocks of cab fare with lashings of dishonour on your family (to taste) for icing on the cake. Leave overnight in a cold and lonely bed. Bellissimo!

Mixed Vegetable Curtailment of Civil Liberties (Politiquant)

This spicy yet scrumptious dish will give your guests a surprising burst of flavour and the tools they need to triumph in the global struggle against extremism. Warning: Not suitable for vegans.

Make a paste of the Bill of Rights in the blender.

Sauté all enemy combatants in an offshore pressure cooker and set aside without recourse.
Heat oil (preferably light sweet crude) in a pan and fry constitution (pre-sliced to ribbons) until falsely pious.
Slice vegetables narrowly (about the width of a newly defined classification of torture).
Garnish with ersatz stratocracy and serve with temporary suspension of civil rice.