Friday, July 23, 2010


Ive been real sick for the past few days, but in a positive spin on the whole ordeal, I managed to read an entire novella in around 3 days.

The latest installment from Bret Easton Ellis, following 'Less Than Zero' a tidy tome Ellen referred me to, which documents the fucked up lives of Los Angeles' youth.

'Imperial Bedrooms' is a follow up to 'Less than Zero' that really had me biting my nails as trite as that may seem. From the first book to the next is just like a literary game of cluedo and without the snarky cliched kind of murder mystery vibe, but more like a well written intelligent spin that is molded into the character's lives.

One thing I absolutely adore about Bret Easton Ellis' style of writing is that he can sum up the jaded notions of any era with just a candid and witty line, for instance, in 'Imperial Bedrooms' he is referring to two models whom he spent time with in New York, but gets confused by the looks they give him summing it up with:

"I didnt even sleep with them. All we did was snort coke and watch The Hills."

That line stirred my inner cynic and tantalised every jaded nerve ending in my brain.

From being mentally stimulated and actually feeling like I could make love to a book (although I wouldnt even want to address the paper cut situation), to hearing endlessly about the spectacle that is 'celebrity' and their 'books'.

It is not just a known fact that print media is on it's way out, but do celebrities and fame have to kill every possible thing that should be kept pure in theory? Like literature?

Another fucking book about how some celebrity found out what crystal meth meant to them, but then have some 85 year old boat captain to thank for getting them on the right track with a 15 page spread showcasing their snatch and nipples that have been stretched tighter than Tommy-Lee's drum kit in order to fit the DD's that helped her get there.

Books are coming out as regularly as perfumes are for J-lo or Kylie Minogue. And just like the perfumes, they are overpriced, filled with dust and smell kind of like what you'd imagine a lady of the night's undies would smell like after an 18 hour shift on Darlinghurst Rd.

I just seems as though all these 'celebrities' feel the need to not only put out their own perfume, reality TV show, biography, clothing line, Hit No.1 single and then act as thought they give a shit about what the fans think, while they dumb them down in order to get their mooonnneeeyyyy.

I almost feel insulted that it is on the shelves beckoning for you $35.95

I suppose it is worth it if i ever become "cool" and use the pages to start rolling my own cigarettes.

Sunday, July 18, 2010


Yesterday I sat on a balcony in North Avoca and talked for a solid seven hours.
The sun came up, I dont think we noticed.
And im not really sure what we were talking about, but I know it triggered some deep thought that happened this morning from 2am-7am when I was sitting up in bed with some sort of insomnia.

I am so sick of negativity.
And I realise that is a negative statement in itself.
But at least for today, that will be the last one I make.

I think my friends and I have a real problem with negativity, self deprecation and narcassism.
Whether or not its a point of just getting the fuck over ourselves, or if its a genuine thought.

But as I was thinking about the past and the present.
Going through the things I have learned which probably isnt that much seeing as Im only 21.
The people who have come into my life and just as quickly left, the lost people, the memories which arent quite remembered.

And I realised that I cant be wasting my time with thinking life is shit, the central coast is shit, you are shit, I am shit.

It has to be the worst way to waste time, and the best way to come to a stand still in your life.

Its just that complaining always seems to be the easiest thing to come out of our overly exposed, yet extremely de-sensitized mouths.

To be honest, Im running out of decent things to complain about, and I couldnt be happier. Although sure, sometimes I do have that thought of "what is the next thing to fuck up?" because I have had a pretty good run these past few years, but thats over now.

So I think maybe looking straight into the sun isnt such a bad idea (Do not try this at home), instead of wearing the shades that shield you not only from the fucking delicious Vitamin D (oh and UV), but also from the things that are amazing and beautiful in your life.

I was talking to a certain person the other night, and I was complaining (shocker) that nothing spectacular is happening in my life right now, comparing my own life to the people that surround me, it just seemed...

boring, like a plateau, or the dial tone when you pick up your telephone. Nothing special, yet nothing devastating at the same time.

This person quickly explained to me how precious those moments in life are. They told me that in these points in your life, it is usually a time for growth (not the kind that will allow me to try out for Australias Next Top Model, I swear to god those contestants get a lifetime free pass to The Ivy, everytime I have gone there I have been overcome with C list giddiness)

but the kind to actually define a new era in your life, and perhaps be able to see what you as a person can actually accomplish without any other influences.

To go from contemplating how boring my life is on a Tuesday night, to making our own fun on a balcony,
which involved one man in a complete white, fluro yellow and blue tracksuit, another man in Bic lighter orange trackies, his own beanie and a black jumper, and me in a pink onesie that is designed for Kath Day Knight if she ever went to the snow,
come Sunday Morning seemed like the kind of transition that can only make me never regret the way I am feeling today physically.

(pretty much like a donkey who is wearing gold plated grillz bit me in the back and the eyes.)

Wednesday, July 14, 2010


I stole the title from 'Scrubs', because when I watched the episode the other day it was the latest title of JD's blog and I thought it was hilarious. But it does have something to do with the subject matter of today's post.

Sometimes I like being alone.
I dont need to be surrounded by people all the time.
And I dont thrive on it either.
My household is a constant stream of redundant people who serve no purpose but to annoy and irritate.
This is why I will never be a doormat.
Because I know who is important in my life and I dont feel the need to be friendly to everyone I meet.
If I cant be fucked with you, you will know it.
Ill never let people walk all over me and the people I care about, just so they like me.

It is something I just cant grasp, the need for people to like you.
I understand the fundamental basis of it, as in, no one likes to be outwardly hated.
But then again, I dont understand the desire to appeal to the masses, and being genuinely devastated if this aim is not fulfilled.

I see this as a weakness.
A pointless distraction to actually living life the way you should be.
Wouldnt you get sick and tired of being the one on their knees, copping it from every different direction, just so that person will like you?

Ill tell you one thing I have learnt from witnessing this behaviour:

More often than not, the person will never respect you, take advantage of you, but hey...will probably like you.

I tell my mother this phrase all the time and I truly believe it (another scrubs quote, mind you):

"People are bastard coated bastards with bastard filling."

Now I know that may make me sound like some cynical bitter lemon fruit drink, but It has protected me from being hurt and vulnerable which some may see as a disappointment, whereas some may see it as an asset.

The one thing I have learnt in my 21 years is to trust no one.

And maybe being an island.
Being alone.

isnt that bad of a thing.

It made me come up with a list yesterday of things I have noticed lately.

1. Ranger Stacey and Kerri Anne Kennerly will NEVER age past the age of 45. Maybe its the botox, or maybe its the company of Emus, either way, they just seem to be frozen in time.

2. The smell of a BBQ will = summer to me. Always.

3. Muffins are like a mixture between a cookie and a cake. So if you are like Jess Moss and cant decide between them, choose a muffin everytime and you will be satisfied.

4. Bondi Vet, Chris Brown, not only has the most unfortunate name besides that actor called John Howard, but also looks like a human version of Buzz Lightyear and I suspect he may actually have super powers.

5. I once got told that when a boy has a crease over his eyeline on his forehead, he is more likely to cheat and lie than one who doesnt. Dont shoot the messenger.

6. The people who write, direct and produce neighbours (whom I can only imagine look like the cast of The Gremlins) actually think that we are stupid enough to believe that Deckland has just morphed into a heaps better looking version of himself. Like he spent a weekend in Sydney just like Ringo did and came back all 'metro' and 'cool'. I think they have given up on life.

7. Cats are not nice.

8. Facebook really does dominate a scary amount of conversation. I was watching this stupid reality TV show about Whistler and the guy actually said to this girl he was on a date with
"Sorry I deleted you for so long."

9. Masterchef is food porn, and I actually think Matt Preston watches it back at home and masturbates with his cravat in hand to it.

10. Misery needs company. Unfortunately, I cant be friends with misery anymore.

so that is why being really lonely is sometimes super awesome.

Thursday, July 8, 2010


Ill just let you take all of that in.
There is a definite theme running in the American Apparel offices when it comes to modelling the clothes.
It is in a fashion that is both aesthetically pleasing, and highly suggestive.
I like the theme, and especially the provocative poses that the girls are positioned in, but with the look on their faces as if to say:
"what are you looking at?"
It could be noted as vouyerism and the ultimate tease within an advertising campaign.
So many times I have seen some shocking photograph of one of these models with her legs above her head in a leotard and thought:
"Jesus fucking thats an impressive position......i like that leotard.....god i wish i looked like her."
My friends and I were discussing who we would like to look like if we didnt look like ourselves. (CONFUSED?)
I couldnt think of anyone that I know personally, or a celebrity because thats just stupid.
But as I was just going for a general browse of the online store, I noticed all these "real" people who are modelling the clothes. Like, not conventional Miranda Kerr types is what I mean by "real".
And not that I would like to look like a particular AA model, but I like their vibe.
That blatant sexuality mixed with an innocence that is hard to put your finger on....
(pun intended).
I think this may be a post that the boys will like.
SPECIAL MENTION: JESSICA MOSS. She started the American Apparel poses within our friends by wearing a see-through negligee at Splendour in the Grass 2009 for 80% of the time in Byron Bay, even thought I blatantly told her I was sick of seeing her tits.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010


If you know me on any sort of level, you will know that I have a deep fascination with the groupies or the women of the night of the 1960s and 70s.

I dont know what it is about this era and this breed of woman that has me so in rapture with their thoughts and motions in this time.

And as I sit here sipping on a glass of red wine at 4:30 in the afternoon, I cant help but reminsce on the countless minutes I have spent engulfed in their life stories, wishing and hoping that I can touch on the flightless ascent into free love, cheap wine and rock and roll that was their lives at one point.

I think it is a trait that you are born with. What with an innate fondness for music and musicians coupled with a carefree attitude that could be a combination of free spirit and Quaaludes.

Whatever the formula may be to be a groupie, I think that it is carried on in one way or another in the girl children of music's past, and passed on through the strum of a chord or a look in an eye.

It has also gotten me thinking about how groupies are viewed by the rock stars that so often frequent their flowers, and what they thought about groupies of that time.

Velvet Revolver drummer Matt Sorum said,
"Now you want to know the reason why I became a rock star?.......GROUPIES!!!"

Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin said of Texan groupies,

"Down there theyve got the richest groupies in the world. Some of them followed our jet in their own jet plane."

Davy Jones, made popular by The Brady Bunch tells it like it is,

"As far as groupies go, I never saw them." Poor Davy.

Even Mark Wahlberg, of Marky Mark fame showed his cockiness at the time.

"When I was a rapper, the groupies didnt have to try too hard with me. Just show up at the hotel."

Even the beautiful texan Jerry Hall who became the wife of Mick Jagger who remained together for 22 years admitted,

"I'm a bit of a groupie."

I think this intimate escape into the world of the groupie is a welcome imaginary thought that I have daily, especially when listening to music. It must be one of those things, like a sociopath, that is just sewn into your spirit and there isnt much explanation to understand it all.

I would love to end up with a musician. I am attracted to those types of men, not because they are musicians, but because they all seem to have a certain quality that is attractive to me. Maybe its that vulnerability through song, or the freedom to express creatively without fear. But I know i am not alone.

The groupies of the 60s and 70s were such a rare population that mirrored true beauty, which could be collaborated with the fact that maybe music doesnt only make beautiful songs, but beautiful babies. Take Liv Tyler for example (the lovechild of Bebe Buell, pictured above, and Steven Tyler of Aerosmith).

However, the flighty but intoxicating times of the groupie somehow took a sour turn in the eighties, turning what was once considered an art form, into a lewd act of sucking some half baked hair ball off in the toilets before he went on stage to butcher an eight minute power ballad that still doesnt make sense to this day.

The Groupie went from a free lovin, free wheeling into a hairspray super slut that indulged in slinging some drummers balls into her mouth and then proceeds to hum the national anthem.


As for this day and age, well I can barely bring myself to comment. Reality TV killed music in many ways which also started in the 80s with the launch of MTV. However, shows such as Flavor of Love and Rock of Love (as much as I appreciate their entertainment value) have exploited and cheapened the image of the groupie in new and horrifying ways.
Look at those sluts.
The groupie of the 21st Century has unfortunately been regarded as a pair of fake tits and a mouth that could swallow a sprite can.
It is disappointing.
Some little girls long to be teachers or doctors or housewives
I long to be a groupie.
To bring back the time when fucking a rock star wasnt about how low a girls standards or self esteem were, but about expressing just as creatively and freely how much they loved the music.
I truly believe in that, call me naive or a slut, I dont mind.
I think it was a time that women were empowered ( Google GTO's if you disagree).
By the way, on the topic of being a groupie.
Im a pretty big groupie for this girl:
Anita Pallenberg/ Bridie Sullivan.

Sunday, July 4, 2010


I think schoolies is the best thing to happen to school leavers since Winfield light blues and raspberry cruisers.

I was up in ye olde land of Queens, particularly the Paradise of Surfers last year in schoolies week. (NOT TO BE A TOOLIE, LET ME BE CLEAR, IT WAS FOR ELLEN'S BIRTHDAY, IT WAS JUST COINCEDENCE SHE CANT HELP BEING BORN IN THE MOST EYE OPENING WEEK OF THE YEAR)

Personally, when my schoolies week came around, my friends and I embarked on a ten day long cruise to those french islands which are both confusing and wonderful all at the same time. So i did not indulge in the decadent coast known as Surfers.

I did see it in all of its glory last year however.


And not a whoa to the generous amounts of underage and just legal girls and boys running around like they just discovered hedonism, died and came back to life as ravenous board short clad zombies hell bent on hooking up with the drunkest chicks at the beach party, but getting back to the hotel in time for curfew.

Not whoa to the girls with half their life and face down their bodies, carrying their kitten heels in hand and a ciggie in the other, but still managing to have half a kebab hanging out of their mouth and managing to chew it successfully with only a tiny bit of hommus spilling onto their satin mini dress. Side note: this was as we were just venturing out into the night, like 20+ she devils, who have just discovered the benefits of rocking up in the morning rather than 7:30pm to get the free shots.

Not whoa to the amount of times I heard "SCHOOLIES '09!!!!!!" screamed from respective balconies at fifteen minute intervals.

Not to the amount of times we were asked, "are youse toolies or schoolies?"
to which we replied, "neither."

Not to the amount of fisticuffs that were exchanged on Cavill Avenue, including but not limited to, seeing boys actually fly through the air.

Not to the girl who was walking around with bunny ears on. I mean I get it, they were probably doing a commemorative "Lest us forget: Big Brother 2001- Sarah Marie Lives" at Dreamworld earlier that day and you won because you got your tits out for Kyle Sandilands which allowed him to finally achieve a boner that lifted his muffin top into a W shape.

No. Not to them.

But WHOA to the amount of camera crews that frequented the area dying for a shot of a boy who is probably 17 and in need of parental consent to be filmed vomiting on the side walk.

I am guilty of being a reckless little tike when I was up there, sitting outside Elsewhere with a cigarette in hand, watching the Channel Seven film crews descend upon these poor fucking kids just trying to get in a tiny bit of trouble, and have a few hundred shots of goon in a hundred minutes, and decided to yell out:

"Hey! You fucking vultures! Come over here and film us! Come On?!! we are sitting here having a good night, but thats not newsworthy is it, you fucking leeches?!?!?!"

I was pretty loose in my defence. I would have gone about it much more gracefully if I had a green tea and a scotch finger Im sure.

But it did get me thinking about the manipulative nature that the police and the media have over the future of our country. We have one week in which we can go out, everyone with the same situation and make complete dicks of ourselves.

Schoolies week has been encouraged for years, its a solid tradition and a rite of passage no one should go without.
But its as if the older generations are sending us off with a fake smile and a "have fun!!"
But monitoring our every move via the five o'clock news, embarrassing people for the pure fuck of it.

It is a double standard which, although it is highly entertaining, can cause some damage.

I guess I just believe in the right to be a fucking critter of the night, at least for one week, in which drinking, assaults, pashing, sexing and screaming redundant catchphrases off balconies, should be the memories of the person who engages in the acts, not the viewers at home with their dinner tucked under their chin and a concerned look on their face.


Friday, July 2, 2010


millionaire margaritas, endless lychees, sangria, NO crab rolls, tequila shots at 11:30, australia's next top model, loose.