• An adequate mother,  To whom it concerns...

    Where’s My Murphy Brown?

      Last week as I wandered the streets looking for purpose, I overheard a woman and her friend bemoan the current state of television. ‘I miss family shows you know? Like, The Cosby Show and Hey Dad.’ Her friend nodded in agreement as if she too had been stuck down a mine shaft with her companion for the last three years… I watched as they continued on their way, no doubt going home to old VHS recordings of The Jimmy Savile and Rolf Harris Variety Hour while eating Subway sandwiches. Nostalgia can be a powerful thing. It makes us reflect on more ‘wholesome’ times, even if most of the time we…

  • Uncategorized

    I’ve dated a Trans Person. A lot of us have.

    ‘….our identity is a sum of our parts, not just one part in particular.’ I’m not Trans. I can’t speak to that experience. So I won’t. What I will speak with is the experience of someone who was once in a relationship with a Trans Man. Some people know about this, some people don’t. I always felt uncomfortable talking about my experience, thinking that in doing so I was revealing something that wasn’t mine to do, so much so that when I did a show about this particular relationship back in 2009 I didn’t mention it. I was really into prop comedy at the time anyway. I argued it wasn’t important…

  • Must see!

    ‘What is your story?’ – a much more rewarding question.

    When people ask me what my cultural background is I like to set them at ease by telling them I’m half second generation Australian. If you put the word Australian in there it makes them feel better like they could be friends with you. I bring this up because it’s something I’ve been thinking on since Australia Day and whether you celebrate it or not, I think we can all agree on the same thing, being Australian means different things to different people – like to racists it is a day to drape a flag over your car and drive around yelling out to people like myself to ‘go back…

  • Crap Relationships Disclaimer

    She’s one crazy broad

    It was a late night. I was at a bar. It was crowded. It was full of familiar faces; yes it was the sort of place where everyone knew your name. I didn’t care though. I was drunk. A drunkard. A lush is what we might have called me that night in that bar, back in the day. There was a time I knew her by sight, now I knew her by name. The girl who’d been going round town saying things about me to people, telling them things she had no place to be telling them. Things about me and a boy of no particular consequence, but hey, like…