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.
This is Sia Arcour. She is an ice hockey goalie par excellence. She stars in my current work in progress, The Hot Hand (#1 Harder than Ice series). She’s resilient, smart, strong and independent. Her weakness is Italian food (especially desserts), a good crime novel and a certain funny, intelligent and gifted ice hockey player…
I’ve been rather depressed since the end of the AIHL season when my team, Melbourne Ice, made the playoffs but lost in the grand final to our nemesis. Not happy. So to ameliorate this dire situation I’ve been watching NHL games and the Men’s Ice Hockey finals at Sochi.
My housemate doesn’t like sportsball but she’s learnt two things about ice hockey these last five weeks. She now knows who Sidney Crosby is and the commentary of any ice hockey game will be peppered by seriously funny homoerotic innuendo. Neither of us have figured out if this is on purpose for entertainment value. The best proponent was Robert Tennisberg (best sports commentator name evar!) We laughed so hard at some of his superlative comments at Sochi that we were in tears. That is bang for your youtube buck as far as we are concerned. The American and Canadian commentary was funny but didn’t quite rate like the Slick Swede. The lols were desperately needed and Raunchy Rob didn’t let me down. During the Sweden vs Canada gold medal final his nuggets were pure comedic gold. “Sweden need more penetration.” “He’s being smothered by two or three Canadians (I hope to go the same way).” “Winning makes everything feel better.” We lost our shit when he said “sniff of a loose puck.” It was as if I was back in high school math class, trying in vain to not get busted laughing because I’d chosen to sit next to one of the funniest guys in my year level.
A co- worker tells me she doesnʻt do social networking, if she wants to know the family gossip, sheʻll ring her 94 year old mother. Mum gets facebook status updates from all of the family and thus knows who is getting married, having babies, etcetera. She was also signed up to Blendr by one of her nephews. I laughed in my co- workers’ face when she told me. ʻDo you know what Blendr is?’ I asked. ʻI do now. She gets date requests from 101 year old men.’ We both squawked with cackles at that. Love is blind, ageless too.
At Dimitri: you saucy Siberian, I still love you ❤
At Adrian: PASH HER, BRO!!!
At Sydney: You’re gonna have to choose real soon where you belong, girl: with the hardcore, militant, right wing Alchemists; who treat you like an expendable pawn and a naive, easily manipulated child. Or the cobbled together ‘family’ of Moroi royalty in exile (Jill), dhampir guardians (Eddie & Angeline), ex Strigoi made Moroi again (Dimitri & Sonya) and the bad habit having Moroi playboy, Adrian. <br />Of course this is a series so none of this is gonna get resolved in this latest installment. I liked the pace and I didn’t pick the sneaky connection one of the secondary character’s has to the big bad of this novel until right before the reveal, so kudos to Richelle Mead. I’m actually feeling a good sense of respect for main gal, Sydney. She is very strong, capable and resilient in a very different way to Rose Hathaway of the VA series. And this is a great thing. I’m also keen to give it 4.5 stars. It didn’t make my mind, heart and soul shred like my 5 star fav titles but it’s definitely a slow burn up the charts of great reads for me ; D
I introduced my housemate to Black Books and Seven Periods with Mr Gormsby this weekend. The former was a cult classic dark comedy tv series from Irish comedian, Dylan Moran. The latter was a Kiwi comedy tv series with a deeply bigoted central character, Mr Gormsby, relief teacher at a fictional low decile boys’ high school. Both series centred around the anti social/antiquated white male protagonists and their interactions with people they encounter in their respective workplaces: book shop and high school.
I was amazed that my housemate had not encountered Black Books, former resident of old Blighty that she is, hadn’t seen it as it was originally aired on Channel 4. She was more of an ITV viewer, whatever that means. I had enjoyed a stint living in London (Camden) and outside of Cardiff (St Athan) for some months in 2002 and during that sabbatical enjoyed many trashy, racy and entertaining British shows.
Upon my return to Australia I realised the lack of quality comedy shows that really pushed social boundaries. Perhaps it was the grim political climate of that time period, but we as a comedy producing nation weren’t doing any heavy lifting in the tv series department (exception being the wonderful and very un P.C. Life Support with Abbie Cornish and Brendan Cowell). Things did improve in the mid- late noughties, but I digress…
This is the second time in six years when I have shared a residence with this housemate. Many things have changed in this time frame, however, our shared sense of black humour is as caustic and virulent as ever. It has been a pleasure for me to renew my fervour for Bernard Black and to snicker at the very politically incorrect behaviour of the students and staff at Tepapawai Boys’ High School.
We may have evolved as people, becoming mothers/homeowners (her), and traveled academics (me) but as friends enjoying comedy shows we can still be young, dumb, carefree and wholly un P.C. tv viewers. Just don’t tell anyone, okay?