Friday, 9 September 2011

Josh Dugan: he be a DeLorean, he be a Datsun

I don't much care for the phone's ring. It puts an icy invasive shudder through me most times. At the very least it releases a burst of bile in my gut; a sensation which I believe is known as 'fear and loathing'. Or deep-seated paranoia.

I hear my psychedelic ringtone (Nokia Venture, for the enthusiasts out there) and automatically mutter words to the effect of "man the guns, they're coming" through gritted teeth. I'm not a snob or a psychopath, just a loner. Always have been. Other people's lives stink of ugliness. I mean, mine does too but I can handle my own stink better than most others. And people have a habit of pulling at the strings that hold my emotional baggage together. I don't go in for that.

Anyways, the phone still rings and I still answer most of the time because, y'know, I'm living in a society and all and I choose life choose a career choose a job choose a family choose a fucking big television choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers..

Cynacism aside, yesterday I recieved a fabulous phone call.

I would love to say that my gentleman caller regaled me with a short tale of high-stakes lust, betrayal and totalitarian seduction in the nation's capital and since it's my blog I think I will.

So, my gentleman caller regaled me with a short tale of lust, betrayal and totalitarian seduction in the nation's capital. In addition, and perhaps not suprisingly, there was mention of a rat's tail in there too. Fuck yeh!! This takes us dangerously close to over-egging-the-pudding-with-awesome territory.

Here's how it went down - bearing in mind that, for my part, I was radiating waves of slack-jawed and pie-eyed enthusiasm and may or may not have scrambled/forgotten key details...

-Nell-Belle!I had to ring you andtell you that I just taught a class that had Josh Dugan's ex-girlfriend in it!

-What the shit? The what now!!? Tell!!

-Well, we were talking about the Raiders and I said how shit they were and this girl goes lucky I'm not going out with Josh anymore and I said which Josh and she said Dugan and I said holy shit I have a friend who fucking lovvvvvvvvves Duges....

-*strangled noise from my end*

-Did you grill the shit out of her - WHAT'S THE STORY?? - bearing in mind that I asked this knowing full well how guys in such situations are notoriously bad at getting 'the story' and the requisite depth of detail and so forth - we don't want bare bones, boys, we want meat and juice and robust, muscular fact and conjecture and we want it by the kilogram thanks very much....

-Well they went to school together and he had a mad thing for her and was always after her and she had a boyfriend who she ended up breaking up with to be with Duges, and then she ended up leaving Duges and going back to her boyfriend - and it was at this point that I thought who the fuck is this boyfriend that's what I want to know - HE MUST BE SOME GUY - I mean, surely getting left for Josh Dugan would have to be one of the more emasculating and dispiriting experiences of a young man's life, because to paraphrase Kanye West THAT AINT NO NEIGHBOURGHOOD DICK if you catch my drift...

-So did you tell her that you screamed the words DUGES I WANNA HAVE YOUR BABY at him one time? Because I'm sure she'd like to know that....

-No, I was too busy telling her how much you were into him....and as we were walking out someone was like Yeh he's pretty good looking but I just can't cope with that rat's tail...

-So you could have called the papers but you called me instead? That's very flattering. Wait, what, you're in Canberra?

-Yeh, I know, commiserations, right?

-Yes. Deepest sympathies.

This is a guy who understands that Canberra was a petri dish of despair for me last year. This is also a guy who fully grasps the degree to which I dig Duges.

Last year he heard Dugan was doing a signing session at a Belconnen pub and called me, with another cracking opening line, all calm delivery and cool-headed aplomb: "Do you wanna go meet Duges, I know where he is".  They are some sweet sweet words right there - up there with 'it puts the lotion in the basket' and 'let's get you out of those pants'.

This is obviously also a guy whose classes you want to take. Enrol now, people! Don't let my unbridled distaste for the Nash Cap put you off, go sign up at the University of Canberra toot sweet and then hustle right on back here to ToddBlog. I would love to take some lectures and tutes where the guy up front drifts into footy-team talk from time to time - if my lecturers had done that once or twice at ANU my nervous breakdown may well have been averted altogether. It's called community spirit, you ANU-dwelling FUCKS. It's not all fucking Foucault and Manning Clarke, OKAY?? Jeez. See Below.

Actually, when I was at uni in Tasmania doing a bunch of gender studies units we had a whole series of lectures on Ian Roberts and his coming out and the heavy academic side of it was nicely balanced by a series of  very large slides that stayed up on the projector the whole week depicting the spreads he did for Black and White magazine and, even better, Blue. And a guest lecturer called Dean Durber; this lispy twerp from Western Australia who was new to the pleasures of the Eastern seaboard, regaled us with a charming anecdote about sharing pills with Roberts at seven in the morning on Oxford Street in the aftermath of a Mardi Gras. Karen Fox from the history department at ANU? TAKE NOTE, BITCH. Or die. Either or.

Anyway, now that I write this down I see that I have very few arresting details regarding this phonecall, and that this story appears to have no actual traction at all outside of the slightly unhinged smirk on my face. No matter. This is only the beginning. I'm sure it'll start to snowball soon, right? Bueller??....

The key point here (*gropes feebly for 'point' amid 'muck'*) is that Josh Dugan has something for everybody. He is a DeLorean, he is a Datsun. My gentleman caller wants to have his baby, I wanna build a house made out of his bones and the Roosters want to shower him with dollars and turn him into a morally-bankrupt but infinitely adorable scandal-rat like they do all their other players. Horses for courses, and Dugan eternal.

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