GORDIE, HOMEY, AND THE TIME I PISSED MY PANTS IN PUBLIC.

EXILE ON TRUMBULL STREET

gordieandhomieThe single most prominent memory I have of the Hartford Whalers from my childhood is not any of the historical milestones that are typical of nostalgic anecdotes; no Ron Francis trade, no Adams Division titles, no Whalermania parades. I didn’t even go to the last game. I was a deeply troubled sixteen year-old runaway and drop-out by the time the Whalers said goodbye to Hartford. The Civic Center and the 15,000 or so mourners who packed it to the rafters that day seemed a million miles away to my teenage self. It was a dark time to live in Connecticut and a dark time in my life, and quite frankly I was far too concerned with cultivating my image as a miserably cool punk rock kid to be caught dead wearing kelly green and crying in public.

In a way it is perfectly fitting that the one thing I remember…

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No more mystery

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Had to pick my mate’s kid up from ice hockey camp today. Flynn is having a great time. Me not so much. Had to help peel all the stinky sweaty gear off the kid and then put them in the storage room. Gross. There is no longer any mystery what happens down in the rooms at the rink. I dont know what I thought happened down there but the reality is way less glamourous. Not as sexy as Keanu makes it look.

Ranginui and Papatuanuku

rangi and papa

I’ve been crook. I’ve had to go to the hospital a few times and had to recover.Still on the mend. Haven’t written much, had wanted to submit for the Ada Cambridge prize that closed on Tuesday 8 March 2016. Instead I was in a morphine and anaesthetic fugue from the emergency surgery I’d lived through the day before. I hadn’t been able to polish the piece I had been working on for submission in the week leading up to it because I was very ill but passing myself off as okay. I keep coming back to this picture: The Sky-father and the Earth-mother. They were pulled apart by their children, Tane the god of forests and trees managed to tear them apart. That’s how I feel.Torn apart. Torn in two. Never reconciled.

Melbourne Market Grocery Service

Delivering market-bought veggies to tables.

Most of us have that idyllic image of spending our weekends at local farmers markets but more often than not life gets in the way and we end up visiting the local supermarket, left feeling overcharged and overwhelmed.

Ugly Veggies is a Melbourne-based shopping service that goes to the market for you. We know where all the best produce is, at the best prices.

Our products may not be perfectly round or straight but they taste delicious and cost a fraction of supermarket prices.

New online story launching soon but for now, if you have a shopping list sent it through and we’ll go on the hunt.

vegtotable@gmail.com

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Briefs: or how I found out Iʻd been dumped by a friend.

I had wanted to make this an upbeat post about the great time I had Friday night. Plans to inform the universe of the magnificent laughs and risque fun to be had at the Athaneum on Collins Street in Melbourne. The need to share the buzz created by the hardworking, creative, outrageously sublime team behind Briefs- the stage show. It all just fell by the wayside about ten minutes ago when I realised that not only have I lost friends because of my illness but the opportunity to copy edit a book that will come out early next year. When people say they understand your circumstances when you explain the battle you fight daily, hourly, moment to moment, maybe don’t believe them. Don’t believe they will support you on your journey down the rabbit hole and your eventual crawl out of it. They will forget your agony as soon as you finish admitting there is a problem. They will look to extricate themself as quickly as possible and as they squirm out of the tricky situation that is now your prolapsed friendship, they will wish they had never asked. Adopt a strictly Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy and you will maintain the illusion. Never show your truest self, it will only end badly for you.

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