If you can hold on, hold on.

It’s tough being disappointed at your first shot at something meaningful.

Today it’s all too common to hear people going on about how disconnected the world is, how apathetic we all are to each others’ problems, how the youth of today is cut off from reality and has nothing to say about the world or its issues.

Well, on the 25^th April, 2009, over 1000 Australians across NSW gathered in Sydney to show support for an issue which needs to be addressed. Myself, Aidan and Grace were amongst that crowd which met at Milson’s Point, then walked single file across the Harbour Bridge holding a symbolic rope, all the way to Fleet Steps in the Botannical Gardens.

The march wasn’t disruptive or violent. It was conducted with a lot of respect and maturity and didn’t cause any trouble as it carried out its journey. Maybe if we’d made more of a fuss, we would’ve gotten more attention.

“The Rescue” was an event held in about 100 cities in 10 countries around the world. In every city there was a march, intended to help raise awareness to the plight of the child soldiers in Uganda, abducted by Joseph Kony to fight for the Lord’s Resistance Army in Africa’s longest running war.

Grace has already explained the outline for the night’s events, so I won’t go into them here. Basically this is just a follow-up to Grace’s post, where I can express my annoyance at the conclusion of Sydney’s Rescue.

I really thought that because Sydney had the largest attendence in Australia, that it would be easy for us to get rescued. I thought we’d have every flag raised by the time we moved to Hyde Park, no problem.

This was not the case, as you already know.

What I’m really upset about, is that every media contact we got in touch with and asked to come and cover our story, said they’d be there. They said they would come and cover it, if we just stopped calling. And then they didn’t show up.

Channel 10, Channel 7, at least three newspapers, they all gave their confirmation. Channel 9 said they’d be waiting at the Barracks, but they weren’t.

Lying out on the gravel in front of the convict museum in Hyde Park, freezing, were all these kids who had come out expecting their media and their government to show some concern. As far as I know, Perth got four members of their parliament to show up. The entirety of New Zealand was rescued within hours.

Our rescuer expressed shock over the lack of coverage we had when he gave his address. I really thought Sydney could do better.

It was ANZAC day, but that doesn’t explain why three other cities and the whole of New Zealand were rescued, and not us. Surely on a day commemorating the sacrifices made by our soldiers during past wars, we can spare a few moments to look beyond our own shores to the lives being affected by war today, a war in which the soldiers have no choice, and a war which we, as a part of a global effort, can have an impact on.

If this was going on in Sydney, there is no way it would be allowed to continue. The fact that it is happening in Uganda, shouldn’t make it any less important.

We were finally technically ‘rescued’ at around 5 in the morning by a guy from Channel 9 who had been in the city covering something else. We got a little bit of coverage, I don’t know when it will be shown.

The event at large seems to have done much better, and I’m sure Sydney will have contributed in a positive way by adding to the global message that Invisible Children seeks to spread. Our part was a small one, but hopefully our efforts will be made much greater in the grand scheme of things, when we finally see this war come to a conclusion, see Joseph Kony brought to justice, and the end of the abduction of children for the LRA.

Christa, too tired to think of something witty.

p.s “Hold on Uganda!”

Listening to: All These Things That I’ve Done – The Killers (damn good song.)

I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier.

I know that normally I come on this blog and write about movies and love and Russell Brand (sometimes all three), but today I am going to talk about something different.

Not something more “important”, that’s impossible – there is nothing more important than love (or Russell Brand or my love for Russell Brand), but something different.

So last night, I took part in a demonstration for Invisible Children called The Rescue.

Invisible Children is all about raising awareness for Joseph Kony’s child soldiers in Uganda and the Congo. It’s a fantastic organisation and something that I am personally very passionate about. For more information please (please) visit http://www.invisiblechildren.com/, watch the film and prepare to have your eyes opened and your life changed.

The Rescue was a peaceful demonstration where 10s of thousands of young people (mostly Pete Wentz fans) in over 100 cities in 10 countries across the world symbolically abducted themselves, walked around 6km to an LRA camp where they waited to be rescued by at least 1 form of media and a person of cultural influence or of political position.

I attended the Sydney Rescue and it was good, but it did show me that people in this world or at least in Sydney, Australia really just don’t care.

For the event to be considered a success, for us to be ‘rescued’ we had to have media coverage. So for the weeks leading up to the event, people like myself called and emailed and got rejected by every newspaper and TV channel in the country. We then called them on the night and Channel 7, Channel 9, Channel 10, SBS, The Herald, The Australian, The Telegraph and probably more promised they were coming, as long as we stopped calling.

Not one showed up. Except ABC Radio, which I think was just some dude in a hoodie.

The media apparently won’t cover a story unless it’s entertaining or has been orchestrated by some wanker with billions of dollars. They are meant to inform us of the happenings in the world and in our city – thousands of teenagers actually giving a shit about more than Miley Cyrus? Surely that’s newsworthy.

Politicians were informed that over 1000 young Australians, 1000 of their people were camped out in the Domain. Some dude from Underbelly had to rescue us (he was lovely actually, Damian Walshe-Howling and I would like to thank him now for coming, for caring).

I’m 17 years old. I have an unhealthy addiction to the internet. I only found out last night that a prominent politician in Brisbane is called Grace Grace. I am a member of this so called ‘apathetic’ generation.

But I showed up. I care. I believe in this cause and many like it. I believe in this world and its people and have strong views on everything from capitalism to the Jonas Brothers (I don’t like either, for the record). My fellow bloggers care and so do many more of us.

Yesterday, the 25th of April, ANZAC Day, I saw hundreds and hundreds of men and women step out to commemorate the lives of our countrymen lost in wars past by watching a parade and getting wasted, while only the young showed up to try and end a war, the longest running war in Africa.

My fellow bloggers were in attendance and I am sure they would agree in saying that this once and only this once, the young people were on our side.

In the eyes of our government, the child soldiers are of little importance. No one cares. Uganda has no oil or resources and is too small and chaotic to prove much threat.

These children need to be seen.

But I worry that unless the people who have the power to make this happen bother to open their eyes, they will remain invisible.

Grace, loves Easy Way, Seth Rogen's laugh and needs to stop constantly refreshing Twitter.

p.s. John Green is coming to Sydney! NERDFIGHTERS!

Listening to: All These Things That I've Done - The Killers

An especially embarrassing, yet wonderfully smooth ride.

I think I’m ready to recount the 18th of March, Russell Brand’s second Sydney show at the Hordern Pavilion. Am I only writing this in hopes that Russell will read the blog again? Well this isn’t my conscious reasoning behind the decision but, yeah it probably has something to do with it.

Hi Russell! Thanks for reading this the first time. You will forever have our blog virginity, and thanks to you we now have three followers. Speaking of; to you followers, don’t think that I’m going to cater to your needs. I swore I wouldn’t let the fame change me!

I’ll begin the story about two weeks prior to the show when ‘Time Out’ magazine announced a wonderful competition.

Win tickets to see Russell Brand
To win a pair of tickets both to the Hordern show and the after party, all you need to do is send Russell a message in 25 words or less and he will personally pick the ones he likes most. He promises that he won't just choose pretty girls.

What an opportunity! Just imagine if we won! It would be so, so very amazing! No terms and conditions so we went ahead and entered. I won’t repeat the entry I sent in for myself because frankly, looking back it’s just not that funny. However the entry I provided for Grace to use was pure genius. I am not one to blow my own horn. I don’t make a habit of tooting my own trumpet. But this was just a damn good entry. Grace and I collaborated to make it perfect.

There is no way I can tell you all the reasons I want to meet you in 25 words or less. Here is one: fucking.

The first half, adorably sweet, shows her real feelings for the man, the truth; the second half, just funny, and an invitation which I’m sure Russell would not decline. Plus it is twenty five words exactly. Fate it was, that such a perfect entry could be formulated. Enter!

I also worked together with Christine to form another excellent entry.

VAGINA! That was intended to catch your eye. ANARCHY! COMMUNISM! P.S. I am a pretty girl.

Succinct, funny, turns the competition description on its ear, another good one. Enter!

So this brings us back (forward?) to the 17th of March. We all went to bed after a lovely evening, resigned to the fact that none of has had won the competition for the second night, but satisfied that we had seen him once.

I was woken early the next morning to the sound of my text message alert. Both Grace AND Christine had won the competition. And how many prizes were given out you ask? Five! We won two out of the five prizes given out! Amazing! So we spent the day bragging to our friends and figuring out who else to take with us.

We finally got back to Christine’s house and being the responsible young ladies that we are figured the sensible thing to do would be to call and ask when and where we would pick up our tickets to the show and enquire as to any age restrictions for the after party venue. I will now paraphrase the conversation.

Me: Hello there ol’ buddy ol’ pal! Are you the person I should be talking to about the Russell Brand Competition that my friends and I won not once but twice?
Time Out dude: Uhh yeah.
Me: Well we were just wondering where we should pick up our tickets to the show, you know, that one we won four tickets to.
Time Out dude: Can I get your uhh name?
Me: Sure thing friend, the names of two of the winners – both of them my dear friends – are Grace and Christine.
Time Out dude: Oh I’m sorry. You guys didn’t actually win the competition at all. Uuhh we just decided to give out a few more tickets to the after party. So you don’t have to worry about picking up your uhhh tickets.
Me: Oh. That wasn’t written anywhere on the website you know.
Time Out dude: Uhhh Sorry
Me: Well okay then. I noticed that the after party is being held at a licensed venue, there wouldn’t be any age restrictions would there? Because there was no mention of any on the competition entry form you know.
Time Out dude: Well I dunno, it’s probably drinking age. Sorry bout that. Bye.

There was always a little part of us that expected it was too good to be true, but yes, our dreams were crushed just a little bit.

Again, being the responsible, determined, and very persistent young ladies that we are, we decided to ring up the after party venue. Here is the conversation.

Me: Hello you’re hosting tonight’s Russell Brand party; is this correct?
Ivy Lady: Oh, I don’t rightly know luv.
Me: Oh, well just trust me, you are. My friends and I have won a competition to attend this party you see, won it twice we did, but you see, we are but two months under 18. This won’t be a problem will it, I mean, there was absolutely no speculation of any age restriction on the competition website you know. None whatsoever.
Ivy Lady: Oh I understand deary. Don’t you worry honey, I’ll have a talk to my boss and we’ll find someone to look after you dear, and everything will be fine and all your dreams will come true. I’ll call you right back as soon as I find out what we can do for you, dumpling.

She never called me back.

It just so happened that Grace already had her ticket to the show, and one spare, so I went with her. This venue was a little further away and consequentially made for a more stressful trip. We made it there in the end, quite a bit early and had to sit around in the blustering wind until the sun began to set below the horizon and it was time to head on in.

Grace bought herself an exorbitant program and we flipped through it while we waited for the opening act. Again it was Merrick and Rosso. The pubes joke was more strung out this time but they completely dropped the R2-D2 midget discussion which was wise.

Russell was great. Seeing it for the second time didn’t make it any less funny and I was surprised and impressed by both the amount of improvisation, and the bits from the nights before that I thought were improvised but weren’t. He’s very good at what he does if he can convince people that he’s doing it for the first time every time.

He came out again after the show but only for a little while, not enough time for a second cheek stroke or any contact at all really. He hopped up on a table and politely apologised for having to leave so early but he had to go to his party. My second biggest regret of the night is not yelling “Can we have a lift!?” it would have at least made it known that we were invited.

We followed the crowds of people out of the place and to the bus stops where we caught a bus to Martin place and walked to the Ivy. We waited in the line of experienced party goers for a while until we were at the head of the line.

“Um… is this the Russell Brand thing?” I asked, sounding very silly. Then the dude asked us for ID which we did not have. We said we didn’t and he seemed completely cool with it. “Just let me ask this bloke if it’s okay.” He said. I assumed we’d just not get a stamp allowing us to consume alcohol. I didn’t think there was any possibility that they thought we were actually 18, because I look about 13. “How old are you girls?” he asked. “17.” We answered, little goody two shoes never done anything rebellious in her life. And there is the biggest regret of the night; I am positive they would have let us in if we’d lied.

We wandered away; hat in hand, our tails between our legs, kicking stones as we headed back to the train station.
“We didn’t get in. On our way home.” I texted my mother.

Then I got a call.
“What is the venue called? You girls won that competition and I will not have your night ruined. Walk right back there and ask to speak to the manager. I want to speak to someone about this. Don’t you dare get on that train.”
And so my mother called up the manager of the Ivy hotel. I have never been so embarrassed. Let’s just hope it makes for some funny stand up material in a few years. She said that they couldn’t let us in but they were paying for a taxi home.

We walked back and met with Ed, who was very nice about the whole thing even though it was hardly his fault or problem. He said he had a surprise for us and led us down to the basement. At this point two things were running through my head.

1. Ed was not as nice as first though and was going to brutally beat and rape us. (this isn’t an unusual thing for me to be thinking about. If I’m not thinking about something else, a lot of this time I’m imagining situations in which I may be attacked and how I would react in one of these situations.)

2. Russell was down there waiting in the basement. This would have been the best and worst thing to ever happen.

It actual fact it was neither of these. “We’re going to drive you home in the Bentley!” Ed said gesturing toward a sleek shiny cream coloured car. I think he was expecting a very different reaction to what we delivered. We moaned in embarrassment and apologised profusely when I think we should have squealed with delight just at the thought of sitting in that car.

We hopped in with driver Glen and set off. We had a lovely chat with Glen who was very nice. We learned that we were sitting in the same car as Gordon Ramsay and Meg Ryan had once sat. How grand! But it was no Russell. On the way home Grace filled Glen in on Russell’s life story and Glen filled us in on the worth of his lovely car: $400,000.

An especially embarrassing, yet wonderfully smooth ride.

We arrived home safe and sound only with the pain of ‘what if’s’ looping through our minds. That sounds very melodramatic but it’s true. “Is there even a word for what Time Out stole from us?” We did write Russell a message spanning about five tweets on the night but I don’t think it got to him, so hopefully he reads this. This is what we go through for you! But we love you for it anyway.

The moral of this story is, though Time Out has very good taste in comedians and noodles, they conduct themselves especially poorly through competitions. If anyone wants to link the big boss of Time Out to this blog, I won’t stop you.

Thank you for two wonderful shows, Russell. I think this is the last excuse we’ll have to link you to our blog for a while. I am going to hold you to that second cheek stroke.

Ardy, is too honest for her own good.

p.s. to Meredith from MA, USA, Russell may have our reading of the blog virginity, but you’re our first commenter. It made us smile, thanks.

listening to: Hallowed be thy name – Iron Maiden

This is our story.

Me: I'm having trouble writing a review of the show...and not just letting my sick obsession do the talking.
Aidan: it's our blog. we can do whatever we like. let your sick obsession out to play.

So that is what I am going to do, for a little while anyway.

If you have ever met me, you know two things about me:
1. I talk a lot and I talk fast.
2. I’m normally talking about Russell Brand.


I don’t feel I need to explain the reasons for my affection, it’s pretty obvious. From what I can see (in Australia, anyway), there are three kinds of people - either you don’t understand him (and therefore HATE him with passion), have never heard of him, or LOVE him. He divides people, but at least we are together in that.

I think we can guess which one I am. My contribution to this blog will be, depending on which category you fit into, in defence or in admiration.

So for the masses of the uninformed, while your numbers are dwindling, I would like to tell you that the man behind the hair is an incredibly complex human who, despite his entire life being surrounded by “the drama and controversy that’s dragged him from troubled lonesome child to tormented [heroin] addict and tortured celebrity” - just loves his mother and cat, and wants to make people happy and laugh. He’s also HILARIOUS, intelligent, a revolutionary, a snazzy dresser...and well, I like him.

You’ve probably seen him and don’t realise. “Oh he’s that British dude from Bedtime Stories/St Trinian's/Forgetting Sarah Marshall with the hair...yeah he’s funny/weird/hot”. If you live in the UK you probably know who I am talking about.

I’ve waffled on for long enough.


Russell uses the internet for two things; one is Google-ing himself.
So Russell, if you are reading this - Hi. I’m Grace. I’ll happily be your Australian bride. Thank you for just doing what you do.


ANYWAY. This is, believe it or not, meant to be a simple review of his recent show(s) in Sydney at the Enmore and Hordern.

The tour is called ‘Scandalous’, and is so named as it concentrates mainly on the ‘Sachsgate’ debacle, as well as his hosting of the VMA’s and the subsequent (you guessed it) scandal. If he is nothing else, he is proof that when a true genius appears in the world, we may know him by this sign – that the Daily Heil doesn’t like him. My Principal doesn’t either – very good sign. I should say that just not thinking he’s funny, is different to thinking he should be KILLED...or shipped to Afghanistan or put on the sex offenders register.

PaulIrelandLondaanUK. “I’m ner-vous to-oo” At the show at the Hordern, he improvised a piece of comic theatre with a strong message about alienation and xenophobia with his water bottles.

The show was fantastic. There is something to be said for seeing him in person, and not just on TV or YouTube – everything is funnier when you can laugh with him. When it’s new and real and in the moment. He’s always funny; even if it is the millionth time you’ve seen it (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=50648DUiRLk), so imagine what it’s like when you are both there and he’s making you laugh. It’s pretty fucking sweet.

****

This is a collaborative blog, so ends Grace’s obsessive ranting (for now) and begins Aidan’s recount of the two shows.

Tuesday, 17th of March saw all three of us heading out to the Enmore theatre, Newtown. Commuting there by train proved surprisingly easy with our handy dandy Google maps and printed timetables. Nobody told us however, how damn packed it would be. If I had been standing any closer to Mr. X, I would have required a tip.

We had an early dinner at a lovely pizza restaurant in King Street; I forget what it was called. Staff was very friendly, not a long wait for our pizza, affordable lemon lime and bitters, mean tuna salad. Damn good.

For reasons I won’t revisit here, in blog form, we found ourselves down the wrong end of the wrong street and had to run, our heels clomping along the path, back to the theatre. We realised this exertion of energy (and much sweat on my part) was wholly unnecessary as we arrived at show starting time with people relaxing in the foyer, sipping upon various drinks.

We all took our seats and waited, listening to a play list which I am guessing Russell picked out himself, because it was good. At about 8:30, Merick and Rosso, Australian comedy duo entered the stage. I had never listened to their show before so I didn’t really know what to expect. They’re opening joke was the discussion of trimming one’s pubic hair, in which they whole heartily involved the audience. I don’t think I have to discuss any further to convince you that it was very un-funny to put it lightly. Guys take my advice; cut the pubes humour, there wasn’t much chance of that joke being funny when told by anyone. Do not follow pubes humour with the belittlement of Steve Irwin’s death. It takes skill to draw humour from death; it can be done, though not by you I fear. When you know you’re in too deep with a joke and it’s still not funny i.e. you’re saying “fucking midget” four times per sentence, move on.

After this act, I started thinking that maybe I just wasn’t in a laughing mood. It happens. We waited around for another half our while those wise enough to skip the opening slot wandered in and took their seats.

Then, the music stopped and the backdrop turned into a huge screen (!!) which showed various news clips of Russell’s recent ‘scandals’.
“Ladies and Gentlemen… Russell Brand” and he walked on. It wasn’t until now that I realised how close to the stage we were: very. He wore a black leather jacket over a black tee shirt. He also wore what he would later call “testosterousers” and I won’t lie to you, I thought what they contained was going to turn into the first joke. I thought he reach in and pull out a cucumber or something saying “Oh what’s this doing in here?” or something equally hilarious. But no, it was the real deal.

He entered the crowd as he does at the beginning of all his shows, found Narnia though an emergency exit, had a go in someone’s wheelchair and touched someone’s Mohawk. I could write a list of every funny thing he said during the performance, but it would go on for pages, and wouldn’t be as funny written down anyway.

After the show he came out into the crowd to meet everyone, exuding complete coolness, which was rather intimidating. At one point, as Christine and I stood together just trying to get a glimpse of him over all the people who towered over us, and as he walked past, he looked right at Christine.

“Aren’t you cute,” he said, stroking her cheek.

“And you,” turning to me and doing the same.

We were completely charmed. It’s funny how something so insignificant on his part could have such an impact on our night. I think he knows this.

We caught the train home, each of us a puddle of glee. It was a fantastic show and he is a fantastic human being. I can’t put it any other way.
That took a really long time and now I can’t be bothered to write about the next night at the Hordern. The night was wholly more eventfull. We got driven home in a $400,000 Bentley, but Russell had little to do with that so who cares?

****

I don’t really know what to say that hasn’t already been said (and said damn well).

When he first strutted onto the stage, ACDC blasting through the speakers (drowned out by an explosion of screams), my mind fizzled to a blank in its attempt to reach the conclusion that we were mere feet away from Russell Brand: the Actual Person, and not Russell Brand: the hilarious guy I’d only seen on Youtube.

It was pretty surreal, to say the least.

But yeah - he looked damn fine, the show was amazing, I almost fainted dead away when he looked at me, and the whole evening was thoroughly enjoyable as a whole.

(Excluding, of course, the whole ‘wrong street’ debacle, which was completely my fault. I foolishly believed that I knew exactly where I was going, despite the fact I already knew I’m completely useless with directions. I thought it was fine as I’d been to the same place only a couple of weeks prior. Which really only emphasises how much I fail at knowing where anything is.
Sorry guys.)

...I can’t think of anything else to say. Describing his jokes (as Aidan said) could never re-create the experience of hearing them from Russell himself (or watching them on DVD, your next best option – GO OUT AND DO IT, IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY!)

This guy really is one of the best comedians out there.

Also, do yourself a favour and read his biography, and perhaps check out some of his blogs. He’s lead a pretty full life already, and he really is quite intelligent and articulate in his writing.

We all really enjoyed ourselves that night at the Enmore (I wasn’t present for the Hordern show, but I’ve heard it was just as good) and I look forward to Russell (hopefully) returning to Australia (and his subsequent marriage

to Grace).

****

So that was our story.

When I try to convert another to the Church of Russell, by whipping out my well thumbed (and now signed) copy of the Booky Wook to read a particularly stirring passage from, many say “How old is he? 33? That’s so lame. He’s too young for that” – to those, I say, Jesus was 33 and look how that turned out.

My father says that “Russell is the Lord, and you are his prophet.” Yeah, I kinda am.

“On the precipice of insanity dwells the divine – there lurks God. Through this hogwash and mayhem I can redeem us all...”


You just fell in love with him didn’t you?


Well fuck off, he’s mine.



- Grace (has to get into Oxford), Aidan (just learnt that men sweat approximately 40% more than women) and Christine("Did you write 'Freary'?" "Yeah!").

p.s. Hey! Russell! Just by the way, we are ready to start the revolution. Australia doesn’t really need Tasmania – classless utopia, here we come. It has a chocolate factory and everything.

Listening to: We've Got To Do Something - Infant Sorrow