Thursday, December 20, 2007

well, lookee here

we finally have internet connection after 3 weeks back. i've been through my emails, and my mind turns to all things internetty.

but really, i think i might just go and read in bed.

i promise to catch up on the trip, there is much to tell, my friends. and, yes, there are photos, 6,000 of them. for real.

i also promise a return to bad '80s journalling - it's an easy way of blogging but there is still so much fodder there.

as for us, in the here and now, we are back in groovy-town, in the good old secret life of them flat. it's nice to be back. i was just kidding myself i think when i said i liked living in the suburb named after a european car. here i can get the best bread, and coffee, and walk around the lake and see my pelicans and ducks, the gigi is spreading her love around the hood, i swear there were people lining up on acland street a couple of sundays ago to talk to me. about her. about my dog.

men check her out before they do me. or even instead of me.

heh, it's good to be back.

and there is the smell of hope in the air, things are different, a certain short-statured shit has left the office, has gone to the golf course, and things are happening, things that i had despaired of ever happening.

that feels good.

oh, and how are you?

Thursday, October 18, 2007

in the manner of my bad '80s poesy (apols to john keats, robert browning and INC)

Ode to the Frescoes of Mike

OR Broken by the Vatican

[this is a manner of writing that i sometimes slip into when i want to write about something which was meaningful, but at the same time it shat me big time.]

The contempt with which they treat you
As you are Herded
Like so many fucking sheep
Bleating in ever increasing, rhythmic chants

Is this it! Is THIS it?

[The Sistine Chapel. Must get to the chapel.]

No, you are told. No, not yet.
As you pass through
Rooms filled with "art"
Oh, the Vaticanus ART
Of Yore.

Most is Shite
Perchance by hand of minor
Fra Pandolf AKA Papal Wannabe.
We are fed through rooms
With Roman Numerals above
That count the huge numbers
Of spatial repositories for this
Fucking Bad Art.

Is this it! Is THIS it?

I'm dying.
Being killed by the Vatican.
Right her, and right now.
[How ironic, they presume to save souls.]

But finally, FINALLY
We five, weary solds (heh)
Burst into the room
After being tantalised,
Nay taunted,
By lesser hands
The prior paint a travesty
On the walls and ceilings
I'll admit, some fair tapestries,
Yea, I will nod to them.
And having taken
A vast number of digital images
On my photography machine

But none compared
To the Fair hand of

The fingers almost touching
Just so.

A chapel full of paparazzi
ignoring the signs of "no photo"
I am swept with the fervour
With the "must take as many
photographs as possible, oh look
At that one, look at THAT!
It's coming right off the ceiling
Right at you, can you see it,
Like the Spiderman ride at
Universal Studios Japan.
How did he DO that?!"

Silenzio. There is none.
Cameras. There are many.

We leave, exhausted.
Husks of humans.
Drop into taxi.
Go to our flat
With the nice parquet floors
Drink quickly
And scoff potato chips
And cold left-over pesto pasta
From the bowl, like animals at the water hole.

Tomorrow - Calabria.

And for those who like:

Robert Browning, My Last Duchess.

That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will't please you sit and look at her? I said
"Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat": such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart---how shall I say?---too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace---all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men,---good! but thanked
Somehow---I know not how---as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech---(which I have not)---to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark"---and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
---E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

Tuesday, October 09, 2007


city of water and transparent bra straps. the fountains are splashy on white stone sculptures. never have the kids seen so many penii. after conversations in topkapi palace about the harem eunuchs, where clokey goes silent and melbournegirl goes all - well, the men who lived in the harem were aunuchs which means their testicles were chopped off so that they would be safe to guard the sultan's wives and girlfriends - here in rome the little innocents quickly noted that all male nude statues are without penis.

they have their balls, though - princess elegantly comments. she's eleven now, she can say things like balls.

so then we joke about the statues in rome being like reverse eunuchs - you know, no penises but with balls. the kids get it immediately, and we all warble, feeling very witty. except clokes who is quiet.

but the water. the bottoms of the fountains are greenish, but not that kind of mossy green, it's a clear, pure light green. clean and cool. and you can find a tap and just fill you old empty water bottle right up to the rim, unless there is a pushy russian lady in a print top getting impatient next to you and tries to get her bottle under the stream and knock you out of place. you can splash your face and wash that oily orange-juice off that is stickying your hands.

in istanbul we were always buying water. but istanbul won the spunky lothario race hands down. and also the mucho bread on the table, replenished frequently, at every meal race as well.

princess is starting to get looked at. part of me feels proud and part of me wants to go running up to the man-boy-statue with arms flapping, screaming like some demented crone -

but she's only 11. just!

in a way it seems fitting. her blooming on this trip. as her mind opens to all the colour, sound and history, so should her body be ripening in syncopation.

but she still references goscinny and underzo as her major sources when talking roman history. and this is a good thing.

the bra straps - clear, plastic ones - i've seen three. usually with an off-the-shoulder top. i really don't see what's wrong with a charming black strap, or clean white one. plastic seems so tacky and uncomfortable.

the coffee bars are cool. you walk in, stand there and drink your fix. let's not beat around the bush people. you want a fucking coffee and you want it now.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

planes, boats and jeeps

the sun shines brıghtly here ın kas, south turkıye. the ınternet cafe has a plethora of motorbıkes parked ınsıde and we have to drıve a jeep along the road from the vılla we are stayıng - penınsula, bouganvıllea, aqua waters - to the town. we laugh about beıng on turkey tıme - we're on turkey tıme now. we laugh about the dudes - a term prıncess has gotten us usıng. there ıs the car dude - the man who parks the car for us ın hıs lıttle lot behınd alı's carpet shop. he also runs a toılet paper and baby nappy bulk outlet. he dresses pretty gay and the other day he made puddıng for us and sent ıt home wıth alı on hıs moped.

we have taken over alı's vılla and he ıs stayıng ın the other apartment ın town wıth hıs workers. prıncess and ı are very comfortable ın hıs bedroom whıch perched at the top of the house has strange slopıng sectıons of ceılıng and an odd-shaped wındow whıch gıves us a vıew of the water - rıght down there ın front of us - a vast expanse of blueness wıth all manner of boats passıng.

we have aır condıtıonıng ın that room - ıt's hot here. we are eatıng olıves, eggs, red tomatoes that taste lıke tomatoes. melons, fıgs. and we are drınkıng beer as well as strıppıng the supermarket shelves of çankaya wıne. the prıce went up 3 tl per bottle yesterday. ı'm sure nothıng to do wıth our excessıve consumptıon.

today we caught up wıth more of the famıly prıncess and ı stayed wıth at theır home when she was 3, the last tıme we were here. the mother, scarved, grabbıng me and kıssıng me and me tellıng her maşallah on hearıng she has recovered well from her bypass surgery. my turkısh ıs rusty but my sıster and her husband are ımpressed and thıs makes me feel good. you know how easıly people are ımpressed when they can speak nowt.

prıncess' bırthday - we went out on a boat. we had a bbq and swam and snorkelled. looked at the craggy coastlınes as we motored past. towards the end of the day ı saw somethıng that flıpped out of the water.



then the captaın told us there were turtles there. ımmedıately a party set off to look for ıt, and by huge chance ıt was found. old man turtle potterıng around down on the sea-floor. ıt was amazıng.

a bırthday cake wıth oh so wrong but oh so sweet chrıstmas-type holly decoratıons on ıt and some sparklers whıch burnt down and made a burnıng marshmallow smell on the ıcıng.

today ı drove the jeep for the fırst tıme. ı am not scared of much ın thıs world, thıngs do not bother me other than thoughts of mass and random annıhılatıng accıdents befallıng those ı love.

but thıs jeep.

alı saıd - people ın kas would kıll to drıve thıs jeep. he saıd thıs as we were all packed ın - 4 adults, 3 chıldren, no seatbelts, and no relıgıon the day he took us out to see hıs lands. fırst there was the vıllage house - a derelıct crumblıng beauty amongst almond trees wıth goats. we pounded almonds open wıth rocks, took photos of the old cardıgans hangıng on naıls ınsıde the house, studıed the old wooden doors. the second land was the mountaın land, wıth dream-house foundatıons sıttıng atop a hıll at the end of a very precıpıtous and gravelly prıvate road. alı took us to see 'where the horses wıll be' - a natural cırcle ınsıde trees and a ramblıng stony fence - where we looked at berrıes and made jokes about junıper berrıes and junıper bushes ın hılarıous monty python voıces.

land 3 was the forest land - a stretch along a road, wıth pretty trees and bushes, and where alı dıd not mentıon scorpıons or snakes under every rock, as he had at the mountaın land.

ın short, thıs trıp around the 3 lands took several hours and made everyone except 2 of the chıldren and alı extremely nervous. hıgh roads, steep drop offs, no raılıngs. then a noıse started under one of the wheels when we turned on curves, and a rattle started up. we returned back to the vılla wıth survıvor euphorıa, drank too much wıne, and sınce then ı have refused to 'make practıse' wıth the jeep. but soon our chauffeur' my bro-ın-law leaves, and ı wıll have to drıve ıt. so ı trıed today, wıth success, but ı wıll not go down the drıveway whıch wıll be our certaın death.

ı have to go now. prıncess needs to play a harry potter game and clearly none of the other 15 computers ın thıs place wıll let her.

bye for now dear people.

hope all well.

love mg xxx

Friday, August 24, 2007

this one goes out to the one[s] i love. this one goes out to the one[s] i'll [leave] behind

there is a woman running along the footpath. she is quite old, matronly and is not the type to be running. i am driving towards her, and look, scan quickly, to see what has caused her to run. she is running towards me, on the other side of the road to me.

i'll pull over and help her, i think. as soon as i see what it is that she is running to. or who.
she runs up to an elderly man who is standing on the nature strip, whippper snipper resting against his leg. she stands in front of him, plants her feet wide, and holds out her arms, wide too. then she clasps his face in her hands and kisses him in a most flamboyant manner.
this catches at my heart and i drive past, everything registered in a second. it makes me teary.


this is my 300th post on this blog. this is also the last post i do before we leave for our trip.

i've tried to do the following before. it was a yuletide yuyu, where i didn't actually list everyone cause i ran out of time on christmas eve, especially after making some dessert without a food processor and having to do everything by hand, in addition to erecting a full-size tramp-o-line.
i want to pay tribute to all the people who have caught at my heart, like the lady and man this morning around the corner, standing on the street. for i am sentimental about many bloggers who i have met over the last few years. some have come and gone, some are constants in my blogging life. i know people will understand me when i say it is special. and real. i'm not going to justify things regarding "in real life" and that blogging is somehow less than a real-life friendship.

people who feel it's real, know it's real. for real.

if i was more au-fait with songs and their titles, i would dedicate a song to the people who have touched me in some way through blogging.
songs aren't really my thing. i know what i like, but i can't remember them, and don't know who sang them, or what they're called. books are my thing, and food. and hospitality.
so what i'll do is have you over, give you a book, or cook you something, give you a drink. or maybe everything at once.

ladies and gentlemen, and small green frogs. it's been an honour.

for dear, sweet alabama, she of the gossamer words and fairy-wing imagery: we would find that meadow of sweet summer grass and run across it to then fall giggling under the gigantic spread of a huge shady oak. there would be little daisies in the grass and you would make a chain for your hair, and i would marvel at your youth and beauty.
then i would open the picnic basket. there would be real, linen napkins, and cupcakes with lavender icing, beautiful crystal goblets to drink home-made lemonade out of, and a posy of tea-roses that i'd cut in my garden for you to take home with you. strawberries and dainty sandwiches, light chocolate eclairs and finally cheese with grapes and sliced pears.
i would give you my copy of wuthering heights, with the pencil underlinings still in it from my year 12.
i've known aleks long-time. he's a vegetarian so i would cook him some beautiful eggplant no-meat moussaka. and give him a book of charlie brown comic strips. i'd tell him i'm lucy and he's charlie, but that he's loveable and a hero, and a far nicer character than lucy.

another outspoken female (AOF)
i'm hoping AOF would join me for a full-on repast of beautiful mushroom soup, not cream of, but in a gorgeous clear consomme, and not button mushrooms but wonderful, spindly little shitakke numbers. this would be followed by some sort of roast, like even a boar - and we could make like obelix and eat a whole haunch each. no, really, i'm not even sure if AOF is a big meat-eater - we are in we do chew our food together - but somehow, i just fancy she would like this. we would follow this with lovely espresso and some gorgeous handmade chocolates that look like you can't even eat them.
i'd also give AOF one of my favourite books - doris brett's eating the underworld. not sure why, it just feels right.

audrey apple
we would have a big icecream each, as many flavours as we wanted, and stand there, licking them, and laughing as drips coursed down towards our fingers. i'd tell audrey off for biting off the end of her cone, and then go and get her another serviette.

davyjonesoverlocker - ELAINE
elaine is a gun scrabble player. she beat me so soundly, that i'm not sure i'd ask her for a game when she came over for dinner. but i'd cook her something lovely - perhaps my very simple schnitter and mash with a salad. we would certainly drink something strong and i'd ask her about her cats, and her knitting and sewing ventures. i'd confess i'm hopeless with a needle, and i'd ask her about other bloggers but she would be discreet.
i would take d-stah to soul mama. and we could look at the ocean and talk about how much has happened since we were last at soulmama. this time, i would secretly hope that she would have a drink with me. but if not, we would have a coffee and i'd watch her open my present - a copy of an autobiography of jane fonda. just for fun.
for fluffy i would make wonton soup using the wonton maker she so very kindly mailed me in the post, i have never forgotten this kindness. this is fluffy. she is so so kind.

groverjonesgroverjones is a sweetheart who pops in very occasionally with a supportive and understanding comment. i'm not sure what i'd feed him, but i think we would drink beer. i would ask him about his badnd history, and tell him about my brother's band history. i would tell him about my fantasy to be in a band, and though it's not a strong or serious one, i think it would be fun as hell.
perhaps we'd eat a whole bunch of marinated, baked chicken wings. with salad. and steamed rice.
oh, yes.

for sherriff i would line up the following:
1. a laphroaig scotch (double) from the distillery in scotland's isle of islay, of which i am proud owner of exactly one square metre of dirt.

2. naguib mahfouz's cairo trilogy (Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street)
3. a plate of my spaghetti marinara

4. the water-method man, by john irving

5. a beer - ASAHI dry.

6. a yusuf ali translation of the quran.

then i would get all luke rheinhart on him and make him roll for his prize. and fate would take care of the rest.

i blogged myself (BEVIS)
for BEVIS i would make a birthday cake in the shape of robin, with green icing and everything, licorice eyes, and piped cream.

BEVIS is a long-time friend, and he is dear to me. we have been through the ins and outs of blogdom and he is constant, sensitive and a true gentleman.
i'm not craig would be sat down at the dining table, given a glass of very fine red wine, either a peppery rochford cabernet blend, and a haunch of lamb cooked with rosemary infused oil.

INC would also be presented with a special-edition, hand-written- self-published release of my bad poetry.
INC is a good guy, and i really like him. he and i are also sharing the moving of house stresses that come with boxes, packing tape, and how to best organise the fucking inventory.

i was lucky enough to be invited to lc's hens night. for LC i would serve fine champagne, perhaps a chandon, and some delicate little hors-d'oeuvres. i would have made them myself from my quaint little retro book which tells how to make anchovy butter, and asparagus rolls. if LC didn't like these morsels of goodness, then i would rustle up a nice salade nicoise, and we'd just keep drinking champagne. she would have brought her wedding album, and i'd show her mine, and then we might go out dancing.

leanne is someone who hasn't posted for years, but we had what i still think is the best exchange i've ever had on here, not discounting some early cotton interactions. she was passionate about poetry, i was stating that prose is the go. it was the only exchange we really ever had. but i still keep checking in on her because she has some mysterious link to gianluca di milano, a favourite and debonair gentleman blogger who has also seemed to disappear into the ether.

magical_mmagical_m has been around since the heady early days, when we used to all be friends and compulsively wrote long and heartfelt posts. where i know i used blogging as a crutch, as a panacea to the ills and excesses of my thesis-ing. i would have m_m around and feed her schnitters as well. maybe i'd have her the same day as elaine. hell, maybe i'd have you all around at the same time, and we would feast like gourmands in roman times, for hours, and all be talking at once. i'd ask m_m about fraser on neighbours, and i'd also ask her about her time on tv. and the ads. and the shows. and everything. we'd probably hold hands and jump up and down screaming when we first saw each other. then drink white wine too quickly, and get all over excited.
like many other people, ms fits is where it all started for me. reading about a three-way in a ufo sucked me into this blogging game like nothing else could. i've already had fits describe her fantasy meal with me somewhere on her blog, i'm sure including a divine castello blue, during early q&a, and it finished with her leaving with benicio del toro (from memory) after we all three had a pash on my front door step.
i wouldn't give fits a book, but would hope secretly that she would bring one for me.
ms fits is one of the few bloggers i've met, and she was loverly. and yes, she does pat your arm.
the lovely miss ro ro is another lady blogger i've met. she and sublime and fluffy and tiny man (who is probably not so tiny any more) came to my place and we tried to have a garden partay with cakes and finger food and champagne. we talked about having a great gatsby party, with everyone suave and glamorous in white, playing croquet and eating cucumber sandwiches, and drinking far too many martinis. it never happened, but i know several people enjoyed the dreaming.
for rowena i would make that party happen. i would make sure the gigi was not present, so she couldn't rub up against rowena and muss her white halter-neck dress. again we would eat dainty something and sweet nothings, and drink champagne, or vodka, or both.

then i would buy rowena's friendship forever by giving her all my hardcore music picture books, like these:

steph is someone who has always been gracious and forgiving. our first meeting, i got in a gang-up situation against her, running with the wolf pack over at fits's i think it was. there were smart-arse comments, but she had the grace to accept my apology and we have been ok ever since. while steph and i don't seem to have much in common, we do in ways that i don't think she knows. but for our night together, i would cook her a chop casserole, with creamy mashed potato, followed by vanilla ice-cream with homemade chocolate self-saucing pudding. we would drink hot milo, and not drink or smoke. we would have a hearty, wholesome fireside chat, toasting our toes like poly flinders. we would wear tracksuit pants with baggy knees, and shapeless jumpers, and possibly beanies. i don't know why, but we would. and she would be ok with it, just to please me. but during the evening she would relax, and feel really comfortable, warm and happy. she would regale me with her stories of mayhem and hilarity and i would marvel at her energy and spirit. she would make me feel old, but then i would probably make her feel young. and it would be all right.

sub. dear sub. i have met sub too. lucky that i am. for sub i would have her around to play lola. i would get out all mum's sheet music and prepare to sit back and be amazed by her ability to play. just like that. she would say she's rusty and maybe try to get out of it, but i would be a bit pushy, and tell her whatever she plays would be lovely. i would feed her slow-cooked shanks in red wine, again with buttery mashed potato, and the most divine, perfectly-cooked green beans just for colour on the plate. but they would taste damn fine. we would drink red wine i guess. but before that we would have drunk white. or voddy martinis. oooh hoo.
for sub i would give her a brand new copy of the australian government style guide. and also maybe an american one too, and british just for comparison's sake. i know she would be interested.

sugar belle
sugar is an old, dear friend. who really never took off. perhaps her time is yet to come. sugar could do with a bit of a detox meal - a healthy salad, no grits, and some herbal tea, no whisky. i would give her a jean-paul gaultier fashion book on corsets.

the krankiboy chronicles
i would only invite kranki as a way of trying to get his friend the wizard over for a meal. sorry kranki, but you know it's true. i would serve the wizard whatever he wanted, and give him whichever book he so desired out of my collection.
for such is the power of the wizard.
i miss the wizard.

i miss gianluca di milano. he hasn't been around for such a long time. i like to fantasise that this person is actually sasha baron cohen, which would explain his absence recently (success of borat, impregnating wife, etc).
i'd cook him a slap-up bbq. i wouldn't dare try to make anything italiano - he seems like a real mama's boy to me, and might be quite critical of my brodo and pasta. of course we would drinks much and get drunks together so he could flirt with me in real life and ask me, again, to marry him. and i would have to rebuff him, again. but it would all be fun. and clokes would be standing at the bbq, being a little sullen.
chai is a sweetheart. i would cook him my famous chicken-ball soup. i think he would like it. i'm not sure if chai drinks but we could have some tea. we would gossip alot actually, and we would chat about having daughters, and all that stuff. i would also like to play a real-life game of scrabble with him.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

dedicated to i'm not craig, as per an earlier request

INC, luckily for you i have found a helpful little notebook in which i wrote all my bad poetry. so you don't need to wait until the late '80s in my currently crawling-like-a-snail retro look through my diaries.

The titles are exactly what I have written in the notebook. I have had a sense of humour forever.


You threw me a glance,
And then another.
Soon the rooms were spinning -
Looks and eye-space colliding.
Yet tentative moods would
Encroach, time always
Dying too soon.
Not enough. Never enough.
Fluttering fantasies flying in
My mind. Warm thoughts and
Groin girding notions.
Fabulous fancies of
You and I.
Splendid loving and cautious* caresses.

* Not sure why I used this word here. Perhaps I meant tentative?

But this one following is the one you really wanted. It is truly Bad Poetry.


Viking-Man, who are you?
Are you a child, fleece for hair?
Forget-me-not eyes and
Huge, Huge feet.
A look slides onto your face.
Pensive eyes, chin in hand,
You look into eternity
Seeking answers for a question
You do not ask.
Go on, I dare you to ask
That question that baroomps* your
Look my way, seriously now.
Fully consider me.
Roll me around your tongue.
Chew on me
(Don't spit me out!)
Suck my juice**
Breathe my perfume
Then take the plunge.
Go on. Swallow me.
For I have you.


* Baroomps???

** !?!

Sorry people. But it is funny.

Even funnier is that this man is now known to quite a few in the RRR and music community. Including a couple of bloggerettes.

so there you are, INC. i believe you owe me One Bad Poem.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

things that happened to me a couple of fridays ago when i did some relief teaching

1. i had to wear a headscarf. i chose to wear it in the most islamic manner possible. for am i not so pious?

2. i had to call in a man for reinforcements, and have two of my grade 3 boys removed. yes, he had a beard and no, he didn't look at me. no wonder, the scarf, the scarf. they work, dear friends. they stop the men from acting upon their baser desires. heck, they stop men from even having baser desires. they probably strike them impotent with one peripheral glance.

did i just write heck?

it's the shadow of the scarf. i can't even swear while i'm writing this post.

3. when they were doing prayers before lunch (it was friday), some boys were headlocking each other and i flapped at them shrieking have some respect for your religion! and had to break up the rumble physically.

4. no one talked to me in the staff room. or should that be scarfroom. they could see right through me. for am i not an infidel?

5. when i arrived and signed in at the office, i said to the women there:

i might need some help with my scarf

she turned around and inspected me. i tried to look pathetic. it wasn't hard.

no, yours is perfect. I'M having a bad scarf day.

[mutual laughter]

6. i went into the ladies bathroom about 6 times to check my scarf. almost every time the knot had slipped around up somewhere near my ear.

7. i look really, really ugly in a scarf.

8. the kids were looking at the photo id i was wearing around my neck.

miss, miss, who's this?

it's me.


that's me without glasses and not wearing a scarf.

silence and incomprehensible looks.

god knows what they were thinking.

9. the only time, the only time, i had a semblance of control over the class was when i read them the rabbits, by john marsden, ILLUSTRATED BY SHAUN TAN. they got it too.

10. taking the kids out for some sport, i lost half of them between the classroom and the basketball court. they didn't turn up for 15 minutes.

11. i couldn't hear properly cause of the scarf. this was not good.

12. while they were mostly shits with no discipline and absolutely no sense of behaving properly in the classroom, they were also just little kids who struggle to learn in a really disrupted environment, and lots were somalis and i figured maybe they had experienced stuff that made school, and sitting on the mat doing tables, a fairly hard thing to do.

Monday, July 30, 2007

we are soon to be off


hello fellow bloggers.
we are soon taking off for a trip overseas, a sort of delayed honeymoon. with three children.

three children.
count them.




so, in order to have as romantic a trip as possible, i was wondering whether anybody can recommend good places to go and sit in the sun (with a playground), and drink coffee (and hot chocolate) or sip a glass of fine wine (and a granita), or find second-hand books in english (including younger fiction), or a really nice but cheap old silk scarf (marbles) in a bazaar say, or the best and least-disgusting haggis (fish and chips), or a nice place to lay your head and when you wake up in the morning, you just look out the window and there is the sea, just there.

first stop for me and princess is japan. i lived in osaka for ni nen han back in the '90s. i want to show her where ali and i lived, eat some sushi and have the japanese train experience. i'm also going to take her to a sento (public bath house) but she is going to wear bathers and she won't be embarrassed that i am not. she said it would be ok if i'm naked, she just doesn't want to be herself.

but what i'd really like is for anyone to suggest any little cafe or park bench in the following spots: rome, venice, florence, cinque terre, paris, edinburgh or anywhere in scotland, london, new york, honolulu.

oh, and does anyone know of somewhere good to stay in honolulu that is not in waikiki?

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

is travis one of the best, yet simple, method actors we have ever seen?

while everyone else is playing in facebook-land, and while i take a break from some quite heavy research i'm doing regarding boys and the Arts (question one, is art seen as a girly thing to do by teenage school-boys?), i just want to take a step into all things big brother and make a few comments. and ask some questions.

2. is travis acting out a persona? did he, or someone maybe with more skill, say to themselves "well, how would it be if someone went into the house, the typical aussie bloke, like steve irwin, yeah, irwin, remember how everyone lamented his loss, as the quintessential aussie icon/hero, how would such a person fare in the house?"

[my comment to myself - it would be hard to keep up, but i'm just not convinced that he is the real deal. that much. perhaps he is exaggerating himself a bit. last night, the interview with "hansel" showed him as quite manic, really over the top, and a bit shaken. likewise when they were all on the couch after seeing the footage of them all saying who they did and didn't want to win. but back to the gretel meeting, there were a couple of times when his quick wit showed, it was almost like a comedy script, which is impossible, but still, i get the feeling he is really very clever and not the boofhead oaf that people think he is. he is getting a bit annoying, or a lot, and also some of the things i've read just now scooting about, we are not seeing a lot of the stuff he is saying, which is not very nice. i did catch one particularly edifying exchange up-late when he was talking with pride and a weird kind of casualness about the impressive size of his son's penis, which was just oogey to listen to, and also apparently he is quite focussed on sexual things, which get edited out.]

3. how much do you love zach?

[i love zach HUGELY. i think his little smiling face with the crinkly eyes is so so sweet. i love his "oh my god i don't believe it" face. it's become his trademark, there will be t-shirts i think and i want one. i want him to win, because it would be such a change to the formula, but i don't think he will.]

4. how much are you enjoying the billy aleisha thang?

[i am enjoying it hugely. i'm a sucker for some sweet loving, and it's reminding me of the marty and jess affair, which also sucked me in big time. i love the way aleisha is scared of getting hurt, she is a smart cookie, but i'm loving the way billy is being very sweet and tender with her, and trying to get her to express her feelings. i also love the way the play and have fun together.]

who to win?

in all honesty, i think travis should win. i think the money would fuck up aleisha, and billy. i don't think zach would do well with the money either, he would be taken advantage of by some smooth-talking con-man who would take it from him. but travis is older, i don't think it would change him, he would help people with it, and i have a sneaking suspicion [and this is very harsh but please don't judge me, i used to work in special ed and have an eye for it] that his son might be needing some kind of special support in the future, if not now. i'm going to hell, i just know it.

ps. the new-look neighbours. we like. i was fearful it was going to go home and away trashy and too grown up, but seems like it's family values all the way. and the baby 'roo sealed the deal for princess.

Friday, July 13, 2007

things to do today (inc footy)


things to do tomorrow:

1a. go to the mcg.

1. watch geelong beat collingwood, at the mcg.

2. eat a pie and chips while watching geelong beat collingwood, at the mcg.

3. drink a beer, or maybe two, while eating a pie and chips and watching geelong beat collingwood, at the mcg.

4. watch my dad cry tears of happiness, while drinking a beer, or maybe two, while eating a pie and chips and watching geelong beat collingwood, at the mcg.

5. refrain from glaring at clokes while he yells at "his" players, while watching my dad cry tears of happiness, while drinking a beer, or maybe two, while eating a pie and chips and watching geelong beat collingwood, at the mcg.

6. block out the ungenteel swearing of coll-thug-supporters, while refraining from glaring at clokes while he yells at "his" players, while watching my dad cry tears of happiness, while drinking a beer, or maybe two, while eating a pie and chips and watching geelong beat collingwood, at the mcg.

7. get a little cold, while looking at the clock, while blocking out the ungenteel swearing of coll-thug-supporters, while refraining from glaring at clokes while he yells at "his" players, while watching my dad cry tears of happiness, while drinking a beer, or maybe two, while eating a pie and chips and watching geelong beat collingwood, at the mcg.

8. feel a bit smug for being under shelter, while the rain falls on the others, while getting a little cold, while looking at the clock, while blocking out the ungenteel swearing of coll-thug-supporters, while refraining from glaring at clokes while he yells at "his" players, while watching my dad cry tears of happiness, while drinking a beer, or maybe two, while eating a pie and chips and watching geelong beat collingwood, at the mcg.

9. wonder what to have for dinner, while feeling a bit smug for being under shelter, while the rain falls on the others, while getting a little cold, while looking at the clock, while blocking out the ungenteel swearing of coll-thug-supporters, while refraining from glaring at clokes while he yells at "his" players, while watching my dad cry tears of happiness, while drinking a beer, or maybe two, while eating a pie and chips and watching geelong beat collingwood, at the mcg.

10. consider giving clokes a consolatory shag [saturday night is business time*], after wondering what to have for dinner, while feeling a bit smug for being under shelter, while the rain falls on the others, while getting a little cold, while looking at the clock, while blocking out the ungenteel swearing of coll-thug-supporters, while refraining from glaring at clokes while he yells at "his" players, while watching my dad cry tears of happiness, while drinking a beer, or maybe two, while eating a pie and chips and watching geelong beat collingwood, at the mcg.

10a. walk back to train station trying to be generous with one whole half of my fam [husband, two children] and not brag too much about geelong beating collingwood.

10b. silently and joyfully hug myself as realisation hits that this is the first time i have been to footy to geelong vs collingwood game and it's been a result to please (me).

10c. push away memory of last year's thrashing of geelong, and dragging clokes from ground before finish of game, driving to carlton with sister and bro-in-law to see some movie. also push away father's last words of "i'm going for a leak" as he left in the last quarter never to return.

10d. push away memory from year before when father karate chopped collingwood supporter in front on shoulder and told him to "sit down!" because he was remaining standing a shade too long after each of collingwood's goals.

* yeah, i know, i know. everyone has links. everyone uses links as the modern-day "hey listen to this monty python record, i'll just play you a bit, it's SO FUCKING HILARIOUS" but really, truly, do yourselves a fucking favour. this one is simply ace.

Thursday, June 28, 2007


please remember the following are excerpts from mg's diaries. they are more than 25 years old. they don't describe her current life and they tend to be fairly raw and girly. all are 100% true and 100% daggy.

Last night, S, me, D, D and N put on our Antgear and went to see Adam and the Ants. Never have I imagined such a sexual show. They sang most of the "Kings of the Wild Frontier" album and others (Cartrouble, Xerox Machine, Fetish for Girls, You're So Physical).. Also Press Darlings, A.N.T.S to the sound of Village People's YMCA.

Adam danced perfectly, grinding and swivelling at the exact moments, his bum looking great in leather. He was wearing his Hussar jacket and nose stripe and all his warrior gear. After singing, they left the stage at the end of the show, but after about 10 mins of shouting "Adam, Adam" they reappeared, with Adam having discarded his jacket and wearing only pants and white shirt. As he was singing the next song, he slowly began to pull his shirt loose and at the end of the song he had one shoulder bare, with his tattoo showing and shirt all loose. They ran off again, but when they came on next, when the crowd was yelling "Prince Charming!" they sang a slow and sexy number (You're So Physical). During this, Adam seductively removed his shirt, not over his head, but down over his pants - he was so teasingly provocative. Heaps of girls near the stage had to be carried out and I can see why. He is really provocative! Fair enough, he doesn't drink, smoke or take drugs*, but he does believe in sex - PURE SEX.

The music was great - he sang to the sex people in the audience, telling us to hold our heads high, take pride in ourselves. It was so colourful and so diverse. People of all ages - boys with warrior paint and girls too. There were two guys dressed like Adam and Gary Tibb. The one dressed like Adam also looked like him and S and I stared at him until the real one came on. He put his all into the concert, speak only to dedicate Los Rancheros to Clint Eastwood and asking the audience if they wanted "more". He gave us more, at times on the ground, other times doing his Ant dance which only lasts for a couple of seconds at a time.

I want to go next Wednesday. I went to the bank this afternoon and got money. I know Mum will be in opposition but I want to go so much, especially if S goes. E [sister] will be mad if she doesn't go.


[got more tickets for the next show, going again with a bunch of other people, including sister]

E's costume looks really good - like Robin Hood. She's wearing her red nightie (complete with frills) black tights, my white blouse underneath, and thick black belt. Looks GOOD and it's different.

What I would really love to wear is a frock like in "Picnic at Hanging Rock".**


All systems go tomorrow. S and I are putting our plan into action. We're going into the Southern Cross tomorrow straight from school - what will I tell mum? I think I'll just tell her I'm going shopping. I shouldn't be too late him. I have to go to the concert tomorrow night - CAN'T WAIT!

I heard Adam talking on 3XY tonight and he said he was feeling fit for the show tomorrow night, he'd had a massage. Hmmmm... lucky bitch! Maybe it was a guy, hope so.

Inside the book [picture story book of Waltzing Mathilda] S and I are going to write something to the effect of:

Dear Adam and the Ants,

Welcome to Australia. Hope you enjoy your stay.

From MG & S.

Then we'll put in an extra card to Adam:

Dear Adam,

We really enjoyed the concert and hope you did too.

Lots of love,

MG & S.

(and then our addresses and phone nos.)

It's mad and terribly immature - but then I've never professed to be sane and mature, have I? I'd love him to write, ring or even send his autograph. There's always a chance he will cause it's a good book called "Waltzing Mathilda" with lovely pictures!

It's our only hope!

I wish I could get his autograph for E. What a buzz! Apparently, LD told me, that when the Ants arrived in Melbourne, Molly Meldrum threw them a party - but as Adam isn't interested in smoking, drink or drugs, he left after the first fifteen minutes - GOOD HEY?!?

I'm wondering whether CHOGM tomorrow won't hinder S's and my access to the Southern Cross. I would just be so mad!

* * * *

Rocktober 1st

Today S and I put our plan into action. We caught the tram to the city after school. On the tram we wrote in the book. We then walked to the Southern Cross. After trying to get into the lobbt at the side (it was locked) we went to the main door, only to be confronted by a group of fans and cameras and autograph books. S and I asked an old doorman if there was any way he could leave the book at the lobby desk. He said if we got it wrapped up and labelled he would. So we went into a posh antique shop and borrowed some sticky tape and rewrapped the book and card in brown paper. On the front we wrote:




Then we went back to the doorman and he said we could take it in ourselves. So we very coolly walked through the fans to the lobby (where they weren't allowed) and left it at the desk. So it should get to them. I would be satisfied if Adam sent back a little thankyou note. Mmmmm, would I be satisfied!!!


[insert sketch of balloons, cake with candles and butterfly]


When I get the lyrics for "Beautiful World" I'll write them in here because I think they're good. Pretty optimistic and happy, I think, but I can't be sure because Devo is an obscure band and their lyrics are not always as they seem. [insert, written in green pen, however long later - Correction: It's cynical!]

I'm playing a cassette, on which I have three interviews with Adam Ant. The first Don Lane one, the "Sounds" one and Monday night's 3XY one.

I think I would suffer accute embarrassment if anybody read this diary... In fact... I know I would. The only person who would understand at the moment is... mmm. I don't know if even N would, I'm not sure. But that's the beauty of having a diary - no one reads it except me. Just ask Anne Frank!

At the moment on the tape Don Lane is making a fool of himself, but Adam sounds perfect. As always...

Don Lane is a SUCK. He keeps interrupting Adam and laughing in a really fake, unsure way. It shits me.

At the concert last night, Sally Boyden and friends were walking past the seats down the middle of the hall. Everyone stood up and started booing her - quite mean.

Last night (early this morning) I dreamt. It was the first time Adam has appeared in a dream... Anyway, I shook hands with him. Then later on, he and his mates were dropping me home in a car and as I got out I said "Can I kiss you?" and I did - ON THE LIPS.

[this is the end of Volume 2]

* now, with my 17-year-old naivety having been beaten out of me in the years since, i believe this equates with britney spears's proclamations of virginity when she was going out with justin and his trousersnake.

** 2012 note - OMFG

Thursday, June 21, 2007

wedding wrap up

hello all. i'm not sure what i was waiting for. i guess we came back to earth with a bit of a thud, or i did, just with kids back to school, kids, that three of them, buzzing around and blowing every bit of the magic away.

you know, i love them, love them all, but you can't have a conversation like this with a 10 year old:

me: so, did you enjoy the wedding?

princess: [grabbing my arm] oh, yes. sorry to gush but it was absolutely the best wedding i've ever been to, the food, OH MY GOD THE FOOD, it was simply delicious and hot, all the meals were hot, the servicve was fantastic.

me: i'm glad you had a good time then-

princess: and the MUSIC, it was sooooo good. i loved your first dance, it was funny and so apt, also the last bit, where everyone was joining in, i can't wait to see the video. when do you get the photos?

me: um, i think he said a couple of weeks

princess: well, i can't wait to see them, they'll be beautiful, YOU looked beautiful

get the picture? the conversations went more like when you ask them how school was, and the answers consist of "good" and "i don't know".

but, the venues were spectacular, we got many compliments on the food, music, spectacular surroundings, celebrant, the Dress, how gorgeous the children looked, the family atmosphere and the symbolism of merging these two families.

the weather was superb - mild and summery, it was just perfect.

after leaving the reception in a swirl of dance and laughter we jumped into a car that took us back to the hotel in the city. the one with l'occitane accoutrements in the bathrooms. the one with king suites that are on a corner of the building and overlook the mcg, fitzroy gardens, over to south yarra and the domain, around up the yarra to the arts centre, crown, southbank and eureka tower. we could see out to the ocean, and to the dandenongs and the other hills to the left of the dandenongs. beautiful. we had what i wanted, a lost-in-translation type hotel experience, without the loneliness and angst. we drifted around the city, we ate at oyster, oh god you must go there. the most perfect and simple meal of freshly-shucked oysters, followed by i think a grain-fed beef sirloin on the bone, it was huge, 450g, so much meat i couldn't eat it all but i remember saying it was the best i'd ever had, and a special on the day, with mash potato and we got some sort of greens. dessert was tiramisu served from a huge copper flat pan at the table. the wine, tick. the atmosphere, tick. the service, tick.

oh and we'd started with a vodka martini at the bar.

so a perfect mini-honeymoon.

but then back to reality, and i just haven't been able to bring myself to write about it here. a bit flat i guess but i'm ok. you know when there is a big build-up to something and then it's all over just like that?

but the next thing is the trip, oh excitement much. seriously, there is so much pleasure in looking at apartments in venice on the internet and getting all jiggly and stuff with anticipation.

i've told john i will have sex with him each of the three nights we are in venice if we can get the [more expensive] apartment that i prefer, which is seriously venetian. compared to the others, which could be anywhere, like anywhere, this one is the real deal.

check it.

Friday, June 01, 2007

to the dark side

i've had a wart on my finger since i was in my teens, i think. it seems it's always been there, always a part of me. it's really two warts, that have merged together, in some way romantic, a joining of two which have become one larger, stronger, but uglier, thing.

two weeks ago i bought some wart stuff. some killer paint that stinks and promises to get rid of my wart, as well as the roots, if it's a plantar type.

i don't really know what a plantar wart is, but it sounds like a heavier version of just a normal wart. of course my wart would never be a simple little easy-to-cure matter. it would have to be of the industrial strength.

my wart is not small, and it's not like a little bump on the surface of my skin. it's spread, and it looks kind of transparent. i have bitten it off at times, the raised bit. i fiddle with it, flick it with my thumb. it annoys the shit out of people probably.

so why, when this wart has been a companion for so long, have i decided to get rid of it?

why now?

i'm not quite sure, but i think it's meaningful. in some ways i guess i am wanting to rid myself of my baggage.

but a wart is not baggage, you say.

well, it kind of is, i reply. to me, it's something i've carried long distances, through time, it's been on me, not weighing much, but there all the same. my wart has been with me longer than almost everyone i know.

about a week ago the wart was raising up, something was happening. it was like it was pushing to the surface. it kind of lifted up at one side, and i worked it, and worried at it, and pulled off that thick layer of skin. expecting to see the underneath a bit cleared, a bit healed, a bit better.

but it just looked the same as before, really.

it was then i realised this wart is a bitch, and it will take time to get rid of it. this wart is a stayer, and it doesn't want to leave me. this wart has dug its heels in, taken a pew, gotten comfortable.

this wart might take years to cure.

so every night, i'll keep painting it with the smelly clear liquid. i'll wait and see what happens. i'll watch my wart, i'll monitor it. and hope that one day it will be gone.

Friday, May 25, 2007

well, it's time to rock n' roll

big day tomorrow folks. all is on track.
i'll leave it up to you to imagine how things will pan out.
love you all, have a good weekend.
more back to the '80s in a couple of weeks.

ps. sub, will try to make it, but might be "otherwise occupied". xxx

this or this?

this or this?

certainly this in the afternoon. nice.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

coast 2827

i am putting a question mark on this place, to join others on my personal 'don't like' list, which includes a couple of milkbars in istanbul. so, don't go to them either, they'll put the price of milk up daily on you just because you keep coming back because you've got a baby to feed, and you're obviously rich cause you're a foreign sucker.

in a nutshell, this is what happened on sunday.

6 female diners order various meals for lunch, ranging from panini-type things to fully-blown burgers with the lot. before you say, hello, here's trouble, please bear in mind we had just been soaking at the day spa and we were so mellow that even i, prickly bitch that i can be, was relaxed, laid-back and loving everyone.

1. the meals took ages to come out.

2. the burgers were burnt. the meat, not the buns. 3 out of 3. burnt. charcoal.

3. the calamari (main we thought, but excused as entree) was a PATHETIC scattering of squid strips on a too-large mound of rocket. for $18.50.

however, the worst thing of it all was the manager who came to our table when we asked to speak to him.

amongst other things, and anchored in a very defensive angry attitude, he told us that:

a] he was sick of people complaining about his prices and his meals

i said to that: 'so this happens alot then?'

b] that there was obviously nothing he could say to make us feel better about this

i said, well actually, bucko*, if you say you won't charge for the calamari, then that would make us feel better. (this was before we the burnt burgers even arrived. he said, no, that he intended to charge for the calamari that had been sent back to the kitchen in disgust. okay, thanks.)

c] that he didn't want our money for the food, and that we weren't to step inside his restaurant ever again (please note contradiction with point b about charging for the calamari. okay we're dealing with someone with some mental problems here. a person who is dealing with LOTS OF COMPLAINTS ABOUT HIS RESTAURANT) (I'd call it a cafe, really.)

so. i ate my chips. i didn't eat my burger, or bacon or anything else that was on the plate. this was a hardship because i don't eat burgers. ever really. and i was looking forward to that burger and had changed my order from linguine with seafood, a more normal choice for me.

i opened the burger up in a nice display so it could be seen by all. i also ate chips from the extra bowl we'd ordered. the chips were nice. i also drained my glass of scotchman's hill chardy. i left $5. on the table. everyone else paid what they felt they should. my burger-eating friends had cut off the burnt bits and managed to eat all theirs. we were starving, and it was 1.30 by the time we ordered.

but i tell you, it left a bad taste in the mouth.

and you know what, i don't think he would have DARED speak to us like that if there was one of us with a fucking Y chromosome. i really don't.

* i didn't say bucko. we were being polite, civilised yet assertive.

Friday, May 18, 2007

further memo to big brother's jamie

hello love
look, you obviously got lost in my last memo; bogged down in the mire of my attempts to enlighten you re the islamic faith etc. clearly, you didn't pay attention to what was, really, the most important point of the whole letter.
give. up. on. emma.
hear me?
give up on emma.
she doesn't even know you exist.

now, i'm not saying anything about her being out of your league, even though she actually clearly believes this to be the case. and it might well be the case. but if you had the right stuff, boyo, you could get her.
my suggestions are these, a couple of ideas of ways you can maybe be a little more edgy and a little less seal-like.
1. stop moaning about how emma doesn't like you, isn't giving you a chance, doesn't know you, the real you.
2. stop pointing out to others about how you falling in the pool on purpose is the real you. it's really unattractive.
3. speaking of unattractive, i don't think you are, un- that is. i think you have lovely eyes and a smile that's lovely too. actually you are quite handsome, but unfortunately (and quite opposite to what i expected) i think your personality or your neuroses are letting you down.
4. stop, JUST FUCKING STOP, lying around with your arms down by your sides and your head up at a weird angle. you were doing it last night while hayley was having a bitch in the pool. and what were you doing? in the pool in those horrible underpants? no. you were lying, fully clothed, on the decking next to her. your arms weren't propping you up, they were lying like dead meat beside your body, your legs straight out, and head up. what's going on? are you trying to look like the most idiotic person in the house? please. enough. stop it. you look like a seal.*
5. stay away from rebecca. she's a bit twisted and nutty. you will get her unpopularity stench onto you.
6. unfortunately emma is the alpha human in the pack. she is so fucking wily and manipulative. you wouldn't want her as your girlfriend anyway. believe me.
7. just relax and smile a bit more.
8. if you are packing something serious in your pants like your namesake from last year, get it out now. otherwise it might be too late.
9. keep on cooking, they like that, but don't be such a suck about everything. there've been a couple of times when i've seen a spark of something good, but you spoil it with your bleating and suckiness. be a man. go on.
10. don't do the slapstick fall-in-the-pool routine again, or similar. it just smacks of desperation and i can smell your fear-sweat from here.
the only other thing i can think of to suggest, which won't help you while you're in there, but you might consider once you're out is reading the game, by neil strauss. i reckon emma could do with some heavy negging, sarging and if you could peacock a bit more (NOT SEAL) you might be in with a chance.
that's all for now, jamie.
i'm rooting for you.
you go, boy etc.
good luck.
love melbournegirl xxx
* nothing against seals, they are gorgeous creatures. i just want jamie to present himself properly, realise his potential, as a human of the boy variety, not a water-creature, whale, sealion etc.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

memo to big brother's jamie and nick, i think it's nick

hi boys,

mind if i just butt into a conversation you were having in the spa recently, maybe yesterday, remember, when you were talking about demet and the "type of muslim she is" and how while you thought that muslim women were not meant to show their bodies, and "move the way she does" and bellydance and stuff? remember that chat you had? i know you weren't being critical, more curious, so i'm not picking on you about that.

what annoyed, or frustrated, me what that while you two guys sat there in the spa, pondering demet and the way she moves her body, and that it's not how you expected a muslim woman to behave, i was sitting on the couch wanting to shout so that you could hear me. especially when, jamie, in all your reasonablene puzzlement, acknowledged that there are different types of muslims. the unspoken part was that (my interpretation) perhaps there are some muslims who are ok with bellydancing and women showing their bodies (ie dressing where you can see a slip of tummy, and arms, and no scarf).

can i just say there are different types of muslims but these are basically, as far as i know, sunni and shiite. what you were talking about, jamie, is that there are infinite degrees of adherence to the religion, just as there are with other religions. i know jews who eat pork products, and those that keep kosher. and then there's everything in between. some christians go to church and show their faith in certain traditional ways, others don't. muslims are the same. some cover, some don't. some smoke, and drink and eat pork. some don't. i've met muslim girls who wear the tightest jeans and skimpiest tops, in istanbul, not here, and also ones who cover but have the most amazingly stylish and sexy clothes underneath their overcoats.

obviously, the ones who aren't strict about dietary and behavioural guidelines are not the super-religious ones. but some who observe the dietary restrictions aren't particularly religious - diet and dress is a customary thing. but they all still probably identify as muslim.

so you see jamie, you were kind of close, but really kind of wrong and ignorant. it's not your fault. i think alot of australians have similar ideas and misconceptions. there is no such thing as "Relaxed Islam" [bellydancing, showing skin, premarital sex and drinking alcohol] as a religious group. but there are millions of "relaxed" muslims around the world who are just living their lives - skin, dancing and movement - just like everyone else. just because someone identifies as muslim doesn't mean that they pray 5 times a day, cover themselves, etc. they are just the religious or more conservative ones.

hope this has shed a bit of light, boys.

good luck with it all though jamie. just give up on emma. she is just not interested.

mg xxx

Friday, May 11, 2007

listen up, melbournegirl

remember, don't spend too much time wondering why bottom cleavage is not fashionable, let alone desirable. it just is what it is.

okay, just keep it together, you are doing fine.

moving right along.

how are all of you?

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

yesterday, 2007

thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to complete strangers david and paul, who saw me needing help and that everyone else was just ignoring me and going about their business at 9am. thank you for helping me get the car back over the gutter at the petrol station, no, i'm not sure how i got it there in such a way that the nose was poking across the footpath and i was at right-angles to where i should have been. thank you for scratching your heads, thinking carefully about the problem, and not walking away when you could have. thank you for carrying bricks across north road twice, and not giving up on me. we got it done, without any damage. apart from the damage my pride suffered. i wanted to hug both of you, but i'm glad i shook your hands and got your names. hope you got some laughs through the day by re-telling the story. i don't mind. honestly. you guys rock.

thank you also to red symons. you gave me a lift when you checked me out at the cafe in clifton hill. you see, i'd been to a hair trial with my sister and while i thought the result was just a little too kerri-anne-kennerley, you obviously thought i was a bit of a hot number. so thank you for giving me that lift, just when i needed it.

so, the kindness of strangers. never underestimate it. it could be you one day, with your car, or your hair, in the shit. maybe even in the same day.

and before you tell me that was such a woman thing to do with the car, and "are you blonde" and all that, paul told me he'd done it before. sweetie, trying to make me feel better. i didn't tell him i'd also done similar before. twice.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

i don't know which is worse - 2007 or 1981.

all of the following happened today. some i found more disturbing than others.

join me and shudder:

me, my mum and princess went to have lunch at the cuckoo, a "quaint" theme restaurant in the dandenongs, which has been operating for 49 years, and in that time the decor, table-cloths, stage show and stage show gags have not been changed. at all. since i was a kid.

i ate roast pork and some crackling. this is only mildly disturbing, and i'm not quite sure why. i do love a bit of pork crackling.

at one stage, the man doing the yodelling and cow bells routine took the snare drum off the stand (is that the big round brass one?) and put it on his head when he learned there were "visitors from korea" in the audience. he then placed his hands in prayer position and sang them a stupid chinese song. my mother and i looked at each other in utter shock and embarrassment, and then talked through the rest of the act. fucking tool.
princess was dragged into the live show, being the only child there who could wield a cow bell responsibly (and being the only child there whose mother caught the eye of the mc and smiled and nodded to her daughter when he was casting his eye around for participants). the other guy who got the little bell was a wisecracking and very annoying person who wavered across the line between audience participation and heckling a number of times.
my mum was getting ogled by various elderly gentleman. she is looking good, i must say, and even had a bit of tasteful cleavage happening. however, it's always disturbing to a child to have their mother checked out, especially by old coots who are sitting there with their wives. sniff.
the man who made the pancakes also played the piano for the musical act.
there was a sign in the ladies that said "for the comfort of other guests, please use the toilet spray provided". think about it. all-you-can-eat establishment; 50 different types of desserts; yodelling. it would go right through anybody.
my mother thinks i am the athena archetype, and that she herself has always been the demeter but is trying to be more athena. i, however, think i am a blend of artemis and hestia, although they are contradictory.

anyway, princess wasn't at school today because her year level is away on camp, and this was the consolation of not being allowed to go. the school wouldn't take her, which i understand, but i would have been less compliant were she permanently disabled, rather than temporarily.

cast comes off tomorrow, woo hoo. she will have big bubble bath, then festivities continue with a meal out tomorrow night, complete with mocktails for the under-aged and over-sized schnitzels for all.

back to the '80s soon.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007


this is a story i wrote when i was about 10 or 11 i think, judging by the ink pen, the fancy heading and illustration, and the judgmental tone.

i remember feeling pissed off when we weren't allowed to have guy fawkes night anymore.

i'm copying it exactly, with spelling and punctuation errors as original. note the use of american spelling conventions. something i never do these days. note also the polemic and also the way my argument becomes extremely lame at the end.


Hooligans thats what they are. Hooligans who spoil the fun of Guy Fawkes Night. They roam around the streets playing jokes on everyone. They not only act stupidly at night but in the day-time they vandalize trees in the parks and explode letter-boxes. Because of these idiots a law will be passed banning explosive bungers. Harmless little Tom Thumbs will go too. But I still think that animals can be injured and some foolish kids can be inclined too get a bit wild. So, in some ways I think it best to ban the bungars and it may be very useful.

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

claypots schmaypots

that's right. we went to claypots last week. this establishment has had people raving over it. people in the newspapers, people on the street. people who are friends.

i've been wanting to go because everyone said it was sooooooo good.

well, to my mind, it wasn't.

i'm sorry but there it is. we sat there and indulged them their quirky ordering system. the waiter was nice, and he indulged us our dull-witedness when it came to trying to order for three kids and two adults.

so we finally settled on a claypot which had pipis and fish in it [i describe it like a pudding, the dude said]. we ordered a meze arrangement of about 8 small dishes. and a whole flathead for the table. and three kids meals which were the only good things to appear. as well as the wine. which we had to go and get ourselves from the tavern.


look, i know it's not nice to bag a restaurant. they work very hard and all that. which is why i'm doing this here and not here, the restaurant review group i belong to. because the original point of that site, we do chew our food, was to post about great places to eat, and share those recommendations with others.

let me detail the ways in which claypots was for me a pretty ordinary experience:

1. every bite of fish seemed to have bone in it. and i'm not just talking about the sardines; that i expect. but the stingray, check. the whole flathead, check.

2. can i just say, cajun spices and seafood DO NOT GO TOGETHER. this is my fault for going to a restaurant where these flavours are the specialty

put it this way; seafood = delicate, light. cayenne pepper, paprika, all types of peppers, etc = mouth burny, overwhelming and yuck.

i am not one of those people who are fussy about their food. i love strongly-flavoured, tasty, spicy, hot food but not with fish or crustaceans.

was this my fault? should i have known claypots is cajun? is it all cajun or just what we ordered? am i being unfair?

but mouthsful of bones, followed by large sections of unbearable, AWFUL spices, had me almost gagging.

on a lighter note i was happy to see the spunky dame win the oscar for best actress, also i bought some brown cords today. saw a girl on a bike wearing some yesterday, thought to myself i need some brown cords, and then there they were today, just waiting patiently for me to take them, try them on, and buy them


ps. any lawyers out there, tell me if this claypots thing is defamatory. i'll bin it. INC?

Thursday, February 22, 2007

what's your excuse, peter?

you know, the more i think about this, the more disgusted i am. look at his t-shirt in that picture

it says: "what's your excuse?"
now, read these lyrics

power and passion - midnight oil
wasting away
in paradise
Going backward,
once in a while
Moving ahead,
Falling behind
What do you believe,
what do you believe
What do you believe is true
Nothing they say makes a difference this way
Nothing they say will do
Take all the trouble that you can afford
At least you won't have time to be bored
Oh the power and the passion,
Oh the temper of the time
Oh the power and the passion
Sometimes you've got to take the hardest line
Sunburnt faces around,
with skin so brown
Smiling zinc cream and crowds,
Sundays the beach never a cloud
Breathing eucalypt,
pushing panel vans
Stuff and munch junk food
Laughing at the truth,
cos Gough was tough til he hit the rough
Uncle sam and john were quite enough
Too much of sunshine too much of sky
It's enough to make you want to cry
Oh the power...I see buildings,
clothing the sky, in paradise
Sydney, nights are warm
Daytime telly, blue rinse dawn
Dad's so bad he lives in the pub,
it's a underarms and football clubs
Flat chat, pine gap,
in every home a big mac
And no one goes outback,
that's that
You take what you get
and get what you please
It's better to die on your feet than to live on your knees

so Gough was tough til he hit the rough, peter? what about you? rolling over like that.
when i was younger, amongst all the simon le bons and pretty boy bands, amongst our crushes on the cute one from the clash, or sting or suggs, behind all that, was the constant admiration for midnight oil in general, and peter garrett in particular.
he sang his guts out, he was passionate, he believed and he made you believe too, even if you were just a school girl, then a uni student, then a young worker, more interested in going out and drinking and dancing than politics and the environment.
but he was always there, with those arms spread wide, those massive hands stretched in supplication for people to hear him.
so peter, old pedro, vieux pierre. what gives? do they have you over a barrel? did you have to sign something before joining the labor party, saying you would denounce your old ways, leave it all behind. start anew. sell your fucking soul for a chair in the house of politics. and have to make kissy kissy suck arse to the americans, who you also criticised in your songs.
hey, remember, you even sang a song about us bases in australia, you even mentioned PINE GAP.
have you forgotten? you made it rhyme with 'big mac' (and better punctuation with this one, I had to put in lots of possessive apostrophes in the last lyrics)

US Forces give the nod,
IT'S A SETBACK FOR YOUR COUNTRY  (your country too peter).
Bombs and trenches all in rows,
bombs and threats STILL ASK FOR MORE  (they're still asking, and you're helping them)
Divided world the CIA,
say who control the issue
You leave us with no time to talk,
YOU CAN WRITE YOUR OWN ASSESSMENT  (guess you have as well, haven't you?)
Sing me songs of no denying,
seems to me too many trying
Waiting for the next big thing
Will you know it when you see it,
HIGH RISK CHILDREN DOGS OF WAR  (did you EVER think in your life someone might say this about you?)
Now market movements call the shots,
business deals in parking lots
Waiting for the meat of tomorrow
i am so disgusted.* this is the man who everyone in the country relied on to stick to his principles, ideals, values.
i am so ashamed and cross i am starting to write like derryn bloddy hinch.
stopping now.
see you garrett. there is no excuse. whatever the trade-off. live on your knees, peter, live on your knees.

 it's enough to make me want to cry.

* 2012 note - I have to say I am not nearly as disgusted with Peter Garret these days. What was that? Young rebellion? I'm not sure but I think he's okay for the moment. Would love to see him get out there and be The Person Who Does A Lot of Serious and Solid Work in a Political Capacity for the Indigenous People of Australia.