Posts Tagged ‘Divine’
Coming soon to a self publisher/PDF/satin bound hand crafted book seller near you soon, Miss Tammy’s very first book (discounting one or two East German ‘health manuals’ Miss Tammy had a hand in . . well, more like a finger, in the early 1980’s).
“Munted Munchies: a stoners cook book”.
Forty of my favorite munchie sating recipes, thirty five of which feature Cheezels.
Quick and easy is my motto, no one wants to be thinking too hard when one becomes a little ‘Peckish’.
There is even a section on healthy stoning food options (to shut up those dreadful hipster vegan stoners, who’s Ned Kelly beards always end up aflame when trying to ignite the bong, stinking the place out, and fucking up the mood . . but i digress).
Fifty flame retardant pages, all in full colour. Moisten a finger and prepare to turn a page.
Most evenings on King St Newtown, this guy can be found riding his mobility scooter up and down the footpath. What gives him the edge is his scooter is pimped with an Elvis statue, and a pretty fierce sound system. I have to say, his playlist never fails to impress me, from Johnny Cash, all the way through to Rockin’ Robin.
Long may he scoot.
Footage can be viewed HERE
Something spooky is going on, I’m nesting!. I’ve cleaned and sorted my office, I assembled a glass cabinet, I just framed my own painting, the house has been cleaned and bleached within an inch of it’s life, i’ve rearranged the pot plants . . I wonder what it all means??, I’m terrified I might be turning strait*!!??
* Of course not that there is anything wrong with that.
This weekend saw me and my friends being granted an audience with the supreme Filth Elder John Waters.
Casing the venue before the show (I would never use the word ‘Stalking’, it’s far too common, and has been misappropriated in recent times beyond the original romantic, passionate meaning, but if we are stalkers, then we’re more ‘Stalk’ than ‘er’s’).
My filth sisters Miss Tyson, Tony, Leon and myself found a discreet back passage very near the stage door, with an elevator that took us strait to the theatre entrance and to our seats, this would be perfect for getting us to the stage door after the show, well before the slew of under prepared amateurs flailingly figured out where to go.
Once the show was finished, and before the house lights had fully come up, I’d grabbed Tyson (who was acting as my assistant, photographer and purse carrier for the evening) and made haste for the exit and elevator. In moves more graceful and perfectly choreographed than Swan Lake itself, our pre planning paid off, and within seconds Tyson and i found ourselves at the stage door, front and centre, with not another soul in sight.
Before long a rag tag group of the underprivileged, criminally insane, non-natural fibre wearing, moperer prone, borderline unstable people joined us.
The glam, fey, stage door manager glided outside to the waiting crowd and announced loudly (tho haltingly) ‘Mr Waters is partying downstairs, getting pissed, will be a few hours, and probably won’t be leaving from the stage door!’
Amazingly, most everyone shrugged, picked up their bags and left!, What is WRONG with people!?, here we have a perfect manifestation of all that ails the world today, people are too gullible, too resigned, unwilling to question, too ‘meh’ with very little passion or dedication. Alas, alas Gregory, shut thy mouth, lest you get more of a reputation as a bitter old Queen, which apparently anyone elevating themselves to a level nearing passion and concern is now labeled.
Myself and about ten others decided to stick around and see how this would play out, I’m old school, it takes more than the wiley gabbling of a paid celebrity buffer to trick me.
Meanwhile as this dividing of the masses was taking place, Academy Award winning actor Geoffrey Rush was flitting in, out and around us devotee’s of Mr Waters, too cool to stop and hang, too curious to leave our vigil.
About twenty minutes later the stage door manager shimmied out to the waiting masses, which by now was down to a manageable fourteen people. He done a quick head count, then leant in towards myself and the moppet standing next to me and said ‘Okay, give me five minutes’, giving us a look and smile, that I’m sure in many circumstances over the years involving him has meant, ‘Okay, I’m not that mean, I’ll give you what you want in just a minute’.
True to his inference, about five minutes later the stage manager brought John out to the appreciative followers of filth. Being a fan himself of many people, John knew how to organize the small group so everyone got what they wanted, be it an autograph, a chat, a photo or to give him gifts.
A few things were quirky to note, John politely declined being given hugs due to his full travel and show schedule, and didn’t want to risk being exposed to any Jimmy Germs.
If you really want to make John recoil, hand him a silver autograph pen, both days I saw him he was offered one of these pens to sign a photo, he jumped back both times saying ‘Check it first!, they leak and cover your hands in silver paint!’, it should be noted that John exclusively wears Comme Des Garcon, I sure wouldn’t want to be dressed in that, and have an over excited fan fumble toward your jacket with a leaky Texta.
My turn came and John asked me what I would like, firstly I wanted to have a nice photo taken, which he was very obliging and happy to do.
I mentioned I’d hoped he would have had more of Edie in his show, he slapped my shoulder and said ‘Oh honey, she’s been gone twenty five years!’, then it dawned on him what I’d meant ‘OH!, you mean more about her!, Hahahahaha’.
Then, in a very private, and secret ceremony, leaning on the balcony railing to steady myself, I was reaffirmed a Filth Elder by John Waters, the supreme Filth Elder himself.
It was put in writing in John’s own hand, scribed on a scratch and sniff card from ‘Polyester’, in a happy coincidence I do believe my name traverses the scratch and sniff number for a bowel movement.
The crowd around us were hushed, and I believe they knew, to paraphrase the quote from John and Yoko’s ‘Two Virgins’ album “When two great Filth Elders meet, it is a humbling experience”.
I say to all reading this, henceforth when greeting me it would be only correct and proper manners to curtsy deeply, and greet me with ‘Hello filth elder Greg’,
If I so deem fit to engage you in further conversation, it is then acceptable to address me as ‘Greg’, there is no need to continue the formality after the initial greeting.
I’d like to be known as ‘The peoples Filth Elder’.
So, I’m loving where I live, great people, tolerant of my blaring music . . however . . the guy upstairs is learning to play the banjo, and he’s going great guns, alas, no one has pointed out to him that an instrument needs to be tuned, at least once every ten years.
I have practice in tricking tone deaf banjo players into letting me tune up for them, I wonder if I should invoke this trickery, or should I grit my ears and not risk being the asshole neighbor? (albeit one with bleeding ears).