Gonked on honk-shoo zonkers!
Eat, Pray, Glove!
I feel so fucking girt by sea right now. Swatting away flies, sipping milky flat whites, being barked at from moving cars in the suburbs – I’m back on Australian soil. I ticked off a bucket list item while in Europe which was to perform stand-up overseas (pictured, me standing up): once in London and once at the Edinburgh Fringe. I’m not sure either crowd liked me, but that’s between them and God.
There’s nothing quite like a five-week stint in another continent to make you forget your troubles! And there’s nothing quite like being back at home and returning to your routine to make you remember your troubles! But troubles be damned – I’ve got reflections to make.
Eat!
Consumables that don’t perish.
Of all the shows I power-watched at Edinburgh Fringe, the most insane one has got to be Diana: Untold and Untrue. A man in a wig performs as Princess Diana, telling the story of her life through his airy, hushed voice, while randomly selected members of the audience are brought on stage to read lines and act as the other characters in her tragic tale. It’s ridiculous, it’s pantomime-y, it’s gay. If and when it comes to Australia, reader, consider it mandatory viewing.
For the first time in my life, I read a book in under six months (two weeks, if we’re being specific). The Believer by Sarah Krasnostein is a series of in-depth interviews with people who hold varying beliefs – not just religious, but about death, about aliens, about murder – and how these beliefs bridge the gap between the reality we have and the reality we want. I can’t recommend it highly enough.
I finally watched The Notebook for the first time on my flight back from London. Well, 80% of it, before the Phenergen kicked in and I was absolutely gonked on those honk-shoo zonkers. I woke up to what I think were two old people dying in their sleep together – and that was just in the seats next to me! Ayo!
Pray!
Wishful thinking with no follow-through. It’s called manifesting!
At any given moment I’m about one, small piece of bad news away from quitting my job and moving to Switzerland under a new name. *taps mic* Is this relatable?
The only thing worse than having no job is having a job. I’m yet to really decide which path is for me. In the last two weeks, I’ve played the classic hits of someone who’s just returned from an overseas holiday, performing Google® searches such as:
Countries accept Australian citizen open arms
How live digital nomad life without learn new skill
Price alert cheapest flight anywhere please hurry
After visiting eight countries on my first trip out of the country since 2019, I’m reminded how big the world actually is. Gosh, there must be at least a dozen countries out there. Maybe more!
Years ago, my friend Kieran moved from Sydney to London. I was gobsmacked. “How do you know it’s going to work out for you?” I asked, through the gaps in my fingers that were covering my eyes in fear. His response still rings in my brain nearly a decade later: “If it doesn’t, I’ll always be 24 hours from home.”
Not everything in life is permanent. We’re lucky to live in an age where home is a mere trip away. The idea of living in a city that isn’t Sydney feels so big, so daunting, so hard. But big things only seem hard because we haven’t done them yet, and once we do, there’s always a “get out of jail free for 20,000 Qantas Points” card. It’s just hiding behind a decision.
Living in a new country is actually achievable – the only roadblock is the choice. I pray one of these days it’ll feel as achievable as it actually is. That I’ll wake up and think, sure, I’ll take the midnight train going anywhere. What else have I got on?
Glove!
A personal reality from a real person.
Don’t trust everything you see on TikTok.
Before we landed in Europe, we had only one (1) event booked: dinner at the internet-famous Barbarossa, a restaurant on the Greek island of Paros. I’m choosing to believe it was named after Operation Barbarossa, the name given to the German invasion of the Soviet Union during WWII, given everyone who worked at the restaurant was a fucking Nazi.
Annabelle’s friend Bec had booked a rare table for both her group and ours, months in advance, for 8:30pm. “We HAVE to go to the place where you spin your napkins” I heard many times in the lead-up to this magnum opus of our trip. The vibes looking-in are immaculate. All the seating is outside, mood lighting on each table, the whole venue atop a stone slab looking out onto Greece’s gorgeous waters. But once you enter their lease line, you are no longer a valued member of their TikTok, no longer a number in their viewcount. Just a customer, committing the great sin of expecting a service that matches the price of admission. And if there’s one thing the Greeks hate, it’s having to work.
Barbarossa is TikTok famous because twice a night, at 9:15pm and again at 11pm, everyone in the restaurant is invited to stand up, grab their napkins and twirl them in the air. Sounds like something I could do at home for free, but truthfully I was excited to be exposed to a new Greek tradition beyond just doing anal.
Twenty minutes in, while squinting at my menu in the darkness, I looked around at the other patrons who must’ve also heard about this place on TikTok. Not a single person at any table was smiling. Forty minutes into our 2-hour window of seating, we finally had our orders taken by a man who looks like he hates his girlfriend. After listing our complex order featuring mains, some entrees, and three different types of alcohol, Bec said to the waiter “can you repeat that back to us?” and as he stomped away, he blurted “no.”
However the most egregious error committed by Barbarossa was still to come. It wasn’t that a crispy squid entrée cost $40 AUD. It wasn’t the lack of backing music creating a nice atmosphere. It wasn’t the fact it took us 30 minutes to finally flag down a waiter who wasn’t avoiding eye contact when it came time to pay. Although, when he asked “how much for the tip?” Bec said “no tip 😊” through a pleasant demeanour that reeked of an overdue victory.
Well after 9:15pm, we wondered where our cue to napkin spin had gone. We were poised, flicking each other with napkins, awaiting permission to become the obnoxious Australians in Greece we were born to be. We had to ask a waiter “when will the napkin spinning start?” to which he said “oh, we’re not doing that today, because of the wildfires in Athens. Feels wrong to be celebrating.”
I’d like to say that suddenly it all made sense: the morose faces in the restaurant, the unpleasantness of the wait staff, the emergency SMS I’d received in Athens the day before which I’d ignored because it was in Greek, fuck it. That we immediately felt guilty for expecting a joyful affair as advertised on TikTok, in the wake of such a harrowing natural disaster.
But none of that explains why we could hear the napkin spinning ceremony happening from down the street at 11pm. I just think they personally hated us.
Before you go…
This Saturday I’m competing in Improv Theatre Sydney’s annual SMACKDOWN competition, with my improv partner and funniest person in the universe Alex Reynolds. We haven’t decided on our dress code yet but it’s sure to be slutty.
I’ll be MCing one of my favourite rooms in Sydney, Good Vibes Comedy, on October 3rd in Surry Hills. Good vibes encouraged.
Finally, I’ll be selling my wares at The Comedy Store from October 10th to 12th. Not sure who else is on, but last time I performed at the Store I went on right after Dave Hughes so the crowd hated my non-Hughesy approach to comedy. Come see whether the gamble pays off in real time!
Sayonara! That’s French for aloha.
Aloha handsome!
If you were in Europe, why aren't you tanned?