Initially written in my trusty notepad, 26/9/09 - AFL Grand Final day: St Kilda Saints (woo) vs. Geelong Cats (boo).
After hopping on the wrong tram and ending up half way to Brighton (once more proving my dizziness knows no bounds), I eventually arrived in the southern Melbourne suburb of St Kilda. The whole place was adorned with banners in the colours of its revered grand finalists in a sport nobody outside Australia neither knows nor cares about. They were everywhere from the obvious places such as the town hall, to the not so obvious like the Gatwick Hotel - a classical drug den masquerading as a boarding house for the homeless. Not quite sure what a non-classical drug den masquerading as a boarding house for the homeless looks like. Perhaps it’s the same but minus the Greek pillars. Which the Gatwick doesn’t have. So it is, in fact, more a non-classical drug den masquerading as a boarding house for the homeless. But that’s beside the point. A gigantic St Kilda flag (I’ve no idea how they afforded) covered almost the entire frontage of the cracked-up and shit-crumbled building - suck up whatever substance abuse double-entendres you can from this sentence. There’ll be no more. In any case, I thought awwwwww, bless their little syringe-concealing socks!
Anyhow, I was moving to St Kilda from my CBD-based hostel after making a last-minute booking the previous night. Having lived there for over six months back in 06/07 it really feels like my home in Australia. The hilarious local junkies and whores help create a warm and entrancing ambience - a comical rawness other places can only hope/despair at boasting. Not that the council boasts about it that much. But seriously, it’s a cool place, marred by decades of widespread social deprivation, now really pulling itself together and coming into it’s own (and not in a Josef Frizel kind of way). The new hostel I’m in - Habitat HQ - is shaping up to be one of the best I’ve ever stayed in. Ever. Not to jinx it, but it’s really great and pretty much the cheapest too. Even if it does look like the Big Brother house, outside and in. But there’s far less wankers. Which is a good thing.
Right, to refocus: AFL. Aussie Football League. At this point I put my pen down to concentrate on the TV. Although it was mostly a bunch of bodily-obsessed, thick-as-shit Aussie males clad in their mincing sleeveless tops, thumping each other and dampening many a middle-aged Sheila’s crotch, I actually got suckered in. The last 20 minutes were genuinely exciting. Well, a bit anyway. The scores were tied at about 133672 a piece with about 90 seconds to go. People were getting kicked in all over the field, the ball more itself just a spectator, but finally and bastardly, Geelong clinched it right before the final whistle. The Cats’ victory thus ensuring there’ll be trouble at the Gatwick tonight. It’s a shame it’s not quite as rough here as in the US. I’d love to witness a proper sports-based riot with burning cars, petrol bombs and good old-fashioned police brutality. It doesn’t help that cannabis in Melbourne is everything but legal. Someone told me if you’re smoking a joint in the street, the cops might confiscate it. If they can be bothered. Compared to the mandatory three-year prison sentence for possession of any quantity in Malaysia. The point being, everyone of typical rioting age is likely to be high, or starting on someone who is high, so there’s no way a full scale ruckus could ever break out - they’re just too stoned. See Bill Hicks for more on that semi-stolen observation.
Anyway, this one just petered off because I got distracted again. Who knows where it was going, but I stepped off and sulked for an hour in order to recover from my (albeit very temporary) sports-based disappointment.
The hostel remained awesome and I urge any St Kilda-bound traveller to stay there. They’ll also give me 20 cents if you mention my name. So do it!
Saturday, 14 November 2009
Friday, 6 November 2009
So What’s Hippaning?
I figured I’d break from my notepad-transcriptions for one entry to give a little update as to what’s happening in the here and now, rather than the pseudo real-time ramblings of several weeks ago. Which are sort-of working. But there’s notes for around another seven pieces, including what will be a sobering compilation of my cynical late-night, often intoxicated bar writings. It’ll either be a bit funny, or more likely just an embarrassing, horribly depressing read. Postal ballots will be distributed in preparation for its publication.
Anyway, today marks exactly one month of being in New Zealand, and things aren’t going too badly. I’ve got a huge room in a large, detached house in a suburb so cool they based New Zealand’s first primetime TV cartoon series there. Of course nobody outside the country has ever heard of Bro Town, but all you need to know is I’m Morningside 4 Life! And that it’s not actually that funny. YouTube it only if you’re terribly bored. My housemates are fantastic, and I feel genuinely lucky to have found them. One works in TV, another in radio, one is an amazing cook and makes dresses (saving me tons in new clothes), the other two a musician and a skate-boarding student. Or rather a student who skateboards. The former I can only imagine exist only at selected ex-polytechnics. Oh, we also have a cat called Bujha who’s convinced he’s human. And gay. He’s also black. But we’re a tolerant household, so love him anyway.
Next, I currently have 2.2 full-time jobs. The first interview I got within five days of being in Auckland. It was for an electronics store called Bond + Bond, akin to Dixons back in the UK. Alan, who does a brilliantly unintentional Murray from Flight of the Conchords with his morning meetings, offered me the job straight away, but took about two weeks to get the references sorted. Instead of just tapping my foot (although I did a lot of that with the huge amount of live music about the city) waiting for a start date, I kept handing out CVs and scored an interview with Electronics Boutique Games, a store re-branded like so many others in the UK donkey‘s years ago - New Zealand proudly lives the early 1990’s English dream. They called to offer me a job two days after I entered the murky world of commission-based consumer electronics. In my opinion - like the epileptic who takes his medicine - giving honest, untainted advice and working for commission just doesn’t fit. Plus being told to push unnecessary and overpriced shite on people who’ve already agreed to part with thousands of dollars for huge TVs or a MacBook Pro is simply awful. So selling video games to spoilt, irritating kids and chronic masturbators seemed like a better option. With no threat of personal gain on the line, I reckon it’ll be easier to give proper customer service. I say ‘reckon’ because were I 100% definitely taking it, I wouldn’t be starting for another week or so. Telling my boss at Bond + Bond was especially difficult. Quitting a job in sales is far, far harder than quitting the gym like in that well funny Friends episode. Ever the expert salesman, Alan attempted to sell my job back to me, not taking “Just fuck off and leave me alone!” for an answer. I handed over my letter regardless but said, as a favour I’d think on it some more. My final answer is due on Sunday. Gross misconduct would be a far easier way out. Drawing gigantic cocks in permanent marker on all the computer screens or being sick on a 46” Samsung Series 6 would probably do the trick. And in truth both options aren’t entirely off the table yet. I will keep you posted.
On a much, much brighter note, the other 0.2 full-time job constitutes one projection shift a week at an incredibly cute 2-screen independent art-house cinema called the Academy, situated underneath the central library in the city centre. Through the Wednesday Auckland Group CouchSurfing drinks I met Aaron, a loveable Kiwi master’s degree physicist and organiser of the weekly meet/greet/booze-up. We were talking jobs and upon mentioning my years of projectionism, he said “Hey, my housemate actually co-owns a small cinema here, you want me to arrange a meeting?” - Or something like that (Aaron if you ever read this, apologies for any misquoting. And also for saying you’re ‘lovable’ when ‘bastardly’ is clearly more appropriate).
“Hell yeah!”
“Consider it done.”
So to cut a long story medium, I met Gina and she didn’t hate me. She showed me their 35mm projector - a Kinoton FP30D - just one model below what I used back at Odeon. After a trail shift with her head projectionist, they both seemed dead keen to have me, and it goes without saying I was dead keen to accept. But I said it anyway. Sorry.
So, I’ll wrap this up now. One month in things are going pretty good. Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty good. I’ve got my first stand-up set this Monday at Auckland’s dedicated comedy club, The Classic. It’s a sort of acts-organised-in-advance open mic night they do every week called Raw. Come, it‘s only $5 entry! If you leave the UK on Saturday, you might just make it. Although there’s a danger I may well use jokes you’ve all heard a billion (or 3) times before, so probably not that worth it.
Miss you all,
Andy/Andrew.
Anyway, today marks exactly one month of being in New Zealand, and things aren’t going too badly. I’ve got a huge room in a large, detached house in a suburb so cool they based New Zealand’s first primetime TV cartoon series there. Of course nobody outside the country has ever heard of Bro Town, but all you need to know is I’m Morningside 4 Life! And that it’s not actually that funny. YouTube it only if you’re terribly bored. My housemates are fantastic, and I feel genuinely lucky to have found them. One works in TV, another in radio, one is an amazing cook and makes dresses (saving me tons in new clothes), the other two a musician and a skate-boarding student. Or rather a student who skateboards. The former I can only imagine exist only at selected ex-polytechnics. Oh, we also have a cat called Bujha who’s convinced he’s human. And gay. He’s also black. But we’re a tolerant household, so love him anyway.
Next, I currently have 2.2 full-time jobs. The first interview I got within five days of being in Auckland. It was for an electronics store called Bond + Bond, akin to Dixons back in the UK. Alan, who does a brilliantly unintentional Murray from Flight of the Conchords with his morning meetings, offered me the job straight away, but took about two weeks to get the references sorted. Instead of just tapping my foot (although I did a lot of that with the huge amount of live music about the city) waiting for a start date, I kept handing out CVs and scored an interview with Electronics Boutique Games, a store re-branded like so many others in the UK donkey‘s years ago - New Zealand proudly lives the early 1990’s English dream. They called to offer me a job two days after I entered the murky world of commission-based consumer electronics. In my opinion - like the epileptic who takes his medicine - giving honest, untainted advice and working for commission just doesn’t fit. Plus being told to push unnecessary and overpriced shite on people who’ve already agreed to part with thousands of dollars for huge TVs or a MacBook Pro is simply awful. So selling video games to spoilt, irritating kids and chronic masturbators seemed like a better option. With no threat of personal gain on the line, I reckon it’ll be easier to give proper customer service. I say ‘reckon’ because were I 100% definitely taking it, I wouldn’t be starting for another week or so. Telling my boss at Bond + Bond was especially difficult. Quitting a job in sales is far, far harder than quitting the gym like in that well funny Friends episode. Ever the expert salesman, Alan attempted to sell my job back to me, not taking “Just fuck off and leave me alone!” for an answer. I handed over my letter regardless but said, as a favour I’d think on it some more. My final answer is due on Sunday. Gross misconduct would be a far easier way out. Drawing gigantic cocks in permanent marker on all the computer screens or being sick on a 46” Samsung Series 6 would probably do the trick. And in truth both options aren’t entirely off the table yet. I will keep you posted.
On a much, much brighter note, the other 0.2 full-time job constitutes one projection shift a week at an incredibly cute 2-screen independent art-house cinema called the Academy, situated underneath the central library in the city centre. Through the Wednesday Auckland Group CouchSurfing drinks I met Aaron, a loveable Kiwi master’s degree physicist and organiser of the weekly meet/greet/booze-up. We were talking jobs and upon mentioning my years of projectionism, he said “Hey, my housemate actually co-owns a small cinema here, you want me to arrange a meeting?” - Or something like that (Aaron if you ever read this, apologies for any misquoting. And also for saying you’re ‘lovable’ when ‘bastardly’ is clearly more appropriate).
“Hell yeah!”
“Consider it done.”
So to cut a long story medium, I met Gina and she didn’t hate me. She showed me their 35mm projector - a Kinoton FP30D - just one model below what I used back at Odeon. After a trail shift with her head projectionist, they both seemed dead keen to have me, and it goes without saying I was dead keen to accept. But I said it anyway. Sorry.
So, I’ll wrap this up now. One month in things are going pretty good. Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty good. I’ve got my first stand-up set this Monday at Auckland’s dedicated comedy club, The Classic. It’s a sort of acts-organised-in-advance open mic night they do every week called Raw. Come, it‘s only $5 entry! If you leave the UK on Saturday, you might just make it. Although there’s a danger I may well use jokes you’ve all heard a billion (or 3) times before, so probably not that worth it.
Miss you all,
Andy/Andrew.
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