I AM LISTENING TO
Hold tight - we’re checking permissions before loading more content
Soundcloud. I’ve jumped down the rabbit hole recently — I do not use this terminology liberally, as Soundcloud is indefinitely the weirder, more eclectic sibling of the music streaming services. Here’s why. I reckon any remix (or ‘version excursion on the wheels of steel’, if you will) of any song under the sun can be found on ‘the cloud’. For example, I can’t say I’ll ever be in the market for a dubstep adaptation of the Seinfeld theme, however it is comforting to know it’s out there, it exists. That’s why I love Soundcloud — just not enough to pay the $15 a month premium fee.
I AM BEWILDERED BY
The Wiggles’ latest stunt. Last week, Australia’s favourite kids’ ensemble jumped in the Triple-J booth to perform a rendition of alt-indie song Elephant for Like A Version. It included a keytar solo and transitioned into Fruit Salad. Need I say more? For those who aren’t privy to Like A Version, it’s essentially a chance for artists — underground or otherwise — to have a jam on a different style to their norm. It doesn’t usually (or ever) feature children’s groups going hammer and tongs on a psychedelic rock track. But given the cover’s success, I wouldn’t be surprised if The Wiggles headlined the next Spilt Milk or Laneway Festival. In fact, I’d probably buy a ticket out of curiosity.
I AM WATCHING
The A-League. For the the first time in years, at that. I’ve forever regarded the Australian soccer scene as somewhat of a tour-de-farce. But this year, it’s watchable. Actually, it’s more than that. With Shepparton now having a name in its corner — that being Alou Kuol of the Central Coast Mariners — I’ve found a banana-coloured bandwagon to cling onto throughout the past few months. It’s not just Kuol fuelling this newfound passion, though. In comparison to previous seasons, there are less calamitous mistakes. Fewer disastrous misses. And more goals — fizzing, net-busting goals that make me jump up and down in ways I never would have previously imagined. And I am absolutely here for it.
I AM FAREWELLING
The evening light. Since autumn rode in right on the back of summer’s coattails, it is stealing the daylight hours, bit by bit. Slowly but surely the starry blanket is beginning to creep up earlier in the evening, meaning twilight becomes less and less. I’m big on blowing off steam after work, and for me, this signals opportunity being cut off at the knees. Okay, forgive the use of hyperbole, but hear me out. During the warm months, there is a near four-hour window of crimson glory to get stuck into after five. By the time winter appears, we’re lucky to have two. Bring on spring.
A personal milestone ticked over the other day. It whistled by, and I was only just conscious enough to catch and mould it into column fodder before it evaporated to nothing.
Last week marked my two-year anniversary at The News. Two years in the hot seat, writing God knows how many Word Boy pages for people to either laugh, cry or scoff at.
Often the words flow freely. Other times, for lack of better phrasing, it can feel like more of a column-oscopy.
But by using Word Boy as an escape medium from the traditional news form, I’ve loved it all the same.
So, in the wake of my mini milestone I thought I’d spin the yarn of how this amateur scribe ended up sitting here writing questionable lines, sharing questionable designs and on occasion, drinking questionable wines in company of the News cohort.
To be honest, it began by complete chance.
I’d only been in the country a few months before I fired in a job application to the Shepparton News.
Working in a factory east of Kyabram, there was little stimulation in being the man who deciphered the difference between a large tomato and an extra-large tomato.
I wanted more.
As a university dropout, the News' application was a fair stab in the dark though, and it showed.
The rejection phone call went along the lines of “more experience required, better luck next time”.
I shrugged it off — journalism was merely a pipe dream, anyway.
Back to the factory I went.
I wasn’t prepared to let McPherson Media Group off that easy, however.
Ripping off the hi-vis after a hard day’s yakka in 38-degree heat, I prepared to fire off one more job application.
Not for a job writing the paper, but manufacturing it instead as part of the Newsprinters team.
It seemed doable.
If anything, it was a foot in the door.
But most importantly, I was starting to have dreams (and nightmares) about tomatoes.
Red behemoths rolling off the conveyor belt in droves, crushing my brittle bones into a human bolognese.
I thought, "no more".
Before I could crank up the computer to have one last crack at a job in print, the phone rang again, offering a journalist position.
One day a week, casual rates, in the sports team — more than a foot in the door.
That was it — I'd finally made it out of the tomato game, once and for all.
I don’t know how hard the winds of change rolled into the office that week, but after my first day things went a little crazy.
Another phone call left me bewildered, as I was offered a full-time gig as a first-year cadet.
The word ‘yes’ couldn't come quickly enough out my mouth, and from there it has been a blur.
I've since covered some pretty astonishing stories.
Just yesterday a local bowls figure came in to thank me for a profile I'd produced on him, a real gritty character who had achieved some mind-blowing feats during his time.
He was saying goodbye before jetting off to Darwin for a round of cancer treatment, not knowing whether he'd be back or not.
These are the moments I cherish about my current role. Not for the story clicks, but the personal touches.
However, my one claim to fame, though small, comes way before I picked up the phone in Australia.
You see, my first story went international — sort of.
There I was, a 16-year-old intern at my local newspaper in regional New Zealand.
The art was lost to me as I was yarning to three dudes only a few years younger than me who made up Alien Weaponry, a teenage thrash metal band from the sticks.
Alien Weaponry’s edge — their niche — was the fact a number of their songs are written and performed in the Maori language.
They've since headlined their own shows and embarked on global tours, all while in their teens.
Only last month, the trio was heralded as ‘the future of metal’ by Metal Hammer Magazine (think heavy metal’s equivalent to Rolling Stone, but with more actual relevance to music).
And I was the first to publish them in an article.
It makes me think perhaps the tomatoes weren't for me after all.