Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Barbecue Death

Last night we went to JB’s apartment 10 stories up in the Icon building on Maclaey St, Potts Point. People, you may not realize this but the Icon is, for this brief moment at least, one of the trendiest buildings in Sydney. So there! JB had just bought a new barbecue thingy for his balcony with the HUGE views so, of course, we all had to troop out there to use it – mid-winter. Talk about freezing your unmentionables off just to prove a point. JB’s new girlfriend Teena (I think she might have come with the apartment) was wearing some halter neck that more or less halted at the neck. She had so many goose-bumps she looked like a porcupine. I think she has chronic bronchitis now, poor dear.

The biggest disaster of the night, however, was when JB tried to flip the steaks. He launched one right into the air and over the balcony. It landed on the street below. I looked over to see the thing bounce (talk about overcooking) right onto the road, chased by a small dog, chased by its owner. The cute little thing was instantly crushed by oncoming traffic. I swear from where I was you couldn’t tell what was the dog and what was the steak.

“I think I’ll have tofu,” I said.

“Vodka anyone?” added CC.

Well, there was an excellent Chardonnay going around so we all managed to cope.

Next JB had to impress us all by lining up something a little special to indulge in - I won’t say what it was since this is a public document, but just think what all those imported pieces of Italian furniture you sometimes see on the news have stuffed in their legs.

Of course Teena had more than anyone else, the ho, and she totally made a spectacle out of herself, eventually vomiting over that bloody balcony – this time nobody looked to see where it landed, but I imagined some poor animal ambulance man with spew on his head.

As the party ended, dear reader, I found myself stuck in conversation with a self proclaimed arts academic. He tried to tell me that an unrestrained pursuit of pleasure was our only hope against the techno-corporate oppression of Western hegemony. Yeah right. He was looking at me in a funny way and I wasn’t sure if it was wise to agree with him. I told him I thought Fahrenheit 9/11 was a good movie but that Mike Moore should go on a diet. Well, he still wasn’t put off! These academics – really – they’re dogs. I think this one had sampled too much Italian furniture leg. He was sweating and he kept talking about “feminism”. I ended up showing him my upside-down tomato sauce bottle party trick. It always goes wrong and spurts out everywhere. I don’t think it was what he was expecting.

Anyway, fellow arts enthusiasts - until next time - love yas!

Monday, June 13, 2005

Gay Star Wars?

CC insists she might be a lesbian but I know its all bull. Nevertheless I managed to let her drag me off to the Lesbian Star Wars Appreciation Society group excursion to see Star Wars III. I swear I don’t know why CC is determined to join these groups. The last one she tried to join was call “Chicks with Checks” – but the poor dear thought they were “Chicks with Cheques”. They turned out not to be cashed up trendies but the flannelette brigade (excuse my rudeness). Anyway, she didn’t get on with them and they certainly didn’t get on with her.

Well, at least this Star Wars group was more intellectual than Chicks with Checks. A few of them had cool nerd glasses and were all in black. So serious!

As for the movie – wham! Bam! Impossible to sleep through. I wasn’t entirely sure of the story – and couldn’t see anything lesbian about it. Natalie Portman spent most of the movie pregnant and worried about her man. I think she was the only female in the whole thing! Then again her man was called Annie. Hmmm. Maybe that was enough.

The basic plot was this: don’t be negative or you’ll end up killing little children and ruining the entire galaxy. Well, I’m a big believer in positive thinking, so I was right on board from the beginning. “Stop moaning and complaining”, Annie’s Jedi mates kept reiterating, “Jeeze!”

I must say, though, the Jedi were a grim lot – really they were the biggest moaners of all – the Force doesn’t like this, the Force doesn’t like that….

I guess I haven’t seen much of the former installments except in the eighties – and then I was so – you know – partying – that I can’t remember a thing about them except I think I had sex during a space battle. Wham, bang!

As for the “girlz” – they all seemed to enjoy the show – they were comparing highly detailed notes and had very elaborate opinions about everything in it. There was no after-movie binge – I think they went to someone's house for a cup of tea or whatever. Talk about grannies!

All beyond me. And CC also – I think she’s cured from joining Sisterhoods just to piss off JB (oops – sorry CC – I guess that just slipped out!)

Love forever!


Friday, June 10, 2005

Too Much Art

Last weekend we went to the Refugee Art Exhibition and saw some adorable crayoned pictures of different things – houses and tanks and guns. All very touching. The poor refugee children had done them and now they were up for sale to help them when and if they ever got out! I bought one for $400 – it was a real thrill to think that I could be helping a child avoid sewing up his lips and all that (yuk!). CC said it was a lousy investment, even if I framed it, but I don’t care. I wrote ``let my people go’’ in the guest-book. CC wrote ``I hate crayon’’, the bitch.

Next it was lunch at Hunchback – a totally severe and terribly art-brut establishment in a converted madhouse near the gallery. Our table was in a small padded cell with stains all over it and obscenities scrawled on the walls in what looked like semen. Hmmm. The patrons were the usual anorexic alcoholics with gold cards and PHDs. I recognised one artist, I think, hob-knobbing it with two very well-heeled collectors. I dropped over to say hello – he told me he was now in a rock group and tried to sell me a CD.

The cheapest single glass of Charders at this place was $11, so we (CC and I) had vodka instead – it seemed more appropriate, not to mention more economical. Outrageous said I, on being presented with the menu. I hope those refugees realise what they’re in for!

I had potato salad and a cheese sandwich for $25 (this consisted of three potatoes in some kind of goats cheese coating and a very nice bread and cheese ensemble). CC had a bitter green salad with whole limes and a pumpkin mousse for $35. We had the ``vodka connoisseur special’’ – five glasses each of various kinds of premium vodka, including one from Uzbekistan, one from Vienna and one from Afghanistan, apparently left behind by the Russians after the invasion. Delicious! The vodka special came to $250 dollars.

But now it was time to see more art and off we went to Cool Suck – an exhibition of animal vasectomy equipment displayed beside marble genitals taken from ancient Roman statues (ouch!). On the walls were blown-up postcards of Tuscany, for some reason. I felt a little sick seeing all this – although the Tuscan landscapes did soothe me a little, reminding me I now had 500,000 fly-buy points on my card – enough to travel around the globe twice! Don’t believe it, said CC – they’re going to downgrade the value of fly-buys soon, didn’t you know? You’ll be lucky to get to Brisbane. What a bitch! I told her that I quite liked the Gold Coast because you could impress tanned young things with a pill or two – or some coke - and then get laid in one of those sunny apartments overlooking the ocean BUT Brisbane was not funny, darling.

I think I was a little pissed from the Vodka because I spent the next few minutes trying to find the toilet and when I did, I had a terrible moment trying to figure out if it was actually the toilet or just some installation off to the side I’d blundered into. Oh well – I think it was kosher.

This was the second dodgy toilet that day (if it was a toilet) – the other being at Hunchback – I’m sure you can imagine it – plus there they had those sinks where there’s apparently no tap – you have to figure out how to make water appear from somewhere and you inevitably push something that dispenses soap instead, and there’s always someone else there who seems to know it all but deliberately takes the time to watch you make a fool of yourself before they smugly wave their hands somewhere and get the right stuff.

I found CC leering at some classical “equipment”, so I grabbed her and we were off to Lunge - a small cafe in Newtown for a book launch of a coffee table number on lesbian tattoo culture. Cheap red wine, short haircuts and leather accessories all round. Actually we were both in need of a double latte, extra sugar. We stumbled in just as the author – dressed very smartly in the latest street gear, I thought - was explaining about bodies and oppression and stuff – all very interesting but I needed to find the toilet again.

I had the usual desire to say out loud – I’m gay - even though I’m not, but you know what these dos are like - very correct, darling. Well, I sauntered off to the toilet wondering if anyone was watching, but they so weren’t. Bitches! Anyhow I won’t complain (too much). I’m very gay-friendly. Where’s the difference really? We all have the same apartments, the same careers, apparently the same tattoos….

This time I can happily report that the sink had taps.

CC bought a copy of the book and then tried to chat up the author, even though CC is also not gay. Who knows, maybe neither was the author. I wanted to ask her (the author) where she clothes-retailed, but I wasn’t sure if it was polite. One can never be too careful.

At this point I had a terrible realisation – I’d left my $400 refugee crayon piece at Hunchback. Bound to be gone by now, what with all those scabby intellectuals supposedly dining there. Rats! Oh well, said CC - ever the smart-arse - just think about those fly-buys!

Well – that’s it for the art today everyone. We had a fab night that evening but there was no culture – it was a dinner party at JB’s new apartment in Icon. He had his own elevator to Woollies on the ground floor and we went down there after snorting some truly dreadful coke. Those poor Sri Lankan security guards. So sweet! But that’s another story.