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The Snow. - 6 Sep 2007

Thu, 06 Sep 2007 20:17:13 EST

I don't get the snow. It's cold, for one thing, and what is the one thing we are taught as proper Australian children? Cold is bad. If cold isn't bad, why does the rest of the county malign Melbourne for being damp and dreary? Cold is bad. My mother was frequently bemoaning the drafts creeping up her skirts and pantsuits. She paid almost evangelical attention to the arrangement of the draft extruder. Not that we called it a draft extruder. We were simple folk, and could not afford complicated turns of phrase that included triple-syllabled words like 'extruder'. Instead, we called it The Door Sausage. Classy, hey.

When I say simple folk, I should point out that we were what unkind people would call white trash. I like to think that toff and trash come in all the colours of the rainbow. Like Angelina Jolie's children. I distinctly remember a time when the gas was cut off, and my mother resorted to using a wood-burning stove in the kitchen that I had previously imagined to be decorative.

My mother's obsession with the perceived nastiness of The Cold is, most likely, why I am predisposed to hate the snow. Why would you want to go somewhere that it is so chilly that the water nestling in the clouds freezes, becomes too heavy for the clouds to hold up anymore, and falls to the earth? It's pretty, I'll give you that, but it is, well, cold. And wet. If you fall over, generally wet coldness gets into your clothes. No matter how well insulated you are, cold frozen things get inside your clothes, melt, and become wet coldness. Inside your clothes. The thought is so horrific, the only thing that comes close is the policeman in the that seventies horror film, “When A Stranger Calls,” saying ‘The calls are coming from inside the house!’

There is, of course, no such thing as the personal door sausage, protecting you from the cold at all times, so I would rather not subject myself to the risk of it getting at me. As well as that, there are the alleged leisure activities associated with the snow. As far as I can tell, these involve hurtling down the side of a mountain. Some people, it seems, are not impressed with gravity, and the speed with which she drags things from a great height down into her crushing bosom, so they help her out. By standing on sticks. For some reason, which I would know if I hadn’t decided that year 11 physics class was the one best spent shoplifting LEGO, standing on flat sticks helps you plunge toward oblivion so much faster than simply falling.

I have attempted both skiing and snowboarding, and neither of them hold any great interest for me. Perhaps I’m not an adrenaline junkie, like all the other people who go to all the extreme and sweaty effort of clambering up to the top of a mountain, only to hurl themselves off it again. Either that, or I get all the adrenaline I need standing in front of three hen’s nights, four buck’s parties and a pack of drunk bogans at a comedy club, talking about how I think Bindi Irwin looks like a botched animatronic. Also, I am not entirely comfortable with the idea that, when zipping downhill on a slippery stick, I am frequently forced into using my face as a braking mechanism.

Having decided the snow is not for me, you can imagine how delighted I was to be invited to the top of a mountain this year, not once, but twice. Plus, before you can say “RSVP,” I was informed that, while nothing at my place of business is compulsory, I would be ‘letting the team down’ if I didn’t attend. Being the joyous team player that I am, I rolled my eyes and resigned myself to my fate. The first weekend wasn’t so bad. I discovered that there was Gluehwein* in abundance, and I discovered the delights of the Ice Bar. At Mt Buller last year, I was invited to the opening of the Ice Bar, where I slammed down a shot of something blue, before retreating to the indoors and Poon*. This year, however, having decided I would never again attempt to stand on slippery sticks, I took myself off to the Ice Bar and had a beer. It is amazing. You rug up in lots of protective clothing, plonk yourself on a bar stool, and drink beer. That never gets warm. It is a miracle of thermodynamics, which, again, I would understand better if I hadn’t decided to eschew my physics class in order to sneak around Barkly Square shopping centre, filling my pockets with Danish toys.

With the thought of all these gastronomic and alcoholic delights in mind, I was very much looking forward to the following weekend atop Mt Hotham. Oh dear. What a mistake. Hotham, it seems, is all about the skiing and the boarding and other hurties pursuits. The sitting and drinking and having a fun old time was not in evidence. It all started well. Work had organised a stretch Hummer to take us to Essendon airport, where we boarded a private plane and flew to Hotham. Much more civilised than driving for a trillion hours. Then we got to something that claimed to be a hotel. It was a hostel, at best. Hideous dorm rooms with three or four beds per room. The view was of snow. Not delightful snow capped mountains, and glorious clean mountain air. No, just snow. Close up. Piled against barred windows. I felt like I was in some kind of science-fiction comic-book prison, high atop a mountain, buried under twenty feet of ice, to prevent the dangerous super-powered criminals from escaping.

The only thing that wasn’t escaping, however, was the smell. Urine, to be precise. Well, my floor smelled of urine. One floor smelled like fish. Another, like toilet lollies – you know those little yellow blocks you see in men’s urinals? Yeah. That smell… There was one floor that smelled of steak, but only from 6pm-9pm, then it went back to being the piss floor.

The rest of the weekend was like a comedy of errors. Just when I thought the tide of horror was about to turn to good, something else would go unspeakably wrong. The midnight fire alarm, evacuating me into the snow in my pyjamas. The bain-maire buffet where vegetables were not an option, because they weren’t offered. The ten minute lunch queue which ended with the discovery that the only alternative to chips that was available, was chips. Chips that left very little change from a ten dollar note, mind you. The karaoke night that was supposed to run itself, but didn’t, and I was the only person in the room who’d run a karaoke night. This turn of events did, however, offer me the opportunity to sing alternative lyrics to New York, New York.

I wanna wake up in a hotel that doesn’t stink.

There is, I’m sure, a moral to this story, but I have no idea what it is. There are, however, recipes. Now the cold weather has abandoned us, there is probably no need for these winter warmers, but feel free to make them anyway.

mwah
ad/.

Gluehwein

1 bottle red wine (cheap but not nasty)
1 cup sugar
1 cup freshly squeezed orange juice
1 tbsp orange rind
1 cinnamon stick
handful of cloves
Brandy

Put everything in a pot and gently heat. Don’t boil. Simmer for about an hour. Strain out the lumpy bits and let it sit somewhere for a couple of days. Reheat and serve in mugs, over a dash of brandy.

Poon

This is the best food ever. Like stodgy nachos. With the added bonus revolting innuendo as you describe how you are eating the poon.

Frozen oven chips (those beer battered ones are good)
Bacon (chopped into bits)
Cheese
Gravy

Cook the chips until they’re ready. Cover with bacon and cheese. Grill until cheese melts. Pour gravy on top. Push your face into it and devour.

Green Guide Spotlight - 17 Jul 2007

Tue, 17 Jul 2007 17:35:58 EST

Here is an article I wrote for the Green Guide in The Melbourne Age (Published Thursday, July 12, 2007)

Carrying a torch for the Doctor
Spotlight
Adam Richard

I used to think Doctor Who was gay. My people, the homosexual community, will frequently claim people to be gay for the most spurious of reasons, but I thought I had the Doctor pegged (so to speak). Despite the parade of scantily clad ladies traipsing around his Tardis, he never leaned in for a kiss. Also, I distinctly remember an episode in which the Brigadier got quite flustered watching a belly dancer, while the Doctor rolled his eyes in contempt. Proof enough, I thought, that Doctor Who was batting for my team. Well, until he went ga-ga over Billie Piper and pashed Madame de Pompadour last year. Next you'll be telling me Darth Vader isn't a transvestite. I was sure all that leather and cape-wearing meant his helmet was hiding eyelashes and lipstick.

When Doctor Who returned in 2005, Billie Piper eyelash fluttering aside, alternative sexuality managed to creep aboard the Tardis in the form of Captain Jack Harkness (John Barrowman), an omnisexual rogue time agent. Now Captain Jack's character has been spun-off into his own series, kind of like action-Frasier, and he reappears in the new sci-fi/horror/ fantasy series, Torchwood.

Torchwood begins by following plucky Welsh police constable Gwen Cooper (Eve Myles) as she investigates the investigators of the paranormal and extraterrestrial. Through her, we meet the mysterious Torchwood team, who lay claim to being "outside the government, beyond the police". Headed by Captain Jack, who has developed a fetish for dressing in World War II army gear, the team consists of the sulky ugly/sexy Owen (Bleak House's Burn Gorman), the nerdy/sexy Toshiko (Ab Fab's Naoko Mori) and the blandly sexy lanto (Gareth David-Lloyd).

They are all, in some way, sexy. The show tries desperately to be sexy. It's populated with sexy aliens that suck the life out of you; a purple smoke alien that makes you have sex until you explode; a sexy woman from the past who wants to have sex; and a Cyberwoman who seems not to have finished getting dressed before going on a killing spree. On top of all this alien sex, all the main characters experience at least one same-sex encounter before the end of the first series. (Oh yeah, nerdy pants here has seen them all).

Having discovered Torchwood through my love of Doctor Who, I found the visceral depiction of gory, violent horror to be a shock at first because nobody bleeds in Doctor Who. Having said that, nothing on-screen is any more or less confronting than the splatter in Heroes. The graphic violence is not all that differentiates Torchwood from its progenitor, however; it's the sex. Nobody ever had sex in the Tardis, but everybody has sex in Torchwood, almost all the time. It's a wonder they ever get around to investigating anything paranormal or extraterrestrial. Even with all the sex and violence, Torchwood is a lot of fun, if only because it is borrowing from some very fun sources, and not just Doctor Who. The city of Cardiff in Wales, where Torchwood is set, sits on a rift in time and space, and all sorts of oogly-boogly business falls through the rift into the middle of town, which is not unlike the town of Sunnydale in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, built on top of something known as The Hellmouth. The investigation into matters unknown harks back to '90s zeitgeist series The X-Files, except they've taken the sexual tension between Scully and Mulder and consummated it five ways.

Don't go into Torchwood expecting "grown-up Doctor Who". In some respects it is, but not grown-up enough. Torchwood is only on the cusp of adulthood. Like a 17-year-old, it's capable of inflicting pain and eliciting pleasure; it's just not exactly sure how.

As the series trundled along, the characters annoyed me, confused me and then began to charm me. By the end of 13 episodes, I was dreading their departure. I started the show in lust with the cheesy Captain Jack, but within weeks my attention turned to the brooding Owen. (How I became infatuated with the grotesque Mr Guppy from Bleak House, I'll never know.)

Torchwood is a bit of spooky sexy sci-fi fun. Like all British drama, it still has a bit of tongue lodged in its cheek, so it's not as overwrought as Supernatural or Lost Plus it features scads of girlon-girl action for the boys, boyon-boy action for the girls and boy-on-girl-on-purple-smokecreature action for the exhaust fans that might be watching.

• While Adam Richard is an employee of Channel Ten, he in no way feels compelled to be nice about it. He will tell you, until your eyes bleed, no doubt, how much he is loathing this year's ham-fisted attempt at Big Brother, and that no matter how pretty the boys on Supernatural are, he just can't bring himself to care about their allegedly scary plight.

Torchwood screens on Mondays at 9.4Opm on Ten. Doctor Who screens on Saturdays at 7.30pm on the ABC.

Harry Potter and the Odour of the Feetstink - 12 Jul 2007

Thu, 12 Jul 2007 15:54:40 EST

It's like I work at Mad Magazine with that crazy title. No, here is my review of the latest Harry Potter for those of you who may have missed it on Mix 94.5's The Big Couch (Fridays 4-7pm) in Perth or B105's Labrat, Camilla & Stav (Thursdays 6-9am) in Brisbane.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Rated M

It’s hard for me to be objective about Harry, because I absolutely love the books. To be honest, the first two movies were a bit dull, in fact I’ve never made it through The Chamber of Secrets without nodding off. Even when I watched it as an inhouse movie in a hotel room once at midday. Something about that giant snake always puts me to sleep. The last two, however, Prisoner of Azkaban and Goblet of Fire, were corkers. Fun rides that beautifully captured the spirit of the books.

Order of the Phoenix was the longest of the Harry Potter books, and it shows in this movie. They have tried to cram so much in, none of the scenes or characters get much room to breathe. If you are going to the movie just to see the book on the screen, you’ll be quite satisfied, but if you are expecting something of the calibre of what has gone before, you’ll be a bit disappointed.

So many of the great actors and characters from the series are given very short shrift – especially the delightful Rupert Grint as Ron Weasley, who has been such a centrepiece of the series. I was also disappointed that not much was done with the sublime Ralph Feinnes as the evil Voldemort. Perhaps his busy schedule in the Qantas toilet entertaining Hostitutes prevented him from being available for filming. Even the much publicised addition to the cast of Helena Bonham-Carter, barely gets more than six or seven minutes on screen. Other casualties of the rushed screenplay include Gary Oldman’s Sirius Black, Emma Thompson’s Professor Trelawney, Alan Rickman’s sinister Snape, and the superb Michael Gambon as Dumbledore.

What really caused me concern was director David Yates not having any room to maneuver. The skilled director of high quality BBC dramas State of Play and The Girl in the Café, had his hand forced by the needs of a 20 minute closing scene filmed in the IMAX 3D process, and the “tick all the boxes” script. What starts as a bleak and frightening film early on, ends up confusing and rushed. The ending, while spectacular in 3D on that gigantic IMAX screen, is so dark and murky, it's hard to tell what is happening much of the time.

The only shining light is Academy Award Nominee Imelda Staunton as the hateful Dolores Umbridge. All sweetness and light in her pink twin-sets, her girly giggle hides a heart of hatred and intolerance, and when the time comes for her inevitable come-uppance, you will cheer heartily. What might not make you cheer, however, is the level of scares. The opening scenes with the terrifying Dementors will scare adults, and little kids will almost definitely be horrified. It's rated M for a reason.

Then there is the kiss. It has been talked about frequently since it appeared in the book, and the chance to put it on the screen was always going to be an important moment. Amidst all the other frenetic moments in this edition of Potter, it just becomes another thing that happens. For all intents and purposes, this is a two hour trailer for a book. Afterward, I felt like I’d been reading a Cliff’s Notes primer for a book I needed to read before my exams.

Mix 3½/5 - B105 6½/10

The Scotch Egg - 5 Jul 2007

Thu, 05 Jul 2007 18:43:35 EST

Hello Chickens,

Quite clearly I am back from my trip overseas, and have been severely neglecting my blog.

For anyone that watches 9am with David and Kim, you'd know I'm in the middle of some sort of fitness challenge with 9am's resident personal trainer Craig Harper. One of his instructions was not to eat crap food. Specifically, he said no booze and no processed food. I nodded and smiled and pretended I would do what he said. Then I went to Manchester in the UK and that all went out the window.

Speaking of out the window, this was the lovely view from my room at the Manchester Gardens Hotel, right on Manchester Piccadilly. Grass growing on rubble in the rain has long been the kind of view I dreamt of for an overseas trip. I couldn't find any other kind of garden that fitted in with the hotel's description of itself, so I am assuming these piles of weed-covered rubbish are the Manchester Gardens in question.

Manchester has a famous gay strip, on Canal Street, immortalised in the series Queer as Folk. (People often vandalise the Canal Street sign, removing the C from Canal and sometimes the S from street - hilarious, I know). I popped down to one or two pubs and met various locals, who all sounded like camp members of the Coronation Street cast. Five pints of Kronenberg later, I wandered home, via the Spar (a 7-11 that sells liquor).

It was in the Spar that I made a severe gastronomic error. The Scotch Egg.

Made properly, the scotch egg is a truly wonderous thing. Tasty sausage mince wrapped around a hard-boiled egg, then crumbed. (Oh, and deep fried...) My friend Jennifer once made them for a Melbourne Cup picnic and they were divine. (She put anchovies in the mince, it was delicious, and I hate anchovies - she got the recipe from The Two Fat Ladies, it's down at the bottom). Scotch Eggs are eaten cold, and very portable in their crumby exoskeleton, so perfect picnic food

The scotch egg you find at the shops is an altogether different item. Generally they're branded by the outlet that sells them. Tescos the supermarket has their own kind of scotch egg, which is palatable. The Spar where I bought mine, has their own kind of scotch egg as well, as you can see.

This is the most peculiar part of my decision to eat the Spar brand Scotch Egg. You won't find me going anywhere near the Grilla Dog at the Quix, but the Scotch Egg entranced me in a way no other 4am food has before. I have to confess, I do eat the Hot Pizza Roll. You know those "Aussie Hero" things at the sev-ev that you cook in the bag. Kind of a bread roll with alleged ham and pizza topping. The only thing you can ever identify in there is the capsicum, because they have red and green, and after you've nuked the roll, the capsicum is still relatively crunchy. Considering the rest of the roll is near enough to liquid, the consistency of the tiny capsicum chunks is surprising.

Here is a confession I never thought I would make. I once subsisted on Hot *insert ingredient here* Rolls for a month. An entire month. Hot Chicken Roll, Hot Pizza Roll, Hot Beef Roll (not an inuendo, mind, though it should be), and the microwave burgers. It was 1994 and I was living in St Kilda on the dole. My flatmate at the time, Narelle, was working for what was then Shell Select, at their head office in Spring Street. She came home with a box of frozen Hot Thingy Rolls and Microburgers. I put them in the freezer, and proceeded to live on them. Solely. We didn't have a microwave, so I would preheat the oven, wrap the roll or burger in foil, and chow down after 15-20 minutes of defrosting and reheating. After about a week of these chiken-a-like and beefish rolls and peculiar burgers (one of them was a veal burger with tangy sauce, as if you can get veal at a convenience store) I started to exhibit some ill effects. Most notable of them was the colour and consistency of my shit. It was yellow. Not peanut butter brown that you call yellow if you see it in the toilet bowl, no I mean actually yellow. Like the label on that Scotch Egg there. Runny yellow shit. Like my arse was a pimple and pus was shooting out of it.

This is why I was not surprised when the grey meat and too-yellow yolk of the Spar Scotch Egg came screaming out of me the next morning, like that creature from Alien. It was helped along by the five pints of Kronenburg, a dodgy Gregg's Cheese and Onion Pie (more on that later) and a Cadbury Creme Egg bar. Oh yeah, in the UK you can get Creme Egg all year 'round, and it's in a bar! Like a Caramello bar, but Creme Eggy. They know how to eat over there, let me tell you...

Until next time, here is the recipe for proper scotch eggs. Try not to think of my exploding arse full of yellow shit when you eat them, or you won't enjoy it.

Two Fat Ladies' Scotch Eggs

Makes 8

25 min 10 min prep

10 large eggs
200 grams cooked ham
6 anchovy fillets
100 grams fresh breadcrumbs
1/2 teaspoon mixed spice
2 tbsp vegetable oil
2 tbsp butter or bacon fat

1. beat 2 of the eggs in a shallow bowl.
2. put other 8 eggs into saucepan of cold water and bring to the boil simmering for 5 minutes.
3. plunge into cold water and peel, this method will produce a slightly softer egg yolk but still hard boiled.
4. Finely chop ham and anchovies in processor.
5. combine this with the breadcrumbs, mixed spice some freshly ground black pepper and most of the beaten egg.
6. brush each boiled egg with the remaining beaten egg.
7. mould the ham mix aroung the eggs with your hands.
8. fry in oil and butter on a medium heat until brown all over.

Call Me Mister President Fabulous! - 1 Jun 2007

Fri, 01 Jun 2007 14:39:18 EST

An Open Letter From the President of Bent TV,
The Fabulous Adam Richard.

With Eddie having boned himself from the top job at Channel 9, I have
decided it is time for me to step up. I have accepted a generous
invitation from Bent TV to become their President, and am hoping that
within the next few months, I too will receive a thorough and welldeserved
boning.

My first duty as President of Bent TV is to commission a game show
for myself to host. Sticking to very strict Channel 31 budgets, the show
will be called 1 vs 4 and contestants will battle it out for a Twix.

I have taken on this role mainly because I would like people to refer to
me, in the future, as Mister President Fabulous. I also want to
encourage people to join Bent TV as well as volunteer their services,
but to be brutally honest, I’m in it for the title.

Long before I became “that annoying poof that’s always on the tv” I
did a lot of work for community television, both for Bent TV and
RMITV. Volunteering for community television is the most valuable
grounding you can have to work in the industry. It is a chance to make
all those mistakes that would ordinarily get you fired (hopefully so
you can learn from them). It is one of my greatest thrills to turn up to a
professional television production at a commercial television station,
and see people both on and off camera making a living at something
they once did voluntarily with passion and gusto.

Hopefully, as Mister President Fabulous I can help Bent TV develop
the exceptional talent required to work in the demanding field of
television. Producers, directors, camera operators, vision switchers,
floor managers, editors, presenters, makeup, lighting – Bent TV is an
inclusive environment staffed entirely by volunteers, all of them
working toward making the best television we can manage. (It’s
Channel 31 – we’re not promising miracles – but we’re also not
promising celebrity dog training…)

I am also hoping to attract sponsors to Bent TV – which is going to be a
big ask, because the only thing I ever seem to attract is lint.

I look forward to talking to you more from my President’s chair.
Although, I’m hoping to have a throne installed before I get boned.

Yours Sincerely,
Mister President Fabulous
Adam Richard.

Five Bucks Off Adam Richard X - 17 Apr 2007

Tue, 17 Apr 2007 17:57:16 EST

Hey, thanks everyone who has attended Adam Richard X so far, I've really been enjoying the show, and I hope it hasn't been too grotesque or cruel for anyone who's popped along. (I'm sure you wouldn't be too shy to say so - you can always get me through the email on this very page).

If you're looking at coming to the show in the next week or so (it closes on the 29th april) grab a discount voucher by clicking here. You'll have to print it off (print as many as you like) and bring it with you to the Comedy Festival Box Office at the Melbourne Town Hall on Collins Street (which is where the show is on, coincidentally...)

This discount is only for tickets purchased on the night, so you might be taking your chances on the weekends, when the show has been selling out. You can alway book ahead on a Tuesday night, when we have the Tightarse Tuesday Tickets. If you want to come Wednesday, Thursday or Sunday, you should be able to secure a seat with the discount voucher. (Don't forget Sunday is at 6pm - I nearly did!)

Cheers

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Adam Richard X - 3 Apr 2007

Tue, 03 Apr 2007 07:09:43 EST

Back to my Roots - 12 Mar 2007

Mon, 12 Mar 2007 11:01:20 EST

Just finished my first weekend in Adelaide, back on the standup stage. I've done precious little in the way of live comedy performance since I started working heavily in radio and television, and I miss it! Especially working a heaving festival like the Adelaide Fringe. I see all my friends and colleagues hawking their shows, inviting press and agents, courting the media, trying to get a job that will get them off the streets and away from the smoky, cramped clubs. Here, on the other side of that glittering fence, I crave those carefree days of waking up at the crack of noon, sauntering down the street and bumping into other comics, and discussing how healthy our houses are (not that they are ever healthy - we always bump up the figures and make it sound like we're on the verge of selling out, when we're still miles off making budget).

My fondness for the stage and the hectic lifestyle of a standup comedian, reminds me of the way we think of high school. When you're at school, you hate it. You want to get out, too desperate to become an adult and get on with your life. Everyone you meet tells you that you will look back at those high school days like they were the best of your lives, and you think they're insane. The crippling hormonal depression, the fear of never fitting in, the sexual confusion, the endless hours of seemingly pointless homework, how could any of that be the best days of your life? They are, however. You didn't have to care, mistakes weren't costly, you didn't pay rent, you didn't have a mortgage, you didn't have to be responsible, for anything. In comparison to the constant pressure of adult life, yes, those tortuous days of school were the best of your life.

That's how I feel about standup. For years, I lived hand to mouth, throwing everything at my standup shows, hoping that someday I would get some kind of cushy job in tv or radio, and it would all have been worth it. That cushy job isn't so cushy. I sleep about four hours a night, if I'm lucky. I work between 8 and 16 hours a day (one day last week, i did 20!) Nothing I do ever seems good enough, because I never seem to have the time. I long for the luxury of getting out of bed when I feel like it, wandering down to some pub or some cupboard in a town hall somewhere, and saying whatever I want for an hour, without the fear of a Program Director or Producer or Client having an issue with the malarkey that comes out of my mouth.

This isn't to say I don't enjoy my life now. I love my jobs. All of them. The level of fun is as extreme as the level of pressure. Every day I go to a job that is like spending three hours in the pub with good mates talking shit - how can that be a bad thing? It's just a lot of work. All the work you do to achieve success? You have to work that hard, every day, to maintain it. And even harder if you want more. Like that Twilight Zone episode with the genie, you have to be careful what you wish for, because you might get it.

If you want to see me revisiting those glorious days of reckless irresponsibility, come see one of my standup shows. You might hate it, but I'm having a ball! Fabulous Adam Richard has 4 more shows to go in Adelaide at the Belgian Beer Cafe, and Adam Richard X premieres at the Melbourne Town Hall during the Melbourne International Comedy Festival on the 5th April.

Adelaide Fringe - 1 Mar 2007

Thu, 01 Mar 2007 08:08:09 EST

Hey there, I'm coming to the 'laide next weekend. Please come along and see me at the Belgian Beer Cafe (details over at the right).

My tv show Celebrity Dog School (which is surprisingly light on for celebrities) has been moved from Sunday night to early Saturday evening. Like my delightful colleague Jo Stanley, I have been replaced by Futurama! There will be much dog school talk during "Fabulous Adam Richard" during this year's Adelaide Fringe and Melbourne International Comedy Festival.

I will be lurking around the streets of Adelaide with some 2 for 1 offers on Friday the 9th a Saturday 10th March, so rock on up, say hi, and get a cheap ticket (while available).

Have a good weekend chickens.

Mwah

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NASA Nappy Napper - 8 Feb 2007

Thu, 08 Feb 2007 11:37:21 EST

I'm sure we're all aware of the NASA Nappy Napper, the kidnapping astronaut who wore a nappy to prevent stopping for toilet breaks. (Toilet breaks are the number one reason people calm down from rage, statistics that I have just made up show).

This of course is not a new phenomena. Back in the sixties, there was that astronaut who had a middle eastern woman chained up in his house as a slave, and he insisted that she call him "Master." He made a complete fool of the psychiatrist assigned to assess him. His name was Major Anthony Nelson, and his colleague Major Roger Healy was also found to be complicit in the affair.

mwah

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Tagged - 5 Feb 2007

Mon, 05 Feb 2007 16:04:49 EST

I have been tagged. By some kind of meme thing. I think it is nerdy phenomena I should know about but don't. My friend donna was tagged by this seemingly irresistable form of viral infection, and didn't tag me, which I was a little bit jealous about. Not nerdy enough, I assume. Another of my friends has tagged me. From the other side of the world, and now I wish she hadn't. See how that whole be careful what you wish for thing works. Fahey Younger, who knows I cannot resist any kind of goading whatsoever, has tagged me, and now I sit before you with some kind of cyberherpes. I need digital valtrex. Or just a polite fingering.

Apparently, I am required to reveal 5 things about myself that nobody knows. Or six things. Donna says five, Fahey says six. It is probably five, because Donna is lazy and Fahey is a show-off. I will do six, however, because that is the way it has been done to me.

1/ My favourite word is fingering. I once said it to Toni Pearen. In the street. She squealed. Apparently fingering has not been used in common parlance since year 8. When I say fingering, you know I'm talking about playing the piano, don't you, not the Marty Sheargold kind of fingering which happens in a swimming pool. Don't ask me, it's his routine. (Ring him up and ask him, I dare you)

2/ I have an obsessive love for Doctor Who. It has gotten out of control. I watch the new ones, the old ones, listen to the audio plays, read the books (fiction and non-fiction) read the comic books, get the toys. I think Doctor Who was my father substitute as a child because I wasn't all that happy with the one I had.

3/ I am afraid of fire. Even little fires, like in a tealight candle. I'm scared they will come and get me. I also have an irrational fear of spontaneous human combustion. I had a weird dream last night that I was in a dodgy japanese horror film, where kids would draw symbols on their faces and say "I hope you catch on fire" to their parents, and they would. There were lots of flaming people diving in the water. I went to an undersea base where nobody knew the symbols, but there was a kid there who did, and he set me on fire, so I had to jump in the sea. (I was japanese and had black hair and looked not unlike Lei in Tekken or Jet Li).

4/ I once had a threesome by accident. I thought I was getting a lift home. Come and see my comedy festival show, I'll explain in more detail.

5/ I once studied writing, both at RMIT (Professional Writing and Editing) and at the London Cartoon Centre, where I was studying comic book writing - I wanted to write Spider-Man and Judge Dredd comics. I created a team of characters called Steele's Angels which consisted of 3 women. Banana - a Venezuelan gymnast and former Miss World who got done for drug cheating (she was genetically enhanced and produced far more adrenalin than was legal) Spliff - an eastend Londoner (from Jamaican parents) who could alter gases, even the air we breathe... and finally; Glitz, a super-strong flying drag queen who lost all of her powers if her wig or makeup came off. (Like Marilyn Manson, her real name is Bryan)

6/ I have never had sex with a woman. Not even once. I am a thoroughbred homo. I was like that kid on Ugly Betty. Camp little kid.

There you go. Now who can I tag? I don't know any bloggers. Higgo, maybe. Ummm... Malcolm. Kerrin, you're it. The Hammer! (I based comic book villains on Justin Hamilton, and myself. They are GaySkull and The Hammer - you don't want to know what their powers were, suffice it to say, at some point someone gets pounded into paste). Rin. and... Sexy John!

Okay, tagged back. Phew. This is more exhausting than scarecrow tiggy. I don't like all that bending down and running through legs unless I get a bone at the end. (I swear my dog wrote that...)

Fabulous Adam Richard Gossip Updates - 20 Jan 2007

Sat, 20 Jan 2007 13:18:37 EST

If you miss the show, or you don't live in Melbourne, you can get all the celebrity goss from my own human mouth, right here on the intenet. Just point your browser to fox.com.au/entertainment. It's all there.

Snoops! - 20 Jan 2007

Sat, 20 Jan 2007 12:48:18 EST

Hiya,

There is a new man in my life, you will be happy to know. His name is Snoops.

He's a 4yr old Staffy X that I adopted from the RSPCA (oh yeah, I'm fully the Angelina Jolie of the dog world - By the end of the year I want to have one in every colour, and then steal the hot husband off some whinger with a big nose).

He was burdened with the rather prosaic name of 'Snoopy,' but seeing as he's 4 already, I didn't want him to completely freak out, so I'm calling him Snoops, cos it sounds enough like the name he's been called for ages. I also call him Snoop Dawg and sometimes sing Snoop Doggy Dog to him, because he's a gangsta. I saw him pop a cap in the ass of a poodle at the park.

You may have seen the promos on Network Ten for Celebrity Dog School, based on the BBC program of the same name - well, now you know what kind of a dog Adam Richard has - a reject one he picked up an the animal equivalent of the op shop. He is so adorable, I want to squeeze him until his head comes off. (I am worried I might do that one day).

I'm hoping that this is just the first of many Celebrity School ideas. I think we should have Celebrity Driving School where Adriana Xenides and Mel Gibson have to try and get their licenses back; Celebrity Speech Therapy where Shannon Noll and Dipper learn how to speak english; and Celebrity Anger Management where Matthew Newton (allegedly) and Kramer from Seinfeld have electrodes attached to their genitals.

mwah
big air kisses
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Cyberspace Fabulette - 15 Jan 2007

Mon, 15 Jan 2007 04:13:15 EST

I promised you some juicy goss from the net, and here it is! My cyberspace fabulette has befriended the likes of Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, Lindsay Lohan and Hilary Duff. Becoming a 'myspace' friend of the stars is not as easy as it seems - they all have their accounts set to private, and they can spot an impostor miles away (which means my cyberspace fabulette's identity must be kept strictly in confidence).

The dirt they have dug up this week is juicy indeed! First up:
Lindsay Lohan posted the following comment on Paris Hilton's myspace page (appalling grammar is Lindsay's stock in trade).

Paris never leaves a stone unturned, and responded by posting a bulletin for all of myspace to read.

She's a polite girl. Such a delghtful vocabulary.

Next up are the comments posted on Hilary Duff's myspace page from Nicole Richie. Nicole is currently dating Joel Madden, who was formerly engaged to Hilary Duff. (Joel's brother Benji just proposed to Sophie Monk - the Madden boys are the tattooed and pierced members of Good Charlotte).

Good on you Nicole! Bragging about your new man to his ex-girlfriend. I bet she's not crying at all...

There it is kids, my cyberspace fabulette has hit paydirt. More as it comes to hand!

mwah

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New Year New Adventures - 12 Jan 2007

Fri, 12 Jan 2007 10:01:10 EST

Happy New Year Everybody!

I would also like to say a huge thankyou to all the people who wished me well on my recent birthday. (Mamma has crested the hill and is swiftly sliding toward 40).

A great big year coming this year. So much planned and so much happening, I don't know if I will be able to keep up with myself!

Starting this Monday, 15th January, I will be returning to the Matt and Jo Show on 101.9 Fox FM to bring you all the juiciest celebrity gossip. Those who listen to the show know that I have Fabulettes all over the world who update me regularly with what is going on in the world of showbiz and celebrity. I have just enrolled a new member into the Fabulette Corps, my very first Cyberspace Fabulette. Obviously, my sources all remain strictly anonymous, but my new contact has provided me with some of the most outrageous and scandalous gossip I have ever had the misfortune to hear. You are going to love it. I don't want to say that my new Fabulette has hacked into the personal emails of the rich and famous, because I don't want to get them into trouble. Be listening to 101.9 Fox FM from 6-9am Monday morning if you are in Melbourne, and if not, then point your browser to fox.com.au and start streaming!

My Comedy Festival Show this year promises to be the most extreme and extravagant yet. Last year, I made it into the Herald-Sun's "What's Hot and What's Not" column - right down the bottom in the what's not. Tickets for my new show 'Adam Richard X' are on sale now, and there is very limited seating available this year. I am doing more shows than last year, but in a smaller venue, so get in quick if you want to secure your seat! Tickets are on sale from Ticketmaster.

If you live in Adelaide, I will be making my way there in March for the Adelaide Fringe, details should be available any tick of the clock, and tickets will be available from Venue*Tix very soon.

Right, now I'm off to get myself a brand new dog.

MWAH!

be good and don't break anything,

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Diva Force - 11 Dec 2006

Mon, 11 Dec 2006 12:14:48 EST

May the Diva Force be with you!

It's the best Xmas gift you can buy this year.

Who doesn't love Young Divas?

There isn't a dud song on the album.

I have been listening to it for two straight weeks, and I'm still dancing.

I even have Young Divas as my ringtone.

DIVAFORCE!

myspace - 9 Dec 2006

Sat, 09 Dec 2006 19:47:44 EST

Hello Chickens.

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.

Enjoy!

beware the diva force!

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And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going - 8 Dec 2006

Fri, 08 Dec 2006 10:42:50 EST

Hello Chickens,

Well, it's time to crack out the Dreamgirls soundtrack, and belt out my favourite number.

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."

Mwah

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Pants Mouth - 2 Dec 2006

Sat, 02 Dec 2006 09:06:51 EST

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.

Announcement - 29 Nov 2006

Wed, 29 Nov 2006 09:02:13 EST

Hello Chickens,

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.

Cheers

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Belinda Emmett - 13 Nov 2006

Mon, 13 Nov 2006 04:45:05 EST

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.

Peter Andre and Busty Missus Destroy Disney - 17 Oct 2006

Tue, 17 Oct 2006 13:04:22 EST

Listen to Peter Andre and his lady wife, Jordan, perform a Disney song.

**WARNING**
Audio contains:
Strong coarse vocals
Untalented singing
Listener Discretion Advised

www.adamrichard.com

check out my spooky voice - 29 Sep 2006

Fri, 29 Sep 2006 10:23:53 EST

I sometimes record voice-overs for promos at the fox, doing my impression of the movie voice-over guy. You can't even tell it's me...

Matt and Jo Promo

Kyle and Jackie O Promo

crazy friday - 29 Sep 2006

Fri, 29 Sep 2006 08:57:47 EST

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!

mwah
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Mutton - 20 Sep 2006

Wed, 20 Sep 2006 06:54:09 EST

Oh dear. What is going on with Madonna's hair.

The woman has children who are going to be embarassed. Bless her.

Nude Idol - 18 Sep 2006

Mon, 18 Sep 2006 12:14:45 EST

Sorry - semi-nude idol (some people get so stinky about semantics).

Here are some delightful pictures of Dean Geyer from Australian Idol (the south african virgin christian). He's not nude. I repeat, NOT NUDE! Just a bit undressed. And slutty looking.

He's not my cup of tea - far too tiny and hairless, but good on him for being NOT NUDE in a calendar.

mwah

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ps - click on the calendar thumbnail to order a copy - geyer is third from the left, top row. NOT NUDE!

adamrichard.com

The Loaf! - 7 Sep 2006

Thu, 07 Sep 2006 11:26:22 EST

Hello Chickens,

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).

Be good, and don't break anything.
Mwah!
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Surij - 6 Sep 2006

Wed, 06 Sep 2006 12:13:07 EST

Hello Chickens!

Look! It exists - the alien baby. Looks suspiciously like Maddox Jolie-Pitt, if you ask me.

Celebrity Duets - 31 Aug 2006

Thu, 31 Aug 2006 11:55:39 EST

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.

Lucy Lawless (Xena) and Michael Bolton

Jai Rodriguez (the 5th wheel on Queer Eye) and Michelle Williams (Destiny's Child)

John Travolta Loves the Cock Pit - 31 Aug 2006

Thu, 31 Aug 2006 11:01:00 EST

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.

found myself on youtube - 10 Aug 2006

Thu, 10 Aug 2006 17:30:24 EST

Look, I found myself on YouTube. It's from Spicks and Specks.

If you haven't seen it, YouTube is great. Look out for the Darth Vader James Earl Jones sessions and the song with the guys on the treadmill.

mwah

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mamma made a movie - 8 Aug 2006

Tue, 08 Aug 2006 12:24:18 EST

Hey Chickens,

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.

mwah

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Things to Read - 30 Jun 2006

Fri, 30 Jun 2006 19:19:33 EST

Hello Chickens.

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.

Separated at Birth! - 25 Jun 2006

Sun, 25 Jun 2006 15:32:56 EST

Nicole Kidman hugging children at the hospital looks suspiciously like Faye Dunaway as Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest. No Wire Hangers!

Can't wait for Isabella to write her book...

Gossip Update - 25 Jun 2006

Sun, 25 Jun 2006 15:30:34 EST

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?

Queen of the Reef - 20 Jun 2006

Tue, 20 Jun 2006 16:30:49 EST

Hello Chickens!

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 me@adamrichard.com or to fabulous@fox.com.au, 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!

mwah
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Piloh Shitt - 7 Jun 2006

Wed, 07 Jun 2006 06:19:24 EST

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.

Fabulous - the Musical! - 21 Mar 2006

Tue, 21 Mar 2006 20:37:30 EST

Alright, so it's not a musical, but it is a comedy festival show!
FABULOUS!Adam Richard
8 Shows Only!
27th April - 7th May
RMIT Capitol Theatre133 Swanston Street(Opposite Melbourne Town Hall)
Bookings comedyfestival.com.auTicketmaster 1300 660 013

Festival of Gay - 8 Mar 2006

Wed, 08 Mar 2006 18:22:56 EST

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.

Be good, and don’t break anything.

Mwah!

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Callous - 28 Feb 2006

Tue, 28 Feb 2006 22:50:19 EST

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.*** mwah ad/.

ps - 20 Feb 2006

Mon, 20 Feb 2006 22:35:28 EST

last week my blog editor hated cut and paste, this week it hates carriage returns. i do apologise.

Pash Monster - 20 Feb 2006

Mon, 20 Feb 2006 22:18:27 EST

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 *** Mwah *** ad/.

Open Door Policy - 16 Feb 2006

Thu, 16 Feb 2006 08:18:22 EST

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.

Mwah
Be good.
Don't break anything.
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happy new blog - 15 Feb 2006

Wed, 15 Feb 2006 11:36:48 EST

Hey! New Year. New Job!

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.

2day.com.au 929.com.au b105.com.au fox.com.au safm.com.au

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!

Mwah!
Be good and don't break anything.
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Beaches - 20 Dec 2005

Tue, 20 Dec 2005 12:13:17 EST

Lord my head hurts. Holidays, it seems, are all about hangovers. I've had seventeen just this week. And it's only Tuesday!

Last night I had a Monday club reunion. Monday club was when a good friend of mine (who is a celebrity - all of my friends are famous, and if they aren't, they should be) and I would catch up with the pretense of watching Alias or Buffy or some other program. We'd have a bite to eat and a bottle of wine. Well, when I say "a" bottle of wine, I mean 6. This was back when I was working at Triple J and it still continued last year when I was working at Fox FM for about five minutes a day. This year, Monday club has gone by the wayside. One of the hideous realities of breakfast radio is that you have dinner at 4pm. It's bizarre, I know, but it's what I do. So last night was the mother of all Monday Clubs, and we did a full twelve months worth of drinking. We emptied several bottles of wine, and like gin-drenched aunts at a family xmas do, we got a bit emotional and needed hugs. It was glorious. It's the best way to start the week, nobody notices if you are a bit slack on a Tuesday, trust me... I just got back from Lorne. Stayed at the Cumberland Lorne Resort. (That's the view from my balcony - I took that photo with my phone) It was bliss. Although I am still fetching sand from my various nooks and crannies. I had a visit for a couple of days from Cabaret Star Wes Snelling. I bought a big hat for the ocassion so I could be Hilary Whitney and lie on the beach dying of a bizarre ailment, while he as C.C. Bloom fetched things for me. Wes soon tired of the phrase "C.C. - Hilary wants you to..." and the various demands that followed. He had to do what he was told, however, because Hilary is very sick and needs help. When at the beach, homosexuals must always play Beaches. I'd hate to think what the people of Lorne thought was going on when two loud corpulent poofs were flouncing around under the mistaken belief they were Barbara Hershey and Bette Midler. If, like many people, you are wondering what happened to the child, C.C. told Whitney she buried her in the sand. She stuck the straw from her milkshake in so the thing could have some air, though. C.C. is a deeply feeling person, she feels things. Deeply.
Have a Merry Xmas everyone. And a happy new year. I'd love to write another fablog entry before that all happens, but you know how slack I am when I'm working. Imagine how shit I am when I'm on holidays?mwah,ad/.

Headline of the Week - 13 Oct 2005

Thu, 13 Oct 2005 20:17:33 EST

You gotta love a reputable New York newspaper that prints an article like this.

If you want to read it, it's here.

Macaroni and Cheese - 7 Oct 2005

Fri, 07 Oct 2005 11:11:37 EST

Last night I made my favourite dinner - what my friend Troy refers to as Heart Attack on a Plate. Macaroni and Cheese. I know what you're thinking, it comes in a box and is microwave madness. Not so! Mine is from a cookbook I inherited from my mother, the Women's Weekly Original Cookbook, not to be confused with the Women's Weekly New Cookbook. For simplicity's sake, I call them the old and new testament. My sister Michelle and I sometimes refer to them as our heirlooms.

They're from the 70's and they're spectacular. Completely out of print, mind you. You can probably get one on ebay or an op-shop. It was the Stephanie Alexander of the 70's. There is a recipe for "How to host a Cheese and Wine Night" which basically says, buy some cheese and wine and put it on the table. There is also a spectacularly lurid photo of some canapes - Ritz biscuits with bits of meat and traffic light cocktail onions on them. If the appetising bucket of boiled meat on the cover isn't enough to entice you in, let me tell you that there are some gems from the golden age of cookery hiding within - a lot of pineapple rings. The new testament, which has a red cover, has some full three course meals and how to cook them. No rocket lettuce or stir fry here my friends, everything is cooked in three inches of butter.

The Macaroni Cheese recipe is a delight. Not only does it have mustard and worcesteshire in it, but a can of tomato soup! It looks positively radioactive when it comes out of the oven, but my lord, the flavours! You will burst. And it's great cold. Here it is, as I remember it (I rarely look at the recipe anymore).

Make macaroni - you know, boil water, boil mac, rinse, drain, blah. If you can't manage that, ring a pizza for frig's sake. In a big saucepan, melt 90g butter (which is just under two of the little marks on the side of the wrapper). Remove from heat and stir in dry ingredients (dry mix: 1/2 cup flour, teaspoon dry mustard powder, 1/2 teaspoon sweet paprika, salt, pepper). Cook 1 minute. Add 1 cup milk gradually. Stir until sauce boils and thickens. Fry lightly chopped onion (1), capsicum (1) and bacon (3-4 rashers, about 125g) then add to sauce. Mix well. Add 185g grated cheddar and 1/2 can tomato soup (small can!). Gently heat sauce, do not boil. Add 1/2 teaspoon worcestishire sauce and cooked mac. Pop it in a casserole dish and shove it in a preheated oven - 180celsius - for 25-30 minutes. For the topping, sprinkle any of the following: more grated cheddar, grated cheddar and parmesan, or my favourite, a tablespoon of melted butter mixed with a tablespoon of breadcrumbs.

Eat and don't think about the butter.

Teri Hatcher - Sore Loser - 22 Sep 2005

Thu, 22 Sep 2005 06:04:23 EST

Apparently Teri Hatcher refused to have her photo taken with the Emmy Award she didn't win. What a mole.

Holidays - 12 Sep 2005

Mon, 12 Sep 2005 12:40:57 EST

Hey Kids! Mamma's on holiday in Sydney. The sun is shining, so I'm hiding indoors typing.

If you really miss shouty poof, you can still hear me with Becko after 1pm with the One O'clock One Hit Wonders. How do I manage to do it, even when I'm on holiday? Expensive technology, and a commitment that many of my peers lack. Just don't ask why I still have a blocked nose on Friday.

The Glamorous Life keeps rolling along (preferably the Mr Timothy and Inaya Day version, I'm not so sold on Melissa Tkautz and her $15 for three songs at a gay nightclub version...) I'm going to movie premieres, tv show tapings, the casino, the theatre - and I get to stay up late and drink all the free champagne! It's non-stop fun in a bun. Although I do still have this snot problem, and zitzilla on my forehead. The beaty of radio is, zitzilla is no hindrance, and I can still be fabulous wearing tracksuit pants and ugg boots. Nobody knows.

Damn zitzilla!

Okay, I'm off to the sunshine and the funshine now. Have a great day girls!

mwah!

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Putting the Super in the Man - 8 Sep 2005

Thu, 08 Sep 2005 06:02:10 EST

Oh my god. What a breathtaking photo. If you can see where I'm looking. I have such a dirty mind...

Funniest person in the world. - 6 Sep 2005

Tue, 06 Sep 2005 14:52:21 EST

The real me, the at home away from the microphone and the spotlight me, has a very different sense of humour to the 'fabulous' Adam Richard. I'm more the dark and nasty Adam Richard when I'm alone with friends. There is one person in my life who makes me laugh more than anybody else in the world. In fact, I have gone on record a number of times saying that she is 20 times funnier than I am. She does her funniest work sitting on the couch, flipping through the new or the day, or watching the channel ten news. (I don't know why first at five is so much more mockable than the others - perhaps it's all the padding. in Sydney, Ten News has a helicopter that does a traffic report. Surely, if you're at home watching the news, you don't give two shits about the traffic?)

For privacy's sake, and because she may not want to be associated with the following comment, I am going to call her "Bunny." If you've met her, you know the casual way in which she would have said the most hysterical thing I've heard this week. It concerns the photo of Jessica Simpson below, captured at the MTV VMA white carpet in Miami.

"She looks like she's gone to a fancy dress party dressed as a French Maid and been gang raped."

Let the evil email flow. Bunny has spoken.

Tom Cruise is a Crossie! - 4 Sep 2005

Sun, 04 Sep 2005 19:03:27 EST

What a scandalous headline. I've been away from this blog so long I thought it best to come back swinging. I saw some frightening pictures of Tom Cruise cross dressing in Holy Moly! (a fantastic website if you like the seedier side of celebrity life, and my favourite c-word being bandied about with abandon). They have links to these outrageous pictures of Tom Cruise, dressed as a woman. Now, I know he's all of ten or something, but that's where it starts. I'm not saying he still does it, dress up as a pretty ladyman, but why does he own a million dollars of jewellery?

Look, I'm sure he's not gay, because a gay man would never dare stand on Oprah's yellow leather couch - how does he know whether she's scotchguarded it or not? And in shoes? I don't care how excited he is about his publicity marriage to Joey from Dawson's, you take your shoes off if you are going to stand on furniture - especially if you are a visitor! I'm ruling out gay, but I'm not ruling out pretty dress ups. And if the girls he dates are bigger than him, then their lovely frocks should fit just right around his little manly chest. He may need to take the hems up a little, he is after all a hobbit.

Fabulous Holiday - 24 Jun 2005

Fri, 24 Jun 2005 14:09:50 EST

How do you take a holiday off from being fabulous? It’s not as difficult as you might imagine. Sure, Tuesday night I ended up drunk at drag karaoke with Logie Winner Kimberly Cooper and Bachelor of the Year Andrew G, but that was in Sydney – it’s par for the course there.

The rest of the time I’ve been sitting at home on the couch trying to be as non-fab as possible. On Monday I watched every single episode of the new Doctor Who series back to back. All 13 of them. I’ve been to the cinema to see Batman Begins, twice. Alright once to the Melbourne Premiere (which is a little bit fabulous, I admit – and I got to see Ricki-Lee! I love her!) and once in Gold Class in Sydney with Kim Cooper, which was also a bit fabulous. (When Kim was Gypsy on Home and Away, she beat Rebecca Cartwright at the Logies).

I’ve been squatting on the internet like a chicken trying to hatch an egg. Catching up with my depressing British soap operas (Corrie and ‘Stenders). Reading comic books. Eating whole sticks of cabana and pickled onions from the jar.

It’s difficult being fabulous 24/7. Even asleep I’m fabulous, thanks to my Peter Alexander pyjamas (which he gave to me personally). For my entire holidays I’ve been sleeping on flannelette sheets. They’ll have to go back to the Egyptian cotton when I start back at work Monday.

Being fabulous takes its toll. Thank god I can go back to being a fageek slob for a couple of weeks here and there.

Links:
Spin Cycle Saturdays at The Commercial in Yarraville

Review: Batman Begins - 16 Jun 2005

Thu, 16 Jun 2005 19:08:18 EST

Review: Batman Begins.

Before I even begin to tell you about this movie, I have to disclose some information. Information beyond the fact that the film’s distributor, Village Roadshow, is the majority shareholder in the company I work for. (The hand that signs the cheque has never influenced my opinion on a movie, however – if you had heard my review of Catwoman, last year, you would know exactly what I mean).

No, I need to tell you that I am a nerd. That’s right, Adam Richard: huge, comic-book loving, Batman-purist nerd. Self-confessed fageek. Does that mean I will be more or less harsh on a Batman movie? It didn’t stop me from hating Catwoman. Or Daredevil. It does mean I will lose my tiny mind over X-Men or Spiderman when they’re done right. (I gave Spiderman 2 a rating of 6 out of 5 – possibly due to the fact that the screenplay was by Alvin Sargent*)

The last four Batman films, I don’t really want to discuss. Tim Burton was great and made Batman in his own twisted image, Joel Schumacher was not. Although, in Schumacher’s defence, I am starting to love Batman and Robin more and more these days. It is fast becoming one of my Helluloid Classics – right up there with Showgirls and Glitter.

The first remarkable thing about Batman Begins is the cast. The big names go on and on and on. They’re not just famous either, they are some of the finest, and much awarded, names on the planet. Christian Bale, Morgan Freeman, Michael Caine, Gary Oldman, Liam Neeson. There were even a few surprises, like Linus Roache, Rutger Hauer and the always superb Tom Wilkinson. Cillian Murphy is chilling as The Scarecrow, and poor Katie Holmes ends up the weak link in the chain – which would not have been the case were she surrounded by other Dawson’s refugees.

The performances are uniformly excellent, even Gary Oldman – a man with the ability to chew scenery from the wings, turns in a restrained and sedate performance as the man who is to become Commissioner Gordon. The direction, by Christopher Nolan (Memento, Insomnia) is controlled and grounded in reality – like a gritty crime drama from the seventies. After all the CGI malarkey that is infesting our screens of late, it is nice to see a movie that could be The French Connection with capes.

This is Batman for grown-ups, for the now-adult fans of the grim Frank Miller noir-style comic books of the late eighties. It is believable and exciting and everything a comic nerd could hope for. As good as Sam Raimi’s Spiderman and Bryan Singer’s X-Men, but without the whimsy that blurs the edges of those films.

The FAB-O-METER was twisted by the dark psychology of Batman Begins. 7 out of 5. (well, it was better than Spiderman 2…)

*Alvin Sargent wrote the screenplay to the Robert Redford directed Ordinary People, one of my favourite movies of all time, and not just because it stars Mary Tyler Moore, but that did help a lot.

Review: Mr & Mrs Smith - 11 Jun 2005

Sat, 11 Jun 2005 10:47:59 EST

Can any film hope to live up to the hype that surrounds Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie and their “relationship?” The answer is no. Look at the disasters spawned by tabloid fodder – Affleck and Lopez in Gigli, Cruise and Cruz in Vanilla Sky, Cruise and Kidman in Eyes Wide Shut, Ryan and Crowe in Proof of Life. (I would add Madonna and Guy Richie for Swept Away, Madonna and Warren Beatty for Dick Tracy, or Madonna and Sean Penn for Shanghai Surprise, but I think they had more to do with Madonna’s painfully incompetent acting than her relationships with her co-stars/directors). This isn’t even a new phenomenon. There are disasters starring couples like Elizabeth Taylor & Richard Burton, Kim Basinger & Alec Baldwin, Corey Feldman & Corey Haim… To be honest, I can’t wait until Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore decide to join forces and create something so offensively disastrous, it completely rehabilitates our sensibilities, to the point where we think Mariah Carey in Glitter is high art.“Mr. & Mrs. Smith,” however, is not a bad film. It certainly doesn’t reach the heights of “Dead Man Walking” (Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins) or “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” (Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton), but it is a disposable piece of popcorn cinema.Brad and Ange are hired killers, who meet while on the job in some dodgy South American nation. They spend the next five or six years in total oblivion of each other’s true nature. She thinks he works in construction, he thinks she works in IT. That is where the hyper-reality starts: as if someone that looks like Angelina Jolie would ever stoop to crawling around under desks fiddling with USB cables.The movie goes on to become the kind of guns and explosions action romp that I always find incredibly satisfying. It is not so dissimilar to James Cameron’s True Lies, or a domestic James Bond. There is a worrying subtext about domestic violence, and the age-old notion that a good fight ends in good make-up sex. The most exciting part of the movie however is not the bang-bang of guns or bodies, it is Brad and Angelina themselves. They are both so beautiful and compelling on screen, you don’t really care much about what is going on around them. As well as being drool-inducing divine specimens of humanity, Pitt and Jolie are both highly skilled performers, creating a fascinating couple, whose relationship is atrophying around the web of lies woven to keep the other safe from their dangerous careers. The passion has gone out of their marriage, and the thinly disguised growing contempt they have for each other is a palpable presence in the film. What is less evident is the passion itself. They are magnificent in a fight scene, but it is far more difficult to believe that they have any kind of desire for one another. Given how deliciously sexy they are, you would think that to be the easy part of making this movie…Mr. & Mrs. Smith is a good fun night at the movies if you like either of these performers, or you like a bit of mindless action. The big fight scenes take place in hilariously domestic settings; a shootout in a suburban home, a military insurgence into a homewares store, and a car chase in a Tarago. It’s fun if you like that kind of thing, but don’t go for the love story. You’ll be let down.The FAB-O-METER swung both ways for Mr. & Mrs. Smith. 3.7/5

monday catchup - 6 Jun 2005

Mon, 06 Jun 2005 22:01:28 EST

What a busy time I've had. Let's catch up shall we?

First off, I spoke to Delta Goodrem on the phone last week, and she assures me that Brian McFadden did not say those hideous things about Madonna. Well, that's what he told her. She was almost as upset as I was! I may have said something to her about the songs on her album being dour, but I meant it in a nice way. Soon as I work out how to podcast my own malarkey on here, I will give you the unexpurgated interview. You can hear it Tuesday morning on Fox in Melbourne, and this weekend all over the country on Australian First - check your local station for the time.

Had my special fabulette screening of Mr & Mrs Smith at the Gold Class at Crown on Thursday. Thanks to everyone at Village Cinemas, 20th Century Fox and Fox 101.9 for pulling it together. Loved the movie. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. So hot. And guns. And explosions. And dancing. Detailed review to come.

Saw some sneak scenes from Fantastic Four this afternoon. Looks amazing - I only hope it's as much silly fun as the comic book. I've been re-reading my the old John Byrne issues. I bought them in trade paperback, because my old ones are hilarous old black and white Australian reprints from the eighties. They've been massacred somewhat - I used to cut out panels and make birthday cards out of them. I would colour them in and everything. I am truly nerdy Tonia Toddman.

Speaking of the Toddman, if you want to see what kind of crazy craft I get up to when I've had a champagne or fifty, head over to my friend Adam's blog at The Merkin. There is a delightful photo of me doing creative things with sticky tape. I am the bastard love child of Martha Stewart and Chopper Read. I caught up with Adam on Saturday night at Spin Cycle, a new night at The Commercial in Yarraville, where I had an absolute ball. It's on every Saturday until late, with the divine Mz. Kung making the dancefloor heave like a bouncey castle full of kids on Ritalin. My favourite tracks from the night were a revisitation of Superfly Guy by S-Express, and The Captain and Tenille, whose love has truly kept them together.

mwah

big air kisses

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Sacrilege - 16 May 2005

Mon, 16 May 2005 10:17:19 EST

People keep harassing me about the spelling of the word sacrilege in the Brian McFadden FabWah entry. I, more than anyone, am a stickler for spelling and grammar, especially on the internet, where there are no editors or proofreaders. I do realise that the word has been misspelt, and I was contemplating correcting it, but I think bad spelling lends verisimilitude to the faux-religious fervour of the piece. Have you ever looked at a religious anti-gay site? It's like the love of the lord precludes the use of a spellchecker.

Here is a particularly hilarious jesus freak. He loves jesus so much, he thinks he is jesus! There are some particularly disturbing sections with evil photos. Showing you explicit sex and bondage, and then explaining why it's evil...

http://tedjesuschristgod.org/

Then there is the deliberately hilarious...

http://www.after-hourz.net/spoof/faggots.html

FabWah! McFadden Must Die! - 13 May 2005

Fri, 13 May 2005 20:47:16 EST

Delta Goodrem's hideous boyfriend, Brian McFadden (formerly "The Fat One From Westlife") must be taken to task by any self-respecting homosexual man.

Like the Fatwah placed upon Salman Rushdie, who offended Islam with his statements about Allah in 'The Satanic Verses,' we must enact a similar religious vendetta, which I am calling a FabWah.

Brian, who I used to like because he thought I was funny on Rove Live, must now suffer a severe slapping, or at least some unkind comments to his face about his limp hair. He has trespassed where only Elton dare tread, but unlike Elton, he has neither the clout of the fabulous, nor the history of ability.

The following statements are attributed to Brian McFadden in reference to Madonna, the Patron Saint of Homosexual Dancing (and Dire Acting): "People are saying Madonna makes great music, it's really rubbish. She doesn't have a good voice and she is boring. Just because she's Madonna everybody says 'brilliant' and 'genius'. I don't think she's ever been a good musician, I don't know what she's got. Maybe it's because she's been naked in some movies and excited a lot of men."

SACRELIGE!

The man must be made to pay for his crimes against our deity. Even if you do not love Madonna, you must be mindful of her impact in the greater community of gay men.

It is in this spirit that I implore you, take this FabWah and use it as indemnity against any act of spitting, biting, disdainful glance or deliberately loud derogatory comments within earshot. Brian McFadden must not be allowed to make these outrageous and inflammatory statements without reprisal. What would he know about music anyway? With his boring cut-price Brian Adams pastiche noise. And his dull girlfriend with the piano and the year ten poetry lyrics.

This is all I will say on the matter, Brian McFadden. Retract your statments immediately, or feel the wrath of homosexuality - there is no corner in which you can hide!