Scratching my own funny bone for shits and giggles. Lampooning books, music and being a single woman over 40. Recording observations with an almost Seinfeldian obsession for the minutiae of life. Things can get sweary around here. You understand.
The man with the three legs and a wobble board. Sicko!
I’ll probably get raked over the coals by some do-gooder for admitting this but I don’t buy music anymore. A few years back I went nuts on shareware sites and have all the music I need sitting on my hard drive. So it was with great trepidation that I found myself in a music store purchasing a CD for my daughter recently: something I hadn’t done in a very long time. She normally downloads her music too but this time she wanted the real thing. The Mini-Spy sends me on this mission armed with the title and artist and even played the song to me several times so I’d get it right. However, upon entering the store I realized I’d left the piece of paper at home and completely panicked. You might know the symptoms yourself. As you approach the shop with the song in your head, no sooner are you in the door than…blank. Not only have you forgotten the song, but the whole history of contemporary music flees your mind quicker than that quadratic equation did the day of your high school maths test. Your chest tightens, your eyes roll back in deep concentration and you pathetically try to hum the tune out loud. To your fellow shoppers it appears as if you’re having a stroke, but no…you’re in the grip of something far, far worse: you've become Forty and Forgetful; a random affliction that can strike even the most innocent. By now the 20 year old behind the counter is staring at me in a horrified fashion because she knows what’s coming next. ‘I’m looking for this CD. It’s got these long haired guys with masks on it. You know the video with the goat’s head in it and the chorus goes…and then you do it, you overstep the mark and sing straight in her face. Her look is priceless. Becoming annoyed that my impression of a goat being hot-waxed has not reminded her of the latest Slipknot album, the hunter-gatherer instinct kicks in. Damn it, you think, I’ll just start with ABBA and keep going until I find the bloody thing. By the time you’ve flicked your way through to Iron Maiden you've got blisters on your fingers, your eyes glaze over around the Billy Joel section, you frighten a small child by holding up Robert Palmer and claim ‘I lost my virginity to this song!’ and by the time you hit the Zs you’ve been beat. You’ll buy just about anything, which is, coincidentally, how Warren Zevon managed to maintain a career after ‘Werewolves of London’. I know I’m not alone. Look amongst your CDs and look into your hearts people. Were you in full possession of your faculties when you bought the best of Air Supply? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It can be cured. The electrodes hurt at first but no more than the chorus of ‘Making Love Out of Nothing At All'. Sure we’re the lucky country...but as folk gather around the bargain bin to dig their way through one hundred copies of the ‘Best of Rolf Harris’ you have to ask: just how bloody lucky are we?
TEACHER. RADIO PRODUCER. MUSICIAN. Much obliged to you for the visit. I'm a native of Brisbane and remember the floods of 74. These days I fancy myself some sort of musician, having played plenty of orchestral double bass and piano. I've worked for Education Qld as a high school music teacher and then as a phone monkey, gig guide presenter and eventually part time producer of the Dead Set Legends at Triple M radio. I've also announced Classical Music programs at 4MBS and created teaching resources for the Qld Orchestra. I was trained at the Qld Conservatorium of Music in the 80s and session work with musical theatre companies followed. I've recently recorded piano tracks for Brisbane songwriter Phil Smith and run Hurkules Entertainment (which is a fancy way of saying I'll play bass for you if you pay me) I have produced weekend radio casually on Radio 1116 4BC but am now a relief teacher. Life is good.