Monday, 26th November.
FB photo album. Compilation of my videos (and one of Moo’s):
And it’s good! Can’t complain.
“Friends – you know who you are; you know we’re grateful.” – Blur, 1993. (Seriously. If ever a year was about Who Your Real Friends Are, it was 2011.)
Similarly, those who have fucked me up and fucked me over this year most likely know who they are also, and possibly how I feel about this (hint: angry, bewildered and sad) – with the possible exception of the Rt Hon Lord Mayor of Melbourne Robert Doyle (note contact details), who I strongly suspect does not have any idea who I am.
(I also doubt he reads this blog. But since it just can’t be said often enough I might as well take this opportunity to (re)state, for the record: Robert Doyle, you’re a fucking cunt. You really are.)
The bulk of this year’s SIDTY post I rendered in audio format at the coast a few nights ago. It goes into a bit more detail (although, to be honest, not all that much). Enjoy:
Vale 2011. Viva 2012.
Happy new year!
Saturday, 24th September.
An epic time was, needless to say, had.
The Patrick Porter award for the best present and best guest overall goes to Kirrily. The prize for the most perverse guests goes to the Keith! Party crew – comprising on this occasion Talkshow Boy, 2-SHEE, Hot God, Gezus and entourage including Ms C. C*ulter (alias unknown) – who turned up unfashionably early, immediately occupied what would normally be the dancing room and systematically set about turning it into a chillout room. WTF. (NB: And it was *great*.)
Prize for the most long-lost-but-pleasingly-now-seemingly-regained former CH party regular goes to Vicwie. Prize for the best guest who wasn’t able to attend physically but who came in essence goes, as always, to Wads. Prize for the best autographed copy of Kafka’s “Metamorphosis” and best Tasweigan mafia attaché goes to Doktor Midnight aka The Dan Cross Revolution. Prize for the best drug by almost universal consensus goes to nitrous oxide.
Prize for the most gobsmacking act of delusionality – not to mention the most concerted but nevertheless pathetically unsuccessful attempt to ruin a birthday party of mine in the history of the world – goes to the profoundly
fucked in the head disappointing Ms G. Rouse. Prize for the most departing housemate of three years goes to Grim$ha.
Prize for the most heroically tenacious still-recovering-from-her-own-birthday-shenanigan-the-previous-night attendee and all-round best MC-Ren-would-you-please-give-your-testimony-to-the-jury-about-this-fucked-up-incident regaliousness goes to Toots.
Special award for the mouthiest ho goes, as it generally does, to Kat (see audio, below).
Extra special thanks to, y’know, everyone. Seriously.
Friday 17th September.
It started out as the intended convivial quiet gathering.
Suffering some uncertainty as to whether I was being terribly rude – but hey, it was my birthday, and moreover Luke forced my hand. As in literally picked me up and carried me out the door – I abandoned said gathering temporarily to go see these people play a venue down the road with a roomful of balloons at around 11pm.
(Due to a combination of behind-scheduleness and licensing restrictions, they very nearly didn’t. But in the end they beat the odds – and the law – and totally did.)
Then, with a few new guests in tow, we returned to CH an hour and a bit later to find the former quiet gathering had unexpectedly hit critical mass in our absence and was comprehensively going OFF. Omg!
The universe, in effect, threw me a bitchin surprise party.
Big thanks to everybody who conspired with the universe to make it such a happy one.
All of V*cw*e’s parts have been edited out – which is a shame IMHO, coz they’re golden. But so it goes.
(She got kind of shitty at me about the whole thing, which was a bit upsetting. This is the first time anyone’s ever gotten pissy at me over blog audio. There’s an interesting post in all of this. But methinks it’s a story for another time.)
In happier news: I found out on Tuesday that, against all expectations, I got into art school.
This year was all about recovery. It started out in the absolute pits of hell, slowly got better, and – a few ickle problems here and there aside, but whatcha gonna do – ended all up in unmitigated gnarley.
As per last year I feel more like talking about people than doings or accomplishments. Specifically, and without wanting to get too gushy, all the people who’ve helped me in all their various ways to remember what the whole circus is about. Really forgot for a while there. Fucken’ sucked.
So couldn’t have done it without yiz.
The admittedly sometimes finite limitations of my resources notwithstanding, these people can – at any time, and to whatever extent they may deem necessary and/or desirable – stand the fuck under my umbrella.
I’d also like to extend a really colossal, biblical-epic-stylez “fuck you” to one or two other individuals whose selfish, infantile cuntishness and astonishing lack of Vision ™, conversely, reeeallly hasn’t helped. Anyone. But I won’t. It won’t help. We can only have faith that in time they will grow the hearts, brains, spines and souls they surprisingly appear to lack.
Having A Soul: It’s Good.
Happy new year.
But I’m ready for it to be over now.
UPDATE (Friday): You are not listening to me, weather.
Although, y’know, in some ways it was almost too easy.