Ani MollerZero content, 100% of the time

And every internet meme ever.

This afternoon I visited Fleshwound to ask the lovely Timb questions as per usual to find that they will be permanently closing the gate from December 23. I understand Hamish will be taking some time off and perhaps relocating the store in the New Year to Petone, or not, with Timb moving to Australia.

I will be sad to see such an iconic Cuba Street fixture depart Wellington. I don’t know who I will go to for any possible future piercings, advice, and to get my jewellery changed because I’m too much of a baby to do it myself. Thanks to Hamish for all the great service over the years, and to Timb for my most recent metallic addition which was the easiest and most pain-free piercing I’ve had to date. Thanks guys!

Buddy Christ image shamelessly stolen from Google Images.

I collaborated with a bunch of friends on the humhum collective photobook. You can buy it for $22.73 from Lulu. I have four photos on a 2-page spread.

N.B. The quality of the images you see under “preview book” is not indicative of the print quality, from what I understand. I am yet to receive my copy.

Don’t forget that.

* A beautiful pregnant girl smoking
* A guy stumbling fucked up from sniffing glue
* Three punks, one with bright green dreads and a sideways mohawk; at the same time
* The two cutest emo-goth chicks I’ve ever seen
* My favourite barman walking into my favourite bar
* An amazing looking old Chinese woman, no taller than my armpits
* A Bhuddist monk in robes
* A stunning 5′10″ half-Malaysian model
* An elderly woman wearing a Fly My Pretties badge
* A teenage girl wearing a walkman and ’80s headphones
* A kid with a giant plastic scythe
* A greasy Brandon Davis look-alike
* Elvis The Hairdresser, who I see everywhere
* An old guy chugging a beer and chasing pigeons

Recently, as in over the past year, I’ve noticed that I’ve been developing an obsession with facial hair. I feel this is somehow due to Jamie and partly due to Burt Reynolds. I have seen Jamie with a beautiful handlebar moustache. It is really something to behold. It’s stunning. And who could resist Burt Reynolds.

I tell most guys I meet that they need to grow a moustache. I particularly like handlebars, seedy porn star moustaches, and full beards. I want to touch them, often to compare the softness and access the quality of the facial hair. Then other things.

It has gotten so bad that today I saw a geeky looking bicycle courier with a full, long, ginger beard. I thought, “God, that’s hot.” But perhaps it reminded me of Dakota Smith, Sexy Texan Gingerbread Man.

I don’t know what this all means, but I have a fake moustache in my drawer and I’m going to put it on and stroke it.

Edit: Fuck that was satisfying.

I went to Rumble In The Jungle last night at San Francisco Bath House on Cuba Street. Some points to note:

• The turnout was impressive. Way more than any gigs I went to in Houston, which is funny seeing how the entire country of New Zealand is the size of Houston, but obviously drum and bass is more popular here.
• San Francisco Bath House now fucking rules. They have moved the bar and it’s all fancy and great and the best thing is that they make great drinks and are cheaper than my regular haunts. Dave also works behind the bar, and Dave is one of those people whose smile always makes me smile.
• I knew almost nobody. This is the best thing ever! This does not happen in Wellington.

I danced until almost 6am and got home to the birds singing and the sun just about to come out. I am paying for that today.

The absolute best thing about all of this is that today I woke hung-over and got out of bed and stepped in cat puke. My lovely cat had puked over the side of my bed like the lazy fat fuck she is. She managed to puke enough to require my duvet cover to be washed (it was washed last night), my duvet inner, my spare duvet throw for when it’s cold (washed a few days ago), and the rug beside my bed (washed last night). This also requires four separate loads of washing to be done. YAY SUNDAY.

* It should be called Rumble In The Jumble. Because that’s what I accidentally called it the other day. It really just slips off the tongue.