FOUR MONTHS???

Has it really been four months since I last wrote on this thing?? Outrageous! Let’s see, what’s been going on since the last time I plonked my musings on display…

Went For An Ekka Show Day Surf At Happy Valley, Caloundra - 12 August

Solo effort, and the surf was bigger than a big Big Thing...... well, for someone at my level, anyway. Anything taller than my shoulders and longer than a bus qualifies as big, right? Thought you’d agree. Paddled for 30 minutes+ to get out past the break, getting thumped all the way. Arms very nearly decided to stage a revolt against the madman giving the orders upstairs. Didn’t catch a single wave. Realised it was time to go in when the gun surfer next to me got utterly pole-axed by the same wave that angrily devoured me and his board popped up next to my head, snapped in two. Beat a tactical retreat to shore via cowardly “dump board and swim for it” manoeuvres. Photo of what it was like provided (Author's Note: size of wave may not be exact representation of actual proportions on the day).

Weekend of Snowboarding in New Zealand - 14 - 17 August
The great thing about discovering you’re completely physically incapable of something like snowboarding is that you can remove it from that annoying list of Things You Must Achieve Proficiency In Before Dying and avoid the stress of striving for yet another less-than-essential leisure skill. Went to Christchurch to ski Mt Hutt over a weekend with Matty P and his chum Andy. The lads had fun. I was utter rubbish. Two 1-hour+ lessons and I couldn’t make it down the green run in under an hour.

Good stopover in a tremendous country pub on the way back to Christchurch from the slopes though. Plus we got a superb racist diatribe from the first Kiwis we met in Christchurch (just wanted to congratulate us on the job we’d done on the Aborigines in Oz – you stay classy, Christchurch). Had a wee return flight debacle involving a bump-off, sleep deprivation, an overnight stay in Wellington (naturally), fantastic Cuban coffee, the stonking TePapa museum, a viewing of Peter Jackson's "District 9" at the local cinema, a severe conversation drought (caused by aforementioned sleep deprivation) and, finally, our bedraggled return to Brisbane.

My 35th Birthday - 28 August

Celebrated moving into a brand-new age bracket by walking into the new flat we’d just signed the lease on to find it filthier than a Formula One boss’s home videos. Birthday was spent scrubbing surfaces and quietly singing Yazz and the Plastic Population’s “The Only Way Is Up” to myself when no-one was around.

My Sister’s Wedding - 12 September
My beautiful sis Donna tied the proverbial with her beau Clinton in a charming little ceremony in Woolloongabba, followed by a spiffy reception at Mirra in the Valley while Riverfire got all sparkly’n’boisterous outside. Highlight (apart from the obvious things) was my wee neice Ava getting the gee-willikers scared out of her by the F-111 dump-n-burn and then earnestly telling everyone throughout the night that the plane had been “LOOOUUUD”. How good is it seeing memories that will last a lifetime created right in front of you, ey?! Ooo, and big plug coming up - Sharon Pappas (http://www.sharonpappas.com.au/) did the photography. Tremendous photies. Get on board. She rocks.

Went Camping at Caloundra - 18 - 20 September
Camped. Surfed. Was having a grand old time. Then my tailbone got a truly delightful thumping coming off my board in the shallows at speed. Stood there doubled over for a good 20 minutes wondering if anyone would notice me coming into work on Monday with a Zimmer frame and an inflatable donut ring. Came home to find bike stolen out of garage. Decided to remove this particular weekend from the calendar completely next year. Obviously doesn't suit me.

Boogied On Down At The Sounds of Spring Festival - 26 September

Wicked tunes playing from intimate, tree-shaded stages. Cops clustered around the big screens showing the live AFL Grand Final instead of working. Drunk punters vigorously scrounging for empty cans to cash in at the bar for a freebie. Brisbane's second dust storm making things look eerie and feel gritty. Not in that fashionable urban way either. But still kind of cool. Saw Root (with one of TISM's ex-band members as lead vocalist) plus bits of Shonen Knife, Butterfingers, Living End, Frenzal Rhomb, Children Collide and others. And the obligatory hilarious public transport trip home surrounded by fellow festival-goers in various states of inebriation, exhaustion, come-downs or plain ol’ tired’n’emotional funkage. Not a bad festival experience.

Mexican Party At Our New Place

Had another party at our new place, this time with an el Mexicano flavour. Somehow took it upon myself to perform magic tricks, like making a bottle of vodka's contents vanish into thin air without any conscious thought on my part. Am still meeting people who, when I introduce myself, give me "that" look and tell me they met me at my Mexican Party. Yeahhhhhhhh, haven't lost the touch, me.

Informal Longreach High School Reunion At The Ship Inn

Some looked the same, some looked different, some I wouldn’t have recognised if they’d rocked up with the exact same perm and/or short shorts they used to rock back in the day. Large amounts of loudmouth soup were consumed. Reminiscing was undertaken. Marvelling at the changes in each other completed. Slideshow of photos from high school days confirmed that the 80’s were, as suspected, the Decade That Style Forgot. Generation Y, pull your head in.

Straddie Weekend for Island Vibes Festival - 29 to 31 October

Got to Straddie and set up for long weekend at the big house Sarah’s friends had rented on the hill above Cylinder Beach. Relaxed. Munched. Drank. Surfed. Attended the blues / roots / ska / dub / reggae festival on Saturday (nice, chilled-out, funky, small enough to navigate and friendly – get there next year if you can). Avoided getting snacked by any lurking 5-metre white pointers with too much press coverage while surfing. Spotted numerous whales, and even more kombi vans. Not to mention white-collar architect types with carefully-maintained dreadlocks and tie-dyed weekend attire.

Tried surfing twice at Main Beach, only to be given The Big Whatever each time by King Neptune and his hired goons, Wavey McDumpalot and Mr. Rip. Managed to snap garage key off in garage rollerdoor lock prior to game of beach Frisbee football. Anger didn’t increase sand-sprinting stamina one iota. Luckily, the bodysurfing session after our exertions was tremendous. Apart from the drunk dude who infiltrated our group, demanding the Frisbee and splashing those who didn’t cough up the goods on demand. Less than tremendous. Good opportunity to work on my Dealing With Difficult People skills, though.

Les Claypool Concert, The Tivoli - 1 December

Rubber masks, strange instruments, eerie lighting and a bass guitar virtuoso…. but too short.

Yowza. First time I’ve seen the ex-Primus lead singer and mind-bogglingly talented bass guitar wunderkind live. Decked out in a natty Victorian-era-vest-and-bowler-hat combo, and with a backing band consisting of a cellist, drummer and a multi-percussionist/jazz xylophonist all clad in tuxedos and identical rubber masks, Claypool definitely brought the weird.

I’m not that au fait with Claypool’s solo stuff, but anyone in the average-sized crowd could tell the majority of the punters were there to see Claypool unleash some old-school Primus – the few times he teased the crowd with a few bars, or when he re-appeared on stage midway through the set wearing the Mr Kringle pig-mask and carrying his electic double bass, the crowd amped up like someone had just told them they were all getting free booze at the end of the show.

Alas, no Primus was forthcoming. And apart from one of the most amazing drum solo/two-drummers-call-and-repeat sessions I’ve ever seen and some wicked solos from each of the band members, the set never seemed to reach a crescendo. There were other exceptions – a few sing-along funky rhythm gems, and Claypool’s other “costume change” that saw him re-emerge from the shadows wearing an ape mask, loping about like a chimp, mugging to the audience and playing one blistering song on a single-string bass instrument with a pull-down handle at the top (no idea what it's called) was utterly bizarre and grinningly fantastic at the same time. But the set was too short, and ended after one encore, leaving everyone confused and milling about like gobies in a fish tank.

But the atmosphere Claypool created was just like that solitary monkey-mask song – weird, twisted, off-kilter, funky, rhythmic, dark yet very whimsical and tongue-in-cheek. It would’ve fit perfectly as the soundtrack on a film like 12 Monkeys or One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Like my brother said, you won’t hear music like it anywhere else in the world. And when Claypool did decide to get his crazy-fingers on, the Tivoli seemed to shrink down to just the man and his instrument. Ridiculously, head-shakingly amazing.

Drew’s 21st - 7 November

My youngest cousin hit the Big 2-1 on the 7th of November. Hard to believe he’s now 21, but watching his mates turn up at the party was more of an eye-opener. Were my mates that beefy when we were 21? Does every high school in Australia now have a pro-quality gym for these elephantine young dudes to use free of charge between classes? Seriously, have a shufty at some photos of guys that age circa 1950 and it’s Rawbones Central – compare that to a photo of, say, Cavill Avenue on a Schoolies night and it appears that you’re looking at the same young guys after they’ve been pumped full of helium or something.

Tom Tom Crew, Judith Wright Centre - Dec 9
Once again, another reminder of how some people really did win the genetic lottery. Utter b*stards. Went to this show, (apparently billed in the States as a “hip-hop circus”), and basically tried to stay dry as Sarah and her friend Di drooled themselves dessicated next to me in our second row possies as a bunch of shockingly good-looking, athletic and multi-talented men gyrated and flexed their way through a circus tumbling / gymnastics / breakdancing / beatboxing / taiko drumming performance onstage before us.

The all-male troupe put on a good show for sure – the beatboxer was talented and comical, the drummer (despite having the ol’ kwazy eyes look) was a demon on the skins and the integration of all the different performances was tip-top. But having to wring my shoes out from the puddles of saliva forming on the floor from the ladies sitting around me was a tad icky. One lass in front of me even let out a little involuntary whimper as the spunkiest gymnast saluted the crowd with his abs within tackling distance of her seat. I swear she tensed her legs for the leap.

By the end of the show many of the women in the crowd looked a bit wild around the eyes, like a roomful of lionesses about to pounce on some tasty wildebeest. Many of those with attendant partners looked…ahem…. pent-up, shall we say? No idea why.

Excellently, I escaped being trampled in a frenzied she-stampede in the bar outside because we left before the lads made their promised post-show appearance (“Hi I’m Mandy, can I rub against you while I congratulate you on such a thought-provoking performance?”). Ahhhh, the glories of being a performer, ey?

There you go - the highlights from the last four months. Hope you all have a stonking Christmas and an arrest-free New Year's Eve.