Boss Of Everything

JoosyJune

Posted on June 10th, 2010 by prinny.
Categories: News.

May skidded by with barely a nod nor wink. Fine, be that way, May. Who needs ya?

I have been busy in that pathetic way where you’re busy but busy doing absolutely nothing you really want to be doing. It’s draining and spirit crushing. Where’s my own creative outlet? Where’s my bag of free money? Where’s my friggen waistline!? Speaking of the latter, I had a nice night out with a salacious bunch of tarts AKA The Play Group Moms. We’ve become a much more autonomous group this year with our kids going off to different kindergartens (or jail) but getting together is like Old Home Week. Love ‘em. Love ‘em one and all. Even the really tall, thin, hot one. Damn you, Dawson! Also had a nice night on the curry n booze with Rinne Roo. I spent 99% of it complaining about my ‘career’ and she topped off my glass (in an effort to quell the whinging, one assumes) the other 1% we spent jubilantly trowelling through any local gossip would could muster – oh and judging other peoples lives. Heh That’s the advantage of being SO above them all. The judgement. The harsh but fair judgement.

The kids continue to amuse on a mostly, daily basis. Their antics are here and here. The movie my beloved B and I are both waiting-not-at-all-patiently to see is here All hail MIFF which is showing it, next month. And my favourite drool time website is here. What a full and dazzling life I lead… pfffffff

In the Happy News category, B and I are coming up on our 8th wedding anniversary! Consulting the Wiki world it seems traditional 8th anniversary gifts include salt and/or pottery. Ah yes, just what I’ve always…. beg pard? Salt and pottery? So, Lot’s wife and somewhere stonewear for her to live? Salt? “Are you hungry? Would you like some salt?” (Gawd I LOVE Reeves & Mortimer) Modern gifts don’t shed much more light, they include linens and/or lace. I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be difficult for him to find me a linen and/or lace iPhone V4? I’m not interested in the iPad. Just the name alone, come on! I wont have one. Nope, not unless one falls from the sky, for free. You understand?! Of course you do.

The thing that IS keeping me amused and occupied is designing house plans. I really am a latent architect. Yes, architect. (Keep your ill-fitting lesbian pants on.) It’s all big open spaces and hidden passage ways and a slide from top floor to the bottom. I’d be an architect too if I could find someone to do the technical drawing for me… and the compliance with building regulations (without altering my design)… and the budgets and the long line of clients who just walk in with their cheque book and a note, “Please just do what ever you want, you’re great.” Oh yes, THEN I’d be an architect for sure! I’d even get myself a stupid sechetary called Betty. And Betty would ‘look the other way’ when I was doing inappropriate things.

Wow, that derailed a bit, didn’t it? But I feel my point has been made. A point. Something. Quick, look over there, something bright and shiny!

heh

So that’s what’s up in MeLand. Nothing and everything. Nothing I want to be doing, except that stuff. My patience is wearing filo-thin.

Til next time, unless I go postal.

me xx

1 comment.

Janyooairy

Posted on January 30th, 2010 by prinny.
Categories: News.

Hullo lovers of all things, Janyooairy! ‘010 already eh? Hell, we’re 1/12th of the way through it! Conan’s been reamed by Leno. Haiti fall down go BOOOOOOM and I’ve washed the floorboards with the steam mop at least once. That’s Janyooairy for ya. A mixed bag if ever I’ve had one (and we ALL know, I’ve had ‘one’). Ok two. (the colostomy doesn’t count. How could it?!) Ok, nine times, tops. Get off my back!

Lessee… Oh, in December I did this, with my best friend. A Christianful Nativity… Itchy Style.

NOTHING giggles up my goat’s coat more than doing that with her. Damn, she’s fun! Deranged, obvs, but Eff Yoo En. A belated thanks to Toby Jean and Nooly Thomas (holy crap, that’s the cutest pic ever!) for allowing us to muck up their stage. And a bigger thanks to industrial bean bag zips in taffeta frocks for not giving way. I think we’ll do it again. Sometime this year. A bit of a show. Might be here in my bathroom (which is having the shit renovated out of it, thanksforarksking) or could be in a wee venue somewhere with moisture proof seats. Stand by for more news in that area. Actually, you might wanna take a seat. Or yes, wander off. It’s your call.

If I’ve said it once it’s cause I had an audience who loved and approved of me. Miss Itchy is the most fun you can have with your best friend and 8 metres of stained haberdashery. Mark. My. Words.

Speaking of mad women with paint brushes, Haggar’s been knocking up some bloody lovely ahhhhrt of late. For those of you who don’t know, one of her paintings was chosen to be the cover of the Victorian Bushfires Royal Commission Report (banner at top of page a SMALL sample of Hagg’s work). She’s been heavily involved with the Arts Alliance up in Kinglake, submitting gorgeous works for exhibition and sale. I fell in love with another one of her big pieces (oooh weh, Vicar) and she graciously sold it to me for a pittance, a pittance I tells ya! Now, all I need to do is wait for her to fall off her twig, penniless and missing one ear then I’m going on an auction frenzy, baby! I’m sittin on Blue Poles or The Portrait of Dr Gachet here, I tells ya!

In all seriousness, she’s good. She’s really proper good. Yes, she’s always been good, but man, this is a whole other level of accomplishment. (Do you get that she’s good at drawin n that? Have I painted the appropriate – word pickshar? Good! heh ) She’ll have her website up soon and you’ll be able to see some of her work. She doesn’t even colour outside the lines hardly ever, any more. Tops.

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In other Melbourne-centric news. This last week we lost, well no, we didn’t LOSE Dave. Cancer, shitty bloody pancreatic cancer came and got Dave and buggered off with him. No one here was finished with him. No one. Not his loving partner, Karen. His gorgeous babies, Spencer, Madeleine and Marieke. Not us. Hell, least of all, Dave! His memorial gig was last Thursday. It was a balls to the wall all out celebration of a great life. The most striking thing about the day was the complete representation of ALL facets of the comedy community. An unmitigated Full House. It’s the equivalent of The Ramones, Barry Manilow, Kiss, Emmylou Harris, Pavarotti, The Mattoid, Madonna and The Vapors all turning up for Celine Dion’s funeral – except not her, obvs. [insert someone REALLY good]. I simply can’t name another person in our industry who was so beloved and respected no matter which side of the stage you stood on. To say Dave will be sorely missed, is pithy. He leaves a gaping chasm that no one else will be able to fill. Those of us who knew him and were affected by him will simply be richer in every way for having done so.

Vale Dave. Say hi to Tarranto, Gibbo and Herouvim for us. Christ, there’s a show going on somewhere. We love you and miss you all very much. Hairy-Bum, do you need a new pair of thongs?

Go tell the people you love, how much you love them. Make sure your friends know what they mean to you. You can do it now when it counts or at the funeral when it really doesn’t carry the punch you’d like. S’your call.

Til next time.

fahey xxxx

3 comments.

Almost a year…

Posted on July 11th, 2008 by prinny.
Categories: Stories.

Yup, crazy how fast time flies, eh? It’s almost a year since we officially pulled out of Iraq LA.

Yes we’ve been back ‘n forward but it hasn’t stuck. It’s like a cured cold sore… just don’t pick at it and she’ll be right. Don’t get run down oh and don’t kiss licentious girls. Spike Riley has adjusted well to being an inner city baby. He knows where the ‘good’ parks are, the ones with the wild swings and dangerously steep slides. He knows he gets an empty cup and a spoon to play with when we pop into Joe’s and I’ve been trying to teach him to yell out, “Go home junkie!” to well, the junkies who like to frequent our laneway to shoot up before shambling back home to Glen Iris.

B has also adjusted to hanging on to the underside of the hemisphere. He’s mastered a Hook Turn (impressive, yes) and general navigating is going well thanks to TomTom. He knows where Joe’s and the good park is too. Home for him will always be in Denver but Melbourne’s a bloody nice alternative.

I love, love, love being back around decent coffee and fantastic service. I love the trams rattling down Smith Street and the abundance of Vietnamese food at my fingertips. I love driving on the correct side of the road again, FREE HEALTHCARE, WEATHER and my iPhone. (Did I mention I have an iPhone… heh)

What I miss is… the cost of living! Holy crap shit’s expensive here! Where’s the cheap cars? The affordable clothes and accoutrement? Why am I mortgaging my house to buy a pair of baby shoes or some make-up? (Thank you Lord eBay, without you I’d be paying full price.) I miss being able to SMS Google when I’m lost and can’t find the address of the store shop I was looking for. CHEAP internet service (don’t get me started!!!!) I miss internet searching for things that actually have relevance to where I live. (Yes, I set my google home page to Australia but it still gives me Richmond VI search results.) I miss first release movies and tv shows I mean come on! Dexter is in series 3 now! (- what a corker of a show.) Yes, basically I miss all the horrible consumer things. The things for which An Over Abundance Of are the main reason the rest of the world Hates America. Yes, those lovely, lovely affordable things. *sigh*

~~~~~

So, that Wigfield is a hoot, eh? For the uninitiated. Wigfield is another ravishing book from the minds of Sedaris, Colbert & Dinello – the Strangers With Candy crew. Here’s Amy as Cinnamon, one of Wigfield’s exotic dancers… “Do they know I’m albino?” Paul Dinello’s, Julian Childs. The proprietor of The Bunny Hutch, the local theatre (whose actors are mostly soft-furred and large-eared). And Stephen Colbert’s, Raven. Another of the town’s “big boned” exotique dancers.

B got me the audio book for our anniversary/mother’s day. It tells the story of the small town of Wigfield which is about to return to its former life – a creek – as the town’s dam is under orders to be dismantled. The book is a series of interviews with the town’s residents (who are beautifully photographed by Amy’s friend, Todd Oldham) played by Stephen Colbert, Amy Sedaris and Paul Dinello. It’s every bit as demented as you would expect from those three. Stephen has (as Nana’s all around the world would say) such a lovely speaking voice… blind people must love him. So much so in fact that I’ve decided from now on, I want all my books read to me by Stephen Colbert. Either in person (he’d be so comfortable perched on a small stool beside my bed like a raven… ok a yacky wee budgerigar) or, time permitting downloaded onto my iPhone’s (did I mention I have one?) iPod so I can chuckle myself to sleep. Do yourselves a favour, add Wigfield to your list. It’s worth every last second of your time.

That’ll do from my meandering brain today. Hope you’re all well enough to start sending me cash n cakes. I’ll even take a money flan… I’m just that kinda girl.

Me, not Albino xxxx

5 comments.

700 People Walk Into A Bar…

Posted on February 21st, 2008 by prinny.
Categories: Stories.

Comedians ain’t hooked up right. They’re just not. Needy, selfish, narcissists (you can see why I became one). But I gotta tell ya, when one of the pack needs help… I first saw it when we (as a comedy community) lost a mad soul, John Herouvim – or Hairy Bum to his friends. A brilliant comic. Too brilliant to stay and play. The next gut wrenching loss was Dave Taranto (beautiful tribute page, Paul). Dave was THE beacon of genius that nurtured up and coming comics – he always managed to see ‘it’ in a new comic before anyone else had. The trick was, if he saw something in you, well! *bliss* When Dave died, so did a large chunk of Melbourne comedy. Then, Gibbo. Red wine drinking, mad dancing, insane smokers-cough laugh, show-yer-undies Gibbo. That bastard Ovarian Cancer kicked Gibbo’s arse. It sucked so hard. However, her funeral was one of the funniest most joyful occasions I’ve attended in a long time. The point is, each time, at each one of these awful events I saw the same faces. The same blacker than sin gallows humour ripped around our circle and reminded us all who we were. The sense of community was indescribable. It had to gladden even the darkest of bitter comic hearts. But jesus on a unicycle, enough with the funerals already!

Adrian is a comic I have known for almost as long as I have been doing stand-up. He’s one of the good ones. A quirky bugger. Not what you’d call a dick-joke comic. He has an intensely quiet charm that is punctuated by intelligent rage and a wicked brain that operates on just the five and a half of it’s six cylinders. He’s lovely to watch. He’s battled long and hard with a wicked form of Rheumatoid Arthritis. Luckily, it hadn’t affected his drinking elbow or smoking hand :roll yer own eyes!:. Ades was having Chemo treatment for his RA way back in the late 90’s. He was funnier, angry-bald. Then, just around Xmas time this year. Ades gets sick. Proper on life support sick. An uncomfortable swelling in a gentlemanly area (is there a more ironic place for a comic to get sick? His balls?) Ades has Necrotizing Fasciitis – which Adam Hills made a fantastic joke about which I cant remember now nor will repeat for fear of fucking up the joke but the guts of it was, “Adrian’s been having sex with Benito Mussolini?” They rush him to theatre and obliterate his scrotum (seriously, could it be any funnier?) and then he’s back in ICU on the “We’re Not Mucking Around Here. He’s Crook” list. Over the next (what must have seemed, interminable time to his beloved, Benne) Ade’s a bee’s dick away from having his life support switched off. And, they do. Twice! After they unhooked him the second time and he kept on keeping on, the docs thought they should try at least as half as hard as Ade was to stay alive. It’s now that the Melbourne comedy community kicks in and whacko, it’s benefit time.

_______

Benefits are sooo much nicer than funerals. Although the buffet was missed and playing grab ass with the grieving widow – not quite as macabre. It was bloody lovely to not see Adrian in a tacky pine box. His recovery will be slow and long but at least now he and Benne can pick out a lovely fake-scrotum caddy while he heals.

Onya Ade. In my dreams, you will always have the full compliment, downstairs.

Proud Card Carrying Melbourne Comedian Member #8867 xxxx

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