walk to the tram

Including evidence of current drought; creeping miasma of Gowanbrae; a plane heading for Essendon Airport; a bottle sticking a little way out of the ground leading one to wonder how much landfill is really processed at all; and pictures much darker than the world really was at the time I guess because the sun coming up was much brighter and the mobile phone camera is not particularly adjustable as far as I'm aware.

the good old days with aunt jemima - the critique

It is with great relief that we farewell the arrant nonsense that was The Good Old Days with Aunt Jemima, published in the Australian Big Issue between 2004 and 2006. It is a well known truism that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit. Parody, surely, is not far behind but parody done well requires a metaphorical trope with which to travel or, at very least, a firm and fairly chosen target. The Good Old Days with Aunt Jemima had neither of these. Indeed, the writer appeared satisfied at any time to delve into irrelevancies that might even be called surreal, were surrealism not the province of a creative group who actually have achieved something.

From the most basic central premise, the use of the name 'Aunt Jemima' - as it happens (though was the writer aware of this?) a commercial trade name (and image, of a black woman originally to a 'mammy' template) used in the USA since the late 19th century to sell baking products - seemed irrelevant and, frankly, a sloppy and ignorant appropriation. Any attempt to pass this off (as the writer seemingly occasionally tries to do with references to an 'Aunt Hamble') as a reference to the Australian-via-British Playschool doll Jemima does not cut, as they say, the mustard.

References throughout the column to 'Menzies Cakes' are a further example of an abstruse attempt at wit based purely on the jamming together of two ideas which separately (perhaps?) might evoke for the reader, or for a person of 'Aunt Jemima's' supposed generation, cosy domesticity and social comfort.

And furthermore (we stop taking notes at this point and start gazing into the distance)

the good old days director's commentary

People often ask me how I came up with Aunt Jemima and The Good Old Days with Aunt Jemima. Well, of course most of the character is based on me. When you get to an advanced age like mine - I'm nearly 42, you know, that's half way to 84! Look out George Burns! So wrap him in asbestos, geddit?

The idea for the series was a way to parody a scourge worse than political correctness and the anti-smoking lobby put together, that's right - history and old people remembering things. You know, 'ya ya I remember when that house used to be a field, and that field over there? Useta be a house.' All that stuff! You know, who cares, shut up. I'm not interested and neither are you, grandma, cuz you've forgotten what you were talking about and you've gone to sleep, you know, the big sleep, if we're all lucky.

(laughter fades)

the good old days with aunt jemima

Some of the following was published in The Big Issue over the last couple of years, some probably wasn't.

The Good Old Days with Aunt Jemima

Say what you like about the good old days, they were simply the most glamorous and marvellous days we ever had. That Mr. Menzies – have I ever told you about him? – gay as terrace houses, that man, and flash as a hunchback rat up a two-bob silver drainpipe to the blessed rooftops. Very handsome, he had a smile that could guide the ships through the harbour on a cold drizzly night when it’s better being indoors, as my father used to say. My father was his lover, see, and they used to take fishing trips together.

My mother found out about it because she put a little message on his fishing rod – well, that was what she called it – saying, ‘bring us back a big fish please, love Baby Doll.’ Well, when he brought back a big fish and the note was missing off his rod, she knew very well what that meant. He’d been having a fine time with that Mr. Menzies. All mouth and trousers, that fellow, but we all voted for him, even my father, who hated a fuss. Mummy divorced him straight away – not Menzies, that other fellow – and married the man she worked for in a small supermarket.

But my father’s sexual affair with Mr. Menzies was without issue. Society frowned on that sort of thing in those days, because Daddy was such an unpleasant man. And ugly – he could destroy civillisation just thinking about one day peeking at an image of it, as Isaac Isaacs used to say. The kids all called him ‘Popeye’, because he looked a bit like the Pope. ‘Ye’ was how we said ‘the’ in those days.

After Mr. Menzies died Mr. Fraser was the Prime Minister and he had a corduroy jacket.

********************************

One thing you could always count on in the my day was constant sexual activity. Remember that old Bing Crosby song, ‘Nuttin’ like Ruttin’?’ That was the national anthem, then, before ‘God Save the Queen’ took over. And she was no angel, I can tell you. We walked to school together until she showed her knickers to the dustman!

I had a number of boyfriends in my day – about thirty at any given time – and a few lady friends for afternoons, if you get my drift. My main squeeze (as we used to say) however was that nice Richard Neville, editor of Oz. He’d come courting on a Sunday afternoon and we’d sit in the front room – mother used to call it the ‘good room’ because of the illicit goods we stored there – and play the pianola. I wore a silken pinafore made of cotton horsehair.

Every Tuesday night was porn night in our street, not that nasty internet porn like you get now – this was real quality material, painted on hessian by recent migrants. I used to collect Don Bradman porn. I’ve still got some upstairs, actually. You know the days when I don’t get up all day? Yes, dear. That’s right. Yes.

********************************

We didn’t have television when I was a girl. In fact, we had the radio, and every family had a puppeteer, who would act out what was on the radio, with puppets. Often the puppeteers were old Anzacs – Anzacs were these funny crazy old men with no arms and so on, which the government had made for amusing normal people. Our puppeteer was called Mr. Geoffrey, and he was a whiz! I remember one Melbourne Cup when he puppeted Phar Lap so fast he fell through the good cabinet and broke mother’s chamber pot… with her still on it! How we laughed.

Of course, we didn’t have radio either; there was a man who would go round from house to house reading the news to us. In our neighbourhood, the man’s name was Mr. Alan. He couldn’t read, of course – no-one could, then, movable type wasn’t invented until 1967 – so he made it all up. We knew, but we all liked him so much we didn’t let on! Our family had no idea of the Great Depression, thanks to Mr. Alan. If only there were more like him, I always say, people would be much happier today!

Did I ever tell you how I invented Twisties out of my nose?

********************************

It’s funny – in a tragic way – that in the good old days, we really didn’t think of them as good old days at all. We used to call them just the ‘good days’. No-one walked around talking about ‘more innocent times’; we used to just refer to them as ‘innocent times’! In fact, many of us assumed times would become more innocent; I got caught up in Billy Graham’s dumbo crusades in the late 50s and I used to spend hours in my room de-learning the weird letters of the alphabet, like c and x!

We didn’t know what ‘old-fashioned’ meant. We thought things were just ‘contemporarily fashioned’! And nostalgia was just, you know, what we did all the time. We never thought about it, we just went around being nostalgic incessantly. ‘It’ll be a shame when milk doesn’t come in bottles’, I remember my little sister Aunt Hamble telling me one day, the golden sun filtering dappliciously through the lace curtains… she’s dead now. ‘Oh, bottled milk!’ she said. ‘How I love you!’ and she held it to her cheek and cradled it like a baby, then burst into a relevant song, ‘Boop boop sh’doop’. I seem to recall she had a straw boater and some penguins danced on either side… it was all so perfect. Friggin’ perfect.

********************************
Say what you like about the good old days, they were simply the best days we ever had. Everyone knew each other – there were only about fifty people, then, you see? – and everybody was kind and clean. It was a natural cleanliness that didn’t rely on soap or conditioner or toothpaste, things we’d only read about in magazines.

Well they were more innocent times. No-one knew anything about anything, and if they did, they kept it to themselves. I once asked my mother the past tense of perambulate and she gave me a paddling on my white underpants with pink dots. How I cried, in that tears-coming-out-in-an-arc kind of way no-one knows how to do anymore, until my Aunt Jemima gave me tuppence and I bought a hundred and seven ice creams. I was named Aunt Jemima after her, you see.

We appreciated the simple things then. Mum, dad, sausage rolls, billy carts, billy goats… I remember my eleventh birthday when mum and dad arranged for a billy goat to bring me some sausage rolls in a… what are they called? Oh yes, a billy cart. My cup rannethed over!

My father was a sea captain – most of the girls in our street’s fathers were sea captains in those days. Every night he’d come home, there’d be dumplings in the stew and scones with jam, cream and icthymite which was a kind of bird paste mother made from cats, and that rich blue oily tea you can’t get anymore, all bubbling on the hob, and I’d run to the door – ‘Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!’ and he’d be there in his uniform, and the corn cob pipe and the eye patch. And he’d swing me on his shoulders and I’d cry ‘Giddy-up, Daddy!’ We all drank in those days; my mother had a special cocktail for the kiddies with less rum than the adults and more Bacardi, and a Kraft cheesestick to swizzle it.

Remember the Oslo lunch? You do? No, you’re far too young, dear. The Oslo lunch was a special food made in Oslo, which is a long way away, and when we queued up in the morning at school and sang ‘God Save the King’, because it was a King in those days, not like now when they’ve got some other arrangement, they’d extrude lumps of Oslo lunch from a big steam engine, which was also the train that we all caught to get there, and the Governor-General would give us each a slice. He was a wonderful man, with hair soft as a girl’s, and the most beautiful whiskery things between his nose and his mouth which stuck out like hair.

I used to call him the ‘Governor-General’!

********************************

Want a biscuit? Pass me your teeth and I’ll put it in the chewator for you. Oh, that’s right, you still have those born-with teeth, don’t you!

I always forget, because I’ve never had any teeth myself. No-one did, in my day. Australia was gummy and proud of it! Sometimes people grew teeth, by accident, but we never talked about it, they’d just go to the country and eat humbugs all day until the embarrassing little problem just rotted away. It was usually the dirty catholic girls who done it.

My teeth were made from pine, my father crafted them himself after a trip to the local forest, gave ‘em to me for my 35th birthday. The first set of teeth I had all to myself! I was looking at myself smiling in the mirror all afternoon, until night came, so I lit a candle and kept on. I’ll never forget that day! And all the young men in the neighbourhood had heard I’d got teeth and they were around under my bedroom window all night, singing and pissing. They loved me – they really did!

The following day my father took me to town in the charabanc, so he could show me off to the local toffs! He said he was prouder of me than he’d ever been! He still says it, actually, don’t you dad. We walked through the Block Arcade, me smiling and waving, and the people all oohing and ahing. It was the incisors that got ‘em, I think. I was a regular sabre-tooth. And when I bit into a sandwich – well, I think the whole town turned out to see it!

Then I lit a cigarillo and a spark got in a molar and it went up in a blaze. They thought it was part of the act! It burnt out, but the rest are still working well, as you can tell. I’m werry beez wi me beef, werry beez imgeeb.

********************************

Do they still have that Kylie Minogue? I liked the old one better. Yes, we’ve always had a Kylie Minogue. They named a meringue after her, you know. This one here. Kylie Minogue.

When I was a girl my favourite singer was Big Crosby. He wasn’t really a big man – he was called Big because he was so famous. He was a crooner, he sang ‘Smoke Gets On Your Water’, you know that one? Dah, de dah… de dah. We didn’t have compact discs in those days, we had MP3s, you picked up your MP3s in the morning from the MP3 boy, he’d drop them round in a special sealed capsule. You never knew what you were going to get but you always knew it would be that ‘Smoke Eyes’ song. I loved that song. Dah, de dah… de dah…

We had our local crooners, too, like that Biggy Thorpe. You know, he sang ‘Somewhere Over the Water’. De dah, dah dah… he was lovely, he was. He was all fat and sweaty, and he’d do a little dance, you know. He’d do a little dance. I used to go and see him at the stadium. You know the stadium. What, you don’t know where the stadium was? Is it still there? I saw that Big Cosby there once, you know, the coloured entertainer. And that actor Huge Laurie and Large Ulrich from Metallica. Yes, they were the big names in my day. I wish I could die.

********************************

Here’s a name you don’t hear that often nowadays – John Howard. He was Prime Minister from 1947 to 1997, and he was simply the best Prime Minister we ever had. He was very small, but he wore a cape and tights, even in the shower – he had no genitals, you see. None whatsoever. Well, maybe four or five.

It’s funny how he had a man’s name as his last name, as well as another man’s name for his first name. That’s because he was this darling gay man. Oh, yes, I know you’re surprised – we had gay men then, too. We just never talked about them all the time and they didn’t gay things all the time like they do now – gay this, gay that. Our gays kept themselves to themselves, instead of prancing round the street shoving anti-abortion pamphlets on your face. Vegetarians.

John Howard was very influential in the War Against Terror – well, he won it really, didn’t he. He won that war, and the Vietnamese War too. That’s why we have those millions of Asians in Australia now, actually, where they don’t belong, which is strange, isn’t it? They were prisoners we took in the Vietnamese War. And we also won the War Against Terriers. Vegetarians. And he made the entire dole people go to work instead of lolling around. Do you know, a lot of those people wore nappies, and were homosexual pot-smokers because they were so lazy. Vegetarians. What do they believe in?

********************************

You’re ugly. In my day, ugly people stayed indoors, and we all made our own beer. I drank a lot of beer as a child because it made one strong, healthy and interesting. How old do you think I look? Go on, how old? That’s right, and I don’t look it, do I. Because I have been drinking nature’s beer all my life. It’s called beer.

My dad used to make our family beer supply on a Sunday night, out of all the scraps the pigs wouldn’t touch – bits of menzies cake, ash, lemon peel, lemon skin, cans, lemon bone, melon balls and of course melon cock. He’d put it all in the overnight fermentor and bring it to the boil. I can still remember the smell of the explosions. Then he’d skim the slurry off the top and put it in sandwiches – this was the day before vegemite, literally the day before – but the best bit was the drinking. That took place through most of the week. Everybody did it and nobody cared! I remember my Aunt Jemima was courting Jimmy Stewart – not the Jimmy Stewart, but some Hollywood actor.

And do you know what, if you had a cut on your finger, or on your face, he’d just slap a bit on and it would all come off in days. Nature’s band aid, he called it. Of course, band aid didn’t really happen till 1985 and that Bon Geldof.

australia day message

marc reguiero-mckelvie

... has gone to Auckland

regret!!!

Man, it's tough adding blog links (see the tasteful little bunch at right). I had been trying to do it for 18 months and obviously someone looked down on me from on high and decided to finally allow me to do it, or maybe I forgot the thing I was doing wrong and started from scratch and got it right finally, or whatever. Anyway, it's tough, linking. I am doing it slowly but surely. Now that I have some links there I am pretty certain that people I haven't linked to are going to be very offended, even if I do eventually get around to it, they'll never forget it. So I probably should never have started. But now I have so I have to persist. Life suxs.

millie as policewoman

'No dog pictures on your blog for days!' they all cry. You can always go back and look at the old ones, you know. Anyway, here's a recent.

quite funny product name

I mean, 'crusty entertainer', that's quite funny.

journey home one day last week

It all seems horribly re-birthy doesn't it. By the way, the green house is NOT our house. I just wanted to photograph it since I met the owner a few months ago and he told me he had been trying to demolish it since 1966 and I assume one day he will succeed. [Update: this building burnt down 13 September 2007. I have no idea how.]

highetto-o!

A couple of days ago I had the pleasure of visiting Highett. I saw this very clever sign alteration which was just begging to be blogged.

Unfortunately there is one small problem. If Melbourne has any ghettoes, and really it doesn't (maybe upper class ones, but that'd be all) Highett most definitely isn't one. So identifying that 'ghett' in Highett has potential for making other words is a grand skill, but ultimately this is pretty meaningless.

my i'm effusive today

1. What shirt are you wearing?

A short-sleeved orange number I picked up in Welwyn Garden City Oxfam in 2003. That's the only reason I started this kestionnaire, to mention the shirt. It is Marks and Spencers.

2. Name the brand of your shoes you're currently wearing?

Dunlop Volleys.

3. Bright or Dark Room?

Bright enough. Still at the office.

4. What do you think about the person who took this survey before you?

I don't know them, but i enjoy reading their blog.

5. Where is your nearest 7-11?

I have no idea. Essendon?

6. Who told you he/she loved you last?

Mia of course. 'I loved you last', she said, 'and now you're finished like an old balloon'.

7. How many drugs have you done in the last three days?

If caffeine counts then A LOT. Aspirin last night after lengthy driving foray.

8. How many rolls of film do you need developed?

None

9. What do you do when vending machines steal your money?

Call the company. They send you back a $2 coin in a piece of cardboard with a $2 coin-sized hole in it.

10. Are you touchy feely?

No. Yuck.

11. Name three things that you have on you at all times?

That's not a question, there's no need to end it with a question mark.

12. What was the last thing you paid for with cash?

A coffee.

13. Does anything hurt on your body right now?

No

14. How much cash do you have on you?

$1.50

15. What's a word that rhymes with “DOOR?”

Eubacharanarotoytomozonoqueyor.

the gallery of memories - 3.5

The good thing about the good old days was that they were the best days on earth. I remember 2006 when it seemed perfectly legitimate to dress your animals in clothes, even if the clothes were too tight and you had to lie them down on their backs to do it. Charlie will be grateful for this coat, brought by Jane from Hong Kong, if it ever gets cold in Melbourne again, which at the moment seems inconceivable. Also it will provide her with a disguise in dense jungle, though a few Adam Ant style black lines under the eyes - as modelled by Steiger and Janelle on Neighbours last night - wouldn't go astray.

the gallery of memories - 3

This morning when I went to give the dogs their bacon and eggs I saw Charlie had allowed her head to poke out from under the tent flap of their house. This was much funnier in real life than it is now in today's harsh and businesslike e-nvironment.

the gallery of memories - 2

It seems like only Saturday, because it was, when we went to Bendigo to see Lucinda/ Surrender Monkeys/ Cannanes in an upmarket Bendigo-O hotel. Then afterwards, at 2am, there was an all-star jam in the Wipplegong Dancehall. Pics are of the Surrender Monkeys and the All Stars.

the gallery of memories - 1

It seems like only yesterday. In fact it was last Wednesday that I went to Ballarat. That morning, there was a joke in the newspaper comic strip 'Zits' in which a teacher inappropriately (as far as her students were concerned) used the word 'booty'. I noticed that Ballarat Book City had also, hilariously, cut the 'k ci' out of their own sign for the purposes of a big vent or something, thereby turning one of their signs into the word 'booty'. I took a photo of it, but you might need a microscope to see it as I can't zoom in on my mobile (it's to the left). But oh, the memories.

no boundaries

I hate to say it about a place I like so much, and spend so much time in, and intend to spend oodles more time in the future, but there are a lot of odd people at the State Library. What makes an old man talk in coughs as he reads through old newspapers on microfilm? And no, I'm not referring to myself though I do sometimes worry that I do things like that too and don't realise. I felt like I was in some kind of experimental comedy film from 1970 directed by Eric Sykes when I found myself walking far out of my way around some desks in the microfilm reading room to avoid a very large basket-trolley which had come to a stop while the lady pushing it stared off into the distance. She roused herself and pushed it a little further to come to another thoughtful stop exactly between me and the printer, which was where I was headed. Once again, she was staring into the distance. Perhaps some tragedy had befallen her, perhaps she was thinking it's 4:30 if I can just stretch this trolley thing out a little longer I won't have to do anything else before the weekend.

Then after a while you start to feel paranoia about all the other people using the library, like for instance everyone.

Yesterday I was in a different library and a nice woman asked me nicely if I could show her how to thread the microfilm. I must look like I know this kinda shit. So I showed her and about 30 seconds later brrrrspttltltltltltl she'd wound it off. She tried unsuccessfully to wind it back on. So I did it for her a second time and shortly afterwards you guessed it, brrrrrsptt etc. This time, however, spoiling the Eric Sykesness of my story, she managed to put it back on by herself. Then she asked me where she could get a lens that allowed her to zoom out more. Which really wrecks the story. Though I was expecting a Candid Camera -style denouenment which is yet to come.

wet contrasted with dry

Well, we are having a drought, so that's maybe why this pelican felt forced to spend time at Moonee Ponds Creek (with admirers behind). I took his/her picture a couple of weeks ago. On the other hand I went to Ballarat yesterday and boy, is Lake Wendouree empty or what. It almost looks like a badly-kept sports oval. There was an article in The Age a while ago with the mayor of Ballarat saying, 'if the lake dries up, that's it', then the revelation that the last time the lake dried up completely was 1981. So, that kind of 'it'. But I am told that Ballarat's water is now pretty much undrinkable; their reserves dropped below 20%.

And still the optimists go on and on, predicting the return of rainfall in late summer. As if! It's over, I tell you, over.

tuesday afternoon

Tuesday is probably the greatest day of all the days. Tuesday Weld, Tuesday Kennedy (the Kennedy family's best-kept secret), Tuesday on My Mind... I have been musing on the following subjects latterly, perhaps you'd like to muse too...

Douglas Credit? I started reading Bob Hesketh's Major Douglas and Alberta Social Credit but didn't get to the end. Borrowed it again. This time for sure.

Whatever happened to the Ellen Desailly Kindergarten in Wentworth Park, Glebe? It was there in 1964, but it's not there any longer.

How radical was that pissing scene in last night's Neighbours? a. very; b. totally; c. utterly; d. whatever?

Wither Ron Tudor? He was A&R for W&G and signed The Seekers, then ten years later he was running the Fable Label, but now...? I mean, is he still with us?

Is Suburban Mayhem still on?

Should I take that set-top box back to JB?

What's that beeping sound I keep hearing?

two to the valley

I always enjoy Alison's show on 3CR Sunday night 11.00 Two to the Valley. Tonight I will enjoy it particularly as I will be the host. You can listen, if you have the desire, wherever in the world you are, assuming you have a computer, and if you don't, how are you reading this? See streaming details here.

Later: the tracks played were

royalchord: Softly I leave you
Essendon Airport: Refunked
The Church: Block, It's no reason
Soggy Porridge: How can I tell you
Frieze aka Birtles and Cotton: Why do little kids have to die
Bee Gees: Sweet song of summer
The Cleves: Summertime
Magic Dirt: Sleep
Wildlife Documentaries: Promise me
Spiderbait: Ass huggin' pants
Wild Honey: Groovin' around
Dave Graney and Clare Moore: Anchors aweigh
Bad Luck Charms: Let's talk about the weather
The Numbers: Mr. President
Kim Salmon: Diary entries over a major 7
Doug Parkinson: Love is like a cloudy day

whiskey notions

There is no better way to spend Saturday night than drinking whiskey and soda, in the company of one's spouse and pets, knowing there are corn chips in the cupboard, and it being much cooler than it has been. When they told me being in my 40s would be the best time of my life it's not that I didn't believe it but I did wonder what that would entail. Now I know.

Last night Ashtray Boy played a show at IDGAFF which is in Hoddle St Abbotsford. Yes, I know, I didn't publicise it in advance but I didn't want you all there being admiring. I'll let you know before the next show. We played very well considering limited rehearsals and the shabbiness of those rehearsals that did occur. I was happy with it. We played with Plastic Palace Alice (pictured) who I thought were pretty grand, actually, and nice people too. Happy with them.

This evening we went to see Marie Antoinette. I had no real preconceptions, though I did wonder why Mia was so keen to see the film. We were having a beer and a coffee (guess who had what) outside the Sun Cinema in Yarraville prior to going in, and a well-known music identity went past, a person who I had only met for the first time a few days before when I interviewed him for my book. We exchanged some pleasantries and when I reminded him that he had kindly offered to burn me a copy of a notable compilation album that I had not been able to lay my hands on for love or money, he invited us to drop by his house nearby after the film and he would do it there and then, which was kind. We then discussed Marie Antoinette and the mixed reception it had had. Mia at this point said that she wanted to see it because she enjoyed the films of Sofia Coppola. I'd either had no idea, or she'd told me this and I had then forgotten.

Marie Antoinette was, in my first words after leaving the film, 'fuckin' great'. Now, admittedly, I am a child of the early 80s, and I was completely sold just via the opening credits, under which ran the Gang of 4's 'Natural's not in it'. That is about the coolest thing that I could see/hear in a cinema, and my only regret was that myself aged 18 wasn't there to witness it. But aside from that, I loved the way the whole thing was done, from beginning to end. The only thing I didn't like was the socialist woman next to me who snorted whinnyingly at MA's attempts to act like the peasantry. Geez. We got it, lady.

Anyway, on the whole, a great movie. KD is a champ as usual and whatsy who plays Louise XIV is an absolute gem. Hats off to Rose Byrne, Judy Davis, Rip Torn - what a beaut - and the whole look and feel of this great film. I l-o-v-e-d the 60s hippie referencing camerawork towards the end.

On the whole, things going pretty fine. And you?

why are there always ambulance sirens when a cool change is imminent?

Possible answers:

1. People can't stand the tension and do themselves damage or various organs just naturally shut down
2. They aren't ambulance sirens, they're Bureau of Meteorology sirens warning of possible light rain. The BOM and the Ambulance Society did a bulk siren order back in the 80s
3. The ambulance drivers get overexcited by the pressure in their skulls and go crazy
4. They are the ambulances of my mind rushing to put out fires on the sails of the windmills of my mind
5. ...?

highly amusing juxtaposition

Dowd's Furniture, Post Office Place, Glenroy.

church of dough and matches

Sydney Morning Herald, 19 July 1932, p. 12

stupidest dream EVER

Great way to start the new year, with the stupidest, most boring, annoyingly fatuous dream ever. Probably inspired by dipping into the Trouser Press guide to 90s music a few times yesterday and also by thinking to myself, I should look up the Scottish band Flowers in the International Encyclopaedia of the New Wave. And perhaps by the subject of the previous post...?

I dreamt (or is it dreamed? Now I can't remember) I received in the mail an enormous press kit for an album by an American punk band called The Idiot. The album was apparently the worst album ever made, according to the covering press release, which did not even make a particularly interesting case for this fact: it just said that The Idiot made this really terrible album, considered not putting it out, then decided they may as well.

Flipping through the press kit, full of photocopied reviews etc, I saw a comic strip which dealt with the formation of a number of 80s punk bands in various locations around the world, with only the locales themselves as illustrations. Two frames concerned the formation of a Brisbane punk band in a city parkland. Another on a Florida golf course, etc. The punchline was 'The Idiot', a reference the reader was supposed to get outright which I guess demonstrated the impact this album, or maybe just the band generally, had on the esoteric scene it was a part of.

I can't believe I had such a stupid dream, and I'm detailing it in full right here in the hope that publicising it will stop me ever having such a lame dream ever again.

Even the name of the band is pathetic. I recall there was a band (in the 80s?) called Idiot (The) which is a better name. Never heard them.