Friday, December 30, 2011

On Jamie Cullum


“If there's music in the night,
And it's really, really right,
It's the only thing I need.
It intoxicates your mind
All your troubles left behind
So come on and take my lead…”
~Mind Trick’, by Jamie Cullum & Ben Cullum
from Jamie Cullum’s album “Catching Tales”, 2005
I discovered the music of Harry Connick Jnr. when I was a teen.  I soon started enjoying big band jazz (goodness knows why; it's not very ‘rock 'n' roll’ and certainly not what my contemporaries seemed to enjoy) and jazz standards.  He quickly became one of my favourite artists and, during my formative years, was in his prime.  His output wasn't just big band, and during the same period he released some trio work and some stripped down, largely piano-base songs, that all played around with various aspects of jazz.  I loved it all, his best releases were from around 1987 until the inevitable Christmas album in 1993 and a flawed-but-interesting pair of albums that dabbled in New Orleans funk.
I've since listened to more jazz and I love the genre, with its sublime richness, complexity and creativity.  I am always on the lookout for more of the same (and more of the different at that).  Alas, too many options and too little time and money tended to thwart my interest.  In 2004, the second of four CDs of songs performed on the Working Dog produced variety show, The Panel, was released.  One such performance was by a twenty-five year-old jazz upstart named Jamie Cullum.  The song (or rather, songs) he performed caught my attention - a medley of one song from his own pen along with the Cole Porter penned classic I Get a Kick Out of You.  It was good stuff, and I sought out more of his work.
Both songs were found on his second major release, Twentysomething’ (2003), which he was touring and promoting at the time he appeared on The Panel.  His first album is a hard-to-find self-produced CD named Heard It All Before (1999).  He followed that up with his breakout hit Pointless Nostalgic (2002), which, like HIAB, was comprised mostly of jazz standards.  It caught the attention of UK talk show host Michael Parkinson as well as the public at large and was a huge success.  It led to a three-album contract with a major label, of which Twentysomething was the first.  By the end of 2003, Cullum had become the biggest selling jazz musician of all time in the UK.  Even then, Cullum, like many jazz pioneers before him, sought to subvert traditional ideas of jazz, how it could be performed and interpreted.  No doubt some of the more stuffy Jazz traditionalists were less than heartened at the sight of Cullum in T-Shirts and trainers leaping around his piano like a madman while performing, as is his want.
Pointless Nostalgic is a playful title that speaks volumes.  Like many jazz musicians, Cullum pulls much of his material from his musical forebears (more so in PN than subsequent albums), but negotiates the tightrope between due respect and his own personal interpretations of the songs with delicacy and huge talent.  I would go so far as to say that there are few current interpreters of others’ songs better than Cullum.  Not content to merely interpret classics and standards, Cullum has covered modern artists as diverse as Radiohead, Jeff Buckley, Elton John and Bob Marley, and has done so with panache.
Cullum croons far more in Pointless Nostalgic than in later releases, where he further develops a much more expressive vocal style, at times smooth, growling, youthful and delicate, or forceful, depending on the song.  PN's closing track, I Want To Be A Pop Star  suggests a road Cullum was soon to be traveling, not only in terms of style (more on that shortly), but lyrically.  While he fully embraces his jazz roots and the classics of a simpler time (such as Singing In The Rain) the theme running through much of his music is that of a young man in his twenties, growing and maturing.  Not too quickly, though, with tracks like IWTBAPS, Twentysomething and 21st Century Kid all capturing the zeitgeist of irresponsibility, misbehaviour and heady confusion that comes with misspent youth.  One of the singles released from the Catching Tales album, the gorgeous Photograph, finds Cullum's piano dancing through a collection of recalled memories.
As Cullum's career has progressed, so has his exploration of more diverse musical tools beyond those traditionally found in Jazz standards such as synths and loops, turntable scratches and even a stomp box (an acoustic box used to amplify a musician's tapping foot, reportedly found by Cullum right here in Melbourne, Australia while he was on tour).  The experience, maturity and development of his craft found its apex in Cullum's 2009 album The Pursuit (2009).  It's a sumptuous album, the larger proportion of original tracks than previous releases suggesting an increased self-confidence from Cullum.  Although he opens the album with another Cole Porter standard in Just One of Those Things, he follows up with the bouncy and modern I'm All Over It.  Track six finds Cullum cover a disposable tune originally by dance-pop singer Rihanna with a style and gravitas that the top-40 darling can't muster in her own version.  Mixtape has Cullum riffing about the popular experience of music of his younger days, name-checking Morrissey, Louis Armstrong, and Nine-Inch Nails in the process.  The catchy and driving We Run Things is symbolic of Cullum's increasing confidence in himself and his music.  Unlike his contemporary Michael Bublé, Cullum's originals often sound like standards, such is the skillful, classic and timeless writing and composition, such as in Grace Is Gone.  The masterpiece of the album, though, would have to be the collaboration between Cullum and filmmaker Clint Eastwood, who share song writing credits on Gran Torino with Eastwood's son Kyle and Michael Stevens, from the soundtrack of the film of the same name.  The song was nominated for a Golden Globe award in the Best Original Song category.  It screams instant classic, its lonely piano the perfect accompaniment to the world-weary lyrics, an astonishing feat given that Cullum wrote and recorded the lyrics at a relatively tender age.  It's a stunning performance, simple yet not simplistic, a song where the method of telling the story of the song says as much as the story itself.
There is word of a new album on the horizon in early 2012.  You can be sure that I'll be purchasing it on sight.  I very much look forward to seeing what Cullum has up his sleeves next.
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Friday, December 23, 2011

On Christmas


“There’s a certain time of year
When the world has a special glow
Children’s laughter I can hear
From sleigh rides in the snow
And while everyone’s heart is light
All across the land
One thing I know tonight
I can’t stand it, man!”
~I Hate Christmas’, by Ren & Stimpy, produced by Ed Mitchell
from the album “Ren & Stimpy’s Crock O’ Christmas”, 1993
It's nearly Christmas!  A time of cheer and goodwill and peace on Earth and family and... and...
Humbug. Bah, humbug.
It's not like I didn't try.  Did the Christmas shopping thing, battled the thundering hordes of cars scrapping over the last parking spot and beat back the ravenous consumers and their hyper-charged, low-interest credit cards at a large suburban shopping centre in search of that special gift for those dozens of special some ones.  That's the done thing at Christmas isn't it?  You buy cheap stuff for people who don't really need whatever you get them, and in return you get cheap stuff you'd already own - if you really needed it.  It's the curse of the Kris Kringle.  
Of course the kids want stuff too.  It's expected.  Not just any old junk you picked up from The Reject Shop either.  It's got to be something nice.  No, scratch that, that ‘something nice’ should be a plural 'cause one gift just won't cut the mustard.  One of my kids was thoughtful enough make it easy for WonderWoman and me, she left the junk mail out with the appropriate gifts circled and a loose page with a running tally of prices, neatly added up with an obscene total at the bottom.  The other dear child went a step further and cut all of the expected gifts out and even offered to go through them with me.
In all fairness, I think they were more 'in a perfect world' wishes than demands, but still, there is this heaving expectation of the "done thing" that hovers around Christmas like blowflies around a steaming pile of excrement.
Speaking of steaming piles of excrement, did you know that in the Catalan culture, they traditionally construct complex nativity scenes over the Christmas period the way we put together Christmas trees?  Tucked away in an unobtrusive corner is a caganer, a small character bent over in the act of defaecation.  There is some conjecture as to the origins and purpose of this curious little fellow; some say he signifies the common amongst the extraordinary, in a parallel to the central theme of the nativity; some believe he is a substitute for all of Earth's various peoples who, without exception, need to tend to this particular act; some argue that he is a kind of naturalistic symbol representing various aspects of fertility; others presume the caganer is merely a humourous aside to entertain children and simpletons.
Speaking of the nativity, let's address the ongoing tension between the religious aspects of Christmas and the commercial.  I can appreciate the sentiment behind the reminders that "Jesus is the reason for the season", but the honest truth is sadly far different.  As distasteful as the thought is, the crass commercial demands of Christmas have overtaken the spiritual remembrance and ideals by a wide margin.  When did you first see Christmas themed products in the supermarket?  If you're anything like me it was in October.  Early October, for the love of Pete.  How long after Boxing Day do you think it’s going to be before we see chocolate eggs?  It's sickening.
We need to keep a couple of other salient points firmly in mind.  Much like the moronic celebration in Australia of the Queen's birthday (and the associated public holiday), Christmas day is pretty much accepted as having little resemblance to the actual date of Jesus's birth.  Furthermore, the bulk of the traditions observed around Christmas day have been cribbed and bastardised from various pagan festivals, traditions and celebrations over the ages.  Essentially, one of the big two celebrations on the Christian calendar has more pagan connotations that we choose to admit.  Fancy that!
And a word to those that decry the abbreviation "Xmas" as removing the Christ from Christmas ought keep in mind that in Greek, the letter X (chi) stands for Khrīstos (Χριστός), or Christ.  So X or no, Christ is right there the whole time.  Perhaps Christmas can be a time of no abbreviations, and the elimination of the dreaded apostrophe, the curse of On Writing Blog first drafts every damned week.
I participated actively in carols this year, to try and give my Christmas spirit a much needed boost.  One of my favourite carols keeps the insanity of all that Christmas has become firmly in mind - The Twelve Days of Christmas.  Seriously, what kind of psycho gift giver gives you ten lords a'leaping?  Where exactly do you find eleven pipers piping, and does Australia Post deliver them?  Did it occur to anyone that by the end of the song the recipient of all these "gifts" will need to feed fifty people? Perhaps one could feed them any of the twenty-three feathered beasties also named in the song, but let’s face it, they're not going to go far.  Have you seen how much meat is on a partridge?
Just a few short days ago, Michael Bublé very nearly rescued Christmas for me.  Nearly.  While channel surfing I happened upon a carols show hosted and mostly performed by Mr Bublé.  I personally find Bublé a charismatic and entertaining performer, possessing genuine talent and a sense of self-deprecating humour that is right at home on Aussie TV.  I enjoyed the first few songs.  As the program progressed, I noticed something was awry.  Bublé spent quite some time wishing the audience the best of the season.  Then it hit me: he was continually wishing everyone the horrendously politically correct "Happy Holidays".  Christmas barely got a mention, although Hanukkah did.  It begs the question: if the word Christmas is taboo, why the merry heck are you bothering with Christmas carols at all?  Then Bublé revealed the final insult: guest star Justin Bieber.  Not being a vacuous eleven-year-old girl, and not having any holidays I could deem "happy", I switched off.    
I found but one highlight this Christmas.  WonderWoman and I spent some money on some Oxfam gifts on behalf of others.  The way it works is this: instead of buying gifts for one's kith and kin, you pay Oxfam the money you would otherwise spend on family or friends, which goes towards something worthwhile for those who need it a considerable amount more than any of us.  This year our hard-earned went towards filtered water pots in the Philippines and a women's refuge in Papua New Guinea.  Our attempt at genuine goodwill.  Glad to know there are some Christmassy things no amount of caganers can soil.
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Friday, December 9, 2011

On The Worst Transformers You've Never Heard Of


“Only the losers win
They’ve got nothing to prove
They’ll leave the world with nothing to lose
You can laugh at the weirdos now
Wait till wrongs are right
They’ll be the ones with nothing to hide”
~The Loser’, by Jon Foreman
from the Switchfoot album “Learning To Breath”, 2000

I think I’m pretty much on the record as having a deep and abiding love for all things Transformers.  I’ve spoken before about the ‘Tech Specs’ profiles pioneered by Bob Budiansky in the ‘eighties, each describing a particular character’s traits and abilities.  
In the ongoing battle between the heroic Autobots and evil Decepticons, not every Transformer is going to be a fan favourite.  For every Optimus Prime or Bumblebee, there is an obscure character that, for one reason or another, didn’t make the grade… 
You’ll not find them in a cartoon or comic, they are absent from our toy shelves and they haven’t graced cinema screens, but here, for the first time, I’m proud to present a few of the ‘also rans’ of the Transformers world... 
...The Six Most Useless Transformers You’ve Never Heard Of!
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Name: Brushcutter
Allegiance: Decepticon
Function: Scout
Alt mode: High powered whipper-snipper
Motto: "That hurts worse than a paper cut!"
Abilities: In whipper-snipper mode, Brushcutter is able to spin his razor-sharp diamond-tipped blades at nearly 100 revolutions per second.  He is able to easily cut through wood up to one metre thick.  He can even carve into most rocks and, along with his innate ability to locate the weakness in any object or obstacle, can even break through large boulders or metal beams given enough time.
Weaknesses: Brushcutter hoped to find his niche as a forward scout for the Decepticon cause, preparing the way for his evil brethren and leading them into battle.  However, due to a catastrophic case of clumsiness, he frequently loses control of his blades, thus injuring his own teammates.  Megatron even went as far as ordering him to watch Edward Scissorhands over and over in order to learn some new techniques, but poor Brushcutter could only focus on the gaping plot holes.  He now spends his time as the most evil cinema critic in the galaxy and harbours a lingering obsession with Johnny Depp.
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Name:  Trashcan
Allegiance: Decepticon
Function: Surveillance
Alt mode: Wheelie bin
Motto: "What's that smell?"
Abilities: Using his clever disguise as a ubiquitous object, Trashcan is able to blend into any urban environment with ease.  His sonic receptors can receive, isolate and record sounds up to 1000 metres away, making him a vital cog in Megatron's efforts.  He is frequently sent to sites of Autobot activity in order to spy, reporting a wealth of intelligence regarding the hated enemies of the Decepticons.
Weaknesses: Trashcan is unfortunately the only Decepticon with a germ phobia, which leads to inevitable problems when humans dump waste into him at regular intervals.  After a particularly nasty experience outside a pub after a half-price parma-and-pot night, Trashcan had an 'episode' and locked himself away in the deepest corner of the Decepticon base where he still sits, armed with a bottle of hospital strength Domestos and a scrubbing brush, scouring himself to the point of exhaustion if ever approached.
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Name: Infodump
Allegiance: Autobot
Function: Research and information retrieval
Alt mode: Laptop computer
Motto: "Damn you, Bill Gates!"
Abilities: In laptop computer mode, Infodump is able to hack into any WiFi network and download gigabytes of data at speeds faster than any Internet connection created by humans.  Furthermore, he is able to sift through those reams of information to isolate those bytes that contain information the Autobots can use to their advantage.
Weaknesses: While sorting through raw intelligence data found on the World Wide Web, Infodump became addicted to various social media, spending more time than is healthy monitoring his Twitter feed and playing Farmville on Facebook.  In an effort to curb his addictions, Autobot medic Ratchet attempted to install NetNanny software.  However, its function clashed with the most recent security update from Microsoft, causing Infodump to constantly circle in a never ending loop of error messages that no amount of ctrl-alt-del's can fix.
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Name: Broadcast
Allegiance: Autobot
Function: Communications
Alt mode: Record player
Motto: “Young people these days…”
Abilities: Broadcast is able to announce important information in any known frequency.  He uses this ability to communicate vital instructions and strategies to his teammates during battle, enabling them to stay organised.
Weaknesses: Despite the urgings of his teammates, Broadcast remains a steadfast technological troglodyte.  He refuses to update his aged alt mode to something more advanced.  He insists that “them new-fangled digital players are useless!  The good ol‘ 33⅓rpm records give a far better sound!”  He even resists Optimus Prime’s urgings to be a bit more discreet with his information delivery - as the Decepticons are just as able to hear his communications as the Autobots. This often renders him more of liability than a help.  Broadcast won’t have a bar of it.  Even Kup, the Autobots’ elder-statesman, dismisses Broadcast as a crotchety old bugger.
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Name: Sneaker
Allegiance: Autobot
Function: Spy
Alt mode: Electric car
Motto: "Gotcha!”
Abilities: Armed with engine block sound dampeners and impeccably lubricated joints and servos, Sneaker is able to move in virtual silence both in vehicle and robot mode.  Coupled with his ability to see all light frequencies and perceive even the faintest of light sources, he is literally able to see in the dark.  His relatively small size and double joints means he can fit himself into spaces too tight for most larger ‘bots.
Weaknesses: Sneaker’s ability to sneak around undetected means he has developed a penchant for practical jokes that constantly gets him into trouble with his Autobot superiors.  The Autobots tolerated the time he secured a remote control to Prowl’s police car mode lights, turning them on and off during mission briefings; they excused him for replacing Jazz’s entire Earth-music collection with the complete works of Celine Dion; they could not, however, forgive him for the now-infamous “hungry-robo-ferret-in-Optimus-Prime’s-exhaust-pipe” incident.  He has been confined to quarters ever since. 
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Name: Brainwave
Allegiance: Decepticon
Function: Psychological warfare
Alt mode: Ice cream van
Motto: "I just love pink fluffy unicorns dancing on rainbows!” *
Abilities: Brainwave is an empath, with the ability to detect and tune in to the very specific brainwave frequencies of any organism, giving him the ability to predict their every thought, often discerning their next move even before they make it.  This talent makes him an extremely dangerous foe in a fight, and Autobots will often give him a wide berth on the battlefield.
Weaknesses: Unfortunately for Brainwave, the first victim he used his abilities on after arriving on Earth was a four-year-old girl with a Care Bears obsession.  The experience was so injurious to his psyche that he found himself simply unable to hate the Autobots any longer.  For a while, he tried to exhort and cajole his Decepticon teammates around to his way of thinking, sometimes leaving them short notes of encouragement.  They were hoping he would snap out of it, warily accepting his decision to redecorate his quarters with rainbow murals.  Sadly, he met his end when he suggested that Starscream should “turn that frown upside down” and had his head blown off for his trouble.
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Sadly, you’ll find none of these treasures in the regular Transformers canon.  More’s the pity, really…
(An important note for those unfamiliar with Transformers lore, for the sake of clarity:  These characters are purely my invention.  I’ve copied a particular format - as stated - that may make it seem like I’m writing silly things about characters invented by others.  I am, in fact, writing silly things about characters that I’ve created that may very well fit into Transformers canon if it weren’t for the fact that they are, well… pretty silly.  It’s a parody of a fiction. OK?  Good.  Alright then, as you were...)

*You'll love them too... go to www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWM2joNb9NE and have your mind blown.

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Thursday, December 1, 2011

On Reminiscence


“I’ve these dreams of walking home
Home where it used to be
Everything is as it was
Frozen in front of me
Here I stand, six feet small
Romanticising years ago...”
~83’, by John Mayer
from this album “Room For Squares”, 2001
The house where I grew up was in a quiet corner of Dandenong, Victoria.  Actually, it was in essence a quiet corner of a quiet corner, which worked out just nicely for me.  I quite liked being tucked away, geographically speaking.  I’m not sure if Dandy West’s location informed the enjoyment I find in solitude or if it simply suited the way I already was.
The City of Greater Dandenong is quite the sprawling urban metropolis, one of the most multicultural areas in Melbourne.  It wasn't too much different in the 'eighties.  Dandy West is bordered by the Pakenham railway line in the south west, the Princes Highway to the north east, Potter Street in the east and, close to our home, the Dandenong Creek in the west.  Over the creek was Yarraman Park, itself a secluded corner of Noble Park.  Mum didn't get her license until I was in high school so it was a march to and from school in the morning.  I've driven that way since and been amazed at how much shorter the mammoth suburban blocks have become.  Even my alumnus, Dandenong West Primary School, seems less like the spacious sprawl it was in my youth.  I was recently shocked to hear that it schools less than three hundred students, as it did back in the day. It always seemed so busy to me.
My grade six class was located in a portable in the north east corner of the campus, and when my dear Mum worked at the local kindergarten, she would often be seen from the classroom window riding her bicycle along Birdwood Avenue, much to the amusement of the teacher.  He used to set us homework sheets during the year, one of which consisted of a map of the school.  Our task was to map out everywhere we walked in the school during the day with a dotted trail.  When I got the corrected page back it had an amendment: a swaggering, spiraling trail in red ink labelled "Mum's Bike".
He was quite the teacher, my grade six teacher.  A ruckman for the St Kilda reserves in the 'sixties (he was "The Flying Dutchman" long before Paul Vander Haar), he was an imposing figure in the schoolyard.  His favourite trick was to sneak up on misbehaving children, spin them around and holding them by the arms, silently lift them to all of his six-foot-four height and glare at them.  Fridays were his typical yard-duty days; they were also typically quiet.
High school felt very much like a graduation, the much larger campus of Dandenong High School (which proudly held on to the name ‘High School’ a long while after ‘Secondary College’ was in vogue) dwarfing the primary school not too far away.  A longer walk but still only a few kilometres from home.  The footbridge that crossed the Princes Highway linking Hemmings Park and the high school was narrow and high enough to make it a serious proposition for anyone afraid of heights.  Even though the sturdy rails would take quite a vault to clear, they were very easy to spit over at the traffic underneath.  Not that I ever did such a thing of course.
We lived pleasantly close to parkland and the scrub down near the Dandy Creek was a frequent haunt for my friends and me.  A friend's father fashioned crude (but heavy!) guns from metal scrap, and we delighted in patrolling our local area in our camo garb, as our favourite GI Joe characters.  The blackberry brambles that grew wild and untamed along the creek would be sprayed every year or so, so eating the blackberries was an unwise practice at least some of the time.  Unlike my friends, I disliked eating fruit and was relatively safe from whatever concoction with which they were doused.
Down near the footbridge that linked Dandy West from Yarraman Park, there was a path that ran alongside the unkempt horse paddocks to Fotheringham Reserve and the cricket oval therein.  It was at the oval that my mutt Scrappy used to run manically off her leash on our walks.  There was a steep rise on one side of the oval that lead to the rear of the factories, workshops and used car dealers along the Princes Highway.  From my high perch, I had a perfect view of the Pitch-and-Putt course off Heatherton Road, as well as the brambles and rabbit warrens along the creek.  Scrappy would chase the rabbits madly and unsuccessfully and, when she was spent, she would come and pant next to me.
Downstream and over the railway line was Greaves Reserve, where I used to go for football training.  It took me three long years of playing for the underperforming Dandenong West Blues, from under-elevens to under-thirteens, to realise I had no footballing talent whatsoever.  I got a game each week because I was diligent in my training, which is to say I turned up.  I was sadly scrawny and pathetically unskilled.  I did have one highlight, against the imposing Clayton Magpies.  Finding myself in space, I ran down the wing, received a kick and marked it without breaking stride.  I kept running my allotted distance (the flying Dutchman would have been so proud!) and kicked with all the might my chicken legs could muster into our forward line... and into the waiting arms of the only Clayton defender in space of his own.  They kicked about thirty-six goals that day.
Once a year, Greaves Reserve also held the Dandenong Show.  All of us Dandy West boys knew each and every break in the fence that separated the park from the railway line, so getting in free was a cinch.  Even when they mended the holes one year, there was always a passage through the drains that allowed the Dandenong Creek under Railway Parade and the railway line itself.  Right in the middle of the drain was a little scary, always pitch black with a perfect circle of light at each end.  
For several years, my Dad would mow lines in the primary school oval at show time and sell off the space as parking.  Made a killing for school fundraising.
From age eleven (I was apparently a mature eleven!) I did a paper round for the local newsagent in Hemmings Street, just by the school.  I enjoyed the mostly solitary nature of the work, often before the sun rose, and I’m sure it has contributed to my inability to really have a good sleep in.  I think I was a pretty good paperboy, as I often made a killing in tips and gratuities each Christmas.
Things change.  Neighbourhoods shrink, people come and they go, buildings disappear and new ones spring up in their place.  Progress is progress.
Dandenong High retains its name but has now merged with Cleeland Secondary College and Doveton Secondary College to form some sort of über-school.
Fotheringham Reserve is much smaller now.  The Dandenong Creek is a concrete tube underneath the behemoth Eastlink tollway, three lanes of sleek bitumen in each direction.  The blackberries are no longer a problem.
Dandenong West Football Club has ditched the navy blue and adopted a red and blue similar to AFL side Melbourne and calls itself the Dandenong Demons.  I’ll bet anything they don’t even miss me at all.
My last boss at the newsagent, a quiet Greek gentleman, tragically died of a heart attack following an armed robbery at the shop in 2003.
Things change.  Our memories remain.
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