theexcitableboy

[theexcitableboy]

These are just some thoughts that have been rolling around my head lately. Figured I would write about it an effort to get it out of my head. You might think its a bit emo/whiny, but hey it’s my blog and you did click the link.

This past year has made me realise that I’ve grown apart from some...

[theexcitableboy]

I'm sure you've all seen this video. I am very sure. If you haven't seen this video, then...well, I don't know. This is one of those situations I should never have to face, like the time I was forced at gunpoint to eat my own beard. Or the time I was faced with my identical yet evil twin, and had to convince the police that the only way to be sure was to shoot us both. Or the time I turned up to a gun-fight and all I'd brought with me was a rather limp french loaf. Or the time King Solomon turned to me and said "well, I'm stumped - what do YOU think?" So now you can watch the video, and your lives will be that much richer for it. However, if you are particularly allergic to My Pal Bill (but want a glimpse of a certain Detroit six-piece band front man - look for a hat), try the Shatner-free video below: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sRkD5Nfgfz0

[theexcitableboy]

The DC3 album launch. In the mid-eighties to late-nineties Australia (and Melbourne in particular) were plagued by a balaclava-wearing band who spouted a unique combination of vitriol, wordplay, humour and catchy music. TISM. They wrote on all topics, be they current politics, suburban life, lovelife injustice or football teams, and they did so anonymously. The attached song was a minor hit for TISM, the above-mentioned group known for never revealing their identities, taking to the stage in outrageous costumes and provocative lyrics that were often abrasive, critical, and deeply funny. After a decade and change of releasing their particular musical vitriol, they split up, identities unknown. Well, sort of unknown - they appear right at the end of this video, the last of many bands, but one member actually appears without his balaclava in that video, dancing - GO FIND HIM!!! Over the years, most members were identified and found not to be a) AFL players (a topic often written on), b) members of other, more socially accepted bands, c) members of children's entertainers "The Wiggles". In reality, some were teachers, some were musicians. One was Damian Cowell, the "DC" in "The DC3", who has continued to make interesting music peppered with his own distinct wit. On Saturday The DC3 were heralded to the stage with a pre-recorded intro, mocking a Triple J announcer and popular music.  Each song featured a re-write of lyrics that always came back to the question of "The DC3 - who are they?". As that joke ran it's course, the stage was taken by three men in suits, two lanky and packing stringed rock apparatus, the third shorter and manning the keyboard. This was the eponymous trio, well-presented, unassuming. The set kicked off with the white-collar dance dirge, "Station To Station", pointing out how our lives have taken to revolving around station-suffixed places, and ideas. DC took the spotlight as they launched into "Shitdancer", with his rapid (sometimes german) lyrics proclaiming that coolness was to claim uncoolness, and yes, he's a shitdancer. As the set continued, this felt more like DC's own mantra: dodgy dance moves being mixed with an ironic point-of-view on normal life. With a musical style that can best be described as light rock with electro pop stylings, the vocals ran a fine line between spoken word poetry and a laid-back rap. It takes a sly sense of humour to deliver the following with a gravitas that could convincingly pass for honesty: "I'd like to apologize to everyone who I should apologize to. Whatever it was I said I never meant it And to everyone who really liked what I said...I meant it" Topics hit upon ranged from the urbane to the satirical, the crowd quickly being lifted along with the infectious sounds, regardless of the subject matter. Still displaying the caustic wit and cynicism from his earlier work, a song on actually being a former member of TISM was revealed as not being an ego trip, but rather a dissection of fame. A quick aside from DC revealed he was only nasty because of the mistaken belief that it got the girls. Then he wondered about the pronunciation of "Gotye" (thank you for sorting that one out for me) This was brief, the reveal of the real DC being a quick glimpse behind the curtain, but a nice one - he knows he's just a normal guy, but he's having a lot of fun with it. On that note, it's worth mentioning the performance itself. TISM often wore outlandish costumes, or utilized bizarre sets. During the DC3's performance, DC wandered the crowd whilst singing, on one occasion taking up residence on the side stage whilst delivering a well-rhymed, wryly timed diatribe on the GFC. Most of the audience grinned, the remainders looked awkward, like their wacky uncle was pushing the extent of "wacky". On stage, the crew regularly brought on flat panels, which they gradually connected and built into what appeared to be an office set, complete with a clock and whiteboard on the wall. During the penultimate song, this enclosure was completed on all four sides, the band within. A projector illuminated the front wall with the message "A bit Brechtian, isn't it?", before the band punched out pre-weakened geometric shapes, providing us the audience with peepholes into this absurd setpiece. And then it was over. Get the album, it's damn good fun.

(no more autobiographical posts after this, I promise)

[theexcitableboy]

dormitorygirl:

animalbiterate:

The Wildbunch - Neurocameraman These fellows would later go on to be called Electric Six, and you know I fell in love with them 9 years ago…time flies, but Electric Six have ANOTHER new album out this year! So go and see them live! Go and buy the musical experience! I love these guys, sincerely the nicest musicians I’ve met post-gig.

^^^

[theexcitableboy]

dallydoll replied to your audio post: Today I had the fortune to stumble across a tweet...

Only you could compare music to robots & have it make sense! The mixtapes my friends made me were my main source of finding new music as a teenager. I still have some of those pieces of paper with the tracklisting. Good times.

I am glad that you have such faith in my abilities to make sense! Personally, I think it usually comes about more due to blind luck (you should see some of the posts that never make it - oh boy is there something wrong going on there!) By the way, you just outed yourself as the only person to have listened to the song. And you know what? I still have some of those pieces of paper too :)

[theexcitableboy]

Today I had the fortune to stumble across a tweet making a short but pertinent point in regards to the ongoing war that neither side can ever really win, and yet they continue to fight. That pointless battle that wages in the grey, heavily contested somewhere that sits between the record shops, and the mp3 player. That no man's land that equally depresses the artist, and frustrates the money-weaving doom-engine that is the record labels. The timeless question of studio-crafted album versus it's Frankenstein-like sibling, the mix tape.

Well, okay it's not really timeless. In some respects we could say the upstart only really roared into life when Phillips lit the fire with the compact cassette in the early 60's, because whilst the 8-track raised the idea, it failed to deliver...but I'm digressing, and I haven't even started writing. Geez. In contrast to my tendency to discuss all facets at once, in a morass of half-thought commentary, the tweet that sparked my thoughts was succinct. Like an opinionated bullet, it struck the mark and left all of us peers nodding in agreement (even the German judge, and he's harrrrrsh). It was a fine example of the structure of content Twitter demands by virtue of the concept itself. It stated, without the hyperbole or syllable gymnastics I am so enjoying, something like this: "Albums vs mix-tapes - it's apples and oranges" Now I like fruit. Maybe not as much as Carmen Miranda because I'd never wear it, but it's pretty ace. It's delicious, most of it is good for you, and without it the Boost Juice people would be forced to find other avenues to channel their ungodly cheerful natures. I am also very much of the opinion that apples are not relatable to oranges, even outside of the oft-stated comparative idiom. One is citrus, the other is not. One is great in pies, the other should steer clear of being baked. It is a dumb idiom. However, in this case, I also think it is being used incorrectly, as it misses the key attributes that separate these two forms of musical collection. One is not citrus, but rather it has other exemplary qualities that make it a standalone, don't-compare-yourself-to-me prospect. In fact, I am strong enough in this opinion, that I have fashioned my own, possibly more considered statement: "Albums vs mixtapes - it's Terminator vs Voltron" No. Hear me out. (My point will make the most sense to people who partook of the various robo-centric film and television outings of the 80's, but you know what? You can google anything that doesn't sound like it's a real word.) An album is the result of a dedicated project group (artist and technical crew), whose goal is to create a cohesive musical recording that showcases the performers' work, highlighting their abilities to the best possible level, and entertaining you in an audible fashion. It has a single purpose, and exists solely to achieve this. The Terminator is the result of a world-wide computer network project, whose goal is to create an infiltration robot to wipe out humans. It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead.

Not an exactly identical concept, but it's the single-minded purpose that I'm hinging this on. Yeah? Still with me? RIGHTO! A mix tape lacks the overall production an album has. It is a patch-work creation, assembled from various sources of differing sound, quality and origin. Because of the broad nature it may possess, it can very well result in a finished piece that is far greater than the sum of it's parts.

Voltron is a giant robot made of smaller robot lions, and he saves the universe. The individual lions do not. So in summary, my point, (hijacked by my own digressions) is that whilst the initial idea of these two being incomparable, this only works on a format level (one pair is an audio recording, the other is robots). This differentiation based on format is important, as whilst this detail is one that can be related, in terms of content and intent, they are very, very different. Listen to Jim's Big Ego as he sums up this gestalt format so nicely! (if you wish for a copy of my own mix tape, "Eclectique 2: Son Of Voltron", ask me very nicely!)

[theexcitableboy]

Today I was going to write you a delightful entry on how the world of comic-book films just keeps getting better and better, when two things came to pass:

1. I met a group of French people, and

2. I saw two episodes of The Big Bang Theory.

Ordinarily, either one of these phenomena, would have bounced off my pop-culturally toughened skin, like...funny-looking bullets, I guess. Maybe it was the combination of the two? Maybe it was my lack of warning? Maybe it was the supreme level of inebriation? I cannot answer this question.

I cannot answer any of those questions. Answering questions in general, is a little outside of my area of expertise right now. Don't ask me what is within my area of expertise, that'd get embarrassing for both of us. After much coaxing and encouragement from "friends", I bowed and watched The Big Bang Theory. "You'll love it" they said. Because I'm "into comics, and computers and all that geeky stuff". There is some truth to that, except computers hate me. So I acquiesced, and watched this clever sitcom that I was bound to love. I hate it. It is the single most embarrassing thing I have watched. The writers assume that not only are all geeks like those boys, but that we all think that archtype is hysterical. You know who finds that kind of nerdishness turned up to 11 funny? I don't. Not me. I adore my comics, I play Xbox like it's a religion, and I work on websites - this is all true, but I am talk to anyone about most anything. I don't want to say anymore. The show was upsetting, unfunny and reinforced my belief that sitcoms in general are not for me. *deep breath.*

*1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10* The French Girl Incident was a lot more tame than such a title might suggest. Such a title suggests a 70's gangster film with Michael Caine, or a Guns'N'Roses album, or at best an episode of the Goon Show (RIP, Spike Milligan). It's far more tame than any of these. We were out drinking, Chief started talking to a bunch of girls dancing, and then with the speed of an intercontinental viper, one of them lashed out and dragged me into the arrangement. This action did of course take me completely by surprise, and drag me well and truly out of my comfort zone. I have no problem with confident women named Carolina - I have a problem with dancing.

Dancing is something I have submitted myself to voluntarily for the last decade. I use such phrasing, as for me it's akin to a more coordinated individual volunteering themselves for shock therapy: it's not a fun experience, and you often spend the majority of your time during it, wondering what on earth you were thinking. So we danced, like a ship on the ocean, romanced. The remainder of Carolina's tribe were mute, leaving me to assume a language barrier that would prevent any discussions not based on arrhythmic movement to music.

So the dancing continued, and Chief laughed at my predicament - he had no intention of being involved, and was thoroughly amused at the social situation he had engineered. It had all been a ruse, a honey pot of a trap to get me, the professional recluse, to breach my comfort zone and do something I'd not do on my own volition. Why he laughed like a maniacal evil-life-creating scientist, I don't know, but he did. Probably because he's EVIL.

When surrounded by beautiful women time does not stand still, but rather just passes in a far more surreptitious manner. Sooner rather than later (due to sneaky time-dilation, I'm sure), my internal organs were flagging that the battle against scotch was beginning to be lost, and I thought that I should make tracks whilst my legs were still loyal to my cause. Chief did similarly, but not likely out of sympathy to my legs. A member of the French ensemble headed outside to smoke at the same time, and we talked with her a while. Wait. Go back a step. Yep. Talked.

It wasn't until the next day that my scattered thoughts were carefully shuffled back into order like a scribbly-design on a 1000 piece jigsaw, that I realised we had most likely been taken for a ride. - Yes, Carolina had a French accent. - No, none of the others talked whilst in the bar. Outside, she spoke fluently, and in fact was a Kiwi. (accent recognition, not a disparaging remark on Kiwi's and the english language) - Kiwi girl said she was here visiting friends. - The time range in question for the "dancing" is questionable, but potentially of a period where silent communication could have sufficed.

My thinking is thus - Carolina was French, but the rest were not. They were taking her out for a night on the town, and she provided a cover story that allowed them to not socialise with the stupid boys. The Kiwi girl almost said as much. Ah well, duped by dancing women.

I awoke refreshed and without French-Girl-phone-numbers the next day, and I had one song run through my head, repeatedly. (hit Play)

[theexcitableboy]

ithappenedhere replied to your post: dallydoll replied to your video: Watch this guy...

Well, not really. Other than that we all have genes, the only criteria for being Australian is wanting to be one.

This is very true - and I almost said as much in the main article. Dally, you are MORE than welcome to come and be a Shark-Eater with us!

[theexcitableboy]

dallydoll replied to your video: Watch this guy prepare a regular Swedish dish in a...

Oh my gosh, that video was hilarious and intense! Buy you guys eat sharks?! That’s hardcore!

I know! It totally slipped my mind how incredible we Australians are. You should fear our diet, and respect our race. Would you like to be an Australian? Tough. It's genetic.

[theexcitableboy]

Watch this guy prepare a regular Swedish dish in a very irregular style. Recently I found myself stuck for words. Not a general deficit of jumbled consonants (with a dash of vowels), but rather I had no topic or stimulus at which I could aim a torrent of these mish-mashed syllables. I've now got one. Thank you, loyal reader and bad influence. (you know who you are) (you also know who i am.) (seriously, there's no secrets here.) (there's a distinct lack of capitals as well.) FOOD, I was told. Write about your food. To which I looked at my lack of sandwich, back to the keyboard and uttered "what?". FOOD. Write about your nations foods! You (me, Nick) are Australian - you must devour Australian foods frequently. Let us (the majority of your readers), FOREIGNERS, know what that's all about. To be brutally honest, I can't do that. No, really. This is not me being some kind of smug clown about the whole thing. Well, in some ways it is, but not the immediately obvious ways. You see, "Australian Cuisine" is an oxymoron, up there with "living dead", "German comedy", and "Microsoft Works". Given our nation's background, and our particular mode of populating the place since 1788, the ensuing evolution of a national identity, food is something of a secondary consideration. We eat it, sure. Often. Like the shouty Swede in the above video, we definitely have our own ways of doing things, but something we hold aloft and say "EAT THIS - IT'S AUSTRALIA"? Nope. We have lamingtons  - there you go, sponge cake with chocolate icing and coconut. We barely even grow coconuts in Australia, let alone sponge cake. Who the hell cultivates sponge cakes? But there's nothing I can point at that is particularly, unequivocally Australian. Nothing outside of desserts and snacks. What does this mean? Naturally, we only eat dessert and snacks. Done. That's not true - we have a rich array of foods at our disposal, but we are of such a mixed background that we have adopted many dishes as part of our standard repertoire. Jaffas - Chocolate balls coated in orange-flavoured shells. Good for chomping on during films, or for flinging around darkened cinemas like tasty, ankle-rolling shuriken. Chiko Roll - No one has any idea what goes into these things. They look like spring rolls on steroids, and (anecdotally) contain a mixture of beef, vegetables, shredded newspaper, and anything else that's not-quite oil soluble. Vanilla Slice - (Our version is quite different to the original French) The result of aberrant kitchen science, these semi-wobbly yellow cubes are proof that custard can be given a state of neither liquid or solid, and become an item in high demand at school canteens nation-wide. Kangaroo Steak - Ever had a steak? Like that, but a bit chewier, and made of a national emblem. Yeah, we should probably feel odd about that. Flake - This is actually something pretty special. I believe that you can find Fish and Chips most anywhere in the world, but the fish you eat varies. You can find haddock, cod, sole, salmon, but only in Australia (I think), do you find SHARK. That's right! We serve up one of the world's toothiest predators as a fast-food dish. We established our seniority in the food chain by punching that sea-going predator's rep in the face by deep-frying him. Okay, I take back the flippant comments about no food culture. WE EAT SHARKS. FEAR US.

[theexcitableboy]

(I didn't make that picture, but I'm really wishing I had) Hello Robert, I read an article today about an Amazonian tribe that has recently been found, who have no concept of time. This idea intrigued me, as it means that along with having no concept of having an age, they would also have no idea of time-related punctuality. Consider for a moment, a world where the constraint of late did NOT equal "free", and you are now imagining a world without the speedy delivery of pizzas that we all enjoy. Depending on whether Domino's delivers to the Amazon, this point may be moot. They don't deliver to parts of Pascoe Vale (established over 150 years ago), so who can determine where they draw their boundaries? Dough-wielding bastards.

This got me thinking about a lot of things, and coffee. But it also made me think about how overly dictated our society is by times and dates, and coffee. If someone ever scoffs at the notion of obsessive compulsive behaviour, ask them how many months we are currently from Christmas. Then get them to figure out how many Saturdays before Christmas. If they can answer either of these questions, then they are a flaming hypocrite - throughout our entire lives, a part of our brain is constantly keeping time on events and progress of time. We also remember our last coffee. We spend so much of our time organising our lives around these imaginary milestones and markers, that we've lost track of just how fictitious the entire concept is. Our culture is now based around this arbitrary dissection of time, to the point where we all rigidly adhere, to the point that we chastise others who do not feel like conforming to this transparent system quite as strongly as we may. Just for a moment, imagine that the only thing you were interested in, schedule-wise, was what was going to happen between your waking and sleeping again today. Pretty awesome day, huh. This world you are now imagining, will have me in it - I am egocentric enough to think that I've got your attention, and so will now be present. This me, and this you, will not wear watches, or talk about "next week". Our locked iPhones will not display the time - they will have a blank screen devoid of numbers. We will not stop our activities at a particular point because we have stated we would begin something else at that moment, marked by a specific combination of numbers. We will do what's important, and we will focus on what matters. Namely, coffee. I AM IN YOUR HEAD. What a different world that would be! So many more things would happen as they should, because you are now completely invested in the NOW. Procrastination will go the way of the Dodo, the Dinosaurs, and Dan Aykroyd's comedy career. You aren't going to put something out of mind for two weeks because the service provider tells you thats when they want it. Parties would occur the same day that the mood struck - we would organise and do things so much faster than we do now. Each day would be active, and full of experiences and productivity, if only because your entire brain and existence is now living in the moment and not scattered over time and space, activities noted carefully on a grid of potential dates. Project Managers would become extinct. Microsoft Outlook would be a waste of 1's and 0's. Swatch would have a company-wide hissy fit, and then start making trendy swiss cars. We keep trying to find time for coffee. Maybe instead we should just let coffee happen, and leave the time for another day. (that last bit made my brain scream)

[theexcitableboy]

So you wanna know who my favourite comic-book character is? I will sit here, with The Dark Knight soundtrack playing on my iPod, sipping coffee from my Batman mug, and with a deep, piercing growl of a gaze, I will type for you my answer: Deadpool. That was a bit mean, wasn't it? But I have my reasons. I don't like you all, you're faceless, anonymous net denizens who want nothing more than to steal my soul. Right? Right? Oh, you're not. Pardon. So anyway, why the super-switcheroo above? Because I am strongly of the opinion that Batman, the caped role-model that he is, is no longer a comic-book character. I KNOW, RIGHT !?!??! Rather, he is a cultural element. He has transcended the media of comics, and is now omnipresent, in terms of culture and the world. People who have never read a comic know that Batman is the thinking hero with a belt of answers. People who HAVE read comics have a very similar understanding. In terms of recognition factor, Bruce Wayne's psychoses-trip now has more in common with Mickey Mouse than he does with, say, the Creeper. Deadpool on the other hand, is almost diplomatically-injunctioned to remain within the realms of comics and internet in-jokes. Sure, he's cameo'd in a film and is likely to get his own in the next decade, but he's developed and created specifically for those "in the know". Which is fine by him, and works as he's pretty much a parody of comic tropes and action-hero archtypes. He's great fun! He's self-aware, written in a modern parlance (which I'm curious to see how will date), and relevant to his surroundings. Witness! As Deadpool's involvement in a larger Marvel event serves to point the futility of the activity! Thrill! As he effortlessly proves he is the greatest at what anyone does, but still isn't taken seriously! Weep! As he builds a shrine to the sadly-departed Bea Arthur... Batman may be Forever, but Deadpool is for the true believers.

[theexcitableboy]

dallydoll liked your audio post: So I’ve been convinced to give tumblr a chance....

...Or I can add my reply here! I'm loving all these options! But what is the correct protocol? I want to be a good tumblr, not a bad tumblr. I want to be a slinky, not a jelly-based dessert. I want to be a dodecahedron

[theexcitableboy]

WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST HUMAN MEMORY?

What a crafty wording. See, if it had been asking the same words in a different order, I could give any number of wondrous answers, such as...What is your earliest memory, human?BIG ASSUMPTION my robot friend! But to honour the agreement of our ancestors - an answer: My earliest memory is defined by the fact that I had indeed woken that day, and had to find my passport immediately, as we were catching a plane to Berlin. This was 3:30am in the morning.But to answer the question you actually asked, I will use your actual wordings. (but note the definition of "human" is still valid) I'd have to be brutally honest and say my earliest human memory was the very moment my synapses were constructed and made to resemble your earthly brains. The first thought, a memory etched in my now grey goo-like psyche muscle, was the knowledge that after Zarlok had finished activating the veta beam, I would now be confined in this meaty construct of organs and viscera, always to walk on only two legs, and never to return to my home planet of Yerlaag.But why am I locked in this form, and so very very very far from home?NEXT QUESTION!

[theexcitableboy]

Deep in a discussion with a friend about life, she threw out the multi-barbed question that is "I always screw up my own life. Nothing works out - what am I doing wrong?" There are a few ways to answer this question, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna go with either the hard-ass, or the soft-ass approach. I'm going with the no-ass approach. (I got back into a bit of a health kick today, involving buying a lot of fruit and doing push ups. Shut up.) This is my theory. My take, if you will: Life is like a board game. This board game is missing the rulebook (or it's there, and it's in seven languages, none you read), and you're pretty damn sure that after comparing the contents to the box, there are pieces missing. Now, with what you have before you, you can either grit your teeth and work at making that damn thing make sense, or you can take what you've been given, and make your own fun of it. That's right. I can, and will dissolve big, emotionally charged questioning of life, down into a parable based on my first experience with a certain board game in my youth. An experience that forever froze my understanding of...well, everything. As far as I'm concerned, my life is a game of "El juego de la sospecha" where the lead pipe is missing, and Miss Scarlet is forever eluding me. My friend told me that was either profound, or stupid. Wait until she hears the way marriage parallels to Uno game mechanics.

[theexcitableboy]

So I've been convinced to give tumblr a chance. I'm not sure it's going to be up to my needs.

I use such confrontational language to describe it, as I'm a social-media apocalypse weary cynic, with a tremendous array of content at my finger tips, and dextrous hands long used to firing them off in various directions, like abstract electronic shuriken of pop-culture.

Does this ability make me cool? No. However I've just had a recent change (last 24 hours) to my life that is leaving me at a cross-roads of "Do I need to reflect and potentially work on who I am", and "Get back to doing what you always loved". Tumblr might help with this. Tumblr might also distract me sufficiently to the point that I just hitch the next ride that goes my way.

[theexcitableboy]

"I suppose on some deep and profound level, the evening would seem incomplete to me without three minutes of howling."

-- Warren Zevon, 1993