I'm
posting lots of pictures onto Facebook today. Well, two, but it's
three twenty-five and I've only been up for like four hours, so two
is pretty solid at this point. Also I just found the melted,
biscuit-end of a caramel Maxibon sitting in a glass on my desk from
last night. Who knows to save the best bits for last, even when
hideously drunk on a Monday? THIS GUY!!
I've been wanting to go to the Workers Club on a Monday for ages and take advantage of their criminally cheap beers ($1.50 pots before 11!!?!) but I keep blowing it and winding up at comedy nights instead. Last night though I resolved to definitely, definitely, definitivement attend, even if it meant going solo and winding up drinking brown water alone beneath the sink in the kitchens. At six I was headed to Lentil As Anything with Blake to get some dinner when I got a message from Steele Saunders, one of the room-runners at Spleen, asking if I was free to do a spot in about two hours' time.
So we had a quick dinner and then jumped on the tram and got to Spleen with heaps of time to spare, Mondays at Spleen are the best open mic comedy nights in the country, so I was stoked to have a spot there, but I still wanted to get to the Workers. Xavier Micheledes was hosting. Good. He was at one of my first gigs in Melbourne, at Soto E Sopra, and last night he did his 'slow-motion locking keys in the car' bit that I first saw on that night. Killed.
Upstairs at Blake and I chatted for a while before I noticed it was like ten minutes to showtime, so I bolted backstage to find it packed with killer acts and one Laura Davis who finally, after meeting two times previously and getting SUPER NEGATIVE vibes off of her, said hello in an amicable. I, of course, was too tired and nervy to respond with anything constructive, but I did ask her how she was and although we didn't say anything else, I felt positive about our interaction, which I always nice. I went up fourth and did fairly well, although not as well as last time – I think election/politics material is a bit played out now that the election is done, and no one really wants to hear it. I've never been one to subscribe to that sort of pseudo-superstition about material, but for now I think I'm going to settle on that.
I left Spleen at half-time and went to the Workers, and got super-fucking-drunk, and on the drive home apparently threw up out the car door. That sounds bad, I wasn't driving, Luka was driving, and I made him stop. So I've been told.
I'm feeling pretty god damn fragile today, but just went down the Centrelink office where a sinking feeling that I was going to be stripped of a sum of money for not looking for employment turned very quickly into a feeling of interior joy masked by exterior tiredness as I found out that the government owes me ELEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS because I'm self-employed, not an employee. Fuck yeah, who likes living in a developed country? THIS GUY!
Peace, Taco.
I've been wanting to go to the Workers Club on a Monday for ages and take advantage of their criminally cheap beers ($1.50 pots before 11!!?!) but I keep blowing it and winding up at comedy nights instead. Last night though I resolved to definitely, definitely, definitivement attend, even if it meant going solo and winding up drinking brown water alone beneath the sink in the kitchens. At six I was headed to Lentil As Anything with Blake to get some dinner when I got a message from Steele Saunders, one of the room-runners at Spleen, asking if I was free to do a spot in about two hours' time.
So we had a quick dinner and then jumped on the tram and got to Spleen with heaps of time to spare, Mondays at Spleen are the best open mic comedy nights in the country, so I was stoked to have a spot there, but I still wanted to get to the Workers. Xavier Micheledes was hosting. Good. He was at one of my first gigs in Melbourne, at Soto E Sopra, and last night he did his 'slow-motion locking keys in the car' bit that I first saw on that night. Killed.
Upstairs at Blake and I chatted for a while before I noticed it was like ten minutes to showtime, so I bolted backstage to find it packed with killer acts and one Laura Davis who finally, after meeting two times previously and getting SUPER NEGATIVE vibes off of her, said hello in an amicable. I, of course, was too tired and nervy to respond with anything constructive, but I did ask her how she was and although we didn't say anything else, I felt positive about our interaction, which I always nice. I went up fourth and did fairly well, although not as well as last time – I think election/politics material is a bit played out now that the election is done, and no one really wants to hear it. I've never been one to subscribe to that sort of pseudo-superstition about material, but for now I think I'm going to settle on that.
I left Spleen at half-time and went to the Workers, and got super-fucking-drunk, and on the drive home apparently threw up out the car door. That sounds bad, I wasn't driving, Luka was driving, and I made him stop. So I've been told.
I'm feeling pretty god damn fragile today, but just went down the Centrelink office where a sinking feeling that I was going to be stripped of a sum of money for not looking for employment turned very quickly into a feeling of interior joy masked by exterior tiredness as I found out that the government owes me ELEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS because I'm self-employed, not an employee. Fuck yeah, who likes living in a developed country? THIS GUY!
Peace, Taco.
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