STRAY is about random adventure and escape. STRAY is about pretending that Adelaide is Ferris Bueller's Day Off and that fun and money aren't mutually exclusive. STRAY is cheap hijinx, cheap dates and the outings you could be planning while you're actually watching Video Hits on a weekend at 11am.
One day I opened my front door to face a nervous looking (just) post-teen preaching about Medecins Sans Frontieres (Donate Today!). I was somewhat in a hurry to get back to whatever the hell I was doing (probably staring at a wall), so said ‘ok, how much do you want? Five, ten? I’ll give it to you right now’.
So here's the situation. You're a cool young thing, you've been out on the town cruisin the strip with your own two feet, maybe you found someone to cruise and strip with, maybe you didn't, but it's time to go home and you need a cab cause you're drunk (which is still cool no matter what the government tells you).
A sly grin slides across my face every time I spy a cleanly buffed wall. It's like a little declaration of war between free art, and the buff. The buff carefully silhouettes the detailed artwork in a subtle shade of beige, being sure to almost but not quite match the tone of the wall, creating the buffs' new art in brutal and chaotic strokes.
So ya wanna drink beer right, you also have no money, and you're reaaaaaally lazy. WHAT TO DO!? Well have I got a tip for YOU!
Get yourself a sciencey buff who is into researching and studying up on anything (ANYTHING) and team them up with a friend who is so pent up with mood swings that they are looking for something (ANYTHING) to do with their hands.
Growing up I listened to a lot of Christian music, Enya, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Tina Arena and the Eurythmics all thanks to my dad's 'broad' tastes. But the one artist he would play the most of all was little Johnny Farnham. My dad always liked to pretend he was a typical Aussie bloke much like Ray Martin or John Howard, and John Farnham was the music for the typical Aussie bloke, apparently.
A few months ago I came home to find my house trashed and people 'sleeping' in my bed. There was nothing for me to do but call up my pal Tony and suggest we have an early morning trip to Hahndorf. By 1pm we were both drunk in the German Arms after having been gambling on the horses at the TAB for a while.
After many teenage years of crippling boredom in Mount Gambier, the only thing that usually succeeds in getting me back there is the obligatory love of my family (and even then my mother would say it's an uphill battle). The town itself is nothing short of stunning - lush green expanses, a sparkling blue lake, and only a hop and a skip to the beach - but somehow I can't seem to shake that gut feeling that I'd be better off staying right where I am and watching paint dry.
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