“Crazy Frog”, because I need the traffic

…hollow as it may be.

Don’t ask me how this happens but last weekend I was hanging out with a buddy in seoul who works for uncle sam in an auxilary role, selling shit. He’s great, like a cross between Benson and bill cosby, from south carolina and really does say stuff like ‘Where the dirty tea-towels at?“
We got breakfast at the military base and while standing in line at the cafeteria he says, ”Man who got the idea to eat animals’ eggs anyway?”. Good point.

Trust the British to forge on into new chart-toppin’ territory re commercial audio. They used to play that frog thing a bit on the radio last year, but called it an indian swami guy on pixie stix. They’d play it with F1 news because it sounds like an F1 car, not that I’d know anymore.

Last, if architecture gets you your jollies at all take a look at The Gutter.


A few weeks back I had a rather strange moment in the supermarket as the usual, terrible in-house music was interrupted by what I could swear was a My Bloody Valentine track. I couldn’t place which one.

There is one music shop in town. I was just down there, and in amongst the M for Metallica, Moby and other various shite was both of My Bloody Valentine’s albums. So I guess for some reason they were big here. It was only 15bucks for the 2nd album, Loveless, so I thought, fuck it why not? I never actually had that one, just the first one on cassette. That cover is a bit of a classic, it’d be great to put on a t-shirt.

I remember back in ’90 or 89 or whenever and sitting up late watching music videos and seeing the clip for ‘soon’ and really digging it. It’s goes on the ‘songs that automatically need to be played loud’ list. And MBV in general are and always were an inspiration ot anyone who a) could string together a couple of weeks pocket money to get 2nd hand distortion/reverb and delay pedals, b) was too lazy to really learn how to play a guitar properly and c) was intentionally messing with their own chemical balances.
MBV had such sexy taste in guitars. I still eventually want to get a Fender Jaguar.

Check out the afore-linked neato site, Tremelo because it’s got some trax for downloadez and vid clips for the bandwidth-rich.

Been listening to FlashBack Alternatives net radio station. It’s 80s n 90s, and not stuff you hear much of on commerical FM. It sounds like it’s run by humans too, compared to a fair chunk of the computer-drivien radio offered up on the net.

Jah we was wrong mon!

When we here at sunny breaks said that petrol here was 13 bucks a litre, we were mistaken. It’s actually approx 1.30 a litre. It’s my handler miss park’s fault. She told me it. She also always says ‘doggy’ instead of dog, and goes looking for opportunities to use the word doggy, like in doggy-bag, but not doggy-style because that would be improper. Also she says, “excuse you”, which sounds lame. She hums madly whenever the opportunity presents itself – baseless, high-pitched and jumping from one note to another in random – it’s not a tune at all. But I’m not complaining, things could be a lot worse.

I haven’t watched tv more a month and more now – I didn’t count so I don’t know. Last year I always wanted to be freed of the thing, but this doesn’t feel like a victory because it’s just that there’s nothing good on.
However, this week via the computer I watched this series of ads – or a video-blog as they call it, but it’s really just corporate product-awareness building. Still kind of interesting use of a new medium though. And I was trying to find out moves.

This collection of excerpts from a candid camera style show where the rubes are told their auditioning for reality tv shows. The box one is the best.


It’s wella late for me since I did not get that much of the sleep last night due to adjusting to the over-softness of the new mattress, which may mean I’ll typo bad, and I don’t like letting things get monotone here. But perculiar behaviour is one of the few things that stops me from dying of bordom of the human rayce, and so here are three things from least to most:

– two girls thoroughly working over one of the girl’s arms with erasers. They were rubbing quite hard but not at any dicernable marks. Trying to rub herself out?

– Okay, now Rock, Paper, Scissors is big here. It’s used to decide all kinds of things that, in all seriousness, should be pounded out in conference rooms by professional diplomats and negotiators. PRS is used in preference to coin tossing, which seems far more tamper-proof than shaking fists with someone.
I watched two girls go PRS and everytime the same one would win. The winner got to flick the loser on the forhead. The loser would patiently hold still and adjust her head when the other required it, so that the thumb-n-index finger flick would hit exactly in the middle of the forhead. I watched for about three rounds of this. They’d do it without talking.

– Today there was a girl in class with this sign in Hangul around her neck. It was on thin card and the letters were in thick, black texta. I’m at the stage where I can read words but not know what they mean. I assumed that she was being punished for something, and that it said something like, “slacker”.
I tried to find out what it said, and what she’d got in trouble for, and which teacher had made the sign — ie who goes in for the public humiliation as discipline tactic.
But I found that it was actually the girl herself who had made the sign, and as the co-teacher explained, she doesn’t have any friends,or, she wants friends. Another girls said she wants a boyfriend. Yet another girl explained it most concisely; “solo”.
It reminded me of Nick Cave circa late b’day party, early bad seeds, where he’d wear pieces of paper with pictures of marilyn monroe or whoever saftey-pinned on the front of his shirt.

burger king tv commercial seekers: please note: I don’t have any

Goto adland, pay them money, then you can see the ads.

This place could be called The Land of the unexplained funk. You could be anywhere including the 30th storey of a business structure and still just be standing there and get a whiff of something and go, ‘p-hwoar, what is that?’. It could also be called The Land of the Disimbibed water. Not just hucking a loogie, although that’s awfully popular too, but a mouthful of water spat out onto the street. You see the evidence everywhere. Or, of course, Land of the Posed Photo.

And the students were up to plenty of that today because there was this choral group touring from a certain university in the lower half of california. A county named after a popular citrus fruit. Uni name: what would you call the gurad of the van? switch those two words round. I can’t get anymore specif or the sods’ll google me.

I was sulking because I couldn’t go to see there stupid choir for crappy jerks because I had to work. But then I did get to see one bit, and admittedly they did sing pretty well – they did a battle of the bands with our skols miss-yu choir. But while the locals did traditional, justified and ancient stuff, the proselytes did frikkin songs from Titanic. That says something.

And proselytes they were. They were spreadin’ on the ‘You Must Accept Jesus INTO Yr Heart’ stuff well thick. Funny in its own way because they were preaching to the converted –preaching to the choir. And of all the universal truths I’ve continually got on the test-bench to see if they hold, it’s this one that stays the most clearly back and white. It’s that the more fanatical, the more someone tries to convince me (or you) of something, I think, the less they actually believe it themselves. There was definitely some lost lookin souls in that group.

I haven’t seen that many westerners in a clump like that in months. Whenever I see other whiteys they always look so unwell — pasty and sniffling, watery eyes and sullen. And I tell ya, this lot were fine examples of the uber-morbid obeseness that we are told that the continent of n.america is being smothered under.

Anyway, all this was an enema for my grumpiness because it reminds me that the people I deal with day-to-day are pretty good, and that I get bitch-arse shitty with people sometimes no matter where I am.

Also I was halfway down the street on my way to murder the hunchback when i got a ph. call and got my mattress delivered.

imagine a world full of tiny sofas

For some unknown reason, call it astrology if you will, troubles always seem to build up for me in the last third of april and the first two thirds of may. Build like a constipation victim ready to explode shit everywhere. Once Gemini kicks in diarrhea brings the system back to normal.

I’m trying to get a bed made. You’d think that being so close to Japan that there would be futons here but they haven’t even heard of them. The local verson is called a yo, and oddly enough, when I asked several locals about these — they hadn’t heard of them either. It’s a rather thin crud-filled ‘mattress-like’ thing that’s chucked down on the lino-covered cement. I’m sure it works fine if you get hammered every night. So I asked for a triple-yo. Twice now the guy hasn’t had it ready on schedule.

I was just down there. It’s good being able to arrange these things with gestures, numbers, pointing at things and the odd word of english, but tonight the word ‘tomorrow’ wasn’t the one I wanted to hear. I said if it wasn’t ready tomorrow that I’d come back and strangle him. He just grinned sheepishly like he didn’t understand.

It’s my fault really. I should’ve followed the advice of an old aunt who alas is no longer whinnying with us; “Never do business with a hunchback”. She would do speedballs and stay up all night constructing model battleships.
The last time I visited her, the bedsit she lived in was awash with gunmetal wedges of destruction at 1:350. I mistakenly stood on the HMS Dreadnought, she flew off the handle and I left.
It was the Yamoto that did her in. 4980 seperate parts. It wasn’t even a regular off-the-shelf kit. It was actually a one-off, crafted by a man who was, I suppose, just as insane as dear old aunt Velma.


Got on up the hill to the buddha’s b’day bash. It was pretty okay. All kinds of stuff — a choir of ladies all hanboked up, a contemporary band, some equadorian dudes, a buddhist nun doing trad. hymns, and a couple of women singing solo pop to backing trax. They all sing really well and the acoustics up there were suprisingly good. I was a bit spaced.

I guess I’ve been a bit spaced for a week or more now. Maybe a bit of routine creeping in. It’s hard and loansome being an outsider. This whole jaunt is a picnic in the park compared to what immigrants to australia would’ve gone through. I didn’t come here out of hardship, and didn’t have to work in some rural labour camp for years to earn my right to stay. Overwhelmingly I don’t experience racism but the language and cultural gap are still huge and I can see why a lot of old migrant guys in australia are grumpy. I am making an attempt to learn the language but it’s a mammoth task.

I’m starved for real conversation. Even in Geelong it wasn’t an easy thing to come by. It was teacher’s day yesterday and I didn’t get a fucking cracker. No lollies, no flowers, no vitamin drinks, no presents no nuffing. It doesn’t take much to trigger me feeling hardly done by especially right now.


Interesting thingy on one fella’s vision of what the slide into a new, less oil-driven, lifestyle will look like. I’ve been reading these kinds of things for years, most of them more extreme than this.

I just found out yesterday that petrol here costs 13k per litre, which means approx. $15AUD per litre. Golly that’s a lot. Cars are cheap, like 500 hunnered bucks cheap, but I think I’d rather it the other way around and not be grumbling everytime I put juice in the tank. Not that I’ve ever put juice in the tank, nor will I by the sounds of of it.

I don’t know if I’ve ever said the public transport here is good. Sometimes I think it is, but then in situations like tonight I think it’s actually worse than Melb./Geelong vic. The last bus for eeetchon from seoul leaves at 10:40, which is stupid. The last train leaves Melbourne for geelong at 11:30. Tonight I had to stand up in the aisle with 15 other people for the whole 50mins. Not only is it a pain in the arse, it’s probably really dangerous.