Avant garde, no?

Anyway, it all started on Tuesday night at around 7:30 p.m. and ended at 5:09 a.m. on Sunday morning... the days tend to bleed into each other nowatimes...

So, it's Tuesday night... 7:30 ishh, and my telephone rings. "Hello?" That was me.

"Hey." That was Veg.

Anyway the gist of the phonecall is that Vegie wonders whether I want to go to the Triple J Framebreaks Youth SHort Film Festival or whatever it's called... I did. I almost entered one year, but was foiled.

See, I didn't actually have a video camera of any way to edit film. Wait, no. That's not what happened at all.

Okay, the thing with the comp was that you had to include, within the soundtrack, a certain song. Actually, there were a number of songs that you could include. I believe there was a choice of 6 or somesuch... I can't really recall much more, there was a timelimit of some description... but my memory isn't so hot. Remember that point. It comes up again at the end of the tale. And possibly at other points in the tale also. By the way, I should probably include a warning here. This tale does contain nazis, high speed police chases and wild accusations. Absolutely wild accusations. Wait, no. Accusations isn't the right word. Beratement. Wild and crazy beratement. Anyway... where was I?

Ah, yes. Tuesday night. The film festival was on the next day. But where?

I went to the triple J website, but answers were not forthcoming. Until a short while ago, information about the thing had been available on the website, on the front page. But no more. Strange. I searched, and eventually I found it.

The finding of the location also answered our other question: But when?

For the location was the outdoor cinema in the botanical gardens in the fine city of Melbourne.

We would have to leave when Vegie and I returned home from our various places of employment, so at about 6:30. The festival started at about 7:45. We'd be cutting it fine. Along the way we also collected Rodriguez X and Amanda... and we departed for Melbourne. It soon became clear that we were not going to arrive by sundown, when the films were due to start. In fact, we might even miss the very first film. Oh well, them is the breaks, we sighed exasperatedly.

Eventually, we arrived at the Botanical Gardens, having navigated the mean streets of the fine city of Melbourne. But nary a parking space was to be found. I found one good place to park, but it had a big sign above it which said, NO PARKING... and following my recent run in with the Man, I was not entirely inclined to put myself at any further financial thing.

Anyway, where was I?

Ah, yes. We couldn't find anywhere to park... by the time we found somewhere to park, it was about a 1000 hour walk back to the place where the films was happening, and about a 10000 hours since we had arrived. We decided to pack it in and just go watch Once Upon A Time In Mexico at the casino. What the hell, we thought. Unfortunately, it had already started, so we were reduced to playing video games and gambling until 1:00 a.m. when I declared that we should initiate leaving procedures, as I needed to go to work in the morning.

We went home.

4 hours after having fallen asleep, I was awoken by my alarm clock. It was 6:40. The reason my alarm was set for 6:40 was that I always set my alarm ten minutes before I want to wake up. Then I can reset it and get what seems like a free ten minutes. Anyway, the reason I was getting up at 6:50 was because I was going to pick Rodriguez X up and drop him off at uni on my way to work, in exchange for monetary thing thing.

Anyway, the alarm went off. I reset it for ten minutes later.

I fell asleep.

Ten minutes later, my alarm went off.

I turned it off.

I got up, had a shower, drank some coffee, had breakfast, got out to my car, got dressed, picked up Rodriguez X, dropped him at uni, went to work, arrived at work 10 minutes early, as always, worked hard, returned home...


My alarm went off.

I turned it off.

I lay in bed, and thought about stuff. I was being real introspective like.

I fell asleep.

Next thing I know, I'm being awoken by the movement of other beings in my house, I don't look at my clock...

This is important.

See, I have a number of clocks in my bedroom, of various degrees of readability. They are: My alarm clock, my portable telecommunications device, and my stereo.... My stereo is the least readable... or is it.

No, my stereo is very unreadable, because to find out the time from it, you have to actually be next to it, and click the clock button and it tells you. But it's in my cupboard, man. So you really have to be over there.

My phone has a small screen and requires unlocking so as to provide enough backlight for the numbers to be read.

My alarm clock is no longer working, because I took the battery out because the constant tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick was driving me absolutely crazy. So, the most readable timepiece I had was my phone, and it wasn't all that readable.

So, anyway, I have no point of reference for determining the time, as various other clocks throughout the house are absolutely off, so when I eventually got out to the accuracy of my automobile's timepiece, it only then became apparent to me that I was approximately 10 minutes late. (But 10 minutes early by the standards of a normal working day - but 10 minutes late for leaving to pick up Rodriguez X. Crap.)

So, I put the pedal to the metal, or possibly the other way around. The point is, Rodriguez X missed his bus and we got stuck behind this stupid truck that was doing 70 in a 100 zone and after everything I ended up about 3 minutes late for work.

3 minutes, man.

Anyway, that evening, I go over to Rodriguez X's residence. A lot can happen in a day. For instance, I made a number of ads for a franchise who are in the business of selling rubber goods

Rodriguez X, on the other hand, had been ensnared by the seductive concept of "phreaking."

For those not in the know, and I imagine some of you are, and at an equal thing I imagine some of you ain't, but phreaking is like hacking... but for phones. Or so is my understanding.

Back in the day, Vegie and I were both entranced by this concept, because nothing seemed cooler to us than calling up a complete stranger on a payphone at a train station or on a city street, and giving them a little anecdote to tell their friends about the crazy phone call they answered while they were commuting the other day.

In fact, this entrancement had occured a number of times. But for Rodriguez X, he was a phreaking virgin. He made a declaration thusly, "Doctor, we simply must attain payphone numbers for this town."

So, we went out, and we did. And it's really a stupid process.

The first four digits of a payphone number are written on the payphone. The last two can be attained by pressing a combination of numbers and waiting through a long boring thing about international calls. The ones after the first four but before the last two must be systematically guessed at. It's a stupid process.

But anyway, after we got bored with that, we utilized the resources of the Australian phreaking community and attained the number of a payphone at a Safeway in some suburb of Melbourne.

I assumed that the phone was outside the shop. It wasn't. Anyway, I called them up.

Guy: Hello?

Me: Hi.

Guy: I think you've got the wrong number, mate.

Me: Isn't this the Safeway.

Guy: Uh, yeah. Who's this?

Me: It's Jennifer.

Guy: No, there's no Jennifer's here. I think you have the wrong number.

Me: No, no. I'M Jennifer.

Guy: Oh, okay.

Me: Could you grab me some milk while you're there, buddy?

Guy: Sure, how much?

Me: Oh, 2 litres.

Guy: And where should I send it to?

Me: Just stick it in a post box, it'll get to me. Don't you worry about that.

And we talked for a little more.

Then Rodriguez X called and had some sort of conversation with some chiquita... I can't remember what it was about or even if he told me what it was... anyway, a short while after that, I called again. A young lady answered the phone.

Her: Hello?

Me: Hi.

Her: I think you've got the wrong number.

Me: Isn't this the Safeway.

There was no actual pause between my question and her answer, but I've included one for dramatic effect.

Her: No.

Me: (confused) Wait, where are you?

Her: (panicked) Idon'tthinkyouneedtoknowthat!wrongnumber!bye!

So, yeah. That crazy kid.

Anyway, somehow we got to Friday, and while interesting stuff did happen on Friday - but what? Just crazy performance art stuff and freaking out the various street rats of Warragul. It was the night of the Warragul show, which we usually cruise by, if only to watch the fights... for the past two years we had made it something of a ritual of ours, that we would attend the show, with a video camera, as other crazy stuff often occured. Usually this involved Sean Miller, and various classic shots of our compadres with blood running down their faces have been captured but all this is irrelevant as yeah.

Where the hell was I?

Right, show night, we did some stuff, it's not important - not Saturday important at least. But what happened on Saturday?

Sometime between 2 a.m. on Saturday morning, and 7 p.m. on Saturday afternoon we met some nazis. Of course, we didn't know they were nazis, or we would have never gone to their house for pre-show drinks.

By the way, when I say "we" I mean... Me, Veg and Steve.

They were very much of the understanding that a real rivalry exists between the Ford and Holden motor car companies. They were very much of the Holden persuasion. My car, as I've been told, is a Ford.

They began to bag my car. Wait, no, stuff happened before this.

We arrived at their house at around 7 p.m. Upon arrival, I was shown their chilli plant. Habanero chillis were the chillies on display, and my understand was that they were hot mothers indeed. I was instructed to try one, I bit the end off and it burned in my mouth with the intensity of hell.

Some 15 minutes later, the pain subsided and then... from out of nowhere, there was nazi on my back, he smooshed a chilli onto my lips and my cheek.

Oh, god. The intensity of hell, but sevenfold, and for a good 2 hours it continued to burn. Foolishly I attempted to wipe it off on my hand, and my hand burnt for a further four hours. One of the nazis offered me some of their nazi milk. It did little. I hate milk anyway. Damn nazi milk.

We still didn't know they were nazis at this point.

Please read Part 2 of this exciting tale from March!