Let's talk about Dex, baby

I've been meaning to write about Dexter Season 4 for some time now but watching the final episodes last night has prompted me into action. [Don't ask me how we happen to be watching the end of this season, which is only half way through on Foxtel at the moment. Suffice to say we have the technology.]

I think I've been drawn to Dexter so much because I can relate to him. No, I'm not a serial killer in my spare time (though keeping an eye on Australian politics could nudge me in that direction). But I do think I'm emotionally stunted in some way, like Dex. I don't "feel" things in the same way as other people. At least I don't think so. I used to feel but somewhere along the way I stopped feeling so much. Not sure how or why that happened but it is something I am acutely aware of, especially when something sad happens; my emotional reaction is not right, not the same as those around me, not what is required.

Anyway and as always, I digress.

After the heady heights and utter brilliance of Season 1 it has been a steady decline of Dexter for me. Of course I love love love the character and I love Michael C. Hall (who plays Dexter) but I have to say that the writing has become crappier with each passing season.

The most significant problem has been Dexter's wife Rita. She started off in season one as a wounded single mum, dealing with a dangerous, violent, druggie ex-husband; looking for comfort with gentle and non-demanding Dexter (the beautiful irony!). Over the past three seasons though she has morphed into Super Wife, some horrific graduate of Stepford; an awful, overgroomed, overdressed, whining, demanding leech. A leech who annoys the bejesus out of me to the point of me hufuffing [I may have just made that word up] about through each episode, complaining to Big Jay about how much I hate her. (It is significant that I have just read on imdb that Julie Benz who plays Rita has just signed up for Desperate Housewives, for which she is much more suited.)

Not only is Rita being written poorly but there is a lot of soap opera style drivel going on throughout the show. The stupid pointless romance between Batista and Laguerta being Exhibit A.

Apart from Dexter (who is himself being screwed over royaly by the writers if you ask me) my two favourite characters would be Debra (Dex's sister - the unluckiest girl in the world?) and the guy with the best lines Vince Masuka. I live for Masuka's quips, cracks me up every time. If the writers can get him so very right why do they fuck up with Dex and Rita so very badly?

Season 4 was giving me the shits quite badly until the last four episodes when things moved up a few gears. The end was very much unexpected but very satisfying for me. Maybe there is hope for Season 5.

Food, glorious food

As my boss Bob always says "I love food, I wouldn't eat anything else".


Part 1

One of my Chrissie pressies, from my gorgeous sister Jules, is a cooking class with Tetsuya Wakuda [obviously] of Testuyas Restaurant fame. Mum, Jules and I are going for a two hour masterclass next Wednesday.

What a fabulous and exciting prospect. Luckily it's not a hands-on class because stage fright is a major problem for me in these instances. (I once went to a David Thompson [of Sailors Thai] cooking class at the Sydney Seafood School and was asked to come up and assist him. I'm sure I did all the right things, though the details are a blur, but I certianly felt like a rabbit in the headlights.)

I'm really looking forward to sitting back and watching the master in action. What a cool present!

Part 2

While watching the Come Dine With Me marathon on New Year's Day I came to the conclusion that I would put in an application should an Australian version be created. I love the idea of the show and I'm sure I could do a reasonable job of putting on a dinner party (if I could ship the family away for the day and clear my foggy brain). It was the camera/being on television side of things which made me clammy and anxious; as you well know I turn into a dithering idiot (more so than usual) when in front of a camera.

However, from the safety of my sofa, I decided I would take on the personal challenge should the opportunity arise. I couldn't do much worse than some of the clowns who have appeared on the episodes I've watched over the years.

Imagine my surprise/excitement/relief/disappointment when I saw the ads for the upcoming Australian season, starting on 18 January! Somehow it had snuck up on me when I wasn't looking. I have checked the website and they are not advertising for new applicants. So I guess my chance to make a disgrace of myself of national television has come and gone. For the best really.

West

I went to bed early last night hoping for some much needed sleep. Instead I stayed up much later than necessary because I got hooked watching an Australian film called West.

I believe it would be called "gritty, Australian drama" in reviews and it was both gritty and very Australian.

The "west" refers to Western Sydney, where this story is set. An area which is on my doorstep but which I don't really know at all.

I really enjoyed this well written, well directed, well acted little film. It was a great big smack in the face with a slice of social realism.

It was what I like in a film: a good, simple story, nicely told, with a final scene which makes you go "aahhaa". This story went a full circle and it was elegantly done. A small gesture in the last moment making everything click into place. I so admire that in a script.

Daniel Krige, the South African born writer and director, doesn't seem to have done anything else after this 2007 production which seems a shame as he seems to have some real talent.

End of an era

I have been going to yum cha at East Ocean in Sydney's Chinatown for over 20 years. I can't remember when I started going but I can't remember not going. The place is part of our family's history. Both of my children had their first yum cha experience there, only months after joining our family.

We go to other yum cha restaurants as well. The Rhodes Phoenix, near our current home, being a new and surprising favourite. But East Ocean has always been the special place.

Yesterday was the last time I will ever eat at East Ocean. It was a sad day and an end of era.

When mum, Jules and I arrived there yesterday something wasn't right. It took longer than necessary to realise what the problem was.

The trolleys were gone.

A colourful printed menu and order sheets lay on our table. I couldn't believe it. It was horrible. Mum argued that the food was the same, better. But no it wasn't and the atmosphere was different, wrong, broken.

To me yum cha isn't just the food. Sure I love the variety of dumplings, the deep fried wonders, the crispy green steamed Chinese brocolli, the just warm egg tarts. But for me yum cha is a feeling and the trolleys are part of that feeling. The anticipation as each trolley nears: what will this one hold, an old favourite or a new surprise? The hum and buzz of the restaurant, the rattle of the trolley wheels. It's a package, an experience.

Without the trolleys the restaurant is unnaturally quiet. Flustered waiters rush from table to table, dealing with confused customers, carrying cooling bamboo baskets and plates.

I walked down the steep stairs, back onto Sussex Street, with a heavy heart. It would be the last time I visited this place which had been such a big part of my story for so many years.

Good bye East Ocean.

Avatar

Who knew it was so fucking hard to see a movie these days? Avatar was sold out at Imax and all the Gold Class sessions on the day we wanted to go. So we had to settle for a VMax session (i.e. bigger seats and a huge screen). It was still good.

The movie needs to be discussed in two parts. A) The Visual and B) The Story.

A) The visual is fucking amazing. Really. Stunning. Especially in 3D it is a beautifully imagined and drawn world. A feast for the senses. I enjoyed every minute of watching Avatar, even the last, unnecessary half hour or so when my frozen Coke filled bladder was screaming in agony.

B) The story is dull dull dull. The cookie cutter, regulation, miss-matched lovers, love story. Nothing new here. It always baffles me when people spend a gazillion dollars producing a huge movie that they can't spare a few thousand for a decent script writer, someone with - let's go out on a limb here - a bit of imagination, a bit of talent, some balls.

The thing that is most telling about how I think is that I was on the side of the "bad guys". I'm not a big fan of nature. It's OK but from a safe distance. Nature is full of things that bite you, sting you, give you a rash and/or spread disease. I prefer mine in a zoo or a postcard. If I was king I would probably just concrete everything and paint it green. Nice, neat, controllable.

So from this point of view I did not find Pandora such a great place. Sure the flowers were pretty but fuck, they were sitting on all that wonderful energy and I will take energy (to fire up my tv, my air conditioner, my hair straightener and all my other cool electric stuff) over pretty flowers and giant noisy flying lizards every single time. I knew I wasn't on the side of the angels when I was hoping for the cool nasty military robots to win the battle at the end. Also when I was day dreaming about how badly those damned Pandorians would be smashed when Earth sent up the next contingent - let's send up Rambo and Bruce Willis and see how well those tree huggers get on...

As you well know, there IS something wrong with me!

Three hours in

At 3:00 am on the first day of the new year I was awoken, after a brief sleep following the hoo haa that goes on at midnight when the new year is born and people choose to celebrate by screaming hysterically, laughing like hyenas and blowing those annoying fucking mouth blower thingies, by loud noises.

I staggered onto the deck to see what was going on. Below me, on the public path which runs between our building and the lapping waters of Duck River, I beheld an unwelcome sight. A group of young men who would be described in media reports and police press releases as "of Middle Eastern appearance" were letting off small "flying saucer" type fireworks and the occassional one which flew up high in the air made a horrific whizzing sound.

I glared at them from the dark safety of my deck, radiating hate and hoping the intensity of my feelings would zap them like a laser. I stood for a while watching as they laughed and babbled as each firework went off. I know it was evil but I badly badly badly wanted one of the fireworks to backfire and set them alight. It does not say much about the state of my sleep-deprived mental health that I was annoyed and terribly let down when they ran out of their stupid fucking fireworks and staggered off, with hardly a singed hair. How I would have laughed at the bonfire their stupid little terrorist in the making heads would have made.

What does this event signify for the start of the new year? Bugger all really. I suppose it will just be what it will be. I just hope that the state of my sleep improves because the last few days have been totally shithouse, sleep-wise. I blame Avatar...

A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever (or not)

[Yet again] I won some tickets to the preview of Jane Campion's new film Bright Star (thank you http://www.kidspot.com.au/). So yesterday afternoon, after Marianna's ballet concert, off I went with my mum to WBJ.

This movie polarised me somewhat. On the one hand it is a stunningly beautiful movie. Every scene, every frame is mesmorising in its opulance and gorgeous detail; the light and shadows, the textures of fabrics. The film is beautifully cast and the actors all do a wonderful job, though I did find Abbie Cornish a tiny bit stone faced at times.
On the other hand it was as slow as a week of wet Sundays . The action moving along like a snail on valium. It was also a good 20 minutes too long in general. Another point on the negative side of the ledger for me was that the actor playing Keats had a remarkable resemblance to my ex-husband, which was unnerving at times.

Maybe I find it hard to relax into a slow paced movie these days, maybe it was because I went to see it after Marianna's ballet concert (and had already been sitting down for numerous hours). Whatever the reason I did get restless, like a few others in the cinema around me, including the young man who kept falling asleep next to me.

Anyway, I could probably sum up by saying I loved it and it annoyed me all at the same time. Watching it was like a plate of Nouvelle Cuisine - all beauty but little substance. Maybe I'm just a cynical old cow that has trouble with these old fashioned, pure love stories. As Tina Turner put it all those years ago what's love got to do with it?...

Happy Non-denominational Festive Season

Life is super busy right now. Marianna has her ballet concert tomorrow and Sunday sees us at yet another Wiggles Christmas Concert (I'm going to miss those damned Wiggles when the kids turn 20 and don't want to see them anymore). The next week is going to disappear in seconds.


It's a week to go until THE DAY.

The day the big fat man in red visits this heathen family. You all know what I'm talking about.

So I just wanted to take a moment to wish everyone a happy and (hopefully) relaxing Holiday Season and all the good things in life (like love, health and happiness) for 2010.

I hope we can all take a moment to remember that Baby Jesus died so that we can overspend on overpriced plastic crap toys for our children and eat way more than is good for us. [I'm no biblical scholar but I'm pretty sure that's how it goes.]

Ho Ho Ho! (which will be the name of my proposed brothel... stay tuned for further developments)

Me and My Robbie

I've been listening to RW's Reality Killed The Video Star a fair bit lately. I always start of slowly, almost reluctantly. It's hard work getting to know a new album (or should I say iTunes download; it doesn't have the same ring to it, does it). It's awkward, a little uncomfortable. Always easier to put on a much loved, well known old friend, singing along in the car being one of my all-time favourite activities.

With Reality I was especially slow off the mark because the first single Bodies didn't really ring my bell.

But slowly I've been easing myself into it and now the rewards are being reaped.

I would have to say at this point my TOP TWO are:

1) Do You Mind
This is Robbie at his cheeky, naughty best. A rocking tune and when he asks:
Do, ooh ooh, ooh, ooh ya mind, if I, II, I, I, II, I touch ya?
Well, what can a girl say? Except YES YES YES (oops, did I say that out loud?).
[After re-reading this I've realised I meant to say NO NO NO, but obviously I could never say NO to Robbie.]

2) Blasphemy
This one is more of Robbie's theatrical confessional style song. Best of all there is some great play on words which I especially love. Here's a taste:
I can’t behave
I know it’s not the heathen in me
It’s just that I’ve been bleeding lately
Internally
Don’t turn to me
bite your tongue, the torrid weapon
You could learn a useful lesson


What’s so great about the great depression?
Was it a blast for you?
‘Cause it’s blasphemy

With each new album I worry that I'm going to be disappointed. After all it's hard to better or even equal Come Undone or Sexed Up or Strong. But somehow the new music grows on me and soon enough takes its place amongst the favourites list I can't wait to belt out when I'm driving my poor children from A to B (no wonder they love their iPods so much).

Prostitution

I am scared to open my email InBox these days because there is a non-stop stream of messages about up-coming concerts and events that I would like to go to. It doesn't seem to stop. Ever.

Still recovering from the Cold Chisel concert and with tickets for George Michael hot off the press, today I receive an email that Rufus Wainwright will be touring in March 2010.

He is someone I fell in love with at the Came So Far For Beauty concert and I have wanted to see him doing a solo show ever since. I fear that yet again I won't manage to see him as it so hard to afford to see absolutely everyone and everything. At some point the elasticity of our budget (ha!) can simply stretch no further.

Which brings me to ideas about how to make extra money. Being a fan of the show Satisfaction (new season starting this week) I got to thinking about prostitution. Surely it wouldn't be that bad. And I'm sure Big Jay wouldn't mind, as long as we could afford to see all the bands we like.

So now it's just a matter of finding a brothel specialising in short, fat women with big boobs and the tendancy not to shave their legs as often as they should.

AWESOME!

I don't like to throw around the big words but sometimes only the biggest will do.

Last night was one of those occassions!

Cold Chisel, live, in front of something like 50,000 adoring bogans* fans. It really was huge and fantastic. A warm gorgeous Sydney summer evening, ANZ Stadium filled with drunk (but to their credit well behaved) motor heads and a whole bunch of Cold Chisel fans who were just there for the concert, the air thick with anticipation.

When the Chisels were around I wasn't that into them. They were the peripheral soundtrack to Australian life in the 70s and 80s; if the Mentals were part of our DNA then the Chisels were the atoms we were made of. As I've got older I've come to appreciate more and more how important their songs were and what they had to say about Australian life in that era.

Last night underlined one thing for me: Ian Moss is a phenomenal talent and the backbone of the band. Sure Jimmy Barnes is the roaring voice everyone knows and loves; the public represenation of an iconic Australian band. But it's Mossy who is the spirit, the soul; not only is he the writer of most of their songs but also a brilliant guitar player, his talent on full display last night.

Every song was huge, the crowd singing along to every word, but for me When The War Is Over and Forever Now stood out. Their emotional impact heightened by the night, by the crowd.

As we walked home with our sleepy kids and our friends and their sleepy kids, I was floating on air, exhilirated by the power of the music and the occassion. Feeling lucky to have experienced it with the people I love.

* I think we may have exceeded the legal safe limit of bogans in a one square kilometer radius last night. I'm not sure but we may have also broken the record for the number of mullets in the same venue at the same time, and that was just the women.

Gibber Jabber

http://www.thefreedictionary.com/ defines "gibberish" as:

1. rapid chatter like that of monkeys


2. incomprehensible talk; nonsense

My confession at this point is that I tend to talk a lot of gibberish (as defined in both ways), especially when I meet someone new or when I'm in an anxiety inducing situation, or some combination of both.
 
Such a moment is approaching on Tuesday morning when my dear sister flies home after two years O/S with her new American boyfriend, M.
 
The idea of this fills me with great excitement and great anxiety. I just know my tendancy to gibber will be at it's peak in such a situation and I am preparing myself for the worst (and I hope you are too, JB, if you're reading this).
 
If you are reading this JB, I apologies in advance for anything stupid, offensive, unfunny, low brow and/or downright embarrassing I may, and  probably will, say.
 
As I've often said, I only open my mouth to change feet.

And The Ass Saw The Angel

No, this isn't an entry about a date between Al Gore and Ginnifer Goodwin (who admittedly isn't quite angelic, but is super cute and the best person I can think of this late at night to use in this example).

What it is is a book review of the old Nick Cave novel which I have finally got around to finishing.

I bought it as a Pengiun Classic a couple of months ago because a) I had always wanted to read it and b) it was reduced to $7.95 which is a reasonable price for a new book in my book.

I took it away on holidays to the Gold Coast with me because it is such a small book and I thought I could get through it quickly. I was wrong. Mainly it didn't grab me at first. The first few pages had me struggling and at one point I thought I would just have to throw in the towel because I couldn't cope with the protagonist's use of the term "ah" for "I" as a way of representing his hillbilly accent. At the beginning it nearly drove me round the twist.

Then I fell into it and the only thing that stopped me devouring it was the [lack of] time factor during the holiday.

So I've managed to finish it these last couple of weeks by snatching a few pages here and there. Not the most satisfactory way of reading but beggars can't be choosers.

I found myself very surprised to have so thoroughly enjoyed a book featuring not one single endearing character. There is not a single likeable person in the entire novel.

Nick Cave is fascinated with religion, the Bible and the dark side of society and the human psyche. In And The Ass Saw The Angel these points collide in a rollercoaster ride through madness.

There are certainly faults to be found for the nitpicky reader and I couldn't entirely overlook these. But overall it was a great, dark, gothic tale and the atmosphere was built perfectly. Like his songs, which resonate with my darker side, this book takes you to a place you'd rather not think about but which is fascinating nevertheless. Like a horrorific car accident, you are repulsed but can't drag your eyes away.

Burn the heretic

Who knew that one day it would come this? I don't like to say that I'm on Tony Abbott's side. There is a lot about him I don't like: the conservative Catholic ideology - anti abortion, anti divorce, yada yada.

But how can I not love a man, the only man, who is publicly showing some balls, real balls, by standing up against the most stupid, ridiculous, beyond ridiculous, waste of money, waste of public resources, waste of my sanity, piece of shit legislation ever seen in this country?

Of course, being a politician, he couldn't maintain by admiration for long. Having previously said that climate change is a "lot of crap" [I believe I'm quoting him correctly] he has now stated he's a "believer" [meaning, he hasn't totally got the guts to straight out state that the emperor is naked].

I am finding all this bullshit so increibly frustrating. Whenever something about it comes on the radio or news I literally feel my blood boiling. One of these days I will burst a gasket, I'm sure of it.

To be frank if we're going to live in a world ruled by Emission Trading Schemes and similar models of public insanity than I'm on the "I wish the world would hurry up and end already" bandwagon. Maybe I'll start a FaceBook page with that title...

No rest for the wicked

Just in case December wasn't trying to kill me I've already started to make sure that January and February will finish me off.

The ticket drawer already contains:

1) Tickets for David Sedaris.

2) Tickets for Antony and The Johnsons (with a friggin' symphony orchestra at the Sydney Opera House - heaven!)

3) Tickets for AC/DC at The Stadium.

On Friday I'll be trying to buy tickets for George Michael at the Football Stadium, also for February.

Somewhere in there we also have a weekend away planned.

Like Bon Jovi I'll sleep when I'm dead.

How's that cloning research coming along?

Jesus, do I need to clone myself!

I need to be two people, one the practical, day-to-day Kathy, who get's the jobs done, goes to work, makes sure the kids and husband are fed, cleaned and generally looked after. Then I need another Kathy to do all the fun stuff, the cool stuff, the stuff that actually makes life fantastic.

I have been accused of burning the candle at both ends (and I'm the one who does the accusing) but it's not my fault that there is just so much great stuff to do.

Just a brief rundown of life at the moment:

This weekend gone had me at a playgroup mums' end of year dinner (home at 12:30 am, which is way way way past my bedtime). Up at 6:00 am to have Marianna at swimming by 8:00 am, then ballet, pick up Will and friend from tennis, a quick (much too quick) relax by the pool while the kids have a swim, then up for lunch and to prepare for that evening's bbq. Whisk the kids off to a birthday party, home at 5:30 pm to entertain friends with a bbq.

Sunday up early again to finish cleaning up from the night before, quick visit to Target and the shops for a few bits of this and that, home to make picnic basket for A Day On The Green, drive an hour and a half to Bowral, enjoy a day of outdoor music, food and fun with friends (OK, music not so good), home at 10:30 pm. God only knows how I got up for work this morning, the poor kids were wrecked and I had to take Marianna to work with me because she just couldn't manage a day at daycare.

This weekend coming starts on Thursday with a Year 4 Class Dinner (which I've organised, being the class mum - how the hell did that happen?). Friday will be dinner out with Big Jay's mum who is visiting from Perth. Sunday is the usual early start for swimming (thank goodness, no ballet this week). Hopefully some amount of relaxation by the pool and then a trek over to the Olympic Park for the Cold Chisel concert (which follows the Sydney 500 car race, which Big Jay will be taking Will to during the day).

Are you still with me?

Sunday is a birthday party for Marianna to go to bright and early. A quick trip up to the Central Coast to pick up Big Jay's mum from a relative's house and then off to the airport.

The following week my dear darling sister flies home on Tuesday after living overseas for two years! Yeah yeah yeah (insert me doing happy dance here).

Then Marianna has a birthday party on the Saturday morning. We have my work Christmas party on the Saturday night.

Sunday I am taking Marianna to see the English National Ballet do Angelina Ballerina at the State Theatre. Oh bliss! Dinner with friends in town.

Then the weekend before Christmas we have Marianna's ballet concert on the Saturday, which will be a day of boredom for 5 minutes of excitement. Then on the Sunday we're off to The Wiggles Christmas concert followed by a bbq here at Chez Nuthouse.

In the immortal words of the master ...it's all been too much for me.

I would walk 500 miles and I would walk 500 more...

... to not ever have to hear The Proclaimers and/or The B-52s live, ever again.

Look, it seemed like a good idea at the time. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

We spent yesterday afternoon and evening at Centennial Vineyards in Bowral at A Day on the Green event featuring the above mentioned bands as well as Mental As Anything. Overall it was a wonderful day, sitting out in the paddock on a lovely cool/warm summer's day with good friends and good food.

Too bad I can't really use the word "good" to describe the music. Mental As Anything were great, not musical giants by any stretch of the imagination, but good fun with lots of old favourites us Aussies have grown up with. The Nips Are Getting Bigger and If You Leave Me, Can I Come Too are practically part of our Australian DNA.

The Procalimers are a study in middle-of-the-road. Nothing offensive, but certainly a good effort at steady mediocre. Of course everybody sang along to I'm On My Way and I Would Walk 500 Miles (which is actually not the title of the song I think) which was very jolly and the kids had a ball dancing along with all the manic, drunk, sentimental adults. Unfortunately they didn't bring along their subtitles because I couldn't understand a friggin' word they were saying in between songs (and I was married to a Scot way back when, so I've had experience with this pea soup of an accent).

Now The B-52s were shocking. Really. The male singer is truly painful to the ears, his voice could strip paint, no doubt about it. That gay, nasal twang is amusing and even endearing to me in some settings (Example A: David Sedaris) but in this instance it is unbearable noise pollution. Make it stop, make it stop.

Of course we had all the favourites, Roam, Love Shack, (Something Else I Can't Remember Right Now) and the big finale of Rock Lobster. OK, all good clean fun but dear God never make me sit through it again!

[I had hoped that the girl singer, name never known, - Kate Pierson (thanks Google) - would sing Candy, that fabulous song she did with Iggy Pop a gazillion years ago, but that didn't eventuate. Given that Mr B-52 would have to have sung Iggy's part I think that's a blessing.]

The World's Biggest Above Ground Cemetary

That's what they call the Gold Coast.

And that's where we've spent the past week, holidaying up a storm and managing to avoid both retirees and Schoolies.

There were three of us families staying at Treasure Island (arrghhh, me hearties) - it sounds much more glamarous than it actually is. What it is is a Big4 Caravan Park which also has lots of very comfortable "cabins", ours was actually a two storey, 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom house - plenty of room for 4 adults and 4 kids (our other friends had their own cabin as they have 3 kids). Our cabins were situated around "our own" pool and bbq area, which was really nice and mostly we had the pool to our selves. Another family have their own holiday apartment on the Gold Coast and we spent a couple of days with them too. So on Monday night there were 17 of us at dinner.

These families are our fabulous holiday buddies. We went to Fiji with them last year and had a ball. We all have adopted children and know each other through our adoption playgroup. The kids have virtually grown up together. Each family has an older boy (our Will being the oldest and the others are 8 and 9 years old) and then younger girls (around 4 and 5 years of age) like our Marianna. Then there is poor little J who is a 4 year old boy and a bit of ring in. Anyway, they are all the best of friends and go crazy together on holidays; watching them bond is beautiful.

It was a wonderful family holiday. The dads took the big boys to Wet'n'Wild on the Monday (where they had an asbolute blast), leaving us girls to hang by the pool with the little ones. Tuesday was Golf Day for the dads (out of 40kg baggage allowance for our family 17.7kg was Jay's golf bag, sheesh!) - and may I take this opportunity to congratulate my dear husband for winning the Cup (he is so horribly pleased with himself it's a little bit scary). Again us girls spent the day hanging out with the kids by the pool. It's a hard job but someone has to do it.

Wednesday was DreamWorld day and Thursday was MovieWorld day. For someone who isn't into the big, scary, spin-you-round, spin-you-upside-down rides I just love those theme parks. We managed to fill each day from opening to closing time and could have spent a couple more hours at each park. They are just so much fun. I love the feel of these places. I especially love the sets and look of MovieWorld.

There are great rides for big and little kids, there are shows (I really enjoyed the Stunt Driving show at MW), there are animals (like the beautiful tigers at DW). Too much fun to have in one day!

Our darling Will, who is generally an absolute chicken when it comes to rides, even went on the Road Runner Roller Coaster at MW about 15 times. We couldn't believe it. Never say never, I say. Speaking of miracles, even I went on a small roller coaster at DW (it was scary, but really fun!).

The good thing about going with a group of friends is there is always someone to go on a ride with you, always someone to take a child to the toilet or wait with yours while you go, always an extra set of eyes to watch the kids, always someone to share a bag of fairy floss with.

I could go on and on about how much fun the theme parks were but all I can say is they were awesome. If you're going to go I recommend going outside of school holidays and going during the week (not the weekend). We had very small crowds and didn't need to wait for any ride (occassionally just a few minutes). The kids were able to go on a ride and then run around and get straight back onto it.

Friday was again a rest day, which involved yet more hanging out by the pool. Saturday morning we packed up and headed to the airport, just making our plane. I was exhausted Saturday night (after partially unpacking, doing some laundry and going out to do the grocery shopping).

I need a holiday after our holiday.

Stan, Stan, He's Our Man, If He Can't Win It No-one Can!

So what were you doing on Sunday night?

Picking the lint out of your belly button (like I would normally be doing)?

Me? I was sitting on the steps of the Sydney Opera House watching Michael Buble, Mika, Guy Sebastian - to name a few - performing.

Not to mention the awesome Stan Walker winning Australian Idol 2009.

Yes, I'm a dag, no arguement there. I won the tickets through a National Adoption Awareness Week T-Shirt Slogan competition. Obviously I was the only entrant, the only explanation I can come up with.

Anyway, my friend M and I were sitting in the VIP area with all the other VIPs. Actually I couldn't see anyone who actually looked like a VIP, until Jon Foreman (the ex-musical director for Oz Idol) and his boyfriend (I'm assuming) came and sat right next to us. Talk about a C Grade brush with fame.

Apart from it being 35 degrees all evening and horribly, awfully, sticky, sweaty, smelly, disgusting HOT HOT HOT it was a really fun evening.

Big Jay and I have really enjoyed watching Stan perform this season and we were really glad he won. He is a sweetheart with a gorgeous big voice. Go Stan! Hope the future is bright for you, buddy.

Definition of poignant

Dance Me To The End Of Love

If you don't feel your heart squeezing when you watch and listen to this beautiful song with the even more beautiful clip then you are even more of a stone hearted sociopath than I am.

So so so moving.

Spoiler Alert!

So you know how much I've been hanging out for the new Stieg Larsson The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest? I loved loved loved the first two in the Millennium series and counted the moments until I could read this latest and last installment. The second book was better than the first so by that logic I was expecting the third book to be better again.

Right?

Right?

WRONG!

I am very sorry to report that Hornet's Nest was a giant let down. There were many problems, here are the main points:

a) Lisbeth Salander, our heroine and super kick-arse protagonist, barely features at all. She appears in a very vague capacity and only has one great action scene in the last 50 pages. While the story seems to revolve around her, she is very much in the background.

b) There is no tension, no suspense, no which-way-will-the-arm-wrestle-end. The bad guys are stupid and bumbling and are portrayed as such incompotents that they would be pushed to find their own arse with a torch and a map. The good guys are so clever and insightful and good looking and just plain fantastic they can't put a foot wrong and don't. From the very beginning it is clear what the outcome will be. Thus no suspense. Boring!

c) I am no expert on the Swedish legal system (which may be a surprise to some of you!) but I am fairly confident when I say it wouldn't work as portrayed in this book. If it does, whoa baby, that country is truly fucked up.

d) This books makes it doubly clear that poor old Stieg Larsson was using the character of Blomkvist as an alter-ego for himself. Not only does Blomkvist screw everything that isn't nailed down (and strangely the ladies seem to find this out of shape, obsessive journalist irrisitable) but he can do no wrong, including dodging bullets.

Look, I know my expectations were high but this book was thoroughly disappointing. I read it at super speed (for me) hoping against hope that the next page, or the next, would bring that twist or drama I was expecting. But nothing eventuated. The occasional piss weak "twist" was so pathetic that the author didn't even resolve it because it was bleeding obvious that it was a sad construct which a three year old could see around.

If I was a conspiracy theorist I would go as far as to suggest that Stiegg Larsson died before (instead of after) he completed this third installment. Perhaps he had the bones of this book with the publisher and upon his untimely death the publisher had a ghost writer finish what was obviously going to be a gold mine the third book. Or perhaps Mr Larsson caught a bit of Stephen King disease (I clearly remember reading The Dark Half and thinking "what the fuck?!" - I couldn't believe the same person who had written The Stand and It and Carrie had written that piss poor crock of shit).

Whatever the explanation Hornet's Nest is not a shadow of the Dragon Tattoo and Played with Fire.

So now I'm looking forward to the next Sue Grafton Kinsey Millhone mystery in December. Surely dear Kinsey wouldn't disappoint....

Media Whores!

I take back everything nice I've ever said about Jon and Kate. I used to think they were kind of cool because they actually talked about how tough it was to be parents, especially parents of eight small children. They seemed kind of "normal".

Well, obviously they weren't and aren't.

What they are is media whores. MEDIA WHORES. Especially Jon.

Since their split they have been continuously attacking each other in the celebrity media. Yesterday when I was flicking around I caught Jon and his new 13 year old girlfriend on Entertainment Tonight, with the dramatic voiceover saying something like "Have they really broken up?". What the...? To his credit Jon was looking mightily sheepish, as he should. He should be looking as sheepish as it is possible for one human being to look. Because he is a major fuckwit.

Pull your heads in Gosselins. Have a little dignity, people.

Do you know who I am?

Kathy,

It is my pleasure to inform you that on September 24th, 2009 your information was reviewed and accepted for inclusion in the 2009/2010 edition of our registry.

Strathmore's Whos Who each year, recognizes and selects key executives, professionals and organizations in all disciplines and industries for outstanding business and professional achievements.

This recognition is shared by those who have reached a distinguished level of success in their chosen profession.

Please take a moment to complete the invitation by clicking on the link below. We ask that you complete it carefully, as it will be reviewed by our editorial department.

http://www.formdesk.com/pgn6/STR

** Please complete the online link by October 10th.

Strathmore's Whos Who is pleased to inform you that there are no fees or dues to be included in the publication.

On behalf of the CEO and our esteemed staff, we wish you continued success.

Sincerely,

J. Edward Simmons
Vice President, Research Division

Strathmore's Whos Who
26 Bond St.
Westbury NY 11590
______________________________________________________________

This arrived in my InBox a moment ago. I get similar emails on a weekly basis.

All I can say is that these people simply recognise greatness when they come across it. Enough said.

My old boyfriend

Speaking of perving, did you see my old Sydney Swans boyfriend Ryan O'Keefe on Celebirty MasterChef last week?

Words (almost) fail me. What a lucky lucky girl his wife must be (BBBBIIIIITTTTTCCCHHHH!!!!!)...

Not only is he a tall, gorgeous Adonis like male who plays (generally fantastic, lately not so good) AFL at the top level for the best team but he makes his own pasta, from scratch. My GOD, if he likes Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain he would be the absolutely perfect male specimen.

Anyway, he didn't win (it was rigged!) but he did win my heart all over again.

Wrong

I know it's wrong. Very wrong.

But a girl has eyes. You can't expect me to sit through my daughter's swimming class with my eyes closed every week, now can you?

Is it my fault that they seem to recruit their young male swimming instructors from a male modelling agency?

Who knew I was going to turn into a dirty old lady perv in my later years?

Now that you mention it, the signs have been there for a long time. Sad.

Mamma Mia... I want to go again, my my...

I want to see the stage version of Mamma Mia every day for the rest of my life!

I am not exaggerating.

I loved every single wonderous, joyous moment of it yesterday and I would have been ready to come back and see the evening performance last night.

Some might think it a cheesy, tiresome, musical attack on the senses (I'm talking about you DB), a musical equivalent of a bag of Twisties and just as good for you, but I found it a little slice of heaven.

The beautiful simple set design, the delicious costumes, the actors (especially Lara Malcahy as Rosie) and, of course, the songs. Aaaahhhh, the songs. [It is worth noting that The Winner Takes It All sound so different to the ears of a middle aged woman when sung by a middle aged woman. What a heart squeezing song it is.]

The last bit. The last bit is pure fun. Jumping up and dancing and singing with the cast. Floating out of the auditorium on a cloud of joy and adrenalin.

Thank you for the music, indeed.

The other woman

Last night as Marianna was falling asleep she sat up and said "Mum, when will we visit Nury?".

She often talks and asks about her birthmum but this time it shook me up a little. There was something about her tone and expression which made me wobble. Usually I'm very cool and unemotional about these conversations. I've always thought I am comfortable with the idea of my children's birthmothers. They are part of our family, whichever way I want to emotionally deal with them.

But last night I felt an emotional tug I hadn't experienced before. I can't quite put my finger on it; what it was and why it turned up last night, unannounced.

He's not the Messiah...

I am wondering today if anyone who voted for KRudd and his Labour Party believing them to be the great white hope/s still clings to any bit of optimism.

If this current refugee situation doesn't crystilise their total sameness and lack of real political balls as compared to the much maligned previous Liberal government than I wonder what will make people wake up.

It's pretty obvious I've never been a fan of Labour, though to be honest that doesn't make me a big supporter of the opposition, I just am by default. I find that there is little real definition in politics. The humanitarian and social issues which are of concern to me don't have much of a voice amongst either side of politics. So I generally loathe all politicans and what the game of politics turns people into.

As I was driving into work today I was just thinking that if some people thought that KRudd was going to offer some sort of "softer", possibly more "human/e" alternative, than they must be mightily disappointed right now. I think I had some small, vague hope too. But the refugee ping pong game continues. Whichever way you look at things, what's happening to those people right now can not be viewed as a humanitarian solution. I have conflicting feelings about refugees, especially the ones we are watching on our news right now, but that topic needs it's own post at another time. All I know is I feel sad and helpless when I see those women clutching their children. How would it feel to be that desperate? I truly can't imagine but in my gut I know that in a parallel universe that could be me and my children.

Boy with a Barbie

I'm listening to Ben Lee's The Rebirth of Venus quite a bit lately.

I really love Boy with a Barbie. Right now I would say it's my favourite song off the album. [Is album an old fashioned word? What do you young people call these things now?]

Not only does it have a wonderful 80s-ish electronica beat but I love the sentiment.

Speaking of sentiment, I Love Pop Music, is also a gorgeous little song. While he does his best to ruin this one for me by throwing in reference to the Global Warming Hoax and also featuring the highly annoying Missy Higgins (who, I have to admit, sounds rather good on this song) I can't help but love it and it's message.

As always, Ben manages to put together songs which make me feel good and reflect my natural optimism about life. There's nothing better than seat bopping to one of Ben Lee's CDs in the car on a Saturday morning.

Try to tell that to the young people of today and they won't believe you...

Do you remember the Four Yorkshiremen skit? God, I love that skit. Classic and brilliant Monty Python.

A couple of week's ago on Richard Glover's Thank God It's Friday, a comedy current affairs hour which can be found on Sydney 702 Local Radio on Friday afternoons, Richard asked some of his guests to do a modern re-write of the skit and Subby Valentine came up with an absolute ripper.

If you click HERE and then fast forward to 13:45 minutes into the podcast you will go directly to the bit which made laugh so much I almost burst a gasket. Otherwise listen to the whole program, I find them a weekly treat and download each week's show via iTunes.

One thing I noticed while watching the tribute to Don Lane last night was how REAL the stars looked way back when.

They actually had crooked, discoloured teeth, wrinkles, pores, frizzy hair. You couldn't possibly let a person like that on television these days, they'd scare people.

Alan Alda's teeth were positively yellow, shock horror!

The bits of interviews they showed were so entertaining. People used to be able to say and talk about anything. They were able to let "themselves" through and actually interact with their interviewer in a real way.

Imagine that. Twenty, thirty, forty years ago people had to have some ability, some semblence of talent to be called entertainers. They had to have some personality (as opposed to being a personality, which these days is often an oxymoron).

They were able to take part in a television interview without having every question wrangled and edited by their 23 media coaches and image consultants.

Watching the show last night made me realise how different the media is these days, how homogonised and diluted and controlled. The stars are trotted around to promote their films, tv shows, books with well rehearsed and pre-prepared amusing quips which show nothing of themselves. They are botoxed and blow dried within an inch of their lives, so that we see a glossy, airbrushed version of a human being.

I'm definitely one for progress (you can't stop it you know) but I really wonder if we're going in the right direction (like NSW, side joke for JB, sorry) with all this bs. What do you think?

P.S. Rest in peace Don Lane, you really seemed like a top bloke.

P.P.S Rest in peace Pop (Big Jay's grandad). He passed away yesterday, exactly two weeks after Nan.

Since I love a MEME (but enough about you, let's talk about ME!) I'm taking up Kath's Food Fetish meme challange.

1) What's your #1 comfort food?

HOT CHIPS. Without a doubt. There's nothing I crave more when I'm tired and/or stressed than a mountain of hot chips, preferrably the chunky crunchy ones with extra chicken salt (how do they make salt out of chicken?).

2) If you were stranded on a desert island what 5 foods would you want to have with you to survive on?

A never ending supply of above mentioned hot chips, prawns, oysters (natural only), avocado and watermelon.

3) What are your signature dishes (what dishes are you known for making)?

1) Pavlova Roll (most people who come to our place for summer bbqs are subjected to some version of my pav roll - strawberries inside, chocolate shavings on top or mango inside, strawberries on top or peaches inside, toasted almonds on top, the possibilities are endless).

2) Chocolate Buttermilk Cake (not sure if I'm "known for it" but it something I make regularly and it's yummy).

3) Banana Muffins (I am constantly using up old bananas by making muffins, usually they include some frozen raspberries and pecans and are made with yoghurt or buttermilk, so they are reasonably healthy. I tend to take a batch to the office most weeks.)

4) Everything in the fridge winter soup (I have been working on an always changing meat and veg winter soup which Big Jay loves. It involves throwing in whatever cooked meat is floating about - e.g. leftover roast beef or lamb - with a huge amount of vegies, a tin of tomatoes, stock and a handful of barley or small pasta, some herbs, chili and whatever else looks appealing at the time.)

5) Asian-style Wombok Salad (a gorgeous Asian coleslaw type salad made with thinly sliced Wombok, lots of other salad veg, toasted cashews, sometimes those crunchy noodle things and a dressing made with soy sauce, sesame oil, lemon or lime juice, a little olive or macadamia nut oil. This even works as a main meal with the addition of some marinated, cooked, sliced chicken thigh fillets.)

4) It's Friday night you don't know what to cook, you opt for?

If I don't want to cook on a Friday night it's generally take away - Thai or (the newly discovered) Crust Pizza, occasionally a bbq chook and chips. Otherwise, bacon and eggs - you can't beat this breakfast classic for a quick and yummy dinner.

5) What's your ultimate food weakness?

The previously mentioned hot chips. I love fried chicken too (why are the good things always the bad things?) and have been known to be partial to KFC's Hot & Spicy (love/hate relationship really).

6) What food can you soooo not eat?

Generally I would eat, or try, pretty much anything. I used to hate celery but now will eat it (cooked) happily. I'm not a fan of peas, but will eat them if they are put in front of me. Tend to stay away from the usual suspects like tripe and haven't tried the chicken's feet at yum cha yet (but would do so if someone else was game). Hate, hate, hate the buckwheat my mum would semi-regularly present as a sidedish when I was growing up; just the thought of it makes me feel ill.

7) You need a drink, you grab a ...

Love a Caffeine Free Diet Coke with ice and slice of lemon (or normal Diet Coke if it's around lunch time, otherwise I won't sleep that night). Love an icy cold glass of water. Love a really good chocolate milkshake or banana smoothie (like Big Jay ordered at Cucina Viscontini, our local Italian deli/cafe, last Sunday).

8) What's the most decadent dish you've ever had?

The most decadent meal I've ever had was an anniversary dinner with Big Jay at Quay restaurant a couple of years ago. They do a degustation set menu and every dish was amazing, both visually and taste-fully (??). It was a super expensive meal but worth every cent. We had a table overlooking the Sydney Opera House and Circular Quay (my favourite view in the world). I'll never forget that night or that meal.

9) What's your favourite type of food?

Not exactly sure how to answer that. Seafood, as a "type" of food would be my overall favourite. However, I would choose yum cha is my favourite "style" of food. Since most yum cha dishes contain seafood the two things do overlap, I guess.

10) Favourite dish?

Mud crab, stir fried with ginger and shallots, or maybe a good, not too spicy Singapore stir fried crab. I love crab. It's something I so rarely eat but I really love it, especially when it's fresh and beautifully cooked (i.e. not overcooked). Very fond memories of trying different varieties of crab at Joe's Crab Shack in LA, both times we visited in 2000 and 2005.


Got to run now, Part 2 coming up later on today.

While we're talking about when good chefs go bad let's talk about that arsehole Neil Perry.

I almost choked on my tea yesterday when I was forwarded this little nugget of comedy gold.

I particularly like how Perry says:

"I'm 52 and I'm over customers that don't understand what we do".

This is particularly hilarious because when my sister sent Perry an email to complain about the disgraceful evening she had there a few years ago his reply included a comment about how they "didn't understand what he was trying to do". I don't know Neil, I think we're all clear on what you're trying to do: be a pretentious wanker. No, really, we're all on the same page there.

Also:

"She didn't know how to complain and that turned me into a person who didn't know how to respond."

Don't you love it! Obviously the woman hadn't read The Official Guide to Complaining by HRH Neil Perry. How dare she assume she can just go about complaining about poor food and bad service when she doesn't know how to do it properly. The gall!

One thing is clear from this article and from my sister's experience, Neil Perry is a pompous ass who doesn't understand that the customers who pay his inflated menu prices are always right, even when he might not necessarily agree with them. How about a little humility you egotistical prick?

Let's talk about what's making my blood boil right now.

You know I'm a MasterChef fan. I enjoy the original English version. I enjoyed the first series of the Oz version (though I have issues with the production styling, which annoys the bejesus out of me). Now I'm enjoying the Celebrity version (bring on Ryan O'Keefe, COME ON).

What I'm hating is the Coles ads featuring MC judge (and apparently top class restauranteur) George Calombaris. You just know the man has never stepped foot in a Coles and it is so very disingenuous of him to spruik the less than wonderful "fresh" food sold by Coles.

Don't get me wrong. I shop at Coles, it's a decent enough supermarket. But I only get some fruit and veg there if no other option exists. Most of the time their produce is limp and tired and just plain yuck. Don't get me started on the state of their lettuce selection.

So for someone like George, who to me represents the best of what food has to offer, to stand up for what Coles sells us is really insulting.

The by-line for the ads and on the Coles website is "Take a fresh look at Fresh with George Calombaris" by I think it should be "We're taking the piss and so is George Calombaris".

I don't get the whole Andre Rieu thing. I really, really don't get it. At all. In any way.

But this. THIS. This is a whole new level of bizarro as far as I am concerned.

If I was offered free tickets to see this spectacle of horror or the choice of having an anvil dropped on my foot I would choose the later. After all physical injuries will heal, but the mental scars can stay with you forever.

Why does hearing Tiny Dancer always make me want to cry?

Do you remember the scene from Almost Famous, where they are all singing Tiny Dancer on the tour bus? Hurts me just to think about it.

I think we may have created a monster.

We took the kids to see Wicked a couple of weeks ago. It was fantastic. I'm not a huge fan of that sort of music (Rocky Horror is more my style) but the story and the costumes and set were amazing.

Anyway, we bought the kids the soundtrack and I downloaded it onto their iPods. They have both been listening to it constantly.

Marianna is right into it. She walks around singing "No-one loves THE WICKED!!!!" at the top of her lungs. It cracks me up!

Conversation with Marianna:

Me: "Marianna do you want lasagne for dinner?"

M: "NO!"

Me: "I can make you some eggs if you like."

M: "I want eggs!"

Me: "If you'd like me to cook you some eggs can you please say: "Mum, I'd like some eggs please." "

M: "Mum, I'd like eggs."

Me: "You need to say please. That's the polite thing to do."

M: "I can't."

Me: "You can't do what?"

M: "I can't say it." (Eyes welling up with tears.)

Me: "You can't say "please"?

M: Nods.

Me: "Why not?"

M: (Bursting into tears.) "Because it hurts my tongue."

Interesting. I think she must have the same condition as The Fonz. You know how he couldn't ever say "Sorry".

Is anyone else totally fed up with the media eating itself? You know, the whole Kyle Sandilands bullshit beat up, now the Hey Hey It's Saturday storm in a teacup.

What is happening? Why is it happening? More importantly, what have we become?

Am I too cynical to think all this shit is just a case of all publicity being good publicity? Are we just seeing the facade of the PR machine working double time to keep things in the media; thus ensuring us media consuming shmucks are constantly talking about things which, to be frank, I think we are too intelligent (or not!) to keep on discussing.

I'm really not sure if there is any genuine interest in the political correctness aspect of all this. Does anyone truly care who Kyle Sandilands upsets or is just fodder for the hungry mill? Is the Hey Hey discussion about Harry Conick's seemingly genuine discomfort or is it at all about racism or is it just an unexpected avenue for making people talk about a show which is nothing more than a nostalgic wank? Why have these stories continued to be featured as actual news stories in prime time bulletins?

I don't know about you but I'm baffled, annoyed and downright over it.

Big Jay's grandma died today. That's his birthmum's mum from Grafton.

I'm glad. She's at peace now and not suffering any more. That's a good thing.

When someone dies at a ripe old age, especially when they have been ravaged by the pain and indignity which old can bestow, I can't see it as a sad or bad thing.

I think we should celebrate their lives, be happy for the time they had. I don't understand mourning, in the sad sense, at this particular time.

Rest in peace, Big Jay's grandma.

I'm really on a roll today. First the KitchenAid, then the gym.

I've joined Fernwood gym. You know, the one for women only. I've finally become one of those women. Who knew.

I drive past this one just about every day as it is near Marianna's day care centre and only a couple of minute's drive from work.

Something about it looks inviting.

So today I got online and had a look at the classes they have and dropped in after work to have a chat and a look around.

It seems like exactly what I want and need; clean, quiet, peaceful; women who don't look like they break balls just for kicks; a total lack of young blokes posing in front of mirrors.

I don't want be unrealistic. I just want to lose 3-5 kgs and tone up. I want to feel fitter, firmer. The year since the hysterectomy has seen my body soften more than ever. I guess that's nature and I'm fine with that. But at 41 I don't want to fall apart altogether, I don't want to get old before my time.

They are offering a "free" personal training session once a week until Christmas - so I figure I can fit in about 8 or so between now and then (I'm officially joining from the 19th as Big Jay is away in Perth for the next week). I've never worked with a PT before and I'm really hoping it will be a positive experience.

Mostly I'm looking forward to the Pump classes and a spot of Yoga, I used to really love those way back when...

I'm giddy with excitement, happiness and a little sick at the thought of it.

Today I've bitten the bullet and purchased something I've been dreaming about for quite some time:

Yes, it's a KitchenAid Artisan in Almond Cream. A truly beautiful piece of kitchen machinery.

My crappy little hand held device (no, not that hand held device) has finally kicked the bucket and today an email arrived announcing a super special at my favourite online kitchen stuff store (www.evertenonline.com.au - if you need top quality kitchen gear at really good prices - no, I don't get a commission but I should). So I took it as a sign from, well, someone...

I've ordered it and with any luck it will be delivered tomorrow or Monday. Woohoo!

The bad news is the price, $649 on super special. Yes, that's a frightening amount of money for something which basically mixes things. But I'm looking at it from a few angles: it's an heirloom item; it should last until I'm of retirement age (at least the current retirement age, possibly not the new one); it's retro good looks will make it a gorgeous addition to my kitchen; it will make all those pavlova rolls I make for summer BBQs so much easier; it simply makes me happy.

I've been wanting to verbalise my thoughts on the Roman Polanski drama but haven't quite got around to it. Then I came across THIS on a blog I don't read often enough. It puts my thoughts, more or less, into the words I haven't had time to type.

If you have any interest in the subject take a moment to read this post.

Otherwise here is a brief synopsis: Roman Polanski is a major creep. He bad, must pay.

I bought a pair of these Rockport (Darcy) shoes yesterday. This picture doesn't do them justice.

To be frank I love them, I really, really love them. If it was legal I would marry them.

Not only are they gorgeous, patriotic (country of choice, colours fit a few) but they are so comfortable I refused to take them off at the shop and wore them home. I would have slept in them had I a more understanding husband. They are light as a feather and I feel like I'm walking on a cloud wrapped around a marshmallow when I wear them.

I know that Rockport are an old people's brand but I can live with that. If the shoe fits, etc.

This morning I heard on the news that the Lane Cove Tunnel is up for sale. They are saying not enough, nowhere near enough, people are using it. They can't understand why.

It's a nice tunnel. I like it. I don't think there's anything wrong with the tunnel per se.

I think what's wrong is that the people of this city, especially the people living in the North West region of this city are sick to death of being fucked over by the state government. The whole M2/Epping Road/Lane Cove Tunnel fiasco has been a joke and a diasaster from day one, but instead of admitting it and quitting while they were behind the state government just kept on compounding the problems and those of the commuters.

It's not that people don't like the tunnel, it's that the people have had enough of the blatant manipulation, the poker faced "we're doing this for your benefit" bullshit. Have you driven on the M2 in peak hour? It's a car park, a very expensive car park. And where do you go once you've paid for a visit to this car park? The Lane Cove Tunnel, where you are charged some more of your hard-earned to continue on with your miserable trip.

People are simply voting in the only way they know how: by avoiding it, even if it means going out of their way to use other roads and/or catching the private buses (which use the bus lanes on Epping Road, thus avoiding the Tunnel).

Seriously. The fact that the government employs countless "consultants" (I'm going to start using that word as an insult, as in "you consultant") who are paid a gazillion dollars to write reports of totally no value and then the government acts on these reports, using our money to not only pay for the useless reports but for the capital works which follow. Then everyone is surprised when the population isn't happy.

Blind Freddy could tell that the Lane Cove Tunnel was going to be as popular as Warwick Capper at a feminist convention. Now everyone is acting all surprised. Sheesh!

Some of you may be wondering what this whole Carbon/Emissions Trading thing is all about. There is certainly a lot of talk about it in the media.

I thought I'd take a moment to give you a practical demonstration of what this will mean to you.

Firstly, take a $20 note out of your wallet, cut it into small pieces, then go and put in your toilet. Flush.

There. You have just found out what the KRudd government is proposing.

Of course the proposed fees/taxes/stealing is aimed at the business world; the awful, evil, horrible, suck the marrow out of little babies business world. You know the business world that doesn't do anything but pollute the environment and rip off all and sundry. So that makes it all OK. Stealing from business is like a Robin Hood-style take from the rich and give to the poor scenario. All good.

Except of course that evil, old business actually employs, well, pretty much most of the adult population of our country. But let's not mention that. While we're at it, let's not mention that all these stupid taxes are going to be passed straight onto us, you and me, the good ol' Australian consumer. So everything we buy is going to directly or indirectly go up in price. Utilities, milk, donuts, tennis lessons. Everything.

Now this might be exceptable if there was any tiny, minescule possibility that this money, this stolen money, was actually going to result in anything beneficial happening for Australia, the planet, the universe, you and/or me and/or our children and grandchildren, etc. Except it won't. Not to the smallest extent.

I believe that so strongly, with every atom of my polluting, evil, Western middle class body that I would bet the value of my house and every cent I have ever and will ever earn on it, should Centabet offer any sort of odds.

Oh FUCK. We're in so much trouble (and I don't mean because of this Climate Change Hoax) and there are very few people with any balls who are willing to talk about it. Most days I am happy to observe from a distance as the population bow and scrape to the naked Emperor but sometimes I want to scream and stomp my feet and throw myself on the floor of the universal Coles supermarket and shout "wake the fuck up".

Cool news.

Ben Lee and his wife Ione Skye had a baby girl.

It may just be humdrum celebrity gos to you but it's meaningful to me.

Forgive me for repeating myself but not only did Ben Lee go to school with my sister but he makes music I love, music that makes me feel happy and grateful and alive.

The fact that he is married to Ione Skye is a cosmic mind fuck because I love Ione Skye. She is my icon, my goddess, my apex of human perfection. Why? Because not only is she beautiful, but for a brief period of time she was filming Say Anything (my all time favourite film. EVER.) alongside John Cusack (my all time favourite actor. EVER. well, at least in the films he did in the 90s plus High Fidelity) which is written and directed by Cameron Crowe (one of my all time favourite writer/directors) BUT and ALSO at the time she was filming this cinematic masterpiece she was also living with (in the Biblical sense) one ANTHONY KEIDIS, yes THAT Anthony Keidis.

Does anyone really deserve that sort of wonderfulness? (Let's not bring up the fact that Anthony would have been a horrific heroin addict at the time of their relationship and as such probably a total nightmare to be with.)

So time comes and goes and here she is, 20 years later, married to Ben Lee and with a baby.

The cosmos moves in weird and amazing ways, don't you think.

In celebrity news:

Did you see Toni Collette on the Emmy's last night? Talk about when good fake tan goes bad. She looked horrific, seriously. She was so gold, head to toe, she actually looked like an Oscar statuette. I love Toni (she'll always be Muriel to me) but she really looked awful.

Did you see Hugh Jackman pontificating about climate change on the news this morning. I love you Hugh; you're gorgeous and talented. But seriously shut the fuck up on this shit. You're just shovelling shit onto a pile which is very deep already.

I'll just sit back now and wait for Entertainment Tonight to call me about that job offer....

There's a bumper sticker floating around the office:

"Woolworths - Backing our Farmers 09"

HA! Nothing wrong with it except the first two letters of the second word should be "Fu".

I've said it before and I'll say it again: they have one hell of a sense of humour over there in the Woolies' marketing department.

There's been a lot to write about but not much time to write it this week. Busy busy.

I've been thinking about lots of things. Pedophiles. Kyle Sandilands. The fucked up, knee-jerk reaction, media sound bite driven society we seem to live in. My desire to stop watching and listening to the news and my inability to do so.

Will try to clear my head, find some time and put down my thoughts sometime soon. No guarantees.

Let me entertain 'roos, says outback Robbie Williams

I love the headline and I love the idea.

Come on Down... Under, Robbie. There are a couple of very nice apartments for sale in my building. We could be neighbours.

Imagine that!

"Just popping down to borrow a cup of sugar from our nice neighbour Robbie, dear."

"Why are wearing that sexy lingerie, darling?" [This is my fantasy and I don't look like a half melted marshmallow in this fantasy, OK!]

"Oh, no reason... back soon..."

Did I say that out loud?

Would you buy your dog sparkling mineral water for the measley cost of $42.50 for a 4-pack? You can here if you'd like.

What do you make of this sort of thing? Is it a sign of a healthy society which values animals or a totally fucked up bit of ridiculousness?

I like pets as much as the next person (possibly a bit less if the next person is my dear sister) but I wouldn't buy $10+ a bottle mineral water for my family, let alone my pets.

It just makes me feel sad and bemused at the mental health of the people both marketing and buying this stuff.

Just a quickie to say "Happy 1st Anniversary" to my hysterectomy.

Last Friday was one year since I had my girlie bits removed and to be honest I haven't missed them for a second. Sure the hot flushes are not fun and it's taken me pretty much all year to get them somewhat under control (currently with the help of Remifemin) but I don't miss the periods and all the associated crapola and I certainly don't miss the pap smears.

Life is good.

Ryan O'Keefe (yes, my ex Sydney Swans boyfriend, now replaced by younger, improved model Jesse White) is going to be on Celebrity MasterChef. I was fantasising about a Nude Celebrity MasterChef (with clear plastic aprons of course, you wouldn't want any nasty fat burns down there!!) when I read that QLD Premier Anna Bligh was also going to be a contestant at which point the idea of any sort of nudity made me feel a little sick. So bring on fully clothed Celebrity MasterChef. I can't wait!

Then, when things just couldn't get any better I heard that RW, Robbie Williams, the Robmeister, was coming to the Land of Oz in November to promote his new album at the ARIAs (that's the Australian Record Industry Awards for the non-Australians amongst you). So with all the excitement I forgot that the ARIAs are lame. But who cares! If he was appearing at the local Bowling Club I'd be there. The good thing about the ARIAs is that they are on at Acer Arena which is walking distance from my house and they do the red carpet thingy so I can totally and utterly disgrace myself by hanging out with the 12 year old screamers and wave at Robbie when he gets out of the limo.

I know! I really have no dignity whatsoever. But surely you know that by now.

For those of you who think that making children live in an apartment in Australia (the land of the quarter acre block) is cruel and unusual punishment, here is Exhibit A:

This is our virtual backyard, the park just downstairs from our apartment. Notice the water backdrop, the grass, the garden and the paths for bike and scooter riding. Notice the happy smiling children (yes, they do smile and are happy occassionally, when they are not lementing how mean and horrible their parents are).

Here is a photo I like even better:

These pics were taken by their Baba (my mum) who looked after them on Sunday while I was out galavanting with my girlfriends. Thanks, Baba!

This time of the year we start getting these Christmas Hamper catalgoues at the office. You know the type, baskets full of cheap grog and crappy crackers packaged with some cellophane and a ribbon and sold to corporates for premium prices. Nothing says "thank you for your custom" more than a basket full of Jacob's Creek and Nobby's Nuts (nibble Nobby's Nuts before Nobby nibbles yours - cracks me up every time!).


Anyhow, a catalogue arrived today and it made me think "this global recession thingy is really hitting some people hard". Amongst the $75, $150 and $300 baskets were a few new additions. The enticilingly titled Blitzen's Bon Bon (what mental image does that invoke?) is a mesh bon bon shaped gift bag containing, wait for it, 80g of chocolates - at the budget conscious price of $7.50. Then, if your business is really counting the pennies, there is the small gold box containing 100g of shortbread for $3.50.

Personally, I'm thinking if your business can only afford a $3.50 gift for their customers and/or staff, don't bother. I know they say it's the thought that counts but that's blatantly not true. I can't imagine anyone opening their box filled bountifully with 100g of third rate shortbread and thinking "woo hoo, they love me, they really love me" nor "this is a shithouse gift but it's the thought that counts". More likely they would be thinking "tightarse bastards!".

Seriously though, if a business is that tight and/or broke, a much better way to spend limited funds would be to donate some money to charity and then send out Christmas cards or emails with a small mention of the fact. I would certainly appreciate that more than receiving Blitzen's Bon Bon from a grateful supplier.

I'll never forget the first time I saw Pulp Fiction. Wow, that film just knocked me around and upside-down; it was such a different way to tell a story. I loved that the audience had to think, had to be somewhat intellectually active, if only to connect the dots and put things together. It didn't follow the usual formula of spoon feeding the viewer with the story in a linear fashion.

At that moment I knew that Quentin Tarantino was not your usual film maker. Reservoir Dogs had given us a hint but Pulp Fiction was his masterpiece.

Since then he has dithered around, never really producing anything which has impressed me at all. With Inglorious Basterds I had some slightly higher hopes.

Let me start by saying that anyone who is lactose intolerant should stay away from IB because it is, at times, so cheesey you may have a terrible reaction.

I wanted to really love it but I didn't. It has potential and Quentin has an amazing imagination but it just doesn't sizzle. There are simply too many lame bits, bits that fall short, bits that are plain stupid.

Like The Producers this is a Nazi slapstick comedy of sorts. But it's a very black comedy and I thought it didn't find the right way to straddle the two ideas; the funny and the horrific. While I laughed at times and was horrified at times I left feeling very unsatisfied.

The close ups of Brad Pitt did send me on a trip down memory lane to a time when I first glimpsed him in Thelma and Louise and thought "that guy is gorgeous, who is he?" and then in Kalifornia when I knew he was going to be somebody. To be honest I felt a little sorry for him, he seemed uncomfortable, not sure of who he was supposed to be.

Anyway, I'll be interested to hear what others thought of Inglorious Basterds. Maybe my expectations were too high.

I think I may have made a terrible mistake.

Yesterday morning during a frenzied shopping sprint through my local Coles I bought the 6 in 1 Morning Fresh Power Tabs for the dishwasher (2 packets for $10). Imagine my horror when I got home and realised the Power Tabs I had been using were actually TEN in ONE. Oh. My. God. I bought the ones with FOUR less actions (no wonder they were on special).

So this morning I got out the old and new boxes to check exactly what four actions I would have to do without.

Apparently the 10 in 1 product includes these 10 very important dishwashing actions:

1) Dissolving wrapper (Huh? That's not an "action", it doesn't help in the washing of the dishes surely, simply a packaging description.)

2) Breaks down starch

3) Attacks proteins

4) Targets food thickeners

5) Cuts through grease

6) Leaves dishes sparkling

7) Protects glassware

8) Active oxygen

9) Fragrance

10) Stain penetrating action

Now correct me if I'm wrong but don't actions 2-8 plus 10 actually just translate to: cleans dishes?

The inferior 6 in 1 product is described as follows:

1) Enzyme action to break down food

2) Removes stains

3) Dissolvable wrapper (there's that friggin' wrapper again)

4) Cuts through grease

5) Leaves dishes sparkling

6) Fresh fragrance

Following on with this sort of marketing logic you could have a "2,000 in 1 action" tab:

1) Removes tomato sauce stains

2) Removes bbq sauce stains

3) Removes gravy stains

4) Removes chicken stains

5) Removes beef stains

.... you get the idea. Are these people nuts? Why is this marketing so cynical? Surely people aren't that stupid. Why can't products be what they are? Surely a tablet you put in your dishwasher to clean dishes should do just that, without the bullshit. It's not that they are lying, it's just that they are dazzling us with nonsense.

They were talking about raising teenagers on ABC702 just now. One lady rang up and said "when you have little children you often say they are so gorgeous you wish you could eat them up and when they grow into teenagers you wish that you had".

Regularly I have moments, like yesterday morning when Marianna had the mother [pun intended] of all tantrums because I wouldn't let her carry the box of jelly beans I had just bought her, when I understand why some animal species eat their young.

Do you ever wish those damned scientists would just stop doing research and give us all a break?

Right now I'm listening to the midday news and they are saying that scientists have "discovered" that eating cured meats (ham, salami, etc) is linked to higher rates of bowel cancer in adults. They are urging all of us to restrict our cured meat intake to 70g a week (apparently that's two ham sandwiches) and to stop our children eating the stuff altogether.

Oh for fuck's sake. What are we allowed to eat? Everything is bad for us, absolutely everything. Everything is going to make us fat and/or give us cancer and/or diabetes and/or some other disease they haven't discovered yet.

Considering that eating is such a dangerous occupation and breathing the polluted air is bad for us, as is driving, flying, crossing the road and pretty much just living, how come we are all living longer than ever and each year our life expectancy is increasing, despite all the doom and gloom bullshit?

I do know the truth though. The only thing that is really bad for my [mental] health is listening to the news. It might not literally kill me but it does make me loose the will to live.

Last week I found a website which sells t-shirts, mugs, stickers, etc.

I wanted to buy the t-shirts which state:

CLIMATE CHANGE HERETIC

and

SANTA CLAUSE
EASTER BUNNY
TOOTH FAIRY
GLOBAL WARMING

But they were expensive and I'm too old and chunky to wear band-style t's these days.

So I thought about getting the stickers instead but realised some feral hippy type would probably vandalise my poor car for daring to voice dissent. They don't take kindly when you point out the emperor is sans clothing.

I will probably order myself a mug. At least the people I work with all know exactly how naked the poor old emperor really is.

In other weekend news:

* The Swans lost by 5 points to Geelong. It was frustrating and a little sad but reassuring, they didn't get flogged. (The bright side is they are definitely out of finals contention now so we have a free run through September, first time in years.)

* Today was a gorgeous, sunny, 28 degrees, perfect. We had a bbq breakfast on the waterfront with our friends G, T, A and R. It was wonderful. A beautiful taste of spring.

* Marianna and I are getting the hang of her Saturday morning 8 am swimming lesson followed by her 9 am ballet lesson. It's an early start but then we have the rest of the day free. She copes well, to her credit.

* I went for a MediPedi yesterday afternoon. It promises "baby feet" and it came pretty close. I have booked in for 6 treatments. It's pretty amazing how wonderfully soft they got my rough old footsies without using any sort of blade, just some special chemical. Hopefully the result will be long lasting.

Never a dull moment.

Marianna and I were in Myer today, doing a little browsing while Will was at a birthday party watching Coraline. Nothing exciting, just a little pottering around in the kitchen section, searching for an oil container of some sort, something to house my macadamia nut oil which came in an almost unuseable container.

So one minute Marianna is next to me, the next minute she is gone. I really mean gone. Scary gone. Where the fuck has she gone, gone. Running around calling her name, getting terrified, gone. Calling security, panicking, gone. I'm not generally a worst case scenario type of girl but I was so bloody scared. Do you know where she was? Sitting quietly behind a dryer in the whitegoods section. That's where one of the saleswomen found her, just sitting quietly.

I'm not sure what happened really. I think she was hiding from me and then got scared herself. Tonight she told me she was very scared but she can't fully explain why.

It was one of those tiny moments in life when I could glimpse how someone's life can go from 0-100 km/hour shithouse in 5 short seconds.

I've been meaning to post about this for a while. The 4 Ingredients girls. Before I knock them I do want to say there is probably room for their sort of cooking. I can't loftily assume that everyone possesses a certain level of kitchen know-how and confidence; some people just don't feel comfortable in the kitchen. The problem is, if they have a tv show and a publishing deal, so should the home economists who write the recipes for Campbells or MasterFoods which appear on the back of the sachets and tins.

I saw them do a recipe the other day for Eggs Benedict. The 4 ingredients were: eggs, English Muffins, ham and Hollandaise Sauce. Hmmmm. What's wrong with this picture?

You can't just say "Hollandaise Sauce" as an ingredient. It's like saying I can make minestrone with one ingredient: a can of minestrone soup (open can, place in microwave safe bowl, heat, eat). This is not a recipe.

A lot of their recipes are like this. Sure there is room for simple but I think they are having a larf!

I know I've written previously about people being able to have relationships with any (consenting) animal, vegetable or mineral but I would like to discuss consent and who the animal, vegetable or mineral is in this particular story.

Woman getting married to fairground ride

Amy Wolfe, a US church organist who claims to have objectum sexuality, a condition that makes sufferers attracted to inanimate objects, plans to marry a magic carpet fairground ride.

This follows a "courtship" of 3,000 rides over ten years with the 80ft gondola ride called 1001 Nachts.

Miss Wolfe, 33, from Pennsylvania, will change her surname to Weber after the manufacturer of the ride she travels 160 miles to visit 10 times per year, according to reports “I love him as much as women love their husbands and know we’ll be together forever,” she said. [Well, unless "he" decides to run off with the merry-go-round or the ferris wheel, you know how fickle these magic carpet rides are.]

Miss Wolfe first fell for the ride when she was 13: “I was instantly attracted to him sexually and mentally." [Who wouldn't be!]

“I wasn’t freaked out, as it just felt so natural, but I didn’t tell anyone about it because I knew it wasn’t ‘normal’ to have feelings for a fairground ride.”

Ten years later, she decided to go back to Knoebels Amusement Park to declare her love. She now sleeps with a picture of the ride on her ceiling and carries its spare nuts and bolts around to feel closer to it. [I can't see anything at all wrong with this paragraph.]

She claims to believe they share a fulfilling physical and spiritual relationship and does not get jealous when other people ride it. [Look, who am I to judge. Going by many of the men I've encountered this magic carpet ride is probably capable of more emotional depth and certainly would be able to last longer in the horizontal folk dancing department. Good luck to them, I say.]

Although she faces discrimination from employers, most of her family and friends have been supportive. “I’m not hurting anyone and I can’t help it," she said. "It’s a part of who I am.”

So there you go. Maybe not the cabbage I have theoretically referred to in previous posts but an inanimate object nevertheless. The world is a strange and wonderful place, full of strange and wonderful people. I wish them every happiness.

This morning's news featured the touching story of the two American journalists freed from North Korea by hero of the day Bill Clinton.

The footage I saw included a press conference Laura Ling did upon arrival back in the US. She talked about her surprise at being taken to a mystery location by her captors, walking into a room and finding "... President [sic] Bill Clinton" there. I don't know about you, but I seriously thought the next thing she would say would be "... and he said "I'm here to get you out, but how about a quick BJ first?" ". Seriously, I would not have been surprised.

Old Bill strikes me as a guy who would not miss an opportunity to use a situation to his advantage and a quick BJ is never unwelcome. Look at the guy, he's just flown in and out of one of the main Axis of Evil countries, risking life and limb, and yet the leer is right there. You can't tell me he wouldn't have dropped his trousers right there and then, in that little room deep in the bowels of the North Korean stronghold, should the guards had stepped out for a moment.

I love Southern Fried Momma - she writes the funniest shit... and this blog entry about her parenting style and the idea of homeschooling really made me laugh/shudder/nod in empathy.

I mean who would think that homeschooling is a good idea? Seriously people, there are trained, [reasonably] well paid professionals to do this dangerous job, why would you contemplate doing it yourself. Personally I think DIY is for suckers (or at the very least enthusiastic amateurs); whether you're talking about painting the spare room (looks easy, but isn't) or clearing the blocked toilet (looks dirty, is dirty, but it's better than waiting for the slackarse husband to get around to it), it's all ugly and should be left to the specialists. Working with children is doubly more so. They are unpredictable, they can and will hurt you, their whinging voices can cause mature adults to lose the will to live. Why would you try this at home?

So if it means sitting through unbelievably dull Fete meetings (like I did last night) in order to fundraise to support the public school our children attend I'm all for it. I'll go to meetings, sell raffle tickets, bake cakes, set up and dismantle fete stalls, anything but sit down with my child and try to teach them anything. I've tried and failed and I am very reluctant to do it again.

Three cheers for the teachers of this world; the people who willingly put their lives and sanity on the line each day to teach our children so that we don't have to!

Another of life's little mysteries.

Most mornings as I drive along Victoria Road towards Gladesville to drop off Marianna at day care I see an odd sight. A little old lady, a tiny little thing about the same height and weight as Will, dressed in a billowy long little old skirt, cardigan and sneakers, is pushing a pushbike along the street. Her head is only slightly higher than the handlebars. She looks frail enough to be blown over by a strong gust of wind. Yet there she is, pushing this bike up Victoria Road, the morning peak hour traffic roaring past.

Who is she? Why is she pushing this bike? Where is she going?

Each time I see her these questions pop up and I want to stop my car and jump out to ask her. Of course Victoria Road in peak hour is not an ideal location for a quick chit chat so I keep driving.