During my recent trip to Sydney, I was fortunate enough to enjoy a delicious high tea at Tea Parlour in Redfern, on behalf of the High Tea Society – a website devoted entirely to the art of high tea around the world .
You can read my review, and check out my photographs, here. Try not to drool too much.
First published in Onya Magazine, on April 7th, 2011.
The more I learn about Eddie Perfect, the more I see him perform, act and sing, the more I realise just how apt it is that a man with so much talent, and so much in the way of clever, carries the surname Perfect.
There’s not a lot to dislike about Eddie Perfect. He’s the genius behind Shane Warne The Musical, one of the stars of Channel 10’s Australian drama Offspring, a composer, performer, singer and comedian, andhe can swivel his hips.
Perfect’s new show, Misanthropology, currently being performed at The Famous Spiegeltent at the Arts Centre as a part of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, is a gem of a cabaret show.
It’s a dark, satirical look at modern life – and it’s so spot on, so incredibly on the money – that the rare few people not laughing in the audience are probably the exact people that Perfect is referring to, and dare I say it, they’re the ones that need to hear it most.
Perfect sings and croons his way through the complexities and contradictions of our world, and the people within it. He’s not concerned with being politically correct – a quality I love because it’s such a rarity these days – and the show is intended to make you squirm, just a little bit. And it’s that exact factor, the squirm factor, which stayed with me most after Misanthropology and forced me to question some lurid aspects of our modern culture.
Misanthropology is funny, and that’s because it’s true. If Perfect’s songs, so beautifully brought to life by his magnificent band and exceptional lyrical abilities, weren’t such an accurate description of our culture, I don’t think I would have belly laughed so hard.
Perfect’s show may not be everyone’s cup of tea – if you’re a Kerrie-Anne Kennerley fan then I suggest staying away – but it was definitely mine. His performance is gutsy – truly ballsy – and we need more people like Perfect wading through the bullshit of life and speaking, or singing, the truth.
Eddie Perfect ‘Misanthropology’, Tue-Sat, 8.30pm, Sun 7.30pm at The Famous Spiegeltent at the Arts Centre until April 24th. Tickets: Full $28-32, Concession $29, Tightarse Tuesday $25, Group (10 or more) $26. Click here to purchase tickets.
For more information on Eddie Perfect, visit his website.
First published in Onya Magazine, on March 6th, 2011.
The premise is simple; two teams (the Hearts and the Bones, comprised of some of Melbourne’s funniest comedians) battle it out against each other to create comedy sketches on the spot.
The reality is much, much funnier; using only audience suggestions and a handful of props, The Big Hoo-Haa improvise their way through scenes and songs and scenarios – and they do it all so bloody well.
The Big Hoo-Haa is theatre sports on steroids. It’s Thank God You’re Here without the door and cheesy pre-prepared actors. It’s clever comedy – the kind you walk away from smiling, whilst knowing full well there’s some serious talent and brains involved in making it that way.
Their show, running until the 23rd of April during the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, isn’t concerned with being politically correct (my personal highlight from the show I witnessed was the impro ‘9/11 musical’) or generically appealing – The Big Hoo-Haa are only interested entertaining. And if you find yourself at a show, and somehow the scenario has gone from a couple having a drink at a bar, to dwarfs invading a medieval castle, just relax and go with it – because that’s where the biggest hoo-haa’s are to be had.
The Big Hoo-Haa, Tue-Wed & Fri-Sun, 6.30pm at The Order of Melbourne, Level 2, 401 Swanston Street, Melbourne until April 23rd. Tickets: Full $16, Concession $14, Tightarse Tuesday $12, Group (10 or more) $10. Click here to purchase tickets.
For regular Hoo-Haa shows, and more information, visit their website.
After every low, comes a high.
After every rain, a ray of light,
After every hurdle, a flat track,
After every goodbye, a new hello.
First published in White Echo on March 7th, 2011.
When I was growing up, the only way I could interact with my favourite sports stars was by meeting them. And that didn’t happen very often. Loitering around a football field, I’d wait with autograph book and pen in hand for my favourite players to exit the field, or club room, after training. Or perhaps I’d get to take a happy snap at a club function, or a family day.
The only way I knew about what was going on in the lives of the athletes I admired was via the media; reading an interview in the newspaper, or hearing them on radio, or glimpsing some pictures and web copy online. Sure, I knew when they were born, every statistic about their career and every opinion about their last game – maybe I’d even find out what their favourite film was, or favourite food – but that was the extent of it. There was no possible way to find out anything more – anything more substantial or indicative of who they were or what they liked – and definitely no way of interacting or engaging with them.
To continue reading the article, please click here.
First published in Onya Magazine on March 3rd, 2011.
I’ve come to the conclusion that the world is, in no uncertain terms, screwed. I cannot remember the last time I received a bill, ordered a meal or bought something from a shop that did not require a return trip to address some issue, a phone call to clarify something or a painful exchange with someone.
And it appears I am not alone. Apparently we’ve all argued with a telecommunications company, or bought an electrical item to find it kaput when we arrived home, or simply tried to order a meal without a food substance that’s going to send us into allergic rapture…to no avail.
But we can’t all be wrong.
I’m not sure of the current unemployment rate, but I know that the incompetency rate is at an all time high. Complete and utter incompetence is washing over our great nation – and half the time it is washing over us from an offshore call centre.
I’m not sure about you, but I’m tired of spending 10 minutes spelling my name in Alpha Bravo Charlie every time I need to make an enquiry about an account – to someone listening to me on delay.
I’m sick of all the fees and taxes associated with everything to do with our lifestyle. I have a landline. I have to pay rental on my handset. Despite the fact that I purchased the handset myself. I don’t rent it. But I get charged for it. Make sense to you?
If you were to subtract the fees and charges from your monthly bills, chances are you’d be able to buy a small island in the French Riviera.
We are governed by morons, over-governed in fact, by morons that penalise the good, the honest and the hard working at every turn and allow organisations, companies and businesses to deliver inadequate goods and services.
The system, that fateful word that’s thrown around every time something crashes, is lost, or someone operating it is just too cretinous to use, is the bane of our modern existence. And it’s the same system that does not protect the innocent and most certainly does not reward those who do the right thing.
Nothing is easy anymore. Nothing is seamless. Nothing just works.
To continue reading my article, please click here.
An article from the archives today. I wrote this piece almost two years ago for Trespass Magazine. I can safely report that not a lot has changed.
There is nothing I dislike more than a wanker. Excuse the crass language, straight up and in the first sentence, but I just can’t think of another term to so accurately and honestly describe one. You see, lately, I just can’t seem to escape them. Wankers, that is. Everywhere I turn there is one waiting, ready to attack or approach me with their wanky-ness. And, the sad part is, these people all share one common problem: they think they are better than everyone else.
When you live in a city like Melbourne – one alive and rich with culture, arts, sport, entertainment and a myriad of other wonderful things – it’s inevitable that you will meet a mixture of people. Lovely, down-to-earth, witty, talented, inspiring people. People that are a pleasure to know. Then, there are the wanker people. People who function with a cooler-than-thou attitude.
I’ve reached breaking point.
Maybe I’m getting older, maybe I’m becoming more cynical or maybe I’m just noticing it more, but it seems the more I try to find good people, the less of them there are to be found.
The other day I met with an incredibly intelligent and inspiring entrepreneur. In our discussion, we touched on the idea of ‘cultural and intellectual superiority’. The idea that one person – say, a designer in Melbourne – feels they are actually above many other people that live in Melbourne, even their own kind of ‘designer people’. That their place of residence, career title, choice of reading material or brand of footwear actually places them at a level higher than someone else. The issue is one that is alive and well all over the world. My problem is that it has seeped into my world, and I don’t like it.
The idea that shopping at a certain store, or listening to a certain kind of music, results in you being cooler than another person is a terribly arrogant one. You’re no better, smarter or more cultured than another person for reading a certain book, or drinking coffee from a certain café. The assumption that, to qualify as hip, you need to buy into a certain culture and participate in its activities is incredibly limiting and extremely draining. How boring if we were all to be the same.
At the heart of the entire ‘wanker’ problem is judgement. Cultural and social judgement. The notion that you can’t buy Who Magazine and Dumbo Feather at the same time, because really, how can celebrity gossip and serious writing mix? I’m here to tell you that it can. That OK! Magazine is perfectly appropriate to read, and enjoy, and that you can still be interested in ‘serious’ journalism as well. And, in the same vain, listening to Lady Gaga, or any sort of pop music, does not make you musically defunct. That it’s possible to love Mars Volta and John Mayer and The Presets and Cut Copy all at the same time. When you shut out whole groups of culture – like pop and mainstream – you also shut out a great deal about what you can possibly learn.
The most intelligent and cool people I know are those that spread their interests far and wide. Funnily enough, they are often the people who use the smallest amounts of judgement. They are the people who enjoy Batman Begins as much as Hairspray as much as Inception. They are the people who succeed, in whatever field they are in, the quickest. And they happen to do it with a great deal of style.
I’ve always laughed, quite openly, at people who think they are incredibly cool or creative or in the know. Here’s what: I’m cool, creative and very in the know but I don’t wear it like a banner. Usually the honest types don’t. It’s the try-hards that parade about, looking silly. The people who think they are cool.
I work in an industry that is seen as political, ruthless, and filled with superficiality and judgement. I’m yet to discover any of that. On the contrary, I find independent media, and the circles we associate with, to be like a quaint, small community: everyone knows everyone else and everyone supports each other. Regardless of the publication you work for, you’re always at the same events, you’re always bumping into each other and you become, as unbelievable as it may sound, the best of friends. Each other’s loudest cheerleaders. The real truth is that, title of the magazine aside, we’re all in it together.
I’ve realised it is the world that is actually political, ruthless and filled with superficiality and judgement. And, despite all the advances in technology and social networking, we’re very far from being any sort of quaint, small community. Some days, it seems that every wanker out there is just waiting for you to trip up, to make a small mistake, so they can quickly correct you, and then tramp on you. I’m yet to discover any wanker that has actually done something good for the world, or another person. And until I do, there’ll be nothing I dislike more than one.
First published at White Echo.
When I talk to people that know little, or seemingly care little, about social media, I always find myself having to defend the power of it – the sheer power of social media in its many forms.
But a recent example of the force of social media may have cleared that little issue up for many skeptics – and it had a lot to do with one person on Twitter, who goes by the username @theashes.
To continue reading, click here.
I’ve always strongly believed in the power of words. I decided to be a writer when I was six years old – I still have the notebook I wrote those words in. To me, there is a certain magic in words. A certain rhythm. I can be transfixed by a paragraph, by a passage, by an advertising slogan.
I love to write. It’s probably the only thing that really calms me. The only action that makes my mind stop swirling and allows me to free-pour out of my brain. It’s me, at my most natural.
I simply cannot live without words. Words, and the many varieties they come in, are the first thing I turn to whenever I am confused, happy, angry, muddled, pensive, upset, curious…they are like my breath, like my heartbeat; pretty impossible to live without.
And much like writing, reading, also in its many forms, is something that I find difficult to abstain from. Sarah Jessica Parker’s character in Sex and the City, Carrie Bradshaw, once said in an episode, “When I first moved to the city, I would sometimes buy Vogue instead of dinner – I just felt it fed me more.” I can relate to her sentiments.
Sometimes, when reading, you come across a paragraph so powerful that it actually has the ability to change you, even just a little. Words so powerful they capture you. You are forced to read the paragraph over and over again, as though it is a wish you want granted. It doesn’t happen with every book, and it doesn’t mean the same thing to every person. But, every now and again, you read something that not only connects with the very core of you, but also, in some small way, actually alters the way you think and feel.
Emily Dickinson once said, “I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes, I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.” Sometimes reading other people’s words can make you feel that way too. Here’s a few of my favourite paragraphs, my favourite words that, placed next to each other, are like magic.
Some excerpts of writing that speak to my very soul …
A paragraph written by Janelle McCulloch in her book La Vie Parisienne:
A paragraph from Kathleen Tessaro’s Elegance:
An excerpt from Jack Kerouac’s On The Road:
Walt Whitman’s O Me! O Life! poem from Leaves of Grass:
Yes, without any doubt, words are powerful.
Sometimes, they just get me. Right in the throat. And they make me want to do powerful, good things.
First published in Trespass Magazine.
I lost a friend once.
Not through death. Not because he literally went missing.
I just lost him.
Somehow, between growing up and moving forward, we fell apart. It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t something I wanted.
It just happened.
He was one of my very best friends – a true companion I met at 16, and was lucky enough to have until 23 or so. We had an incredible relationship – full of amazing adventures, laughs, and so many long conversations. We never stopped talking.
He was the first person I would ring when I’d see something funny, or when I’d have a new life update. When I had a problem. When I wanted a chat.
We shopped, a lot. We wined and dined, a lot. I spent money I never had doing things I probably wouldn’t have done. He pushed the boundary (and my buttons) when it came to things I thought I could never do, and he made me realise that I always actually could.
He moved interstate when I was about 20, but that made no difference to our relationship. In fact, it probably made it better. Sure, the pop-ins and quick coffees were out, but what came in were entire days and weekends together – whole days in a diary blocked out just for each other. Our phone bills went through the roof. We chatted all the time, any time. I would see books I knew he’d enjoy reading and send them to him. He’d surprise me with random arrivals and expensive cocktails.
And then we got busy. And things started to change. My career started to take off. So did his. His saw him join some incredible intellectual circles. Mine saw me running in circles, jumping from various assignments weekly. But we still called, only less often. And we still caught up, only less and less.
But it seemed like that was ok.
Because friends don’t need to live out of each other pockets. And sometimes people float in and out of each other lives, drifting through. I’ve grown apart from friends before – it’s only natural that you do. It’s not a conscious thing; it’s just something that happens. Some friends are markers throughout your life. Others are a constant part of it.
I suppose I always thought that him and me were more of the constant variety. Turns out, we weren’t.
When I think back to friends I’ve grown apart from, I am filled with fond memories and warm fuzzy feelings. In actuality, I care not that I don’t see some old pals anymore. That’s just the way life goes.
But him? And me? When I think back to us, growing apart, I become terribly sad. I never even saw it coming. He stopped calling. I didn’t put enough effort into catching up. He, of all people because he was always so incredibly supportive, seemed irritated that my life, my job, something I’d worked so hard for, was working out, and truly flourishing. I used ‘busy’ as an excuse. He pushed my buttons, but not in a good way. And I pushed his. It seemed that, in the end, everything that had always held us together was the exact thing that pushed us apart.
The problem is, unlike other old pals, I do care that I don’t see him anymore. I miss him. Not all the time, but some times. Like when I go to a restaurant and I look at the décor, or the menu, and instantly think of him because I know he’d love it. Or when a certain movie makes me smile in just the right way, and I turn to face him but he’s not there. Certain clothing labels remind me of him – they remind me of the hours we spent trawling shops in different cities, looking for the perfect shoe, jacket or suit. And I miss our car rides – we were always going somewhere, but we’d never care if we got there in the end – what mattered was the chats that caused us to miss turn offs, and street signs. It’s no lie that sometimes we’d just drive until we’d literally hit the end of a road. And then? We’d turn back around and drive some more.
It’s not that I don’t have these moments with anyone else – in fact, I’m tremendously lucky in that I get to share these moments with other amazing friends in my life. It’s just that I don’t have him. And what we used to do was different because it was ours.
I realised far too late that it had been a while since we’d spoken. Two months. That became three. That became four.
And there we have it.
People say that in life, you move on. But I haven’t. Or that you grow apart. But we didn’t. Or that you fall out. But we never.
I just lost him.
The real truth, something that people don’t say enough in life, is that some things are worth fighting for. Or waiting for. Or finding again. Moving on, giving up – that’s easy.
Finding something that you’ve lost is much harder.
SANDI SIEGER. 