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Author Archives: Therese Trouserzoff

Horsey Songs

05 Monday Nov 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Algernon, Bands at the Pig's Arms, Entertainment Upstairs

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

horse, horsie, Melbourne Cup, songs for a horse

 

Playlist by Algernon

Homage to the race that stops a nation …..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GaWs79v0ugE

Bring on the dancing Horses – Echo and the Bunnymen

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CS8ZfVTE4SM

Crazy Horses – The Osmonds

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bZkp7q19f0

Gangnam Style – PSY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_PZPpWTRTU

Mr Ed – Opening theme

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MSHr4ubuD64

Rawhide – theme

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QcWevSHrbiA

Comanche the Brave horse – Johnny Horton

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_X_SWuwM7k

Tennessee Stud – Johnny Cash

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ORqD4q2B97U

Three Horses – Joan Baez

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKbPUzhWeeI

Riders on the Storm – The Doors

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSAJ0l4OBHM

Horse with no name – America

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhVLiHPUOIM

Wild horses – The Rolling Stones

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45m3bGQQwKk

Pony Boy – Bruce Springsteen

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wXTnYCg8v8o

Chestnut Mare – The Byrds

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2xOke9yb_mk

Wild horses – Prefab sprout

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zw_gEpGqnqQ

Live Like horses – Elton John/Pavarotti

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lA0krVJeszE

Who’s gonna to ride your wild horses – U2

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_MCV__hX9eY

Heavy Horses – Jethro Tull

Colleges Of The Damned

05 Monday Nov 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Warrigal Mirriyuula

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

initiation, misogyny, murder, rape, St John's, Sydney Unibversity Colleges

St John’s College, University of Sydney

Story by Warrigal Mirriyuula

St John’s College is sinking in sin.

Sydney University is Australia’s first and therefore oldest university, having been founded in 1850. In the years that followed various residential colleges were established, usually under the auspices of religious organisations and committees of the faithful, to provide term accommodation for the men, and for a long time they were overwhelmingly men, attending the University.

St Paul’s 1856  St John’s 1858 St Andrew’s 1867 Women’s College 1894 Wesley 1917 Sancta Sophia 1925

These colleges today are fond of their traditions and like colleges the world over there are many traditions that have survived from the very earliest days of college life, and each year as the calendar rolls around they are trotted out to the general amusement of students and the public. Many of these traditions involve dressing up, or down, as the case may be; throwing things, usually harmless and contributory to general mirth and merriment. There is quite often a certain amount of petty theft, criminal damage and other transgressions including being drunk and disorderly. Needless to say that many of these pranks, antics and muckings about include the consumption of copious quantities of alcohol, and more lately, drugs of various kinds. All of which is routinely forgiven in the spirit of good clean, drunken fun.

It’s hardly surprising when you think about it. Here are hundreds of kids, still children really, who none the less are feeling their oats for the first time, let off the leash yet still somehow protected, not really in the great world just yet. It’s a kind of socio-cultural neoteny. They’re grown to maturity but not yet really adults. If the truth be told, the colleges are not constitutionally set up to encourage students to grow into and accept their inevitable adulthood. The colleges would rather they stayed somewhat immature, cosseted, more readily accepting of the college rules and regulations, not to mention traditions.

I myself became an initiate to some of these traditions when I unsuspectingly chose Sydney University over The ANU and accepted an offer to attend St Paul’s College on the Newtown side of the University campus. I made my choice on the basis of architecture. The ANU college was a concrete box while St Paul’s had intimations of a deeper history and a bijou collection of colonial neo gothic architecture that, surrounded by gardens and bed plantings, remains charming today. Doc Evatt was one alumnus I was particularly proud to be following in the footsteps of.

Appearances however can be deceiving. Within a few weeks of my settling in at St Paul’s I was initiated as a college “man” in one of the most childish pranks I’ve ever been the target of. The overture to this puerile tour de force was a hammering on my door at about three in the morning. Half asleep and suspecting murder, or a fire at least, I opened the door in my underwear, to be inundated with several gallons of iced water. “Blackbagged” and bound hand and foot, I was dragged away to the showers where I was interrogated for about half an hour while more cold water was dumped on me. A kind of early, unpractised waterboarding.

The main questions seemed to be where my father had been educated, what he did for a living and which school I had attended. My answers didn’t impress them much, being composed mainly of very earthy assertions about their various provenances, their tenuous connection with accepted social norms. My sporting prowess seemed important to them though. Sadly I hadn’t much to speak of in that area either. I was incensed, in a rage, and flung myself and abuse at them as often as I could; which was essentially in the moments between buckets of water being tossed at my face. There was a certain amount of towel flicking, pushing, shoving and holding me in difficult positions, all the while I’m having difficulty breathing inside the bag.

They must have got bored with me. Who knows why, perhaps it was just time to move on to the next unsuspecting fresher. Just as quickly as they had taken me, they left me shivering on the tiled floor. I never found out who they were.

I managed to get myself untied, had the longest hot shower and thought to go back to bed. While my interrogation had been proceeding others had completely trashed my room. No real damage, just a huge mess. I didn’t report the incident because by the end of breakfast the next morning it had been made clear to me that to do so would be viewed as “unmanly”, “unsporting”, not a good start to my college life.

In the next few months I got used to excessive drinking leading to excessive behaviour. There were nights when my Lower Arnott Wing corridor was awash with beer and broken glass. On one occasion a medical student from Smithfield down with the flu and needing the loo, stumbled from his room into the darkened corridor, slipped and fell into the broken glass. Someone had removed the fuse for the lights. He needed several stitches to his hands and backside.

I learned there had been a rape on the Paul’s oval the year before after a particularly heavy post Rawson Cup do. I saw naked young women being chased through the college late at night on more than one occasion. What was that about?

My favourite Paul’s story though is the one about the son of a senior politician. This fellow had been resident at the college for many years, a perennial student. He had good rooms in the old part of the college, all neo gothic arches, leadlight and worked stone. He was eccentric, connected and a very bright guy, but he had never grown up.

He had a collection of militaria including a cavalry officers dress sabre. One night a fresher on phone duty in the Blackett wing vestibule rushed to the eccentric’s rooms with a message. I was not there so cannot say what transpired next, and there are various versions, but somehow the eccentric took it into his head to thrust the sabre through the door timber and into the abdomen of the fresher. It was a grievous wound and took a long time to heal. Long enough for the college, the eccentric and his family, the victim and his family, plus a bevy of lawyers to work out just how much money it would take to keep the whole thing schtum.

They worked it out. Not a word ever appeared to my recollection and the eccentric stayed on at Paul’s for a few years more.

Not me. I was out of there at the end of first term. Moved into a little terrace on Wilson St. Got to sleep all night through.

That was years ago now and my departure apparently did nothing to moderate the dysfunctional culture at St Paul’s. In 2009 some college “men” decided they’d post a Facebook page encouraging and inciting rape. http://www.crikey.com.au/topic/st-pauls-college/  And there are a million stories, as they say.

But nothing at Paul’s then or now looks as wrong as the shenanigans going on at St John’s College lately, http://www.smh.com.au/nsw/culture-of-anarchy-at-a-college-in-crisis-20121103-28qvh.html

At Paul’s it really was a minority who engaged in this kind of thing and they were for the most part ex students of the GPS schools; a thoroughly bad lot in my opinion. At John’s however, it looks like the bad blood has infected the entire college.

Big Ears The Mad Monk is a popular alumnus of John’s and appears regularly at college functions. It’s not too long a bow to suggest that his style, his bad behaviour, is seen by The Johnsmen, for that’s what they call themselves, as both license and encouragement in their despicable world view. That college women would acquiesce in these abhorrent displays of misogyny and thuggish behaviour just beggars the mind. For young women to so want to be accepted into a group that gives them the epithet “JETS”, (Just Excuse The Slag), seems to suggest something wrong with the self esteem young catholic women acquire in their schooling, not to mention the almost total insensitivity bred into the boys involved. For as I said before, that’s what they are. Boys and girls playing at being adults in an environment that encourages their sense of exceptional entitlement, that biases and irreversibly corrupts their sexual politics. It’s not just current students that are involved. At both John’s and Paul’s ex alumni are implicated, proving that the damage done seems to last well beyond college. These people are otherwise respected adult members of society.

Try and find a copy of the wonderful Lindsay Anderson movie “if” or perhaps Peter Medak’s “The Ruling Class” for insights here. Themes in “Lord Of The Flies” also spring to mind.

The problem of student behaviour at John’s is like an advanced and deadly cancer. Ignored and undiagnosed for far too long, it is now systematically taking over the body it has invaded and there can be only one solution. Cut it out and hope that what’s left of the body can survive.

I somehow think that John’s won’t have the stomach for the kind of radical but life saving surgery the college needs and the idea that Pell will provide any meaningful answer just sounds silly, doesn’t it? After all he’s done so well with priestly pederasty, and his commitment to women’s issues is widely known.

The Kevin Rudd T-Shirt Competition

02 Friday Nov 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Lehan Winifred Ramsay

≈ 37 Comments

Tags

Kevin Rudd, shading, T-shirt

 

 Painting and Story by Lehan Winifred Ramsay

Friends, gather round at my sensibly clad feet, for I have a story to tell. It is about shading, which I learned at school. Sadly I am not good at geography. But I am very good at shading.

This is because I moved to Queensland in the seventies. Queensland was a very hot and bright place at the time, but it was also known for being shady. So shady it was that the Federal Government of the time was unable to penetrate the glare and give us what many people in this fair Oz of ours experienced as a “modern” education.

We learned to shade by using pencils and small pieces of paper, no doubt supplied by our homes, to render maps of Australia and not a few of it’s States on browning mimeographed copies of the Commonwealth Bank stencil. Personally I loved it, as did many of my peers, for it gave me the time and patience to grow up and experience the shade for myself.

Friends, I present for you my design for the Kevin Rudd Tshirt Competition, 2012.

A Whited Sepulchre

01 Thursday Nov 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Warrigal Mirriyuula

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

Architecture, ASIO Headquarters, Australian Academy of Science, Curtin School Of Medical Research, Heart Of Darkness, James Weirick, John Andrews, Joseph Conrad, Lyons Architects, Richard Francis-Jones, Scientia Building, The Cameron Offices, Walter Burley-Griffin, Whited Sepulchre

Scientia Building UNSW

Story  by Warrigal Mirriyuula

A few years ago I attended an architecture conference at UNSW. It was being held in “The Scientia Building”, a striking building from Richard Francis-Jones that manages to appear much bigger than it is in both concrete and abstract ways.

But that’s not what I want to talk about, as interesting as that building is and the conference was.

What I want to tug on your coat about is some reflections on some comments made at that conference by James Weirick. The venerable James is a world authority on Walter Burley-Griffin and his remarkable wife Marion Mahony

He said that Canberra was a failed vision if WBG’s original plan was the benchmark. He regretted this, saying that Canberra had “become a whited sepulchre”, that it was now “a place where ideas came to die”.  A resonating metaphor for fans of Conrad’s “The Heart Of Darkness” and a cynical analysis certainly, but they were the Howard years after all.

Weirick’s comment was in the context of a critique of the then current level of “planning” in Canberra and what he suggested was a deleterious impact on the quality of the built environment in our nation’s capital. The comment hardly raised an eyebrow. Indeed I’d say that most there that day probably agreed. But then you’ll always get takers when you offer a chance for one architect to critique the work of another.

So if no less august a body than the membership of the Royal Australian Institute of Architects is of the consensus that Canberra is a failed attempt at expressing nationhood then who am I to say they are wrong.

Then, a few months ago, the actor Guy Pearce weighed in to the debate on Craig Ferguson’s Late Show, suggesting that there was “a lot wrong with Canberra.” Well of course he was pilloried by the opinionati back home, and the local blog responses soon turned up to the usual “hysterical PLUS” setting with Pearce being slagged off left, right and centre. It wasn’t long before his freely offered opinion was being described as, (ssshiivverr), unAustralian. Pearce spent several days apologising.

And in that last I find something deeply disturbing.

Why shouldn’t Pearce say what’s on his mind with respect to our nation’s capital?

Well it may be all of a piece with the other major problem we have in Canberra. The place is swarming with, absolutely pullulating with politicians and their attendent creatures. They infest the restaurants, besmirch the footpaths and stuff the hotels, not to mention worrying the sex workers something fierce. And to what end? Good government? (Pshaw!!!)

It seems that at the same time as our ability to critique the actions and policies of the political caste and their unholy coven of sectionally interested campaign contributors, media advisers, spin doctors and lobbyists is being comprehensively compromised by the actions of human dross like Murdoch, and even our much vaunted national broadcaster has decided, for reasons never actually placed in the public domain, that partisan stupidity sells better than considered and probative comment; we are being asked to constrain our personal opinions as to whether or not Canberra is actually a city of any note at all.

Is it unAustralian to have an opinion that isn’t set in stone by one or some combination of media proprietors? If we don’t gulp down the constantly regurgitated cant of the political parties, are we necessarily plotting the downfall of Australia? What is wrong with having a negative opinion towards the place where those elected to the great privilege of representing their electorates go to avoid any responsibility to those constituents? Why is it that once in Canberra, policy and promises can be massaged almost into non-existence by the weasel speaking words of the “inner ring”?

Canberra bashing has been a national sport since the day they announced the willow choked, swampy valley of the Molongolo would one day be a bright and shining beacon of antipodean democracy, let alone a showcase of the new Australian vernacular architecture. In it’s more than 100 years of existence Canberra has managed to miss both those trains, again and again and again.

So here’s another piece of Canberra bashing, proudly presented in the “unAustralian” tone of the deeply disappointed and disillusioned.

The place is little more than a dull dormitory for public servants and political hacks. Since WBG’s departure the built environment of our national capital has become a hotch potch of bad planning, incompetent competition winners and half arsed attempts at “saying something” architecturally. Which is not to say that that there aren’t gems to be found. They’re just far fewer and farther between that the Canberra Tourist Bureau would have you believe.

Seriously, if it weren’t for both Parliament Houses, The National Gallery and Library, and the exciting and sometimes bizarre National Museum, which are for the most part worthy examples of the architecture of their time, you wouldn’t be caught dead in the place. I also particularly like the Carillon, and I suppose if I’m honest, there are other examples of interesting architecture dotted here and there, but few of them rise to the level of type specimens for an Australian vernacular architecture.

Why did the promise of such gems as the 1950’s Academy of Science fail to materialise? This Chesley Bonestell-esque futurist dream was the first building anywhere I ever noticed for itself. At that time, if I thought about it at all, I would have seen an exciting and innovative future for both Canberra and Australia.

Australian Academy of Science

So what’s up with the built environment in Canberra?

As an example of the twist Canberra is in architecturally I offer the brouhaha over the demolition of a building in Belconnen. You’d have thought someone had suggested tearing down St Pauls Cathedral.

Instead of letting the ugly decaying pile be pulled down, the cognoscenti, including the RAIA it has to be said, got all hot under the collar over plans to deconstruct the Cameron Offices. A 1970’s study in brutalist beauty, if such expression isn’t actually an oxymoron.

The Cameron Offices, Belconnen

In its last days before the ball and chain, when hysteria was the common modality on both sides of the argument, the building had come through time to look like nothing so much as one of those commercial shop/factory unit developments in say Mascot. The sort of place you might turn up at to buy and fit a car music system, or buy some cane furniture.

It may have been considered ground breaking when John Andrews designed the place nearly forty years ago, indeed several commentators said so at the time; but riddled with concrete cancer and described by those that had to work there as “cold and unfriendly”, it was just like a sepulchre; a concrete grey, rust stained sepulchre; and housing, as it did, the offices of The Prime Minister and Cabinet it richly earned my own nomination as one of the many whited sepulchres that dot the Canberra landscape.

These buildings represent the graves of good architecture. Strangled in the planning process and boxed by constant political interference, these dead monuments to committee based planning dot the capital landscape like great beached whales, putrefying in the hot Australian sun. Many are post Corbusier brutalist exercises in concrete display but lack Corbusier’s design finesse.

The education sector has had to bear a disproportionate amount of this stuff. Look at the Canberra School of Music, which seems somehow to entirely dispel the notion of harmony, unless Daryl Jackson and Evan Walker’s design was meant to look like an intimidating industrial laundry.

The Canberra School of Music Building

The University of Canberra’s student accom is much the same. John Andrews again managed to make “home” look like an industrial pig farm.

UC Student Accommodation

Sorry John; I loved it then, and I still find it fascinating, but these days I just can’t see humans living there.

Brutalism is going through a reassessment at the moment. Many still like it, some even have a kind of nostalgia for these buildings, and I don’t want to suggest that the architects I’ve named aren’t up to snuff. This is all just my opinion, and everyone’s got one of those.

But there may be change in the wind. At last there may be some quality in the built environment of the educational sector in Canberra.

With the opening of the John Curtin School of Medical Research at ANU, we see a striking and adventurous design by Lyons architects that somehow survived the planning process.

John Curtin School Of Medical Research

However, lest you think this “spring” heralds better days ahead for building in Canberra, I offer the cautionary tale of another building that appeared to have gotten over the planning hurdles only to stagger after construction began. ASIO’s new headquarters, currently being built down by Lake Burley-Griffin, is another “Francis-Jones Morehen Thorp” design. (Richard Francis-Jones really packs an awful lot of design punch for a little bloke!)

New ASIO Headquarters

There’s been nothing but trouble since they turned the first sod. If it’s not budget problems it’s trespassing teenagers seriously injuring themselves “site-seeing”, or glass falling off the facade endangering workers, or perhaps more embarrassing for Richard and his associates, Romaldo Giurgola, formerly part of the practice that became Francis-Jones Morehen Thorp, has come out strongly against his former partners and the design of the building citing no less an authority than Burley-Griffin himself. Like I said, you’ll always get takers for one architect to critique another.

“Canberra residents and the Burley Griffin society believe the building will be a, “barbed wire city in the heart of Canberra”. ACT senator Gary Humphries is also against the design: “I just can’t see that this is going to be compatible with the concept of what was designed by Burley Griffin and which has recently been reinforced with the Griffith Legacy concept which has been affirmed by the National Capital Authority.”

On his website , Humphries calls for a two storey reduction as the building is over-sized for its context. “I am deeply concerned that the size of the building will interrupt the vista from the War Memorial through to the Parliamentary Triangle… It would create a wall-like effect along Constitution Avenue, separating the area to its north from the lake precinct.”

The honourable Senator from the ACT may have a point but you’d think things like overall height would have been worked out already, but then this is Canberra and you never have to go far to find a shitfight.

So I guess while the powers that be continue to wrangle, we can all continue our love/hate relationship with Canberra, its politicians and its built environment for some time to come. I wonder what James Weirick thinks of this latest design brouhaha. Perhaps he can’t say for fear that ASIO might come knocking.

Keywords: Architecture, Walter Burley-Griffin, Scientia Building, Richard Francis-Jones, James Weirick, John Andrews, Joseph Conrad, Heart Of Darkness, Whited Sepulchre, The Cameron Offices, Australian Academy of Science, ASIO Headquarters, Curtin School Of Medical Research, Lyons Architects.

The Castle: Episode 4 – Lessons

29 Monday Oct 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Sandshoe

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

squats, The Castle

Blowin’ in the Wind

Story and Illustration by Sandshoe

Black walked in swaggering. He was cooked. A day at the beach represented ‘what people do’.

“Went to the beach.” He was as self conscious as a flag and pulled away from around his neck the striped towel he wore as he would an ill fitting evening scarf.

Where she had stopped half way towards the interior room and glanced behind her when she heard Black about to come in, she was motionless.

“You got badly burnt,” she said.

Black recoiled and sneered. He made a noise of disapproval.

“You are badly burnt.”

Black sat down on an upended crate installed inside the door of the front living room to furnish it with a one-seater. He sprawled against the exposed framework of the wooden wall. He lolled his head. He raised his head, screwed his eyes almost shut, eyeballing her. He declared her wrong.

“Alright,” she said, “you’ll know about it tomorrow.”

She felt confused, but didn’t show it.

“I don’t burn. I can’t.” Black’s head fell forward. He feigned sleep.

She recovered her aplomb.

“All right,” she said and returned her attention to the walk across the bare boards of the room. Everywhere in The Castle’s interior was bare. She called back easily as she disappeared through the door into a baffle of sunlight accommodating a mezzanine floor above her.

“Must be the Red Indian in you.”

A tense expulsion of vented breath split the air. She heard Black scrape the upturned crate so it fell over when he stood.

She wasn’t frightened by Black’s impetuous movements. They were full of grace. The exclamation made her turn around and walk back into the front room to hear what Black was suggesting. He was leaning forward in front of the small mirror hung on a wall post. His legs creased forward, his knees bent the better to see his face full on and side to side, he swung his face wide to the view of the mirror’s reflection. “I am,” he mused. He turned to her, defenceless. “I never knew I could burn. I thought I couldn’t.”

Black sauntered immediately behind her as they both turned and headed towards the doorway into the interior room, the heart of the renovation furnished with bench seats either side of a wooden table. She skirted the table to access her room on the other side of the table, before she lay down to sleep through the rest of this afternoon’s heat threw the cushions onto the floor off her single divan bed, ready for evening loungers. Black ran up the ladder to the enclosed mezzanine that made a loft over the fireplace. He sang in the private consideration of space he shared with Suse.

Mismatched and partnered individuals meet and find a way to live together in squats. There is only one antidote for homelessness, housing and The Castle was an adventure, their roof overhead, a haven, sleeping place and – like a found object of the greatest value – companionship. None of the residents were keen to leave regardless while the meaning here was – so – different from the rhythms of the city streets and their neighbours. The resonance of the property was theirs and eccentric. The place was home everything aside. There was a lifestyle challenge. Parties were irresistible. The music was good. One length of power cord trailed through the entrance door past the end of the cement driveway and the levelled ground of the build site next door ran a stereo and boiled an electric kettle. The owner fallen from rank and who knows what directories through financial calamity had fled some time previous to the squatters’ occupancies and the power account lapsed.

This is where writing you depend on instinct to communicate an authentic claim to know something, perhaps a character very well, but story certainly. You need to know the story. An expansive sleight of hand to indicate direction or occasion – generate opinion – garners belief in it. You’ve got to give a little.

The Busker walks noisily in through the front door and espouses to himself he made some money. As he proceeds, he takes a packet of chocolate biscuits out of an army bivouac bag he slings through the doorway into his room. It is his ritual he stand in the doorway and rustle the cellophane paper of the packet of chocolate biscuits he buys any day coins are thrown by passers-by into his guitar case. Other residents straggle in. The Busker in his room tells of his fortune like a town crier. Evening would close in soon. The squatters will view the darkening gully tree tops through the window of the Busker’s bedroom. They drape as their mood and comfort takes them across the Busker’s double bed, sit  cross legged on his floor, cram alongside massive stereo speakers on a table. They guffaw, shout to nobody, enjoin, tell stories, recount memorable incidents without concern over the volume of the music. Some will keep a clear head. They will leave to turn in earlier than die-hard others. The heat of this night will intensify.

PAST EPISODES, READERS

Episode 1 – November 2010 – is here  https://pigsarms.com.au/2010/11/22/the-castle-episode-one-the-florist/

Episode 2 – April 2011 – is here  https://pigsarms.com.au/2011/04/02/the-castle-episode-2-wooden-%E2%80%93-it-%E2%80%93-be-%E2%80%93-nice-%E2%80%93-to-%E2%80%93-get-%E2%80%93-on-%E2%80%93-with-%E2%80%93-your-%E2%80%93-neighbours/

Episode 3 – February last – is here  https://pigsarms.com.au/2012/02/16/the-castle-episode-3-fruhlingsrauschen/

Cooking on Charcoal

28 Sunday Oct 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Vivienne

≈ 35 Comments

Tags

charcola, hibachi

Cuisine  from VIVIENNE

We have turfed the gas burning BBQ and gone back to the hibachi.  The BBQ was not just old but some burners would not burn or were very uneven and I was sick of cleaning it with little to show for the effort.  Various wasps were often deciding it was a great spot to turn their mud collections into chimneys and it had become decidedly unfriendly.  It was despatched to the tip last year.  The old hibachi was not looking too good either so it too went.  It had not been made of the correct materials and had rapidly gone rusty.  A new hibachi was finally found – much better construction but unfortunately without adjustable height.  But it does a great job.

It has been put to good use but one does have to plan ahead (as usual with too much of what I do !).  It has been great for family gatherings.   So I am sharing a few things which are excellent when cooked over coals, slowly.  This involves, mainly, meat on a stick.   I use the bamboo ones – they won’t catch fire either.  By the way, all the advice about soaking in water before using on a gas BBQ is rubbish – they still burn.  Years ago I soaked a pile of them (you have to weigh them down as they float) for 18 hours – made no difference.

Prawns and scallops

Prepare green Aussie prawns and scallops and thread two or three of each on the stick.  In a mortar smash up 3 cloves of garlic with a heaped teaspoon of Murray pink salt (just how much depends on how many seafood sticks you intend cooking).   In a saucepan gently melt about 150 grams of butter (for 12 sticks roughly) and add garlic/salt mix and cook very gently to infuse and then add finely chopped parsley.  When the charcoal is ready place seafood sticks on the grill and baste or spoon garlic mix.  Cooking will take longer than you expect but results are very yummy.

Lamb

Try doing it souvlaki style on a stick (marinade overnight with lemon, garlic, salt etc).  Or perhaps more like an old fashioned kebab with onions and red capsicum and mushrooms.  Or, marinade in a tandoori mix.  I regularly have my butcher bone out a leg of lamb and I portion it and freeze for later use in curries or satays.

Chicken

Chicken on a stick over charcoal is excellent.  Use boned skinless thighs and do not cut chunky.  You can marinade and cook and add a satay sauce (make your own or even use the rather good Ayam canned one).  Actually you can cook it many ways – do whatever takes your fancy (honey/lemon or just salt and pepper).

Quail

I am about to do this very soon.  Split them in two or just flatten the whole little bird out.  As you cook it baste with lemon, a little salt and plenty of thyme.  Quail are not expensive here – I can buy a six pack of the large variety for $21.

Salads

Prepare two or three suitable salads and make sure you have some cold beer and appropriate wines handy.    Our last get together over the hibachi began at 1 pm and ended hours later.   It was delicious and lovely.  But remember to start the heat beads at least three hours before you want to begin cooking.  See, you do have to plan ahead!

Finally

This is meant to help inspire you to be a little different.  You won’t have any flame ups or worries about whether you are going to run out of gas.  I always have the ingredients in the freezer so only need to ensure I have some decent salad stuff.  With prawns you can use a few different additions (spicy salt, three different peppers and piri piri – grind in your mortar and sprinkle over prawns while cooking).

Calamari goes very well over charcoal.

My first hibachi went into use back in the 70s on the balcony of our unit in Sydney.  I used to cook fresh sardines and lamb satays (not together though!).  Fresh sardines are in the fish shops right now but do not buy them if they look a bit squashed.

Jun Inoue Makes a Splash at Assin

27 Saturday Oct 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

Assin, Jun Inoue, performance art

medium

medium

.

Finished Work

Last week, FM and Emmjay went to a performance art event in one of FM’s favourite  fashion houses – Assin in Paddington, Sydney (also based in Melbourne).  This was curiously the first time Emmjay and FM had actually seen art in the making.

Jun Inoue performed at Assin in Melbourne and produced a wonderful triptych piece that reminded us of a combination of large scale calligraphy and street art.  Unfortunately we had to go after a couple of hours, but we returned to see the completed work.

FM and Emmjay would like to than Assin’s owner Ms Fernanda Kasjan for her kind invitation.

Ms Fernanda Kasjan – and her beautiful Pisces tattoo.

Video taken on the redoubtable iPhone 4s…… not great, but there, none-the-less and processed with Apple iMovie using steady cam.  Soundtrack provided by the artist as he worked.

On this Day

27 Saturday Oct 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Algernon, Bands at the Pig's Arms, Entertainment Upstairs

≈ 34 Comments

Tags

Hits, This Week in Pop History

Happy Birthday, Algy !

Playlist by Algernon

Merv, Granny, Manne, Foodge and all the patrons of the Pig’s Arms send a very happy birthday wish to our tireless playlist builder, Mr Al Gernon.  Happy 39th !

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQrJUjyDSHI

Volare – Dean Martin

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xZbKHDPPrrc

Que Sera Sera – Doris Day

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QkMVscR5YOo

It’s now or never – Elvis Presley

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8zTNZ_5an44

Blue Bayou – Roy Orbison

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2I16SwYD3kA

I have the Right – the Honeycombs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJWBpq2dCF0

Lady Godiva – Peter and Gordon

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDdI7GhZSQA

Hey Jude – The Beatles

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MilfP2fVLhU

Banks of the Ohio – Olivia Newton John

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OK5q1bU59Ic

Popcorn – Hot Butter

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7SXWgC0SLCA

Can the Can – Suzi Quarto

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tW3HN_pvbE4

I do I do I do – ABBA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LSxWfvkxFc0

Let’s stick together – Bryan Ferry

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9UaJAnnipkY

Born to be alive – Patrick Hernandez

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSycAuQb4n8

Eye of the Tiger – Survivor

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXxhp_cWmWY

I got you babe – UB40 and Chrissy Hynde

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_SS-TyXhhU

La Bamba – Los Lobos

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JH3WvI_S6-k

Venus  – Bananarama

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmBij5GkF-s

Desire – U2

The P?pli Kids

26 Friday Oct 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Sandshoe

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

P?pli Kids, street art

Report by Sandshoe

I’ve not heard of The P?pli Kids before and picked up this up from Facebook. From the wall of a community activist in Cairns. Rumour seems to have it the Kids are in Townsville. I say rumour because rumour seems hip.

Myself, honestly, I’m trying to work out just where they do fit in, spring from. I just watched this vision and it blows me away for its creativity and the insight it gives so what’s the go with cans of paint and explosive dance mixes, getting together and inhabiting spaces in the street.

Walking around alleys and behind the facades of grey cement and cream sandstone, red brick and cement mortar joined-up buildings, you know there is rarely anybody going to be there in the first place in these dirty corners of industrial waste and urban land some of us walk around to see and which comes first…the paint cans or the waste. It is all waste until it is used. It is all abandoned until reclaimed, ordered in some way, lit, made visible, painted, inhabited, displayed.

Ladies and Gentlemen for One Day Only – Owen Campbell Live in Pitt St Mall

25 Thursday Oct 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

blues and roots, Owen Campbell

From Owen Campbell’s New Album Sunshine Road – hear a few more clips and grab a copy at http://owencampbell.com.au/

From Owen Campbell’s New Album Sunshine Road – hear a few more clips and grab a copy at http://owencampbell.com.au/

 

http://owencampbell.com.au/

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