Supercoach Out. For now...

The innaugural season as Supercoach is over. The Mighty U13s did an amazing job this year of turning from 14 kids who didn't know each other to a force to be reckoned with in the U13s West Bubblefuck District Soccer competition.

The highlight of this winter really was working with these boys. Oh, and that weekend that Erin came to stay was a highlight too... But really these boys were brilliant to work with. We went from 5th to 3rd in the comp in the last round. We won a game 10-0. We reduced our margins of defeat against the top teams, and fought successfully against the middle order. I lost my voice at least half a dozen times. The boys learned to share, developed a hatred of the hill sprints and worked their way to playing some beautiful football. And the concept of 150% has entered the U13s lexicon.

I'm hoping I get most of them back again next year - though I will probably lose my Supercoach Sidekick (don't tell him I called him that - I don't think he'd like it). The Mighty U14s could take over the world.

Happy Daiz

Spaced has its 10th birthday this week. The unparalleled, most brilliant, genius television show ever created in the history of this universe... without a hint of hyperbole.

Spaced makes other sitcoms seem like someone is using a paintball gun to permanently damage your kidneys by shooting you a million times, from the front. It makes other sitcoms seem like a never ending sweaty room full of baked-on, caked-on, greasy dishes to wash up that goes FOREVER. It makes other sitcoms seem like you are humiliating yourself at a job interview.

Wittier than Bill Bailey and Ricky Jervais put together. More random hilarity than David Walliams could conceive. More quotable than Anchorman. More likeable characters than The Goodies. More intertextual references than Shrek (or as channel4 says, more pop culture references than you can shake a light sabre at).

And I'm not the only one besotted by this TV brilliance. This week other (more serious) writers have been inspired to opine ad nauseum about just how fantastic it is - NME and The Guardian for a start.

In the heady days of Astolat Manor, Spaced was a Tuesday night ritual. In the pokey flat above the pub in Waterloo, Spaced was the room to breathe and the post-work tonic. In the Kilburn sharehouse, Spaced was my educational gift to the flatmates (just down the road from the pub where they did the shooting of the pub scenes, where we turned down getting pissed with David Soul for a lamb roast!).

Spaced is a love affair that has stood the test of time. Boyfriends have gone (and a divorce like settlement over who owned the VHS tapes did ensue) and come and gone again (possibly because he couldn't see what I thought was so incredible about this show), but Spaced stays true.

This kind of show makes you want to buy a miniature schauzer. To smoke a big fat doobie on the way to a pub in Camden. To dance cheesy soldier like moves to a remix of The A-Team theme song. To eat too many twiglets and punch a performance artist in the face. To have a slow motion gunfight in a back alley with teenage thugs. To build a robot and join an illegal robot fight club. Oops, I'm not allowed to talk about that...

If you have seen Spaced, and you feel like I do, then we are destined to be friends. If you have not seen Spaced, then I don't know why you are still reading this when the 3 disc box set is such a reasonable price on Amazon (or other cheaper, less legal avenues). If you have seen it, and you didn't like it, best not mention it to me really. I might take it the wrong way.

Happy birthday, Spaced.

The Root of all Emo

Wow, it has been ages since I posted...

I am a non-believer in the Emo movement. I tend to find people who consider themselves emo to be self obsessed, overly self-conscious and wrapped up in the cliche of not being a cliche. I have been known to scoff at the long fringed, stripe socked and the guy-lined.

But with a sense of friendliness, rather than Mexican-style-homocide-riot-emo-killing kind of scoffing.

Craig Schuftan is the dude who talks on JJJ about all things historic and cultural. He explains to the kiddies how they stuff they love now is based on stuff that has been loved for years and years. He tends to pull up loads of interesting bits of trivia that, as a music trivia fan (nay, expert or officiando... officianda?), I find just delicious.

So when I was trawling through an ABC shop to find more oblong things to spend my hard earned on (seriously, I need to kerb this serious addiction to books and dvds), I saw Neitzche, Leave Those Kids Alone. And based on the title alone, I knew I must have it. We all know that I love a good pun. And a pun based on both a religion-hating philosopher and a Pink Floyd song, well that is just asking to be purchased.

When reading this book, it feels like Shuftan's melodic voice is dancing in your ear. Once I got past his obvious affection for all things Chemical Romance, especially the Black Parade album, the book was a great read. I've never really considered the fact that the emo subculture is pretty much a reincarnation, or a continuation, of the 19th century Romantic movement - a turn away from God, from the betterment of society, from making art to reflect the human condition towards the self. The Romantics were All About Me - MY emotions, MY true love, MY misunderstood suffering... Sound familiar?

And in between were the New Romantics, the Joy Divisions, The Cures, and he of all things self-God-like, David Bowie. The New Romantics knew that they were channelling the Byrons and the Wagners - they even refer to the source it in their moniker. But I kind of get the impression that the emo kiddies - not the emo musos (most of whom reject the label) - think that they just might be the original centre of the universe, and nothing like them has ever come before so nobody can ever understand their pain.

The book didn't change the way I feel about kids with their fringe sliding over their face in too tight jeans. But it did make me think that the musicians I had maligned so much are actually aware of their musical heritage. And if they are not, then at least Shuftan is. And now, I am too!

Funk to funky, We know Danne's now a junky

My love for Life on Mars and its most important character, Gene Hunt has been documented before. The show was intriguing and confusing and compelling. Plus there were car chase scenes and awesome better-than-Arnie one line throw aways.

When I watched the last episode of season 2, the last season I was sad. At the same time I was delighted that the BBC weren't going to keep it going until they were flogging the dead horse with the bones of the other dead horse. I'm happy there was no jumping the shark in this one. They left me wanting more.

So while trawling Google to find images of the Gene Genie for my last post about him, I happened across some info about a SEQUEL!!!!!

Much like with Shameless, I don't want this to end! I am already over half way through and am mourning the loss of this show already.

Ashes to Ashes is also named after a Bowie song (and a very good Bowie song at that). This time the protagonist (who is by NO means the character that I care about the most) is a female - Alex Drake. She's a police psych who deals with negotiations, and has studied Sam Tyler's file so knows his case. She is shot in the first ep, which leads to her time travel/coma hallucinations to 1981 London and the seemy underbelly of the city at this time.

Sure, there are plot holes so big you could drive a semi-trailer through them. Like why are the Gene Genie and his bumbling sidekicks kicking the arse of armed bastards in London now? And where did that freaky Bowie clown come from?

Alex has a perm, and always seems to wear the same off-the-shoulder-shirt-with-brastrap-showing that can't have been the DI uniform for the Met police at the time. She is dealing with some heavy shit, like not dying, and possibly preventing the death of her parents in that same year. She drinks like a college kid, and flirts fantastically with just about everyone.

Gene Hunt is... phenomenal. I actually think there might be a little bit of a whiff of the unhealthy when it comes to my relationship with this character. When I hear his gutteral voice, growling the completely unPC opinions and pushing around underworld figures, it is like a punch in the guts. The sexual tension between he and Alex is great - and pretty much the only thing that makes me identify with her and her pouty, shouty, permed up face. The lines he is given, and the delicious way he delivers them makes me want to go down to the police station to see if I can find myself a portly, pocky fella with a penchant for scotch and sexual harrassment. As I said, this obsession is getting to be a little unhealthy...

I also really appreciate the design of the DVD. The box set is designed to look like an old school VHS case. The DVD menu looks like an Atari game and the opening credits simultaneously pays homage to the 80s icons of veneitan blinds, wailing electric guitar and cop shows. And the closing credits looks like the old Green On Black DOS screen. While I don't think all of these elements of 1981 hang together cohesively, I think points are deserved for effort.

And I think I deserve points for not spending every waking hour glued to the box watching this show on repeat.

Chucked In

There is a special place in my heart for trashy tv. Especially well written, witty dramedy.

A master of this genre is Josh Schwartz. Thanks for The OC. Thanks even more for the guilty pleasure that is Gossip Girl. And the biggest thank you now comes for Chuck.

Who would have thought that the skinny, awkward Jewish boy with a quick wit and not so much luck with the ladies would have me hooked?

Chuck like Seth Cohen from the OC has landed in the middle of Alias without all that creepy Rimbaldi (or however you spell it) sci-fi stuff. There are undercover ops, surveillance, double crossings and awesome fight scenes. Giggles, and action, and that Unresolved Sexual Tension that is the basis for almost every good tele show.

The premise is that this going-nowhere geeky guy accidentally downloads a huge secret computer into his brain, making him an asset to all kinds of organisations, both good and evil. Sure, it isn't the most believable premise for a show, but the zippy pace and the cute as a button characters are such compelling viewing. Plus the hammy melodrama of the retail scenes is so hyperreal you can taste the polycotton polos, and leaves a sensation on your fingers like you have been counting notes all afternoon.

Of course, Zachary Levi (who shall now be known as Cousin Zach) is just far too impossibly cute to be a computer nerd who never gets the ladies. And Adam Baldwin really is just playing his character out of Firefly, with slightly more sanity. But only slightly. And faces from Alias and The OC keep popping up in cameos all the time.

I knocked the whole season over in a few days, and am now desperate for Season 2 to be released on DVD. Another waiting game!

Harry Number 6 - The Film

Written 17/7/09 (have been dreadfully slack with postings. seems like July went by without much of a squeak from me)

When HP6 the book was released, it was to resounding disappointment from the action fans – “Nothing actually happens!”.

But for those of us who aren’t into reading for the action sequences, it was fantastic. Infallible. JK was just pulling back the robes a little bit more to reveal that in the 7th book, all would be revealed.

I went to Gold Class with my Gold Class cousins to see the film version. Only the second day of its wide release. Not only because I was excited to see it, but also because I hate being swept up in the hype of a film and raising my expectations, only to have my hopes dashed like waves against a wild cliff facem, and disappointment deflate me, til I am but a wrinkles sinking, loveless helium balloon. That was like what watching My Girl was like. So I try to avoid reviews, I steer clear of “Making of...” shows, and I just try to get my eyes to it as soon as possible. All the while, chanting my lower-your-expectations mantra “It’ll probably be shit” on the way to the cinema.

And for the book, so shall it be for the film. Not a whole lot happens. There are no showdowns with Voldemorte. No huge battle scenes. The few battles from the book seem to have disappeared altogether. The shift in Harry’s attitude from “Bollocks to you all” to “Actually, would you mind...?” is what this tale is all about. Actually, come to think of it, he is still making that transition in Book 7 too. And now I discover that the 7th book will be made into 2 films. So HP6 and HP7 are really being made into a trilogy. Again, JK borrows from Tolkein...

The focus of this film is not really about battling evil, but about connecting with good. It is more about fostering the friendships and relationships you have, forging alliances and gathering together your resources in order to face the epic quest battle that lies ahead in the final instalment of the series. Which I think is a perfectly acceptable reason for not much action. There is a Quiddich game, and a bathroom duel between Draco and Harry that gets a bit nasty. And the Dumbledore-&-Harry-steal-a-necklace-from-a-cave scene is full of tension and excitement. Oh, and there is a really creepy corn field scene. Is wind through corn stalks not the most scary of sounds?

These kids are hitting 17. Their hormones are running completely amok. They are resorting to the vomitous behaviour of teenagers in love, to hilarious results. This is the most successful part of the film, the parody of teenagers in love. It is a highly honest portrayal of the exaggerated emotion and heightened stakes of first, unrequited and puppy love. (I purposefully tried to make sure I had the Danne Quiet Laugh happening so as not to entirely humiliate my teenage cousin. I told her afterwards that I don’t generally inhibit the Danne Loud Cackle for just anyone and she should feel very very special.) In a film that is meant to be about amalgamating the good relationships you have, I thought it was a great feature.

I have heard (through twitter, because I was still avoiding all forms of reviews) that David & Margaret (though I am thinking more that it sounds like something the stuffy David would say) have levelled the accusation that if you haven’t read the books then the film will make no sense at all. And there is some truth to this. Teenage Cousin had not read the books, or seen any film past Azkhaban (still the best film, I think). We had a bit of a tutorial on films four and five so she would be a little less lost (plus the spaces between the chairs in the cinema are so vast it was difficult for her to ask me questions during the film). And yes, she was pretty lost. Vast tracts of exposition have been discarded. And maybe they will catch it up in Film 7, but there is a lot to cram into that film, and so there may not be space for such luxuries as backstory and explanation of character motive. But if you have read the books, you know why Dumbledore makes those choices, and why Snape does the unthinkable with the unbreakable.

On a completely random-observation kind of aside, I have noticed in this film the use of semiotics of hair colour. The mud has been flung at those with a tinge of ginge in their fringe (thanks Tim) in recent years, particularly in the comedy scene. But not so in the HP films. The baddies all have jet black or snow white hair. Narcissa Malfoy has both. But the goodies don’t have such stark hair. Their follicle shades fall into more of a rainbow –with a high representation of the ranga. Of course the Weasleys up the red count, by virtue of the numbers in the family. Tonks sometimes has red, but she can change on a whim. Luna’s hair could be construed as white, but I think of it more yellowy. Hermione in the book has bushy brown hair, but Emma Watson has much more honey blonde tones (though in the potions scene, her hair does become a delicious texture of frizz with the pressure of not succeeding). Dumbledore and Mad Eye Moody are grey, as is McGonagall. Harry, Hagrid, Nevil, Sirius, all shades of chocolatey brown. The black of Snape is there to keep us guessing, perhaps? To make us think the worst of him, as Potter does? But back to my original point about the ranagas. This over representation may reflect the authorial authority – JK being red as they come!

Big Decisions

I'm really quite bad at decisions. It is the inner commitment-phobe. The one that doesn't like options getting shut off, doors being closed, opportunities being missed. I hate decisions. I like having choices.

I got offered a job opportunity at The Boy Factory last week. It wouldn't make me a permanent employee (yet), but it would make me a fairly permanent fixture at the Factory for at least the next 6 years (if I wanted it). I agonised over it all over the weekend. Questions raised of what I want to do with my future, where do I want to be...

The problems with living in West Bubblefuck don't really extent much beyond the fact that I really find it difficult to live with my parents. Sure the cinema is rubbish, the theatre is only starting to take off now and there are some pretty decent cafes. I have actually found some new friends (sounds so lame, right?) and am feeling like I am connecting to the community a bit with the Mighty U13s.

And there isn't really anywhere else I would rather be. I don't really want to live in Sydney. I can't get a job in Newcastle - because that is where every other bugger wants to work. The other coastal centres where I have mates seem to have withered on the friendship vine or they are ab out to leave themseleves.

So I decided to stay. I am the Year Coordinator for the Class of 2015. And the people high up in the Boy Factory have promised to find me almost permanent work for that time.