professor of pop

It is truly an exciting time to be alive, especially for nerds such as myself.

I've always been a fan of pop music and finally, thanks to post-2008 pop culture, we can sit around and talk/blog/bitch/rant about it in a much more intellectual and ultimately nerdy way.

Thank God for the amazing Gaga Sitgmata - a blog that gives the world's biggest popstar her rightful academic attention.

Also, have a look at one of my old schoolmate's recent post:
http://jakecleland.com/post/2483235832/a-comparison-of-lady-gagas-monster-and-kanye-wests

My prediction for 2011: I'll waste even more time trawling pop culture blogs. Oh well.

eye candy

I love El Gunicho's music video for his track "Bombay".



It's funny, bizarre, erotic and extremely confusing. All the things I most cherish in this life.

rebirth, again...

 I've finally realised, after nearly 20 years in this confusing world, that year-in year-out I wind up with the exactly same New Year resolutions (get fitter and exercise my creativity more. Oh yeah, and spread my golden seed as far as I can).

It's a bit pathetic that they're so invariably the same each year... but perhaps that just means that I have jump back on the horse and try and try again.

I mean, if I keep setting myself these same goals at the end of each year, it must mean that I need them.

So... here we go again. Let's hope that come the climax of 2011 my resolutions will be shiny new ones.

My 2011 New Year Resolution: to NEVER have the above shitty list

thank you, aunty meredith

Last weekend I was lucky enough to pop my Meredith Music Festival cherry. It was by far the best music festival experience i've ever and an amazing (somewhat blurry...) few days of vegie burgers, tinnies, good friends, beautiful scenery, crazy weather, leaky tents, unashamed dancing... oh and awesome music.

 My highlights were Washed Out, El Guincho, Dirty Three, Cloud Control, Pantha du Prince and the amazing Sharon Jones.

I'm not going to lie, I was somewhat nervous before I arrived. I felt as if I wasn't going to fit in with all the music snobs, hippies and indies... but the very nature of Meredith (it has this truly embracing and laid-back feel about it) made me feel right at home.

To be honest, I have no idea who Aunty Meredith is and whether she actually exists or not, but I felt truly accepted by her. 

gaysians

In the vein of the great Sir Davey Attenborough, let's get our documentary on.

Just like some zoologist out in the deepest Amazon, I often find myself attentively studying the fascinating, beautiful, ugly, frightening and beguiling specimens around me - at a cafe, at the pub where I work, on the tram... anywhere and everywhere. It's such a great (not to mention, creepy) way to pass the time - just simply sitting back and watching little comedies/dramas unfold, characters clashing, lovers canoodling. You could spend hours just sitting there and studying the infinite amount of different specimens that make up our society.

One such specimen i've been encountering frequently in the wild is what I call the "gaysian" (or Asiatic Homosexualis). 

Please don't dismiss me as a racist homophobe (I especially love the Japanese and heck - I like Lady Gaga). But there's simply no denying - i've been spotting many a gaysian on my various safaris around the diverse jungle of Melbourne.

At first I thought that perhaps homosexuality was more common among Asians, but then I realised "no, maybe it's just because of the heightened scrutiny we practise on those that are different to us". In other words, maybe I'm just noticing the humble "gaysian" because i'm simply not Asian.

Perhaps, away from the more conservative climates of most Asian countries, the homosexual Asian feels more comfortable being "loud and proud" in the more accepting and diverse wilds of Melbourne?

whoa there gaga!

Lady Gaga has every right to be optimistic. Her rapid rise to stardom in these past two years has secured her place on the pop-throne, but her claim that her next album Born This Way (set to be released early 2011) will be the greatest pop album of the decade is a little worrying.

Slow down girl. We don't want Born This Way to be prematurely ripped from the womb. It's like the Virgin Mary boasting "hey, this babe inside of me is gonna be BIG NEWS people!" (that's what my mum said about me... and look what happened).

In my eyes, Gaga could take a shit on a dead swan and i'd still consider it genius, but we all know what can happen when you jump the gun and raise everyone's expectations to dangerous heights.

That aside, I say good luck Gaga. I'm sure Born This Way will be delivered safely, bloody and covered in monstrous-slime.

help me, buddha!

 I recently read a book which has both inspired me and scared the shit out of me. No, it wasn't The Bible (that's only been good for scaring the shit out of me so far).

It was a little blue paperback ironically called "Hurry Up and Meditate" by David Michie. Long story short, I've realised that I need to start meditating, otherwise i'm as good as dead. Pretty much.


I drink too much coffee, I don't get enough sleep, my diet is as erratic and irregular as Melbourne's weather (I sincerely apologise for using that horribly over-used cliche) and I don't really know what it's like to not feel stressed. According to Michie, meditation could cure all of my ills, but there's just one little problem:

Meditation is fucking hard. I just can't seem to tranquilise the psychotic monkey in my head and focus solely on my breathing for 10-15 minutes.

I blame you, Facebook...

... and multiple tabs on internet browers and iPod's shuffle function and Youtube clips and the ridiculous, inescapable amounts of inane advertising everywhere you look...

In short, i'm one stressed-out little goldfish and hopefully meditation will "clean out my fishbowl", so to speak.

Wish me luck.

 

oh harry

 Oh Harry, you get me every time.

I lament the butchery that my beloved early-adolescent memories undergo with each Hollywood interpretation of the Harry Potter series, but without fail I rush back year in and year out to the cinema to see the latest installment. And every year I suffer the same geeky disappointment and nerd-frustration. Each adaptation seems to skim over the meaty bits and favour action sequences over good old fashion atmosphere-building and story-telling.

This year, however, was different.

It seems director David Yates has realised that because the franchise is at its close, the true die-hard HP fans must finally be catered to (and if i'm anything to go by, we're a neurotic, hard-to-please bunch). And that's exactly what Yates has done with Deathly Hallows Part 1, by far the most faithful of the Potter movies.

There's action a-plenty, but this time there seems to be a lot more attention to J.K Rowling's detail. I know i'm not alone in saying that her books shaped a large chunk of my early adolesence and with the final film installment around the corner, perhaps there's hope that the inner Potter-nerd in me will finally be satisfied...

And who knows, maybe that Hogwarts letter that obviously got lost in the owl-post 9 years ago will finally arrive on my window sill.

inkling

So i've gone blonde, shaved my head, moved out of home, changed jobs a couple of times... and now in a further quest to quench my insatiable thirst for metamorphosis (and some might say, to succumb to peer pressure and the trends du jour) i'm getting a tattoo!

 I won't divulge what exactly i'm getting just yet (stay tuned sportsfans!). All i'll say is that it's both meaningless and meaningful at the same time, which i'm sure if you've been following Teddy Pickle you know i'm all about that.

Now I invite you to peruse my favourite tattooed icons that have inspired me and their various enternal ink-stains...

Megan Fox - obviously if hot girls get tatts, then so should I

 

Popeye - someone who has both a tatt and eats spinach is cool in my books 

 

Ange - (refer to Megan Fox)

 

Draco Malfoy - he didn't have a choice, but he's reppin' it nonetheless

 

Gaga - fighting for peace, love & the right to wear meat dresses

 

And of course old Wino - the embodiment of "fuck worrying about the future, let's get stupid shit permanently marked all over our bodies!"...

... and let's face it, getting a tattoo often requires a lot of Winehouse-ish recklessness and lack of foresight. Wish me luck, hombres!

angsty birthday to you...

Why is it that every year, in the few days leading up to my birthday I always feel this horribly squidgy mixture of emotions? WITHOUT FAIL, every year I feel the same paranoid, confusing, anxious feeling and this year it's only being amplified thanks to the fact that i'm turning 20. Add my reluctance to exit teenhood to my annual pre-birthday jitters and you've got one emotionally-unstable 19 year-old.

 I got more angst than the cast of "The Breakfast Club"!

I'm looking back at my fleeting teenage years with a belly full of regret - regret for the multitude of stupid decisions i've made, but mostly regret over the things I never did. It's a horrible feeling and I hope that any teenagers reading this take heed of this piece of wisdom: you're a teenager, just do whatever the fuck you feel...

Because one day you'll be 20 years old and that, i'm told, is when shit gets real.

the flying kangaroo, as dead as "skippy"?

 An insightful little poll on The Age website today (ooh haven't newspapers become so interactive these days?):

Are you worried about Qantas's safety after two major engine issues in two days?

Ah... let me think... two engine-related scares on a Qantas plane in the last week? Yes, you could safely say I won't be hopping on the back of the Flying Kangaroo any time soon.

(See the latest article here http://www.theage.com.au/business/engine-woes-hit-second-qantas-plane-20101106-17ht9.html)

 I'm not ashamed to say that i've always had a fear of flying. From screaming like a demon banshee on my first ever flight at age 7 to running up and down the aisle in blind panic on a more recent flight after convincing myself i'd lost my passport (which, according to my mum, is pretty much on par with a fiery death).

I feel a little sorry for Qantas at the moment. In PR talk (I might as well show off the little knowledge that i've gleaned from this year's study) the shit has officially hit the fan and the Aussie airline is going to have to go into some epic crisis-management if they're to survive this debacle.

Yes, I feel for lil' Qantas, but at the same time - an airline's main priority should the the safety of it's planes... so just fucking fix them, mmm-kay?

Movemberance

I'm Movembering this year, raising money namely for Prostate Cancer awareness (as it runs in my family loins, along with our stubborness and big mouths).

So if you're feeling generous, make a donation here: http://au.movember.com/mospace/579896

booze du jour: cider

 Being a cynical, shallow hypocrite, I usually dismiss the flavours of the month before swiftly giving into them and grabbing them by the balls.

A great example of this is Melbourne's current obsession with cider (apple, pear - taken your pick) that i'm sure's only going to gain even more popularity this Summer.

At first I scoffed at it, calling it beer for those without balls. But after downing a pint bottle of Magner's Pear Cider a couple of weeks ago, I was instantly converted to Cider-ism in a fruity baptism of pear-flavoured booze.

Here are my picks for this Spring/Summer:

Aussie brewers 2 Brothers Gypsy Pear Cider

The Irish King of Ciders - Magners

NZ's Monteith's Cider

Ok so these are my favourites so far... give me a month or two of good solid drinking and i'll get back to you with some more.

jailbird

I'm not writing this post to brag or to sound bad-arse or to seek sympathy. There's nothing self-indulgent about this post at all...

No, instead this edition of Teddy Pickle will be an unashamed, unrestrained, no-bullshit, absolute FUCK YOU to a certain group of Victorian Police who treated me and more importantly - my friends - like worthless pieces of shit late last week - a certain assortment of self-righteous bastards from the Victorian Police force who i'm sure will continue to sneer and puff out their badged chests until someone fucking does something about it.

To cut a long story short, my friends and I were leaving a bar in the early hours of a Sunday morning last week (in Old Melbourne Town, a city which i'm quickly losing faith in). I attempted, in my own drunken little way, to hail a taxi on Swanston Street when I was intercepted by the said band of policemen (and a cow of a policewoman. I'm all for girl-power, but this slag was a right old bitch).

Yes, I was drunk. Admittedly that was my only crime ("drunk in a public place", oh dear - shoot me down constable!). But was I aggressive? No. Was I violent or uncooperative at all? No. Were my friends being aggressive, violent or uncooperative? No, I don't generally befriend people like that, thank you very much.

Was I arrested, stripped of my shoes, my phone and my wallet, thrown into the back of a divvy-van, held in a cell for 5 hours without being told exactly what i'd done wrong and without being told how long i'd be locked up for? Yes. Was I served with a fine for $478? FUCK yes I was.

And worse of all, my friends, who were "guilty" of attempting to come to my aid and ask the police officers what the problem was, were each slapped with fines. There's the price of friendship, 60 bucks a pop.

Before all this, I held a little respect aside for the police force. No more. Clearly, the po-po have become more concerned with handing out fines than actually helping the citizens they're paid to protect.

Dear "Victoria Police Enforcement Agency", I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. I was drunk, I knew that and I just wanted to catch a fucking cab home.

Thanks for your help, pigs.

(My sentiments, artistically represented by a young guerilla artist in Prahran East).

the end is nigh

 My fellow citizens,

I'm not a religious man, but God help us.

I've seen a glimpse of the future, and it's one ruled by an army of precocious, pre-pubescent child-stars. Fuelled by a bloodthirsty insatiable fame-hunger and bred by pushy stage-parents, the Willow Smiths and the Justin Biebers of the world are just the beginning of a truly grim future.

Willow Smith, daughter of the juggernauts "The Smiths"  (Will and Jayda) has already landed a record deal, has seemingly walked more red-carpets than most stars three-times her age and has developed a very cocky trademark Smith-smirk in her own right.

I implore you, fellow citizens, to end this madness. Stop buying their albums, stop snapping their photos. Hell, I should probably stop blogging about them...

We're only encouraging them.

come to daylesford, free baptism included!

This promo for Daylesford tourism frightens me. I'm not quite sure why. Perhaps it's the use of religious imagery (churches and the like never fail to creep me out), that shot of Isabel Lucas looking into the camera at the end... or perhaps because I just plain don't get it.

Why is the State Government urging us to go to Daylesford, have a watery rendezvous with wait staff, be baptised and "lead a double life"? The ad has more confusing, contradictory elements than a Lady Gaga music video (the image of Gaga in latex-nun garb swallowing a string of rosary beads comes to mind for some reason...)

This article by Morag Zwartz for The Age is interesting, but I don't agree with the way Christianity is treated by the writer as some untouchable thing. Artists have every right to use religious imagery to critique or evoke... but why they chose to use it in the Daylesford tourism campaign escapes me...

http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/politics/governments-moral-compass-gone-awry-in-tawdry-offensive-ad-campaign-20101007-169nl.html

kodi smit-mcphee's growing pains

 I'm starting to feel sorry for this kid. Ok, he's barely 14 years old and already a respected actor - so I should hate him, but looking at the roles Kodi Smit-McPhee has taken in his short yet already commendable career is enough for me to pat him on the shoulder and say "there, there.. chin up!"

The young Aussie rose to fame alongside Eric Bana in the emotional family-drama Romulus, My Father a film where he played a young boy who had to deal with a pretty grim family life. He then went on to what's been his most recognised role to date, as "the boy" in the monumentally depressing post-apocolyptic road-movie The Road. Add to that his role as a terminally-ill cancer-patient in Matching Jack and his recent role in the US version of the Swedish film Let the Right One in (where he plays a lonely companion to a hungry little vampire girl) and you've got yourself the new Haley Joel Osment.

Let's pray for his sake that he isn't. (Ok, that's not fair. Haley was a damned impressive actor back in the day. But let's face it, he got type-cast something awful).

However, with all the emotionally-straining roles he's already undertaken, it wouldn't surprise me if he started seeing dead people.

For God's sake... give the boy a role in Nanny McPhee 3 or a voiceover for a talking animal or something!

australia: the wide, blonde land

So some toff from the UK ("branding expert" Simon Anholt) has flown down on his magical black umbrella to tell us all that we've officially been stereotyped as "attractive, but shallow and unintelligent".

Yes, put your hands on you hearts Australia - we're the "dumb blonde" of the world.

The Brit credits our beautiful scenery yet supposed lack of culture combined with our infamously vapid tourism campaigns (fair call Anholt, the recent "There's no place like Australia" is just downright painful to behold).

Reasons aside, we're now the "dumb blonde" of the global high-school class - chewing gum, twirling our hair and sleeping with every boy in the football team.

Well, at least we're not the loud, fat bully sitting in the back row (the US), the whiny pale kid with the bad teeth (the UK), the arrogant exchange student (France) or the quiet, nerdy Communist one (China).

 (If we're the dumb blonde, then the US is Michael Moore. I'm happy with that.)

I realise i've just reeled off a list of very unfair stereotypes. I'd say "dumb blonde" comes under that category, but as narrow-minded generalisations go - I can honestly say that being the peroxide-headed bimbo of the crowd isn't such a bad thing.

Well, at least Oprah likes us.

the simpsons gets relevant again

Just when I thought The Simpsons had lost its pop culture cred, they let infamous street artsist Bansky direct this genius opening sequence.



How Fox let this go ahead, when it's basically a direct stab at the corporation, escapes me. Perhaps they foresaw the media storm that it's already attracted and saw an opportunity for publicity. Let's face it, The Simpsons has lost a lot of it's lustre in recent years.

Maybe the Banksy touch will be successful in injecting a bit more cultural bite into the longest-running animated series.

LOST: a scared little white boy in the big smoke

 Let me begin by saying that I honestly believe that I am one of the least judgemental, least prejudiced and most open-minded people going round the southside of the mighty Yarra. But there's something inescapable, unavoidable and deep within that creeps up on me every so often...

My parents aren't racist. My childhood chums aren't K.K.K members. My favourite book growing up wasn't Mein Kampf... so why, why, WHY do I feel these occasional surges of racism from deep within me? It happens when I least expect it - i'll be on a tram, lining up to grab some sushi at Melbourne Central, passing through the quadrangle at uni when BAM! it hits. It's this horrible, defensive, frightened feeling when I realise that I can't actually see any Caucasian people. I know i'm going to be villified for saying it, but it happens and I might as well be honest about it.

 Please don't take me as a supporter of Abbot's ridiculous "stop the boats" mentality... but I can't deny the strange feeling I get when I'm waiting for a train at Melbourne Central and can't understand any of the languages being spoken around me. I honestly think it's a deep, inbuilt defense mechanism that's inside of us all, this natural discomfort - a kind of fear of the unknown.

We've all felt lost in foreign surroundings (I think it's a vital part of learning and growing), but sometimes I think we're taken aback when we feel this in places that are usually familiar to us - and I think that's ok. But in this day and age, we just need to suck it up and accept it. We (...or am I just referring to myself here?) can't go on living life in that idealised, cordoned-off little white-bread suburban bubble forever.

the S.S LiLo cruises into the harbour...

 ... and instead of the toothless pirate wench we've seen in the media lately, we see this classy specimen:

 It might just be my fetish for retro housewives and 50's nostalgia or the fact that i've been secretly rooting for LiLo's comeback... or simply the fact that she was probably my first ever pre-pubescent celebrity crush when I first saw The Parent Trap as a kid... regardless, these snaps for Vanity Fair (by photgrapher Norman Jean Roy) are stunning.

Check them out here: http://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/features/2010/10/lindsay-lohan-issue-slide-show-201010

Call her a talentless, party-whore, washed-up Paris Hilton wannabe all you like, but she's seriously beautiful in these shots. Like, Miranda Kerr beautiful (ok... almost).

But it's pretty damned obvious - this isn't the beginning of a leisurely, sun-soaked cruise for Lohan. It's an all-out strategic naval mission to save her career, all canons blazing.

“I don’t care what anyone says. I know that I’m a damn good actress" she tells Vanity Fair.

Fair enough Linz, I admire your self-confidence. But I don't think you should worry too much, you'll always look lovely draped across a deck and really - what more could a woman aspire to?

the arrival

I'm no thespian, but i'm currently part of a performance for this year's Melbourne Fringe Festival - Mutation Theatre's production of "The Arrival", inspired by Shaun Tan's hugely-popular illustrated book of the same name.

It tells the story of a lone traveller who's forced to sail across the seas, leaving his home country in order to find a new life in a strange and alien world.

It's not an overtly-political show, but it does carry an empathy for the plight of what we now comfortably call "the boat people". With our current, shameful approach towards dealing with asylum seekers and the saddening events unfolding at Villawood Detention Centre (a Fijian man jumped to his death during a protest at Villawood earlier this week), The Arrival is a truly relevant piece of theatre.

This segment from last night's Gruen Transfer reminded me of an important message - the fact that boat people are real people, not faceless hordes seeking to threaten our livelihood.

The Arrival runs from the 22nd to the 26th of this month. Further details and tickets available here:
http://www.melbournefringe.com.au/fringe-festival/show/mutation-theatre-presents-the-arrival/
Or you can call the Fringe Festival box office on 9660 9666

bringin' fairy back

Thanks to the magic of Surfthechannel.com, I caught the season three finale of HBO's vamp-porn drama True Blood last night.

I'm won't lie - it was pretty disappointing compared to previous seasons. Also, I couldn't help thinking that the usually fresh, edgy show has "jumped the shark" a wee bit, what with the ridiculousy amped-up presence of "supernaturals" crowding the screen time (vamps, werewolves, shape-shifters, witches... it's all getting a bit too Buffy for my liking).

And in the second half of the latest season they decided to throw the "F" word into the mix - fairies. Turns out the show's hero, Sookie Stackhouse, is the result of a human-fairy love-in centuries back. Sookie's reaction to this revelation was, i'm guessing, indicative of the audience's response: "How fuckin' lame!".

However, will True Blood be able to sex-up fairies, just as it managed put the fang into vampires? I foresee magic mushies, Elven orgies and a lot of woodland nudity.

 

Maybe we'll finally find out what's under Tink's little leaf-dress? Ohh yeah

recruiting planeteers, enquire within

 Just saw The Last Airbender. It was a bit of fun, but the entire time I couldn't help but long for Captain Planet: The Movie.

No, i've scoured the interwebs and a feature-film spin-off of the 90's cartoon series is yet to be on the horizon (when I say "scour" I really just mean I had a squizz on IMDB).

In my opinion, the world is ready for that blue-skinned, green-mulleted, lycra-clad groover and his Green values to return. 

Screw carbon trading schemes, we need Captain Planet and his new-wave "the power is yours!" attitude.

VMA's: homogenised, pasteurised and vegan

 The MTV Video Music Awards has always prized itself on being the naughty young up-start of the awards world (see the Madonna/Britney pash several years ago and Kanye West vs. Taylor Swift last year).

However, watching the 2010 VMA's last week reminded me that America's notion of "controversial" remains as white-bread and PC-friendly as ever.

The way Usher sang "Oh my gosh" did it for me. Is singing "God" in a song really too confronting for an MTV audience, considering most contemporary pop-hip-hop songs feature lyrics like "just show me where your dick at"? (I never thought i'd quote Ke$ha...)

And the reaction to Gaga's already infamous "meat dress" is another tell-tale sign of America's ridiculous double-standards. So, it's ok for pop stars to writhe about near-nude, drying humping and pulling pornstar poses but when it comes to a pop star wearing a dress made out of meat - apparently that's a no-no.

No, anyone who attempts to step outside the square is instantly barbecued by a painfully boring media.

Anti-animal cruelty organisation PETA has crucified Gaga for her sirloin ensemble, but as she explained shortly after appearing on the VMA's, her wardrobe choice was in no way taking a swipe at animal rights. People eat meat, wear leather, cut down forests, pillage the seas... but when we're confronted with images of our own consumerist nature we lose the plot (see Gaga's Telephone video and it's deliberate use of product placement).

Yes, she looked hideous, but when has Gaga ever been about conforming to female stereotypes? As she told Ellen shortly after the VMA's "i'm not a piece of meat!".

single white man-flower seeking good looking honey-bee

 I've been sprung by Spring. The sunshine's a-shining, the icy chill of the Melbourne Winter is already fizzling away and, well... things just look nicer (apart from myself of course. Unlike saucy Mother Nature, my seasonal transformation doesn't look like it's going to be as swift. My pasty, ghost-face complexion and gloomy Winter laziness will take a little while longer to exorcise).

For me, Spring means getting amongst it. Just like those randy flowers pollenating all over the joint, I need to get my petals out into the sun, show off my stem and get myself a bit of attention from a honey-bee or two. But this time, i'm pulling up my roots and working the garden a bit more than I usually do. Too long have I been relying on my flowery man-perfume to attract girls.

Recently I've found myself complaining too much that I only ever attract mediocrity. I realise i'm going to come off as cocky, but my tastes are pretty gourmet when it comes to the opposite sex. If I want to get off the pub-fare and tuck into something a little more haute cuisine, i'm going to have to stop relying so much on attracting and focus on getting out the insect-catcher.

And if all else fails... I can work the streets with the best of 'em.

 

clairvoyeur

Mother Pickle, who's usually quite the sceptic, recently took a friend's advice and saw a medium (aka. psychic, clairvoyant, fortune-teller, gypsy-shaman... call them what you will).

During a mother-son phone-call earlier this week, she told me all about the experience. Usually going to see a clairvoyant is a pretty self-indulgent affair. Basically, it's just another excuse to talk about yourself for an hour. But mama was kind enough to ask him about me (although, she probably phrased it "so how's my brat son going to fuck up this time?").

Apart from the stuff my mum probably already new about me ("hmm... yes, he's very strong-willed, isn't he?" I can hear him saying now), he also said that at age 25 something big (in a good way) will happen to me. Apparently then is when my full potential will begin to burst forth and bring me success, like some kind of beautiful alien monster bursting forth from my chest.

Inspiring? Hmm... not really. So basically I have to sit on my arse for the next 5 or so years and wait for fortune to come my way. What a drag...

well hung

In this tumultuous political climate, with the ridiculously-dubbed "hung" parliament hanging over our ignorant heads like a juicy dangler, I tackle the BIG questions... because i've always been about big, in-depth political discussion on Teddy Pickle.

On today's homepage for The Age, I read the amusing headline "Indies to back Labour". So, the feeling is that these enigmatic "Independents" (which includes a ridiculous oil-tycoon-wannabe in a cowboy hat) will end up supporting Labour rather than Coalition.

That's all very well. But will the "indies" back Labour? And by indies I'm referring to the much more commonly accepted term describing those who live in Brunswick, shop nowhere else but "op" and proudly roll their own cigarettes.

 I wonder who this indie would support? Actually this is Jean-Pierre B. (jeanpierreb.blogspot.com) from The Netherlands, so I doubt he'd give a fuck

I asked several of my indie-est friends the big question (via Facebook, of course. As if I could be bothered tramming all the way to Brunswick! It's another world up there). Though most of them (like the rest of us under-30 Melbourne voters) voted for the Greens, their answer was a resounding "Labour!".

So there you have it - the Indies and the indies will reportedly back Labour.

Now, on to the metro, bogan and emo demographies...

----------------------------------------------------------


In some completely unrelated news, here's Lady Gaga looking rather indie in a pair of faux-specs, a trademark look of the indie-subculture: 

Teddy Pickle - the blog that backs-up political discussion with vapid references to Lady Gaga.

i told you i'd be rich one day...

Ok so getting an audition for game-show "Millionaire Hot-Seat" doesn't exactly mean that I should go out and get a Maserati just yet, but i'm thrilled nonetheless.

Like any audition, i'm going to have to impress these people somehow. Whether it's with dashing boyish charm, a sob-story about my dying mother in Slovakia or by rolling into the audition room in a rusty wheelchair, i'm going to get on the show whether it kills me.

 (I could always pull out a bit of Flashdance if all else fails...)

Now, if I do happen to pass the audition -I hope I can be as cool as Snoop Dogg in this episode of the US version of Millionaire Hot-Seat .