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?

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.)

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 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.

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.]

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.]

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.

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.

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.

This morning

Is feeling dead inside better than constant anger and frustration?

I think so.

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.