You've got to accentuate the positive

A lucky charm bracelet? A lucky charm bracelet that "enhances the power of positive thought" as reported in today's Age newspaper. La Chance is the maker of this powerful bracelet and please say this out loud with your most Aussie accent "lachanzze" - just for fun. The new celebrity must-have item valued at $600 is seen as a positive reminder of how good life is according to a Hi-5 singer, so it must be true. So if I rush out and purchase my new positive enhancement bracelet can I then assume I a) will become a celebrity too and not have to work very hard for a living and b) earn so much money I will lose any sense of reality that this amount of money for something that could be made out of macaroni for all we know is necessary? Somehow it would take more than a charm bracelet for me to be positive about forking out that much dosh unless of course I was the owner of the company that made the item and then that would be really very positive indeed. So for good luck, good fortune and lashings of positive thought, buy yourself nothing. You will be richer for it (in more ways than one). Personally, I like diamonds. There is plenty of positive thought about getting one of those.

Sunday the day of rest

I was sleeping soundly until the cannon went off. BOOM. Thunder I think? No too short and it's too sunny out there. There is a race on at the local lake that requires a cannon to start it. What happened to ready, steady, go? I think a cannon is a little inappropriate, a canon shot to herald the beginning of a new adventure in a tall ship sailing off to the new world yes, a canon shot to warn off the attempts of a possible land invasion yes, but to run around a lake - no. Sunday is the day of rest. So unless you are aboard your tall ship or you've sighted a viking invasion please put the gun away. So with newspaper in hand I return to the Sunday day of rest routine amongst the drone of aerial acrobatics for my lakeside defence force at play, I come across the front page panoramic shot of AFL football players elbowing, shoving, punching in what appears to involve at least 19 players. But hang on a minute, wasn't it only Friday that we learned about the AFL Just Think program whereby AFL players have been paid to promote reducing violence in the streets? "We will involve ourselves in any way we can to raise awareness to rid the CBD of that sort of behaviour," according to their chief executive. How exactly are they intending to do this? By punching the shit out of each other by way of example. So now my Sunday day of rest is disturbed by the GIANT FUCKING ELEPHANT in the room that no one person from the press seems to have noticed. Perhaps if someone could borrow the cannon from the defence force and fire it off the next time our sporting "heroes" on six figure salaries demonstrate the very behaviour that they are meant to reducing. Now back to my day of rest goddamn it.

Pssst....come here

I am going to let you in on a secret. Technology is a con. I've just wasted 3 hours of my life trying to work out how to use my new mobile phone. This phone they promised, being an invisible 'they' of course, because I can't recall who 'they' are and I certainly don't have their address but I do recall someone somewhere saying these phones are great. They will upload a truck load they said, you can download a shitload they said and so I forked out a mother load and bought one. What a loud of bollocks I said. It can't manage to keep the time, my messages are still in Mandarin and the instruction manual is one page of how to turn it off and on in 17 different languages. I would have achieved more in my life if I had have spent those 3 hours looking out the window. Which was proving far too great a temptation to hurl the item over the balcony. Knowing that I'm not sufficiently high enough to cause the item splintering damage and being too late in the day to get to the West Gate Bridge, I will place the item back in its box and go retrieve my sanity. I have no idea if it will ring, beep, buzz or just laugh at me. Because I've been conned.

Worn out weather words

I do enjoy a bit of weather now and then. Wild storm warnings sent office workers scurrying onto trains and trams early yesterday to avoid mass falling of trees onto train tracks. It was coming at 5pm the news reports advised. At 5pm they said it was coming at 5:30pm. "Hi, it's the storm here sorry, running a bit late will get there as soon as I can." And then there is the forever repeated descriptions used by the media. Storms are always wild, winds are always lashing and hail is always as big as golf balls. Is it time we had some new weather words? Wind could be er... windy, or big or even good old boring blowy but please no more wild windy whipping through lashed suburbs with hail as big as ... you know what.

And the winner is...

Gee, it looks like I've missed out on the Miss Universe title again. What's wrong with this Donald Trumpet guy? Seriously though, I don't understand this whole pageant thing. You rock up, glue on some strategically placed sparkly bits, tell everyone how you will eradicate world hunger, then line up and hope for a better piece of jewellery. I'm sure I'm not the first to think of it but why isn't there a Mr Universe? And I don't mean the Mr Universe that can lift your car out of the garage, I mean ordinary guys who want happy times, world peace and hopefully not better jewellery. Mr Australia, "I want everyone to have a bigger back shed, I hope for less punch-ons and more time watching telly except I don't want to talk about the cricket anymore". Congratulations you win, here's a new pair of socks or something. See Donny? Far more interesting. Now I've got to go and wash my hair. I think I've made the ozone hole that little bit bigger with all this hairspray.

Vogue to go

I find I'm a bit particular as to what films I will pay hard earned cash for these days. If it's a formula style romance I probably won't bother and if it is guaranteed to make me cry I'll go shopping instead but if it's got nice things to look at I'm there, provided nobody gets graphically chopped up. The September Issue is a behind the scenes look at what goes into putting together a major edition of Vogue magazine. I must confess to being one of those people who regularly lashes out at today's fashion industry with its organ failure thin representatives and clothing interpretations that only fit someone who is still growing out of their shoes. So I found myself surprised at how this movie changed my view of this - just briefly anyway. Famous editor Anna Wintour allowed a camera crew to show her at work and also an indepth look at the people she works with. What I expected was the Devil Wears Prada. What I didn't expect was to find that she works with people of her own age and who clearly have many years of experience as she does and what really shone through was just how very talented they are in creating art. As the editor, Anna is clearly driven by her job and states that her major strength is decision making. God I wish I had that for a strength. I think it's a talent in short supply, as we've outsourced what we can to consultants ('Yes We Can')and the media (no you can't) and we are left staring vacantly face first into the freezer. Although she probably doesn't have that problem of what to thaw out for dinner come to think of it. The only thing I found a bit weird about her was her Starbucks coffee she drinks every morning on the way to work. It just seemed a bit out of place. If you were on the mega bucks highest paid list wouldn't you at least own a decent coffee machine? It's a bit like finding out that Alain Ducasse swings by for a quick McMuffin before he starts work at the Plaza Athenee. Maybe I'm being too critical, it could be her only meal of the day. So if you can't make a decision on what movie to see, try this one out even if you don't like fashion, there are lots of nice things to look at.

It was an itsy bitsy teeny weenie yellow polka dot burquini

A ccording to today's Age a northern Italian city has banned women from wearing a 'burquini' which is a body covering swimsuit. "The sight of a masked woman could disturb small children, not to mention problems of hygiene" the local mayor has said. Well shit, someone better tell the Australian Olympic swimming team they are disturbing children and they are being accused of peeing in the pool - I can't think of what else would apply as a hygiene problem. What utter nonsense. Banning women from covering up? Should we ban factor 15 sun screen just in case it's not nudie enough? Personally I would recommend more to go the full cover up. Not in relation to reasons pertaining to a god but more likely just god awful to look at. And yes Mr Mayor, we do need to be tolerant all the times. Tolerant of long socks with brown sandals, tolerant of bellies that block out the sun and teeny tiny speedos with a leg of lamb down the front just for effect. So if you happen to be in a northern Italian town for their summer, better get ready to bare all - for the sake of the children, of course.

We the people...

I hereby declare this Wednesday, Official Word Ban day. Today is the day that you are decreed with the authority to ban a word. My chosen word for this Wednesday is OUTCOMES. Never shall the free people of this land have to endure the indiscriminate torture of mindlessness that is associated with the use of this word. And from this day forward the people were truly grateful. What would be your word?

Driving Miss Dangerous

At what point do you go from mild mannered, commuting driver to psychotic road raged assassin? When some clown toots their horn at you for not moving forwards and blocking the intersection. The temptation to get out of the car and murder them is very great. If my glovebox contained a grenade instead of gloves it would have been a very different story. If my boot didn't have, well a pair of boots in it and a rocket launcher instead he would have been very sorry. Where do people learn to become such bad drivers? How many hours of bad driving habits does it take to get a licence in this? I'm a polite driver, I let people in when they indicate. They look at me like I've given them a kidney but then we all move along nicely. Is it me or are they getting worse out there?

Booster Beef, coming right up

The world's first super vegetables are on the way according to today's paper. Booster broccoli has all the enhanced extras to not only put hairs on your chest but probably grow you a third breast as well. On the basis that we could eat 40% more antioxidants than regular veggies, scientists have cracked the broccoli DNA code so we 'may reduce serious illnesses'. But surely, you gotta eat veggies in the first place! Personally I think any experiment paid to alter or 'enhance' our food is usually about producing faster, more efficient foods in preference to letting mother nature take it course. With all things related to nature, there are good results and some not so good, and food manufacturers have no interest in the not so good. Vegetables don't need improvement, they have done ok by themselves for many years. So what's next in the frankenfood future for us along with booster vitamin broccoli...bigger brain beans, superior IQ spinach and who wants to be a millionaire mushrooms. Be afraid, very afraid.

I read the news today oh boy

I'm having a fun weekend watching conspiracy DVDs. You know what they say, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you! For some light Sunday entertainment reading I look to the Sunday papers. Aaahh, such words of wisdom they bestow upon me. However, why is it that the women on the magazine cover always remind me of caramel? I'm not sure why this is but in real life I hope for Megan Gale's sake she doesn't resemble an ice coffee and it's just the photography. Women feature everywhere in this magazine. Women who beat up on other women for being irresponsible for getting pregnant too young (must have been an immaculate conception because there is no mention of the father), and the story by a woman who chooses to pay $95 to have a tube put up her arse and somehow she thinks we want to know all about it. Gee, Mr Editor, I'm a bit stuck for stories this week, where should I look for inspiration? But my favourite must be the health advice. Apparently sugar no longer causes hyper activity and that statistics tell us that married men have sex more times per week than single men but the numbers for married women are slightly lower. Shouldn't the married men statistic be the same as the married women? Too much information for a Sunday. I'll get back to my conspiracy DVDs. Such far fetched imaginations could only suggest that the world banks are controlled, that food is contaminated and that the masses are fed diversions of mindless dribble to stop them questioning things for themselves. You kids.

Spring time

Spring was in the air today. And soon this means the launch of the Spring Fashion Festival. The catwalks, the buzz, the previews, the industry. But I still don't like the clothes. I'm out of the demographic now so no one makes clothes for me anymore. And I'm glad. I'm happy to be far from the fashion model template. If for some reason I found myself resembling a fashion model I most likely would:

a) have been punched in both eyes;
b) have cut my hair with a knife and fork;
c) be developing early signs of Alzheimer's by wearing a bigger person's t-shirt backwards and forgetting to put on my trousers.

The days of glamour are gone in my view, today's sour faced women stomping down a catwalk looking like they've spent three years in a labour camp is no way to celebrate the beauty of fashion or women. If today's fashion requires failing organs and blacked out eyes then I'll be content with unfashionable flair. Pass me my hat and gloves, I'm off to eat a steak.

The XXXX files

Hello from Earth, we can now email alien life form on the planet Gliese 581d. From the transcript of messages so far, earthlings are considerate in their enquiries about alien health, they are hospitable in offering tea and cake should this alien ever pop by, and one message most informative from a man in Adelaide who just wanted to say he has fallen over and can't reach his beer. I heard a theory of late that we, being the human race are in the process of reverse Darwinism. That is, we are breeding out the intelligent. If you disagree, turn on your television. See! So should alien life form decide to hit the reply button on whatever form of communication they have, what would be the reply? I can only hope that it is in response to the many requests for peace and inter galactic friendship and not just 'sorry about the beer dude'.

Is that a microfibre you're wearing?

And to think, all I had to do to win a Teen Choice Award was to polish a pole with my undies, while I'm still wearing them and bingo, I've been awarded the prize for 'extraordinary contribution to the entertainment industry'. No shit Sherlock! Take your undies off and put them on your head and you might win most popular or as they put it the Teen 'Hottie' category. Why bother with talent when the real winners are commemorated with classifications such as 'Liplock' and 'Celebrity Pet', and my all time favourite 'a Choice award for whoever does the best job in 140 characters or less on Twitter'. I'm not even going to ask what they mean by 'job'. So when Smiley Virus or whatever her name is gets put on the front page of the newspaper as having some recognised talent, please specify if it's just a buff or a cut and polish. I've got some marble floors she can run her arse over when she gets bored.

Back to see Dali - again?

I failed in my second attempt to see the Dali exhibition at the Victorian National Gallery. Again I arrived with hope of a culture infused Sunday only to turn away in refusal to join a snaked queue. When I travel I accept the queue. The queue at the Tate Modern for example is justified. There are lots of people and many tourists who have come to see more Dali than you can poke a melted stick at. So if I miss this one I won't be too fussed, there seems to be sufficient Salvador artwork around the world, come to think of it, I'm sure there's one in the back of my wardrobe somewhere. Not that I don't admire his great work, I just don't think I'll bend over backwards to see this one. Sorry!

A casual evening enema

Botox parties are the latest craze to hit the northern suburbs according to the great source of all things scary, the Sunday paper. Get together with a bunch of pals and have Dr Botulism deposit a paralytic substance between your brows. Sure beats pass the parcel. Who would have thought surgical procedures could become the new form of entertainment. What next, late night supper and liposuction evenings or a curry and colonic irrigation night. Are people really that bored? What happened to excessive drinking and loud music parties. Now we won't call the police when the party gets out of hand, we'll call an ambulance. So with the northern suburbs no longer able to provide a facial expression let's hope the craze is seen for what it really is, just plain crazy.

Anything goes

Hoorah it's Friday. Friday is celebrated across the land regardless of whether you work or not. Friday for those who work in an office, is often deemed 'casual Friday'. Personally I've never quite grasped the concept of casual wear at work on any day. I guess I just don't do casual, basically I sleep in a suit. I care little for your weekend attire. Your sporting wardrobe is of no interest to me and your comfortable shoes are best kept for the gardening. Jeans were invented as work wear and when they said work wear they meant ploughing the fields or breaking up rocks kind of work wear. Tracksuits are best left at the track and anything fleecy with an attached hood is just baby wear in a bigger size. No, I defy even the most casual of casual environments, I have worked in organisations that were so casual they looked and smelt like a teenagers bedroom. So yes it's Friday but that doesn't mean I want to see your Saturday wear, just yet.

Written in plain jibberish

There are words and phrases that have slipped into the corporate world that have no place to be there. You may know them to be called Weasel words or if you've read Don Watson's Death Sentence you'll relate to this. In recruitment advertisements, mission statements and public announcements from politicians it's like a special effect, they appear like clouds of smoke across the stage to give you an eerie sense of something but nothing. Here are some that I have attempted to decipher for you:

Thought leadership:
What does that mean? Who doesn't think? Even if it's about porn most of the time it's still thinkin'.
Talent acquisition:
Buying a performing seal
Competency based methodologies:
Oh please! Just read the manual.
Service delivery solutions and anything with the word strategic inserted before it:
This is in relation to getting your pizza delivered on time
Stakeholders
People who didn't order the chicken

And they wonder why you sleep through their speeches.

Deck the halls with shopping trolleys

You do realise of course now that it's August, it's only a matter of weeks until the local supermarket has Christmas decorations on the shelves. Yes, there is no escape from the force of the festive. I loathe Christmas. I particularly hate Christmas parties and will invent elaborate lies to avoid them which include life saving medical procedures and the loss of close family members...sometimes for the second and third time. With Christmas come Kris Kringle. Who the fuck came up with that bright idea? I'd like a few minutes with them in a dark alley way. If you want a crap gift for under $5 go and buy your own big white mug with a witty saying on it or a wind up penis that will have you in fits of laughter for hours but if you ever put that shit on my desk I'll nail your head to it. See I told you I was full of Christmas cheer. Only 143 more days until Boxing Day.

Wizz Bang

Appliances are a reminder of why we evolved. If the cave man could have sharpened his tools using an an electric ezy grinder then we would have evolved even faster. I love my kitchen appliances and have strict rules about what is allowed to be displayed on the bench top. The coffee machine is probably my favourite bench top item. It's sleek, European and hell, it even makes coffee. But as it's blood orange season at the moment, the trusty electric juicer wins the prize for the most effective, even if once used, the bench does resemble a massacre. I'm not one to have useless appliances in the house so when unwanted Xmas gifts like popcorn maker (as if!!), rice maker or fondue set attempt to pimp their way onto my kitchen bench, it's off to the goodwill shop we go. What are your favourite appliances...excluding the bedroom drawer!!

Oompa loompa Doompadee Doo

I need to shop more with my ipod in my ears. I don't particularly want to listen to other people's conversations when I'm out buying the fruit and veg. I'm sure their children are intelligent, funny and mastering A grade little league but when I'm reaching for my zucchini, get out of my way so I can move on. On Sunday alone I learned that little Jackson, now that he is 5 years old, is starting his MBA so he'll most likely be a CEO by the time he is 9, Daisy's intellectual capacity is so far advanced she is now home schooled via the internet, meanwhile little Daisy's screaming from the Swedish turbo drive dual airbag pusher to the point where I'm ready to stuff strawberries in my ears to deaden the noise. I suspect there is some real competition out there for your kid to perform better than everyone else's, yes folks, kiddies and KPI's are the next reality project. These women are seriously competitive and will back over you with the four wheel drive to get their kids up the front at the Brittany Spears concert. My question is what are we going to do with these Violet Beauregardes when they are adults? "I want a trip to the moon mummy and I want one NOW". Hand me the strawberries.

At the going down of the sun

No good will come of attempting your own tax return. You start out on your adventure to foreign screens all knowingly downloading your e-tools and reading through the instructions until you realise night has fallen and you've grown a beard (somewhere anyway). You're trapped, you've clicked NEXT too often so you can't go back, the program won't let you proceed without reading the taxation act which downloads at every turn. You start to sweat and you feel your heart racing. No I won't let this get to me, you keep clicking NEXT hoping to move forward but the loud BOING goes off again and you feel it right between the eyes. You stand, pace the room and try to breathe, you look across at the trench you've built of waxy receipts and mouldy invoices. You go back in. There's only thing left to do. Your blood shot eyes scan the screen. You exit. You're defeated. You pick up the phone and call the guy with the brown cardigan and make an appointment. You delete the e-tax icon from your desktop and try not to relive the trauma. Next, next, next, you still get the flashbacks and it's too hard to talk about it. You start to recognise other e-tax veterans, they're looking worn and they're a bit jumpy, they often gather around the local H&R Block having a smoke and talking about raw memories of that fateful moment of the battle of the depreciation question. As the new dawn of the next financial year brightens let's all hope that the lessons learned bring peace in our time and prosperity to all the certified accountants in the land.