The James Antonas Blog

Publicity Wh*re

2011-03-20T18:00:00.002+11:00

James Antonas is once again gracing the suburb of Essendon with his magesterial theatrical presence.

Norman Dewars will once again seek to conquer...this time in the living room!

Here's an excellent article from the Moonee Valley Leader in which, wisely, I am the only source quoted by the author.

And here's another article with a very flattering picture of yours truly.

Again, any opportunity to put myself and my hairy face in your face is an absolute pleasure...so enjoy and I'm sure I'll see you all in Essendon this week and next!

Morning Gnome

2011-01-06T11:10:00.004+11:00

It's a given that you will always wake up in the morning. Except if you don't, in which case you won't know you haven't woken up, so you won't be able to argue the point with me and we can let the matter slide.

As universally accepted as this fact is (zombies aside) the feelings and emotions that one person feels upon waking can be completely different from those of another person, whether they be in Russia or the warm space beside the first 'one person', or indeed the warm space between the first 'one person' and the second 'one person', in which case a deep feeling of regret and the lack of feeling in the right arm is probably guaranteed.

But how we greet the morning influences how the morning and the day greets us. If one is a surly gnome who spits at the day with a furrowed brow and with a black cloud of doom shadowing his features, then naturally, the day is going to greet this gnome with a swift kick in the shins.

So, we try to be positive.

We wake with a smile and a song in our heart. We pat the day cordially and lovingly on the head like a puppy, and we hope we will be smothered in puppy kisses and the unconditional adoration that can only come from a furry four legged domesticated self-licker.

But alas, this does not ensure the waker in question a day of continual blessings and good fortune. For you see, God so loved the world that for some reason he decided to put other people in it.

You may smile from ear to ear as you tap dance down the street and finger gun and wink at every person you pass, but these 'other people' are not in your head and do not always subscribe to your mindset of 'I'm happy and I know it so I'm smiling. Please don't judge my teeth or thin lips!' and so they may meet your positivity with displeasure, a sneer, anger, resentment and, most crushing of all, indifference.

Their cold dead eyes seem to be saying 'What are you smiling at?' and 'What have you got to be happy about?' They judge you, quietly.

They raise doubt in your own head about how you actually feel and who you really are, until you eventually second guess your own motives for being positive and put it down to 'I was just trying something different'.

Or worse, you put all this positive energy out there and it just does nothing. You give and you give and get nothing in return, so much so that you end up losing your positive power source. You are a withered husk of a positive person, shrivelled and malnourished. Hunched over your keyboard in an office surrounded by whispered conversations and the silent dread that this really is your life. And you look in the mirror and guess who greets you, that's right, a surly gnome.

The trouble with people, myself included, is that we let things that are fundamentally out of our control affect us negatively.

For example, pretend you are a normal person. You look normal and you say normal things. I know it's a stretch, but try.

You go to party or a gathering of people and you attempt to assimilate into a group. You try to talk to people but they shoot you down. They don't enter into a conversation with you and it merely becomes a series of questions you pose them that they then then answer, with no attempt by the other person at lobbing you a return question with which you may enlighten people about your special subject: you.

But you get nothing.

You try to be friendly. Nothing.

You try to be charming. Nothing.

These people give you nothing.

You leave the party and feel like a worthless boring piece of cheese.

You enter a funk. A spiral of despair and self-loathing. All because this bunch of yahoos were, basically, not nice.

And there's the rub. This was something, fundamentally, out of your control. The party people were not nice. It had very little to do with you.** Instead of leaving the party feeling like a worthless piece of cheese, you should leave the party thinking 'Wow. Those guys were a real bunch of yahoos. And they weren't very nice. Screw them!'

Yes indeed. Screw them to the sticking place.

Now I'm not saying that these kind of incidents shouldn't lead to some self-reflection, but fundamentally, if you're okay with who you are before the party, then you should leave the party in the same state of mind.

It's out of your control. Don't let it affect you.

I thought of this as I neared the end of the holiday period. There had been sunshine, grass, light beverages, chocolate, a piñata, and plenty of smiles.

As the last day of joy came to an end and the impending dawn of the working day loomed in my mind I swore to myself that this time it would be different. I would be positive and, more importantly, remain positive, no matter what obstacles I am met with in the days, weeks, months to come.

With a bounce in my step I greeted the day and went to work. In a few short hours, the draining process had begun. The lifeblood I had found in the holiday period was diminishing at a rapid rate. Indifference surrounded me. And worse still, some of the indifference was starting to come from me.

A day or two passed and here we are. A crossroads.

Do I let the factors out of my control let me lose my fighting positive spirit? Or do I shrug them off and rise like an albatross from the embers to spread my wings and soar to the moon looking only within to renew my source of positivity in some form of positive sustainable practice?

Who knows...

Although I do know that the positive and the happiness and the good stuff has to come from yourself. You cannot rely on the unreliable outside world. Only you can make you really happy. Profound, I know. But you guys should be eating this up with a spork.

UPDATE!!

I just looked at a blog that had lots of pretty tasty looking cupcakes. So I'm pretty sure the answer's the albatross...yep...albatross to the moon, baby!

** Again, this is on the assumption of normalcy. And by normalcy I don't mean boring vanilla. I mean normal like interesting person. Not 'I have a social disease' normal.

Table Manners?

2010-11-28T18:00:00.007+11:00

Huh?

What's that?

You missed James Antonas in Table Manners!?

Well, never fear...there is still time to catch this shooting star...this Thursday, Friday and Saturday ONLY!

Tickets are cheap. The laughs are plenty. And my beard is luxuriant.

Here's a review that confirms my opinion that the show is indeed 'THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN'...although the review seems to avoid saying those exact words...but you can read between the lines...and make one or two inferences...and a couple of assumptions...and a left turn at Albuquerque...but you get the point. Here it is!

Enjoy!

Norman Antonas

2010-11-03T18:00:00.002+11:00

Yet another article about the upcoming Table Manners with Essendon Theatre Company...this one, however, has a decidely welcome James Antonas focus.

Here.

Isn't that nice?

The Art of James Antonas

2010-10-18T18:00:00.001+11:00

A gigolo trapped in a haystack...

2010-10-10T18:00:00.002+11:00

You asked for it...well, not explicitly...but it was implied...well, I took your silence as consent so it was more inferred than implied...but still...I listened...more to my own ego rather than any real or actual voices...but James Antonas, the Stephen Tobolowsky of his generation, is returning to the stage!

Yes, you heard right.

No, I haven't lost weight...but thanks for asking.

Yes, I am looking after myself.

But enough of these idle pleasantries...I'm doing a show...and not just any show...Table Manners!

...

I know you've never heard of it, but that's not important...it's a play about...stuff. Stuff happens...leading to some other stuff...and I play Norman...that's all you really need to know.

And it's a comedy...apparently.

Here's an article...with a photo of me in it...bonus!

Mmmm...thought provoking.

Here's a picture.

Pretty, no?

Anyway...you should totally come and see it...and I'd love to see you there...but don't bring that guy you brought last time...you know, the one with the eyebrows...he was way too intense...really brought the vibe down, sure it was a holocaust themed gay fantasia memory play, but still...there's intense and then there's licking-your-face-personal-space-intrusion intense...ya dig?

So here are the details...it's on at Essendon Theatre Company (address on the pic) on 25, 26, 27 and 28 November and 2, 3 and 4 December 2010...it's pretty damn cheap for what amounts to nearly two hours of James Antonas...book NOW by calling Eileen on 9330 4808 or emailing essendontheatrecompany@gmail.com, they're waiting for your call/email...so do it NOW.

And remember...just one ticket purchased will help to feed my malnourished and underfed ego...do something generous...boost, inflate, engorge, arouse my ego...it's the only humane thing to do.

Consider it an act of charity...like donating to Greenpeace...or dating an ugly person.

Do it!

Attempted fiction

2010-07-05T18:00:00.000+10:00

David was a generous lover, or so he thought, or so he liked to believe.

He was never actually told this. He assumed as much.

Not that his various bed mates ever gave him words or grunts to that effect, but still, one likes to assume that one is proficient in the bedroom unless one is told otherwise. David was never told otherwise and so lived happily in the bubble that this ignorance granted him. Walking down the street of a morning, he would stride with confidence past the shop windows, occasionally catching a glimpse of his reflection and, again assuming that what he saw was indeed a good thing, smile to himself that he had, if not all, then most of what was required to make the complete package in a modern man.

Despite this enthusiasm, David felt incomplete.

Not so much metaphorically, but literally. He was literally missing something.

A testicle, to be precise.

It was a warm February evening in 1987 when the tragedy occurred.

David, either being too young to remember or too shocked to record the memory, always drew a blank when he tried to recall that summer night.

He would furrow his brow and make complex faces as he tried to encourage some kind of flashback. Sometimes he would simply sit in his room in complete darkness, and in the silence he would gently hold his remaining testicles in his hand and try desperately to reach some kind of inner plain – to provoke a revelation within himself that would bring to life the memory of the parting. But to no avail. The repercussions of that night would be felt for the rest of his life, yet he could not even tell you how much he had laughed before the accident or whether he eaten any of the sausages that his father had barbecued to blackened sticks.

He could remember parts of the day when he and his brother Jacob had climbed over the green wrought iron fence of the private girls school opposite their home and how he had pleaded with Jacob not to piss in the drinking fountain and then watched horrified and excited as Jacob proceeded to piss in the drinking fountain. Memories of his youth, but with one glaring omission.

The missing testicle.

The sad truth was that David was the only party to the theft of his manhood. He was alone when it happened. It was not until he ran into the kitchen screaming to his mother clutching his now bloodied crotch that a witness to the massacre could be found.

Well red...*

2010-06-30T18:00:00.003+10:00

Ahhh. A book. A novel. A...thing...filled with paper and words. Is there anything better in this world?

Well, yes, frankly. Television's pretty good at the moment. Watching a film's nice too. Bit of easily digestible escapism. Can't beat that.

But books are good too...

Actually, food's great. I love food. It doesn't even need to be gourmet...or good really. Just cooked...or raw. Just in front of me.

Yep. Food is awesome.

But books rank pretty high on my list of things that are great.

Well, not pretty high...but it is on the list. Near the middle. Lower-middle.

Let's just say I respect books a lot, and who doesn't? You see a person reading a book and you start thinking to yourself, 'Wow. That's impressive. Someone's reading a book.'

Not exactly awe-inspiring but there's some envy there. I am dreadfully envious of people who read. These people who can distract themselves from all the immediate pleasures that this universe has to offer and bury themselves in words and take a journey to...blah, blah. I can do the same thing watching a television program without the pesky business of over-exerting my eyes 'reading' words and hurting my head using my 'imagination'. Come on. Be realistic.

But I do struggle with reading...not the reading itself...I'm top notch at that...but the actual reading of a book. I get started...I'm loving it...exposition, characters and all that malarkey...but then about halfway through or even a third of the way through...I get bored with the whole endeavour. I lose interest. I lose the motivation to keep trekking through the wonderland of the written word. I put my tissue-bookmark on the page, close the book with a sigh of finality and inevitability and leave it on my bedside table to gather dust for the following weeks as it stares back at me with contempt at my literary impotence, until finally and desperately I put it back with its brothers and sisters in the bookcase where they can gossip to each other about my lack of sensitivity, roughness of touch and short attention span. Screw them all. Books, I mean.

It's funny though...I love books. I do. I love to buy books, especially with nice covers that look good in bookshelves... and give off an impression to visitors or strangers in my home (and even to me) that I am well read, intelligent, etc...and that's crazy...I don't need books to show people that I'm etcetera...I'm etcetera all the friggin' time...it's like my defining characteristic:

'Boy that James Antonas really is etcetera, isn't he?'

'Yeah! Totally! Too much so I'd say!'

'You think?'

'Yeah...a bit...but it's awkward...I can't really bring it up, you know? I mean, how you raise that with someone...'Dude I think you better tone down that etcetera...there's children present.' It just wouldn't work and then he'd get all diva-y and call off our friendship for the 23rd time!'

'He's a douche.'

'Yeah...but at least he's well read.'

*Please note the intentional ironic misspelling of the word 'read' in the title...actually...is it ironic? I sometimes think people use the word ironic without knowing if what they're commenting on is actually ironic...I think some people say 'It's ironic' or 'I'm being ironic!' sarcastically...which then makes me think 'Are they being ironic in saying that they're being ironic?' because if they had said 'I'm being ironic' without the tone of sarcasm I would appreciate that they may in fact have been ironic...not a sarcastic git. Because, come on, outside of blogs...who really drops the i-bomb in casual conversation? No one, that's who...or complete deadbeat beatnik skinny-jean and plaid shirt wearing bespectacled hipsters! **

**I'm being ironic

Another Opening!?

2010-06-28T18:00:00.002+10:00

Well, one week down...and already it's time for reflection....to look back on the week that was the opening of The Underpants.

For some of you who may not be familiar with the glitz and glamour that is 'amateur theatre', or even 'community theatre', the rehearsal process can be daunting. Think about it...you rehearse for six or so weeks (if it's a play) or 3 or so months (if it's a musical) in the back of a scout hall or an abandoned church or even, God forbid, a theatre...with often just the other cast members and a director looking on as you act like a goon...in a dress.

Sure...there were laughs early on from the people involved...there may even be a few remaining chuckles...more reserved, warm...possibly polite...earnt from six weeks of speaking like Hyacinth Bucket imitating Mrs Doubtfire ripping off Eddie (Emily) Howard 'I'm a Lady' from Little Britain...and, of course, wearing a dress and a flaming red 'Lucille Ball' wig.

But that's part of the trouble...it's so insular...you appreciate each other's performance because you've seen it develop over the six weeks. You've seen people grow and nuance their character to perfection or work out a bit of business that is solid gold...champagne comedy. But you've seen it from the beginning...you've seen what it was...it's had the time to grow in the safe, warm, cosy cocoon that is the rehearsal process...filled with shared laughter, in-jokes, and an honest desire to see each other succeed in the best possible way. It's juicy with positivity.

But, to paraphrase a line from another show is it better living it than looking at it?

So that's where the audience comes into the equation...particularly the opening night or preview audience. Sure an audience wants to have a good time...but they're also paying for the privilege...so they may also be more discerning, more critical...suddenly something in the show that you've been pissing yourself with laughter about falls like lead balloon...there are pauses for laughter that never arrive...nerves catch up with you and suddenly you're racing through your dialogue, garbling every word you can and ruining the end of sentences...cues are missed...entrances are delayed...silences the size of my padded bra start emerging and you stare blankly at the other performer on stage staring blankly at you and you both realise you have no idea who's line is it anyway and no idea how the f**k you are going to get out of it...props are forgotten...doors fall apart...lollies are eaten...and it's not even interval...

An audience has the power to change a show that's running like a well-oiled machine to a big hot mess...that's suddenly very oily.

So the reaction from that opening night crowd really is important...it gives the cast and director an opportunity to hear the dialogue in a space that is no longer a vacuum...hearing people laugh gives us confidence that we are actually performing a comedy...the attentiveness of the audience, the 'oohs' and 'ahhs' and what not show that the actors are doing something that people are actually following and getting drawn into, and that it's not, to put it bluntly, a turd.

Turds can come in many shapes and sizes. They can be a person on stage...that no matter how hard they and others try...they are just a turd. Shows themselves can be turds. Flaming turds. And if the truth be known...you can't polish a turd. However, I am a firm believer that a person can shine in sh*t. So...basically...it all comes down to faeces of some form or another.

Anyway, that opening night audience can be crucial...if they don't laugh at all and it's supposed to be a comedy...you're f*cked...if they laugh throughout and it's a drama...you're f*cked...so there's a fine line of fornication here.

And so it came to the preview audience last Thursday for The Underpants...I don't think I really knew what to expect from the whole shebang...it was clearly a comedy...but how much of a comedy...an amused smile comedy? A slight chuckle to yourself comedy? A laugh to your friend on your left comedy? Or a laugh out loud 'I don't care who hears me' comedy?

And...apparently...it's all of the above. Reacti0ns ranged from barely a twitter (or a tweet) all the way to stopping the show for a good solid three or four seconds so the audience can stop apparently wetting themselves...and, I think...as a cast we're all bloody happy with that...

At least we're not faeces.

Wow...that's some opening...

2010-06-24T06:00:00.002+10:00

Yes it is, Ricky...yes it is.

Opening.

Like a gaping hole.

An abyss.

Something through which people may enter.

And, gosh darn it...they sure are super special.

Unless you missed it on the news and the round the clock coverage the event has received today...The Underpants is opening tonight.

Well, technically it opens tomorrow night and tonight is merely a preview, but for all intents and purposes* tonight is the night we have an audience.

Ahhh...it's been a hell of a ride...well, actually...it's been pretty non-eventful really.

Not that I haven't enjoyed myself...I have...but the time has flown so quickly with this play...like sand through an hourglass...actually no...that's pretty damn fast...more like molasses through an hourglass...hmmm, that's pretty quick too...more like a clock ticking and the time passing gradually as the days end and the nights begin and the whole process repeats for two months...that's about right.

And what a bunch of characters, eh? There's...um...whatshisface...with his crazy eyes...and...um...you know, the guy who's always wearing a tie...yes! That's the one...he's a barrel of laughs...whatever his name is...

But seriously...a great bunch of people...the Man with the Irish Brogue, the Diva with the Back of Discontent, ol' Ramblin' Rose, the Vapadrop, the 'I'm going to take my shirt off in the middle of an important point'...guy, and of course, who can forget old Jewish stereotype.

I kid.

Adrian, Aimee, Tom, Vicki, Steve and Adrian are there names. Great people, each one.

They are all individuals and are all worthy of my praise and admiration. Hard workers. Bakers. Vanilla Slice Makers. We've come together and created something that...hopefully...is vaguely funny...and I'm sure we'd all agree that not one person...not one piece of this puzzle we call theatre is more important than another...

Except for James Antonas...

He's pretty freaking amazing...

Particularly if he's wearing a dress.

*is this even right!? I get confused...is it this the correct phrase or is it 'for all intensive purposes'? I don't know...that sounds pretty...well, intense. Correct me if I'm wrong...or go f**k yourself. It's win-win.

Size matters...

2010-06-10T18:00:00.002+10:00

I've lost an inch! Almost 3 cms...

...in sideburns.

To adequately pull off the transformation from James to Gertrude...it has been deemed necessary to raise my sideburns and thereby lower my self-confidence.

And I...the committed artiste that I am...shaved off my gingersnaps...and lo and behold...my cheeks are now barren...lots of skin and surface area...like big white Wagon Wheels...only less dimpled...and more jam...less biscuit crunch.

It will take some getting used to, readers. And I am sure you will all struggle along with me in my plight...donations can be made at Sideburns for All at their website http://www.sideburnsforall.com.au/.

Lend a hand...or a chop.

Petty Grudge #47

2010-06-08T18:00:00.001+10:00

I was recalling my list of intended or perceived slights earlier today and one sling...or arrow...I can't tell which...that sticks in my craw is the following that occurred around October last year...read on, dear reader...and remember...I am a petty petty man...

Well...I'm not really...but it's a good charade to keep up for blogging purposes...but don't tell anyone, okay?

Are we cool?

I know I am...

Not metaphorically cool...I'm not...although I am literally cool...it's been awful chilly these last couple of days...I mean cool in the sense of understanding our agreement that was offered three sentences ago...

And by you continuing to read...you hereby agree to the offer made four sentences ago therein...and agree to be bound by the said condition of confidentiality of the nature of the author's true nature of un-pettiness...

Comprende?

Of course.

...

So I went to a pub one night in October and upon entering I see a friend that I haven't seen in over a year.

Now this person knows me and I know this person and we acknowledged each other with a hug etc. It was all very pleasant.

This person asked how I was and I replied.

I asked this person how they were and they replied.

Simple pleasantries.

I make the mistake of looking at the group of people sitting with this person prompting this person to offer introductions.
This person gestured to her compadres and said 'This is Jacinta and Ricky.'

This person then gestured towards me and said 'And this is... (slightly hushed tone)...Anthony...?'

Her voice raised on the sometime vowel...hesitant.
I looked at this person quizzically.

This person looked back at me and said 'Is it Anthony?'

'No.' I said with a smile. 'It's James.'

This person giggled it off and attempted some further conversation in an attempt to wrap up our interaction but I simply said, rather jovially considering the insult, 'Well I'll leave you to it. Talk soon,' and walked to another part of the pub...quietly seething.

The nerve. The audacity. To forget my name. I remember this person's name. I remembered their partner's name. The fact is, now I can't even be sure they knew who I really was! They could have seen me do the whole smile, wave and approach and internally shit themselves as they had no idea who I was...but still...it's me! Who forgets me...let alone my name? My name is entirely wrapped up in my personality. If you know me, you know my name.

Like a slap in the face.

I'm reminded of the time at a wedding where I stood next to someone I'd met on three previous occasions over the course of a year or two. I remember his name, his wife's name, what he does, even his religion...and he comes back with 'Have we met?'

Have we met??

I'M JAMES ANTONAS!

This is how petty grudges are formed people. Watch out.

Under. Under. Underpants!

2010-06-03T18:00:00.002+10:00

One's life is full of regrets...

The lottery ticket you should have bought...that girl you wish you'd asked out......the son you should have put up for adoption...

Bitter regrets.

James Antonas is in a play...

'It's been done!' you say, 'Sure, it was fantastic and I've never had a better time in my life...every time he was on stage it was like I was transported to some kind of heaven where handsome men pitched woo at me...but I've seen it before...and I'd love to see it again...but still...what's new, pussycat?'

James Antonas is in a play...in drag...

'...'

Exactly...

'...'

Speechless...

Yes, it's true. That most virile of men...Mr Rugged...John Wayne Jr...will be donning the garments of a lady in a production of The Underpants by some German guy adapted by funny man Steve Martin (well, not currently funny man...but we all know he was funny...and you don't ever really stop being funny...I think it just went on hiatus, the funny I mean...in absentia) being performed by Mordialloc Theatre Company.

Now before you freak out...there are still tickets available...just calm yourself...breathe...it's not too late...you haven't yet missed the theatrical event of this century...but to avoid disappoint and the inevitable social isolation that will come from not witnessing Lady Antonas in all her glory...get on the dog and bone and rustle yourself up some tickets...they're cheap as chips...well...not really...chips are pretty damn cheap...minimum chips is like $2.50 and that's usually enough to feed two people...you can't really beat that value...so...um...they're cheaper than seeing those amateur professional shows...come on...Ian McKellen for $125 or James Antonas for $20...I think it's pretty clear which one is more awesome...

It's me...

James Antonas...

I'm more awesome...

And cheaper...

But not cheap as in a hooker...cheap as in 'affordable'...

Big difference...

Anyway...details...

The Underpants is a hilarious look at the chaos and commotion caused by a simple act of fate, and a flash of a lady's undergarments. Adapted for modern audiences by Steve Martin, it is an outrageous, over-the-top, and utterly believable look at feminism, politics, sexism, and sex in general. A rollicking good night at the theatre.

25-Jun-2010 to 10-Jul-2010 - Performances: 8.15pm nightly and 2.30pm Sunday matinee.

Theatre: Shirley Burke Theatre, 64 Parkers Road, Parkdale.

Melways Reference: 87C9

Prices: Adults $20.00 Concessions $18.00 Groups (20 or more) $16.00

Bookings: 9587.5141

Get on board the James Antonas train...

Get on board dammit!

Today is the day...well, tomorrow, really...

2010-06-01T13:00:00.010+10:00

Oh-kay...first time I've done something like this...but here it goes...

Here is a picture recently taken of me...

Brace yourself people...this is not going to be pretty...

...

Seriously...prepare yourself...

Bbbbbbbbbbbblllllllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggh!!

Vomit...all over my desk...

I should have taken my own advice and braced myself...or skipped lunch.

Who's the lard ball in the suit, right?

There's lines on the side of my face where it looks like my face should be...and then there's this layer of fat around it...

Maybe I should grow a beard...of course; with my genetic structure...it's a ginger beard...so...

Yeah...that's hot.

Anyway...as a friend of mine is prone to saying...long story short...from tomorrow (the 2nd of June) until my birthday (the 7th of July...remember people! Remember, remember!) not one piece of junk food, chocolate, chip, chocolate chip, deep fried chicken, mentos, burger, steak sandwich, lolly, biscuit, soft drink, alcohol, dessert will pass these sweet supple lips...nothing of this nature will gain entry to the abyss that is my gastrointestinal system...only normal food...even if I go to a restaurant...nothing debauched or dripping...just the norm.

I'll keep you posted...

As I'm sure you care...

Don't worry...I know you do.

I'd like to thank...

2010-05-31T18:00:00.003+10:00

Program biographies.

Is there anything worse?

The whole thing reeks of 'Look at me!' in my book...listing your achievements, awards...who you'd like to thank, your mentors...ugh...hate the whole thing...selling yourself to the reader

So for the production I'm in now, The Underpants, a program bio was requested...here's my initial submission:

James Antonas

Originally from Adelaide, James is…ah, who are we kidding!? You’re not really interested in reading any of this…you’re just trying to avoid the awkward social encounters that accompany any trip to the theatre. The guy in the foyer who’s name you can’t remember…that talkative woman in the seat next to you who knows Noni Hazlehurst personally…the uncomfortable silence that settles between you and your partner as you sit patiently waiting for the show to start…it’s all about avoiding eye contact and looking intently at the words in this program…so read away…you don’t need to thank me…James is proud to be in The Underpants!

But that was vetoed....so, my 2nd attempt (and favourite):

James Antonas

James is regarded as one of the most talented young actors to have ever lived. Gracing the stages of Adelaide, Melbourne, the West End and Broadway, James has performed the likes of Crowther, H.B. Billings, Hescht, and Fersmengé to packed and half empty houses. A winner of two Drama Chair Awards, a Beanbody, and numerous ranks of peerage, Lord Jim as he is affectionately known, is always in tepid demand. Highlights include Jeff ate the Raspberries, Too Late for Some, That’s not our Vicar! The Power and the Television, Christ! The Musical, and the classic Whoops-a-daisy…I just put my foot in a bowl of custard…or is it rice pudding?

Again...no dice...so here's the boring bio I'm stuck with:

James Antonas

Originally from Adelaide, James is an accomplished…well, James is...um...James has performed for various amateur theatre companies in both South Australia and Victoria in a variety of roles in shows such as Guys and Dolls, The Sentimental Bloke, Barefoot in the Park, Zombie Prom (Music Theatre Guild Nomination), Cloudstreet, Rosencrantz and Guildenstertn are Dead and, with Mordialloc Theatre Company, Journey's End and Crimes of the Heart. James would like to dedicate his performance to James Antonas.

I know...I know...the bile is rising.

For Sale - A Piece of Awesomeness

2010-05-10T18:00:00.005+10:00

****UPDATE****
He/she has been sold. Nary a month into my month long pursuit to sell this champagne beauty, a respectable buyer appeared and took him/her of my hands. I am sad, but I am happy to be rid of...I mean happy to deliver such a wonderful car to such a wonderful family. It's bittersweet really...bitter in the parting and sweet in the money that I have received.

**** ****

A car! Yes, it's a car! But not just any car...my car...that's right...the car driven by James Antonas!

What can you say about a car like this?

10 years in the one family...she/he was loved by this family...not like it was a family member or a pet or something...that'd be weird...but we loved it by driving it, parking it, putting petrol in it, driving it and now...in a final act of true love...we must now let it go...and upgrade to a better, fancier car.

We're sure our little Protégé will understand...she/he has been there for us for 10 years and knows that we humans are fickle creatures...acting on whims and fancies...prone to feelings of regret, loss, jealousy...and that's why we're looking for a special someone to take her/him off our hands...someone who will cherish, love, honour and possibly obey little Protégé...or pay $7,000...we're easy.

Like any person, this car has it's imperfections...a rather large mole here, a tooth that protrudes a little longer than the others, an ugly face...she/he was broken into in the first year or two and had its log book, ashtray and CD stacker stolen...she/he has a minor scratch or two here and there, a bit of a dent on the passenger side door...but these little 'imperfections' will just make you love her/him more!

She/he was serviced regularly, drives like a dream...a dream in which you drive a 10 year old car...she has a squeak in her brakes but we've been advised that they're just squeaky brakes and there's nothing wrong with 'em...so don't get angry at her/him...please...she can't take the abuse...she/he's a fragile creature...like a butterfly...a golden butterfly with grey velour interior, air-conditioning and no ashtray...I'd draw a picture but I don't think I could capture the true beauty of that image...so come and see for yourself! You won't be disappointed...or you might be...I don't know who you are...you might be easily disappointed...oh...and she/he's been badged...poor girl/boy/thing.

And to buy this baby...contact James Antonas...I'm on your speed dial...under Awesome...or Antonas...probably Antonas...actually, forget it...

'Allo pizza!

2010-03-25T18:00:00.003+11:00

Hey...guess who's got alopecia areata!?

That's right...

Me!

I can tell you're jealous...

What the f**k is it?

Well, basically it's hair loss...but usually in spots...bald spots...little baldy spots...spot, spot, spot...

And that's what I've got...but on my manly beard...my once proud stubble has now been marked with a stain of white skin...like an eye on my chins staring back at me in the mirror...mocking me...emasculating me...when will it end?

When will the torture end?

Feed James Antonas

2010-03-16T22:04:00.002+11:00

Go here...get the feed...whatever that means... http://jamesantonas.blogspot.com/atom.xml

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien...um...actually...quite a bit really...

2010-03-03T18:00:00.000+11:00

Isn't it funny how regrets seem to eat at you? Well. not so much funny...more awful...

And the way regrets eat at you...it's not like some ravenous blood thirsty carnivore ripping at flesh and muscles as it devours you...it's not even like a polite and fancy silver service dinner with linen on the table and three forks...it's more like how a girl eats a chocolate bar...a small bite here, put it back in the wrapper, another small bite there, back in its wrapper...a gradual nibbling process. However, with regret, there never seems to be an end to the chocolate bar...you don't think about it for a while and then nibble, nibble...there it is again...and you realise there's still some chocolate left.

The regret I feel is less whimsical than usual regrets...I think mine is more remorseful...or is it remorse in itself rather than regret...is there a difference...I don't think there is. So we'll stick with regret.

I regret things.

I regret a lot of things actually.

I haven't always been the upstanding fantastic specimen of a man you read before you. I am a selfish person...I'd like to say was but it's not true...I'm selfish...I'm lobster, really.

So, naturally, being of a selfish disposition people have been hurt in the wake of my actions...loved ones, unloved ones, spiders...bridges have been burned, friendships have been tested and hearts have been broken or at least slightly cracked.

It's a foolish man who doesn't appreciate the havoc he has wrought in pursuit of his own whims...and I am not a foolish man. I live with my actions and their ramifications every day. Sometimes you don't think about them and sometimes you're engulfed by them...but they're always there...nibbling.

There's not much a person can do to 're-do' these moments in their past...the most I can do is look forward and try to learn from them and try not to make the same mistakes or lapses in judgement...or allow my selfishness to consume me to such a degree that I forget that I'm not actually a selfish person...but a generous and supportive man about town.

I try to help others who I see in similar situations or quandaries...offer advice...because God knows I love the sound of my own voice...especially when I'm dropping pearls of Jamesdom...but to be really there for people...it's a great feeling...you should definitely try it sometime you selfish a**holes.

And to the ones I've hurt who are still in my life...one person in particular...I try to make them as happy as I am possibly able, earn (or re-earn) their trust and respect, and hopefully make them not regret their decision to let me be in their life...because who the f*ck wants regrets, right?

Of course, right.

List of people I dislike (formerly my Enemies List but that seems a bit hateful and sounds like something that the internet would monitor for...)

2010-03-02T18:50:00.000+11:00

New addition...

That guy from work...

You know who you are...

He was walking to the open lift in the basement and he saw me also walking to the same open lift but about 15-20 steps away on a 45 degree angle from his entrance to the lift of which he was 5 or so steps away...

He looks at me...

I look at him...

And then I begin the moderate courtesy dash to the open doors so he's not waiting in there with his finger on the open door button...but what happens....the doors shut as soon as he enters!

So...from my reckoning and since he isn't some kind of Jesus or magician...someone else was in the lift holding the door open for him and closed them when he entered...however, he was not dashing...no way in hell was he dashing...he was Mr Casual, sauntering to the open doors...I, on the other hand, dashed...and he saw me at least begin to pick up pace to reach the full dashing speed before he entered the sanctuary of the open lift.

He had a duty and responsibility to acknowledge my presence to the man or woman holding the doors open...he doesn't even have to know my name (which he does)...he just has to say 'Oh, there's someone else.' And I would have been there in less than 2 seconds...I actually got to the lift as it was shifting from the basement to the first floor...and this isn't one of those fancy lifts either...I may have pushed the button in the basement but the doors will remain open on the third floor once the passengers have been birthed...for a good 5 or so seconds...and then it would begin the slow laboured trek down to the basement...it has no sense of urgency...stupid lift.

Also...this was at 8 o'clock...in the morning...I partially jogged for 15-20 steps in my work clothes for this man out of courtesy...what a pr*ck!

And don't think he didn't see me...he acknowledged me with his eyes and I acknowledged him with mine as I knew this was going to be one of those lift holding shenanigans...but no...apparently he has no courtesy for his common man...meaning...he does not belong in the human race...and earns a rightful spot on my 'List of people I dislike'...which, obviously, knowing me...is now in the hundreds...

Or at least one.

Life is...

2010-03-01T18:00:00.001+11:00

Here I am.

Sitting at my desk.

Another day in front of the computer.

Another day wasted?

Who knows...

Not me.

I was talking the other day to a good friend of mine about life, expectations...the whole shebang really...and a phrase cropped up that stuck in my head. I'm not sure the intention used when it came out of her mouth or even if I understood the concept of what she was saying, but it was something like living an 'experience life'.

Typing that out and reading it back to myself, it doesn't have the same ring to it as I originally thought it did...no matter. What does matter is what I got from those words...and if in fact they have meant anything to me on reflection.

From my recollection my friend was describing a friend of hers who was living a life full of experiences...free from the so called dreams and desires of everyday man and woman, you know, relationship, house, kids...puppy. Instead, it would seem that this person travelled around the world and had spent the last six months in South America, or some other native land that definitely wasn't Coburg North...or Coburg as some would describe it...living their life to the full...chock-full of experiences, tastes, smells, culture, people. I think my friend was contemplating whether this was the way to go...to forego those other 'dreams' as they didn't seem to be happening...and pursue a life like her friend.

I sigh. And then again. Of course it sounds like I'm breathing loudly now rather than poignantly punctuating my internal monologue so I stop. And then I sigh again. Much better.

Who the frig knows!?

Honestly...who knows!? Do you live your life...i.e. actively live it...bugger work and grab everything else with both hands...sure they'll be malnourished and bony hands...but still...it's life with a capital L...and I and F and probably an E. But how can you afford to live that life?

You work a job that doesn't kill you or bore you and pays you half what you could be earning if you did work a job that killed you with boredom...but you get a pittance to do what? Travel...or rather...live overseas...volunteer in some backwater city and get in touch with real people...experiencing life...obviously not your life...another way of life...

I don't think so...

I'm of the belief that life is about people. Connecting with people, interacting with them...creating relationships...forging relationships and seeing them and helping them grow and flourish and all that crap...you do what you have to do (so long as it doesn't kill you) to get that good stuff.

Sure work might be boring...but you can go home and talk and share with your girlfriend and puppy...and meet friends and eat paella and drink sangria...or be a handsome and wonderfully talented actor on the amateur stage...in a way...you find what makes you happy and go with it.

If it means travelling to a third world country or some exotic locale...so be it. If it means living day by day and enjoying what life has to offer...that's your choice. And if it means working a job, owning a house, and sharing your life with a wonderful girl and lovely people...then I can tell you from experience you will be a very happy man.

Or not...I don't actually know...you might suffer from depression or something...I'm not a freaking mind reader...

What do you think?

Of course, silence in the Comments section implies consent with my beliefs...so I don't care either way...

Wattle

2009-10-01T18:00:00.003+10:00

It's the bane of my existence.

Everything's running smoothly. Self-esteem is at an all-time high. Smiles are in abundance. My clothes are making me the man. Hair...well, what's left of it...is surprisingly in place. And it all seems to be clicking. I relax. I have a good time.

And then someone takes a picture...

I pose...I smile my cheesy camera smile...and I'm actually smiling...happy.

*click* or whatever noise a camera makes these days...*whir* probably...or is that too old fashioned...let's go with *flash*...

Wow! That must have been a great photo...let's have a look...

oh my.

oh my no.

There it is...staring back at you...evil.

The double chin.

Why!? Why me!? I'm not a turkey...I have no need for wattle*...why have I been burdened in this way? Life's not fair...etc.

Of course this feature of my face is a genetic trait in the Antonas family...a tradition if you will...passed down from generation to generation...usually accompanied by a ceremony at the peak of the child's puberty...where the temporary puppy fat is removed and the 'chin' is formally attached in a delicate process involving pullies and levers...the child is then introduced to society at a formal presentation known as their 'début' where they are roundly ridiculed and humiliated by said society...thereby causing the chins (as they are now and forever pluralised) to wobble in their first display of mechanical splendour...the child, in exhaustion and tears, then retreats to the kitchen to gorge on the feast that had been intended for the invited guests but is always consumed by the small fat bastard on this holiest of days. It's a magical day.

But surely as one survives the teenage years and eventually grows into their body...the second chin would disappear...no...it remains...to dangle in the wind...like a permanent scar blazoned across your forehead, forever marking you as some kind of hybrid between largesse and slightly skinny...some sort of fatboyslim...if such a thing exists.

A constant reminder.

A scarlet letter for a past lived in ignorance of the long term effect of that extra bag of Twisties.

Warn your children.

Heed this counsel before it's too late. There are consequences. There are always consequences.

That guy with the apparently great metabolism who eats whatever he wants whenever he wants...the chin will catch him.

The girl who binge drinks to excess and then stumbles into Hungry Jacks for a Whopper laced with her own chunder...the chin is watching, waiting, biding his time.

When the time is right...he will strike. And when he shoots...he shoots to kill.

There's no losing him, once he's with you...he's with you for life. You can't shake him...well, actually you can...but it looks ridiculous...it kind of wobbles...but it's funny if you add turkey noises...a 'gobble, gobble' or something along those lines...works great at kids parties...of course kids these days wouldn't even know what a turkey looks like...they just stare at you and say you're making them uncomfortable.

Damn kids.

Damn chins.

*Wattle (according to wikipedia) is a fleshy dewlap or caruncle hanging from various parts of the head or neck in several groups of birds, goats and other animals. In some birds the caruncle is erectile tissue. Lucky birds...mine's just a flabby piece of flab flab...of course...I think it would be difficult to engage in sexual shenanigans with the underside of my face...but still...at least it has a purpose.

Our House

2009-09-16T18:00:00.001+10:00

A house, a house, my kingdom for a house!

...or something to that effect.

I couldn't fight it forever. The gradual tug of growing up. To amass material possessions, incur debt, listen to news radio, have a meaningful selfless relationship, wear my pants high with pride, work nose to the grindstone…and own a house.

These are the dreams of youth…well…dreams is stretching it. These are the expectations of youth. That once you hit a certain age you will begin to accumulate these notches on your belt as if they would signify a coming of age or the getting of wisdom.

Now as you know I’m a big trend bucker…rock the boat…kind of guy. I don’t walk in a straight line if I can zigzag. But the call of the adult world was too strong for me to ignore any longer. A house had to be bought.

Rent. It’s such a sh*t. You pay someone money to live in their property, and in return you can’t fix it, damage it…live in it really! You are confined. So you sit there watching a crack in the wall gradually get bigger over the months. You tell the landlord. The landlord thanks you. And that’s it. You look at the walls. You’d like to hang a picture. But you can’t hammer a nail in the wall. So you don’t. You put blu-tak on a poster and stick it up…like a 15 year old girl and her Leonardo DiCaprio poster. Paint? Forget it. Renovate? Think again! Plus, why would you want to renovate something that you don’t own…it may reduce your rent but still…in the end, it remains someone else’s property. Your blood, sweat and tears will simply pass to the next person who pays the bond.

We live in an economic age. Our lives are governed by money and the state of the economy. Markets. Credit. Loans. Stocks. Contracts. Employment. It was simpler when we were children. It was Astronauts, McDonalds, Ninja Turtles, Sprinklers, Ice Blocks…mathematics was about as technical as it got, and even then it was usually a question of fractions. But this decision seemed to make financial sense. We've spent the last three or more years renting. An apartment and now a terrace. Making both these places into our homes. But there comes a point…no more. We were paying enough money in rent to make loan repayments on a home loan for a home we would actually own. A possession. We could change, knock down, and rebuild…completely f*ck it up…but we would own it. Ultimate responsibility. Adulthood. The buck would stop with us.

So, why not? Why not own a house?

That was a hard decision…well…not that hard…but it was a big decision. And once it was made…we moved on to looking for places.

We initially started months and months before. But due to the ‘market’ (I feel like such a wanker using words like ‘market’ in a sentence…as if I know what I’m talking about…so I put the word in quotations marks…if we were talking face to face I’d do air quotes or make a face that shows I have no effing idea what is coming out of my mouth…like most of the time) and the rising house prices…we waited. Then we thought ‘Screw it – it’s not going to get any better.’ So we jumped in. And it only took a month of solid looking…of course we spread that out over 2 or 3 months, but still. And we bought the first house we looked at more than twice.

It was nice enough. Big enough. We could see the potential in it. And more importantly we could see ourselves in it. So that was that. Rocked up at the auction, outbid the others and managed to come in under our budget and paying a price that we thought was acceptable for the house considering the state of house prices in the ‘market’, so we were winners on various fronts.

And now, as the settlement date approaches, so does the next level of our adulthood. Council rates, blocked gutters, salt damp, vegetable gardens, all the things that adults hold near and dear to their hearts. And I couldn’t be more excited. We finally have a home. Our home. To do with as we please and to live our lives in the blissful knowledge that if I wanted to I could hammer a nail into any friggin’ wall I choose.

Will Success Spoil James Antonas?

2009-08-09T18:00:00.001+10:00

Success = bitterness.

Let me be more specific.

Other people's success = bitterness.

Once more.

Other people's success in an industry or workplace in which you toil = your bitterness.

Now I'm not a bitter man...well, I am...but I'm not someone to hold a grudge...well, yeah I am...but I'm not petty...yes I am...but I rise above it...seldomly.

It is infuriating and aggravating and exasperating. Other people's success. And there's something about it...they're so damn smug. Making it look so easy, doing it with ease without breaking a sweat or disturbing a hair on their well-manicured head.

And what makes it even worse is when they're not smug or condescending...but when they're honest, hard working, and totally deserve it.

How dare they!?

How dare they work hard for something and finally achieve it!? How dare they set goals for themselves and set about reaching them?! What nerve! What gall!

It's maddening.

And the final chapter of the whole sordid affair is the intense internal scrutiny that follows...

You look at yourself in the mirror and think...what am I doing? Who am I kidding? That is what they want...not this. Self-loathing, self-hatred, self-medication. The holy trinity.

And questions of your own mediocrity begin to creep into your consciousness...instead of sitting comfortably in your subconscious where they can wreak havoc on your dreaming slumber...creating nightmares of adequacy and failure...now they can get you in the daylight...like some kind of depressing Freddy Kruger who instead of slashing you to ribbons merely looks at you, points a fingered blade, shrugs his shoulders and says 'Meh.'

You ain't even worth a good slashing.

Mediocrity. Average...ness. Is there anything in the world people struggle against more than the fear of their own mediocrity? Our own ordinariness. We need to stand out. To be good...the best at something. And when you try...you fail...and it feels inevitable. As if there was no chance of shaking off our own destiny...we were somehow born to fail.

Then defeat knocks on the door with a sack full of dirty laundry looking for a place to crash...why even get up off the couch? I'll never succeed. I'll never be good. Why did I even bother in the first place? I'm a fool...a damn fool! Why try? I'll only fail again. And this time it'll be two in a row...depressing.

And the truth is...there is truth in that.

It's more than likely you and I will fail again and again and again...we will fail an infinite number of times...and obscene number...because that...inevitably...is what our destiny is. Not to succeed...but to try. Because out of the billions living in this global village...there cannot be billions of success stories...be reasonable...there has to be failures otherwise there would be no successes. Yings to Yangs, etc to etc.

The people who try, sure they don't get the awards, the promotions, and their day in the sun...but they get to close their eyes at night knowing they tried; they gave it their all, their best. And their kids can grow up happy in the knowledge that their father or mother wasn't a failure...but a do-er.

And that's the best thing anyone can give the next generation...a sense of purpose, the values of going out there and trying at something...because, sure, success is great...but that's not what it's about, is it?

Of course it is.

That's the whole point! To the victor go the spoils. And I want them spoils.

We just have to learn that we can't all be winners...that every application, audition, auction...can't be successful. Failure is part of success. Part of life. The whole freaking circus of life. There are highs and lows, joys and woes...they should be second nature to you now...like breathing out and breathing in.

But how to deal with other people's success...there's the rub. Looking at your own failure, isolated. That's easy enough to handle...you can say...'Ha! Idiots! They don't know what they're missing!' or 'They obviously want someone different, someone better.' But then you see who they choose...some nobody, someone who, let's face it; you think you're better than, more qualified than...blood will boil, walls will tumble. But breathe...

Don't be over-dramatic you drama queen.

The answer is simple: They're all f**kwits.

But the more difficult answer is the more truthful answer. You were the wrong person on the day. That's not to say you're not the best, you might very well be...but on the day, in that light, at that time...someone else looked better, more promising and they get those elusive spoils. Because, in all honesty, 9 times out of 10...they've made the right decision. Sure you might burn about it, but when you remove yourself from the situation and look at it more objectively minus your hurt feelings and bruised ego...they're the right person. On the day. Another day, another interviewer or director or adjudicator might have a completely different opinion. You never know. And it's the bigger and better man who can rise above the feelings of inadequacy and mediocrity and shake the successful person's hand and say 'Well done, you deserve it.'

But then again...they're all f**kwits.

I didn't say I was the bigger man.

Camp as a row of tents

2009-04-15T18:00:00.001+10:00

I did it.

I am now a man...officially.

I went camping.

Hilarity ensued.

Me, four girls, fun.

I hadn't been camping in over 10 years, and I was a failure then...pathetically attempting to raise a tent in the rain, chucking a large chunk of beef mince on a warm hot plate over a lukewarm camp fire in a limp attempt at making burritos...and then giving up and eating a packet of muesli bars instead.

I had declared myself a 'non-outdoors' person...give me a stapler or a filing cabinet or a couch and TV and I am in my comfort zone...give me sunshine, blue skies, some pegs and an unfurled tent...and I am LOST...just like in that TV show...Two and a Half Men...they make me laugh...

But this time I made sure to bring my secret weapon...my sure-fire ingredient for a recipe for success...Kirilie Blythman.

Man...that woman must have been a frontier-woman in a past life...she can build a fire, cook food, pitch a tent, sleep on the ground...not to say the other ladies didn't pull their weight...they did...with aplomb...although we forgot to bring the plums on this trip...but I too flourished under these conditions...well, at least I claim that I did.

We spent three days relaxing in the sun, sitting round a campfire at night...of course...to get to this heavenly plain we did have to traverse a rocky beginning...our initial destination was the Grampians...that slut of the Victorian outdoors...the Grampians National Park has no booking system for camping grounds...I rang them...spoke to a koala and a cockatoo and was transferred to someone in charge...who advised me that if you rock up on Good Friday...earlyish...you should be fine as the bulk of people will be coming later on Friday and early on Saturday...so we rocked up about 11am at this National Park...to find it completely effing full!! Three hours we drove to get there...and then were told that a camping ground in the park might have some spots left...as there is apparently no way to tell when a campsite is full...even though you need individual permits to camp...but they said drive there and check it out...and if there's a spot...decamp and drive back to get a permit. The lady said it was a bit of a hike...it was at least an hour on a dirt road that consisted of more twists and curves than an old woman's spine and more rocks than a packet of Pop Rocks...incredible! We get to the site...and guess what...not one free campsite...quell surprise! The nerve of it was that even if there was a site...we'd have to drive the hour back over the rocks...get the permit...then drive back again!

So we gave up and drove to Horsham...a further hour...and then to Helena's holiday house in Toolondo...the mythical Londo...which is the perfect place to get away from everything whilst still maintaining a VCR, a record player and mobile phone reception (only if you're with Telstra...and only when you're on the roof)

But we scarcely used these trappings of modern man...we camped in a vacant clearing and lived off the land...well...on the land...we didn't harvest anything or eat bark and berries...we ate marshmallows and Shapes...but we roughed it...and loved every minute of it.

We read about The Courtship of Peggy McCoy...by the same illustrious author of Down on the Farm with Grover...we learnt about Il bacio...a phrase that can only be whispered suggestively and sensually...we found our nemeses during Uno Matrix...we warmed up our footy legs for the next round of Auskick...we learnt that life is very much like a Frisbee...you think you've got all the time in the world and then flubadadum...the Frisbee drops out of the air and you've missed it...poetic...we found out that kookaburras like cheese...and are willing to attack for it...much like the cheese itself...they are Strong and Bitey...we found out that you don't really need to move in the backseat when you're cushioned by 4 floor mats, 4 sleeping bags, blankets, wine and a 25L water container slowly leaking all over your ass in a 6 hour car trip.

And...like a football kicked by Rachel's right foot...the trip ended too soon and in a pile of dead branches and leaves...possibly infested with spiders. C'est la vie...

But I know it won't be long before the siren song of Londo haunts my dreams once more...tempting, taunting...beckoning me back to the place where pillows are wet with cold but hearts are warm with love, friendship and possibly indigestion.

R.I.P. Sarah

2009-04-07T12:39:00.003+10:00

15 years young.

She found the wheels of Dad's car too soon.

She will be missed...kind of...she was an outside cat that never really got much attention...except from the neighbour cats...she was like catnip to them...not a Japanese cat or some kind of Geisha cat...but rather like Cheetara from Thundercats...gorgeous and feisty...I'm guessing...I've never looked at Sarah that way...that would be totally inappropriate and taboo...

Too soon, too soon.

Forget-me-not

2009-04-06T06:00:00.002+10:00

What do you do on the birthday for the brother who has everything!?

...

Forget it!

Happy Birthday Unky Tone...a day late!

...

Here is a picture of a puppy...

Isn't he/she/it cute?

Millstones...I mean Milestones

2009-03-04T06:00:00.001+11:00

65!

Jesus.

Who would have thought you would make it this far?

He was born in a refugee camp 65 years ago today during the Second World War.

He wasn't blessed with matinee idol looks.

He's swarthy yet balding.

Manic and frustrated and loving all at once.

He is a champion of his field...true he works 24 hours a day...but gosh darn it...who's going to pay for all those trips to the dentist and all those costly dental procedures (ahem, ahem)...and why waste time playing with your children when they can be safe in the knowledge that someone in the family knows how to work hard and understands the value of a dollar!?

He's a devoted father and grandfather.

He can sleep anywhere, anytime, and in any condition.

He takes 2 seconds to do his hair in the morning...and 5 minutes to get his hair cut.

He's the provider.

He gesticulates.

He delivers babies.

He has a twinkle in his eye...and I'm positive that it is from him that I learnt to be charming and sly at the same time.

Sure he's self-deluded...sure he's a workaholic...control freak...loud...exacting...but these are just signs of someone who lives and works with passion. And honestly, couldn't we all do with a little of what he's having? A lust for life. But he hasn't taken time off to live some of his own life...so go do it gramps before we find you wandering the streets in your dressing gown looking to catch the trolley to the jetty so you can spend a farthing on an iced cream...then it will be too late.

But he's a long way off that...knock on wood...he's young at heart and in spirit and he's the most lovable 65 year old man you're ever going to find...except for that Paul Keating dude...he's fantastic...and so cuddly!

So here's to Dad...Happy Birthday you old bugger!

Shout out to Annie...

2009-03-03T18:00:00.000+11:00

Here's to my sister Annie...she's in hospital at the moment and all of us here at The James Antonas Blog are wishing her a speedy recovery so she can get back to work at the Antonas Manse.

Here's Annie with her brood of children...

I'm kidding! Here's the real Annie...

Leapin' Lizards!

Crimes of the Heart

2009-03-02T18:00:00.001+11:00

Keziah Gillam and your one and only.

You big bully

2009-02-12T18:00:00.000+11:00

I wrote this for a work newsletter...and yes I agree...it's the greatest thing ever written. Thank you.

Workplace Bullying and Harassment

What a strange sounding phrase! Here you have the combination of two quite different ideas...the workplace, an adult environment where people are grouped together to work towards some common aim...and bullying and harassment, two words usually relegated to the schoolyard or the antics of the jealous and unintelligent. But here they are...combined. Strange, isn't it? It's like...a marshmallow gun...or money actually growing on trees...but how strange is it?

There comes a time in a person's life when they are somehow deemed to be an 'adult'. When does this happen? What magical change takes place that distinguishes the child from the adult? Is there a change at all or is it merely society saying, 'You know what, you're probably old enough now...here's the key's to your Dad's car...you're an adult!' Of course this is usually followed by quite un-adult like shenanigans...usually accompanied by cheap alcohol, spirits or turpentine...depending on their availability...then regrets, rinse, and repeat.

It's true that some people are mature beyond their years...I myself am often referred to as a wise old 35 year old...mainly based on the premature weathering of my once baby face and my penchant for getting on high horses for long rides in the low country. So...obviously...some people must therefore be immature beyond their years...the Peter Pans, those men who refuse to grow old...the 70 year olds dressing like 40 year olds trying vainly to recapture lost youth by peppering their conversations with now outdated words like dreamboat or neat or Great Depression...the 20 year olds who never really advanced past high school still trading in gossip and basically behaving badly…there are all types…and they are literally everywhere.

And by everywhere I also mean right here…the workplace.

I’m not saying that’s a good thing or a bad thing…some of my best friends are adults masquerading as adolescents and I think they’re a crack up…but there is a time and a place…and the workplace is not that place and definitely not that time.

I’m not saying people shouldn’t have fun and act a little immature…laugh and enjoy their day…joke and pass the time…they should…I know I do!

But bullying and harassment in the workplace is where the line in the sand is drawn…between adult and adolescent…Victor Mature and Victor Immature…I’m reminded of the quote “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But when I became a man, I put away childish things.” We are not and never will be children again and this is the ever present reminder…like the reflection in the mirror…this is the truth. Do not take part in it. Do not tolerate it.

Here endeth the lesson. :)

The swell season indeed

2009-01-22T06:00:00.001+11:00

Perfect. Sometimes things just fall together nicely.

There had been tension and disrupting thoughts in the air all day. I'd had a bad day...a real bad day...and Kirilie had a difficult decision to make that was difficult even to begin contemplating...but I had bought her some tickets for Xmas last year (the Xmas that shall forever be known as 'The Xmas that Wasn't...cos it basically sucked a bit') for a concert last night.

The concert was a performance by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová...the name for their collaboration is The Swell Season. Who are these strolling minstrels? I hear you ask...well, do you remember the film Once?

Of course you don't...half the population didn't see it...but it's a great little film...they both won an Academy Award for Best Song for 'Falling Slowly'...they fell in love during the course of their collaboration...etc, etc....beautiful story.

And they were everything we thought they would be and more...intimate...which is a big ask at the Palais in St Kilda...charming, funny, moving...I tell you...that Geln Hansard has the best voice...it's part Cat Stevens and part Angry Young Man...so there's this gentle sweet sounding voice...and then a song might get angry or emotional and out comes this roaring kick-ass part of his voice...it's dynamic...so bloody moving. And Markéta Irglová is just this sweet little bundle of cuteness and depth and perception...

It was simply amazing. Perfect atmosphere...warm, sultry night...by the sea...beautiful music and musicians...Raffaello and Kinder Surprise ice cream after...and to satisfy K's cravings...a slice of ham and pineapple pizza on Brunswick St a bit before midnight...what a fantastic night...

And...true to Markéta Irglová word...when you let go of a problem or a difficult decision and go to the sea...the solution inevitably finds you...and it kind of has...Kirilie's difficult decision now seems a whole lot easier...we're going to keep the baby!

Oh God am I kidding! :)

We're not keeping it...

Reflection of James Antonas

2009-01-19T18:00:00.002+11:00

Life is full of disappointments...sometimes bitter...sometimes they bite you...and sometimes it's one crushing blow or defeat after the other...you struggle to keep your head above the water...or even worse...you put all your eggs in one basket and that basket turns out to have bloody great big holes in it allowing said eggs to fall to the ground smashing in a dramatic fashion spilling the precious yolk that are your dreams all over the pavement or grassy area....so there they sit...dirty broken messy dreams...the egg cannot be put back together again...no matter how many of the King's horses rock up. They're frigging horses! They don't even have fingers...they can't pick up sh*t! Stupid nursery rhymes.

Anyway, you have hopes and sometimes you pin them on one thing...this one thing...and after some time has passed...that one thing takes on mythical and mystical qualities...it will be the one thing that will spell your ticket out of the particular hell hole you find yourself incarcerated in...and soon it's the only thing that will get you out...nothing else. This thing will somehow transport you to a better life and cure your ills.

Then...reality...like a callous slap on a sunburnt back...steps in...ending unicorn hopes and bunyip dreams...ripping up your one way ticket out and confiscating your passport until further notice.

But it's at these times you truly appreciate who you are and what makes you so f*cking great...you're you...or in this case James Antonas...you're nothing if not resilient (as well as devilishly handsome but that's another story)...so you pick yourself up and dust yourself off and look at what you've got going for you...and you can't help but be somewhat pleased.

There are slow realisations and gradual dawnings. You convince yourself that this is a blessing in disguise. A very good disguise...but a disguise all the same. There is sweetness in life...that's the main thing. Whether it's sitting on a rug in the park on a warm evening, dressing up and going to a nice dinner and a boring play, treading the boards, writing inappropriate emails, eating frozen honeycomb milk on hot nights, sharing laughs, smelling loved ones, eating too much, jogging in the morning with no worries about the day that follows, closeness, laughing at your own jokes because no one else will, brunch on Saturday, brunch on Sunday, friends, and reading in bed with the light on...so many precious and beautiful things that make what's important important. And you think these things will cover the cracks in the facade...and then you begin to realise...that these things are the important things...these small things make up the whole...and they are what make the whole so damn fantastic.

Life is life. You can't control it. You can't predict it. You can only try to enjoy it and not put all your eggs in a holey f*cking basket.

Christmastime

2008-12-21T18:00:00.001+11:00

Christmas is upon us. Creeping stealthily like some...creeping stealthy thing...it always seems to tickle us unawares like those rascally bananas in pyjamas. And even though the preparing, the presents, the celebrating, the drinking, the regrets, the recriminations, further drinking, pausing for reflection, resuming drinking, purging for New Year's and then drinking once more...are varied amongst the peoples in the world, there are common elements that we all share and should savour...

Togetherness. Friends and family. Love.

I recently watched the film It's a Wonderful Life...no, it wasn't The James Antonas Story, but thanks for the flattery...it's a classic old film with a classic old lesson subtly weaved into the fabric of the film. The story is about George Bailey on the verge of ending his life on Christmas Eve. He’s in a massive financial pickle. He believes he is a failure and thinks that everyone in his hometown would be better off without him if he wasn't around or had never even been born. This gains the attention of his guardian angel Clarence who is sent to help George in his hour of need. George is then shown how life would have turned out for the people of the town if he had in fact never been born. It then becomes apparent to George all the people whose lives he has touched and the difference he has made to the community in which he lives. George calls upon Clarence and God to let him live again, and he runs home filled with a new appreciation of what he has accomplished in his life. There, he finds that his friends and family have collected a huge amount of money to save George from scandal and ruin. And just in case we missed the message, in the piles of money he receives George finds a copy of the book Tom Sawyer with this inscription:

"Dear George, remember no man is a failure who has friends. Thanks for the wings, Love Clarence."

I think there’s something in that for everyone…especially the wings…I love me some chicken wings.

Santa went a pimpin'.

Odd socks

2008-11-19T18:00:00.001+11:00

I'm at work today, surprise, surprise...but something is different...something a little bit left of centre for me.

I'm wearing different coloured socks.

Woo hoo. The hijinks. I'm such a wild and crazy guy.

But seriously...I am a wild and crazy guy.

No, seriously...odd socks. Now let me clarify, I'm not wearing a red and a blue sock or a black and yellow one...no...instead of wearing my conservative, run of the mill black socks...I am wearing what appears to be fawn golfing socks...you know the kind...with the diamonds...but these are all fawn...the socks are all one colour...it's a fawn jamboree down there.

And let me tell you...I hate every minute!

From the moment I realised this morning that I had no clean black socks...my head was spinning...I rummaged around the sock drawer for any sign of hope...a pair of ankle white sport socks...NO!...three hankies...NO!...one small black sock that looked completely unfamiliar and possibly a woman's sock to boot...NO! The fawn option was the only option.

Downhill from there, let me tell you.

And so began a day of self-consciousness and self-doubt...I keep looking at my feet at every possible opportunity to make sure those slivers of fawn aren't too conspicuous...standing up is fine I thought...you can't see anything...but as soon as I started walking I realised the cuffs of my pants were swaying and rising like crazy exposing my hidden shame to all who bore witness to my confident manly stride. I can't cross my legs when I sit...and I'm a big fan of crossing my legs when I sit...a big fan. Torture...all day.

I am being self-conscious to the point that I bring up my anomaly to anyone and everyone I meet so as to avoid anyone or everyone noticing it and raising the issue with a grin and a witty comment: 'Laundry day?'

I'm like a reformed addict, telling everyone my sob story...cleansing me, absolving me...if I was upfront and honest then no one could land a punch. This must come from my adolescence where I...so the rumours go...was a fatty. In those days you would pay yourself out before anyone else did...removing the sting from any barb some skinnier kid might try to put on me...self-deprecation...the survival tool of the fat and the ugly. Believe me...I know.

So what has this involuntarily social experiment taught me? That change...although not always a good thing...is manageable. Difficult yes, but manageable. And I think there's something in that for all of us, don't you?

PS I'm aware that this is my first post in sometime...call it Blogger's Lethargy...or Apathy...no Lethargy...that's harder to pronounce...so James will see what he can do to rectify this situation...or not...I don't know...we'll see.

The Sound of...

2008-09-30T18:00:00.001+10:00

This wasn’t my first gig, more like my second. And the experience didn’t stop me…it scarred me, but only emotionally…so what else is new? But there I was, waiting in the wings, wearing an ill-fitting Austrian delivery boy outfit with one of those gendarme hats, a satchel full of letters and resting on an antique bicycle. In forty minutes time I would be a Nazi. In seventy minutes time I would be instrumental in allowing the Von Trapp family to escape over the plywood Austrian Alps. It’s The Sound of Music. I’m playing Rolf Gruber. I was Rolf Gruber. And I was awful.

The character is an idealistic seventeen year old Austrian going on eighteen, possibly looking for some guidance in his life, a father figure perhaps. He’s in love with Liesel, or at least in lust, well, seventeen year old 1940s Austrian lust, which usually amounts to a peck on the mouth and a lot of blushing. I was 22, slightly overweight with dark brown hair, not the typical Rolf: athletic type with Aryan blond locks. Austrian shmaustrian. My Rolf spoke with a British accent.

As is always the case with any amateur theatrical endeavour, auditioning and casting is 50% talent and 50% desperation. I was the only male who auditioned who was under the age of 25. Therefore, I got the part. It made me feel a little better to know the girl playing the sixteen year old Liesel was actually 24 years old, but only a little better.

Never has one man been so uncomfortable or ill-suited to a role.

I could sing at least, like a bird…well, a bird with nasal congestion, do birds even have a nasal area to get congested? I couldn’t dance, but apparently dancing was not required for this role. Just a few awkward gestures during the romantic duet and then an awkward dance at the party at the Von Trapps. Usually Rolf wouldn’t be at that party, but due to the lack of a male contingent in this company, Rolf went to that party. In fact, there were only two men at that party who didn’t live at the Von Trapp manse and only two men who danced the awkward stupid dance…with five ladies.

I somehow convinced myself that I was doing a knockout job. That I was actually convincing. That my character development from naïve young lad to a Nazi cad and the heartbreaking Sophie’s Choice in the final minutes would touch and move even the stoniest of hearts. Alas, I sucked. My stilted movement, my upper class British accent, my complete lack of ability to register with the character all combined for pure theatrical magic.

When the reviews came out I scanned the paragraphs to catch the words ‘James’, ‘Antonas’, ‘white hot ball of talent’, but to no avail. Nary a word was written about the podgy Nazi. I was devastated. I was consoled by the empty words of the cast confirming how good I actually was, but I knew the truth and faced the cold reality…maybe I wasn’t meant to be on the stage?

But hindsight is a beautiful thing. It slowly dawned on me that yes, I was not that good as Rolf. But maybe it was Rolf that was not too good for me. The importance of the actor fitting the role and vice versa suddenly hit me. And it was only my first role since high school! What did I expect from someone who had no training and never took drama! In fact, considering these obstacles I was pretty damn impressed with my own efforts. There was a slew of roles that probably did fit me and like a glove I’m sure! No Stage Door Johnnie will I be! The roar of the greasepaint and all that crap. This was where I belong. This was just a learning curve. A lesson that life throws at you to kick you in the vitals to see if you’ll stand up and ask for more. I would ask for more. I would demand more! Nothing could stop me now! I was on my way…my next role was a Russian student revolutionary in Fiddler on the Roof…oy vey…I never learn.

Like a glove - a slightly overweight glove...with grey eyebrows and too much blush...I was quite the whorish Rolf.

Admiration

2008-09-18T18:00:00.000+10:00

After all these years I'm still in awe at my father's ability to eat an apple with a knife.

I've struggled with it myself...but it's just clumsy and uneven. He does it with such dexterity...it's not awkward...it's smooth...and he cuts the apple toward him...that just feels dangerous when I do it...but when he does it...it's a natural thing.

It probably helps that he's had an apple every night for as long as I can remember. Usually a big ol' green Granny Smith.

How I hate the Granny Smith.

It's the one apple Mum used to buy over any other. It's so bitter...and green. Something about it just says to me 'I'm not ripe yet!' Now in my adult years...I've fallen in love with Pink Ladies (that just sounds dirty)...and sometimes Fujis...but give me a Pink Lady anytime...

But my knife skills have not developed as progressively as my taste in apples. If I have to chop vegetables for dinner...it's a struggle...well not so much a struggle as a long drawn out affair...where it would appear that I'm cutting with a delicate air...but I am really trying not to lose an appendage or fingernail...

And just so I'm not tipping the scales to one parent...my Mum used to make an awesome Chocolate Cake...moist but not rich...I think it had yoghurt in it and was from the Green and Gold Cook Book...she also makes Coffee Cake but I'm not a fan of Coffee Cake...and my brother and sister love her Cheesecake...but it's not to my fancy...no offence to Mum or Cheesecake...but give me more of that Chocolate Cake.

Sermon on the Mount

2008-09-17T18:30:00.002+10:00

It's interesting. You think you know people...or someone....and then WHAM! Right out of left field you get hit with a slug right in the face.

I don't know. Maybe it's me. I value honesty to a great degree...close to above all things...but I rate tact above all else. Tact is the key to living life. Sure being brutally honest can be helpful to get to the top. And you can talk yourself up with fancy phrases like You talk the straight sh*t...or you shoot from the hip...but what's the point? You're not a f*cking cowboy! You become a wanker in the process. The key to life is to be nice. That's the biggest thing that everyone should know. The world does not appreciate a prick...so why behave like one? You might think you're cool or daring or you're own person...but you really are a prick.

You have to grease the wheels...otherwise the machine won't run effectively or at all. This is especially the case in business. I don't mean big business...that's shark infested water...a pool that I have no desire to dip my toe into...but everyday business...management of people...office interactions. You treat people with respect. That's utmost. From CEOs to janitors...being nice is being nice. You don't want to burn bridges. There's no need to be negative or sour. If you smile at someone...they'll more than likely smile back...it might not be a lasting smile...but it's better than frowning, glaring or spitting on them as you pass.

I also think people hide behind email too much to give bad news or deal with issues that people are too afraid of to discuss face-to-face. Not that I'm against email - it's important as hell...but the delivering of bad news via this method is just weak, small and petty. I've seen it happen on lots of occasions. People think 'I'll send an email. They won't be able to tell what tone I'm using. So it's less offensive.' or 'I don't have the balls to say this to so-and-so's face...so I'll just shoot them email...no fuss...no muss.' See? Wimpy, spineless and a poor excuse for human behaviour. This is even less impressive when done by managers and higher ups...they get paid the big bucks...so earn the big bucks. Act like a decent human being.

I've heard stories of bosses who walk all over their staff...berate them, belittle them...these bosses are not well adjusted. This is not acceptable behaviour. Just because you're in a position of power doesn't mean you can do what you want to whoever you want in any way you want. Not at all. People are meant to look up to these people. To follow the example that they set...and that's fundamental...lead by example. Not abuse the power you're given.

I think the key to efficient and happy working relationships...in fact...human relationships period is to treat others the way you would like to be treated. It's a simple code and an easy way to live your life. Treat others the way you want to be treated. I wouldn't want to be yelled at...so don't yell at me and I won't yell at you! I would want respect from my fellow office folk...so respect is what I give them. Nothing sneaky, nothing underhanded, nothing malicious or cruel. It's simple niceties. And you can go home and look at yourself in the mirror and be proud of the human being staring back at you...and that's worth a whole damn lot to me.

Treat others as you would like to be treated. Simple. Can you imagine how much easier our life would be if people followed it?

Here endeth the lesson.

Another Another Springtime

2008-09-17T18:00:00.001+10:00

Just in case the few of you who were interested in seeing Another Springtime...it's on at the Clocktower Theatre, corner of Wilson and Carpenter Street, Brighton this Saturday (September 20). It's on at 2pm and 8pm. And costs...I think...$10 or $12. It may or may not be worth it. If you like James Antonas then it will definitely be worth the price of admission. If you like Mexican melodrama...also, it will definitely be worth the price of admission.

Kirilie's Chocolates

2008-09-15T18:00:00.002+10:00

Kirilie is in a musical. Part of the requirements of the cast of the show is to sell a box of fundraising chocolates to help the company put on the musical. So Kirilie...reluctantly...dragged the big box of chocolates to work (a 49 minute walk through the city!) to attempt to sell them. In an effort to aid this endeavour I wrote an email for her to distribute amongst her work colleagues to drum up some business for her. And remember...it's from Kirilie...nice and humble...don't blow my own trumpet Kirilie. Here it is:

Chocolates! Chocolates! Chocolates!

Now that I've got your attention I want to talk you about...chocolates. Yes...that constant companion, that steadfast friend...always there to pick you up when you're feeling low...then make you feel worse after eating a whole block of Dairy Milk. But my point is...I need to sell chocolates! Not just any chocolates I'll have you know...fundraising chocolates!

As you all must now know...I am an extremely boisterous and talkative person...so I'm sure I would have told you that I was performing in a musical...if I haven't...I am performing in a musical.

Unlike Broadway or the West End or Adelaide...the amateur musical circuit doesn't have the capital to keep putting on high quality glitz, glamour and pizzazz to rival the professionals...so they ask for help...in the form of chocolates. And that's where you come in! By purchasing one or eight of these chocolates you will be supporting those that don't have the ability to support themselves...sure you could donate to those other supposed 'charities' but why waste your hard earned moolah when you could get hard earned chocolate...it's win-win. We get your precious money and you get the precious chocolate. Understand? It's simple...and delicious.

Everything costs a dollar...from Crunchies, Time Outs, Picnics, Caramello Koalas, and good old Freddo Frogs. Who knows...your dollar might buy...a dollar's worth of nails...or...a dollar's worth of paint...it's capitalism at its best!

Think about it...as you sit there in the afternoons to come...contemplating that empty void at 3pm...ask yourself the question...can I go without?

No...you can't.

So come by me and I will fill that void with cheap chocolate and a song...like Willy Wonka...only less creepy...well...less creepy than the Johnny Depp version...more on par with the Gene Wilder version...but less threatening...that's it...like a less threatening Gene Wilder Willy Wonka...only female...and working in superannuation.

Who can take a sunrise, sprinkle it with dew? Cover it in chocolate and a miracle or two...Kirilie can...yes Kirilie can 'cause she sells it for a dollar to make her musical good...

As if that wouldn't sell a truckful of chocolates!

Update

Kirilie has sold all the chocolates. I repeat, Kirilie has sold all the chocolates. It took roughly 2 hours to sell the 40 or so chocolates...and she didn't have to do anything...just sit at the desk and watch the money come rolling in.

Another Springtime

2008-09-14T22:00:00.003+10:00

Tonight I ventured way out of my comfort zone...all the way to Malvern East...or East Malvern...or Darling...whatever it's called...for a first rehearsal for a play reading that's on this Saturday (Sept 20) at Clocktower Theatre, Brighton. The play is that classic drama 'Another Springtime'.

Yes, you heard me right...we're doing that play.

Of course I'm joking. No one has heard of this play or should have heard of this play or even want to see this play...in that it's not exactly a classic or anything of that nature...it's out of print even...but it still has a lot of charm. I enjoyed reading it with the cast and found it had some moving parts, but 'A Drama in Three Acts' is pushing it slightly...'A Melodrama in Three Acts' would be more appropriate.

It's the type of play where the first time you hear the title of the play in the body of the play you go, 'Ahhhh...that's why it's called Another Springtime!'...the second time you hear it...you go, 'Ahhhh...that's a bit much'...and by the third time it comes along it's just plain corny. It's like those old episodes of The Bill where the episode was called something like 'Crime and Punishment' or something and then just as the episode is about to end and they've nabbed some criminal someone is bound to have a conversation consisting of: 'Well that's another one put away, and hopefully this crim realises that's the way it goes with Crime and Punishment.' And then The Bill theme song would play and you'd see those two coppers walking down the cobbled stone street in time with each other. You could rely on it...set your clock to it even. Ba-dum, ba-dum, bum, ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da.

The play was apparently written in the 1940s by the great and noted playwright Rodolfo Usigli...I jest. That is his name...but noted and great...I don't know. Sounds more like a porno actor from a Third World country.

And it's apparently Mexican...and set in Mexico. We will be donning orange makeup and speaking with outrageous accents and trilling and rolling r's all over the place. Another joke. We will be speaking in neutral British accents...except when we get to words like 'hacienda' pronounced ah-see-yen'-dah...so much so I'm sure people will be wondering what these poor British people are doing stranded in Mexico...or rather May'-hee-coh. And no makeup...unfortunately.

All joking aside...I'm glad to be doing it. I've never done a play reading before so it should be interesting and fun to see how it all goes...and to work with a bunch of people I don't know but who seem more than ably talented to do justice to the play should be a highlight for me.

I'll be playing Raùl (pronounced Rah-ool' - with full trill on the r) - Arturo's older son, who is about 27 years old. He is a young man, well-built like his father. Wow...what a description...gives a person so much to work with!

I seem to have a penchant for playing Mexicans...this time last year I was wiping off my orange makeup and pencil moustache as Manny Munoz/Pancho Vargas...and now...I'll be donning the histrionics of another Mexican...although Raùl is far less outrageous and funny than Manny...and doesn't have a song...except maybe in his heart...saving it once more for...Another Springtime.

Tempting...

2008-09-09T18:00:00.000+10:00

It's strange what tempts different people. I'm talking specifically about food here, just in case there are a couple of perverts out there looking for some sexual deviancy. Not here...not yet, anyway.

I've been trying to eat right for the last couple of days...and weeks...and years...but my determination and drive seems to be quite cyclical. It comes in waves. Sometimes I'll be so determined that I'll empty my life completely of any food that I consider to be bad and tempting. Or sometimes I try to go the whole martyr route and keep these things in my life to see if my will power is strong enough to overcome the temptation...usually it's a bust...and I find myself sincerely pondering: 'I wonder what a Mars Bar tastes like?' knowing full well that the nougaty caramel goodness is pure deliciousness.

I'm not dieting. I haven't dieted in years. But it's a question of eating well. I'm flirting with something different this time...smaller portions. I've never really tried it and I think it might be what makes a difference this time. I'm used to having small breakfasts...but lunch and dinner are completely different...especially the lunch...I used to find myself ravenous by 12pm, but not so much now.

The biggest thing for me is eating out of boredom. Sitting at my desk doing work that isn't occupying my mind too much or even in a quieter period...and you think...some chocolate would be good right about now. And I'm not hungry...not one iota. But since my body and mind aren't being challenged at a particular moment...it wanders to food. That's what I think that whole 3pm snack crap comes from...people get a little bored around 3pm...it's the natural quiet part of the day...and so people get bored and think that they should snack for a pick-me-up...specifically chocolate. I just don't buy it. I have the cravings. And that's just what they are...cravings. Especially if you have a habit of snacking at that time, so your body craves the snack, the sugar, the...whatever.

What I find interesting is that over the years my tastes have changed...I don't know if I'd say developed but they have changed. I used to be a 'Chip Man'. Any kind of savoury snack...Shapes, Doritos, Smiths, CCs, Toobs...I was there, and I loved it. But now...I find my tooth has evolved into something resembling a 'sweet tooth'. Chocolate, lollies...you name it. And not quality stuff either...good old reliable Cadbury, Nestle crap. Terrible. No matter how small the serving size...the temptation is there...even when I know it's going to taste like average name brand chocolate...it's still so hard to resist.

A big part of it is feeling like I can get away with it. I don't mean sneaking it in so no one can see...I mean I feel like I don't have to watch what I eat so much...so I can eat this...I've made the decision. So if I've eaten well for two or three days I'll be offered a Crunchie or something and I'll say to myself 'You've done well so far...go on. You don't really need to watch what you eat! And you can make it up later!' And that is the hardest voice of temptation to resist...your own...especially when you're giving yourself your own blessing. I rationalise it. And that's terrible. I think working in offices has done it to me. No one offers me a chip or a crisp or a cracker...it's always something sugary and sweet and decadent. People have cake at birthdays...not a big bowl of chips and dip with a candle in it. Why is that?

Anyway...the sad realisation that is dawning upon me is that you have to look after yourself for life...you have to eat healthy all the time...not just for periods...otherwise you'll relax and then realise later when you're bloated or having digestive problems or struggle with breathing that you need to get back on the wagon...then you do...and then you reach what you wanted...and then you let it all go again. You have to keep working at it. You can have bad days and weak week ends - I'm all for that...you still have to enjoy the good things...just not in excess. I guess that's what I'm also coming to terms with...when people say 'in moderation'...I never realised what that meant exactly...a chocolate day is not moderation. Hell...a chocolate a week is pushing it...but I'm happy with that kind of pushing it!

Just so you can get an idea on what I'm eating and what direction this is heading in I'll give you a run down of what I'm eating. Now bear in this mind...this is not to lose weight, merely to eat and live well and maintain healthy habits for as long as possible.

Breakfast
Rice Bran Flakes with fruit on top and rice milk.

Lunch
Salad containing lettuce, capsicum, tomato, cucumber, tuna, almonds and red onion. Sounds plain and average but really isn't.

Dinner
Whatever we eat that is healthy...recently that's included homemade Chicken and Sweet Corn soup (something I never thought I'd eat!), Pumpkin and Spinach fritata, a Roast Vegetable Soup, and tonight it's Dukkah Eggplant with Roasted Tomato and Chickpea Salad!

And I know for some of you that sounds like vegetarian or wholefood garbage...but remember I was once like you...I would pull the exact same faces you're pulling now...and if I can eat like this...you have to...I mean...you can to.

Also I'm focusing on exercising at least once a day...that's James Antonas exercise as well...not muscle man exercise...so that will usually consist of a 20 minute jog at night or in the morning...and hopefully both on some days.

Don't really know why this required an entry...I guess I'm proud of what I'm eating at the moment and my focus on a healthy life (it helps having Kirilie...a born nutritionist/dietitian leading the way!)...also because I don't really have much else to write about today as I'm trying to shift focus from my craving to eat really bad food onto something more productive...and it's working...kind of.

P.S. After finishing the last sentence someone came round offering me free Starburst. What a world!

Casual chic

2008-08-29T08:00:00.002+10:00

What is it about Casual Day?

It's Casual Day today at work...and I don't know, maybe it's me...but it just changes the whole mood and shape of the day...I feel relaxed, excited to go to and be at work, the weather seems nicer...it just seems like a great day...it helps that Casual Day falls on a Friday so the impending weekend lifts everyone's spirits and when asked the question 'How are you?' people respond with 'It's Friday!' rather than the customary 'Not bad for a Monday.' or 'Not bad for a Tuesday' or the surprising variation 'Not bad for a Wednesday' until Thursday arrives and you get 'It's almost Friday!'

People make me sick.

They are so anxious for the working day to pass so they can be home or drinking...or at home drinking...or drinking at home...instead of changing their outlook and mindset and being determined to enjoy the 8 or so hours that are spent in the concrete prisons.

It's a fact of life: you have to work. There is no escaping it. Money must be earned. Bills must be paid. Food must be bought. It's the crappy circle of life that they don't sing about in The Lion King because telling young children that they are being groomed to live a life of servitude is too scary a prospect for an animated film...of course showing Mufasa being trampled to death by wildebeests or Scar being eaten by Hyenas is perfectly reasonable.

So it is inevitable, we work. We all get it. But why can't people adjust their perspective and realise it doesn't have to be the back breaking chore they make it out to be - there is lots of time in the working day to laugh and smile and goof off and simply enjoy being healthy, breathing and basically being alive! Keep a song and a smile in your heart and the day will be brighter, and you'll find that your life will improve greatly.

Why only recently I decided to stop answering the question 'How are you?' with 'Fine' or 'Not bad'. Now I answer it with 'Great! And how are you!?' with a beaming smile and excitement lurking behind my eyes. And I feel great. You start doing this more and more often and you start feeling great more and more often. I have found it also results in a more positive atmosphere in your life. You're more inclined to laugh at things rather than get depressed, and it's just so much healthier feeling happy than crummy. Of course people stare at you like you're some kind of freak when you answer like that at 8 o'clock in the morning, but screw them. What do those mindless zombie drones know about anything? Nothing. That's right, they don't know nothing about anything...or to put it more simply...they don't know anything about nothing...or...bugger it.

I wake up when the alarm goes off. I don't hit snooze. I frame it in my mind that I have to get up. It's not a choice. I don't have the luxury to keep on sleeping. And after a day or two of doing this, you'll find it's much easier getting up in the morning. I actually wake up with the alarm. And I am awake as soon as I get out of bed.

And listening to some good music on the way to work always helps. Recently I've only had time for one or two songs before I'm at work, but those two songs are crucial. They need to be upbeat and catchy so once I'm out of the car I find myself whistling one of them as I walk the distance to work and come inside.

It starts the day right. And sets you off like a dwarf to a mine...and isn't that what life is really about?

Try it. You won't be disappointed!

...

Or you will be...I can't tell. I don't know you. Plus this kind of advice can be incredibly cloying and annoying if you're not a morning person or you hate you job...so...just suck it up and keep it to yourself you whingers.

Kindly let it pass

2008-08-26T18:00:00.001+10:00

I was on the telephone with a man today...a man, what man? That's not important...but in the midst of conversation he uttered these words 'You're not going to get off scotch free.'

Thud.

I heard it. He obviously didn't as he kept on talking and we finished the conversation. But it was like fingernails on a chalk board.

Scotch free??

What the hell is that?

Am I on the wagon suddenly? Am I some kind of stain resistant carpet? Is he referring to sticky tape or some kind of hard boiled egg concoction?

It's scot free or scott free, dammit!

And I let it pass. I let him hang up and end the conversation with no correction on my part. He could go out into the wide world and make the same mistake again, possibly making a fool of himself or embarrassing himself in front of a possible paramour spoiling a romantic atmosphere and future entanglements that may have arisen. And it would be my fault...not directly of course but indirectly...by my omission. I have allowed this man to believe that the phrase is scotch free when it very clearly isn't.

And I thought...what is the proper etiquette in a situation like this? Do you leave this man's boogers hanging? Do you lend a hankie? What's a nice genuine handsome guy like me to do? Should I have done what I did and let it pass...or said something...or nothing? Should I have not returned conversation at the end of the sentence containing the malapropism and in the deafening silence that would ensue mutter the words: Um...I think it's scot(t) free.

Him: What?

Me: Scot(t) free. I think the phrase is scot(t) free. You said scotch free.

Him: Did I? I don't remember saying that.

Me: You did. But that's cool.

Him: I don't think I would have said scotch free. I'm not an idiot.

Me: I'm not saying you're an idiot. I heard the words 'scotch' and 'free' and I thought I'd help you out in case you really did think it was scotch free and you went out and used it again somewhere and looked like a complete ass clown.

Him: I know it's scot(t) free. Don't patronise me.

Me: I'm not patronising you. I'm condescending, there's a subtle difference.

Him: Is there?

Me: I hope so.

Him: Oh, well...um...thanks for the help.

Me: Don't mention it.

Him: Right. Well...I better...

Me: I've got to go too...

Him: Oh...I was just going to....

Me: What?

Him: Nothing, nothing. You're going to think I'm sil...I can't.

Me: Um...what are you talking about?

Him: It's just that...I can't get you out of...oh never mind...I'll talk to you some other time.

Me: Oh...kay.

'click'

See...awkward.

No one needs that. So, I did the right thing. I did the right thing. I don't care how blue his eyes are.

Food for thought

2008-08-25T21:30:00.002+10:00

I just noticed that my last three entries have been food related...or should I say entrees?

Ha ha.

No...entries it is.

I'll see what I can think of that isn't about food or remotely connected with food for my next entry...

I'm sure you care.

Twirling...

2008-08-24T18:00:00.003+10:00

I just had a Twirl...

Relax you superficial trolls...it was a 'funsize' one...so I will still be maintaining my size zero frame.

But it got me thinking...I remember when the Twirl first came out. There was a lot of hoop-la...reminiscent of the coming of the Curly-Wurly...that may have been before or after...I forget. But still...and after all these years nothing has changed about the Twirl...Cadbury hasn't tried to 'mint' it or dip it in white chocolate or dark chocolate or mix it with caramel...it has remained unchanged. It is as it was and always has been...Swirls and Curls of Cadbury Dairy Milk Milk Chocolate.

But where is it in the national conscience...nowhere...it's not even on the shelf of the sub-conscious supermarket or 711 of the public mind. You know why...and I'm going to be brutally honest here...

The Time Out.

Now I know they're different...believe me...the Time Out has more in common with a Twix than with the Twirl...but it landed in Australia with as much hoop-la but a little less popular consumption...so I feel like the advertising and the focus was moved from a more reliable product like Twirl...onto the wafer based Time Out...and look at what that move has wrought.

Now I don't know how Twirl is selling...I haven't done the research...but maybe it still is the good ol' reliable chocolate...that can't be...that won't be...'redone' with flashy new tricks like a mint frosting caramel goo thing...it is unchanged. It is constant. Maybe that's why we love it. When we feel like curls and swirls...we say to ourselves...'Let's get a Twirl!' We know what it is...and the purple and yellow branding is emblazoned on our memory like a blaze of blazers...but it will never reach the popularity level that it once did. And I blame that also on the youth...the younger generations out there...who don't remember Nestle...only Wonka...who never think to pick up a Polly Waffle or a Chokito...and it is inevitably this generation that I feel sorry for...for they will never know the thrill of biting into a Coconut Rough...tasting the bubbles of an original flavoured Aero...or having debates about the quality of honeycomb in a Violet Crumble versus the Crunchie.

Or maybe they will...maybe I'm just being cynical. But it's never too late. Encourage your kids to experiment with different types of chocolate bars. Lift them on your shoulders so they can see the less popular peanut brittle chocolates. Do it. Grab a Twirl and give it a...shot.

Why I don't really like fish...

2008-08-20T18:00:00.008+10:00

Yessir...I tackle the real issues.

I don't know why really...when someone says do you like fish...I find myself umming and ahhing and saying...'I like seafood!' But it's not the same is it? No. In my book seafood is calamari, scallops, prawns, mussels, oysters...but it's not fish. Is that even correct? No, apparently not...the break down of the word is 'sea' and 'food' = 'food of the sea'...so technically...plankton is seafood, algae...and fish. So I guess I stand corrected...so remember that...seafood is 'food of the sea'.

But I don't include fish on my list of likes...I don't trust it. Don't get me wrong...I love a battered piece of garfish as much as anyone...but as soon as you start baking a fish...or serving it in a salad or whatever...it becomes less trustworthy and more suspicious in my books.

I will heartily bite into a piece of battered fish because I assume there's no bones...and the fish has been deep fried to an inch of it's life...there's no doubting it's dead. But the texture is different when it's baked...there's also not the thick layer of disgusting crumbed goodness standing between my teeth and the sweet salty flesh of the dead sea animal.

And I'm afraid that there will be bones...and I hate bones in my food. When you have to start being careful when you chew your food...food becomes less fun. I don't want to have to push a piece of fish around my mouth for a minute just to discover what bones lie hidden within it...only to then have to put my fingers to my mouth and remove three pieces of skeleton...I am not Sylvester eating out of a garbage can. I am a grown man who doesn't want to over think his chewing.

It's like salmon...even when it's cooked it doesn't taste cooked. But it's not like I don't like uncooked fish...I like sushi...I do...but that tastes like it's not supposed to be cooked...a fillet of salmon to me tastes like it should be cooked and then cooked again. All that orangey flesh...who are they trying to impress? Not me that's for sure...just taste cooked, that's all I'm asking...and free of bones.

I think it also harks back to my Yia Yia baking fish...seeing it sit in the cooking dish...scales and the eye...and that was when it was ready to eat...I'll pass! But that's not the only dish I passed on...the other was avgolemono soup - a Greek egg and lemon soup...which to my memory consisted of egg yolks and lemon (I'm sure there's more to it!)...and tastes as good as it sounds. I spent many Easters trying to discreetly empty my bowl in a pot plant or some hidden space in the garden...and each Easter I would forget how much I hated it the previous Easter and ask for a bowl...stupid little Jimbo never learnt.

Mmmmm...appetising.

I'm sweet enough, thanks.

2008-08-19T18:00:00.003+10:00

I bought some dried fruit. I don't know why. I can buy real fruit...hydrated fruit. But I decided to purchase some chemically induced dried fruit. Pineapple to be specific. I never liked pineapple growing up. For years I put it in the same class as rock melon and mango...which I still despise to this day...it's the texture of those last two that does me in...they're all soft...it's like marshmallow fruit...but pineapple...I think I was just scared of it. Plus we never really had pineapple in our house...or mango really...rock melon I'm not so sure about.

And after rediscovering pineapple in the last year or two I've come to appreciate it's uniqueness...it's sweet and tart...it can burn the inside of your mouth and sting the corners of your lips...yet it's delicious and refreshing...much like James Antonas...sweet and tart, delicious and refreshing...'bitingly refreshing' - that would be a good slogan if pineapple was actually a product that was marketed...actually...the best. I defy you to think of a better one...

But it's a pain to prepare...all the cutting, the juice...a harder thing there has not been...so I was browsing the aisles of the local supermarket and saw a packet of Dried Pineapple, purchased a bag and began to devour them. After a few I thought...these aren't too tart...where's the bite? This tastes like a lolly...and lo and behold...just above the title of 'Pineapple' it says 'Sweetened Dried'! What the hell does that mean? It was dried in sugar!? I think they mean sweetened and dried but couldn't afford an 'and' or even an ampersand ('&')...so I was basically eating sugared pineapple...outraged as I was I still finished the bag...but learnt a very valuable lesson...don't try and sweeten something that is perfect as it is.

Any amount of sugar coating will make something that is unique lose its lustre...and by doing so become less unique. And I think that's true with human beings...you shouldn't try to change who you are to make yourself more palatable to other people...actually no, I think you should...well I think other people should...not me...I'm perfect...but you know those people who are loud-mouthed and opinionated and say 'I'm opinionated' (you can tell the real sorry cases are the one's who have to declare themselves 'opinionated' rather than letting their opinions 'ate' for themselves!)...and if you can't take me as I am then go away...I think this is total malarkey...there's a time and a place for opinions and it is also a better type of person who can be opinionated but quietly so, and who is also willing to take into consideration other people's opinions. I am an opinionated person, but an ill-informed opinionated person...I base my opinions on my own irrational thought process...and gladly defer to someone who has actually done the reading or the listening or the watching...they have the knowledge...I have the mouth.

So...in short...don't add sugar to pineapple...if that pineapple is James Antonas. Otherwise...add sugar and shut up.

You stand defied...top that!

Accidents do happen...to James Antonas

2008-07-29T18:00:00.002+10:00

So we're all set...Kirilie had booked tickets to see Blackbird at the Malthouse...a show I really wanted to see...but there was a dilemma...the show began at 6:30pm in the City (this being a Tuesday night)...I finished work at 5:00 in Kew (not in the City)...ALSO...I had no more clean shirts or...ahem...unmentionables...although I just mentioned them...let's call them 'mentionables'...so being the bright spark I am I thought I could dash home...put on a load of laundry...hang it up to dry...leave home a bit before 6pm and arrive before the show began...perfect.

The washing machine is loaded...I set up the clothes hanger...then nip to the toilet (which is in the same room as the washing machine)...whilst there I notice the socks on my feet getting wet...lo and behold...I had forgotten to put the hose from the washing machine into the shower...so now it was spurting water all over the bathroom floor...and quite a bit of it...and it was now approaching 5:20pm...

And of course...we don't own a mop.

So I rummaged through the towels we have and decided on the one with the orange makeup stains (don't ask...) as a blotter for the water...thinking a few blots and it'll be done...but that would be in The Secret Life of James Antonas...I drop the towel and soak up some water...the towel is now drenched...and the water hasn't subsided one bit...'This is not going to work you fool.' I said to myself.

So with an eye on the time...I dash to the car...dash to the hardware store...dash off with a mop...and dash back in my slippers. I am quite dashing.

The mop barely made a dent in the water...I swear it would have been about 50 or so mop wrings to get rid of three quarters of the aqua vitae...AND the clothes are still wet in the laundry...AND it's 5:40pm...

So...regretfully I had to pull out of going to see Blackbird (which was fantastic according to reports)...and had the enviable task of mopping, wringing, blotting and hanging out wet laundry...

So I ask you...was this some kind of sub-conscience sabotage or am I just an idiot?

Actually...don't worry...I think I know.

Damn sub-conscience.

Rats!

2008-07-28T18:00:00.002+10:00

I had a dream last night. I can barely remember it, but one part has stuck in my head...

I was reading an article on green living, I don't think it was celebrity green living but for some reason the two accompanying photos were of Stephen Curry and how he lives the greenie life...and one photo was him in his kitchen...looking very commune like and hippie...and then I was in the picture and it was reality...and someone was cooking something and I was at the bench top with a bowl of food...when suddenly a rat scurried past one of the shelves above me and someone cried 'Lookout!' and as the words were out of their mouth the rat projectiled pooped in my direction...but, this being a dream, my reflexes were like a steel trap and I had good hand-eye coordination...and moved my bowl out of the direction of the flying feces without falling over myself...catastrophe averted I thought. I moved to a stool near the kitchen table and relaxed. Then the rats started coming out from under the oven (an old school wood burner with space underneath for...well, rats) and started coming at me with a vengeance and started climbing the stool I tried to kick them off but I was barefoot so didn't want to touch them and they just kept coming at me...

And that's when I woke up...not merely woke up but I woke up to find myself flinching as if rats were climbing up my feet whilst in bed...then realising it was a dream...soothed myself and went back to sleep.

Interesting? I don't know. I don't like rats but I've never really thought of them at any great length...and then to dream about them and for them to scare me enough in my sub-conscious that I force myself to wake up flailing about in bed like some...flailer...strange indeed.

I wonder what it means...if anything.

Of course people have crazy dreams all the time. Kirilie regularly has dreams in which I make an appearance...unfortunately I act like a total bastard...to such an extent that Kirilie will be angry at me for the rest of the day...the nerve...blaming me for her own sub-conscious! So I have to differentiate myself from this other James...this 'Dream James' as I call him. He waltzes into her dreams...causes a stir...and waltzes right out again...leaving 'Real James' to pick up the pieces. Of course 'Real James' can sometimes be a bastard but I've found that 'Dream James' has never matched the goodness of 'Real James'...funny. It's like there are two James' - the evil James and the pleasant convivial James...and for some reason Kirilie's sub-conscious is the home where these two giants of Jamesness do battle...instead of it taking place within me like the ol' Jekyll and Hyde syndrome thing balancing two parts of myself...it's in her noggin'. But they always seem to somehow work out a balance. I don't scare her too much during the day and he'll scare the bejesus out of her at night. It all reminds me of that movie...you know the one...Father of the Bride 2...

Steve Martin's funny.

Thank God I'm Old

2008-07-07T18:00:00.007+10:00

I'm 26 years old. Officially.

Unofficially, my age ranges from 25 to 31 as people guess-timate and assess with a skill usually reserved for the selection of a good melon in the produce aisle. They say I act more mature, or seem more mature, or display more maturity...or some are honest and state plainly that I just look that old.

Now I don't take offence to that...the years have aged me, somewhat ungracefully, but with the passing of those years came the attainment of wisdom and knowledge which was followed by a gradual forgetting of that knowledge and then a period of relearning and adult education.

I've learnt many life lessons...and things about myself that, frankly, I didn't want to know about myself...for example, it turns out that I am quite handsome...not simply handsome...but quite handsome...what kind of burden is that to put on a young man struggling through life? Also, I'm in possession of a devilish wit...I don't know how...I don't ever remember paying for it but here I am in possession of wit...can I now on-sell it?

Through my junior years or 'junior years' as I like to refer to them (it gives them an air of self-importance and makes people believe there could be other stages of the life of James Antonas...so that a film could be made called James Antonas: the Wilderness Years) I thought I was quite the frugal friend...a penny pincher...a cheapskate...and so I came to the conclusion early on that I was an ungenerous person. But through the 'junior-middle-upper years' and my arrival to adulthood and full time employment...I find that I am quite a generous person...so it seems my generosity is only limited by my funding...a good thing to know I'd say.

I was/am a selfish person. Who isn't? I love lobster and crabs...ha ha...did you see what I did? Just another example of the wit aforementioned above. But seriously, I do love lobster.

I am a self-centered person...but over the years...I have become less so. There is still the ol' selfish nature there...but I try to appease him with gifts and promises of future wealth and fame if he allows me the moments to show my unselfish side through good deeds and practices...and I have to say that it is a deal that has worked a treat these last two years...and there's only room for more growth as the demand for good deeds and practices increases in these economically turbulent times.

I am impatient which impedes my ability to be a rational thinker. I learnt this lesson all too well these last few weeks moving house with Kirilie (the unselfish, patient angel that she is...who never raises her voice or says a cross word...she has said a crucifix word but we usually save that for Sunday mornings.) The lack of forethought, the hurried nature of my thinking, the frustrated impatience...all combined to make our move the magical experience that it was...I believe Disney are in talks to turn our story into a ride in the Magic Kingdom.

I used to be bitter...and negative. But not any more. Hopefully. A positive spin and there's a grin! (c) James Antonas Industries.

There are other lessons I've learnt...but who has the time for that much internal analysis...when there are more important things out there to enjoy...like lobster....ROCK LOBSTER!

Character building

2008-07-01T18:00:00.005+10:00

I'm struggling with my Irish ancestry, specifically trying to replicate a half decent Irish accent. I've put it off for weeks because in my head I can do an excellent Irish accent...but as I've discovered throughout my life what you sound like in your head is not at all like real life.

For instance, I used to think my voice was actually quite deep and sounded smooth and seductive...and then I hear a recording of myself or see myself on a nationally broadcast TV game show called The Contest and I realise that in fact I sound like a pale imitation of Woody Allen...more middle ground Woody Allen actually rather than full blown nerdy nasality. And I find it quite grating...but that's not the point. There have also been times in the past where I haven't looked my best...maybe a bit looser around the middle than I'd like...a little wobbly in the chins department...but have been able to look myself up and down in the mirror, smile at myself, do the gun point and wink, maybe throw in a 'Looking good tiger' and have completely fooled myself into thinking I look gorgeous. Self delusion is the easiest form of flattery.

So I thought I could do Irish. I read a passage with my Irish accent and recorded it...and whatever that accent was, it was not Irish. It was like some dumb cartoon dog from an old Hanna-Barbera show or something...with strange sounding vowels and consonants like 'O'im thunking aboot the parst' (I'm thinking about the past).

Crap is the word.

And since the character description basically says: 20-30, Irish Accent - I only fulfil half the criteria required for the character. So I think I'll see what I can do about listening to some Irishness in a movie or two over the next few days...see if that helps.

But it got me thinking about character and building character...specifically the things you do in your childhood that you initially thought were terrible and then later...you still think are terrible...and then a few more years pass and you think those things are less terrible. For example, in my case our Dad use to make us go to a farm...a hobby farm really...with an apple orchard, corn, strawberries, sheep (I think)...but not in vast amounts...small...like 20 or so acres...and he'd make us go there nearly every weekend (it seemed like every weekend it may have been less)...and me and my brother kicked up a fuss, but in reality we didn't really have anything better to do, we were about 10ish. So this was Dad's way of getting us into the outdoors to a degree...and obviously we hated it. It had spiders...maybe rats...there was work to be done...and sometimes nothing to be done.

And when I look back on those days, I still remember the hate and dislike of the whole damn thing, but it's now ensconced in a nice hazy glaze of nostalgia...I remember the walnut and mulberry tree, the time my brother and I rode a motorbike and slid on some dog sh*t and did a wheelie halfway around the house, playing Gin and Go Fish, watching The Bill on Saturday nights, playing board games, the black floral couch, the small TV, the oil heater, the time Mum lost her ring and then found it in the old wood fire oven, the regularity of Dad after driving us all the way there getting called back at some point during the weekend and leaving us there, the gas gun in the orchard, apples, riding on the doors or in the tray of the truck, the sore back from picking strawberries in the sun terrified the whole time that a Red back spider was going to get you, the creek, tracksuits, gumboots, the chickens, the goats, the smell...everything.

And it's a funny thing. I'm now in my mid-twenties (26 on Monday...Jay-zus!) but all that is stuff that I now cherish and would love to do again. To go away somewhere for a weekend and not be working in an office and just enjoy the atmosphere of the outdoors and to not be in suburbia. I guess it takes some growing up and other life experiences to realise that those kind of activities and experiences are really quite important to who we are, what we do and what we want out of life. Who wouldn't love to drive off after work on Friday to some retreat and live on and off the land? To forget the drudgery of the working life and pick up a shovel and dig a hole...for no other reason that to just dig a hole! A hole! And luckily we live in a country where hole digging opportunities are abundant. Do it. Pick up a shovel and just dig. You won't regret it!

And I know that if the day ever comes that Kirilie and I decide to have children (and may that day never come!) I will enjoy inflicting the same torture on them that my father inflicted on me and my brother...and I know that they will be better people for it...they'll hate it at the time but later they'll grow up to thank me for the experience...and you know what, they may even do it in an Irish accent.

Where are you at?

2008-06-17T18:00:00.010+10:00

Life is back to normal...unfortunately....no, not unfortunately...fortunately...I am a lucky bugger who has a pretty sweet life truth to tell...there's too much negativity and apathy in the world...there's no need for me to contribute to it further.

Life is swell.

We returned on Monday from our 'whirlwind' tour of South Australia that took us to Adelaide then Wallaroo then back to Adelaide and then to Tanunda in the Barossa and home to Melbourne once more.

It was a great trip, thanks for asking.

Wallaroo was fantastic...a beach house beyond your imagining...friends...a special someone...and the fact that we wasted close to 6 days there was simply topping. Only problem was, and I find that this is the case when holidays are involved...I eat.

Eat, eat, eat.

And it isn't necessarily good food...it's any food...cheeses, alcohol, biscuits, chocolate...we were in a supermarket and browsing through the bargain trolley and saw little plastic bags with Mars Bars in them....5 normal sized Mars Bars in one bag...for $1!! They went off in February but who am I to cast judgement on the quality of produce? What's a boy to do?

What's a James Antonas to do?

Being the bargain hunting cheapskating glutton that I am...I bought two bags...and devoured them over the course of the next 10 days...and also found out that frozen Mars Bars are fantastic. So...I gained about 3 kilos in the first four days...and probably another 2 kilos in the remaining time in Adelaide...which was nice.

So Wallaroo rocked...just an awesome vibe...and it was also Kirilie's birthday...something that she wasn't looking forward to...so I made her a birthday box...want to know how?

Take an empty box...cover it with butcher's paper, get some textas, pipe cleaners, crafty craft things, some glue, and James Antonas' imagination, stick it all together...and voila! The perfect age defying birthday box...filled to overflowing with presents...I was quite proud of myself...and the efforts of people at work who contributed to its secret completion during lunch breaks. She loved it...or she lied. I'm betting on the former.

Our return to Adelaide seemed more like the whirlwind part...trying to catch up with as many people as possible in a short time frame is always difficult...you feel like you're getting the shorthand version of a friendship when you only get an hour or so to catch up with person over a couple of months. Eh, so what can you do? (shrugs shoulders rhetorically)

One minor highlight was going to get measured for a suit to be hired for my brother's wedding in October. Now this is a dangerous activity if you take into consideration my tendency to weight gain and fluctuation (noted above) especially as the wedding is 3 or so months away...but I went to the Hire Department of Axel Beers in Francis Street and was so impressed by the guy who served me...he looked at me up and down...and came back with the exact size suit jacket for me to try on...perfect fit...then looked at me again and gave me the correct size in suit pants as well...they only needed to be taken up by a small amount...pretty damn impressive I must say...to be able to look at someone and pigeonhole their waist, shoulders, chest etc....especially someone as intimidating in their beauty as I am...it has been known to cause some people to burst into flames or spontaneously orgasm...it's that powerful.

Also going to Maggie Beer's Farm Shop was another highlight...I tried dukkah for the first time...absofrigginlutely delicious...it was a sample tray to taste...I went back...and back, and back, and back, and back, and then didn't, and then went back...and then said to the woman working there...'I might as well finish it as you're nearly closing'...and did. So yeah, good dukkah.

We also caught up with our respective families, which is always nice...especially now that we live interstate...the time you do spend together means more as it becomes less and less frequent...but kids have grown, relationships have developed, plans have been made, weddings have been organised...the whole shebang.

And here we are...back home in Melbourne. And for the first time in a long time...it actually feels like we've had a holiday...not a rushed jaunt to ol' Adelaide, but a proper time off and now we can feel refreshed to tackle our new life...in Fitzroy North!

Yes, you heard me right...Fitzroy North...maker of dreams.

With only a couple of weeks to spare we found a new home...and it's the one I posted about last month...the agent probably read it and went...'Wow, this is impressive...I would be doing a disservice to humanity to not give them this place, especially when he's so powerfully striking in those photo posts!'

And that was that.

Well, actually the only difference between our application and the other couple's was that we had lived together for 2 years...the others hadn't. But I'm sure the blog helped.

So we move in a week or two...excitement is building...but Kirilie still hasn't really seen the place...she's seen the outside, and looked in through a window at night...which was kind of creepy...and a turn on...but I digress. The point is...we have extra rooms, a courtyard, and it's in a perfect area...cosmopolitan suburbia...close to all the places we like...so we are extremely happy. And I know the place will meet all our expectations...however unrealistic they may be...because it's Fitzroy North...not Fitzroy...not Fitzroy East...Fitzroy North...where anything's possible.

One disappointment of the trip was the timing of it meant we missed a friend's show...James Cutler in You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown...which I am quite miffed about because I had been hearing nothing but good things and now have heard nothing but good things...but unfortunately the timing of the trip was from his opening night to his closing night...but as my English teacher use to remark to me...them's the breaks.

Speaking of shows...my earlier post about the highway robbery of Seussical...totally unfounded...probably the best amateur show I've ever seen...of course the show itself is terrible...way too little going on for adults to sit through that much...but totally worth the price of admission. The sets, the lighting, the costumes...you could see where the money went...and as for Karl McNamara...perfect Cat in the Hat...probably the only role that will allow Karl to be himself on stage whilst wearing a cat suit...and that's a huge compliment...especially from me...so relish it Karla...relish it good.

Open Inspection

2008-05-30T18:00:00.001+10:00

Sorry about the photo post...it was such a stirring image I felt it deserved a solo post. Am I right?
...

Of course I am.

Whitehorse's Seussical tonight! Now I'm not one to whinge or complain...I am. But $80 for two tickets! What is going on here? It's costing me an arm and a leg to see these shows...and the crap part is I want to see the shows...I want to see these guys perform...but it's just getting harder and harder. I remember in the day I thought paying $20 for a ticket to an amateur musical was steep...now look! How can people afford to see these things? Movies are cheaper...and that's saying a lot! Ah well...we suffer, we suffer, we suffer in silence.

I saw a rental property yesterday...just in case you people weren't up to date...we're moving out of the CBD...and it was a great place...enough room, enough character...and I put in our applications...but there was a couple who also put in their application just before me...and earlier on in the inspection they had made some chit chat with the inspection woman and shared some smiles...so I was thinking...how do I set myself apart...I look a little businessy/stalker (I'm wearing what looks like a psycho stalker jacket...and with the glasses and my current hairdo...it really is quite startling)...and the couple looked a little bohemian (like one was a graphic designer and the other was...dating a graphic designer)...so I thought I better make a joke or something...so while we're in the living room there's a big bookcase and I pretend to be looking at all the books and I say to her (the inspection woman)...'Is it wrong to want to steal these books?' - and she laughed and said something like 'He probably wouldn't notice...there's heaps there!' and chuckled a matronly chuckle...BANG! I'm in...definitely! I don't know how it happened...I open my mouth and God sees it fit to bless me with the gift of urbane, witty conversation...what can I say...you either have it...or you've had it!

Of course saying this...we probably didn't get the damn thing.

Powerful imagery

2008-05-30T17:59:00.000+10:00

The Life of James

2008-05-26T18:00:00.000+10:00

Phew...let me catch my breath...it's been a whirlwind of inactivity over here...it seriously feels like nothing has really happened in my life recently...so let's recap...

Journey's End was a rousing success, especially on a personal level (got some really nice photos of me pulling all sorts of 'actorly' faces...actually they look like I'm performing some kind of body function/movement...but they're black and white so they're classy looking body function/movements!)
Recently went to Canberra for the 9th National Business Forum on Sustainability or Somethingorrather...which was nice...I had dinner with PM Rudd...I talked with him about some issues I had with his foreign policy and he really helped me through some unresolved issues I had with my self-esteem and getting to like who I am...which was nice
Jenter Zilm has come back from cruising...on a cruise...he was playing trumpet...and it sounds like it was an awesome experience...and no it wasn't like The Love Boat...idiots...I already asked.
Have seen about 3 or 4 shows in the last week that friends were in...Nick Kong as Jimmy in Thoroughly Modern Millie...in which he was a standout (along with his Millie), Rachel Juhasz as Lois in Kiss Me, Kate...definite standout...best thing in the show by a long shot...and Helena Plazzer as Mrs Lovett in Sweeney Todd...again...most impressive thing in the show...such a strong interpretation...and tonight we're seeing Jojo Sutton in The Fan at VCA...so fingers crossed for that one...we haven't actually ever seen her perform in a drama and she's in her final year of a 3 year acting degree!
Preparing to move in late June/early July...which involves looking at properties and trying to arrange inspection times and being completely intimidated by the whole damn thing...it's funny...I'm an incredibly mature, level-headed, and I would say adult adult...but when it comes to these kinds of things...I feel so young and out of my depth...like I need my Dad to organise it or something...which is crazy I know...but I can't explain...like I'm 18 and about to buy a car...
I'm auditioning for one or two shows...I won't tell you what...just in case I don't get in and then have to be embarrassed because you know that I auditioned and didn't get in...let's put it this way...if I don't do a show in the next 4 months...I auditioned for things but obviously sucked enough to be rejected...hard to believe I know...

So that's been the last few weeks in my life...sorry about the lack of posting...I know you guys missed me...who wouldn't!? And I'll try to be regular in the future...actually I had some prunes for breakfast so that regularity should kick in pretty damn soon!

Strike a pose!

2008-05-11T18:00:00.000+10:00

Young Mel Gibson...second from the right.

2008-05-07T18:00:00.000+10:00

I posted this picture on the vox site...but couldn't resist another posting...who could...look at the picture...I know, I know...you're eyes are drawn to the handsome bugger in the front row...but looking at the photo as a whole...it just looks of the period doesn't it? Like someone had been rummaging around their grandfather's old suitcases and found this weather old black and white photograph of his old war buddies...well maybe not that old...maybe if you were rummaging around your father's papers and found this rather newish looking colour photograph of your Dad when he posed for a photo when he did a production of Oh, What A Lovely War! last year at St Alban's Players and you scanned it on your work printer which only does black and white and this is what you were left with...yeah...it's history alright!

We came, we saw, we kicked its ass!

2008-04-29T18:00:00.000+10:00

Yes that's right...Journey's End...has rocked the tiny hamlet of Mordialloc...it was sensational. There was high praise, emotion, tears...the works. It just goes to show how relevant the play is even after 80 years...jeez...that's pretty good. It also helped that we have a talented cast and director...and James Antonas. That's enough to sell ice to the Eskimos...and that's the first and probably last time I'll use that saying...just so you know.

The Beginning of the End

2008-04-23T18:00:00.001+10:00

Well, time has creep'd on a pace...and here we are. Wednesday already. Time has flown and we are now left holding the baby but refraining from throwing it out with the bathwater as we now live in an environmentally conscious society where such unnecessary water wastage is frowned upon but remember, it takes more muscles to frown that it does to smile. So...um...come and see Journey's End.

I think that was the gist of that.

So yeah, tonight is our last rehearsal in an empty theatre. Tomorrow night is a preview (I'd still refer to it as a dress rehearsal but there will be people in the audience...um...does that make sense? People are the audience...unless it's like animals or stuffed toys...so there will be people in the theatre...that's better...and a few stuffed toys) and then we open on Friday night...Anzac Day. That is probably the most meaningful and poignant day that this play could be played on...so much significance that most people will never be able to comprehend truly without having gone through the experience themselves. And some may say that we should all be grateful that we don't have to go through that experience...and I am one of them.

We had a rehearsal the other week in which I...and here I must be perfectly honest...was completely crap...

You can at least feign surprise and shock...

I dropped lines, I got intimidated by things, I wasn't focused. It was truly an awful and scary experience...I have never sucked as much as I did that night...I've been terrible in the past but that was when I was doing everything right but was just lousy in a role...this was different...and it scared me because I had two big bloody Acts and I just had to suffer through it...painful and not just for me...I felt bad for the people on stage with me...I know how hard it is to act against something like that...but there I was stinking the place up...I felt terrible.

But that's a thing of the past...I'm on top of my game now and feel great and confident about me in this play and the play itself. It looks great for one thing. Before we started the other night I went to the back row (not too hard a feat as it only holds about 150 people and stuffed toys) and looked at the complete set with the lighting on...friggin' impressive...really made me proud...it's the best set for a show I've been in too (that's not saying too much though really)...but it just looks damn authentic and realistic too.

Everyone's performance has lifted and it's great to be on stage doing this stuff and all that other nonsense...they're great people and it's a good vibe.

So...here's to tonight...I know it'll be great...and if it isn't...who cares...there's no people in the audience!

Ha...I am hilarious.

The Eyes Have It

2008-04-23T18:00:00.000+10:00

I don't get the phrase...or idiom...or metaphor...whatever the damn thing is...of to have an eye for.

As in...Gretchen has an eye for fashion.

Why is it singular? Gretchen has eyes for fashion. I know it makes no sense that way...but that's because the singular version has been in existence for forever...so get rid of that initial trepidation and look again...Gretchen has eyes for fashion. What's wrong with that? And why does one only have an eye for something...or come to think of it...an ear for something! What's going on??

I can kind of make sense of it to a degree...if you have an eye for art or something...you look at the piece of art with an eye closed kind of ...or if you have an ear for music you might lean in to hear more...that makes sense...kind of...but other than that...I don't get it.

Also I can understand why it can't be plural...also to a degree...because the other phrase-y thing is: to have eyes for someone or something...that's a completely different connotation...but again...why should it be that way and not the other...why can't Gretchen have eyes for art...and then have an eye for Ricardo...eh? Why not? It's the chicken and the egg...the chicken and the egg.

Think about it and get back to me, would you?

Of course you won't.

Samson

2008-04-11T18:00:00.001+10:00

It's gone. It's all gone. Well...not all...but a great majority of it has gone. My once proud and beautiful mane of hair that I had amassed over the past 6 months...that slowly became part of who I am...is now lying on the floor of some hairdresser's salon...lonely, abandoned and...hairy.

Commitment. That's what it is all about. Commitment to Journey's End. It's set in a trench for God's sake...I can't very well have my hippy hair flying all over the place, now can I? No. So it has been shawn...a number 3 in places...short on top...back...my powers have dwindled...no more the ability to...um...run my fingers through my hair and to...get out of the shower and shake my head like the Old English Sheep Dog from the Dulux ad...you know the one...what's to become of me?

It's interesting because I use to have short hair all the time...and then I was converted to long hair and got used to it and, in turn, learned to love it. But going back to the ten-year-old-school-kid-school-photographs-haircut...it's a shock...to say the least. I shed a few tears, and the hairdresser kept asking me if I was alright...I wasn't but I said I was...be brave James, be brave I whispered to myself.

I can only hope that this sacrifice will somehow enrich my performance and the show in general...I'm sure it will.

I hope.

From this...to this. Of course, Albert Finney can pull off anything...he's Albert Finney for Jeff's sake.

One Helluva Pickle

2008-04-09T18:00:00.000+10:00

How great are pickles? Seriously. They're great.

I bought a jar of pickles...well, to be specific Sweet Spiced Gherkins...but I couldn't think of a catchy title using gherkin...nup...not even now...nothing...anyway I bought a jar of gherkins to use in my sandwiches...and for what amounts to about $2...I've got about 10 or so gherkins. Can life be any sweeter!? Yes it can thanks to these gherkins for life can also now be a little sour too...a perfect gherkin.

It turns out that a gherkin is not only a pickle of a certain size but also a particular species of cucumber and that now 'gherkin' is usually used to describe any small cucumber pickled in a sweet vinegar brine, regardless of the particular variety used. It can also be used to describe a silly or stupid person...a la: Derek, you're such a gherkin.

Looking for nutritional information on the humble gherkin (it is humble...it would have to be...look at it...it's a small green warty phallic thing...I don't think it can afford to have much of an ego!) I found that they are rich in Vitamin C and can have a mild anti-inflammatory effect...but before you go rubbing an briny gherkin all over your mosquito bites...it's not known how much of this effect is retained after the pickling process.

Also...they are considered a fruit!

Who knew? Not me...and now you do and so do I...lesson learnt.

And just for those keeping track at home...this post has used the word pickle 4 times and the word gherkin 12 times! I AM KING!

Stevie Pickle was never the most popular kid at school, especially when it came time for gym.

A Little Less Toilet Conversation?

2008-04-07T18:00:00.002+10:00

I don't know why but for some reason a public toilet or any shared bathroom space is the most awkward environment for conversation. To be perfectly honest...conversation is the last thing that should be taking place in these areas. It's just awkward. You're going into these places for private business...not public spectacle...it's not something to be shared...so lay off the chit-chat.

The most I will accept is the general greeting with Person A saying the greeting and Person B accepting the greeting...there is to be no response from Person A once Person B has given their acceptance...no response is necessary.

Now the most common situation is Person A walks into the bathroom as Person B is leaving and there's the awkward side-step to get past each other and perhaps a laugh...and the greetings would then take place...these kind of situations are easier to manage as usually one person is leaving and the other entering or staying...so there's no room for conversation...as long as the person leaving continues on their journey...they should not...I repeat should not stay on and continue as if this was some kind of water cooler environment where you can chat and shoot the breeze. It's in and out...it's not in and outish and stay a bitish and then definitely outish...otherwise it would be called that...but it's not...so don't!!

Another situation of awkwardness can happen and only just recently took place in my workplace bathroom...I entered as a 'colleague' was washing his hands or cleaning a stain on his shirt and headed for the urinal...now this is how it should have gone down:

James enters and sees Tim washing or cleaning the lower part of his shirt...
James: (sarcastically whilst still moving and heading for his urinal destination) Looks like fun!
(They share a laugh)
Tim: I wish!
(They share one more laugh as James arrives at his destination)

AND that's it. No more. Pleasant. In fact if you were being merciless it could be reduced to this:

James enters and sees Tim washing or cleaning the lower part of his shirt...
James: (whilst still moving and heading for his urinal destination, shakes his head knowingly and faux disapprovingly and clicks his tongue) Tsk, tsk.
(They share a laugh)

AND that's it. Here's the way it went down for me:

James enters and sees Tim washing or cleaning the lower part of his shirt...
James: (whilst moving and heading for his urinal destination) Flicked a little too hard?
(They share a laugh)
Tim: No, I think it's breakfast.
(They don't quite share a laugh but a polite chuckle of acknowledgment as James arrives at his destination)

This should be where it ends...Tim finishes his business and leaves as James begins his business...but NO...

Tim: How was your weekend?

My weekend?? What the hell? That's an opener for a conversation...what is going on? I'm...you know...at the urinal...this isn't the time or the place for this kind of shenanigan...

James: Yeah, good. Brief, not committed to this conversation, but also felt obliged to chuck in...How was yours? Hoping he'd take my lead and keep it short and leave...

Tim: Yeah, pretty busy, my family came down for the weekend and we went and saw Priscilla (the Musical)...and he continues to relay his weekend to me...what is going on!?

Luckily, I had had a couple of bottles of water so was able to sustain my business and luckily he finished talking so there was no continued conversation at the sink...but even so...I'm not being some social leper or something...I'd freely have this conversation in the kitchen or at his workstation...but the toilet?? It would make sense if we were friends or buddies...but we're not...

It's almost as bad as if there are two urinals...one is occupied...someone enters and sees that someone is using one and instead of using the cubicles on offer...stands next to you and uses the other damn urinal...there are codes and rules in place...they're not written down or set in stone...but there's a level of intimacy that is to be avoided when using restrooms...don't stand next to someone in a urinal if there are other viable alternatives...and don't indulge in conversation...ever.

This world would be a better place if people abided by these rules and didn't think they were somehow 'above the law'.

You can bet Steven Seagal wouldn't piss on your shoes either.

Pruning...

2008-04-04T18:00:00.000+11:00

I wonder...what's a healthy amount of prunes to have in one sitting?

I'm making my breakfast (Weet-bix with prunes) and I'm dicing my prunes and I kind of lose count halfway...I usually put in four...but I may have put six or seven...is that too much? Can you have too many prunes? Can you be too regular?? My guess is yes...you don't want to be left empty and gutted...oh...now I get why they're called prunes...cos you eat them...and they prune your insides of unwanted weeds...it all makes sense.

I avoided prunes for years growing up and never actually tried one until a couple of weeks ago...I think I was simply turned off by its appearance...but who wouldn't be...it looks like...I don't know what it looks like but whatever it does look like, it looks like the leftover of it...the remains of something...like a fossil of someone's...you know what.

Do you like fish?

2008-04-03T18:00:00.001+11:00

COLONEL: ... Do you like fish?
STANHOPE: Fish, sir?
COLONEL: Yes. We've had some fresh fish sent up from railhead for supper tonight.
STANHOPE: (rising) Splendid, sir!
COLONEL: Whiting, I think it is.
STANHOPE: Good!
COLONEL: Well, bye-bye.

For some reason this is the funniest thing in the whole damn world...and the mere utterance of these words makes me and the Colonel laugh like a couple of asses on stage. Terrible. It's all in his delivery though...Whiting, I think it is...he emphasis the white in whiting somehow...it's the unfunniest thing and yet, hee-larious! God knows why!

Tintin Update

2008-04-03T18:00:00.000+11:00

How the hell does Tintin survive being thrown into the ocean whilst inside a coffin??? How the hell does anyone survive that!? Oh wait...he's a plucky and intrepid little Belgian reporter...he can survive anything! Except those friggin' pantaloon-short pants he wears!

UPDATE: Apparently those pants are called plus fours...

UPDATE II: Apparently I give a crap.

A Little Belgian...

2008-03-31T18:00:00.000+11:00

I’ve been getting more and more into Tintin recently…I read all of the books when I was younger and they were in my cousin’s closet…I later stole all of them…and was ordered to bring them back sometime later…rather embarrassing! Anyway…you have to love the comic-strip…it’s so big and far-ranging and convoluted and far-fetched but it hooks you, I don’t know how but it does. It’s funny…because it’s not funny (like Asterix…which was hilarious when I first read it…and is now slightly less funny in a different more adult context) yet Captain Haddock is hilarious…and Thomson and Thompson just annoy me, as does Calculus…silly old man that he is. And it is unbelievable…Tintin has so many bloody narrow escapes and somehow has he-man strength and can use his head to beat down any opponent. And that Captain Haddock…he gets consistently spat on by llamas in one adventure so at the very end…he spits on one! Now that’s writing!

I’ve started purchasing them again for no other reason than to have them all (OCD, I’m sure) so today I bought Cigars of the Pharaoh and The Crab with the Golden Claws. I’m a little too excited at this purchase…so that’s scary in itself.

I think I might buy the DVD of The Adventures of Tintin – the Canadian cartoon series that translated most of the stories into film format that I watched growing up...

I am a loser, aren’t I?

But at the same time…I also bought my brother a DVD of Duck Tales…so I can least spread the loserdom a bit…but just a bit.

Who's the loser now!? Ha!

It's still me, isn't it?

Damn.

Journey's End...the Journey

2008-03-25T18:00:00.001+11:00

So rehearsals have been going pretty steadily since this production of R.C Sherriff's Journey's End began in early March. So steadily in fact that I only just realised that the show opens in a month's time! Anzac Day...April 25. Good God.

Not that I'm too nervous or worried at this point. This show is an 'ensemble' show in the strongest sense of the word...it's finely balanced and there's not one typical 'star' performance in the cast...not that there's no one that good...far from it...it's that there isn't one role that stands out above the others. That's a testament to the play and also to the performers involved. There's such a diverse range of character and of talent that I'm really looking forward to performing this play in a month's time. Learning the lines is a different thing. This is the first time for me where there's been only a month and half or so of rehearsals before a show opens. True, in the past I've done musicals which need more time to get choreography down and music learnt, but a play with this much dialogue...talk, talk, talk...and since I've got a very line-heavy role...there's a bit of challenge that's been put down. As of this week it's books down for rehearsals. 3 Acts. 6 Scenes. And I'm in every single bloody one of them and always with something to say.

The play is set during the First World War and takes place entirely in the officers' dugout. Hilarity ensues. Not really.

It has been an interesting rehearsal period so far. Driving down/across/out to Mordialloc or more specifically Parkdale three nights a week (including Friday night) has been a slight challenge, only because there's no freeway or expressway for me to put my foot down. It's a long drive in that nothing interesting really takes place on the drive, it's really just a straight line for 30-40 minutes. But a good time to go over lines if ever there was one!

Plus working with about 9 actors, all male of varying ages and types has been fun. Getting to know them gradually, and trusting them more and more on stage has been great...especially as there is some emotion on stage (considering the time period in which the play is set)...that sounds a bit art wanky...but it's fun to finally put the books down and bounce lines of each other and see what develops and comes of it...once the stress of having books down wears off.

So tonight is scheduled as: Act 1 (Books Down)...this isn't too big an Act for me, which is good, and I've got the lines down (or so I think!) so it should be interesting to see how tonight turns out!

The Ghost Who Walks...my ass.

2008-03-25T18:00:00.000+11:00

Watching random bits of TV on the weekend...it's the first time K and I could actually watch Channels 7, 9 and 10 in months...we apparently didn't miss much. Flicking over from channel to channel I caught the movie version of The Phantom, the adventure comic strip created by Lee Falk, starring Billy Zane, Kristy Swanson, Catherine Zeta-Jones and that guy who was with Samantha for a period of time in Sex and the City in an Indiana Jones hat. What a piece of crap that was. My God. I watched various parts of it and then kept flicking back to Easter Parade with Fred Astaire and Judy Garland, which turned out to be miles ahead of the interesting accident that was The Phantom.

Sure, it's a daunting task taking a beloved comic strip that was close to 50-60 years old at the time the movie was made...but to come up with such a stinker. It came off as so tongue in cheek, I just didn't get it. Why do the movie from this angle? Why make the character played by Treat Williams so hammy...the action and fighting so fake...it just seemed so bland and drab. Now I admit that I am a fan of The Phantom, and considered the idea of transforming the 2D into a reality an impossible task (consider that when The Phantom is Kit, you still never really see his eyes) and making the Ghost Who Walks suddenly a flesh and blood creature who you knew was flesh and blood kind of takes the thrill away from it all...The Phantom has survived generations on legend, the Tom-Toms, and just pure brilliance...I just couldn't see how they could make a character that is so unattainable attainable. And clearly they didn't. Not that I didn't like Billy Zane, with a better director and script he would in essence be a very good Phantom...but in these surroundings, I just felt awkward and sorry for the whole venture.

Now The Shadow...that's a different thing entirely. I love that film. Not love as in worship. But love as in it's a great piece of fun, that has the right mix of what I think The Phantom was going for. True The Shadow died at the Box Office but it had Alec Baldwin as a perfect Lamont Cranston and John Lone formerly of The Last Emperor and M. Butterfly doing his version of villany. Watching it, you find yourself enjoying it, perhaps against your own better judgement, but it succeeds at what it's trying to accomplish. It's evocative, cheesy, slightly campy, self-referential...and The Shadow has the similar theme of The Phantom that would make it unfilmable...the Shadow has the ability to cloud men's minds and to know what evil lurks in the hearts of men...it's that unattainable thing again, it's something that can't really be captured on film...yet The Shadow does a good job at it...or maybe I'm just pissed that I saw Billy Zane's eyes all the time...I expected these pupil-less white eyes behind the black mask and under the shadow of Kit's fedora...but to no avail.

All this talk makes me wish they had made that film version of Mandrake the Magician that was purportedly to star Kevin Kline, I think that would have trumped these two merely on the star power of the lead. Ah well. We'll have to make do with Jonathon Rhys Meyers who I don't like based purely on his performance in Match Point...slimy worm that he is. Plus, he's no Kevin Kline.

The Ghost Who Walks Can Never Die; Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow Knows! and a Man in a Top Hat who wears a Cape...a Cape I tell you...chilling.

The Pictures

2008-03-16T18:00:00.000+11:00

Hot, hot, hot.

What in the world is going on? I am cooking. Anyway...in an attempt to beat the heat K and I went to the Astor last night to see a double feature. A double feature? you say. Yes...they still exist...and the cheapskate within me cannot resist the bargain of paying something like $13 for two films in a nice old cinema.

Now the double feature is a tricky venture...one may be great but one may suck, one may be boring but the other fantasmagorical...etc, etc. We'd been to one of these before...the first feature was the beautiful Irish musical film called Once that everyone loves, including me...and the second feature...yep, you guessed it, Mel Gibson's bloody epic Apocalypto!! What were they thinking!? Well...shut your mouth! It was a perfect combination! It brought together a film we really wanted to see and one that we would never even think of viewing...and WHAM! It was really great. They balanced themselves out so that a perfect night could be had. Sure the latter was violent but it was also exhilarating and breathtaking and intense, and the former was light, bittersweet and just beautiful to watch.

Now I'm aware that was probably a rarity...the right moviegoer and the right time and at the right place...if it was a week later I might have hated the whole experience but it worked a treat...so it was with mixed emotions that I went to this double feature last night...the movies on offer: Cloverfield followed by Stardust.

Now we had no desire to see Cloverfield when it first came out or even now come to think of it, but K had wanted to see Stardust since it first hit the cinemas sometime last year but didn't get the chance to, so that was what we were really there to see.

Well, Cloverfield had us at different opinions. K thought it sucked and I thought it sucked less. I appreciated it for what it was...a different approach to a pretty specific genre of cinema...but we both had similar gripes...particularly the dialogue. Hokey pokey to say the least. It's fine if you're going to make a monster/disaster movie in the traditional vein...you can have dialogue like 'They're gone, they're all gone' and it doesn't seem so...crap, but in Cloverfield where they're going for some form of cinema verite...people don't talk like that in real life...or have 'actorly' inflections when they say the crap dialogue...so it just sounds awful.

There were fans in the audience...well one in particular who had seen Cloverfield 25 times...she was a priceless addition to our movie going experience and actually made the first film worthwhile...but the time the credits rolled on she was bouncing away to the 5 minutes of musical scoring, and conducting the whole thing pretty much at the end...priceless.

Also the monster was scary enough...but I've seen scarier movie monsters before:

You tell me what film she's from...you get a prize.

And on to Stardust - we really enjoyed it. It was fantasy but still quite British in a quirky way and Charlie Cox and Claire Danes were really quite good together...with some good chemistry...plus the fey Robert De Niro, Spike from Press Gang, Ricky Gervais, that guy from The Fast Show, and Peter O'Toole and Ian McKellan fighting it out for impressive British vocals, it made for a nice end to the evening.

But Claire Danes doesn't look right with light hair and light eyebrows...just didn't click for some reason. And doesn't Ricky Gervais have some fangs on him? They look quite sharp and pointy.

Arrivals

2008-03-13T21:00:00.002+11:00

There's been a bit happening over the last week...none of it important really...except one big mammoth event...the birth of another Antonas!

You'd think the universe would have had enough of the little buggers but sure enough...out pops another one. Now I'm pleased and proud as punch...especially because the Antonas gene produces some damn cute and photogenic kids...and it makes me an Uncle for the...6th time now! Not bad for a strapping young 25 year old...Jesus...I am getting old, worst part is, soon I won't be able to say I'm 25...it'll be 26. My youth is slipping by ever so slowly but also so damn quickly...it doesn't seem like it but it was 8 or so years ago that I finished high school. Such promise...wasted? Who knows! But the one thing a new nephew does...remind you of how old you really are...and appreciate a new life with all the promise and possibility it holds.

...

That doesn't even sound like me!

But it's true.

Welcome Bruno and Yassou, Yassou!

Not sure if that's right in the circumstances but the only other thing I can say in Greek is Happy Easter...and that's not for another month!

Hanging with Mr Cooper

2008-03-09T22:30:00.004+11:00

I am a genius. Clearly. As if any more proof were necessary, yesterday I pulled a gem of geniosity out of my bulbous head that saved the day!

Picture this...

K had bought a dress from a designer clothes store in Melbourne for the wedding last night in Adelaide that looked beautiful on her...really beautiful. She brings it home and thinks nothing of it. Then before she leaves for Adelaide she tries it on to see what kind of shoes to wear/buy for it. She finds that it's a bit bigger than she remembers. I look at it and still think it looks beautiful but K isn't so sure. Anyway, she goes to Adelaide on Thursday night and tries it on for her sister, R. R also thinks it's too big. Posh, I say...it looks great on her...what is wrong with you people!? So on Friday she goes to a major department store and tries on the same style dress from the designer but a size smaller and...WHAM! It's the right size...exactly what she tried on in Melbourne!! The assistants in the Melbourne designer store had given her the wrong size! So...what to do? K rings the store in Melbourne but they will only be able to give store credit if the dress is returned unworn on Tuesday when we got back to Melbourne...that was no good. We couldn't return it to the major department store because they aren't the designer store...crap. So...thinking caps on...bearing in mind this was happening on Saturday at around midday and the wedding was at 4pm! So I come up with a corker of an idea...why not buy the right size dress from the major department store today and return the wrong size dress the next day to the major department store as if that was the one you bought! Genius! So that's what I did...I bought it and said it was for a my girlfriend's anniversary...and the next day I came back and said she really disliked it, and they asked 'Why? I think it's beautiful.' And I said, 'Yeah, she must have lousy taste. She said it looked like something from Silence of the Lambs.' (A little extra colour always helps a story like this) and they refunded me the money...and that's what happened...and it went off without a hitch...perfect. I was as pleased as non-alcoholic punch.

P.S. The dress looked fantastic on K!

P.P.S I didn't look so bad either!

P.P.P.S Who am I kidding...I looked great!

James Antonas is currently in talks to transfer this story to the big screen a la other screen hustlers such as The Sting, The Colour of Money and Schindler's List.

Tiger...Would.

2008-03-08T18:00:00.000+11:00

I woke up at 4:15 Saturday morning for my flight with destiny with the taste of dread in my mouth, but luckily after brushing my teeth and a quick gargle that taste was replaced by one of minty burning.

And to be perfectly honest...I had a perfectly adequate flight. Despite the early morning flight, there was virtually no difference between the Tiger Airways flight and any other Virgin flight I've ever had! The only differences I could notice were that you had to walk to the terminal at Melbourne Airport (a mere 200 metres) and then walk to the plan (probably another 200 metres) and that there was no in-flight 'entertainment'...no Radio Q or Virgin TV...and no great loss either! They still try to sell you food and refreshments and little tiger mascots...but who cares...I would definitely fly with them again...especially at that price...and, as a feisty woman noted this weekend, if you die, you're not going to know about it! Wise words indeed.

Cut the formalities

2008-03-07T18:00:00.004+11:00

Why oh why are there people out there who still insist on making their wedding a formal or black-tie affair? I don't understand it.

It is a given that it is the 'bride's day' and all that...but no matter what the guests are wearing the bride is still going to look the same and wear the same gown...so why make everyone else suffer in monkey suits?

It is a known fact that close to every man looks terrible in a tuxedo. You get dressed up in your formal threads...you are guaranteed to look average or below average...unless you're George Clooney...then you can wear whatever you damn well please and you will always look classy.
And it's no picnic for the women let me tell you...frumpy garbage bag dresses...or plunging neck and back lines that are most suited to the escorts partners of footballers at the Brownlows. You're either Bjork or a whore. Tough choice.

Let's not forget the money involved in such a thing...sure it's easy for man to own a tux and use it whenever a formal occasion arises...but these suits will age and begin to look cheesy and ripe for op-shop fodder...and the ladies aren't even afforded this luxury...sure they too can buy a dress for a formal occasion...but they can never wear that dress again if people who are going to a subsequent formal occasion were present at the first formal occasion...so...another dress, another Estonian Community Centre.

So here's the rule...unless you are a celebrity good looking celebrity with friends who are celebrities good looking celebrities...don't make your wedding black-tie. Simple as that.

George Clooney - classy like herpes.

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright

2008-03-07T18:00:00.000+11:00

So K and I are going to my cousin's wedding in Adelaide this weekend. The wedding is on Saturday afternoon-evening. Now usually we would have left on Friday night, but I've got a rehearsal that night so K left on Thursday afternoon and I'm going Saturday morning.

On Tiger Airways.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for budget travel...particularly the price...but in terms of aviation...you kind of want the best you can get. But monetary limitations forced me into making this choice. I could have flown Qantas or Virgin but they were too pricey for that time and day...a good $100 more than the Tiger Airways ticket, which was in the ballpark of a bus ticket to Adelaide.

But I haven't heard any stories about Tiger Airways since it's inception...so I'm a little nervous...hence the title of the this post. What am I in for?? I'm expecting a rattling aircraft with no seat belts or leg room where you have to brace yourself when the 'plane' comes into land...of course I'm exaggerating...but seriously, how can an airline afford to be that cheap? From what I remember of the initial information about the company was that they cut back on luxuries and made it the bear necessities. But when I've flown Virgin, so far the least luxurious air travel I've experienced, the only luxuries I could determine were a TV/radio and them offering snacks for an inflated price. So...when I wake up at 4:30am tomorrow and get on my 6:30am plane ride...what is going to be missing? Surely, eliminating TV/radio and beer nuts does not shave off $100 off their costs...does it!?

Plus you're only allowed 15kg of luggage before they charge you exorbitant amounts for 5kg more...maybe that's where they get you...you don't realise how much your luggage actually weighs until you check in and WHAM!! A $60 fee for packing an extra pair of condo...um...socks.

Anyway...we shall see. And I'll let you know how it went...if I'm still alive. :(

Tiger Airways Flight TT 7302: Melbourne to Adelaide

Censorship!

2008-03-06T18:00:00.000+11:00

I have been censored! Censored! Me!? I don't understand it at all.

I had offered to write a little something for a work newsletter last month, so after 30 minutes with my brain to the grindstone I came up with this hilarious piece of self-worship: http://jamesantonas.vox.com/library/post/james-antonas-is.html

I thought it might be a bit risky, a bit risque, a bit rhiskey...and sure enough I was shot down. Okay, they had warned me previously that any piece I submittd couldn't contain any references to religion or politics or constitute an attack on anyone...and apparently my piece seemed to have those three things in spades.

...

Fine, I said. Well, it was a little more vulgarly colourful than that, but in essence...fine, I'll try again.

I decided to take a shot a doing an advice column style piece as inoffensive as possible and as 'advice column-y' as possible, here was the result: http://jamesantonas.vox.com/library/post/james-antonas-column-of-love.html

Harmless, no? And this was accepted. Great, they said. And the quote about mistakes being the younger sexier cousin of regret went down a treat around the office water cooler. So that was that I thought, in a week or two it would be published, I would be lauded and praised as the saviour of newsletter musings and would be roundly celebrated.

Think again.

Today I was informed that I had been 'edited' (she actually did the air quotation marks)...and I went 'Yeah, that's cool...it was a bit long! Ha ha ha!' (I laugh like that in awkward situations) And then she said, 'No, you've been edited out completely!' and then she made a 'No Deal' sign with her arms.

Ha ha ha.

And then she had to gall to say that if I wanted to write something again for next month that was shorter and more appropriate that would be okay!

Fignuts! Spit in my face...Tear out my heart...um...Raid my pantry and take those Ferrero Rochers I hid behind the Country Cheese crackers for a rainy day when I would just need some chocolate comfort...etc, etc.

I feel like Salmon Rushdie or someone young people have actually heard of...Woody Harrelson...yeah, I feel like Woody Harrelson when he was continually prosecuted by religious types for running a magazine that catered to the male demographic and then he got Edward Norton to represent him because Eddie knew the legal system after Richard Gere got him off for murdering a priest by pretending he had a split personality. Those guys know their stuff.

Anyway...censorship sucks. Pure and simple.

Two James Antonas’ sites are better than one...

2008-03-05T18:00:00.000+11:00

As if one self-indulgent site wasn’t enough…Mr Arrogance had to go and create another one. Well excuse me for having interesting and witty things to say…well…things to say…and anyway…you don’t have to read this, no one’s forcing you.

…

Actually, please keep reading. I’m forcing you. Please.

…

Phew.

There is method to my madness. You might not think so, but there is. For those observant few, you will notice that my other site jamesantonas.vox.com is labelled The James Antonas Site, whereas this one is labelled The James Antonas Blog. Biiiig difference.

But the real reason is this…desperation. Sweaty, awkward desperation. I need to know you are out there, that you are reading, thinking, caring, loving me…who couldn’t!? And this blog allows feedback from anyone and everyone. Just post a comment after a post and I’ll know that someone other than myself and the guys in the IT department downstairs who screen and filter my internet history are reading this drivel. Just make a comment and click Name/URL and just leave your name or click Anonymous...whatever you want!

Go on…go for it…post a comment…you know you want to!

Oh Mein Papa

2008-03-04T18:00:00.001+11:00

It's a rare day today, a rare day. Not only do you lucky buggers get two posts but it is also the day we celebrate the birthday of Papa Antonas.

That's right, it's been a whole year already...and here we are to wish my father a very Happy Birthday! And it isn't just a regular run of the mill birthday folks, no siree. My pa has now reached the historic age of 64!

64!

Amazing! What a feat of nature! What a medical marvel!

Not only am I surprised but I am deeply moved as the man has worked non-stop for the last 56 years...according to his recollections he spent his childhood working the counters of his Uncle Andy's neighbourhood snack bar where he would water down the frozen butter or half fill the drinks but charge a customer the full price...happy times indeed. But he is still ticking! Not only ticking but going strong!

Here's the most recent photo of Dad taken at Christmas in mid-chuckle as he noticed a rather inappropriately placed bon-bon...

Happy Birthday Dad!
Love your Son

please send money

Kirilie Blythman

2008-03-03T18:00:00.001+11:00

I am in love.

...

Yes I'm sure you care, but I don't care.

...

I do so have a heart...and a brain and the nerve.

...

Her name is Kirilie Blythman. Kirilie Blythman. Doesn't it just trip off the tongue? And so exotic sounding...Kirilie Blythman...well the last name not so much...but don't you worry about that...in due time, with a little coercing, a bit of coaxing, some emotional bribery and an engagement ring...that name will be...Kirilie Blythman. Yep, she's not one for changing her name. But I don't care. Who can blame her...Antonas doesn't exactly gel with most people especially the derivations...Anton's ass, A tonne of ass, Atomic ass, Untoned ass...etc, etc.

Anyway, she's a beauty and I love her. And apparently, after five years...she loves me too. So that's a plus.

Stunning, eh?