Tonight we're off to Perth for Christmas with J's side of the family. Then a week in Broome for a nuclear family holiday - just the four of us.
It's been a surreal week. My Grandma Ada, my mum's mum, died on Tuesday. She was 94. I hope that she's finally resting in peace. If there is any sort of after-life I hope she finds some happiness there because she certainly didn't have any in this life.
I'm not feeling all that Christmas-y right now. Hopefully tomorrow morning I'll feel a bit less exhausted and wired.
I'll just take this opportunity to wish all of you out there, known and unknown, a happy non-denominational Festive Season and may 2007 bring you whatever you're wishing for (at the very least some love, some happiness and a few really good meals).
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Oh, (and this does need a seperate entry!) I need to write about how happy I am for my friends:
* Claire and Simon and their son Louis who returned home on Sunday from The Philippines with their new (and may I say totally gorgeous) daughter and baby sister Aima. Congratulations!
* Kim and Stephen and their son Gabriel who have just received news of their new daughter and baby sister Angelica, awaiting their arrival in Cali, Colombia. Congratulations!
* Marie and Rodney and their son Ben who have (and may I say ABOUT BLOODY TIME!!!) just received news of their new son and brother Miguel Angel, awaiting their arrival in La Paz, Bolivia. Congratulations!
They drive us nuts (or is that just ME?) but they are so precious and so, so worth it.
* Claire and Simon and their son Louis who returned home on Sunday from The Philippines with their new (and may I say totally gorgeous) daughter and baby sister Aima. Congratulations!
* Kim and Stephen and their son Gabriel who have just received news of their new daughter and baby sister Angelica, awaiting their arrival in Cali, Colombia. Congratulations!
* Marie and Rodney and their son Ben who have (and may I say ABOUT BLOODY TIME!!!) just received news of their new son and brother Miguel Angel, awaiting their arrival in La Paz, Bolivia. Congratulations!
They drive us nuts (or is that just ME?) but they are so precious and so, so worth it.
I have so much to write about but I'm just too exhausted and brain-dead.
I need to write about how my previous post about Robbie Williams did not include the word SEXY even once. How did that happen? The man is SEX on LEGS. What was I thinking?
I need to write about how much I love Regina Spektor who I discovered late one night a few months ago on one of the music channels. How I instantly fell in love with her song (and it's fabulous clip) Fidelity. You must go to www.reginaspektor.com RIGHT NOW and listen to this song. I have just received the album Begin to Hope in its plain brown Amazon box and I'm learning to love it. Maybe it will be my summer soundtrack.
I need to write about how I also received Bruce Springsteen's Live: 1975-1985 in the same Amazon box. I have searched high and low for a Springsteen album containing Jersey Girl and this, to my knowledge, is the only one. Why does this song, written by the genius which is Tom Waits, break my heart each and every time I hear it? Perhaps it is the memories of weekend afternoons spent at the Thurless Castle Hotel in Cleveland Street in the late 1980s, where this song was my constant pick on the juke box? Perhaps it's just that it's an awesome song, a song of the 80s, a song of young adulthood (much like Mellencamp's Jack and Dianne and Dire Straits' Romeo and Juliet) which opens up something very raw deep inside me.
I need to write about how the Festive Season is swooping down upon me like an out-of-control roadtrain and I'm numb with shock and horror and feeling bad because I'm not getting into the "spirit". Maybe once we're on that plane to Perth I may start to dig myself out from under the weight which is plastering me flat to the ground at the moment.
I need to write about how my previous post about Robbie Williams did not include the word SEXY even once. How did that happen? The man is SEX on LEGS. What was I thinking?
I need to write about how much I love Regina Spektor who I discovered late one night a few months ago on one of the music channels. How I instantly fell in love with her song (and it's fabulous clip) Fidelity. You must go to www.reginaspektor.com RIGHT NOW and listen to this song. I have just received the album Begin to Hope in its plain brown Amazon box and I'm learning to love it. Maybe it will be my summer soundtrack.
I need to write about how I also received Bruce Springsteen's Live: 1975-1985 in the same Amazon box. I have searched high and low for a Springsteen album containing Jersey Girl and this, to my knowledge, is the only one. Why does this song, written by the genius which is Tom Waits, break my heart each and every time I hear it? Perhaps it is the memories of weekend afternoons spent at the Thurless Castle Hotel in Cleveland Street in the late 1980s, where this song was my constant pick on the juke box? Perhaps it's just that it's an awesome song, a song of the 80s, a song of young adulthood (much like Mellencamp's Jack and Dianne and Dire Straits' Romeo and Juliet) which opens up something very raw deep inside me.
I need to write about how the Festive Season is swooping down upon me like an out-of-control roadtrain and I'm numb with shock and horror and feeling bad because I'm not getting into the "spirit". Maybe once we're on that plane to Perth I may start to dig myself out from under the weight which is plastering me flat to the ground at the moment.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
In the words of the master "it's all been too much for me"... last night's Robbie Williams concert, that is.It really was almost too much. At the end I was feeling very tired and emotional, on the verge of tears as the music died down and the stadium lights slowly started to come back on. The anticipation, the joy of the concert and then the mighty emotional let down as I realise it's all over and I'll never live that experience again.
This time around it was a very different show to the 2003 tour. That was very much a SHOW: dancers, costumes, lights, the whole box and dice. This time was much more intimate (if you can be intimate with 50,000 people - though I'm sure Robbie would give it a go), much more a rock concert, just Robbie, the band and the back-up singers. Sure there were fireworks and a great stage and great lighting but it was very much more pared down.
I love getting to the concert early and watching the stadium fill up as the sun goes down. Being there on my own (well, I came with F but I was in the stands and she was down in the mosh pit) I didn't have anyone to chat with so it was a great opportunity to sit back and observe the incoming crowd. The fine examples of mutton dressed as lamb (really, no-one over 12 should wear lycra and then only if performing in a jazz ballet recital), the cute gay couples, the yummy mummies who'd been busy with their puffy pens and sequins making individualised RW song t-shirts (e.g. "I'm doing it for the KIDS" or my favourite "Oh Lord" on the front and "... not yet" on the back).
Something which bugs me at almost every concert I go to is the audience members who sit there like stunned mullets. What's that about? Did they win the tickets? Did they find them in the street? If not, why sit there all night, barely swaying in your seat, clapping politely at the end of each song. Jesus, I was on my feet from the moment the lights dimmed, screaming as the fireworks went off, going berko as Robbie rose up from within the stage to the first chords of "Radio". Being on my own I really let my hair down. I didn't care. I danced and sang and clapped and waved my arms about and I had one of the best friggin' nights of my life. I didn't care about the boring old biddies sitting dumbly beside me. I'll never see them again, they don't know me and I don't know them. Let them talk about the lone looney woman they sat next to at the Robbie Williams concert.
I have to say singing "Come Undone" along with Robbie and 50,000 mad fans is as close to a spiritual experience as I'm going to get. It's magic, it's bliss, it's mindblowing. I was happy with his song choices in general. There are so many of course some of my favourites will be left out. I would have loved to have heard "Something Beautiful" and "Spread your wings" and "A Place to Crash". Even "She's the one" which was such a highlight of the 2003 show (I bet the woman he got up on stage and kissed still hasn't washed her lips). I could have done without the stupid interlude which was "Me and my shadow" sung with someone called Johnny Wilks who I'd never heard of. Just a stupid waste of time if you ask me. I don't know why they chose to have the words to "Strong" come up on the screen, karoke-style. I mean if you don't know the words, get the fuck out of there.
Anyway, it was heaven and it's over and I'm elated and so so sad. The ecstacy and the agony.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Anatomy 101
Will was doing a wee before jumping in the bath last night. He was doing his wee standing up, like a big boy. [It's something we're trying to encourage because he generally prefers to sit down and as he's now heading towards the ripe old age of 8 we're a tad worried about the possible teasing which could ensue.] I congratulated him on his achievement. He said "Mum, boys can do wees standing up". "Yes, they can," I said. "But girls can't do wees standing up, because boys have penises and girls have giants."
You learn a new thing every day.
Will was doing a wee before jumping in the bath last night. He was doing his wee standing up, like a big boy. [It's something we're trying to encourage because he generally prefers to sit down and as he's now heading towards the ripe old age of 8 we're a tad worried about the possible teasing which could ensue.] I congratulated him on his achievement. He said "Mum, boys can do wees standing up". "Yes, they can," I said. "But girls can't do wees standing up, because boys have penises and girls have giants."
You learn a new thing every day.
Weddings:
* You know you've reached cynical overload when you're standing there at a wedding ceremony, listening to the celebrant's blurb and thinking "yeah, right, what a crock!".
* Why do people insist on ruining perfectly good outfits with ridiculous accessories, i.e. beautiful black dress worn with horrific patent vinyl stilettos with CORK soles and heels (yeek!); elegant chocolate brown outfit (perfect for the mature aged lady wearing it) worn with a "matching" headband with a giant feather sticking out.
* Sitting at a table full of people you don't know, making small talk, watching comments meant to start a conversation falling on the table in front of you like lead balloons. Ouch!
* Why is it so hard to get wedding food right? Or even simply OK? Surely that's not an impossible task. There are things that can stand some overcooking: lasagne, curry, a good hearty casserole. But these aren't seen on wedding menus. No, only elegant food - a chicken breast, a veal cutlet - is served at such functions. Never mind that they are so dry they crumble under your cutlery - they sure look good on the plate, on their bed of cold mash, surrounded by their vegetables done a la dishwashing liquid (that's what the lemony sauce tasted like, what can I tell you?). It's so sad that the bride and grooms menu picks, so carefully chosen months in advance, generally tend to be barely edible when served on the big day.
* You know you've reached cynical overload when you're standing there at a wedding ceremony, listening to the celebrant's blurb and thinking "yeah, right, what a crock!".
* Why do people insist on ruining perfectly good outfits with ridiculous accessories, i.e. beautiful black dress worn with horrific patent vinyl stilettos with CORK soles and heels (yeek!); elegant chocolate brown outfit (perfect for the mature aged lady wearing it) worn with a "matching" headband with a giant feather sticking out.
* Sitting at a table full of people you don't know, making small talk, watching comments meant to start a conversation falling on the table in front of you like lead balloons. Ouch!
* Why is it so hard to get wedding food right? Or even simply OK? Surely that's not an impossible task. There are things that can stand some overcooking: lasagne, curry, a good hearty casserole. But these aren't seen on wedding menus. No, only elegant food - a chicken breast, a veal cutlet - is served at such functions. Never mind that they are so dry they crumble under your cutlery - they sure look good on the plate, on their bed of cold mash, surrounded by their vegetables done a la dishwashing liquid (that's what the lemony sauce tasted like, what can I tell you?). It's so sad that the bride and grooms menu picks, so carefully chosen months in advance, generally tend to be barely edible when served on the big day.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Just taking a moment to be bitter and twisted ('cos you know I'm just sweetness and light the rest of the time). Yesterday I co-ordinated our adoptive families' Christmas picnic. We've been going for years and for the last couple of years I've been the Fundraising/Activities Co-ordinator. It's a situation of not too many people putting their hands up when jobs on the committee need to be filled. Some of the people have been there for years and years and can't step down because no-one wants to step up.
Yesterday was exhausting and I'm just a little over it. I don't mind doing the work but I'm sick of the rude, stupid people. The people who don't rsvp and turn up expecting to be fed; people who stack their plates up high on the first go round the buffet table, then we clean up plates half full of uneaten food; the people who turn up after we've cleared the food and want lunch; the people who don't help in any way; the people who treat us volunteer helpers as servants. We're not running a bloody restaurant people! We're trying to organise a picnic to keep adoptive families in touch and to fundraise for the orphanages our organisation support. [Have I mentioned that I'm slightly angry at the bozos who adopt their children then conveniently forget that they have a moral and social obligation to help the orphanage where their child/ren spent the first months/years of their lives?]
Our group is not great at supporting any of the other events I try to organise through the year (most of which end up having to be cancelled due to lack of enthusiasm). So I try and make some money out of the picnic ticket price. Mainly I do this by catering economically and selling some raffle tickets.
Well, enough is enough. Next picnic I'm having it catered and those who don't pre-book will not be offered lunch. I'm not into this martyrdom shit.
Deep breath in, deep breath out...
Yesterday was exhausting and I'm just a little over it. I don't mind doing the work but I'm sick of the rude, stupid people. The people who don't rsvp and turn up expecting to be fed; people who stack their plates up high on the first go round the buffet table, then we clean up plates half full of uneaten food; the people who turn up after we've cleared the food and want lunch; the people who don't help in any way; the people who treat us volunteer helpers as servants. We're not running a bloody restaurant people! We're trying to organise a picnic to keep adoptive families in touch and to fundraise for the orphanages our organisation support. [Have I mentioned that I'm slightly angry at the bozos who adopt their children then conveniently forget that they have a moral and social obligation to help the orphanage where their child/ren spent the first months/years of their lives?]
Our group is not great at supporting any of the other events I try to organise through the year (most of which end up having to be cancelled due to lack of enthusiasm). So I try and make some money out of the picnic ticket price. Mainly I do this by catering economically and selling some raffle tickets.
Well, enough is enough. Next picnic I'm having it catered and those who don't pre-book will not be offered lunch. I'm not into this martyrdom shit.
Deep breath in, deep breath out...
Another season of Idol has come again... Damo won. Woo hoo. Sure I could say "I told you so"... I picked him from the start. But really, who cares? I don't. I'm over it, I always am by the end. Idol works in reverse for me. I start off super excited, those audition episodes are bloody funny (says a lot about my psychology that I love watching people make absolute fools of themselves on national tv). I maintain a reasonable level of interest during the Final 24 and the Top 12. But by the time it gets down to six or so I couldn't care less. Yeah, they're all good singers but the songs are just not my cup of tea and the BIG IDOL SINGLE they are forced to record is just rubbish, bordering on unbearable.
Damien professes to be a fan of my beloved Jeff Buckley and he certainly has a voice to do Jeff's songs justice. I was thinking I'd love to hear Damien work his way through the JB songbook but really, while his voice is technically up to it, I wonder if he has the emotional depth to give the songs what they need. In the end Damo is the first Idol contestant/winner whose eventual album I would even consider buying. Let's see what the Idol sausage machine will produce with Damien's meat (so to speak...).
Damien professes to be a fan of my beloved Jeff Buckley and he certainly has a voice to do Jeff's songs justice. I was thinking I'd love to hear Damien work his way through the JB songbook but really, while his voice is technically up to it, I wonder if he has the emotional depth to give the songs what they need. In the end Damo is the first Idol contestant/winner whose eventual album I would even consider buying. Let's see what the Idol sausage machine will produce with Damien's meat (so to speak...).
Friday, November 24, 2006
Last night I learnt that I don't have enough sparkly shoes in my life. A gorgeous pair of red or gold or even black mary jane's, medium heel, covered in sequins or sparkles. Also, I don't have enough feathers, nowhere near enough... well, none really.
I learnt this at the Kylie concert. It was fantastic. A bucket full of fun.
I bet you didn't know Locomotion was a bloody sexy song. The best song of the night. Whoever did the burlesque arrangement should win a Noble prize. It was amazing. As were the dancers, the costumes, the lights.
Fabulous, darling!
I learnt this at the Kylie concert. It was fantastic. A bucket full of fun.
I bet you didn't know Locomotion was a bloody sexy song. The best song of the night. Whoever did the burlesque arrangement should win a Noble prize. It was amazing. As were the dancers, the costumes, the lights.
Fabulous, darling!
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Crisco. You know those thieving scum who sell the Christmas rip-off hampers to the poor white trash and other IQ challenged folk. The Christmas "hampers" which come in Winfield Blue or Benson & Hedges varieties, with optional extras such as a slab of VB or a bottle of Jim Beam.
I have been a long time fan of the tv ads where the spokeswoman, dressed as Mrs Claus, chirps on about how joyous it is to hand over your hard-earned all year with the prospect of having one of these crap hampers delivered to your door in time for the festive season. A hamper full of Spam and tinned pineapple - nothing makes me think of our lord and saviour more than Spam.
My sister and I have long discussed the reality that these people are paying much more than the market value for this shit, living with the illusion that they are saving money by being good little Crisco financial managers.
Well, I have finally got proof that this is a scam of the highest order. Last weekend I met a woman who has actually done the sums. As she said, she's a stay at home mum, she has some hours to kill. Anyway, her own mother buys these evil hampers and after trying to convince her they were a rip-off she sat down and did the figures using the Coles online shopping site. She worked out that the $1,200 hamper her mother buys could be bought at Coles for $700 - that's a full $500 less than the Crisco price!
I actually think this is quite a serious (although funny) issue. I mean the bulk of the people who buy this crappola would be the ones who can least afford it. The battlers, the working poor, the non-working poor... you get the picture. Surely those G20/Iraq war/global warming protesters would be better off spending their time picketting the Crisco offices, because that, to me, seems where the world's great injustices originate.
I have been a long time fan of the tv ads where the spokeswoman, dressed as Mrs Claus, chirps on about how joyous it is to hand over your hard-earned all year with the prospect of having one of these crap hampers delivered to your door in time for the festive season. A hamper full of Spam and tinned pineapple - nothing makes me think of our lord and saviour more than Spam.
My sister and I have long discussed the reality that these people are paying much more than the market value for this shit, living with the illusion that they are saving money by being good little Crisco financial managers.
Well, I have finally got proof that this is a scam of the highest order. Last weekend I met a woman who has actually done the sums. As she said, she's a stay at home mum, she has some hours to kill. Anyway, her own mother buys these evil hampers and after trying to convince her they were a rip-off she sat down and did the figures using the Coles online shopping site. She worked out that the $1,200 hamper her mother buys could be bought at Coles for $700 - that's a full $500 less than the Crisco price!
I actually think this is quite a serious (although funny) issue. I mean the bulk of the people who buy this crappola would be the ones who can least afford it. The battlers, the working poor, the non-working poor... you get the picture. Surely those G20/Iraq war/global warming protesters would be better off spending their time picketting the Crisco offices, because that, to me, seems where the world's great injustices originate.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Almost forgot... the G20 protester fuckers! Honestly, those people (and I use the term loosely) are a total waste of oxygen.
I feel sorry for the poor coppers who have to deal with sub-human morons. Give me a water canon and/or a truncheon, I'll have a go at them. It blows my mind that my tax dollars are going to pay for police to "battle" with these feral scum. I'm willing to bet at least 9 out of 10 of these goons don't even know what they're protesting about and the odd one that has any clue wouldn't be able to string a coherent sentence together as to how throwing rubbish bins at police is going to help the poverty stricken folk of this world.
They are all just bused in wholesale from Nimbin or whereever these filthy cretins reside. Either that or their parents drop them off in the city en route from their middle class suburban homes to their middle class city jobs.
I particularly enjoyed the work of the "white brigade" this year, you know the brave fighters for truth and human rights who are so proud of themselves they cover up their faces.
I'm not sure what legal recourse society has against these vermin but I think if they were to be punished it would be much wiser to actually send them to Africa to do some REAL work in aid of the starving masses as opposed to sticking them in jail or getting them to do some piss-poor excuse for "community work". I'm fairly confident a real day's work may kill them but I'm personally willing to let them take the risk.
I feel sorry for the poor coppers who have to deal with sub-human morons. Give me a water canon and/or a truncheon, I'll have a go at them. It blows my mind that my tax dollars are going to pay for police to "battle" with these feral scum. I'm willing to bet at least 9 out of 10 of these goons don't even know what they're protesting about and the odd one that has any clue wouldn't be able to string a coherent sentence together as to how throwing rubbish bins at police is going to help the poverty stricken folk of this world.
They are all just bused in wholesale from Nimbin or whereever these filthy cretins reside. Either that or their parents drop them off in the city en route from their middle class suburban homes to their middle class city jobs.
I particularly enjoyed the work of the "white brigade" this year, you know the brave fighters for truth and human rights who are so proud of themselves they cover up their faces.
I'm not sure what legal recourse society has against these vermin but I think if they were to be punished it would be much wiser to actually send them to Africa to do some REAL work in aid of the starving masses as opposed to sticking them in jail or getting them to do some piss-poor excuse for "community work". I'm fairly confident a real day's work may kill them but I'm personally willing to let them take the risk.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
For those of you who don't tune in to read my intense critiques of popular culture... you know who you are... here is a quick pictorial update of the family (yes, the children and husband who I occasionally glimpse out of the corner of my eye as I loll on the sofa watching the teev and stuffing corn chips down my gob). All is well in Pomona Street, as this happy family snap reveals:
Finally getting my headspace around RHCP's Stadium Arcadium. I definitely favour the Jupiter disc. Not only does it contain my early favourite Hump de Bump but it features the third single and my head-and-shoulders-stand-out favourite Snow (Hey Oh). What a friggin' beautiful song! Really I may have nasty things to say about John but his guitar skills are never in question and they shine brightly indeed on this gorgeous song.
I've decided that knowing what the lyrics are about is optional to my enjoyment of the songs. I can be fairly confident that they are about sex and/or drugs and I can leave it at that. Anthony may have a deep and poetic soul underneath that tattooed, muscle-bound, drool-inducing exterior but he's a simple man after all.
I've decided that knowing what the lyrics are about is optional to my enjoyment of the songs. I can be fairly confident that they are about sex and/or drugs and I can leave it at that. Anthony may have a deep and poetic soul underneath that tattooed, muscle-bound, drool-inducing exterior but he's a simple man after all.
Monday, November 20, 2006
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. This weekend the Lord gave...
... the ultimate gift of crap tv. Drum roll please... Strange Love.
I am probably a late comer to this pinnacle of mindless reality tv but better late than never I say. For the ignorant masses this VH1 program (while we're thanking the non-denominational spiritual entity let's thank him/her for cable tv, how did we fill our days before?) brings together the non-existant talents of one Flavor Flav (aka Foofy Foofy) and one Bridgette Nielsen. The former being a past member of Public Enemy, the shortarse with the gold teeth and the giant clock around his neck (?????). The later being the ex-wife of Sylvester Stallone; an Amazonian piece of Euro trash with no discernable point for existence.
This match made in heaven apparently came about during the filming of something called The Surreal Life, a celebrity Big Brother style program which in the past has brought together big names such as MC Hammer, Corey Feldman, Vanilla Ice, the unattractive bird from Beverley Hills 90210 and, of course, the aforementioned Mr Flav and Ms Nielsen.
Really this program defies description but it is totally absorbing in a can-you-believe-they-are-showing-this-drivel-on-television?-way.
Something to keep me going until Australian Princess... and of course there's next year's Big Brother to look forward to...
Bet you wish you were me!
... the ultimate gift of crap tv. Drum roll please... Strange Love.
I am probably a late comer to this pinnacle of mindless reality tv but better late than never I say. For the ignorant masses this VH1 program (while we're thanking the non-denominational spiritual entity let's thank him/her for cable tv, how did we fill our days before?) brings together the non-existant talents of one Flavor Flav (aka Foofy Foofy) and one Bridgette Nielsen. The former being a past member of Public Enemy, the shortarse with the gold teeth and the giant clock around his neck (?????). The later being the ex-wife of Sylvester Stallone; an Amazonian piece of Euro trash with no discernable point for existence.
This match made in heaven apparently came about during the filming of something called The Surreal Life, a celebrity Big Brother style program which in the past has brought together big names such as MC Hammer, Corey Feldman, Vanilla Ice, the unattractive bird from Beverley Hills 90210 and, of course, the aforementioned Mr Flav and Ms Nielsen.
Really this program defies description but it is totally absorbing in a can-you-believe-they-are-showing-this-drivel-on-television?-way.
Something to keep me going until Australian Princess... and of course there's next year's Big Brother to look forward to...
Bet you wish you were me!
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
"He's mad, totally mad. He's madder than Mad Jack McMad, winner of last year's Mr. Madman competition."
...from Blackadder.
Just because I LOVE this quote, can relate to this quote and generally need to use it about half a dozen times a day, minimum. Have finally found it after googling unsucessfully for some time.
Enjoy!
...from Blackadder.
Just because I LOVE this quote, can relate to this quote and generally need to use it about half a dozen times a day, minimum. Have finally found it after googling unsucessfully for some time.
Enjoy!
Monday, November 13, 2006
You know I love piss poor tv entertainment, the piss-poorer the better. Big Brother, Oz Idol, Jasmin's Getting Married (RIP), New Zealand Highway Patrol... bring it on.
But Channel Nine's ABBAMania was a crime against humanity. Never mind bleating on about Iraq and global fucking warming, where are the protestors when you really need them?!
I was hoping for a bit of kitsch entertainment, something to sing along to with Will (he's a big ABBA fan). But what I got was the lamest, most embaressing (for all concerned) schlock seen on television. Bec Cartwright makes Anna Nicole Smith look highbrow. She really is cringe-making (for more evidence Google her Melbourne Cup outfit, it's a miracle they let her out of the caravan park wearing that). She's a shocker and should stick to "exclusives" in Women's Day where at least we don't actually have to hear her talk.
By far the worst aspect of the half hour I managed to sit through was the calibre of "celebrities" they dragged out for this event. Actors from McLeod's Daughters, looking like they'd rather be dragged by one foot behind a horse on the McLeod's set and wondering how they could have misread the fine print on their contracts so badly. Then there was Matthew Newton singing with David Campbell. What's that about? I mean I know they have Burt under contract but surely they couldn't have included Matthew without anyone noticing.
I didn't see her but apparently they even had one of their Melbourne Today Show reporters singing later in the show. How low can they go? Was Fatty Vautin unavailable?
The whole thing was awful and tragic and whoever is responsible should be thoroughly ashamed and hopefully unemployed as of this morning.
But Channel Nine's ABBAMania was a crime against humanity. Never mind bleating on about Iraq and global fucking warming, where are the protestors when you really need them?!
I was hoping for a bit of kitsch entertainment, something to sing along to with Will (he's a big ABBA fan). But what I got was the lamest, most embaressing (for all concerned) schlock seen on television. Bec Cartwright makes Anna Nicole Smith look highbrow. She really is cringe-making (for more evidence Google her Melbourne Cup outfit, it's a miracle they let her out of the caravan park wearing that). She's a shocker and should stick to "exclusives" in Women's Day where at least we don't actually have to hear her talk.
By far the worst aspect of the half hour I managed to sit through was the calibre of "celebrities" they dragged out for this event. Actors from McLeod's Daughters, looking like they'd rather be dragged by one foot behind a horse on the McLeod's set and wondering how they could have misread the fine print on their contracts so badly. Then there was Matthew Newton singing with David Campbell. What's that about? I mean I know they have Burt under contract but surely they couldn't have included Matthew without anyone noticing.
I didn't see her but apparently they even had one of their Melbourne Today Show reporters singing later in the show. How low can they go? Was Fatty Vautin unavailable?
The whole thing was awful and tragic and whoever is responsible should be thoroughly ashamed and hopefully unemployed as of this morning.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
I'm getting excited about the upcoming Robbie Williams' concert.
Until recently I didn't think I'd be going because of a boring story involving how much Ticketek SUCK. But then my friend F came up with a single ticket and it was a question of not see Robbie at all or see Robbie sitting by myself. Gee whiz! Which one should I choose?
So on 9 December I'll be going berko at Aussie Stadium with 50,000 other RW fans. The last concert was so amazing I just can't wait to re-live that feeling.
Listening to the Intensive Care CD as I drove to WBJ on Saturday I wondered why I love him so much. About why he seems to epitomise a certain type of sexiness which rationally I despise but hormonally I covet. I mean the 38-year-old-mother-of-two side of me knows he'd be worse than Henry VIII to be in a relationship with but the deeply buried teenage part of me is terrifyingly attracted to that bad boy persona.
What is it about the words "...didn't quite catch your name..." in Sin Sin Sin which makes me go a bit light headed? Possibly the fact I've never actually had a one night stand and the idea of such an experience is both revolting and intoxicating.
Everything about him takes me back to early high school. I was rebelling, I was discovering the world of punk and I was madly in lust with Dean (aka Fang). He was a friend of a friend, freshly released from a stint in Minda (a notorious Sydney juvenille detention centre) where he had been placed by his mother for being "uncontrollable" (they didn't have ADHD medication in the early 80s). It was a brief but passionate affair, a centre-of-the-universe type of affair as only 14 year olds can participate in. He was a very bad boy, he was very bad for me but I wouldn't give up those bittersweet memories for anything... well, possibly a night with Robbie (as long as it was OK with my husband and I could get a babysitter for the kids).
Until recently I didn't think I'd be going because of a boring story involving how much Ticketek SUCK. But then my friend F came up with a single ticket and it was a question of not see Robbie at all or see Robbie sitting by myself. Gee whiz! Which one should I choose?
So on 9 December I'll be going berko at Aussie Stadium with 50,000 other RW fans. The last concert was so amazing I just can't wait to re-live that feeling.
Listening to the Intensive Care CD as I drove to WBJ on Saturday I wondered why I love him so much. About why he seems to epitomise a certain type of sexiness which rationally I despise but hormonally I covet. I mean the 38-year-old-mother-of-two side of me knows he'd be worse than Henry VIII to be in a relationship with but the deeply buried teenage part of me is terrifyingly attracted to that bad boy persona.
What is it about the words "...didn't quite catch your name..." in Sin Sin Sin which makes me go a bit light headed? Possibly the fact I've never actually had a one night stand and the idea of such an experience is both revolting and intoxicating.
Everything about him takes me back to early high school. I was rebelling, I was discovering the world of punk and I was madly in lust with Dean (aka Fang). He was a friend of a friend, freshly released from a stint in Minda (a notorious Sydney juvenille detention centre) where he had been placed by his mother for being "uncontrollable" (they didn't have ADHD medication in the early 80s). It was a brief but passionate affair, a centre-of-the-universe type of affair as only 14 year olds can participate in. He was a very bad boy, he was very bad for me but I wouldn't give up those bittersweet memories for anything... well, possibly a night with Robbie (as long as it was OK with my husband and I could get a babysitter for the kids).
Monday, November 06, 2006
Oh the joy of the Sydney Festival. Each year it brings a wonderous array of musical, stage and performance artists to our glorious city from distant parts of the world. Some are fabulous, some are interesting and most are plainly unintelligible gibberish, Emperor's new clothes style. This year's treasurers (tix booked) are:
* Lou Reed's Berlin. This is a live performance of his 1973 concept album. I'm not a huge fan of Lou's but it's the draw of Antony (of the Johnsons) on backup vocals which has me forking out $120 per ticket. I know... but I'm mad about him.
* Three tickets for Madeleine Peyroux. My dad loves her, put me onto her and my sister and I are taking him as a belated birthday present. This woman is gorgeous and her vintage jazz sound is mesmerising. Can't wait to see her live.
* I'm your man. This is the documentary of the Came So Far For Beauty tribute to Leonard Cohen concert which changed my life almost two years ago (see reference to Antony above). I'm going to drag everyone I know to this film - I went to the concert alone and had to suffer all that joy and wonder all by myself. I am dying to share the magic with the nearest and dearest.
* Lou Reed's Berlin. This is a live performance of his 1973 concept album. I'm not a huge fan of Lou's but it's the draw of Antony (of the Johnsons) on backup vocals which has me forking out $120 per ticket. I know... but I'm mad about him.
* Three tickets for Madeleine Peyroux. My dad loves her, put me onto her and my sister and I are taking him as a belated birthday present. This woman is gorgeous and her vintage jazz sound is mesmerising. Can't wait to see her live.
* I'm your man. This is the documentary of the Came So Far For Beauty tribute to Leonard Cohen concert which changed my life almost two years ago (see reference to Antony above). I'm going to drag everyone I know to this film - I went to the concert alone and had to suffer all that joy and wonder all by myself. I am dying to share the magic with the nearest and dearest.
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