Wouldn't It Be Nice?

It’s dangerous this time spent admiring new sneakers, newly returned to the world of hustle and bustle and wireless internet connections that practically dance in comparison to that snoring bandwidth they put up with in the country. Aaah, country mice your world is lovely and green but so slow and the coffee so varied in quality! So while there are things that really ought to be done, better to take solace in the broadband and the stereo and the left-over booze happily discovered upon inspecting the cupboards. Which brings me to my subject for today – Pet Sounds. Spent last week uming and aahing about lashing out on a ticket to Brian Wilson perform Pet Sounds at the Opera House. Decided instead it might just be better to sit like all the other plebs in the Domain and listen to the free concert. I don’t have a date, after all, so the notion of all those old boomers settling in all comfy like to see the show and relive their youth is not quite so funny if you don’t have someone there to giggle with.
And yet, now listening to the album here at home on the stereo I’m thinking maybe I made the wrong decision. When people talk about concept albums I mostly roll my eyes – the concept of the concept album should only be treated with the most sincerest form of irony. Pet Sounds though, man, it just captures all these wonderful things – mostly teenage longing – in the most poetic and gorgeous and sweetly cute ways and yet it’s not at all saccharine. I’ve not really had many of those cheesy “this song is talking to ME” type moments, and certainly not with the Beach Boys, but recently I found myself listening to certain parts of the BB oeuvre in a different light. “Wouldn’t it be nice?” for instance – a song that’s really about teen passion and the forbidden – hideously ruined thanks to the Cadbury-Schweppes corp. Wouldn’t it be nice? Hell, yes. It certainly would – I’d love to for you to spend the night. “Don’t talk, put your head on my shoulder” Fine with me, Bri. I like the way you know just the right thing to say. And you’re saying just exactly what I’m thinking. Let me quote for a moment: “Being here with you feels so right/We could live forever tonight/Lets not think about tomorrow/And don't talk put your head on my shoulder”
There’s an awful lot on this album about the threat of tomorrow and how things are going to be very different when the sun comes up which appeals to the hopeless doomed romantic in me. And I might add, the cynical realist. Things *sure* will be different. Make no mistake – doesn’t matter if it’s the oppressive rule of parents or the hangover or the impending doom of real life.
And of course, I have to own up to a particular sympathy for “Caroline No” since the lovely lady in question has cut her hair and appears to have lost that lovin’ feeling:
“Could I ever find in you again/Things that made me love you so much then/Could we ever bring 'em back once they have gone/Oh, Caroline no”
Ouch, my heart is breaking all over again. Caroline, no. But, oops, too late! Caroline could we? But no! But yes! And yet, still, achingly, no. Life is just one bittersweet accident after another.
No question, Pet Sounds is the album for hopeless romantics, heartbroken beaus, and lustful honeybunnies. I think I should’ve done the washing up and typed those job applications... I’m now a breathless wreck of teenage passion.
If you see me in the Domain in January next year I suggest you either steer clear or be prepared for some pretty frantic back row necking.

Oh Cruelty, thy name is Australia Post!

It's typical right? The day that I'm due to leave Sydney Australia Post pops one of those infuriating parcel collection notices in my letter box - thus, my new shoes and I will be apart ALL WEEKEND.

In better news, not only have I been delighting in the splendour of Larry David's Curb Your Enthusiasm but I think I may finally have just the kind of person who would appreciate me for who I am. Petty, selfish, small-minded. I get this feeling like Larry understands. In fact, I rather fancy the idea that he could be my foster Dad. I like to think about some cheesy 80s TV show involving Larry and me, kinda like Punky Brewster. Except that we'd say "fuck" and "cunt" a lot and we'd sit around bitching and moaning about tuna-fish sandwiches and whether or not its ok to leave the hairdresser without leaving a tip. I see me as an older Maebe Funke and him as a nasty, grumpy, less-waspy Mr Drummond. I see us pitching it to HBO...

I don't see them buying it.

Me on the other hand, I can't stop buying things. Three days in the country - will I survive without eBay, Facebook and Salon? One thing is for sure: I'm taking Pynchon to get me through.

Take it to the Coop!

More great news for me, more bad news for my credit card.
Discovered that the delux Gold Edition of Twin Peaks (both series, in full, wrapped - oh yes, here it comes - "in plastic") are available for ownership on Nov 8. A great day. A fabulous day. A day upon which I can reinvest in my absolute and all abiding adoration of Inspector Dale Cooper.

A good guy if ever there was one (and despite what I've been reading lately) one of the few examples of a detective who isn't out to kill you, rape you, or eat your babies. Well, that is...

So I suppose what this means is that when I'm over 'Coop' for another four or so years I'll move on to a Brendan Fraser movie marathon?
Will there ever be a box set for such a box head?

Ker-ching!

You're now looking (ok, not looking - reading about) at the proud owner of the sneakers below.
Even more excitingly I've just found this on eBay:


Today is a good day.

SneakerFreaker Pt 2 - The Reckoning

Nuff said?

SneakerFreaker

It's been a while since I really had a thing for sneakers. For a while there in the late 90s everyone had to have a pair of "trainers" in order to be an official indie hipster. In those days it was VANS mostly. Those soft velvety ones made from suede - ideally in bottle green or navy.

Then, the other day I saw this girl in a magazine with a pair of seriously old skool Nike Air on her feet and I just haven't been able to shake the thought from my head. And so, I hit ebay and I found a pair with the old skool attitude but all the ker-ching of our modern bling crazy era. I think I might need to own these - and wear them with a pair of gold lame hotpants just for the fun of living out some kind of bad taste hoochie mamma block party in my loungeroom. These shoes don't rock, they (pimp)roll...

As it turns out, Nike have just released a whole heap of new sneakers designed to evoke an even older nostalgia for 70s running shoes. And I'm pleased to see my new sneaker obsession is not unique.

Bacefook

OK... Between now and the last time there have been so many things I *could* have stopped to blog about but laziness is a terrible thing and it sure does get in the way of best (and worst) laid plans. Anyhoo - that's along way to get around to saying this: Facebook - wow, what gives? I overheard two sweet little naive second year students on campus the other day discussing how they'd decided to take the moral higher ground and refuse to get a profile for fear of procrastination. If it's not TV, it's Facebook. If it's not ice and amphetemines, it's Facebook. How else are people expected to procrastinate if not with the wonders of the virtual high-school reunion? Frankly, it *is* a bit spooky. Those people from school I never spoke to, never liked, never really knew beyond recognition that their face was in the end of year photo too. Now, should we really be "friends"? I'm never going to speak to you now, just like I was never going to speak to you then. Is this just about "friend-hunting"? Like Indians and scalps? And, hey while I'm on the topic, could there possibly be a *useful* application invented, something that smooths out the wrinkly layout and poor usability issues in the Facebookiverse. Ohdearlord! My hangover is making me cranky about Facebook. This must stop NOW.