Lorna Lino - Step aside, let the dog see the rabbit

Brownlow or any colour low really

2010-09-21T20:13:00.004+10:00

It would be remiss of me to allow a Brownlow Medal evening go by without a filed red finger nail swipe across the face of this perverse award ceremony whereby football industry people vote for each other and sit around and count the votes to see who is the winner - and they put this on television. For those of you fortunate enough to be anywhere else than Melbourne right now the Brownlow Medal is where Australia's own version of footballers gets all dressed up in a borrowed suit, shaves their head, "gimme a number one mate" and forget to shave their face. Attached to their sides like a glittering growth is a dangling wife or girlfriend of the night (sometimes both) to play the role of glamour interest to stop people turning off the telly. The winner of the medal says he is grateful to win. Grateful not to be in maximum security considering the amount of sexual assaults, criminal associations, drug usage, public drunkenness, gross public conduct and general disrespect for women usually reported in connection with this sport. The winner's model attachment was photographed wearing a silver grey strapless dress (yawn) so tight she looks like a BP oil pump about to blow, amongst her peers with similar frocks displaying as much individuality as another slice of processed cheese. What can you expect really? I'm not sure what the term WAG (wife and girlfriend) really implies. I think it's more than attachment, I think it's a term that these men use because they turn them over so quickly there is not point remembering their names. Just peel off the plastic and there is another one just like it. "Everyone smile for cameras...cheese!"

Lost in Time and Space

2010-09-15T19:09:00.002+10:00

On Sunday I drove to one of those large suburban shopping malls. I do my best to avoid them but on this day it dragged me in like a giant space ship opening its claws and my little car was sucked into the car park. Having scored a just empty space I turned in and as I did the car in front reversed out. Lovely! I rolled forward to be facing outward to make an easy getaway. To my surprise a woman in twin set and pearls who mistakenly had come to the wrong spaceship was waiting on this park that I had just utilised. She did the hand gestures and what the *&$%$ mime but I couldn't go back because someone had popped in behind me. She carried on with the gesturing. I politely pointed to the empty space in the next row but she wanted to curse a little longer so I excused myself and left her to do just that. As I walked through the doors of the mega mall my energy and enthusiasm slid down to my feet and was carried away by the travelator. As soon as I enter these places I immediately forget what it was that made me go into them in the first place. And of course there is no easy way out. Once you're in the door the magnetic g-force pushes you towards the escalators and up you go. I ventured into a department store and without much motivation crossed from ladies wear to hosiery and handbags with no particular interest or effort. I ventured up the next set of escalators to the everything else floor only to be confronted by the most hideous display you could imagine. The Christmas Store. Excuse me? Instant reach for i-phone, check calendar and stand in bewilderment (like mad woman muttering at top of escalators, scary lady use the stairs). IT'S MID SEPTEMBER. I have worked in retail and know that Christmas does not 'go in' until the last week of September. That was the unwritten retail law. Like many of these laws this one has been watered down like the rule that you were not allowed to put any sale items out until the night before Christmas. Now they're out all year round. But surely we can put a stop to this holiday season creep. The years go by quickly enough without retailers having us celebrating new year's eve with Easter eggs. So as I left the store in a state of shock at having the remainder of the year flash before my eyes I staggered out into the daylight and didn't look back at the big mothership shopping centre. I won't be travelling back to that universe anytime soon. Time travel is not my thing.

Who left their Barbie doll on the pass?

2010-09-14T20:07:00.003+10:00

So MasterChef is now Master Creche and the latest television culinary challenges are to both see above the kitchen bench and learn how to dice with a plastic knife. The concept of children as chefs is so far removed from reality we may as well be watching Nemo explain the fine art of sashimi. We all know that with the 'magic' of television almost anyone can be anything but expecting us to buy into other people's special siblings as professional chefs is a tad half baked. By all means get the kids interested in quality food and cooking and they will have a skill for life but don't expect us to believe they have mastered recipe interpretation in the ad break. If you have kids it's a show for kids but it's kids playing in an adult world. Why are we so keen to push them into this world before they can cut up their own food? Master Cowboy, Master Fairy Princess, Master Superhero, weren't they enough? If only half the glowing parents watching this show could see inside a commercial kitchen and understand the reality of ... reality. Being a Chef is more aligned with being in the army and sometimes nearly as dangerous. Fire, knives and extreme temperatures are enough to wipe the cupcake smile of any junior apprentice's face and there would be no supportive 'host' to buck up their spirits over ruined food before a full stock pot was on a fight path aimed at their head. So good luck to these kids if they stick with it but keep in mind reality ain't television and their fame and fortune will only rise as long as the food stylists, technicians, executive producers and masters of the editing suite will allow. And maybe there is nothing wrong with cheese on toast for dinner. It's what a lot of real Chefs eat when they finish work at 2am. And I don't think their parents would be waiting up.

The one on the left is 110 years old

2010-09-13T17:32:00.002+10:00

Balancing on one leg. That's all it takes to a long life. Who would have thought? According to an article in today's on line Age newspaper along with the one leg thing, people who performed better at gripping (handshake or walking frame - they didn't specify), walking and rising from a chair, tended to live to a riper age. It tells us that "tens of thousands of men and women across the globe (but not you and not me) took part in the studies, some of which followed participants for 43 years. Of the 14 studies dealing with grip strength, it was found that those with the strongest hand grasps tended to live longer than those with feeble ones". A bit obvious perhaps in that people of a more shall we say, mature age aren't usually the bonecrushing handshake type, however it goes on to say "likewise slow walkers were found to have a greater risk of an earlier death compared to those with a brisk stride". Goodness. I could point out the bit about crossing the road in sufficient time before being mowed down but blind freddy on a galloping horse couldn't have missed that one. But the balancing on one leg has got me puzzled. How could this lead to a longer life? Perhaps you wear out only one leg at a time or those sessions at yoga doing Tree Pose really does make a difference, provided you continue to 'tree pose' throughout the day and hop around on one leg. So some future good health tips from me... the next time you are about to be introduced to someone, leap out of your chair at lightening speed and take a brisk stride up to them, grab their hand like it's a jam jar with a stuck lid and make sure you are only standing on one leg. You might get to live a little bit longer - but you won't have any mates. Weirdo.

"To Be Everywhere Is To Be Nowhere"

2010-09-11T13:05:00.003+10:00

I'm all for stopping and smelling the roses as you pass through life but I can't dedicate a whole day to it. There was an interesting article in today's online Age on how the Internet make us stupid (making a huge assumption that we weren't stupid in the first place). It tells us "a growing body of scientific evidence suggests that the net, with its constant distractions and interruptions, is turning us into scattered and superficial thinkers". It goes on to say that "people who are continually distracted by emails, updates and other messages understand less than those who are able to concentrate. And people who juggle many tasks are often less creative and less productive than those who do one thing at a time." Hogwash. We are all highly capable at being able to concentrate on more than one.... put the potatoes on. Sorry. What was I saying? Oh yes, one thing at a time. The Internet is not a novel. It's full of trashy advertisements and snippets of nothing stories NO NOT MINE, that on their own would not hold the attention of a slab of concrete and therefore only require brief interludes of focus. I think it's healthy to embrace the age of multi-tasking your brain. It brings a level of fitness to the mind and stops you turning into a vegetable. Did I put those spuds on or not? Where was I? Oh yes, the Internet. No it's not somewhere I would go to read Voltaire and yes, with its distractions and advertisements popping up every few seconds makes it behave like a spoiled grotesque child with ADHD. But it's the media era and there are no nights where we all gather around the PC and listen to a speech from our fearless leader with our thoughts on a unified nation, saying we will fight them on the beaches, unless of course it was a text message and it's referring to Cronulla. I'm happy with the pop up, drop down, minimise world we live in, and I can still find time to stop and smell the roses - I think they're growing in my inbox.

If You Can Read This...you'll wish you hadn't

2010-09-09T19:11:00.002+10:00

Generally speaking, bumper stickers are lame. Fortunately these days people are way too precious about their shiny new cars to attach something that was a complete pisser in the pub last night but turns out a bit soft in the light of day. Nurses Save Lives is not really a sticker just more of a statement and completely pointless like saying Kitchenhands Chop Onions. But today I saw a sticker and actually laughed. I was driving at the time and whilst I wasn't exactly slapping the steering wheel and wiping the tears from my face it was a bit cute. It said Improve Your Image...Be Seen With Me. If you had have seen the driver of the attached ute you would have laughed too. It made me think though, who would I want to be seen with to improve my image? Well the first few that I came up with were dead so it wouldn't so much improve my image as more scare the crap out of people because I'm hanging around with dead people. Then I thought about all the great (pulse still active) men that I would like to be seen with. Movie Stars. Obviously. George Clooney comes to mind as the nearest to Cary Grant for a man of style and substance although I suspect Cary might have been more interested in George than me, Pierce Brosnan only if he really is the character in The Thomas Crown Affair and a few others that I think are stars in their own right if not on a big screen. For Brendan Favola, he could be seen standing knee deep in a bucket of stale fish heads and it could only improve his image but wouldn't do much justice to the fish. There is just no bumper sticker big enough to cover that one.

Pulse buying

2010-09-08T19:13:00.002+10:00

A story on tonight's A Current Affair attempted to identify the psychology behind shopping, women and shopping - of course! This psychologist man on the television was telling us how we shop based on emotion and you could measure the emotional responses women receive in their brains in the activity of shopping for clothing. Clearly this man has no woman in his life because he wouldn't need a nice shiny laptop to do this, he could just go shopping with her. So instead he provides $500 to two women and proceeds to measure their responses to shopping and purchasing for the mere cost of having them wear what looks like a black plastic bathing cap with spikes sticking out of it and a plastic pair of goggles that make them look like something between a scuba diver and a martian. I think $500 was a bargain and maybe he knows more about shopping than he realises. So off the martians go wandering from shop to shop with the probes pulsating from their brains back to our man's receptive emo shopper software. He shows excitement as he reads a spike in the graph as the woman walks towards the counter with her purchase. He relates her increase in heart rate to the purchase. I relate it to, she is in public and looking like a dickhead. So the general upshot of this piece of nothing story was that women only purchase goods based on emotion. What would have been a more balanced view is if the story had also followed the husband returning from the supermarket with 3 pineapples "but they were on special". Same thing, just a different fruit.

The Curse of the Kitchen Sponge...coming to a cinema near you

2010-09-06T17:30:00.003+10:00

Is it just my BS detector or is there an increase of ads on the television telling me that my house is full of germs? Florescent blue and yellow graphics of prickly slugs grouped together with a woman and a sponge "eeuuwww!!". She's going to kill us thinks the family as she waves a raw chicken leg menacingly near a small child. I'm thinking does she really have a pile of what looks like cat vomit on her kitchen sink or is that another simulation from the graphics department. I'm told I need to spray every surface because they are full of harmful bacteria that will cause my children to break out in scabs that look like something only the graphics department could design. My house apparently has odours so I need to disguise it...with more odours and when I've sprayed the bins, couches, cat, dog and ideally the husband we can all relax given the odd fit of emphysema but at least the bench will sparkle. I'm not an obsessive compulsive kind of cleaner but I do get distracted with it. A bit like in the middle of stuffing the roast chicken when you drop the sprig of thyme on the floor and all of the little leaves fall off so you bend down and pick up the sprig. Then you need to get out the dust pan and broom and sweep up the leaves but there is a stain there from the raw chicken so you need to wipe that off with a paper towel (because the sponge is a weapon of mass destruction remember) and now there is a clean spot on the floor amongst the grime that means you really need to go and get the mop out and give the floor a good going over and by now it's 9 o'clock and too late to put the chicken on anyway. So this week I will put my chicken on and ignore what's on the floor...before I run out of thyme!!!

Fun for all the family

2010-09-05T16:01:00.003+10:00

Did the toys you played with as a child have any effect on what you turned out to be in adult life? This question is bound to arise after reading on the 'Huffington Post' article on the 14 Worst Toys for Girls which includes photos of such santa sack delights like Pole Dancing Dolly, Totally Tatoo (doll) and my absolute favourite, My Cleaning Trolley complete with Wet Floor Sign or was that a wet parents sign. Would a pole dancing dolly convert an innocent toddler into a 'call me' late night pole polishing princess or just prove to be a toy with a very limited scope of entertainment given that dolly's legs don't actually bend (a much needed requirement for doing the mambo with a metal pole). And WHO WOULD BUY THIS ANYWAY? I question if toys are capable of significant life changing direction I would have found myself living in a tin house with only 3 walls and my only friends would be people that resembled eggs weighted at the bottom so they don't fall down. Little girls and boys whilst liking to imitate mums and dads surely can't make life choices based on playing with a mere plastic item. Or perhaps these items really are sophisticated early learning tools. And for the boys, how about an early learning beer can set or a boys own practice divorce filing kit? Just because the baby likes playing with the saucepans don't make him masterchef. Don't make his dad that either come to think of it.

Happy people just take more drugs

2010-09-04T17:19:00.003+10:00

How does that song go...you've got to accentuate the positive, latch on to the affirmative? I tell you, it's gettin' harder. With a weather forecast predicting flash flood warnings and television images of people in bright orange jackets filling sandbags those who are avid watchers of better homes and backyards will be out there Ark building as we speak, "Honey where are we going to get two swallowtail butterflies from?". Being a positive glass half full person requires effort. I have tried this week. I let slip that I would sooner cut my own head off than watch anything about Ben Cousins which deposited me straight to the weirdo category along with tennis haters and non MasterChef fans. I failed again at the hairdressers today where my efforts to be enthused about my hair was falling fasting than the whisper thin shards falling down my black plastic kaftan. I don't get the whole pampering thing. It's all too poodle parlour and painful. With enough chemicals pasted to my skull to kill off more brain cells than any vodka bottle could do, the ever so bubbly hair washer seemed somewhat insulted that I didn't want her chicken bone fingers massaging more nuclear waste into my brain. When I have to go to the hairdressers I read the newspaper cover to cover in preference to the magazines providing me with snapshots of people I don't know photographed stepping out of a darkened car wearing something they've slept in holding a plastic coffee container. This makes you a celebrity. There I go again. Being negative. Oh to hell with it. Empty that damn glass and don't wait for Mr In-between.

The Road to Style

2010-08-31T19:18:00.002+10:00

As another week whizzes past my window I see another fashion festival launch in the rear vision mirror. Spring Fashion Week brings with it a glimmer of hope for style and glamour but unfortunately it's more likely a week of children wrapped in a swatch of tiny shiny fabric and a synthetic bird bit stapled to her head. What ever happened to style? A few tips from Lorna...

1) If you are a man, try not to wear the same style of clothes that you wore when you were eight years old.
2) If you are a woman, try not to wear something made of the same fabric that is used to wipe down the kitchen bench - even if it is great that it doesn't need ironing.
3) If at the launch party you need an extra pair of hands to hold the prawn on the stick AND hoist either the top of the dress up or the bottom of the dress down - stay at home before you do yourself a mischief with the cocktail stick and;
4) Style doesn't come easy and will never come with studs - ever!

So be brave this week, put on your party frock and say frock the rest of you, I have style!!!

Party on.

Lorna Lino Out of Office (and out of men too whatdya know!)

2010-08-25T18:25:00.002+10:00

Alone and immobilized

2010-08-14T14:31:00.003+10:00

How many Roadside Assistance vehicles does it take to change a battery? It takes 3, now I know. Approximately 100 metres from my place of work in a suburb we shall call Armageddon my car has a major coronary and dies. Fortunately it has enough gasp to weave into a nearby driveway before the queue of major haul vehicles behind me turned me into bitumen naan bread. After a 40 minute wait my first "roadside assist" man arrives and if I use that term any more loosely it will fall off the screen, opens the bonnet and scratches his head and says "battery hot". Well at least that's all I could understand of him other than "car no good" and "bye". Another 50 minutes later and the sun is sinking into the earth like my despair and the second man arrives. He parks behind me and rings me, "where are you?" he says. I say "I'm in front of you", waiting for the pantomime audience to join in and say "nooooo he's not, yes he is". He places his traffic cones strategically and sets up his flashing light while dedicating another 5 minutes entering information into his hand held. By this time the cones have been sent flying by a procession of lawless ten tonners. Fresh out of the call centre he struggles to open the bonnet. More head scratching and eventually decides a new battery might be worth a try. He can't get the old one out and then can't get the new one in. Eventually he connects it up with much pushing and poking, and .... nothing. So he takes it out and turns it up the other way and puts it back in....still nothing. He says I need another man in a van to fix the immobilizer and takes off at a rapid speed. Almost 3 hours have passed and the suburb of hell is in darkness and I sit and wait. I pass the time delivering a tirade of abuse over the phone to a Frenchman, and so is the make of my car so therefore he must be to blame, you can't make good cheese, great wine, and cars what the hell were they thinking, Concorde anyone? Third van arrives. No language barriers this time, and man number 3 clearly knows his way around this car...and he's never worked in a call centre. He puts the key in the ignition and it starts. The car had decided to mobilize itself. So a little roadside assistance banter and then I'm home nearly four hours later. So the next time my fantastic car insurer offers me the opportunity to pay extra for all the buckets of service they offer like car hire, free taxi or pony ride whatever is cheaper etc., I will suggest I would be happy to pay extra if they just provided an experienced, trained mechanic in the language of my choice. If I went into hospital I wouldn't expect to be examined by a truck driver, then a baker and finally if I wait on a trolley long enough a medical professional, so wake up insurer either provide sufficient training for your staff or get the mechanics off the phones. Weekend whinge now complete, immobilizer mobilized.

*&%$# it's cold

2010-08-11T19:30:00.002+10:00

Why is it so bloody cold? In Melbourne right now it's 8 degrees. And if you answer that question by saying "well it is winter ACTUALLY" I will come through this computer and slap you about. I had work colleagues down from Sydney yesterday and we had to cross the road to go to the ever greasy truck stop cafe for lunch. I found myself apologising for the freezing climate and non stop rain. I shouldn't feel responsible for weather but it really has been a wet one and to make matters worse a night by the fire or more likely standing under the Fujitsu screaming "heat you useless piece of plastic, heat!", leaves us left with the god awful television choices of the moment being whatserface and whatsisname in red - select a) hair or b) speedos. I WANT MY TELEVISION BACK you painful boring trollops that think everyone buys into this electioneering crap that is so highly processed and manufactured it might as well come in a subway sandwich. Why don't we talk about the drought anymore...

The Humourless Empire

2010-08-08T10:50:00.003+10:00

And a warm welcome back to the Victorian era where punishment reigns supreme and any touching of bra straps shall be at the judgement of the masses. For those who have been fortunate enough to embrace a life free from media intervention it appears that the retailer David Jones is to punished for the actions of the former CEO who allegedly did something stupid involving failed attempts to attract and bed an employee and the touching of a bra strap. But that aside, let's also punish all those who dare to make a joke of such alleged naughty event. Fashion designer Alannah Hill made a joke about it and was forced to publicly apologize. Why? And when did we ban humour? And for the high pitched hysteria and public statements of "I won't shop at David Jones in the foreseable future" by Laurel Papworth social network strategist (which is what exactly?) in today's Sunday Age firstly I don't think punishing the employees of this organisation through reduced sales resulting in job loss is a well thought out strategy and secondly does "foreseable future" mean up until the Boxing Day Sale? Had the former CEO kicked a football for a living it seems the story would have been and gone without appearing as constant wrapping of every newspaper. Where was this temperance movement in punishing Rugby League and AFL after reports of gang rape...(insert sounds of crickets chirping). The figure of $26 million is about maximum publicity and who knows what motivations sit behind this but to be sucked in to a culture of humourless hysteria sends us back to a darker era. When they gave women the right to vote it was meant to be for government and not about department stores. I'm going to shop at David Jones, in fact I will be going straight to the lingerie department and asking for the CEO special. Shock, horror. Off with her head!

Just saw me in half before the coffee

2010-08-05T18:50:00.002+10:00

I just got back from a 2 day industry seminar in Sydney whereby each day is fun filled with my own games of sleep wake and bullshit bingo. When your facilitator leaves before the end of the seminar you know it's a lost cause. And just when I thought I was done with the butchers paper and commitment to do nothing 'calls to action', I'm faced with the industry dinner. I'm in it for the free food yes, but when the lamb holds up better than the sole of your shoe the night turns to time watching over sticky date pudding (or was that the leftover lamb in a butterscotch sauce?). Mostly women, I listen to tales of how smart the children are and I have no reason to doubt that very fact given because I've listened to not one but three witty tales of exactly how smart the children are. There needs to be an unwritten rule on this one. You get one witty tale tell time or two if you spread it over dinner. Three without an interval or subject change is just plane rude when your audience have either lodged the prawn skewer through their hand to escape or are pretending to take a call from an important person when we all know it's message bank. Towards the end I began to lose a grip of politeness and like a car accident happening in slow motion I could see myself rising from the chair, handbag in hand making a beeline for the door as soon as I heard the words "I know my mother never wanted me as a child..." wooooosh and I was gone. In hindsight I know that would have appeared rude and I feel very bad about that but after a day of useless acronyms and fake management speak I had worn out the polite buffer zone. If only I could just disappear without anyone noticing. Poof. Gone. Hotel room, pyjamas, tv, bed. Why can't we have technology for that.

Survival of the thickest

2010-07-31T17:15:00.002+10:00

I was speaking with a person who has a job that is to ensure everybody is safe and healthy in their occupation. Well I think that was the original concept anyhow. We were talking about speeding fines as I was telling him about the ever changing speed limits on my route to work which includes a 40km zone on a freeway at certain times of the day in case of some kid who might choose to avoid more than 3 sets of traffic lights and 1 pedestrian overpass to hurl him or herself in front of 4 lanes of traffic before being worked over by a tram, in which case they probably deserve it. The OH&S guy said "Oh you are another one of those reverse Darwin theorists". Apparently someone had said to him that because of his occupation (this was one of those 'the trouble with you people is...' type of conversations) his industry is causing us to eliminate all of the common sense thinkers therefore creating a species of non thinking beings that would step out like zombies into 4 lanes of early morning traffic. But is it really about safety? Having never been one to drive above the speed limit I must admit even I was pretty pissed off to see two high viz wrapped traffic police pointing their speed camera gun at me in the hope that I wasn't sure when the 40 zone ended and the 70 zone started, which I wasn't. If speeding fines can be issued on the basis of trickery they might as well dress up as cigar smoking Mexicans in ponchos and point rusty AK47's in our face and say 'give us your money you dirty scumbag'. Because doing 43 kms instead of 40 kms (or let's just say get out and push) is not about the possibility of running over the school children, it's about, well you know the answer to that. I didn't give much more thought to the reverse Darwin theory, until I turned on the television of course. The species is doomed.

Unemployed love

2010-07-28T20:10:00.002+10:00

What do you think of the office romance? It's fun for the participants in the early days of a shared touch on the green photocopier button or perhaps a not so secret email (IT are always watching) but in the light of corporate policy and policing the affair is lost somewhere between conflict of interest and your integrity falling fasting than your trousers. In this country there is a collective euwww at the moment the colleague hook up becomes public. When a once trusted mate who could be relied on for Monday morning tales of wild weekend debauchery that could only half explain his appearance resembling an over baked sausage roll, has gone and hooked up with the chick from accounts who everyone thought was a little bit weird, he is off the funny email list faster than deleting the deleted. Mate no more. In some countries the office romance is encouraged like in Japanese organisations which have a sole department dedicated to assisting you in finding a lifelong partner without ever having to go passed reception. Do we need to adopt a more welfare like approach similar to the jobless. A person without a partner for say, more than 6 months could be a long term unenpartnered and could qualify for various financial assistance for speed dating nights, online dating subscriptions and a New Start allowance for those who have been through bitter divorce. Just because you have become redundant in your partnership doesn't mean that there isn't another partnership out there recruiting furiously. Hopefully not so much that they develop a rash. I once was advised to recruit 2 colleagues that were required to get along because there were sitting side by side in the Purchasing Department. I was successful in my quest and recruited 2 who not only got along well (well done to me) but became engaged and got married (what was I thinking) soon afterwards. Apparently I did a little too well on the order. But it goes to show that we are all romantics at heart. Just not in the workplace.

Put more pork on your television

2010-07-25T16:37:00.002+10:00

You can't stop people doing dumb stuff. No matter what laws, rules and guidelines we hand out there will always be those to whom common sense will not prevail. Apparently it even happens in the animal kingdom. According to today's ever reliable Northern Territory News a group of wild pigs plunged into croc infested waters with a nearby crocodile sunning on the very same banks 'Intrepid porkers run croc gauntlet'. The 66-year-old Aussie Adventure Tours guide was on a jumping croc cruise with one of his groups when he witnessed the unexpected show.
"The pigs were just about to scramble up the bank into the undergrowth when the croc came into the water," Mr Pettit said. Fortunately no pigs were injured in this event but there was a great 6pm news story wasted here, we should have heard from eye witnesses and there should be at least a police commissioner around to give a quick 5 second statement about how disappointed he is with this type of irresponsible behaviour. Speaking of pigs, tonight we are told is the finale for a cooking show that really doesn't have a lot to do with learning how to cook but judged by a bunch of porkers who clearly should be moving towards the biggest losers for their next television appearance. It's not that Master Chef is a great television show, it's more about there is stuff all else to watch. Or if you want real porkies, you know what comes on after that???

Tell 'em they're dreaming

2010-07-21T22:17:00.002+10:00

I'm interested to see how people decorate their homes. Actually, let me be honest here. I've developed a new addiction for watching home reno shows. Location, Relocation, Dislocation whatever, so long as I get to peer inside the front door and cast a critical eye over the floating floors, occasional rugs and those weird gourd looking things that just seem to appear in a corner -I'm glued. The makeover shows are the best. Particularly the ones from the UK where resident hosts include a man who just needs an excuse to go to the local pub to talk about location and a loud woman in a bright coat bursting through the front door shouting knock this through, push that out, open up this room until their home resembles a warehouse and some poor person a few years later needs to put all the walls back in again because it's so damn cold. With heritage listed buildings Ms Knock That Wall Down has to keep her mouth shut while the poor purchasees have to build a dream home with not much more than a Roman wall and a bit of grass. Pass the Tim Tams this stuff is priceless. This week Mr and Mrs I'm a Clinical Psychologist and my extra good looking husband who has no say in ANYTHING is apparently a GP and they both earn so much money they can afford to buy most of Wales and a smallish apartment next door to the Queen. All was going according to plan until they came across the mansion of her dreams and Mrs Psychologist is filmed jumping up and down waving her arms on a trampoline that doesn't belong to her, yet. There goes that career. So many homes, so many duck egg walls. So very few pool rooms.

Gold Logie for the silver wig

2010-07-18T16:03:00.002+10:00

I don't think I will be watching "Hawke" tonight. It would take more than a silver perm and a remake of the America's Cup to get me to tune into another cringe worthy Australian DRAMA (and the word drama needs to be in capitals because so many of them are so very HIGH DRAMA). A large proportion of Australian drama series consist of scene after scene of screaming hysterical women (followed by big fire and loud explosion) and very serious men with deep voices who say mate a lot and only use one side of their mouth to speak. The highlight of tonight's HAWKE DRAMA will no doubt be the too often repeated quote of the day of the America's Cup win. I think at that point you can turn off if you haven't all ready, it's a bit like watching ELVIS, the life story until the part comes where he dies - there is no point continuing on. Apollo 11 they land on the moon. Show's over folks, nothing more to see here. Significant events in history have been largely lost on me as I can vividly remember the collection of so called milestones and exactly what I was doing and the little reaction it registered with me at the time. I was in the backyard swimming pool when I heard that John Lennon had been shot. I remember saying "Oh" and doing another lap. Considering I was quite a fan of him at the time it was an underwhelming response at best. I remember being at school when someone wrote on the blackboard that Elvis had just died. I don't think I said anything and thought oh that's that guy in those bad movies wonder what's in my bag for lunch. Looking back I have a glimmer of guilt on my lack of reaction to such events in history and hope that when another one pops up if I could get a reminder email or an SMS to tell me 'significant event - take notice' and I might make sure I'm doing something more memorable or that my reaction is a better effort that 'oh ... right'. Perhaps I just need more DRAMA (insert large fire graphic and loud explosion noise here). Or call more bosses 'bums' or something.

High fashion versus high viz

2010-07-14T20:55:00.002+10:00

Do you remember watching the opening ceremony of the last Olympic Games with the parade of athletes by country walking towards the camera, waving, one with a big flag? Do you remember what they were wearing? Probably not, and for very good reason. The national Olympic fashions are generally not worthy of keeping for a repeat season. Looking somewhere between a road sweeper and a lollypop man the athletes walk into the stadium wearing something that is looking a size too big for them and is usually so bright can probably be seen from space. The UK have announced the appointment of designer Stella McCartney to be creative director for the London 2012 games according to today's Herald Sun. Smart move. I recall the Manchester Commonwealth Games where the uniform of choice was a brightly coloured vest that was made from old sofas and a funny hat that gave you the impression that they might start a funny dance any minute or wave a stick of black pudding around. It was a bit too culturally significant for anyone to get I think. So well done UK. I just hope the Olympic track won't be too damaged by the high heels.

Please ensure all passengers are locked into an upright position

2010-07-10T16:16:00.002+10:00

Dannii Minogue had a baby. Apparently we care. That's Dannii with two i's (you can see where this is heading can't you). She called the baby Ethan as in Ethan Hawke and not short for Ethanol. I was a bit worried there that he would have two e's or worse, they actually meant to call him Ether which came in so handy during the delivery they thought they would name the baby after it. You just never know these days, and yes I hate to say it but when I went to school if you had a name that was anything outside the little book of Saints you would probably get your head kicked in at some point. Times have changed. Or have they? Budget airline Ryanair is to offer vertical seats for those people who are happy to stand strapped into something that resembles a cross between an ironing board with restraints or an upright sun lounge that wasn't properly assembled. I remember a time not so long ago when you could actually stand at the back of the plane on long haul flights and smoke and drink there for as long as you liked. Some of the best parties happened somewhere over an ocean near the rear exit door, you met the most interesting people and you could still watch the movie at the same time (one descending screen for everyone remember). The drinks flowed and the exit door had a teeny tiny ashtray - at least I think that's what it was meant for. Now it's all changed and they are going to charge you to go to the loo. "Michael O'Leary, the Irish airline's chief executive, will fund the controversial move by charging customers to use the restroom during flights, reports the UK’s Daily Telegraph". I don't believe Ryanair do long haul flights but knowing some passengers as soon as that seat belt sign goes off they move that fast to the bathroom you'd think it was an olympic sport. So how exactly do you charge someone to use the bathroom? Do you need to prebook? Is there a rate difference between intended purpose and time required (mile high club could get very expensive). So when I next fly a budget airline I now need to pay for my own food, drinks, luggage carriage, in-flight entertainment and the dunny. It's only a matter of time before we pay extra for flight attendants, come to think of it, do we really need them anymore. Oh sorry, the life jacket and whistle are extra too.

Freshly baked sole

2010-07-07T17:30:00.002+10:00

Just when you thought team building activities had disappeared off the motivation radar it appears that in Italy, taking off your Ferragamo shoes for a quick (and I do mean quick) stroll across some hot coals for team building is still in fashion. Unfortunately when it goes wrong and the corporate event participants are running on the sides of their feet to the nearest reporter then companies should sit up and take notice. According to today's online Age newspaper 'a motivation day organised by one of Italy's biggest real estate agencies ended in tears and scars when nine staff had to be treated in hospital after walking barefoot on a bed of hot coals'. Well what did you expect if you go around stomping on a barbecue, isn't that the point? I detest corporate team bonding events and still bear the scars of one too many blind folded guided walks across a team made paper cup and pipe cleaner bridge whilst Japanese drumming and writing down my 'barriers to success' using brightly colour pen on shiny butchers paper. They are pointless. I once met a woman who had been working in the UK and she told me about a team bonding event that required all of her department to jump of an oil rig platform in the north sea or somewhere. She was relentlessly pressured by both activity leaders and colleagues to the point of any decent relationship she had with these people being reduced to name calling and bullying. She stood firm and didn't strap an inflatable life raft to her head and also didn't stay with the company. I think losing employees over these one size fits all activities is often understated. Who are these people who are so devoid of interest in their lives that they must act out their GI Joe fantasies with the assumption that it's good for everyone. If you failed scouts then you move on! The next time someone requires a team motivation activity I am going to suggest either a day of shoe shopping or if that doesn't grab you, go off on a peacekeeping mission to Afghanistan where you can get you dress up and jump out of any number of moving platforms screaming "yes, I am the man" until someone takes a pot shot at you - and may or may not miss. The whole point of these exercises is to take people out of their comfort zone. Well yes, they leave their comfortable homes every day to come to work in a place with people they may or may not like knowing the company may or may not continue to keep them and pay them to be there. That's enough action for me for one day. As for the hot coals, I prefer to use them for the baked trout and potatoes, not corporate stinky feet.

Holidays by the hour

2010-07-04T16:16:00.002+10:00

In the hope of spending a toasty Saturday night in front of the telly, I made the brave decision to turn it on only to find a pseudo advertising/travel program along the lines of Australian destinations. As per the majority of travel programs in this country it was served up by the now too old and fat for footy guy and the stick thin vacuous model who gets excited about eating a piece of cheese. I was horrified to see on another show recently the main presenter after almost an hour of "tucking in" to at least 3 full meals, various cakes, wines by the vat load and chocolates only to interrupt the program to tell us he had been diagnosed with bowel cancer and we should all go and get ourselves 'checked out'. If he keeps doing this show he will be checking out permanently. Last night the thin on personality model was attempting to tell us that she came to this spot just for the scenery (yeah right and flew out within the hour). She was wearing some spray on shorts and a brightly coloured band-aid wrapped around her top and we all had to suffer through the quintessential shots of her diving into the camera ready clear waters - I swear I have a bracelet wider than her. As usual there is little regard for what else there is to do in these remote locations. We are given the impression that bringing the family along to pat the wildlife will bowl them over with excitement and standing atop a lookout point will gladly fill at least half a day. Unfortunately a lot of these places come with poor standards of food and accommodation that proprietors have been riding on the coastal spectacular for too long. Just because your faux fish sticks comes served with a cracking smile and a cheerful 'there ya'go love' don't make it edible. Motels are less than basic and transport around the town other than bring your own is none existent. So while Mr former sporting hero and Ms I've got my own line of lingerie put on their smiley faces and do their very best to convince us they've stayed in these places for more than a few hours, some how I just wasn't convinced. So there ya go...love.

How many circus acts does it take to get a job?

2010-07-01T15:10:00.003+10:00

Having recently performed the big top acts of finding a job whereby I have jumped through the required hoops whilst standing on top of a horse swallowing a sword and smiling at the same time, I thought I had come to the part where I take a final bow and sign on the dotted line until it hit my inbox. The psych test. Personalty assessment and numerical reasoning (pahh!!). The first 100 questions of repetitive 'do you prefer to be alone or be with friends' questions gets regurgitated and presented again in the next 100 questions only to find you are so bored by the whole exercise you start to develop a twitch and begin answering questions that infer you are either trying to skew the results or actually do have the personality of a body snatcher. After 50 minutes of a) prefer to be alone b) prefer to be with people c) like conflict and d) have an extensive collection of surface to air missiles in my garage, the end can't come soon enough and your personality is now only a shadow of its former self. The numerical reasoning provided a mere curiosity for a short time where I would ponder the scenario of 'if Nigeria's current monthly rainfall for November exceeded its GDP then how many tonnes of grain does it take to change a light bulb?' but only briefly as I selected 'b' for all questions to be followed by Next, Next, Next and Finished. What a waste of time. Suspecting that Nigeria has probably been in drought for years I put as much credence in these assessments as I would my horoscope. Psych tests tell me more about the interviewer than the candidate. Make a decision or just line up the candidates and paint letters on their foreheads from a to d or none of the above. Next.

New Era or Just New Carpet?

2010-06-26T16:02:00.003+10:00

Like everyone else this week I awoke to hear news of a new Prime Minister. For a moment there I felt like I had been out of the country. How quickly they can accomplish change when they want it! Whilst I'm not a fan of any politician really I am warmed about the realisation of a female leader. I'd like to feel that times have changed but I know it's just a matter of time before we get wall to wall reviews of her lifestyle choice, hair colour, favourite lipstick or flower - all the ground breaking journalism that is required to remind us that she is not a man. On an evening out last night a now very rare opportunity came up to see a band at a Fitzroy pub. The usual men in gorilla suits were on the door trying to be testing until they came to me and got a response that reminded them that mother still can be scary and that he was not too old to be slapped on the legs. The pubs I went to during the early pac-man era had gaffer tape on the floor to hold the sticky beer carpet together and at some point during the night there would be a skinhead fist fight over who exactly did come from Brighton England and not from the well to do south eastern suburb in Melbourne. In the pub of last night the punters sat quietly on the non gaffer taped floor and listened to the band swathed in the swirling sounds of reverb pedals and sparkling laser lights. The lack of cigarette smoke and movement from the audience was eerie. It was however an enjoyable gig and standing at the back of the room it was only then that I felt a sense of a new era coming in. At least until a sustained moment in the middle of a song when my reminiscing same age colleague yells out "US forces give the nod..." For him the pub will never change even if the carpet does.

Dial #1 for No Responsibility, Dial #2 for Couldn't Give A Shit

2010-06-23T18:56:00.002+10:00

It's wrong to yell at call centre operators. It's wrong, it's not their fault and they are only doing their job. Yawn. They are just a front for the evilness of (insert telco/insurance company name here) that hide behind them with their no care policies and piss of disclosure statements. If more people scream down the phone (sorry 24 year old Customer Care operator) at these companies the more they might sit up and take notice. Why is it that your customer care operator can care until his nose bleeds but he can't ACTUALLY help you? "I'm not authorised to that ma'am but if you call back tomorrow...". Why pick up the goddamn phone if you can't actually do anything, and why get paid for it? Like yelling at the television every time an overpaid 'hero' gets away with another criminal act sprouting they made an 'error of judgement' (which to me would be making a wrong turn into a dead end street, not assaulting someone), somehow it just feels right. So the next time someone gives you the 'sorry the accountability department have gone for the day' keep them on the phone and see if you can get them to actually DO something for you. Remember, nice people are poor people...oops did I say that out loud? Sorry, error of judgement.

Game on

2010-06-20T16:00:00.002+10:00

Is anyone excited about the world cup this year? Is it lacking some robust discussion or has our patriotism hit the dumpster faster than a used vuvuzela after the 4 nil result? Having a deficit knowledge of sport myself, I can only guess the decisions leading to the recent showing of a shiny red card to some of our better players and the resulting effects on the rest of the game. I am sure however that there are some learnings we can take from the beautiful game. Wouldn't it be good if we could have a red card in many other daily activities. At the deli counter if some women pushes in front of you a man in tight shorts appears and shoots his hand up in the air and a red card is shown. Woman sent off to the carpark. The man in front of you at the bar spills beer over your new shoes, the ref appears, man sent home in a cab. This could be useful. However there will be protests, I can imagine the arms going up "I didn't touch her, she knocked me", sorry sport, the ref has spoken, home you go. When I think of it we have a sort of red card in place already. A recent incident (of which we are yet to get the gory details) of a local retail CEO who was red carded about some bad behaviour got the 'sorry mate' and told it's time to walk the walk of shame. We desperately need a political red card, in fact we need a whole pack for them and for the NRL and AFL they need to be red carded for life, sorry love you have no respect for women and you think black people are not equal to you, off you go and become a call centre operator if you're lucky. Failing that we should be able to just sit in their homes and blow loud plastic horns at them until they learn to behave better.

We are ze people in your neighborhood

2010-06-15T18:57:00.002+10:00

It's time to think about travel. I am heading off to France in January and need to start making plans. This will be about my fifth time to the pastures of pastry and to date have only made petite attempts at any language learning. I can navigate enough French words to eat, drink and shop in fact I probably have a collection of at least 10 French words that revolve around my favourite wine, food and basic greetings. My usual approach is to sit around and wait until one of my 10 words comes up and then I say 'oui sil vous plait' and I'm sorted. I've tried listening to the french language CDs in the car but they are usually circa 1980 and the voice overs sound just a little bit 'Allo Allo' for me. I don't think it's been really helpful. When I travel I can't imagine any situation where the opportunity would arise where I would ask 'how do I get to the camping ground?' or when I'm visiting the local market where the women at the cheese counter would sooner stab me in the eye with an artichoke before letting me in, and all I can say is 'I like dancing'.

I'm considering private tuition only because I've tried the group classes and for some reason they believe that when you walk through the door you have reverted to a toddler and Sesame Street learning skills are the way to go. I actually attended a language course where the teacher asked everyone in the room to form a circle while he asked us to throw an Elmo toy to each other in order to learn how to count. This happens so often in Paris. I want to be able to string a sentence together with some of my 10 words and not have to stumble for the point and smile fallback position. I need to know how to hurl good french aussie abuse at a rip off taxi driver and be able to have a conversation with the man who brings his dachshunds into the restaurant to sit at the same table every night. That's life and language. I can find my own way to the train station.

If I could turn back time

2010-06-10T19:46:00.002+10:00

I was speaking with my Chiropractor today whilst he was working on my leg that somehow fell off and ended up being put on backwards. We were talking about how our memories of ourselves and our fitness levels often remain stagnate. In my mind I am physically capable of everything that I was 20 years ago and will attempt to lift furniture and conduct spontaneous fits of exercise without any adjustment or thought put into natural degeneration, hence the good relationship with a Chiropractor. It's true of so many people that suddenly decide to run the marathon as they did 10 years ago or play tennis like they can still get away with wearing white shorts. I have a similar theory with parents. I believe that parents have their children firmly wedged in an era of childhood in their minds that no matter how many times you marry, divorce, have children again and again, to your mother and father you will always be 12. In my case it's my father who carries a photograph of me and my sister in his wallet to show to enquiring friends (they don't really enquire, it just happens). In this photograph I'm with my sister and I'm holding a teddy bear. When I visit my parents and we decide to go out for the day I will be placed in the back seat of their car because in my parents mind I'm not old enough to drive a car. They'll check on me to make sure I'm not getting car sick and ask me if I can feel the heater/air conditioner every few kilometres. I'm sure if I look hard enough there are probably colouring books under the seat somewhere. I will be told to eat all of the food on my plate and I'll be criticised for spending money and not saving it (for what, my funeral I'm already grown up?). So with the long weekend and a visit to parentville coming I'm already mentally preparing for the reverse degeneration and anti aging atmosphere. I wonder if this is what Cher was singing about?

What the?

2010-06-08T18:49:00.002+10:00

When I was in Singapore I caught a bus to the Chinatown district and stumbled across what looked like a Chinese shopping mall that very little done in renovations since the 1970's. It was shop after shop of poor quality shoes, travel agents that will sell you a ticket on a train to anywhere so long as you don't mind sharing with a live chicken and a few other suspect outlets that looked like they had to close in a hurry. One stall holder amused me greatly because she had the courage to set up her stall right in the middle of the mall. She was offering to remove moles. Yes, that's right, she was waving some rusty implement in the air spruiking for customers to come and have their moles removed. I politely declined as I failed to select the Gangrene Extras cover on my insurance. Who would have thought to combine medical procedures whilst shoe shopping. Apparently our State Government and a major city department store thought this was just the ticket. Whilst not happy with plain old mole removal, they've decided to install a breast examination booth smack bang in the middle of a department store. Gee, I don't know about you but I always forget to put that on my shopping list, handcream, mascara, mammogram, moisturizer. Now why should this sit so uneasily with me? Because I know that the items in any department store are there not because they care about me, but because the department store wants to make money. And so do medical franchises even when it's a 'free' service, someone is getting paid. I don't want health check booths to block up the perfume aisles any more than a man would want a prostate screening booth in front of the Foxtel in the local pub. So with the upcoming sale season will I expect to find 20% off or a scan one get one free offer? I suspect not. Take your boob bashing booth and bugger off, I'm here to shop.

Viva Las Bogus

2010-06-07T20:01:00.002+10:00

Because I now live on the 8th floor I believe I should be lucky. For those who believe in such things the number 8 is the luckiest number of all. People pay high prices for number plates and houses with the great lucky number 8 and believe that it will bring them good fortune. I'm still waiting. I don't have a good history of luck. I don't gamble generally, not because I have any moral fibre, it's more because I'm so incredibly bad at it. If I put money on the stock market the next day I would be woken up by a crashing sound of free falling markets plummeting through the floorboards. A colleague of mine today received a call on her mobile phone from a complete stranger telling her that she had won a trip to Florida and that all she had to do was pay $900 US with her credit card, pay for her own airfare to the States and when she got there she would receive her prize of a world cruise. She politely told the caller that she was at the gym and didn't have her credit card details, she suggested he call back another time. He responded, very concerned that she would only be able to claim her prize today. She politely ended the call. I admire her for her restraint. I don't think I would have been able to get through that conversation with at least giving the caller some direction of what to do with his prize and what part of his anatomy I suggest he insert it. I did however get a call once and was told I had won a trip to London and accused the woman on the end of the telephone of trying to sell me something and just before I was able to hang up in her ear she reminded me that I did actually enter a competition 2 days prior and I had actually won. And I didn't have to give my credit card details. So on lucky number 8 floor any minute now lady luck or her slack cousin should be knocking on my door any minute. I hope I'm home.

Some things are best left in the dark

2010-06-06T14:15:00.002+10:00

Self tracking devices are the newly desired apps to load onto your phone according to today's Sunday Age newspaper 'self accounting' they tell us is all the rage 'digital heart-rate monitors and running watches with inbuilt global positioning systems; websites to monitor alcohol consumption, calories, illness, mood or sexual encounters; mobile phone applications that lie next to your pillow at night, tallying your sleep'. Who are these self obsessed people? The need to monitor your life through internet spreadsheets and a personal pie chart sounds just a tad indulgent more so than anything Bridget Jones could have come up with. Awesome, today I've reached my maximum heart rate while opening the fridge door to consume no more than 200 calories to reach my recommended daily intake to match my low mood cycle that peaked during the first 3 hours of tracked rapid eye movement sleep. Wow, could life get any more fun than this? Tracking your weight loss doesn't require much more than noticing that your pants no longer fit and recording how many litres of water you drink a day can only lead to counting how many times it comes out the other end. Personally I think sleeping with a mobile phone under your pillow would be as healthy as sleeping in an electricity substation and if you need technology to remember how many glasses of Chardonnay you have had then you probably have a problem. As for sexual encounters being put into a colourful graph, now that would be such a turn on for any prospective date now wouldn't it? I'm sure there are some out there who would derive great pleasure from comparing each others graphed peaks and falls however the prospect of last night's encounter being captured as a year to date figure is not the stuff that dreams are made of. So even if things are trending in an upwards direction, I'm happy to carry on in the dark.

And on the 7th day God did laundry

2010-06-05T16:10:00.002+10:00

At this time of year the watercooler and shopping mall conversations describe plans to go away somewhere warm and the latest flu virus hits homes faster than anything Apple could release in stores anytime soon. More often than not we continue on while throwing down pharmaceutical efforts to ease our pockets of cash and maybe or maybe not ease a few symptoms as well. But we soldier on as if to give in to illness is somehow seen as defeat. I'm reminded of an episode of Dharma and Greg where Dharma decides to run for the local council and pushes herself to extremes in trying to please every single minority group in the neighborhood. She pushes herself to the point of exhaustion trying to please everyone and as everyday passes she develops more and more health problems. She gets ugly red sores on her face, she has a limp, her hair begins to fall out and she loses a tooth along the way but she is compelled to see it through to the end. You don't need to be a script writer to determine the lesson learned in this episode however I wonder if we ever write a lesson learned in our own episode? This week I felt like Dharma with that little voice in my head saying I'll just get through this next period and then I will take a break... as I limped down the street with a numb right leg. I'm too busy to go to the Chiropractor because I'm too busy going to the dentist for more root canal treatments where I've had so many of them I'm almost ready for the home do it yourself kit. I have a feeling that this particularly 'soldering on' gene is more prevalent in women. The smarter male of the species with a mere sniffle takes a swan dive onto the couch with remote control in one hand and the sporting pages in the other. I blame the superwoman myth. If men want to be super they put on a pair of tights, fly out the window and call themselves a hero. Women just put on another load of washing. I declare this day a day of rest. As soon as the spin cycle finishes.

Will you still need me, when I'm 64...er 3!

2010-05-31T21:04:00.002+10:00

Have you ever thought about retiring? I do every Monday morning however having done the calculations I will need to work a little bit longer, until I'm at least 112 then I can go part time. In Paris last week they were thinking about retiring. According to the Australian newspaper today France last week announced a plan to raise the legal retirement age from 60 to 63 and judging from the photograph of protesters they were not real keen on the idea. If someone said I had to wait another three years before I get to sit in the sun drink great wine and eat smelly cheese all day I'd be a bit grumpy too. So when the day of retirement comes what are your plans? Mine don't go beyond much more than sleep in. Followed by ... sleep in again the next day. I don't do camping, art and craft shows make me nauseous and the only thing I can think to do with a caravan involves a heavy crane and steep cliff. Volunteer work is, well work and unless it's so much fun it's not work, then leave it in the work category and pay up you tight arse scrooges and joining a painting or craftwork group is just an opportunity to eat biscuits until it's time to go home for 'Antiques Roadshow' made by and about, you guessed it. Maybe I will get up for work tomorrow. I'm not quite ready for the great road trip around the bend just yet.

Shhhhh you're disturbing the peas

2010-05-29T17:03:00.003+10:00

I try to avoid the big supermarkets as much as I can. I just can't find anything to buy in them. My local one is so bad I might as well do my shopping at the service station where you can buy a warmed up again 'meat' pie or a pre(historic)packed sandwich. I like to go to the grocers where they have a choice of products not just their own brand and one other from Thailand, where the oranges are plentiful because they are in season and not from America where for some reason they are so bright you could use them as high viz traffic cones. However of late I have noticed a new kind of pest has permeated the food aisles, the mobile phone shopper. The I'm so popular I can't even buy sprouts without one of my five thousand hilARIOUS buddies calling me. They generally stand in front of the food item that you need to get to, staring at it with head cocked to the side and empty basket in arm, screaming into the freezer "you're fucking kidding me right". At the deli counter they leave bewildered assistants waiving leg ham in the air as the lesser ticket item holders suffer through a conversation about a four year old's teen model birthday party. I have nothing against mobile phones, I have two, one for work and one for personal use. In fact there is enough radiation coming out of my handbag to microwave a whole chicken. Perhaps if the supermarkets could provide a little outdoor area allocated specifically for mobile phone use to eliminate the risk of inhaling other people's crap conversations. Hmm. Might need to make that a bigger room.

Frozen Songstress Anyone?

2010-05-26T18:37:00.002+10:00

Some pop star wants to be frozen. That's what they told me on the radio this morning. She learned that Walt Disney did it and now she wants it ie., kept frozen until the technological know how is invented to revive her, the medical knowledge is invented to cure her of whatever it was that killed her in the first place and most importantly...someone to remember where they put her. Why wait until you die? Do it now, save time. So with an horrific vision of a minor celebrity wedged in between my chicken stock and frozen peas I ate my breakfast and caught up on yesterday's newspaper. More food dilemmas. Beef prices are going up so we all have to eat chicken according to the word on the fast food street "Burger kings crying fowl over beef" The Australian May 25. "In addition to pushing its boneless chicken wings..." one fast food chain is reported. Wait one featherless sick chicken pickin' minute there my friend. Did you say BONELESS chicken wings? And do I think for a minute that Mr Meat Processing Man is going to pin bone a scrawny mass produced chicken wing every .5 of a second one rolls in front of him? No, let's just assume that they are now growing them without bones because nothing would surprise me in the industry where an animal is not an animal but a product to be dispatched. The movie Food Inc. is out now and if you are brave enough to take responsibility for what you eat, I dare you or pick up a copy of The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan and read how it doesn't have to be this way. Bet you didn't even know that cows ate grass - not grains, mashed up fish offal or bits of other animals, corn, antibiotics, hormones, but grass. I don't want to get to the point where everything we eat is a slimy brown or orange colour and the only choice I have is in a box or a bucket. Just give me a bucket, blahhh.

AFLuenza

2010-05-23T17:12:00.002+10:00

Spending a bright sunny weekend in bed with the flu brings out the worst in anyone. For some it always seems a little worse than it is. When I take to my bed, I generally like to stay there until it's safe to come out (safe for anyone else that is). Visitors are strictly prohibited and any attempt to come over and 'cheer me up' would probably be met with a sawn off shotgun at the foot of the bed. Phones are not answered, email is left to fester in the never never and any advertisement suggesting I should soldier on is drowned out by a tirade of blocked nasal pitched abuse. With not much left but television and newspapers I find my tolerance levels for wall to wall AFL even lower than it's usual miniscule amount however one little gem this week couldn't go unpicked. Gays. And how AFL footballers are apparently scared of them. I laughed so hard that I needed to straighten myself up before I could consider that they really do believe in their own hero mythology. Here are some of the great AFL myths. That they are good at all sports, that they are world famous and that all women AND men find them desirable. Either my medication is working better than expected or I actually read that Eddie Maguire publicly disagreed with the comments made by this overpaid neanderthal. What next, he will be asking them to consider women as equals? I need to lie down.

What is that in your closet?

2010-05-19T19:16:00.002+10:00

When you are in the process of job seeking, first impressions are everything. You need to demonstrate the ability to be positive (even though after the latest restructure you now report to the work experience kid), be flexible (ie., bend over backwards on a regular basis) and most importantly you need to present yourself in the best possible light (preferably fluorescent so as not to show the veins straining in your neck as you outline the details of an entirely fictitious resume that includes everything from a recently acquired MBA ie., Masters in Botox and Ageing to first job as an astronaut. When driving home last night my mobile phone rings and I know it's the pimp from the agency. I reach into the black leather abyss only to cut the call, nearly rear end the ute in front and scream "fuck" very loudly only to realise, she was still on the phone. Oops. Yes first impressions are everything and starting your candidate/consultant relationship with fuck is not the recommended approach. Whilst during the interview one should present oneself as friendly, liking all things business related and not slightly pissed off at all. Speak of achievements and KPI's, fondness for fitness, cooking and reading. No need to mention the dislike of small dogs, children and anything remotely linked to the AFL. Best they find this out after probation. And salary expectations? Back up the truck and throw in a few wire coat hangers for old times sake.

Gosh, men are so much better at everything...

2010-05-17T19:37:00.004+10:00

For a perfect night in what would you prefer, he cooked the meal or did the dishes? On Friday night I opted for the meal. I have a dishwasher honey. But not just any old meal. Have you ever wondered what you would answer in that quiz that asks 'what would be your final meal?' I believe this tells us a lot about ourselves. Some are keen to go to the next life free from saturated fat and flatulence whilst the rest of us think what if their ain't no afterlife and the birdseed bread sandwich was a wasted effort. On Friday night I ate cassoulet. For those not in the know it's a French winter bean stew with pork belly, duck confit, pork sausage and depending on who makes it, it's the food of the gods - with wine of course if the gods select a good red. This is the stuff that sends vegetarians into anaphylactic shock. For me, when a good looking Frenchman knocks on my door, leave the chocolates and flowers at the service station, bring me food and wine. And given the content of this dish, when I say this is nominated as my last meal, according to most doctors, it very well could be. What would be yours?

Managing Minors

2010-05-12T19:56:00.002+10:00

I work for a company that bought another company. The two companies now work in the same building. They had someone who does my job. Now there are two of us. He thought he was my boss and I thought I was his. He is about 20 years my junior but wants to be my senior. Are you still with me? Should I be the adult and take the high moral ground or do I spend my day plotting to blow up his lunchbox? He's fresh out of the education system and full of newly acquired management speak so he requires an interpreter most of the time to assure us he's not setting fire to platforms and when he keeps referring to touchpoints he's not about to molest us. Should we put as much value on getting the right boss as we do getting the right job? When I think back through my resume of previous 'in commands' I come up with a frightful list of disoriented, disengaged and some all together scary human beings. From full time magazine readers to the ever present teflon manager with the non stick work coating, I think I've suffered under them all. What is it that makes a boss a real plonker? Is it the David Brent character of 'The Office' scenario where he thinks he's a good all round bloke and friend of everyone when the reality is most of the workforce want to snap him like a twig, or the psychotic power woman with the hair that doesn't move and who keeps saying we're moving forward when you know it's more like pushing you know what up you know where? What makes a good boss...nice feedback? No it's cash. Anyone who tells you that job recognition is as simple as a thank you and a pat on the back should be thrashed. I won't bother asking the new boss for any feedback because it probably would come via text message and ending with a :) or a smiley face.

You don't have to put on the red light

2010-05-11T17:33:00.002+10:00

I'm officially on the job market. I'm actively seeking employment and therefore relying on the services of those who supposedly match candidate with client (you can see where I'm headed already). For the similarity between recruitment agency and pimp may seem an unlikely bedfellow but for me it couldn't be any more cosy than if they installed a stripper pole in the foyer and said "only those wearing 9 inch heels may apply". Basically they'll pimp your wears and hopefully hook you up with a paying customer. And there is plenty more on the street where you came from but it's the paying clients they've got to keep happy. The street walkers, job seekers, whatever, have got that addiction thing happening too, career progression. They all want it and can't get enough of it. It seems like they just get one off the street and then in a year or two they are back for more. Resumes describe all the tricks they pull, why they do it so much better, faster, more outcomes and achievement based to get their juices flowing. And then they wait in vein for the call and hope they'll be picked as the one that's fancied the most. No luck today. Maybe it's my ballet flats.

Don't give me any more of that pink ribbon shit

2010-05-06T18:34:00.002+10:00

Since when did Mother's Day become Cancer Day? With a lineup of yesterday's celebrities tripping over each others walking frames to get into the limelight in the name of the big "C" makes me cringe just a bit. The real stories of extraordinary bravery and survival from cancer deserve their day in its own right. No more would we want Father's Day to become Prostate Day (and I'm sure there is a ribbon for that too) should the women we love and respect be only associated with serious illness. Womanhood or motherhood does not mean victimhood. We do not need rescuing and if we did we have a mobile phone with a list of contacts under W for white knight if needed. We do not need to wear pink to remind us we have ovaries. If you love your mother and want to show her your appreciation, cook her a meal or buy her a car, your choice. Happy mothers day to the strong, independent, funny, powerful, motivating, intelligent women out there who do it all every day. It takes a bit more than a ribbon to represent all that.

That time of the month in 1945

2010-05-03T20:46:00.001+10:00

These photographs remind me of the photographs of my mother's era where all the girls would stand around for a photograph that you can probably imagine took about 15 minutes to take provided the 'box brownie' was working. There was often a girl sitting on a lawn, with a dog. Black dog called Nigger (OH MY GOD!) and a cat called Tiger (even that has a new meaning these days!!). I was thinking of these women on the weekend when I was reading something about a collection of stories by women who are relaying tales about their first period. Eeuuww, I hear, and yes, but when you delve a little further, these are some of the funniest stories around. In the days of God, King and Country 1940's women had no access to sex education other than a large leather bound 'Ladies Handbook' about a ladies' reproductive organs and being a good wife. I still have my mothers handbook that was handed down to her from her mother and handed down to her from Hippocrates himself I suspect. Having perused this tomb of pop up drawings of pink internal organs I'm surprised that I'm here at all. The Ladies' Handbook of Home Treatment 1939 provides illuminating drawings of the 'female figure' with an intestine that appears to have overgrown everything that could be even slightly sexual or reproductive. The chapter on 'Beginning of a New Life' provides a highly detailed drawing, FIG.1.-a Stigma b. Anther. c., Stamen d. Petal. No wonder they were confused, they thought their reproductive organs came from the garden. The chapter on making a marriage a success provides valuable insight into not very much but rest assured we learn that 'Good women are a nation's chief asset' however by the time we get to Chapter III 'Sex Physiology and Hygiene' (this is 1940's Cleo don't forget) we've learned that the function of reproduction is the noblest of all human powers. I'm not sure if I'm meant to be marching into battle or just getting laid. Getting back to my original point, I recall my auntie describing the first time she discovered herself menstruating. She, of a family of 5 brothers and sisters announced to everyone at the breakfast table that she was dying. My grandmother recognising immediately that perhaps the Ladies Handbook had not answered all of the questions, announced to the family over their porridge that there was nothing to be bothered about and she had just cut her arse! Come to think of it if she ever did get to the end of the Ladies Handbook she would be probably too old to worry about it anyway.

Nothing Much

2010-05-02T16:49:00.002+10:00

I've declared my Sundays a day of do nothing. Groans of 'alright for some' I hear from those who are washing, ironing, folding, wiping and windexing. I'm doing all those too but I declare that once that's done, I'll do nothing. Well not much more than reading a book anyway. But then why do I feel guilty? The fear of commitment goes beyond a mortgage and a marriage, it extends for me to team sports and group activities as well. The thought of getting up early on a Sunday to meet, do team things together is as appealing as watching someone else's child sing 'I Dream a Dream' in their school concert. As Monday slams into my next morning, without doubt there will be someone who goes to great length to describe their weekend activities starting from 5pm on Friday which usually goes along the lines of 'we had drinks with friends on Friday then a wedding on Saturday and friends over for dinner on Sunday no, nothing much...'. I'd need a week off after this, preferably in rehab. Does everything we do in this country involve booze? Whilst I come from a long line of alcohol appreciators and I've been known many years ago to give it a nudge or two in the attempt to prove my youthful uselessness, the open bottle of wine in my fridge these days will go off before I get to finish it. So when the question comes around on Monday I'll probably skim over the book reading bit and rely on the old 'quiet' weekend response as if my preferred option is a well fuelled joint social activity when in fact, I had a really lovely time. It's just a shame that do nothing needs to be say nothing as well.

Won't you get hip to this timely tip...

2010-04-28T20:01:00.002+10:00

I do find myself speaking to the television a little more of late. Have you often noticed that sometimes things are just pronounced differently and then all of a sudden everyone is doing it? It started with Nestle which we all know as children we crudely pronounced it as nestle as in to rhyme with wrestle and then one day it became nestlay. In the last few days I've noticed that according to our newsreaders many things are becoming enveloped. Not pronounced as in placed in an envelope but more like a combination of envy and eloped, en-velloped. When did it change? I didn't get anything in the mail. No memo or public address that I can recall. Now it's caught on like one of those buzz word like 'outcomes' and 'moving forward'. On watching a report on the Victorian Bushfire Royal Commission which I am already wary of anyone turning up to work in a bow tie and expecting to be taken seriously, they referred to the Californian bushfire strategy of stay or go which sounded a little more like a logical go or go policy, a bit like you have in your workplace. Have you ever known anyone to want to stay and defend their desk? However, the point I was getting at (really?) was the Californian fireman stated that he tells the occupants to leave via the safe route. Not pronounced as route but pronounced as rowt to rhyme with doubt. I doubt that he cares much about pronunciation and fair point but I really hope it doesn't catch on. 'Get your kicks on rowt 66' simply won't do.

More weeping women

2010-04-25T19:08:00.002+10:00

Art Melbourne is a yearly event of collected galleries all showing under the one Royal Exhibition Building roof. It was previously known as the Affordable Art show however their idea of affordable and the general public's seemed to clash so it was renamed. I went along this year as I have done now for the last few. I have purchased the odd print, nothing too sizeable or unaffordable that it won't fit in the space of a small French hatchback without having to put the seats down. Don't make me do that! It's a relaxing Sunday occupation of wandering around the various exhibits in intelligent silence when really your mind is the worlds toughest critic and you are quietly discrediting away the artists works thinking '$1500 bucks for that, who painted it an elephant?' It seems the naked woman is a faithful subject matter as has historically always been the case and these days in the era of easily accessible porn, a reclining nude would barely raise an eyebrow - or so I thought. I came across 3 framed photographs of the same naked model. She has very pale skin and thick wavy red hair. In each of the photographs she is lying on her back, in the first she has blood gushing out of her mouth, the second dripping from her nipple and the third from her vagina. Blood that would be the result of a stab wound. I felt angry even looking at them and even more angry when I got close enough to see that each one had more red dots (meaning sold) beside it than most of the exhibits I had seen. My initial reaction was give me the names of the sick bastards that bought this crap. And then with the collective artistic vibe of the venue I thought maybe I am wrong to say this is crap and who am I to say it's not art? It's obviously appealed to many (I still want their names) so should I accept this as art and not become one of those "ban it" people who seem to be dominating every inch of our society today. I walked away needing to have my questions answered. A bit like those columns in the paper where you write in with your etiquette question like "if another customer at the deli pushes in front of me to get served first, should I demonstrate maturity and say nothing, life's too short blah, blah, blah or punch them hard and say rack off thunder thighs you can wait for your salami a bit longer?". I would like to ask my question to Picasso (and he was alive and he probably wishes he was alive for me to ask) what his interpretation of this. He, being I'm sure accustomed the tut tutting of polite society as he presented compositions of women, penises and lots of other naughty stuff. The problem was this wasn't naughty stuff, this was violent and shocking but not in a Guernica kind of way, more just a bad acting in another episode of Underbelly kind of way. And yes, that's definately not art.

A touch of Coco to release me from reality

2010-04-22T21:00:00.002+10:00

I intend to go and see a movie on the weekend, Coco Chanel and Igor Stravinsky which from what Margaret and David tell us on the Movie Show, is not a great movie and perhaps a little bit on the dull side. But I disregard this in order to gain a glimpse of the background Art Deco apartment which makes my eyes light up where I make this kind of soft sighing sound like most people do when they see babies or small dogs. I've become one of those old people that go to the cinema and notice the linen bed sheets and the festoon blinds, while the two star attractions are shagging each others brains out front of screen. I have been known to interrupt the "yes, oh yes..." with a whispered "do you think that's Egyptian cotton?" I saw Miss Pettrigrew Lives For A Day over and over again which probably has one of the more slender movie plots around but the apartment deserved an Oscar alone. I long to swan around an apartment with a grand curved gold staircase in my oyster silk ostrich feathered robe, martini glass in hand and lengthy list of gentleman callers to call upon. Unfortunately the reality is more likely a gungy t-shirt, laundry basket in one hand and remote control in the other. Still that's what movies are for. Have a great weekend folks. Now, where does one find ostrich feathers these days?

Speaking words of wisdom

2010-04-20T20:35:00.002+10:00

According to The (London) Times '63,000 flights over the past four days have saved 1.3 million tonnes of carbon dioxide...'. See, every cloud does have a silver lining (even if it is made up of broken glass and ash). A triumph of non air based travel has prevailed as people scramble for sea berths, bus seats and expensive sore bottoms in taxis. Should we really be so concerned about a little weather event in a land where only the local people can pronounce the towns? Board the planes and take off I say, let's see what modern aviation can do. Surely a little grit with your cabin pressure is merely exfoliation whilst flying. Your meal tray might have a little more crunch than usual and the roar of the engine might be muffled due to the giant condom it's wearing - trojan for toughness during turbulence but at least you can say I got to where I needed to go. Yes, the ability to get to the wedding, scheduled medical procedure or back to work location is the most important thing right now and a mere volcanic eruption should not stand in our way to get to where we must get to. And then what? We have to get to somewhere else. And then somewhere after that. What happens if we don't go anywhere? Do we have to get anywhere if we don't go anywhere? I think what happens then is you just be. For a brief moment anyway. Just be. Enjoy it if you can.

No Scrambled Eggs for Dinner Tonight!

2010-04-17T19:45:00.002+10:00

It's either feast or famine at my place and this weekend I've gone down the road of culinary champions without the need for an unshaven celebrity chef and 20 seconds of anticipation music. I started the day with a trip to the Farmers Market. The sun was warm and the park was humming. Puppy school was well underway when I arrived and I was fortunate enough to witness today's curriculum of sit, stay, come, and sit and try not to embarrass your owner. The market stalls form a circle of a organic growers, a few not so local bakers and a few too many jars of jam that any one human being can consume in a lifetime. The mushroom man has fungi that could easily pass as a hat and the rhubarb lady with her commitment to her brightly coloured red friend producing tarts and jams every time however I suspect that when she gets home if someone so much as mentions rhubarb she would come at them with a carving knife. So tonight I cooked a duck breast slowly in a pan with some boiled kipfler potatoes that accidentally fell in the pan to be coated in duck fat. The leafy green salad took away the guilt factor as I carved my knife through the pink, moist meat and crispy potatoes. You know when you've done good on the organic gourmet richter scale because you get that, at one with nature feeling like you somehow saved a tree and a whale somewhere got within a few metres of the beach and said 'no, not today'. All praise to farmers markets and the farmers who get up so very early to give us such joy. Now, if only I could remember if it was sit, stay, come or sit, come and stay?

North and South is fine by me

2010-04-13T19:43:00.002+10:00

I decided to do something brave over Easter and get in my car and travel to a shopping mall. Within 15 minutes I have arrived at the queue of cars snaking into the layer upon layer of concrete car parking. I must have been early for mall shopping standards because I found a car park quite quickly and felt like I should be awarded some sort of a prize. I glibly walked away from my parked car and entered into the giant monument of bewilderment. I was in the 'new' section apparently. It had changed since the first time I went there in the 1970's when it was a shopping corridor with a north and south but no east or west. It had about 20 shops and a ramp for excitement. Now it has a grand piano and possible some undiscovered tribe living somewhere in the loading dock. There was a movie once about a man who lived at an airport. If you ask me he went to the wrong place, no baby grand there! I walked in and out of shops one after another with enough enthusiasm to think that I was going to have a difficult choice decided from all the shopping choices that surrounded me. After an hour I realised I hadn't really progressed very far from where I came in and noticed that I had forgotten what it was that I actually came for. By now the twinkling piano was starting to piss me off and the lack of anything different from the previous shop was becoming very dull. The energy drained away from me and I regularly looked up into the sky light to make sure night hadn't fallen. I walked passed the same shops or so it seemed, and eventually found my way back to my landmark that lead me back to the car park. Having purchased nothing and with tired legs I walked through the car park in search of my car. I did that, searched for my car that is for nearly half an hour. I'm yet to understand the attraction with these places even with everything under one roof but never having been an all your eggs in one basket kind of girl I guess I might have been happy with 20 shops and a ramp after all.

No Safety Goggles Required

2010-04-10T20:54:00.002+10:00

How handy are you? I asked myself this question last night watching one of those home improvement shows where you can put an extension on the house before the next ad break. This segment was about decorating a child's bedroom as a forest wonderland. Our presenter directs us to a table with plywood and then instructs us to "grab your jigsaw" and make tree cutouts. Is it me or did I get the wrong presents this year for Christmas? How fortunate for the child to now have a bedroom painted as a forest including cutout trees to hang things on. When I was a kid I was lucky to have a bed and any request for a forest wonderland interior makeover would have been met with parental disapproval and that the fairy light should be sufficient entertainment to get me through to puberty. I feel fortunate that my mother didn't possess power tools as her extreme phobia of spiders would have reduced the trees in the backyard to a pile of wood chips and probably a side of the house as well. I'm not handy and I'm not particularly good with spiders either. On discovering a mouse in my lounge room a few years ago I locked myself in my bedroom (not a forest wonderland) and felt compelled to call the police. What are they using my taxes for exactly anyhow. So unfortunately due to the fact that I don't keep men or pets in the house anymore leaves me with no alternative but to call for help when things squeak, go out, fall off and break down which is exactly what they should be showing on the home improvement shows. 'Next week on Better Holes and Breakdowns...How to change a light globe with no ladder, freshly painted fingernails and not the slightest bit of interest'.

Bored to be Alive

2010-04-08T19:31:00.002+10:00

It's confirmation that you are getting old when you start referring to people as "young people" and then that disapproving "tskgghhh" sound comes out of your mouth as a sound track to old person's disbelief at what you are looking at. I discovered today that flirting has a whole new meaning now that we have technology. Where as before, a note, a call, a punch on the arm was all that was needed to say we were "going 'round". These days apparently it's expected you need to submit (sext) a close up picture of a body part on a mobile phone as part of the courting ritual. Preferably your own body part and not one cropped from somebody who is ten years younger or fitter. Personally I prefer photographs of me to be more distant than that. Basically it would be taken at such a distance you would be hard pressed to confirm it was actually me let alone a shot of thigh or breast. Facebook and the Skype prove no match to a Blue Light disco where one could lean up against the wall all night listening "Born to Be Alive..Born, Born, Born, Born to Be Alive". Drinks weren't spiked because you brought your own bottle of Jim Beam and nobody stabbed anybody because the studs on your t-shirt sleeves said you were tough enough. Cars were old and crappy and the only thing getting high was your hair. You were permanently bored and hated the world. With songs like Born to Be Alive being played over and over again we had every right to be bored. Come to think of it those young people should be bloody grateful our generation invented the internet or they would still be dancing around their handbags.

Easter Eating

2010-04-04T14:39:00.002+10:00

The Easter long weekend is in my mind one for eating, sleeping and more eating. It's a relatively boring weekend with trading chaos as religion and public holiday rates drag down the grates of the local supermarket but the local TAB opens its doors to the needy, downtrodden and depressed. It's just a shame they don't sell food or I'd be there. With an offer to share a Sunday lunch with my family's family including people ranging in years from half an hour old to 154, I declined the ritual and embark on a weekend of dining out. So far the quest has been a collection of blessed home cooking in a restaurant kind of way, Sicilian beef cotolleta (read schnitzel) at the Canteen with fabulous Rosa looking out over the pass as I look down on Flinder's lane lunchtime foot traffic. Rosa has been producing her family meals since the family was invented and even though there are only 3 main courses to choose from the choice is one of the hardest quests of the day. Saturday saw me at the Cellar Bar performing ancient macrame with the Australian newspaper just to get it to fit on my teeny table to leave enough room for a lamb ragu with penne and glass of Italian red. The waiters in this place have a sense of European pace and importance which is sadly missing from a lot of local eateries, they switch things on and off your table like they were hidden under eggcups and swapped around before you can remember what was there before. And today Cafe Vue provided a cold wagyu burger at a shared table with a couple sitting next to me that thought it was acceptable to put their toddlers nappied arse on the same table I was eating at. If I had a rottweiler and told it to sit on the table someone would call the cops. I wish some people would stay at home. So tomorrow is another day and another food opportunity, then I really will need to stop doing this before a) I'm broke and b) my pants are too small.

The Blonde Age

2010-04-01T17:26:00.003+11:00

When I was much younger the movies promised a future where everything would be easier and require less effort due to the rapid rate of technological advances. By now the thought of manually vacuuming my house would be a distant memory along with changing the speed from 45 to LP on the record player. I would be served my dinner by androids, my car would be a spaceship and all of the doors in my house would automatically slide open and closed with a swift 'whoosh' sound. So why in these days of wireless revolution do I find myself feeling like I'm wearing nothing but animal skins and holding a wooden club in my hand when I speak to salespeople about purchasing a new computer? Having walked into an electronic appliance shop today I'm approached by a slightly distracted or non interested employee who finds me puzzled by an array of computers that all look the same but vary vastly in price. Mr I'm So Up With It kicks off the sales pitch with "they're pretty aren't they?". Not in a fun, let's use humour to show warmth and empathy to a discerning customer kind of way, this was more let's be a smart arse because she's clearly a dumb blonde. I stood there and stared at him thinking about how the pretty computer will look sticking out of his backside when I decide to persist a little longer. Mr I.S.U.W.I goes on to overload me with must have add ons and enough electronic devices to allow me to browse the internet with at least 14 devices anywhere in my house including my washing machine and dryer. I was able to interrupt him only briefly to explain to him that I don't "connect", "route", read instruction manuals or wish to have access to anything remotely termed a help desk because I want someone who knows what they are doing to connect this stuff. He couldn't comprehend this request so he ignored it and went on to prattle off flexible rental arrangements and considered he had closed the deal. I took his shiny brochure and said "leave it with me" and left the shop to return to my cave. I think I can put up with my Flintstones PC just a little longer. Now where's that android, it's cocktail hour.

Australia, why the bloody hell would you?

2010-03-29T19:59:00.002+11:00

When did we become such a bunch of nannies? There is something about the culture of the Australian press that can't wait to front up to an invited guest in our country and either insult their intelligence or force them to make an opinion about Australia knowing that their experience of Australian hospitality so far doesn't go much beyond a moist toilette after takeoff. Our history of insulting overseas celebrities is bountiful. Even as far back as 1974 where Frank Sinatra made a crack about the press only to be made public enemy number one including a union boycott of aircraft and hotel services. We basically chased one of the world's most famous entertainers out of the country. We charged visiting Sylvester Stallone after going through his bags and finding body building growth hormones (what, you thought he just ate up all his greens?) and now we arrest one of the world's elite racing drivers for spinning his wheels. Let's all have a bit of a lie down right now. Nanny syndrome has taken over this country. Let's not invite any more famous people to Australia because we just can't cope. And as for the anti fun police, the 'they are supposed to be setting a good example' brigade, I don't recall any of these people after having excelled in their field announcing, "oh and by the way I am now a moral compass for civilisation when I go to Australia". So the next time some little Aussie overseas backpacker complains about the corrupt border guard demanding 500 pesos for a shoe lace tax because he is a rich western kid who has it all, I will be reminded of how we treat our own visiting rich kids.

Fear of Finger Food

2010-03-28T19:38:00.002+11:00

Having been invited recently to a sporting event (oh fantastic!) under the promise of free food and booze by my work superiors I had no choice but to trundle along. I was advised that this social event would be at a large stadium and lunch would be served in a box. A corporate box. I soon learn that this box they refer to is a room where companies host little civilised soirees whilst young angry men run around below on the grass with a ball and punch each other. Upon arrival, freshly made coffees are provided by a freshly produced service attendant followed by champagne and canapes. The shiny glass canape tray comes around several times with miniature versions of adult food that look like they have been prepared by Barbie herself. Tiny weenie sandwiches and dwarfed puff pastries circle the room along with the standard introductions. As the food continues to appear from the kitchen the dishes become more and more intricate as we wrestle with glass in one hand and mini rack of lamb in the other. The trouble with eating standing up is that, well basically it's almost impossible without a paperbag. As you work hard on your delivery of amusing but informative banter meanwhile juggling the peking duck pancake without spilling hoisin sauce down your smart but casual shirt front you are becoming more and more conscious that the spring onion garnish is firmly lodged between your two front teeth. Finger food is man's food. They have the ability or lack of inhibition to wolf it down in one go without so much as a flake of choux escaping south. Me, no matter how tightly it's wrapped, rolled or skewered it will launch itself from my mouth like shortcrust confetti. So I end up making my food selections based on portability. Will the mini hamburger hold up under 2 bites or will it collapse and catapult onto my CEO's Van Heusen? I recall a seminar a few years back when I was lucky enough to be having an in depth conversation with the guest speaker when I tipped my entire glass of orange juice all over her hand. I was so mortified I couldn't speak and just stood there looking at her. She was gracious enough make a joke and reach for a napkin then politely found a reason to walk away since no apology was forthcoming from this woman just standing there, mouth open and empty glass. Perhaps I should research my invites a little further and investigate if in fact there is food and seating provided. Failing that I could bring along my own stable table, that might work!

Air New Zooland

2010-03-23T19:43:00.002+11:00

It appears that grooming standards are back in vogue according to today's online Age newspaper which printed the New Zealand Airline's do's and don'ts of being a flight attendant. In reference to the female trolley pushers they say "always pluck the hair between the brows", and that "blending is the key to natural looking make-up". Unacceptable is "too much make-up, no make-up, blue or pink eyeshadow, bright red, pink, purple or orange lipstick, unnatural looking tans, scaly hands and smelly breath. Unacceptable in the hair department are fringes that conceal eyebrows, excessive frosting, obvious hair extensions, towelling elastic bands or bands with a metal joint". I'm ok with most of this but the frosting bit has me puzzled. It's either too much icing or you've stuck your head in the freezer too long looking for the vodka.

The male trolley pusher is told about daily skin cleansing and "to keep it looking its best" and to "clean-shave neck hair". Pilots can't have beards (for safety reasons, apparently) and goatees must be trimmed 1.5cm past the corner of the mouth. Lips must be clearly visible. Ear and nose hair must be trimmed but in a concession to modern fashion, men are allowed to wear one solid bangle – though not earrings. Just hold your packet of peanuts there my friend...did they just say shave neck hair? On the subject of shaving I note the latest trend in men of facial hair growing years that one appears at all formal events with an unshaven look. I hate it. It's like staring at pubic hair on someone's face. I can only imagine that the remnants of last night's beef vindaloo are lodged in there somewhere. When I can walk around with stubble on my legs then we'll call it quits.

Maybe it's time that similar standards were set in writing for the female office worker. Short shorts skirts only draw attention to legs that have failed on most fronts and please, please, please don't come to work wearing low cut tops. Put them away or don't complain when nobody is listening to you. The last thing I want are your kahunas flopping into my in-tray.

So yes, I do hope grooming standards have returned, because at the moment we are scaring children and small dogs.

It's all in the cards, just swipe here.

2010-03-22T20:24:00.002+11:00

A friend of mine recently went to see a clairvoyant and with a reasonable offering of scepticism she came away thinking some things spoken by madame fortune teller were uncanny. I am more than a sceptic when it comes to reading fortunes. I'm afraid the only cards I believe in are my credit cards. For some reason it's women more than men who are keen to learn of the mysteries of what lies ahead. I think men are just happy coping with the present. I know if I went along to Mystical Meg or whatever her name is she would tell me that she foresees travel in my future. Now she could mean I am heading for adventures across many countries or she could mean the mysteries of a Westfield carpark. Knowing me I would forget all about it, go and book a trip and then a week later go "Whoa!". My friend said the fortune teller spoke of someone dear to her who has passed on. So far we probably all could put our hands up with a candidate here. Then she said this person felt much comfort from their funeral. Knowing the person who has passed on he would more likely have criticised the funeral saying that the beer was warm and the sandwiches were crappy. And why would he speak to a total stranger about this anyway when he could speak to his wife? Are deceased husbands still looking at other women? I'd just be happy if the cards would tell me what to wear in the morning. I've got no time to speak to the undead. Can they send me an email?

Toilet Humour

2010-03-21T19:34:00.004+11:00

The Myer ladies loo's ... small but arty!

Women of the Silver Screen or just pretty frosting

2010-03-20T16:36:00.002+11:00

After a week of too many long hours at work caused by the 'fill in a form or perish' jihadists that now seem to have infiltrated many workplaces, I was glad when Friday night finally came around. I slumped on the couch after a pasta supper and glass of cold Sancerre ready to wade into some light entertainment to see out the evening. Avoiding the compulsory Friday night forensic and sci-fi alien with the made for tv el'cheapo special effects, I find myself in front of what is now known as the 'rom-com'. Romulus with his own web page would be more thought provoking but alas the Hollywood template of romantic comedy was the menu for the night. The movie was called Vacation and I believe it was in the cinemas about 2 years ago. Like a vacation from hell this was a movie from hell. Sitting through this movie was like having to sit through a slide show of your neighbour's cruise to Pongo Pongo where they all dressed up in grass skirts for the fancy dress night, what a hoot!! I have no idea of what Cameron Diaz is like in real life but the character she played in this movie was a interesting as a cotton tip. She was forever flopping around displaying all the intelligence of a biscuit tin whilst expecting us to believe she was a successful Hollywood producer (we think). She meets the Jude Law character and within 4 minutes has decided that she would go to bed with him, we assume this but we see no evidence of it and clearly the budget was not big enough for a bedroom scene or it was spent on her hairdresser instead. Unfortunately this format is all too readily available and I could probably name about 3 of them at the cinemas right now with their watery plot lines and some chick with floppy blond hair and a guy was starts out not liking her, gets to like her they break up and they get back together, can I go now? Hollywood continues to serve up this mass produced movie extender as we see the role of women being reduced to not much more significance than a cup cake with pink icing. Come on tinsel town, give us some woman with substance, what are you scared or something?

Driving Miss Crazy

2010-03-15T18:43:00.002+11:00

There are some days that eating chocolate before dinner is simply a must. Days of all things going bad, days of premenstrual or pre-murderous, days of everyone in my workplace is a complete fuckface and I no longer care if my arse causes an eclipse of the sun. So today whilst driving home from the not so super supermarket, I reclaimed the joys of being multi dexterous and careened around the streets whilst stuffing a dark chocolate KitKat down my face, and down my shirt and down the side of the seat. Driving whilst eating takes skill. Once one has mastered the talents of a competent driver one must also learn the ability to a) light a cigarette without taking your eyes of the road; b) rummage through handbag looking for sunglasses without driving right over the cupie doll on the Vespa and c) find the right (moment) radio station without rearending the ute up front that probably wouldn't notice anyway. When I first learned to drive, there was no auto select radio tuner in my car. The only optional extra was a gramophone strapped to the roof or the church choir in the boot for sub woofer effect. I took my ghetto blaster in the car with me so I could share the tunes of the Damned or the Cramps with all of Melbourne but it took skills to select the cassette, insert and fast forward to the right song, change gears, light up a fag, wind down the window (handle remember) and cruise the city streets without collecting any major lighting fixture at the same time. Fortunately these days cars don't require you to BYO music and as for my selections these days they are more likely to be singing about Insurance than singing about the undead (same thing really). So, where was I? Oh yes, eating chocolate and driving. Should be included in every driving test. Let's see them get their C plates before those green P things.

Five Courses + Fashion = Fat Saturday

2010-03-13T18:46:00.004+11:00

Today was about food and indulgence. A Foodies' & Fashionistas' Lunch in Prahran provided a reminder of some of the great festivals in this city that pop up from time to time. Sealed in under a catwalk length marquee, plate after plate came out to feed us hungry fashionista crowds. As we sat and scoffed our way through 5 courses of pate, prawn, pork, beef and desert fortunately all on separate plates, we watched those whom are very tall dressed in winter collections strut past our tables of plenty. I've attached the prawn as my memorabilia photo as it was the one course that I did not have. I am one of those poor sods who is allergic to shellfish. Having decided it was better to lose out on a course than break out in welts I enjoyed the break in eating. I used to criticise vegetarians, scoff at celiacs and thought gluten free was an excuse to get something for nothing. Having developed an allergy later in life the difficulties range from tedious when everyone in the room screams "YumCha" to just merely embarrassing. I once had lunch with a girlfriend at a Chinese restaurant who is a native Chinese speaker and quietly told her of my condition to which she asked the waiter to go back in the kitchen and pick out every tiny prawn out of the special fried rice, so it was not longer special at all. I have had airline staff tell me off for not putting through a special request prior to flying on her plane and it was my fault then that the beef ran out and all that was left was prawn surprise. But enough on crustaceans for one day, I enjoyed my lunch of food indulgence and fashion, although after watching beautiful mast like beings strut passed my table, I really wish I had have passed on that last profiterole too.

Come on baby do the locomotion

2010-03-10T19:54:00.002+11:00

There is something exciting about train travel. I don't mean being door sliced in to the 7:45am with your face wedged into the back of someone's head hanging on for dear life wishing that the arm pit you keep inhaling didn't have quite such personality, I mean travel by any means other than aeroplane. So I was thrilled to read that China is planning to build a fast train to Europe. In today's Age newspaper "the journey from London to Beijing by rail could take just two days under a Chinese plan to build an international network for trains that can travel almost as fast as aircraft." And knowing the Chinese I suspect they will have it finished by Friday and there will be an iphone app with timetables by Sunday. You wouldn't have had time to go a second round on the yum cha trolley and you would be coming into St Pancras Station.

Why can't we have fast trains in Australia? Not long ago I read a proposed fast train service to cater for regional areas of Melbourne that would go almost 80kms an hour. I had a Ford Cortina in 1982 that could have got there faster than that. "The chief executive of the Australasian Railway Association, Bryan Nye, said Australia already had the market for Asian-style high-speed rail, especially in the Melbourne-Sydney-Brisbane corridor. He said China recently tested a train at 380 km/h and had made a 1000-kilometre journey in two hours 50 minutes.
''If we could get a Sydney-Melbourne trip to three hours, or just under, it would be worthwhile and competitive,'' he said. It would be a fucking miracle given that we can't even get to work by train. Pass the wontons before they get cold.

The night of nights that leaves me sleepy

2010-03-08T19:00:00.002+11:00

Another Academy Awards ceremony pulls the curtain closed for another year. I imagine they swing into party mode pretty soon after having sat through hour after hour of thank you's to God, to the person behind their film who put up a truck load of dosh and to the winner's partner who in Hollywood terms is likely to change by the end of the first commercial break. Trends are set on Oscar nights, beards are in and strapless dresses are obligatory regardless of how much your bare arms look like grissini in a shiny serviette. Heart wrenching movies are always given extra attention ie., single mum, homeless dad, a soldier's story and this year...the fat girl. The animators and computer geeks take up more and more seats each year and the award snatchers are getting younger and thinner. The red carpet promotions display a rattle of malnourished, post surgery clones coiled up in expensive cloth and all with identical teeth. In this era of self select and interactivity, the awards ceremonies are leaving us left with a feeling that we weren't even consulted. They hand out their honours and we are left feeling that the glamour has gone, the movies are often predictable and the speeches are so bad even the actors can't hold back the tears.

Ticked off not tee'd off

2010-03-07T16:54:00.002+11:00

Why do they persist on saying "hail stones as big as golf balls"? Yes, we had a hail storm and yes the pieces of hail that fell were very big indeed but please come up with at least one other description if at all possible. "Hail stones were found in parts of the city as big as bull's testicles..." hail the size of ping pong or squash balls, heads of broccoli, or avocado stones take your pick. A bit like gale force winds always lash instead of blow and roads are in chaos not just slow moving traffic. There must be a folder containing scripts in every newsreaders office titled Storms - a newsreader's guide. Imagine if one day the storm hit and the folder was not to be found. "It rained a lot today and a lot of people got wet and it was windy and that caused a lot of .... windy weather".

The Grand Scone Maker

2010-03-04T19:35:00.002+11:00

So tell me why a group of men in aprons who have over done the jewellery have reason to be called a secret society? Freemasonry, being not the reverse of incarcerating those working with stone has come into the media pages today to dispel myth, so they say in today's Age. "We've carried as if we've had something to hide ... We are not a secret society, but we are a society with secrets." Sounds very desperate housewives to me but hey don't let me throw pooh on the grand, you know what, bah. According to the Grand Master who claims "non-Freemasons are being allowed to attend "parts of our ceremonies", there are other aspects of Freemason creed which make recruitment difficult. Women are banned from membership. They are still allowed to serve the "supper" at some of the Lodge meetings, but full membership? No. This club is strictly for men. Further, to be admitted you have to believe in God, or at least a "supreme being".

Gee, where do I sign up, although I think you've lost everyone on the supreme being thing because you know we are all thinking you believe in martians right now and that's a bit weird on top of your already weird stuff isn't it? Given that the average demographic of this group probably sits somewhere between 70 and death what they need is a complete makeover. Throw away those dusty old skulls and fake wine goblets and bring in a few vases of flowers, a call centre and a facebook page if you need mates. Or if you want to stick to the old ways and keep wearing the pinny, why not have some male ceremonial scone making? Just watch those funny handshakes, they may get a little floury.

One day this will be a reality

2010-03-02T20:11:00.002+11:00

I'm not very good at predicting things. Actually, I take that back. I'm really crap at it. It's a family tradition, a bit like my father telling me in the 1970's on a visit to one of the first McDonald's in the country, that the food was based on adult tastes and it would never catch on. Similar to this I predicted that mobile phones were a passing fad, manners would one day return to everyday life and more recently that Twitter and Facebook being only for the teenage generation would die a speedy and penniless death like the Olsen Twins (got that wrong too). Twitter and Facebook references are everywhere. When you log onto your health insurance website, it says "follow us on Twitter". WHY? And as if that's not bad enough, your bank has a facebook page. You can't speak to a bank manager in person but you can become one of his or her "friends". When business tries to muscle in on the cool then it all goes horribly wrong. A bit like, television was cool until the TAC got hold of it? It's like being at a really cool place and a school group turn up. So no I don't want to twitter my dental extras or befriend a corporation, I'm going to ignore them. And then they will go away. That's another prediction.

Take that you economy loving harpie

2010-02-27T19:52:00.002+11:00

"Flight grounded as hosties come to blows" reads the headlines. Well that's got to be everyman's fantasy come true. "A flight in the US was cancelled after two flight attendants got into a fist fight, according to local reports. Two female flight attendants "got into a fist fight on the plane... the pilot decided to kick everyone off the plane." "They told us we had to get off the plane because stewardesses were fighting," said passenger Corey Minton. If I was Corey I'd be pretty pissed off. If Tiffany and Feefie from budget bimbo start throwing right hooks up the tail end then WHY ARE THE PASSENGERS PUNISHED? Corey should have decked both of them, shoved them onto the tarmac and closed the emergency hatch. What is it with the Airline industry that allows them to fail to provide a service on so many fronts? If bank teller number 5 decides to call bank teller number 6 a fat bastard do we ask everyone in the bank queues to leave? No, they place an ad on Seek saying team players wanted for exciting career opportunity. Fire them and taxi to the runway. Time recruit a new Tiffany or whatever, preferably without the tiffs.

When it comes to a wide screen just say I do

2010-02-24T18:24:00.002+11:00

I had to talk a friend in from the ledge yesterday after a bust up with the boyfriend. They had been dating for about three months when he rang her from the supermarket, somewhere between the carrots and the spuds when he dropped the old "honey I think we should start seeing other people" line. Her immediate reaction was to think I'll tear the brussel sprouts off you but then sunk into a deep depression of where did I go wrong. It's a shame to think we spend so much time stewing over these events when clearly most men have ticked off the shopping list and moved on. She began to question what it is that men want. It's like all of us, they want it all. Some men have set plans though and they will not deviate from that schedule no matter how tall, attractive, sport watching and impress my mates type you are, if you are not in the plan then it's good night Irene. After you've slept with her preferably. Men go into marriage like they go into buying a television. Today I will buy an LCD. They will happily shop around but when it's the day to purchase, the deal is done and the new set is carried over the threshold with much pride. They wont consider the ups and downs, what if it doesn't look any good, what if my parents don't like it, what if it causes us to fight, they just buy it. Then at the age of 45 they wonder why their television is not thrilling the bejesus out of them anymore and they want to trade it in for a newer one. I did say to my friend that maybe I'm not the best person to give advice on relationships as I don't keep pets or men in the house anymore but I do think she should give herself a break. She just needs to spend more time in Harvey Norman.

Coffee and a monster to go

2010-02-23T20:08:00.002+11:00

Now there is a website that you can look up to find baby friendly cafes for "those who don't want to give up on good coffee...". Heaven forbid you might have to make a change in your life! This site provides scores on overall experience (theirs or mine?) change tables (in a food environment, fantastic), high chairs, friendliness of staff and play areas. It's a fucking cafe you dimwits not a jumping castle. I don't come over to day care centres and sit in the middle of the floor reading the business review and screaming I want Chardonnay and I want it NOW. Too many times do I see children running out of control through cafes where poor wait staff are balancing trays of hot coffee and expected to say nothing. It's time someone told these parents that their kids are arseholes and it appears to be heredity. Cafes are adult environments where you sit and you eat and you drink. It is not a playfield for the spawn of Satan to behave like they do in their overstuffed homes. No, cafes are not children friendly because they are adult places. If you didn't want to give up going to cafes for a few years then you should have kept your pants on.

Alien airlines

2010-02-22T18:23:00.002+11:00

Like all of us I have days when I sit here and think what am I going to write about today. And then some days you come across gold. Today was a sparkler with the Australian delivering headlines that read "Queens Astronomer says Aliens could be among us". According to Lord Rees "the visitors might be in a form beyond human understanding". Lord Rees, president of the Royal Society academy of science and also astronomer to the Queen, goes on to say: "They could be staring us in the face and we just don't recognize them." So if the Queen's astronomer is telling us that 'they' are among us it might explain a lot. I think I've definitely seen them on the trams, they may even be pretending to be politicians and they definitely explain some of the celebrity stuff. I wonder what I would do if someone I knew turned out to be an alien? Would you dob them in? Who do you call, is there an alien hotline, do we have anti alien laws that stops them at the border? While we were getting all excited about a few desperate asylum seekers, half of Mars has landed. We've put body scanners in place for something that doesn't have body? Who knows, perhaps alien travel is the way to go, plenty of leg room, better in-flight technology and enough frequent flyer miles to get beyond your front gate. Maybe the Queen knows more than she's letting on.

The Tiger is back on the prowl

2010-02-18T18:53:00.002+11:00

Look who's back, it's Tiger. Yes Mr Woods will be returning, the Age website tells me today, "Tiger Woods will apologise for his infidelities on Saturday morning, Australian time, in his first public outing since he crashed his car into a tree in November last year, his agent says". Gee, I must remember to set the alarm. I don't understand why he feels the need to apologize but then I don't think the apology is actually for me. I'm not a fan, a wife, a sponsor or a girlfriend so probably don't warrant any public display of "I'd like to put it all behind me now" which seems to be the standard for most sporting identities that get caught doing things that would ordinarily be punishable by law but Tige's in my view hasn't done anything to bother me. I like his sense of spirit, coming back into public life after reportedly his wife clobbered him with the one thing that made him famous. A bit like an AFL wife putting a goal post through the back window of her cheating husband's shiny sports car or a rugby player's wife wedging his head up his own backside, there are endless possibilities here just waiting to be publicly explored. So there is no need to accept any apology and I hope he continues to play up, get caught, get beaten up or drive into trees, whatever happened it was the most interesting thing to happen to golf in years.

Ghost Apartment to share

2010-02-17T19:59:00.002+11:00

I'm reading the autobiography by former "Fat Lady" Clarissa Dickson Wright called "Spilling the Beans". She writes beautifully and is a very intelligent woman who was the youngest female to ever have been called to the Bar (as in Barrister) to this day. She had a fascinating upbringing with an Australian heiress for a mother and brilliant surgeon for a father. As I'm reading this book she goes on to describe her mother's ability to detect ghosts in the house and describes several occasions when her mother describes in detail a passed relative's request to a complete stranger. Clarissa herself describes events of seeing unexplained people in their house and prefaces this in her book with a type of 'feel free to not believe this however' statement. Now that leaves me with a dilemma of whether to believe this or not and if it is true and that she had ghosts in her house then why didn't I have them in mine? Is this a case of the ultimate home experience? Should you have the flat screen TV, the V8 turbo charged coffee machine and now your resident ghosts? I've never had the experience and I'm developing a complex as to why. Am I not of any interest to the undead or is it that they just don't do modern apartments? They seem to be reported as only every appearing in houses of a particular era or perhaps there is something in IKEA furniture that repels them. I'm going to look into this further but I suspect the size of my apartment has something to do with it. If you can walk through walls you would walk through my apartment pretty quickly and probably fall off the balcony. I guess that's why they don't do apartments. And if I was to discover my resident ghost, how do I know if they are a good ghost meaning they will pick up around the house or a bad ghost who will just rattle chains, groan a lot and generally piss off the neighbours? Perhaps I'll leave an application form where they can tick a box. Good or evil? Either way the rent will be the same.

Good riddance to good rubbish

2010-02-15T19:41:00.002+11:00

Have you ever decided to give something up for a set period of time? There has been a few items in the media lately about people who have given up drinking, like a month or a year. Having read about the revelations of being sober amongst plastered friends and relatives the rewards stated seem to be few and the role of designated driver too many. Life is too short to give up good things. Good wine, good food and good company. Giving up cheap highly processed beer or worse the coloured mixers available that are so obviously targeted at teenagers they might as well call them Barbie Booze is something I encourage anyone to give up. I could give up wine if I had to but it would need to come with a rock solid guarantee that a) no one would piss me off to such an extent I'd need to go home, open my fridge door and lie mouth open with my head in the crisper and pour Chardonnay down my face and b) there would be some point to it other than becoming a bore and driving home pissed peers. People who give up are like people who detox. If you are going to do it just do and shut the hell up because the rest of us think it's all bollocks and it's putting us off our drinks. Cheers.

Mesdames et Messieurs are you still awake?

2010-02-14T08:12:00.002+11:00

Ok, I'll be the first to admit it. I fell asleep during the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympic Games. I know it's wrong and I'm supposed to be using words like spectacular right now but there is something about these things that hits me like a truckload full of rohypnol. Not that Eddie McEverywhere's scintillating commentary wasn't enough to keep me enthralled although I am still trying to work out which part of the world Herzogovinia is located. Seeing those performers in slow motion looking up to the sky and waving their arms around like someone said "pretend you are a giant tree swaying in the breeze" loses any meaning for me and reminds me of liturgical dancing from school days where the teacher would say "pretend you are a giant tree" although I probably resembled more office block than tree. Large poles slowly erecting to represent (insert long explanation, please) something but I forget what, you can't help wondering if the snow will have melted by the time this ceremony is over. The parade of the countries athletes is exciting - for the athletes and it was so exciting for some guy in the USA team he was on his mobile phone. Can we do nothing without these goddamn things? I did feel for the Georgian team however as the grief on their faces said so much about that tragic accident. So hopefully things might speed up a little now that we have gotten rid of those pesky tree wavers and with a bit of luck Mr "Dude you not gonna guess where I am..." guy has time to put his phone down long enough to do whatever it is he has to do.

With you like some low self esteem with your shake?

2010-02-10T17:56:00.002+11:00

Sitting here eating my Choc Wedge ice cream it occurred to me how much emphasis we put on feeling guilty about certain foods. As I sit here enjoying the cold crack of chocolate against my teeth I convince myself that whilst I should be out walking around the park I probably shouldn't because there is going to be a storm. And it will rain apparently. Later in the week but that's not the point. The guilt and weight issue is loudly played out the minute you put on the television or pick up a newspaper. If it's not bad enough we have to feel guilty for getting older and costing the government money (see the Work Until You Die and After draft policy) we should feel guilty for not meeting our BMI KPI's. Children in particular seem to be the new target of the fat fear campaign. If your child is suffering from a weight problem and experiencing low self esteem put them on a reality television program, that will really help...not. If the kid wasn't the victim of school yard bullying before, wait until he gets to school on Monday. These programs show the caring parents who might I add are the size of aircraft hangers themselves sit on their much sat upon couch and despair at how they've tried everything. I feel for them in some ways in that their fridge is full of 'fat free' products which will be effective in reducing the weight of their wallet. With all reality programs the results are immediate and little Suzie or whatever is soon becoming the suburbs biggest loser which I think is meant to be a good thing. I'm not sure exactly how this would help with the self esteem problem though. The old happy meal just ain't what it used to be.

A wife, a home and a film crew

2010-02-09T18:18:00.002+11:00

What is it with celebrity families that make them so interesting to watch? Like watching the Hindenburg explode in front of your very eyes reality television and famous families leave me staring at the set like I'm watching something out of control. The more famous the more psychotic seems to be the mantra. Celebrity mom is expecting a baby so not quite so celebrity Dad who clearly had surgery to remove his spine a long time ago rushes around supplying the pain in the arse soon to be parent with her every whim. For an hour I sat there watching someone approach normal every day occurrences with hysterical cries of either Oh My God I'm so..(insert whatever, like we care) or a tirade of I want, I want, I want and I'm going to scream until I want it no more. Fortunately for me I don't actually know who these people are or their claim to fame so therefore have no expectations of them other than to have no household budget, have bad taste in clothing and jewellery pieces bigger than the fluffy dog that regularly pees on the floor. I still can't help wondering if at any point as a celebrity you actually consider that these programs might leave the viewer beginning to question if they still admire you any more and are now perhaps thinking of ways you should be hit in the head with a plank of wood inclusive of rusty nail. Might make a good next episode.

Saint Valentine The Brave

2010-02-08T19:32:00.002+11:00

OMBRELLONE + PALLONE
Originally uploaded by Zellaby

Ah romance. Romance and the 14th of February. I feel for men in the lead up to Valentine's day they are either damned if they do and damned if they don't come up with the goods. Is it as easy as popping on a silly hat and giving her a beach ball? I doubt it and judging from this photo I think she has bigger worries such as he is probably gay. But that aside, what is the best approach for a man in the lead up to Valentine's day? Is it dinner? Yes provided that he won't mind being slugged a premium, not getting into the place that you really wanted and bearing the brunt of the waiters that detest this night because it's like serving people their dinner in their bedroom and trying to get them interested in a discussion about organic pig farming. Perhaps a simple gift, but if it's stuffed and furry they need to be really sure or he'll see Mr "I Luv U" cuddly gorilla fly out the window and hit the recycle bin so fast he will think it's a shooting star. Jewellery is a no brainer but underwear is a recipe for disaster. No matter what they choose it's wrong, just plain wrong. You won't wear that colour, it's the wrong size (dream on loverboy) and if it's edible he'll be seeing it on his sandwiches the next day at smoko. As for women and what to buy men? Any old shit really they're far too stressed to care.

Super sporting hero

2010-02-06T18:04:00.003+11:00

17th/21st Lancers c. 1922-1929 "THE FIGHTING SPIRIT!"
Originally uploaded by sunnybrook100

Oh hoorah! Shane Warne is mounting a charge for peace between the Indian media and Australian sensibilities. The orange man with the teeth so white you can see them from space has been employed by our very own state government "to discuss plans for an advertising campaign headed by Warne to promote Victoria and counter the hysteria in the Indian media about racist violence in Melbourne" according to today's Herald Sun. Sport solves everything doesn't it? Let's have a game of cricket and what do you know, world peace breaks out. So other than our dear friend popping on his red underpants and flying cape, and taking off to assure India's mums and dads that they can rest easy knowing their kids are safe, should we perhaps expect that from now on we may see glimpses of Super Warnie flying above the train stations of Melbourne at night ready to fight for the battle of good over evil? Gee thanks Super Warnie, you're my hero. Oh, but best not bring up those text message scandals or he may lose his magical superhero powers. Kapow!

What's in yours then?

2010-02-04T20:34:00.003+11:00

1950's fashion
Originally uploaded by ΔSabine DavisΔ

I remember coming across a clipping when I was young that my mother had kept from a newspaper. It was an article written about her with a photograph of her standing in the street looking into her handbag. The article described what 'modern' women carry in their handbags. For the modern woman of the late 1950's she carried very similar items that we do today being lipstick, make up, hair brush, plastic explosives etc. But of course there was no technology and the humble vintage purse was not required to carry much more than your pair of matching leather gloves. Which might explain why today's handbags are either not meant to be used as the survival packs that we use them for or they are failing to do the job required. Bags today need to be compartment filled for several communication devices, they must provide for bunches of keys that would sink you to the bottom of the lake should you accidentally fall in and they must be robust enough to stand the bottom scraping of under table bar action that comes with Friday night drinks. The modern bag should be capable of slipping over the shoulder to free the hands for waving and phone talking and light enough to enable the wearer to hang onto the commuter strap on the 5:45 whiplash express ride home. So having worn my current bag into a state that can only be described as designer turned dumpster bag, my weekend will entail the shop for the new bag. Could take me some time.

And with one swift pull Rebecca selected the radish for outplacement

2010-02-02T19:47:00.004+11:00

The company I work for are going through a downsizing exercise. That's not about everyone losing weight, it's about people losing jobs, but everything in management speak sounds like it is somehow good for you even when it isn't. So from 6:30am to about 5:30pm I am the bearer of bad news to many of the company's long serving employees. A rotten job by any means but not as rotten as the feeling of being told you are no longer employed. I too have been retrenched, made redundant, let go, downsized, toe cut, head chopped or been the fall out of restructuring collateral damage so I know what it's like. But for some the job was more than a job. And that's where it gets wobbly. A job is something offered by a company that pays you to do something for a short time and a bit longer if all is well. The place of employment is not your home and the people who sit beside you are not your family. The management team are not your parents and they don't really care about you they just don't want to be sued by you. The desk you sit at every day is not yours. So while my day is filled with other people's feelings of loss, shock and why me, like all good things in nature, the green shoots will appear again one day and life will return to normal. Unless of course someone comes along again with a giant pair of secateurs and we all know what that means.

The Y (shaped coffin) Gen

2010-01-31T17:19:00.003+11:00

Have you ever wondered who would actually send in a letter to a magazine or newspaper asking for advice about relationships? I used to think that the editors made them up until today when I came across this..."My boyfriend and I have an awesome sex life, but I'm a bit worried that I'm not fully normal..." No shit Sherlock. How old are you, twelve? You can't construct a sentence and you are worried about finding your G spot? The response is as usual a guarded generalist construction of kind words and technical terms that our dear letter writer either can't spell or is not old enough to know she has one. Recently I had the unfortunate opportunity to peruse a copy of Cosmopolitan at a recent hairdressing appointment. Given that the content was enough to make your hair not only curl but stand on end and then fall out and without sounding all Tony Abbott, a bit of centrefold action with a sufficiently wide stable was always a bit of fun under the lid of the school desk but now it's all so serious and not even particularly good advice. I long for a columnist to really provide some healthy and useful tips like "Dear Miss Awesome, stop obsessing about this shit and get out and have a life. Just because you saw it on television doesn't mean it happens. And get some English Grammar tutoring for fuck sake". Sick!

This Sportless Life

2010-01-28T19:49:00.002+11:00

I've tried. I've tried to watch the tennis but I don't really understand it. I don't understand the rules and don't like that grunting noise they make. I don't have the gene that allows the brain receptors to understand anything relating to sport in any way. It's like an uncontrollable shutdown of all senses the minute someone starts talking about sport. I've often envied the idea of spending an afternoon relaxing in front of the telly watching mindless sport to forget the woes of the day. Cricket looked like a relaxing thing to watch, I gave that a go for at least 3 minutes and then wondered why the only man without safety head gear was the old guy standing in front of a speeding ball that only required a man with a small bat to move slightly to the left or right and he would be knocked senseless, not my idea of fun. I tried the winter games as a relaxing visual exercise until the figure skater went you know what over you know where and gashed her knee leaving blood and knee cartilage all over the ice. I nearly threw up and vowed never to watch it again. So as much as I'd like to get into the finals and semi finals of anything, there is no point fighting it, no remedial class or Ipod App will help me with this one.

Hotel luxury at your Beckham call

2010-01-27T19:50:00.002+11:00

"VICTORIA Beckham has been offered £25 million to design a luxury hotel in Dubai" according to today's Herald Sun. Such talents this girl. After a hard day doing....gee I'm not really sure, then a quick trip across to the middle east where she can pop open her Gucci pencil case and voila she's an architect. Apparently all you need is as much warmth and personality as a compass set and a body no wider than a set square, and you're off. What surprise awaits us in the Posh Palace, lots of mirrors, a mini bar full of bird seed and loose covers for all the couches so you don't slip down the back when you sit down. For twenty five million pounds I think I could whip up something a bit posh. I might even throw in a packet of peanuts. Just don't feed them to the celebrities.

Like an extra virgin

2010-01-26T16:31:00.002+11:00

God bless politicians that tell women to save themselves for marriage. Because that's exactly who we should turn to for moral advice!! In today's Age we read that Tony Abbott believes that women should remain virgins until they are married. Not men and women. Just women. Men can shag themselves senseless but women need to stay at home and do cross stitch or something. Asked what advice he gives his own daughters on sex dear Tony tells us it should be treated as ''a gift''. A gift like a house brick that should be wrapped up in pretty paper and hurled through his window for saying something so stupid. He should be forced to sit through an entire season of Sex And The City until he gets it. Saving 'it' for marriage is as outdated and irrelevant as a glory box and not going on a pre-wedding diet. So sorry to bust your little fantasy Tony but the only virgin required in any home is the olive oil on the kitchen bench, or the bedroom depending on your fancy.

Qwerty throws a wobbly

2010-01-25T20:10:00.002+11:00

I turned on my computer today and an error message appeared telling me that a "major" error had occurred on my system and that I should report it. Rather than appear a complete dobber I declined the offer of "send report" and selected the other option which means I don't really care and just want to get onto my computer as quickly as possible. What my computer gets up to during the day whilst I am at work is of no concern of mine and provided it goes on when I push the on button, all is good in the garden of good and evil (that's computer speak). I suspect my computer's attempt to attract my attention is based on the fact that on Sunday I purchased a phone thing that enables me to read my emails and poor old computer is feeling a little used and abused. With fear of being replaced by a shiny black gadget the size of a cigarette case and just as healthy, poor old computer stares back up at me looking more dust top than desk top. I'm pleased to say that the major error has caused no prblm *kOS B( w /;1jd iubsb k dii888asmxm! Shit.

Throw another aussie on the barbie

2010-01-24T19:23:00.002+11:00

I fail all things Australian according to the listed Aussie icons in today's papers. I don't like sport so therefore I am unaustralian or should I say austrayan because that's how it's now pronounced. I don't drive a ute, don't drink beer, don't like shorts and thongs, I think barbecued food tastes like the inside of my shoe and "Aussie Aussie Aussie" makes me want to reach for a baseball bat. Is it just me or is there not much on offer for Aussie women here? Getting back to the great Aussie barbecue, what is the male obsession with them? It's all about granite versus stainless steel and I've got more burners than you. Size does matter and she will want me even more for my big rotisserie. It's never about actually preparing a meal, it's more about landing the space shuttle in the backyard. No matter how big the outdoor kitchen appears and no matter how many wok burners you have if you can't cook in the kitchen, throwing food on a hot plate outside doesn't make it any tastier. Maybe that's where the beer comes in! Oi, Oi, Oi...whack!

The Invasion of the Cane Toes

2010-01-21T19:29:00.003+11:00

How many is too many pairs of shoes? Clearly, shoes for casual, shoes for work, shoes for dinner and shoes for walking. When it is so easy for men to get away with three pairs of shoes why do women feel the need to buy more? At the demise of the pointy toe my mangled toes all breathed a collective sigh of relief. As they are now all leaning into each other at such an angle, they have formed a very close relationship from years of being bound into points so sharp you could slice tomatoes with them. The welcomed return of the round toe was short lived to the current trend of heels so high they require a planning permit. When will we learn! Stripper heals as they are so affectionately called may be the personal protective equipment of the exotic dancing industry but there seems to be no fireman's poles I feel the need to dance with. So therefore the rows of chiropractic superannuation shoes leave me left with the granny flats and shoes with Velcros straps that can only be described as vegetarian. Australian made stylish court shoes are a rarity and the rubber thong continues it march southward through the wardrobes of Australia like the cane toad. And probably just as toxic. Apparently if you lick them you can hallucinate!!

Windsor or Wanker?

2010-01-20T18:39:00.004+11:00

I was disappointed the day I was born to find out I wasn't a member of the royal family. Any royal family for that matter, Danish, British, Upper Mongolian, didn't matter really. I'm all in favour of everything royal. Royal Doulton, Royal Selangor, Royal Childrens Hospital, Chocolate Royals (biscuits, where have you been??). Don't bore me with the tax payer expenses crap when superstar nobodies are paid to come out here and prop up local events even though they have no idea where they are and only came for the free booze and a suite to stash the blondes. Be thankful the Royal visit doesn't include a press conference with a slumped over RayBan wearing prince reaching for the water bottle and responding to the usual questions about first impressions of Australia as "yeah, it's great being here" and the next question about first impressions of Australian women (insert country) giving them a run for their money. No I'm happy that they don't sing, they don't shave their heads and tell everyone they're going to rehab, they don't have award ceremonies and they don't have comebacks. They just like dogs and horses and that's ok with me.

Ladies and Gentleman welcome onboard flight dazed and confused

2010-01-19T19:21:00.002+11:00

I had the joy of experiencing domestic air travel over the weekend. I began dieting in advance for my nude photo shoot at security but am still to see the proofs. Under the guise of customer service, the chumps that we are go along with the do it yourself (yes, this one again!!) print your own boarding pass and save you the time blah, blah, blah, fairytale. The reality is that those who have saved the airline the cost of printing paper are in a queue five times longer than the technology deniers who only have three people until they reach the check in counter. And as luck would have it when you do inch your way to the counter the person before you wants to check in a horse or something and this requires consultation with airline personnel that have not only left the building but are probably home tucked up in front of the telly with a mug of tea watching Air Crash Investigations. When finally I pass cattle muster and am fed through the gates towards the holding kennels for the great unwashed ie., economy passengers, I await the boarding call from the voice of the deep. Unfortunately the voice of the deep was retrenched and is replaced by yet another airline representative called "Bree" whose bubbly announcements leave you even more confused and you begin to wonder if your spoken language option was somewhere missed from the sheet. Bree excitedly tells me that a flight (number incomprehensible) has been rescheduled to board from gate ... silence, flick, flick, flick and then she pisses herself laughing. Dear Airline People, please don't put the Bree's on the loudspeakers if they can't read simple instructions. As it turns out it wasn't my flight and I was able to board my plane to Sydney in relative ease. I sat in my seat, fastened my seat belt and listened for the announcement from another voice from the deep. "Ladies and Gentleman welcome aboard flight 854 to....silence, flick, flick, flick, sound of pissing oneself with laughter...Sydney. My name is Bree and I'm your flight attendant this evening". My only hope is that the captain either is a) called Roger or something a bit more Skyways International and b) hope that his sheet contains more information than hers.

It's all just hot air

2010-01-13T20:26:00.003+11:00

Why do men get so excited about cars? I know as much about the maintenance of my car as the average man knows about eyelash curlers. And what's more, I resent that I'm expected to. Today it was pointed out to me that my tyres were near flat and they needed attending to. Sensing a major lack of interest and knowledge on my part my automotive adviser went on to describe compression, loosening and tightening of valves and I'm sure much more but my mind wandered off into a blank abyss (without might I add offering to fix them). I have no interest in cars, ever. I purchase cars like I buy nail polish, "Gee I like the colour, I'll take it, thanks bye now". The car could have nothing under the bonnet for all I care so long as it goes. So now I have to resort to "getting in a man" to do something about the car and no doubt he'll want to show me how to help myself to fix my car problem. This is the problem. The day we let petrol stations do away with attendants was the day it all went wrong. And as we know the man behind the counter in the service station whilst probably studying a double degree in science and law is only able to offer me a chocolate bar and take my money. We've been conned into believing that self service is good for us. The much offered 'Do it yourself' and 'self installs' are a nothing more than the opportunity to remove jobs for people along with their salaries. The guy behind the servo counter could probably hook up his laptop to your car and re tune the engine to last you another 50 years but in the name of profits he needs to stay behind the counter with his feet nailed to the floor and be paid no more than the cost of a carton of cigarettes.
So whenever I'm offered the opportunity to do it myself the answer is no. That's not my job and you should thank me that I'm thinking about trying to save yours. And no I don't want a buy two chump bars and get fat free deal.

Climate change in the corner of the room

2010-01-11T19:00:00.002+11:00

Yes it's hot. It's 42 degrees. I have insects crawling on the outside of my window trying to get in because they know I have air conditioning on (note to self, must get out window cleaner to removed deep fried stick insects from window ledge). "Catastrophic" I'm hearing over and over again, fire danger, danger Will Robinson, be alert, alarmed and have your fire plan ready. When did summer become so dramatic? As kids we had hot days. Your parents put the pool up in the backyard and in the middle of the day you stayed in the pool until you were three sizes smaller or until you were called for dinner. My mother hated the hot weather. She wasn't one to suffer in silence. If you attempted to be upbeat about the sunshine she would threaten to set fire to you. Few had air conditioners in the homes of the 70's era and a ceiling fan was as good as it got. My mother would sit around the house with a wringing wet beach towel around her neck looking like a heavy weight prize fighter and if you mentioned the weather, she behaved like one. Eventually we got our very own unit. My father installed it himself in the corner window of the lounge room which didn't really fit the window space so it was patched up with dark green bubble glass and it meant that the venetian blinds could never be pulled down, that was pretty dramatic. From then on everything was secured in that room. Doors were to stay shut, beds were set up, the cat, the dog and the caged canary were all shuffled into the cool room. With the temperature set to minus five the pets huddled together and the bird hung on tight to his perch and ducked the hurricane birdseed storm as the humming machine belted out a wind chill factor so cool it caused the vinyl couch to crack. But as far as drama went, there were no warnings, no protection and no advice. I don't doubt the consequences were severe but somehow summer just seemed a little more relaxed back then and you expected to get your big toe stuck in melting tar when crossing the road from the beach and third degree burns branded into shoulder strap marks were the tattoos of a summer well spent. We adapted. I'm not sure about the canary, but we adapted.

And here is not the news

2010-01-10T17:53:00.002+11:00

Fada "Bullet" Radio model 1000, 1946
Originally uploaded by galessa's plastics

It's going to be a hot one on Monday. Predictably the news headlines will read "41 degrees Scorcher" or "Melbourne Swelters" alongside the standard crowded beach photograph with a token toddler wading in the water dressed in swimming attire and blockout so bright you could see them from space. One thing I don't want to see in tomorrow's news is anything to do with an elephant giving birth. IT'S NOT NEWS! Sometimes it seems that the world of nature cannot exist without us. We are yet to understand why whales beach themselves but we keep insisting on trying to undo whatever it is that they are wanting to achieve. If only we could understand whale speak it would be something like "bugger off you useless two legged morons and let me die in peace". It's a bit like strangers turning up in an intensive care unit and poking at the people on the critical list and piling blankets on them to keep them warm. Very annoying I would think. And still not news.

Bananas without pyjamas

2010-01-08T18:48:00.002+11:00

United Fruit Company (1959)
Originally uploaded by el estratografico

What bollocks. Consumers are being blamed for supermarkets rejecting bananas based on perceived needs for perfection. Supermarkets that purchase 70% of the Queensland supply are forcing producers to go with open wallets to the lab men to provide agricultural trickery that is purely designed to increase the bottom line. Meanwhile we end up with fruit that tastes like packing foam. We should have choice in our supermarkets. Choice of bananas that haven't had a shot of botox, haven't been grown for the cover of Vogue and haven't got the genetic makeup of part fish part nuclear spent fuel rod. So instead these so called imperfect bananas are being mashed up into baby food and fed to the plants and animals. We're slowly dying from chemical poisoning but gee, don't the garden look great. Maybe if Jennifer whatsherface appears naked on a magazine holding a slightly blackened, not very big, a little bit wrinkled banana we might change perceptions, but I doubt it. Looks like we might be eating mulch for breakfast before long.

Older and Wii ser

2010-01-06T20:40:00.005+11:00

The beauty of getting older is the ability to care even less. I don't mean knocking over prams in the street and running off laughing, I mean caring about the need to compete with other people. Keeping up with Jones's, Hiltons, Spears and Holmes's. When I sit in the hairdresser's chair with the trash mags piled high I enjoy flicking through page after page of people whom I have no idea of who they are or what they are famous for and that makes me feel all smug and warm. It's a sense of empowerment in being out of touch. A bit like letting technology passing you by. I'm clueless about Wii things, wireless and why I'm the only person who uses punctuation in text messages. Happily ignorant becomes a right of passage similar to the right to say "you would be too young to remember this but...". It seems not long ago a spinach decorated tooth or the open shirt button exposing wobbly white flesh and frayed grey bra would have sent me into a decline of mortification but now it's a minor technicality and I've moved on faster than a ghetto blaster with twin cassette decks. So being the only grey in the village who doesn't have a DVD player, I'll just have to download another cup tea and sit back and watch the iphones pass me by.

Warning, pencils are a health hazard

2010-01-05T18:49:00.002+11:00

Imagine if you could sue for every stupid thing you did when you were young? This thought came to me as I read in the Australian today that "The Lutheran Church is being sued for almost $100,000 after a girl's finger was pierced by a pencil at one of its schools more than a decade ago." It goes on to tell us that ".... she was sitting on the floor of a classroom holding a pencil when a fellow student fell on her after being pushed by another child". Pain and suffering, loss of income, blah, blah, blah you know the rest. If I had come home from school at the age of 12 and told my mother that I was aggrieved due to a pencil piercing my finger the response would have been something along the lines of how fortunate I was that it wasn't my arse that was pierced and if I didn't shut up and do my homework it soon would be. At 12 years of age I can honestly say I would have pursued claims of negligence for bad hair days, my toast points being too sharp and Split Enz being number one again on Countdown which would have caused clinical depression followed by frequent attacks of anxiety and sleeplessness.

Fortunately nobody listened and my hair caused me no financial loss that I know of, the toast slice never caused gangrene and Split Enz eventually went to number two and I was able to live a virtually normal life. Even if it had have occurred to me to sue anybody, I don't think it would have stopped me from doing half the stupid stuff I did. And I'm really glad about that. I just hope that we don't have to have new labelling laws put on pencils with graphic images showing infected fingers turning purple from lead poisoning, I really couldn't cope with that.

Airbrushed Philosophy

2010-01-04T17:50:00.002+11:00

Apparently it takes a picture of a naked model on a magazine for us to be inspired to feel good about our bodies. Jennifer Hawkins doesn't inspire me clothed or unclothed in fact I can't think of one thing she has said that I can even remember. She's a model. She's paid to hang clothes on. She's paid to walk along a runway, turnaround and not fall off the end. She's paid to be photographed. Whether her picture has been airbrushed or not is not the issue, it's whether as women we care. When I hear about women getting botox for Christmas and I see television newsreaders with so much foreign matter injected into their faces they look like a shiny letter box I think we've got a long way to go before we can feel anything at all let alone feeling good about ourselves. I've posted a very famous photograph of Simone de Beauvoir whose birthday it is tomorrow, as someone who did and still does inspire. She lived her life by her own thought out principles. She questioned things that were not as they seemed and refused to follow. I question whether this is just a way to advertise a magazine?

Retail Rehab

2010-01-02T15:24:00.007+11:00

Gosh, the year is going by so quickly. Apparently there are Easter Eggs in the supermarkets already. According to today's online Age report about a UK supermarket chain "Customers furious at seeing egg promotions so far ahead of Easter Sunday on April 4 have launched a series of online attacks. One raged: "We celebrated Jesus being born on December 25 and just days later we're being sold chocolate to celebrate Easter." As it stands he only gets 4 months to live but even this seems a little premature. A Tesco spokesman said: "A small selection of Easter eggs are on sale in response to customer demand."

Personally I'd like to meet the customer who is actually demanding this and why he or she wants to give 4 month old chocolate. As we know supermarket Easter eggs are mostly made of cheap compound chocolate that is made from heavily processed vegetable fats so it can last all year round. It sounds as inviting as buying the prawns for next year's Christmas bbq at the same time. Supermarkets are like drug pushers waving the consumerism hit under our noses every time we think we are going clean. After throwing our money at Christmas presents like crazed junkies, the shops are calling us back with 30% off to keep us high. As the credit card bills start to come in we begin to think about rehabilitation and whether it was worth it but before we've stuck on the patches they're putting out the hot cross buns before the kids are even back at school. So if you are walking passed the confectionery aisle and you get a glimpse of something shiny and egg shaped, avert your eyes and walk away, and remember it's probably been there since last year but we didn't even notice.