Reality Check

The amount of reality shows on Australian television is staggering.  The amount of those reality shows that are really bad is… almost equally as staggering.

Australia broadcasts a lot of the American reality TV shows, and they also broadcast a lot of the British reality TV shows, and then they also make versions of their own.   There’s pretty much a version of everything:  The Apprentice Australia, So You Think You Can Dance Australia, Big Brother Australia, Amazing Race Australia, The Biggest Loser Australia, Australia’s Next Top Model, Beauty and the Geek Australia, and even a Project Runway Australia.  The problem is:  Australia has a relatively small population and a relatively high number of reality TV shows.  By my very scientific estimates, every single Australian citizen will have starred in at least one reality TV show by April 2015.  This lack of population also means a smaller talent pool.  While that might not be so easy to see on the above shows, it definitely reveals that reality in others.

Let’s take singing for example.  Now, if you can sing, you can go on Australia’s Got Talent, or even better, Australian Idol.  Now, if Idol is too out-dated for you, you can try for X Factor Australia.  And if that’s too cliché or some shit like that, how about The Voice Australia?  There’s a plethora of options.  Only problem:  there’s not a plethora of talent.  Now, I can’t sing to save my life, but I can usually tell when someone else can or can’t.  Being religious about American Idol has spoiled me for years – big voices like Kelly Clarkson and Chris Daughtry and Carrie Underwood all came off of American Idol – and their performances on the show were sometimes incredible.  I still remember when Carrie Underwood sang Heart’s “Alone” – shivers.  Or when Fantasia Barrino sang “Summertime” – they should have changed her name to Fantastic Barrino.  But that doesn’t happen here.  The judges on these shows continually praise the contestants for performances that would have been better placed in a karaoke bar on a cruise ship.  A low budget cruise ship.  I have now watched my fair share of X Factor Australia and The Voice Australia and I’ve yet to hear one singer blow me away like at least one person did on nearly every episode of American Idol.  Actually, I’ve barely heard any singers that I thought were good.  In fact, I’d say 95% of the songs I’ve heard have actually been so bad that they’re offensive.  What would Simon Cowell do if he was one of the judges?

There would be blood.

Don’t fret now, singers.  You still have a career!  If you manage to use your mediocre voice to land a spot on X Factor Australia and then use your good looks and sex appeal to make it all the way to third place, then you’ll pretty much be guaranteed another TV spot like on Dancing With The Stars Australia.  That is exactly what happened to Johnny Ruffo.

Yes, he actually sang with his shirt off one time just to get votes from the mass of teenage girls and gay boys watching.  The amazing thing is:  he was the ONLY star that I had actually heard of!   I didn’t know any of the other celebrities.  My further research revealed that Johnny wasn’t the only previous singing contest turned “celebrity” dancer.  The runner-up from the first season of Australian Idol was also a contestant this year.  That season of American Idol aired… way back in 2003.  If you can’t dance but are still quasi famous, you may end up on The Celebrity Apprentice Australia or Excess Baggage – which is a celebrity version of The Biggest Loser.  David Hasselhoff was one of the contestants on The Celebrity Apprentice and he’s not even Australian!  And you can’t even guess who the biggest celebrity was on Excess Baggage.  Another non-Australian.

Kevin Federline.  WTF?

Now, for those of you who are keen on the traditional dating reality TV shows, you haven’t been forgotten.  The Farmer Wants a Wife is Australia’s answer to The Bachelor.  The Farmer Wants a Wife actually started as a British show and they even did a trial of it in America but it didn’t last.  A farmer competes for the hand of one of a group of city women.  And for some reason, one farmer isn’t enough.  So, the show follows SEVEN farmers – each with their own group of women.  That requires the entire population of Adelaide to cast.  And if you want something trashier, then go for Please Marry My Boy.  It’s sort of like MTV’s Date My Mom, but ever so slightly less trashier (though every bit as entertaining).  A mom chooses several women to date her grown son who still lives at home.  So, basically, an overbearing old bag lures in vulnerable, lonely women to date their loser offspring.  Did I also mention one of the mom’s was a crazy Serbian lady who liked to yell at all the girls who weren’t the one Serbian girl who signed up for the show?  God I wanted to smack her.  And thank her.  For making me feel better about myself.

Home renovation shows are all the rage – as exhibited by the success of The Renovators and The Block – where amateur people like you or me (ok, maybe not me) – have to renovate homes for prizes and such.  But my favourites are the cooking shows!  MasterChef Australia is big here, and there are quite a few good cooks, and I love looking at food, so I tend to get sucked in.  As with most Aussie shows, the budget is a bit less than in America, so some of the challenges aren’t that exciting.  I remember when Top Chef did an episode where the contestants had to cook airplane food for Continental Airlines.  That was out there!  They don’t do anything that out there here.

But they did sort of come close…

Even better than MasterChef Australia is My Kitchen Rules!  Twelve pairs of amateur chefs from all over Australia and New Zealand compete in cooking contest after cooking contest for the $250,000 grand prize.  MKR, as it is lovingly referred to, actually had some pretty neat challenges – like having to cook street food for the lunch rush in the Melbourne CBD (downtown) and having to cook in the little kitchen in the back of an RV for a big fair in some podunk town in the middle of nowhere Queensland.  Not bad.  Not the big airplane food challenge, but not bad.  The only problem:  MKR was sometimes on up to 5 NIGHTS PER WEEK.  Are they insane?  How much time can people devote to watching this?  And it’s not just MKR – many of the Aussie reality shows are on multiple nights per week.  Where do people find the time to watch all of this?  This must be why work-life balance is so much better here.  People need to leave work at 5pm to ensure they get home in time to watch their favourite reality TV shows… every night of the week.

But there was an upside to having 5 nights in a row of My Kitchen Rules.  It also meant 5 nights in a row of Nic and Rocco.

Ok, so they may not be the hottest of the hottest, but put them in the kitchen and they can turn up the heat, especially Rocco.  I mean, Nic is ok.  I probably wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers, but he’s not Rocco.  Yummy Rocco.

He made macarons on the show and they looked so good and I almost melted.  In fact, nearly everything he made looked so good.

Why didn’t they do a topless challenge?

So, I suppose Australia found its saving grace in my eye with MKR.  It also helps that flipping through the channels last weekend I encountered something far worse:

New Zealand’s Next Top Model.

Australia has fewer people than Texas alone – over 10% fewer actually.  That means Australia has a smaller talent pool.  New Zealand takes that to a whole other level.  NZ has fewer people than Houston alone – over 25% fewer to put it into perspective.

God it was tragic.

I’ll be grateful for my Aussie reality TV from here on out.

Vivid 2012

Two years ago I blogged about Vivid – the annual light festival here in Sydney (http://phillipdavid.blogspot.com.au/2010/06/let-there-be-light.html).  I thought Vivid was just a few buildings with pretty lights on them, but I have to admit now that I was wrong.  Of course, seeing the Sydney Opera House lit up with different colours was pretty neat, but I did not realize at the time that Vivid is so much more than that.  So, I am writing this entry now to make up for the lack of due respect that I may have given to Vivid in 2010.

The festival is about light, music, and ideas.  Aside from the super cool light projections on the walls of famous Sydney landmarks, the festival features dozens of other light installations, this year displayed all around Circular Quay, The Rocks, and Walsh Bay.  For music, there is a big selection of both local and international artists, including big name Florence + The Machine.  Last but certainly not least:  ideas.  This year’s festival features “public talks and debates from leading global creative thinkers.”  Where the hell was my invite???

The ideas part features a long list of talks and debates on a whole range of creative issues.  Of course, I am not all that creative aside maybe from this blog, so I won’t be attending any of these events.  But in reading some of the descriptions, I was a bit amazed that these things exist and that people are actually talking about them.  Some of the topics:  Would a national design policy help Australian designers?  How can Etsy help local creative business owners?  Can you make a meaningful living on music?  Other events focused on the future of publishing (is there one?), how to find funding (put on by the Australian Council for the Arts), and how to access creative spaces.  If that wasn’t all, there was also a showcase for Australian game designers, speed networking (just like speed dating!), and a seminar on what it takes to become a YouTube superstar.  And this is just a small sample from the schedule.  Fantastic!

Now, I can’t take photos of music or ideas, but I did make sure that I explored a bit more thoroughly this year and got some good snaps of the amazing installations and projections.   There were simple installations, such as this giant game of Tic Tac Toe:

And this display which looks like wildly coloured plants:

Bicycle taxis were gussied up like fluorescent fish:

And there was the world’s largest torch (flashlight), certified by the Guinness Book of World Records:

Projections ranged from high up on skyscrapers:

To down low in the water:

But the best ones were in between.  The Museum of Contemporary Art had some thumping music with lighting to match:

And I got the chance to nerd out as the Australian Bureau of Statistics published census data on the side of a building:

They even had interactive stations where you could input your data to see how you compare to other Australians in your post code, state, and nationwide.  I love the opportunity to have a good nerd session!

The iconic Sydney Opera House was most certainly not left out of the mix this year.  Rather than opt for colours like last year, this year’s projection was a bit colourless, but way more unique and out there.  It looks like she’s doing yoga.  Holy crap.

Finally, while the Sydney Opera House definitely won for the unique factor, it was the projection onto Customs House which was the most impressive.  The several minutes long projection depicted a day in the life of a city, including morning traffic and lunch time hustle and bustle.

What’s even more impressive is that the artists integrated the projection with the facade of the historic building, so projections of building faces were actually projected onto sides of the building.  Take a closer look:

Simply amazing.

The artists and creative thinkers who make this stuff happen are truly genius, and I am very jealous.

But can they eat a kilogram burrito?

Eurovision Party for Everybody! Dance!

Now, you’re probably wondering what the heck Eurovision has to do with Australia and why the hell am I blogging about it.  Well, it’s quite simple:  Eurovision is huge here.  Actually, it’s fucking huge.  Oooo… “F” word added for emphasis – it must be big!

Yes, Eurovision is big in Europe and it is broadcast in a few other countries, but it’s really big in Australia.  So big, in fact, that the hosts of the Eurovision Song Contest give a special shout out to everyone watching in Australia at the beginning of the Eurovision final each year.  I’m not even joking.  It’d be like Ryan Seacrest giving a shout out to all American Idol viewers in some random faraway country like Madagascar or Mongolia at the start of an episode.  Seriously.

Most European countries send one or two commentators to Eurovision each year… most European countries… and Australia!  That’s right, we have our own commentators and Aussies can even vote online to pick the unofficial Australian winner.  You know I was all up on that.

My mates Ross and Jonathon introduced me to Eurovision when I first arrived in Australia.  They – like so many other Aussies – hosted a Eurovision party every year.  Unfortunately, I was unable to attend one before the boys moved to China.  That’s where the Ross and Jon circle of friends came in.  Determined to keep the tradition alive, we all convened to select a new location for Eurovision 2011.  Same crowd.  Same fun.  Different location.  That location:  Glen and Mooney’s apartment.  And everyone had to pick a country to represent and bring food from.  Naturally, I picked Israel because I’m a big Jew and because food from Israel is easy:  falafel, pita, hummus, and tahini.  Yummilicious!

This year, the hosting duties rotated to me, which was totally ok because I love a good, tacky party.  And just like last year, everyone had to pick a country for food.  To spice it up, I opted to not go for Israel again.  My favourite song was Norway, but Norwegian food is notoriously fishy, so I opted for one of Norway’s neighbours:  Denmark!

Denmark’s song entry was really good, but probably a bit too radio-worthy for Eurovision.  But that’s ok – it’s on my iPod anyway.  I branched out and made a trio of smørrebrød – or Danish open face sandwiches.

They were a hit!  And I washed mine down with a refreshing Carlsberg from Denmark.

To show my support, Amy even suggested I get a photo of myself with Denmark’s entry when it came on the TV:

Good thinking, Amy!  My flatmate, Clinton, chose the United Kingdom and made cucumber sandwiches.  Jessica brought a pizza from Italy, and Guy brought some cookies and liquor from Cyprus.  Brent delighted us with Portuguese chicken, and Mitch brought sausages on skewers from Germany:

Of course, I was totally fine with David bringing falafel and hummus from Israel:

And we washed it down with Elcid’s sangria from Spain:

There was Guinness from Ireland courtesy of Glen, baklava from Turkey courtesy of Belinda, and some “Azerbaijani” food that looked suspiciously Greek to me.  Amy brought a delicious homemade Greek cake:

And Michael made a French tart.  Oui!

The award for best food went to Bojan’s palachinke from Croatia.  They’re like crepes but less French or like blintzes but less Jewish.  They were homemade and we put Nutella on them.  Yay!  Oh, and I gave Bojan a little trophy for his efforts.

Clinton also got a mini-trophy for winning a little contest that I did about which countries would do well and which wouldn’t (damn you European public for screwing up my score by placing Norway last!)  And we (and by “we”, I really mean Clinton because it was all him…) even decorated our door and put flags out and made the little toothpick Danish flags for my smørrebrød.  And at the end of the night, I sat waving the Norwegian flag to support Tooji and Glen waved the Irish flag to support Jedward:

And both of us felt super defeated when our countries didn’t do well at all.

Also we were drunk from Belinda’s Jello shots so that probably didn’t help.

But, aside from the tragic outcomes for Tooji and Jedward, the party was a blast and I’m already counting down to next year’s when the rotation dictates that the fabulous Amy and David takeover the hosting duties.  I need to get thinking about my country selection and what food I want to bring.  Only 364 days to go!

Eurovision 2012

Last night was a big night here at my place.  It was Eurovision night!  Now, for the Americans reading this, you probably have no frickin’ idea what I’m talking about.  But, brace yourselves.  I’m about to blow your mind.

“Eurovision” refers to the Eurovision Song Contest – an annual contest held every May since 1956.  Created by the European Broadcasting Union as a way to help unify post-war Europe, the contest is hugely popular in Europe and beyond and has remained a constant for over five decades.  Basically, the contest is sort of an American Idol style event, except that instead of having young hopefuls from Podunk towns across America singing for a record deal, each country in Europe submits a song for a chance to win the opportunity to host next year’s Eurovision Song Contest.  I’ll take the record deal.  And instead of having really talented, fresh singers belting out proven songs, it has a mix of mediocre singers and really bad singers ranging in age from fetus to nearly dead trying their best to sing original lyrics that have been poorly translated into a language that they don’t speak.

All of this makes it completely fantastic!

Ok, so I’m exaggerating – some of the songs and acts are actually quite good, and occasionally someone famous comes off the show.  For example, ABBA was launched to stardom after winning the 1974 Eurovision Song Contest with their hit Waterloo, and Celine Dion was propelled to fame after winning the 1988 Eurovision Song Contest.  ABBA represented their home country of Sweden, and Celine Dion represented Switzerland, which makes no sense because she’s French Canadian, but I don’t make the rules.  This year saw a really good blend of one or two fantastic singers, quite a few really catchy songs, and our fair share of eye candy.  Take Pastora Soler from Spain, for example.  Her power ballad starts off slow, but fires up toward the end and she delivers some amazing notes:

Then there’s Cyprus.  Ivi Adamou was a contestant on the Greek X Factor (which includes Cyprus).  Sure, her singing isn’t all that great, but the song is totally catchy and there are fun dance moves!

And then there’s the eye candy:  Tooji from Norway.  Originally from Iran, Tooji moved to Norway at a very young age where he grew up to be totally gorgeous, quite a good singer, and most likely gay.  He’s a social worker when he’s not singing, so I’m going to make the somewhat safe assumption that he is actually gay and that he wants me bad.  Right.

Aside from those, there was also an adorable pair of twins from Ireland (Go Jedward!), a man with gorgeous eyes from Germany, a multi-platinum French singer with her topless male backup dancers, a Romanian band singing in Spanish with a Cuban sound (it actually worked!), and the Italian version of Amy Winehouse.

Now, all of this sounds like a recipe for success.  And it sounds like something that the gays would totally be into (come on, how many good-looking men did I just mention?)  And you know what:  the gays are totally into it.  Eurovision is totally gay – and fabulous.  All across Europe and beyond, the gays flock to Eurovision and Eurovision parties every year.  It’s become like the next biggest thing to the gay pride parade.

Now, aside from the handful of really good voices, catchy tunes, and gorgeous men, there’s also the bad stuff.  And yes, it’s bad, but it’s often times really camp.  And that just brings the gays in more.  It’s the really bad stuff that makes it all really entertaining.  Just to name a few, this year’s contest featured a song about Facebook from the tiny country of San Marino, an Albanian woman screaming in agony, a rap duo from Austria called “Trackshittaz” (note:  Austrians cannot rap), a very confused man with a giant donkey from Montenegro, a decent song by Dutch girl which was completely ruined by the Native American headdress she was wearing (WTF?), a skank from Greece singing about absolutely nothing, and a song from Turkey which I’m pretty sure was about a pirate.  But the biggest train wreck of the contest actually turned out to be quite fantastic:  Buranovskiye Babushki.  Representing Russia, this group of grandmothers from a tiny village in the middle of nowhere won Russia’s qualifying round and came to the contest with a song called Party for Everybody.  While the title and very short chorus are in English, everything else is in the grandmothers’ native language:  Udmurt.  Not even Russian.  Udmurt.  Lyrics, when translated into English, include “And my cat is happy, and my dog is happy!  And my cat is happy, and my dog is happy!”  Good thing they sang the lyrics in a language we couldn’t understand…

Now, you have to admit:  the song is fairly catchy, and the Russian grandmothers are quite adorable.  Really adorable.  Super adorable.  So adorable… that they got enough votes to put them into second place.  Crazy!

After each country performs, the public votes by calling or texting, just like on American Idol.  The public vote is then balanced out with the votes of a jury of music experts from each country, and then points are assigned to each country.  It’d be like having the American Idol judges voting and then averaging their vote and the public’s vote to determine the winner.  Each country’s votes are given equal weight regardless of their size.  For example, whichever country wins Russia’s vote gets the maximum 12 points from Russia, and whichever country wins San Marino’s vote gets the maximum 12 points from San Marino, regardless of the fact that Russia’s population is over 143,000,000 and San Marino has a meager 32,000.  The top ten vote getters from each country get points.  One of the biggest criticisms is that voting often times seems political:  Portugal and Spain always vote for each other, Greece and Cyprus always vote for each other, Turkey and Azerbaijan always vote for each other, and the former Soviet republics stick together, as do the former Yugoslav countries (despite the fact that they hated each other a decade or so ago).  The Western European countries seem to be a bit fairer.  But even with the politics of the vote, this year all countries had one thing in common:  they all loved Sweden.  The song Euphoria by Loreen took home the gold and the prestige of hosting next year’s Eurovision Song Contest.  The song was good, but there are at least ten that I thought were better.  Oh well.  At least Turkey’s pirate song didn’t win (it came 7th… again, WTF?)

And as for my beautiful Tooji from Norway:  he advanced from the 42 country semi-final round but did not do so well in the final.  He came in last of 26, which I think is totally bullshit because the song is good and he’s a pretty good singer.  Ugh.

He’s probably sad.

I should fly to Oslo to comfort him.

Man vs Burrito

My friend Lisanne was in town from Seattle this past weekend, so I decided to give her a taste of true blue Australia.  So, I took her to eat a giant burrito!

Because nothing says Australia like a giant burrito.

Right.

My favourite local burrito joint – Mad Mex – has a challenge every May to eat a giant burrito.  Weighing in at 1 kilogram (approximately 2.2 pounds), the kilo burrito is roughly twice the size of a regular burrito.  If you eat the whole thing in one sitting and present the wrapper to them, you get a t-shirt to commemorate your victory.  Sweet.

This just goes to show:  you can take the boy out of America but you can’t take the America out of the boy.  (But I am all for universal health care and gay rights, so really, my love of Mexican food is really my “most American” characteristic at this point.)

Michael and I went to The Big Burrito Challenge last year, where we both conquered the beast.  Oh yes, that’s a kilogram less in the basket and a kilogram more in my belly:

And Michael even got to shake the really hot employee’s hand after he finished!

I was jealous.  This year we amassed a larger group.  Michael, having felt satisfied at defeating the burrito last year, opted out of this year’s challenge but came along for moral support.  Of course there was Lisanne, but the thought of 16+ hours on a plane back to Seattle the next day with a kilogram of burrito sitting in her stomach was enough to put her off.  Valid excuse.  Fresh-off-the-boat from America insurance dude Jarrett came along as well.  Being from California, I fully expected him to chow down.  He also declined the big burrito.  But there was no valid excuse.  I was actively judging him and the ruling was not in his favour.

So, let’s get to it.  Time to meet the beast:

Doesn’t look so ominous at first, but then you compare it to the regular size burrito:

For the Americans reading this, the regular size burrito is roughly the same size as a Chipotle burrito.  Now, let’s meet the team!  Of course, my favourite Arkansan-turned-Aussie Jessica and I were up for the challenge:

All I had to say were the words “giant burrito” and Jess was on board instantaneously.  Now, if Jess was going to do it, her lovely husband Guy was going to have to do it too, you know, because eating a giant burrito is definitely a couple’s thing.

Cade was away traveling last year for the whole month of May – hence why I dragged Michael along in his place – but Cade was super eager to give it a go this year:

And last but not least, rounding out the pack with the fifth giant burrito was Vince:

Let’s get to it.  Ready?  Set?  Go!

Oh yeah!

So hot!

Vince and Cade finished first and third, respectively:

The speed at which Vince ate the giant burrito was… pretty hot.  I’m not going to lie.  Most people are attracted to men with lots of money, brains, good looks, and a nice car.  But not me.  Is it weird that the speed at which a man eats a giant burrito tops my list of criteria?

Well, that and air-conditioning in the summer months…

Ok, enough of my lunatic ramblings and back to reality.  Guy completed the challenge second and I came in a respectable fourth, but in my defense, I was busy taking photos and such.  And really, slow and steady wins the race.  I finished.  And I was proud.

Jessica’s burrito was determined to fall apart and make a mess, so she switched to a fork part way through.  It was a bit rough toward the end:

But she downed the last bit of delicious tortilla to a round of thunderous applause!

Five contenders.  Five kilograms of burritos.  Five empty baskets.  Five full stomachs.

Well, not totally full.  Just like last year, we decided to go for ice cream after.

Yeah.  We’re hardcore like that.

Intense Magnum Pleasure

The word “magnum” can bring to mind many different images.  It could be a type of gun, a type of car, or even a dude from a TV show.  But the very first thing that comes to mind is very different for Australians and Americans.

When Australians here the world “magnum”, the first thing they think of is this:

Sold in a wide variety of flavours, Magnum ice cream bars are a staple of Aussie supermarkets and convenience stores – probably even bigger than the Snickers Ice Cream Bars are in the States.

But when Americans here the world “magnum”, the first thing we think of is this:

A brand of condoms.  Extra large condoms.  For men with really big penises.

So, when I see an advertisement like this:

I have to giggle.

“INTENSE MAGNUM PLEASURE THAT STAYS WITH YOU LONGER”

And then giggle again.  And of course this photo was taken from the entrance to my apartment – it’s right across the road – so I see it several times daily and it makes me giggle each time.

“FOR PLEASURE SEEKERS”

All you have to do it put a picture of an erect penis wearing a condom in the exact spot where the ice cream bar is and you’ve got a whole new advertisement.  You don’t even need to change the slogan.  The slogan actually works better for a condom advertisement.

This just goes to prove what I’ve been saying for years:  ice cream is a perfectly reliable substitute for sex.

Or something like that.

Are Aussie advertising firms just totally clueless?  Or do they know what the other type of “Magnum” really is and do these things on purpose just to make the American expat community blush a little?

Drag Queen Two-Up

When Americans think of Memorial Day, they think of a barbecue and a day off of work.  When Australians think of Anzac Day, they also think of two things… cookies and gambling!

This is better already, isn’t it?

I’ve already discussed the joys of Anzac Biscuits, but the gambling part is just as fun (unless you lose money).  The Anzac soldiers were said to pass time playing two-up, a very simple gambling game.  When they returned from overseas, they kept the game alive.  The basic rules are as follows:

People place their bets and then the “boxer”, or game manager, says it’s time to stop betting and let the action begin.  Then the “spinner”, a person holding a little paddle with two coins on it, tosses the coins up in the air.  The “ringie”, a person on the sidelines watching every move, ensures that there’s no interference and then collects the coins after each toss.

If both coins land heads, then heads wins.  If both coins land tails, then tails wins (hence the name “two-up”, because you need two coins facing the same way up).  If one coin lands heads and the other lands tails, it’s a re-toss.  Some versions of the game utilize three coins instead of two thus eliminating the need for re-tosses (if two of three or all three coins land heads, then heads wins, and the same with tails).

If you want to bet heads, you hold up money in the air and someone who wants to bet tails will come up to you.  The person betting tails then hands the money to the person betting heads.  The person betting heads always holds the money.  If heads wins, then they keep the cash.  If tails wins, they give the lot to their opponent.

It’s a very simple game.

Despite being simple, it still is a gambling game, and is therefore illegal outside of a casino.  Back in the day, secret illegal two-up gambling rings sprouted up all over the place and had to be shut down by the police, though authorities generally turned a blind eye to two-up on Anzac Day as a token of appreciation to the soldiers.

Nowadays, two-up has been legalized for play on Anzac Day only, and people fill up their local pubs to get in on the action.  I met up with Jessica, Guy, and their posse at the Beresford in Surry Hills for a little Anzac Day action – gay style.   Why gay style?  Because of this:

Yes, the Beresford is a quasi-gay venue in a gaybourhood, but I was totally not expecting a drag queen to be the boxer – especially a drag queen with monster rubber tits and a camouflage dress.

Fabulous!

So, the drag queen boxer (right) said it was time to play and the spinner (middle) – some random girl from the audience – tossed the coins and the ringie (left) – Miss Anzac – called it heads.

And I lost $10 to some not-all-that-attractive stranger that I bet against.

And so I went back to the bar and bought another pint of Coopers.

I’ll win back my $10 next year.