I've been in a new role for about 5 months, and the initial lustre has most definitely worn off. Everything is now faded and a little dull, and this has raised genuine concern on my part as I seem to be taking on this particular complexion as well. Not to say the joy I get from writing or spending time with my family has lessened, just that my desire to learn new activities and put forward ideas has decreased as a direct result of my current apathetic existence. And that concerns me.
Initially, I was meant to monitor and investigate critical IIS situations and their possible cataclysmic results within the organisation.
However, this is genuinely not the case. As of late, the 'monitoring and investigation' content of my role comprises a daily perusal of the SMH, drafting emails to errant colleagues and friends (68 today), and counting down the hours till I leave. To some people, this would be a dream job.
Unfortunately, I'm not one of them.

To add to my already prominent discomfort, it is apparent my joie de vivre for those corporate trappings has all but disappeared, and with it my own personal motivation and desire to climb the Executive Ladder.

I want to be successful, and this is not the way it's going to happen.

So, 'there's no point complaining', I hear you say. Exactly right.

Time to take life by the horns and do something about it.

Stay tuned.

There are days when the plethora of information that constantly revolves around my addled brain seems to require one of those futuristic virtual computers where gesticulating in the air induces some sort of pseudo-psychic interface that manages to translate the verbal maze in your brain into a neat typewritten sheet.
Unfortunately, reality tends to dictate otherwise.

Consider this. Your behaviour is a result of your immediate musical environment, and your iPod is indirectly responsible for the bizarre discourse that confronts you when you least expect it.

For example, let's say your initial intention is to perhaps write a paragraph or two about your friend's new partner, or why you decided to get a tattoo on the weekend (and why you're going to cut back on drinking Tequila with strangers), or maybe how anyone could ever enjoy eating those black jellybeans that taste suspiciously like roll-on deodorant.
However, despite all best intentions, what usually results is 15 paragraphs about the girl you met in Bali that fateful summer, or alternatively, a heartfelt confessional about the ongoing destruction of our planet or the epic futility of existence.

Here's why. Don't listen to emotive music while you write.

Don't believe me? Here's a simple experiment. Try writing anything that's intended to be light and humourous whilst listening to 'The Scientist'.
Finished?
Ok, now kill the iPod for a sec and re-read what you just wrote.

Staring back at you will be a tear-stained diatribe on why your last relationship should never have ended (Oh God, it was so wrong but it was so right..), all those wonderful things you used to do together (that thing we used to do at that cafe we both loved), and why you ever let them go in the first place (they cheated on you with your flatmate, dumb ass).
Congratulations, you've just been emotionally hijacked by Chris Martin.

Oh, and while you're at it, quit staring at your mobile. You know they stopped returning your calls months ago.

You get a similar result listening to Marilyn Manson. Ten seconds into the opening strains "If I Was Your Vampire", and your writing has probably stopped altogether because you're now Googling 'Euthanasia for Young Adults', or possibly carving the words 'kill me' into your forearm with a letter opener.
Interestingly enough, research has shown that a similar 'Google' search response occurs when listening to Frente, but this appears to be motivated more by the extreme desire to never have to listen to that shit again.

However, on the flipside (to use the vernacular), there are tracks out there that consistently uplift the soul, cause light to shine through the darkest of moods, and conjure images worthy of a hastily-scribbled letter to Penthouse Forum.

From a DJ's perspective, here are my own personal selections.

If you've never heard them, go buy them.

Sunworshipper - Milo
You..a sun-drenched beach, glistening bodies recline on the white sand...the sun reflecting off the the waves of the limpid, turquoise water. A salt encrusted cocktail in your hand...

Lovin' You More (Mosquito Chill Remix) - Steve Mac
Lazy Sundays in bed on a warm summer day, french doors open to the ocean, white sheets, croissants, coffee....

Blue Monday - Nouvelle Vague
A dimly lit secluded club, a glance across a room, eyes communicating more than words could ever express.
A mental snapshot that will never ever fade.

Boogie 2Nite (Big Love Remix) - Bootyluv
Don't think.
Don't talk.
Take their hand.
Never look back.

Fly Away - Jean Claude Ades
It's 2AM. Everyone looks incredible...hands are raised to the ceiling...you are transported.
This track always gives me goosebumps.
Listen to it loud.

At Night (Afterlife Remix) - Shakedown
Recumbent on a couch in a dark corner. There is no one else in the world at this moment. A single touch takes my breath away...
Latin atmosphere perfected.

I was chatting with a mate of mine who's recently single about dates we'd been on, and it reminded me of a horror encounter I had a few years ago. So I thought I'd share.

DJ'ing in a bar in Paddington a few years back, this rather attractive girl that had been making eye contact and doing a little flirting throughout the course of the night finally comes up at the end of the evening and asks if she can call me sometime.

She initially came across as a rather nice girl, so I gave her my number and we agreed to meet for a coffee somewhere.
Anyway, she calls me the next morning (some may say this is a little too eager, but I'm not that judgemental), and we arranged that she would pick me up at 5pm at my place in Surry Hills and go to a cafe at Fox Studios the following night.

The next day, she arrives at my place half an hour late with no explanation or apology, but I don't bother saying anything as I had no other plans so technically it hasn't really inconvenienced me that much. Also, I didn't really want to start the date off on a bad note.

So anyway, I'm now sitting in her car. She guns the motor of this poor little Holden Astra like a rally driver with ADD, and we leave the kerb doing about 90kph. Shooting out of a side road into Crown St. without so much as a sideways glance, we proceed to weave in and out of traffic like a couple of extras in a Dukes of Hazzard episode.

At this point, I'm seriously starting to wonder whether she chose a sunroof over the more luxurious (and obviously pointless), options such as 'brakes' when she bought the vehicle.

After proceeding to almost tear a hole in the very fabric of space and time, we screech into Fox Studios (I was half expecting her to slide sideways into a parking space, but disappointingly it didn't happen).

The whole ride there, all I could think of was that old line from 'Shitscared' off the Late Show on ABC..

"Were you scared Rob?"
"I'm not wearing the brown underpants for nothing Tommy".

So I finally make it to the cafe/bar alive, and order a coffee. The waiter then asks madam what she would like.
"A toblerone", she replies.
For those that haven't had one of these particular conconctions before, they're a heady mixture of Frangelico, Baileys, Kahlua and cream.
Oh, and they're also $15 a pop.

During the next 90 minutes of her berating me about how 'high maintenance she is' (yes, she actually told me that), how she 'doesn't sleep with guys until she's known them for at least six months', that she's 'looking for someone that "ticks all the boxes"', she proceeds to drink six of these cocktails, whilst yours truly has two lattes.
In hindsight I probably should have consumed some form of hard liquor to stop my hands from shaking, but nevertheless..

As we were sitting on a couch in front of the open fire, the conversation eventually degenerated into me staring into the flames pondering possible escape routes while she waffled on about her perfect man, her nail art and various other riveting topics.
Eventually my ears start to bleed, so I decide to tell her I have to work that night so we might need to get going.

So now the bill arrives, and it's close to $100.

She's now sitting there staring at her nails (with half-glazed eyes), at this point, obviously expecting me to pay, so I do the chivalrous thing and put a ten dollar note on the bill tray, tell her I'm going to the bathroom and I'll see her outside.
In the bathroom, I call my best mate to come and get me as there's no way I'm getting a lift home from this (now extremely inebriated), lunatic. Before I know it, I start telling him about the whole horror scenario, and after he's stopped laughing hysterically, I realise I've been on the phone for about 20 minutes.

I walk out of the bathroom after this extended delay to find my 'date' (and I do use the term loosely), now asleep on the couch in front of the fire.

Being the gentleman that I am, I hurriedly retrieve a post-it note from one of the bar staff, scribble "THANKS FOR THE COFFEE", and gently place it on her forehead, before hightailing it to my friend's waiting car.

All fun and games.

Let me just say, Ben is a friend of mine, and a really great guy. I like him.

But on the weekend, he made what I would term a 'slight error in judgement'.

You see, Ben went out on Saturday with his friends, but made the mistake of falling asleep before anyone else did.

Poor Ben.

..I am so fucking normal it's not funny.

http://grouphug.us/

This is the most weird/scary/funny/disturbing/unusual stuff I've read in a long time.


You have been warned.

Boy, am I tired. I hate starting off Mondays like this. The kids stayed over last night, and Pip (my 2yr. old), decided at 2:20 in the morning that she wasn't really interested in sleeping any more and would prefer to wake up the entire apartment by repeatedly kicking the wall next to the bed whilst requesting various flavours of cordial in an increasingly whiny voice.

*thump*
"Can I have some Strawberry?"........"Go to sleep Pippa"
*thump*
"Straaawwwwwbeerrrrreeeeeeeee!"........"We don't have any Strawberry Pip"
*thump*
*thump*
*thump*
"Raspberry!"........"GO. TO. SLEEP!"
"Oran.."........"NO!"
*thump*
*thump*
*thump*
*thump*
*thump*

This assailment lasted for 45 minutes before she fell asleep exhausted.

Lucky for me I managed to stay awake for the next half hour thinking about what I had to do today.

Somehow, Connor managed to sleep through the whole thing. What a gift.

Being the absolute trooper that I am, even in this sleep-deprived state I will soldier on regardless. Therefore (inkeeping with the true spirit of the Australian public service work ethic), I have read my emails, drunk 2 cups of coffee and surfed numerous pages on the Interweb trying to find a new set of tail lights for my car. I think I want the LED ones.

---

B-Bar was fun on Saturday. Went a bit hard after 2AM and dragged out stuff like Sander Kleinenberg's Remix of 'Muscle Car', and the Axwell & Ingrosso version of Hi-Tack's 'SOS'. Seemed to go down pretty well 'cos we didn't close till about half 3. Was Timmy's birthday and also his last weekend in the 'Berra, so I'm glad it all turned out nice 'n that. Apparently he was last seen running naked down the main street of Kingston yelling something about "hating Rolf Harris and his fucking jukebox"..

I've also promised myself I'm going to put together a new CD this week with all the dirtiest tracks I've got (think along the lines of 'Club Therapy' by Peace Division if you know it). This should keep seb happy for a while at least.

Keep on truckin'.

I don't normally post about what I've been up to on a day-to-day basis due to past meanderings through other people's journals. The main reason I choose not to go down this particular path is that the dangerously high adrenalin levels resulting from a painfully detailed explanation of How To Apply Conditional Formatting in Excel, or the best way to cook a Turducken may prove fatal to individuals with a weak disposition. And quite frankly, I can't afford to take that chance.
I'm keeping it real.
Foshizzle.

However, just for today (hurry, stocks are limited), I will forgo my usual rather awkward observations on stuff and stray briefly, as it would appear that the majority of readers of this journal are drawn together by a mutual love of house music and clubbery. Alternatively, if you were to enjoy this particular pastime dressed in fetish gear, it would be rubbery clubbery. Or if you were out on a Saturday evening dressed in nothing but leaves and twigs, it would be shrubbery clubbery....And so on and so forth.
But I digress.

This weekend was incredibly enjoyable from a DJ'ing perspective. I know people like Seb, Troy and Richie will understand exactly what I mean when I say that 'everything just came together'. There were times on Saturday when I felt I could do no wrong. A tweaked acapella of 'Bust A Move' over the top of a looped intro to 'Bimbo Nation' really worked, that new Sarah Mcleod track absolutely rocked it, and a remix of 'Somebody Told Me' by the Killers just tore it up (with a shout out to Timmy here). Even threw in the acapella of 'Pump Up the Jam' over 'No More Conversations' and that went down a treat.

And if that wasn't enough, I had a fantastic Sunday with my kids where we dressed up as superhoeroes, played many many rounds of 'Stax On!" and generally acted like idiots. How could you not love that.

Oh, and I finally caved in and bought one of these.

And a King size bed and mattress.

I love weekends.
And by all accounts, Seb does as well.