Being the meandering ramblings of someone old enough to know better, but too young to surrender to the void. You know this thing called life? I'm all about living it.
This fella gets bonus points for adopting the ever-popular "backwards e / 3"...
But what's he telling the world? He has a cleft palette, and elongated brow, and an overbite? A relative of the Peacock Family (thanks X-Files)?
Either way, I'm sure there's a better way to spend $495! Yep, these sorts of plates cost $495 - go to http://www.vplates.com.au/index.htm if you don't believe me.
One night, many years ago, I found myself watching one of those late night music video TV shows, and amongst the angst-ridden teen anthems, the bling-fest-booty-shaking-gangsta-r & b clips, and the introspective, black & white, singer-songwriter videos, I came across the following promo for Aussie band Gerling's dance floor favourite, "Dust Me Selecta".
Please, watch along with me :
I remember feeling a twang in my loins after watching it, totally due to the hotness of the female protaganist featured dancing about in a train during peak hour. She was brunette, with dark eyes, and a "come hither" stare, all slinky tank-topped, and with a cheeky grin - in other words, she was the Pad Thai of dance floor foxes, ie. never failing to satisfy on all counts.
My too many bourbons/bongs 2am gaze was so transfixed by this image of funky loveliness, that I felt moved to do something I had never done before - I was going to contact the band, and pursue this pixellated spunk rat! So, I hit the gerling website (http://www.gerling.net.au/), navigated to the "contact us" page, and wrote them a heart-felt plea for this vixen's number. I was due to see them at the Big Day Out which was only a matter of weeks away, so made the simple request that they randomly provide me with her mobile number between songs in their set. I suggested that they just yell it out between songs instead of randomly mermerring something about the next song's position on their new album, or telling the audience how good it was to be back. As this would be "our secret" I figured that only I would know what this meant, and thus her privacy would remain intact. Surely not a big ask.
So come the faithful day, I ditched my friends in the Boiler Room (aka the doof tent), and made sure I positioned myself close the stage in plenty of time, but not too close nor too early to make my intentions appear obvious to my fellow punters. I stood there transfixed, completely filled with the absolute electricity of anticipation, that I would soon hold in my grasp the means in which to woo this tantalizingly lovely object of my desire.
Gerling hit the stage soon after, and for 44 & a half minutes, rocked the house (albeit it at an outdoor rock festival, or as I had fashioned in my imagination, my very own B & B Ball, amped to eleven) with hit after hit of electro pop punk rock. As the sampled opening for "Dust Me Selecta" commenced, I thought I was going to explode, as the anticipation grew to a crescendo, and as some mighty pills kicked in, I was showered in a waterful of endorphins and sheer blind lust for this gyrating godzilla of gorgeousness. Sonically-charged blood raced through my veins, and as the music took control, I found myself in a soft-focus-Sybil-Shepherd-lensed lucid dream, no longer in the pit at the front of a stage at the Melbourne Big Day Out, but in a tribal fertility ritual, with the sacrificial virgin, about to be offered to he most deserving (that'd be me). As the song ended, the three bards of Gerling all moved towards their respective microphones, and shouted, "Thank you - you've been great!", and ran off the stage.
I think I stood there oblivious to what had just gone down for a quarter of an hour or so, as the realisation dawned on me that my plan for a destination with this Goddess had gone awry, so I turned my back on the stage, wandered back to the doof tent, and lost my mind to some thumping prog tunes.
Gerling, you let me down chaps. I wanted the pot of gold at the end of the rock 'n' roll rainbow, but instead, you delivered me the equivalent of a glass of flat coke, some stale chicken twisties, and a piece of fairy bread, picked up and served after falling in the dirt.
Don't let me catch you on the street either gents, as I'll ignore you as you pass, then spit in your hair.
