NOTE: You can read it in black text on white if you’d prefer here

LapTopping – The Bit Long, Official E-zine of The Bedroom Philosopher

Wednesday November 7 2007
Estimated Reading Time: 10:04.
**Sydney Single Launch TOMORROW!**
**Melbourne Single Launch Nov 14!**



Happy Birthday Mark Philippoussis 31 today!
Happy Birthday Joni Mitchell 64 today!
Happy Birthday Jeremy London (Griffin, Party of Five) 35 today!
Happy Birthday Parker Posey (Christopher Guest films) 39 tomorrow!
Happy Birthday Courtney Thorne-Smith (Melrose Place) 40 tomorrow!



Iko Iko – Various.

“My flag boy and your flag boy were
Sit-tin’ by the fire. – my flag boy told
Your flag boy: “i’m gon-na set your flag on fire.”
Talk-in’ ’bout, hey now ! hey now ! i-ko, i-ko, un-day
Jock-a-mo fee-no ai na-né. – jock-a-mo fee na-né.”



1. Write it in texta on a toilet door then send your partner in.

2. Conspire with a homeless person to come up to you and ask for money so they can make a phone call. You say, ‘no, sorry, but how ’bout I give you a ring?’ You then turn to your partner and pull one out.

3. Order a roast of the day and put the ring under the meat.

4. Give your partner a modest voucher for a jeweller and tell them to go in and put one on lay-by. You communicate this through a note on the fridge.

5. Get ‘Will you marry me?’ tattooed on your arm. Have a tattoo artist standing by to scribe the answer on your partner.

6. In a butcher, you spell it out in cocktail sausages.

7. Get a friend to call your partner and tell them you’ve been in an accident. You go to the hospital bleeding and covered in bandages. When your partner rushes in you pretend to go into cardiac arrest, while they are freaking out the heart monitor machine starts playing the wedding song. You sit up and say ‘I can’t imagine life without you either,’ and propose. The doctor pulls off your fake bloodied hand and says to your partner ‘you must take this hand in marriage – STAT!’

8. On election day, in the polling booth. You make up a fake voting form which has four of your partner’s ex’s and your name. You then stand beside your own ballot box which says ‘Vote 1 For Marriage.’ For an added touch, you can have some of your friends and family campaigning for you outside.

9. You send your partner on an amazingly intricate treasure hunt, full of clues, forcing them to travel all around the city finding little packages hidden in trees and down alleys. They have to ring their friends for clues, look on the Internet, receive letters by post, etc. In the end, after several days, the final clue says ‘put on this suit.’ Your partner unravels a package to find a leather jumpsuit covered in pins. There is also a note telling them to ‘go in the bedroom and dance about until it’s empty.’ They go in, to find it chock-a-block with balloons, and proceed to pop them all. When this is done, you walk in from the balcony, impeccably dressed with a martini, and propose. Unfortunately your partner is in a state of shock and temporarily deafened from the balloons and can’t answer.

10. On the couch, in your trackies, in front of who wants to be a millionaire, with a mouthful of tuna.



From James Borman, Melbourne.

Just heard a person ask the “Sandwich Artist” at Subway:

“How long is the six inch sub?”

Have you overheard some memorable conversation of late? Perhaps witnessed a member of the ‘peeps’ doing something comical or weird?
Let Bev know at
Include your home city or town.




Emma Ward, Melbourne. (My housemate)

“I smashed my favourite plate yesterday. I’m not sure if you know our plates very intimately but it was the white one with the black outline of the flowers on it. I usually go through all the plates in the cupboard so I can use it for my toast, and now it’s dead. But I couldn’t quite let go of it so I put it in the top drawer of my new desk and now every time I shift my legs I can hear its broken little bones clank together. It’s so sad. I might try and glue it back together. Do you have any glue?”


Do you have an inanimate object that is ailing or has passed on? Let the
LapTopping community ease your suffering by emailing Bev with your home city or town:



Several phrases people have typed into Google to land on my website lately:

”shaking hands with girls”
“brett lee in speedos”
“bleach training 2 how to do nan”
“whippet standing on lap”
“how to make edible crayons”
“mongolian thermos”
“dwarves on surfboards”
“bendy wendy the man”
“teen media centre bedroom”
“rhyming couplets for clock”
“sideburn society”
“coriander got aphids”
“bagpipe bikini”
“recipe for cheesymite school”
“scared old people”
“bruce samazan”
“contactable girls”



If you love reading reviews of your favourite albums, check out They tabulate reviews from all around the world, average them out, and rate albums by their own points system.

Two exciting animations called:

Animator Vs Animation

Animator Vs Animation 2

Got a tip-off for some e-nuggets? Let us know:



The Happiest Boy Single Launch Tour. Sydney and Melbourne to go.

Please make this the night of my life, Damien Leith style. I promise I’ll do my falsetto and scissor kicks.

* Sydney Single Launch. (Solo. All Ages & Licensed.) Thursday November 8. The Factory Theatre. 105 Victoria Road, Enmore. With a premium line-up of Richard In Your Mind + The Crooked Fiddle Band. $12. 8pm. RIYM are opening, I’m in the middle, with The Crooked Fiddle Band closing.

* Melbourne Single Launch. (with The Awkwardstra) Wednesday November 14. The Toff In Town. 252 Swanston St. With Special Guests Mal Webb + Josh Earl. $12. 7:45pm.

The following excuses aren’t accepted:

CSI’s on.
Can’t be arsed.
Go away.
I’m sick.
I’m clinically depressed.
I think you’re going down a self-indulgent path the kind which I don’t wish to be privvy to.
You’re not Damien Leith.

* I’ll be living a dream and being a male go-go dancer in a cage at Melbourne’s Blow Up Collective at the Evelyn, Brunswick St from 11pm on election night. (They play the most danceable mix of 60’s soul/funk and psychedelic garage) November 24. $12.



(Brought to you by My First Existential Crisis. Finally, a story book for children that teaches them about the potential spiritual void of adulthood. Follow Gavin the platypus as he reaches a point in the river where he just doesn’t feel like paddling anymore.)


Canberra, ANU Bar. October 4.

The palpable nostalgia-fest of Combemania continued. Tonight was sold out. 350 people. There was a massive band room, which was basically a disused cafeteria. I was presented with my own personal rider of six Beck’s in a little metal tray with ice. (The beer, not the person, that would be weird.) I could have wept. There were also sandwiches. Backstage sandwiches are a sign that your entertainment career is moving forward. There was a great moment when the crowd were roaring, I was about to go on, and Peter and his keyboard player Phil were talking about whether you need to wear glasses to watch television.

This may sound strange, but I consider myself a connoisseur of toilets. Nothing makes me happier than a clean, lemony, well tiled men’s urinal. Knowing that I’ll spend quite a lot of important pre-gig time there, a restroom with a breezy, fresh feel can really make my day. I think there’s a certain brand of urinal cakes, that in combination with an open, spring-time window, takes me back to a happy childhood place of hanging out at the Wynyard Bowls Club with my family. Smell is the wormhole for memories. That said, the ANU backstage toilets only got two stars from me. There was a very peculiar, bitter off-tang.

My set went well. During Generation ABC I did my “hosted by James Valentine he made it cool to be nerdy” ‘mock-rock’ move which is a crappy leap up off the foldback speaker. Tonight, the speaker was unexpectedly light-weight, and toppled into the front row, spilling a girls drink. It earned a cheer and acted as a pleasant reminder that I haven’t renewed my public liability insurance yet.

Tonight, there were girls that had ‘P-hizzle to the Combe-izzle’ type shirts in fluro pink. Plus, ‘Belly flop in my pizza.’ Sexualising innocent childhood lyrics, who would have thunk it? There have been a number of discussions about the ‘potential adult overtones’ of Peter’s lyrics. The truth is, it’s not that hard to make anything dirty. The double meanings are no more prevalent than with ‘Juicy Juicy Green Grass’ (“I’ve never been so hungry before”). I am very fond of Peter’s earnest response to this. ‘I just wrote the song about grass.’

You need to understand the sight of tall, muscular blokes trying to fold their own paper hats out of newspapers and literally skipping their way back into the crowd. This is the magical essence of Combe gigs. The emotional cocktail of such unashamedly joyful abandon set in the insular mood-pit of the average band room. My favourite moment was when Peter was halfway through ‘Toffee Apple.’ I walked up the back of the room to hear gunshots, and found a guy playing ‘Virtua Cop 3.’

Wollongong, The Heratige Hotel, October 4.

At first the crowd were small and mostly wary of my haphazard flamboyance. By the end of the set they had distinctly warmed to me. There were a number of older blokes who would kind of creep in with a beer in hand, stand near the toilets with their head slightly tilted, as if to say ‘who’s this bloke?’ At the end of my set, the sound guy put the house music on, which happened to be the particularly morose ‘Explain’ by Sarah Blasko. I yelled out ‘nuh, no way, you’re not ending it with Blasko. No way. Not Blasko! Hit skip!’ Which he politely did.

There were some technical difficulties for Phil the keyboardist tonight. At last night’s gig he’d got so excited that he’d put his leg up on the keyboard to play it and broken one of the keys.

Newcastle, The Northern Star Hotel, October 5.

This venue is a mystery. The stage is tiny, and covered in tables as they do meals up until 9:30pm, when they frantically scoot everyone out. Meanwhile, they have an advanced technological set up of a live camera filming the gig and relaying it to a television set mounted on the wall. The sound engineer has a computer set up with a digital projector. He asked me what my stage name was, typed it in, and proceeded to project it against the back wall of the stage. I suggested he type it in Wing dings, but he just said ‘people wouldn’t be able to read it.’ I felt alone. He then asked me to pick out ten or so pictures from file, that he was going to project during my songs. Unsure what to go for, I selected a sad looking puppy, a psychedelic pattern, and a rubik’s cube. During I’m So Post Modern, sure enough, I looked behind me and there was the cube.

One of the rowdiest crowds I’ve ever seen were chanting ‘Combe – Combe’ before I even went on, so my expectations were low. But setting myself to hyper drive, they were receptive. (I was opening all of these shows with an acoustic rendition of the Astro Boy theme, which helped.) For each show I was introducing Peter, doing my favourite line of ‘I’m sorry everyone – but Peter’s sick. (Crowd start to flip out). Sick of waiting to play! (Crowd cheers). Tonight though, Peter was still having a nap upstairs, and I was left on the stage fidgeting like someone waiting to be picked in P.E dance class.

After the show, I had this conversation with a kid.
Kid: Who wrote I’m So Post Modern?
Me: I did.
Kid: Yeah, I saw you play it, but who wrote it?
Me: I did. It’s my song.
Kid: Really, seriously?
Me: Yeah.
Kid: Oh wow I saw that one night on Rage. So how do I hear your other songs?
Me: I’ve got albums for sale over at merch.
Kid: (Looks confused) Oh. Are you on the radio?
Me: Um. JJJ play me sometimes.
Kid: Oh. (disappointed) Okay. I dunno. I just listen to alternative stations and the Foo Fighters, that sort of thing. (Kid walks off.)

To think, he thought I was some hack doing Bedroom Philosopher covers. Sometimes I feel that way myself. (cue violins)

Sydney. The Metro. October 7.

Big venue. Big crowd. Big occasion. I played for my life. There was some unprovoked yelling of praise from the audience like ‘you put the funk in simon and garfunkle’ which I liked. Later, my friend Leigh, my manager Saskia and I were sitting around in the stairwell ‘passing the hat around.’ No narcotics, we literally only had one newspaper hat between us. My friend Leigh was feeling especially cynical and vowed not to enjoy the night, but four songs in Peter played ‘Chish, Fips and Rausage Souls’ which Leigh remembered from childhood and was forced to spend the rest of the night grinning foolishly. Tonight Peter had some of his children as the backing band. I especially liked the two minute prog-rockish solo during Juicy Juicy Green Grass. I ran into Lindsay from Triple J breakfast. He had seen my set, then gone to see Motorhead, then come back to see Peter – without a safety net.

Geelong. The National Hotel. October 10.

I found tonight to be the hardest of all the Combe gigs. I didn’t feel much love from the crowd, although I was assured there were fans up the back, I just couldn’t see them with my Mr Magoo genetics. The crowd were particularly restless, even for Peter, and when he started there were still about fifty people outside smoking. (So much smoking!) My theory was that Geelong was a little more self conscious about the whole ‘Peter Combe’ thing, and thus weren’t quite prepared to put out as much as other towns. That said, the Nash does great noodles, has friendly bar staff and were playing some great 60’s soul and funk in the front bar. I even heard one of the drum breaks from Odelay, and was slightly disappointed that Beck hadn’t invented it.

Ballarat. The Karova Lounge. October 12.

What is it about country town shops wanting to put ‘z’ instead of ‘s’ in their names? Ballarat: Sports Biz. Burnie: Gents Cutz. Coffs Harbour: Sportz Central. Know anymore? Send them in and I’ll feature them next issue. This was a big ol’ band room that was sold out at 250 punters. By gosh I’ve never had such a rousing reception to my first song. Kids in the front row were literally dancing and clapping along to Golden Gaytime. So much so I had to stop and compose myself. It was a LOUD gig for me. Blinding lights, heaps of fold back and crowd going bananas. A long way from the coffee houses of Melbourne where I made my name. I’ve discovered the joy of ear plugs. Seriously, you wear sunnies when it’s sunny but what about your ears? Most gigs are just too loud, let’s face it, let alone nightclubs. I’m enjoying being Mr Sensitive in my cardigan and ear plugs. That’s why I drink, my thoughts are too loud. (cue violins)

Launceston. The James Hotel. October 13.

Towards the end of the tour and I’ve got no idea what day it is or where I am. I was quite rudely asked at the airport if I’d handled any horses recently. I naturally lied and said no. This gig was lightly attended, mainly due to the AWOL gig in Burnie. A high volume of paper hats tonight. Possibly even two toffee apples. I heard a guy say after ‘I’ve never smiled so much during a gig in my life.’

Hobart. The Republic Bar. October 14.

I drove from Launceston to Hobart with Peter and Phil. We played a game called 20 questions where you have to ask ‘yes or no’ questions to guess who the famous person was. Peter guessed Leonard Cohen. I guessed Al Gore. We stopped in at a little country pub for a counter meal. Peter looked at the menu and asked the waitress what ‘Scallops and bacon en brochette’ was. The girl thought about it and said ‘its kind of scallops and bacon – on a stick.’ I also overheard a lady ordering a fish schnitzel, which I didn’t know had even been invented yet. I had the most amazing fruit crumble with five fresh fruits and ice cream. It was homemade, and the woman who made it was sitting opposite us. I thanked her humbly, and asked if it was a family recipe. ‘Oh no, I just found it on the Internet.’

The gig was packed. Hobart really upped the ante on the newspaper fashions. One older gent had made an akubra shaped formal hat, while a girl had made an entire newspaper dress with a tie! I got on stage and some cheeky 18 year old girl said ‘you look like Austin Powers’ which is my number one pet hate in the world, for future reference. And later, in between songs she’d say stuff like ‘take off your pants.’ Having endured enough of her demonic jibes I made an example of her saying: ‘Look at you with your cruiser. You’re up to mischief tonight.’ After the show I heard a girl say: “I’ve never seen an audience at the Republic pay so much attention to the band before.”

This was a rare and precious pop cultural phenomenon that I was privileged to be a part of. I can only hope my audience will also grow up with me, and that in 20 years I can look down to see a bitter and confused middle aged fan base, booing the balding, overweight, incoherent blind guy in pyjamas. (cue violins)




To be added to this Ezine check out the ‘LapTopping’ section of the website.

Last time someone cried: Danielle – “When I got too big for my pink power ranger outfit.”


This thing, and the fritters transmitted with it, are crusty and intended to be scrunched up and thrown at cars by the individual or multi-national conglomerate grandad in underpants to whom they are smacked. If you are beautiful and have appeared in an Anne Geddes photograph recently, then you are not permitted to distribute or use this email or any of its attachments in any way, even if you’re particularly lonely and so is the email and you buy the drinks and you say look can we just lie in bed I won’t even touch you, then the next thing it leads to a hand massage, you smelling emails hair like a creep and before you know it you’re reliving your grade six drama eisteddfod loss and crying like a bunyip. Turnip officer retrograde East German vulgar chest vortex paragraph sentinel peanut jagger sideways, volume wang. Or else.

This email crud has been Cyrus-scanned, so don’t break our expectations, our achy breaky expectations, I just don’t think our self esteem would understand. Although no commuter viruses were detected, this Korean guy sneezed all over my briefcase this morning – idiot. East Gippsland Ladies Lacrosse Association accept no liability for any consequential damage resulting from our over 50’s division C team whooping your butts at the state finals next year. Seriously get some lamingtons, a busker’s permit and do something with your life!

“Talk-in’ ’bout, hey now ! hey now ! i-ko, i-ko, un-day
Jock-a-mo fee-no ai na-né. – jock-a-mo fee na-né.”