Sunday, February 28, 2010

My Totally Sweet Badge Collection

I have been collecting badges for some years now and my collection is fairly impressive. It would be more impressive but what with badges being small and flimsy, I lose them all the time. I shed them. If you wander around my house at any given time you are more than likely to see little badge deposits scattered in various positions about the house.

I'm not sure why I started collecting them. I think I just kept finding badges I liked and then when I had more than fifty I decided I might as well call it a collection. I know most people aren't interested in collections. They seem to be associated closely with being both boring and crazy, an unlikely and unfortunate combination. But my badge collection is one that people always seem to take to with interest. I wear a good amount of them on the strap of my shoulder bag and people always comment on them. There have been a few cafes I have frequented where I have been known simply as 'The Badge Girl'. Just this afternoon I was picking up a few winners* in the op-shop down the road and the woman said with a grin that she would keep an eye out for more badges for me.

I think people take to them because they can cover a variety of areas. Nostalgia, humour, music, there are no shortages of designs. Also, my collection is that excellent. Here are a few of my favourites that are currently in circulation:

  • 'Obama Pug' and 'Iguanas for Obama'. Looks like a joke, but these came from a serious website. Apparently this woman actually thinks pets should express political opinions.
  • "Go fork yourself" with a picture of a fork.
  • A cartoon of a Panda that says "Wanted dead or alive! This is a bad panda"
  • "Satan Was A Lesbian" and all the others in that set. It was a set of all kinds of retro cult movie posters. Other winners included "She Learned The Hard Way", "Nautipuss" and many others.
  • "WWSJD?" This is actually a Dr Who badge but my name is also Sarah Jane so yes.
  • Andrew McLelland's Finishing School badge. One of the main reasons I would move to Melbourne.
  • Assortment of indie band badges. I found this website once that had all these badges for obscure bands, TV shows and even authors that were all a dollar, with free international shipping. I have no idea why in the name of hell I did not bookmark this site. I think it might have been like the internet equivalent of the Room of Requirement in Harry Potter.
  • "Hitler was a Nazi"
  • "NO PIPELINE COMMUNIST THIEVES" I have no idea what this even means, but there is also a skull and crossbones on it?
  • "The Comedy Of Errors by Shakespeare Motor Cycle Club" One of my favourites. This is from around 1974. The Shakespeare Motor Cycle Club where a group of motorbike enthusiasts who used to have rallies named after Shakespeare's plays. This was one of their official badges.
  • "Hello! My friend" with a picture of some kind of child devil.
  • I have about six badges that are all weird comments about gnomes, usually puns. None that I can find right now though.
  • A roadsign that says "You Shall Not Pass", picture of an approximation of Gandalf
  • "No Woman No Chai"
So yeah, that's the part of my collection that is "currently on display". As you can see, my badge collection is the best. And it makes me really easy to buy presents for. If anyone wants to get me on side, all they pretty much have to do is lay down five bucks on some sweet badges.

-Smackie Onassis





*The badges I bought today: a Healthy Harold badge, a picture of a racecar that says "flossing is for winners", a circa 1985 african american teen named 'Zack'. I don't know who he is, but he sure has 'tude, a cow's face that says moo a few times and has some bubbles and stripes. All these were in the 20c box which made me feel like I was doing excellent shopping.

"Irrational" fears

Vegatrain has this thing where he loves startling me. See, when I'm startled I make this noise that Vegatrain seems to think is funny, although Meattrain thinks it is the single most annoying sound in the entire world. I would describe it as a cross between Chewbacca and a bad Louis Armstrong impersonation, only louder and more gutteral. It is half involuntary stress reaction and half hammed up for comic effect. But that noise is not the point of this entry. This is more about Vegatrain's efforts to stress me out. Usually these efforts consist of running up to me suddenly making some kind of horrifying sound (good lord our neighbours must love us).

Last night he did something very similar, only wearing sunglasses we have dubbed "The Douchebag Glasses". You know the types. Orange frames, kinda wraparound style. Dr Cox wears a pair exactly like them in Scrubs at some stage. Anyway, Vegatrain jumped out at me from behind a door wearing those glasses. I found myself reacting by covering my face and screaming the following:

"Oh my god you look like Bono!"

Conclusion: I am afraid of Bono.

That brings my sum total of fears up to two: Bono, and birds. And I am aware that most people would probably view the former as the more rational of the two.

When I tell people that I am afraid of birds, they usually respond with one of the following:

  1. "Haha, no seriously."
  2. "Isn't that a tattoo of a bird on your leg there?"
Yes, I am serious. And also the tattoo is SYMBOLISM YOU GUYS. I will not be afraid of it until the day it flies off my leg and starts flapping all in my face in which case I will be terrified and it won't just be because of the bird thing.

But my fear of birds is not as irrational as most people would guess. I didn't always* have this fear, until the birds near my high school decided to go a little bit insane, Hitchcock-style. The magpies in the surrounding area had always been fairly awful. I remember one swooping me when I was just going for a walk. I tried to run away but it actually chased me down the streets, even around corners and down side streets. It was awful.

But when I was in year 12, the birds at my school went extra hotsauce crazy. During my HSC exams, the quad was roped off due to "bird hazard" as the surrounding signs proclaimed. Apparently something had gone down in the bird world, and as a result they were attacking students at random. One girl got her eye pecked and had to be rushed to hospital. I swear to god, I am not making this up.

After awhile, the "bird hazard" resolved itself. The birds went back to their business as usual. But I have since had something of a fear of the creatures. If they are chillin' in cages I am ok with them, but the minute they start flapping their wings, coming towards me in any way I basically duck and cover. Don't even get me started on geese and swans.

-Smackie Onassis




*While I am writing this Vegatrain is watching the Big Bang Theory and Sheldon just started talking about his fear of birds. MAN.

What's In My Bookmarks Bar: An Update

  • Official website of the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain
  • This video
  • A store in Brisbane selling flying v ukuleles (I have not intentionally been searching for ukulele related websites. Coincidence?)
  • "Piano chords made easy" for when I am writing/playing a song and I forget a really embarrassingly basic chord.
  • A gif of a skeleton playing the banjo (fantastic)
  • Richard von Krafft-Ebing's wikipedia page, still

Role Models, or, A Possible Explanation of Why I Am Such A Spacecase

I often refer to myself as an "absurd human being". I will admit that I do practice a form of rational insanity in everything I do. I will tell you that for free. I have tried a few times in my life to act like a normal person, but it inevitably ends up leaving me feeling empty and depressed. I have a lot more fun being absurd. But I have been thinking and I have noticed that this could well be because I have had a great deal of role models in my life who have been nothing short of totally batshit insane.

For example, at the last job I had before moving to Adelaide, my boss was this crazy Czechoslovakian guy. He had the same name as a very famous surrealist painter so I am going to call him Breton. He was absolutely insane. A usual day working with Breton would consist of him storming in, waving his arms around wildly, yelling incoherantly and then running off again. Needless to say, he wasn't the best boss I've ever had. I also got the impression that at work we were getting the LESS crazy side of him. Apparently he had a cannon in his front yard. An actual, working cannon. In his front yard. The police told him many times to remove it, but he did not listen. How did I hear about this? From the boss I had before him, who apparently knew him because Newcastle is like that.

Before the job with Breton, I worked in a small independant fashion retailer. I was only being paid $10 an hour which I knew was well below minimum wage but I didn't care. It was the best job I had ever had. I got the job in a strange way. The shop was around the corner from my house and I wandered in one day and started talking to the owner. This is how the hiring process went:

(inane chatting)
Boss: You know what, I like your style. You're hired.
Me: But I didn't apply-
Boss: You start Monday.
Me: Sure thing boss.

For a while, I was the sole employee. They had another shop over the road and when I was hired the owner took the chance to spend his time in the other one. I would scoot in every morning on my little razor scooter. They would give me the keys and I would open the shop, "work" and then bring over the takings at the end of the day. I was alone in the shop, free to do my own thing. One of my favourite things to do would be to make mixtapes to play while I was working. I do recall a woman once making a rude comment about the song currently playing and I took way too much offence. I was very proud of my mixtapes. I remember this way too vividly. The song was "Get Me Away From Here I'm Dying" by Belle & Sebastian and an old woman said "Well! I wish he would hurry up and die already!" I didn't kick her out of the shop on the basis that I wanted to make money off her, but when she turned around she got the dirty look of a lifetime, let me tell you that much. 

The shop itself was fantastic. I got some of my favourite items of clothing from there, including my metallic silver boots and candy pink trench coat. I seem to remember once selling a pair of barramundi skin boots, which I thought was fairly random. My boss was exactly the kind of person you would expect to sell that kind of item. I seem to remember him once telling me about his Christmas party. Apparently he had honed this recipe for a punch that was extremely alcoholic, but didn't taste it at all. So, at his party he had two bowls set out: one was the obviously alcoholic eggnog, the other the seemingly innocent punch. Apparently, he got way too much of a buzz out of people who weren't planning on drinking supping on the punch thinking it was non-alcoholic and then driving home. He laughed maniacally when he told me this story. I laughed too but my laugh was not so much maniacal as it was awkwardly humouring him so he wouldn't drug my coffee. I'm sure there are a bundle of other stories about how insane he was, but there is already too much material for this entry for me to drag those out of my memory. I do remember that I ran into him a year or so after I stopped working there and was duly informed that he didn't have a facebook, but his goldfish did.*

As for other insane role models, you need look no further than the educators I have had over the years. In high school I had an abundance of crazy teachers, but I would rather save that for it's own entry. Let's talk about uni for a moment. The first lecture I went to was taught by one of the most openly insane people who has ever attempted to teach me anything. He walked to the front of the hall with his eyes much wider than anyone who is not a serial killer is physically capable of. I don't know, they have some kind of gene. He spent the lecture gesturing wildly and stroking his big bushy beard. If I recall correctly my notes from this lecture looked something like this:

  • A dog / A not a dog
  • What is this man talking about
  • What am I supposed to be writing down
  • What is even going on
I thought maybe this was just the first lecture, and that things would improve from there, but no. There was no discernible point made in any of his lectures.

Now, those are only three of my "role models" and of course I had a lot that were completely sane. What I'm saying is, they were in the minority.


-Smackie Onassis


*This fish did not accept my friend request. Apparently even goldfish think they are better than me now.

Friday, February 26, 2010

An Ode To The Newcastle Regional Library

People are always talking about what they would do if they became really, really wealthy. Houses, holidays and hookers are usually the favourites ('The Three H's'), but there is something a bit different that I have always thought I would do. If I ever got even slightly wealthy, I would make as big a donation to the Newcastle Regional Library as I could afford. I would also like to live in a house where the walls are made of aquariums but that's a whole other kettle of fish, or house of fish as the case may be.

"Why a library?" you might ask, "There are so many worthy causes out there, what makes you think that is the best place for your dollars?"

Here's the thing. The Newcastle Regional Library was one of my favourite places in the entire world when I was growing up. This was mainly because of the music section. Most libraries these days have a cd section of some description, but it is usually limited to Vivaldi and Delta Goodrem. The music section at this library was like nothing I'd ever seen before. It was updated on a monthly basis and contained music I had trouble finding anywhere else. This was before the time of internet torrents, so it really was that amazing.

I am not exaggerating when I say that the cd section at this library changed my life. Borrowing these cds was the first I had heard of music that wasn't just played on the radio. I can remember picking up a little album called 'If You're Feeling Sinister' by a little band by the name of Belle & Sebastian. It blew me away. I didn't know music could be so... good. I went on to feverishly get my hands on everything they had ever recorded. The night I finally ended up seeing them live was just one of the best nights of my life.

From there I picked up Darren Hanlon's 'Little Chills' and my mind was blown again. I remember taking it to school in my little discman. My friends got so mad at me because I spent the better part of a week not talking to them in favour of sitting by myself, listening to it over and over again. Seriously, the things I would do to Darren Hanlon. I can't even go into them without feeling filthy and disrespectful, but let's just say: it would take several days before I would be finished.

Other bands I heard for the first time because I picked up their cd at the Newcastle Regional Library include: Beck, The Pixies, Augie March (years before Moo You Bloody Choir brought them to the mainstream. I'm talking Sunset Studies here. Man, I am going to listen to that right now), The Bees, Bright Eyes, Broken Social Scene, The Fiery Furnaces, Built to Spill, Camera Obscura... the list goes on. Let's just say: all my favourite bands.

The Newcastle Regional Library was the single biggest influence on my musical tastes. It taught me not only that there were excellent bands out there, but because there was such a vast supply of material it taught me how to form my own opinions on music, how to decide what kind of things I liked. Every time I considered moving away from Newcastle, I had to seriously evaluate whether I could move away from the library. It was that good. I honestly don't understand how such an oasis of musical culture could exist. If I didn't still have all those burnt cds, I might think it had all been a mirage.

Of course, I eventually did move away. I can honestly say that the library is probably the thing that I miss most about Newcastle. I mean, there is the internet now, but it's just not the same. Don't get me wrong, I love the internet, but nothing can compare to seeing the shelves upon shelves of such wonderful albums all free for the borrowing.

-Smackie Onassis

A List Of Things

So basically. It is three in the morning, and I have already gone out, gotten drunk off two glasses of wine (I am such a sensational light-weight these days. It's good though because I also can't drink more than three drinks without getting handsy, or four drinks without getting nauseous  and introverted. Also I am too poor to drink like a real person), sobered up and now I can't get to sleep. I am going to remedy this by telling a bunch of totally unrelated stories in list form. Hopefully it will be like counting sheep.

  1. I joined the local library the other day. Unfortunately, I cannot handle reading a book until I get my new glasses. However, I really liked the librarian because she laughed at my bad jokes. I was reading the terms and conditions and noticed that there was a warning to not bring "animals or birds" (are birds not animals anymore? Is this a thing, like how pluto is not a planet? Did I miss this?) into the library. I giggled and asked if this is a problem. The librarian shrugged and said that maybe some people have seeing eye birds. "What, you mean like an eye-bis?" I commented instinctively, before immediately apologising. She laughed and told me that was a good one, which makes me both like and pity her at the same time. This is the kind of joke that will get me locked outside at home.
  2. Oh right I totally got locked outside for making a bad joke once. The joke has been banned, but because this is the internet I am going to tell it. This is it: Did you hear about the home-brewing rabbit? He used too much hops. I got locked outside for two hours for that one.
  3. I have been noticing that where people used to say "Yeah, that's cool" people are saying "I like this" in a weird monotonous way, and I blame facebook. Either that or the population of the earth is slowly being replaced with humanoid robots. But it's probably one of the two.
  4. There was a while when if you did a google image search of my high school the number one result was a picture of me standing out the front of my school, wearing dark sunglasses and giving a cheesy thumbs up. The response this got from everyone I knew was something along the lines of "That is so fucking typical".
  5. Did you know: there is a non-sexual disease that is also called chlamydia? I know this because one of the most innocent, virginal people in my high school got it when he was 15. His mother was sitting next to him when the doctor gave the diagnosis, and I would have done anything to see the look on her face when he said the word 'chlamydia'. I also love that there is at least one doctor out there that is naming diseases based on what is most likely to cause trouble.
  6. I was on a torrent website recently that had a list of the most recent searches by other people. On the list was 'Train Simulator'. What? Like, a program that lets you simulate driving a train? Or riding a train? I can't imagine either of these things being great entertainment. I mean, flight simulators are one thing but TRAIN simulators?
  7. I do not have the ability to give a normal name to a file on my computer. If you look over my desktop you will find the following: JOXE, songsles, crafty drafties, out on a limerick, bandles candles... and the list goes on. I can't be a normal person, not even for a minute. 
  8. I have thought that I would like to break up with someone to the tune of 'Don't Cry For Me Argentina'. I probably wouldn't do it because that's awful, but think about it. It would totally work. The other idea I have is to create a facebook event called 'YOU ARE DUMPED' and then only invite that person. They would have to do something pretty bad to necessitate that though.
  9. If I were to ever write an introduction for myself, I would like it to include the phrase 'She puts the 'fun' in 'bodily functions''.
  10. There was a takeaway near where my ex-boyfriend used to live in Toronto* that had both Mexican and Italian cuisine. A fantastic concept. However, they were really missing an opportunity with the name there. They called it 'Mama Mex' when what they should have called it was 'Areba!Derci'.
  11. Things I will do if I ever have my own band: I will have a note on my keyboard saying 'You are doing really great tonight, Sarah'. It will have been written by me in the past, but it will still be nice to hear. Thanks past Sarah, that was thoughtful. I also plan on randomly saying "This meeting of hat club will now come to order" [everyone in the band puts on a hat] "The first rule of hat club is wear a hat". Then, onto the next song wearing hats. No further mention of hat club. I also would like to request rounds of applause for random audience members. I have a lot of on-stage antics planned.
  12. I don't like to admit it, but I think text language (or 'txt lng' I guess? I am not fluent. I am renowned for typing out whole text messages in perfect english) is infiltrating the noble profession of sign-writing. 'Trespassers will be prosecuted' used to be a sign that inspired such fear, awe and excitement. The other day I saw a building with the following sign: "Entry = Trespassing, Trespassing = Prosecution'. I can only imagine they were waiting until that dried before adding 'GTFO LOL'.
  13. There are a bunch of pedestrian alleys near my house. One we have nicknamed 'Rape Alley' due to how awfully suspect it is. I recently found one that was legitimately named 'Wigtowne Wk'. It was just the best. The Wigtowne Walk sounds like an excellent dance move, one that I will endeavor to create. I do already have a fairly impressive repertoire of dance moves. There's the Psychology Cat (inspired by the sitcom idea of the same name), the These Are My Feet, the Confused Time Traveller's Dance and many more.
  14. There is some kind of health spa near me that is advertising 'Mystic Tans'. I am curious as to what this entails. Do they give you a spray tan and read your tarot cards? Or is the tan itself somehow mystic?
  15. Is The Merchant Of Venus a thing? I bet it is. I bet it's a porn.
  16. Fresh from my laptop, a list entitled 'Terrible Times For Diarrhea': On a plane, during a job interview, while your house is being broken into, at the altar, while being elected president, all of the above at once.
Ok, I am starting to feel sleep coming on now. Goodnight, the internet.

-Smackie Onassis


*Toronto, NSW. Insert Darren Hanlon reference here. If anyone can name/sing the song I am going for here, I will give you a dollar and a high five. That is a promise. We can even make out for a bit, if you want. No pressure.

My Friend Harrison

Even though I may not have many "followers" at the moment, people are coming up to me and saying they are liking my blog. Which means that people are actually reading my insane ramblings, which is a nice thing. My friend Harrison even accidentally referred to a certain housemate of mine by the name 'Meattrain' instead of his actual name, and was promptly embarrassed. 

Since then, Harrison has requested that I write an entry about him. If he is kind enough to laugh at my stupid jokes, I feel like it is the least I can do. He has also requested that I write him a song about the SA Lotteries, which I will work on. I mean, I already wrote him a parody song about Pokemon but let's face it. I enjoyed that way too much.

Here are some facts about Harrison:

  • Harrison works at a newsagency. I am pretty sure he hates it, based on how much he complains about it. He does love the SA Lotteries though. When we went to Melbourne he and I perused the Victorian scratchies and Harrison was of the opinion that they were not up to scratch SO TO SPEAK. Harrison's biggest work-related pet peeve is people coming up to him and asking for a "winning" lottery ticket, as if he knows which ones are going to win.
  • My first thought when I met Harrison was 'My, what an attractive young man'. However I didn't dare vocalise any such opinions on account of my being a bit afraid of him. It seems silly now that I know what a total pushover he is, but at first I was totally intimidated by him. What with the English accent, the generally judgemental demeanor and the fact that he hated Vegatrain for no real reason* I guess I just assumed he wouldn't like me. Luckily he thinks I am great, possibly because I write him "funny" songs about Pokemon.
  • Harrison loves dicks. He loves them. Can't get enough. However, he does also have a strange fascination with my breasts, which is something I can't quite explain.
  • Harrison also loves the weather. Nothing excites him more than a good, hard, cold front. Just mention the words "tropical cyclone" and his own storm starts brewing, if you know what I mean. I think it is because of this that he has something of an obsession with Storm from the X-Men. I am pretty sure he wants to be her. And when I say "I am pretty sure" I mean he has told me this many, many times.
  • His codename is Harrison because of the wonderful Nedroid Comics.

That is Harrison in a nutshell. He is pretty great, you guys. Five stars, would be friends with this guy again.

-Smackie Onassis



* I like to view myself as a key part of Harrison's no longer hating Vegatrain.

Why is the world so ridiculously bizarre? Is it just me?

So today I was a total loser and saw a comedy show by myself. Basically, I needed to get out of the house and thought a light-hearted bit of cake-related stand-up might be exactly what I needed. And it was a great show. The only problem was that I spent the whole time being a bit freaked out by how eerily similar the comedian was to a guy I knew at uni.

At first I thought that it was just me, over-reacting as usual. I thought perhaps it was just the fact that he simply wore the same kind of clothes and that both of the guys were guitarists who used the word 'motherlicker' and made jokes about the same indie bands and had the same haircut and the same general comedy style and... then I realised that wow, that's a lot of similarities.

Anyway, it got me thinking about this old friend of mine, let's just call him 'Bones'. As I mentioned, he was a guy I went to uni with and I always got along well with him because we were both musicians with odd senses of humour. I can't remember a single conversation we had that didn't turn into some kind of absurdist comedy piece with no audience.

The way we met was a classic example of a phenomenon known as 'Newcastle Disease'. Yes, the ridiculous hometown of mine was Newcastle but from what I have said about it, anybody could have guessed that. Newcastle Disease was a phenomenon that meant that everybody knew everybody, usually through several different connections. Bones and I were introduced to each other because we were both in bands that had the same drummer, and we were both studying journalism and not taking it very seriously.

Now, we didn't realise it at the time but our official introduction was not the first time we met. We were introduced, exchanged pleasantries and went on our merry ways but I went away with a strange feeling of deja vu, a feeling that I had met this guy before. My suspicions were confirmed when I looked through my phone and discovered his number there. My first thought was 'Uh oh, have I hooked up with this guy before?', but thankfully for our future friendship, that wasn't what had happened. I later remembered that we had actually met while on holidays and exchanged phone numbers with the intention of catching up later that night but due to crappy reception it didn't end up happening. I will admit that I was totally planning on hitting on him though.

When I realised I had his number, I had to make an evaluation that I find myself making all too often: will it be creepy if I text him and tell him what has happened? Being me, I decided that yes, it probably will be creepy but I'm going to do it anyway. Luckily he was a great dude who found the whole thing funny and we ended up becoming fairly good friends. I'm pretty sure I interviewed him for a uni assignment once, just because there were a bunch of musos doing the same course and we were all lazy jerks who interviewed each other for all our assignments. I seem to recall him being the support act a couple of times for the band I played in.

Anyway, he is currently sharing a blog with a girl I only knew briefly but am totally facebook stalking and it can be found here.

Also, he will more than likely read this so: hey man, how's it going? Long time no see, eh?

-Smackie Onassis

Thursday, February 25, 2010

The Dude Ranch, and it's Glorious Art Installations

As I have previously mentioned, the Dude Ranch is not what you'd call a "normal" household. There is random junk all over the place - for a while if you were to ask where the coffee was, you would have received the honest answer of "In the kitchen, in a top hat". More recently I was struggling to find a pillow, which I eventually found in the bath.

There was also a time when Vegatrain and I were battling modern art installations. He started by affixing about 4 cans of air freshener to the bathroom wall. I responded with this piece of soapy genius:



I call it "Dishes". Basically I realised that of the dirty dishes, there seemed to be two of just about everything. And we had two drying racks. So, yes. I washed them and then arranged them as they were intended to be arranged. I am sure I was channeling a higher dishwashing power with that one.

The success of this installation was clear in that no-one touched it for several days, despite the fact that there are four of us, all of whom eat food on plates. I suppose we decided we could sacrifice that in the name of art.

-Smackie Onassis

"The Jitters" or Smackie Onassis's Triumphant Return To The World Of Music

So, I've been playing a lot of music recently. And I am realising more and more that I want to be playing in front of people. The only problem is that I am so self-conscious about performing, to the point where I usually try to practice when no-one else is home. Today I was tickling the synthetic ivories when Richard Melons poked his head in and was like, "Hey, you're really good!" and I had to confess that the only reason he had even witnessed my playing was because I was sure he was at work at the time. Oops.

Playing in front of people has always been kind of a thing for me. I managed to get over that for the band, but I was always kind of hidden away in the horn section. The focus wasn't really on me and I think that's why I didn't have a problem with it.

I remember one of my last piano recitals before I stopped getting lessons. I was playing a Debussy piece. When I was practicing I managed to play it through perfectly, and received a lot of positive feedback from the couple of people who I hadn't noticed had snuck in early. But when I actually was aware that I had an audience, it was a different story. I knew I could play it, but the fact that there were people watching me made me totally seize up. The way I managed to deal with this was to make a joke every time I made a mistake. Other people's parents came up to me afterwards and told me how much they'd enjoyed my performance, which I thought was strange considering how awfully I had played. I guess there is something to be said for having a sense of humour.

So now, I am going to try to start performing again. Only this time I won't have a band to draw attention away from myself. Admittedly, I have come along way with confidence since then, and when it's singing as well as piano it's a bit easier for me. And hey, I can always do that thing where I make jokes to make my audience forget how awful I played.

I am going to start by playing for my friends, but consider this my public statement that I am going to start doing musics again.

-Smackie Onassis

What Do I Want To Do

So, Centrelink wants me to get a job. My medical certificate has run out (do not even get me started on the fact that my doctor told me my injuries could take up to a year to heal, and then promptly wrote me a certificate for one month. Do not even get me started.), so it will probably be back to the workforce for me.

It has led me to think about what jobs I could plausibly do, based on the skills I have. But I'm not sure what jobs these skills could land me, so I thought I'd put it to you, Dear Reader*. So, here are a list of some of the things I am good at.

Getting Excited About Bargains: I love bargains. Never go grocery shopping with me if you don't want to be painfully embarrassed (ask Meattrain about how much fun that is). Whenever I realise that I am getting a good deal I get very vocally excited. So, what job could this get me? The obvious answer is a spruiker. I could do that, but I would be forced to hate myself. Or, I could do voiceovers for discount stores maybe?

Over-reacting: Ok. Is there any job where I could over-react in a professional capacity? Because I do have a tendency to over-react to an amazing degree. I'm thinking... pantomime? Infomercial acting? I have done some amateur theatre before, I could do that. I played the Virgin Mary in the church nativity when I was 12. I mean, I thought I was above it, I was a hot-shot 12-year-old and the amateur youth theatre offers were flooding in. I figured I could stand to give something back to the community.

Road Rules: No-one is better at road rules than I am. Did you know that at a pedestrian crossing, if it is a minor you have to wait until they have finished crossing the road, but if the pedestrian looks over 18 you can drive through when they are halfway across? Or that it is illegal to ride a bicycle on the footpath if you are over the age of 12? I did. It is weird, because I don't have a car so I don't really drive but man oh man, do I know the rules of the road. Now, I could always do driving instruction, but I really don't think I am cut out for that. Because of the whole ridiculous over-reacting thing, and also because I am aware that my main clients would be teenage boys and I don't think I even own a shirt that is not low-cut. Result: tragic deaths.

Useless Information In General: Now, I don't know what is on TV these days or where I put my keys ever (EVER), but I can directly quote Captain Planet episodes I haven't seen since I was ten. I can tell you so, so many facts about ants. My specific area of expertise is obscure music knowledge (did you know Natalie Imbruglia's pop hit 'Torn' was a cover of a song originally written and performed by American grunge band Ednaswap for their debut album in the early 1990s?), so it has been suggested to me that I should steal Myf Warhurst's job on Spicks and Specks, but I think you need to actually have achieved something before you can do that.

Ok, so there are a few. I probably** have more skills, but I'm pretty sure those are my main ones.

Throw me some career path opportunities, children.

-Smackie Onassis


*I am aware that I do not currently have many readers. For your information, I was addressing the excellent South African folk band.

**PROBABLY

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

See My Friend's Show, You Guys

As I have mentioned, the Adelaide Fringe is on. I had my first fringe experience last year, where I tried to cram in as many shows as I could into the short time I was actually here. This year, I have the time but not so much of the money. However, there are a few shows I will go out of my way to see.

A girl I was friends with in high school has her own show this year, a show written specifically for the festival. I am planning on seeing it because well, I want to support her, but also she is one of the funniest people I have ever met in my life. For a time in high school, we were something of an unstoppable comedy team. I seem to recall our year seven maths class being nicknamed 'The Sarah and Steph Show' by our classmates. In the last couple of years I haven't seen her much since we both moved on to bigger and better things. Although, where I dropped off the performance radar, Steph is actually becoming somewhat successful.

So basically, what I am saying is, go see her show you guys. I haven't seen it yet, but from having known her for about ten years, it's going to be totally great. It is called True Stories of Heroism and Adventure, and you should all go see it.

-Smackie Onassis

The Best Thing In The Entire World Ever

The other night, just as it was starting to get dark, I was at the counter at my local IGA supermarket. I was in a world of my own, headphones on, wallet in hand. They were about to close so there wasn't many people in the shop.

However, when I looked over at the next counter there was a clown buying a loaf of bread. An actual clown. Not just a guy who looked a bit clown-like but a clown, with full costume and make-up. He didn't have a wig on, but I could see what he was going for with the whole ensemble. I told my housemates about this and everyone started telling me that I hadn't lived in Adelaide while the Fringe festival was on, and that I should be prepared to see a lot of weird stuff. 

The thing is though, I have seen probably more than my share of weird stuff. I seem to attract it in some kind of wonderful 'Round the Twist'-style way. I could tap out a list of some of the best of them, but I think I can sum it up with the story of what I would say is the single greatest thing I have ever seen.

I used to work in this really huge Leagues Club in NSW. In the one building, there were about eight different restaurants and cafes all owned by the same company (as well as a bunch of different ways to drink and gamble), and I worked in all of them.

One shift I was floating around the food court clearing tables, when I heard a voice from behind me.

"Excuse me," a man said, "Could you bring me a steak knife?"

"Certainly," I answered.

The man had a plate of roast beef and veg in front of him, so asking for a steak knife would not have been that unusual. Except for the small fact that he had hooks for hands.

That's right, he had hooks for hands. Both hands. Hooks. And there he was, eating a plate of roast beef with a knife and fork that he was gripping between his hooks. It was probably the best moment of my entire life.

I have since been thinking of what would happen if I combined the two events, if it had been a clown with hooks for hands. I thought it might be funny, but straight away realised it would be unknowably terrifying. But still, don't anyone go stealing that idea, ok? Mine. I have a copyright symbol on my keyboard and I know how to use it. See look: 

-Smackie Onassis©

Quick Bite

I just saw Vegatrain typing "definitely not videos of homos, that's for sure" into youtube.

It is pretty funny that the resulting videos were of professional wrestlers.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Music Talk

Listening to obscure bands is great. It may be harder to get your hands on their stuff, but it is usually much more rewarding. There is also the advantage of being able to go to gigs where people are actually there to enjoy excellent music, instead of just get drunk, push people around and ruin everyone else's night.

However, sometimes when I talk about a band I listen to, it gets mistaken for a different band with a similar name. Sometimes even iTunes gets confused and recommends me hardcore bands based on a case of mistaken identity. I have taken this opportunity to compile a list of bands I listen to, and the similarly named bands people think I listen to.

Band I Like: This Is Ivy League, an acoustic folk band known for their sweet lyrics and beautiful harmonies.
Band People Think I Like: Ivy League, who are apparently some kind of punk band?

Band I Like: Those Transatlantics, an obscure indie pop band whose music I always have trouble finding.
Band People Think I Like: The Transatlantics. I am not sure who they are, but I keep seeing their name in local gig guides, getting excited and then disappointed when I realise what has happened.

Band I Like: Band of Horses, a fairly popular indie rock group.
Band People Think I Like: Horse The Band, a metal group.

Band I Like: The Clientele, a lovely indie/chamber pop group from Britain.
Band People Think I Like: Client, an electronica band also from Britain.

Band I Like: Deerhoof, an unpredictable and wonderfully bizarre band from San Francisco
Band People Think I Like: Deerhunter, a not-that-bad "ambient punk" group that I just can't manage to get into.

Band I Like: Elixir, jazz side-project of Katie Noonan.
Band People Think I Like: Elixir, a British heavy metal band. Also, Elixir, a trance project of some description.

Band I Like: The Minor Leagues, a seemingly little known, but wonderfully clever American pop band. Check out their upbeat, light-hearted ditty "The Pestilence Is Coming".
Band People Think I Like: The Major Leagues, some kind of Pennsylvanian rock band?

Band I Like: The 1900s, a wonderful "psych-pop sextet"
Band People Think I Like: The 1990s, a Scottish rock band, who are not that bad, but are no the 1900s. I only know them because I keep mistakenly downloading their albums while looking for the 1900s.


-Smackie Onassis

Being A Ridiculous Person: A How To Guide

Ok. Anyone who has known me for more than a couple of days will be able to tell you that I am a fairly absurd person. I have been for the majority of my life. There was a time when I suppressed it because I wanted people to take me seriously, but that didn't end well and now I have gone back to full-time amusing myself in stupid ways. Here are some of the things I have done, usually for no reason other than to amuse myself.

Texting Random Numbers: The first time I did this I used the simple 'Don't do it!', sent to a randomly chosen number that I saved in my phone under the name Henry Soundsystem*. Since then, I have taken pleasure in sending messages of a more confusing variety. The other day I sent the message 'All my insides are made of someone else's hands'. Of course, when they ultimately respond with 'Um, who is this?', I respond with silence.

Winning Arguments: Normally, I like to win arguments by conventional means, but sometimes I am just not in the mood. I have found that an easy way to win arguments without really trying is to state your case, wait for the other person to reply and then, no matter how vehemently they disagree with you, say "Yes, that's what I'm saying." At the very least, they will be disoriented and you can kick them in the shin and run away.

Taking a random thing someone has said and implying it is part of their name:
For example:

Harrison: Wow, how about that global warming, huh? It's really hot today.
Me: Harrison "how about that global warming" Smart

For optimum effect this should be the only thing you say. As always, if they question you, deny you ever said anything. It is also worth pointing out that writing this entry allowed me to fulfill my hobby of both starting and ending a sentence with a three letter palindrome.

Being a Walking Sight Gag: This started unintentionally when I was about 14. I was in a suburban shopping mall when I felt a tad peckish. There was a farmer's market there and I noticed a large, tasty-looking mushroom. As it was probably going to be the cheapest edible thing I would find, I bought it and proceeded to wander around the shops eating it raw. I will never forget the looks I got. The most pronounced double takes I have ever seen in my life. It felt fantastic and from there, I never looked back. Currently, I am enjoying buying the teensy tiny apples that the organics shop near me sells. Seriously, they are smaller than an egg. If people see me eating them and ask about it, I say that I buy them because I am so tiny that next to me they look like a normal apple.

Encouraging People To Name Drop: This is not so much an act of encouragement, but I really struggled to find a short, coherant name for this. Basically, what you do is whenever someone starts telling a story, you do the following:

Friend: So I was talking to my friend Steve the other day...
Me: Was it Steve Buscemi?

There is a celebrity for most names, so this is one that hypothetically works for every conversation, but I cannot guarantee that you won't get slapped if you do this all the time. Unfortunately, if you are like me and have no real knowledge of pop culture apart from obscure experimental folk bands and cult indie films starring Clea Duval, this may not work as well as you might expect.

The Emperor's New Slogan: I have only done this once, but oh man was it worth it. Some friends and I were going to a peace protest, back when the Iraq war was a thing that might not happen. For some reason, we decided to make our own slogan shirts, but with a slogan that naturally didn't make any sense whatsoever. The slogan we chose was 'Now THAT'S a big bag of cheese!', inspired by a recent trip to Coles. However, people at protests don't want to look stupid. We saw person after person squinting at our shirts trying to figure it out, but then when we made eye contact with them, they would smile and give us a thumbs up. It was sensational.

Now, you have all the information you need to start a career of your own in the lucrative absurdity field. Good luck with that!

-Smackie Onassis



*When Buglustre and Vegatrain found out about this, they got the number out of my phone and promptly started sending Henry Soundsystem a few messages of their own. Somehow they managed to convince the poor girl whose number it was that they were a friend of hers. She still texts Buglustre sometimes.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Tales from the Year of Four Houses

For the duration of my childhood, I lived mainly in the one house. My parents house was familiar and although none of the doors properly fit the doorframes and the whole place was built on a slant (god help you if you put your pen down on the kitchen table and expected it to stay put), it was fairly stable.

However, I eventually got around to vacating the nest and introduced myself to the wonderful world of share accommodation. Since then, I have lived in a few different rentals with a bunch of different people. Between January and December last year I moved house no less than three times, for a total of four houses in a year. Over the course of all this, I have come to the conclusion that no share house is complete without at least one nutter.

Admittedly, I have been that nutter. My first rental place was lovely, a two-storey, high-ceilinged flat with a balcony overlooking the beach, which I was amazingly only paying $118 a week for. Unfortunately for everyone, my housemate was what you would call "a normal human being". See, I have this habit of saying a great deal of things that don't make a lot of sense. I know they don't make sense, I will be the first to admit that. But I figure if I say enough things then one day something will actually be interpreted as insightful, or at least witty. Example:

Housemate: I found this really great cereal at a shop down the road
Me: One might say that you yourself are a really great cereal from a shop down the road.

Nonsense, obviously. Sometimes I accidentally say something that makes sense and am rewarded. For all the others, I simply get a small kick out of being a walking non-sequitur. I live in a house at the moment where this is almost acceptable, but my first housemate didn't really understand this kind of thing. Eventually, I moved out.

When I first moved to Adelaide, I shared a small suburban house with three other people. For the sake of this entry, we will call them Mama Bear, Papa Bear and Baby Bear. Mama Bear was a down to earth country girl whose family ran a quandong plantation in Broken Hill. She was a vegetarian, and although I ate the occasional piece of chicken, I preferred to avoid meat where possible. At the time it wasn't a moral thing, more just that I thought meat tasted too much like dead animals. Either way, it was something Mama Bear and I bonded over. Baby Bear was inoffensive, a friend of theirs who kept to himself most of the time. Papa Bear, on the other hand, he was something else. He was in a relationship with Mama Bear, and no-one I knew could figure out what on earth a girl as good as her was doing with such an awful human being. Vegatrain refused to come over to my house on the basis that he couldn't stand to be within a ten metre radius of the guy and most people I knew thought this was a fair call. I think the problem is that he couldn't express any kind of opinion without sounding furious. I'm honestly not sure how he accomplished this, but I would hear him screaming and swearing at the tv, even is he actually liked the show he was watching. He was studying quantity surveying at TAFE, but was always coming up with a bunch of ideas about how he was going to get rich. His favourite was his idea for franchising fish farms. He thought this was nothing short of genius, but couldn't get anyone to invest in it. The last time I saw him he and Mama Bear had split for good, he had threatened to beat the crap out of Baby Bear for so much as implying to her that he had cheated on her (even though he had) and he had moved on to studying something else. I am so, so glad I moved out before all of this went down.

I could go on to talk about more share house nutters, past and present, but this entry is probably long enough without it, and also Buglustre is going to be here soon to take me to the optometrist for some new glasses. This is always an exciting occasion.

-Smackie Onassis

My "Twin"

Have you ever met someone who everyone honestly thought was your twin? I'm going to guess that you haven't, because this isn't something that happens to normal people. But there was a girl I used to know with whom I had a very personally conflicting relationship.

We had met at a drama camp and thought nothing of it. We were both short, with darkish curly hair and the same first name, but that wasn't an uncommon description. We were friendly enough to each other, exchanged phone numbers, and went away thinking we were never going to see each other again.

However. I went to the snow with my family that year and, as I was sidling over to my skiing lesson, I saw a familiar face. Well, ok, it wasn't her face I noticed first. It was that girl, only... something was weird. We were both wearing the same pink ski jacket, the same black pants. We both had blue beanies and were both currently growing our hair long. At first I was like, 'Hey, coincidence!', but then things started to get very confusing for everyone. I was placed in the same ski class as her and her father, and so the three of us automatically banded together. Naturally, everyone assumed she and I were sisters at the very least. Most people assumed we were twins who had never outgrown the novelty of dressing alike. It then got more confusing when everyone else in the class struggled to learn our names. This is how the conversation usually went:

Man: So, what was your name again?
Me: Sarah*
Man: Oh, ok. I thought the other one was named Sarah.
Me: She is.
Man: Oh. Wait, so you guys aren't sisters?
Me: No, just friends.
Man: Oh, so you came down here together?
Me: Um, no. We just sort of ran into each other.
Man: Wearing the exact same outfit? Thousands of kilometres away from where you live?
Me: Yes.

At the end of the week, we again exchanged numbers, promising to catch up again. And we did end up texting each other fairly regularly. The messages that followed made up the most politely passive-aggressive assertion of identity I have ever been a part of.

See, it turned out we also had the same nickname. It's not a name I use anymore (there comes a time in a person's life when you are just too old to get away with a nickname that ends in a Z), but at the time it was MY name. Not anyone else's name, my name. My identity, even. Unfortunately, she felt the same way. It was never something we were going to outright bring up with each other - we were far too polite for any of that. What ensued was a series of text messages, where she would address me by our real name, and sign off with the nickname. In response, I would address HER by our real name, reply to what she'd said, and then sign off with the nickname. This continued for entirely too long.

Neither of us ended up coming out ahead. I think we realised that the whole thing was entirely too absurd and ceased all contact.


-Smackie Onassis


*OH NO REAL NAMES

"Comedy Stylings"

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Sunday, February 21, 2010

A Brief Musical History

An amazing thing has happened in the world of Smackie Onassis. I have access to a keyboard.

I'm sure I have mentioned that this past year has made up the longest time I have ever gone without having regular access to a musical instrument. Literally, the longest time I have ever gone. My parents have told me that I started singing complete songs (my repertoire consisting mainly of 'twinkle twinkle little star') at the tender age of 18 months. Following that, I was signed up for an Early Childhood Music class at the local conservatorium as soon as I was old enough. I continued with that until, after much begging, my parents decided that I was no longer too young to take piano lessons, at the age of eight.

From there, I never looked back. I just kept adding more instruments until I was drastically overcommitted, but loving every minute of it.

My musical training was a bit weird in some ways. When it came to piano, I was taught in a completely classical style, very rigidly following sheet music. I didn't know a thing about improvisation, I didn't even know that much about chord structures. I just knew how to play whichever song was placed in front of me. This made for a challenge when I started learning jazz saxophone.

In my piano lessons, I was still learning how to play Debussy and Chopin the way they were meant to be played, with strict instructions from a tiny Ukrainian woman. However, afterwards I would wander over to my sax teacher's rooms and the musical world as I knew it would be turned on its head. A man with a goatee and tattoos would play a chord and I was able to play whatever combination of notes sounded right. It wasn't written out for me, not in any way I had previously known. It was the first I learned of improvisation, and I struggled for so long to get my head around it. Even though it was the saxophone that eventually led me to tour the country playing songs, piano was always my first love, the instrument I always thought I was better at.

I was also studying voice for some time, which was the instrument* that I used for enjoyment more than any others. The only thing that bugged me was my apparent inability to accompany myself. Because I was much more used to tapping out elaborate melodies on the piano than playing simple chords, I had a lot of trouble trying to get it right. It was something that confused every other musician I knew, just because of how incredibly counter-intuitive it was. Because I was so busy, it was a while before I took the time to learn how to do it right.

The way it happened is an interesting story. My first serious boyfriend (I'd had short-lived relationships before that, but none that had been that important to me) broke my heart. When my parents saw that I was still upset the day after it had happened, they decided that the best thing for everyone was to have me committed to a psychiatric institution. I mean, I've never been a parent so I'm not sure I have the authority to question their decisions, but I feel like maybe this was a bit drastic. A hug and the reassurance that things would be ok, maybe a bowl of ice-cream, that probably would have done the job. But my parents were never good at those things, so it was the psych ward for me. I don't know, maybe they had listened to one of my songs.

It was a strange experience, waking up every day in a room with four other people, being brought breakfast on a little tray. It was especially weird hearing the things that the other inpatients would say, the stories they would tell. I remember feeling like a total fraud. I knew full well that the only reason they had accepted my admission was because of who my father was, but I didn't want to feel like I was wasting anybody's time. So, I played along, even embellishing some of my own stories out of fear that I would be found out. Even in a psych ward, I didn't want to look like a fraud.

The way that I got through it, week after week of being a (relatively) rational person locked up amongst the type of people who insisted that it didn't matter what anyone said to them, that they were going to throw themselves under a train the moment they got the chance, was through music. It's a total cliché, I know, but it was what happened. There was a common room that had an old, dusty piano in it. I'm not sure how often it was played, but I'm willing to bet it was never played as often as when I was there. I would spend hours poring over any music sheets I could find, playing every song I could remember. The effect it had was very strange. Some of the other patients seemed to think that I had been hired to play music for them, and started making requests. No-one was more surprised than me that I could actually fulfill these requests. An old woman requested Grieg, so I played Anitra's Dance from the Peer Gynt Suite. Someone asked for some Chopin, I played one of my favourite Nocturnes. The general selection was surprisingly high brow.

There was a man who came in every afternoon. I think he was an Occupational Therapist, I'm not sure, but he believed very strongly in the healing power of music. Every afternoon, he would come in with a guitar, hand out lyrics and assorted percussion instruments and encourage as many patients as were capable to sing along with him. At first I stayed quiet and let him do his thing, not wanting to draw attention to myself. But one afternoon, he arrived when I was a world away on the piano. He listened, and encouraged me to accompany him during his regular afternoon slots in the rec room. Self-consciously, I agreed. For the rest of my time there, I played along with him every afternoon. I was lucky enough to be a skilled sight reader, so any music he handed to me I could usually pick up fairly quickly. Sometimes though, the music he gave me consisted just of lyrics and chords. This is pretty standard, but it wasn't something I was used to. It was my musical weakness, I guess. 

But, I had very little else to do at the time, so I worked hard on it. I was glad to have something to actively work on. An afternoon slot in the rec room of a private psych ward isn't the ritziest of gigs, but it was good enough for me. By the time I left, I was able to accompany myself on the piano in a way I'd never previously been able to. I was glad that it hadn't been a completely useless experience. I remember saying goodbye to that OT, whose name I can't remember, as well as all the nurses and doctors. They all joked that they should hire me to come back every afternoon to play the piano, but I have never since been back.

So, here I am, with a keyboard again. I have found it surprisingly easy to get back into. I have been looking up chords on the internet, playing my own ridiculous versions of songs I have loved for a long time. I have said that my life will be complete when I can perform a cover of 'Object' by Ween, and now I am actually able to practice it in the comfort of my own room.

I was reminded of that story when I realised that I probably wouldn't be finding it so easy to play right now if it weren't for my brief rendezvous with our nation's fine psychiatric facilities. It feels like a strange thing to say, but there it is.

-Smackie Onassis


*Man, I know how pretentious it sounds to refer to your voice as an instrument, but it is totally the easiest way of describing it.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Procrastination

I was going to write a proper entry, but then something happened that I thought I better record straight away, in brief.

Vegatrain was shuffling around with papers in the study, trying to build a flimsy barrier so that we could play lexulous against each other without seeing each other's letters. See, Vegatrain is preparing to start a philosophy degree and is trying to get himself a bit more organised. I noticed that he had one piece of paper that had the heading 'Procrastination', but then had nothing else written on it. I laughed and pointed it out to him.

"Oh yeah," he said, "I was going to write a list of ways that I could procrastinate when I needed a break, but I didn't get around to it."


Vegatrain, ladies and gentleman.

Friday, February 19, 2010

The Rules Of Attraction

I recently mentioned in passing that I had worked out the four main categories of people I automatically develop a crush on. I have now realised that this probably deserves a bit of elaboration. Now, admittedly my science is very flawed and this is something that may work or may not work, but after having been asked about it by someone who reads this blog (people read this blog?), I thought I better explain.

See, I have had my fair share of crushes over the years and, because I have an insatiable need to over-analyse my every waking thought, I did a little survey. I looked over all the crushes I'd had, from boys at school to slightly more famous people. After awhile, I had defined four distinct categories of people that I will almost always be attracted to straight away, whether I am okay with that or not. Only one category is necessary, but the chance of swooning increases exponentially with every additional category.

Category #1: Musicians
Specifically, acoustic singer-songwriter types, preferably with skills in the field of banjo. I guess what I am saying here is that I have had a massive crush on Darren Hanlon since I picked up a copy of 'Little Chills' at my local library, around six or seven years ago. I actually met him after one of his gigs once and I could barely speak. I managed to squeak out a request for him to sign my copy of 'Fingertips and Mountaintops' before having to excuse myself for a spot of quiet hyperventilation. But it doesn't have to be Darren Hanlon. Really, all you need is to strap on an acoustic guitar and sing me a gentle folk ballad and, in the immortal words of Jason Mraz, "I'm Yours"*.

Category #2: Geeky indie boys
For this category see: every guy I have ever been on a date with. Or, at the very least, every guy I have ever been on a successful date with. Also, every guy who has ever turned me down for a date. Maybe it's because they usually have excellent taste in music, maybe it's because being geeky usually indicates being smart. Maybe it's because I subconsciously only date guys that I could probably hold my own against in a fight. Either way, if a guy puns about poetry, wears obscure band shirts, and looks like he is in a constant state of having just woken up, he gets an Admit One ticket to my own personal "Wonderland"**.

Category #3: Comedians
This was one of those things that sort of took me by surprise. I think I actively denied it, mainly because my idea of a comedy groupie was based pretty heavily around Kristen Schaal's character in the Flight of the Conchords TV series. And yet, I kept finding myself listening to old Get This podcasts and finding Ed Kavalee "confusingly attractive" (for those playing at home, I coined that phrase a few entries ago re: Scott Dooley). Even the ugly ones started looking kinda cute when they told a particularly funny joke. I have been asked what constitutes a "comedian". Do they have to do it for a career, or can they just be a funny dude? I have yet to work this out.

Category #4: Women With Excellent Hair
Arguably the odd category out. I have never actually dated a girl, and I don't usually like crushing on people for such horribly shallow reasons. But man, red hair on women looks really amazing. Felicia Day, anyone? Florence Welch? I would turn for either of those attractive, attractive ladies.


-Smackie Onassis




*No, I don't know any of the other lyrics to that song because I don't own a radio right now.

** I'm sorry, John Mayer. I also feel obliged to apologise to Australia's Wonderland. I'm sorry. You were pretty great, even if I only got to visit you once as part of some kind of surrealist maths assignment/excursion.

One Degree Of Seperation, Where "Separation" Actually Means Professional Writing

I have mixed feelings about the course I did at uni. I had actually wanted to take some time off to figure out what I wanted to do with myself but everyone sort of convinced me that because I was good at writing, I should do a course that would teach me how to write for a career.

My major was in journalism, although I was discouraged pretty early. The attitude of most of my journalism professors was something along the lines of:

"Guys, don't become a journalist. Don't ever do it, not ever, not if you want to maintain a will to live. The hours are crap, the pay is crap and if you want to make a living you basically have to work for a company that will sell your journalistic integrity on Ebay and pocket the proceeds."*

There was also the fact that, in journalism, it doesn't mean shit if you have a degree or not. You can graduate with honours, but a newspaper will laugh you out onto the street if you can't show them a portfolio of published works. I knew this, but I continued with the degree because I was under the impression that they might actually teach us something useful.

This is how my degree was structured:

Professional Writing 101 -> Lengthy rehashings of subjects covered in Professional Writing 101 -> Irrelevant filler subjects -> Electives

Admittedly, this is probably because I went to a university whose focus was clearly more on bringing in the dollars than actually giving people a useful education. I am sure there are similar degrees at other institutions that are of a much higher quality. I, however, made the foolish choice of trusting a school who had recently been in the news for passing students who could barely write a coherant sentence, solely because they didn't want to lose a full-fee-paying student.

That being said, my degree wasn't a total bust. Some of the topics were quite good, media interviewing in particular was one I enjoyed, as was radio production (funnily enough, I had the same teacher for both these subjects, who was great. She was actually a woman I had known for most of my life, and even done amateur theatre with. She was an excellent teacher). The electives I chose were great, and I actually did learn a few things. Linguistics gave me an even larger basis for being a total language nerd, Film Studies introduced me to the wonderful works of Jim Jarmusch. If you haven't seen Dead Man, watch it now. I am not even kidding. This blog will be here when you get back.

However, the single easiest High Distinction I ever received in my university career was in a little subject called "Introduction to Guitar". This was in the second semester of my second year. I had realised that I still had one elective left to fill, and while browsing the various topics I stumbled across that one. 'Super,' I thought, 'I could do with honing my guitar skills and getting credit points for it'. I signed up to the class.

What I didn't realise was that this was a course aimed at education students, designed for people who had never looked at a guitar before. I was no prodigy on the instrument, my previous experience being based around fiddling with chords in my room as I attempted to teach myself. However, not meaning to talk myself up or anything, but with ten years of classical piano training under my belt, as well as six years of saxophone lessons and five of singing lessons, it was safe to say I knew what an octave was.

Of course, I could have dropped out at any point after realising how basic the course content was, but I didn't. It was just too much of a self-esteem boost. I was not at my most confident at that stage, and to be doing a course where I was top of the class while doing literally no work was pretty excellent. While everyone else struggled to pluck out the melody to Three Blind Mice, they would look over at me in awe as I played it through with no mistakes.

"I am going to rock these three blind mice so hard, their sight will be restored," I would say, as every one else swooned at my feet. 

Ok, so maybe that's an exaggeration, and maybe playing simple tunes is not so impressive for someone with my musical experience, but it really was "Self-Esteem 101" for me. Because the majority of the assessment was based on in-class performance, I literally had to do no work outside of class. There were a few worksheets on scales and chord structures, but I pretty much filled them out on the bus on my way to class, so that doesn't really count. It is a bit ironic that the best grade I received in uni was for the class where I did the least work, but you know me. I dig irony. I love that shit.

Unfortunately, I ended up dropping out of the degree in my final year, feeling that my time would be better spent spiraling into a deep-seated, existential depression and ultimately moving halfway across the country to be with a guy I had known for a month. It was fairly spontaneous, yes, but it was actually one of the best decisions I ever made.

-Smackie Onassis


*They didn't say those exact words, but that was the general gist of it. I am now wondering if I can actually put my journalistic integrity on ebay. I might try this, actually.

Smackie Onassis: Not A Lesbian Since '87

My relationship with my parents was always a little strained. It's not that they were bad people, but rather they had no concept of how to talk about any kind of personal issue. I went through my teenage years with my parents avoiding personal discussions at all costs. Every now and then, they would make something of an attempt, but it was usually a swing and a miss.

I can recall one incident where my mother and I were waiting in a parked car to pick my sister up from the movies. I must have been about fifteen or sixteen at the time. I was happy to listen to the radio, but my mother decided she was going to attempt to engage me in conversation.

"I hear so-and-so's a lesbian," she began. My mother was known for having about as much subtlety as a swift kick in the kneecap.

"Yeah," I muttered in response.

"I get the impression that it's harder for women to come out of the closet than it is for men," she said, avoiding eye contact with me.

"Um, I'm not sure that's true," I replied.

"Well, it seems like it's harder for girls to be open about being lesbians," she persisted.

"Ok."

"It's okay to be gay, you know."

"Yes, it is."

It was fairly clear that she was trying to encourage me, in her own strange way, to come out of the closet. Which would have been all well and good, if I were a lesbian.

I have always thought that sexuality was something our society tends to over-define. It is a commonly accepted psychological opinion that while most people have a preference to one gender over the other, people who are exclusively attracted to one gender are actually in the minority. You will probably find a lot of insecure bogans willing to debate that to the death, but let's face it, this class of people are not known for their expertise in psychological academia.

Regardless, I am not a lesbian. Tomboy, yes. Minor weakness for girls with excellent hair, sure. I will accept that gladly. But lesbian? Not so much.

I remember telling this story to some of my lesbian friends (maybe it was the fact that I was also a social outcast in my hometown, but at one point it seemed that a good majority of my friends were gay). They laughed harder than I thought was necessary.

See, apparently I exude heterosexuality from my every orifice. It isn't something I actively aim for, and to be honest, I really have no idea what it is. I mean, I sometimes wear square-framed glasses, have short hair and listen to Ani Difranco. I could at least pass for a lesbian, right?

Apparently not. I used to go to the local gay bar* reasonably often with the aforementioned lesbian friends, and it wasn't long before we observed a strange phenomenon. Every time we went there, I would be quickly approached and hit on by the one straight guy in the whole place. We ended up making a game of it, taking bets on how long it would be before the straight guy found me. The game ended when it happened less than five minutes after entering the bar. I walked in, went to order some drinks, and was immediately asked to dance. I actually asked this guy how he knew I was straight. We were in a gay bar, after all, and I was there with a group of lesbians. He said he wasn't sure how, but he could tell that I was straight. I did a brief survey of the rest of the bar, and got the same answer from everyone I asked. 

To this day I can't explain it. Maybe I was sub-consciously giving out some kind of body language. Maybe I was wearing my 'Ask Me About: Heterosexuality' badge**. I don't know. I really don't.

-Smackie Onassis



*I kind of thought it strange that a regional town that built its economy on such manly exploits as steelworks and coalmining even had a local gay bar. But, my hometown was not known for making sense. This is a town so stupid that there are buildings there that are PARTIALLY abandoned. As in, first floor: abandoned, second floor: abandoned, third floor: discount sporting goods store. How does that even happen?

**I kind of want a badge like this now. I collect badges, and have spend many a late night on ebay, trawling badge shops like the memorobilia junkie I am. I would love so much to have my own badge press. I want to make a badge that says 'Pancakes Are Flippin' Sweet'.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Musings From A Washed Up Rockstar #2

I really need to stop updating this blog so much, at least until I get a new pair of glasses. My old ones disappeared mysteriously, and I am getting so many headaches from squinting at a tiny laptop screen all the live long day. However, every now and then, I like to take the opportunity to publicly reminisce about when I was a total rockstar.

The band I was in was never particularly famous. We did a few interviews, got on the radio a bit, and played a bunch of festivals and support slots for significantly more famous bands. Apart from die-hard aficionados of the genre, not many people would have had the slightest clue who we were, apart from maybe a fond recollection of giggling at the pun in our band name, or being hit on by the bass player.

But there was a brief, shining moment when I at least felt totally famous. There was a new year's eve festival one year. Because a bunch of the other bands playing had to leave early to drive to the Peat's Ridge festival (which we had played the previous night), we ended up headlining.

It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. The crowd estimates we got from the venue guys were that there was around 1000 people in the audience. When I got on stage, I swear, I nearly wet myself. Literally one thousand screaming music fans were in front of me. We did the midnight countdown live on stage, and then started our set with fireworks going off behind us. It was insane.

"Are you ready for some NOVELTY SKA POP?" 

That should never be a question that gets more than a polite spattering of clapping, but yeah. Cacophonous, tumultuous applause, with a garnish of screaming teens. For a moment I thought I had slipped into an alternate dimension and I was actually onstage with My Chemical Romance, but looking around, it was still the same band with whom I normally played at dive bars to disinterested audiences. Admittedly the audience were all probably very drunk at this stage.

It got considerably more insane when I realised, towards the end of the set, there was a teenage boy in the front row yelling my name. My real name, my actual real first name. I freaked out a little bit, because I couldn't possibly comprehend how anyone in the audience would even know that name.

Now, it turned out that this kid was the younger brother of a girl I knew in highschool, but still, I didn't know HIS name. I got him backstage after the gig, and received the biggest ego trip of my life as this star struck youth ranted about how I was, like, famous now.

And yet, here I am, some years later, back in obscurity. I mean, even deeper obscurity. I am still battling with my parents to get some of my intruments sent over. In the meantime, I will fiddle with an out of tune guitar and write silly songs about the futuristic heartbreak of being dumped for your own clone.

-Smackie Onassis

It Could Have Been A Brilliant Career

Ok, when I was still at uni (before I spectacularly dropped out in the final year of my degree), I was somewhat interested in a career in radio. I ended up not following through with it, due to the fact that I would probably end up a faceless disk jockey in a local commercial station, introducing awful tune after awful tune and probably ultimately hanging myself in a supply closet.

However, I did come very close to doing at least some work at Triple J, which would probably have been pretty excellent. Here is how it happened:

I was at a local bar one night when I spotted a particularly well known personality, who had his own show on 'The J's' at the time. I will give him the code name of 'Chris Taylor from the Chaser'. Admittedly, this is probably the least subtle of my code names so far, being his actual name, but who doesn't love a good name drop.

It was extremely unusual that we would get any even remotely famous people in the pub known as 'The Cambo', famous for its Wednesday night drink specials and propensity towards unbearable screamo bands. After a while of figuring out how I was going to deal with this situation, I approached him.

"Hey, I love your show," I started.

"Thanks very much," he replied, flashing me a grin.

"I'm actually doing some radio journalism courses at uni," I put forward, "I'd love if you could give me some pointers."

So, we started talking. He told me that he could probably get me work experience at Triple J, explaining that they get a lot of applications but that he would make sure to "bump mine through" (to this day I am not sure if he was doing an innuendo. I am absurdly bad at picking up on these things). To make sure this happened, he gave me his home phone number, and later, his mobile number.

I did actually end up speaking to him on the phone a few times, but, sadly, I lost the phone that had his number in it. This was a few years ago, and I never ended up doing that work experience. I am convinced that Scott 'Dools' Dooley has my career, that confusingly attractive bastard*.

I have been considering doing my own show on local community radio, but that depends pretty heavily on me getting my shit together and actually doing something that might benefit my career. We will see what eventuates, I guess.

-Smackie Onassis



*Through questionable science, I have figured out that there are about four categories of people that I sort of automatically develop a crush on. I am not sure if I find Dools attractive because he is actually attractive or because he fits into both the "kinda geeky indie boy" category and the "comedian" category. It's immensely confusing.

Why Is Everyone So Down On Public Transport?

In the course of all my recent (unsolicited) debates, I have found myself arguing quite frequently in favour of the local public transport system. Coming from regional NSW, where the trains are running slower than they were thirty years ago (I am not even making that up) I was surprised that a larger city with a totally decent public transport system would have so many people whining about it.

Meattrain in particular hates buses. He hates them. When he feels like catching public transport to work, he will drive to the tram station and leave his car then, despite the fact that there is a bus that comes to a stop a few blocks away from our house, goes directly to the city, and because it's so close you can get a ticket for half price. We have told him this a few times, I even offered to lend him my multi-trip, but he flat out refuses. Because he hates buses. And, you know it's not impossible that he had some kind of childhood bus trauma. When I was a lass, I lived right next to an ambulance station, and lived in constant fear that I was going to get hit by an ambulance. I think it was mainly the irony I was afraid of.

But, as someone who has at some point in their life been reliant of almost every form of transport (car, motorised scooter, non-motorised scooter*, bicycle, public transport), I have to say, I am a fan of public transport. I mean, it can be a pain in the arse, but so can pretty much everything. Public transport, however, has one particularly fantastic advantage. In a car, you pretty much have to concentrate on the road if you want to avoid Drastic Consequences. But on a bus, your attention is free to wander. I have seen some of the most fantastic things on buses.

On one particular trip, I was gazing out the window and saw just, the best thing I have ever seen in my entire life. Two teenage identical twins with their mother. One was a hipster (indie glasses, messenger bag and all that jazz), the other was a jock (the phrase "popped collar" sums it up for me). I am desperate to make this into a sitcom, or at least a series of sketches. Can you imagine? It would come to a dramatic conclusion when the jock is encouraged to beat up his twin brother for being "a fag", but then he can't do it because of brotherly love. Sensational.

I'm also a particular fan of the ads on public transport. I saw one recently, clearly from at least a decade or so ago, that I thought was great. It featured a line-up of people from various walks of life ("diversity") all putting their handbags, shopping etc on their head. The slogan was "Use your head when taking care of your belongings!" or something along those lines. The problem was, putting your valuables on your head is probably the WORST thing you could do with them. It's going to be uncomfortable, things are going to fall and spill everywhere, people can steal them much more easily, it's generally not a good idea. It made for a very confusing advertisement, but at least I got a chuckle out of it.

There was actually a kid in my high school, let's just call him 'The Busboy', who freakin loved buses. In a very weird way. He spent his free time drawing up proposed changes to current bus routes. He collected time-tables. I seem to remember him celebrating one of his birthdays at the local depot. I haven't seen this guy in a long time, but I can only imagine he is currently enjoying a lucrative career in the public transport industry. All power to you, Busboy.

-Smackie Onassis



*I used to scoot along to the bus stop, go to uni, then scoot from class to class. It was great, and also fulfilled my long-time hobby of being a walking sight gag. Or, scooting sight gag in this case. When I was bored at work, I used to scoot around the shop, casually dismounting when a customer came in and got confused. My boss didn't care because he thought I was great. Also he wasn't there at the time.


Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Useless But Interesting: Fact Of The Day

Joshua Radin is an excellent singer/songwriter who most people would be familiar with, even if they don't know his name. He came onto the music scene when a rough demo of the first song he ever wrote made its way to Zach Braff, who featured it almost in its entirety in an episode of Scrubs. His music has since been featured in a long list of other shows such as House, Home & Away, One Tree Hill and Castle to name a few.

Mass Debating

By now you probably have got the impression that I currently have a sensational amount of free time on my hands. It's true, what with the injury and having no money, I have been left with a lot of time to think. This has had some good outcomes, such as starting this blog. It has also had some rather unfortunate side effects.

I have always been a very opinionated person. But, unlike a lot of people on the internet, before I start vocalising my opinions I make sure to actually sit down and critically evaluate them, research them where possible. I have seen way too many people splash their opinions all over my facebook page. I calmly ask them why exactly they hold these beliefs, putting forward my own thoughts on the matter, which I have actually taken the time to think about. Every time I make sure to add what has become my standard debate signature: "If you can address these points, I would gladly re-evaluate my opinion."

Unfortunately, no-one seems to think that logical, well thought out debate has any place on the internet, and interpret me asking them to justify their opinions as me attacking them. If they actually responded to the points I made, I wouldn't care so much. But, they very rarely do.

There was one particular political issue recently that Richard Melons, the fourth resident of the Dude Ranch, was very vocal about. Now, everyone is entitled to believe whatever they want, this is something I've always felt. However, if you are going to start actively promoting your beliefs, you have a responsibility to address the arguments of your detractors. So, I responded. I'm not going to name the movement that he was putting his support behind, but let's just say that a significant portion of the ideas making up the foundation of their belief system can be completely discredited with a single google search. Failing that, logic and reason. Again, I am not going to go into the specifics. 

The comment I made brought up a few of the most important points that I felt needed to be addressed by anyone supporting this movement. I made sure to keep my tone as neutral as I could, keeping to the simple facts of the matter. I made sure to include my "signature", saying that I would gladly re-evaluate my opinion if these questions were answered. It was the only facebook comment I have ever seen that included more than one "See More" button.

The response I got (not from Tricky Ricky, but from a friend of his) at first made me literally start shaking with frustration. Now, I just think it's funny.

Instead of actually replying to any of the points I'd raised, this young gentleman instead decided to make an attack on my character. This was a guy who had never actually met me, so it's safe so to say everything he said was wrong, so wrong, wrong to hysterical proportions.

Basically, he painted me as the only type of person he could imagine would dare to disagree with him. Here is a direct quote, in all its glory:

"To improve ourselves we must consume and consume to make a living. This is the only truth to heaven, to Narvina. I am sure Jesus, Mohammod and Buddha all owns a BMW. To keep the system running, you must work hard to get yourself one, or else you are unfaithful and deserves the eternal flame. I believe capitalism is best invention human has created. Although billions of people gets nothing, but some people gets EVERYTHING. This gives us the illusion that we ALL get SOMETHING, and I am happy. We don't need to care about hungry kids in Africa, because our kids have hungry jacks and HAPPY meals. Watching the war in middle east saves me 14 bucks from watching Lord of the Rings in the cinema. But you must admit, Lady Gaga is much more interesting."

Where he went wrong:
1. Consumerism. I am dirt poor. I can't afford to buy anything that is not an essential item for remaining alive, and I am actively selling my possessions. Because I am poor. Despite this, I do actually still donate to charity. I just research my charities first.

2. The BMW. Here is a list of the modes of transport I own:

1x broken down scooter. Answers to the name of Raphael, or at least it would if it were a sentient being.
1x second hand bicycle, which I bought before realising I was too short to actually ride it. By this time, the previous owner had left the country.
1x rollerblades, found on the side of the road. As yet untested.

3. Lady Gaga. It is safe to say this guy hasn't heard of any of my favourite bands. It is even safe to say he hasn't heard of any of my favourite genres. A typical favourite song of mine usually consists of a twenty minute marimba solo, sampled through a collection of pine cones arranged in the shape of Tony Danza's face.*

4. Agreeing blindly with the government. I have been actively involved in political protests since I was fifteen. I was able to directly link him to an anti-censorship group I started that now has over 13,000 members. I even joined the Socialist Alliance once, albeit by accident (a story for another time).

5. Also he spelled Nirvana wrong. Not that I really need to be picky here.

Honestly, I feel like before I started using the internet I thought your average human being was a lot more intelligent. Seriously people, you have to actually think about the things you are told. Watching one documentary makes you neither an expert nor a revolutionary.

-Smackie Onassis

*I was expressing this opinion to Vegatrain, using that example. He stopped me and said "You had to add that bit about Tony Danza because you realised you were describing a real song you have listened to, didn't you?" He was right, the bastard