Missing

The good ones, they always go away. Why is that? Why this recurring pattern? Random, unlikely encounter. Lives entwine. Bonding. Trust. Doubt. Trust again. They give you somethiing you need without even knowing they are giving it to you. If you think about it, you are probably doing the same for them, but mostly you just see it from your point of view: they were not here, they are here, I cannot imagine them not being here.

And then they go. The good ones, they always go away.

Ixchel Promo With The Dreaded One & Me

Promo clip of what was a good night and a particularly memorable one for me.

I think there will be more DJing coming up. Stay tuned.

The Local Taphouse, Darlinghurst, Sydney

And making it to the shortlist of the 2009 Lead Hands Trophy for Worst Customer Realations is The Local Taphouse in Darlinghurst. Congratulations, guys, on a job so badly done it was a beautiful piece of work.

Let me explain... a couple of friends and I went along to The Taphouse to enjoy an afternoon of wine, food and beer. All started off well. It was a very convivial couple of hours. No complaints about the lunch, beer samples, the wine or indeed the friendly service by bar staff.

Nearing the end of our last bottle of wine and our afternoon, we were approached by someone (the manager, as it turns out) asking if we were 'here for the comedy'. We told him we were not. He told us if we wanted to stay we would have to pay $10 each because a night of stand-up was about to commence. He invited us to go upstairs. We said we'd rather finish our glass of wine each where we had spent the last few hours and quite a bit of money. He said with a laugh that he'd simply get security onto us, and left.

Incredulous, we remained to finish what was about half a glass of wine each. Security did indeed approach us in the form of a solid guy so seething with anger during the resulting conversation that he was physically trembling. I asked him to please calm down and tried to explain that perhaps they were beig a little unreasonable when I was told by the bouncer, "Look, you can either get upstairs or you can fuck off." Said with a baffling, barely contained rage. Clearly he comes from a long line of diplomats.

We accepted the snarled invitation to finish our wine upstairs, thinking that perhaps more warning and less anger might have been appropriate. Perhaps we should have been told when purchasing the wine so close to the start of the comedy night that those not there for the comedy would have to purchase their drinks from upstairs and remain up there. Just a thought.

Love ya work, The Local Taphouse.

Any other nominations for the 2009 Lead Hands Trophy?

An Exciting Doof Adventure

Picture an enraged Cherokee warrior screaming hysterically at the two in the picture and a couple of their friends. I mean, what could they possibly have done to be screamed at? They are quite obviously floppy and happy and wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone. She's even wearing a chicken hat and he's wearing a purple shawl thing he likes to think of as a shoulder poncho. What could have lead to the screaming, war cries and bulging veins and threats?

What happened was this... we're at a doof. We're wandering aimlessly and find ourselves at a pretty empty dancefloor. Music is good but everyone's just chilling and mucking about. Someone starts to kick this really silly looking green rubber ball with nipples on it about. I vague out for a short time. Maybe I've gone into the forest for a quick forest wee. When I return the others tell me that they accidentally kicked the green nipple ball into the sound deck and the sound guy went a bit apeshit.

Brilliant, I think, I'm going to peg the green nipple ball back into the sound deck to see what reaction it gets. The others look unsure. No one actually says no don't do it, however. I take aim and boot the ball but it hits a banner and falls short, coming to rest at the base of the raised sound deck. It's a scaffolding set up with the viewing platform maybe ten feet in the air. I pick the ball up and gesture a suggestion to the others that I shoot the ball up into the booth. They laugh because it's just too cheeky. They look unsure. They don't actually warn me not to do it. The chicken hat wearer is daring me with that irresistible grin.

I take aim. I pop the ball up like I'm shooting a hoop and the green nipple ball sails jauntily through the air and into the sound booth, bouncing harmlessly across the floor. From where I am I can see the legs of the sound guy, and suddenly he's on the move.

One second it's the funniest thing ever, next thing there's this full-blown Cherokee warrior going absolutely batshit about the green nipple ball. Geronimo is coming at us and he's fucking angry. Woopsie.

If I had seen the original reaction and had any idea what I was getting us into, I would not have popped the ball inside a second time. The guy is totally unhinged. He's screaming about his equipment, about fucking stupid balls, about the drink the green nipple ball knocked over (it didn't) and how we have to get him another can of bourbon and coke and we have ten minutes to do it. He chases the green nipple ball and tries to boot it deep into the surrounding forest but kicking stupid green nipple balls is clearly not his forte. The kick is what a football commentator might call a dead set shocker. Hilarious.

I'm trying very hard not to laugh as the sound guy gets into a tug-o-war with the chicken hat chick over the ball. I'm shouting at the guy to chill, he's shouting at me to stop laughing, one of the others is shouting that he witnessed the drink not being knocked over... it's pandemonium out there, folks. Totally insane, and I'm watching this lean, mad, war-path fucker and wondering what his proud ancestors would make of all of this.

Things calm down. Guy goes back to his sound booth. I feel a bit bad because it was a pretty juvenile thing to do.

Funny as fuck though.

Later we're back at our campsite and Geronimo On Acid walks by on his way to a nearby tent. We giggle a bit. Someone from another tent comes over and asks what triggered all the mayhem on the danncefloor earlier, he having seen the sound guy's explosion as well. We tell him it was all a bit of an accident and that we shouldn't have kicked the ball into the sound booth. I don't think we realised just what a commotion we'd been caught up in at the time.

The guy nods at our explanation and then says, deadpan, "He was pretty pissed off... I'll give you a hundred bucks if you peg the ball into his tent now."

I would like to say that it was the funniest hundred bucks I ever made, but even my stupidity has its limits. Mostly.

Farewell Big Pointy Building

A bit of an era started around here. Alas, I'm wandering again and The Dreaded One has also left The Big Pointy Building. Times, they are a changin'.

Off doofing this weekend. Celebrating a wunth anniversary of adventures with a not so new person. Going to dance in a forest at Dragon Dreaming. I think I'm going to go as some kinda cyber Viking.

I think The Dreaded One will be missed at The Big Pointy Building. But you know, new stuff ahead.

Elevator Blues

Place I'm working at at the moment has this talking elevator. Female voice with a really snooty attitude. All I hear her saying as the doors close is "Going up!" She says it just like that too. Little stab of an exclamation mark at the end.

But what it sounds like is her telling the occupants of the lift in that superior tone to "Growup!" Like she's talking to a bunch of petulant kids.

What I really don't like about this superior elevator bitch though is that we're on the ground floor. She wins the prize for stating the fucking obvious. The elevator can't go down. And it's not likely to go sideways or backwards, is it. And if it doesn't go up it's not an elevator at all, it's just a room.

Got half a mind to go into the elevator and give the bitch a goood talking to.

Kyle Sandilands And The Suicide Bombers

Dear Cosmos,

It's come to my attention that it's been a full ten years since I won a a national writing competition with this story. Ten years is rather a long time, and if it's not terribly much trouble I'd like to put in a request to win another one please. After ten years and only one win, you start to feel like it wasn't actually a win so much as a clerical blunder. Maybe the winning entry was called Forgetting Argos and the judge was a bit dyslexic or pissed or something.

Anyway, I'm entering another competition in the next couple of weeks and it would be really nice if you could look favourably on my entry. Hell - another clerical blunder is cool with me. Totally cool cool and cool.

Keep up the good work. Maybe think about doing something about Kyle Sandilands and the suicide bombers... wait on - that sounds like an excellent name for a boy band. Kyle Sandilands And The Suicide Bombers. Live on stage! One show only! Brilliant!

Hmm. Maybe, Cosmos, you and I can swap jobs for a while. You can be the fuck-about that is me and I can take care of all the really big stuff.

Cheers mate,

LB.