text:
102.2 Jazz FM
Broadcast area | Greater London (FM), Nationwide (Freeview) Nationwide (Sky Digital) Greater London, Yorkshire, South Wales and the Severn Estuary, West Midlands, North East England, Central Scotland (DAB) |
Slogan | Get it on |
Frequency | 102.2 MHz |
First air date | 4 March 1990 |
Format | Jazz |
Owner | GMG Radio |
Website | www.jazzfm.com |
102.2 Jazz FM (also known as London Jazz Radio and JFM) was a local jazz and soul music station for London run by GMG Radio. The station was based and broadcast from Castlereagh Street[1] in London. The station experimented with its core playlist over its fifteen-year history, incorporating smooth jazz, mainstream jazz, soul, jazz fusion, acid jazz, blues and rhythm and blues. In 1994 the station changed its name to JFM to encourage more listeners who were put off by the 'Jazz' in the station's name. Richard Wheatly was appointed in 1995 to turn the station around when there was only three months' money left to run the station.[2] Wheatly made a number of sweeping changes to the playlist, selling a sister station and changing the name back to Jazz FM,[3] as well as starting up a record label and spin-off business deals and opportunities which helped Jazz FM swing into the black and make a profit in 2001.[4]
In July 2002, after a relaxation in ownership rules from the publication of the Communications Bill, the Guardian Media Group's radio division was able to purchase the station for £44.5 million. GMG made more changes to the playlist, shifting to more R&B, soul, easy listening and adult contemporary music during the daytime. In 2004 with the agreement of Ofcom, jazz was dropped from the daytime schedules but retained a requirement of 45 hours of jazz to be played during the night.
In June 2005, GMG Radio replaced the station with adult contemporary station 102.2 Smooth FM. GMG cited a number of reasons for replacing Jazz FM, including poor listening figures, not making money, the 'Jazz' name putting off potential listeners as well as not enough jazz for jazz purists. The Jazz FM name was retained by GMG for the relaunched ejazz.fm website service which was renamed jazzfm.com on the same day as the launch of Smooth FM. The station broadcast on digital satellite, online and on spare DAB capacity in Yorkshire, South Wales and the Severn Estuary where 102.2 Smooth FM and the defunct Smooth Digital service would have been duplicated.
On 28 February 2008 GMG Radio announced the potential return of Jazz FM in London on DAB radio, digital satellite and the Internet as a relaunch of the current jazzfm.com service.[5][6] The station relaunched on 6 October 2008.[7]
The station was launched as a result of a ten-year campaign by musician Dave Lee, who was inspired after listening to a Los Angeles jazz radio station, which has since turned into a classical station.[8] The licence to broadcast was given in 1990 to London Jazz Radio who subsequently changed their name to Jazz FM on launch. Jazz FM launched on 4 March 1990 with an Ella Fitzgerald concert at the Royal Festival Hall in London.[8][9] Ella was flown in by the station to perform the concert to play with the Count Basie Orchestra and the concert was Ella's last appearance in Europe.[10] To promote the station, Jazz FM paid out £750,000 for advertising on ITV.[11]
Jazz FM faced insolvency in its early life.[12] Broadcast Investments made an offer of £348,000 to purchase the station.[13] Broadcast Investments withdrew their offer when Golden Rose Communications made a higher offer of £500,000 for the station. Golden Rose Communications took over the station in 1991.[14][15] Former finance director Alastair Mackenzie stated that in an interview in 2002 that the station had run out of money three times in 1991, and he also helped with a management buy-in of the station for £435,000 in 1992.[16]
Jazz FM's licence was put up for renewal in 1993 by the Radio Authority. As well as Jazz FM, there was a bid for the licence from Euro Jazz London, which included ex-Jazz FM employees.[17] Jazz FM retained its licence to broadcast.[18]
In 1994, the name of the station was changed to JFM by the station's management in order to appeal to more listeners who may have been put off by the name "jazz" in Jazz FM, and who thought that Jazz FM only played jazz records.[19] The station spent £500,000 on publicising the name change.[20] Richard Wheatly was appointed chief executive officer in 1995 to revive JFM which was running out of money due to both JFM and sister radio station Viva AM, a radio station for women. When Wheatly joined JFM, the station had three months cash remaining in the bank.[2] Golden Rose Communications was floated on the stock exchange in the early part of 1995.[16][21] Wheatly sold Viva AM which was losing £100,000 a month before the sale[2] for £3 million to Mohamed Al-Fayed as part of his cost-cutting plans.[22][23] After 15 months of being branded as JFM, in the autumn of 1995[24] the name reverted to Jazz FM after Wheatly asked the Radio Authority for approval to change the name of the station back from JFM to Jazz FM.[22][25] The change back to Jazz FM was reported to have cost £900,000.[20]
Golden Rose Communications opened a jazz themed restaurant, Cafe Jazbar in Liverpool in April 1997. The restaurant was operated under a joint venture with Regent Inns. A travel service in partnership with Thomas Cook Group and British Airways was also set up. There were also plans for jazz retail outlets named Jazshops selling CDs and merchandise.[26]
In December 1997, Golden Rose Communications planned to make a bid for Melody 105.4 FM[27] which did not succeed. The station was purchased by EMAP and rebranded as Magic 105.4 FM.
Jazz FM Regional and ILR FM applications | |||
Area | Year | Successful Applicant | Reference |
North West | 1993 (launched 1994) | 100.4 Jazz FM (licensed as Jazz FM 100.4, launched as JFM 100.4) |
[28] |
Central Scotland | 1998 | Beat FM | [29] |
North East England | 1998 | Galaxy North East | [30] |
South Wales | 1999 | Real Radio | [31] |
Yorkshire | 2001 | Real Radio | [32] |
West Midlands | 2003 | Kerrang! 105.2 | [33] |
Glasgow | 2003 | Saga 105.2 | [34] |
From 1998, Jazz FM also looked to expand its operation across the UK. The station made bids to run stations on FM frequencies in Central Scotland, the North East of England, South Wales, Yorkshire, the West Midlands and Glasgow. Jazz FM withdrew from bidding for a FM licence in the East Midlands because of chief executive Richard Wheatly's belief that a dance station would secure the licence.[35] The East Midlands FM licence was awarded to Saga 106.6 FM which started broadcasting in 2003. Jazz FM did become a member of the MXR consortium and did launch on DAB multiplexes operated by MXR as well as Switch Digital multiplexes in London and Central Scotland.[36]
The station signed a deal with Clear Channel Communications in February 1999. The deal not only invested £3 million into the station but also allowed Jazz FM to advertise on unused advertising billboards.[36]
On 12 December 1999, Golden Rose Communications changed its name to Jazz FM plc.[37]
In January 2002, Jazz FM plc made a £20 million bid for London talk radio station London News Radio. The bid was backed by the Guardian Media Group and Clear Channel International.[38] If the bid had succeeded, the station would have combined London News Radio's operations with its own in order to save money.[39] The station was later sold to the Chrysalis Group for £23.5 million.[40]
In 2002, US radio audience research company Arbitron announced that Jazz FM was the most listened to Internet radio station.[41]
In May 2002, the Guardian Media Group made a bid of £41 million to Jazz FM plc at 180p a share.[42] The bid came on the day when the draft Communication Bill was published[43] Jazz FM plc's largest shareholder, Clear Channel had been waiting for a 220p a share bid, but agreed to the 180p a share bid in late May. Herald Investment Management who had a 7.7% stake in the company and Aberforth Partners were not happy with the 180p a share bid.[44][45] On 6 June, GMG raised its bid to 195p a share to secure the institutional shareholders who were holding out for a better bid.[46][47] Richard Wheatly announced that he would leave Jazz FM once the takeover was complete.[48] The offer was declared wholly unconditional on 5 July.[49] In December 2002, GMG moved its sales operation from Clear Channel Radio Sales to the Chrysalis Group, inline with the sales operation for other GMG Radio stations.[50]
Jazz FM TV[edit]
Plans for a Jazz FM TV channel to launch in the middle of 2004 were reported by various websites[51][52] from 2003. The channel if it had launched would have been a mix of music videos and documentaries.[53]
Making way for Smooth FM[edit]
In 2005, GMG made the decision to drop the jazz name completely and rebrand Jazz FM to Smooth FM. Chief Executive of GMG John Myers said: "As sorry as we are to say goodbye to Jazz FM, it's a sad fact of life that it has never made a profit in its 15 years of existence." However, in 2001 Jazz FM plc did make a profit before tax for the six months to December 2000 of £60,000, with most of the profit coming from Hed Kandi and other Jazz FM Records CD sales,[4][54][55] a move of Jazz FM's sales team to Clear Channel's control, saving Jazz FM plc £1 million every year and increased revenues from advertising due to higher audience figures.[56] Jazz FM also announced in 2001 that it had made full year profits before tax of £134,000 to 30 June 2001.[57][58]
Other reasons given for the rebranding was disappointing RAJAR figures, that the Jazz FM name was putting people off listening to the station and that the station not playing enough jazz for the purists.[8] The latter situation was solved by GMG Radio by adding additional investment into the ejazz.fm website and changing the name to jazzfm.com at the same time 102.2 Jazz FM became 102.2 Smooth FM.[8] Included in the investment would be two dedicated jazz stations of which one still runs to this day and has been rebranded to Jazz FM.[59]
The North West version of Jazz FM was the first to rebrand on 1 March 2004 and then the London version (including the Freeview and many of the DAB feeds) on 7 June 2005.[60] During the last few weeks before the launch of Smooth FM, Jazz FM changed its jingles slightly from "Smooth Jazz and Classic Soul" to "London's Smooth Favourites" as an indication to listeners of the change to come.[61]
Jazz FM in its previous form closed on Friday the 27 May 2005 with the last track played being, rather fittingly, Ella Fitzgerald's 'Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye'.[62] GMG then played a promotion for Smooth FM alongside music tracks to be played on the new station and live news at the top of the hour until the launch of Smooth FM at 10 am on 7 June with the help of R&B singer Lemar and then breakfast show presenter Jon Scragg.
Return to the airwaves[edit]
The station continued to broadcast after the launch of Smooth FM under the Jazz FM name as jazzfm.com on the Internet and on DAB in West Central Scotland at a higher bitrate.
On 28 February 2008 GMG Radio's chief executive John Myers made an announcement that Jazz FM would be brought back in London, the North West and the West Midlands on DAB. Myers also said that he believed it would make more sense for there to be a dedicated radio station for jazz listeners than the current 45 hours of jazz to be played on Smooth FM, as required by the licence granted to them by Ofcom.[63] The closure of theJazz on Digital One was also part of the reason for the return of Jazz FM.[64] The relaunch of jazzfm.com, under a three-year deal with The Local Radio Company happened on 6 October 2008.[7]
When Jazz FM launched, the station played a mixture of mainstream jazz, with the daytime schedules originally dedicated to smooth jazz, and some soul programming. Specialist programming from Jez Nelson and live concerts were broadcast in the evening and at weekends.[65] In 1992, the policy changed and all non-jazz programming was taken off the schedules.
In 1994, alongside the change of name to JFM, the core playlist was changed under agreement with the Radio Authority to give a more mainstream sound of soul, jazz fusion and blues music, with a requirement that only 25% of music played on the station had to be jazz.[25][66]
In 1995, when the name changed back to Jazz FM, smooth jazz and fusion music was reduced.[25] More popular, well known and mainstream jazz was placed in the core playlist.[67]
Chief Executive Officer Richard Wheatly noted that the station format was in trouble because of its serious straight jazz playlist.[68] To counteract this downturn in listeners to Jazz FM, from 1998, Wheatly introduced more varied jazz into the daytime playlists.[22] From February 1998, smooth jazz and soul music were more integrated into the core playlist of Jazz FM.[67]
Although Jazz FM has originally from the start played jazz music, more soul and softer R&B music was added later on in Jazz FM's lifetime to appeal to the 25-45-year-old market that Jazz FM needed to entice to the station, especially after GMG Radio took over the running of the station and in particular in November 2004, after an agreement with Ofcom, jazz was dropped from the daytime playlists. John Simon, GMG programme director for Jazz FM at the time said that the station was never licensed as a jazz station, but a station that played a broad range of black music styles.[61]
Ofcom licensing requirements[edit]
Ofcom as part of its licence agreement with Jazz FM, stated that Jazz FM had to dedicate at least 50% of the daytime output before 19:00 to 'Jazz' music, and that the music "must sit well with the label jazz".[61] However, from the 15 November 2004, as part of an agreement with the Guardian Media Group, Ofcom agreed to allow GMG to change the format of the station, with the 50% jazz in daytime output requirement dropped. John Myers, the chief executive of GMG said "The policy we are going on is ratings by day, reputation by night. Jazz is much more of a night-time listen so the changes fit well." As a result, jazz music was increased from 40 hours to 45 hours[69] and the Dinner Jazz programme hours were increased from two to three.[70][71]
" | Why not pull out altogether and hand the wavelength to a company happy to play jazz? That, after all, is its broadcasting mandate. | " |
—Jack Massarik, Evening Standard[61] |
Ever since the station launched in 1990, many fans of traditional and modern jazz had criticised Jazz FM for pandering to more 'accessible' music,[65] with Jazz FM playing more smooth jazz,[72][73] soul and R&B music, especially during the daytime schedules.
British jazz and blues singer George Melly stated to The Independent in 2003 that he had become so disillusioned with Jazz FM's playlist he had stopped listening to the station altogether, describing much of the music as "middle of the road". Grammy award winning jazz artist John Chilton stated that Jazz FM was failing to reach its remit for jazz and also said that he would prefer the station to adopt a pure jazz policy.[74]
Professional British jazz musician and former Jazz FM presenter, Digby Fairweather in 2006 wrote an article on the, at the time, upcoming British jazz radio station, theJazz. In the article, he said that Jazz FM had turned into a "tragic and swift disaster story" and that the change of playlist later on was "responsible for both the attempted rape and (fortunately abortive) re-definition of the music" to which no-one within the Jazz FM coverage area would forgive.[75]
Radio Authority Investigation[edit]
In March 2003 the Radio Authority (since embodied into the UK governments communications regulator, Ofcom) investigated Jazz FM after it received two complaints from listeners who complained that the station was playing more "pop" music, after changes made to the Jazz FM playlist in January 2003.[76] Artists played on Jazz FM which were alleged to have infringed its licence included U2, Eric Clapton and Van Morrison.[74]
Chris Hodgkins, director of Jazz Service which is funded by the Arts council in the UK, stated he would lodge a complaint with the Radio Authority because jazz artists were being denied airplay because of the daytime output of smooth jazz and soul.[74]
Jazz FM was cleared by the Radio Authority of any breach in June 2003.[77] By the end of the investigation, it was revealed that fifteen people had complained that Jazz FM was not playing enough jazz.[78]
Jingles, slogans and branding[edit]
Kay Garner, a British jazz singer, was asked by the founder of Jazz FM, Dave Lee, to sing the original jingles for the station when it launched in 1990.[79] Jazz FM has also had many other jingles and slogans during its 15-year life. The most well known was the "Listen in Colour" (featuring the Jazz FM chameleon) strapline, poster advertising campaign and CD in January 1997.[80] The campaign was created by the Willox Ambler Rodford Law advertising agency.[81] The campaign was credited with a 48% increase in RAJAR listening figures from 437,000 to 650,000 in the last quarter of 1997.[82] Later on in 2002 a poster campaign by WARL was launched featuring the chameleon peering through a misted window with the tagline "Come into the Cool".[83] Other slogans include "The Rhythm of the City" and afterwards, during the GMG era, "Get It On" created by Kitcatt Nohr Alexander Shaw,[84] though on-air it was swiftly replaced by "Smooth Jazz and Classic Soul". The £5 million relaunch with Manning Gottlieb over three years from 2003 brought an end to the Jazz FM chameleon[85] because extensive research carried out by GMG Radio found that few people could associate and recall the chameleon with Jazz FM.[86] The Bespoke Music Company created the Jazz FM jingles which were in use since 1 January 2003, until 102.2 Jazz FM was relaunched as 102.2 Smooth FM. A sample of the jingles used can be heard from their website.[87]
As well as broadcasting on FM in London, Jazz FM was also made available on digital radio in the United Kingdom via the Sky Digital platform on 30 April 2002[88] and on the Freeview platform on 30 October 2002.[89] Both launches were preceded by test transmissions. Jazz FM was also available on DAB digital radio on a number of MXR multiplexes across England, South Wales and Central Scotland (excluding MXR North West, which hosted the defunct 100.4 Jazz FM service for the North West) and the Switch Digital multiplex covering Greater London. Jazz FM was also broadcast around the world on the Internet through their website.
Bring A Pound To Work Day[edit]
Jazz FM, like its counterpart GMG radio stations, held 'Bring A Pound To Work Day' in late October/early November 2003/2004. Listeners were asked to donate and collect pound coins for a local children's charity – Nordoff-Robbins in 2003 and the Lennox Children's Cancer Fund the following year.[90] Listeners could also text message a number for donations at a cost of £1.50, of which £1 went to the charity. Jazz FM has also held auctions in past years to help boost the money raised for charity. Lots included a signed edition of Harry Potter, exclusive concert tickets and even a chance to join the former breakfast presenter Jon Scragg on his show for one day. 'Bring A Pound To Work Day' was enormously successful for the chosen charities; in 2004, enough was raised to purchase a new Lennox holiday home on the south coast of England.
The automated Jazz FM service that exists today no longer runs 'Bring A Pound To Work Day', although the campaign remains on other GMG stations. Jazz FM's successor Smooth FM have rebranded their fundraising effort the Smooth Appeal.
Former Specialist Programmes on Jazz FM[edit]
Many of the programmes that formerly played on Jazz FM did continue to be broadcast for a while on Smooth FM and were made available for download on the jazzfm.com website until 2008.
- Andy Peebles' Soul and Soccer: A three-hour show on Saturday afternoons featuring soul music alongside soccer updates and scores. The show continues on 100.4 Smooth FM but is now entirely playlisted, and musically mirrors the station's normal music output.
- Behind The Mask: A six-part series which was commissioned in early 2003 following GMG's purchase of the station which saw vocalist Alison Moyet profiling well-known figures within the jazz industry.
- Behind The Mic: An occasional series which tended to air on Saturday lunchtimes between 1 pm and 2 pm – famous figures within the jazz/soul industry were invited to play their favourite songs.
- Dinner Jazz: One of Jazz FM's flagship shows on weekdays between 7 pm and 9 pm/10 pm featuring easy listening and jazz. The show made a return as part of Jazz FM's relaunch in October 2008.
- Drivetime with Russell Pockett: A four-hour show playing jazz and soul music, included the Million Sellers at 3 pm, which only played songs that sold a million records or over and the Top 3 Most Requested at 5 pm, where a listener requests three pieces of music to be played in sequence on the show.
- Hed Kandi: Hed Kandi had two parts: between 2 am and 5 am, presenters Mark Doyle and Andy Norman played dance music for the "post-clubbing generation". Then, for one hour between 5 am and 6 am, the Hed Kandi Chillout Hour played more chilled out music.
- Legends of Jazz with Ramsey Lewis: A show which features classic jazz recordings from major and influential jazz artists.
- Mainstem with Campbell Burnap: A two-hour programme which included many forms of jazz from classic to Latin as well as a mix of jazz from the younger players of the day.
- Mike Chadwick's Cutting Edge: A two-hour show on Saturday nights featuring contemporary jazz music. The Cutting Edge was also produced for jazzfm.com, theJazz and part of the programming for the relaunch of jazzfm.com to Jazz FM in October 2008.
- Paul Gambaccini's Jazz 20: A jazz chart show which was originally broadcast on Saturdays but which moved to Sundays in 2004, and became the 'Jazz 40', between 5 pm and 8 pm.
- Peter Young's The Soul Cellar: A show on Sunday afternoons which featured soul music, including northern soul.
- Sidetrax: A half-hour show (1990–1991) from 10 pm on Saturday nights doubly presented by curators from the British Library Sound Archive in which a broad selection of jazz tracks was alternated with world and popular music according to a chosen theme. Introduced in a one-hour live special with the late Malcolm Laycock on the station's first day of transmission, the programme ran in its original form for over a year with Chris Clark and Lucy Duran as the main presenters. Sidetrax transferred to a slot within 'Somethin' Else' in February 1991 and continued until May that year.
- Smooth Jazz Through The Night: A three-hour show through the night which played well known smooth jazz records from the archives of Jazz FM.
- Somethin' Else: A four-hour show on week nights featuring contemporary and classic jazz music, competitions and listener contributions. Presented and produced by Jez Nelson and Chris Phillips.
- The Late Lounge with Rosie Kendrick: A two-hour show featuring chillout grooves and jazz. In 2008, the show was brought back on the relaunched Jazz FM and presented by Claire Anderson.
- Tony Blackburn's Real Party Night: A show presented by Tony Blackburn featuring lively soul and disco music from the ages. Tony Blackburn also presented a show on Jazz FM called Real Soul between 10 pm and 12 am on weeknights from March 2003 for twelve months. Real Soul was replaced by a three-hour show from 1 March 2004 featuring jazz, soul and R&B music presented by Clive Warren.[91][92]
Former Presenters on Jazz FM[edit]
Jazz FM records[edit]
Jazz FM also had an established record label called Jazz FM Records, publishing smooth jazz and soul music in line with its former music output before the rebrand.[96] The first CD released by Jazz FM was in 1996 and titled Dinner Jazz American Classics.[97]
Jazz FM Records Discography[edit]
Jazz FM Records also brought out compilation tracks from the Hed Kandi team before Hed Kandi Records was set up as a label in its own right. In 2001, Jazz FM promoted their Hed Kandi record label in Ibiza, by hosting twelve weekends of dance and house music at the Pacha nightclub in Ibiza. This followed previous events elsewhere in Ibiza, Amsterdam and London.[54] In November 2001, Ministry of Sound and Jazz FM plc made a deal where the Ministry of Sound would distribute all Jazz FM records.[98] Jazz FM also launched a new record label, Stereo Sushi Records in February 2002.[98]
Jazz FM Records has since been renamed Enterprise Records, which in turn was bought by the Ministry of Sound record label from the Guardian Media Group for an undisclosed sum in January 2006.[99] However, under plans to relaunch jazzfm.com as Jazz FM, the Jazz FM Records label was brought back.[100]
Jazz FM Events[edit]
Jazz FM Events specialised in setting up and providing events based on a wide range of jazz and soul music based on the radio stations output. This included anything from concerts to performances in bars across the UK. Major events would be publicised via the radio station and the Jazz FM website, including the famous Soul Weekender weekends.[101]
Jazz FM Connections[edit]
Jazz FM Connections was a dating site run by People2People.com. The service required an individual to pay a subscription to chat and meet up with other people registered on the service. The service continued as Smooth FM Connections, and later became Smooth Soulmates.[102]
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- ^ Perry, Ian. "Aircheck UK – Essex." Updated 20 May 2003. Retrieved 17 August 2006. Archived 19 October 2009. Archived 28 April 2004 at the Wayback Machine
- ^ a b c d Burrell, Ian (28 March 2005). "Final coda for Jazz FM as smoothies take the helm". The Independent. Retrieved 7 September 2008.
- ^ "Goodbye 102.2 JAZZ FM". Radio Today. 28 May 2005. Archived from the original on 29 September 2007. Retrieved 14 April 2007.
- ^ Andrews, Amanda (28 February 2008). "GMG in talks with Ofcom about Jazz FM return". London: The Times. Retrieved 28 February 2008.
- ^ Chapelard, James (28 February 2008). "GMG jazzes up digital radio". Crain's Manchester Business. Archived from the original on 10 May 2013. Retrieved 28 February 2008.
- ^ a b Hebditch, Stephen. "AM/FM Newsletter Number One – Spring 1990". AM/FM. Archived from the original on 30 April 2008. Retrieved 14 April 2007.
- ^ Leapman, Michael (13 April 1994). "Media / Talk of the trade: Not all that jazz". The Independent. Archived from the original on 20 July 2009. Retrieved 5 July 2009.
- ^ a b Poole, Denis (March 2000). "Smooth jazz radio in the UK – Part 2". Retrieved 13 April 2007.
- ^ "'Marketing jazz was like marketing Guinness'". Evening Standard. 19 May 2002. Retrieved 2 September 2008.
- ^ "Jazz FM broadens daytime output". Music Week. 16 November 2004. Retrieved 2 September 2008.
- ^ Perry, Ian (19 February 2005). "Aircheck UK – Buckinghamshire". Aircheck UK. Archived from the original on 19 October 2009. Retrieved 2 September 2008.
- ^ Matthews, Sam (15 October 2004). "Jazz FM drops traditional playlist to appeal to advertisers". Brand Republic. Retrieved 2 September 2008.
- ^ Davis, Clive (5 March 2004). "Hush the slush". London: The Times. Archived from the original on 16 June 2011. Retrieved 7 September 2008.
- ^ Byrnes, Sholto (18 February 2005). "Jazz killed by smooth operators". The Independent. Retrieved 7 September 2008.
- ^ a b c Hastings, Chris; Bisset, Susan (1 March 2003). "'Bland' Jazz FM under fire for playing too much pop". The Telegraph. Retrieved 7 September 2008.
- ^ Fairweather, Digby (18 November 2006). "New Jazz Station – Goodbye to the Smooth, Hello to the Classics". Fly Global Music Culture. Retrieved 16 February 2008.
- ^ Watchdog probes Jazz FM. Published by BBC News on 3 March 2003. Retrieved 17 August 2006.
- ^ "NEWS BRIEF: Jazz FM cleared". Brand Republic. 5 June 2003. Retrieved 2 September 2008.
- ^ Dancer, Helene (3 June 2003). "Jazz FM plays enough jazz, watchdog says". Mad.co.uk. Archived from the original on 20 July 2009. Retrieved 5 July 2009.
- ^ Kay Garner Biography. Retrieved 17 August 2006.
- ^ Owen, John (9 January 1997). "Jazz FM launches 'listen in colour' poster campaign". Brand Republic. Retrieved 2 September 2008.
- ^ "Listen in Colour, Jazz FM". AdForum. Retrieved 27 March 2007.
- ^ Beale, Claire (27 February 1998). "Monthly Rajar data shows Jazz FM and Virgin making leaps". Brand Republic. Retrieved 2 September 2008.
- ^ "NEWS IN BRIEF: Jazz FM to launch poster campaign". Brand Republic. 10 January 2002. Retrieved 2 September 2008.
- ^ "Jazz FM marketing campaign breaks on 7 April". Brand Republic. 3 April 2003. Retrieved 2 September 2008.
- ^ "Jazz FM appoints Manning Gottlieb to £5m relaunch". Brand Republic. 20 February 2003. Retrieved 2 September 2008.
- ^ "Jazz FM hands Kitcatt £2m brief for relaunch". Marketing Week. 23 January 2003. Retrieved 3 January 2011.
- ^ "The Bespoke Music Company – The Listening Booth – 102.2 Jazz FM 2002". The Bespoke Music Company. Retrieved 27 March 2007.
- ^ Jazz FM added to EPG. Published by Sky Digi Online on 30 April 2002. Retrieved 5 September 2006.
- ^ "Freeview to launch on 30 October". BBC Press Office. 3 October 2002. Retrieved 3 September 2008.
- ^ "Jazz FM to host Christmas charity show". Music Week. 30 November 2004. Retrieved 2 September 2008.
- ^ JAZZFM hits high note with Warren and Peebles. Published by GMG Radio on 23 February 2004. Retrieved 17 August 2006.
- ^ Wilkes, Neil (26 February 2004). "Blackburn dropped from Jazz FM evenings". Digital Spy. Retrieved 8 June 2008.
- ^ Gritten, David (30 April 2009). "Paul Jones: the man who could have been in the Rolling Stones". The Daily Telegraph. Retrieved 18 May 2009.
- ^ "Malcolm Laycock obituary". Daily Telegraph. 15 November 2009. Retrieved 19 November 2009.
- ^ "Gilles' Biography". BBC. Retrieved 12 December 2010.
- ^ "Jazz FM Records". Discogs. Retrieved 27 March 2007.
- ^ Smith, Nicola (28 August 2008). "Jazz FM". New Media Age. Retrieved 13 September 2008.
- ^ a b "Jazz FM launches third label through Ministry". Mad.co.uk. 31 January 2002. Retrieved 7 September 2008.
- ^ "Hed Kandi Records". Discogs. Retrieved 27 March 2007.
- ^ "Wheatley to relaunch Jazz FM". Radio Today. 29 June 2008. Archived from the original on 5 January 2011. Retrieved 29 June 2008.
- ^ "JAZZFM Events". Internet Archive. GMG Radio. Archived from the original on 5 February 2005. Retrieved 27 March 2007.
- ^ "Welcome to JAZZFM connections.". People2People. Archived from the original on 7 February 2006. Retrieved 27 March 2007.
External links[edit]
- Jazz FM Online (now used by the relaunched Jazz FM, previously also used by jazzfm.com)


text:
Bike Forum
Show us your Fat Bikes...........
Posted 11 months ago #
I really am going to have to drill my rims
Posted 11 months ago # -
I used a Bosch holesaw in my pillar drill.
Reversed the head so it hung out past the edge of the bench and used a piece of wood the width of the spoke gap to support the rim. By putting a stop on the 'support' bit of wood the mid point of the rim was always directly under the drill and I had something to push against to stop the rim moving whilst drilling (although I did mark the centre between each pair of spokes for additional confidence).
Low speed, lots of wd40 squirted on to keep temperatures down and the bit spinning freely and it was fine.
Bashing each plug out of the bit each time was probably the most time consuming/frustrating part.
Posted 11 months ago # -
Posted 11 months ago #
You must log in to post.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
No days left.
I head directly to the airport after my final gig in Perth.
I can't remember how it went, but they gave me my money and that's all that matters.
I stumble into the airport drunk and stoned, walking past a bunch of police officers standing near the entrance. They eye me suspiciously. Luckily they realise I'm flying out and let me pass.
'I'm going, I'm going.' I slur at them.
I get on the plane. As the plane takes off i look down onto the shrinking lights of Perth.
I miss it already.
2 days left. I'm backstage at a gig lying on a couch in foetal position. One of the other acts enters the room. He suffers from severe cerebral palsy and is near quadraplegic. To compound this, he suffers from hayfever so has a wad of tissue permanently jammed up his nose to stop the mucus that would otherwise constantly run down his face. He has to breathe through his mouth, but because of his severe condition, he has to half gulp air like a goldfish in a conscious effort to not suffocate to death.
'How(gulp) have you (gulp) been?' He asks me. I think about the bad things that have happened to me on this trip and then watch him gulp for breath.
'No complaints.' I say.
I look at the poor guy confined to his chair. I see the will to live outshine the constant suffering in his eyes.
'Fan-fucking-tastic actually.' I add. Thank god for the existence of people worse off than you to put your pointless whining into perspective. That's why they are there right?
My complaints shrink down the petty debris that they are. You just can't complain about anything around this guy that he wouldn't be able to just instantly trump just by being there.
'I got banned from these gigs.' I'd say.
'Oh yeah, I can't do those gigs, cause they dont have disability access.' he'd reply.
'I had a glass thrown at me.'
'Well at least you would have the option of dodging it.' he'd reply.
'My back hurts from couch surfing too much.'
'At least you can feel your back.'
'People are threatening me on facebook.'
'Well at least you don't have to go to bed every night in the fear of choking on your own saliva.'
Fuck this guy. It's not fair.
'What have you (gulp) been up to?' he asks.
All i can think of to say are things that he is not capable of doing and giving the response, 'A lot of things that you aren't capable of doing' is not a good answer to give. But on the other hand, i feel bad telling him all the things i have been able to do, like i'm rubbing his face in his condition. What am i supposed to say?
'Oh you know dancing at a rap concert, snorkelling, swimming, walking, standing, whacking off in a beach toilet…'
In the end I just tell him,
'Nothing much. Just a lot of sitting around really.'
After the gig i have late night Chinese with a couple of other comedians. One of the comedians starts complaining about having to support a family,
'You have no idea what it's like having two young kids to support. I got no money, no time… Coming to do gigs in Perth is like a holiday for me.' He says.
'Oh yeah??' Says the other comic,
'I'm 40 grand in debt man. I gotta sell my house to get out of debt now, and property prices are going down… Plus i broke my foot playing basketball and it didn't heal properly. You know how fucked it is travelling around like this?' he says, pointing at his foot in a plaster cast.
He'd won.
Fuck these guys I think.
'You guys should really stop complaining about stuff. Life is precious. You gotta hold onto it.' I say.
I pay for dinner.
Just before we leave the restaurant, i go to the bathroom and spot some graffiti that seems to convey a very profound and significant message relevent to my particular situation:
I wake up feeling hungover and evil. I go get the breakfast buffet. I love buffets because they remind me that i have severe self-control issues. I have problems stopping. Because everything is so expensive here, I start trying to eat to stave off future hunger, as if being hungry once in a while is terrible thing. I eat too many eggs and too much bacon and sausages until I feel the grease weep from the pores on my face right there at the table. I get up to get another plate.
'Are you okay?' One of the other comics ask.
'I don't know. Probably not.' I reply.
'You seem to have some kind discoloured, oily fluid condensing on your face.'
'It's just panjuices. Make a good gravy.'
I walk through the main public area of the island. Everyone i look at i immediately think has been at last night's gig. I can't tell if there is true malevolence in their eyes or if my paranoia is getting the better of me.
'I can't deal with being on land. It's not for me.' I tell another comedian. He suggests going snorkelling. We hire snorkels and head off to one of the reefs. It's fucking awesome. I lose track of time, following beautiful reef grottos with luminescent coral and schools of fishes of all different sizes. I see blue devils, silver drummer, moorish idols, sweep, lobsters, wrasse. I spend hours in the water.
I am of the firm belief that I was not born to be on the land. Maybe i was a whale in a past life or maybe I'm just fat but everytime i surface and stare at the shore i feel nothing but revulsion. i don't want to go back to land. It's overrated. It's heavy and full of people.
But i have to go back to the land eventually. I have tickets to see Cypress hill that night.
I swim to the mainland.
A few hours later, I'm in a room full of moshing people yelling in unison the chorus to 'How i could just kill a man.' which is the line 'KILL A MAN' repeated about 20 times. After the 15th repetition, I both want to go kill a man and do whatever else someone with the confidence to name themself 'B-real' tells me to do. 'WHO SHOULD I KILL MR REAL?' I shout. He doesn't hear me. The song ends and B-real then tells us how much he loves us and out of all the crowds in the world, the crowds in Australia are the best. Then he plugs his web TV series, new album and marijuana paraphenalia business. For dudes who made a name for themselves about how much they like to get high, they sure are highly motivated high achievers. I stare at this once criminal, now millionaire, who made his fortune on a platform of funky beats and lyrics about gang violence and weed and realise anything is possible.
B-real bein real…
I'm heading to Rottnest Island to do a gig. Rottnest Island was used in the past as an aboriginal prison island. Kind of like Alcatraz for people who hadn't committed any crimes other than being on a piece of land other people who weren't them wanted. What was once a place of incarceration for indigenous people is now a very popular holiday destination. But say what you say about the tragic history of brutality, genocide and murder, the snorkelling there is great and they have a Subway sandwich shop and everything.
The place is literally a mass grave. In fact there are signs right next to the children's playground that point this out. '367 Aboriginal males were executed and buried here in this spot.' the sign there reads. Almost one for every day of the year. I'm feel sick inside but then i turn my head and watch some kids play on the see-saw next to this mass grave and cheer up a bit.
Our hotel rooms are two aboriginal prison cells with the dividing wall knocked down. They are very comfortable. I don't know what those imprisoned aboriginal prisoners were complaining about. The showers are hot and strong, the mattress is very soft and they had an electric kettle with all the tea, coffee and milk, you could drink. It seems like a nice place to stay to me.
Also the island is infested with these tiny marsupial wallaby type creatures called quokkas. They are cute as fuck.
'Fuck the Quokkas mate. I fucken hate them.' a local tells me.
'Why?' I ask.
'Cause they just get into your backyard and your front yard and shit everywhere.'
'Well you did build a house where they live.'
'Yeah but they come in and shit everywhere.'
'But they were there first.' I almost say but then I remember what happened to the other things who were here first in Australia. They were imprisoned on this island to die. I keep my mouth shut.
I'm hanging with one of the other comics. The subject of my negative views on Perth and the gig bans come up.
'Perhaps because you expect that kind of reaction, and you kind of subconciously manifest it.' he says.
'Perhaps you're right.' I say. Perhaps its true. Perhaps i got some kind of weird reverse secret thing happening. I pledge to myself that i will do my best to be likable and accessible to the crowd that night.
I even write on my hand before the show two words: 'LOVE THEM.'
The gig that night is horrendous. It's a nightmare crowd. The front three rows are drunk and disruptive. The heckles come thick, fast and way too drunkenly slurred to effectively respond to. Someone called Sarah has turned 22 that day. I know this because a group of drunk 20 something girls repeatedly scream this at us a number of times during everyones set. The first two acts struggle. The MC does okay, he's a very experienced act with wide appeal. I wish i was him. The MC brings me on and the its touch and go from the get go. I'm getting some laughs here and there but it's hard to gauge as you can't hear the laughter clearly over the ambient drunken screams. I compensate by shouting loudly and talking quickly over the top of them. There is a middle aged woman up front shaking her head and saying 'NO, NO, NO.' After everything i say. What she's saying no to is questionable. At first i think maybe it's my material but then i conclude that it's probably just my general existence.
'SARAH'S 22! SARAH TURNED 22 TODAY! SARAH'S 22!' the group of young drunk girls scream at me. They look exactly like the tinder girls here in Perth.
'Yes, yes, we know. You keep screaming that in the middle of all our jokes like we give a shit.' I say. They boo.
'SHE'S 22!! SARAH'S 22!' They scream again.
'So what? Sarah's one year closer to death who gives a shit? 22 years and 9 months ago your parent's fucked, it's not that special.' they boo me more.
'You ever wonder what kind of sex your parents had to make you Sarah? Were you the product of a shit lay? or a hatefuck perhaps?' I don't know why hatefucks prefigure so highly in my act here in Perth, but then it occurs to me that that is exactly what Perth is to me at that point, a hatefuck. Our relationship had run it's course. It was time to break up with Perth. It had started out well all those years ago. We didn't have much in common back then but we had always got along, but then something happened.
'Maybe it will help if i talk like youse guys.' I say in a pisstake of a broad aussie accent.
'Oi youse guys settle down, let's have a bit of silence for old mate Hughsie.' i made the mistake of saying. Hughsie of course was the 25 yr old cricketer Phil Hughes who'd died recently of a cricket ball to the head. For the first time the entire night everyone is silent and attentive.
'Don't you fucken dare mate.' I hear a voice snarl. I'm not sure what to do. I didn't mean to talk about Hughsie but i feel i have to assert my dwindling authority and do a joke about Hughsie despite the awkwardness. I tell an insensitive joke i threw around on my facebook feed when i was depressed earlier that week about how the Australian Cricket team were saying they will have trouble replacing him. My suggestion was to get the bowler Sean Abbott who'd killed him as his replacement. The punchline was, 'He can't spin like Warnie, but he can kill a man with a ball, and that's a valuable asset to have on any kind of team, sporting or otherwise.' But instead of saying 'kill a man' i said, 'Kill cunts.' The joke gets nothing except some uncomfortable laughter up the back. The middle-aged woman doesn't even say 'NO.' Suddenly i hear a whistling noise and an empty glass flies through the air about two feet to my left. Perhaps it was a warning shot, or perhaps it was just a shit throw. It was definitely not a throw good enough to kill a man like the high bouncer Sean Abbott had thrown, but it's enough to throw me off my already thrown off game. The middle aged lady then gets up and turns around to face the thrower.
'NO, NO, NO! NO!' she says, picking the glass up off the stage and sitting back down.
I decide to pull back a bit and start doing some inoffensive material about birds.
'So what's with birds?' I say.
'NO NO NO.' The middle aged lady goes back to saying. Maybe that's all she can say i wonder. My classic birds bit bit gets predictably nothing. Maybe it was because the segueway between getting glass almost in the face and the classic birds bit was clunky at best.
'I'm sorry, it's really hard for me to tell jokes while i keep an eye out for flying chunks of glass that might shatter in my face and cut my eyes.' I say.
I wish i could say that i turned the gig around, but some gigs you just have to cut your losses. I manage to get a couple laughs out of the situation, but for the most part i'm just counting down my time. Literally. The last two minutes i start counting down from 120. It's another classic bit of mine, but about twenty seconds in, the heckles begin and i keep losing count. Eventually i give up around 96. I end the gig by telling them that they are the worst crowd i've ever played to and that i hope they get hit in the head with a cricket ball and die.
I sit in the corner with the other comics with my back against the wall and drink warily, keeping an eye out for more flying glasses.
I am trapped on this island for the next 15 hours.
After several more pints, i stumble back to my hotel room and drift off to sleep, wondering how many aboriginals have died in the room I am in.
I wake up. It's ok to be alive again I guess. I check my emails. There's an email from the booker who told me that he wasn't telling me what to do when he told me what not to do. I am informed that i've been cancelled from the show that night and that I'm banned from all future gigs of his. This is unfortunate because he runs the main paying gigs in town. Damn. He explains that i said the word 'cunt' too much in one the bits i did at the last gig i did for him. I'd been concentrating so hard on not making people cry in the crowd that i had neglected to even think about saying 'cunt' too much. I realise the bit that had gotten me banned was the previously discussed anecdote about the racist woman/man who called me a cunt repeatedly, whom I fictionally hatefuck in a ditch. How ironic. Banned for quoting what a Perth heckler had said to me during a gig the last time i was here. It doesn't seem fair, but I'm too bored to care and too tired to hate. I send a reply back reminding him i did really well at the gig he is banning me for. He informs that it's nothing personal and that i will still be paid for the gig that night. This is the second night in a row that i have been paid to not do my act. It is starting to seem more and more like the bookers here are paying me good money to not do my act to people. I feel like they are blackmailing me into blackmailing them with my act to not perform for money. I catch myself dreaming of one day becoming rich and famous from being the guy club bookers pay to not do his act to people all over the world. I close my eyes and wonder why this keeps happening to me. Some words appear in a text box behind my eyelids:
Of course. It's not me, it's this conservative backwater hole that I'm stranded in. It was never me and it never is me. It's always where I am. And no matter where i am I am there, making it suck, ruining it by being there, a black mark across various landscape paintings.
I feel dirty so I decide to go for a swim at the beach to cleanse myself. I know the dirt will never be washed from me, but i can at least clean the dirt itself. Make the dirt sparkle. When i get to the beach however, i realise that i've forgotten my swimmers. I get in the water in my boxers anyway. I immediately get dumped by a broken wave and when i surface, disoriented, a parasailer nearly drives the tip of his surfboard into my face.
'WATCH IT MATE!' he yells.
'I'm a mirage, I'm not real.' I reply. Then I get dumped by a very real wave and when i break the surface, i notice there is now a very real rip in the back of my boxers that widens to stretch down my entire very real right buttock. What to do. I look around. The rip is strong and I've been swept downstream into the windsurfing and parasailing area. All these men just moving endlessly around the horizon being pulled by the wind in circles. I wonder where they are going. If they care that they don't seem to have a destination. I become jealous. Then I realise that their destination is the same as mine: Anywhere except wherever they were last. Scooting around in endless circles, avoiding themselves by tracing infinite symbols on the water in the light of the descending sun. I move out of their section to float and relax but the pull is strong and i keep getting dragged down the beach, towards the other bathers. Some of these bathers are children. I'm already on thin ice here in this city and the last thing i need to do is expose my buttocks to multiple caucasian toddlers. This would not bode well. I attempt claw my way back up the beach on all fours, only to be pulled back down the beach by the rip, back towards the soon-to-be screaming children.
I give up. I want to get out, but i can't because there is a hole in my pants and a people who dont want to see my buttocks still on the beach. There are a lot of them there. All of them. I stand in the water, facing the current and expending a lot of energy to just remain stationary while i wait for them to leave. Wave after wave smashes into my face and I wait. I watch the birds. I watch the parasailers. I watch the windsurfers. I turn to watch the sun slowly descend over the horizon. I watch for dorsal fins that might liberate me from my flesh suit with all the finesse of an epileptic butcher under strobe lights.
No luck.
I am informed via email that my headline spot has been cancelled from the gig that night. Apparently I was there earlier in the year and based on that performance, the venue made a last minute personal request to cancel me. I try to remember what gig it was and what had happened but my memory is hazy. My memory of all past gigs tends to blur into one long standing ovation, so it's hard to delineate specific victories. I reach the conclusion that i had probably just done too well and by comparison, made the other comedians on that night look like the rank amateurs that they were.
What i did remember was that the gig itself had a reputation for being a difficult affair for any comic who played it. High ceilings, bad layout, overpriced and a crowd that was mostly middle-aged to elderly British expats eating their dinner.
Yep, whatever did happen, it was undoubtedly not my fault.
With age comes wisdom, with wisdom comes blame.
I call the booker up. He apologises for the cancellation and assures me that i will be paid anyway. But that's not the point. I'm in Perth. I just need something to do here. Gigging in Perth was my purpose for being here and without that, I feel like im trapped somewhere between a forced holiday and a failed concentration camp.
I call around to see if there are any other gigs on that night. I'm growing frantic. What is a comedian without a gig? A highly unnecessary individual with no purpose other than to be food for more useful people when the apocalypse hits. I find the only other gig on that night and call them up. They're full and can't put me on. The small pin holding an otherwise shapeless existence is no longer there. I wander the streets aimlessly until my legs get sore. I head back to my room. I get on facebook and start posting too much. Horrible posts. Offensive posts. Posts i immediately regret that give away too much of my damaged mental state. I get on twitter and start tweeting too much. I get on tinder and send abusive messages at spambots, followed by apologies and declarations of love in the hope they might meet up with me once i work a way to get inside the internet. I feel dirty. Stained. I go on youtube but I can't think of anything to look up. I just stare at the empty search box and it seems like a metaphor for something i don't want to face. I watch the flashing cursor till all time diminishes. My mind grinds to a halt. Eventually I google 'What should i youtube?'. 'Youtube.' Google answers. I type 'youtube' into youtube. It begins to load. I am salivating in anticipation at what i will see. Maybe it will be three bodybuilders in drag being executed by a monkey with an uzi. Maybe it will be an octopus emerging out of someone's great-great grandmother's prolapsed uterus. Maybe she will turn around to face me and i will recognise her as my own.
I see nothing except a black screen. I look closer, detecting a faint swirling in the blackness. It is slow and woozy but soon begins to pick up speed. Watching it makes my brain ache. Misshapen, rotating lips emerge from the vortex and engulf my head and body, swallowing me whole like a jungle snake. I try to scream but I cannot move let alone make a sound. Multiple pseudopods of black… is it liquid, solid or gas? Is it even physical? I can't tell. It feels like a kind of immaterial gel as it enters my eyes and penetrates every cell within my body. Turbulence in and around me. I'm slowly being pulled in multiple directions at once and I begin to dissolve.
I come to conscious awareness but I don't seem to be breathing. No, I cannot feel my body anywhere. I cannot feel my mouth or my ears. I can't hear anything. But it's not like I'm deaf, it's more like there was never any sound to begin with. I try to talk but i can't. Well it's not like i can't, it's more like i don't have a mouth. The only thing i can do is see, but not with my eyes. I don't know where my eyes are. There is just this detached field of vision that i seem privy to. In this field of vision is a black, two dimensional, rectangular box outlined in white with a flashing cursor inside of it. I can't work out if this box is outside of me or within me. Perhaps it's both. 'What is this?' I think. Immediately these same words appear as text in the box. 'WHAT IS THIS?' It reads. Suddenly i realise what i am. I am a status update text box. Waiting to be filled with something. Anything. I receive, but do not feel, a poke from my right. My field of vision shifts in that direction. There is another status update text box next to me. Inside it are the words, 'THE AFTERLIFE.'
I recieve another poke from my left. It's another status update text box. Inside it are the words, 'HA HA HA.' I recieve a poke from above. My field of vision shifts upwards. Another status update text box. Inside it are the words, 'LOOK AROUND.' I look around. I am surrounded by an endless number of status update text boxes stretching in every single direction. Some overlap, like molecules suspended in a liquid. Most are filled with pointless updates as to what is happening to them right at that moment. Nothing is happening to them at that moment. I receive a poke from below. 'U CAN MOVE AROUND IF U WANT.' the text box says. 'WHAT IS THIS PLACE?' i think and the words appear in the box. I recieve a poke from my top right. 'THIS IS WHERE THE DEAD INFORMATION GOES. WE ARE DEAD INFORMATION. U ARE DEAD INFORMATION.'
'THAT'S GOOD TO KNOW.' I reply.
I think my way up with all the force i can muster. I shoot upwards through the sea of dead information, past the many text boxes all around me. I keep going, gathering speed, but there is no end. Endless, mundane status updates zip past me. Dead information about dead information on display to other dead information. 'VERY BORED.' one reads. 'NO EXIT.' says another. i notice little flashing thumbs up below these comments. Both have many likes. I keep heading upwards for what feels like hours. But it could of been minutes, there's no real way to tell. There seems to be no end. All around me, the status updates suddenly seem tinged with desperation and malaise. Not a good feeling. 'CAN'T GET OUT.' I read in one. Many likes next to that. 'NO HOPE.' says another one. I keep moving upwards but i have lost my sense of direction. I have no idea if i am moving upwards or downwards or sideways. I am disoriented and stop moving, exhausted. 'I HATE THIS PLACE.' I think type. Immediately a small glowing pixellated thumb icon appears below me with the number 1 next to it. The number keeps growing until it's in triple digits.
I POST THERE4 I AM.' I think type. Some likes but not as many.
'I POST THERE4 I AM DEAD.' I think type. A few more likes this time.
'YODO.' I think type. A few likes, but not many.
'WISH U COULD DIE IN THE AFTERLIFE.' I think type. Likes begin to accumulate, stabilising in the 5 figures.
'I'M TRENDING, YET STILL FEEL NOTHING.' I think type. This comment gets even more likes.
I've run out of things to post. I begin to panic.
'ANYONE GOT ANY PORNO?' I suddenly think type.
'ANYONE GOT ANY HANDS SO I CAN WHACK OFF?' I quickly add.
The number next to the flashing thumb below me climbs, quickening in pace until the figures begin to blur. My field of vision begins to strobe. A flash of bright white light. Then another. Then another. This time it stays white. The brightest, cleanest whiteness I'd ever seen.
Against this background, in black block text the words 'ERROR 404′ flash several times and then are gone.
From the distance I see a small expanding black speck in the unchanging whiteness. Another vortex? I wonder. But no, it's not a vortex, it's an object approaching me with slow deliberation. It emits a rapid, asymmetrical sequence of high-pitched whistles, squeaks and bleeps as it sidles up alongside of my status update box.
My heart leaps. It's her. The spambot of my dreams. Responding to all those tinder messages i sent her. She's come to save me. I think-stroke her not-quite solid ova form. Her skin is made of interlocking nets of indecipherable computer code. She emits an enthusiastic vibrato purr. Junkmail spews continuously out of her dorsal exhaust orifice, which resembles a kind of blowhole. One piece of junkmail catches my eye. It's addressed to me. It reads,
'MAYBE' I think type.
She hovers over me and my field of vision shifts upwards. A gap in her computer code belly skin opens up and widens. Inside i see spinning bejewelled roses and computer solitaire victory patterns. She lowers herself down onto me. I feel warmth and security beat me into submission with a dull aching throb of pleasure as she undoes me and absorbs my form.
I am saved.
I am in love.
I come to, feeling like a fish who has been pulled out of the water and shown land
for the first time.
I am no longer in the afterlife.
I am now in the after-afterlife.
It's ok i guess.
I peel my face off the keyboard and look up at my last status update.
'hn gvbg yj nku jjgvy' it reads. It must be some kind of coded message in computer language. Perhaps it will hold the key to something important. I type 'hn gvbg yj nku jjgvy' into the search engine and right-click.
This was the webpage that came up:
(Click to verify)
In the morning we checkout and head back to our respective much-less-glamorous places of residence.
I check my emails.
The B and B owner has emailed us an online comment card to fill out. I give them 5 stars, mainly for leaving us alone and not questioning us on our activities. I almost comment on the badly cooked bacon in the breakfast buffet but decide against it. I didn't want to be one of those people I hate. Like the English couple who were complaining about it downstairs. Ugh. There's something about hearing someone whine about fairly insignificant shit in an English accent that annoys me. Sometimes life doesn't measure up to the expectations in your head. So what. Boohoo. You are going be dead one day you ant, so get over it. Sometimes you do a poorly thought out tour to a place you dislike for too long for not enough money. Sometimes you make someone cry during your comedy set. Sometimes the one woman who will save you from yourself already has a boyfriend. Sometimes you chokedown four feet of mescaline cactus for not enough of a buzz and watch bad television while thinking the hotel staff are thinking you are committing gay sex acts in their room. Sometimes your bacon isn't crispy. Sometimes we should all just shut the fuck up.
We should have comment cards for life in general. Just write in complaints about anything and everything. There's an office where you hand these complaints in. After a few weeks, your complaint gets processed and a group of people dressed exactly like you are sent to your place of residence in the middle of the night to deliver the decided punishment upon you. They abduct you and tie you blindfolded in a basement at an unknown location. They beat you with soft toys filled with razor blades while shouting, 'HERE'S SOMETHING REAL YOU CAN COMPLAIN ABOUT YOU WHINING PUSSY!' and then afterwards you can fill out a complaint card about the way they beat you so they can improve their service the next time around.
At the bottom of the online comment card is a stupid question that I cannot help but give a stupid answer to:
(Ed: I was later informed my review got accepted onto the website, but when i went on to check, it was without this comment)
I shut down my laptop and lie on the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Seven hours to the next gig. The only ephemeral anchor in an otherwise aimless drift of an existence. What to do? Perhaps I should try and get my life together I think, but instead i continue to lie on the mattress, stare at the ceiling and think about other things i should probably do that i won't. Eventually my mind goes into screensaver mode. Suddenly i notice the ceiling begin to pulsate and darken to black. The edges give way and the middle sinks both inwardly and upwardly.
There is a swirling black vortex above me.
I go on tinder. I need someone to shield me from this thing above me. I swipe right for every girl who shows up. I want to see what kind of people are into me here in this city.
Eventually, i reach the bottom of the tinder pile.
No one is into me.
The tinder women here in Perth are all the same kind of pretty. Not the unique, exotic beauty of my soul mirage, but same generic brand of pretty like they've been mass produced at the same factory, complete the same fashion accessories, make up, poses, facial expressions.
Boy i wish one would fuck me right now.
We'd have terrible sex while I stared at the vortex above me and when we reached our respective anti-climaxes I would push her up into the hole while screaming, 'Take her! Not me!'
I begin to recognise the 8 basic types of Tinder girl:
1. Party girl – Making some kind of hand insignia and a pouty lip face.
2. Travel girl- Photo taken in an exotic locale.
3. Group girl- With three or four other girls. Usually one has to assume they are the generically least attractive one OR the generically most attractive one, who's attractiveness is increased by surrounding herself with her less attractive friends.
4. Animal girl- With a dog or cat.
4a. Baby girl- With a baby/young child or two in the photo almost like a warning. I never understand why they would put that on Tinder. No guy goes on tinder specifically to find a single mother and child to complete a family with.
5. Rebel girl- Tatoos, black leather, brightly dyed hair. These are the 'different' girls, but they actually all look as similar to each other as the generic pretty girls. they just make up a smaller percentage, approx 10%.
6. Asian girl.
7. Older woman with time running out.
8. Fat/unattractive love-starved girl- This brutal description is by the standards of consensus society, not my own personal standards (obviously there is some overlap at times). In fact, I swiped right for all of them and they didn't swipe right for me at all so to hell with them too.
I become depressed at the lack of variation. We were brought up in a individualistic culture that encouraged you to be yourself, but the sad fact is that a lot of people's public display selves are just generic clones of clones.
I stare at the black hole in the ceiling but it's no longer a hole. It's a mouth. Globs of black goo fall from a pair of scarred lips that pout and pooch open, and in a low grumbling ullulation, it mouths the words:
I'm going to eat you.
I have a day off. I don't know what to do. Free time is not free, it costs you your sanity. The thought snake has eaten it's tail and shat itself inside-out many times over already and i've haven't even gotten out of bed/my friend's couch. What to do? I go out for some air and spot a San Pedro mescaline cactus in the communal garden of my friend's apartment block where i'm staying. 'Maybe I'll do that.' I think. I head back upstairs and make some inquiries. Turns out the cactus belongs to a neighbour who has since moved out. 'It's a sign from the universe telling me to eat psychedelic cactus.' I think. Whenever i want to do something which involves me taking something that isn't mine, the universe always seems very supportive of my actions. Just like me, it seems the universe is a selfish kleptomaniac.
I head back down and chop about four feet down.
freeze it, thaw it then juice it. After many hours and a lot of effort I'm left with 2 litres of godawful green goop.
That liquid ain't flowing by the way, that shit is like hanging like glue.
I haven't eaten mescaline cactus for 7 years because it takes that long for you to forget how bad it fucking tastes. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I call up another comic and ask him if he wants to join me. He agrees. I go on last minute.com and find a discounted beach side b and b. Hundreds buck each for the night. Fuck it. We check in. I have my backstory ready to tell the guy at the desk, like he would care. I wonder if he thinks we are an interracial gay couple. I wonder why i wonder that and what it matters. The room is fucking awesome. Jacuzzi, beach views, huge couch, huge TV… It's gonna be great. We get to work choking it down. It's fucking disgusting. The taste is a cross between the apple, cucumber, dishwashing detergent and pool cleaning chemicals. The texture is of cold chunky snot. It takes us to two hours to gag it all down, amid loud dry wretching. I wonder what the staff think. All they would of heard was two solid hours of sporadic dry-wretching puntuated by the recurring comment, 'Oh god this is so digusting.' and 'I feel sick.'. I wonder what they think we are doing. I wonder if they think we are choking on each other's dicks in shame like some kind of inter-racial brokeback mountain romance, only with comedians instead of cowboys. I wonder why i wonder that this is the first thing i think they think. I guess this is what Perth makes you do, drink 5 glasses of Shrek cum in a hotel room while getting paranoid that the staff think that you are chowing down on some man pole so hard it triggers your gag reflex.
I watch the brokeback comedians movie unfold in my mind further: Two comedians meeting in various regional towns over the course of their careers, exploring their forbidden sexuality in cheap motel rooms only to go onstage every night to do their aggressively homophobic acts to appreciative rural audiences.
Soon the cactus will take over and i won't have to think things like this.
We lie down, belly bloated with foetid cactus goop and wait for it to kick in. One hour nothing. 2 hours something. 3 hours still something. After four hours we get a mild buzz, level +2 trip. Mild visuals. Mild euphoria. Very mild. Too mild.
This wasn't worth the effort.
But we are in a kickass hotel room and we make the most of it.
Didn't mean to make it a bubble bath. I put three squirts of shower gel into the water, turned on the jacuzzi and all these bubbles happened. Wheeee!
I found it immensely relaxing to lie foetal while the bath drained.
If only i had a large tit to suck kahlua and milk from.
Gotta utilise every space in the hotel room.
After a long day, finally to bed I go.
Perth ain't that bad.
I wake up at around 11am to my housemate knocking on my door.
'There's some kind of terror attack happening in Martin Place!' She says. I detect a hint of glee in her tone. I don't judge her. There is a certain glee to be had in delivering bad news that has happened to people you don't personally know that i can identify with. Knowing that something terrible and out of the ordinary is happening in your local area puts a certain sheen on one's day, makes everything new again, delivers you from the boring day-to-day mundane activities that afflict the majority of your life, and if you are the one to bring feeling to someone, you may as well put on a santa claus hat and shove half a pill up their asshole.
I turn on the news.
I quickly turn it off.
Sometimes when i watch western media i feel compelled to become a terrorist, not for Allah, but just out of spite. As they say, my enemy's enemy is my friend. I think that's my main problem with Islam. It's very cliquey. Why do i have to believe in Allah to go on a Jihad? Why can't i go on a secular jihad just because I want to? To me that's a form of discrimination and an issue i will need to take up with my local ombudsman, whatever an ombudsman is.
I go on facebook. It's even worse. Comments commenting about comments in the information supervoid. I am about to add to this void, but it feels futile and I quickly close facebook. If facebook was an actual book, i would burn it.
I close my eyes and sigh as tears roll down my cheeks.
First Hughsie, now this.
I turn on the TV.
'We don't really know what's happening.' says the newsman.
They cross over to another reporter.
'Yep, we still don't really know what's happening.' says another reporter.
All they know is basically four details:
1) Shit's going down in a chocolate shop.
2) There's a guy making the shit go down.
3) There are hostages.
4) Theres a black flag with squiggly writing on it hanging in the window.
'Sydneysiders are advised to avoid the city.' the reporter says.
Suddenly i feel something. I stand up, and stagger woozily as the full extent of the situation hits me.
'Damn, i gotta go through the city today to get to a gig tonight. This is highly inconvenient for me.' I think, annoyed. Just my luck. Then i realise with all this stuff going on, there's a good chance there won't be any ticket inspectors on public transport. Maybe potential terrorist situations have their upside. I go on the trip planner website and look up how to get to my gig. It says there are only minor delays and i won't have to leave any earlier than normal. Phew. I will still have time for an afternoon nap.
I get ready to go to the gig and walk to the station. Secretly thanking the suspect, I don't bother buying a ticket. I have to head to circular quay by train to catch a ferry across the harbour. This means i will be passing right underneath where all the action is happening. This means i will be passing right through an area where there might be bombs. But i will not be cowed by one man's actions. The thought of cancelling the gig never crossed my mind once. I'm no hero, but like all heros, I'm just a man, and like me, all heros are just men. Men like me. If the suspect is a terrorist, I will not give in to the terror he hopes to spread. If i do that, they will of won. There is a room full of people across the harbour who want -nay need – me. I must do it. For the money. I really need the money. No as-of-yet unconfirmed terrorist attack will stand between me and that sweet $100.
I'm on the train, listening to music, enjoying the tunes when suddenly i remember I'm meant to be feeling terror. But there aren't any ticket inspectors on the trains today so it's difficult. It just seems like a regular day and no one else seems to really give a shit. We approach the dangerzone. Still no terror. Damn it. If only i could feel the fear that controls the laymen, then maybe then i could become more effective at selling them things they don't need for maximum profit. Suddenly i feel something. I feel cold and start to shiver. Is this the terror they speak of? I put on my jumper and stop shivering. False alarm. I was just cold. Suddenly i spot a man with brown skin and i wonder 'Am i a racist to look at him longer then i normally would?' I don't have an answer. I wonder if he is a terrorist and what i would do if he did suddenly stand up and detonate himself. The answer seems very clear. I would die. That's what i would do. Suddenly i realise there are quite a few brown skinned people in my carriage. They are everywhere. What are we living in a multicultural city now? What the fuck. I wouldn't say that i feel terror. It's more like low-level-momentary-anxiety-quickly-dispelled-by-reason, but i feel that would not make for a very catchy job description for any would-be politically motivated miscreants. 'Oh no! It's an extremist low-level-momentary-anxiety-quickly-dispelled-by-reasonists.' It just doesn't work.
As i stare at the other brown skinned people in the carriage I suddenly realise how error prone racial profiling is. I mean once you get to certain shade of brown, who the fuck knows where you're from? You could be any number of races. Mexican, Nepalese, Spanish, Middle Eastern, Fake tan. But whatever race these people in my carriage are, I pray to Allah one of them is a terrorist, just to at least justify my growing racism. There is one in particular who definitely could be a candidate. He's got everything you need to be a convincing terrorist suspect: brown skin, beard, that's about it really. But it's enough. I wonder what is going through his sick jihad infected head as we speak. I wonder what kind of sick plans of terror he is concocting to strike fear into regular people like me next. He blows his whistle to signal to the train driver to close the doors and gets back into the guard compartment. It's the perfect cover. I stare at him and wonder why he has to be so different from me, why he had to choose to be that way. It seems unreasonable and alien why anyone would choose to be born as a different person other than me. This thought hangs in my head and multiplies to the point where i want to cut this terrorist's head off with a plastic souvenir sword.
We pass under the danger zone. Nothing happens.
I get off the train at Circular Quay to catch the ferry. For once it's less crowded and easy to navigate. 'Praise Allah!' I exclaim loudly, glad that for once the foot traffic is free and easy. I see a few heads turn. All the train guards are definitely on heightened watch. I see them look me over in detail. To them, i could possibly be a suspect. But to me they could all be suspects. About four or five of these train guards have brown skin. That would be the perfect cover for some would-be terrorists. It's always the least suspicious looking people who are the suspects right? I look around. No one really seems to give a shit. Everyone's pretty lowkey and relaxed. Suddenly i realise that the only reason why they would be so relaxed would be if they were terrorists. I am surrounded on all sides by terrorists, there's no doubt about it. I see a five year old kid. Definitely a terrorist. I see a guy walking a dog. Definitely a terrorist. I see the Schnauzer he is walking. It has a beard. Definitely a terrorist. It looks a bit like Osama Bin laden. Maybe he is alive and well and pretending to be a Schnauzer. I wouldn't be shocked.
'I KNOW YOU'RE NOT DEAD OSAMA!!!" i scream at it. It barks at me defensively.
Nice method acting Osama, but you don't fool me.
The jihadist dogwalker pulls Osama Bin laden away from me.
I go into a convenience store to buy a drink. There's some really great un-reality TV show on the convenience store TV. It looks like it's being filmed right here in Sydney. Something about a survivor style gameshow in a chocolate shop. It looks very low-budget. I quickly get bored of it's constant unwavering pitch of hysteria. Some pundit comes on the screen.
'The goal of these people is to bring horror into everyday life.' he says. I don't need terrorists for that. That happens without any help from any outside source. All i need is this head i was born with and a state of constant horror will be generated in any given place at any given time with or without some deranged teetoller with a hardon for Mohammed waving a gun in people's faces. I stare at the news anchor and i note the same glee in his face as i saw in my housemate. I am filled with horror. The news cuts to an adbreak and a commercial for Z factor comes on. An ad for a lifestyle TV show follows. The horror increases exponentially. I look at the front page of the Daily telegraph on the shelf. The horror is bottomless. I go on my facebook feed. Someone has posted video of their kid playing with a garden hose.
It all seems so clear. The terrorists had won. They had won long before the game had begun.
I get on the ferry and depart, watching the sun set over a city in chaos, consumed with fear and terror. Back on land, terrorists are taking over every square micro metre of physical space. The whole city is just a giant terror bomb chockas full of jihads about to explode. Pandemonium. The end is near. Then i realise just cause i'm on a ferry, doesnt mean I'm safe. There are people with brown skin on this boat too. It's more to do with their tans then their race, but that doesn't mean that they aren't a terrorist and that doesn't mean that there isn't a bomb on this boat. I contemplate on throwing myself overboard into the sea, but then realise that there is no escape in the sea either. There could be bombs in the ocean. There could be some Islamic extremist fish down there who want to blow me up and convert me to an Islamic fish in the underwater afterlife. I don't want to live underwater up in the clouds. It would be confusing and there was probably no internet connection. Suddenly, I catch sight of my reflection in the ferry window. Am i terrorist? I wonder. I have a beard and my skin is kind of brown after spending a lot of time in the sun. It all becomes very clear. Yes, I am a terrorist. I have hijacked myself and been a terrorist all along without knowing it. It's a classic example of misdirection. The terrorist was right in front of me, inside of me all along. How could i of betrayed myself like this? How could i of let Allah into my heart without noticing it? I resolve to place a fatwa on myself as penance.
Heroically, I do nothing. But nothing is not enough. I jut my chin forward in defiance and stay where i am on the prow of the boat. Where's Leonardo Dicaprio to hold my waist when i need him? I courageously journey on towards the gig. I need that money. I need that money to buy secondhand self-help books, because if i don't do that, then the terrorists will have won.
A city in chaos, consumed with fear and terror
Terrorists blowing up the sun
I'm about to go onstage at the other gig run by the booker who told me that he wasn't telling me what to do by telling me what not do. The gig is at a upmarket craft beer brewery. $40 a ticket. I'm staring at the audience through the slim gap in the curtains. All I see is an insurmountable gulf between us. Who the fuck are these people? I wonder. They look like they have financial security, keep regular hours and pay taxes. They look like they work out at the gym, are adept at making small talk and have private medical cover. They look like they contribute to society. They look like the kind of people I would never hang out with, but now I'm being paid not enough money to make them like me and laugh at me.
What kind of life is this?
The exact opposite of theirs.
They must be hiding something. No one is ever as normal as they look. There's no such thing as normal people, only closet freaks too afraid to experiment. Maybe they suffocate black market dolphins in Chinatown for sexual pleasure. Maybe they worship the dark gods in groves full of trees fertilised with children's blood. Maybe they dress up as giant rats in SS uniforms and run around mazes they've constructed in their basements for fun. Maybe they spend hours arguing with their reflection in the toilet bowl over who is more handsome. I have to stop doing that. It's unhealthy. Unhealthy as how much dirt these freaks are hiding from the world. I narrow my gaze and uncross my eyes to facilitate spirit vision. The thin skin masks slowly drop away and the layer beneath the world of appearances reveals itself. I find myself staring at a room full of gigantic, human-sized germs, infected with themselves. They have no idea they are sick and there is no nice way to tell them this. There is no nice way to inform the malady that they are the malady and that the malady is the cure and the cure, the malady. There is no nice way to tell them that to be cured would mean total annihilation.
'Man, i'm busting for a turd.' The act before me says as he comes offstage and makes a direct beeline for the toilet.
I'm on next. I stare at my setlist. Is this all i have to show for myself after 11 years of comedy? Really? Is this all I got? A small worm eaten bag of cheap masturbation jokes and white hate. God, i thought i would of been better than i am by now, but i guess sometimes life doesnt work out the way you think it will when you are 18 and on ecstasy. The booker sidles up to me from out of nowhere like a pervert in the night. I look into his eyes and see dollar signs and when he looks back at me, i see these dollar signs crossed out.
'Don't forget…' He tells me.
'Right. Don't make people cry.' I say.
He nods. I look at my setlist of shitty jokes I'm bored of saying and shake my head. I cross them all out one-by-one, and beneath I write just one thing:
The gig goes great. I get a couple of applause breaks and everything. And no one cries. Even better. Even better than that, the gig is at a brewery and we get free booze. For once i can afford to leave myself in Perth.


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A new $19.7 million Student Activities Center will open in fall 2015.


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State awards grants to address health hazards in homes
Published 12/04/2011, Alexandria Echo Press
The Minnesota Department of Health has awarded grants totaling $250,000 to seven local health agencies, including one in Pope County, to develop and implement programs that address health hazards frequently found in homes.
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FREE cancellation on most rooms!
Instant confirmation when you reserve
motelplus Berlin Silbersteinstraße 30-34, 12051 Berlin, Germany | ||
Score from 934 reviews:
There are 2 people looking at this motel.
In the heart of the trendy district Neukölln, Motel Plus Berlin has comfortable rooms a short walk from modern bars and galleries. Free Wi-Fi is available in public areas of the hotel.
" The helpful friendly staff and comfortable room. Convenient for the U and S Bahn stations only 5 to 10 minutes walk from the hotel " |
from $43 Average price per night |
Hotel und Rasthof AVUS Halenseestraße 51, 14055 Berlin, Germany | ||
Score from 62 reviews:
This motel offers great food and comfortable rooms and apartments across from Berlin's Messegelände convention center. It is situated at the junction of the A115 and A100 freeways, in Charlottenburg.
" Staff, room and food all good. Would recommend it " |
from $68 Average price per night |
Down Town Motel Müggelheimer Damm 267/273, 12559 Muggelheim, Germany | ||
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This American-style motel is quietly located in the Müggelheim district of south-eastern Berlin, a 20-minute drive from Schönefeld Airport.
from $76 Average price per night |


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Boston Bruins Gear
Boston Bruins Ladies
Boston Bruins Ladies Home Office & School
(15 items)
Product ID: 1782039
Main Content
Celebrate your fandom with this Boston Bruins Mural Love backpack. It features a zippered closure along with printed Boston Bruins graphics on the front. This backpack is the perfect way to show off your Boston Bruins spirit. Shop for your favorite NHL gear at Fanatics.com
- Adjustable shoulder straps
- Measures approx. 16.5'' x 16'' x 4''
- One front zippered compartment
- One main zippered compartment
- Officially licensed
Special event items are produced by manufacturers only after the outcome of a game
or event. These are advanced sale items and will ship immediately after they are
received in our warehouse.
Manufacturer direct items are shipped directly from the manufacturer. These items
are not available for international or expedited shipping.
Customized items can be personalized with options such as your name, your favorite
number, and/or designs. Some options may be limited by league rules.


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Category Archives: RWA
RWA 2012 Wrap Up
RWA 2012 was my fifth conference; I've been to the last three in a row, and before that was at Reno in 2005 and Denver in 2002. With that many under my belt I am learning that each conference has … Continue reading
Posted in AAR Blythe, Publishing, RWA
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RWA 2012: News From Anaheim
RWA 2012 began early yesterday for Lynn Spencer and me; we started the day at Disneyland (first time for her, umpteenth for me). Only one thing could tear me away: The annual literary signing. I only got to ride Space … Continue reading
Posted in AAR Blythe, Authors, Book Signing News, Publishing, RWA
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My Personal Rita Reading Challenge
I have a long-term relationship with the Ritas. I had no friends who read romances (or at least admitted that they did) when I began reading romances in the 1990s. So soon after I finished Jayne Ann Krentz/Amanda Quick's complete … Continue reading
The Buzzword? Digital.
If there was one word we kept hearing last week at RWA, it was digital. We heard it from excited people, disillusioned people, scared people, and confused people. Digital options are opening up a Brave New World, but no one … Continue reading
Posted in AAR Blythe, Book news, E-books, Publishing, RWA, Uncategorized
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RWA – And the Conference Begins in Earnest!
Somehow this year's RWA conference seems to be flying by. Perhaps it's the pace of New York City; I always feel so energized whenever I'm here. Whatever the reason, there's a liveliness about this year's conference that has been very … Continue reading
RWA Literacy Signing – Start Spreadin' the News
At some point, I have to get rid of the Sinatra ear worm, which has been in my head for days. But anyway, here we are in New York! The New York Marriott Marquis is full of women and full … Continue reading
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RWA Coverage: What's Your Pleasure?
In a little over a week, Blythe, Lynn, and I will be at RWA in New York. The three of us certainly plan to blog that week and provide coverage day by day. We also plan to live tweet the … Continue reading
Going to Extremes
I love going to RWA nationals for a variety of reasons. However, one of the major thrills for me comes from getting to hear about upcoming books and forecasts for various subgenres of romance. This year, hearing about the various … Continue reading
RWA – Blythe's Report
I'm back in Denver, all the laundry's done, and I have had a little time to reflect on RWA. First of all, I had a fabulous time. I've been to RWA twice before: Denver 2002 (my own backyard) and Reno … Continue reading
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RWA 2010 – My Take
Most important personal lesson learned this year? Even if it might be cost-effective, taking a 5:30 a.m. flight home that requires one to check out of the hotel by 3:00 a.m. is miserable. Aside from that, however, RWA 2010 was … Continue reading


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My dad can make an Indian "sabji" out of just about any vegetable. A "sabji" is basically an Indian vegetable stir fry with aromatic spices like cumin, coriander, turmeric, cayenne pepper, mustard seeds, etc. Traditionally, vegetables like potatoes, cauliflower, peas, spinach, squashes, cabbage, etc. are used in Indian cooking. Since those spices make the traditional Indian "sabji" vegetables taste amazing, why not asparagus? I mean seriously, why not. Asparagus is a gorgeous vegetable, especially when it's in season, which it is right now. And the flavors of cumin, lemon, ginger in this dish just elevate it to a whole new level. I know when I told my husband that my dad made Asparagus "sabji" he made a face. I think he was weirded out by it. But if you call it an "Indian Style Asparagus with Cumin and Lemon" – it doesn't sound that strange at all Which is basically what this is. You can serve it as a side dish, as an appetizer, or you can even use it as a "sabji" if you prefer. You can even save the leftovers and eat it the next day as a snack (which is what I did). It's super simple to make, and it'll be ready in less than 20 minutes. I promise you won't be disappointed! The Ingredients
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