Numerous articles are written about it and social commentators debate over it yet I struggle to know if we’re a conservative generation. I have no idea because I haven’t lived in any other generation (although the dark ages do seem fairly ‘burn the crazy lady at the steak’ kind of nutty conservatism). All I know is that people do clutch their pearls and get offended rather easily now days.

Only a few weeks ago Steve Jobs turned into Steve Jobless and stepped down at his position as grand poo-bah of Apple. Admittedly it was for health reasons, which is never good news, however as grand chancellor of the world’s largest company that is something news worthy and so I wrote a joke about it on Twitter. It read as thus

“Steve jobs has quit as Apple CEO. He’s starting a new business called Oranges but has stated there is no point in comparing the 2″.

Enter slight giggle. I admit not the most gut bustlingly hilarious tweet but then again compared to your average tweet it’s in the top billion or so. I had numerous tweets back saying everything from ‘fail’ to ‘too soon’. Explain to me what’s offensive about it? Are they being offended on behalf of Steve? Are they offended on behalf of the now defunct French telecommunications carrier Orange? Are they lonely and living in a dirty apartment with way too many cats and only have Twitter to keep them company? To me that joke was as innocuous and unthreatening as playing scrabble with your Nan yet some people took umbrage. When I put something out into the twitterverse I contemplate about the person I’m talking about and whether they would be offended. I think if iJobs saw that line he wouldn’t be offended at all- in fact I the little titter it may cause could even lift his spirit.

Another case occurred in my Melbourne comedy festival show this year where I made a joke about feeling old at thirty because a majority of athletes in their 30’s are seen as over the hill and thought of as has beens especially if they gain an injury. To refute the point I said ‘people can come back from injuries in their 30’s- look at Jesus!’ An audience member one night yelled ‘blasphemy!!’ (I thought it might lead to me being burned at the steak). The problem I found was that I wasn’t ridiculing the big man, I wasn’t saying it didn’t happen or that it was a good thing- I simply pointed out that a person in their 30’s returned from an injury. Old JC seemed like a fairly benevolent fellow and so upon hearing this while enjoying his second crack at mortality I dare say would have a little chuckle about it.

Of all the things I’ve written in this article be annoyed at my insistence that my jokes actually get a laugh, be offended that I made an easy Jesus joke, be flabbergasted that I’m self indulgent enough to write a column that I think people will read but please don’t be offended on behalf of other people.

When you really realize that you’re a fish out of water is when something unique happens; this is such a case. A friend of mine was driving home from a nightclub when some police lights went off behind us. She had no idea that the police were after her. After pulling over the police screeched up beside us and with vitriol stated ‘if you’d kept driving we would’ve shot you’. And a hardy hello to you officer. A verbal back and forth ensues as the officer accuses her of speeding off on an officer of the law- a crime punishable by jail. She counters by stating she never sped and in fact has a foreigner in her car whom she’s trying to get home safely. I’ll concede through this verbal slinging match I’m about as animated as a frozen corpse; I guess the promise of gunfire does silly things to people. Before I know it the charge of speeding has been demoted from imprisonment to an ‘on the spot fine’. As I learnt later the ‘on the spot fine’ for a police officer in South Africa is much like the ‘one off sponsorship’ you give to a prostitute when she leaves your hotel room. They then went about haggling with the contentious price of the fine revolving around my masculinity. He stated she did not need to speed as she had a man with her. She then argued I’m a foreigner, slight of frame with the fighting capacity of a soggy potato. If I’m honest my timid facial expression probably bode well for the latter argument. At the end of it all she was hit with a ‘fine’ that amounted to $20 Australian dollars. So there you have it sports fans- forget your bravado and chest pumping; it looks like it pays to be effeminate even in the most confrontational circumstances.

Money seems to be something we’re instilled to want from a very young age yet I think all my years in stand-up comedy has taught me to live off very little. Working hospitality while pursuing a career in vertical mirth manufacturing made me into a sort of inner city Bear Grylls (well Bear Grylls with less urine drinking). Word to the wise to help the EU out on their Greek austerity measures- the slightly stale foccacias left in the sandwich window make for a delicious evening meal to compliment the stolen Passionfruit fizzy drink from the fridge.

My father always said to me ‘it’s not what’s going in- it’s what’s going out.’ I dearly hope he was talking about finances and not his gastric habits. Still I feel a lot of the time like I shouldn’t spend too much just in case it all runs out. The only problem with that is being rich looks so much cooler. Cat walks aren’t littered with Salvatione’ Army Boutique wear, the royal wedding didn’t make half the word stop because of it’s subdued nature and rappers don’t sit on the bonnet of a Toyota Corolla spraying bottles of No Brand Soda Water on to Centrelink workers.

This semi-frugal state of mind was shattered when a friend of mine recently had enough frequent flyer points to fly from LA to Melbourne first class (and when I say LA I don’t mean Leongatha, Australia I mean Los Angeles). First Class?!?! I’ve never done anything first class, hell I rarely have class let alone come first in it. The front of the plane really is the land of milk and honey, if the milk was liquid gold and the honey was a diamond studded mink fur snuggy.

To really enjoy success you must also directly witness less successful people to quantify your position. In First Class you are being fed from the extensive menu whilst Economy are still being seated- they’re wanting more leg room while you’re being offered more leg of ham. A first class passenger wears a seat belt during take off for as long as it takes to say ‘this Grange ‘56 is delicious at room temperature!!’ An instant rapport is created with your steward mainly because, well, they have to. The ratio is one servant, er, steward to two passengers, its aristocracy of the airwaves. They refer to whoever is in front of them by the title ‘Sir’ or ‘Madam.’ If you decided to pummel them with your ivory cane I think the only retort they could muster is ‘wonderful rotation on your back swing sire!!’ After eating more meals and drinking more wine than Russian Oligarch you are offered fresh pyjamas (yours to keep as a souvenir don’t you know?) in your single fold out King size bed. My friend upon changing into said PJs asks his minion, er, steward if he can stretch his legs and walk through the plane. The response was as elitist as it was succinct ‘Sir, in those pyjamas you may walk anywhere.’ Deciding to not take the wheel in the cockpit he walked down a social peg or two into the rest of the cabin. After meandering through the plane he then decided he needed to off load some excess luggage. Basically he crapped in Economy class and then went back to First to sleep like a log carefree. I realsied after the telling that he didn’t specify that he did indeed used the cubicle- I believe he just unloaded on one of the passengers who upon seeing the first class night wear thought ‘well you did work harder than me so do what you see fit’ and let it happen. Being rich is so much cooler!!!!

We have survived two threats on our existence yet more is still to come- December 21^st 2012 is said to be the End of Days according to the ancient Mayan calendar and, more importantly, Wikipedia. The Mayans believe in it so much in 2009 they made a film about it with John Cusack. Oh the humanity!!! Wow we really want this to happen don’t we? It’s not like we haven’t seen this before. I have in my short time on this rock already survived numerous threats to humanity.

I remember in my younger years I went backpacking through Europe (strange for an Australian I know) and the ignorance was sheer bliss. The Iraq War started on March 20^th, 2003. Not more than 30 days later I was on the Gallipoli shores remembering the diggers who fought valiantly, and lost lives, for our country; the irony was not lost on us. Turkey neighbours Iraq yet no sign of war was anywhere except for the $100 of ‘entry tax’ to any American visiting Turkey- who said you couldn’t profiteer off war? On my way home I travelled through South East Asia only to find out when I landed back on Terra Australis that I had heroically battled through the epicenter of Bird Flu. I had no idea yet the news back home made it look like, well the end of the Mayan Calendar. Reports laid claim to the Bird Flu taking over Asia like Matt Preston at a Buffet table. I had no idea! Even if I did I’m not sure if I would be struck with fear- maybe I was still cocky from surviving Y2K?

Why do we concentrate on the maybes and the possibilities? Sure someone may be prophetic but the end of EVERYTHING is a big call to make. Will the end of days occur? I don’t know. No one knows. Will God, whoever or what ever she/he/it is, come down to judge us? Well I say they may as well because with Oprah now gone someone’s gotta step up.

I live near an elderly home and the entertainment is never ending. There’s an octogenarian man who walks around with a stethoscope around his neck and a suitcase so old it’s probably filled with Nazi code breaking information. I once found this thin spinnaker of man (who appears to me like an elongated version of Hans Moleman from The Simpsons) pronouncing a small brink fence dead after listening to it with his medical apparatus. He is surpassed however by a lovely lady who walks past the row of terrace houses I live in and delicately closes the left open gates when she passes in the morning, only to re-open them again when she returns past a few hours later (Hans thinks she should respectfully leave the deceased gates alone)

Then there’s the milk bar shopkeeper who despises the progress in her suburb and in a show of protest stacks slabs of Doctor Pepper in her storefront window (note: DP hasn’t been delivered into this country for at least 15 years so I’m guessing each can’s content has just solidified into solid cubes of crap tasting disappointment). She still has a wooden cash register with compartments for both shillings and her overall disdain for inner city hipsters.

Sometimes I even create my own back-story to what’s happening in my neighbourhood. The other day I witnessed a guy back his Harley Davidson out the front door of his terrace on to the footpath. Immediately I imagined he was doing donuts in the lounge room until his mother came out and said ‘Gerald Donald Southern get that thing OUT OF HERE!! He would whine back ‘but mum my Hells Angels mates call me Slasher’ and she then barks back ‘I don’t care Gerald I want it out NOW!’ He then had to back it out sheepishly, not roll it out forward like normal human beings would but back it out like a dog whimpering after being scolded for eating all the castor sugar left on the bench.

Alas though living close to the city doesn’t mean it’s all good times and innocent loonies. Only a few nights ago I walked past a taped off crime scene where a knife wielding man had been shot by a policemen; a tragic scene by anyone’s accounts. A crime scene is like watching 2 dogs humping- you know you shouldn’t watch but you do even though you sure as hell aren’t going to do anything to help the situation. I was meandered by to do some grocery shopping and on the way back noticed the police entourage had not abated. It struck me as sad that a situation like that had to occur and that this person was pushed by either external circumstances or an unstable mental state of mind to confront police with a knife and force the taking of his own life. Then I saw it, just up from the street was a young kid who had found some excess police tape and was wrapping it around his razor scooter to make it look cool. Sure it didn’t make up for the morbid crime scene near my doorstep but it did make me lean one valuable lesson- no matter what you do you can’t make razor scooters look cool.

In Victoria having an AFL side is mandatory like getting away with not pay for a tram. In my mid teens I decided, being from Geelong and all, that The Mighty Cats would be my team. Yet on the weekend I found myself spitting venom like a jilted lover at the now Gold Coast Sun Gary Ablett. He’d gone north for the winter and his adopted new team’s initial outing was abysmal to say the least. I couldn’t have been happier. Schadenfreude anyone? After I wore my vocal chords hoarse I reflected on why I felt I had to hate him so much. He left for opportunities, a challenge and felt he’d accomplished all he needed to whilst in Geelong. Hell I did the same thing when I was his age!

I began to stew over the idea of what it is to be a supporter. No one else cares passionately about teams like we do. I mean Geelong had a coach for 10 years with the nickname ‘Bomber’ and we were then surprised when he went back to Essendon! (Personally I think we should refer to their coach as ‘Catter’ Hird and hope he returns the favour). Murmurs of discontent now rumble that the AFL and it’s teams are just corporations that don’t care. If so we could treat them like a corporation. Wait until that last day in September and the team that holds the cup aloft is rewarded with every fan buying their scarf and flailing it with pride until the next winner comes along a year later. That’s the deal if you get a result- I’ll support you. Sounds crazy? But it’s not too crazy. I mean why do we go for these teams in the first place? Players, CEO’s, coaches, trainers & everyone else who are the nucleus of their teams success are prone to leaving but fans aren’t. Why? The average worker changes their careers 3 times in their life, people will change mortages and even divorce rates are rising. These days we’re not trained to be loyal but when it comes to supporting a team that’s something that will never change.             I support Geelong on the simple fact my parents both immigrated there and couldn’t keep it in their pants. If they had moved to Canada I’d be now writing about The Vancouver Canucks with the same vitriol. Many of my other mates don’t even have a parochial history with their teams. They go for their team because a relative told them to or worse- those teams were successful when they were a kid! (my theory is just because something was popular when you were young doesn’t give you the right to support them- I mean you don’t see 70-year-olds barracking for Polio) Where does the line stop? I support Holland in the FIFA World Cup because my mother is Dutch. I could just as easily go for Sweden with the amount of Ikea furniture in my house. Even with the number of Nike sneakers I’ve purchased I could have reason to wave the flag for the Thai under-12 ping-pong team.

‘Why do I care so much?’ was the gnat of a thought that had burrowed into my brain and then the simplest of answers struck me in the face- ‘because it’s fun!’ I can sit with a supporter of another team and we can swing our jaws for hours about sport and not get offended (hopefully). When it comes to sport we have bred healthy, harmless conjecture in this country. If only we could do the same for a subject with more weight. It is mandatory to vote in Australia yet talk about politics at a bar and it’s a one-way tickets to getting your lights punched out. Sport may cause a fight but more often than not it’s cause for common ground between you and the other plus one at the wedding where you know no one.

I realized I don’t hate Gary Ablett- I just enjoy deliciously venting that part of me without really hurting anyone. With sport I can ride all my emotions like a retiree thumbing a Mills & Boon novel because the consequences aren’t real. If a long-term girlfriend had left me I’d be inconsolable for months and left on constant watch to make sure I didn’t mix power points with kitchen knives. If a long-term player leaves my team I can call him a sell-out, let him know he suffers from male pattern baldness and that he’s now officially a Toolie. I can allow myself to be jaded. I can immerse myself in the drama of sport more than I can life because life will go on without sport but not the other way around. So to use an old adage ‘Some people believe football is a matter of life and death. I’m very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that.’

I feel the same question could have been propositioned to Australia about becoming a republic…if we’d had the balls to actually do it.

Recently whilst travelling overseas I explained to some Americans that The Queen was the head of our state. Shocked as they were (one even responded with ‘The Queen? What Oprah?’) I was more embarrassed than anything. I felt like Steve Carell in the 40-year-Old-Virgin trying to act cool even though the entire room was gawking at me thinking ‘shouldn’t you have grown-up and done that by now?’

I like to think of our flag, with The Union Jack in one corner and the Southern Cross in the other, makes us look like England with a 5 star review. We were built from English heritage (true English ingenuity, stolen from locals) yet we can leave that behind us now and make us uniquely ours.

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t think we’re perfect by any means. I see Australia like going to a family gathering; at times I cringe, on occasions I’m not even proud enough to say I’m one of them and if I’m going be honest there’s probably too much drinking- but at least I know they’re mine. Not Britain’s- mine.

Come on it’s not like we owe Britain that much. Sure they gave us the English language yet isn’t that at times a little too much trouble for what it’s worth? I mean really- i before e, silent letters and a Y that keeps acting like a vowel. Give me a break. I mean it was British Rolls Royce engines that keep blowing up and taking down Australian Qantas flights. With the Brits trying to take down the Aussies it was ironically like an airline Ashes…

‘It will cost a lot of money!’ is the catch cry of many Windsor knotted monarchists and lord knows we don’t need any more excuses for politicians to waste money yet what of our national identity? In history it was Britain who was invaded by the Romans, the Scandinavians and the French- Do you think they still pay homage to them? (Well they could, that would be one humdinger of a fusion restaurant) We don’t need to keep thanking Britain for initially sending criminals over here, if it happened today it would amount to little more than an episode of Border Security.

I understand some people enjoy the palaver of the royal engagement but that doesn’t mean we should keep them as our heads of state. I say if we want a family who’s entertaining, can rule our state and distract us from our everyday lives I think The Rafters are free (and personally I think Rebecca Gibney’s profile would be better on our coins).

While performing at a Comedy or Fringe festival numbers seem to be the only thing that people care about. ‘How many audience members are in tonight?’ ‘How many stars are on my review?’ ‘How much money will I lose this year on ticket sales?’ These questions consume performers’ thoughts. The more I’ve performed however the more I’ve realized that the number of people in the audience doesn’t necessarily correlate to a good time.

Weekends at festivals are invariably littered with drunkards; demanding audience members who see the description ‘comedian’ on their ticket as not so much an offer but a challenge. On one particular Saturday night I had a room full of pre-booked, crossed armed, apathy riddled pessimists who were annoyed they didn’t go to a stand-up comedian off the telly. Don’t get me wrong if people aren’t laughing it’s usually the comic’s fault. You go to a comedian you expect comedy, just like you go to a Real Estate agent you expect lies. With out the visceral response of laughter a stand-up comic is left thinking ‘you should’ve gone to see someone off the telly.’ A room full of people making no noise is hard however, to add insult to injury, there was an especially interesting chap in the front row this particular night.

This gentleman was the man you see alone who wears too many pockets; too many pockets on his khaki vest, on his khaki cargo pants & on his navy blue anorak.

Two minutes into the show he scrounged around in one of the pockets to pull out a chocolate cupcake the size of a clenched fist. Lord knows how long it had been in there. While trying to unhinge his jaw like a spring based bear trap he then devoured this moist treat in one fowl shove. He looked like a python swallowing a full grown Samoan. If that wasn’t bad enough, 10 minutes later he cocked his head back and began to put eye drops in.

How do you react to that? Did he have tickets to a female comedian & thought his eyes must have been lying to him? Even after I pointed this incongruous act out to the audience they still sat there, stoic faces staring back at me as if to say ‘someone off the telly would make this funny’.

The best & worst thing about performing at a festival is you are on stage every night. If you have a bad gig you can redeem yourself the next night, or continue the downward trend and spiral into a dark, morbid depression.

The previous night shook me up. A full house & none of them wanted to laugh. Insidious thoughts ran through my head. ‘What if tonight’s audience hates me as well? ‘What if they don’t laugh? Man I gotta get on the telly’. I walked out and the audience was half the size this evening and not only that but I had 5 kids in the front row aged between 10 and 14!! They were all looking at me expectantly as if to say ‘where are the other 3 wiggles?’ My brain went into panic mode. I don’t think I’m a blue comedian but I do use the F word to some, if I may say so myself, fucking brilliant effect. I asked all the kids their age and one girl in particular (Celia, aged 10) seemed to be beaming with excitement. I said to her ‘There’s going to be swear words but you’re OK with that aren’t you?’ She nodded in glee like I’d just given here a one-way ticket to Hogwarts. Mentally I realized that I was worried about swearing in front of the little’nes yet, like a 1 year-old who unwraps the toy only to pay all afternoon with the bubble wrap, these kids didn’t care about the crafted jokes- they wanted to hear swear words and plenty of ‘em.

As her huge blue eyes beamed up to me, this little girl looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. I said to her ever so delicately ‘You probably know more swear words than me!’ She beamed back at me and nodded vigorously. I then bent down so I was at her eye level and asked ‘Do you want try out swearing now?’ and in doing so placed the microphone in front of her mouth. Without pause for thought she boldly declared ‘FUCK!’ Say what you want about cursing but when a 10-year-old has dropped an F-bomb and 40 people erupt with cheers and laughter you realize it is both clever and funny.

We had a cracking night & everybody enjoyed themselves.

Even afterwards all the kids met me after the gig & got my signature. Although I think they thought I was from the telly…..

I told him how I’d be overseas on Election Day so I had to vote at our Consulate. He was immediately impressed with my patriotic obligation to vote… until I told him it’s mandatory. With all the incredulous attitude of a 150kg man at an empty bain-marie in an all-you-can-eat restaurant he exclaimed ‘that’s un-democratic!!’ ‘So is bombing an innocent county’ was my first reaction however with diplomacy I bit my tounge (or rather surrounded it with beer). His take was because we were forced to vote many of those votes would be uninformed. I countered that by saying ‘well- if uninformed votes are good enough for Australian Idol it’s good enough for head of state’.

Although I did have to admit he had a point.

I remember the last federal election (circa Kevin ’07, now it’s Rudd ’10 Dud) and my 18-year-old cousin and I were walking to the polling booths. As we strolled he asked me ‘Will Kevin Rudd be there?’ I looked at him quizzically, ‘The candidates aren’t like Santa- they don’t make it to every house’ Needless to say Laurie Oakes doesn’t ask for his opinion too often.

Lets be honest though- how many of us out there really do the appropriate amount of homework? Go on be honest. I don’t keep the keenest eye on politics- you run the risk of more T Abbot dick sticker action.

So the argument is there for all to see- should it be optional to vote, hence only the most passionate and knowledgeable do so, or should it be mandatory so that every person, no matter how misinformed they are, have their say?

All I could say to the American was that this was the system I grew up with and although we may not pay enough attention come election time it does give us the true fair dinkum Australian right to complain like hell once our elected leader is in.