I have gone a little bit nutty for myspace this week. My profile is very sparse, and there is no blog - the fablog is the only blog in my life! I discovered the joy of stupid comment posts on people's profiles today, while waiting impatiently for the Young Divas to add me as a friend.
I only got a myspace profile so I could send nerdy fan email to my favourite comic book writers.
I have been leaving this picture on people's profiles. Comic nerds will get it, but I'm sure it's lost on everyone else.
After an 11th hour reprieve (and by 11th hour, I do mean, the 59th minute of the 11th hour) I have decided to return to the Matt and Jo show on Melbourne's Fox FM.
The management of Fox made me an offer I couldn't refuse, much like the Godfather. When I woke up with Lowie's head in my bed, I knew I had to stay on. (That is all a joke, btw, I'm not inferring that the Austereo Network has anything to do with organised crime. They are far from organised).
So, to quote Dreamgirls' Effie "And I am telling you, I'm not going, and you - and you - and you, you're gonna love me."
What a fun week it has been for Britney Spears. Not once, not twice, but three times, we were treated to the sight of her baby factory. You could see where the babies went in and where they came out. Who wears a skirt so short you can see a caesarian scar? Britney. Yes, she's smiling at us with what the ever tactful Fahey Younger calls her pants mouth. Matt Tilley pointed out that it was lucky we couldn't see a natural birth scar.
A lovely signed photo of Jess and Damian from Australian Idol turned up in my mail today. They are the sweetest people in the world. The music industry is going to spit them out bitter jaded old freaks, but at least they'll have their memories. And on Idol, Dicko is coming back! I was so excited, I recorded a song*.
Okay, the chorus of a song. I can't be bothered writing whole verses for song parodies. Once you get the joke in the first chorus, do you really want to hear it two or three more times? Of course not. I've done us all a favour.
Plans are moving swiftly ahead for 2007. I have already slotted in a show for Adelaide Fringe. The first performance outside of Melbourne of Fabulous Adam Richard, which premiered at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival this year. If you are in Adders during March, pop along. I'll be at the Belgian Beer Cafe in Ebeneezer Place from 9th - 30th.
*Dicko Back song suggested, recorded and produced by Matt Curry - I just sang it and added in the bit about Kyle.
Yes, the rumours are true, and as announced on air this week, I will be leaving Fox FM and the Matt & Jo show next Friday, December 8th. After 3 years of getting up at 3:30am, I have decided to head back to the stage and tour the country shouting homosexual malarkey at anyone that is prepared to listen.
More information when I'm no longer under contract.
It is very rare that we come into contact with what can only be described as a beautiful soul. Bel was one such soul. She was sweet and funny, cheeky and cheerful. She radiated a sense of sheer delight, and every encounter with her left me smiling.
To all of her friends and family, and her devoted husband, I send my most sincere and heartfelt condolences. The scars left by this loss will never truly be healed.
Go with peace Bel, knowing that the world is full of people whose lives are better for having known you.
The world will ever be a darker place for so bright a light now no longer shines.
Do you get silly as a wheel on Friday? For some reason, at my work, we get completely loolah on a Friday. It might have something to do with the fact that Brodie Holland comes in, which makes Jo and I get a bit hormonal and giddy. Or it could be the sheer exhaustion of getting up at stupid o'clock every morning for a week, and knowing that a sleep in is coming. Whatever it is, the mood in the studio, pretty much from 6:05am onwards, is nothing short of demented lunacy.
Today, for instance, we all fell on the floor when Brodie responded to a question of whether or not he had sex before a game by saying "you can't play with a full bag of clag."
Troy was frightened by a piece of paper - normally it takes a fake spider, or matt hiding under his desk, but no, today it was a piece of paper hanging over the door frame with a picture of the Grand Final trophy on it. Terrifying, obviously. He was so shaken, he was incapable of regular speech.
I made some off-colour comments about Steve Irwin's lovemaking techniques (off-air of course) and there was some discussion about what number you press to vote for Casey Donovan. (8 if you're wondering).
See, it doesn't sound like too much silliness, but we get very worked up and demented. Sometimes I think it's funny because we're tired.
I need to go and get stitches for my split sides. Have a great GF weekend!
About to take a week off work and go relax in Brisneyland. Yesterday, I hung out with Meatloaf, of all people. He's a deliciously manic individual. Loves an anecdote, which makes interviewing easy. You don't even really need to ask questions. Just nod and smile. I only agreed to do it at the last minute, so I didn't have much time to prepare or research. Also it was a single camera interview, which means you have to ask the questions twice - once for the subject to answer, and then the camera and lights have to be reset so you can ask the questions again with the camera facing you. If I'd asked questions that made any sense, or had prepared them, it might have been easy, but Meatloaf and I essentially gasbagged. My poor producer, the divine Mr. Mark Gibson, had to scribble desperate notes because I was hardly going to remember word one by the time the interview ended. It was all good, although I do have a tendency to do Ham and Cheese when asking the questions for a second time. It is not naturalistic by any stretch of the imagination.
Sometimes on the Matt and Jo Show, we have too much stuff to talk about, and I don't have enough time to talk about some stuff I would like to. For instance, I was devestated today to hear that Orlando Bloom is no longer seeing Kate Bosworth. Perhaps if she stopped standing side-on, she would be easier to see. (BOOM BOOM! geddit? cos she's so skinny, if she stand side on, he can't see her, but they've broken up, so he's not seeing her seeing her... ah, if you have to explain it, it's probably shit).
I watch it so you don't have to. Celebrity Duets is the latest horrific television show to come out of the USA. Like It Takes Two here, the show teams up stars who have been out of work for a few years, with singers who can't sell cds anymore. Where we have Ailsa from Home and Away and former Young Talent Time star Karen Knowles (who thought I was a creepy stalker at the after party), the Americans get Xena: the Warrior Princess, and that guy from Queer Eye who didn't have a job.
Well, look at John Travolta being a bad Scientologist. What does L. Ron have to say about manlove? I have to tell you, just between us, this is not unusual for La Travolta. In fact, I have it on good authority he touched up someone on the set of Rove Live a couple of years ago. He was in town with Hugh Jackman, promoting the film SwordFish, and he let his hand drift down the back of a man he was having his photo taken with. I feel sorry for poor Kelly Preston. She can't leave him, because she's just not talented enough to support their children. It is a sad sorry state of affairs.
I am in a movie! It's not a very long one. In fact I came up with the idea for it as a sitcom, which I fleshed out with John Richards (no relation) and Troy Hunter. Then John decided that we should make the first episode (often called a pilot, in tv language) as a short film. We enlisted the help of friends and relations. (John's boyfriend Chris did all the catering - he's normally a world-renowned scientist, but he makes the most delightful scones).
You can check out more details at the Outland website.
Are any of you comic book nuts? I'm mad for them, and my favourite at the moment is Young Avengers. It's written by a guy called Allen Heinberg, who has written for Party of Five, Sex and the City, Gilmore Girls, The OC and soon, Grey's Anatomy. I love all of those shows, some of them more than others. (I frequently discuss my obsession with Party of Five during the 5 to 1 countdown 9am Mon - Fri 101.9 Fox FM) The artwork is by Jim Cheung, who is amazing. I urge you to get a copy of the first book - it's so much fun!
Also, you can find a profile on Australia's gay comedians (which is not just me! Scott Brennan and Anthony Menchetti are in it as well.) It's in the July issue of the Australian gay magazine DNA - which is in newsagents at the moment. Don't just get it for me, there is a profile and a very hot photo of straight Magpie Paul Licuria. He's completely hot.
Tomorrow morning on the Matt and Jo show all the juice from the biggest wedding of the year - Nicole and Keith.
Nicole Kidman isn't the only Fantapants who was taken down the aisle this weekend. Desperate Housewife Bree, Marcia Cross, married stockbroker Tom Mahoney in California on Saturday.
Justin Timberlake and Cameron Diaz are still together, although there are a bunch of magazines claiming otherwise this week. There is also a rather suggestive video at TMZ.com featuring Justin out and about with some other blonde lady. Perez Hilton knows who she is, I've been having difficulty caring.
Tori Spelling made a mad dash for the mansion when she heard her dad was on his last legs. She told People Magazine "I'm grateful I recently had the opportunity to reconcile with my father and most grateful we had the chance to tell each other we loved one another before he passed away." Aaron Spelling, 83, succumbed to complications following a stroke last week.
Speaking of dead rich people, E. Pierce Marshall, the man who has been fighting with Anna Nicole Smith over his father's oil fortune, passed away Friday at the age of 67. Anna Nicole Smith hasn't made a statement, not that anything she ever says makes much sense anyway.
Madonna reportedly laughed hysterically when she found out Mariah Carey was being forced to downsize her tour due to poor ticket sales. Wonder how Mariah would feel if she found out that Madonna's UK tour is in trouble. Fans have bought all the back end of the stadium, but the expensive middle and front sections remain largely unsold. She is charging 150 pounds, roughly $400 per ticket. No wonder she's not coming to Australia. Who wants to pay 400 bucks to see a 50 year old woman in a leotard, when we get Gretel Kileen for free?
Mamma is on holidays, as you can see by her obscenely camp frolicking in the Great Barrier Reef. If you are ever up this way, I can certainly recommend The Sebel Reef House and Spa in Palm Cove (about 20 mins out of Cairns) not only for hanging out by the pool, but also their divine dinner menu and unfeasibly freindly staff. For an unforgettable trip to the outer edge of The Great Barrier Reef, the people at Poseidon are an amazing bunch - and they have their very own Marine Biologist. (Who goes by the dubious moniker of Mister Fluffy, clearly still working on that PhD so he can one day become Doctor Fluffy). It's not only fascinating and fun, but highly educational. I know so much more about coral now. And here was me thinking coral was just a shade of lipstick.
Snorkeling in the reef has to be one of the most breathtaking experiences of my life. So much colour and movement. Giant clams, sea turtles, dolphins, and every kind of brightly coloured tropical fish you could possibly imagine, plus the rainbow of coral that make up the maginificent reefs that border most Queensland. It's so unfathomable (pardon the pun) to think that the three sites I swam around, are just an infinitesimal part of a living organism that can be seen from outer space. The most incredible part, was feeling like Superman, flying over a giganitc city of coral and flying fish. If you have ever even vaguley thought about going to the reef, do it now, before it is all obliterated by our mainland agriculture (estimated to be by 2060 - perhaps before you were thinking of retiring).
So, yes, I've been on holidays, so if you've sent an email to firstname.lastname@example.org or to email@example.com, I am truly sorry that I haven't replied, but I've either been underwater or on a sunlounge. I'm back on board on the 26th june, and will be endeavouring to reply to each and every email I've neglected.
If you need a Mamma Richard fix before I get back to the Matt and Jo Show on Monday (Melbourne's No 1 FM Breakfast show), I'm back on 9am with David and Kim on Network Ten Friday 23rd June, and will be performing that night at The Comic's Lounge as part of the Southern Hibearnation Opening Party. So all you hairy men I didn't get around to pashing at last year's celebration of the bulky, bearded and beautiful (and there aren't many of you left), I have my chapstik handy and I'll be largered up like nobody's business. Bring it on boys!
Brad and Angelina's $6.5M baby photo, with all proceeds going to UNICEF. An Australian magazine (very possibly Who Weekly) has paid a reported $1.5M for the rights to the photos, which are forbidden from appearing anywhere but in the magazine. Also, no internet copies can be published. Obviously that doesn't stop people scanning a magazine and shoving that on the net.
Blog is late. Well past my Monday deadline. I have always promised myself – and I guess you as well – blog Monday, Wednesday at the latest, and here I am on Wednesday typing away furiously. I worry that doing it on Wednesdays it might be dreadful. Hump day and all that. Or, if you’ve had a particularly large Saturday, Weepy Wednesday. Or Suicide Wednesday.
I had a very large weekend. I went to the 2006 Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras. They have rules about how you have to say it, like you can’t call the Logies, ‘The Logies,’ you have to call them the TV Week Logie Awards – well, you don’t have to, it’s not the law, you won’t end up in hot tv prison with Wentworth Miller and Dominic Purcell, more’s the pity. If you’re working for them, however, you really are obliged to do what they say, so when you’re hosting the media room and introducing winners to the press, you have to say “the winner of the 2006 TV Week Logie Award for Best New Talent, please welcome someone you won’t remember in six months.” (It was Natalie Blair, if you were wondering, she was on Neighbours. I played My Charader with her one week on Rove Live, then I saw her in Sydney with Bec Cartwright’s ex-Beau Brady – don’t get me started on Bec Cartwright… that is a story I am wringing out for my show – Fabulous Adam Richard at the Comedy Festival – tickets on sale now).
Mardi Gras was great fun. I was filming a segment for ‘9am with David and Kim,’ where I normally contribute gossip on a Tuesday morning. I was running up and down the parade route, wearing a hot pink PVC rhinestone studded cowboy outfit. I looked like Elvis auditioning for Brokeback Mountain. At one point, Ian “Molly” Meldrum worked out that it was me inside the gigantic magenta cowboy, and fell to the ground in hysterics. I looked so outrageous, I ended up getting my photo taken from a hundred million tourists who clearly thought I was some kind of mardi gras spokesperson, or mascot. Speaking of mascots, here’s one to add to the pashmonster annals – I pashed a man dressed as a Kangaroo. So sordid.
Ended up having a demented random night out at several different pubs on Saturday, before and after filming, with friends. Bumped into a trillion people I knew, and about a trillion more who knew me. Paying for it now, however. What with the madness in Sydney, and the late night watching Oscars on Monday, my sleeping patterns have been thrown into jetlag like disarray. Last night I fell asleep at 6pm. Like a toddler. I was even grumpy and crying a little. Although a little sook and a wail when you are tired is incredibly cathartic. Just start it, like you did when you were a kid, you won’t be able to stop it once it starts. It sometimes even turns into a giggle, it sounds so silly. You’ll be right as rain in minutes.
Okay, mamma’s got work to do, and then off to Adelaide. If you’re in the ‘Laide, you may see me at a late show at the Rhino Room this weekend. Nothing definite, but pop down anyway. Just in case. And see Justin Hamilton while you’re at it. He’s ace.
I bought a new phone this week. Well, I say bought, I just added an extra I don?t know how much to my monthly bill, but I had to put myself through the horrific haranguing of the mobile phone salesperson first. It?s a win-win situation! ***
My old phone was hurting me. It wasn?t giving me cancer or anything ? I mean, it might be, but the leaflets that come with the phone claim they emit just enough radiation to make phone calls, but some regulatory body somewhere says it?s not enough to cook what?s inside your skull. I actually am not too concerned about getting brain cancer (touch wood). What?s the worst that could happen? I forget some inane detail of Lindsay Lohan?s debauched partying lifestyle? Even worse, I forget that Oscar Nominee Terrence Howard (Hustle and Flow) was the bad guy in Glitter with Mariah Carey. Or the fact that the big goofy bald guy from the Carry On movies was an Ice Warrior in Doctor Who. I?m sure none of this will be terribly missed if it gets chewed up by a tumor. Well, I?d miss it, but would anybody else?***
No, my phone was giving me a callous. On my texting thumb. It has one of those little knobby things that controls everything. Including my dvd player! And it had gone a bit wrong. I had to practically push it into a parallel universe to get it to select a phone number. Forget trying to fix up predictive texts. I just sent people smses that said things like ?that was of no pricks and speaks last might.? I was incredibly fond of my phone, though, and I tried finding ways around the knob ? which was a first for me...***
As the hard shell forming on my much abused thumb became granite-esque, I realised the phone had to go. It took a couple of weeks, and several tempting calls from the folk in Mumbai who wanted me to have a free phone and fifteen cent phone calls. And if I didn?t want it, what about a member of my family. You know, I finish work in the late morning, early afternoon, so when those delightful people call me from their Indian call centre, I am either napping, or in a very peculiar mood. My new favourite thing is to ?put them on hold.? ?Can I put you on hold for a second? I just have to get the door.? Then I wander off and type some emails. Come back several minutes later? ?are you still there?? Oh, they?re still there. Then I let them talk a bit. I ask some questions, make them think they might make a sale. Then I ?put them on hold for a minute,? again. Frig around a bit more, push it to six or seven minutes if I can. Put some pastizzis in the oven. Whatever. Then ?are you still holding? So sorry, you were saying?? They bang on a bit longer. When I think I?ve had just about enough, I ring my home phone with my mobile. Call waiting beeps! ?I?ve got a call on the other line ? can you hold on a tic, I just have to get this.? Then I hang up on them. In about ten or so minutes, they?ll call you back. ?I?m so sorry we got disconnected.? I let them talk a bit more ? hopefully having taken up at least half an hour, sometimes even an hour, of their time. Then I tell them, I don?t want it and can they go away please. It makes me laugh, if nobody else.***
So I had to brave the phone shops. About fifteen of them. I didn?t like any of the phones offered to me on my free upgrade ? they all had scary thumb-numbing-knobs, or were brands I?d used and hated, or they didn?t do Bluetooth or? there were a trillion and twelve reasons. I went to other service providers, I went to those bizarre phone stalls in the aisles of shopping centres, I looked on the internet. Everyone just kept talking about ?free? and ?cheap.? I don?t really care how much things cost. I?m a single gay man with an income from three jobs, and no mortgage or dependents. Price is not an issue ? I want a phone, that I like, that works. Apparently that is too confusing for mobile phone salespeople. They want to sell the offer, the deal, the discount, the upgrade, the no-deposit, the call cap, the included calls, the brightly coloured sim. If you ask them if the phone has a certain feature, they look at you like you?ve asked if they?re wearing underpants. Then they say, ?oh, yeah, definitely, definitely?? Then you have to go back the next day and explain that no, it doesn?t.***
New phone is great, and I can make video calls! If I know someone on my network who has a video phone?***
Until next time, be good, and don?t break anything.***
I?m a Pash Monster. I?m frightening and insatiable in my pursuit of pash. This past weekend, many poor innocent people fell victim to a furious face mashing. No doubt it is excessively distressing for them. Mostly because they?re very rarely people I?m actually interested in. I only ever flirt with people I assume I have no chance with. Straight men, men in relationships, Australian Idol rejects.
I love pashing, however. It?s my favourite thing in the world. I don?t even necessarily want to have sex with many of the people I pash off with, I just like pashing. Sometimes you get down to the act, and the pashing stops ? which is horrific, because that?s generally how you got into that position in the first place. Well, there are some positions that prove prohibitive to the pash, but I?m sure the last thing you need in your mind?s eye is the image of me contorting myself in the act of fat hairy man sex.
The Pash Monster was out in full force this weekend, convincing all and sundry that I am not only happy to pash on like a fifteen year old halfway through a goon of Moselle, but that I am quite skilled to boot. I?m a great kisser. Really. I?m not talking myself up, I?m just being honest. I am, to put it bluntly, pashtastic. Ask anyone. Really, anyone. It?s quite possible I?ve pashed the person sitting right next to you.
This weekend, I have convinced many people to indulge in the infamous Adam Richard pash. I pashed someone?s boyfriend ? which after the events of the last few weeks, is becoming something of a pattern. I convinced a straight guy that he should pash me because beards are softer than they look. I pashed a dwarf, because I was sitting on the floor and he was at the right height. I pashed some guy on a dancefloor because Mariah was on ? a remix of We Belong Together, I have to pash when that song comes on. After a certain hour of the night, there was very likely more pashing. Just not sure who with. It gets blurry.
I often offer to pash celebrities that I interview ? which bewilders them. Especially the American ones. They have little, or no, idea what a pash even is. If you happen to be one of the hundreds of foreign celebrities who read my blog, hoping against hope I may say something complimentary about you, here is an attempt at an explanation. A pash is a kiss. A deep passionate kiss ? and I gather the colloquialism is derived from the word passionate. What the brits call a snog, and the yanks call a French Kiss. Who knows what the French call it. The only French word I know is baguette, which in Australia is a French Stick.
Well, best to get out on that ludicrous double entendre.
Be good, and don?t break anything
Okay. So, open relationships. I promised I was going to open the can of worms, and here it is.
Now I don't have a problem with people in open relationships, some of my best friends are in open relationships... If they are going to go off, have one night stands, affairs, all of that malarkey, and their partners are doing the same, or even if their partners are staying at home watching Desperate Housewives and chucking back Ferrero Rochers - as long as they love each other and they have an understanding, then that's fine. As the delightful Darren Casey would say "Good luck to 'em. Good luck to everybody."
Here's the tricky bit; who are they meeting? In an ideal world, people in open relationships would have a network of other people in open relationships and they could party like it's 1973. (Open relationships, like the handlebar moustache and Cher, are a hangover from the seventies that has never gone out of fashion with my people). Perhaps they could start their own online community, call it 7yearitch.com, and use it to hook up for "casual discrete fun."
That's not the reality however. There are those of us out there who are single, and are looking for something a bit more substantial than one or two nights here and there. I live under the, possibly mistaken, belief that I might meet someone I could spend the rest of my life with. I may be living in some kind of delusional fantasy world, but the rent is very reasonable here in La-la-land, so I'm staying.
These two ideals should not meet, you would think, but it happens far too often. I keep meeting men in relationships. Now, sure, if I say 'Meet me at the Peel' or some other nightclub at poo o'clock on a Sunday morning, then I'm probably not expecting much. (I'm happy to be surprised - I could easily fall in love with someone under those circumstances). On the other hand, if we organize to go out to dinner - surely that's a date. That says, in most languages, "let's see if we like each other." The gays, we have sex all the time without finding out somebody's name, let alone if one of us has a toxic personality, so going out on a date implies one is open to more than just an hour or so of mattress testing.
Then there is the way the open relationship is broached. It's so matter of fact. "I have a boyfriend." Fantastic. I've just racked up a fifty buck dinner bill when I could be at home watching last week's Prison Break. Again. "We have an open relationship." Well, that's a relief... For a minute there I thought I might have to start feeling guilty. "He knows I'm here and he's fine with it." Really? How nice for him. What about me? What if I'm not fine with it? What if I was looking for more than another frog to pash? What if I was hoping to finally meet a prince? Clearly, Cinderella has gone to the wrong ball, and Prince Charming has a whole closet full of slippers.
You know, getting involved with someone in an open relationship is kind of like getting on a plane where everyone except you has a parachute. If he doesn't like the destination, off he pops back to his boyfriend, and you are left, like cross-eyed Karen Black, trying to land the plane on your own, while the cracked cockpit window keeps letting the wind in and messing up your bouffant. I laboured that metaphor a little, but you get what I mean. If I wanted a relationship that was as disasterous as Airport '75, then I'd go out with Kevin Federline.
Okay. There's the first one out of the way. Let's see if I can keep on track. I had a complaint that this blog wasn't updated often enough. And my first post is the Titanic. See, you have to be careful what you wish for.
Still at 101.9 Fox FM on the 'Matt and Jo Show' weekday mornings 6-9am - and at midday with my Nineties at Noon, three of the most fun songs from the nineties, with a bit of screaming homosexual in between. If you aren't in Melbourne, we do live streaming on the web at fox.com.au.
You can also catch me with Becko on Australian First, around the nation on the Today Network. Check your local station website for details of when you can hear it.
You can also find me every Tuesday morning on '9am with David and Kim,' the new morning show on Network Ten, where I talk trash with David Reyne and Kim Watkins. I have an inbox there, which I am more than happy for you to stuff with any malarkey you like. www.ten.com.au/9am.
Also, look out for me on Spicks and Specks on the ABC Wed 15th Feb at 8:30pm. It was my first ever appearance, sitting next to Australian Idol winner Kate DeArugo, and I had the most fun ever. So much fun they've asked me back again! I can't wait!
If you want to see me live and in person, come to Melbourne for the Melbourne International Comedy Festival where you can see my brand new show 'Fabulous.' There are 8 shows only, from April 27 until 7 May. Book early at www.ticketmaster.com.au.
I am going to make a fairly concerted effort to keep this thing updated these days. I'll try weekly for now, but it will probably end up monthly. Or quarterly, like last year!
Think of this as the very very late January entry. Up next - February! And what I think of open relationships! Mind your eyes, I've got my grumpy pants on!