DIE ROTEN PUNKTE!!!
This years golden GIBBO winner Lessons with LUIS!
Bron BATTEN!
The List Operators!
Poet Laureate Telia Nevile!!
Theatre babes I’m Trying To Kiss You!
Dr Professor Neal Portenza!
Drag sensation Olympia Bukkakis!
And introducing the brand NEW Natalie Browne!

In the startlingly original tradition of the LTS we are stealing someone else’s idea, namely tropfest. We are giving all of our artists an OBJECT today, which they will have to include in their performance in 2 WEEKS!

I know! INSANE huh. They are probably all going to have mental breakdowns spending the next solid 14 days creating amazing stage chunks of wonderful for your eye/brains/bodies.

All hosted by your fave raconteur of misanthropy, master of ceronmonies Richard Hiigguns

And presented at the fab but soon to close Pheonix Public house!

Cheap Drinks! Cheap Entry! Austerity measured comedy!

The Last Tuesday Society, a show so good your brain will feel like it’s been to a party.

Details can be found here

Featuring yuletide greetings from artists such as:

THE SUITCASE ROYALE, in a rare Melbourne performance via Edinburgh, London and Sydney

THE LIST OPERATORS catch them before their debut in the Sydney International Arts Festival in 2012!

DECLAN GREENE AND THE SISTERS GRIMM, you can see Declan’s new play Pompeii,LA. At The Malthouse next year

SLOW CLAP, who are busy developing their new show Truth for the Adelaide Fringe

BRON BATTEN, fresh from her award winning season of Sweet Child of Mine at the Melbourne Fringe Festival

POET LAUREATE TELIA NEVILE, taking time out from developing her new show Live on Air at the Butterfly Club in december

PENNY MODRA 3000.com’s very own, back by popular demand!

THE DUTCH COURAGE CHOIR, under the musical direction of Amy Spiers, murdering one of your favourite xmas classics

VICTORIA HEALY straight from a sell out season at the Melbourne Fringe

Plus more to be announced!

Hosted (finally!) by everyone’s favourite Grinch, Mr Richard Higgins.

Catch The Last Tuesday Society a brand new venue: THE BUFFALO CLUB

22 Sutherland Street Melbourne, CBD

8pm, Tuesday the 29^th of November

$12/15

Thus Dad and I will be packing our bags to head to Sydney next year to perform a season at PACT Centre for Emerging Artists. Very exciting!

Meanwhile you can read the reviews:

Read the Sometimes Melbourne review here

The Australian Stage review here

And our Express Media review here

Presented by The Last Tuesday Society and premiering at The 2011 Melbourne Fringe Festival, Sweet Child of Mine is a cross-generational performance work, featuring Bron Batten and her 60 year-old parents live onstage.

Providing frank opinions on theatre, contemporary art, Bron’s own performance history and things in general, their insights are poignant, earnest and at the same time, painfully hilarious. Asking themselves and and the audience: what exactly is the POINT of art?

A mixture of theatre, stand-up, performance art and awkward family function, Sweet Child of Mine will resonate with anyone who has trouble communicating with their family about who they are – or what they do for a living.

Come and hear some Dad jokes – direct from the source.

Sweet Child of Mine is the second piece in Bron Batten’s Guns ‘n Roses Trilogy and features original sound design from emerging composer Edward Gould (Next Wave, Attic Erratic, Choir Straits). Presented at Studio 246, Brunswick’s newest underground arts venue.

A collaboration 27 years in the making- FOUR NIGHTS ONLY.

‘Hysterically funny…’ ArtsHub

‘Strange and delightful… Let you imagination run wild’ Adelaide Advertiser

‘Infectious energy… The audience could not get enough’ Beat Magazine

Devised and performed by Bron Batten and her parents, Jim and Linda Batten

Outside Eye: Gerard McCulloch

Sound Design: Edward Gould

DATES: 28th, 29th, 30th of september, 1st of October
TIME: 7.30pm
VENUE: Studio 246, 246A Sydney Road Brunswick (Entry via Merri St)

Book tickets here: 

Visit The Last Tuesday Website here:

This production has been supported by the Australian Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body, and by The Melbourne Fringe Festival Outside Eye Program through Full Tilt at The Arts Centre.

Watch a teaser below!

My personal bucket list for this year also includes eating a souffle and going to the aquarium. And I have already ticked off one of them. Guess who’s got two thumbs and is achieving things in 2011.

But have you ever gotten really close to your bucket dream and then failed? Had it slip through your fingers? Had your fantasy dashed against the rocky shore of reality?

Because I have ladies and gentlemen. I have a tragic story, a cautionary tale for you all. About how, despite Beyonce’s warnings, I let my big ego get in the way of my bucket dream.

I have always wanted to have a column in a national newspaper. I think that would be really cool. One where I could get on my soapbox and write heartfelt and hilarious things about stuff and issues and have people send me fan mail and marriage proposals and death threats. Then after a few years I could publish a volume of my collected works and have it go straight to the bargain bin at Borders. And then Borders could go bankrupt and discount it even further. That was my dream ladies and gentlemen. A simple dream.

But I thought there was no way that this could actually happen you know, in reality. But in 2010, it almost did.

While I was overseas, I wrote travelogues for my friends and family and emailed them out about once a month. Anyway, to cut a long story short, through some incredible twist of fate my writing got passed on to the editor of a national broadsheet newspaper that shall remain nameless. But I will give you a clue: it’s a Melbourne newspaper and it’s not the Herald Sun. Got that? Broadsheet, Melbourne, not the Herald Sun. You picking up what I’m putting down? Cool.

And I was pretty damned thrilled. It felt like the stars were aligning and fate and kismet and destiny were finally smiling on me. You know, I thought it was the universe making up for me having no core strength and a tendency to fall in love with gay men. I mean seriously, how often does life throw you a big juicy bone like that?

Like the time, and I swear to God this is true, I was walking down the street really stressed out about money because I was living on about $10 a day at the time and you can’t afford to buy both beer and food on that much- you have to choose one or the other. And I looked down and there was $25 cash just lying on the ground. Swear to baby jesus. And I’m pretty sure it belonged to the junkie who lived downstairs and he would have cut me if he’d seen me take it but still! That’s pretty fricking weird right? And this column thing was magical just like that. Like magical stolen junkie money.

And so I was excited. But cautious. Because I knew that this could all come to nothing. So I proceeded very carefully. I sent a ‘carefully’ worded email with some ‘carefully’ collected articles and stories and pressed ‘send’ very carefully. And then I waited. And waited and waited. And I didn’t even tell anybody! I told no-one in case nothing came of it and I would look like an idiot. And for those of you who know me, that is an incredible feat of self control!

When the editor finally got back to me, she said that I should send her ten story ideas. That that’s what she got all potential columnists to do. I was a potential columnist! I was so fucking excited but still trying to play it cool so I spent about three days brainstorming. And I felt like a writer. I felt tortured and contemplative like a writer, not tortured and insecure and socially awkward like a comedian. I sat in cafes and I pondered over coffee. I sat in a park and wrote in a moleskine. It was all I could do to not wear a beret and talk about myself in the third person. You know, like all writers do?

And so I sent her in ten ‘carefully’ constructed ideas. And they were good ideas. No, fuck that, they were great ideas! Those ten ideas were my A game! I pulled out all the stops on those ideas! There were at least 3, maybe four good ideas in that email- but they were very well worded!

And so I waited. And waited and waited. And I got a brief and I’m not just imagining it here but slightly curt email back saying that ‘Unfortunately your suggestions sound more like story ideas than a personal column’ and thus ‘they wouldn’t work on the back page’ and I thought ‘Great. Constructive feedback right? It’s not a rejection- she just wants me to send her more ideas! Different ideas, better ideas! Of course!’

So I sent her ten more column pitches. That day. That means, ladies and gentlemen, that in a 12 hour period I had sent her 20 ideas. That is a lot of ideas in such a short amount of time. For those of you who need a visual, that’s like pushing 20 little perfectly formed, diamond encrusted, poignant yet hilarious turds out of your bum-hole in half a day. It’s a lot. It’s a lot of ideas.

And I was still excited. Still imagining a future of soirees and canapes and living out my days in a garret, where I could eventually go crazy and kill myself like all great writers do.

And so I waited. And waited and waited. And this time when I opened my inbox and found a reply, I may have been a little bit drunk.

This time I found a definitely patronising email saying ‘I don’t think your ideas offer a new perspective for the backpage’ and ‘it’s not in line with what’s normally printed’ and blah blah blah.

And I thought well, Miss editor schmeditor, we’ll just see about that! Om! Because I was eating a kebab at the time. In my bed. Because that’s just how I roll.

Just to back track a little, while I was researching what they printed on the back page of this national newspaper that is based in Melbourne and is not The Herald Sun I came across an article by a well known Melbourne columnist. Let’s call him, for litigation sake, Manny Splatz. Now this column by Manny Splatz was solely about his quest to purchase a cucumber. Not a cucumber as a symbol of the modern man’s masculinity being threatened by poncey salad ingredients or as a metaphor for penis envy no, Manny Splatz was making tzatziki and he wanted, nay needed! to tell us all about his quest for the ultimate cucumber! No wait, that makes it sound kind of exciting- it wasn’t exciting! It was boring and indulgent and stupid and it made me really mad.

So, with that in mind, I sit down at my computer, reeking of souvlaki and cigarettes and see this rejection letter. And I think to myself, You know what? I reckon I should reply to this email right now. So I type:

‘Dear such and such,

You’re right, an article about Manny Splatz buying a cucumber is much more interesting.

Kind regards,

Bron

Send. Ha!

What a smug little bitch! Oh my god!

So I go to sleep. And when I say go to sleep I mean I passed out. And when I wake up in the morning I wake up with a massive start and the crushing weight of remembrance.

Because I’m gutted right? Because I really wanted this and I’ve fucked it up and there’s no one to blame but myself. I have totally self-sabotaged it, I let my ego get the better of me. And I’ve lost my future career as a world famous columnist in the manner of Carrie Bradshaw before the racist second movie.

A few hours later I get an email back from the editor and it’s just one line. No greeting. No preamble. It just simply says:

Do you think you’re a better writer than Danny Katz? Fuck! I mean, Manny Splatz. Oh well, I think the game is up!

And I, under the deep illusion that this woman still might want to publish ANYTHING out of my subconscious, try to charm my way out of it by sending her this email:

I am passing no judgment on the writing of Danny Katz or quality thereof (I totally was), simply suggesting that if the purchasing of salad vegetables is considered worthy of print, then surely at least one of my suggestions is of equal value.

And because I sent you a snide comment in the middle of the night (for which I must apologise) here’s the truth.

On my vague ‘bucket list’ (see? It all comes full circle) of life ambitions, writing a column for a newspaper is relatively high up. Fuelled by disappointment and having consumed a large quantity of beer as well as a lamb kebab, I thought the smartest thing to do would be to reply to your email.

I was trying to emerge from the situation with some semblance of creative dignity- but have since learned the folly of conducting business while under the influence of garlic sauce.

Plus, in the back of my mind, I thought it would make a good anecdote- about which I might write a newspaper column one day- though perhaps for the Sydney Morning Herald- since my Melbourne print career is now pretty much shot!

But of course nothing came of it and instead of leading a glamourous life of soirees and canapes I am now learning about how many days you can eat from a single can of beans. Ah. Swings and roundabouts.

But I still have all this rage- this sense of failure and feeling of ‘what if’? If only?’ Which is horrible. Which keeps me up at night. This sense of regret- well, that and the first season of Game of Thrones. Which is fucking awesome.

And I don’t want to carry this around with me anymore. I want to let it free- let it out into the universe. So I’m here tonight to publicly apologise to Danny Katz. Because to me, he has become the symbol of this whole debacle. I don’t know the man personally, but I do ADMIRE HIS BOLD USE OF CAPITALISATION!

But I don’t just want to say it to you all here tonight- I mean you guys are great but I want my apology to go further than whatever 2 people might read this blog.

So… if you check the public notice section of the Age newspaper- shit I mean Melbourne’s premiere broadsheet newspaper- you’ll find printed a public apology from me to Danny Katz.

And I wanted it to say this:

Dear Danny Katz,

Even though you had nothing personally to do with ruining my chances of being published in a national newspaper, you have since become the inadvertent symbol of my rage and representative of the impotent fury that burns in the very core of my being.

My thwarted destiny has become your cross to bear even though you have never met me and have no idea who I am or what I do. But I want to apologise to you Danny Katz, because it is not your fault that I am a boozehound who is stupid enough to email under the influence.

I WISH YOU WELL AND MAY YOU HAVE ALL THE CUCUMBERS FOR ALL THE TATZIKI IN ALL THE WORLD!
Sincerely,

Bron Batten

But it was really fucking expensive! So instead I printed this:

Dear DK,

Totes soz.

BB x

And let that be a lesson to all of you.

But being a lady stand up, there are certain cliches aren’t there? Certain things you might expect me to talk about, certain- lady topics. You might think that I do jokes like:

‘Did you know that single ladies don’t fart? Yeah, that’s because they don’t have arseholes until they’re married. Ha! Men!’

Or:

‘Last time I was ovulating I was so horny that I fucked a carrot. Yeah, and then I made a cake!’

Something like that.

But I actually think that’s really boring. I think it’s really cliched and really done and really over. For example, I have never done jokes about vaginas, fallopian tubes or cervix’s, dilated or otherwise. I wouldn’t talk about periods, bleeding, discharge or yeast infections. I have never done material about sex, gay sex, straight sex, penises, foreskins or orgasms, multiple or otherwise. I have not and would not talk about my weight: my relationship to my weight, losing weight, gaining weight, diets, exercise or Oprah. I have never had an eating disorder. I have never had bulimia, anorexia nervosa or psoriasis, not that psoriasis is particularly lady related, I’ve just always felt fortunate because there’s really nothing you can do about psoriasis is there? It’s terrible. I’ve never talked about dating or the differences between men and women or my girlfriend or my boyfriend or my cat. Mainly because I don’t have one and I hate them.

And I just think it’s really really really boring.

So you can imagine how I felt when I get this phone call early one morning. It woke me up- it was about 11.30 and it’s from this advertising agency. Exciting right? And they’re like ‘Oh Bron, we got your details from such and such, we’ve seen you perform and we think you’d be great for this commercial we’re shooting. It’s a national campaign, the fee is $50,000…’ And that’s where I pretty much stopped listening. And I was like ‘Oh yeah, great, uh huh, cool, yeah, awesome, no sounds great, yeah, sweet, no worries’- like, I played it super cool. And then I asked what it was for and she said ‘tampons’. But not only was the ad for tampons, they wanted a female stand up comedian to do material ABOUT TAMPONS. And that’s the ad.

Oh the dramatic irony!

And it’s a national campaign right? So for ever after you’re the tampon girl. I just started to envision a life where I’d be walking down the street and people would be like:

‘Hey! It’s the Tampon Girl!’

Or:

‘Hey Tampon Girl! Why don’t you stick this up your clacker?’

Or:

‘Hey Tampon Girl! I’ve got my own flesh tampon for you right here oh yeah.’

I don’t know whether that one would actually happen.

And I didn’t know what to do, because on the one hand, we have principles and morals and pride and artistic integrity and on the other hand we have $50,000 fucking dollars. So you can imagine which one won out. I mean, who am I kidding? I would fellate a goat on national television for $50,000. I would. I would lick that goat until things started to happen.

And then I was like ‘Fuck! What am I going to do? I don’t have any lady material!’ So I did what sensible people do. I made a list. I made a list I made a list of synonyms for tampons to try and get the creative juices flowing. And this is what I came up with:

Bleed Blockers

Vag Vessels

Fanny Packs- I like that one. It’s got layers, think about it.

Tubular Bells- bit obscure, I know

Blood Boogers- I’m aware it’s gross

Then I got an email saying they wanted us to seamlessly include jokes about the tampon’s new features into our material. Yeah, like making the technicalities of tampons funny is real easy. Not to mention what it would do to my rep.

But then it struck me. I realised how I could audition for a tampon commercial without losing my street cred. It was suddenly so obvious.

The answer lay in rap.

I would do a tampon rap. Because rap is cool right? And therefore, I would be cool.

Now normally I perform this rap live and backed by some phat beats, wearing sunglasses with tampons hanging off them. But in this case I have included the lyrics below so you can make up your own version.

And this whole story? Absolutely true.

Me performing the Tampon Rap in Edinburgh at The Last Tuesday Society

Here we go.

If Aunt Flo’s in town

Don’t wear a frown

I’ve news to cheer you up

If you’re feeling down

It’s got new wavy grooves

So it won’t bruise

And it’s easy to use

You know what to choose

Code red!

OMG I’m OMP

Riding the crimson tide

In my evil week

OMP on my period y’all

If the painters are in

It’s got a knotted string

So you can yank it on down

Then put that shit in the bin

The red river is here

You’ve got nothing to fear

With a new tapered tip

You’ll be all in the clear

OMFG I’m OMP

On my ladies holiday

Riding the cotton pony

Nothin’ rhymes with tampon y’all

If you’re on the blob

Get on the job

With new outer twist wraps

For your lady flaps

If you’re on your rags

Don’t be a dag

Don’t hide away

Just raise your red flag and DANCE

Or go bike riding, play tennis, go ride a horse

Just feel secure

28 days laterz

Needless to say, I didn’t get the gig