January 22, 2008
[From the recently spit-shined, mahogany editor’s desk:
This morning, we figured we’d steer clear of commenting on the early demise of the talented Heath Ledger as revelling in the morbid is more the province of the folks over at The Darwin Awards. So, we figured we’d focus on a different Australian-themed story, a ‘near death’ one in this case.
Hip hop is universal and responsible for much of the pop culture we do our best to shield our eyes from on a daily basis, ideally, with a ball cap pulled way down and a hoodie.
It’s given us, among other things: over-sized duds for fat and non-fat alike, athletic footwear thrown onto overhead wires to mark drug territory (a stern warning against crack dealers bold enough to ply their trade in penny loafers) and seizure inducing ditties.
Purists often cite the four pillars that prop up the Temple of Hip Hop, which include DJing (of the type not done at your cousin’s Bar Mitzvah when a drunk uncle yells out for ‘Hotel California’), emceeing, breakin’ (not advisable beyond, let’s say, the age of 25, or for anyone with lower back problems) and of course– graffiti.
A piss drunk Australian graffiti artist who might’ve been overcome by the fumes of his art or vandalism, depending on your aesthetic sensibilities, and inside a storm water drain no less (presumably so that the surf could wash out his aerosol handiwork, Etch-a-Sketch-style) was rescued when he himself was swept out into the bay and nearly drowned.
In eastern Sydney, teens with a nose for trouble and one that’s apparently lost its olfactory powers too, have been known to body board, or “sewer-slide”, inside the drain when there is no surf.
According to a local witness, “The young kids from the area are always in the drain every weekend. I don’t understand what the fascination is.”
