Men in Tights

I've been keeping an eye on the shenanigans surrounding Russell Crowe's next film project - because dammit, there's nothing I love better than a Robin Hood movie.

Seriously. The film buffs who take themselves waaaayyyy too seriously will roll their eyes, but Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves remains one of my top three, all-time favourites (along with Gone With the Wind and Some Like it Hot). As far as I'm concerned that movie is FLAWLESS and I will brook NO ARGUMENT.

I'm also a big fan of The Adventures of Robin Hood, the original 1938 Technicolour masterpiece in which Errol Flynn donned the green tights and took on Basil Rathbone in the best onscreen sword fight ever. I still giggle at Mel Brooks' Robin Hood: Men in Tights ("I have a mole?!?!"); I have enjoyed the bits and pieces of the BBC's Robin Hood series that I've seen (mostly due to the delectable inclusion of Richard Armitage as Guy of Gisborne); and I remember the animated kids' version (where Robin was a fox - the best characterisation ever) was one of my childhood faves.

So it's been with some interest that I've followed progress on Nottingham, which was to be director Ridley Scott's creative re-imagining of the story, with Russell Crowe as a heroic Sheriff of Nottingham, taking on the menacing thief of Sherwood and his gang of Merry Men Gladiator-style. I was intrigued by this concept, not least because it could allow for a slighly more historically accurate depiction of Richard Coeur de Lion (the biggest show pony in English history - YES I TOTALLY WENT THERE).

But it now seems the whole thing is getting re-jigged again. As in, back to the usual story of the noble outlaw who fights for justice and the poor and shit. And Russ has decided to ditch the Sheriff role and play Robin Hood instead. And Cate Blanchett has come in to play Maid Marian. And they might even change the title too.

What's going on?

I don't think I WANT Russell Crowe playing Robin Hood. I was perfectly happy to have him get in there as the Sheriff, in his best ruggish, thuggish manner, and start kickin' some medieval arse. Laying the 12th century smacketh down on some drooling toffee-nosed nancy fannying about Sherwood Forest with a suspicious crew of highly-strung Saxon bandits. Hanging, drawing and quartering Friar Tuck for one too many nips of the sacremental wine. Defiling Maid Marian in the time-honoured way - by surprise in the murder hole of Nottingham Castle.

And really, Cate Blanchett. Haven't you made me jealous enough with your Oscars, your delicate yet otherworldly beauty, your playing Elizabeth the Fracking First, and your commitment to the Australian theatre industry? ISN'T YOUR LIFE PERFECT ENOUGH CATE BLANCHETT?

As far as I can tell, there's only way to redeem this version - and that's to bring Alan Rickman back as the Sheriff of Nottingham. The arty film wankers who by now have condemned me as a philistine for daring to find Kevin Costner an appealing Robin Hood - even they cannot disagree that Alan Rickman was the Best. Sheriff. Ever.

Who's with me?

Awesome "Felafel" artwork

I tell you, I know a bunch of incredibly talented people. One such freakishly gifted friend is Anthony Massingham, who I've drafted in to do some graphic art for He Died with a Felafel in His Hand:

How good is that? You can see more of Anthony's brilliant surreal style at his online series called The Not-So Impressive Entertainers.

Anthony is actually the younger brother of David Massingham, who you may recall had to suffer through my groping him every night onstage in Prognosis: Death!, and is a core member of The Sexy Detective sketch comedy group (who've produced one of my favourite-ever sketches).

Such is my admiration for the Brothers Massingham, The Wah recently accused me of having a secret plan to make them my toyboy love slaves. I will give you the same dignified response I gave him:

"Secret plan?!?!?"

Happy Lhosar

Last night was, apparently, Tibetan New Year's Eve. Which I guess makes today Tibetan New Year's Day. Happy Lhosar for the Year of the Ox.

I discovered this on turning up to the Tibetan Kitchen on Petrie Terrace for dinner with my folks and Queen Pat (my champagne-guzzling, Vanuatu-dwelling, sole-remaining grandparent) and discovering they had an excellent $25-a-head buffet dinner going on.

I had a moment of "But we just had Chinese New Y.... oh, yeah. Yeah, I can see how they'd want to avoid that."

The best thing was the fortune cookies served with dessert. The instructional letter left on each table explicitly stated the fortune cookies were "NOT to be eaten!". And with good reason. Made out of dough, they each contain one of 13 items, many of which could choke you to death. But the items correspond with a character trait, which "may or may not" match your own personality.

I got cotton. "Somebody that is very soft-hearted". Kinda true, I guess. The Wah will attest to the fact I do have an affinity for freaks. I also can't tell lies, and am easily influenced. I even shed a tear at the end of Love, Actually - even though I hated the film and everything it stood for.

My Mum got chili seeds. "Angry and outrageous". She's very shy, my Mum, and in fact, a very classy lady. But then again, she IS Irish by birth...

My Dad got a woodstick: "Who can build as many houses as possible". Somewhat true, if you take it in a figurative "good provider" kind of way, or in a more literal "excellent with tools and various stuff about the house".

We all had a gut laugh when my Gran finally got into hers. "Stone!" said the nice waitress who'd helped Gran crack open the dough ball on the side of the table. "Stubborn!" I exclaimed. This is the woman who refused to get a computer for years, but is now all "Just drop me an email". The woman who paddled a canoe out to a ship to make sure her younger brother was OK during WWII (she was in the WRNS; he the RN) even though he begged her not to because everyone would tease him. She's mellowed over the years but I'm reliably informed that my Gran is in fact one of the most Terrifying People to Ever Have Lived. It's pretty much Boadicea, Genghis Khan, and Queen Pat. There'll be a seat for her somewhere in Valhalla.

So you know four of the items and their corresponding traits. But there's another nine. So let's play a game.

Pick a number between 1 and 13, and post it here (along with any comments you have to make about the ferocity of my Gran, or indeed any grandparent of your own). Once I get a few, I'll post up what item you chose (in accordance with the Tibetan Kitchen's list), and what it means. And no Googling! It'll spoil the fun.

Hands off My Interwebs!

Because no matter what the government thinks, a clean feed is not going to stop child sexual abuse. It's just going to stop you, the Australian net geek, from your deity-given right to download free porn involving consenting (if somewhat tubby) adults. And it's going to slow down the internet so much, it'll be faster to personally deliver handwritten post-it notes to your friends than tweet at them.

Make me laugh competition

The last competition I ran - while a technical fiasco - did seem to be reasonably popular. So let's have another go.

Post a comment, and include a joke, or a funny story or quote, or a link to a humourous picture video. Whichever tickles my funnybone most, wins a post from me about them, or the topic of their choice.

Be My Limping Valentine

Due to last weekend's Sydney trip, covering state parliament for work, and rehearsals for He Died with a Felafel in His Hand, I completely missed Valentine's Day.

The Wah surprised me at midnight Friday by presenting me with a tiny glass-blown giraffe that he'd sneakily picked up at Taronga Zoo (he'd "forgotten" his mobile phone in the gift shop, but it was all a ruse! A ruse!). I adore giraffes, and it was a beautiful little gift. But I had zilch for him. Zip. Nada. Three parts of sweet eff ayy.

The thing is, I'm really not fussed by Valentine's Day. I don't expect masses of roses, or chocolates, or weekends away, or dinners for two at some overpriced, overblown restaurant where you're expected to tip, even though this is Australia and goddammit I'm cheap and I don't want to.

Now I could be considered unusual. I like to think it makes me THE MOST AWESOME GIRLFRIEND EVER, but you'd need to double check that with The Wah.

Speaking of said significant other, he had other plans for Valentine's Day. Plans that involved a lot of physical exertions.

I was not involved in these plans.

No, The Wah decided to go walking. For eight hours.

Why, you ask? And where did he end up? You can find the answers to these questions - and many more - over at his blog. It's a most interesting read. 

The Train

Now I'm not saying that spending several hours in an Industrial Relations Commission hearing as Queensland Rail and the train drivers' unions do battle over planned strike action is dull.

But it certainly allowed me time to explore my feelings via the medium of comic strip:

Terribly poor taste, isn't it?

As it turned out, a last-ditch, eleventh-hour meeting saw the strike called off, so it's back to the negotiating table for the train drivers. QR's already agreed to their $20,000-over-three-years pay rise, and they're now just talking turkey over Sunday rostering. I tell you, as a journalist - I really need to become a train driver.

Yeah, I'm bitter.

Fine. I'll post about Dan.

Due mostly to my breathtaking incompetence, Dan won the "Which Animal is That?" competition in the previous post.

Damn stupid filenames.

Anyway, the point is, I'm an idiot, and Dan won fair and square according to the rules I'd posted.

So now I have to tell you about Dan.

Dan and I go waaaaay back. He first saw me in a production of Oedipus Rex at UQ in 1998. It was my first year of university, and my first play outside of school and Act 1 Theatre Strathpine. I thought I was pretty cool - a theory undone in the most typical Girl Clumsy way the night Dan saw the show. For that was the night I had used tissues to stuff my overly large shoes - tissues which unbeknownst to me had come loose and were proudly stuck to the bottom of my pumps as I delivered what I thought was a heart-wrenching opening monologue.

Yes, my life is a Seinfeld episode.

A week or so later I turned up at my first impro show at The Hub cafe (sadly now long gone from Margaret St). The Oedipus Rex director was an improviser, and I quickly fell in love with this amazing form of theatre & comedy. I "formally" met Dan around this time - I believe one of the first things he said was "You were the girl with toilet paper stuck to your shoe in that play!"

I had another freaky moment when I worked out Dan was the same Dan who'd been mentioned on an episode of Martin/Molloy. I thought I had been the only person to be obsessed with that radio show (and in particular Tony Martin).

In early 1999, Dan and I went out for two months. As this is supposed to be a nice post, I won't mention the Tim Tams breakup story here. It has become legendary in Brisbane; a story that I know several people (I'm looking at The Wah and Wade) have told in return for free drinks. I'll tell it to you sometime, but you'll have to buy me a Coke. Let's just say (and I think even he will agree) that Dan was a fairly CLUELESS individual back in his early 20s. In fact, sometimes he remains as clueless as ever, despite everything he should've learned by now.

So most people would probably want to put space between themselves and an "ex", but I was enthralled with impro and comedy and the fantastically cool people I had become friends with, and I wasn't letting anything force me from that scene. And really, I give 18-year-old Natalie big props for that. Otherwise modern-day Natalie would be a very different (and probably lonelier & creatively starved) person.

In 2001, Dan began writing a web comic called Lilley Street, based on the infamous house The Wah shared with the fiend and Troy (possibly Brisbane's greatest-ever improviser; a fact he wouldn't like you to mention if you ever meet him). All was well for a while; Dan even wrote me into the comic (hey, I'd forgotten that strip actually mentions the Tim Tams story - but I want it remembered I actually refused said Tim Tams at the time).

However, there was A Great Unravelling. The Wah and I had been running an impro show over at the Pig 'n' Whistle pub at Indooroopilly; we ended our involvement there in early 2004, and from the ashes rose Impro Mafia, founded by Dan and several others (Alice, Liam, Al and El Capitano & Supreme Puppet Master Wade). The Wah began his three year "break" from impro; I played less as my job demanded many night shifts. Dan became my sworn enemy around this time; he didn't talk to me for a full year after I made an ill-advised comment about him at a party. Everything descended into a mire of intrigue and bitchiness.

So how did we get to where we are now?

I guess we both kinda grew up a bit: Dan had the great fortune of meeting and marrying his talented and beautiful wife Aurelie; and I began playing more regularly with Impro Mafia - particularly on our return from our big '06 trip. The group dynamic strengthened when The Wah re-involved himself with impro (something I delight in, as he's truly brilliant onstage). I don't recall any particular event or moment, but I realised at some point that Dan and Wade had basically become my best friends. I don't know if they felt the same about me; but all I know is that I could ring them anytime, chat about impro, muse over impro, have long involved conversations about mutual friends and enemies; drink beer, socialise, banter about impro, talk about politics, life, the universe and everything. Especially impro.

Even now Dan is the person I talk most to online - a fact The Wah likes to rib me about to no end. "It's DAN!" he'll chirp, flitting about in front of me using excessively effeminate gestures. "You only just saw Dan at impro, but you MUST talk to him again!"

As well as Lilley Street, Dan's written other comic strips over the years. My favourite is Sleep Dep, a series of short comics written while he was working night shifts for an online casino. His new one is called BubbleWrap, and it's about survivors after a worldwide nuclear meltdown. By day, he runs the graphic design business Civic Net. Impro Mafia abuses him all the time for his artistic and computer skills; he's the one behind the phenomenal Prognosis: Death poster, and he also started the Impro Mafia podcast, which is always fun to do (because it's us, just shooting the breeze. About impro).

Dan is still one of my favourite improvisers to perform with; we also share many of the same comedic interests (including that ongoing obsession with Tony Martin). Though sometimes I find him frustrating as all hell to deal with, at the end of the day, we're very well suited to being self-obsessed narcissicistic friends.

So. Anyone else want a post about them?

Fun with animals

Taronga Zoo is full of many wonders. Most of them I can name on sight. It's not that hard to identify an elephant, for example. Or a gorilla. Or even a tiger, despite it having its back towards you as it rests in the heat of the day.

But this? I had no fracking clue as to what THIS little beauty was:

"No, I am not a sloth. I am just very, very warm."

If you know, and you're the first person to post & get it right, I will write a blog post dedicated to you. It's not much of an offer, sure, but hey, I don't have any Girl Clumsy-themed pencils I can hand out.

Now you've put your thinking caps on, let me distract you with humourous pictures. Firstly, my next pet:

Snow leopard. It sounds cool just saying it, doesn't it? "What's your spirit animal?" "Oh, if you must know, a SNOW LEOPARD." And I just know the snow leopard (I'll call her Trixie) would love to live with me too:

It wasn't the only animal checking me out - look! Giraffes!!!

"Umm... should we tell her that one's not real?"

 Next, a Battle of the Titans - Kodiak bear V Lizard!

"I will crush you, bear. It will be a 'Kodiak' moment."

And finally, some CHEESE-EATING SURRENDER MONKEYS!

That's our good friend Casey, a Briz Vegas deserter, who's livin' la vida loca Sydney-side now as he project manages his way through a series of IT ...projects. He had yet to tick Taronga Zoo off his "list of touristy things to do", so we were very happy he decided to come along. We spent the day behaving inappropriately, including taking the above photo and bagging The French. Sorry about that, The French.

Top Gear Live

The Wah and I are in the sunny climes of Sydney - having travelled here for a specific geeky-yet-rev-heady purpose:

We flew in Qantas-style this morning and found our way to the delightful Novotel Rockford Darling Harbour - chosen for its central location and the fact I had a free night owing me on my Accor club card, and it was the most expensive I could snag. Nice.

After a wander around Chinatown and Darling Harbour for a spot of lunch, we grabbed some train tickets and headed out to Acer Arena for the 5pm show.

It began with several "live" ads for Shell, Navman & Audi, which were reasonably entertaining, but not enough to stop one joyful fellow a few bleaches away from our side-of-stage spot from yelling out "Get off!". Charming.

Still, it wasn't long before Richard "the Hamster" Hammond and Jeremy "Murder a Prostitute" Clarkson took the stage. Sadly James May was absent, a gap kinda-sorta-filled by Top Gear Australia host Steve Pizzati. He was enthusiastic enough, and took his required savage ribbing from the two Poms with good humour - but his distinct Aussie twang just sounded strange next to Clarkson and Hammond's proper British accents.

However, let's get to the stunts, which were pretty damn good. First, there was the challenge to make a tiny working car (of sorts). Pizzati's was a suitcase go-cart, Hammond's was a tricycle with belt-sander accessories, and Clarkson built a replica of himself:

Of course, Clarkson won that one, and punished Hammond by making him stand in the "Colander of Death" while a French motorcyclist zoomed around him:

After that, the French motorcyclists kept appearing, until there were four of them whizzing around inside their balled cage of doom to the sounds of The Prodigy's "Firestarter". And it wasn't the last we'd see of fire and fireworks, with various set sparks going off during drifting and stunt driving displays:

Other TV show favourites made an appearance, including the "Cool Wall" (Aston Martins - yay! Porsches - boo!), and a video-game version of "Star in a Reasonably-Priced Car", in which audience noise was used to power the car around the famous Top Gear test track. Our performance was not good; we finished in the bottom half of the leaderboard, much to Steve Pizzati's disappointment.

But finally, what everyone was waiting for - CAR SOCCER!

England V Australia - Hammond led the Poms to an early lead, but Pizzati and the good ol' Aussies fought back to a commanding 4-1 win. The drivers were absolutely brilliant in their Hyundais, but they couldn't avoid crashes, and there was a great bingle just below our stand. We stay for the crashes, after all.

The show ended with The Stig finally making an appearance, to drive a Lotus around the floor while a 3D Apache helicopter "chased" him from the big screen, shooting missiles along the way. Clarkson eventually "took down" the phantom Apache with a bazooka, leading to a final round of fireworks and a prompt "Thank you and goodbye!"

All in all it was an hour and a half of silly fun - but could've really done with more Stig and James May. It was obviously scripted, but many of the funniest moments came when Clarkson and Hammond did riff off each other.

Several car displays were dotted around the entrance to the arena - including this beauty:

Oh yes, my friend - that is an Aston-Martin DBS Coupe. This is number 1 on my fantasy wish list. Number Two is David Tennant in the passenger seat, and number 3 is the James Bond-style kit out.

I promise I won't use the ejector seat on David Tennant...

Perfect Joke

I just experienced an absolutely perfect real-life joke scenario:

A French woman just came to our door selling large paintings of Parisian streetscapes, landmarks and scenery.

I was hiding in the bedroom in a state of relative undress at the time. The Wah came in to tell me they were actually quite good; and he'd regretted turning her down.

I said...

Wait for it...

"Probably for the best - we don't really have the Monet."

Thank you! Thank you very much!

(Mind you, how the French lady got through the main door of the apartment block is another question, but we'll leave that aside for the moment. Just revel in the glow of my perfect joke).

Punctuate this

You know what I find offensive?

 

That's right - the misplaced comma.

I mean, honestly. If you're going to whack a twelve-metre-long billboard advertising male sniffy-stiffy spray up at the one of the busiest crossroads in Brisbane, you could at least have the courtesy of using correct punctuation.

In this case, Men: "Do It" Longer or Men - "Do It" Longer would be more appropriate. And while we're at it - let's drop those ridiculous quotation marks around the "do it" as well, huh?

If you can't be trusted with the Queen's English, then how the hell are you to be trusted with the flaccid members of Brisbane's impotent?

Prognosis: Over!

"Prognosis: Death!" finished in absolute cracking good form on Saturday night - 95 people came to the Brisbane Arts Theatre to see our final show! In total, we had 400 people through the doors across the six performances. Amazing!

For an impro group that just a couple of years ago was performing in front of 10 people in a pub, Impro Mafia has come a helluva long way - and I couldn't be prouder. Improvised comedy is one of the joys of my life; I'm so happy to have been involved in this full-length improvised play - the first of its kind in Brisbane!

After an absolutely rocking cast party, I managed to get some shut-eye before my first Felafel rehearsal. Everything bodes well there - I hope to make the show as fun and satisfying for my cast, as "Prognosis: Death!" has been for me.

Once again, thanks to my beloved cast and crew members - Dan, Wade, Dave, Mike, Luke, Amy, Kris, Tiffany, Sarah, Mia... and, of course, the Once and Future Wah. I'm just a little bit more in love with all of them now than ever. :)

Thanks to Al Caeiro for the fabulous photos!