Woke up at 5am. Why? Because I can. Fuck you. Fuck you for questioning my choice of waking up time.
Caught a tram into the city which was diverted because the anti-abortion people were holding another lame rally on Bourke St. Forgive me if I question their commitment when they decide to march from the park directly next to Parliament House to... Parliament House. That is not a long enough march. Michael Long walked to Canberra.
That is what those of us in the biz refer to as commitment, Right To Life Australia. If that is as far as you are willing to march, I don't think yours is a cause worth supporting.
Actually, the laziness of their march has convinced me to take the opposite view. Well beyond believing in a woman's right to do what she wants with her body, I am now committed to killing the foetuses infecting women who are quite happy to carry them to term.
Do you see the kind of monster you have created, Margaret Tighe?
Anyway, I made it into the city and found Comrade McBroington, and we traversed the dusty corridor of Degraves Subway and bought comic books and records, as is our trendy wont. I went into the Wax Museum to see if they had any Radio Birdman, but ended up coming out with a Rick Wakeman record. I went into the Sticky Institute to drop off some [REDACTED] and ended up coming out with Rooftops by Mandy Ord. Then we went and saw The Muppet Movie at ACMI, which is screening as part of a Jim Henson feature thing. It was really awesome to see it on the big screen, as expected. This kid in front of McBroington kept on turning around to stare at him.
To stare into his soul.
I could tell it was starting to freak him out, so I leant over and said, "I think that kid can see into your soul."
That didn't help.
Anyway, then I went and caught the train home, during which time I read Rooftops. Cracking stuff. The main character only had one eye, and that made me think that I'd read an interview with the author in some hip/trendy art magazine, but when I looked it up I discovered that I had actually read it in some wanky Age supplement back in June. Luckily, nobody would ever know that I secretly read wanky Age supplements.
There was a bit of stuff in there about cosmic coincidences, though they were not referred to as such, and it reminded me of interviewing Peter Hore, who framed the phenomenon in those words.. INTERVIEWING PETER HORE JUST A FEW SHOPS UP FROM WHERE A LARGE CHUNK OF THE BOOK TAKES PLACE.
After I got off the train, I went and had a coffee and read Rooftops again. While I was doing that, this guy pulled up in this trendy American car. It may have been a Camaro. Anyway, it had been restored and it was very schmick. The woman at the next table was looking after a couple of kids (not hers) and she made some statement about not leaving it parked in Collingwood. She said the word 'Collingwood' with such disdain. Maybe I am spending too much time with the anarchists, cos my thought-response to this was, "And Greg Combet says the class war is over."
Then I felt so bad for turning my back on my yuppie lifestyle that I had to have another coffee.
When I got home there was a woman lying on the ground in front of my house, wheezing. Some dude was holding her down, and consoling her. I thought, that's a bit dramatic, but everything appeared to be under control. A few minutes later I heard angry female screaming coming from outside my house and it appeared that not everything was under control, so I went onto my front porch. My annoying neighbour Mick Jagger came out of his house too. I gave him this look like, "What can we do?" He gave me a look like, "There's nothing we can do."
He also actually said that. A few seconds later the police arrived and they were all like, "All right, all right, all right, what's going on here" and I said, "Oh, you know, officer..." but I didn't actually, I'd gone inside by this point to write what happened in my day. I started off by saying that I'd woken up at 5am, which was true, but then I thought that people might question why I'd done that (it is a very odd time to get up on a Saturday) and I got quite defensive. Then I wrote about the rest of my day. What should I call this post, I wondered, before settling on Action Packed Day, even though the day wasn't that action packed. I went and saw a movie and bought a book and a Rick Wakeman record. That is quite possibly the least action packed day in the recorded history of days. Having settled on a title, I briefly wondered whether anyone would care, and if so, why? Why would anyone want to read about this nonsense? But then I figured that there are 1.4 billion people with internet access in the world, so it's probable that at least one of them will not only care, but will have a pressing need to read about it. A desperate, LIFE OR DEATH need.
They sit there in their apartment in Detroit, Michigan, a stolen .45 Colt pistol beside them, a Marlboro cigarette dangling from their lip, crying. What is the point of living if my days are not even action packed, they ponder. What is the point of even living?
But then they read this and they think, hey, it's not so bad! Look at this guy! His life is like, blah. Then they go out and rob a liquor store and pump round after round into the elderly immigrant clerk who had come to America for a better life.
DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE, MARGARET TIGHE? HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE TO DIE?