Monday, May 31, 2004
Impending exams, essay deadlines and five week trials makes Ms Hairy Legs cry.
The past month or so has been a real asshole. Work. Study. Work. Study. Sitting in a corner rocking back and forth, eating my hair. How do you write essays again?
I've also spent countless hours in taxis shunting back and forth between the City and the 'burbs try to round up a posse of witnesses. Why can't people remember things that are important to our case? Also, is it silly to be to be suspicious of taxi drivers? I don't drive and consequently haven't the vaguest idea about which roads or freeways and shit lead to where, which makes hour long drives in the dark a scary, scary thing.
Day time treks can be a trifle scary too. Like the time I went to interview (let's call him) a member of the clergy. Appointment was set at his place of work. I got there ten minutes to agreed meeting time and was told by his PA to go to his house instead. She asked me: "Will you be going there by yourself? (Uh, yes...?) Oh..."
So I make my way down this deathly quiet, narrow lane and get to his house. The entry is down a long, side alley. The glass doors are black and opaque. After a quick dash back into the lane way (all the while shitting myself) and a call into work telling them to send the cops out to Clovelly in case my body was next sighted floating down the Parramatta River or something, I bravely buzzed the door with my massive tote bag poised to strike.
As it turned out he was a fairly harmless religious type dude (with perhaps a strong sense of privacy? - all the better to hide his porn stash, I suppose). And so, Ms Hairy Legs lives to fight another day.
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The past month or so has been a real asshole. Work. Study. Work. Study. Sitting in a corner rocking back and forth, eating my hair. How do you write essays again?
I've also spent countless hours in taxis shunting back and forth between the City and the 'burbs try to round up a posse of witnesses. Why can't people remember things that are important to our case? Also, is it silly to be to be suspicious of taxi drivers? I don't drive and consequently haven't the vaguest idea about which roads or freeways and shit lead to where, which makes hour long drives in the dark a scary, scary thing.
Day time treks can be a trifle scary too. Like the time I went to interview (let's call him) a member of the clergy. Appointment was set at his place of work. I got there ten minutes to agreed meeting time and was told by his PA to go to his house instead. She asked me: "Will you be going there by yourself? (Uh, yes...?) Oh..."
So I make my way down this deathly quiet, narrow lane and get to his house. The entry is down a long, side alley. The glass doors are black and opaque. After a quick dash back into the lane way (all the while shitting myself) and a call into work telling them to send the cops out to Clovelly in case my body was next sighted floating down the Parramatta River or something, I bravely buzzed the door with my massive tote bag poised to strike.
As it turned out he was a fairly harmless religious type dude (with perhaps a strong sense of privacy? - all the better to hide his porn stash, I suppose). And so, Ms Hairy Legs lives to fight another day.
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Monday, May 03, 2004
Today whilst crossing the road irresponsibly, I found 20 dollars in the gutter between two parked cars. Three minutes later, after getting my lunch I crossed back through the same two cars and spotted an additional 20 and 50 dollars! Was it raining money? I looked up to see if some generous benefactor, taking pity on poorly dressed solicitors, was throwing dough out of an office window but there wasn't one. I checked if there were any people around fumbling through their pockets or quizzically examining their wallets but there weren't any either. Clearly Today Tonight was doing another stealthy Exclusive! Undercover! Expos?! on dishonest people ruining the fabric of our society and so in order to avoid being part of a prime time segment titled "Crook lawyers unmasked!!" I dutifully and suspiciously handed it all to the police.
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Sunday, May 02, 2004
Could the Bridge Street Wagamamma staff please be a bit lighter on the bean sprouts? Some of us actually want to taste the noodles in our chilli beef ramen.
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Saturday, May 01, 2004
Went to the Opera House to watch Sulid Gud last night. I wonder why there's so little talk of the group? I'd never even heard of Gud until late last year. Anyway:
I feel...a bit underwhelmed. Now Paul McDermott is a great performer and writer (though he is rumoured to be a grade-A cunt); his physical comedy is laugh-out-loud funny, but he basically had to carry the show solely on his bitty Rove-sized shoulders. The show's energy came entirely from Paul as his partners weren't able to create much presence. Cameron Bruce is great on the keyboards and delivered some sharp one-liners but his onstage persona is that of some ADD kid undergoing a treatment programme of ritalin and quaaludes, which doesn't work for me. Mick Moriarty with his shaggy hair and Count of Monte Cristo 'stache is quite endearing (in the way Richard Fidler (my favourite Doug) was as the third wheel which the other two pick on - though Mick lacks Richard's determined loser charm). Gud really needs to give Mick more stuff to do on stage.
The songs were funny, the banter between the trio wasn't too shabby and the audience had a great time. The Gud crew were also fairly sober during the performance (I understand their state of sobriety at shows is quite random); Mick hung around the Studio at the Opera House afterwards to chat with fans and Cameron stood at the exit inflicting Gud-goers with hugs. You can't watch Gud without comparing it to the Doug Anthony Allstars because they've got the same set up of three comedians and musicians doing stand-up and singing songs in which the gags are set up the way that DAAS songs were. The show is enjoyable (and I'd go again) but even though I tried to watch it on its own merits, it made me really miss the frenzied, narcotics-withdrawal energy of the Dougs.
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I feel...a bit underwhelmed. Now Paul McDermott is a great performer and writer (though he is rumoured to be a grade-A cunt); his physical comedy is laugh-out-loud funny, but he basically had to carry the show solely on his bitty Rove-sized shoulders. The show's energy came entirely from Paul as his partners weren't able to create much presence. Cameron Bruce is great on the keyboards and delivered some sharp one-liners but his onstage persona is that of some ADD kid undergoing a treatment programme of ritalin and quaaludes, which doesn't work for me. Mick Moriarty with his shaggy hair and Count of Monte Cristo 'stache is quite endearing (in the way Richard Fidler (my favourite Doug) was as the third wheel which the other two pick on - though Mick lacks Richard's determined loser charm). Gud really needs to give Mick more stuff to do on stage.
The songs were funny, the banter between the trio wasn't too shabby and the audience had a great time. The Gud crew were also fairly sober during the performance (I understand their state of sobriety at shows is quite random); Mick hung around the Studio at the Opera House afterwards to chat with fans and Cameron stood at the exit inflicting Gud-goers with hugs. You can't watch Gud without comparing it to the Doug Anthony Allstars because they've got the same set up of three comedians and musicians doing stand-up and singing songs in which the gags are set up the way that DAAS songs were. The show is enjoyable (and I'd go again) but even though I tried to watch it on its own merits, it made me really miss the frenzied, narcotics-withdrawal energy of the Dougs.
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