The Unwritten Rule of Exercise.

So I started jogging a few weeks ago. And by 'started' I mean, I went once with my housemate and then feebly attempted it a few times afterwards by myself. Now, there's something you have to know about me and I hope it doesn't destroy our relationship, but, I'm not one for exercise, in fact I never have been. While all the kids were tackling one another in rugby, I was picking clovers on the side of the field and dare I admit, making chains with them to wear on my head (sounds gay - wrong, it's awesome); while teammates were skidding back and forth across the court, whacking the tennis ball from side to side, I was waiting patiently in my square for the moment when I could smash it with all my pre-pubescent strength over the fences, effectively ending the game (they eventually caught on and I'd just watch as my teammate took on our two opponents, crying and moaning with every hit like some B-grade pornstar); and while all the girls and boys playing netball were scoring points and running around on their skinny little legs with those horrible netball shirts on, I was yelling 'If you need! If you need!' from my position in the corner of the court - the corner the ball never went too, and when that didn't work there was always the odd profanity to throw at the opposition (Christian school - worst it got was 'Aim better stupidhead!') or even a cheer if they were lucky (and by cheer I mean the Kirsten Dunst BE AGGRESSIVE type, not the one commonly associated with Christmas spirit).

And they were all surprised when I came out. God. But here is the realisation that I stumbled across while jogging for the third time in my life; not only were my calves burning like a male prostitutes syphilis, but I wasn't as self-conscious as I believed I would be. When you're putting your headband on, tightening your short shorts and pulling your socks up to your knees there's a certain air of nervous excitement, you feel as if you are about to display yourself to the entire world with all your flaws in view of any one of those judging Melburnians and you begin to feel that perhaps you are making a mistake; but you are wrong my friend.

I can't give you any historical detail to what can only be called a natural phenomenon but when you are jogging, there is no judgement coming from the multitude of people and driver's you'll pass; there is respect. Unspoken respect. It's as if they all say to themselves 'man, that jogger is making the effort to exercise and to better his body, so I'll be damned if I judge him for that, even if his shorts are ridiculously short,' and it's this recognition that I like to call the Unwritten Rule of Exercise (see title).

Since discovering this priceless knowledge, kind of like Cate at the end of Indiana Jones 4 - sure my eyes didn't burst into flames, but, better than that, I realised when the tables are turned, I myself sit in awe of those who exercise. I mean, come on guys, who can really be bothered? Those of you who are thinking 'me, you douchebag', well congrats, but the other ten thousand percent of us (that includes those who similar to me, had an exercise stint - infamous for delivering just enough results that you begin to think maybe you could get into a routine, only to find such a thing pales in comparison to watching Sailor Moon till one am, or perhaps living), well, you'll probably understand what I'm speaking of. There are people to respect - like Obama and your friends Dad who is doctor - and then there are people to respect, like Wes Andersen, Tina Fey and, I believe, those who exercise.

So I think you should all give it a try, because on a completely superficial level you get sweet kudos from passerbys and sure, it can add years to your life and save you from slow, terrible deaths but who cares about that anyway!? Oh god, I feel a cheer coming on...

In other news, watch The Life Aquatic to see hilarious and moving genius on screen, then read Piaf, Edith Piaf's biography written with tragic affection by her sister Simone Berteaut and listen to Ben Folds' Lonely Avenue, with each song written by Nick Hornby (who rules) for some great tunes. And then exercise, and not because you want to look like the chick in the metamucil ad, but because it's nice to feel respect every so often. Like that bitch Aretha Franklin always said. Maybe she was onto something.

Be back soon.

the boy atomic.

I'm sorry, that thing you're doing is scary.

Moving house is always fun. It's true, ask anyone. Ask the Obama's, they'd tell you it's the shit (particularly Michelle, that bitch has a foul mouth), or ask that guy from that thing who sold a paperclip for a condo, or ask Kendra when she was accepted into Hefner's inner circle; they'd all tell you, moving house is great. And it is; the packing of all your worldly possessions into the few scabby boxes Borders gave you, cleaning your old residency until it's the "same" as when you got it, even though it was covered in mould and smelt like debauchery and bongs when you moved in, paying half a months rent for two strangely attractive Israeli removalists to overcharge you and ask for petrol money home (no surprises there - not racist), changing over all your addresses with every possible company, account and person you've ever been involved with EVER, and then come those few days of not really living here or there; when your room is in disarray, where you can't find that box that contains your toiletries but you easily find that useless object that you just keep because you might need it one day, where the unfurnished house echoes like some gargantuan cave, when you're still sizing up your housemates, discovering their weird habits, what they look like in the morning and how shitty their mood is on a scale of one to ten at night, and of course, perhaps the most terrifying of all; toilet etiquette.

Now this is where I struggle (figuratively), but it's not in the 'toilet lid up or down? toilet roll forward or back? do you flush in the middle of the night?' way, what am I three? Those things are long answered (lid down - always, paper forward - back is just inconvenient even though I'll admit it looks more presentable and always - I don't care if those assholes are woken up by the gushing pipes, no one wants to find stagnant pee in an unflushed toilet at 8 o'clock in the morning), no no, my problem lies with stage fright.

I walk into the toilet, I'm making noise, everything is good, my housemates are doing their thang, my bladder is ready to empty and then suddenly, as I stand over the toilet, about to begin an act which I have done countless times across the course of my life, everything goes quiet and I realise that the entire world is at the bathroom door, listening for that soft (or hard, depending on how much I've drank and how long I've held on) tinkling. And that's when I just can't go. I swear people must hold on for days because of this. I know I do. No I'm kidding, it's not that bad, though it could become one of those things, you know, like those women who make you take your shoes off at the front door and wear slippers through their house, or those men who lick their forefingers with every page they turn of the paper even when it is unnecessary; an insignificant habit that has slowly evolved in the corners of your life, something you don't even realise is getting worse until one day you find yourself cleaning the bottoms of your converse with a toothbrush and it hits you that you're that scary guy everyone avoids on the street, whose glasses are too big and three prescriptions too strong, whose brown cardigan is a little too saggy and over worn - who is more or less a serial killer.

I won't become a serial killer, I promise. But if I ever do, I beg you now to gently remind me of this very blog and this very promise; without making eye contact of course, otherwise I'll probably stab you and take you home to my basement family.

But enough of this crazy talk. Moving house has been great, my housemates are three wonderful actors (yes, they only speak in Shakespearean and yes, we have crazy drug-fuelled orgies) and the house is BEAUTIFUL. So just ignore the last four paragraphs of hilarious negativity. Besides, I'm all for positivity, just ask those kids I throw rocks at for being stupid.

In other news, read classic Breakfast at Tiffany's, every gay boy's favourite 100 page novel, then sit down and watch Taken followed by 30 Rock Season 4, for some decent 'man goes on revenge path and literally kills every person he meets' action smashed with golden comedy from the greatest show to ever be screened (it's not Two and a Half Men!? Gasp!) and then listen to Eliza Doolittle's self-titled album for some springtime bubblegum pop (not as awful as it sounds).

Okay, the clock has struck midnight, it is time for me to go to bed, or at least finish watching Spice World. I want to know your potentially weird habits, comment below (you can do it without an account which is nice) so I can judge you and make myself feel like less of a douchebag.

I love you all.

A moment of clarity.

So I'm sitting on a tram, and I'm tired, my day has been huge and I'm ready to fall into my bed like it's no ones business, and I'm not sure why, it may be the dangerous mix of Vampire Weekend playing in my ears and general all-round tiredness, but I suddenly realise that life is ridiculously good. I look around, at the Asian girl wearing absurd amounts of white fur, the middle-aged woman asleep with her mouth ajar, the young couple in matching cargo/converse get up and that weird guy who looked at me maybe too many times, and I'm suddenly overwhelmed by their presence; by other human beings, with all their talents and their flaws, but not even these things seem to be overwhelming me, it's more just human beings, being.

We make wars, and we make families, we run countries and we fret over that text message from that girl, and we dress ourselves every morning, and we feel all these bizarre emotions for all these bizarre reasons, and the smallest thing can change our mood, like a guy wearing a nice pair of shoes, or a breeze in the sun, or an unknown person smiling in your direction, and you are all as amazingly complex as myself, yet, on the other hand, we are all so similar and so simple. Simple in a lovely way. And that's what I think I realised; that the human race is just lovely. And you could say I'm just a naive optimist, but I don't think that's such a bad thing. I'm not going to push anything on you; I just want to you to know, that I know how lovely you are. Whoever you are. And that is all.

In other news, today marked the completion of my latest film Universal. My third VCA short, and, if I may say so, my best film to date. It is unbelievably happy, and you can see the opening credits below (made by my awesome graphic designer brother Samantha). I know I promised screenshots of the film but I totally forgot, so this will have to do for now.

I can't believe my first year of film school is almost over and I still haven't watched The Godfather. I mean I tried, BUT IT WAS BORING! Don't kill me. But nevertheless, life is moving forward and there are huge things ahead. Read Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer if you want to read the book that made half my family vegan (and myself it's lesser sidekick - vegetarian). Watch Romancing The Stone, an old but timeless masterpeice (perhaps), starring a young and stunning Micahel Douglas who sweeps Kathleen Turner off into a crazy Colombian jungle romp while looking super attractive to no end. And listen to the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club for some decent rock/indie/coolness with a little Strokes vibe, compliments of my housemate Eliza.

Also, I've had remarkable feedback from y'all since restarting this blog, so thankyou.

I love you all and I'll be back soon.

The boy atomic.

I'm back from the dead like that guy in that movie.

I'm back! Yes, I'm back. After a giant year of filmmaking, rent-paying and malnutrition I've decided to continue this wonderful blog; to once again pick up the metaphorical pen and begin writing again. You see, I originally began this blog to keep track of my life, so in twenty years we can all look back (and by we I mean me) and say 'What a crazy path to international stardom that young girl had!' and 'If he did it so can you!' etc etc. So I believe a recap is in order...

2010 has been the biggest year of my life. I've made amazing friends, met the strangest people, discovered Melbourne in all it's cultural and ridiculously arty glory, evaded tram fines thrice, received tram fines twice, stumbled across Savers, bought shitloads and I mean shitloads of clothing, ate more dumplings, sushi and BBQ Pork Won Ton Noodle Soup than is healthy, drank the equivalent to a small ocean in skinny lattes (don't judge), bought and killed five goldfish - in order of death - Kubrick, ( a week - loneliness) Oprah & Gail (Former from the superstrong filter, latter from her broken lesbian heart), Thursday (may have had to die for the sake of a film...) and Friday (the star of the film who survived seven days and OD'd due to overexposure to the paparazzi/celebrity life/ etc - christened Brittany Murphy post-death), saw the Room three times, fell in love, fell out of love, became a vegetarian (which I have sustained enthusiastically against all odds - particularly my mother, who thinks I'm retarded), read books, like proper, amazing books, started a terribly lame endeavour to become a poet, ventured out of my box so often it became normal, stumbled home singing showtunes, had a two-week smoking phase that consisted mainly of bum-puffing and crazy nicotine rushes that still make me feel nauseous at the thought, doubled my DVD collection, survived on $20 for thirteen days, found two awesome housemates, saw a ballet (which was terrifying), saw Gandalf perform (which was long) and saw a transvestite singing Gaga (which was enthralling), had moments of beautiful clarity, cried for hours, talked for hours, slept for hours, lost my beachboy tan, forgot bin night more times than not, saw amazing films that changed my life, bought a Princess Leia bobble-head, a typewriter and a glass jug that has no use. And that's all outside of film school. So far I've made three films, one shit, one good and one that I adore, learnt amazing skills, had my confidence injected with some sort of heavily illegal steroid, talks from John Pierre Jeunet, Adam Elliot, Stephen Cleary and other respectably amazing people, learnt what the hell the 'white balance' button does on a camera, crewed on over twenty shoots, snuck on set of the Killer Elite for a day and more or less took another wonderfully paced step towards my future.


But above all that, in 2010 I found myself... I had to write it. But don't be fooled, I didn't find myself in the 'Julia Roberts travel around the world and eat pray love everything ever' sort of way, I found myself in the 'teenager moves away from home whose only option is to delve inside and find strengths he never knew he had while simultaneously falling in love with the world and life and humanity and buying awesome clothes' sort of way. And it's true, I knew this year was going to be big, but I could never have imagined the lessons I've learnt, the truths I've discovered and the beauty I've stumbled across in 2010. What a massive year.


So as well as returning like John Farnham does every second year, I think this whole blog needs a bit of reinvention, and we're talking Madonna in 2000's reinvention, and not that Cowgirl/Double-Denim shit, we're talking Ticking Clocks and Pink Leotards baby, so in light of that, I will be redesigning a tad, for the new year and also because we're all a bit tired of this blue on black thing.


I'll make sure to have some screenshots up of my last films. At the moment I'm editing my major production; Universal, a series of shorts about LOVE and not death or sex or incest or anything of depressive nature, so once it's all wrapped up and looking beautiful I will put some stuff up. Unfortunately the Victorian College of the Arts doesn't allow it's film students to upload their films to YouTube or vimeo or whatever else the kids are using these days for free porn so chances are you will never see them, unless you really want copies and I would happily mail them too you. I'm also thinking of perhaps trying to get Universal into some festivals; I mean, it wouldn't hurt right? So we'll see what happens...


Anyway, I know I've been gone for a bit and it may take some time to win you all over again but Daddy's home and he ain't going out for no more cigarettes, if you know what I'm trying to say. Read Cannery Row by John Steinbeck and see I Am Love by Luca Guadagnino for a life changing combo of Californian nostalgia and Italian melodrama starring Tilda Swinton with a side of BLOW YOUR MIND CLIMAX, and listen to Washington for some lovely singer-songwriter Springtime tunes.

I love you all and will be back in no time.

The boy atomic.

Hello/Goodbye.

How funny that tonight is my last night at home. Not really funny, although actually, being 17 and void of travel, experience and just general life, I guess it does have a certain oddness too it. Independence. Oh god. On one hand I want someone to suddenly burst out and say they are coming with me, but on the other hand (and the this is the hand that is reserved for deep truths that may be hard to admit), I know I should, and can, do it on my own.


So I will.


This blog is probably going to be a short one. Just something to say goodbye for a bit. You see, the thing with studying full time at one of the most rigorous courses in my country is that I will have little free time to do much else. Of course I'll have free time but something tells me it wont be spent blogging, as much as I'd like it to be.


So to everyone who has followed this blog (the very, very few of you), thanks so much. It feels nice to know that someone reads what I write and that maybe I've made some sort of mark on you or perhaps opened your eyes to something cool.


Of course, my blogging life isn't over, just for a few months, perhaps a year, we'll see. I'm not finished yet, and if you're lucky, my blogging may transform to VLOGGING. Yeah, damn right. Stay tuned friends!

Until next time,




The Boy Atomic.


PS: I'll leave you with my Badass Babe of the Week. I cant think of anyone better then Audrey Hepburn and if you find yourself with a little spare time, hire out Roman Holiday, her first and very best film. Adios!

The Next Ten Years.

First blog of the new decade. I feel like I should do something real special, like giveaway all my favourite things, or write a song summing up the last decade or give everyone Happy New Year Hugs. But these things (even those supremely rare Happy New Year Hugs) couldn't really put to words how excited I am for the next ten years.


You see, yes, the world is screwed, yes, we're in economic crisis, yes, Miley Cyrus is annoying, but I can't help to feel so excited and expectant of this decade. So much will be happening in the next ten years and I can barely comprehend the things we will all do, the places we will go, the people we will meet. Chances are, most of my friends will be married, parents perhaps, and the world will be a very different place, but I'm no longer worried about it. I once was (see The Future blog), but I've come to realise that we all grow up, and age brings about new things, more amazing things for us to plunder. And plunder we will.

I don't have a New Years Resolution, as I never fulfill them (2007: Exercise. 2008: Get a sixpack. 2009: Get a girlfriend. Anyone who knows me, knows none of these saw fruition) so instead I have a single goal: To go crazy on the next ten years. Which I will. And I encourage all of you too as well. Lets make the next ten years the greatest, most exciting ten years the world has ever seen.

Lets take hold of everyday and make the most of it, meet new people, see the world, make our dreams into realities. 2010 is the beginning of an awesome decade.


I'm not actually sure why I'm in such a good mood, it may be the dangerous combination of Michael Buble, sunny weather, film school acceptance and strawberry milk (take that lactose intolerance!) but I'm hoping its contagious.


In other news, Nine comes out in two days and there are SO many amazing films coming out this year! Check out Salt, Angelina's latest spy/awesomeness film.




Matthew Vaughn's Kick Ass, about a boy superhero (not shown - that's a girl everyone.)





Iron Man 2! Even better is the fact that Scarlet Johansson is playing Black Widow, the meanest German ever.



Also The Road, based on the amazing book, starring Aragorn and a cast of cannibals!

Other films to watch out for include Michael Gondry's The Green Hornet, Inception, The Men Who Stare At Goats, Narnia; Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Prince of Persia and Alice in Wonderland. I'm sure I will vomit these all back up in later blogs, reviews and all, so be prepared.

Also, today's Badass Babe Award goes to Penelope Cruz. But why I hear you asking? Probably because she is one of the hottest women alive, she can sing (see Nine) and she makes out with Johansson like a natural (see Vicki Christina Barcelona). Please note: You are not a pervert if this picture holds your gaze for more then five seconds. Right?


Remember, the next ten years are going to top them all.

Adios amigos.

Bones, Drones and Emma Stones.

Holy mother. What a massive couple of months! It seems like the HSC was only yesterday, yet it's now only a few days from Christmas and I find myself, once again, unorganised and unprepared. But, truthfully, nothing can burst my bubble right now, not even the looming shadow of Father Christmas (wielding a sharpened candy cane and a big red sack full of explosives) because less then 48 hours ago I discovered that I have got into film school. Please, save your applause and your congratulatory words for another occasion. I have got so many in the past two days that I now have a head the size of Jupiter and cheeks burning from the increased amount of smiling.

But nonetheless, this is the best news I have ever received (even better then 'I guess I can do it for $3.50', and 'We won't have to amputate your left testicle'), and now begins the countdown to that daunting day where I ascend (or perhaps descend) to independence and move to Melbourne, all alone, with only the clothes on my back, a wallet full of stolen cash and a photograph of my one love, Stella.

Actually, it won't be like that at all, I just thought that sounded romantic. In fact, the day will more likely be full of tears and hugs and delayed confessions of love, but that's the way I expect it to be god damn it!

In other news, the coming weekend brings with it the production of a Tropfest short film. A lady friend and I got talking and it was eventually revealed that not only was I eager to get experience on film sets, but that she was a filmmaker and was making a Tropfest film! (For those of you who don't know what Tropfest is, its the biggest short film festival in Australia and gets applicants from around the world. To even get into the top 50 is a big deal, let alone win it.)

So she has given me a title (The 1st Ad: I yell 'Prepare for shoot!' 'Prepare for rehearsal!' 'Where's my god damn skinny mocha you useless whores!?' etc, etc) but really I am just there to watch, listen and learn. Which is going to be awesome and I'm excited to say the least. Add the fact that she is going to give me a reference to throw into my resume and this weekend looks to be a win/win for everyone.

Not me! Yells Tiger Woods. Meh, who even cares about you? Not me. Actually, on that topic, what an idiot.

End of topic.

In movies news, all the films I have blogged about in the past few months are coming out and surprisingly enough, its the films I didn't blog about that are stealing my attention and love. Films like Zombieland and Paranormal Activity have made a serious impact on me while Where The Wild Things Are seems to have slipped under the radar. Avatar is yet to be released, but everyday the anticipation seems to build, so I hope that it delivers all James Cameron has promised.

Peter Jackson's The Lovely Bones is also something I am excited for, purely for its family-friendly content (rape, murder and crazy dead girls.) But all sarcasm aside, it looks fantastic.

Peter Jackson rules for a huge number of reasons. He makes hawaiian shirts cool, he lost heaps of weight without going on The Biggest Loser and he made Lord Of The Rings but aside from all of that, he emerged from tiny little New Zealand, successfully made the biggest movies series EVER and has sparked a huge boom in films being made there. So in that way I guess he's a bit of a role model for me. And he should be for anyone thinking it's impossible to reach success from nonexistent places.

I've also decided to make a section called: My Badass Babe For Today as we all know I'm obsessed with girls doing hot stuff in movies. Today, the Badass Babe Award goes to Emma Stone.

Not only because she is stunning, an awesome actress (and good acting is hot) but also because she fires a pump-action shotgun like a natural badass. Check out her asskicking performances in Zombieland, The House Bunny and Superbad. In my opinion, she blows the skimpy pants off Megan Fox or any other Hollywood 'hotties'.

Last but not least, I bought the Star Wars original trilogy on DVD and I am going to sit down and watch them all in their remastered glory.

And it's not my fault if I then buy Princess Leia memorabilia on Ebay.

Oh yeah.

The I-Have-No-Idea-What-You're-Saying Smile.

So I constantly find myself baring witness to something I can only call awkward. It's a little thing I like to call The I-Have-No-Idea-What-You're-Saying Smile. We all get them. We all give them. But you'd be wrong in thinking this is a cheesy slogan from an 80's porno.

For you see, this smile is so offensive and so pitiful that it is absolutely and completely taboo. It is so shameful that no one ever mentions it. It's like when a bum comes up to you and swears rapidly in a foreign tongue; he's right there, but you're forced to ignore him or risk being stabbed/shot/choked/spat on or if you're really unlucky, followed for several kilometres until you jump into a moving vehicle to escape the foul-smelling hell he has beseeched upon you.

The common scenario for the I Have No Idea Smile usually begins with a friendly chat between two people - BUT WAIT - this is no friendly chat at all, as one of the persons has somewhere to be OR has more important things on the mind OR doesn't like the person they are chatting too. Ulterior motives one could say. So from the start this chat is doomed to end badly.

They begin to discuss something irrelevant and most probably boring as ass and then the desperate person who has entered this conversation with all intentions too leave fazes out and gives the I Have No Idea What You're Saying Smile and BOOM! - the revelation dawns on the other that they have just been the victim of THE SMILE.

All dignity you once had is out the door. The level of respect that person had for you drops to 'NONEXISTENT' and they come to one of two realisations: 1) They realise they must be boring and vow to never be boring again or 2) They realise they don't really like you that much anymore. Either way, this Smile is monumental.

But it is those of us who can identify the Smile and stop it in it's tracks that are the best off. You see, I'm a bit of a pussy and I avoid confrontation but if I'm ever given the I Have No Idea What You're Saying Smile I will most definitely say something along these lines: 'You have no idea what I just said do you?' or 'Oh my god, you cheap bastard, you're not even listening!' or 'You just smiled when I told you I almost had my scrotum amputated!' And trust me, that last line is used far more often then you think.

So I say we bring an end to all awkwardness that the Smile manifests. Instead, as a species, we should vow to always confront a person if they ever throw one at us, or perhaps (and this suggestion is probably less fun but morally right) actually start listening to people. But when has listening ever helped the world?

Never! Chants every deaf person in the world. I'm sorry, disabilities aren't funny. Except for that one where they turn into Elephants.

In light of this I have started a facebook group: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/group.php?gid=166557059441&ref=mf - this way we can share our experiences and opinions on the I Have No Idea What You're Saying Smile.

I have also seen Terry Gilliam's The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus twice and it is brilliant and confusing and amazingly well made. I truly suggest you see it because not only is it Heath Ledger's final performance, it also stars Lily Cole, the most perfect woman in the entire world. I call dibs everyone.

She is a supermodel/actress/giant and she is generally amazing at everything. Also, I thought I might add an update to my film school quest. I got the interview. This is HUGE news. This means I can go down to Melbourne on the 19th and hopefully destroy the VCA and everyone in it. This is it guys. I'll be certain to give you a blow by blow recount when it happens which I'm sure you'll all really enjoy but if I get the feeling I'm getting any cyber I Have No Idea Smile's I will - probably do nothing.

Then again, I may hunt you down.

Until next time my darlings...