davezwolenski.com

Sheik 'N' Dave

2011-12-01T21:02:00.001-08:00

So yesterday I heard some funny news. I was crusing along, minding my own business, rocking out to something appropriately cool, when a friend of mine from Sydney called. Marty is his name, he's one of those poor, unfortunate types. You know, a ranga. Anyway, he started ranting about me being on some bondage website in Sydney, or at least, that's what I was hearing. Marty is a big bondage fan (this info is for future employee's mainly). So this website turned out not to be S&M.com, but SMH.com.au, the well respected Sydney Morning Herald site - easy mistake to make.

So Marty, my red-headed informant, continues to tell me that the doco I did on Islam was now being shown on this site and that my fat mug was front page centre. It seemed unlikely, as the doco was made in 2008, but I suppose in the modern era of manufactured crap and mundane masterchef shows, they're always looking for content.

When I got home I ran straight to the computer to see the madness, and sure enough, there I was sitting with my man Sheik Hilaly on the front page of SMH.com.au. Clicking on the link, I could see that the entire doco was there. Turns out that the Sydney Morning Herald are buying new content for their tv site and mine was purchased from SBS and the Production company behind the Embedded series, Red Ithaka. The documentary was Directed by a talented filmmaker called Gary Doust. You can see his stuff here www.garydoust.com So, if you are interested in the world of Islam, Sheik Hilaly or you wanna know what I think about when I sit down to pee, tune in.

Embedded With Sheik Hilaly

Where's Your Grammar, Kelsey?

2011-10-16T22:36:00.000-07:00

Saturday night was the ACRA's and in case you don't know, that stands for... ahh, something about radio I think. The Nova gang and I headed down on the Sat to do a bit of afternoon pool partying, which turned into classic catches and who has the biggest lungs. The winner was James, the giant Peach, obviously.

The night of the ACRA's was a star-studded success. Kelsey Grammar was hosting with Amanda Keller, and although his preparation left a little to be desired, he made up for it by taking a photo with me. Kyle Sandilands abused "whoever was blowing those fucking horns" which was weird, because there were no horns in the place. Perhaps he was having a stroke. I gotta say though, I like Kyle. His brazen directness and ability to tread through the murky waters of PCness with a trident, stabbing every code of etiquette right through the face is refreshing.

Things then got a little hazy at the afterparty, but I do recall being incredibly excited when Jason Derulo stopped to do his shoe up on stage. Seemed like a behind-the-scenes sorta thing, so I grabbed my opportunity to capture a real moment on camera. Looking at the footage today, it seems rather dull. I guess that's why you'll never see a sign saying "Tonight, Kylie Minogue Ties Shoe".

Once the 3am lockdown took affect, I had to make a decision. Leave my friends (who were chatting to Andy Lee) inside to get a reasonable night sleep, or stay with them and most likely never leave. I made the seemingly wise decision of leaving, when I bumped into Hamish Blake outside the venue. I can't quite remember the exact discussion, but I think it had something to do with Exits being the best place to leave a building from and possibly Cheese.

2011-10-16T22:10:00.001-07:00

Here I am on Channel 10, holding a small animal. I've hit the big time!!

NovAdventure

2011-10-12T15:52:00.001-07:00

These are the adventures I have been privileged enough to have during my time at Nova Radio.

Dave & Stu IN A BOX

2011-10-06T03:06:00.001-07:00

It's a DAVE in a Box

2011-10-04T00:22:00.000-07:00

On Thursday I will be entering a box. And Not just any old box thanks very much. This is a special box.

I like my life experiments. Sometimes I actually feel that life might be one big experiment. That perhaps there's someone out there, somewhere, with a petri dish, looking down on his tiny microscopic dust particles, prodding them with tweezers and musing over how interesting his spores are. His friends would come over and laugh at him for being such a nob, and they'd get dangerously close to tipping the dish down the sink, but our man saves the day by showing his mates pictures of his sister naked. The friends put the dish down and the spores go back to their sporing. That is, life resumes.

This experiment on Thursday is to see what happens when you're trapped in a house with one other person, with no power and limited food. We'll be living together in a glass box at the top of Queen St Mall, and together we plan on surviving. I'm not sure how it will go, or who this other person is just yet, but I've got a good feeling. Hopefully it will raise awareness about storm season setting into Brisbane and possibly teach some people about the dangers of not being fully prepared. I know that flashlights are important, as is water. The rest I'm afraid is somewhat of a mystery that will only be solved by entering the box. To follow, hit up

#survive3 on Twitter or me @davezwolenski

As for this petri dish we call life, well, maybe it will get tipped down the sink tomorrow. Until then, let's enjoy it shall we?

Great Crusade Video Blog

2011-09-24T15:26:00.000-07:00

Ealesy Does It

2011-09-16T13:50:00.001-07:00

Today we met JohnEales. I told him we went to the same school and he seemed genuinely happy about it. What a champ.

As spokeswoman forthe Great Crusde, Miranda Kerr made a dash-in, dash-out appearance at what wasa rainy opening day. No Bloomy, but we danced in the raindrops whileMike Goldman carried us off in a rendition of ‘Singing in the Rain’. The BPS(Brendan Patrick Sheehan) “wrong bag” saga continued today, with the owner ofthe bag being contacted. Turns out he’s a diabetic, so Brendan may well havesomeone’s life in his hands. The poor guy – Brendan I mean – he was so upsetabout it that he couldn’t even drink this morning. Not even at 10am! Qantas were amazing about
getting the bag back to the guy though, so cheers Big Q.

Rain has hampered alot of our activities, but we still managed to witness and film another campervan (not on our tour) backing into a pole. Mr Liezewski was ok, but the emotional scars will neverheal. Little Polish joke there.

Seriously, a vanbacked into a pole, I'll put the video up to prove it.

Game 1 – WallabiesVS Italy in 3 hours. Outty.

Excess Baggage

2011-09-15T03:49:00.000-07:00

We meet Miranda Kerrand John Eales tomorrow. Quote of the day.

“So, if you sleptwith Miranda Kerr, you’d be fucking over an Elf AND fucking a supermodel”
- Brendan Sheehan (see Picture)

After our GreatCrusade induction we hit the pub. Free dinner andbeers makes Brendan and I feel preeeeetttty, pretty good. First game is Japan Vs Franceand the talk turns to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. If they could perform aflying, tree-walking air jump over a scrum, then maybe they wouldn’t get beatso bad. The score ends up quite close, so maybe they heard us. The secondgame is England V Argentina, and apart from the Argentinian Rugby team arguingin exactly the same manner as the Argentinean Soccer team (wild hang gestures,a lot of re-enactmnts and some tears) it was overly uneventful, but nice.

When we get back tothe Van, Brendan opens his suitcase for the first time to discover a surprise - clean clothes…. immediately he realised this couldn’t behis suitcase. Scrounging around, we see more folded clothes,compartmentalised toiletries., shoes with real laces… we knew this had to be amistake. Turns out, that in a hilarious mix-up worthy of a Cohen Brothers film, Brendan wasnow the proud owner of someone with real dress sense.

We’ll deal with ittomorrow. Now, we dream of the road ahead.

The Great Crusade - "The Boy with the Hobble"

2011-09-13T21:07:00.000-07:00

At first, Brendan’s leg seemed to be a tragedy. A fractured foot, rolled during a game of touch football only days before we leave. There’s no doubt it’s slowed him up, which in turn slows me up, but when you think about it, how fast do we really need to go? The flip side to the situation is this: when you’re walking in a moon boot, you you’re practically a celebrity. You go to the front of the line, people buy you drinks, girls feel sorry for you. It really confirms my long held belief that people with disabilities are better than the rest of us.And of course, every moon-boot wearing monkey needs his carer, and I just happen to be a caring kinda guy. That’s what I call finding opportunity within a crisis.

At the Auckland airport I verified what I thought was actually a myth. New Zealanders do in fact say “choice bro”, even to the most menial of things. Take, for example, the lady holding her heavy suitcase, pondering the escalators whose cries of “choice bro” made me stop and say “you guys actually say that?!”On the other side of customs we we’re met by a Qantas rep called Jo. She’s had to wait quite a while for us to get outside the terminal, because of the Boy with the Hobble, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Along side us are the other two Brisbane constituents who have also won a seat on the Crusade; Paul and Ashley, father and daughter. Good people.

At the campsite we’re introduced to our newest companion - the trusty steed you see here, which we call the WallaBUS, will be our home for the next two weeks and it is equipped with everything two modern waifs might need. Sink, stove, bathroom, TV, fridge (filled with beer) and, the best bit, a bunk bed, in which I am sitting right now. Over my shoulder, an iddy biddy book light. Life's sweet.

As we toast to the weeks ahead Brendan follows the cheers up with “let’s tear this fucking country apart” and it couldn’t be more soothing to the ear. Yes Brendan, let’s.

Embedded with Sheik Hilaly (or let's get MUSLIM!)

2011-07-17T16:56:00.000-07:00

Megalomania Mania Episode 3: Space

2011-07-09T02:17:00.000-07:00

On this week's show we discuss everything that's out of this world. From the wonderful experience of Zero Gravity Sex with Stephen Hawking, to the story of the Raelians. We also learn a little more about Joel's sordid past and his involvement with hippies. Plus, what Animals have actually been to space and how do Monkey's feel about the whole experience?

Find out this and a whole lot more on this week's episode of Megalomania Mania!

Megalomania Mania Episode 3: Space

Megalomania Mania EP 2: Celebrity

2011-06-16T18:50:00.001-07:00

It's time for Joel Ross and Dave Zwolenski to discuss the wonderful world of Celebrity including Christian Bale punching his mother in the face, Arnold Schwarzenegger's maid fetish and Stephanie Rice's twoot about those "bundle of sticks". We also learn just how much Joel knows about Twitter and Panda Drugs.

Download, sit back, take your pants off, and enjoy Megalomania Mania - the things they don't teach you in school (because if they did it would be incredibly irresponsible schooling).

Here ya go.

Megalomania Mania EP 2: Celebrity

Kylie Minogue N Me

2011-06-01T15:20:00.000-07:00

There's a new Minogue show in town based on the mythical story of Aphrodite. But something that may have been missed by the research team involved in writing Kylie's new show is that the story of Aphrodite has odd beginnings.

After doing my research, I thought I'd hit Kylie up with a tough question about the man-bits of Uranus. You can see it here.

Kylie Minogue and Me

Megalomania Mania EP 1: Utopia

2011-05-18T16:45:00.000-07:00

It's time to unleash our podcast onto the world. Over the last few weeks, Joel A. Ross (a Dr at a Brisbane Cancer Clinic) and I have gotten together to discuss some of the big topics and now you can join in on the insanity.

The show is called Megalomania Mania and it's fun. You'll like it.

Listen and download here. In our first episode we discuss on Utopia, The Amish and Double-Tap-Tiggy Osama Style.

Megalomania Mania Episode 1: Utopia

The Best-Case-Worst-Case Scenario

2011-05-15T14:56:00.001-07:00

So here’s a question. Some might even say it’s THE question. Personally I regard it as one of the more interesting of the hypotheticals that I’ve come across. And when I say come across, I mean made up. So, just for shits & bubbles, let’s say the end of the world is actually upon us. That’s right, it’s Apocalypse time and you’re on the menu. What I wonder is, out of all the possible ways for us to go, what would be the best-case-worst-case scenario?

Here are your options, but be assured I’m open to all ideas. So, firstly, you must imagine the human population of the world is going to be destroyed. Yes, I know you believe in the power of the human spirit and unyielding hope, but just scrap that do-gooder nonsense for a bit, ok? Good. So, humans are about to be wiped off the face of the planet, agreed, HOWEVER, there will be several survivors, and you my good friend, are one of them. Now, the question is:

What would you prefer be our fateful demise?

Your options are:

1. Werewolves
2. Vampires
3. Aliens
4. Zombies
5. Robots

Now I’m not going to go into any further detail on each point, just know that these sci-fi creatures are vicious, dangerous, and they will kill you on sight. There are 5000 or so survivors in every major capital city, so you’d be able to buddy up when you found the remaining few, but for a while you’d be on your own, eating berries and drinking cow’s blood or something equally as Barey Gryllsy.

I’ve made my choice. What’s yours?

The 4ZZZ Experiment (and other news)

2011-04-27T00:01:00.000-07:00

I now have an hour long show on 4ZZZ, Tuesday mornings 11am - 12 noon and I love it. After doing my Movie Trivia Show (called Back to the Feature, classic name, thanks!) on Siobhahn Hegarty's morning show, the lovely Siobhahn gave me my own time-slot. So the idea is that I get people with unique perspectives, jobs, viewpoints and talk to them for half an hour or so. Or just some opinionated hobo with a story, whatever works.

This week I had Jules George, an enneagram specialist, tarot reader and clairvoyant come in and chat to me about my future and personality type. I'll try and find the show so you can have a listen. Personalities are fascinating!

Also my good friend Joel and I have started our own digital radio show for Zed Digital which will also be turned into a podcast at some point in the future. All good things and all a lot of fun. I hope I can do this stuff until I die, and so far, all things point to that being possible. Except for the downfall of modern society of course. HA! Hilarious.

So, tune in to 4zzz 102.1 Tuesday mornings from 11am-12noon if you dare!! I assure you, it will be something, if not nothing, to write home about.

Just Like in Purgatory

2011-04-19T18:51:00.000-07:00

Yes, we are still waiting to find out more about Purged. Literally, there has been very little correspondence from SBS for several weeks now. We did discover that there has been a new Managing Director appointed, so perhaps this is the hold up. You never know in this bizness.

In other news, Purged will be screening at Dungog Film Festival on Sunday May 29th. WOOOP WOOPPPP!!! If you can come along, please do. We can eat crumpets and talk about what's lacking in Australian cinema, which is of course US.

See you there.

Sydney

2011-04-19T18:03:00.000-07:00

I was in Sydney this weekend catching up with Chris Leben (from Hungry Beast) and Matt Okine (Jesus in our tv show Purged, soon to be picked up by SBS...... right?). Good guys, with some very convincing arguments on why I should move to Sydney. I might, at some point. But Brisbane suits me right now, I think.

My family and I were walking along Millsons Point, by they bay when my Mum saw a beautiful old house overlooking the water and approached what seemed to be an aging female gardener. Dressed in an old gray jumper, headress type thing and gardening gloves the woman was not out of place uprooting weeds and wiping dirt from her face.

With no intent on being polite my Mum says to the woman "I want to know what this place is. What is this place??" (it's my Mum's way) to which the woman replies "this is my home".

As we talked, this at one point aging gardener became more entrancing. Her deep blue eyes seemed filled with a lifetime of pain and joy. Turned out her name was Wendy Whiteley and she was Brett Whiteley's wife. His muse. The one he shared his visions with, and the one who divorced him three years before his death. We spoke for 20 minutes about Art, Life and her late husband. She was wonderful to talk to.

Game of Life

2011-03-30T19:43:00.000-07:00

My new blog design is here. I hope you like it, but if you dont, jog on son!

Recently i realised that it's easy to feel walked all over if you let people bring you down. Being around that kind of nonsense is sometimes not a choice, but how you handle it is. So, when a woman started giving me shit the other day while I was doing a trivia gig, I had the choice to let her drunkenly berate me and several of the other lovely participants, or the choice to embarrass the shit out of her to the point where she would never come back. I chose the latter and I felt much better for it. No one tells Dave what to do. Except the mass media of course. Oh and God. Praise be the Lord of the Rings!

Played the Game of Life on Playstation the other night (yeah, it's for kids, but so is candy and that shit is awesome). I was Tom, the middle-class, white male who's parents were wealthy enough to buy him a college degree. Needless to say, I won. $1.75 million in the bank at time of death. Yup, that's a winner right there folks. If only my real life goes that way, I'll be a happily dead man.

Just Hang Up

2011-03-02T22:57:00.000-08:00

When I call a mobile phone and get the message bank, often there’s a rather over-excited woman at the other end of the phone telling me that the person I’m trying to reach is not available. She then proceeds to say “to end the call, press hash or just hang up!” Why, for fuck’s sake, would I choose the former option here?!

Do I receive some reward for going through this pointless rigmarole of pressing hash before hanging up? Is there a prize for the most arbitrary ways to make customers do pointless shit, and Tony, the man who came up with this concept, is down at the Mobile Message Bank HQ as we speak holding a bouquet and popping champagne?

It seems that the most straight forward way to end a call would be to hang up, so why mess about with one of life’s simplest procedures. Are there not enough tedious tasks to do during the day that we have to worry about pressing hash for no reason? And why Hash anyway? Why not star? Or the number 6. Or why not punch yourself in the crotch instead? Or recite the last half of Pirates of Penzanze whilst urinating, then hang up. It’s all on equal footing in my book.

The thing that gets me the most is that the woman telling me this useless information seems to understand the stupidity in pressing hash first when hanging up will do the exact same thing. She says “or just hang up”. As if to imply that you COULD press hash, but why wouldn’t you JUST hang up, you stupid, stupid moron.

I for one, have never pressed hash before hanging up, and refuse to do so for the simple reason that in life, pressing hash before hanging up is like wiping your ass with your own shit - pointless and annoying.

Purged THE TV SHOW

2011-02-02T22:11:00.000-08:00

The TV Pilot PURGED (the show about a café in the afterlife) is coming together incredibly well. Mike (my co-creator and creative partner) has been slaving away on the edit, while I’ve been starting the promotion ball rolling. We’re only just starting to realise that a show that portrays God as a woman, Jesus as a black man and Satan as a Merchant Banker miiiiight cause a little bit of offense. But something I always like to remember is just because you’re offended, doesn’t mean you’re right.

We send the final cut off to the head of Comedy at SBS this week and hope to hear back from them soon about whether they're going to go with it, or whether we have to get our hate-mail pens out (you know, the ones dripped in cow's blood).

We'll see!!

The Best-Case-Worst-Case Scenario

2011-01-04T18:55:00.000-08:00

So here’s a question. Some might even say it’s THE question. Personally I regard it as one of the more interesting of the hypotheticals that I’ve come across. And when I say come across, I mean made up. So, just for shits & bubbles, let’s say the end of the world is actually upon us. That’s right, it’s Apocalypse time and you’re on the menu. What I wonder is, out of all the possible ways for us to go, what would be the best-case-worst-case scenario?

Here are your options, but be assured I’m open to all ideas. So, firstly, you must imagine the human population of the world is going to be destroyed. Yes, I know you believe in the power of the human spirit and unyielding hope, but just scrap that do-gooder nonsense for a bit, ok? Good. So, humans are about to be wiped off the face of the planet, agreed, HOWEVER, there will be several survivors, and you my good friend, are one of them. Now, the question is:

What would you prefer be our fateful demise?

Your options are:

1. Werewolves
2. Vampires
3. Aliens
4. Zombies
5. Robots

Now I’m not going to go into any further detail on each point, just know that these sci-fi creatures are vicious, dangerous, and they will kill you on sight. There are 5000 or so survivors in every major capital city, so you’d be able to buddy up when you found the remaining few, but for a while you’d be on your own, eating berries and drinking cow’s blood or something equally as Barey Gryllsy.

I’ve made my choice. What’s yours?

Hey Zeus

2010-08-07T04:08:00.000-07:00

If I had the brainpower for it I think I’d like to be an inventor. The ability to just conjour an item out of nowhere and develop it into form, into shape, I imagine there’d be something very satisfying about that. Melissa is an inventor and, in loving all things animals, naturally her inclination is to invent things for pets. ‘Pet Products’, she calls them. She’s been working on her ideas for years now, and after leaving the corporate sector, she’s had to put the gears into overtime. She tells me she’s created an entire line of cat-based products inscribed with the slogan, “Life is Puuuurfect”. I ask to see them and she hurries inside to grab a large brown paper bag. From inside, she pulls out a red t-shirt and there, under the clever pun etched into the chest, sits the image of a cute little cat asleep on a bed. The slogan is catchy, I have to admit. Melissa says she’s even bought the web address for when the business takes off.

Her other item is a doggy car seat designed so that she and her little chihuaha, Zeus, can ride around together in style and, more importantly, safety. A little doggy protector. She pulls it out for me and beckons Zeus over to demonstrate. Zeus climbs inside the cosy little shell and bends himself into shape. Melissa lifts it upright, then smiles that smile that only a dog lover can smile, and I watch as Zeus laps his tongue up and down Melissa’s pouted lips.

This is my last day in LA - my last day in America. The last time I’ll hear that wistful, American twang. Melissa is a friend of a friend of mine and she’s kindly offered to house me for my final day. It’s amazing how maleable we as humans are. How easily we can acclimatize, synthesize to a new culture. A month ago I wasn’t sure how I would survive LA. The endless rows of highways, the crowded streets, the lack of parks and community, the forlorn look behind the eyes of all the wannabe unsung celebrities. It was intimidating and, I had thought, soul-destroying. But a month on, having met some amazing people, worked on an inspirational project, laughed a lot, talked, smiled, been treated to the utmost of kindness by strangers, there’s no denying that there is a community in LA. Sure it might be founded on insecurity, pushed forward by people with the desire to be validated and seen, but what culture isn’t? We all want to be seen. We all want love. We all want to be validated in some way. LA just wears their heartache on their sleeve, and in a way there’s an honesty in that you won’t find anywhere else in the world.

After Melissa and I talk pets, she loans me her bike, (fit with pink streamers flowing off the handle bars) and I ride down to the Venice Beach boardwalk for the last time. The crowded pavement by the shore is filled with the unmistakeable sounds of jukeboxes and breakdancers. An Elvis impersonator croons the main square while guys in long overcoats stumble out from the “Medical Marijuan Joints” with cheeky smiles. While my eyes search the street, a black rapper presses his CD into my chest and says “take a look man, take a look.” I say “no thanks mate,” and he says “hey, don’t be like that man, don’t be like the French.” I'm not quite sure if he's being funny or culturally naive, but either way I can’t help but smile. Poor French.

In the café where I’m writing this, Tracy Chapman comes on the radio. I hear the lyrics “I had a feeling that I could be someone,” and here, down on Venice Beach where everyone has that same feeling, I like the thought that I’m getting on that plane soon and heading back to my home, the luckier country.

Throwing Money at The Sea

2010-07-31T00:08:00.000-07:00

We think about going to the getty museum, but when we discover it’s closed Mike stands in the hallway and says “wanna get the fuck out of LA?” and I say yes. It’s a toss up between Santa Barbara and Tijuana, but realising our pasty white bodies are withering away from lack of full body sunlight we head North along the 101 to Santa Barbara Beach.

We eat lunch in a little diner and then walk down by the shore. The pier stretches out towards the deep blue ocean and our eyes squint into the afternoon sun. Trying not to focus on the dark, black patches of oil creeping up to the sea line, we walk out to the end of the pier and take in the surroundings, feeling freer with every breath. Water has an untainted feel to it, as if its murky depths are free from the comings and goings of human existence.

Just off the pier, down by the water's edge, several contraptions have been assembled by what seems to be some of the most ingenious homeless people in the world. They have towels laid out on the sand with a cup in the middle of each towel and a cardboard sign that reads "Can You Get A Quarter In The Cup? I Challenge You!". To me, this is a complete work of architectural brilliance. Homeless guys can literally spend the day down at the pub while a group of novelty seeking tourists hurl pennies, dimes and quarters at a plastic cup. Mike and I threw about a dollar at the towel between us and, if I'm being honest, I felt pretty proud when I finally nailed it. So if you're ever struggling to make a buck, just remember that people will literally throw money at a good old fashion challenge. It did make me wonder why these guys weren't managing directors or CEO's what with all this cleverness and everything. Then again, maybe they are.

After congratulating one another for being crack homeless cup shots, we head to a bar and Mike’s fluency in all things French have us meeting three wonderful French characters. We spend the afternoon talking film, France, Australia, culture, kangaroos, cricket and wine and then mosey on down to the local Italian restaurant for a meal. Together, the five of us are an over exuberant wall of noise entering the restaurant, and the well-dressed patrons eye us up and down.

By the end of the night we’re singing French tunes and teasing each other about our nationalities. Incredibly, one of the women, Florence, is the distributor of French films to SBS and knows a selection of people that I know from the network. It was a remarkable discovery that seemed to bond together us even further. By midnight, Mike and I had forgotten that we came to LA for work and remembered that the real reason for doing anything in this life is to form connections with people, and that’s exactly what we had done in Santa Barbara.

Jennifer Love's Conversation

2010-07-30T23:48:00.000-07:00

In a bar in downtown L we’re celebrating the birthday of one of the actors from the movie and in the dark, standing near the back entrance, I spot Jennifer Love Hewitt. She’s short, cute and just how you’d imagine imagining her. She holds the hand of one of the actors’ friends – her new beau, soon to be all over the tabloids. Within minutes, she’s standing next to me. I shake her hand and the conversation goes like this:

ME: So, jump the fence and sneak in the back door eh?

JLH: No

(looking at me, then at the entrance)

JLH: We came in the front.

ME: Oh.

JLH: Yeah.

JLH: Cool.

And thus concludes my brief, but memorable, encounter with the short, cute Jennifer Love Hewitt. Ahhh, the celeb life.

The Dive Guy

2010-07-20T14:14:00.001-07:00

8pm on Monday night and for the first time since I’ve been here, I feel like a cigarette. I walk down Ventura Boulevard and head into Ralph’s, an economically sound option at a time like this. They have tobacco, but no papers, and send me up the road to the tobacco specialist. He’s got papers but no filters, so he sends me down the road to 7-11. They have slushies but are out of practically everything else, so I cut my losses and make my way back to my little apartment.

On the stretch of road home, surrounded by fast food chains and endless headlights, I see a bar just up the street from me that says “Live Music 7 Nights A Week”. Filled with enthusiasm I enter under the neon light. It’s a dive. A real dive. A dive like in those dreams where BB King enters and takes the stage with Robert Jonhson just ‘cause they were in the neighbourhood. Five other patrons stand at the bar as the barman, rough around the edges but with kind eyes and an open expression looks as if he’s delivering bad news. No live music. Not anymore. I turn to the stage, worn with years of misuse. The chairs, ripped and shredded from bar fights and obnoxious behaviour. The tables, stained with drinks, scuffed with time and full of memories. My first thought, “damn!”

The five patrons leave, and there I stand, me and the bartender. I take a seat, asking how has this been allowed to happen. “New Management” he says. “Used to be all blues, all the time, but it wasn’t making any money so we had to cut it”. His name is Carl and I like him. Just then, in walks Tunisia, a pleasantly plump African American woman. She sits at the bar and orders a shot and a beer chaser. For a time, it’s me, Carl and Tunisia, an unlikely trio sitting in the cavern of this dive bar, this perfectly unorganised, blues-torn music house, soon to be shaped into the sports bar of tomorrow.

Carl says that if I had of come in here last month, last week or even yesterday, this place would have been jumping with the sounds of Sugaray, the greatest local blues man known in these parts. Unfortunately, they had to let him go, he says. Couldn’t pay him anymore. This side of town ain’t into the blues, and, try as I might, no amount of pleading with him is gonna make it so. Tunisia has hit a few bars before dropping in here and she says it’s her first time. Carl reminisces about coming to LA to be an actor, but, as he says, that “didn’t quite work out”. A phrase I’m starting to hear a lot these days. He stares at me and says “sometimes the dice just… falls sideways”. He’s had a few pilots, a few cameos and recurring characters here and there, but now he’s married with a new born kid, and that means responsibility. That means becoming partners in a bar and, although dreaming of his own series or his name in lights, it also means making money.

I ask for Jameson on the rocks and Carl says “how much you wanna pay?” I tell him that it’s up to him, he can rip me off or give me a deal”. His first instinct is “eight bucks”, but something gets him and he says, “you know what, six”. He pours my drink and tells me his story while Tunisia listens in. I near the end of my drink and he takes the bottle and pours in another glass without me asking and without payment. The man needs company and so do we, it seems. Carl talks of dive bars and being held up at gun point. Tunisia speaks of being a screenwriter and working in Sydney for a time on a film festival. The conversation seems to suit the setting, and I can’t help but feel that both of them are maybe just one month, one week or one day too late to be in the place that they could have been in, if only the dice hadn’t of fallen sideways.

The Parting Glass

2010-07-19T23:51:00.000-07:00

“Of all the money that ere I had, I spent it in good company. And of all the harm that ere I've done, alas was done to none but me. And all I've done for want of wit, to memory now I cannot recall. So fill me to the parting glass. Goodnight and joy be with you all.”
- The Parting Glass

This traditional Irish song was sung by Glen Hansard as his parting words to an overwhelmed L.A. crowd of 17 000 at the Hollywood Bowl last night. His advice was to have no fear, no envy, no anger and no regret. Seated amongst the crowd (which apparently consisted of Colin Farrell) I had an acute burst of insight and the remembrance that humanity really is an amazing thing. There are moments in this life that remind you of the inseperable beauty that lies within everyone of us and when you capture one of those moments, if only for a second, and if only fleetingly, you should live inside of it for as long as your will allows.

I'll Beat You Brainless

2010-07-16T18:53:00.000-07:00

Seventeen hour work days, no pay and the muggy L.A. heat makes Dave a little nutty. Greg’s film is turning out to be a lot more work and organisation than anticipated and is showing us all the benefits of having a supportive crew around at all times. Filmmaking really is an art you may very well have to suffer for, in more ways than one. Yesterday we were up at 8:30am after finishing a 1am shoot the night before and last night I didn’t make it back to bed (I should say couch) until 3:30am. Today though, we allowed ourselves a sleep in and managed to push it back ‘till 11. Thankfully, I don't have to do that much either. The cast have been amazingly resilient with Grace and Dave (actor) pushing themselves further than feels humanly possible.

Oh, I should clarify. There’s three Dave’s on this shoot, which makes things feel like a scene from Heather's. There’s Dave the Actor, Dave the Camera Man and Dave the Me - Production Assistant. If the director wants to speak to all 3 of us, it works great, if not, well let’s just say we’ve had to come up with nicknames that at times, aren’t fit for this blog.

Tonight Mike is having dinner with the lead actor in Bad Boy Bubby (Nicholas Hope) and coincidentally, Dave (actor) is working on a one-man play of the same script, so we’re all hoping Mike can convince him to come to our night shoot so we can be all star struck. I’m really hoping to do my Bad Boy Bubby impression to him, but it’s been nearly twenty years since the movie came out and I only really remember one line “Christ! I beat you brainless”. Might get awkward.

It also appears that I may be playing a part in this film we’re shooting. I seem to have landed the role of crazy party guy #1 and best friend of the lead actor. My name is Brian, and Brian, if you’re reading, I’m gonna play the role as if I’m you. Although I’m hoping to wear a monocle a top hat and possibly just a tie, but we’ll see how it all pans out. It’s funny how things happen.

A few days ago I found myself wandering along Venice Beach where a charity basketball match was being played. I sat and watched while the dunking and the alley-ooping and the “jive talking” carried on and wished so bad that they would pick me out of the crowd. I imagined them saying “you! You, we need you!” Then I pictured myself taking the ball, dribbling it between two big, black dudes and slamming it into the hoop. People would cheer and scream and say "who is that kid?" and a talent agent would sign me on the spot and I'd end up playing for the bulls, where Michael Jordan would teach me everything he knows about the game. While I was day dreaming, the ball was knocked out of bounds and clonked me square in face. I heard the guy beside me say "good eye".

After deciding professional basketball is for losers, I moved on. I ended up getting a piece of pizza, buying a one-of-a-kind hat for cheap, sitting on the beach, watching a couple of old Jewish guys argue about who beat who at handball and photographed some crazy dancing roller-bladers. LA really is a town where you can be whoever you want to be, as long as you're willing to do it for free.

One more day of production and then the majority of the shooting is over. Mike and I have been working hard on our tv show concept, and even managed to get a couple of producers to have a squiz at it so we’ll see what they say and take it from there.
I’m thinking of looking for collaborators out there for a web show too, so if anyone who reads this has a good idea for a low-budget webby, let’s do lunch.

That's The Ball Game

2010-07-13T13:57:00.001-07:00

It’s Sunday morning and today, yes today, is Motorcycle Rally Day! Greg’s allowed me to borrow his production assistant (and brother) as my driver, but before the Rally begins, I decide to follow Greg to his weekly Baseball game somewhere in the Hispanic section of LA. I’m hoping for a spot somewhere in the outfield, but instead find myself sitting in the bleachers, munching on a hot-dog and corn chips while Greg’s team, The Dodgers, play the home team, The Dragons. I figure I just gotta bide my time, surely coach can’t ignore me forever. It’s the bottom of the first and they’re up by 2. The Dragon’s hit a homerun outta the field, over the metal fence to tie the game, but now the baseball’s disappeared and they spend a few minutes searching for it. I think they only bring so many, and if they lose ‘em, well, that’s the ball game.

I overhear a Hispanic woman yelling “yeah, even the sun shines on a dog’s ass somedays” then look around to see if anyone’s supporting her. There’s 6 people at the game. She doesn’t seem to mind.

One of the players on Greg’s team tells me that during one game, a player hit a fowl ball over the fence and they had to watch as a little Mexican kid picked it up, held it high in the air and said “Eyyyy, we stealo Los Baseballos” then took off with it. I respect that kid for some reason.

There’s a shattering crack as the new ball comes off the top of the bat and spins out of the field again, but this time it’s hit over the catcher and into the grandstand. I watch as the Hispanic woman covers her head and the ball pounds itself into an esky, missing her by only a metre or so, crushing a few cans of coke as it lands. The ball shatters, Bottom of the fifth, Dragons up by 4.

As the game goes on, I start to realise just how antagonistic Baseball is. It’s almost a sign of weakness if you don’t complain to the umpire about every single ball. And the umpires, who I’m told are paid no more than $50 per game, stand there and cop the verbal abuse hurled at them from every direction, including from the grand stand. It’s amazing and I kinda find it funny, but don’t know if I should let on. This social baseball thing is serious business, apparently. I feel a long way from the gentlemanly cricket pitch.

While I’m writing notes, a little hispanic girl wanders past, tilts her head into a rubbish bin, then moves on. She’s eight, maybe nine year’s old with a worn face that you might expect on a young mother of three. She carries plastic bottles under her little arms. She can only carry three or four, so when she finds the fifth one, she puts them on the ground and pulls a plastic bag out of the bin. Now she can carry more. She looks at me without altering her expression. We hold each other’s gaze momentarily, then she picks up her bag and walks on to the next rubbish bin. She doesn't look at the game, not even for a second. Bottom of the ninth. Greg hits a homerun. Dragons win, everyone yells.

Octopie Salad & Chips

2010-07-10T10:55:00.001-07:00

“No animal deserves to be confined to a tiny tank and we're hoping that Paul's popularity, or in Germany notoriety, will cause people to think a little bit more about the inner lives of octopuses."

- PETA

So now I hear that an octopus can predict the future of the world cup. Extraordinary. What I love is that it’s dividing the world. Some want to kill it, crumb it and shove it down their mouths, others are calling for the protection of the little fella. No doubt a war will be fought over this little guy and one side will look back with pride as Octopus becomes a national icon. Octopie will either be served on menu’s or it will be epitomised in statue form. Either way, I’m glad to be alive during this time of great historical relevance.

Unfortunately, the line up to Lilith Fair wasn’t as exciting as predicted. A lot of the acts play only certain gigs around the country meaning LA got stuck with the lamo’s and alas my ride bailed on me. Which means that I’ll be helping Greg out on his film earlier than predicted, and I’m looking forward to it. Making a low budget film is like trying to ride a pony standing on one leg (not the pony, you). You balance and balance and balance and you may think that you’re gonna be ok for a second or two, but you’re not only gonna fall, but you’re gonna fall and most likely snap your spine. And when you do, it’s just a matter of seeing how many bones are broke and trying to get back on.

Tomorrow is Bikes, Boobs and Beers day. Stay finely tuned.

Samuel L. Jackson on Route 101

2010-07-10T09:27:00.001-07:00

Pa, pa, Pow! Pa, pa, Pow! My hands crash against the leather gloves that my asian trainer, Sanger holds in front of me. I explain that back home a sanger is a sausage sandwich and he furrows his brow. Jab, hook, jab. Pa, pa, pow! The first bit of exercise I’ve managed to do since the 15 push-ups I did the second day I got to Prague… over a month ago. I’m dancing around the ring like a pansy while Mike and Greg watch on. The first time I’ve been in a ring since my one jaunt with Anthony Mundine for the Sheik Hilaly documentary which, as I recall, got me slapped in the face.

To my left, a guy who may very well be George Clooney’s younger, less attractive brother, to my right, the guy from Fisher King and Sister Act 2. Or is it just my imagination. Who knows anymore. In the car home I swear we were driving next to Samuel L. Jackson, but they all look the same to me… MOVIE stars I mean. Come on.

Over breakfast I listen to my favourite band, Iron and Wine, wondering how to keep life simple. Music. Laughter. Love. Maybe a drink or two now and then. Surely there’s no more to it than that, but who am I to say. I’m missing Emily. I haven’t been able to speak her since she went home from Prague the day after I left to come to L.A, but I’m looking forward to hearing her sweet little voice at the other end of Skype, sometime soon.

Greg’s brother Tim has driven in from Touson, Arizona to help with the film. He’s staying at our place and for a moment, before Greg arrives, it’s just me and him sharing Raisin Bran CRUNCH over the two-seater kitchen table. For one of his electives at college he’s chosen to learn sign language. The reason, he’s not good at foreign languages and, being more of a visual person, decided to take a different tact. Now he’s said that I can’t help but notice his hands flail slightly as he talks, and it makes me wonder if perhaps he’s speaking two different languages at the same time. I’m barely capable of speaking one reasonably.

Fair's Fair

2010-07-08T10:01:00.000-07:00

Driving from Shermanoaks through Santa Monica to downtown Malibu, Mike turns to me and asks what I’m reading. I haven’t said much for most of the 45 minute drive. The book is New Earth, the spiritual enlightenment guide by Eckhart Tolle. It’s not that I’m so engrossed in the book that I don’t want to speak, it’s just that I’m musing over the proposal of a new earth, one in which possessions become meaningless and the dissolution of the search for self-worth in external things shifts to acceptance of what is and inner-contentment. But the thoughts have come in the strangest of settings. Looking around at the million dollar mansions, the plastic bags strewn across the countryside and the smog filling the otherwise crystal blue sky, it’s hard to imagine that kind of thing working out.

At the bar we’re going to, there’s a raffle offering tshirts, sweaters, watches and a surfboard but all I want to win is a hat. The cool surfy hat that wreaks of “who-could-care-less”. Name after name is called, but alas, nothing. But then, just at my lowest moment of hat envy, a woman approaches us and asks if anyone wants tickets to Lilith Fair Music Festival this weekend. She won the tickets but can’t go, so she’s just gonna give them away. Mike and Bibi are heading to San Fran for a few days, so, of course, with the suaveness one has come to expect of me I say “hells yeah!” and before I can down my drink, I’ve just been handed a free ticket to one of the coolest music festivals in California (I think). Unfortunately, still no hat.

The guys we’re meeting tonight are friends of Mike’s and members of the Vintage Motorcycle Club. Guys who ride bikes have a different perspective on the world. They’ve seen it at super fast pace with nothing between them and it. I like that. I feel like I can trust their opinions because, I guess, well, they’re closer to life than I usually am. We become friends and they invite me to their motorcycle rally on Sunday as an honorary member. I want to ask for a jacket, but it feels too soon, so I wait it out.

In the background the sound of name calling and prize giving echoes out. Mike wins a pair of shoes, which I desperately try and appropriate, but his will is too strong and his wits keen. Bibi wins jewellery, which is good because she’s a jeweller and I like things that fit. I can’t help but notice the same name called out over and over again, winning hats and shirts that could have been mine. The name is Brook. I look over and realise it’s that Brook someone, from that show, somewhere, sometime on something. That’s it, the girl from Shallow Hal. The hot one that Hal sees on the side of the road and stops to talk to who turns out to be super ugly. My first Hollywood famous sighting. Naturally, I ask for a photo and we smile cheesily at the camera, me trying to make her laugh so the pinned back lips don’t make me look like just another asshole who forced her into it. She smiles, genuinely, and tells me her ex is from Bondi beach. Aren’t they all?

Driving home, Bibi says to me “things just seem to work out for you” and I smile as the wind hits my face and the faint smell of beach air channels its way through the dank smog. “Yeah, they do don’t they” I say back, keeping the window wide open.

Aliens and Gold Chunks

2010-07-06T18:57:00.000-07:00

Los Angeles, a town of busy streets that flow like a river, filled with SUVs, each one carrying a latte drinker either dreaming of a time when they will be famous, or when they weren’t. I arrived at 7pm on July 4^th, Independence Day. The day when America gets together and says, “fuck you Britain!” all over again. Mike and Bibi met me at the airport then took me to sunset strip, or boulevarde, or maybe it was main street, I can’t be sure. But buskers and breakdancers abound. From the top of the street to the tail, black guys danced while pretty blonde girls sang and all the while I felt the strangest sensation of desperation in the air. Maybe it was the 15 hours on the plane and no sleep, but the perverse nature of entertainment gave me a slight chill and I wondered why people try to climb to the heights of fame when the path seems so treacherous.

We sat in a diner and ate pizza, looking out the window at the crowds of people gathered around the performers. Entertainment really is a strange concept. People paying other people to dance for them, to sing, to act, to show them a world they aren’t capable of experiencing themselves. If an alien race brushed our shores and watched as we paid little gold chunks to each other as a reward for nothing more than a movement or a song, I wonder what they would make of it.

After the initial influx of oddity wore off, I tried to sleep and failed miserably. The next day I was taken to meet Dan Waters, writer of such films as Heathers, Demolition Man and Batman Returns. His quirky eccentricity calmed me somehow and I felt as if I had walked into the house of Larry David’s younger brother. The man watches more than 400 films a year and has a list of his top 230 posted to his wall. Next to that, his friends’ top tens and a magazine article all about him. I joke that I don’t even need to talk directly to him, I can just read his article and find out a range of personal details. Like how he doesn’t have a car, but prefers only to catch the bus. A notion I find odd in LA, particularly as he has two cars parked in his garage. But hey, who am to call the man a liar? I’m new to this place and I have a feeling that in L.A. having only two cars probably does mean that you don’t drive.

Greg is another guy I've met here and a great person. He's one of Mike’s friends and a filmmaker, naturally. He tells us that he’s about to shoot a low budget feature and would we like to help him? “Of course” we both say, “whatever you need”. I even volunteered to play a role if he so desired, which he does. So now that I’m an actor in L.A. I figure I can ask for a trailer and shoot a TV or two. We’ll see how that goes down. I assume it will give me a few more degrees of respect. Right?

Unfortunately we’re having trouble getting Mike’s agent to read our script. There’s an old adage in Hollywood that goes along the lines of “when you’re hot, you’re hot, and when you’re not, you’re not”. That being the case, there’s a good chance we may not have the connections we thought we would have and, alas, may not get our script into the right hands. But hey, that’s show business right? And like I said, aliens and gold chunks man, aliens and gold chunks.

Czech, Czech… is this thing on?

2010-07-05T12:44:00.000-07:00

Sometimes a place can pull you in, spin you around then hang you out to dry without you ever really knowing what just happened, or where your pants are. The Czech Republic may well have been that washing machine analogy. After a month in this wonderful European city, filled with Goulash, inspired art, a beautiful woman (Emily) and a dark past, the time has come to move on and I’ve hardly jotted a word down edgewise. The best I can manage is a few lines from the Prague airport, waiting for the plane to LAX. Somehow inspiration only seems to hit when I’ve stopped ‘doing’. I really need a note book. Or a Dictaphone. What am I talking about? I have both. What I need is a pause button on life. And a mute sometimes.

So, briefly - after three months writing a feature film with Mike, I was ready for an adventure in the city of piers. With its fancy architecture and cobbley cobblestones, we explored the alley ways and bridges, careful to take in every sensation between the narrow streets. Frisbee in the park, beers overlooking the town, David Churney's monuments of babies lining the city like some sci-fi film and Gamelan practice twice a week. In Cesky Krumlov, south of Prague, where bohemia meets baroque and the Vlatlava rivers slices it apart six intrepid explorers rafted down the rapids, Jameson in hand, shouting pirate colloquialisms. In Budapest we exploited the operatic system by paying 4 euro's to see a dazzling italian opera. One wonders how the hundreds of performers feed their families, but hey, we got a sweet show out of 'em so... not my problem. Kafka's grave was surrounded by rows and rows of other, arbitary graves in the middle nowhere, and yes, I did say "how kafkaesque" while standing over him. Blues harp was played while Em sang songs to a crowd of friends who wished us well as we left Czech in good stead and with fond memories. Thus, the Praga concludes.

Now off to L.A. to see what I see, when I see it. Ciao.

Dave in the Life of... Hunting

2009-12-08T18:25:00.000-08:00

If you eat the meat, should you be able to kill the animal?

It’s a question that plagues the minds of the “ethically” and “environmentally” inclined. I put these two words in little bunny rabbit ears because, well frankly, they’re somewhat arbitrary terms. From culture to culture, location to location and person to person, “ethics” change like my senile Grandma’s names for me (which, at one stage, have actually included the name “whatseesface”). Likewise, the words “environmentally friendly” have become so in-vogue that you could slap a Green Earth sticker onto a nuclear bomb, drop it on downtown Logan and claim that you’re saving the planet.

So, if like me you’re one of the many heartless, disgusting, insensitive, carnivores out there, do you think you could bring yourself to whip out a shiny, sharp knife and slide it through the (thick) skin of a wild pig? Or shoot a kangaroo for that matter?

Environmental activists argue that instead of cattle farming, we should look towards kangaroo meat to help save the world from global warming. You see, Kangaroos don’t emit very many greenhouse gases, they’re not hooved, so they don't damage the soil and farming them helps reduce land clearing - but they are our national icon and do look rather charming on the coat of arms. Oh and remember Skippy? That cute and freakishly intuitive animal? Well, he was a kangaroo too (at least his stunt double was). So what do you do? Assassinate the star of his own TV show and the cutest thing in Australia besides the Koala and Isabel Lucas?

And how bout pig killing? It’s true that feral pigs do an immense amount of environmental damage, killing both native and domestic animals and eroding water holes, but they’re also kinda cute – especially when they talk as can be seen in the movie Babe and Babe 2, Pig in the City.

I’ve always thought that if the opportunity ever presented itself to kill an animal that I, being the sinning, loathing, vile, meat-eater that I am, would have to kill it or else I wouldn’t be able to live with my own hypocrisy. What I never counted on was being thrown into a pig-ridden scrub with a knife and having every hypocritical move I make being caught on camera. It’s when this happens that you realize that meat is in fact the dead word for animal.

Find out if I can pull the trigger (so to speak) on Dave in the Life, 9pm Thursday Nights, SBS One. Episode 2: Hunter.

Dave in the Life of... Sex Workers

2009-11-22T21:36:00.001-08:00

How many of you have thought about getting paid to have sex? Come on, raise your hands. Yep. Yep. You in the back with the lazy eye, you too. Ok, there you go. Well, wanna know something? So have I.

There’s something mysterious about the world of prostitution. Who does it? Why do they do it? How do they feel about it? And is it a choice or a necessity? These are tip of the iceberg questions to the deep and elusive world of sex work and they’re questions to which I needed answers.

So, in a moment of excessive clarity, I decided that the best way to do this was to become one myself. “Whaaaaat?” I hear you say, lazy eyes bulging at the seams. And to that I reply, “you should really see someone about that weird eye and yes… that’s right, I did”. But it takes a lot more than you might think to make it in the prostitution business. Sure, there’s the notion that you stroll into a hotel room, dance around a little like that scene in True Lies, get your freak on and get paid exorbitant amounts of cash, but the truth is that being a male escort is hard work, and even harder if you go soft. Get me?

And that’s not the only problem that comes from dealing in sex. Ever thought about what would happen to your social life? Or what you’d tell people you do? You could say the ‘Entertainment Industry’, but then that raises more questions, questions like, “have you been in anything I’ve seen?” or “great, can I come watch you sometime?”. To which the answer, you’d have to assume, would be an awkward “no”.

How would people look at you if you told them that you get paid to have sex with strangers? What would your friends think? Your girlfriend or boyfriend? Your workmates (you know, if prostitution was more of a ‘job on the side’)? And then there’s that burning question which would plague many of us… what would your mother think? In my case she doesn’t know yet, but come Thursday night, she will.D

Dave Zwolenski

Dave in the Life of… a Pensioner

2009-11-22T21:35:00.001-08:00

In this life there are a few things we can be sure of. One of those things is that no matter who we are or how much we floss, one day all of us will grow old… or die trying.

So have you ever thought about how your young, tight body with all its muscles, lovely curves and smooth skin will one day become flaccid, weak and rough? I have, and it’s not something I take lightly. So in preparation for the day my man boobs hang low and the crows feet around my eyes become croweyer I took a few precautionary steps, namely, I lived, ate, drank and even bingo’d like a pensioner for a week to see just what it would be like.

Getting old is something that strikes fear into the hearts of the young and sends shivers down the back of the middle aged. It’s a scary thought to realise that in 10 years you’ll be comparably different to today, 20 years, 30 years, what about 40 years? It never ends, and no matter how much you try to run from it, like the Terminator, aging will hunt you down and it will kill you.

Not only did I take into account the financial assistance that pensioners live off, but I also designed my very own old-age suit, complete with wonky eye, bad knees, restricted movement and poor hearing. Then adorned my creation and took to the bowling green. I may not have been able to hear or see anyone, and I could barely reach down to pick up my balls, but I did give those oldies a hell of a run for their money.

This week on Dave in the Life you’ll be treated to guitar playing, bad singing, bottles of pasta sauce being smashed on shoes, the ladies teaching me how to square dance and my favourite oldie, Margaret, who wasn’t shy about her feelings on societies treatment of the aged.

But the highlight of this weeks show – my two crossgender pensioner friends living life on the edge and loving every minute of it. They taught me ways to cut corners, save every penny and find some serious bargains… providing I don’t mind wearing a dress of course. Which I don’t. I’m a sick, sick old man.
Dave Zwolenski

To experience all the aches and pains (and a lot of the laughter) of being an oldie, tune into Dave in the Life, Thursday, 8:30pm, SBS one. Episode 9: Pensioner.

Dave in the Life of… a Controversial Artist

2009-11-22T21:33:00.000-08:00

I’ve always wanted to know how I could make it BIG in the art world. Should I smear myself in human blood and camp naked in front of PETA to be ironical? Climb the Opera House in a fly suit made of actual flies and jump off the top? Or could I just take one, very intimate, very young photo and send it to everyone I know?

It seems that the sure-fire way to crack into the Art world is to do something outlandish. Something offensive. Something controversial. So just what is it that pushes enough people’s buttons to get them talking, but not so many that they write you off as a no-talent freak just trying to make a name for himself? It seems that the answer… is naked children.

Children are innocent by nature. They haven’t been tainted by the demons of society. They are pure. Literally unadulterated. So when Bill Henson took that pure form and juxtaposed it against the notion of maturity and pain, the image raised the attention of many people who were worried that it raised something else for others. From that moment on, the idea of putting children in art was a recipe for controversy no matter which way you looked at it. And controversy sells. Henson is now a household name, right up there with Van Gogh and Rolf Harris - and that’s just where I wanted to be.

Now I didn’t want to become just some sick freak with a penchant for young boys and girls. What I wanted to be was an artist, and nude children just happened to be my doorway into the art world. But how far do you go before you start questioning your moral integrity and ethical standards? How far is too far? Turns out that there are a lot of people against using nude children in art, and it doesn’t matter how many artists you can reference who’ve done it before or how much you claim to be “portraying the human condition”, these people really don’t appreciate naked children in art form. And can you blame them? With paedophile rinks seeming to outnumber auto-dealers these days, and people like Dennis Ferguson setting up shop in Sydney’s suburban North-West, it’s no wonder the debate rages on.

Many feel that the fight is against the artist’s bringing these images to the forefront of society, but if Picasso was right in saying “Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth” then the question is this: is it really the artists who should be placed under the microscope, or the rest of us?

Dave Zwolenski

To enter the seedy underbelly of the Art world, tune into Dave in the Life, 8:30pm Thursday Night, SBS One. Episode 6: Controversial Artist (featuring Adam Cullen and Polixeni Papapetrou).

Dave in the Life… Shock Jocks

2009-11-22T21:32:00.000-08:00

Gosh, what freedom it would be to yell, scream, rant and cuss whenever you felt like it, to whoever was listening, whilst getting paid a hell of a lot of money. It’s good to be the King… of Radio.

When Kyle Sandilands asked a young teenage girl if being raped was the only sexual experience she’d had, the nation began cracking down on radio shock jocks. Phone’s rang off the hook, complaints were lodged, grandmother’s with poor vision threw their frames at the TV, and shock jocks were placed well and truly under the microscope once again.

From Alan Jones to Stan Zemanek shock jocks have always been the offenders of the nation. It’s what they do, it’s what they love, and it’s why people listen. They’re that bellowing voice at the other end of the wireless whose wild and often contradictory views are heeded by many and loathed by many more. It’s a position not all of us respect, and probably even fewer could bring ourselves to do. A position that can lose you friends and gain you many, many enemies. A position not for the faint hearted, and so, of course, I decided it was a position for me.

This week I meet one of Australia’s most controversial shock jocks, Bob Francis. A radio based loud mouth whose claim to fame was when spoke arrogantly to an elderly woman, referring to her as a 'stupid old lady' and repeatedly calling her a 'dickbrain'. His colourful language made headlines across Australia, and was even featured on Media Watch two weeks later. He also refused to say sorry over the incident, saying: "I loved it. If it was taken in context, she had a go at me. She was being nasty." and that "If she rang again, I'd do the same thing.

Not only this, but his words have been taken by many as racist and anti-indigenous, causing rifts in society that would not be there otherwise. So what happens when I confront Bob on the issues of his sexist, racist and judgmental comments? Let’s just say my face was a little tender afterwards.

Mike Carlton also makes an appearance this week, and even the Prime Minisiter K.Rudd, gets on air to do his thing. It’s a good’n, and if you don’t believe me, you’re an f-ing Dickbrain!
Dave Zwolenski

If you’ve ever thought about getting on radio to speak your mind, no matter who you’ll offend, tune into Dave in the Life, Thursday, 8:30pm, SBS one. Episode 8: Shock Jocks.

Dave in the Life… Sex Entrepreneur

2009-11-22T21:31:00.000-08:00

You know that moment right after sex? The moment where you’re lying there, crumpled on top of each other, wiping away the tears, softly singing “My Heart Will Go On” into your lovers ear. Just me? Anyway, in that perfect, blissful moment of post-coital joy, have you ever thought to yourself… maybe I should have gone just a bit longer?

I’ve always considered myself reasonably capable when it comes to the bedroom. There’s never been any mishaps or backfires. No disasters or uncontrollable laughter. Sniggers sure, but definitely not guffaws. But then I saw them! THE BILLBOARDS! These billboards have bombarded Brisbane for years now, and it’s not just our quant little city that’s feeling the brunt of it. Other cities have been infected by the plague that is Longer Lasting Sex too - Sydney, Melbourne, Perth, London, Twickenham… YES, even Twickenham was hit hard with these erection ads, and frankly it got me worried. So I started thinking, just how long is long? How lasting is lasting? How sex… is sex?

And in search of my own my own rebuttal, I decided that there was only one way to find out. Go straight to the top. Through some miracle performed by the God of lust, I managed to get access to one of Australia’s most controversial, and highly hated, men - Jack Vaisman’s his name, and longer lasting sex is his game.

This is the guy responsible for those huge billboards promoting erection issues. The top donger! You could say he’s the man who put penises on the map and I spent a few days with him to find out what he’s like behind the scenes and the billboards.

Something interesting I discovered was that in August 2008 after 18 months of heated discussion, the “Longer Lasting Sex” ads were deemed inappropriate by the Advertising Standards Bureau and consequently had to be changed. But when you think about it, is the word “Sex” really so confronting these days? It’s certainly no problem for Carey and the “Sex and the City” gals who get away with having the S-word flashing in huge, dazzling lights on a daily basis.
Now I didn’t just stop with just the advertising side of sex either. I went in deep, seeking advice from a medical doctor who showed me the many ways a man can improve his manhood. I met a guy who’s robotic penis had me shamed. And I got to know my mates a little better when I threw a BBQ and raised the topic of sexual malfunction. Oh, and ever wondered what Nasal Spray Technology is and how it works? I found that out too.
Dave Zwolenski

If you want access to that often undiscussed and rarely admitted to issue of sexual dysfunction, tune into Dave in the Life, Thursday, 8:30pm, SBS one. Episode 7: Sex Entrepreneur. It might just harden you up.

Dave in the Life of… Gambling

2009-11-22T21:29:00.000-08:00

When I was at Uni, like so many other students, I was low on funds. So I invented a game. I’d get my housemates to each take an un-popped kernel of corn out of a bag and, with utmost dexterity, ask them to each mark their piece with an insignia.

We’d then place the kernels in the microwave and watch. Not speak. Not move. Just watch. For a few moments the old Queenslander, filled with pizza boxes and paint-chips, would become our very own underground casino. It was like cock fighting, but with corn. Money was laid down, names were given to each contestant’s kernel and, when that timer began, the game had begun. Two minutes per round, only one winner. It was when you heard that first kernel pop and morph into a glorious, wholesome piece of buttered popcorn you knew a winner had been decided. Then it was only a matter of extracting the un-popped kernels and, by the power of deduction, declare a winner, salute, and down a XXXX tallie. It was a time waster. A fickle, childish game that possibly gave us radiation poisoning and lost us the ladies, but it was gambling, and it was beautiful.

At one point or another we’ve all been addicted to something. Whether it’s pokies, the women, crack cocaine or if you’re like me, popcorn races and the boardgame Risk.

So this begs the question, are Australian’s intrinsically gamblers by nature, or is it bred into us as we watch our elders, who have learnt from their elders, to succumb to the whims of lady luck? I wanted to find out what drives people to gamble compulsively - to the point of bankruptcy, divorce and often their mental health. It was time that I became a gambler.

I stepped out with $500 in my pocket to see just what the best way to actually win money off of gambling was. There are options out there for all you wanna be punters, and while I don’t encourage becoming an addict, a lot of fun can be had from throwing a few pennies down on the doggies or rolling the dice every now and again.

But just remember, if you’re gonna pop corn, prepare to get your kernel singed.

Dave Zwolenski

To see me taste the creamy highs and the bitter lows of betting, tune into Dave in the Life, 9pm Thursday Night, SBS One. Episode 5: Gambling.

Dave in the Life of... Politics

2009-10-28T09:30:00.001-07:00

In this country there’s a little thing called Democracy. We listen to everyone, we take it all on board, we weigh up the pro’s and con’s and then we close our eyes, spin around in circles and pin the tail on the decision.

In recent news, Senator Barnaby Joyce was mocked by a local news reporter who mimicked the “crazy” symbol (i.e. put finger to ear, stick tongue out, then twirl finger in a manner that suggests “wow, what a crazy person”) on live TV while Barnaby was discussing something to do with politics, or democracy or whatever. The gesture was caught on camera and, to most people’s amusement became talk of the week. Then later, with deep embarrassment coursing through her veins, she apologized to Barnaby for “making the crazy gesture”.

Barnaby’s reply was this "Maybe I am crazy, maybe this isn't parliament but an asylum. And if I'm not Barnaby, who am I? ... And then, who is Barnaby? If I am crazy, it would explain a lot about this place."

So is Barnaby really insane? What kind of a madhouse is Australian Politics? Does anyone really know what’s going? I figured the only way you’re gonna get these answers, and more like it, is if you work your way into the system, right? So that’s exactly what I did. Running for the seat of Mt Cootha in this year’s State Elections, I, Dave Zwolenski, made a pledge. That I would run under the banner of Truth and Honesty in Politics… Always!

From then on in I would eat, sleep and poop honesty. If I didn’t know the answer to a question, I would simply say “I don’t know”. If I knew the answer and it was bad, I would say it anyway. And these simple notions of truth and honesty were ideas that I took to the highest authority on the subject of truth in politics, the grand pooba of telling it like it is, the madman himself, Barnaby Joyce.

In this week’s Dave in the Life, you’ll get a never before seen insight into Barnaby Joyce’s life. He takes me on the campaign trail. He lets me into secret meetings with secret people discussing secret stuff. He schools me on the difference between private and public conversations, and, in one of the most remarkable and rare events ever captured on Australian Television, Barnaby, a politician, actually laughs. Must be seen to be believed!

If you want to see a whole new side to Barnaby Joyce, and to politics, tune into Dave in the Life, 8:30pm, Thursday night on SBS one. This is the last episode, so if you haven’t gotten on the Davy Train yet, do yourself a favour and check it out.

Dave in the Life of... Survivalism

2009-09-13T20:16:00.002-07:00

It is the year 2012. The Mayan’s sit back in their Aztec recliner chairs and laugh. A bleak, scorched sun sets over the grey city. The lifeless streets sleep as a tumbleweed tumbles weedily along their cobbled surfaces. Not a soul breathes. Not a person moves. It is… the end of days.

And then there was Dave! Am I comparing myself somewhat to God in this short story you may ask? Perhaps. Who knows? What I do know is that it’ll be me who’s laughing when God comes down here and smotes all your asses. So, when the times comes (as predicted by The Mayans and other miscellaneous crack pots) who’ll feel the icy cold foot of Dave stepping on their spine to get to the bunkers? Not me I can tell you that much. Firstly because I would have trouble getting my leg up that high and secondly because I have learnt the ways of the peaceful warrior.
It doesn’t take much to survive off the land. All you have to do is teach yourself how to fight, be able to eat the bum off of Ant’s and slaughter a guinea pig every now and again. At least, that’s my understanding.

Survivalism - It’s been heralded by some as a paranoid delusion that not only has no basis in truth whatsoever, but that it is a completely absurd way to live. The other side says that the way our society is heading, there is absolutely no doubt that we will see the Human Race destroy itself possibly before my children are old enough to smoke dope and steal hover cars, and we should be prepared for this huge time of upheaval.

So how should we move ahead? Live in a world of fear and paranoia, assuming the worst and bunkering down for cataclysmic turmoil? Perhaps we’re missing the point to some degree and we shouldn’t be so scared about the future because God’s got it all under control. Or maybe we should just throw caution to the wind, let the chips fall where they may and cram as many sayings into one sentence as humanly possible. Who knows the answer? Well, I’ll tell you who. Me, I do. I got it all worked out. Eternal life, world peace, the future of our planet, brotherly love, enlightenment, I got it. It’s all right here. Right here in my backpack. Come on now, that’s it, just follow the letters to the backpack, follow them until you find the…. BAM! Tricked you. Oh man, You totally fell for it. What a chump.

To discover the answer to surviving everything, tune into Dave in the Life, 9pm Thursday Nights, SBS One. Episode 4: Survivalism.

Dave in the Life of... Homelessness

2009-09-13T20:16:00.001-07:00

One wrong move. One bad investment. One roll of the dice. One day. That’s all it could take to be out of luck and out on the street. So what does being “Homeless” really mean?

There’s a fine line between having a roof over your head and having to beg for loose change. So how close are you, am I, to being homeless? With the global recession in full swing and housing becoming more and more expensive, there are now more homeless people on Australian streets than ever before, and it doesn’t seem to be decreasing any time soon.

I wanted to dip my toe into the waters of homelessness, so I ventured out to the streets of Sydney for a few nights to try to get a handle on the intricacies of it all. It didn’t take long for the fear and loneliness to kick in, and, when the camera crew said goodnight, I was left on my own to battle the elements and find shelter. Fortunately I made friends with my new bestie, Hank, who showed me the finest sleeping spots around and where to find food. But as I discovered, homeless isn’t just about shelter and eating. The issues that face almost every person out there include mental disorders, family crisis and drug abuse - and that’s just scratching the surface.

As a good friend of mine says, we’re all just one diagnosis away from insanity, and when you talk to some of the people out there you realise just how true this statement is. It doesn’t take much for your average, working Joe to become dejected with the sometimes meaningless world we live in and snap, leading to drug addictions, depression and self-harm and consequently, homelessness.

The most fascinating aspect I found out there was the articulation and self-awareness that many homeless people had in regards to their situation. To so clearly understand your predicament and yet be completely helpless to solving it, now that’s where many of us struggle to relate. And therein lies the division - those who can change their situations and those who can’t. But, make the wrong choice, bet on the wrong horse, roll the wrong dice and you may find that the division is no more than a diagnosis away.

To rough it on the streets with Dave, tune into Dave in the Life, 9pm Thursday Night, SBS One. Episode 3: Homelessness.

Dave in the Life of... Hunting

2009-09-13T20:11:00.001-07:00

If you eat the meat, should you be able to kill the animal?

Find out if I can pull the trigger (so to speak) on Dave in the Life, 9pm Thursday Nights, SBS One. Episode 2: Hunter.