"Start spreading the news..."

Heads up, people - in less than two weeks  I'm on my way to New York NY, the city that never sleeps and I suspect never brushes its teeth or changes its nether-garments too frequently either.

For around 12-14 days, I will be glam-packing my way around Manhattan, New Jersey and Brooklyn, with a two-day side-trip to Pittsburgh/Bear Run PA for my Frank Lloyd Wright pilgrimage/nostalgia/childhood-obsession fix.

I will be variously accompanied by my 23-year old niece Iona Chef, my adopted son/baby bro Red Karpitz, his good friend Tiffany Lamp and assorted Aussie expatriates whose timing couldn't be better. It's like they knew I was coming.

Be prepared for pithy observations and pissy tirades. Stay tuned for some witty missives and dismissive wit. There may even be a photo or three.

Next dispatch - Pod 51, Midtown East end March.

DV Bucks the Trend - Part 2

Thanks to those of you who responded off-line to my recent post on alternative bucks' party ideas. Glad the suggestions flicked your proverbial switch. Before I sign off on the topic completely however, there's one last brainwave I'd like to share.

If a bucks' night is a sort of  'last hurrah'  for the groom to-be, a rite of mourning for his loss of freedom / privacy /autonomy (Code: stare at on-line porn and work through a box of kleenex without interruption), then what could be better than the groom's best man, his best mates and the groom himself getting together over a weekend and indulging in a spot of DIY? In short:

7. Build / create a man-cave for the groom.

Whether you erect a bungalow or shed in the backyard, reclaim a corner of the garage or take over a spare room in the house (with the bride-to-be's permission), getting together over a week or weekend to create a special blokes-only space for the soon-to-be hubby is surely the ultimate pre-wedding manly bonding session, yes? Think about it. It's got everything:

• Making an early-morning trek to Bunnings to buy materials and inhale a BBQ sausage / soggy bread /onion combo to soak up the breakfast beers to come - check
• Handling of power tools and drinking of beer - check
• Sanding and painting - doors, walls and floors - check
• Sourcing that perfect moosehead, marine fossil, 19th century phrenology skull-subject or stuffed Arctic bear online - check
• Decking the walls with ancient whaling nets and harpoons and drinking a beer - check
• Filling the drinks cart with every distilled concoction you can come up with - single and blended malt whiskies, Polish vodkas, home-brew etc - check
• Positioning and testing the recliner's full range of movement - check
• Rigging up a home entertainment system without causing a power outage in your neighborhood - check
• Plumbing and installing a urinal (you'll need it after all that beer)- check
• Kicking back and enjoying your handiwork with a beer when it's finished - check

For a full range of ideas and suggestions, visit http://www.mancavesite.org/ and http://www.houzz.com/. For that perfectly useless yet curiously manly curiosity to give the room some intellectual credibility go to http://www.wunderkammer.com.au

Save Our Cinema-going Experience

Veteran essayist Thomson’s thoughtful new book  is not just the story of traditional cinema; …he draws a fascinating parallel between the viewing experience of Edison’s nickelodeon, a single person watching a short film loop through a viewfinder, to the way we now watch YouTube-length clips on our computer screens, whether tablet- or smartphone-size… (Extract of Booklist review of David Thomson’s The Big Screen: the Story of the Movies).

Muddy K bought me a copy of the above-mentioned book a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t even run a cursory glance through it yet as I’m working through a list of other books acquired over the Summer break, but I know as confidently as I know that burgers are the new black, it’ll be a ripper read.

However, I wonder if Thommo  will examine the way the download /burn /steal /YouTube /smartphone generation  somehow invariably manages to ruin the shared cinema-going experience for the rest of us who actually know what constitutes appropriate conduct whilst in the company of others in a darkened movie-theatre.

Last night, Muddy and I tootled along to the Kino Cinemas  to watch Zero Dark Thirty. An otherwise excellent venue with a well-behaved crowd (even on Cheap-Arse Monday), we had the misfortune to sit next to a young man who kept removing his mobile phone from his pocket, tapping something into the keypad and shoving it back in his pocket every 10 minutes or so. The light from the phone’s display was bright, the clicks on the keypad just loud enough to notice and the elaborate removal and replacement of the phone from his pocket all combined to create a massive distraction. Nay, a fucking annoyance.

My glares in his direction had no effect. It wasn’t until Muddy leaned over me and said in his quietest and calmest voice “please stop doing that. It’s distracting”. To which the young man replied “what? I’m just checking the time”, to which I replied, “nope. You’re texting. This is not your lounge-room.” Luckily, he got the message and didn’t do it again for the rest of the film.

At the film’s close (and yes, Muddy and I are the sort of people who stick around until the very end of the credits) the young man turned to us and said rather petulantly “You didn’t have to shout at me. If you’d asked nicely I’d have stopped doing it. I was just checking the time.” To which I had no choice but to say, “clearly, the film wasn’t compelling enough for you.” His response: “It was shite”.

What this young man didn’t understand was:

1. Muddy was asking you nicely. That wasn’t ‘shouting’ my young friend, he just has an authoritative voice. Evidently, it works.
2. We shouldn’t have to ask you to stop fart-arsing around with your phone – texting is just like talking. This is a shared experience, so stop being inconsiderate.
3. If you’re not enjoying the film, absent yourself from it. Get up and wait for your friends outside. Don’t ruin it for the rest of us.

It’s impossible not to sound ‘generationist’ but I’m fast growing impatient with this younger cohort of cinema watchers. Please, please, please, please, please stay home and simultaneously watch your illegal downloads on your laptop in your PJs, wank, tweet, text, make an organic coffee and enjoy a cone or two and save the cinema for those of us who understand what the experience is all about.

DV Bucks the Trend in Bachelor Party Entertainment

Happy New Year thrillseekers! Apologies for my slackness, readers, but it’s been a busy last few months and my head hasn’t been in the blog space for some time. The start to 2013 has been chock-full of external distractions which have kept me away from my usual pop-culture related ruminations. I blame the warm weather and increased exercise.

My first post for the year is inspired by a recent email exchange with young Red K (who has relocated to the US since I last wrote) where he mentioned being invited to a new acquaintance’s bachelor party. I wasn’t surprised to discover the usual list of activities: golf, grog, guns and girlies au naturale. But I suppose the groom and his friends can be forgiven their predictable choices given their age range – 25-30.

But still, it got me thinking of all the cool things guys could do as part of the pre-wedding male-bonding ritual. Mind you, I’m thinking of my own (older) cohort of male friends, colleagues and acquaintances which is mostly aged 35-45 and comprises some single men, some separated men, some never married men, and I suspect some men who are a tad worldlier (and wealthier) than the average 20-something.

So I’ve come up with the following bucks’ night/weekend/week ideas for discerning (older) males. Try one, try two, try all of them. Apologies to non-Victorians/Australians for the parochialism of some of the suggestions.

1. Whisky Night - Dress up (minimum - wool suit, cotton shirt with French cuffs, perfectly knotted silk tie, clean and shiny shoes and a decent leather belt) and try an evening of whisk(e)y tasting, maybe with a spot of food matching. The Scotch Malt Whisky Society of Australia hosts events all over the country and lists them on its website. The Malt Whisky Society of Australia hosts blind tastings, including a whisky and chocolate matching night. If you think this is too rigid, or hyper-nerdy, and you don’t want to join any clubs, then the best man and the groom’s mates can organise one themselves and host it privately.
2. Manly Movie Night - Hire out a small cinema / theatrette to watch a 20th century classic on the big screen – something big and god-damn manly e.g 'Scarface', 'Point Blank', 'Apocalypse Now', 'Pulp Fiction' or 'The Godfather'. Chuck in some beer and fancy burgers.  
3. Game Sport Fishing: Marlin fishing in far north Queensland was one of the favourite pastimes of actor Lee Marvin, the goddamn manliest man in Hollywood’s history. Marlin Charter Fishing options are listed here. Ambition Gamefishing Charters organises all kinds of fishing trips out of Sydney harbour and Port Phillip Bay.
4. Archery lessons – If it was good enough for a fatty like Henry VIII and his buddies, anyone can do it. There’s fancy equipment, competition, a test of chest, shoulder and arm strength and a slight whiff of danger. Archery Australia can get you started.
5. Scuba dive – get qualified and do a wreck scuba dive at Queenscliff (discover HMAS Canberra) or extreme shark dive at the Melbourne Aquarium. Not for nervous nellies.
6. Deer Hunting – feeling a Christopher Walken or Robert De Niro moment coming on? Need to exorcise your Bambi demons? Dingley Dell Safaris in Cloverlea, Victoria offers guided deer hunting (two kinds of hunts) and ranch-style accommodation.  The Raptor Ridge Ranch in New South Wales is another option for would-be hunters.

Don’t rule out things that haven’t been done before or that may require a leap of imagination and some good organisational skills.

Book out the Old Melbourne Gaol for a night-vision-goggles-aided paintball skirmish or organise a giant human foosball match followed by a spit-roast barbecue and beer - the options are endless.

Free chutney - Ornet Coleman style condiment cooking goes off!

HBO TV's Homeland would have you believe that Jazz is the preferred musical genre of the disordered mind.

This is likely true.

However, I would like to take this particular theory one step further and say Jazz is also the preferred soundtrack of the disordered cook, the pantry improviser. Muddy has often referred to me as the Miles Davis of the stove, but last Saturday, I confess I was more Free Jazz than Be-bop. Ornet Coleman if you will. Improvising ingredients and quantities as I made a batch of tomato chutney for the first time.

Last month, friend and work colleague Slim Wheels presented me with a jar of home-made tomato chutney which he'd made from his nanna's recipe. It was delicious, on cheese and toast, grilled snags and steaks, and in bacon and egg wraps. Needless to say, it did not last long in Chez Karpitz-Venetian, and I found myself scraping out the last dregs of sweet 'n' tangy goodness from the jar in less than a week.

Which is why I enlisted Slim for an afternoon of Nanna's chutney cooking (and much imbibing of Pimms 'n' Dry Ginger Ale and good French bubbles) last Saturday.

Here is the recipe - Classic version:

Ingredients

• 1kg tomatoes
• 2 large apples
• 3/4 cup of currants - same sultanas
• 1 tbsp whole cloves
• 1 tbsp salt
• 1 pinch of cayenne pepper
• 3 cups brown vinegar
• 3 large onions, sliced
• 1 cup water
• 3 cups white sugar

Method

1. Peel and chop onions, remove skin from tomatoes, chop coarsely; peel, core and dice apples.
2. Put all ingredients into pan and stir over low heat until sugar has dissolved. Bring to boil, then simmer uncovered for 1.5-2 hours, or until thick
3. Turn into hot, sterilised jars and seal.
　
Here is the recipe - Free-Jazz redux. Sort-of double quantity...
2 kg tomatoes (chopped but not peeled)
5 small pink lady apples
1 1/2 cups sultanas
1tbsp whole cloves
3 bay leaves
1 tbsp hot chilli flakes
6 cups brown vinegar
5 small onions, peeled and roughly chopped
2 cups water
5 heaped cups white sugarMethod - as per Nanna Wheels' classic recipe above. Cooked for three hours then poured directly into hot sterilised jars and sealed instantly. Made 6 jars of varying sizes.

Enjoy with meats, cheese, on bread and roast vegies and Jazz - on vinyl please.

Awesome.

Putting the 'i' back into Gandolfini OR are Margaret and David lazy, senile or just plain dumb?

Did anyone else catch ABC TV's Movie Show (actually At the Movies) last night? If so, did you writhe around in agony on the couch every time Margaret and David referred to James Gandolfini, star of Andrew Dominik's new film Killing Them Softly, as James Gandolfin-o?

Do these twats actually expect to be taken fucking seriously?

How can we trust anything these geriatric fucksticks say, when they get something so fundamental well wrong? And it's not like he's some unknown either. The Sopranos, which made James Gandolfini a household name, ran for a goodly number of seasons, garnering awards, the adulation of millions and the love of critics up the wazoo.

He has also appeared in a slew of films both indie and mainstream (Get Shorty, In the Loop, 8mm, The Mexican, Night Falls on Manhattan, Where the Wild Things Are among others).

If Margaret and David don't know who he is, surely the grip, the the make-up and hair dolly, the production assistant and ass. director would know, and should have had the courage to pull these rusted-on ABC barnacles aside and whisper the following sweet-corrections in their aged and clueless ears:

"It's Gandolfin-i you daft cunts".

Learning to ride - smooth and silky and a little bit muddy.

Sad really, at age 41, to have to confess to not knowing how to ride a bike, but there it is people, my secret shame. My only experience on a two wheeled vehicle is the bike my sisters Slim and Musty bought me when I was six. It had cool handlebars and daggy training wheels. I rode it up and down the driveway all afternoon, only to have it confiscated by my over-protective and controlling mother that very evening.

Gone. Never to be seen, heard or spoken of again.

Musty believes the bike was given away to a neighbour. My only proof of its existence - a grainy black and white photo of a pig-tailed me posed on it on the concrete slab that was our back yard.

For years I have had a love-hate relationship with cyclists. On one hand, I resent their carefree spirit and lithe bodies and on the other hand I respect their nerves of steel and uber-fitness. I am also fascinated by the infinite variety of bikes on the road and have been known to share in the "fixies" vs "non-fixies" debate with more learned bike riders...

I've always wondered what it would be like to ride. And no, a spinning bike at the gym doesn't count.

It wasn't until quite recently, when Silky Karpitz (an uber-jock-chick since childhood) proposed we do a triathlon that I had to confess I didn't know how to ride a proper bike.

Several kind (and very shocked) people offered advice - Berber Recliner, for one, offered me his road bike (with cleats, whatever the fuck they are) and a how-to tutorial; Red Karpitz offered me his mountain bike. But it was Patton Karpitz who struck gold with his suggestion that I should try learning on one of those blue rental bikes. His reason: they're heavy and slow, designed for both genders and all levels - essentially built for safety and comfort, NOT performance.

Perfect for a neurotic newbie like me.

Silky jumped on the suggestion. Before I knew it, I was locked into a lesson at Albert Park Lake - the blue bike station at the Melbourne Sports and Aquatic Centre (MSAC) to be precise - on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Silky as teacher. Muddy as documenter. Red's trusty grey helmet for protection.

Muddy took care of the bike hire, helped me and Silky extricate our bikes from the racks, and then walk them onto the grassy spot next to the car park. Silky handed me a pair of riding gloves in case "you tumble off and scrape the shit out of your palms trying to break your fall."

People, if I was a little bit frightened before, I was positively terrified now.

And yet, and yet...

Before Silky could tell me what to do, I somehow hoiked myself up onto the seat, chucked my feet on the pedals, gave them a push and took off. I wobbled for a few seconds and thought I would topple, but some latent instinct or obscure muscle memory kept me upright and in motion.

And boy was I in motion.

“Keep pedalling fast to keep yourself steady!” shouted Silky. But there was no need for instruction. I was off riding my middle-aged heart out. For the next ten minutes I dodged and wove through the big trees, hugged the edges of the grassy knoll and even rode the little hills before coming to a stop next to a stunned Silky and Muddy.

It felt GREAT.

Silky took me out on the paths adjoining MSAC for a short ride, to practice braking, using the gears and ringing the bell. Then, much to my surprise, Muddy decided to join us on our little jaunt (after much prompting – that is, bullying - from Silky). He rented a helmet and a bike and off we went, a cheery threesome, riding single file around Albert Park Lake. The experience was wonderful. Liberating. Sunny, with just a light wind and minimal traffic on Lakeside Drive to navigate.

20 minutes later, breathless from the experience (but not the workout – those bikes are EASY) we were back at the stand, planning a short ride to our coffee and cake reward at Carousel. But they were shut. Buggers.

Nevertheless, we bade our daggy blue bikes a fond farewell and went to Republic on St Kilda beach for a coffee and restorative carbs and some back-slapping and high-fiving. Awse.

Triathlons are fine, but there’s a whole world out there that can only be explored on two wheels and I cannot wait to discover them.