walking rek

When a guy you’ve only been seeing for a few weeks stays in your bed after you’ve left to go to work.

When a guy sweats out his comedown in your bed and doesnt strip the sheets.

When a guy sends you a text saying that you have to change the sheets when you get home.

When you get home and find that a guy has left your room in a state of disarray with his clothes strewn all around and the bed smelling like a toxic gymnasium.
When a guy turns on the tears when you talk about what happened here.

When a guy calls you mean for having standards of personal hygiene and respect.

Just.

Plain.

Gross.

World Youth Day has been and gone, thank fuck. For one endless week Sydney was awash with hordes of flag bearing pilgrims all wearing the same silly backpack and large ID tag around their neck. They tended to move in large packs and bellow football chants which got old quickly. Pilgrims were privvy to free public transport and food whilst the rest of Sydney couldnt get to work or go about their business in peace. We endured this inconveneience by sharing tales of how thousands of cashed up Catholics were shacked up in school halls and freezing on ovals (some even got frost bite!), sleeping on bits of cardboard and getting as much nookie as possible.

Dazzlebatz and I tried to have a beer and pub meal at the Edinburugh Castle during the plague but we were descended upon by 100 backpacks who swarmed in and plonked them selves down at our booth without asking. After giving them a loud serve of truth and justice we moved to another table. They sent over the flag bearer who offered to buy us a drink by way of apology. Whatever. I thought they were supposed to be pilgrims with no money to buy bus tickets and here they were hitting the turps like it was New Years Eve. They even had the audacity to ask the wait staff if they could get a discount on their $8 meals!

Yikes, I have a lot of ground to cover here since the fateful punk gig. I think I will just make a start on this entry and chip away at it when so inclined.

-February was large. Had my usual birthday month celebrations, this time shared with cuz Simon from Berlin. He was in town for 4 weeks on his inaugural antipodean adventure. We hammered it pretty hard for the first 16 days straight, but it had been a long time between drinks for us and we had some major catching up to do.

It all started on the first nite we met up. I decided that, in the spirit of my early twenties and crazy penchant for Montezumas in Crows Nest, I wanted to eat burritoes and drink beer for my birthday dinner again. This time we convened at Baja Cantina in Glebe for tacos and tequila. This joint had mixed reviews but was accomadating for our rowdy Tuesday nite rabble. High light of the evening was not the sangria but a personal appearance from Leo Sayer! Ever the hawk eye I spied his mop as he entered the room and gave him a hearty welcome and wave. My enthusiasm must have confused the wee lil guy as he bounded over to give me a hug and then realised on approach that he had never met me before. Leo backed away rather quickly, leaving me all deflated after my near brush with disco heritage (I had “You make me feel like dancing” as my recorded message for years). I had seen Leo in the flesh once before, at work, when he was doing sound check and I noticed with glee that his roadies had scrawled Leo Slayer over his roadcases. Anyhow, later at dinner when I had forgotten all about my earlier humiliation, Leo comes back over again and sings me Happy Birthday. I went very red.

A couple of days later Simon and I went to Alice to hang out with my brother Ben. Ben’s birthday is 5 days after mine, so we were there to celebrate his 30th as well as explore the red centre. On arrival we shot off to Ellory’s Creek for a refreshing dip. It was deserted and very very peaceful. Ben was walking around through the long grass wearing thongs. I was a bit concerened about snakes. Ben tells me that snakes won’t bite. I’m not convinced. Back in town we head out for a boogie and go to this community gig that featured poetry reading (gag) belly dancers and salsa demonstrations. I wasnt too impressed by the lack of males in attendance, and threatened to head off to Bojangles. Cuz deployed his diplomatic tactic and convinced me to stay put at our little family reunion. Ended up having a grand old time together bopping around on the concrete slab under the stars with what turned out to be a legion of lesbians.

Ben took us out to the Desert Park early next morning. It was 35 degrees at 930am. We trekked about for a few hours, watched the Birds of Prey show and relaxed in the air con of the Noccy (nocturnal) House . Ben used to work at the park so we had his expertise to guide us even though he insisted we listen to the recordings on headset. It is an interesting place, but fuck it was hot with a nasty Crown Lager hangover. After lunch n a snooze we head off for a quad bike adventure. The guide Frosty was a real militant wanker. We just waited till he was off a fair ways and then carved up the dust. I loved it. Ben and Simon wanted bigger bikes, but as a beginner I had loads of fun keeping up with those two hot heads and going sideways through the scrub.

Simon and I joined an el cheapo 3 day tour of the red centre. We missed the bus by an hour. They had to come back and get us last. Stepping on to a bus loaded with 15 strangers after holding up the tour was smirk worthy. Some dude was making these weird noises which became very annoying very quickly. I thought he was practicing his beat boxing… Within a couple of minutes of getting on the bus cuz n I have hijacked the bus stereo and have ACDC blaring. Off to the Rock we go. We make friends with everyone, the beat box syndrome is actually Turrett’s, there are loads of Swiss, a few Brits and a few smart alex like us. Cuz is easily the eldest, followed by me and the 2 guides. We see Uluru up close and personal as we walk around it in record time, pop in to the Olgas (walks closed due to extreme 47 degree heat), walk/climb Kings Canyon at dawn (brilliant! highlight of tour), sleep under the stars in swags, eat crappy back packer food, drink a sixer each nite, get up at 4am every morning, drive for up to 6 hours at 80 km/hour each day in a mini-bus with pseudo air con, meet the singing Dingo, cook kangaroo tail (gross), make a massive bonfire, fantasize about weed, forget about snakes, swim in dodgy swimming pools, dehydrate and rehydrate over and over again. Had a great time. Would recommend it if you can hack the heat. It was hellish at times. But the landscape is utterly staggering. I am going back to do the 4WD option.

- playground, air, lcd etc

- easter

- mustache burlesque

- still knox adventures

- scottie’s bike day

- sticky date pudding

LOL I got real far tonite

The long awaited daft Punk gig was nothing short of EPIC. I’ll try to break it down for ya’:

1. We drove out to Homebush (great idea!). Traffic wasnt too foul so we got there about 1315. Parked car, short stroll to the ONLY entrance where we proceeded to do fuck all for the next 2.5 hours apart from stand still in a huge crowd under awful conditions. Some nitwit had sent a bulk email to everyone who bought their tix online. Email went along the lines of “if you dont get there early you will be watching the Punk from the stadium, so get there early punk”. I guess myself and every other sod who rocked up before 1700 were pretty keen on that dancefloor action (mind you, Daft Punk were on at 2145). There was at least 10,000 of us (prob more like 14K but some reports say as many as 24K) stuck in this ugly crowd scence: no water, no shade, no public announcements, no queue barriers, no St John’s, no end in sight. We did have in abundance: humidity approaching 90%, girls fainting, people pushing, people booing, people farting, bottle throwing and dangerous levels of frustration. It took every gram of self control for me not to ark up and barge thru the crowd to hurl abuse at whoever was responsible for the gross misconduct and most outrageous breach of OH+S in party history that we were subjected to. The organisers should def post a public apology and explainantion for what happened. Only ONE fucking entry point??? Big Day Out is a juggernaut in comparison with this Never Ever Again one-off and I’ve never had to endure such disgusting conditions. People could have died! There could have been a stampede. Fuck knows I wanted to! (Might have something to do with the 3 Red Bulls I sculled in the hour prior to the line-up but my yogic breathing technique placated the guarana rage to a manageable degree, but only just). I got separated from Fee in the various crowd surges that occurred. This was also annoying. But as we no doubt would have made the joint decision to fuck the gig, sell our tix for $500 each and drive home to smoke on my balcony had we stayed together in that mob, it probably worked out for the best that we got separated. Small joy!

2. Once inside, it took a while to chill the fuck out after that degrading ordeal. A ciggie and some water with a sit down sorted that out after a bit. Then we decide to get some food. Another fortifying gesture…in theory. Every other punk in Sydney had the same idea. Same FUCKN QUEUES! AGH!!! Ok, no biggie. We already survived the mutha of all crowds so this should be a piece of cake. But then the rain came down. Just like that line from that Infusion/Outfission (sorry lads!) track, it dropped out of the heavy sky and added another dampener (cough cough) to the gig. In retrospect it was actually quite refreshing and our auric bodies no doubt needed the cleanse after that psychic rape earlier. But at the time it just seemed like the day couldnt get any worse, especially since the rain did not look like clearing. Added to this was another example of the slowest moving queue in human history; we were lined up for 45 mins for a burger and chips. Funnily enough, as luck would have it, just as I get to the counter and order my food, I open my wallet to retrieve some cash and the fuckin WIND picks up, swirls around us with mischievious gusto, rifles thru my wallet and snatches $50 from me! It is promptly swept UNDER the fuckn food wagon where I have been standing for almost an hour and despite my efforts to kneel down in the mud and wriggle under the cart, it just always seems to be that little bit too far away from my reach. GRRRR! I spin to to Fee and loudly exclaim “Fuck this, after we eat we GO!” LOL, I do tend to get emotional about these things! We take a seat under cover, devour probably the best fuckn chicken burger I’ve ever had, and reassess. Apart from $50 and a few kilos lost from dehydration, we are in good shape. Fee needs bandaids, and we both need water, so the plan is hatched and we decide to stay…at least for a lil while longer…

3. Soon enough the phone starts making noise and its the cavalry, here much later then expected and in much happier spirits then us early birds. Looking and feeling very chipper they sweep us along in a tide of good vibes to go sit up the very top of the stadium to avoid the rain. Blazed up and for the first time today I was actually laxin. Feelin good after a temporary bout of vertigo, we head en masse to to the dancefloor. Ha! Should mention here that the “limited” dancefloor tickets were referring to the grope pit up the front of the main stage. So, it really would not have been a big deal had we turned up later as I had NO intention of getting in that pit anyhow! That email def presented a different story to what unfolded. I will post it here if I can be bothered at a later date. We grab a few beers on the way down and I’m in front of Fee. Next thing I hear is bang and bounce and I turn around and there she is, mid-text, on her ass on the metal steps with a beer in the other hand! OUCH! Fee insisted that her injuries were purely ego based, so we kept on. That would have been another Get The Fuck Outta Here moment, but we forged on, tuff ladies of the floor that we are

After that , the party got considerably better. The sun came out toward the end of Muscles set, the defining moment of his career so far, the crowd went wild. The sun stayed out till almost 2100 (being the longest day of the year, a solstice in fact) when the moon dropped in, almost full, and hovered above us till the end.

I could have a whinge about the DJs, the sound and the vision. But I won’t. Presets and Cut Copy were lots of fun and very familiar. The toilet situation got better as the nite wore on, as did the bar wait. So no complaints there.

Daft Punk were mad. Their lites and production were something else. It felt like they really were robots talking to us! Some said that they played a close version of the Alive CD, and maybe that is true. They still captured my imagination, hips and head as I bopped about like a lil kidder.

And yes, they did end with One More Time. It was perfect!

see below for excerpt from the group email:

1. GET THERE EARLY

The gates fling open for NEVEREVERLAND in Sydney at 2pm.

The first 24,000 people through the door will be given a wristband that allows access onto the field in front of the stage and the stands. After that, punters will be directed into the stands. If you do not have a wristband you will not be admitted to the field at any time.

BULL SHIT

Hot dog. The summer season is upon us here in down town Sydney. I am happy, hungover n broke and it aint even NYE yet. Excellent form. Did the twist with my body n mind with Rocket Science tonite in preparation for Daft Punk tomorrow. I like to be limber for these events. In true w.rek style, I meant to blog about the last time I saw the The Science back in June. But, as fate may have it, I’ve only just checked my drafts now. And as much as I want to describe the sensory overload that accompanies each of their sets, words again escape me. For another day.

Moved in to the new home. Was the normal pain in the ass to pack up and ship out but well worth it as I sit here over looking the tree lined street from my fabulous new bedroom. I havent moved house in the last 6 years but prior to that I was a regular gypsy so it was nothing too stressful, just heavy. I dont remember accumulating all that extra furniture, kitchen ware, clothing, candles and plants though, and to be honest I could probably chuck a lot of it out. But I might leave that for another day, I am exhausted.

My delightful ex-neighbours sent me off with a barrage of insults hurled from the safety of their second storey flat. I was expecting some kind of childish behaviour from them so it didnt really come as a suprise, they are, after all, just a sad angry couple who are jealous of others less sad and angry then they. I smiled sincerely (I am thrilled to be leaving them behind!), blew a kiss, took a bow and continued packing my car.

I’m guessing they dont yet know about the new born baby who has arrived to live directly next door

My poor old knees have been getting a work out this past week.

I took a flamboyant spill on the dancefloor at Spectrum on Saturday nite. This was ok as I was in a very jolly mood, I had my red shoes on and I was dancing like Mick Jagger (or trying to). Bounced up from the wet floor, took a curtsey and started boppin around again. Didnt really remember the incident till much later the next day when I was rumaging around for something in the mountain of clothes that permanently inhabits my room when the pain hit. Closer inspection revealed evidence of a heavy tumble on both knees, bruised and puffy with fluid building steadily in that bit below the patella. No skirts for me this week!

And so, wearing my sharp black pants I make my merry way to work on Monday. Push bike has been deemed unroadworthy by the swathy gents at Cheeky Transport (another story) so I’m on the tram for a few weeks. Strolling across City West Link at the pedestrian crossing, I momentarily misplace gravity and take yet another belly flop, this time in the middle of the road. Bag and contents fly everywhere, mobile phone skates across the intersection and I’m left laughing so hard I can hardly drag my shredded pants to safety on the other side. I need to point out here that I was NOT jay walking at the time but observing correct pedestrian protocol. I was, however, wearing those red shoes again…

It is moments like these that remind me why walking rek is such a fitting moniker. It seems that depsite my ardent efforts to be industrious and sensible, those mischievous imps that follow me around are just as up for a laugh as I am. Too bad for my knees though, they are on ice for a week. The smart black pants were sadly another casualty, but the red shoes are in fine form, waiting for round three…

Thanks for the graphic reminder Dazzlebatz!

Oh my! I had almost forgotten what that shamozzle looked like. Its amazing what people just learn to live with. I am pleased to report that the new and improved bathroom walls are very creamy and (almost) uniformly smooth.

Smiths Lakes is not just a breezy 2 hour jaunt up the coast. Its about 240 minutes away, give or take. We went up to celebrate Gustin’s 30th and the recent purchase of his first real tinnie. Pretty odd mix of people: with the bday boy, his girl Amy and their 2 pups, another blissed out hippie couple from Lismore called Adam and Gemma, Bruggie, Tommo and Leah from Taree, Grant the sleep walker, Quincy the diplomat and me, booze hound, made 10 of us hangin in a stilt house half an hour from Foster on the last Sat nite in March 2007.

Plunging into a pacy mix of hooch and beer, it didnt take real long before we were in the swing of things. With no food in the house and the beer rapidly disappearing down the gullets of the majority, we headed to the local bowlo for a feed.

Up until this point, there was a general sense of joviality. We even learned about Cavitation as we sat on the grand back deck and experienced the canopy in its golden afternoon glory. Our curiosity was sparked by a couple of minor points of difference between the country and city cousins which started as friendly banter. The Taree gang’s preference to bongs over spliffs was wow worthy and their extensive knowlege of catching fish was pretty impressive. All we could do was just sit there and ask them more questions. Whilst we city cousins were fascinated by the colourful tales of rural living, it became apparent that our sincerity was being misread as smart ass.

At the bistro a lot of us ordered the Flathead and it was delicious. Gus got the steak. I was a bit put out that I only got 3 little bits of fish but the chips were good and the salad had feta and beetroot along with the usual grated carrot and iceberg. Meanwhile the rounds of beer kept coming. Tommo was probably in the worst shape out of all of us as he staggered around sneering “Don’t fear it” at everything. Sensing that we were thoroughly enjoying his perfomance Tommo proudly announced “That calls is the best calls cos I made it - Don’t fear it!”. Quincy’s meal evaporated down Tommo’s throat within a minute of its table debut, and as Quincy and Grant were waiting for round two I watched aghast as Tommo shovelled sloppy handfuls of chips into his coupon. Down the other end of the table Bruggsie was mumbling incoherent somethings about a particular group of “fucken city faggots”. Quincy diffused the situation with the slickness of a professional and I wrangled a lift home for us all on the Bowlo courtesy bus. The Taree melee decided to pack up and drive back to their comfort zone. Leaving us city faggots to enjoy the rest of the evening.

Back at the joint, Gemma and I whipped up a noxious punch that got sloshed about. At some point there was talk of taking the boat out, which got down graded to just sitting in the boat whilst it was still parked on the trailer on the street. This got vetoed too. Then a pasta salad appeared and was demolished in short time. The punch produced rapid results; a short high spike of sugary pep followed by a sharp hard crash sent us all to our respective bedrooms by 1am. There was only one recorded incidence of spew town which was suprisingy considering the volume and velocity at which we had been imbibing.

Breakfast at the Frothy Coffee boatshed cafe. I had the Eggs Benedict with extra Avocado and unrequested extra Rocket. The kitchen was staffed by 3 girls who seemed swamped by our patronage. We killed about an hour and a half toying with the table numbers and discussing the previous nite. The word Faggot got bandied about a bit, again.

My cat Peggy (aka Pumpkin, Peglet, Peg Peg, Pegasaurus, Peaches) has a new friend.

The other nite whilst I was dozing off, I heard her jump off the bed and start talking. As she is normally quite a talkative cat, I didnt pay much attention to her late nite babble. But when she started giggling my curiosity got the better of me.

Peggy was sitting in the middle of my room with a teeny tiny mouse. It was the smallest mouse I’ve ever seen and it was dark brown. They were just hanging out as though they do it all the time. The mouse might have been startled by the lite I turned on, because it did a couple of circles around Peggy as she sat there and then it ran through her legs! Peggy just looked up at me and said “So?”.

Peggy has caught and killed a number of rodents over the last 5 years that I’ve lived here so I wasnt terribly suprised to see a mouse in my bedroom. My main concern is that she doesnt leave the carcasses under my bed. Thankfully she prefers to leave them somewhere that I can see them. Good kitten.

So why the sudden change of heart? Why this mouse? And how long has this been going on? They obviously have a very close relationship judging by their body language. And here I was thinking that I was the centre of Peggy’s universe. Alas, it seems I shall have to share her affections…

Friendships can be so fickle sometimes.

Maybe I’m holding on too tight…