A very interesting little article about the tangled web behind saving the planet from imminent climate catastrophe; aka fleecing the folk who care and all the others who don't have a choice.
[F*&# it's good to read this stuff which gives some real structure to what has been weighing on my mind and twisting in my gut for these past few years. Climate change is real but it's natural, not man made and it can't be fixed with Toyota Priuses and paying airlines for less-than-useless carbon offset charges.]
Friday, May 07, 2010
Saturday, May 01, 2010
MasterSook
I am borrowing the title of this blog entry from my sister (hope that's OK, JB).
Have you ever seen such a big bunch of whiney little girls as the contestants on this season of MasterChef? Boo hoo, this is for my grandmother. Boo hoo, I've let down my team mates. Stop blubbering and cook.
Having said that, let me say this. GO, ALVIN! You cute little gay scientific officer, you!
Furthermore, this morning I won Julie Goodwin's cookbook in a Fountain Sauce competition. So it's all MasterChef, all the time, around here.
But I actually have something sensible to say about cooking following on from that rambling about all things MC.
Strangely, considering that Big (not so much now) Jay and I have been on a Leptin Green Coffee 800 based loosing weight frenzy these past six weeks or so, I have also been on a bit of a cooking frenzy this week. Because these recipes have come out so well I thought I might share them with you, loyal reader, just in case you're looking for something new to spruce up your winter menu.
1) Chocolate and Almond Brownies
I found these on the Taste.com.au website when I was trying to use up some sour cream I didn't want to throw out. I love brownies but have never found a really good recipe that has excited me.
These are good. The sour cream makes them moist, even after a couple of days. The almonds add a nutty crunch contrast which I love. I don't put in as much sugar as they suggest, I only put in about 1/2 to 3/4 of a cup. I also use maple syrup instead of golden syrup. I have also added and/or substituted other types of chocolate including half dark cooking chocolate/half Mars bars (I had a couple of fun size laying about in the back of the fridge). The brownies always turn out just right.
2) 12 hour slow cooked lamb
I found a version of this recipe in a Gourmet Traveller which found it's way into my hands recently (great magazine, I've asked for a subscription for Mother's Day). I didn't use the spice mix in the original recipe because I didn't have the necessary ingredients and I didn't want a middle eastern flavour.
My version involves making a paste of an onion, some garlic (I used quite a lot, maybe 8 or 10 bits), lemon zest and juice and olive oil. I rubbed this paste all over a 2.5 kg leg of lamb and covered in plastic wrap and then foil and left in the fridge for 36 hours (I would probably leave for at least 24 hours). I then took it out of the fridge for an hour and put in the oven at 110 degrees for 10.5 hours (I know, I got impatient at the end). The lamb was absolutely beautiful, not quite fall off the bone, but very moist and tender and wonderful. Next time I might turn up the heat to 120 degrees or just find a little more patience and leave it in there for the full 12 hours.
3) Lamb, lentil and vegetable soup
This recipe is a variation on one I made a lot last winter (mainly because I wound up with a great deal of frozen, left over roast beef and lamb... long story). This recent version involved the left over slow roasted lamb, as above. I trimmed all the meat from the bone and placed in the slow cooker with 6 cups of stock (4 cups chicken, 2 cups vegetable - just what I had available, use what you have). Also a large tin of chopped tomatoes and a cup of dried green lentils (brown or red lentils or barely would work just as well). I diced up a whole lot of onion, garlic and celery and a small sweet potato (because I like them) and fried them gently in some olive oil to caramlise and add some flavour. I then tipped them into the slow cooked with the other ingredients. I would suggest seasoning to your own taste, I tend to cook a little bland because that's how the children like it and because Big Jay pours on salt and pepper onto everything before tasting a mouthful.
I left all this on for about 6 hours on low and then turned it up to high for about 1 1/2 hours at the end. You could probably just cook it on high for about 4 hours for a very similar result.
Hearty and delicious. A big pot lasts for a few days, including work lunches for me. The kids love it. When we have it for dinner I make some croutons out whatever bread or rolls we have laying about.
4) Spicy-ish Pumpkin Soup
This year I've been back shopping at Flemington Markets and the beautiful fresh produce always inspires me. Two weeks ago I bought a gorgeous medium sized Jap pumpkin for $2. After peeling and seeding I got 3.5 kg of pumpkin flesh from it. I put all that in the slow cooked with two chopped up onions, some garlic, ginger (I think it was the young ginger I bought which added an extra zing) and one bit of lemongrass, as well as two teaspoons of korma curry paste and one tin of Carnation Light Evaporated Milk, Coconut Flavour. This cooked for about 6 hours on the low setting. I then left it too cool for about an hour before putting it through the blender in batches (my hand held blender thingy has some awful fungal infection which should lead me to buy a new one but I can't bring myself to do so yet as this one is quite new and barely used, shame!).
Anyway, the result was a beautiful pumpkin soup with so much flavour - Big Jay and I just love it. However, it is just a little too spicy for the kids (next time I will omit the lemongrass and most of the ginger). The freezer is full of soup right now which gives me a satisfying feeling, knowing there is a quick meal only a microwave zap away.
OK, enough domestic goddess bollocks for one day.
We're off to the Swannies... and tomorrow is Will's 11th birthday and a soccer party.
Have you ever seen such a big bunch of whiney little girls as the contestants on this season of MasterChef? Boo hoo, this is for my grandmother. Boo hoo, I've let down my team mates. Stop blubbering and cook.
Having said that, let me say this. GO, ALVIN! You cute little gay scientific officer, you!
Furthermore, this morning I won Julie Goodwin's cookbook in a Fountain Sauce competition. So it's all MasterChef, all the time, around here.
But I actually have something sensible to say about cooking following on from that rambling about all things MC.
Strangely, considering that Big (not so much now) Jay and I have been on a Leptin Green Coffee 800 based loosing weight frenzy these past six weeks or so, I have also been on a bit of a cooking frenzy this week. Because these recipes have come out so well I thought I might share them with you, loyal reader, just in case you're looking for something new to spruce up your winter menu.
1) Chocolate and Almond Brownies
I found these on the Taste.com.au website when I was trying to use up some sour cream I didn't want to throw out. I love brownies but have never found a really good recipe that has excited me.
These are good. The sour cream makes them moist, even after a couple of days. The almonds add a nutty crunch contrast which I love. I don't put in as much sugar as they suggest, I only put in about 1/2 to 3/4 of a cup. I also use maple syrup instead of golden syrup. I have also added and/or substituted other types of chocolate including half dark cooking chocolate/half Mars bars (I had a couple of fun size laying about in the back of the fridge). The brownies always turn out just right.
2) 12 hour slow cooked lamb
I found a version of this recipe in a Gourmet Traveller which found it's way into my hands recently (great magazine, I've asked for a subscription for Mother's Day). I didn't use the spice mix in the original recipe because I didn't have the necessary ingredients and I didn't want a middle eastern flavour.
My version involves making a paste of an onion, some garlic (I used quite a lot, maybe 8 or 10 bits), lemon zest and juice and olive oil. I rubbed this paste all over a 2.5 kg leg of lamb and covered in plastic wrap and then foil and left in the fridge for 36 hours (I would probably leave for at least 24 hours). I then took it out of the fridge for an hour and put in the oven at 110 degrees for 10.5 hours (I know, I got impatient at the end). The lamb was absolutely beautiful, not quite fall off the bone, but very moist and tender and wonderful. Next time I might turn up the heat to 120 degrees or just find a little more patience and leave it in there for the full 12 hours.
3) Lamb, lentil and vegetable soup
This recipe is a variation on one I made a lot last winter (mainly because I wound up with a great deal of frozen, left over roast beef and lamb... long story). This recent version involved the left over slow roasted lamb, as above. I trimmed all the meat from the bone and placed in the slow cooker with 6 cups of stock (4 cups chicken, 2 cups vegetable - just what I had available, use what you have). Also a large tin of chopped tomatoes and a cup of dried green lentils (brown or red lentils or barely would work just as well). I diced up a whole lot of onion, garlic and celery and a small sweet potato (because I like them) and fried them gently in some olive oil to caramlise and add some flavour. I then tipped them into the slow cooked with the other ingredients. I would suggest seasoning to your own taste, I tend to cook a little bland because that's how the children like it and because Big Jay pours on salt and pepper onto everything before tasting a mouthful.
I left all this on for about 6 hours on low and then turned it up to high for about 1 1/2 hours at the end. You could probably just cook it on high for about 4 hours for a very similar result.
Hearty and delicious. A big pot lasts for a few days, including work lunches for me. The kids love it. When we have it for dinner I make some croutons out whatever bread or rolls we have laying about.
4) Spicy-ish Pumpkin Soup
This year I've been back shopping at Flemington Markets and the beautiful fresh produce always inspires me. Two weeks ago I bought a gorgeous medium sized Jap pumpkin for $2. After peeling and seeding I got 3.5 kg of pumpkin flesh from it. I put all that in the slow cooked with two chopped up onions, some garlic, ginger (I think it was the young ginger I bought which added an extra zing) and one bit of lemongrass, as well as two teaspoons of korma curry paste and one tin of Carnation Light Evaporated Milk, Coconut Flavour. This cooked for about 6 hours on the low setting. I then left it too cool for about an hour before putting it through the blender in batches (my hand held blender thingy has some awful fungal infection which should lead me to buy a new one but I can't bring myself to do so yet as this one is quite new and barely used, shame!).
Anyway, the result was a beautiful pumpkin soup with so much flavour - Big Jay and I just love it. However, it is just a little too spicy for the kids (next time I will omit the lemongrass and most of the ginger). The freezer is full of soup right now which gives me a satisfying feeling, knowing there is a quick meal only a microwave zap away.
OK, enough domestic goddess bollocks for one day.
We're off to the Swannies... and tomorrow is Will's 11th birthday and a soccer party.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
RIP ETS
Or should I say "rot in hell"?
I am ever hopeful this is the last we'll see of the Emissions Trading Scheme but I'm sure Penny Wong, Bob Brown [there's two I'd like to see drown under rising sea levels!] et al will continue to moan about what bad little humans we are, how much we must all pay for our sins in order to "save" planet Earth.
What might the next reincarnation of the ETS look like?
I am ever hopeful this is the last we'll see of the Emissions Trading Scheme but I'm sure Penny Wong, Bob Brown [there's two I'd like to see drown under rising sea levels!] et al will continue to moan about what bad little humans we are, how much we must all pay for our sins in order to "save" planet Earth.
What might the next reincarnation of the ETS look like?
Friday, April 16, 2010
Loving the Kindle
I'm very happy to report that I love my Kindle. I purchased it with some amount of trepidation, wondering how on earth an electronic gadget would be able to replicate the experience of reading a book.
Well I can easily say that the experience is not deminished, at least not for me. My first book purchase was Nick Hornby's Juliet, Naked and I loved it; reading it on the Kindle didn't detract in any way from my enjoyment.
The features of the Kindle really blow my mind. Being able to search the Amazon Kindle Store by (free) wireless connection from just about anywhere and then purchase and download a book with just a few clicks and a wait of only 10 or 20 seconds is truly amazing. Then there are the features I can appreciate though I would probably rarely use. Like the text size adjustment, the text-to-speech feature available on most books, the inbuilt dictionary which allows you to pop up a definition simply by positioning your cursor next to the word in question, the ability to email PDF documents to yourself at your Kindle email account. The list goes on.
For me it's simply the ease of use and the simple elegance of always having a library in my handbag. After reading Juliet, Naked I downloaded The Remains of the Day which I have been meaning to read after loving Never Let Me Go so much. Recent Kindle Store searching has revealed bargains like the entire Jane Austen collection for $5.19. Many classics are even available for free but I haven't downloaded one yet so I'm not sure what the "catch" is.
Now I'm working my way through a stack of unread paper books and very quickly they seem bothersome to me. Big, heavy and annoying. You could say I have embraced the new technology and I'm not looking back. If you are a book lover I'd say take a look, you might surprise yourself.
Well I can easily say that the experience is not deminished, at least not for me. My first book purchase was Nick Hornby's Juliet, Naked and I loved it; reading it on the Kindle didn't detract in any way from my enjoyment.
The features of the Kindle really blow my mind. Being able to search the Amazon Kindle Store by (free) wireless connection from just about anywhere and then purchase and download a book with just a few clicks and a wait of only 10 or 20 seconds is truly amazing. Then there are the features I can appreciate though I would probably rarely use. Like the text size adjustment, the text-to-speech feature available on most books, the inbuilt dictionary which allows you to pop up a definition simply by positioning your cursor next to the word in question, the ability to email PDF documents to yourself at your Kindle email account. The list goes on.
For me it's simply the ease of use and the simple elegance of always having a library in my handbag. After reading Juliet, Naked I downloaded The Remains of the Day which I have been meaning to read after loving Never Let Me Go so much. Recent Kindle Store searching has revealed bargains like the entire Jane Austen collection for $5.19. Many classics are even available for free but I haven't downloaded one yet so I'm not sure what the "catch" is.
Now I'm working my way through a stack of unread paper books and very quickly they seem bothersome to me. Big, heavy and annoying. You could say I have embraced the new technology and I'm not looking back. If you are a book lover I'd say take a look, you might surprise yourself.
Perth Pics
My little munchkins amongst the gumnut babies.
The volunteer guides at Fremantle Prison were not willing to take cash to keep them like this for a few hours. Sheesh! We tried.
Payng hommage to Bon Scott on the Fremantle waterfront.
So much to tell you, dear diary
I know I've been MIA the last couple of weeks and I do apologise.
The week before school holidays started (i.e. the week before Easter) we flew to Perth to visit Big Jay's side of the family. The kids and I haven't been for over three years and it was about time to catch up and let the kids see their cousins.
The trip itself was fine (I won't mention that there were moments when the kids nearly drove me to the point of madness with their whining and complaining). Perth has come a very long way since I first visited 17 years ago. This time we visited a few places I haven't been before, like Mandurah and Yanchep National Park. I have to say there is a lot of effort being made to provide family friendly environments, especially playgrounds, and there is certainly no shortage of places to eat. Particuarly I loved visiting Fremantle which is being restored building by building and looks sensational. We decided it would be our base next time we go because it is so much more vibrant than Perth city (which still remains very much a ghost town on weekends and evenings).
[I will put up some photos in a separate post.]
We returned home on the Sunday of the Easter long weekend. The following week, the first official week of the school holidays, was somewhat of a blur. Visiting friends, entertaining the kids, trying to fit in a couple of days at work. (Special mention should be made at this point of my mum and my sister J who have really helped me out in a big way with childcare duties. School hols are always a juggle but now, with two kids at school, the pressure has increased considerably. I really don't know how women without family support and "real" jobs manage.)
The thing taking up most of my gray matter time right now is Big Jay and the fact that he will be sans job come 30 April. This retrenchment has been in the pipeline for some six months now but I think because of the long lead time we've both been in some sort of denial, hoping that another position would be found. It hasn't and the last few weeks have seen us in serious "future" discussion mode. What did Big Jay want? Did he want to stay in this strange IT world in which he found himself almost as if by accident? What other choices were there at 40? Suffice to say decisions have been made, applications for jobs have been sent, a course has been enrolled in. My Pollyanna-ish approach to life means I believe everything will turn out for the best; we have our health, roof over our heads, not quite ready to check into the poor house, yadda yadda... Nevertheless, I crave certainty (even temporary certainty) and until another job is in place I can't quite get over the fear which has taken up residence somewhere in my gut.
Anyway, the kids go back to school this coming week and I will hopefully have some space to clear my thoughts and get back on top of things (ha!). I need my routine to set the perimeters of my life and having not had that routine in place the last few weeks has probably caused me to be a little more anxious than I normally would be. Control freak? Moi?
OK. Need to go. Photos and more posts coming up shortly.
The week before school holidays started (i.e. the week before Easter) we flew to Perth to visit Big Jay's side of the family. The kids and I haven't been for over three years and it was about time to catch up and let the kids see their cousins.
The trip itself was fine (I won't mention that there were moments when the kids nearly drove me to the point of madness with their whining and complaining). Perth has come a very long way since I first visited 17 years ago. This time we visited a few places I haven't been before, like Mandurah and Yanchep National Park. I have to say there is a lot of effort being made to provide family friendly environments, especially playgrounds, and there is certainly no shortage of places to eat. Particuarly I loved visiting Fremantle which is being restored building by building and looks sensational. We decided it would be our base next time we go because it is so much more vibrant than Perth city (which still remains very much a ghost town on weekends and evenings).
[I will put up some photos in a separate post.]
We returned home on the Sunday of the Easter long weekend. The following week, the first official week of the school holidays, was somewhat of a blur. Visiting friends, entertaining the kids, trying to fit in a couple of days at work. (Special mention should be made at this point of my mum and my sister J who have really helped me out in a big way with childcare duties. School hols are always a juggle but now, with two kids at school, the pressure has increased considerably. I really don't know how women without family support and "real" jobs manage.)
The thing taking up most of my gray matter time right now is Big Jay and the fact that he will be sans job come 30 April. This retrenchment has been in the pipeline for some six months now but I think because of the long lead time we've both been in some sort of denial, hoping that another position would be found. It hasn't and the last few weeks have seen us in serious "future" discussion mode. What did Big Jay want? Did he want to stay in this strange IT world in which he found himself almost as if by accident? What other choices were there at 40? Suffice to say decisions have been made, applications for jobs have been sent, a course has been enrolled in. My Pollyanna-ish approach to life means I believe everything will turn out for the best; we have our health, roof over our heads, not quite ready to check into the poor house, yadda yadda... Nevertheless, I crave certainty (even temporary certainty) and until another job is in place I can't quite get over the fear which has taken up residence somewhere in my gut.
Anyway, the kids go back to school this coming week and I will hopefully have some space to clear my thoughts and get back on top of things (ha!). I need my routine to set the perimeters of my life and having not had that routine in place the last few weeks has probably caused me to be a little more anxious than I normally would be. Control freak? Moi?
OK. Need to go. Photos and more posts coming up shortly.
Friday, March 19, 2010
You can't stop progress
I am awaiting the arrival of my Kindle (Australian version) from Amazon. I spent some time arguing against the introduction of such technology. After all, books are a beautiful thing, not just a practical thing. The reading experience is not just about absorbing information.
But then I realised:
a) I am drowning in books. When we moved out of our old house, where we had bookshelves overflowing with books, we cleared out a lot of them and donated them to Lifeline (who hold a giant book sale every year for fundraising). However, many moved with us and live in plastic crates in the garage. The single bookshelf in the (not so) new apartment is overflowing with books and the stack on my bedside table is about to topple.
b) If only they made them out of edible paper, how much more practical would that be? You could have a double-y enjoyable experience and you wouldn't have mountains of books to trip over.
c) I was sounding like one of those people who argue that albums sound so much better than CDs (and iPods). They talk about the crackle and the "warmth" of the sound. Bollocks. Whatever "warmth" I may be giving up for the convience of having my entire music collection on a gadget as big as half a cigarette packet I am more than happy to sacrifice.
d) In my world convience generally wins over warm and fuzzy philosphical ideals.
Thus the Kindle is about to enter my life and I am so excited. The idea that I can have many books on hand, in my handbag, with me at all times, is mindblowing. Planes, doctor's waiting rooms, the bench at my children's swimming classes, will no longer be places of lost time and boredom. I will be whipping out my Kindle and catching up on all the reading I rarely get to do. Oh, bliss.
Stay tuned for a review: or what happens when reality crashes into my dream landscape.
But then I realised:
a) I am drowning in books. When we moved out of our old house, where we had bookshelves overflowing with books, we cleared out a lot of them and donated them to Lifeline (who hold a giant book sale every year for fundraising). However, many moved with us and live in plastic crates in the garage. The single bookshelf in the (not so) new apartment is overflowing with books and the stack on my bedside table is about to topple.
b) If only they made them out of edible paper, how much more practical would that be? You could have a double-y enjoyable experience and you wouldn't have mountains of books to trip over.
c) I was sounding like one of those people who argue that albums sound so much better than CDs (and iPods). They talk about the crackle and the "warmth" of the sound. Bollocks. Whatever "warmth" I may be giving up for the convience of having my entire music collection on a gadget as big as half a cigarette packet I am more than happy to sacrifice.
d) In my world convience generally wins over warm and fuzzy philosphical ideals.
Thus the Kindle is about to enter my life and I am so excited. The idea that I can have many books on hand, in my handbag, with me at all times, is mindblowing. Planes, doctor's waiting rooms, the bench at my children's swimming classes, will no longer be places of lost time and boredom. I will be whipping out my Kindle and catching up on all the reading I rarely get to do. Oh, bliss.
Stay tuned for a review: or what happens when reality crashes into my dream landscape.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Turkeys and Penises and Mud Crabs, oh my!
Sunday night I returned from a weekend in Noosa with my mum and sister. It was my non-denominational Festive Season gift to them and a much anticipated break.
I have never been to Noosa before and was filled with anticipation, especially for the legendary shopping.
My introduction to the shopping was swift and painful. The very first shop we entered on Friday afternoon presented me with the most glorious handbag, a beacon of handbagy wonder. Eagerly I asked the saleslady to get if from the shelf for me. Eagerly I examined its beautiful, intricate detail; already projecting how much happier and more fulfilled my life would be with it on my arm. Eagerly I fumbled for the price tag, mentally reaching for my credit card and finalising the transaction. Eagerly I threw the bag at the hovering saleslady: $1585, that's how the price read. At first glance my brain simply registered $158.50 and instantly I thought "wow, what a reasonable price for such a beautiful bag, wrap it up". At closer inspection I realised there was no full stop or dash seperating any of the digits and the horror dawned on me. ONE THOUSAND, FIVE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY FIVE DOLLARS (not Lira or Yen or even NZ dollars to bring down to a figure my mind can comprehend).
It was almost totally down hill from there. The first half dozen shops we entered featured $800 dresses, $400 jeans and the most wonderful boots, the price of which I was too terrified to enquire about.
But this is not a totally sad tale. At one of the shops I discovered Desigual, a Spanish brand of clothes made just for me. Crazy colours, fabrics, prints and textures; just the sort of stuff I love. Mum and J bought me a skirt for my birthday and I can't wait for the weather to cool down a little so I can wear it.
Apart from the wonderful/horrible shopping there a number of other memorable things about Noosa.
The turkeys. They are everywhere. The streets, the cafes, hiding in the scrub around the beach. Where do they come from and why are they are there?
The penis trees. Otherwise known as Padanus Palms, these trees literally look they are growing penises instead of roots. Yes, I am as deep as your average puddle but these just cracked me up every time I saw them... and I saw a lot of them. [See pictorial evidence below.] Mum and J got well and truly sick and tired of me nudging and pointing each time we passed one (about 100 times a day).
The mud crab. We had the most delicious, indulgent Queensland Mud Crab cooked in garlic butter, with lots of herbs and big slabs of crusty bread to mop up the gorgeous buttery sauce on Saturday for lunch. Mud crab is one of life's true treats for me. It's something I rarely have but often crave. Mmmmm....
And memorable for all the wrong reasons was Noosa Marina Sunday Markets. If there was an Olympics for piss weak markets this would certainly be in gold medal contention. "Markets" is really too strong a word for this collection of crappy stalls: stick on fingernail decals, handmade pottery mermaids, new age crystal rubbish... and these were the best of them. The advertised "fresh produce" consisted of one stall, out the back in the car park, with a sad display of half a dozen of a few fruits and vegetables. The only positive of the day was the lovely Ferry ride from Noosa to Noosaville and onto Tewentin. Oh well, live and learn.
So onto a few pictorial moments from the weekend...
I have never been to Noosa before and was filled with anticipation, especially for the legendary shopping.
My introduction to the shopping was swift and painful. The very first shop we entered on Friday afternoon presented me with the most glorious handbag, a beacon of handbagy wonder. Eagerly I asked the saleslady to get if from the shelf for me. Eagerly I examined its beautiful, intricate detail; already projecting how much happier and more fulfilled my life would be with it on my arm. Eagerly I fumbled for the price tag, mentally reaching for my credit card and finalising the transaction. Eagerly I threw the bag at the hovering saleslady: $1585, that's how the price read. At first glance my brain simply registered $158.50 and instantly I thought "wow, what a reasonable price for such a beautiful bag, wrap it up". At closer inspection I realised there was no full stop or dash seperating any of the digits and the horror dawned on me. ONE THOUSAND, FIVE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY FIVE DOLLARS (not Lira or Yen or even NZ dollars to bring down to a figure my mind can comprehend).
It was almost totally down hill from there. The first half dozen shops we entered featured $800 dresses, $400 jeans and the most wonderful boots, the price of which I was too terrified to enquire about.
But this is not a totally sad tale. At one of the shops I discovered Desigual, a Spanish brand of clothes made just for me. Crazy colours, fabrics, prints and textures; just the sort of stuff I love. Mum and J bought me a skirt for my birthday and I can't wait for the weather to cool down a little so I can wear it.
Apart from the wonderful/horrible shopping there a number of other memorable things about Noosa.
The turkeys. They are everywhere. The streets, the cafes, hiding in the scrub around the beach. Where do they come from and why are they are there?
The penis trees. Otherwise known as Padanus Palms, these trees literally look they are growing penises instead of roots. Yes, I am as deep as your average puddle but these just cracked me up every time I saw them... and I saw a lot of them. [See pictorial evidence below.] Mum and J got well and truly sick and tired of me nudging and pointing each time we passed one (about 100 times a day).
The mud crab. We had the most delicious, indulgent Queensland Mud Crab cooked in garlic butter, with lots of herbs and big slabs of crusty bread to mop up the gorgeous buttery sauce on Saturday for lunch. Mud crab is one of life's true treats for me. It's something I rarely have but often crave. Mmmmm....
And memorable for all the wrong reasons was Noosa Marina Sunday Markets. If there was an Olympics for piss weak markets this would certainly be in gold medal contention. "Markets" is really too strong a word for this collection of crappy stalls: stick on fingernail decals, handmade pottery mermaids, new age crystal rubbish... and these were the best of them. The advertised "fresh produce" consisted of one stall, out the back in the car park, with a sad display of half a dozen of a few fruits and vegetables. The only positive of the day was the lovely Ferry ride from Noosa to Noosaville and onto Tewentin. Oh well, live and learn.
So onto a few pictorial moments from the weekend...
Mum and I enjoying some Krispy Kreme action before boaridng our plane.
Ladies who lunch. Waiting for our
Mud Crab while enjoying some
very yummy cocktails.
Yes, I have no shame.
(But it does look like a penis doesn't it?
It's not just my dirty mind.)
(But it does look like a penis doesn't it?
It's not just my dirty mind.)
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Vajesus!!
So just when you think you've heard of everything your sister throws a "Vajazzling" at you over the yum cha table. "Va.... what?" I stammer.
"You know, Vajazzling... bedazzling for your vajayjay." She says it in a manner which implies that this is a fact everyone knows. Humans require oxygen to live, pigs can not fly, vajazzling is bedazzling for your vajayjay. Of course! Der! Tell me something I don't know!
Apparently this newly created attempt to befuddle money out of over-preened young women involves waxing your lady parts followed by an application of Swarovski crystals to the general area. If you don't believe me (and surely I wouldn't believe myself) take a look at THIS.
In my youth, when mammoths roamed the earth and Adam Ant was the height of masculine good looks and sophistication, we would preen ourselves by plaiting our freshly washed hair into 100 teeny weeny tiny plaits (thanks to my friend's teeny weeny tiny braces elastics) on a Friday night, resulting in a head of diabolical frizz on a Saturday morning. Imagine, going to a lot of trouble to achieve frizz!
This Medusa-like frizz would be complemented with an outfit of a short black tutu, shiny tights where one leg was black and one bright red, a t-shirt of red and white stripes and very pointy, black patent leather shoes.
So I know how to go about attracting a mate of the opposite gender and I also know that women have been doing this successfully for millions of years (unless you don't believe in evolution, in which case they've been doing so for just over 2000 years, a theological point I probably don't have completely correct). Any old how, what I'm getting at is that we seem to have been perpetuating the human race in a reasonably successful manner for a very long time without the help of Vajazzling. Obviously men have been totally repulsed by our non-Vajazzled vajayjays (I just love saying "vajayjay", try it, you'll like it) for all these years.
I know that Big Jay, upon returning from his golfing sojourn to Coffs Harbour on Wednesday night, will be pleasantly surprised when he ventures underneath the stretched out Target pyjama pants of questionable vintage and the giant, washed-to-within-an-inch-of-it's-life Antony and The Johnsons t-shirt which is my lingerie of choice in the boudoir. Know what I'm saying?
"You know, Vajazzling... bedazzling for your vajayjay." She says it in a manner which implies that this is a fact everyone knows. Humans require oxygen to live, pigs can not fly, vajazzling is bedazzling for your vajayjay. Of course! Der! Tell me something I don't know!
Apparently this newly created attempt to befuddle money out of over-preened young women involves waxing your lady parts followed by an application of Swarovski crystals to the general area. If you don't believe me (and surely I wouldn't believe myself) take a look at THIS.
In my youth, when mammoths roamed the earth and Adam Ant was the height of masculine good looks and sophistication, we would preen ourselves by plaiting our freshly washed hair into 100 teeny weeny tiny plaits (thanks to my friend's teeny weeny tiny braces elastics) on a Friday night, resulting in a head of diabolical frizz on a Saturday morning. Imagine, going to a lot of trouble to achieve frizz!
This Medusa-like frizz would be complemented with an outfit of a short black tutu, shiny tights where one leg was black and one bright red, a t-shirt of red and white stripes and very pointy, black patent leather shoes.
So I know how to go about attracting a mate of the opposite gender and I also know that women have been doing this successfully for millions of years (unless you don't believe in evolution, in which case they've been doing so for just over 2000 years, a theological point I probably don't have completely correct). Any old how, what I'm getting at is that we seem to have been perpetuating the human race in a reasonably successful manner for a very long time without the help of Vajazzling. Obviously men have been totally repulsed by our non-Vajazzled vajayjays (I just love saying "vajayjay", try it, you'll like it) for all these years.
I know that Big Jay, upon returning from his golfing sojourn to Coffs Harbour on Wednesday night, will be pleasantly surprised when he ventures underneath the stretched out Target pyjama pants of questionable vintage and the giant, washed-to-within-an-inch-of-it's-life Antony and The Johnsons t-shirt which is my lingerie of choice in the boudoir. Know what I'm saying?
Friday, March 05, 2010
You got to have faith?
It's pretty well documented that I'm a cynical bitch. I don't suffer from an over abundance of faith.
Faith in politics and/or politicians.
Faith in the media.
Faith in my fellow humans (mostly).
Faith in any sort of god and/or organised religion.
So it hurt my brain to hear on the radio yesterday, during a discussion about religious education in schools, that (are you sitting down?) only 19% of Americans believe in evolution (NINETEEN FUCKING PERCENT!!!!) and a marginally less obscene 42% of Australians.
I accept that such surveys are often skewed in various ways and I accept that there would be a certain percentage out of the 81% (and 58%) who would argue that humans were dropped on planet earth by aliens but that still leaves a shocking number of people who believe that us humans were created by a guy in a robe and a long beard who lives up in the sky.
That sort of information causes an overload in my brain. I don't know how to process such data.
But I have come to accept (though not understand) that there are fans of Celine Dion and Andre Rieu in the world so I suppose I will eventually find a way of living with such mind boggling information.
Faith in politics and/or politicians.
Faith in the media.
Faith in my fellow humans (mostly).
Faith in any sort of god and/or organised religion.
So it hurt my brain to hear on the radio yesterday, during a discussion about religious education in schools, that (are you sitting down?) only 19% of Americans believe in evolution (NINETEEN FUCKING PERCENT!!!!) and a marginally less obscene 42% of Australians.
I accept that such surveys are often skewed in various ways and I accept that there would be a certain percentage out of the 81% (and 58%) who would argue that humans were dropped on planet earth by aliens but that still leaves a shocking number of people who believe that us humans were created by a guy in a robe and a long beard who lives up in the sky.
That sort of information causes an overload in my brain. I don't know how to process such data.
But I have come to accept (though not understand) that there are fans of Celine Dion and Andre Rieu in the world so I suppose I will eventually find a way of living with such mind boggling information.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
A lot of love in the room
George Michael still has "it". He's gracious, dignified, talented, wonderful.
If Monday night was hell, climatically speaking, last night was heaven. A mild, warm late summer night. A light breeze. Aaaahhhhhh!
40,000+ people full of love and respect. It was a beautiful thing to behold and experience.
I loved every moment and the finale of Freedom (90) was perfect.
[Warning! This is the rant part. I hate to finish this post on a low note but I am bitter that he didn't include Wake Me Up Before You Go Go - unless it was the song I missed at the very start. I am also bitter about the moronic female behind us who spoke loudly to her friend throughout all the quiet songs. Shut the fuck up! The end.]
If Monday night was hell, climatically speaking, last night was heaven. A mild, warm late summer night. A light breeze. Aaaahhhhhh!
40,000+ people full of love and respect. It was a beautiful thing to behold and experience.
I loved every moment and the finale of Freedom (90) was perfect.
[Warning! This is the rant part. I hate to finish this post on a low note but I am bitter that he didn't include Wake Me Up Before You Go Go - unless it was the song I missed at the very start. I am also bitter about the moronic female behind us who spoke loudly to her friend throughout all the quiet songs. Shut the fuck up! The end.]
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
For those about to rock...
... we can smell you!
Holy mother of god. What a night. Imagine being at a gym with 60,000 hot, sweaty people. The air thick with humidity and BO.
That was Monday night at ANZ Stadium at the AC/DC concert.
I'm not sure what I was expecting but I think the sheer physical discomfort of the heat and the awful suffocating smell probably made me more critical than I may otherwise have been.
Strangely I couldn't really get into the breast flashing which is (apparently) the tradition during She's Got The Jack. I didn't enjoy Angus Young's recipracol striptese; he is, after all, the Mr Bean of rock'n'roll. Call me fussy but I don't get my jollys from watching an almost 60 year old skinny unattractive bloke taking it off. Do us all a favour and put it back on and throw in a paper bag over the head while you're at it, buddy.
Furthermore I hate solos: guitar solos, drum solos, any sort of solos. So Angus' 20+ minute guitar wank didn't ring my bell. I found it quite sickening actually. Shut up already.
The highlight for me was She Shook Me All Night Long, which I think is sexy piece of raunch rock, that's for sure. The lack of It's A Long Way To Shop If You Want A Sausage Roll was a huge disappointment.
Anyway, I'm glad I went. I can tick ACCADACCA of my list of bands to see and go to my grave having no desire to ever see them again.
In a week of musical extremes we have George Michael on Friday night. Don't forget to wake me up before you go go...
Holy mother of god. What a night. Imagine being at a gym with 60,000 hot, sweaty people. The air thick with humidity and BO.
That was Monday night at ANZ Stadium at the AC/DC concert.
I'm not sure what I was expecting but I think the sheer physical discomfort of the heat and the awful suffocating smell probably made me more critical than I may otherwise have been.
Strangely I couldn't really get into the breast flashing which is (apparently) the tradition during She's Got The Jack. I didn't enjoy Angus Young's recipracol striptese; he is, after all, the Mr Bean of rock'n'roll. Call me fussy but I don't get my jollys from watching an almost 60 year old skinny unattractive bloke taking it off. Do us all a favour and put it back on and throw in a paper bag over the head while you're at it, buddy.
Furthermore I hate solos: guitar solos, drum solos, any sort of solos. So Angus' 20+ minute guitar wank didn't ring my bell. I found it quite sickening actually. Shut up already.
The highlight for me was She Shook Me All Night Long, which I think is sexy piece of raunch rock, that's for sure. The lack of It's A Long Way To Shop If You Want A Sausage Roll was a huge disappointment.
Anyway, I'm glad I went. I can tick ACCADACCA of my list of bands to see and go to my grave having no desire to ever see them again.
In a week of musical extremes we have George Michael on Friday night. Don't forget to wake me up before you go go...
Friday, February 19, 2010
Listen up Alanis Morissette
This is fucking IRONIC*. Precious.
What a movie. What a story. What can I say about it?
Hard work. Actually hearing and understanding Precious, hard. Emotionally, hard.
I'm just not able to do social realism like I used to. Perhaps it's parenthood. The horrors inflincted on children are too hard to watch as "entertainment".
Performances are mind blowing. Even Mariah Carey is outstanding in her small role (who could have guessed). Gabourney Sidibe as Precious is understated and raw.
* To state the obvious, it's ironic because to name a child Precious and then treat her like garbage, like much less then human, is the ultimate irony. Don't you think.
What a movie. What a story. What can I say about it?
Hard work. Actually hearing and understanding Precious, hard. Emotionally, hard.
I'm just not able to do social realism like I used to. Perhaps it's parenthood. The horrors inflincted on children are too hard to watch as "entertainment".
Performances are mind blowing. Even Mariah Carey is outstanding in her small role (who could have guessed). Gabourney Sidibe as Precious is understated and raw.
* To state the obvious, it's ironic because to name a child Precious and then treat her like garbage, like much less then human, is the ultimate irony. Don't you think.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Not Satisfied, Jan
Big Jay and I have been fans of the Showcase series Satisfaction since the beginning. Some people may choose to call it soft port and I can't really argue with that. I'll happily admit to loving that sort of titillation: yes there is plenty of sexy nudity but there are also some good plots, decent scriptwriting, solid acting and very fine production values.
Until Season 3 when I fear the wheels have somewhat fallen of the wagon. It just hasn't captured my attention as much as the previous two series. I was thoroughly annoyed by the "Mel's early menopause" storyline which was plain stupid.
However, the [anti] icing on the cake was the final episode, which we watched last night. Mel returned from a stint running a brothel in the Middle East with a baby girl which she apparently almost accidentally adopted from The Philippines. Don't you hate it when that happens. The scriptwriting around this storyline was complete nonsense. No bloody wonder total bullshit is constantly perpetuated in the media about intercountry adoption and the general public believe it because no-one bothers to present anything approximating the truth.
So disappointing to find a show which started on such a high note ending as a bucketful of incomprehensible drivel. It's possible there will be a Season 4 but I'm not looking forward to it.
Until Season 3 when I fear the wheels have somewhat fallen of the wagon. It just hasn't captured my attention as much as the previous two series. I was thoroughly annoyed by the "Mel's early menopause" storyline which was plain stupid.
However, the [anti] icing on the cake was the final episode, which we watched last night. Mel returned from a stint running a brothel in the Middle East with a baby girl which she apparently almost accidentally adopted from The Philippines. Don't you hate it when that happens. The scriptwriting around this storyline was complete nonsense. No bloody wonder total bullshit is constantly perpetuated in the media about intercountry adoption and the general public believe it because no-one bothers to present anything approximating the truth.
So disappointing to find a show which started on such a high note ending as a bucketful of incomprehensible drivel. It's possible there will be a Season 4 but I'm not looking forward to it.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Speaking of broken hearts
The source of all things tawdry Tyler Durden writes this about Leif Garrett.
I'm not sure what to think about it really. I couldn't care less to be honest.
What bothers me most is that there was a time in my life, I would say around the time I was 10 or 11 or 12, when I would have tried very hard to come up with that $5,000. That's all I'm saying.
I'm not sure what to think about it really. I couldn't care less to be honest.
What bothers me most is that there was a time in my life, I would say around the time I was 10 or 11 or 12, when I would have tried very hard to come up with that $5,000. That's all I'm saying.
Happy Anniversary, Lloyd and Diane
It's the twentieth anniversary of my all-time favourite film Say Anything.
My sister sent me this link and it brought a tear or two to my eye and a pang to the black, twisted chunk of coal I call my heart.
Thank you Cameron Crowe for this cinematic gift. Lloyd Dobler is my favourite human, ever.
When I take a moment to think about it, it breaks my heart to dwell on the fact that he is not real.
Life is not fair.
My sister sent me this link and it brought a tear or two to my eye and a pang to the black, twisted chunk of coal I call my heart.
Thank you Cameron Crowe for this cinematic gift. Lloyd Dobler is my favourite human, ever.
When I take a moment to think about it, it breaks my heart to dwell on the fact that he is not real.
Life is not fair.
It just keeps getting better
Long time readers know of my hate/hate relationship with the ponytailed wonder aka Neil Perry. He has always rubbed me up the wrong way for intangible reasons. However, in recent years more tangible reasons have surfaced and I take great joy in presenting his failings at each possible opportunity.
Imagine my glee when I read this in the back of The Sunday Telegraph this afternoon:
Twitter of the Week
Matchbox Twenty frontman Rob Thomas, who's in town to perform some solo shows, was venting some frustrations on Friday night, tweeting: "My wife and a friend just left a place in Sydney called The Rockpool Bar and Grill [Perry's overpriced, overrated establishment]. WORST SERVICE EVER!!!!! Pouring rain, they were rude and refused to call her a cab. If you live in Sydney, think twice before going."
Nothing we didn't already know Mr Thomas. Yet another piece of evidence in the Neil Perry is a twat file.
[Possibly Rob Thomas' wife doesn't know how to complain properly either Mr Perry. There seems to be a growing group of people who don't seem to get what it is you're trying to do.]
Imagine my glee when I read this in the back of The Sunday Telegraph this afternoon:
Twitter of the Week
Matchbox Twenty frontman Rob Thomas, who's in town to perform some solo shows, was venting some frustrations on Friday night, tweeting: "My wife and a friend just left a place in Sydney called The Rockpool Bar and Grill [Perry's overpriced, overrated establishment]. WORST SERVICE EVER!!!!! Pouring rain, they were rude and refused to call her a cab. If you live in Sydney, think twice before going."
Nothing we didn't already know Mr Thomas. Yet another piece of evidence in the Neil Perry is a twat file.
[Possibly Rob Thomas' wife doesn't know how to complain properly either Mr Perry. There seems to be a growing group of people who don't seem to get what it is you're trying to do.]
Not for those with a weak stomach
Last Thursday my sister offered to babysit so we took the opportunity to sneak out for a movie.
My choice, so we went to see Daybreakers, the semi-Oz production starring Ethan Hawke and Willem Defoe as well as a few Aussies including Sam Neill. I love a vampire story so I couldn't resist. It had received some OK reviews so I had pretty high hopes.
I enjoyed it, pretty much. It had some good ideas, vampire-wise; but basically it was The Matrix with vampires. There was quite a bit of gruesomeness, with vampires going batshit on each other (blood supply is running out and when vampires are starved of blood they get really nutso, who would have thought!). I love that sort of stuff so I was happy.
While there was plenty of blood and guts and exploding blood suckers there was little by way of acting. Claudia Karvan was truly awful, striding around her scenes looking like a plank of wood with a face painted on it.
Overall I'd say see it if you're a vampire lover like yours truly. Otherwise, stay well clear.
My choice, so we went to see Daybreakers, the semi-Oz production starring Ethan Hawke and Willem Defoe as well as a few Aussies including Sam Neill. I love a vampire story so I couldn't resist. It had received some OK reviews so I had pretty high hopes.
I enjoyed it, pretty much. It had some good ideas, vampire-wise; but basically it was The Matrix with vampires. There was quite a bit of gruesomeness, with vampires going batshit on each other (blood supply is running out and when vampires are starved of blood they get really nutso, who would have thought!). I love that sort of stuff so I was happy.
While there was plenty of blood and guts and exploding blood suckers there was little by way of acting. Claudia Karvan was truly awful, striding around her scenes looking like a plank of wood with a face painted on it.
Overall I'd say see it if you're a vampire lover like yours truly. Otherwise, stay well clear.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Highlight Reel
We watched Couples Retreat last night. Wish we hadn't.
Nothing much to say about it because it was so horribly dull. The occasional smirk was the best we could manage, and even that felt odd because the whole thing was so unfunny, un-anything really.
For me that's disappointing because I'm a big fan of Jon Favreau/Vince Vaughn, especially as a team. Swingers and Made are two of my all time favourite movies. And if you haven't seen Vince in Clay Pigeons you must do so, right now.
Anyway, Couples Retreat was a very non-memorable movie but it did leave me with a new term which I love: highlight reel. Have you heard it before? Do you know what it refers to?
It's the fantasy movie you play in your head while you're either doing the deed or indulging in a little self love (Ed's Note: put: "euphemisms masturbation" into Google and enter a whole new world of funny). Highlight reel really tickles my fancy, so to speak, because I certainly have some favourites (I'm nothing if not a creature of habit) on regular rotation.
Just thought you'd like to know.
Nothing much to say about it because it was so horribly dull. The occasional smirk was the best we could manage, and even that felt odd because the whole thing was so unfunny, un-anything really.
For me that's disappointing because I'm a big fan of Jon Favreau/Vince Vaughn, especially as a team. Swingers and Made are two of my all time favourite movies. And if you haven't seen Vince in Clay Pigeons you must do so, right now.
Anyway, Couples Retreat was a very non-memorable movie but it did leave me with a new term which I love: highlight reel. Have you heard it before? Do you know what it refers to?
It's the fantasy movie you play in your head while you're either doing the deed or indulging in a little self love (Ed's Note: put: "euphemisms masturbation" into Google and enter a whole new world of funny). Highlight reel really tickles my fancy, so to speak, because I certainly have some favourites (I'm nothing if not a creature of habit) on regular rotation.
Just thought you'd like to know.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
A Family Moment
This afternoon we returned from two nights at Pearl Beach on the NSW Central Coast. It was a rare time indeed, a pure family weekend. Generally speaking we like to do things in packs, possibly with the idea that there is safety in numbers when it comes to entertaining children. We almost always weekend and holiday with friends and/or family.
But this weekend was just the four of us. The way I was feeling last week I was a little anxious about how the weekend would pan out, especially with the forecast bad weather. My fears were unfounded as it was a tiny bubble of family heaven (and that's not a term I tend to use often).
The house itself, Wildwood, was quite isolated; at the end of the last street, surrounded on all sides by trees and bush and wildlife. Let's not start about my personal feelings on these. Suffice to say I was able to tune out these things and simply enjoy the quiet and the far-away-ed-ness of the place. Of course I couldn't have possibly lasted more than the two nights but enough about my mental health problems.
We arrived late-ish Friday night and pretty much went straight to bed. It was raining, we were tired after a wearying week, it was perfect snuggle and sleep conditions. We did just that.
Saturday morning we enjoyed a leisurely family breakfast at the local cafe, followed by a short walk to discover Pearl Beach (which took all of a few minutes). We then took a drive to neighbouring Patonga Beach to see what attractions (not many/any) it had to offer.
Returning to our hideaway we decided a trip to the beach itself would be nice as the weather seemed to be holding off. We ended up having an absolute ball, a blissful two hours of playing in the surf and the sand. There was hardly anyone else there and it was just pure joy, the four of us body surfing together.
Almost as soon as we returned to the house with our lunch of fish and chips the rain started, and stayed. We were housebound for the rest of the day, watching movies, reading and sleeping. The only downer was the take away Chinese dinner. Big Jay drove to Umina for it and it certainly wasn't worth the drive. Horrendous! Luckily we didn't get food poisoning but I wouldn't have been surprised. If you're down Umina way stay away from the Silver Dragon. You have been warned.
This morning our Central Coast based friends met us at the cafe for a big Sunday morning breakfast. We had already packed our stuff and since the rain was still coming down we headed home. It was a brief but lovely respite from real life. I needed it.
But this weekend was just the four of us. The way I was feeling last week I was a little anxious about how the weekend would pan out, especially with the forecast bad weather. My fears were unfounded as it was a tiny bubble of family heaven (and that's not a term I tend to use often).
The house itself, Wildwood, was quite isolated; at the end of the last street, surrounded on all sides by trees and bush and wildlife. Let's not start about my personal feelings on these. Suffice to say I was able to tune out these things and simply enjoy the quiet and the far-away-ed-ness of the place. Of course I couldn't have possibly lasted more than the two nights but enough about my mental health problems.
We arrived late-ish Friday night and pretty much went straight to bed. It was raining, we were tired after a wearying week, it was perfect snuggle and sleep conditions. We did just that.
Saturday morning we enjoyed a leisurely family breakfast at the local cafe, followed by a short walk to discover Pearl Beach (which took all of a few minutes). We then took a drive to neighbouring Patonga Beach to see what attractions (not many/any) it had to offer.
Returning to our hideaway we decided a trip to the beach itself would be nice as the weather seemed to be holding off. We ended up having an absolute ball, a blissful two hours of playing in the surf and the sand. There was hardly anyone else there and it was just pure joy, the four of us body surfing together.
Almost as soon as we returned to the house with our lunch of fish and chips the rain started, and stayed. We were housebound for the rest of the day, watching movies, reading and sleeping. The only downer was the take away Chinese dinner. Big Jay drove to Umina for it and it certainly wasn't worth the drive. Horrendous! Luckily we didn't get food poisoning but I wouldn't have been surprised. If you're down Umina way stay away from the Silver Dragon. You have been warned.
This morning our Central Coast based friends met us at the cafe for a big Sunday morning breakfast. We had already packed our stuff and since the rain was still coming down we headed home. It was a brief but lovely respite from real life. I needed it.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
School days
The school year 2010 has begun and I now have two children at school. The baby days are over.
Will started last Thursday and he is now in Year 5. High school is breathing down our collective necks and is a subject which can not be ignored for much longer. Shit.
Nothing much to report on the Will front. He is happy with his teacher, Miss C, who he had in Year 3. He knows her, she knows him, she understands him (I think). So all is well.
Miss Marianna Grumblebum started Kindergarten on Monday. So two days down and 13 years minus two days to go. She is fine at school but, as anticipated, there are meltdowns happening before and after.
This morning we had a doozy, involving her iPod, her breakfast and a door with a broken knob. Which was shortly followed by a tripping and knee grazing incident on the walk to school. Overall not the best morning of my life and probably not her's either.
It must be hard to be four and have so much expectation on you. To have to adapt to new routines, new people. To try and deal maturely with all these new experiences. No wonder she cracks when she in the safety of her own home, her own family, her own mental and physical environment. Knowing all the shit doesn't make it any easier on me. I'm still the one who has to keep the balls in the air, keep the machine which is our family unit well oiled and running. As always it's all about me, isn't it. HA!
Suffice to say I'm buggered right now. But things could always be worse; I could have to earn a living skulking around on stage dressed in insect screen mesh to a background of creepy music. So, you know, look on the bright side, etc.
Will started last Thursday and he is now in Year 5. High school is breathing down our collective necks and is a subject which can not be ignored for much longer. Shit.
Nothing much to report on the Will front. He is happy with his teacher, Miss C, who he had in Year 3. He knows her, she knows him, she understands him (I think). So all is well.
Miss Marianna Grumblebum started Kindergarten on Monday. So two days down and 13 years minus two days to go. She is fine at school but, as anticipated, there are meltdowns happening before and after.
This morning we had a doozy, involving her iPod, her breakfast and a door with a broken knob. Which was shortly followed by a tripping and knee grazing incident on the walk to school. Overall not the best morning of my life and probably not her's either.
It must be hard to be four and have so much expectation on you. To have to adapt to new routines, new people. To try and deal maturely with all these new experiences. No wonder she cracks when she in the safety of her own home, her own family, her own mental and physical environment. Knowing all the shit doesn't make it any easier on me. I'm still the one who has to keep the balls in the air, keep the machine which is our family unit well oiled and running. As always it's all about me, isn't it. HA!
Suffice to say I'm buggered right now. But things could always be worse; I could have to earn a living skulking around on stage dressed in insect screen mesh to a background of creepy music. So, you know, look on the bright side, etc.
That's entertainment
Sunday night I went to the Opera House to see Antony and The Johnsons. I went with my sister J and my long suffering hubby Big Jay. I have to say Big Jay was there by accident; he was feeling guilty for having let me go to so many concerts on my own and when I suggested this one he said "yes" because he thought there were no other takers. When he found out my sister was coming he was a little annoyed. He's more of an AC/DC sort of guy and if you put Antony and ACCADACCA on a spectrum they'd be about as far apart as Earth and Pluto (which will always be a planet as far as I am concerned).
It is worth casting our mind back to the last time we saw Antony at the State Theatre when the support "act" (and I use the term loosely was Coco Rosie). You can re-live this special experience here. Well this time around Antony out did himself. These people made Coco Rosie look like entertainers of the millenium.
How do I describe it? A geeky guy comes on stage and starts fiddling with his Mac laptop. Eerie, horror movie soundtrack-type music fills the concert hall. The lights dim and we all anticipate Antony's arrival. In vain. A shape becomes obvious to one side of the stage. A strange shape. As the light brightens somewhat the shape is exposed as a woman dressed in an old sheer lace curtain with an ugly metal pointy mask on her head. She stalks across the stage, slowly, very slowly. She is wearing odd, high heeled shoe things. She stalks as the music plays. There is anticipation that something interesting may happen. It doesn't. She arrives at the other side of the stage (so far the trip has taken about 15 minutes). She strips off the curtain to reveal a metallic bondagy type outfit. She takes off the mask. She stalks to the centre of the stage where she proceeds to move her arms and legs in a random manner. Another 15 minutes pass. She stalks off stage and relief floods the audience. In vain. Shortly she is back. She is now dressed in what appears to be an old insect screen. She stalks up and down the stage some more. She takes off insect screen. She postures in the middle of the stage. She leaves.
Fuck me! I giggled hysterically throughout. WHAT. THE. FUCK. WAS. THAT???!!! Seriously!
I know courses for horses, entertainment wise, but really. Do the Arts Councils give any old fuckwit a grant to develop their "art"? It was ridiculous, stupid, horrible and downright pathetic.
Attempting to wipe this comedy/horror show from my mind I settled in for the wonderful Antony. He was performing with a 41 piece orchestra and I was excited to see how this would work.
Well, I have to say it didn't work so well. Yes, Antony still has the magical, not of this world voice which blows my mind. But overall the show was strange and disjointed. For a start there was no sign of The Johnsons. While the orchestra played beautifully somehow it was too "pretty" and not edgy enough for me. It was missing "something" I couldn't put my finger on, if I compared it to his last solo show in 2006 or his appearance on back up vocals for Lou Reed in 2007; both of which were perfection.
He did the amazing I fell in love with a dead boy which is a song I simply love to death (pardon the pun). But he didn't do You are my sister or Fistful of love which are my two favourite songs. The songs off the new album all blend in together for me and don't really hit the spot. Not like I am a bird now which is an album I adore.
Anyway, to top off a weird and slightly annoying evening dear space cadet Antony went off on a meandering discussion about hating my husband's employer [evil evil evil ] Rupert Murdoch (or Rupey as I like to call him) and followed that up with some blather about climate change and how his hotel Quay Grand would soon be under water. [Well better sleep with a fucking life jacket on, just in case, you moron. - Believe me it pains me greatly to call Antony a moron, but I call it as I see it.]
It is worth casting our mind back to the last time we saw Antony at the State Theatre when the support "act" (and I use the term loosely was Coco Rosie). You can re-live this special experience here. Well this time around Antony out did himself. These people made Coco Rosie look like entertainers of the millenium.
How do I describe it? A geeky guy comes on stage and starts fiddling with his Mac laptop. Eerie, horror movie soundtrack-type music fills the concert hall. The lights dim and we all anticipate Antony's arrival. In vain. A shape becomes obvious to one side of the stage. A strange shape. As the light brightens somewhat the shape is exposed as a woman dressed in an old sheer lace curtain with an ugly metal pointy mask on her head. She stalks across the stage, slowly, very slowly. She is wearing odd, high heeled shoe things. She stalks as the music plays. There is anticipation that something interesting may happen. It doesn't. She arrives at the other side of the stage (so far the trip has taken about 15 minutes). She strips off the curtain to reveal a metallic bondagy type outfit. She takes off the mask. She stalks to the centre of the stage where she proceeds to move her arms and legs in a random manner. Another 15 minutes pass. She stalks off stage and relief floods the audience. In vain. Shortly she is back. She is now dressed in what appears to be an old insect screen. She stalks up and down the stage some more. She takes off insect screen. She postures in the middle of the stage. She leaves.
Fuck me! I giggled hysterically throughout. WHAT. THE. FUCK. WAS. THAT???!!! Seriously!
I know courses for horses, entertainment wise, but really. Do the Arts Councils give any old fuckwit a grant to develop their "art"? It was ridiculous, stupid, horrible and downright pathetic.
Attempting to wipe this comedy/horror show from my mind I settled in for the wonderful Antony. He was performing with a 41 piece orchestra and I was excited to see how this would work.
Well, I have to say it didn't work so well. Yes, Antony still has the magical, not of this world voice which blows my mind. But overall the show was strange and disjointed. For a start there was no sign of The Johnsons. While the orchestra played beautifully somehow it was too "pretty" and not edgy enough for me. It was missing "something" I couldn't put my finger on, if I compared it to his last solo show in 2006 or his appearance on back up vocals for Lou Reed in 2007; both of which were perfection.
He did the amazing I fell in love with a dead boy which is a song I simply love to death (pardon the pun). But he didn't do You are my sister or Fistful of love which are my two favourite songs. The songs off the new album all blend in together for me and don't really hit the spot. Not like I am a bird now which is an album I adore.
Anyway, to top off a weird and slightly annoying evening dear space cadet Antony went off on a meandering discussion about hating my husband's employer [evil evil evil ] Rupert Murdoch (or Rupey as I like to call him) and followed that up with some blather about climate change and how his hotel Quay Grand would soon be under water. [Well better sleep with a fucking life jacket on, just in case, you moron. - Believe me it pains me greatly to call Antony a moron, but I call it as I see it.]
Saturday, January 30, 2010
The Slap
I've just finished The Slap by Christos Tsiolkas. I know it's a bit 2009 to be talking about this book now. It really was the book of last year. I've been wanting to read it for some time but reading time is always a bit of a rarity for me.
Christos Tsiolkas wrote Loaded, which became the wonderful, in your face Australian film Head On. I loved the book and I loved the film even more. It started with a very memorable opening sequence featuring Alex Dimitriades' cock. Thank you very much! The book and film, featuring a great deal of homosexual sex, were certainly not everyone's cup of tea. Personally I don't mind a bit of homosexual sex.
Speaking of which I am about 2/3 of the way through Edmund White's autobiography My Lives. He is one of my three favourite Gay American Writers. The Not Funny One. I am not sure what exactly attracts me to his work. Looking back I think I accidentally ordered his first three books when I belonged to a book club about a gazillion years ago and he sort of got under my skin. I went to see him speak at the Sydney Writers' Festival a few years ago. Any old how, Edmund, like Christos (like many gay authors I suppose) has a liking for blow jobs. Nothing wrong with that, I'm quite partial to them myself. However, some people don't seem to like reading descriptions of sex acts, BJs, or any other type.
This is one of the criticisms of The Slap which I heard a few times when it was discussed on radio. For me it wasn't the descriptions of sex which were problematic, it was the amount of sex the characters were having. Possibly Christos inhabits a parallel universe where people such as this exist. If people in my universe are having that much sex then they sure as hell aren't telling me about it. [Speak up people, I want to know.]
Apart from the sex The Slap touches on many issues which are the cornerstones of middle class Australian society: the complex relationships within marriage, parenthood, non-parenthood, immigrant families, getting older, being old, moving from childhood into young adulthood, sexuality and identity. The epicentre of the drama is the moment in time when a man hits a child who is not his own at a bbq. This one action leads the narrative which touches the lives of some of the people present.
I enjoyed the style of the writing, I enjoyed the characters, I enjoyed the story and it's presentation. It certainly made me think. Even the parts which didn't sit well with me were valuable because I had to question why they irked me. It may not be a book to change the world but I think it's a very worthwhile book.
Possible spoilers... read on at your own risk...
The question of THE SLAP itself had me swinging. A man smacks a very naughty, undisciplined child who is possibly going to hurt his child at a bbq in front of a group of his family and friends. The family of the smacked child call in the police and press charges of assault, there is a court case. Who is in the right/wrong?
I am 90% on the side of the slap-er, as oppossed to the slap-ee. I don't think anyone should be smacking anyone else's child, generally speaking. But this child is presented in a way which makes me loathe him and his useless mum and dad. He is four and a half, almost at school, and he is still being breastfed. That's a red rag to a bull for me. That speaks of a mother with deep psychological problems, not a child who is in need of nutrition. The child is badly behaved and uncontrollable because the mother won't discipine him, treats him like a deity. He is a little shit.
Would I smack a child like that? Probably not. But I would want to. Really badly. And I would applaud anyone who did in the circumstance which is described in The Slap. Overall it seems like such a trivial issue but these days it is not. I am sure twenty years ago such things were commonplace. No-one would bat an eyelid should some other parent discipline their child. These days it is an issue requiring police action and court intervention.
I know every generation thinks the same thing, but it's a funny old time we live in.
Christos Tsiolkas wrote Loaded, which became the wonderful, in your face Australian film Head On. I loved the book and I loved the film even more. It started with a very memorable opening sequence featuring Alex Dimitriades' cock. Thank you very much! The book and film, featuring a great deal of homosexual sex, were certainly not everyone's cup of tea. Personally I don't mind a bit of homosexual sex.
Speaking of which I am about 2/3 of the way through Edmund White's autobiography My Lives. He is one of my three favourite Gay American Writers. The Not Funny One. I am not sure what exactly attracts me to his work. Looking back I think I accidentally ordered his first three books when I belonged to a book club about a gazillion years ago and he sort of got under my skin. I went to see him speak at the Sydney Writers' Festival a few years ago. Any old how, Edmund, like Christos (like many gay authors I suppose) has a liking for blow jobs. Nothing wrong with that, I'm quite partial to them myself. However, some people don't seem to like reading descriptions of sex acts, BJs, or any other type.
This is one of the criticisms of The Slap which I heard a few times when it was discussed on radio. For me it wasn't the descriptions of sex which were problematic, it was the amount of sex the characters were having. Possibly Christos inhabits a parallel universe where people such as this exist. If people in my universe are having that much sex then they sure as hell aren't telling me about it. [Speak up people, I want to know.]
Apart from the sex The Slap touches on many issues which are the cornerstones of middle class Australian society: the complex relationships within marriage, parenthood, non-parenthood, immigrant families, getting older, being old, moving from childhood into young adulthood, sexuality and identity. The epicentre of the drama is the moment in time when a man hits a child who is not his own at a bbq. This one action leads the narrative which touches the lives of some of the people present.
I enjoyed the style of the writing, I enjoyed the characters, I enjoyed the story and it's presentation. It certainly made me think. Even the parts which didn't sit well with me were valuable because I had to question why they irked me. It may not be a book to change the world but I think it's a very worthwhile book.
Possible spoilers... read on at your own risk...
The question of THE SLAP itself had me swinging. A man smacks a very naughty, undisciplined child who is possibly going to hurt his child at a bbq in front of a group of his family and friends. The family of the smacked child call in the police and press charges of assault, there is a court case. Who is in the right/wrong?
I am 90% on the side of the slap-er, as oppossed to the slap-ee. I don't think anyone should be smacking anyone else's child, generally speaking. But this child is presented in a way which makes me loathe him and his useless mum and dad. He is four and a half, almost at school, and he is still being breastfed. That's a red rag to a bull for me. That speaks of a mother with deep psychological problems, not a child who is in need of nutrition. The child is badly behaved and uncontrollable because the mother won't discipine him, treats him like a deity. He is a little shit.
Would I smack a child like that? Probably not. But I would want to. Really badly. And I would applaud anyone who did in the circumstance which is described in The Slap. Overall it seems like such a trivial issue but these days it is not. I am sure twenty years ago such things were commonplace. No-one would bat an eyelid should some other parent discipline their child. These days it is an issue requiring police action and court intervention.
I know every generation thinks the same thing, but it's a funny old time we live in.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
An Inconvenient Pile of Total and Utter Bollocks
Last night I went to hear Lord Christopher Monckton talk about the farce which is the man made climate change scenario being forced down our throats. You know the one. The one where our children are frightened of a horrible future by being made to watch The Horror Movie Which I Cannot Mention in schools. Where we are sold all sorts of overpriced, unnecessary crappola (e.g. solar panels) in the name of saving the planet. Where consultants are making a killing by providing advice on how to overcome the effects of climate change in your business, your home, your school (I'm fairly sure these were the same consultants who "saved" us from the terror which was the Y2K - and we all remember how badly that ended! Ha ha ha and fucking ha! Does the term "fleeced" mean anything to you?). Where we are all going to pay pay pay until we can't possibly pay any more for an Emissions Trading Scheme which will be about as useful and beneficial to the planet as a copy of The Female Eunuch to your average Saudi Arabian sheik.
It was sheer joy to hear someone in the public arena talk about what a hoax man made climate change is. When you are a climate change sceptic like me it's a little difficult not to feel like a bit of a social leper. It's not a subject you can easily bring up without being regarded as an idiot or some sort of right wing nut bag, at least that's the feeling I have. For the most part I don't think my close circle of friends really give a shit, they are all busy living their lives without give this stuff much deep thought.
I would be happy to just have a laugh about it and get on with my life but I just can't. It sticks in craw and I can't let it go. Because Al Gore's poisonous bucket of bile gets shown at my children's school on constant rotation during a school fete. Because the media squawks about it constantly. Because it is apparently giving our government (and many others) carte blanche to pass legislation which is utter madness without any sort of proper public debate on the subject.
I apologise for repeating myself ad nauseam but I can't rest knowing that we are being told a blatant pack of lies day in, day out. The bottom line is climate is changing, it always has and it always will. Greenland used to be GREEN. Ancient Greeks and Romans wore togas because it was HOT. The Australian land mass used to be joined to the Indonesian land mass, water rose, now they are not joined any more. I'm fairly sure this all happened before we started producing the carbon which is allegedly to blame for our all non-existant problems. We are actually at the end of an ice age and therefore temperatures are rising. We are putting the wrong facts together and coming up with illogical equations. 2 + 2 = 427. I'm no scientist (surprise!) but I know bullshit when I see it and we are all being buried under a giant pile of stinking cow manure.
Remember how the hole in the ozone layer was going to kill us all? We were all going to die of horrible skin cancers because the sun would be so strong it would burn us all to a crisp. Strangely enough that hole is never mentioned any more.
The other speaker last night was Professor Ian Plimer, author of Heaven and Earth. He is an Australian geologist who writes about the geological history of Earth and how we need to look at the past to understand what is happening now and what may happen in the future. He is saying that the computer models which produce the armagedon scenarios are wrong. Of course they are fucking wrong. The computer models can't even tell us what the weather is going to be tomorrow, how can they predict the next 20 or 100 or 1000 years. They can't. Full stop.
Then there are the people who say, well even if it isn't totally right we should err on the side of caution. No. What's happening now is not erring on the side of caution. It's like saying we may have a small chance of getting a cold next winter so we'll just take 5 kgs of antibiotics every day for the rest of our lives just in case. You can't be too careful you know. Never mind the damage those antibiotics will do to our bodies in the meantime. Never mind that the antibiotics are expensive and we can barely afford them. Never mind....
Oh, never mind. I'm over it. Enough ranting for tonight.
If you are vaguely interested in a different truth, not the inconvenient kind but the REAL kind, you may want to take a look at this website http://www.scienceandpublicpolicy.org/ and it's blog http://www.sppiblog.org/ .
Well, I'm off to drag my poor old aching head to bed.
It was sheer joy to hear someone in the public arena talk about what a hoax man made climate change is. When you are a climate change sceptic like me it's a little difficult not to feel like a bit of a social leper. It's not a subject you can easily bring up without being regarded as an idiot or some sort of right wing nut bag, at least that's the feeling I have. For the most part I don't think my close circle of friends really give a shit, they are all busy living their lives without give this stuff much deep thought.
I would be happy to just have a laugh about it and get on with my life but I just can't. It sticks in craw and I can't let it go. Because Al Gore's poisonous bucket of bile gets shown at my children's school on constant rotation during a school fete. Because the media squawks about it constantly. Because it is apparently giving our government (and many others) carte blanche to pass legislation which is utter madness without any sort of proper public debate on the subject.
I apologise for repeating myself ad nauseam but I can't rest knowing that we are being told a blatant pack of lies day in, day out. The bottom line is climate is changing, it always has and it always will. Greenland used to be GREEN. Ancient Greeks and Romans wore togas because it was HOT. The Australian land mass used to be joined to the Indonesian land mass, water rose, now they are not joined any more. I'm fairly sure this all happened before we started producing the carbon which is allegedly to blame for our all non-existant problems. We are actually at the end of an ice age and therefore temperatures are rising. We are putting the wrong facts together and coming up with illogical equations. 2 + 2 = 427. I'm no scientist (surprise!) but I know bullshit when I see it and we are all being buried under a giant pile of stinking cow manure.
Remember how the hole in the ozone layer was going to kill us all? We were all going to die of horrible skin cancers because the sun would be so strong it would burn us all to a crisp. Strangely enough that hole is never mentioned any more.
The other speaker last night was Professor Ian Plimer, author of Heaven and Earth. He is an Australian geologist who writes about the geological history of Earth and how we need to look at the past to understand what is happening now and what may happen in the future. He is saying that the computer models which produce the armagedon scenarios are wrong. Of course they are fucking wrong. The computer models can't even tell us what the weather is going to be tomorrow, how can they predict the next 20 or 100 or 1000 years. They can't. Full stop.
Then there are the people who say, well even if it isn't totally right we should err on the side of caution. No. What's happening now is not erring on the side of caution. It's like saying we may have a small chance of getting a cold next winter so we'll just take 5 kgs of antibiotics every day for the rest of our lives just in case. You can't be too careful you know. Never mind the damage those antibiotics will do to our bodies in the meantime. Never mind that the antibiotics are expensive and we can barely afford them. Never mind....
Oh, never mind. I'm over it. Enough ranting for tonight.
If you are vaguely interested in a different truth, not the inconvenient kind but the REAL kind, you may want to take a look at this website http://www.scienceandpublicpolicy.org/ and it's blog http://www.sppiblog.org/ .
Well, I'm off to drag my poor old aching head to bed.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
I want to suck your blood
I am loving loving loving Season 2 of True Blood. I iQ'd the series a while ago and I have two episodes left to watch. Last night I watched Episode 10 and it took all my self control to switch off and go to bed because every atom of being wanted to stay up late and watch the last two.
I sort of enjoyed Season 1 but found it too slow, with too much focus on the romance between Sookie and Bill. But I loved all the little fun details of what a world where humans and vampires living side by side would be like. [The newspaper with the headline "Angelina adopts vampire baby". Too funny!]
But Season 2 is just a fantastic roller coaster ride. I can't take my eyes away for a second, there is so much happening. Maryanne and her evil influence; the orgies and violence and her need to sacrifice poor shape-shifting Sam. How will it all end?
Then there was whole Light of Day Institute scenario with those damned vampire hating Christian nutters. Which introduced us to poor, doomed Godric, the cherubic, ancient vampire, on whom I developed an instant crush. So fucking wrong! Or so very right! Then I even start liking Eric, the bad bad vampire. What does it all mean?
What it means is that I wish I was a vampire. Is that bad? They are just so cool. It's not the idea of drinking blood that would be appealing to me. I would be happy to drink True Blood, like any good modern day vamp. But they are powerful and sexy (all the things I'm not, if you want to indulge in a little psychoanalysis, peeps) and I crave to be one. Now where do I sign up for the American Vampire League (or should I start the Australian chapter?)?
I sort of enjoyed Season 1 but found it too slow, with too much focus on the romance between Sookie and Bill. But I loved all the little fun details of what a world where humans and vampires living side by side would be like. [The newspaper with the headline "Angelina adopts vampire baby". Too funny!]
But Season 2 is just a fantastic roller coaster ride. I can't take my eyes away for a second, there is so much happening. Maryanne and her evil influence; the orgies and violence and her need to sacrifice poor shape-shifting Sam. How will it all end?
Then there was whole Light of Day Institute scenario with those damned vampire hating Christian nutters. Which introduced us to poor, doomed Godric, the cherubic, ancient vampire, on whom I developed an instant crush. So fucking wrong! Or so very right! Then I even start liking Eric, the bad bad vampire. What does it all mean?
What it means is that I wish I was a vampire. Is that bad? They are just so cool. It's not the idea of drinking blood that would be appealing to me. I would be happy to drink True Blood, like any good modern day vamp. But they are powerful and sexy (all the things I'm not, if you want to indulge in a little psychoanalysis, peeps) and I crave to be one. Now where do I sign up for the American Vampire League (or should I start the Australian chapter?)?
Saturday, January 23, 2010
I love you, I need you, I want you...
No, I'm not talking about RW or AK or any of my other objects of fantasy.
I'm talking about a kitchen gadget I was introduced to at Tetsuya's masterclass last week.
The Thermomix.
This gadget looks something like an oversized ice bucket sitting in the middle of a large plastic base. Nothing special really. But it's what it can do that makes it amazing.
This thing cooks and cools, so it can make risotto and ice cream. It whisks, blends, mixes, kneads, weighs. There is basically nothing it can't do (excuse the double negative).
Tetsuya used it to grind tea leaves to a powder so fine you could easily have snorted it, if that's the sort of thing you're into... snorting tea leaves.
Anyway, if anyone has a spare TWO GRAND sitting around which they would like to contribute to support my kitchen appliance habit please send all donations to ...
I'm talking about a kitchen gadget I was introduced to at Tetsuya's masterclass last week.
The Thermomix.
This gadget looks something like an oversized ice bucket sitting in the middle of a large plastic base. Nothing special really. But it's what it can do that makes it amazing.
This thing cooks and cools, so it can make risotto and ice cream. It whisks, blends, mixes, kneads, weighs. There is basically nothing it can't do (excuse the double negative).
Tetsuya used it to grind tea leaves to a powder so fine you could easily have snorted it, if that's the sort of thing you're into... snorting tea leaves.
Anyway, if anyone has a spare TWO GRAND sitting around which they would like to contribute to support my kitchen appliance habit please send all donations to ...
Yuck, Yuck and triple Yuck
I've been making smoothies lately. There's something about a warm summer morning that makes me crave an icy cold, creamy, banana and mango smoothie, made with a squirt of honey and an ice cube for extra icy-ness.
Anyway, on Wednesday morning (after our return from another wonderful short holiday break with our wonderful friends the G family in Port Macquarie) I went about making myself one of these delicious concoctions. In goes the milk, the chopped up banana, half a chopped up mango, the honey and ice. Bbbbbjjjjjjjjj goes my trusty Sunbeam magic wand thingy (what are they called?? and no, not that magic wand thingy - RIP BOB the first BTW).
Imagine my surprise, bewilderment, horror when the mixture turns a lovely shade of pale khaki instead of the usual tropical shade of pale orange. I stare at it, my morning brain trying to make sense of it all.
Hesitently I lift out the magic wand and look at the blade area (had a mouse impaled itself on it while I was away?). No, it was worse, much worse, than that. There was mould, thick, crusy, gray mould growing underneath the blades. Now before you start wondering about the hygiene standards at Chez Deep Kick Girl let me assure you all is well in that department. I always wash the blades thoroughly after use and dry in the appropriate manner.
After closer examination it appears that the mould has grown in the rubber seal area underneath the blades; a rubber seal which does not seem to actually serve any purpose, except to harbour germs and grow mould.
I have scrubbed it all again and soaked briefly in a bleach solution but I'm not sure I can ever bring myself to use this gadget again. Which may be a good excuse to purchase my new kitchen love interest...
Anyway, on Wednesday morning (after our return from another wonderful short holiday break with our wonderful friends the G family in Port Macquarie) I went about making myself one of these delicious concoctions. In goes the milk, the chopped up banana, half a chopped up mango, the honey and ice. Bbbbbjjjjjjjjj goes my trusty Sunbeam magic wand thingy (what are they called?? and no, not that magic wand thingy - RIP BOB the first BTW).
Imagine my surprise, bewilderment, horror when the mixture turns a lovely shade of pale khaki instead of the usual tropical shade of pale orange. I stare at it, my morning brain trying to make sense of it all.
Hesitently I lift out the magic wand and look at the blade area (had a mouse impaled itself on it while I was away?). No, it was worse, much worse, than that. There was mould, thick, crusy, gray mould growing underneath the blades. Now before you start wondering about the hygiene standards at Chez Deep Kick Girl let me assure you all is well in that department. I always wash the blades thoroughly after use and dry in the appropriate manner.
After closer examination it appears that the mould has grown in the rubber seal area underneath the blades; a rubber seal which does not seem to actually serve any purpose, except to harbour germs and grow mould.
I have scrubbed it all again and soaked briefly in a bleach solution but I'm not sure I can ever bring myself to use this gadget again. Which may be a good excuse to purchase my new kitchen love interest...
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Amen!
I don't always agree with the views expressed on http://www.spiked-online.com/ but when they get it right, they get it so bloody right it is fucking scary.
When I read this I ran around like an idiot shouting "hurray" and "amen to that, brothers and sisters" ... well at least in my head. This is the sort of stuff I think about but am too lazy to actually put down in written form. Luckily Spiked! have done it for me. Good on you, you clever little English folk.
Hands off the human footprint! spiked's alternative Copenhagen deal
Everyone, it seems, is disappointed with the Copenhagen Deal drawn up by world leaders, with its promise of more money to tackle climate change and its commitment to stop the planet from warming by more than two degrees. But never mind all that. As spiked kicks off a major online debate about the future of the planet and humanity post-Copenhagen, here is our Alternative Copenhagen Deal.
#1: Hands off the human footprint
From Genesis to the Enlightenment, mankind was seen as the master of the planet. We have ‘dominion over the fish of the sea, over the birds of the air, and every other living thing that moves on the Earth’, said the Bible. Let’s put ‘nature on the rack’ and ‘extract her secrets’, said Enlightenment thinkers. Now we’re described as a malignant tumour, a ‘serious planetary malady’, in the words of one leading green, and our achievements – industry, cities, skyscrapers – are disparaged as the ‘human footprint’. The goal of environmentalism is to shrink this ‘footprint’, speaking to a view of humans as ultimately destructive and of our breakthroughs as gigantic follies that must be decommissioned. No way. We have not poisoned the planet; we have humanised it. And far from being shrunk, our ‘footprint’ – our 5,000-year project of taming and transforming this wild ball of gas and water – must be expanded further.
#2: Ditch the carbon calculators
Every human activity is now judged according to how much carbon it emits. Flying, working, eating, development and even reproducing – people’s decision to create new human life – are measured in ‘tonnes of CO2 emitted’. A baby is another 10 tonnes of carbon a year, we’re told; more fridges in China will add too much CO2 to the atmosphere, it is claimed. But human activity is not reducible to the number of toxins it allegedly creates. The carbon judgment on our daily activities has replaced God’s judgement – except where the God squad at least distinguished between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ activities, under the morality-lite, toxins-obsessed tyranny of original carbon sin, everything is potentially harmful. Stop carbon-calculating our lives, and let us celebrate people’s activities in human terms, recognising them as good, creative, explorative, industrious, or simply as making people happy.
#3: Demand more economic growth
Creating plenty – plenty of food, homes and things – was the overarching aim of most human societies. From the toiling Israelites’ vision of a ‘land of milk and honey’ to Socialists such as Sylvia Pankhurst’s dream of ‘a great production that will supply more than all the people can consume’, we recognised that plenty would make us more comfortable and more free, allowing us to spend less time toiling and more time talking, thinking, experimenting, living. Yet in the eco-era, thinkers demonise ‘plenty’ and celebrate ‘enoughism’, to use one green writer’s word: but whose idea of ‘enough’? Economic growth is denounced as polluting, and people’s desire for wealth is redefined as a mental illness: ‘affluenza’. The sin of gluttony has been rehabilitated in pseudo-scientific terms. We should insist that ‘growth is good’ – in fact, it’s essential if we are to satisfy people’s needs, and liberate their time and their minds so that they can realise their desires.
#4: Don't sustain sustainable development
The only kind of development bigged up today is ‘sustainable development’. It sounds nice: development is a good thing, and who wants to do things in an unsustainable fashion? Yet the cult of sustainability, of pursuing only small-scale projects that can be sustained into the distant future without too much eco-stress, speaks to a lack of human daring. The idea is that we should only build and create things that can be held together or remade without much effort, and that we should never, ever think of overhauling society, of making industrious leaps forward, of discarding the homes, towns and vehicles we have now in favour of better versions. The demand to do only That Which Can Be Sustained is really a warning against rethinking, reimagining and remaking our world. It’s an intellectual straitjacket for progress. We should wriggle free from it.
#5: No limits on population growth
Progressives once argued that unemployment, poverty and hunger were social problems susceptible to social solutions. Today the orthodoxy is that they are natural or demographic problems springing from humanity’s failure to respect Mother Nature’s limits. Nowhere is this clearer than in the rise of eco-Malthusianism and the notion that the planet is overpopulated by ‘too many mouths to feed’. Society’s failure to create a world fit for people, a world of plenty, is redefined as individuals’ failure to control their reckless fecundity and limit the number of new ‘resource-users’ (formerly known as ‘bundles of joy’). When problems were understood in social terms, the solution was seen as more debate and more progress; when problems are understood in natural terms, the solution is seen as curbs on people’s nature-transgressing behaviour and the use of eco-blackmail to curtail fecundity. Population growth is not the problem – the lack of social imagination is.
#6: Stop demonising 'deniers'
Serious debate about humanity and its future is continually curtailed. Anyone who questions the science or politics of global warming is written off as a ‘Flat Earther’, a phrase used by Gordon Brown on the eve of Copenhagen. Some label ‘climate change denial’ as a psychological disorder and claim these ‘evil words’ will literally bring about death and destruction. From Torquemada on, censors have always painted their enemies not only as wrong but as morally warped, and their utterances as a threat to the social fabric. The idea of ‘denial’, meanwhile, suggests there is an already established Truth that we must either Accept or Deny – no challenge to it can be tolerated. We should defend scepticism, not because climate sceptics always have something interesting to say, but because every breakthrough in history has sprung from at least a willingness to ask awkward, agitating questions about accepted truths.
#7: No to eco-protectionism
In the past even Marxists sang the praises of capitalism’s tendency to internationalise production and trade. The ‘rapid improvement of all instruments of production, [and] the immensely facilitated means of communication, draws all, even the most barbarian, nations into civilisation’, wrote Marx and Engels in 1848. Today we have ‘locavores’ – people who only eat food produced within 100 miles of where they live – and green lobby groups deploying the pseudo-science of ‘food miles’ to argue against the CO2-emitting import of foreign foodstuffs. Eco-miserabilists have even invented the category of ‘love miles’ to measure the pollution caused by importing Valentine’s Day flowers from Kenya. This is the resurrection of protectionism in green language, and is causing people in the Third World to lose their jobs and homes. We need more, and more meaningful, links between the North and the South, not fewer.
#8: Make energy the solution, not the problem
Whether we’re digging for coal or extracting uranium, man’s use of the Earth’s resources to create energy is frowned upon. We’re ‘destroying the planet’, apparently, by draining its fuels. Such panic over allegedly dwindling resources is not based on hard evidence that this stuff is running out, but on a conviction that we shouldn’t really be using it in the first place. Even our use of water is now problematised: green charities talk about our ‘water footprint’ and tell us to live ‘water-neutral lives’. This speaks to a new view of people as merely consumers rather than producers, destroyers rather than creators. The Earth has been relabelled a ‘warehouse of resources’ and our role is apparently to tiptoe through it and borrow only what we really, really need. We should see the creation of energy not as the problem but as the solution, allowing us to power industry, light up whole cities, and improve human existence. All kinds of energy can be explored – even wind and waves – just so long as the principle of expanding energy to meet our needs is accepted first.
#9: Address the democratic deficit
Our leaders went to Copenhagen hoping to find the sense of historic momentum that is sorely lacking in everyday politics. Unable to inspire voters with anything like a grand vision of a future Good Life, they instead play at ‘making history’, depicting themselves as the defenders of basic existence from the coming eco-Armageddon. Yet rather than resolving the crisis of political vision, Copenhagen exposed it: on one side our leaders expressed disappointment with we the public’s lack of ‘urgency and drive and animation’ about climate change (in David Miliband’s words), and on the other side everyday people sensibly switched off, seeing Copenhagen as a waste of time and telling pollsters that they don’t think climate change is the biggest problem facing the world. Today’s democratic deficit, the gulf between the rulers and the ruled, will not be fixed by the displacement activity of pseudo-historic international conferences – we need openness, honesty and debate.
#10: Humans before polar bears
In the past many thought there was a white, hairy being in the clouds who was judging our behaviour. Today many believe that another white, hairy being – the polar bear – is a barometer of human hubris. Everything we do is measured according to its alleged impact on the ice floes, polar-bear habitats, and other natural phenomena. This represents the creation of a new, backward morality, one which seeks to control human behaviour and lower humanity’s horizons through mythical tales of our eco-destructiveness; the idea of limits, harm and polar-bear vulnerability are used to hector and cow the public. We need to rediscover a sense of human morality, of judging our behaviour in its own terms rather than the terms set by miserabilist misanthropes and cynically externalised as Concern For Polar Bears. When it comes to political decision-making, progress and development, only one question should ever be asked: will it or will it not benefit humankind?
When I read this I ran around like an idiot shouting "hurray" and "amen to that, brothers and sisters" ... well at least in my head. This is the sort of stuff I think about but am too lazy to actually put down in written form. Luckily Spiked! have done it for me. Good on you, you clever little English folk.
Hands off the human footprint! spiked's alternative Copenhagen deal
Everyone, it seems, is disappointed with the Copenhagen Deal drawn up by world leaders, with its promise of more money to tackle climate change and its commitment to stop the planet from warming by more than two degrees. But never mind all that. As spiked kicks off a major online debate about the future of the planet and humanity post-Copenhagen, here is our Alternative Copenhagen Deal.
#1: Hands off the human footprint
From Genesis to the Enlightenment, mankind was seen as the master of the planet. We have ‘dominion over the fish of the sea, over the birds of the air, and every other living thing that moves on the Earth’, said the Bible. Let’s put ‘nature on the rack’ and ‘extract her secrets’, said Enlightenment thinkers. Now we’re described as a malignant tumour, a ‘serious planetary malady’, in the words of one leading green, and our achievements – industry, cities, skyscrapers – are disparaged as the ‘human footprint’. The goal of environmentalism is to shrink this ‘footprint’, speaking to a view of humans as ultimately destructive and of our breakthroughs as gigantic follies that must be decommissioned. No way. We have not poisoned the planet; we have humanised it. And far from being shrunk, our ‘footprint’ – our 5,000-year project of taming and transforming this wild ball of gas and water – must be expanded further.
#2: Ditch the carbon calculators
Every human activity is now judged according to how much carbon it emits. Flying, working, eating, development and even reproducing – people’s decision to create new human life – are measured in ‘tonnes of CO2 emitted’. A baby is another 10 tonnes of carbon a year, we’re told; more fridges in China will add too much CO2 to the atmosphere, it is claimed. But human activity is not reducible to the number of toxins it allegedly creates. The carbon judgment on our daily activities has replaced God’s judgement – except where the God squad at least distinguished between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ activities, under the morality-lite, toxins-obsessed tyranny of original carbon sin, everything is potentially harmful. Stop carbon-calculating our lives, and let us celebrate people’s activities in human terms, recognising them as good, creative, explorative, industrious, or simply as making people happy.
#3: Demand more economic growth
Creating plenty – plenty of food, homes and things – was the overarching aim of most human societies. From the toiling Israelites’ vision of a ‘land of milk and honey’ to Socialists such as Sylvia Pankhurst’s dream of ‘a great production that will supply more than all the people can consume’, we recognised that plenty would make us more comfortable and more free, allowing us to spend less time toiling and more time talking, thinking, experimenting, living. Yet in the eco-era, thinkers demonise ‘plenty’ and celebrate ‘enoughism’, to use one green writer’s word: but whose idea of ‘enough’? Economic growth is denounced as polluting, and people’s desire for wealth is redefined as a mental illness: ‘affluenza’. The sin of gluttony has been rehabilitated in pseudo-scientific terms. We should insist that ‘growth is good’ – in fact, it’s essential if we are to satisfy people’s needs, and liberate their time and their minds so that they can realise their desires.
#4: Don't sustain sustainable development
The only kind of development bigged up today is ‘sustainable development’. It sounds nice: development is a good thing, and who wants to do things in an unsustainable fashion? Yet the cult of sustainability, of pursuing only small-scale projects that can be sustained into the distant future without too much eco-stress, speaks to a lack of human daring. The idea is that we should only build and create things that can be held together or remade without much effort, and that we should never, ever think of overhauling society, of making industrious leaps forward, of discarding the homes, towns and vehicles we have now in favour of better versions. The demand to do only That Which Can Be Sustained is really a warning against rethinking, reimagining and remaking our world. It’s an intellectual straitjacket for progress. We should wriggle free from it.
#5: No limits on population growth
Progressives once argued that unemployment, poverty and hunger were social problems susceptible to social solutions. Today the orthodoxy is that they are natural or demographic problems springing from humanity’s failure to respect Mother Nature’s limits. Nowhere is this clearer than in the rise of eco-Malthusianism and the notion that the planet is overpopulated by ‘too many mouths to feed’. Society’s failure to create a world fit for people, a world of plenty, is redefined as individuals’ failure to control their reckless fecundity and limit the number of new ‘resource-users’ (formerly known as ‘bundles of joy’). When problems were understood in social terms, the solution was seen as more debate and more progress; when problems are understood in natural terms, the solution is seen as curbs on people’s nature-transgressing behaviour and the use of eco-blackmail to curtail fecundity. Population growth is not the problem – the lack of social imagination is.
#6: Stop demonising 'deniers'
Serious debate about humanity and its future is continually curtailed. Anyone who questions the science or politics of global warming is written off as a ‘Flat Earther’, a phrase used by Gordon Brown on the eve of Copenhagen. Some label ‘climate change denial’ as a psychological disorder and claim these ‘evil words’ will literally bring about death and destruction. From Torquemada on, censors have always painted their enemies not only as wrong but as morally warped, and their utterances as a threat to the social fabric. The idea of ‘denial’, meanwhile, suggests there is an already established Truth that we must either Accept or Deny – no challenge to it can be tolerated. We should defend scepticism, not because climate sceptics always have something interesting to say, but because every breakthrough in history has sprung from at least a willingness to ask awkward, agitating questions about accepted truths.
#7: No to eco-protectionism
In the past even Marxists sang the praises of capitalism’s tendency to internationalise production and trade. The ‘rapid improvement of all instruments of production, [and] the immensely facilitated means of communication, draws all, even the most barbarian, nations into civilisation’, wrote Marx and Engels in 1848. Today we have ‘locavores’ – people who only eat food produced within 100 miles of where they live – and green lobby groups deploying the pseudo-science of ‘food miles’ to argue against the CO2-emitting import of foreign foodstuffs. Eco-miserabilists have even invented the category of ‘love miles’ to measure the pollution caused by importing Valentine’s Day flowers from Kenya. This is the resurrection of protectionism in green language, and is causing people in the Third World to lose their jobs and homes. We need more, and more meaningful, links between the North and the South, not fewer.
#8: Make energy the solution, not the problem
Whether we’re digging for coal or extracting uranium, man’s use of the Earth’s resources to create energy is frowned upon. We’re ‘destroying the planet’, apparently, by draining its fuels. Such panic over allegedly dwindling resources is not based on hard evidence that this stuff is running out, but on a conviction that we shouldn’t really be using it in the first place. Even our use of water is now problematised: green charities talk about our ‘water footprint’ and tell us to live ‘water-neutral lives’. This speaks to a new view of people as merely consumers rather than producers, destroyers rather than creators. The Earth has been relabelled a ‘warehouse of resources’ and our role is apparently to tiptoe through it and borrow only what we really, really need. We should see the creation of energy not as the problem but as the solution, allowing us to power industry, light up whole cities, and improve human existence. All kinds of energy can be explored – even wind and waves – just so long as the principle of expanding energy to meet our needs is accepted first.
#9: Address the democratic deficit
Our leaders went to Copenhagen hoping to find the sense of historic momentum that is sorely lacking in everyday politics. Unable to inspire voters with anything like a grand vision of a future Good Life, they instead play at ‘making history’, depicting themselves as the defenders of basic existence from the coming eco-Armageddon. Yet rather than resolving the crisis of political vision, Copenhagen exposed it: on one side our leaders expressed disappointment with we the public’s lack of ‘urgency and drive and animation’ about climate change (in David Miliband’s words), and on the other side everyday people sensibly switched off, seeing Copenhagen as a waste of time and telling pollsters that they don’t think climate change is the biggest problem facing the world. Today’s democratic deficit, the gulf between the rulers and the ruled, will not be fixed by the displacement activity of pseudo-historic international conferences – we need openness, honesty and debate.
#10: Humans before polar bears
In the past many thought there was a white, hairy being in the clouds who was judging our behaviour. Today many believe that another white, hairy being – the polar bear – is a barometer of human hubris. Everything we do is measured according to its alleged impact on the ice floes, polar-bear habitats, and other natural phenomena. This represents the creation of a new, backward morality, one which seeks to control human behaviour and lower humanity’s horizons through mythical tales of our eco-destructiveness; the idea of limits, harm and polar-bear vulnerability are used to hector and cow the public. We need to rediscover a sense of human morality, of judging our behaviour in its own terms rather than the terms set by miserabilist misanthropes and cynically externalised as Concern For Polar Bears. When it comes to political decision-making, progress and development, only one question should ever be asked: will it or will it not benefit humankind?
Friday, January 08, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Friday, January 01, 2010
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!
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 littleterrorist 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...
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
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...
Sunday, December 20, 2009
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?...
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?...
Friday, December 18, 2009
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 plasticcrap 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)
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
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).
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).
Monday, December 07, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, December 06, 2009
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 adoringbogans* 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.
Last night was one of those occassions!
Cold Chisel, live, in front of something like 50,000 adoring
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.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
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...
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.
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.
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