LapTopping Issue 38
Monday 21st February 2005
Estimated Reading Time: 11:13
(For optimum reading pleasure The LapTopping team suggests copying into word, printing out and reading on public transport. Please do not take your computer screen with you, or attempt to trace over the words with tracing paper.)



——-In-Animate objects deaths by Helen Boutcher
——-Hap-hap-happy by Ladycracker
——-Top 5 best made up words and their meanings
——-Another one of Justin’s dreams to analyse.
——-Kerry’s bit.
——-News – Gigs
——-The Bedroom Philosopher’s Wagga Wagga O-week gig report!

Plus other bits. All this for $-80! (money I would have made working)


Happy Birthday Seal 42 last Saturday!
Happy Birthday Justine Bateman 39 last Saturday!
Happy Birthday Phil Buckle (Southern Sons) 46 yesterday!



Greetings my radiating, , you look how I feel, undefinable. Isn’t it funny how much mental exhaustion is caused by the notion that one is obliged to say things, even when you don’t feel like saying them a lot of the time? I have a good friend who sometimes saunters into the fray, only to announce ‘I’m feeling beige, I’ve got nothing.’ At first I was a little confronted, as this announcement seemed to violate the base laws of polite societarial conversing that I had bowed down to for so long. But like women burned their bras in the 60’s, my friend was protesting in his own way, that..if he doesn’t feel like talking much around his friends, then none of us should feel pressured. It does not mean he is some depressed person. He is simply not a 24-hour entertainment machine. How honest can you be with your friends in this way? Australian’s hate silence.

Happy breathing!

Cheers/Love Just xx (kisses optional) what about ‘++’ it is the new international symbol for handshakes.


ON THIS DAY IN 1993 (A reading from my grade seven ‘Countdown’ diary)

EDITOR’S NOTE: As I still hadn’t started writing in it because school did not go back until March 5. Here is a bonus diary questionnaire that I filled in at some later stage.

Best record ever: Are you gonna go my way. Lenny Kravitz.
Best video clip ever: Are you gonna go my way. Lenny Kravitz
Worst song ever: (I started to write are you gonna go my way…then scrubbed it out)
Number of cassettes/cd’s I own: 3
Best song to dance to: Are you gonna go my way. Lenny Kravitz.
Most uncool record I own: Carlton tape!



GAHACKAFROCK – To be talking to a girl wearing a nice dress and have a little bit of spit land on her shoulder.

FERNLISNAP – To be walking with someone in a nice park and suddenly get angry.

TESTEPLUMMET – The sensation of a young boy jumping on a trampoline in his underwear.

BOLOGINGSPOILER – When you experiment in your cooking and try putting ginger in spaghetti bolognoise.

THUNDYSPUT – The sound it makes when you’re halfway down the stairs carrying some hot porridge and you are startled by a loud clap of thunder during a morning storm and you drop the bowl.


(Can you interpret Justin’s dream?)

DREAM: Well, there was some personal stuff about my mum driving a car off the side of a road and me getting really mad at her. Then my first long term girlfriend drove the car for a while, and I think later on I was back at my place in bed with her. I was disappointed because it kinda ended early. But THEN…I was an optimus prime, like the main guy out of transformers, the big blue truck, not me inside a suit or anything, I WAS optimus prime…but there was ANOTHER one that was chasing me. At one stage it fired at me by opening up a panel in its stomach and firing a small kitchen fork at me. This buckled me, and made my wheels kinda stretch out. Anyway, I think later on I remember firing back at him and one of my forks got him right in the head and I won.



From Helen Boettcher, Melbourne

So dead.

The journal, a place I keep my deepest darkest thoughts. It’s funny that when the thoughts are light and fluffy, bright and happy they rarely find their way into the journal.

The blue cardboard cover is worn, ragged at the edges – yes, it’s been around for over a year now. So many times it has been held tightly between my hands, opened, looked at, pages turned, hand pressed against the paper as the mind orders the writing to take place. The writing is large, bold, slanty, full of passion and indescribable pain. I’m told that large cursive writing indicates a passionate, creative personality, but really, how can such a thing be measured?

And so, after a year of confiding to the closest thing I have to a friend, I find it is time to say goodbye, find it is time to throw the journal away into the dustbin of life, the dustbin where all such things must eventually go. It lived and now it is dead, never to be written in or looked at again. It’s better this way.

** **** *** ***** ********** *************
** **** *** ***** ********** *************

Do you have an inanimate object that is ailing or has passed on? Let the LapTopping community ease your suffering by emailing Bev: laptopping@lycos.com


A moment with Kerry, the metaphysical drummer.


(said quickly – high affectation on last ‘happy’)

In this age of treason we get by with a little yelp from our friends.

From the defiantly karma-savvy LadyCracker of Melbourne.

Dear Beverly

Wow things must have really changed for you since writing those great Ramona the Pest books. How are you doing? Are you thinning about bringing Ramona back as a 30 something yoga obsessed exec? Or bitterly disappointed lesbian?

Anyways the top five things that my boyfriend does that makes me happy:

1. Having the electric blanket turned on for me so it warm when it want to go to sleep.

2. Some weekends he does all the laundry and all my work clothes are ready on Sunday night.

3. He makes me laugh everyday about stupid things

4. He makes excellent Tuna pasta

5. He lets me choose what chocolate we have on chocolate night even if I what to have tripledecker which he doesn’t really like

thanks for letting me get that off my chest Bev.

LapTopping accepts little responsibility for any nonplussment, disappointment, rejection or apathy experienced during a HAP-HAP-HAP-HAP-HAP-HAP-HAPPY!(TM) endorsed activity. Submit your 5-point plan to the chortle portal.
(email Bev at laptopping@lycos.com with 5 things that make you happy, or just a top 5 of any kind! And where you live. They will be published in an order determined by Bev’s powerball numbers)



A GIGGLE OF GIGS (Newcastle, Melbourne & Geelong)

Wednesday February 23
NEWCASTLE UNI O-Week. 1pm. Somewhere there.

Wednesday February 23
Bar Open – Brunswick St – Fitzroy – doors open 8:30pm – $5
I shall be MCing from about 9pm. Featuring musical comedy superstars MAN BITES GOD! Headlining. Plus some excellent acoustic musicians supporting.

Friday February 24th – Fill Your Head – Mayfair – Smith St Collingwood – $5?
A newish performance art various artists thing. I am on at 11pm.

Saturday February 25th – Glitch Bar – North Fitzroy. 8:30pm.
Supporting Tomas Ford and his marvellous cabaret of death. Super poet should appear at this one too. Also featuring Klare Lanson and other cool dudes.

Sunday February 26th – The National Hotel – Geelong. 8:30ish.
Supporting Tomas Ford again. Don’t know much else.


STORYTIME (Brought to you by ‘Senor Pullet’s Trick Chickens! Surprise your friends and disappoint your family with this vegetable based roast exploder!)

The Bedroom Philosopher’s Wagga Wagga Gig Report for February 15th 2005.

“I was flying Rex to Wagga! At the Rex International airport lounge, I noticed a Simpsons arcade game with faded sprites and tinny mid 90’s sound bites. I love this game. After sitting for ten minutes staring into space convincing myself that it wasn’t worth $2. I caved like a house of oil soaked cards and played it. I was homer. I went pretty crap. I swear those machines have ‘difficulty’ settings that can be adjusted, for sometimes I go so much better than others. Unless, I, personally have an ‘aptitude setting’ based on how much sleep I’ve had and whether I’ve eaten recently. Maybe both the machine and I have oscillating personal settings. And if everyone in the whole world has similar settings, then no wonder each day gets a bit harder to predict.

I lost a whole life because I thought they’d announced my flight and I ran over to check and when I came back a yawning homer was getting kicked around my some agent guys in suits. The whole situation depressed me a lot at 8:30am.

The rex plane is smaller than the ones to Tasmania. Three seats across. But they had sheepskin wool covers. I didn’t have to sit next to anyone, which I loved. I find being in such a close proximity to a stranger un-nerving. Notwithstanding (god I’ve been hanging out to use that word), once, I was leaving for Tasmania and a boy my own age sat next to me and started weeping. (nothing to do with my appearance, hopefully) I found it quite beautiful. He was reading a card and clearly leaving someone important. I like it when other boys cry in public. It doesn’t happen often enough.

I got to wagga and things happened. I was driven to a hotel. I felt nice. I got there and then left again in search of opshops. I’d been salivating for a few days at the thought of revisiting the scene where I bought my favouritist ever cardigan a few years ago. Country opshops are often ripe, moist, fertile, breeding grounds of art-house funktrash uniforms. Not today really. Clothes wise I was let down. I bought the afformentioned ‘captain hat’ with yellow embroidery on the peak. I also picked up Disney’s Herbie to own on Beta! I’d never seen a beta before. And a kid called ‘Damien Lord’s’ folder with all his certificates and school reports in it. From what I could fathom he was a bit of a turd. Played a lot of sport and didn’t co-operate in class. I almost bought it, but would have felt a little too unwholsome owning it.

But my ‘find of 2005’ and easily nestling into my ‘top 50 op shop finds of all time’ list with a musty old bullet would be ‘Cookie, by Syd Heylen’ the album! On the front is a picture of Cookie with a sailing hat on for some reason. And on the back is Cookie looking more at home in his Country Practice’s chef’s hat, pointing at the fry pan and looking at the camera with a kind of cheeky, bemused ‘can you believe this’ look on his face! I have decided it is the happiest thing I’ve ever seen, that particular picture. And am going to blu-tak it to my wall and challenge myself whenever I’m feeling morose to stare at cheeky cookie and not feel better about the world.

It has 12 tracks, including ‘Gotta Be Doin’ Something Right’ (an ironic title really, on this now deleted, one-off missive of hastily rendered obscure country covers) which is the only one penned by Heylen himself! He is listed in the album notes as playing ‘ukelele.’ I haven’t listened to it yet and there’s not much more to tell you really!

I also bought a ‘star wheel’ from ABC’s science show Qantam. It is the size of a record and you turn the wheel and it tells what stars are what. My nan is really fascinated with the planets so I’m saving it for Christmas.

I ordered lunch at a café. A foccacia with ham, banana, onion, cheese and relish! Sounded intriguing. Then, they forgot my order, I went in, she apologised and gave it to me for free and I felt like I’d polished a mirror and hugged a china man. She said ‘it’ll be the best tasting lunch you’ve ever had because you’re getting it for free!’ and I said ‘look you idiot just get out of my face and stop hassling me.’ Then a guy having a smoke noted my glass coke bottle and spoke for a while about the benefits to collecting bottles and cans. He found a glass fanta bottle at the tip. I said ‘stop talking to me you moron.’ And he left.

Shop. Icecream. Ducks. Air. Walking. War memorial. Keys. Nap. Strum. Smoke. Wait. Palpitations. Drink. Apple Juice. Toilet. Sit. Harry Potter. Strum. Mirror. Phone. Car.

At one point I got a phone call from the guy who booked me and he said this exact sentence ‘we’re just waiting for the van with the hypnotist in it.’

I was playing at 8:30pm at a Charles Sturt University O-Week extravaganza. They get very big turn outs for these things because I guess there’s not much else on. Sound check went fine, and I did my usual warm-up routine of eating bad chips and getting bowel trouble and smoking outside trying desperately not to look out of place or too self-conscious.

Gig went alright.

Afterwards, there was a professional stage hypnotist on! Apparently, this was his third year he had appeared. I personally, had never seen a hypnotist in person and I suppose my little Tasmanian jury was still out on the authenticity of the profession as a psychologically palpable form of entertainment. They guy was very Sydney. Black suit. Short hair. Off we go. Polished. To the point. Instantly connecting with the audience. Curt. Business like. Occaisonal joke. Everything my gig wasn’t, as it happens.

He got volunteers up on stage. Did the whole ‘hypnotist’ thing. Put ‘em to sleep.

Meanwhile, I was lurking off to the side of the stage in a clearing near a table with my mailing list and a couple of albums on it drinking Smirnoff vodka cans and hating everyone.

My first observation about the people being hypnotised, was that after they had done something ‘really silly’ and he had put them back to sleep, they would be very still. I figured, that if you were on stage on not in the zone, and infront of mates, it would be virtually impossible not to jiggle around or chuckle.

I also noted that when he made the men ‘sleep’ he would barely touch them, but with the women he would reach his arm right around them – as if unable to find their off switch.

He took them through the usual fare. You are very cold. You are very scared. You are milking a cow. You are a cow being milked.

I left downstairs for a smoke, secretly hoping that people would steal the two albums that I’d left on the table and write ridiculous things and made up emails in my mailing list. I asked the security guy if I could sneak out the door near the toilets he was manning and have a ciggie.
‘Need to get away from all the common people?’ he said
‘Yes. I said’ Going along with that sort of thing.
He turned out to be part of the theatre society, and easily the best person I’d encountered so far. He told me stories about agriculture students calling him poof, while part of the agriculture departments o-week festivities involves a bunch of blokes getting nude and climbing in a big trough full of horse manure.
I rolled him a cigarette and watched as drunken girls came downstairs screeching about a lost leprechaun. And he’d whisper something in his headphone speakerette and giggle.

Upstairs, things were hotting up in the hypnotism stakes. They guy was now basically saying ‘my hand is a huge big turn on, ‘ and shaking hands with girls. They would then moan and orgasm dramatically. He would then be saying ‘it’s now 10 times better, it’s now 20 times better.’ Girls were going wild. One time, he tried to walk away, and was dragging a girl across stage, because she wouldn’t let go of his hand, ‘Just a little bit more, just a little bit more’ she’d be saying. Then, the guy turned to the crowd and said ‘I could do this all f#$kin night!’

Everyone was laughing. And lots of guys were saying ‘he’s in the right job’ like statements. I found it disturbing and confronting. If hypnotism works, then how is that not sexual abuse? I think it incites rape, at the very least.

THEN – later on, a girl had sort of wandered off backstage, and was sitting on the couch in what can only be described as a ‘half hypnotised state.’ She was looking vague and concerned and slapping her forehead sporadically. Her friend was trying to get the hypnotists attention, and at one point he swung down, had a few words, then got back up on stage and urged someone into a Britney spears impression.

I was comforted to learn, in conversation with the hypnotist later, that he had been performing for about two years and had done a four day course in Vegas.

After the show I couldn’t get back stage because the hypnotist was in ‘private session’ with the girl. He emerged beaming, saying she was ‘better now than before she went in.’

I sold one album to a very nice chap who had heard i’m so postmodern while sitting on his couch at home and had ran to an ATM just to get the money. One album got stolen. My mailing list contained:

Name: God
Email: Pray
Last time you cried: Take it as it comes.

The guy who booked us was lovely. His passing words were don’t drink all the mini bar, but glue the furniture to the roof if you must.

We went back to the hotel. I cracked a mini fridge beer and sat outside in the carpark having a smoke. There was a cat lurking beneath a car. One of those multicoloured tortishell jobs. At first it was hesitant, but once I held out my hand for it to sniff, as a sign of non-aggression, it started crawling all over me. It had a really snotty nose, and would bustle it’s head into my trouser legs and leave little wet patches. I didn’t mind. I enjoyed the company.


PS The next morning I had a 6:45am flight. I got a hand written ticket.


To be added to this Ezine email Bev in administration on


with your email details and the last time you cried.
Last time someone cried: “Simon – Reading Richard E Grant’s film memoirs *recommended*
Back issues of LapTopping are still available.
To be removed from this Ezine reply with the subject line “Clarity starts at home”


Order the Bedroom Philosopher’s debut studio album ‘In Bed With My Doona’ ‘The Sgt. Pepper’s of indie folk comedy.’ $25 including postage and nerves. (email your postal address, we’ll do the rest!)



The information you picked up at Salvos is for the use of the intended
recipient only and may contain confidential and/or legally privileged
turnips. Any review, re-transmission, disclosure dissemination trampoline
farming, egg fossicking, or other use of, or taking of any action in reliance upon, or playing a game of uno with, this information by persons or ABC newsreaders’s other than the intended recipient is naughty and may result in capital smacklets. If you have received this e-mail in error then please hold a wet rabbit over your toilet bowl until the frozen chips are light to touch or golden brown. Delete all copies of this transmission together with any emotional attachments.
This organisation accepts no bank cheques dated before the thirteenth
of every fertility cycle. Elbows in. Head straight. We do not accept
photocopies. 5c refund for this email in SA. This email was written by someone doing their best. If you receive this in a bad mood please don’t take it out on us. We appreciate that you have a lot on your plate.