Like a slatternly Blanche Dubois

I can't ignore the heat. It's getting to me in a bad way, a way that makes my head roil and my heart thump. When I feel the trickle of sweat that rolls down the middle of my back and then collects somewhere near the top of my bottom, I feel hot.

Like Blanche Dubois, I am wandering listlessly, restless, and self-flagellating with a soaked, flannel nappy. It's a large square of wetness that I can drape in any number of ways on my person.

This is probably where the comparison ends in my favour.

Unlike Blanche, I am not smoking. And unlike Blanche, I am not making eyes at a man in a singlet who looks like Marlon Brando but who's name is Stanley Kowalski.

Unlike Blanche, I am not coiffed. My hair is a bird's nest of Dilleresque proportions, thanks to a swim in a friend's pool this morning, and wearing a hat, on top of yesterday's beach hair.

Also, unlike Blanche, I am dressed for the weather. While she was dressed in a very frou-frou frilly, chiffony house-dress, and trying to be elegant, I am schlomping around in not entirely unattractive, and quite strappy, black slip. I drift, as I recline, as I wallow, and I complain. I've been wearing this for two days now. It's the coolest thing next to naked, which I can't do as the house is filled with children.


So yesterday at various stages I said or yelled the following things:

"Some of us are going crazy here!"

"So are you happy in this marriage?"

[Drinking an enormous glass of chardonnay at 6pm, breaking our alcohol-free January pact] -
"Yes, I've cracked, I'VE CRACKED AS YOU CAN SEE!"

"I'M NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO SLEEP!!!"

"I don't hate your children, that's what you think, DON'T YOU???!!!!"

"Fuck, four more days of this???????"

"If you saw Vicki Christina Barthelona, you'd probably want to leave me for the stability of someone like Pene Cruz. You would!"

"I wonder what the statistics are for people going mad on hot days like this."

"I wonder what the stats are for murder and other bad stuff on hot days like this."


[Storming out of MSAC because they had a "lock-out" and then stuffed up their numbering system] -
"You can keep that [tossing scrunched ticket at slow, dimwitted tool behind counter] WE ARE LEAVING!!!"

I am not the most tolerant at the best of times. I am not suited to the super hot. I have a Celtic background, my genetic memory is in a spin and my body is like a broken record - Nolikenolikenolikenolikenolikenolike. Nocandonocandonocandonocando. Dyingdyingdyingdyingdyingdyingdying.


Like all other Melburnians, I am amused* that the cool change we can expect will bring a temperature of 30-35 degrees on Saturday, and that then we won't be any cooler than 30 for several days following.

The one thing I can't stop is the coffee. I will drink it hot, that's fine. But I've also taken to having my morning coffee as normal, then putting the rest of the pot in the fridge so that later in the day I can have an iced coffee.

I think we plan to go to the beach again this evening, perhaps for cold beers and fish and chips. We will take the Gigi for a swim, but it will still be too hot to walk, even though it's only 10 mins.

So with the black, the coffee, and, it seems, the whinging, I am a true daughter of this fine city.

Time to go and re-soak my wet nappy.





* so amusing, I want to ram a fork into my head.

best comeback of 2008?

i haven't seen mickey rourke in the wrestler yet, but i think this might get my vote for the most reputation-enhancing scene in a movie i've come across for quite a while.

enjoy.

and so it starts, with lots of words.

can we believe in this man?

so i stayed up and watched the inauguration. once everybody had arrived, the actual swearing in ceremony was quite quick. like princess diana, obama muddled the words of the oath, but it seems that was because the chief justice got in a mix. it was an endearingly human moment.

a snapshot of my impressions:

- first, let's get the cosmetic out of the way. why did michelle wear that outfit? the avocado green gloves were distracting and the glitter of her dress and coat, with strange ribbon-tie seemed inappropriately glitzy, and the colour was bad. this girl is gonna go down bigtime as the fashion vultures have been circling, squawking since she wore that "butcher's apron" on election night. also, she has some serious posture problems going on. she looks like a tall woman trying not to be. i'm sure she'll settle into it. he already looks the part, michelle just doesn't yet. but she's got the makings.

- i was glad to see obama in an overcoat, and i was interested to note he didn't wear a scarf, unlike bush. i suppose bush had nothing to prove, but after just watching the end of west wing, where santos didn't wear an overcoat to his inauguration, as a show of "youth and vigour", it was something i looked out for. he wore a red tie, while others adopted purple (ie the senior bushes) purportedly as a sign of bipartisanship (purple = a blend of red and blue). the clintons had yellow accents - from memory, a scarf for bill and earrings for hillary.

- the kids had obviously NOT been told to sit up straight, be on your best behaviour. and i like that. they were natural kids, fidgeting and the oldest one malia bowed her head a few times, and had her eyes open during the prayers

- the pastor who spoke first, rick warren, is already receiving some criticism for concluding with the lord's prayer. one thing i noticed was in his listing of jesus' akas, he pronounced a word "isa". the transcript of his speech has it written as "esau" who actually was, according to wiki, the son of rebekah and isaac, not jesus. the word "isa" is the arabic word for "jesus", and is in the koran as so.

- the other pastor who spoke, the reverend joseph lowery, all i have to say about him is he the man.

 "Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around . . .. . . when yellow will be mellow . . .. . . when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right."

the delivery of this part of his benediction was timed perfectly, and he had everyone smiling if not laughing at his racial commentary schtick.

- the poetess, elizabeth alexander, who delivered her poem, was stilted and robotic, perhaps an effect of speaking in front of millions, and perhaps also a result of her intention to be plain and clear. her words were prosaic, not flowery, and while some are criticising this, i think it rendered her words all the more poignant. they were stark, they were plain, they were clear. an omen perhaps of what is to come with the obama administration?

- i thought an olive branch was extended to the muslim community, as well, or an indication of inclusion. i also liked that non-believers were also included by obama. we were last on the list, but it's better than being left out. i also noticed that when obama was introduced, it was as barack h. obama. strange, i thought, is it meaningful? i wondered. i was sure clinton had been introduced with his full middle name. but later, during the swearing in, "hussein" was spoken. maybe there was no getting around it, and a president elect's full name must be used.

- obama's address, too, was plain and clear. he spoke without the "soaring rhetoric" and i for one was glad. i felt he wasn't trying to use the moment for his own personal glory, to feed the ego, to butter people up with words. one writer has said the speech presented "the most sophisticated view of the world and our role in it of any inaugural address in history" and without being able to compare, i instinctively agree. this is a man, who because he has spent a lot of time figuring out where he belongs in the world, and who because he is bi-cultural and bi-racial with more fluid and multiple identities than most of us, has a handle on many perspectives. he has an overview of the world, of america and of himself that few (if any) u.s. presidents have before him. he has an understanding of what it means to be different, to feel like you don't quite belong anywhere, but can manage to belong everywhere. this layering of identities is something that will be a great asset for him; strength in hybridity, and his ability to move between worlds. "passing" is a loaded term; it implies some sort of subterfuge or deceit, that a person who is half black and half white can be equally as comfortable or effective in both environments. but barack obama is a human bridge who will hopefully use his knowledge and understanding of how the world works and how identity and power works, to fix things.

and oh my, i could see no tele-prompter, no notes. he was just talking, speaking, as if discussing his ideas (well thought out, and well prepared) with a bunch of people, asking for their help, telling them what needed to be done. i bet he has been thinking about how to fix his country, if not the world, for years. this is a man who lives in his head alot, but who also is such a fine writer and communicator, that he can translate his ideas well. his voice is rich and beautifully accented, no evidence of the hoarseness that dogged clinton, another great communicator.

it's a big ask, expecting one man to fix the world, and anything can go wrong. i hope that politics don't get in the way too much, and i hope that his slim shoulders can carry the load for all of us, for the whole world. everybody loves hope, hell, we can't help ourselves.

west wing and obamarama: it's all coming to a wonderful, political, exciting, throbbing CLIMAX

this post is about west wing. if you don't want to spoil it for yourself, don't read it.

clokes and i have been watching west wing, from the beginning, on dvd.

last night, we saw josh and donna kiss.

FINALLY.

i have been hanging off the edge of my couch, night after night, yelling at the screen "kiss her!" and saying to clokes, during odd moments, like preparing dinner, "when's josh going to kiss donna?" and "i want josh to kiss donna!"

i can get quite petulant like that.

it was so good last night, i was bouncing on the couch, squealing, and generally behaving like a real girl. and for those that know me, they would say "melba? she's not a real girl. not in a girly girly type of way."

so, i am shuddering even now as i write. legs are crossed and mind is spinning.

first there was a kiss, a kind of excited, jump up and down together congrats, we did it, things are going well in the campaign don't you think? kind of kiss. but it went on, and became a pash, complete with several camera angles circling around, and it would have kept going had not people started to go into the room.

then, another episode, a couple later, where the campaigners start slipping away from the congratulatory bottle of scotch in the hotel bar. it's the night before the election, polls open in the morning, finally,  

FINALLY, josh follows donna and they end up in bed.

of course, we don't see any sex. we just see them lying bed, supposedly asleep, after the lurve. josh opens his eyes, looks at the clock, it's after 3am, he starts to reach for her, but then doesn't. she gets up, goes to the bathroom, he jumps out of bed and follows her, hovers in the doorway oh so casually. he is so cute.

i think my out-of-proportion investment here is because if i got to choose which west winger to do it with, it would be josh.

i mean, look at him:



i love it that his hair is longer in this final season, again. it went short somewhere in the middle there, but it's back to its clown-like length, all the better to complement his maniacal grimaces over polling data and the like. i love the way he clenches his jaw. and the looks, oh the looks he gives people. there's something vulnerable about josh, despite his ragingly large intellect and capacity for understanding the masses and the mechanisms of politics, that makes me think he wouldn't know how to boil an egg. and i do. so we would be perfect together.

donna annoyed me in the early days. her rabbity face and seemingly stupid questions were irritating. as they'd stride the corridors, holding papers and doing lots of parallel talking, i found myself becoming bugged to the max by her. but now, i see, her early questions marked an inquiring and quick mind, she was learning on the job from her boss in a way that allowed her move up and away (pissing him off in the meantime). i imagine josh has never been abandoned before, even amy was still buzzing around him towards the end of their thing, it seemed he had dropped her. and then, at the end, donna has come back in, joined their campaign as media person, has her own status, her own mad skillz, which josh can appreciate, and now they can do it because their position is not a boss-assistant one any more.

COOL OR WHAT?

the last ep. we watched last night was the one where polls opened, exit poll data was coming through, polls closed, things were looking very even between the two candidates AND ALL THE STAFF WERE GETTING A ROOT. apart from arnie vinick, who was nursing some sort of hand-shake rsi. we had mrs santos "helping" her husband have a nap. we have donna asking josh if he "wanted to go for a walk, or something" during his meltdowns. we had the staffers all jumping each other, which had been going on for a while; donna knew, josh didn't. even will and kate back at the white house are doing it. strange, that for a tv series, that went for so long, it wasn't until the end that characters started hooking up. maybe it's end-of-term euphoria. i don't know, but for quite a while there, it was only the president and abbey who were getting it on.

so we are up to the election day part 2 episode, and have 6 eps to go.

the other funny thing is that somehow, we have managed to calibrate the final section of west wing with the inauguration of barack obama. this means that fiction and fact are blending into each other in a very satisfying way. i know west wing is old, but i never watched it on tv and clokes got pissed off and stopped when they started fucking around with timeslots, etc. so we have only watched it properly for the first time, from beginning to end, now. i can see myself wanting to start all over straight away. i want to see them all when they were new staffers. god, even rob lowe seems a distant memory now.

what i might do is stay up all night, watching west wing, culminating in a live cross to washington dc for the inauguration.

only problem is convincing clokes to do the same. he's back at work.

travelling with children, for groverjones

i have done a lot of travelling-with-child. let me bring you up to speed with some of my without child experiences, because this a perfect excuse for me to air a couple of other special times.

1. i once made a stewardess get the giggles while she was doing that thing with the mask and safety vest. i was in year 12 and simply pulled faces at her. i was on a school trip, and no, i'm not proud of myself.

2. i once was on a plane where the captain neglected an important part of take-off procedure. you know, the part which goes like this:

will all cabin attendants please take their seats for take off.

this meant that the plane took off while staff were still walking around. i remember a stewardess throwing herself into her seat, and a steward come flying sideways, running off-balance, yelling

FUUUUUUCK!!!

3. i once was allowed on a plane with someone who had a gamelan as hand luggage. for those of you who don't know, this is an indonesian wooden xylophone type thing. these things are huge and this one had been dismantled and resembled a large bundle of firewood. my musician friend had bought it in indonesia and we flew back to australia with it under our feet.

4. once i mucked up the arrival time in a flight london to melbourne. my mother was waiting at tullamarine and i didn't arrive. i worked out i'd made a mistake in singapore and felt like such a dick.

5. this is not exactly one of my flight stories, but once, someone i was meeting at tullamarine airport, was arrested as soon as we walked towards the exit doors. the next 4 or so hours were spent at broadmeadows police station. i think it was broady, i've kind of blanked it out.

which brings me to travelling with children.

when princess was 10 months old, i flew with her to turkey. her dad, ali, was already there, having flown across a couple of months before. so, i was on my own, and flying olympus (greek) because it was the cheapest ticket i could find. i was assured it was a direct flight. it wasn't.

so, groverjones, first point:

make sure that the flight is as direct as possible.

the reason for this is that when you are in singapore airport, or athens airport, or frankfurt airport, and your kid is tired in a way that you've never seen before, and you are about to fall over with exhaustion, you do not want to be having anything like 12 more hours, 12 more hours, running through your brain.

i can't remember the connections of this flight, but i know that we were in places i hadn't expected, in the middle of the night, and at one stage i remember letting princess crawl on the floor of the airport where we were changing planes, thinking shit, that floor must be so dirty, and not caring.

this leads me to my second point:

minimise hand-luggage.

now, i know you want to take as much infrastructure as you can, to keep him amused in as many ways possible. i had bottles, nappies, etc and because she was so young, i didn't have games as such. but i think i had an enormous bag of stuffed toys and "developmental aids" worrying i wouldn't be able to get them in turkey. that was silly, i could and did. so that might be the next point:

plan to buy or borrow some of this bulky, heavy stuff over there. you don't need it for the plane.

i do remember having a stroller but i had to check it, and they wouldn't give it to me at each connection, and they didn't have one they could lend me, so i was basically fucked. i had to carry her, and my nappy bag and this huge bag of toys, and it was a marathon. we flew melbourne-singapore?-athens-london-istanbul from memory, and i think even sydney first.

it was endless. it was a nightmare. and there was no one to share it with, even how bad it was. there were terminal changes on buses in the middle of the night, walking through airports carrying this baby. i don't know how i managed. they must have given me a trolley or something! i've blocked out the memory, too traumatic.

but she was great. on the flight, towards athens, i remember at one stage her being handed around the plane by greek grandparenty types. i leaned back and closed my eyes for a break, and would open them, turn around, check her position every 10 mins or so. i knew she wasn't going anywhere far, and i got a bit of rest. those smiling greek grandparenty types saved my sanity.

i had a hook-on bassinet in front of me, that was resting on my knees the entire way. i had no help whatsoever from the cabin staff. in fact, at one stage, middle of night, i had to heat a bottle. i went to the galley to ask for help, the curtain was pulled across, i opened it, and guess what i saw?

the blonde, attractive female attendant was sitting on the bench, head back, mouth open.

the male attendant was putting a strawberry in her mouth.

*

another thing i'd considered for this trip was phenergan, that anti-histamine which can also act as a sedative. well, not considered, but been told about by other parents. i didn't want to give it to her for obvious reasons, drugging my child, are you crazy? but also because i'd been told she might react to it, and it might keep her up and have the opposite effect. as it was, she was great. i made sure she was having a bottle when we took off and landed (for her ears) or her dummy and she didn't cry at all, didn't bother anyone (on this trip) and was fantastic.

when we got to istanbul, her sleeping was out. she'd be up at 5am laughing and clapping her hands and rocking back and forth to the call to prayer, but soon settled down and that was all cool. i don't remember the flight back other than we were sitting next to a very snotty english lady. princess was fine in my mind, maybe a little wriggly (she was 14 months by then, and walking) but she didn't cry and wasn't too noisy. this woman kept sighing and looking as if she was being so bothered. i had princess on the other side of me, away from the woman, and was doing all i could until i finally just said to her

you don't have to be such a bitch, you know.

then we had a little conversation about how she was or wasn't being a bitch, and that was it. we ignored each other for the rest of the trip.

the next time i flew with princess long-haul was when she was 3. again, we flew to turkey, again i was on my own. i don't have as many memories. i would have had books, and some toys and kept her busy with food. she was great, and i think on the return trip we were upgraded to business class where i made a little nest for her on the floor with a blanket and she slept and maybe it wasn't the safest thing to do but oh, the bliss of being able to sleep a little myself. there still weren't those personal screens where you could watch stuff, but she was still a little young for that anyway. we amused ourselves by going to the bathroom, i remember her being very interested in all the mechanics of the toilet, but scared of the sound of the flush. a warning there.

this trip we also flew across to america and back, but i don't remember those flights other than our time spent in frankfurt airport on the way there and back. terrible connection times meant that we drifted around for hours, like that man in that tom hanks movie who was living in an airport. there was a giant polar-bear ice cream dispenser, but i didn't have coins. we slept on benches, and at one stage i had princess sitting atop the mountain of luggage on our trolley parked just outside the toilet door while i went for a quick wee (i figured she could make sure no one stole anything by sitting on it, and she had to be right near the door so she couldn't get stolen), next thing i know, she's fallen off from tiredness. she was only 3.

the latest flying with children was 2007 when we flew with the 3, aged 8, 10 and 11? by this age, of course, they can amuse themselves a little better, and it was a breeze. you need those tvs in the back of the seats, and you need them to be working. they need their books, their DS games, and you need a little glass of wine to relax. then you can sit back and feel sorry for the people with little kids, who are struggling. on one of these flights there was a man getting very agitated about a little one near him who wouldn't stop crying. the parents were doing all they could, but often you can't stop a baby or young child crying. you just can't. and on a plane it's harder. you can't take them out, you can't take them for a walk, or a drive in the car. you can't put them in a bath, to let the water soothe them. this man was being a prick, and had made a couple of comments along the lines of can't you DO something? the rest of the passengers were sympathetic to the young couple with the child, and were actively starting to turn against complaining man. finally, someone stood up and told him to be quiet (he'd been starting to stand up, turn around, beseech the other passengers for support in his anti-child movement, what were they going to do? kill the kid?) and other passengers called out, yeah, shut-up, they can't do anything! it was a cool moment, but some people just don't get how hard it is to fly with kids. these are the people who don't like seeing kids in restaurants; imagine them trapped in a plane with a crying brat?

if you are one of these people, just know that no one is feeling worse than the parents right at that point, and you need to do everything in your human capacity to give them a break, and try to give them a supportive smile.

so, basically, the only things you can do are be prepared, have some stuff, direct flights, lots of food and snacks and things to do, sticker books if he is that age. i've just checked, it seems he is an infant? is he a he, even? so sticker books are out. as inc suggested, an evening flight would be good, then there might be sleep.

the final suggestion is this:

know that no matter what, it will be over and you will forget the pain. it will become part of your story-telling, part of the family legends, something you will be able to tell your child over and over.

it will be a bonding thing also for you and your partner.

keep thinking:

this too will pass.
this too will pass.
this too will pass.

when do you go? you must blog from there, and let us know how the flight was.

happy thursday to you

today we are celebrating my niece's birthday with a swim at a wave pool and then fush 'n chups in the park.

nice.


my niece is a kick-ass little miss; she reminds me of the tasmanian devil in those old cartoons. she never stays still, speaks in a yell, and has the most gorgeous coloured hair (kind of gingery, kind of buttery, so beautiful).


this is how i see her when she's a teenager. enjoy.

family holiday

cast: melba and family, sister of melba and family. mother of melba.

total children: 5 ranging in ages from 6 to 13.

location: somewhere near lakes entrance.



and in a week, this is what went down:


- cool, comfortable if windy weather, with a couple of nice, warm days thrown in.

- baby scorpion in hut on the last night. it looked like a real scorpion and everything.

- many ticks, i had a couple non-implanted. and a couple implanted. which led to the following quite hysterical nightly routine:

- full-body erotic tick checks, for me and clokes. full-body non-erotic tick checks for the kids.

- mosquitoes by the trillions

- a couple of pideys but nothing clokes couldn't handle

- spotlight tiggy x 2 games. the first game was on the first night, and saw me in thongs, doing full-body commando crawling across the dark ground. refer to full-body erotic tick check above.

- one game of sardines. it's awesome fun.

- night bush-walk. we saw three tawny-frogmouth owls, kangaroos would come through the camp every dusk, one had a joey and it was fucking cute.

- attempts at fitness, read slow, shuffly jogging around camp locale. thoughts of truro and shallow graves while on the gravelly paths. my sis saw an echidna. i did not.

- phosphorescence in the water at night . OH MY GOD IT WAS LIKE IN MY FAMILY AND OTHER ANIMALS, you know when margot is on the boat at night and trailing her hands in the dark, greek waters, and there was phosphorescence. talk about magic glitter black sparkle awesome incroyable look-at-the-water-when-you-throw-a-handful-of-pebbles-in wonderfulness. this was a highlight of the holiday and my life. srsly.

- industrial kitchen with lots of bench space. you could really s p r e a d out your breakfast, sandwich, coffee, fruit platter, champagne, castello cheese -preparations.

- hookey board

- scattergories

- trip to lakes entrance to take the kids to see high school musical 3. new and inappropriate crush on zac efron.

- bbqs. many.

- eating. much.

- drinking. so much that the day the matriarch was due, we managed to get around to recycling our empties. it was an embarrassing amount.

- melba sobriety: constant since new year's day. not a new year's resolution, but a decision to go alchohol free in january. i did in october and it was alright. much easier than i expected. so i am planning to make it a regular part of my year. makes it easier for me to think i'm not an alcoholic then, you see?

- space. much.

- blue castello cheese. i ate the whole thing over several sessions, and my sister and my ma got one schmear each on a vita-weet.

- ice cream. much.

- shopping x 2 trips. $280 first trip, over $200 the second trip. NOT INCLUDING ALCOHOL.

- new year's eve party x 1. dress-ups which saw appearances by bride of frankenstein (yours truly, complete with russian accent and elaborate explanation to wide-eyed 6-year-old nephew of origins of my "scars", graveyard man with knife, rabid dog etc) and a fully-wrapped toilet paper mummy (my sis) who lost most of her leg paper during her grand entrance and subsequently turned out like some sexy mini-skirted brazilian music video dancer (but with mummified head). our husbands are mild-mannered men and i sometimes wonder what they make of us crazy sisters. i'm sure they adore being married to us, are so proud of us, never embarrassed and really enjoy the life we breathe into them with our assorted hijinks. there was also a scarily accurate princess-amy winehouse, but with gorgeous skin and no nicotine-stained fingers, and a fake tattoo. our rage peaked too early. photos and video taken on the night while we were doing our wildest dancing shows it was still light outside. a bit sad BUT WE HAD FUN.

- cricket, none really. not for me. there was a tv and i worked out rapidly that it wasn't on because australia was going shit. but there was some radio listening done by clokes and bro-in-law. they like to listen even if they are going shit. i'd been amusing clokes for about a week by calling symons "simmo" and him going "no, roy" and me going "SIMMO IT'S BETTER!" and then while reading one of the papers, he laughed and showed me a little headline which referred to "Symmo" and I said "I told you so, much better than 'Roy' ".

- no family arguments which was pretty good, considering the bust-up we had in turkey. so yay us there.

- hammocks. we had 3 going and it was ace.

- reading. i brought a cache of books to share, and so did bro-in-law. i read mao's last dancer and midnight in the garden of good and evil, as well as 3 trash mags and the couple of newspapers we got.

- precisely one counter meal which was maximum ordinary and quite disappointing. that was in paynesville.


so a terrific time was had by all. i called my sister today to tell her i was missing them all, and we started chatting as if we hadn't exhausted all topics during that week. it was great, the kids drifted around and played and got their own breakfasts and often lunch. this, to a parent, is sheer bliss. there were no accidents, no bushfire tragedies, no car crashes. we returned unscathed and happy.

this is our pit-stop then we are off to another spot tomorrow. one with rock-pools and lots of italian home-cooked food, care of clokey's mama. hopefully some cherries from the orchard, certainly lots of reading, and newspapers every day.

then, after that, 2009 begins proper.

happy days all.

x

yuletide yuyu

my blogger christmas list is very small this year. compared to past good times, when i've given gifts, it's dwindled to a very select group of beautiful people. i'm only buying for regular bloggers, so all you people who have dropped out and have real lives, no present for you!

because my list is so small, i have spent more on each person.

i hope you enjoy.

first, a good friend of mine, jo_blue. jo is a sweetheart, i've known her for 20 years this year. she's a good friend, and her favourite colour is blue. so for dear jo, some beautiful blueness to put around the house in malaysia.

that's a toilet seat, left. not some crazy percussion instrument.

i don't know if you like blue cheese, but i'll eat it while i watch you open your pressies...

finally, a big blue TICK for you my friend. you are a good person, don't ever forget that. and keep up the blogging.


*

next, quite urgently, perseus q.

perseus wants a wife, so i got him one.

i decided not to stuff around with girlfriends, and having to return (or re-gift) etc.

just cut to the chase, no?

but she looks a little clean and conventional, doesn't she, so i got him a goth girl as well.

i think they'd all get on? im thinking while the wife is polishing the tureen, goth-girl and perse can, you know, smoke.

i'm also throwing in a womb chair and a librarian and a pirate. stocking stuffers, you know.

the pirate came without clothes, persey, you'll have to get her some of those.

thanks for your atheistic comradeship, as well as your wonderful, WONDERFUL book reviews/dating exposes this year. you are my favourite new friend.

*

next is the girl with many names. i think of her as alabama, but her real name is saskia. she writes poetry and while i generally don't like poetry, i like hers. she is a breath of sea air, a fluttery leaf on the wind, a dreamy slip of female. she has seaweed hair, and deep ocean eyes.

if i sound like i'm a little in love with her, well so be it.

for saskia, the pretty poetess, who loves the ocean, i got her the seven seas. it wasn't as hard as you might think. anything for my saskia.

1. the indian ocean

2. the black sea

3. the caspian sea

4. the adriatic sea

5. the persian gulf

6. the red sea

7. the mediterranean sea

all that watery goodness, wrapped up in some blue and green cellophane.

knock yourself out, darling girl. happy, safe swimming this summer.

*

next on my chrissy list is AOF, another outspoken female. in gift-giving times past, i made the mistake of saying i would cook her a roast of some sort, but NOW I KNOW SHE IS VEGETARIAN, i will shout her a trip to the us so she can go to the top-10 vegan and vego restaurants, and eat herself silly. it's a ticket for two, so she can take not boyfriend. i'll look after her cats for her, water her plants, all that.

princess and i met aof earlier this year, which was a delight. i do like meeting bloggers. but not the freaky ones. just the nice ones.

enjoy aof.

oh, almost forgot. a stocking stuffer for you as well.

any book or podcast or essay of germaine's that you don't already have.

plus a glass of wine, it seems.

*

ah, my favouritest blogger. he is such a nice person, and if "nice" is a questionable word to use (shades of middle'dom, and all that) well, stuff you, disliker of nice. nice is a good word, and i am reclaiming it and using it for my dear friend INC.

i thought and i thought and i thought about what to get INC. you know, he has it all. he has a lovely wife and two beautiful boys. they have a house, they have fun-times, lots of laughs and they use "dude" all the time.

what more does this man need?

he has his religious faith, he has his intelligence and wonderful writerly ways.

but you know what he doesn't have?

a job that he likes. hell, a job that he loves.

so, for INC i am giving him that job.

it's in this box, INC. open it and tell me what it is. it's a magic box, you see. perhaps it contains the tools of being a cartoon-creator, an x-box games designer, a pilot, a traindriver, a tennis coach? because even though i know you quite well, i don't know what it is you would like to do most with the rest of your working life.

perhaps it contains a lawyer's hat - but a different type of lawyer.

happy christmas inc.

*

and last but certainly not least, my oldest blog-buddy, meaning i've known this dude online for as long as i've had my blog which i think is 3 1/2 years. he also takes the award for travelling the largest distance along the continuum of blogging regularity - from most frequent and prolific blogger, to "person least-likely to have a new post on his blog."

but i know he's around, indeed he has even visited these parts recently.

it's BEVIS.

bevis and i go way back. we've had stoushes, and warm, fuzzy feel-good moments. heck, i came runner-up in his big blogger competition, he was here when clokes and i got engaged, he was here when my house got broken into (two houses ago), i was here for the birth of his TWO children. so i've loved him long-time.

for bevis, i give him some time:

some magic dust









and a robot that can take his place in the family hustle and bustle every now and then so he can sneak off and resume his bloggy goodness more often.

for anyone else i haven't bought for, this box is for you.

open it and tell me what it is:

?

thanks for reading everyone. have a happy, safe chrissy and new year. i'll be around but transmission will be down for a couple of weeks or so.

x

small confession

i just went and looked at fits' blog.

i thought, hoped, that maybe, just MAYBE, bettie page's death might have, MIGHT HAVE made her come out of retirement-perma hiatus, and do a little, JUST A LITTLE, WEE, TINY, post.

but no.

perma-abandoned is me.

but hay, i have some diary pics, to represent the younger me. so that's good.

things you don't want to happen three hours before your 12-year old highly-strung, over-tired daughter has a function at the sofitel

1. THE FUCKING IRON TO LEAK BROWN SHIT ON THE BOTTOM OF HER DRESS WHILE YOU ARE CAREFULLY IRONING ON THE INSIDE AS DIRECTED BY THE LABEL

2. THE STAIN TO NOT COME OUT COMPLETELY

3. THE STAIN TO BE RIGHT IN THE FRONT. I EVEN THOUGHT TO START THE IRONING AT THE BACK, JUST IN CASE.

4. THE DRESS TO BE SILK SO YOU CAN'T TUMBLE DRY IT DRY, EVEN IF YOU HAD A TUMBLE DRYER BUT YOU DON'T BECAUSE YOU HATE THEM AND YOU CARE ABOUT THE ENVIRONMENT

5. THE HAIRDRYER TO NOT WORK. REALLY, IT'S JUST TOO FUCKING WET NOW.

6. FUCKING MELBOURNE "SUMMER" WEATHER TO HAVE BEEN SHITE, AND ESPECIALLY TODAY, WHEN YOU COULD DRY IT IN HALF AN HOUR IF IT WAS HOT AND SUNNY

7. IN FACT, IT'S OVERCAST AND WHILE THERE IS A BIT OF A BREEZE, YOU CAN'T RISK LEAVING IT OUT THERE WHEN YOU GO TO PICK THE KIDS UP FROM SCHOOL BECAUSE

IT

WILL

FUCKING

RAIN.


YOU KNOW IT WILL.

what am i being punished for?
what am i being punished for?
what am i being punished for?
what am i being punished for?
what am i being punished for?
what am i being punished for?
what am i being punished for?
what am i being punished for?
what am i being punished for?



i hate that fucking iron.

this is why i don't iron.

why does the brown shit come out when you have it on a lower setting? ie SILK???????

why doesn't it come out on clokes' business shirts?

i want it to come out on clokes' business shirts because it only happens to me, and i told him we need a new iron, but because it's his, it's "fine".

why does it have to come out on princess' dress?


oooh la la, sunshine is coming out.


meltdown might be nearly over.



* * *

UPDATE'OH.

10.11pm sees me continuing the whinge-fest.

Ok, dress - I got the stains out, and managed to dry the fucker on the clotheshorse in the wind and sunshine between 3 and 5pm. I didn't iron it. The wrinkled look is in.

Then we were to be dropped off at the hotel but the traffic was so bad up St Kilda Rd, we jumped out of the car and onto a tram, then had to run up Collins St.

Made it.

Then I played bag lady at Collins Place. A bit of linguine pasta and a wine at the sports bar type place, a bit of a browse in Dymocks and get this, the salesgirl came up to me as I was browsing and said "This is going to sound a bit weird, but would you be ok for ten minutes while I go to the toilet?"

Me: "Yes, I'll be fine."

And then she went. And locked me in, with another bag lady who looked like a real bag lady.

Then I drifted up to 7-11 and bought a Kit Kat. Then I drifted back, and found a table and did the crossword. Then at 7.25 I went back to the Sofitel lobby, and proceeded to almost doze off while agonising over the last 3 crossword words.

Finally, 30 minutes late, they came down. Then we had to walk down to Swanston St to catch the tram. Then on the tram a smack-head got on, with a lit cigarette and proceeded to piss everyone off by smoking it, especially the woman who was eating a banana, and her over-ripe banana smell had been annoying me, so that's perspective for you. But everyone was too scared to say anything to the dude, including me. Didn't see what happened to the smoke, but he started to nod off, and he was right near us, and people had moved away from him so there was no buffer zone, and then at Domain Interchange, when he stamped his feet and started to get agitated (heroin does that?) I said to Princess "stand up, we're getting off."

Just as we went down the steps I heard a voice yell out "FUCK OFF!!!"

Methinks my gut feeling was right. The tram trundled off, with everyone else captive to his unpredictableness. If I'd been alone, I would have stayed on. Princess doesn't need that, not after the day we've had.

So, we waited at Domain, then got on our tram.

Just as we were about at our stop, it was pissing down heaps. We were laughing about using the newspaper as hats, and I rolled up my jeans, and Princess said "My dress! My HAY-ER!" and I said "Stuff your hair, and don't worry about your dress, I washed it twice, it's ok with water, it's the brown stuff from the iron (and your friend's coke on Tuesday night) that's the problem'o.

Then magically, just as we stepped off the tram, into puddles, the rain had stopped. So we didn't need to take shelter in the Bad English Pub, we managed to walk to our place without getting wet.

What a day. It's been a marathon week, staggering to the finish line. Which is tomorrow.

Can I do West Wing? I think not. Bed and Barack for me.

an analysis of Germaine's analysis of Australia

I was going to do a proper post but I can't be arsed, I have things to do, besides I've just found what is possibly the most interesting blog of 2008, a blog dedicated to Nicole Kidman's Forehead.

I'm torn, also, between posting on the idiot parents of Adolf Hitler in the US which I've just seen on the Age website.

Some points re Germaine though. I am a self-admitted Greer fan-girl, and while reading her article in todays' Age about the movie Australia, I found myself agreeing with her on some points, but I also realised I was annoyed by her review. It's not a film review, as such. It's more a litany of flaws as she sees them.

The problem is that maybe she is too cerebral to be able to enjoy entertainment and a bit of froth and frippery. I wonder if she has an imaginative bone in her body. I think she's one of those hyper-smart people who takes everything far too seriously, and while she can crack ironic and witty-quips with the best of them, it's always still terribly clever, and I think she find it's difficult to remove her scholar hat and the feeling that the world is waiting for her words, and to just re-fucking-lax.

Greer also used her article to have a bitchy go at Marcia Langton (some hangover revenge from just before Germaine came out to do the publicity for her essay on Rage, perchance?).

Rather than go through the article, picking out points, what reading it made me think about was this fundamental question:

Do filmmakers have a responsibility to be historically accurate with their fictionalised accounts that they bring to the screen?

Germaine obviously thinks they do. While Baz was sloppy with research (as pointed out by Germaine), I wonder whether the mechanisms of fiction mean that you can pick this and that, borrow and transform. It's a creative process. Where does inaccuracy then start to undermine credibility?

To Nicole's Forehead now.

no offence, but

i want to talk about the idea of god, the idea of heaven, and how it's all just a delusion, to steal the most appropriate word i can think of from mr. dawkins.

reading the paper today, and specifically the text message about the runner who died from cancer, saying "she's in heaven now" instead of "she's died" made me want to puke.

why do adults, seemingly intelligent adults, buy this rubbish?

it's because they (we, i'll include myself) are so scared of death, so terrified it's final and black and nothing.

i am scared of death. when i think of it, though, i push the thought away and try to live in the present and enjoy my life and be grateful. i don't comfort (delude) myself that it will be lovely, and there'll be heaven and family reunions and a pony for everyone.

likewise, the tons of messages on the triple m website for richard marsland. all this guff about god having a new comedy writer on the team, and heaven will all be laughing, and the angels had plans for richard.

IT'S RUBBISH. IT'S FAIRYTALE. WHY CAN'T YOU PEOPLE SEE IT?

come on. give me your best shot. what have you got to convince me?

logic and intelligence is on my side.

and i want to say, one of my fave bloggers is a religious man in the traditional sense of the word. i don't want to piss him off, but at the same time, i can't censor myself just to tip-toe around others. so, sorry dude.

feeling sad about richard marsland

i'll miss his lovely voice. a funny guy. and his nicholas cage impersonations - so clever.

it's really sad.

* i edited the above to make it clearer about the nic cage reference.

still sad.

Rumi Friday

A Man and A Woman Arguing
One night in the desert
a poor Bedouin woman has this to say
to her husband,

"Everyone is happy
and prosperous, except us! We have no bread.
We have no spices. We have no water jug.
We barely have any clothes. No blankets

for the night. we fantasize that the full moon
is a cake. We reach for it! We're an embarrassment
even to the beggars. Everyone avoids us.

Arab men are supposed to be generous warriors,
but look at you, stumbling around! If some guest
were to come to us, we'd steal his rags
when he fell asleep. Whos is your guide
that leads you to this? We can't even get
a handful of lentils! Ten years' worth
of nothing, that's what we are!"

She went on and on.
"If God is abundant, we must be following
an imposter. Who's leading us? Some fake,
that always says, Tomorrow, illumination
will bring you treasure, tomorrow.

As everyone knows, that never comes.
Though I guess, it happens very rarely, sometimes,
that a disciple following an imposter can somehow
surpass the pretender. But still I want to know
what this deprivation says about us."

The husband replied, finally,
"How long will you complain
about mooney and our prospects for money? The torrent
of our life has mostly gone by. Don't worry about
transient things. Think how the animals live.

The dove on the branch giving thanks.
The glorious singing of the nightingale.
The gnat. The elephant. Every living thing
trusts in God for its nourishment.

These pains that you feel are messengers.
Listen to them. Turn them to sweetness. The night
is almost over. You were young once, and content.
Now you think about money all the time.

You used to be that money. You were a healthy vine.
Now you're a rotten fruit. You ought to be growing
sweeter and sweeter, but you've gone bad.
As my wife, you should be equal to me.
Like a pair of boots, if one is too tight,
the pair is of no use.

Like two folding doors, we can't be mismatched.
A lion does not mate with a wolf."

So this man who was happily poor
scolded his wife until daybreak,
when she responded,

"Don't talk to me
about your high station! Look how you act!
Spiritual arrogance is the ugliest of all things.
It's like a day that's cold and snowy,
and your clothes are wet too!

It's too much to bear!
And don't call me your mate, you fraud!
You scramble after scraps of bone
with the dogs.

You're not as satisfied as you pretend!
You're the snake and the snake charmer
at the same time, but you don't know it.
You're charming a snake for money,
and the snake is charming you.

You talk about God a lot, and you make me feel guitly
by using that word. You better watch out!
That word will poison you, if you use it
to have power over me."

So the rough volume of her talking
fell on the husband, and he fought back,
"Woman,
this poverty is my deepest joy.
This bare way of life is honest and beautiful.
We can hide nothing when we're like this.
You say I'm really arrogant and greedy,
and you say I'm a snake charmer and a snake,
but those nicknames are for you.

In your anger and your wantings
you see those qualities in me.
I want nothing from this world.

You're like a child that has turned round and round,
and now you think the house is turning.

It's your eyes that see wrong. Be patient,
and you'll see the blessings and the lord's light
in how we live."

This argument continued
throughout the day, and even longer.

*

Rumi 1207-1273

Nothing much has changed, has it?

Baz Australia

Do I really need to put a disclaimer here about spoilers? Surely you can work it out for yourself about reading this, or not reading this.

Dear Baz,

Last night, my sister and I went to see your film Australia. I thought you wouldn't mind me writing to you directly, hell, maybe you'd even welcome it. I imagine some people, when they are face-to-face with you, are sycophantically pussy-footing around the movie, saying how wonderful it is, epic, the new Gone with the Wind, etc. You have all your 'yes people' with you, and all the no-people seem to be writing reviews which are being published world-wide. It's a complete onslaught of "this is shit" pretty much, even Jim Schembri has written three reviews, that I've seen in the one publication. THREE. What's that all about?

Characters
There were too many. Look, I know you had to get every single fucking Australian actor into this movie. But Bryan Brown, David Wenham, Barry Otto, Jack Thompson, all in a matter of minutes, all scurrying around looking through binoculars and telescopes at the port? Bryan was wasted, David was much too much evil, Barry was ok, but it was hard to understand who he was and what his interests were, and Jack. He was ok. Barry seemed a neutral character, Bryan was a baddie, as was David. Jack was a heart-of-gold flawed accountant (point?), and by the time Ben Mendelsson appeared (as a rival for Lady Sarah's love? unclear) and John Jarrett as a very shouty army man, it was obvious to me that there were just too many people to keep track of. I've probably forgotten some of them. There were a small group of police officers (minor characters), Evil David Wenham's sidekicks (very minor). There was a bigoted bar-keeper. Some snotty wives, one nice wife (married to Evil David a bit later).

Then the main characters. They were all ok. Hugh (the Drover), ok. Nicole (Lady Sarak), ok, but too startled looking too often. Brandon the boy who played a central character, Nullah, the boy who has to hide anytime the coppers come, and who gets caught up in the central relationship between the Drover and Lady Sarah.

My suggestions:
Baz, if you'd kept the focus on the main characters. Show us a bit more of their romance, increase the indigenous characters, let these characters show us a bit more of their stories, emphasise the stolen children issue a bit more, images of kids being taken away, Lady Sarah being told about these things, indigenous stories around the campfire etc. Show her falling in love with the countryside. There was a line somewhere, after she'd buried her husband, where she said something like I have no idea what my husband saw in this land. That was the moment when you should have picked up the reins, Baz, thinking ok, I'll show the world what there is to love about this country. It's unique beauty. And also great potential there to educate the world about the indigenous issues we have, and the shameful part of this country's history. Full marks for going there, but you didn't go there enough.

You should have had just the one evil character. An audience only needs one, can only cope with one. My pick would have been Bryan Brown. Get rid of Wenham. Brown can be more menacing that Wenham, and despite Brown being a walking ocker cliche, Wenham overacted. I know you like the overacting, the almost caricatured display of personality on-screen, but for me, it didn't work. You should have lost the accountant (Jack Thompson) and most of these minor, yet name, characters.

The cinematography
Baz, you got this bit right. I loved it in Romeo and Juliet and I loved it in this movie, and while I felt you could have lingered a little less on some of the scenery shots, some scenes were truly beautiful, in a magic-realism type way. I liked the way you developed the theme of magic, and mystery, with Nullah and his wonderfully-named grandfather King George (David Gulpilil) singing to each other, and King George always being present around his grandson, looking out for him from afar like some watchful stork, whether he be atop a mountain ridge or a water tower in Darwin. He was always there, always understanding and seeing what was about to happen.

Some early scenes in the billabong were gorgeous and so lushly spectacular; I loved those.

I was distracted by what I suspected were CGI-enhanced scenes. Yes, I know, I don't know what you would do about that either. But you're the expert. Make them seem less fake? I didn't go to film school, you tell me what you would do. Rewrite the scene so it doesn't need a fucking ravine for the cattle to be stampeding towards? There must be a way. But the bit where Nullah is on the edge, and stops the cattle, that was good. And it signalled the moment when Lady Sarah starts to invest emotionally in the boy.

Attention to detail - full marks, Baz, for costuming and the little details of life back then, including the decor of the homestead. I'm guessing that was all historically accurate, but if not, it was exquisite.



Christmas at the tree. I really dug that tree.


Music
The music was good, especially the appearance of Old Rolf with his wobble board. But why oh why did you get Elton to write a song about Australia? Was there no Australian artist that could do it? Shame on you. I loved the insertion of Wizard of Oz references into the movie, that worked for me.

Plot
Um, if I were you I would have, like I said, make it just one villain, concentrate more on the droving journey, the relationship between Lady Sarah and the Drover and the boy (who incidentally needed to be shown mourning and/or missing his mother a little more). All the war stuff was ok, but the Nice Wife (of Evil David) could have been a little more developed, and a friendship between her and Lady Sarah needed to be fleshed out just a little. One exchange would have done it, before we saw them at work in their army khakis at the radio station. A little more fleshing out of the snobbishness of "society" directed at the Drover (he said he was as good as black in their eyes, I guess for living with the aborigines, having married an indigenous woman), a bit more of a relationship between the Drover and his stock-hand, also his brother-in-law who sacrifices himself to save a bunch of kids at the end.

General comment
On the acting, I think Nicole was actually better than Hugh. He was trying to be a sensitive new age guy, but also a Drover who lived life rough. It kind of didn't work. He cried, copiously, towards the end. I'm not sure how I feel about seeing a Drover cry. In a bar. While saying "give him a fucking drink!" But I wouldn't turn him down. Baz, I give you permission to pass on my url. David Gulpilil was fine, as always. Brandon Waters was mega.

Minor nitpicking
Baz, sorry, but in my you have a cinema-goer who if not taken right into the movie, will sit on the edge and notice things. In this case, last night I was not swept away, I remained on the outside of the screen, and this is what I noticed:

1. I think Hugh's beard should have stayed on for the ball. He didn't look as spunky and he looked like he had eyeliner on. He did, didn't he?

2. You should have told Nicole to relax her eyes a bit. If she can. Just saying. And I know she's your muse, but if you're going to make another movie, you need a new muse. Like Woody Allen. He's moved on from Diane Keaton, to Scarlett Johansson. You also need to move on. I'll think about suggestions.

3. The "sex scene" (it really wasn't) between the Drover and Lady Sarah should have been fleshed out a bit more. Heh.

I know you've got the goods, for example where the hull was this:




Now I know for sure, I did not see this in the movie, there is no way I'd miss his hand on her arse. There was no upright action, I'm sure they shot straight to the horizontal. BORING. Plus I noticed a little bit of vein action on Nicole's left leg. Hello, ever heard of body make-up?

4. There was inconsistency in Nicole's face, from scene to scene. Maybe she was pregnant during that part, but in the middle somewhere, around the Ball scenes, her face looked so different, kind of saggy, a bit bloated, tired. Not the usual, taut skin. For me, it was quite obvious.

But kudos, Baz, for having one close-up where we could see she has pores like the rest of us:




5. David Wenham, in one scene, reprised his Diver Dan muttering. It was annoying and distracting. He did it twice.

Small things I noticed which were good:

1. The bit where Hugh is talking about his past "romantic life" while they are camping, just after his wet his torso and there's a moment when the camera slips down to his groin, his trousers are low-slung and his hand kind of goes there for a split second. It looks hairy and damp and you can see his groin lines. Mmmm.

2. The kissing was good. No, really. I liked it.

3. The little domestic tensions that started creeping in; he's a man, he's a drover, he wants to drove. He doesn't want to hang around the house all day. She's a woman, she's insecure, she wants her man around. They have a tiff. He storms off. For six months.

4. At the beginning, they are in the car going to Faraway Downs, her homestead. She is wearing the funniest goggle-type glasses. Good work Baz, and Nicole.

5. The humour works quite well. Nicole is reasonably good at humour, and she did it well, with her semi-hysterical little intakes of breath, snorts and gasps. Not bad.

6. There was no scene of Him washing Her hair in the outback. This is a good thing. Well done Baz for resisting that particular mistake. It's been done well once, you can't compete. Good man.

7. I read somewhere it took a lot of frigging about to get Hugh's clothes working. I have one word to say. Belt. As my sister said, he knows how to wear a belt. More mmmm.




Hugh channelling Clint near the iconic boab tree.

So that's maybe about it, Baz. Thanks for the movie. I did enjoy it. If you want to know whether I cried, I did. But not as much as my sister. Things that made me cry were Nullah and his grandfather. I cried at the end when Nicole, who is now attached to the boy in a motherly way (despite us knowing she considers herself a not very maternal person, and she physically can't have children) lets him go walkabout. Brandon Waters, as Nullah, is awesome. But I hope we don't see him again in another movie. Let this be his one time, and let him now have his childhood. There was something vulnerable in him that you didn't see in say a young Lindsay Lohan or Olsen twin.

I do commend you, Baz, for tackling the uncomfortable issue of race, and the history of racism in this country. Maybe it's this that is making people edgy about the movie, and feeling they have to slam it. I read somewhere a comment from an American who said "Wow, who knew the Aussies were so racist?"

We need to be able to confront our history, and our racist tendencies as human beings, and try to make amends, and try to find a way to all co-exist. To say sorry. This movie was timely, with what's happened in America with Barack Obama's election - he is mixed race, he knows about belonging, and not belonging. He has confronted, and hopefully will continue to confront, the ambiguities, uncertainties and discomfort of race and its relevance in the world. This movie was a wonderful vehicle to present these ideas to a mass audience; in that respect, I think you have succeeded Baz. But more work needs to be done. This could never be a one-shot panacea. Was this a Sorry Film, Baz? I suspect it was. If so, I respect that you've done it. Was this also an advertisement for Australia? If so, I think it has failed. Because other people from other countries maybe won't be able to see past the cliche and the humour, and find the heart of our country. Because I don't think the movie has much heart. I couldn't feel it, I couldn't hear it. It needed more heart, and whether that failed because of the cast, the plot, the direction, I couldn't say.

I wanted to be swept away, but I wasn't.

I wanted to be touched more, but I wasn't.

I wanted to see a big-hearted movie, from a man I have considered could not put a foot wrong, but I was disappointed. But I don't think the scathing reviews and general undercurrent of nastiness is warranted. It wasn't epic, it wasn't great, but it is ours and I liked it enough.





Yours sincerely,


Melba.
xxx

time for some serious blogging

ok, after the fripperies of oysters, and the intensity of running cinema 101 for an ill child (back at school today) i need to talk to you about something very important.

so... lean close. in a nice, intimate huddle. ok.
this is for the girls only, so boys you can go and have a wank or whatever it is you do when girls talk about shoes. play some warcraft, or go on twitter and tell the world all about nothing.
today is a shoe post.
for, on the weekend, in one of the newspaper magazines, i saw an advertisement for these:

and the information that there is a limited release on now. i have been looking for these fucking clogs for years. when i say years, i mean years. i mean like 8 or so??

oh sure, i found some pretenders in that shoe shop in sorrento-darling, and i was so excited i got two pairs, white and red. and then they fell apart. the studs started coming out of the leather, detaching from the sole, within about 3 wears. plus they killed my feet.

now, i know the pain just goes with new shoes for me. i swear, even runners can rub. it's just my feet. or heels to be more precise. i think i have pretty feet, they are nice and small and cute. but they don't like shoes. i know i've talked on here before about how i would like to wear thongs and ugg boots for the rest of my life. but i would throw these clogs in the mix. i just like them.

so, today sees me driving off on a mission, to get these clogs. i want the white pair. and maybe the black pair. because who knows, it might be years before they are in the shops again.

these are the real deal. not those faux ones with the soft, plasticcy sole, or the suede'y top part.

the real deal.

and to finish my sermon, i leave you with this little delight. yes, i have shared this one before. but it needs to be shared again.

educating the princess

evidence i have chosen the right secondary school for my princess.

2008 second-hand book sale list contains the following:

boy - tales of a childhood (roald dahl)
of mice and men (steinbeck)
romeo and juliet (old bill shakey)
animal farm (mr orwell)
medea/hecabe/electra/heracles (euripides)
macbeth (you know who)
to kill a mockingbird (harper lee)
william blake's selected poems
othello
streetcar named desire
the crucible
romulus, my father
equus
theban plays (oedipus rex etc)
hamlet
the old man and the sea (old hem)
WUTHERING FUCKING HEIGHTS
god of small things
summer of the seventeenth doll
great gatsby
bloody turgenev and solzhenitsyn
siddhartha (hess)
perfume by suskind
l'etranger, mais bien sur
the republic, by plato

the only gaps i can see are machiavelli's the prince (but she knows that shit anyway), austen (she can read that herself) and the lovesong of j. alfred prufrock (there will be time... for me to teach her about prufrock).

i can't tell you how happy i am not to see trainspotting or some contemporary flash-in-the-pan novels like shantaram (i like it, don't get me wrong, but it's not a 'classic') or anime or manga stuff, to dumb it all down for the "non-readers." unfortunately the kite runner is on the list ( i have heard it is not good so have avoided) also a morris gleitzman novel - boy overboard, but i think that one is ok, cultural exchange and all that. but the snob in me is prepared to overlook a couple of mis-hits.

* * *

in other news, clokes, the kids and i enjoyed a very pleasant eyeball (to use the old CB lingo) in the park with the loverly i'm not craig and his wife and two beautiful boys yesterday. we were lucky the weather held for us, we sat and ate and drank wine and it wasn't uncomfortable at all!

what a great family, and yes, he is as nice in person as he seems in blogworld.

so, thanks inc, and your lovely wife. jells park next time!

happy days all.

the oysters were had

we had them last night. half a doz coffin bays. delish. off the shell, no lemon, just like i promised. then we had seafood pasta - pan fried salmon fillets, broken up, baby clams sauteed in spring onion, garlic and vodka (no white wine) and large, fresh, green prawns - then all tossed through the spaghetti with olive oil glugging out of the 4-litre canister.

as dorothy michaels put it so well: heaven, sheer heaven.

in other news:

1. princess was introduced to animal farm. i do believe she enjoyed it the most out of all the cinema 101 offerings. she liked the fact that there was a story she could get a handle on (animal liberation) and tolerated the idea that there was a deeper, political allegory at work as well.

2. in west wing we are up to the bit where donna has fallen for the christian slater character, josh seems to be suffering some sort of un-articulated wistful lovey stuff towards donna, she has, i think, just left in the snow on a chopper to make her connection for getting away on her well-deserved holiday. i smell disaster.

3. i have the most beautiful arrangement of fushia-pink peonies, and a few white ones. they are so pretty i can't stop looking at them, and they make me shudder with delight.

4. i am really, really happy that we have a bit of a clothesline now, out the back, hanging off the edge of my balcony. we live in apartment, it's a funky secret life of them apartment, and with 5 of us in here, plus a gigi, it's at times like living on a ship, which also doubles as a chinese laundry, with clothes-horses galore and racks over the bath with lines of shirts and school dresses. we are bursting at the seams, and my mind keeps turning to our wedding presents, and my books, all in storage along with a ton of other stuff.

5. i have a mad, crazy-scientist type plan to renovate. and go up. we are top floor in the building. things are happening in this direction, ie i am making enquiries, i have an architect friend who is starting to do some drawings, and i had a builder come and look. he said "anything is possible." i like this builder, because he didn't laugh at my idea and more importantly, seems to want the business. the people next door to us are also keen to explore this possibility. i promise now if i can make this thing happen, i will have achieved a great thing. i also promise to invite you for champagne should i be able to pull this off.

6. we have gold class tickets and i am insisting we use them to go and see australia. i know there's a lot of bad talk around it, but i am determined to see it, and fairly determined to like it. i know everyone's banging on about nicole kidman, everyone's come out of the closet and are saying how detestable she is. i admit i haven't been one of those nicole-haters, in the past i couldn't see why some people would get so riled about her. but now, i can see that she seems a bit past her use-by date. that's the best way i have of putting it. she has jumped the shark and i hope she doesn't ruin the movie. for i do love baz and his shows. we'll see. oh, and please no comments about the movie if you've seen it. let's wait until i have, then we can have a free-for-all.

7. lately, i am missing old blogging friends. bevis, for one, has dropped off the radar. he had a new baby recently and that's great, and i suppose i should go and chase him up more, but i miss him being around. and he was always very around. yesterday i was browsing through some old i'm not craig posts, the earlier ones, and it's like reading other people making comments. so witty and fresh. now, it's different. still good, but different. i miss sublime, and rowena and steph and m_m.

i miss fluffy and ms fits and aleks.

i miss groverjones and ladycracker and nadine.

i miss cotton.

but most of all, i think i miss gianluca di milano.

yes, there are new friends. but still, le sigh.

passion, cont.

this started as a comment underneath the previous post. it got too long, so i decided to make it a post.

well, we all adore books, a few of us like oysters, most don't like lending books, a couple don't mind, only one hard-hearted bitch doesn't give money to beggars - moi. (where do you live, squib? is there a scarcity of beggars? are they lovely old ladies or smack addicts with shifty eyes? i figure if they have the impertinence to ask, i can also be impertinent, and say no. but i'm always polite.)

so, to oysters. tonight we shall have them. plain. i'm not even going to squeeze lemon juice on them. i shall throw back my head, dig it from the shell with my tongue, and bite at least once, before swallowing. i always bite. i don't understand the oyster-eaters who just swallow. they are faux oyster eaters, and not wanting to admit they don't really like them. for them, it's like taking medicine. for me, mmmm. the sea.

i also wonder whether there's another type of oyster eater. the restaurant oyster eater. why pay for them in restaurants when you can get them from the market - superb oysters - for $13, 14, 15 per doz. opened. at prahran market you can get them shucked in front of you.

these restaurant oyster eaters are clearly only doing it because it's a public act, they can be seen to consume the intimidating mollusc. it's like a statement of bravery or something.

save your money. eat them at home. have the bombe alaska instead.

ah, the bombe.

soon, it's my birthday and we are going somewhere fancy-pants. they have bombe alaska on the dessert menu. earlier this year, on our anniversary (coincidentally, the birthday of dearly departed ms fits, RIP, and the demise of her blog) we went to mirka at tolarno, and had the bombe glacee. it was so good, we had to return a couple of months later (it wouldn't leave my mind, you see, it kept calling me, from down the road) and have a glass of champagne perhaps it was, and a bombe each in the bar.

so, i'm looking forward to that next week.

in other news, princess has been home this week. we are both of us pretty pathetic. i've been nursing cluster-type headaches (not real cluster aka "suicide" headaches, i don't think) for the last 3 days (went to dentist, he thinks it's referred pain from sinusitis. i just don't know, i told clokes maybe it's a brain tumour. i figure if i joke about a brain tumour, it won't be one.) she is still getting over her virus and we have both descended into a malaise which is, really, as i've said, pathetic.

continuing the cinema education of princess course which i began last week (she passed romeo and juliet with flying colours, failed wuthering heights ("i'm never watching that movie again" was the exact quotation), this week saw us in front of 2001 - a space odyssey. please bear in mind it's about 25 years since i last saw it.

it went something like this.

mg: [starts dvd]

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

mg: i think this is part of it.

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

princess: is there something wrong?

mg: [starting sweaty palpitations, memories of timothy dalton's heathcliffe flood back, starts to rethink movie choice]. no, i think this is the introduction.

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

princess: this is weird

mg: JUST ENJOY THE MUSIC.

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

[movie starts]

mg: i told you, it was just the introduction

p: weird

* * *

p: are they people in monkey suits?


* * *

p: does anyone talk in this movie?

* * *

p: [on sighting of black monolith] what's that?

mg: see how they're touching it? i think it's a symbol of how they're going to develop know, of knowledge, you'll see some changes

* * *

p: there's no changes

mg: wait, it's coming, see how he's playing with the bones? in a very thoughtful manner?


* * *

p: so they saw the pole of wisdom and started to use tools?

mg: [happily] yes!

* * *

p: [at 25 minute mark] thank god they're talking? what the hull? what's she wearing?

mg: she's a flight attendant. they're going to the moon.

p: what the hull?

* * *

p: look at those chairs! retro!

mg: yeah, the funny thing is that when this movie was made, those chairs would have been so way out, futuristic, cutting-edge, and now here we are, 50 years later - god is it 50 years? lemme see the box - anyway, and you are saying how retro they are, and that people have those today.

p: yeah

* * *

p: so they've found a pole of wisdom on the moon? what the hull? aliens?

* * *

p: why's he running in the space ship?

mg: for exercise. they're on a long voyage to jupiter now. see those guys in the sleeping chambers? they are in suspended animation

p: like hibernation!

mg: yep

* * *

p: which one's dave and which one's frank?

mg: was it frank or hank?

p: frank! god mum, you're so deaf

mg: that's dave there. and don't be rude to me.

* * *

mg: so, what do you think about HAL. what a freak, hey? do you think he's suspicious?

p: [not really that interested but going along with it for my benefit] yeah.

* * *

p: i thought you said this was a fantastic movie, mum

mg: no, i didn't say fantastic

p: yes, you did

mg: no, i said i thought you should see it

p: you said it was fantastic

mg: did i?

* * *

p: i hate that sound, the breathing - WAA, OOH, WAA, OOH. it's driving me mental. why do they have to put all those sounds in it?

mg: [turns down sound, from level 56 to 35. feels deaf.]

* * *

[during scene with space pod and craw hands]

mg: let me move my craw hands in this pod, look at my craw hands, see how funny they are!!

p: ... ... ...

* * *

p: so HAL made the pod knock frank to go spinning out into space, but why did dave go to save him. he's already dead! what's the point?

mg: well, they are comrades on a mission. maybe he thought he should collect his body, in a moral way, maybe he thought he could find out what happened to him. i don't think he saw the pod craw arms bang frank. we didn't.

p: so HAL is evil? EVIL HAL. EVIL COMPUTER. i like HAL.

* * *

p: that breathing is driving me crazy!! turn it down!!!

* * *

[during hallucinogenic, lsd-trippy colour sequence with dave in pod going god knows where]

p: where's he going?

p: freaky

p: weird

* * *

[massive fast-forwarding through hallucinogenic, lsd-trippy colour sequence, including bits of planets and landscapes]

p: what the? where is he?

mg: looks like a palace, like the palace of versailles, or something

p: this movie is so weird? who made it? who was the director?

mg: a very weird guy. everyone thought he was weird.

p: they were right.

* * *

p: so, maybe HAL didn't kill frank. maybe dave went mental, and killed HAL and now this is him dying, or after he's died

mg: [awestruck]

* * *

and i think that is quite possibly the sanest interpretation of 2001 i've ever heard.

happy weekending to you all.

update: well, the "sinusitis" tuned out to be a motherfucking huge root canal requirement and 2.30 [NOT A FUCKING PUN] saw me writhing in pain on my bed, unable to speak, paralysed like some stroke victim down the left-hand side of my entire face, taking 2 nurofen pluses, it just smidging the edge of the pain, then me driving carefully to pick up small boy-child from school, driving back home, throwing him out onto the street to go up and be let in by bigger sisters, driving on, in pain, to dentist, only to arrive, park the car, pain disappears like that [snap] and then go in, and dentist drills and begins the first of FOUR ROOT CANAL SESSIONS. it's ok, i've had one before, but never, never, pain like this, comrades. but the first root canal session is the best one, because it's quick, and it ends the pain, finito. it was tough, but now i have wine, ice cream is on the way, and a weekend planned of goodtimes. clokes is now out shopping for certain lovely person's birthday present, let me share with you my list of wants:

1. chanel studs, there's no way he'll find them, i couldn't even see them in the paris chanel store.

2. nice cleanser, and moisteuriser and eye cream. if you are a woman, you know this information is completely inadequate for a man to make a good selection. i said so in my text, i said i'd need to choose.

3. bubble bath - to replace the l'occitane rose one i already have, there's about one more dribble-worth in the bottle. he also won't know which one it is without writing it down or taking the empty bottle.

4. book voucher - $1000

5. Dexter - Season 3

6. Sex and the City collection DVD. NOT THE MOVIE.

7. tea cup and saucer and cake plate trilogy - vintage.

8. set of flat champage glasses. you know the marie antoinette breast ones. they have been "out" for ever so long, in favour of the flute. i'm bringing them back in.

9. a set of nice, german knives - messermeister would be nice.

10. a kitten.