Short Story Competeezy

Guess I got my swagger back.

Off brief. Not being from the shrewd world of advertisers and agencies, I’m not entirely sure what this term means. I’m out of the loop. If anyone wants to fill me in, feel free. Seeing as it’s being used in context with my blog posts I can only assume that it’s ad-jargon for something which inspires awe, takes one’s breath away, gets one moist, or any other number of positive connotations. A pretty safe assumption, I think.

Moving on. Distance tonight, bitches. If you’ve never heard of Distance but can name a Mt Eden Dubstep song, I suggest you kill yourself for your foolish irreverence. Distance is a metal-influenced, veteran dubstep producer from South London. He crafts some tooth-jarring, chest-rattling – yet consistently melodic – tunes, without all the excessive mid-range, robot-fucking-a-chainsaw noises, that the new-skool of dubstep tends to lean so heavily towards. I am excite.

The gig is at Zen. I find myself at Fu and Zen fairly regularly, nodding away with the other bass heads (not base heads... although I’m sure they appreciate some breakbeat goodness too). I have huge respect for the scene, but over time I have come to realise something startling about this venue, something which seems to escape many of the punters:


So put your fucking shirts back on. Jesus Christ.


In other news, I’m cooking something up for a short story competition that the Sunday Star Times is running.

First place prize: a cool $5000.

3000 words, due next Friday. How hard can it be?

No comments:

Post a Comment