The Decade Of Decadence Pt.1

"Take time to deliberate; but when the time for action arrives, stop thinking and go in."

- Napoleon Bonaparte

I can scarcely believe we're already two months into 2010, and that its been five since I updated this here bloggy. It would therefore be reasonable to question just what the frack I've been up to if not typing away my inner most thoughts and commentaries. Well, let's go back to October.

I had a film to shoot. You know, the whole gumwall thing? I'm sure if you scroll down you'll read all about it. The film's a contentious issue for me. I don't hate it. I don't even really dislike it. But I can't find it within myself, no matter how hard I try, to sing its praises. And its got nothing to do with my teachers, or my friends - hell, I barely remember what we actually submitted in the end. My feelings about that time are unavoidable. The biggest issue of October, the creation of Emily's brilliant concept in Stuck, was fated to be overshadowed by something rather sinister.

The November that followed was one of the most harrowing times of my life. I had finished uni, just barely stumbling to the finish line. I was tired, and the pain derived from my condition - Crohn's disease - was becoming suspiciously immense as days passed. The day I handed everything in, I saw Ladyhawke play @ the Forum. It would turn out to be one of the more surprising evenings of the year, claiming its place among my favorite gigs in recent memory. Then, a day later, in consulting a specialist, it was advised I needed to be admitted to hospital immediately. Something was very seriously wrong. How badly it would all play out, of course, nobody would realise - because, sure enough, I was taken to hospital, I was treated, and I was getting better. Crohn's disease caused me to have an IV in my arm, a liquid diet and more daytime television than I could handle, but I was due to head home.

Barring the circumstance of my bowel perfurating. Which is exactly what happened.

Emergency surgery was queued up, and I was pretty damn terrified (which I believe to be perfectly reasonable) . I found myself in hospital a week longer than I thought I'd be, with a stitched up bowel, a catheter, and all sorts of nasty things I had to put up with. None nastier than the New Zealand soapie Shortland Street though, I can assure you. I had visitors. El, by that time my girlfriend, dropped in every day. I was always tired, but I never tired of her. My Mum and Dad were always there for me. My brother, his girlfriend, Em, Kami... even The Good China came in to keep me company. Often they'd all come baring gifts, even if the odd Ralph magazine may have been inappropriate (see catheter) . But I can't sufficiently express the sincere and absolute gratitude I feel towards everyone who took their time out to support me in any way they could. I can only hope I've made it clear before now just how heartwarming it was.

December. The recovery was a bitch. The extended stay in hospital taught me to despise inaction. It taught me to despite television, news and current affairs shows, all kinds of things. Just sitting around really got to me. I had a lot of time to think. I understood why the last few months had been so hard on my body, but I didn't feel heroic, I felt stupid. Oddly, to escape those thoughts, I'd get about. It would be uncomfortable to move, but I'd push myself, simply due to the frustration I'd cause myself if I just stayed put. I felt I had been sitting around long enough, and it was time to get back to living my life. Predictably, I got back into the swing of things with a gig here and there, a party... my own. I'm 21 years old now. It was a brilliant night, it can't have gone better. Another big thanks to everyone who came out for it, you made my evening. Christmas was okay. My actual birthday was grand. My second New Years spent @ Jag's threatened a repeat performance, but I bailed on the party before I could embarrass myself again.

And now its 2010. But guess what? I'm gonna save my coverage of the year so far for next post.



'Fraid so. But you're ever so kind for reading this far, and returning after such a long time. It won't be long til the next one. Pinky promise.

Something So Strong

"It is stupid comparing us to the Beatles. There were four of them. There are only three of us."

- Paul Hester

It wasn't my plan to be so worn out by 5pm today, but I suppose it makes sense. Would I have done it any differently if I had known I would be here, there and everywhere? I've travelled from Glen Waverley, to Prahran. Prahran to the city. The city to Fitzroy. Fitzroy to Collingwood. And just recently, back into the city. Right now I'm at the State Library, enjoying some down time. In about an hour I'll be on a tram to North Melbourne - and then, finally, I'll be making the trip back home to Glen Waverley. What does it all mean, what's it all for? Well, that's precisely the point of this post. Check out my day...

I bailed on the idea of waking at 6am for another two-hour world of Managing Design 'fun', so I got up at 9am instead. Unfortunately, I'd have to go into uni anyway, into the bowels of the PA building to do a little DVD Authoring. I mostly made changes to the project I had already submitted, adding excerpts of The Good China's latest music video (which will hit the web sometime soon, I imagine). It was for the sake of an interview I had scheduled at 2pm - funnily enough, a DVD Authoring position. The company wanted my showreel, and I was happy to oblige. I finished my work, and began to make my way to Fitzroy.

I thought the interview went well. I fielded the questions with particular ease, and although I initially felt a degree of pressure, I found myself, mid-interview, rather optimistic of my first impressions. It was a little nerve racking when the chief interviewer decided to insert the showreel I had just burnt for a quick glimpse. My mind raced with all these ghastly outcomes: the disc isn't actually in the right region, none of the hyperlinks actually link to anything, the DVD player could simply explode and proves a match for even the most adept Fire Department. Overall, though, things went smoothly. I opted to show them what I had of All Nothing (the aforementioned clip) and they were both amused and impressed. It made me feel good for myself and the band. Inevitably, I noticed one particular fail concerning a menu - a daft mistake I knew I could rectify within seconds if given the chance - but hopefully they don't shift unnecessary focus onto what's a tiny mistake. So, anyway, I was satisfied. And it had finished sooner than I thought. So what was I to do with my time?

I should avoid Dixons. Its just too awesome. I can't really afford to go there anymore - hell, I never could. Anyway, for a decent price, I ended up buying Noah And The Whale's Peaceful The World Lays Me Down, Pet Shop Boys' Fundemental and Cajun Dance Party's The Colorful Life. Its unusual, as two of those three albums I haven't really heard much of. This defies my usual pattern of download, love, buy. My purchase of Fundemental was purely based on recommendation; El assures me I'll come to enjoy it much more than Yes (which I've had on high rotation for sometime now - good stuff). I promised myself I wouldn't spend anymore money after that venture. Typically, it took me all of five minutes to begin to see other things I'd love to buy. A brand-new, not-so-bright-red ukulele case was up there. But its probably a good thing I saved my money, and walked just a bit further to The Searchers. Its a record / bookshop on Smith St, and one I've been meaning to go to for months. Today I finally put myself out to go there, and boy, did it pay off...

Zomg.

This is a Crowded House rarity. For a start, as far as I know, its out of print. I remember this one time, years ago, I found a record of it on the Monash Public Library database. When I followed it up, however, I was told the only copy of the book, however, had gone missing, and there was no explanation for its disappearance. Bummer, huh? So I pretty much acknowledged - much like I did with Shaun Micallef's hilarious Smithereens - that I'd never own a copy for myself. Fortunately though, also like Smithereens, a copy of this book is now mine, and mine forever, and for just $14. Not bad, considering the chances of finding this anywhere were, to my knowledge, pretty much zero. This is pretty much the single greatest experience I've had with a record store, ever. Zomg indeed.

Everything is fantastically Finn in my world at the moment, actually. I could be off to New Zealand to see Neil and Tim Finn team up for a Samoan Relief concert. As far as wins go, I'm checking the boxes: I've wanted to go to New Zealand for a while, and now it looks like I might... whilst I'm there, I could see my idols, live in concert... and the proceeds for said concert will be distributed in ways that actually make a difference to people who really, really need all the help they can get at the moment. Win. Win. Win.

Time for me to leave the State Library. As I mentioned, I'm in North Melbourne tonight. Its the last thing I have to do today, and its to cover the last of the Fringe shows I was assigned: Josh Thomas. Not really sure what to expect. He's hardly hilarious or anything from what I've seen (mostly his role on Talkin Bout Your Generation), but I have to admit, I'm curious to see what he's got. I'm still quite chuffed that my reviews have made appearances - yes, two now, amazingly - in Beat. The novelty hasn't worn off. Maybe my call is writing. Maybe that's what I should be doing with my time. Hard to argue against that notion when its exactly what I'm doing now. I hope you've enjoyed this account of my giant, awesomely enjoyable day, and fingers crossed about the job, and the evening to come. I've travelled from Glen Waverley, to Prahran. Prahran to the city. The city to Fitzroy. Fitzroy to Collingwood. And just recently, back into the city. Soon I'll be on a tram to North Melbourne.

So just why the hell am I still living in Glen Waverley? 'Til next post.

Distraction 9

"If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun."

- Katharine Hepburn

As I expected, my week off really didn't feel like a holiday at all. Which is far from a complaint, because keeping busy meant that when I did return to uni this past Monday, it felt like I had been gone a month. Which was a good feeling, because I had accomplished a lot: a few Fringe Festival shows reviewed (the articles can be found here), as well as getting together with the ol' crew and making headway on our gumwall documentary. Anyway, when I got back into the swing of things and arrived at Swinburne on Monday morning, it really felt like a new beginning - not so much the second part of semester two, but a brand new semester.

Of course, my cycnicism and general restlessness soon crept in and ruined the whole experience. Predictable, really. Today's probably been the best example. Screening Series offered up a Roman Polanski film, Cul De Sac, and for most of the film I found myself daydreaming about all sorts of things - inlcuding a delicious blueberry-choc muffin I had enjoyed prior to the class. Is that wrong? Surely that's a sign that, psychologically at least, I'm not exactly in tune with my course. To be fair, it was only that the movie conjured so much apathy in me that such a situation occured.
Later, in my 12:30pm Editing class, we were warned fairly explicitly that mid-class use of Facebook would result in an instant dismissal for the day. Unsurprisingly (and I can even bring up my chat logs calling this outcome), I was caught within the first ten minutes of the lesson and promptly asked to leave. I'd feel bad, but - and this is probably another danger sign - I've come to learn that I can miss classes without any repercussion whatsoever. I know I won't have missed crucial education, and I know I won't have to catch up on anything. Again, I can't help but wonder if this is how it ought to be.

So, having left class, I had a lot of time on my hands. The first thing I did was find another computer. Then I logged onto the Village Cinemas website. Then I walked to Jam Factory, and saw this film.

Not quite Mars Attacks.

And you know what? You can forget all of the above - you know, any hint of my disillusionment with my career path - because there's nothing wrong here. I see things like these, and I'm again instantly awash with my love for film and television. Its just over an hour since I saw this film, and I still very much admire its creativity, originality - its entertainment factor alone proved fantastic. No, there's nothing wrong with me. I still love what I do. I'm just doomed to disagree with Swinburne. I'm doomed because I only want to do what I want to do. Always. I want to see the films that I want to see, and study what I want to study. Anything that doesn't peak my interest I don't have - no, want - to make time for. Unfortunately, this is not how any University course has or ever will operate.

I'm a lot of things when it comes to this issue - stubborn, self-centred, you name it. But it only stems from my absolute, unrestrained desire to achieve great things. So maybe all this frustration with my course ain't so bad after all.

Peace out.

Mud-printed Sentiments

"A poem is never finished, only abandoned."

- Paul Valéry

Well, I'm back. It took almost a month, but I've finally returned to this here blog. Its not because I don't love it - or love you, all five (if that) of my readers. Its probably because life has been too full on for me to stop to write about it. Which, most of the time, is the way I'd like to live, but I have to admit that its good to be back here again. A breather and a little self-expression were both definitely overdue.
So what have I been up to then? Well, I was on a boat there for a bit, saw Hawthorn narrowly miss the finals (grumble), attended an EP launch as well as a healthy amount of gigs I've since reviewed, got my shit together with uni and documentary stuff, and... well, yeah. That sums it up well enough. I do plan on going into more detail at a later stage. For now, other writing endeavors continue to demand my attention. I'm actually reviewing a few Melbourne Fringe Festival shows. My articles will probably turn up online eventually, and I certainly hope they turn up in Beat, a streetpress publication I'm obviously fond of. Anyway, tonight I'm doing a write-up of Mark Watson's Fringe show, and I can look forward to seeing Arj Barker and The Bedroom Philosopher, among others. So, combined with the documentary taking flight, its pretty much full-on at the moment.

Equipment pick-up for the gum-wall documentary.
Yup. Pretty much a bitch to carry.

Our first shooting location: a filthy city alleyway
that had a distinct stench of urine about it,
among other odors. Good times.

Never fear though, I do have an interesting tidbit before I end this post in a hideously abrupt manner. Today, I was leaving The Glen, finally making the journey back home. The Glen is basically Glen Waverley's insipid excuse for a shopping centre. If you've ever been there, you'll know why I chance it with Knox, despite the grief it inevitably gives me. But here I'm flogging a dead horse; back on track now: I encountered a small piece of notebook paper flittering about in the wind. Initially, I walked over it. However, as I did, I noticed what seemed to either be poetry or lyrics scrawled upon the downtrodden, mud-stained sheet. It sparked my curiosity. I couldn't help it: I turned around and picked it up. I don't know whose it is, or where it came from. I haven't even read it yet. But I have it in front of me now. So let's check it out.

He can only hold her for so long
The lights are on but no one's home
She's so vacant, her soul is taken
He is what she's running from
How can he have her heart? When it got stole
Though he tries to pacify her
What's inside her never dies
Even if she's content in his warmth
She gets pained with urgency
Urgent kisses, the miss misses
The man he longs to be
Now how can he have her heart
When it got stole. So he tries to pass it by
Cause what's inside'll never die
As he tries to pacify her, cause what's her never dies.

- Anon

Well, there you go. In case you were wondering, its in a girl's handwriting. I guess that's not too surprising. I'll leave you with what is, in my opinion, a fantastically poetic song. And, that aside, a generally brilliant track.

MUSIC: The Beatles - Across The Universe

'Til next time, hopefully soon.

Knox Culture Wasteland

"Fashions fade, style is eternal."

- Yves Saint Laurent

For those who followed Thinking In Reverse, the dissolved predecessor to this here blog (so basically very few, if anyone) , you'll remember it being deeply personal, and often an open forum for me to whine relentlessly about, in retrospect, trivial things. I've been careful to not repeat myself with For No One - after all, negative attitudes don't really make for good reading, and if anything, the endless stream of petty quiblings probably alienated my desired audience eventually. So I'm keen to keep my new blog entertaining, and eternally lighthearted. This post, however, breaks from such promises. I point the finger, without reservation:

Cue Knox City rant #546.

You've probably heard all this from me before, but I loathe Knox City Shopping Centre. Its not really the shopping itself - hell, that's why make the trip out there in the first place. It has a JB Hi-Fi, a Dick Smith Powerhouse, and a Borders, amongst other great stores. So in terms of the potential for buying cool shit, there's a big tick in that box. The people let the entire experience down, though.

I was browsing through the Vinyl Records section of the aforementioned Dick Smith Powerhouse. I assume this to be the only place in the entirety of Knox City - save for perhaps Cash Converters - that sells records... but then, this is not something that really surprises me, given the calibre of imbecile that frequently insists on populating the shopping district. I also came to greet exactly what I had expected from their miniscule range. A question, at this junction: who the hell is buying Coldplay's X+Y on vinyl? Or Robbie Williams' Escapology? I guess the only saving grace was seeing the late Michael Jackson's Bad, but even then, the vinyl release had seemingly ommitted my favourite MJ song, 'Leave Me Alone'. As I was flicking my way through their abysmal catalogue, to embrace a predictable feeling of disappointment, my ears pricked up, noticing a conversation happening not more than a meter away from where I stood.

Customer: Hi, do you guys still have the records here?
Employee: Uh...
Customer: You know, like vinyl records. LPs.
Employee: (a beat or two, entirely unsure) No, we don't, sorry.

There's at least two problems with the above exchange that I witnessed. The first of which is the fucking idiot from Powerhouse who obviously doesn't know what a record is. I mean, seriously. If you don't know that, get the fuck out of my store! Yeah, my store! The second problem was the fact that the employee was actually standing in front of the vinyl collection at the time. Criminally stupid. Admittedly, there was a third problem, and on this occasion, I was also at fault. Because there we were, this customer and I: two beacons flickering with promise in a pop-culture wasteland, both trying to shine our light over a land of mediocrity. I should have intervened and directed him to the records. Instead, I didn't, and he left as disillusioned as ever. We beacons must help each other out. Its the only way we'll ever save ourselves from becoming this guy...

Binary solo!

I sat down for a read of the paper at Hungry Jacks. I noticed they had taken away the option of free refills. There was now a large space next to the wall where a drink dispensing machine had previously sat. A simple cost-cutting measure handed down from management? Or perhaps a greedy customer had ruined things for everyone? I enjoy much more the reality of the latter, and would be interested in seeing it play out one day. As I sat down to read, I noticed upon the wall two framed record sleeves: one of The Beatles' Rubber Soul, and the other The Beatles' Let It Be. My faith in the people of Knox City, and in their idea of 'good taste' had, funnily enough, been restored at Hungry Jacks. But the next thing I noticed was a man across from me eating a Whopper with his large fries between the buns. I was shattered once more.

By this time, and about $55 later, I had again begun to regret my trip to Knox. The fact that headphones are so expensive wasn't helping anything. And why are they so expensive? Budget MP3 players can be bought for less! As it was, I didn't end up replacing my broken headphones, meaning I'll just have to go the earphone avenue a little longer. The last place I tried, though, was Target. Before I had even walked in the store, I had braced myself to be let down. Its standard operating procedure (S.O.P.) when you go to Knox, trust me. Instead, however, I found something that did brighten my day.


Neil Finn! On TV!

Neil Finn! On many TVs! Turns out that someone decided that shoppers, this fine Friday afternoon, should be treated to the Crowded House DVD Dreaming, containing pretty much their entire catalog of music videos. As you might imagine, I sat there and watched all ten televisions at once, as if I'd never seen the clip of 'Private Universe' in my life. Little did I know, my day was about to get better still.

"Ooo, chimpanzee that!"

On a high from the sheer delight that is seeing a monkey with a surfboard, it was time to head home. Which meant, in a way, I was on a roll. I've had time to reflect though, and in no way do the brief appearances of the Fab Four, Crowded House and a surfboarding monkey change my feelings about Knox City Shopping Centre (where fashion goes to die, still) . I don't feel I've really touched on why I hate it so much, but put simply, its the people. Its the bright-colored, peroxide-haired, skateboarding, scootering, exasperating, ignorant, dim-witted bogans that shop like mindless drones and make the experience unbearable for us slightly better people. There. I said it. And I think I'm done.

MUSIC: Michael Jackson - Leave Me Alone

Don't even get me started on The Glen. Ciao.

Inflation

"When we're two balloons, and together our direction is up, chances are we've found the right person. Our soulmate is the one who makes life come to life."

- Richard Bach

The weekend just gone will no doubt be one of the more unusual weekends I'm ever likely to experience. This is directly attributed to the fact that I both oversaw and contributed to the inflation of approximately three thousand party balloons. When it comes to weekends, there are options aplenty: some people have a nice picnic, some people see a movie with friends, some people even start that book they've been meaning to for months and months. I, however, was mostly lost in a sea of colored latex for around three days, and all for the sake of The Good China's music video for track one (All Nothing) of their new EP, Old Maps / New Roads. Which was released yesterday, actually . Here's just a taste of what to expect from the clip...

Really only the tip of a giant twee iceberg.

Yeah, okay, you probably imagined as much already. A balloon-pit and so forth. But I want to keep the project under wraps for now, and I presume these are the wishes of the band, too. So consider my lips firmly zipped. Its pretty damn exciting though. Jag's already whisked the DV tapes away back to his place, and he's currently slaving away in post-production. And if his dedication is even half of what was shown these past few days, it will be complete in no time. Its hard to summarize the entire experience, mostly because a summary simply wouldn't do it justice. But I'll try: these few days spent bringing everything together was unusual, intense, exhausting but amazing, all at once. I'd be happy not to see another balloon for a while. Of course, ever since the shoot, those carbon-emission ads with the black balloons are making their untimely re-emergence on free-to-air television. It just goes to show that you can indeed have too much of a good thing. Expect linkage soon enough!

Time for some random bits and pieces now. Earlier this year I was recommended a particular album that has continued to wow and amaze me ever since I gave it that first listen: Friendly Fire, the third full-length release from Sean Lennon - that is, Sean Lennon, son of John Lennon and Yoko Ono. As a general trend, most of the music I genuinely enjoy over a great period of time I end up buying - as was the case with this record. I had been looking for Friendly Fire for some time, and found it - also true to form - at Dixons. And what's more, I had purchased the CD / DVD set. A gem of a find really, a true bargain. Anyway, I I got to the train station, sat down and read the booklet. Nothing unusual. But then I found a credit I never expected to find. I seem to recall double-taking when I read that Lindsay Lohan appeared on the DVD disc of the set I had just bought. Without enough time to watch the disc itself, and my curiosity still burning, I decided to check out Wikipedia to see what exactly the deal was. That didn't yield much, but a Google search sure did. Sean Lennon dated Lindsay Lohan around three years ago. This comes as a bit of a surprise to me. Mostly because Sean Lennon is awesome, and Lindsay Lohan is, well...

Charming.

Melbourne's weather remains impossible to read, and I just wish it were Spring already. Misery is waiting for public transport in the pouring rain. And today was fairly bad. I was somewhat intrigued by one man in particular today, who stood next to me under a bus shelter, with his umbrella up. So, picture that: already under a shelter, with his umbrella up and at the ready. Nobody had more potential than this man at any given moment in any given circumstance to be dry. As other commuters shuffled in, I thought he might abandon the idea of having his umbrella up in complete dryness, but no such luck. Instead people had to deal with almost getting poked in the eye by the edges of the stupid thing. I just don't get some people.
To wrap things up, it seems Hawthorn still have a chance - albeit slim - of making the finals, and St.Kilda have now dropped two games in a row.

They breed 'em tough at St.Kilda.

MUSIC: Sean Lennon - Tomorrow
MUSIC: Oasis - Stop Crying Your Heart Out

Relax, take it easy.

Sticky

"Disappointment to a noble soul is what cold water is to burning metal; it strengthens, tempers, intensifies, but never destroys it."

- Eliza Tabor

As the semester wears on, this feeling will likely fade away, which is exactly why I should acknowledge it now: I'm psyched for uni tomorrow. Admittedly, its been an awkward start to proceedings, and I'm still trying to sus out just how monumentally screwed my timetable is, but I'm raring to go. And who'd have thought I'd be so willing toward an 8:30am class on a Monday morning? Like I said: things will change. For now though, I'm looking forward to what seems to be a fun class, taught by a vaguely cool teacher. The guy's got a bit of success happening - past, and perhaps more importantly, present - and he's apparently working with Film Victoria and Shaun Micallef in developing some sort of project. And you reckon I wasn't won over pretty much immediately? Anyway, as far as my 'career' is concerned, it starts here. A class here or there, and pretty soon I'll be working with Micallef himself. Stay tuned for developments on this outlandish, somewhat feverish ambition of mine.

Speaking of things uni, it looks like I may have a little direction when it comes to documentary stuff this semester. For want of a better term, I've effectively 'hitched my wagon' to a friend's golden idea. Whilst I felt that my own were strong in their own right, and I still have faith in them - the trouble was inevitably going to be assembling a crew as accepting of where I wanted to take things. Last semester, initially, I had pushed my own agenda to the utmost and strove to seize creative control where I felt necessary in order to create the kind of film I had imagined. Its for this reason my involvement in 'Change' was at its peak during pre-production, and its no wonder I took the reigns when it came to writing. It was last semester, in fact, that taught me to imagine myself in this role more than any other - I've since seen myself as much more of a writer, a cog in the initial creative process. Anyway, I have to say, I was mostly disappointed with the resulting film that we, as a team, had submitted just a couple of months ago. As easy as it might be to point the finger (and it is easy, don't worry about that) , my personal, particularly grandiose expectations certainly played a role in adding to my ill-feeling towards 'Change'. My strategy this time around is to render myself open-minded, opting instead to take more of a back-seat role with respect to the core subject of the doco, and lend my creativity where I think necessary. And the core subject?

"Camberwell: We've Got It All". They have a wall, anyway.

This is a wall found in Camberwell, plastered, as the graffiti would suggest, with gum. It just might be the filthiest landmark to ever exist, but a curious phenomenon nevertheless. There are a lot of questions raised when you consider that this wall was, at one point, completely gum-free. Then, over what I imagine to be years, piece by piece, this anomaly has come into being - it has clearly been established as a favorite site for gum-chewers to dispose of their brand of saliva-ridden waste. As you might expect, there's calls for the gum to be properly disposed of, and the council don't like the wall one little bit. Unfortunately, it turns out that the same council are also morons, citing simply painting over the gum as a good solution to the eyesore. It wasn't. So the legendary Camberwell gum-wall remains. And despite the looming $130 fine one risks for disposing of their gum in this famously incorrect manner, I have a feeling the youth just might roll the dice on it anyway. They have been for a long time, clearly, so I don't see things changing. Meanwhile, if you think $130 for a simple piece of gum is bad, I should remind you of the absurdity of Connex fining any passenger found with their feet on seats around $160. Enough said, really.

Alright, buccaneers. If you fancy yourself as a sea-faring sort, I have most excellent news: four of Melbourne's finest bands are teaming up to produce an audacious nautical concert on August 29th. Carnation, The Hovercrafts, The Process (certainly not Dew Process, the label - that would be crazy) and soon-to-be-your-new-favorite-band The Good China are playing aboard a cruise, and they want you to party with them until sea sickness. There's going to be around three hundred people, with live music, good brews and DJ's on a double level party ferry - all this whilst cruising around Melbourne's waterways and bays. What's not to like? The event is called Titanic. More information and tickets are available through Moshtix. Its selling fast, so get in quick! Also, a reminder that The Good China's EP comes out in just over a week, released on the 24th of August.

The Good China - Old Maps / New Roads

01. All Nothing
02. If Pain Persists
03. Turn The Page
04. We Found 3 Whistles
05. 39 Black

Check out your nearest JB and pick yourself up a copy. You know I will. Just one thing before wrapping up. I'm saddened that Blogger removed one of my posts. Typically, it was among my favorite, and probably my longest. C'est la vie.

MUSIC: Annie - Chewing Gum
MUSIC: Split Enz - Six Months In A Leaky Boat

'Til next time, y'all.