January 1, 2008 – 3:07 pm
Justin Heazlewood AKA ‘The Bedroom Philosopher’ appears, positively relaxed when I catch up with him at his Melbourne compound, located in a secret room in the back end of an abandoned op shop. He leans back in an electric vibrating beanbag eating Doritos, dressed in a brown corduroy jumpsuit with an orange helmet (a short lived 1970’s contraption that administers vitamins through the skin). My first question is possibly one that is on the tips of many readers lips – quite simply, where did he go?
Justin takes off his glasses and gazes off into the distance, as if on the verge of tears. It appears that the subject of his BMA column is one that troubles him.
‘No, no …
December 30, 2007 – 3:30 pm
This article was originally published in the ‘Secret Lens Business’ section of JMag #11.
This photo, which has had its singed edges digitally repaired, is the only known evidence of the most catastrophic function in the history of Tasmanian event management – my 18th.
The day started well. I already felt blessed that my birthday fell on a Saturday. I stepped out of the hairdressers into the clean north-west coastal sun, my hair freshly tipped and spiked. I was a product of my time, wearing product of my time – fudge factor three from memory.
The week prior I had been arguing with my dear Mum. She didn’t want me to have a big party – but she didn’t understand. …
February 6, 2007 – 12:45 pm
If New Year’s Eve is the grand final of Saturday nights, then Valentine’s day is the state championships for romance. Just as the behemoth of social match pressure leaves many asking who spiked their last big night of the year with ‘Socrapnol,’ Valentine’s Day is an expectation fuelled beast, chewing maniacally on greeting card pulp, reeking of potpourri and threatening to pound you into submission with its disarmingly plush feet. Yet the difference between the two is that we refuse to approach New Year’s Eve with anything less than a vehement hope that this year will be better than the last, while for many, Valentine’s Day is a heart shaped anus spewing sideshow-grade lollies of discontent.
As far as Valentine’s …
January 10, 2006 – 7:42 pm
They say it takes two to tango, and you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs – but the truth is, if you’re lonely, and you’ve drunk too much Stone’s green ginger, it’s not that hard to put on Amelie with the picture down and dance yourself into oblivion, clumsily removing pieces of dignity like a human Jenga. Also, if one Googles ‘egg free omelette’ they’ll find a number of potentially hideous, but unquestionably practical ways to keep chickens right the hell out of it. My point being that the same applies to guys and girls getting together – and in a way, Rod Stewart and Tina Turner were ill-informed in saying “it takes two,” when in fact, …
January 10, 2006 – 7:42 pm
Four years ago, a small, poor Tasmanian boy came to Canberra, down on his luck, with only a Beck cassette and a brown vintage suit to his name. He spent his time as a horse whisper at the Civic carousel, but this meant working long, voluntary hours, so he quit there and took on a casual job fishing shopping trolleys out of Lake Ginninderra and throwing them off Telstra Tower. It didn’t last long. One grey Thursday afternoon, he spent his last cent on a Sweet-chilli chicken burger from Chicken Gourmet and some poems from that tall guy called Rudi with the wonky eye, and sat down beneath a poster pole feeling very sorry for himself. It was then that …
January 10, 2006 – 7:41 pm
There’s a lot of things I like about old people. Their cardigans and slacks fashion sensibility. Their passion for storytelling. Their lo-fi attempts to understand popular culture. Their predisposition to whistle in public places. And, probably most of all, their generally friendly nature. We’ve all had the experience of being zonked out on public transport, only to have a raspy voice waddle into our thoughts, with a non sequitur about the weather, or the ‘nice bag you’ve got there.’ Sure, to many the elderly are to be seen and not heard, and sometimes not even seen – but to me, these mini-scapes of social interaction take me back to the golden dust of yesteryear that my Nan and Pop are …
January 10, 2006 – 7:39 pm
Sometimes I think people take streetpress for granted. I mean, really, how many times have you walked past the latest edition of BMA thinking ‘oh yeah, I suppose I’ll get one, seeing as though they’re there.’ C’mon! Streetpress is a hyped-up turbo typeset of omnicolour pulp-beans and sub-cultural superscenery! It’s a defiant oblong flat-pack of grass roots democracy and the artistic epicentre of everything creative and intellectually fruitful.
Quite frankly, I don’t trust people who don’t read street press. To me, it suggests some kind of 1950’s, wool over the eyes, ‘no thanks, we’ll be right with Bert Newton and a sherry,’ middle class arrogance to pass amiably through the working week, valiumed out under the deluded notion that your …
January 10, 2006 – 7:35 pm
I remember when I was about five I used to amuse myself by scampering around to the local Telecom phone box, picking up the receiver, pressing some random numbers and having pretend conversations with Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck and Goofy. The particulars of these discussions is appropriately vague and mysterious. I suppose ‘we’ discussed the sociological and political issues of the day. Perhaps I used them as a sympathetic ear for the existential complexities of suburban Tasmanian kiddie life. Should I buy a new matchbox car? Did Fatcat jump or was he pushed? Why do my toys smell funny when I set them on fire? Would the princess from The Never Ending story ever like to share a minimum chips …
January 10, 2006 – 7:34 pm
Its 10am, Monday morning and I’m stocktaking my emotions for the millionth time. Another restless night in bed has left me feeling like the test patient in an experiment on insomniacs, but when I wake there are no men in white coats with fresh printouts to tell me if I’m normal or not just breakfast, a silent computer, a few vague deadlines and the fading engine zoom of traffic outside, giving the impression that there’s a world out there that already has a head start on the day.
I read back through some old journals. In certain moods, old writing can make you melancholic about the past, and ‘better times.’ But lately, I’ve been taking strange delight in re-reading the …
January 10, 2006 – 7:32 pm
It’s official. The novelty of being single has worn off. Chance encounters of intimacy are being chalked up as vacuous and desperate. The 3am party/bar deal-sealing perve scan is clumsy and unfulfilling. On cold Friday nights there is a lonely patch on the couch where a cuddle-savvy girlfriend should be – a giggling navigator for a rally course of DVD’s – not this calculated scrolling through names in a mobile address book – a photon blast of desire condensed into a sprinkling of digital tickets in the casual sex lottery.
Booty call. For anyone not familiar with the term, this is when you ring up someone, usually late at night, purely because you want to sleep with them. I have …
January 10, 2006 – 7:31 pm
NOTE: In a nod towards professional integrity, the name of the DJ has been omitted.
I just went to my first wedding. At twenty-six, for a long time I had been the oldest person I knew who had never been to a wedding, this drought due to a tiny extended family and emotionally disorganised friends. (I just sneezed and now there’s a small galaxy of rainbow stars on the screen, I just smeared them into a whirlpool with my t-shirt) Finally one of my best, long-term school friends set a date for her ceremony to be held on a beach – in southern Tasmania – in the middle of winter. Apparently it was easy to book.
The groom said the …
January 10, 2006 – 1:05 pm
I’ve just passed my ten year anniversary of smoking – rewarding myself with a burnt ash cake, complete with tar cream and nicotine icing, with one lit cigarette in the middle which I can’t quite gather the lung capacity to cough out. My only wish? To quit.
I compare my addiction to cigarettes to that of a rocky long-term relationship with a fiery lover. We met behind the high school gym in 1996. She had a dangerous reputation, and I’d often seen her hanging around with the rebellious older kids, in their dark jeans and dirty jackets. When my friend Danny offered to introduce me to her, I was apprehensive yet powerfully intrigued. Against the grey pastels of a fading …
January 9, 2006 – 10:00 pm
Growing up, you realise that it’s rare for things to turn out exactly how you want them to, and even rarer for your expectations to be exceeded. Most dreams don’t quite come true. Neither do wishes. Life is a bit too literal for that kind of whimsy. Except when it comes to one thing. One part of my life that has consistently surpassed my wildest dreams for the last five years. One part of my body that has remained a radiant lighthouse for the restless boat of my self-esteem. A stylish companion. A trustworthy friend. Praise be to the most inspiring and trailblazing of all my physical appendages.
Hail to the sideburns!
My sideburn obsession began in high school, when …
January 9, 2006 – 9:55 pm
It’s overcast today. The air has a tinge of fridge door freshness as I walk along the street. (must be the Woolworths hopper I just passed.) Branches are restless, a man operates a whipper snipper on the nature strip while the dehydrating puddles are swished around by the wind, leaving vaguely mathematical spirals. I’m hung over and anxious. Something happened last night that really shouldn’t have. I try to ease my worries by telling myself that my life has always been about dramas at regular intervals but things always end up sorting themselves out. I catch a gust of pollen-ice air. My brain is submarine plunged in an ocean of memory cotton. I’m a child, somewhere in Tasmania, for a …
January 9, 2006 – 9:40 pm
Sometimes, when I write ‘Love Just’ on the end of an email, I get an urge to include this disclaimer:
(Note: If you are uncomfortable with use of word ‘love’ please downgrade to ‘Cheers, Just’ If you are disappointed with the absence of xx’s . Please add them in your head.)
How much do you read into the x’s people put on the end of emails and texts? If a girl I’m remotely attracted to puts one on the end of an email I’ll get all excited. Then, if she puts the same x on the end of a group email, I’ll deflate somehow. Maybe there needs to be a new international sign for ‘a kiss and hug that isn’t …
