how lovely

It's 8.30am on Sunday and I am reading yesterday's papers. I have already clipped some articles: one about two sisters born to an aboriginal father and Dutch mother; one about the tradition of literary salons; one about the fear of mental illness and one about the suicide issues the Yolngu people are facing in their community.

Then I came to an article by Peter Craven, presumably about Australian theatre according to the headline. It's not an article I will read or clip. Lots of stories I just flick over. I'm not interested in clipping anything about wars, current or past. I am interested in Holocaust stories. I am interested in mass murders and things like that, but I don't clip them. I do clip stories about children dying at the hands of their mothers. I clip interesting articles about animals and especially if there is an unusual intersection with humans; recently there was an article about a family living in Melbourne with an autistic boy who was displaying very extreme behaviour. They read about and got a dog (from America I think it was, because none are trained here) who now lives with them and is companion and "helper" to their son. Their son's behaviour has modified, or become more moderate; he doesn't have as many tantrums, doesn't wander as much (and if he does, the dog follows him and stays with him.) It appealed to all my latent Lassie fantasies and I cried as I read out bits to the family. My daughter thinks I'm weird, I'm sure. The mother who is close to tears.

This photo above appealed to me. It made me think about men and how they generally aren't physically affectionate with each other. Possible Rush and Armfield are in a lineup to take a bow? This was my first thought. But no, the caption to the picture says they were photographed as they were preparing for Exit the King. Also Armfield's other hand is in his pocket. What strikes me is the way Geoffrey Rush is looking at Neil Armfield and how completely comfortable he looks, in holding another man's hand. Armfield is displaying some body language of discomfort, but he might just be laughing at something completely unconnected to the fact that he is gripping the hand of a man.

It's a lovely photo and it makes me wish we saw more men holding hands, with arms across shoulders, kissing each other on the cheeks. When I first went to Turkey, I was surprised to see men walking arm in arm along the street. Young men, old men. It was a very real cultural difference to me. I'm not sure it still happens; in later years I don't remember seeing it, but in 1990, it was very apparent.

The only time I see men kissing each other hello, and goodbye, is when I'm with two of my gay friends. Maybe it's up to gay men to start the revolution. They need to start bringing the kiss hello to their heterosexual male friends.

If we could all touch each other a little more, maybe we'd all be happier.

So Friday yawn, what do you hold for me?

There is sunshine but I am not feeling a hunnerd percent.

Must take dog for run in park, though.

Have finished my final read through, will make changes laterrrrr.

Pompeii. Tonight. Oh yeah.

Finished the book. The second half was better than the first and seriously I would have stopped reading if I didn't have to read it. I just didn't like it. Not at all. Oh well.

Browning bananas in the fruit bowl demand attention. I'm thinking cake.

Dinner tonight? Can't be fagged. But last night's was a treat. Spaghetti with fresh tomatoes cooked with garlic and anchovies and pitted kalamata olives, and chopped parsley. Then fried freshly-made breadcrumbs, cooked in olive oil and tossed through the pasta. THEN loads of grated parmesan cheese.

OH IT WAS FUCKING DELICIOUS.

Sick kids this week. One on Tuesday, one on Wednesday and the third one home today and yesterday. I still managed to make it to work.

Taught yesterday, Year 10s.

Is there anyone else who, in the course of their daily work, has to say things like this:

"Can I get my three penises back please?"

"There was a guy who fingered a dog, he became known as The Guy Who Fingered A Dog. He couldn't get a plumbing apprenticeship. So think before you do stupid things."

"I need to collect my penises now. DON'T TAKE ANY CONDOMS HOME!"

I bid you good weekend.

pretty exciting

Clokes has just handed me a heavy wad of papers.

There are 236 pages single sided, 1 & 1/2 spaced, in 12pt font. Not sans serif.

This is my baby. It is almost finished. It is exciting.

What next?

Do I leave it a while and then go through?

Do I start letting members of my family read it? (I have three volunteer readers; sister, mother and friend.)

What do I do?


*

Thoughts are moving to the next one. Oh fecund brain, it is a joy.

I suppose I should do a diarama but really, I can't be bothered.

Maybe over the weekend.

x

Friday

It's cold today and I am so sick of it. Sick of being cold and lethargic and flat.
I want to wear light tops and thongs and summer skirts.

I want to go swimming in the heat.

I want to eat out on our little balcon, and watch the summer sky-line with its streaks of pink as the sun goes down.

I'm also annoyed I missed Germaine on Q & A last night. My mother told me it was on. She rang again to remind me. I wrote a note to myself, and put it on the coffee table where it was forgotten.

Maybe it's online somewhere?

Happy weekend to all.


UPDATE: Saturday morning and isn't it lovely and sunny?

Well, I've started the new book and I fear that my good reading self and this book are not going to become lovers. Thus far, it's something about the scattered nature of his narrative that is preventing me from gelling. It is incredibly wordy, and while I like his 3rd person omni narrator with drop-ins to various character POVs, it's like he is trying to write everything about everything in this book. Also, thus far, I'm not really digging any of the characters, except perhaps the one I'm not meant to? The one who may be revealed to be a Machiavellian puppeteer. He is the most interesting of a fairly dull bunch.

The narrative style - the telling instead of showing, and oh, how he does tell - seems to numb my brain, so instead of feeling that I am being invited into a beautifully interesting world peopled with characters I want to get to know and like, or dislike, connect with, instead of this, I am sitting in the front row of a lecture theatre, and the person standing at the podium is droning on about an obscure part of DNA genetics or botany or sports medicine - all areas I have no real interest in.

My eyes are simply skimming across the tops of the words; they aren't sinking in. I like to be able to sink into a sea of words that are wonderful and compelling; even swamp-like. They can be heavy and dark and ugly. But they can't be dull and they need to have heart.

His turn of phrase is ok at times, even good. But other times it's like he hasn't worked the manuscript - it's like he's 's just gotten it all out on the page in a rush and didn't go back to check much. Maybe he  found it as hard-going to re-read as I do to read.

Happy Saturday to you.

Quick Wednesday morning recap

No work out of the house today. On my list of things to do, (some already completed):

1. Help to save a possum and its baby from being attacked by a blackbird and a honey eater next door. The possums were trying to get from tree to roof and we could hear the racket of the birds and see the distress of the possums from our dining room and bathroom windows. Princess and I were in paroxyms of anguish. We clapped our hands to try to distract the birds from their pecking assault, and finally baby possum got onto the roof to safety. Then mother possum was trapped in the eaves so I threw pieces of bread to stop the bird cornering her. They have all gone away now.

1a. Get all children out of the house. This includes cutting up apple and pear for Princess who has braces on her teeth and getting contact lenses into her eyes because she has sport today. She is the high-maintenance one. Lucky she came from my body and I love her beyond reason. Also I feel guilty because the bad eyes are from me, as well as the bad teeth. She's got all my bad stuff; DNA is a bastid.

2. Have coffee.

3. Walk the dog.

4. Read the paper .

5. Pick up book on order from Readings. I love Readings. I love books.


6. Resist reading Coetzee's Summertime and the new Niffenegger book. Isn't Niffenegger probably the most unfortunate name around?

7. Submit passport renewal application.

8. Stop looking at blogs.

8a. Desist in giving Perseus love advice. There's only so much a busy-body like me can do.

9. Cook dinner.

10. Go through my story and insert bits I have pulled out of research notes to do with fairytales and mother/stepmother stuff.

Did you know that "According to Tartar, the wicked female fiends are some of the many faces of maternal evil in fairytales representing the obverse of all the positive qualities associated with mothers"?

AND

"various cooks, stepmothers, witches and mothers-in-law with voracious appetites for human fare, even for the flesh... of their own relatives.... (are) cannibalistic fiends [known in] German [as] Menschenfresserin (devourer of humans)"?

AND

Biological mothers are replaced by these fiends, because "the fantasy of the wicked step-mother, witch, mother-in-law and other female villains not only preserve the good mother in tact (usually dead in these stories), it also prevents one having to feel guilty about one's angry wishes about her."

AND

"The monster of fairy tales and psychic fantasies is the murderous mother in disguise. She is the one who figures in our nightmares, or as Gilbert emphasises, our nightmères."

I don't know who Tartar and Gilbert are but as I'm not writing a thesis, I dont' care.

11. Cut out all the unnecessary words in my story.

12. Decide whether it needs to be more than the 82,000 words it is now. Or less. Any advice?

13. Decide whether to submit for a competition. I hate competitions because I never win them.

14. come up with a better surname for main character and family in the story. I'm thinking Lovelock is good. It's real too. I heard someone called Lovelock on the radio the other day. Her first name started with L and ended in Y. Cool name.

15. That's about it I think. It's enough.

Disappointment

Disappointment surely is a bitter swill that fills the mouth and forces you to spit or swallow.

Tonight, for me, it was Fame.

Yes, Fame.

In long, it was humourless, no actors had any charisma, actoring talent or presence. The characters were dull, uninteresting and uninspiring. None of the teachers were marvellous. In fact they were all shit, Kelsey Grammer and that nasal woman included.

I found it insufferable, tedious and grim.

They'd changed the names. In this day and age, clearly, there can be no black character called Coco. Oh no no no. And Bruno? That's too old-time-Italo-ethnic. Let's make him Carlo, because the Hispanics came after the Italians, swarmed into the great melting pot that is America.

Fuck that. He should have been called Hussein.

Oh, but wait. There was a Malik - a black dude. To me it's a good Muslim name, but there was no reference to religion. He was a rapper/actor with anger issues about his dead sister, shot at 11 in a drive-by.

Oh cliche-ridden piece of shit that you were, Fame.

I turned to my daughters carefully as the credits were rolling afterwards. I waited until they told me what they thought. Great, good, I liked it. I held my tongue until I was pushed to say what I thought.

"My one was better, I thought, the old one. But it was from my time."

They nodded at that. They understood. I am an old dag, and I can't appreciate that wonderful movie that unfolded in front of them.

"I remember the old one being funnier. It was heavy in parts, but there was also lightness and joy. This one was just so serious for most of it."

Silence.

"Didn't you think?"

Silence again.

Then Princess said, "But they were under so much pressure. Of course it's going to be serious."

'Yeah," I said. Wanting to let them have their Fame.

But they don't know what they missed out on.

This for one:

Monday

Well, it all went brilliantly. BRILLIANTLY I TELL YOU.

Tooth settled with some quick Nurofen and I got onto the antis.

And we drove, oh how we drove. The weather was filthy for most of Victoria. It took us an hour and a half to even get onto the Hume, fucking hell, my inner voice was going, while don't worry, we'll get there my outer voice was going.

Stopped for petroleum and food about 3.5 hours in. Then a coffee stop for about 10 minutes after another couple of hours. Princess talked the whole way; her story idea for a book. So not only am I to try and write my own books, I have to help her with hers.

God help me.

We managed without music or any other diversions for hours. It was only as it got dark that we put some on. First we listened to a truly atrocious CD called Great Driving Songs or somesuch. It's Clokes' and because most of our stuff is in storage still, we are light on for CDs. We skipped through most of the tracks. They were woeful.

Then I tried to introduce her to Fat Boy Slim. She liked the first song, then wanted to skip the bit where the lyric is Fat Boy Slim is fucking in heaven. Fair enough. Then we listened to the Beach Boys. The good old reliable Beach Boys.

It was dark and my night vision is not great. We crawled along, driving very carefully, also cause by now my tooth was hurting again. We got there. We checked into our very clean, nice motel, about 5 mins drive from my bro's house. We ordered in food, had showers and slept together in the Queen size bed, using the single as our vertical wardrobe. Am I the only person to do this?

Next morning we decided not to do anything. The weather was cold, so we woke up at 9am to feast upon our breakfast tray, then lay in bed watching tv (her) and reading (me.)

I had texted my sister the night before, with no reply. Then I texted my brother-in-law cause he's usually good with his phone. No reply. Then I'm starting to worry a bit that their plans had changed. Imagine if they'd all driven to Melb? I had checked they'd be there through the week, so was fairly confident but when you do wild and crazy things, sometimes your brain can make you second-guess stuff.

So I called my brother on his mobile. He answered and was happy to hear from me. I asked if the others were there, I hadn't heard, yes, they were there, he said, sitting on the couch. They were all getting pretty excited. The bbq was going to get fired up, and they had a couple of other friends arriving to have lunch and watch the game.

"Oh ok," I said. "Well, I'll call later, to talk during the game, have fun!"

He he he.

Then I set about making mini floggers for the kids. Then we got ready and went and picked up some bbq meat stuff and two bottles of champagne and a box of nice chocolates for my bro's long-suffering partner. When Melba and her sibs get together, we can be a little much for other people.

We drove there. Princess said she was nervous.

"What if they're not happy to see us?" she asked.

"They will be!" I almost shouted at her.

"But how can you know?" she asked.

"Because they're family, and they like us. It'll be good, don't worry."

So we managed to get to the door. We rang the door bell, Princess hid behind me, scared. They opened the door and we jumped up and down shouting "SURPRISE!! SURPRISE!!"

It was awesome. My brother was really moved, I could tell. They couldn't believe that not only were we there, but we'd driven up the night before. Sneaky!

We had lunch, cracked the champers and settled down to what was a fantastic and exciting game of footy. It would have been bad if Geelong had lost and we'd been a miserable little cavalcade back down the Hume. As it was we flew our Scarf of Victory, only pulling it inside the window once we got to St Kilda Junction. We wore our Hats of Victory for most of the weekend.

I got back last night to a table full of newspapers, oh joy. Reading through them, still not finished. I have sheets of newspaper stuck to the wall with blu-tack. My father is incredibly happy, not least because of my sneaky plan. My brother is happy we went up, and my sister cried when she saw us, and then again when the Cats won. We jumped up off the couch, we shouted, we stamped and we howled.

It was great.

And getting a text message from INC was great as well. Thank you friend. Thanks too to everyone who asked about my tooth. It really is a bastard but it's behaving itself now. I'm so glad we went. Surprises are good like that if you have the right family. And Princess really jumped on board and got into it as well. She hates long car trips, but there was not one complaint. She is the acest of all.

Friday

Things facing me today.

In a little while, I am going to pick up Princess from my mum's place and we are going to drive to Canberra. My brother lives in Canberra and my sister and her family are there visiting. I had planned to go up this past week but couldn't because I was working.

But then the Cats got into the Grand Final.

And I know everyone will be at my brother's watching. Us three kids haven't ever watched Geelong in a GF together before. My sister and I went to the 1995 Grand Final. There is a photo of us and our devastation afterwards. When Geelong played Hawthorn in the 1989 Grand Final I was on a road trip to Lake Eyre with two friends, and on that Saturday we drove four hours or so to a pub that was showing it. We sat in the mostly empty front bar and drank beer and then went and kicked a footy with the aboriginal kids outside afterwards. Two years ago, we were in Istanbul and couldn't find a tv showing it. There were phone calls to my dad and brother who were both there but not sitting together. And last year, we were at friends' watching, and that of course was depressing.

So I figured this might be the last chance for a long time? It would be a really feel-good moment to all be together if they win.

So I formed a wild and crazy plan to drive up there, check into a motel nearby, lie low and then about an hour before the game, ring their doorbell and just be there. Mad and spontaneous.

Great plan, innit?

Booked the motel, printed out google maps, have a little bookshop to visit half an hour out of Canberra tomorrow morning, a little side activity.

Princess jumped on board and is very excited. I had to tell my mum, and yesterday my Dad (because he asked me and Princess to the Parade today. Never been to the Parade, never want to go) and I swore them to secrecy.

I want it to be a complete and utter surprise and my sister and her husband and children are all very loud people so it will be effective and satisfying.

EXCEPT for my fucking tooth.

I went to the dentist Wednesday morning for further work on a root canal. I wasn't in pain, just having to floss frequently because the tooth had chipped. But it wasn't bad, he said, luckily I hadn't cracked the tooth, blah blah blah. He cleaned it out (again) and while it didn't hurt, it was unpleasant. I'm not good with things in my mouth. I think I've mentioned here before I used to have dreams of my mouth and throat being filled with cotton wool or barbed wire or broken glass and me having to breathe around it all the while trying to pull the stuff out.

If I believed in previous lives I would think I was probably buried alive, with dirt filling my nose and mouth and throat.

I also have a fear of me or someone I'm with choking on food and dying.

The tooth was ok when I left. It was ok for the rest of that day. A little tender but I wouldn't say painful.

Yesterday I went to work, and it was still the same, ok but not terrible.

Then last night, Clokey and I went out to dinner.

We went to a new place in Fitzroy Street called Waldorf diner (they really shouldn't call it a diner, just Waldorf would be fine) and enjoyed the food. Sausages, bread, all made on the premises. Slow-cooked food, beautiful pork-belly, divine beef carpaccio. Only one mention of "foam" on the menu and it wasn't really; more a potato puree and yummy.

The tooth was fine. I chewed on the other side, but no real problems there.

We came home, to watch the Footy Show (I couldn't bear it, what a horrible show it is, all the prancing around of the "hosts" it's like watching a neighbourhood kid's concert) and we had some ice cream.

Maybe it was the ice cream, but my tooth has gone from not terrible to very terrible.

Before I turned my light out in bed last night, it was so painful, I couldn't read my book. I took two Nurofen, and that must've helped because I managed to sleep until 5am when it woke me up.

Since then, I dozed, and now I don't know what to do.

I am miserable right now with this tooth, and I am in the comfort of my own home with my dentist virtually around the corner.

What will I be driving off to?

Is there dust in Canberra?

What will the weather be like?

Will the Cats lose?

Will it be worth it or will the whole weekend be a disaster?

Is my tooth a bad sign?

I feel a wreck, so tired, with a headache (referred pain?) and a tooth that's killing me.

All I want to do is crawl back into bed, but I need to get in the car and drive all day.

Was it the ice cream that triggered it?

Will it settle down again if I avoid ice cream? (Easy enough to do.)

What should I do?

I'm a stubborn person. Once I get an idea in my head, I don't want to change a plan. Especially when it involves such delicious surprise and fun.





UPDATE - my lovely dentist rang back, he is going to organise some antibiotics and Panadeine Forte for me. He thinks working on the tooth has stirred something up, and the antibiotics will help. I am anti the antis, but in matters like this, I will take them happily. So yay, let me go now. Get ready, get the drugs and head off. Will report back Monday.

Go Cats.

I'm thinking Fridays are a good time to do diaries. Except it's Thursday. Woo hoo.

So hasn't it been wet today? What the hell is going on with Beyonce and the dude who interrupted Taylor Swift? I haven't really caught up. And the evil father who incested his daughter, for fuck's sake. At work we get all these emails that have been filtered IN for sexual content, either socially, psychologically, medically and so on. You guys at work have filters to get rid of this shit, whereas our servers allow all kinds of stuff. We have to go back to work and look up "felching" and "choat."

I get to go to my desk at work and there are all these alerts from the librarian pointing me towards articles about everything you ever wanted to know about sex but were too afraid to ask.

[Apologies to Woody.]

Today, I was busy explaining to Year 9 girls how head lice and pubic lice are DIFFERENT and don't use the head treatment "down there" or you will burn that shit. Did you know that pubic lice cannot live in your head hair but it sure as fuck can migrate to your chest hair (general menfolk, non-body-builders) and underarm hair (general menfolk, non BB and non-European laydees)?

Does that even make sense. I don't care. My weekend starts TONIGHT.

Also, we had condom balloons being patted around, girls in a huddle at my "kit" pulling out all manner of ribbed, warm heated and tight-fits. I had one girl fit a condom over her entire hand and she was licking the end of it. All I could think of to say was

"Doesn't that taste yucky?"

During my short time in the job, I have already used the expression "If you were my daughter, I'd say you should..."

I have already used the expression "We know that girls are giving oral sex - or head jobs - to boys more than they are receiving. It. Why is this so?" and I make my eyebrows beetle at this point.

I have already used the expression "slut-stick" for the Implanon contraceptive rod. In a purely homey, I'm down-with-it way. I think I'm not "comfortable" using that term so I won't any more.

Today I was told that a "blue veined cigar" is another name for... you guessed it PENIS.

Did not know that one but I worked it out pretty quickly.

I am no longer a sex-ed virgin. I have masterfully handled the hot-pink dildo, and parried the question:

"Is that a sex toy?"

with

"Yes. It most certainly is. But it's not mine. I got it from work. But I chose the colour!"

I am loving my new job. It's fun, it's honest and it's important.

And there are statistics!

Looking looking looking

Things that are pretty much a deal-breaker for me when looking at houses to buy.
- spa baths
- hot tubs
- pools
- gazebos
- feature walls
- sponged feature walls
- low ceilings
- stupid fucking floorplans
- cross-hatch parquetry flooring
- any parquetry flooring really, other than the very tasteful, very expensive type, which is rare
- floating floorboards
- aluminium window frames
- vertical venetians
- gravel or stones on pathways or driveways
- wood panel bathrooms
- slate flooring
Sorry if I've offended you, but really no one will know if you have any or all of these in your house. Most are cosmetic and can be dealt with, but things like this


you know the owners are thinking it's a major feature, especially when it's the hero shot for the ad.
Suburbs we are looking at circle Melbourne. It's too fucking hard and it's giving me a headache and I think I need to eat some cake. Luckily, there is some in the fridge, thanks to Princess turning 13.
I am mother of a teenager. How did that happen?

Our Quentin - response to Inglourious Basterds.

Quentin Tarantino is a special type of boy. I reckon he's probably the large version of a kid only a mother could love. You can tell he would be annoying as shit socially, professionally and if you were unlucky enough to happen to be in some kind of intimate relationship with him.

Scene 1: red carpet, cocktail party, awards night.

Quentin: So, you know, huh, what's your favourite movie?

Me: I don't know.

Quentin: HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW? WHAT ARE YOU A FUCKING LOSER? WHO ARE YOU ANYWAY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? ARE YOU IN FILMS ANYWAY?
[insert one hour diatribe of his top 10 of the best and the worst movies, ever, in the whole world.]

Me at intervals of 8 minutes: Where's the drinks waiter?

* * *

Scene 2: on the set

Actor 1: So, I think I got it. You want me to [insert interpretation of script here, character attributes, foreshadowing of plotline, consideration of subtlety of facial descriptions] and you want my tits out, when I die.

Quentin: NO, NO, NO. NO TITS!!!!! MUMMMMMMEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Actor 1: Sorry. I thought you said you wanted boobs.

Quentin: No. I. Said. That. I. Wanted. You. To. Die. In. Bits. That means when the soldier shoots you, there will be alot of bullets. A humungous lot. But no tits. IN BITS.

Actor 1 to actor 2: God he's a fucking pain.

Actor 2: That was short, Diane, what are you talking about? He storyboarded me dying. He's got my head getting stomped and beaten with a bat by "The Bear Jew", the baseball wacko, I get shot, and before that I have dialogue so I have to, you know, foreshadow my death.

Actor 1: Yeah, I know. Subtly.

Actor 2: No. Not with subtlety. Fuck, is this your first Tarantino movie?

* * *

Scene three: with a girlfriend, or a goat, in bed.

G: So, what's your thing, babee?

Quentin: You know what I really dig? If you talk about movies while we do it. But it has to be one of my movies. And it has to be a really intense scene, you know, like when John and Uma are eating burgers or when Pumpkin and Honey Bunny are about to do the holdup. I wanna get some of that tension going, right here baby.

G: ...

Quentin: OH, AND CAN YOU LUBE UP MY ASS?

* * *

I think Quentin would be fun to be around for about five minutes. Even if he was being fun and loose and not all intenso-man-about-film, I'd probably still get sick of him pretty quickly. When we were kids, my brother had a friend who was so in your face, so annoying. He would get in front of us and the tv we were watching, to annoy us. He would be really loud, using "funny" voices, mucking around. The thing was, he was amusing for a short while. Then he got annoying and he wouldn't stop. As an adult, he was obsessed with movies and emailing forwards all the "funnies." He didn't know when to stop. I get the feeling Tarantino is a bit like that.
-------------------------------

I love Quentin Tarantino's movies. If it's made by Tarantino, then rest assured, I will be buying a ticket and sitting there to squirm and peek through my fingers. Even my mother went and saw Pulp Fiction.

"It's very good," she says. "Violent, but very good."

Reasons I loved Inglourious Basterds:


1. the opening scene is filled with tension. He plays with the audience, he really does, and you know something is going to happen, but not what. It's agonising, and sad, and tragic.

2. that a character who kills Nazis with a baseball bat has said this about the backstory:

My guy is a guy from Boston who gets every Jew in his neighborhood to sign his baseball bat with the name of somebody they're worried about in Europe. The thing is that he doesn't want a machine gun, he doesn't want to shoot Nazis, he wants to beat them to death with a baseball bat. He wants to feel it in his hands when he's busy pummeling them to death. This character thinks of himself as a Jewish warrior, who is fighting on the behalf of those who can't fight and for everyone who can't be there. When I kill that guy, I didn't want people to think, "Oh, this is Eli being a psycho with a bat," I want you to really feel that pain and that rage, which is very real. There were branches of my family that were wiped out in the Holocaust. My roots are from Poland and Austria, Russia, that's where I'm from, and my grandparents who got out and survived, all the other relatives didn't and got killed, so it was very real to me. It was a very real, very personal role, and I held a great sense of responsibility in doing it. It wasn't just an acting job.

3. Christoph Waltz as Colonel Hans Landa. This is the guy everyone is raving about. He is amazing in this movie. He is the most sinister villain for years. What a dab hand he is. How cruel he is and the strangling scene where he rides Kruger like some demented jockey as she bucks and splutters under him; he shows how personal it is.

4. Melanie Laurent who plays a French girl whose family are slaughtered by the Germans. She has the opportunity for revenge later on in the movie.

5. Diane Kruger. The fact she doesn't have the requisite retrousee nose-job nose. Refreshing. A good portrayal of an actress-spy under pressure.

6. The cinematography. Beautiful. Just exquisite, particularly in the opening scene.

7. The music. An overlay of spaghetti western music. It worked.

8. The use of German and French, and subtitles. For such an American guy, you might have expected them to all speak with American accents, or bad European ones. Not so. The change to English in the opening scene at first seems like a convenience.

Oh, let's get rid of the subtitles. They've had a taste, we've made a point, but now let's do it in English.

No no.

There is a reason for the change to English. Fucking brilliant.

Subtitles appear in the rest of the movie.

9. It goes for 2 and a half hours and my arse did not notice.

10. Sylvester Groth as Joseph Goebbels was very good. He is a Nazi film buff and there is a scene where is he excited about the screening and he does something with his hands that is very comical yet touching. He is a baddie, but he's obsessed movies. Very Tarantino.

11. Brad Pitt and his jaw. Nice to see this matinee idol was happy to distort his face for the sake of art. A tick from me.

12. The shoot-out in the bar. I love Tarantino's extended scenes. Some might get bored with them, but he just builds tension, layer upon layer, and you can appreciate the actorly skills as he probably shoots them in one shot? That's a big assumption, maybe I'm wrong, but it would be a Tarantino thing to do, n'est-ce pas? I can't be bothered researching. At the end of this scene, there's only one survivor, and she doesn't last too long.

13. Having the idea to have two plots to destroy the cinema and everything in it. And neither group knows what the other is doing. In the end, the Basterds get to them before the fire does. Have they cheated Shoshanna out of her revenge? Little matter, she is being dispatched upstairs.

14. The scene where The Bear Jew and his sidekick break into the upstairs box. They prepare in the bathroom, strange weaponry strapped to their hands, and the slo-mo action of them getting past the guards is very Tarantino; his mark is all over it. Or his spray.

15.The fact that there is now a movie where Jewish people are not portrayed as victims; they are the aggressors, they are someone to be feared. These basterds have the Nazis scared, wtih stories getting back to Hitler, making him concerned. And then they kill him, and Goerring and Goebbels and



Things I could pick at if I had to.

1. Brad Pitt. Let's face it, the man is a distraction. It was fairly difficult to see him as Jewish and as a Nazi-killer. He is always Brad Pitt which is a bit hard for him to get away from. I think he was the weakest of the main characters. A pitty.

2. Hitler. I guess he had to stay in the stereotype range of how Hitler has to be portrayed. Anything less and there is the risk of being accused of showing him in a human or even sympathetic light. Better to stick with the parody, I understand it, and the dude did well. He was only a small character anyway, a small but central character.

3. Mike Myers plays a general who is obviously an uncle of Austin Powers. I wonder if that was deliberate or the only way Mike can "do English." Knowing Quentin, and the crazy guy that he is, it was possibly an intentional reference.

4. The scene at the showing, beforehand where the Basterd crew pretend to be Italian friends of Bridget von Hammersmark. It was a comical scene with underlying tension because you know Landa is a master at sniffing out the falsities.

5. We don't see what happens to Shoshanna's man. He heroically tossed his smoke onto the pile of celluloid at the back of the screen to start the fire. Did he go down with the ship? Not important? Probably.

6. The way von Hammersmark and war hero Fredrick Zoller come to an end. I would have liked to see her seduce him, or allow him to take her instead of them killing each other. But that would be against the NO TITS rule, and also would mean a smaller body count. Also against Quentin's code of operations.


* * *
Things that unsettled me:

The violence. To have it shown, a man's head being beaten with a bat, bodies being pummelled by bullets, a woman strangled most graphically. And at the end a close-up of a swastika being carved into Landa's forehead.

At times I couldn't look, I had my hands up and peeped. The old cushion on the couch trick from my childhood. To think that impressionable young people (and they are fucking impressionable, they just don't know it nor how much) are seeing this movie. It's a bit of a worry, but that's just me being old and motherly and teacherly I suppose.

The trickiness of the subject matter: Nazis and Jews. While I love the idea of rewriting the Second World War, there would be some (and not just on the Jewish side of things) who might see this is sacrosanct, not in a good way, but somehow untouchable, and that it shouldn't be tampered with even in fiction. Everybody wishes that Hitler could have been killed or taken out of the picture, and the war ended earlier, or not happened at all, that the Holocaust hadn't happened. I looked around to see what the Jewish commentary might be.

There's a page here where someone has gone through a range of sources which have published articles.

And this article which refers to the problems of revenge. There was a screening at the Museum of Jewish Heritage in New York, attended by the Weinstein Brothers (makers of the film) along with director and major actors. Some people in the audience commented on feeling satisfaction when they saw the cinema being burned down with Hitler et al locked inside. "With Hitler there, and all those high Nazi officials—how great would it have been?" one said.

But the final word best goes to Tarantino's producer, Lawrence Bender, who said that he read the first draft and then told Quentin:

As your producing partner, I thank you, and as a member of the Jewish tribe, I thank you, motherfucker, because this movie is a fucking Jewish wet dream.

Taken from this article here, Hollywood's Jewish Avenger.

My Friday

Today I have to:

- drive son to school. It was the concert last night, he is going to school late

- get Father's Day present for hubby at Southland. I fucking hate Southland. I hate any and all shopping centres, but if I have to go (ie to appear normal to girlfriends) my choice is Chaddy, darlings.

- this picture represents what disturbs me most about fashion people. Can you see any skerrick of embarrassment in this picture? Any trace of self-awareness of how shallow and parasitic this industry is? I see no cynicism in this picture, and there should be. Lots of it. I am having trouble reading one of my favourite blogs because of pictures like this, and particularly because of the two dudes on the right. The blogger is light-on whitebread, and can't punctuate to save her life, but she is pretty and wears fab clothes and she posts pics of herself. I like to watch.

These people should look like Grace Boddington from Vogue magazine. In my opinion she was the star of September Issue, the biopic about Anna Wintour, editor at Vogue.

Anna

Grace.

Grace is a tough old bird who is a stylist, so she arranges the pictures and the models and the clothes and the props. She's been doing it for decades, used to be a model herself. She's still in the biz because she loves it. Those boys above, why are they in the biz? To look like that at parties?

Movies I want to see:

Inglourious Basterds

Blessed

Movies I've seen:

September Issue - good bit of fluff but actually I think it put Princess off wanting to be the editor-in Chief at American Vogue. A good thing?

Coco Avant Chanel - ok

Beautiful Kate - disappointing.

I have much to do today. Get ready for tomorrow's writing thang, including a pitch. For fuck's sake. I never want to pitch anything to anybody. I've stalled and gotten back on track about five times in the last month. I have too many ideas and go around in circles. I'm sad I'm almost finished the final Maria Hyland novel, which is her first one. I've read them backwards, why I don't know. But I love her. And where am I going to get the goodness now?

Happy weekend. Be good, be nice, don't king-hit anyone, don't kick the cat, don't belittle a child. But swear all you like, and eat some cake. Or some fish and chips from the shop in Glenhuntly Road. It's near the intersection with Orrong, up from the supermarket going east.

Best. Chips. Ever.

Good thing about today:

The sun is sunshiney and it feels good on the face.
Bad thing about today:
Having to pull a bit of poo out of Gigi's bum.
Also, yesterday went well, thanks for all your good wishes. It all went smoothly. Onwards and upwards.

Hello

So, today I am preparing for tomorrow. Not working today. I woke up with a ratshit headache. Lay there wondering if it was lack of coffee? (no shouldn't be, but Clokes made it really weak yesterday), period? (possibly, I'm due for a bleed, but I'm no headacher. I give 'em, don't get 'em), stress? (don't think so, not much stress in my life at the mo. Which is good. Touch wood, be grateful, the buddha says the only thing that is permanent in life is impermanence.)

Is it because I didn't drink over the weekend and haven't since sometime last week? I don't think so. But how about that people? After I got my rant on I decided it was time to dry out for a bit. Almost wavered Saturday night but Clokes reminded me of what I'd said, for him not to bring wine near me.

I had ground to a little bit of a halt with my own writing. Annoying, at 65k words to start having thoughts like "I don't think this is any good" and "what's my fucking point?" I think my problem is too many ideas, then I get immobilised or go around in circles a little bit. Anyway, I've pushed through and am back on track. Have to pitch it to the class on the weekend.

I have taken 2 Nurofen Plus, eaten a slice of toast and am feeling better. I have to take the Gigi out for a run, move the car out of the clearway and get to the chemist before picking up the Princess at dance. I also have to cook tea because Motherrrrr (Norman Bates voice there) is coming over tonight.

I've noticed that my relationship with my mother is strained the last few years. I feel like I'm not the daughter she would like to have, and any time I'm critical of my sister, I am just proving the point. My sister is kinder than me, though she would probably argue that she is not kind (but compared to me, she might grudgingly accept it.)

The thing is, young people, (and I noticed a new person reading, a 15-year-old-babe, makes me think I need to be motherly, teacherly and responsible. Does your mother know what you are reading online?), you don't ever really Grow Up. Of course, as you get older you DO grown-up things, but inside, you are still just a snotty kid. Of course, there might be real adults out there, who are as they look. But I don't feel like one of them, which is very disconcerting because I look old.

Managed another blogger eyeball last week, with the divine Miss Magical_M. I have "known" her ever since I first started blogging. She was living in Sydney then, but now is living in Melbourne. We went and had coffees and toast at Orange in Chapelli St Windsor, and we just went blah blah blah non-stop. We didn't even really talk about blogging. Next time!

Back to my comment about preparing tomorrow. It's my first teaching session with the new job and I will have to do the following:

- say "pre-cum" and possibly "head job" when talking to front of Year 10 studentos in front of my boss
- wrangle a dildo and put a condom on it correctly
- make the students practise in small groups and make sure they don't nick any of the condominiums
- try to scare the boys, telling them that an unplanned pregnancy at the age of 17 or so with someone you may not even like and just drunk-fucked would have a big impact on their lives too, especially if the girl chooses to keep the baby, there's nothing they can do other than fork over 17% of their wage. Once they're earning, until the baby turns 18.
- possibly talk about sexual arousal if it's appropriate
- talk about consent
- talk about the laws and sexual activity
- talk about different types of contraception
- talk about safer sex, and prevention of STIs.

Fuck there is so much I have to cover in 50 minutes I'm scared, but I'll have a powerpoint thingo to give me the structure.

Wish me luck!

What's the message? Warning - high level of preaching follows, and a low level of editing. A somewhat serious post.

Melbourne's street violence is on the rise, and going out on the weekend in certain hotspots seems to be a "taking your life into your own hands" proposition.

It's scary out there. Sometimes it feels like I'm living in that wonderful old Chuck Heston movie, The Omega Man. There's been an apocalypse, there is no one else except me and mine, and you have to be indoors by sunset otherwise faceless mini-beings in hooded cassocks will fix their red eyes on you, and get you. Yes this movie was remade recently with Will Smith, yeah it was ok, but it had none of the impact for me of Omega Man. Probably because I'm a woman now of mid-age instead of an eleven-year-old, skinny-legged girl.

So we huddle in our home, in one of Melbourne's Danger Zones and we hear the drunks rolling up the hill, and down the hill. But things haven't been as bad as several years ago. On once occasion I hung out the window in the middle of the night and told a man who was abusing a woman to fuck off, and that I was calling the police. He wasn't touching her, yet, just yelling at her, really ugly stuff. He told me to fuck off. Another time I hung out the window (this Mrs Jessop lives upstairs) and told a guy pissing in our garden to fuck off and piss somewhere else. I got invited down to give him a headjob.
Apparently, it's the fault of the baby boomers who have "over-indulged their kids to the extent where they think they can do whatever they like." (The Age, today, page 11.)

So who are the baby boomers and how can we tell them off?

Wiki has a good page, which lays it all out, but of course you go somewhere else, and there are different year cut-offs.

Baby Boomers, the generation that was born just after World War II. So my parent's generation, although my dad possibly slips inside the Silent Generation, being too young to have fought in WW2 (like about 2 years old at the start and 7 at the end of it.) It makes sense him being in the Silent Generation because he really doesn't say that much.

So it's not me and my friends out on the streets fucking it up for everyone else. Which generation is out there being dickheads and who are their parents?

It's the late Generation Joneses, on the cusp of Gen-X. Oh those guys.

Parents are indulgent, don't say no to their children, want to be friends instead of parents and are scared of their children not liking them. They are hanging on to their own lost youth, desperately trying to stay hip, and that includes procuring alcohol for their underage kids and their friends, and drinking far too much themselves.

This week I was at Princess' school one night for a Drug and Alcohol educational parent info night. Parents were there, as were Year 7 students. A speaker from a foundation spoke about the dangers of alcohol, about harm-minimisation, and encouraging our adolescents to delay their drinking as long as possible. All well and good. Then we split off and did activities, kid-run games and competitions with the topics of drugs and alcohol.

Then, after the fun and games, we went back to the hall. For the alcohol presenter to clarify a point.

He took to the podium again and said [I'm paraphrasing]:

I just wanted to clarify something from my presentation. I didn't want you to think that drinking more than 2 glasses of alcohol is binge drinking. Our message is that to lessen risk to health etc, drinking less than 2 standard drinks in any one sitting assists that, and to maintain those lower levels of risk, over a weekly period, blah blah, women this much, men this much. But binge drinking is drinking to get drunk, where that is the purpose, people going out thinking "I'm going to write myself off."

Do you see what he did? He just undid a lot of what he'd said earlier, where he was talking about safeR levels of drinking.

Do you know why he clarified? I think people in the audience, or even just one person (a rich, powerful parent?) had complained. They didn't want their kids to say to them the next time they have more than 2 drinks, "Hey, that's binge drinking." So the message to young, impressionable adolescents was tainted for the sake of the adults in that room.

We all fucking binge drink. But not according to his revised statement, in order to get drunk.

There were jokes made by parents in the activity sessions, it was all light-hearted and fun, with quips about "where's the refreshments" etc.

I'm not a wowser. I drink too much as a rule. I use it like medicine, a reward, it's a habit to drink, I was brought up drinking. Anyone reading my old diaries will appreciate the amount I have put away over the years. It's a wonder I can function, my poor old brain has been soused and pickled. It's a wonder I've never had an unwanted pregnancy, gotten any nasty sexual diseases, been raped, had a car accident, run over someone else, been in a fight, a punch-up, a stabbing. I've not been kidnapped, fallen off a balcony, drowned while swimming drunk, been hit by a car while crossing the road at 4am.

I'm not saying these things happen if you drink. I'm just saying there's a much higher risk of injury and Bad Things Happen if you are drunk. Not just tipsy, but drunk.

People don't like to be told they drink alot. People joke about getting to Friday and collapsing onto the couch with a glass of wine, they've made it. They don't drink through the week, and feel that they are on top of it, then drink way too much over the weekend. And then it becomes Thursday that is the marker.

We are all lying to ourselves. And our kids are seeing this. Of course they are going to go on to drink, and abuse alcohol. When I was a kid, my parents divorced when I was about 14. But before then, even though I can't remember, Dad would have been drinking beer every night. Mum didn't, and still doesn't. She came from an abstemious family. Even as a teenager, going to my friends' houses, I don't remember parents casually drinking. Like lollies for kids, it was something that was for a special occasion. Like lollies and chips and other party food, these things have become every day things, not just treats. Party food is packed into kids' lunch boxes for school. Adults go out for lunch and have a glass of wine almost automatically. People who don't drink are noticed and wondered about. They are suspect.

I don't know what the answer is, but parents have to realise they are not being hypocritical if they drink alcohol but are not permissive when it comes to their young people wanting to drink. Parents have to realise that the notion of introducing alcohol at home, such as wine with dinner for example, does not (according to studies) "help" their children learn better how to use alcohol in a responsible manner. It even be can be counterproductive.

In our home, we are conscious of our drinking. I am the biggest culprit. Values and attitudes are transmitted to kids within families without sitting them down and telling them stuff. It happens by osmosis, and by modelling behaviours. Parents are the greatest influence, until kids' peer groups become more important during adolescence. You can be the greatest parent in the world (I'm not, I just aim to be "good-enough") but you can be sure you will fuck up your kids some way, some how.

The question is. What are you doing in front of them, that they are learning? They take it all in from a very young age. Then they will act it out, and pass it on to their kids. These can be good things and bad things. What are these young people seeing at home, or wherever, that makes them king-hit someone in the city, and stomp on their head when they are on the ground? Is it just the alcohol, and then the testosterone? What is it?

Many distractions today

Today it is so windy, unbelievable. We've had a bit of wind in Old Melbourne Town recently, but today takes the cake.

Which leads me to my next distraction. Cake. Yesterday in my new job I saw the same video twice and there was a scene with cake in it. It looked like a really nice cake, and people were eating it. Then, on the Sopranos last night, they had birthday cake.
So it got me thinking about cake.

The other distraction is a website (in addition to blogs, twitter and the newspaper).

It's called This is Why You're Fat and I only got up to page 14, looking at all the food.

This is a place where dishes like this

look NORMAL.

It's a place where bacon is the leading ingredient in many of the recipes, followed a close second by Spam.

It's a place where dreams of eating something called The Fat Bitch [cheese steak topped with 2 sticks mozzarella, French fries, bacon, tomatoes, ketchup, mayo and marinara sauce] can be seen to be reality for some.

You can find toasted ravioli, bacon tempura and The Pink Panther - a brioche (sweet) bun filled with Fairy Floss.

I even saw reference to zillion island sauce.

But this takes my gold medal for best lookin' dish. The Rubix Cubewich.

Other distractions today. I've been hearing mention of something called True Blood. I have decided to look it up and find out about it. Seems it's a show also books. I saw the trailer for Season One and it looks interesting. The Sopranos are getting a little yawn for me.

Happy weekend everyone. May you stay out of the wind and away from underneath trees, especially gums.

Inappropriate crush

It's okay. I've confessed to Clokes about this one. He made a comment about me writing that Robert Pattinson is a fucking spunk, but I told him this is the double-standard I'm allowed to have. Men have a bunch of them, I'm going to have this one. (Although as Clokes said, yes he might think other women are fucking spunks but he doesn't write about them. The difference, ladies and gentlemen, between me and him.) (Also, I didn't think he read my blog anymore. So there you go.)

So, today's story. Princess and I went to Borders earlier this week to get her a book. I tell you, she is mental about reading (a good thing) and she reads prolifically (also a good thing) and she is starting to branch out a bit more from fantasy (also a good thing.) However, we can be spending heaps of money every month because seriously, she reads like a book every two days. Yes, big fat thick ones, with small writing. So my new economy approach is I'm trying to encourage her to read from her school library so I don't have to buy everything straight away, she borrows, she reads, and then over time if they must be in her collection, I will buy. This is working out pretty well so far.

So, we were at Borders and were served by a baby Zac Efron (how do you spell his name? I mix him with Nora Ephron.) I swear this guy is about 19, his chest is an inverted triangle, he is short and so cute and he knows how to make eye contact. After we left, I told Princess I thought he was cute. She got embarrassed.

Age difference much, motherrrrr? is what she said.

Then I made some pathetic back-pedal like I wasn't thinking for myself, I was thinking for a younger girl. Like you, for example.

Now, I've got a couple of friends who always talk about sex and are incredibly stupidly inappropriate when they talk about guys being spunks, and will even embarrass their daughters by talking in this way. I've always hated it, and thought I was above it. I don't think girls need to be sexualised or made any more aware of all those world issues than they already are by their mothers for godsake. She doesn't need to hear me prattle on about good-looking guys, or stuff like that. Daughters are desperate to separate from their mothers, and it's a hard battle. They don't want to be like their mothers in any way, and thinking their mothers are sexual beings is just another undeniable piece of evidence that mothers and daughters are so alike. So young girls claim the sexual world as their own, and mothers are shut out. But that's good. It's wrong, so wrong I reckon for me to be talking about boys with her. It feels wrong. She's my daughter, not a gf I can cackle with about things like this. Not that I cackle. I don't like it when my friends talk about sex, it's boring and try-hard in some way. I'm not even interested in this sort of stuff. I'm sure I'm not. I've always prided myself on being down to earth, don't care much about my appearance, more about the intellect than looks, etc. I appreciate beauty just like I appreciate other aesthetics. I could stare at my daughter for hours, I drink in her youthful beauty and I love to look at magazine pics of beautiful people and all that. But I have always reared away from what I see as that kind of skanky-talk. The hurr-hurr stuff that can go on between men, and women too.

See, I'm learning about myself here. Even at this late stage. Maybe I am repressed. I probably am.

So today. Was in Borders again. Went in to see if they had two books that I read about today. One called The Danger Game, the other Affection, by Krissy Kneen.

I'm at the old self-serve computer screen doing a search. I've typed in the Affection one, and it's come up. Five copies. Yay. Then, over my shoulder, a voice:

Do you need help?

Well, I said, not looking around, I can see you've got five copies, but I'm not sure where they're located.

I look. It's him. Baby Zac. I daren't look to my left, which is where Princess is standing. I know if I catch her eye, I'll giggle.

He looks at the screen, I shift a little so he can get his extra-large torso in front of the screen.

It's in... Sex, he said. Do you know where that is?

No, I say. Looking dumb. Trying not to look embarrassed.

He pointed to where it was, near Self Help, near Psychology.

Do you want me to help you find it? he asked, looking at me. I can't look at him. No big smiley eye contact stuff going on this time, unlike last time. I'm hopeless. I've never been a flirt. Never been able to do it, to know how to do it or what it is. Surely he's not flirting with me. He hasn't made a bee-line to me to ask if I need help at the catalogue screen? There were three screens in a line, a guy on the left one, a girl on the right one. Mother and daughter were standing at the centre one. Was it my age that made him offer to help me? I'm so old, maybe I don't know what I'm doing? Do I look like a grandmother to him?

There was an awkward moment where he seemed to think he was going to come with me and help me find it. I thought I'd made it clear I could find it myself, and that I just wanted to be in the Sex section by myself, scanning shelves pathetically, not with a Baby Zac Ephron. At the point, Princess said: Mum, I'm going back to wait for the others (she was going to see a movie with friends, and they were running late. She just had to get away from this car crash.)

Baby Zac and I disengaged, I hesitated, he said Are you sure? I said I can find it, and I walked away. Of course, it took me ages to find it, and there was a creepy guy hanging around there while I was looking. When I took it up to the counter, I wasn't served by Baby Zac. It was some other guy who had a normal torso and face.

Driving home, and knowing I'm going back to pick up the girls, I'm thinking what excuse can I find to go back in there.

Germaine Greer's Boy I'm thinking.

It's been a good week

Some snippets:


1. I want to sleep. A lot. I am wondering if I'm at the opposite end of the life spectrum to "teenager" and whether that once we pass some physical mid-point, we start going backwards, and do things that the other people at the same point on the other side do. This morning, for example, once the two children who were going to school were packed off out of the house, and the other one (day off, fucking teacher inservice or some rubbish, but anyway she's sick so it's for the best) was in her room, I went back to bed with the paper, so obligingly supplied by Clokes. I read that. Then I read some teenage fiction (I read what Princess reads, I trail behind her though because I also like to read my old-person shit). Then I closed my eyes. When I woke up it was 1/4 to 12. NOON people.

I've heard it said that this is a sign of depression. I think it's just a sign of tiredness and my body needs rest. In the old days, ladies took to their beds with the vapours. These are my vapours.

2. I started a new job last Thursday. It's teaching but it's SEX ED teaching. Oh my. I think this is going to be the best job I've ever had. Not that I'm a sex freak but it's just so danged interesting, presenting these programs to kids. And the other people I'm working with are all really cool women, no shrinking violets there. It's ace. So far. I'm not going to blog much about the job. But just to let you know I've stopped the CRT work and have two days a week regular. Nice one.

3. Walking the dog I was thinking about Bad Boys. As a sideline to this, I am convinced the reason Robert Pattinson is so damn attractive is his sideburns. And his hair. Obviously, he's a fucking spunk in the face, but the hair and sideys really make him extra spunky.

Anyway, Bad Boys. They will just break your heart each and every time. The Good Girl wants to fix him, so that she is the one he changes for. This is the biggest fantasy in the world, and never happens. Unless you wait until he is 50 or 60. Then maybe.

4. Squib sent me a wonderful badge and two gorgeous hair bobbin thingos. They are great. So thanks squib. You've made my day.

5. It's a beautiful day (oooops, sun just went behind the clouds. OH NO!) It's mild and sunny [waits] and the idea of winter coming to an end is pleasing. I have felt the cold this year and it seems to have dragged on. It's the worst thing about this city. Last few years I've wondered if the winters were getting milder. Well this winter and the last one have stuffed my theory.

6. Tonight for dinner we are going to have a big-fuck tuna salad. Mmmmmmmm.

7. Last night I went out to an obligato school mums dinner. Twenty women screeching and clucking and cackling and talking and drinking double wines. It was at a horrible place, think Tabaret, and while I chatted to a couple of newish people, all I really wanted to do was be back at home, in bed with my hot-water bottle and book. One of the women was suggesting a trip away to a Qld Island - a group trip for 5 nights. HOW WONDERFUL WOULD THAT BE??? she shrieked in my ear. I smiled politely. I was thinking how I would hate it. This dinner, stretched over 5 or 6 days.

HELL.

8. My meal was crap. I ordered nasi goreng with seafood. Big mistake. The seafood was horrible - apart from the calamari. Oddly, that was delicious. The rice and vegies inside were good, the mussels disgusting. Even though I don't like mussels I thought I'd eat a few. Horrible, not fresh, wrong.

9. Tomorrow I think we are going to look at some houses. Daughter #1 is sick, has been all week, and even before that. It's turned into a post-viral asthma which is worrying. But we'll try and get out tomorrow to see some fuck-off expensive houses. We have to get out of this flat though. Anyone with a house wanting to trade lives? It'll be 2 years in December since we've been here and it's wearing a little thin.

10. Princess (daughter # 2) went off to school this morning. They were having a cultural diversity day. It'll be interesting to hear what they did; whether it was just a superficial treatment or something a little more real. She wore a red top of mine and tied a white ribbon in her hair to symbolise the colours in the Turkish flag. She wore a little Australian flag pin on the hem of her top, and also a Turkish crescent moon on red background charm around her neck. She's proud of her heritage, which is so good. I have gently tried to flag with her the possibility that she might come across some negative vibes to do with Muslims. She knows that suicide bombers and terrorists are usually described as Muslim, but I don't think she knows about the attitudes that are around re the Armenian genocide and particular, people's feelings generally about Turks.

And finally, number 11 is the little snippet in the paper yesterday about Tony Abbott's daughter calling him a "lame, gay, churchy loser." It tickled my fancy alot.

Anyway, enough of that my lovelies.

Diaries this weekend. Just a teaser: the Pat saga is not over. Oh, not by a long-shot.

UPDATE - more evidence of the vapours. I've decided not to go to the supermarket. I just want to stay here and do my toe-nails a bright red to match my finger-nails. Then I might do some writing. I've started making chicken stock, the sun is out again, and I JUST DON'T WANT TO GO OUT. I LIKE IT HERE.

But I must move the car from the clearway. Ok, doing that now. With my badge on.

My eyes jumped out of my head

It's not often that I'm reading the newspaper and see something that makes me immediately turn to old Blogger, and write about it. But you see, there's an article on page 7 of The Age about the dangers of solariums. It's titled Sunbeds join smokes as top danger.

Included is a list of substances/behaviours which are known to be carcinogenic to humans. There's a little asterisk explaining this is a list compiled from a "much longer list.'

See if there's anything here that jumps out at you:

Chemicals/Agents
- Arsenic
- Asbestos
- Oral contraceptives
- Solar radiation

Exposure
- Sunbeds
- Aluminium production
-Chimney sweeping
- Working as a painter
- Tobacco smoking and tobacco smoke

Mixtures
- Ethanol in alcoholic beverages
- Household combustion of coal
- Salted fish (Chinese style)
- Wood dust

Well, there's actually two. Chinese-style fish? I'm guessing it's a highly charcoaled dish, because carbon-crunchy crusts consumed in that way is something we know can be bad for you.

Everything else is logical and unsurprising. Apart from the pill. I know there have been studies which suggest the contraceptive pill might be or is connected to higher rates of certain types of cancer. I went to the International Agency for Research on Cancer and skimmed some studies. I found out that according to their research (and I'm summarising):

- increase in relative risk for breast cancer
- risk for endometrial cancer approximately halved
- overall, the risk for cervical cancer increased
- overall reduced risk for ovarian cancer
- no significant association with use of contraceptive pill and death from liver cancer
- no association found between pill use and risk for cutaneous melanoma
- no associated risk for colorectal cancer

So, the actual data are probably what I might have expected. If someone had asked me what are the risks of the pill, I would have said "I think there's some connection with breast cancer, so they say."

My point here is WHY THE FUCK IS THE PILL ON THIS NEWSPAPER'S LIST IN THE FIRST PLACE?

With so few items mentioned, why put the pill in there at all? Everything else on that list (with the exception perhaps of the fish (Chinese-style) can be categorised as "BAD" or "DANGEROUS" by the average thinking person. I would think.

arsenic - dangerous
asbestos - dangerous
sunbeds - bad
chimney sweeping - dangerous

We know it's not good to inhale certain stuff (BOB!) - wood dust, fumes from pain, tobacco smoke, stuff that's in chimneys.

We know the sun can give us cancer.

Maybe fish (Chinese-style) is incredibly hazardous. Obviously it is, to make the list along with arsenic and asbestos.

And the pill's inclusion. What does that mean? What message does it send people who read that list? People who maybe panic and think the risks for taking the pill can be equated with the risks in having contact with Asbestos, the Evil Tobacco and the Dreaded Chinese-Style Fish!!

What message does it send women? What decade are we living in? I'm not saying the pill is without risks and side-effects, but it's like a few years ago when there were reports of Hormone Replacement Therapy causing increased risks in cancer - was it breast? - and women everywhere went off them and men everywhere went crazy. ( I can say that because I'm a woman and I have hormones.)

*

While at the online version of the Age I saw some other gems that I couldn't pass by.

1. Best man allegedly raped by stripper at buck's night.

Some choice lines:

'A County Court jury was yesterday told to approach their task free of sympathy, emotion or bias and to put views of strippers and buck’s nights ‘‘out of your mind’’.'

BUT

'But Naggs’ barrister, Paul Higham, asked the jury to have ‘‘in the back of your mind’’ issues of male sexuality and pride, fear, ego and peer group pressure.'

That's a lot for a jury to have in and out of their minds.

Also - 'He said if there was penetration it was accidental and he asked what led the man to ‘‘place himself in proximity to the dildo’’, which he described as ‘‘arguably statuesque.’’ '


A statuesque dildo?

But wait, there's more:

Naggs, who has pleaded not guilty, is alleged to have thrust the dildo into the man’s anus during a naked XXX-rated show in a house in Mornington on September 24, 2007.

Mr Gilligan told the jury that the man had replaced the groom and another volunteer who were reluctant to continue their involvement with Naggs. He said after she did a lap dance, rubbed her breasts in his face and used the dildo on herself, he asked her: ‘‘Be gentle. Don’t do it too hard.’’
‘‘No worries,’’ Mr Gilligan said Naggs replied.

When the man, who was on all fours and naked from the knees up, asked her not to go near his anus, she allegedly said: ‘‘Not a problem. Relax. It’s only fun. I won’t go there.’’

But Mr Gilligan said that soon after Naggs applied cream or lubricant to his buttocks, he felt a sharp pain, a thrust and the dildo ‘‘go right into his anal passage’’.

He said the man was hurt and shocked and after Naggs allegedly told him not to worry because ‘‘only you and I know’’, he said: ‘‘What the f--- did you do that for, you stupid bitch.’’

Mr Gilligan said the man complained to police later that day while a medical examination showed a small abrasion below his anal verge ‘‘most likely caused by blunt trauma’’.

Mr Higham submitted that if there was penetration it was accidental so ‘‘this is a case, if you like, of accidental rape’’.

He described the facts as unique, involving a working mother and professional dancer of 13 years.


*

And finally a feel-good story that made me go "awwwww" instead of "ewwwww."

2. Lost Brissy dog Muffy found nine years' later - in Melbourne.

Oh, I just read the article. Seems it's likely the dog was picked up as a stray in Queensland and brought to Melbourne. Not The Incredible Adventure after all. Never mind, at least she's been rescued from the evils who had her (who were being investigated for animal cruelty) and will be reunited with her true owners next week.

i could have been a contender...

***

[Post redux number 1. This from 27th July, 2005.]

From the time when I used to put a lot of effort into posts, and because it was so time-consuming, didn't care about capitalisation. Sorry Perseus. If it offends thine eyes, look away now.

***

someone told me I needed to write poetry, to unleash the beast, so to speak. i think my beast does better in prose.

however…

this is dedicated to the people who drew me here and have kept me here thus far
[i hope you don’t mind awful poetry written on the trot]:

the punchy wit of tough ms fits
the mind labyrinthine of baps la nadine
the pastries all puffy of uber-friend fluffy
the deep red haze of schizo roguemaze
the little boy lost of cotton socks
the smart-aleksdom of you know who [I have a soft spot for aleks]
and there’s a new one on my list, mike who really likes bikes
and believe it or not, the mystery man who really made me check out blogging
[saving him to the end of this piece so i can show you a magic trick]

here I was, thinking I don't have much to offer in the way of fame and fortune. i am no actor, director, no tv writer, no cool and popular girl with curly hair and “a rack that won’t quit” [can’t get that image out of my head, for some reason]. i don’t have a link to a pirate glossary on my site [LOVE that pirate glossary, i covet it]

i sat and thought and realised i do have something to offer, i could tell you the ways in which I have been so close to everlasting bigness, but always with a no cigar result.

i have said here that i am an observer. the cool stuff doesn’t happen to me, but sometimes it happens around me.

here are the ways that I have almost started the stop-watch on those warholian 15 minutes:

childhood
when i was a kid i met Happy Hammond





.










he had a side-kick called Joffa Boy, and it was in the late ‘60s it must have been. [they could have put me in their tv show, but didn't]

when i was a bit older i used to play with the two brothers who now run the globe skateboarding empire [one of them was a complete prick and used to try to make me give him a hand job]. they're now in the top whatever rich bastards in australia, you know that list. [one of them could have become my childhood sweetheart, then dated me, then proposed, then married me. now i could be living in a $10M mansion in hawthorn.]

early adulthood, say 19/20 years oldabout 20 years ago my girlfriend and I went to a nightclub in the city because

 













mel gibson was appearing there with that virginia somebody chick who was in mad max two with him. he was up and coming, and young. we went and huddled in dark corners, drinking beer and watching him at a table being surrounded by sycophants. we were about to leave [boring] when we saw him get up from the table and walk to the men’s. we positioned ourselves outside and when he came out, my friend went up to him. this is what happened. she put her hand on his arm – “mel”, she said
“yes,” he said [very shyly and kind of coy, it was weird]
“can I kiss you?” she said
“I guess so,” he said.
so she kissed him on the cheek, he kind of did the blush thing and said “thanks.”
we went screaming out of the place, ran up the stairs still screaming, up the street, into the car and screamed all the way home. whenever we stopped at a traffic light, we would look at each other, and scream again. [he could have noticed me, instantly fallen in love with me, and married me. then it would be me with 25 children, saggy tits, and mel for a hubby]

the next one is about michael hutchence. the same girlfriend from the mel experience and I saw them at some dive in waverley. we were there to see the support act and stayed to “see what the next band were like.” hutchence kept taking my friend’s porkpie hat [yes they were in way before britney did them] off her head and wearing it. [he could have taken my hat off my head, and then married me] [even though i wasn't wearing a hat]

now i'm about 23 or something
i have been on tv twice. once in a video clip for huxton creepers [onscreen perhaps 3 secs]. coincidentally my grade 5 boyfriend was in that band, and he is now also in this band
[he also could have married me, and now i'd be a rock-chick-wife]. but he's a pisshead so maybe that's not such a good fantasy.

the other time on tv was This is Your Life. but it wasn't me, but a school friend. you know the drill; as one of those people who tells a funny story about the famous person they went to school with, and then they cutaway to the famous personage in question and they are laughing with a fond look in the eye. well, in my case, the camera showed the famous person sitting on the couch just after I told my witty bit, and she squinted her eyes and looked confused. she didn’t recognise who I was. [she couldn't have married me, i accept that. but we could have become best friends and she could have taken me to the swanky parties]

miscellaneous
there is a very, very minor big brother contestant who parks his saab outside my house. bet he didn’t have a saab before he went on. no way.

my grandfather met Price Phillip, and Alfred Hitchcock [they could have adopted me]

my godmother is daughter of a famous australian artist [he could have given me a painting, just one would have been nice]

my mum’s friend met spike milligan [he could have given me a job. or married me]

my dad’s second cousin is helen garner [she could have requested to see her 3rd cousin twice removed, and asked to see the three or four unfinished books i have lying around

my dad went to school with hostage dude doug wood [he could have marr... no maybe not]

my mum went to school with pixie skase. she could have become my second mother and then i could have stolen chris from her and... no maybe not

i once stayed in the house of a roadie of van morrison’s [ either could have married me. except i met neither]

i once burned a hole in molly meldrum’s leather jacket [um, pass] [that was on purpose]

i once did the same to the denim jacket of a rrr radio announcer [er, hip radio dj dude] [the burn was an accident] [i did love him at the time, but, wasn't to be] [now i think he's a dick]

i met gary ablett at a book signing, he blessed my child [I was pregnant at the time] [and i was married, so he couldn't marry me, just as well i guess]

my cousin met the king of spain [my cousin could have invited me along on the yacht so that I could have met the king of spain]

so with all these connections you’d think I’d be a natch to be up there with the celebs.

but alas, I’ll just have to make do with my fantasy world here. and my real world. which is real.

ps the mystery man is andrew landeryou. I can summon him at will
“andrew come and comment on my blog!”

just wait and see, he will appear…

500th post - extendo version

Gee, it seems an age since I started blogging. I have to say, I do put less into it now than I did then. Back then, sometimes I even drafted my posts, spell-checked and everything. I would spend hours putting stuff together, looking for pictures, putting a lot of thought into what I was writing.

Now, it's become more of an online journal rather than an online "let me tell you what I think about everything in the world."

My life has changed a bit over the course of 500 posts, since that first post on a Wednesday in June, 2005. I got engaged, got married, created a blended family with my man Clokes. Made him start blogging - he had two going at one stage: Capeman and Clokeeeeeey. The name Capeman was inspired by him having a Ferrari party for his birthday and wearing a Ferrari flag as a cape. Clokeeeeey is all about Collingwood football playing David (is it David?) Cloke.

Princess has grown up; from a wonderfully assertive and precociously bright seven-year old to a wonderfully assertive and precociously bright almost-13-year old.

In that time we have moved house three times. From St Kilda to Caulfield South, from Caulfield South to Bentleigh and from Bentleigh back to St Kilda (via 3 months overseas.)

In that time I've completed my postgraduate diploma and gotten a Master. Remember those days? I think that was my blogging apex when the frenzy was most dedicated. Work avoidance is always a huge motivator to blog for me.

I've started publishing my bad '80s diaries here as well. What started as laziness (ie it was all there pre-written, I didn't have to think about what to write) has turned into a little bit of sunshine for some readers, and for me, quite a cathartic endeavour. I read somewhere that Helen Garner burned all her diaries. I don't know if I could bring myself to do that, but if I ever do, it'll be knowing that they still exist on another plane.

Also in that time my mother had a full remission from cancer. It was a happy day. The happiest of days, because she had been working so hard at getting well for 7 years. That day I wrote about the news on my blog and all the comments that people made were so heart-warming and loving. I printed them all out and gave her a hard copy. I just had to share with her what these kind-hearted "strangers" had written.

And that brings me to these "strangers."

I have met some wonderful souls through blogging. For me, someone who is shit at small-talk face-to-face but pretty good at blathering on with words, it had been a truly satisfying way of connecting with people. I have had my spats - there was a guy called Mike who was into bikes. I got into a fight with him over comments he made about Jewish people - that was it. End of acquaintance. And again, a guy called Jaded DJ. We got into a spat as well, but I can't remember what that was about. Maybe it was a case of an argument that was unnecessary? Anyway. Water under the bridge. I got involved in a bit of a bitchy thing against Steph at Ms Fits' blog, which I wasn't proud of. She was good-natured about it and we kissed and made up and there were no hard feelings and when she shut down her blog she said some very lovely things about me. She was the bigger person in that exchange, and I - I was just carried along with the pack. It made me realise something about myself, about human nature.

Steph is one of the people I miss. I also miss Fits. I miss I'm Not Craig, even though he be still around a little, and we have met and shall meet again so I don't mourn him in the way I do others. I miss Fluffy big time, I miss Rowena (she's not completely gone, but not blogging anymore.) I miss BEVIS, even though he's twittering, so I still get a bit of him. D-Stah is still around a bit, on Facebook, and she is one blogger I loved and met, she is great. I miss LadyCracker. I miss SUBLIME but she is still around a bit. Pomgirl went back to Engerlund, she was nice. And Krankiboy, he's very sporadic so I don't check his blog much. (Actually, looks like he might be back. He's started writing again. Oh happy days. Now for a return of the Wizard!)

Another fight I had was with Cotton, a precious candy-boy. And Roguemaze was good while he lasted, but he's off being a movie star.

Possibly one of the people I miss most is Gianluca di Milano.

As for where I read now, I thought I'd list my blogroll. It's not complete, but these are the places I go for a browse most days. It's the best way I can think of acknowledging my current Blogworld affections; my daily toe-tip into bloggy goodness.

Another Outspoken Female

Sherrif

Desci

M_M

Alabama

Perseus - BUT HE'S NOT WRITING AT THE MOMENT AND SHOULD BE SOUNDLY WHIPPED!

Sublime-Ation

Pirate Elaine

groverjones

gullybogan

Super Kawaii Mama - fashion blog

Tokyo Undressed Be warned, NSFW.

TWO CAN ANNE

squib - she's stopped her blog which is a bugger because I'd just found her really.

Lisa D-Cup - an American blogger who is married with three kids and lives - I think - in Georgia. She and her husband have been through hard times. With the recent financial shit in the States they went bankrupt, lost their house and car etc. Hard times. But she has a fantastic spirit, great sense of humour, she pulls no punches (what does that mean, anyway?), she is direct and raw about all things in life, and she is very inspiring. If you've had a hard day, go and read her archives. And she is never, NEVER woe-is-me. Tough gal.

Living and Teaching in Malaysia - this is my good friend Jo, a friend from way back in real life. Her blog is private so I'm not linking. She is another tough cookie, doing her best for herself and her kids. I really admire Jo, she is all about working out herself and life and not shying away from it. Her blog is open and honest and I think she is the bees' knees.

[mystery site] - this is my number one love-spot. This has been like my secret lover and I haven't wanted to share them with anyone, so I haven't linked them. It has ironically replaced RYWHM in my heart, ironic because the demise of RYWHM and TSSH (a blog I visited occasionally but never commented on, it was too scary) occurred simultaneously/connectedly in ways that remain quite mysterious to me, and kind of sinister. And my dirty little secret is that I think I like it even better than RYWHM. It's remained fresh and interesting and varied and sycophant-free. Unless I'm the suck. Probably. Most of the characters from there have no personal blogs themselves which is just as well otherwise I would never get off this fucking machine. For real.

Over the next little while, I'm going to redux some of my favourite posts. Along with diaries, of course.