Daniel85

Go and see this movie! Go tonight! Go tomorrow! I don’t care, just go see it.

It’s a wonderfully disturbing film that blends the lyrical beauty of the fantastic with some of the harshest realities of life. The fantasy element of the story is basically a grab-bag of every fantasy trope under the sun, but not in a bad Harry Potter way. (What? Back up that argument? Nah…)

The only problem is that it’s in Spanish (subtitled), which in itself isn’t really that much of a problem if you can read above a primary school level. No, the trouble stems from the fact that because of the film’s supposed inaccessibility to a mass audience, it’s only playing at trendy indie cinemas like Kino or Cinema Europa (at least in Melbourne), so you have to put up with saturnine hipsters who do things like laugh extra loud at Stella Artois ads (in French), just so everyone in the theatre knows that they understand French. True story.

“I kept picturing myself catching him at it, and how I’d smash his head on the stone steps until he was good and goddam dead and bloody.”

So did all you G-Town types have fun on Tuesday?

I was out pretty much all day, helping mum gather stuff for Brother Tim’s birthday (which was on Wednesday, procrastination always being the order of the day in this house). We were at this one shop down in Belmont (cos it’s in the Barwon Valley, you see, so it’s “down”) and the guy at the counter was all apologetic that he’d have to write us out a receipt, because their power was off.

Driving home shortly after that, we noticed the lights were out at that massive intersection down behind where the old Go-Karts used to be (Hooly knows what I’m talking about…). We would’ve noticed sooner, but mum always takes the ass-backwards way home from Belmont.

Continuing on without incident, we were surprised to find the lights at Townsend Rd/Bellarine Highway out as well. Of course by this time we started to twig that there might be something of a blackout in progress. I put the radio on to find out what in tarnation was going on, but was met with static at every pre-programmed frequency. K-Rock, Bay FM… nothing. Total zombie movie shit there, essential services failing and all.

We got home, and mum spent about a minute pressing the garage door remote and getting increasingly frustrated while I laughed my ass off. I eventually managed to bark out “Power’s… bwahahaha… out… aaaaahahahahaha… mum!”

So we went inside, and like a really bad late-90s roleplaying game, family members popped out from corridors and side-rooms, telling us what we already knew. My sister had been at the movies seeing “Crappy Feet” (you guys can use that one, if you want), and the power went off half-way through. I can only imagine the sheer chaos of a depowered movie theatre full of harried school-holiday mums and confused kids. I bet it was hilarious.

We all pretty much sat around in the blistering heat, sans fans or cooling, saying ‘faaark’, ’struth’, ’spewin’!', and all the other disbelieving curses in the Aussie vernacular for a while, before just deciding to sit in the car with the AC on, cruising the dial for a functional radio station. The big boys like Fox and Nova were still operational, so we suffered through the homicide inspiring voices of the fuckwads they get to DJ on those stations to get the info we needed. Power out from the inner suburbs all the way out to Geelong? Faaark. Struth. Spewin’.

Heading back inside to the hellish sepulchre of a suburban house without cooling on an Australian summer day, we decided to follow Winston Churchill’s famous advice and ‘go down to the beach’. Well, Winston Churchill via Karl Pilkington anyway. Luckily I’d received a call from my boss informing me that there’d be no work that night, for obvious reasons.

So we piled into the car and headed to ‘The OG’ (I coined that term in 2003. Me. Now everyone’s fucking using it without giving me credit.) I’m too cool to look like I’m having fun, though, so I just sat up by the dunes, reading and taking photos of the beach to make a certain snowbound Seattle girl jealous.

We headed home just after 8, walking through the door to a beautiful cacophony of functional consumer electronics. LG. Life’s Good.

Anyone ever read this book as a kid? There was a TV series too, which I’m trying to track down. Gotta love late 80s Aussie bogans.

I guess the main/only reason I liked the book (and TV show) was because it was set in Geelong/Melbourne, and so all the references to things like Torquay, Kardinia Park, Eastern Beach, and school trips to the Old Melbourne Gaol were validating to a piss-ant little Geelong kid.

Anyway, I found a copy of the book at an op shop yesterday, and flipped through it for any mention of G-Town. I came across this stirring passage:

‘Carn the cats (sic),’ bellowed the crowd.

The rain poured down. It was freezing. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was snowing soon.

Finally the last siren went, heralding the end of the game. What a match! Geelong had lost by a goal, and Jacko was standing on his head, kicking his legs in the air. He didn’t care. He was a cert to be up before the Tribunal for mangalating three Richmond players. By the time we got the train back to Geelong I was wondering if it had all been worth it. There were certain advantages to watching the match at home in front of the telly, except for Herohead, who kept telling everyone how to play the game all the way through.

‘Mangalating’. ‘A cert’. Hahahahahaha.

And ah… Jacko. Such a fucking lunatic.

“Oi!”

This thing scares the absolute shit out of me.

Ever since I saw a newsbyte about it a couple of years ago, I’ve been intrigued. If you don’t know about Asimo (and the little bugger’s been all over the news lately, so I don’t know why you wouldn’t…) it’s this little humanoid robot that Honda’s been developing to take over the world. Just look at Koizumi-san there, clapping in delight at the antics of his electronic homunculus. Yeah, they say there are only 20 Asimos in existence, but I bet it’s more like 20,000.

Now, I love robots. I grew up with Transformers, Short Circuit, Batteries Not Included, and the droids from Star Wars, but actually seeing one knocking about is a whole ‘nother thing. The feeling I get seeing Asimo walking around, kicking a soccer ball and shit is pretty much the definition of Freud’s uncanny.

Asimo actually reminds me a bit of this little fella:

My friend Adam had a My Pal 2 when we were kids, and I used to dread sleepovers at his house, cos I knew that scary fuck would be standing on the other side of the room looking at me.

I always wondered why there was never a My Pal 1. Maybe the prototype developed a homicidal programming glitch and they had to start again. Maybe they thought putting a random number in there would help sales/marketing. I know which explanation I believe.

Robots, man. They’ll be the end of us.

Is your name Samuel, or just Sam?

I really need to know.

Thanks.

Your pal,
Dan Roberts.

Fat and Skinny went to bed.
Fat rolled over; Skinny was dead.

I was planning to write a tongue-in-cheek obituary for the creator of instant noodles, but today I learned that someone I actually deeply care about passed away, and I lost the black humour.

Iwao Takamoto, animation legend, has died. Anyone who’s ever been a kid will probably be familiar with his work. He contributed so much to the design of so many great Hanna-Barbera cartoons.

Chances are you’ll remember his name, too, if you’re a credits-watcher like me. Before I really knew much about the industry, and was just a kid enjoying the ‘toons, I always used to look for Iwao in the credits, just cos his name was different to the usual ‘Bob Smiths’ and ‘Chuck Brubakers’.

I don’t really know what to say, but Mark Evanier always does a bang-up job eulogising industry greats. It’s just a shame we’ve lost so many recently that Mr Evanier’s been working overtime on obituaries. Check out what he has to say about Iwao Takamoto here, and go watch some Scooby Doo or Jetsons or something.

Shut up, Mark Twain!

I’m not dead, obviously, because I’m writing this blog entry– although that would make for a hilarious, irreverent, Weekend At Bernie’s style comedy blog. No, you’ll find I’m quite alive. Unlike Andrew McCarthy’s career. Hah! Take that, Brat Packer!

Just thought I’d drop a note to explain my blog absence. Blabsence? Blogsence? Bah, portmanteau words suck anyway.

I’ve had way too much on my mind lately to be scrawling down nonsense blog entries that no-one really cares about. (And by “way too much” I mean “her name starts with L”.)

As the great Karl Pilkington once said, “Can’t be dealing with this.” I don’t know if I’m going to continue the blog this year. Maybe I’ll keep it just to throw up the occasional junk food review (okay, bad choice of words there) and other miscellany. It may even come in handy as a communications tool during the trip to the States I’m planning for the mid-year break. 

My main problem is that I never really decided what I wanted to do with the blog. Is it a comics blog? Is it a pop culture nostalgia blog? Should I write about everyday happenings? (Well, the almost total lack of ‘everyday happenings’ in my life took care of that question, at least.)

Maybe I’m just being an idiot, and the blog’ll go on as always, better than ever in OH SEVER. Seven. Whatever.

In any case, thanks for reading and commenting and all that in ‘06. Every little comment chipped a tiny flint from the blackened husk which entraps what remains of my heart. Just kidding!

I guess I should get rid of the Christmas theme, if I do continue. It is kind of a reflection of the state of my real world abode at the moment, though. I’ve been left in charge of the house while my family’s away on holiday, so of course all the Christmas shit is still up. It’s staying up till they get back, fuck it! Christmas every day!

If I decide to keep blogging, I’ll change the header to something less festive. A candle in the window, look for it and you will know.

P.S. Former GHS students (all three of you!), I just heard that Mr. Price committed suicide yesterday. I don’t know the circumstances, nor can I even confirm if it’s true, but damn…  sad if it is. The guy was never on my top teachers list, but he was an amiable enough fellow. His mannerisms provided some enjoyment in those incredibly boring, useless woodwork lessons.