Ashtray Boy are playing at the Tote tomorrow night (support by Ninety Nine, too) but of course, I got a call yesterday arvo telling me I need to be in Sydney first thing Monday morning to plug a cable into something. Dang.

I had another call about an hour later telling me my new monster camera had arrived, so I trudged around this morning in 35(?) degree heat trying to get the hang of it. The way it goes ker-chunk ker-chunk ker-chunk in rapid-fire mode reminds me of the start of Girls on Film, or something. I've been good, though. I put it aside and worked on the mix-CD I promised a co-worker for Christmas - nothing too special, just the "a) stuff i've been listening to lately that you oughta like plus b) a few things you said you liked when I had my iPod at your place that time we drank gin for eight hours". I'm sure I can turn him into a Mark Eitzel fan if only I try...

The other day I was on my way back from the Box Hill office, when I encountered a taxi driver who listens to 3RRR. Not only that, but as we sped down the Eastern Freeway toward Hoddle St oblivion they were playing something really good. It turned out to be the new Robyn Hitchcock CD, complete with Welch/Rawlings treatment, so it's perfect for us mellow types. I'd been meaning to do something about Mr H ever since I picked up some gated mailing list back in the APANA days. Christ. Just over a decade ago. When UUCP was king, and I'd just started working full-time and was looking for a flat to move into. But anyway, I now have said new release by Mr H, that Mekons compilation (all the better to educate my colleagues with), and Douglas Coupland book called Eleanor Rigby. He's got a bit same-ish in the past few books (though I've slipped a few, I'll admit), but it's nice to have something to wander through when I need a breather from Paul Morley's Words and Music, or I'll turn into some kind of boring music nerd (ahem). We'll see.