Author results: Jeremy Wortsman
Title
Not long ago we somehow found ourselves reading a transcribed PDF file of the new Harry Potter book on a laptop, in a public bathroom, and decided enough was enough, and made a pact to never, pirate, rape, or pillage again.
To atone for our sins, we now just shop at TITLE.
Following the success of its flagship Sydney store, and a 2007 retail interior design award under its belt, TITLE has now opened up shop in Melbourne.
North Cafeteria
As soon as rumours began to surface about the opening of North Carlton's newest cafe, North, we had to get our crack team of reviewers there quick smart and get the lowdown.
This proved itself to be quite difficult, as competing with the bustling parade of prams on Rathdowne Street can sometimes be dangerous business.
No One Belongs Here More Than You, by Miranda July
Anger management classes are a funny thing really. But we suppose you can't argue with a "Restraining Order" - whatever that is. One thing we did learn however, apart from how to get high off your own toenail clippings, is that keeping your expectations as low as possible can be the key to happiness and fulfillment.
Panter Cluster Rimbone, by Dylan Martorell
Someone once said, writing about art is like dancing about architecture. Or something like that... Of course we could regurgitate the press release, and regale you with million-dollar art-world terms such as 'magpie junkyard aesthetic', 'psych-exotica', and 'Monash University', but that’s not really our style.
THE THING Quarterly
A hundred and twenty bucks doesn't get you much these days in the way of human companionship. Sure, you could wrangle together some stranger for a buck fifty or so, but everyone knows the top shelf stuff starts at four figures, minimum.
It wasn't always this way. Remember love letters? Real ones? Coming home to find an envelope with your name written on it.
They Used to Call Me Rad in High School
If you're anything like us, all it takes is two beers, and the next thing you know, you’re surrounded by 20 sweating salarymen in a small cubicle somewhere three stories up in Chinatown, frantically paging through well-worn plastic-coated binders to find that one Simon and Garfunkel song, maybe it's 'Bridge over Troubled Water', something, anything, to numb the pain that is growing inside you, deeper and blacker, threatening to envelop your entire being, easing only for a few sweetly fleeting moments when you form the soft harmonies of the greatest American folk duo to ever live, in public, to a video that makes no sense, backed by terrible synthesisers.
Sticky Date Pudding
Like a gay lion, the sticky date pudding was once a humble beast. Content to sit on its own, quietly appearing on the menus of certain pubs and upper-middle-class dining rooms, or perhaps serving as a punchline to a long-forgotten dirty joke that never actually existed.
Alongcomes Trampoline with their gelati made from the milk of goldencalves.
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