the munkey can type

reminders

2010-04-22T14:15:00.017+10:00

Clearing out drawers is very therapeutic. It's official – my friend's therapist told her so. And I was very pleased to hear it, because I love occasionally tackling a drawer full of old clutter, and sorting it out. Sometimes I end up putting it all back in, exactly as it was, but I still always feel better afterwards.

The other day, I sorted through a drawer full of old cards and letters. Here are some things I found, which made me sad in different ways.

Thing 1
This is the letter Byron sent with the first bunch of birthday presents he gave me, back when we were still living in different states. It was an achingly romantic time – longing for each other across the miles, sending constant texts and pictures, spending all our time at work sneakily chatting online. In the letter, he describes me as his "perfect man", and signs off "Yours always". Thing 1 made me the kind of sad where you sigh, and sit for a moment thinking to yourself.

Thing 2
When I was in Year 10, I was in a school production of Much Ado About Nothing. I made excellent friends with a couple of Year 12 girls who were clever and funny and downright lovely. Not long after the production ended, I wrote a letter to one of them – Anna – about how sad I was that the show was over. Thing 2 is the letter she wrote back. It included a separate page with this quote:

"You carried everything that mattered inside yourself, nobody could help you from outside.
Not to be at war with yourself in affection and trust – that was the thing. Then you could do anything. Then you could not only walk a tightrope but fly"

from Klingsor's Last Summer
Hermann Hesse

Thing 2 made me sad because I failed to maintain my friendship with Anna. She was one of the best people I have ever met, and due to my own stupid laziness – and, to some extent, my own stupid insecurity – I lost her from my life. This has been a recurring theme for me. Reading her letter made me the kind of sad where you curse yourself for fucking things up.

Thing 3
The last birthday card my mum ever wrote me. I was twenty-four. She, my dad and sister were travelling overseas – something Mum had always wanted to do. They were doing it then, in the first half of 2004, because she knew she was running out of time. I was at home, alone, desperately sad, and dealing with a mouse infestation in our family house. My mum wasn't a wordsmith. Her card is simple. She wishes me a happy birthday, makes a jovial reference to the mouse problem, and signs off with twenty-four kisses. Thing 3 made me the kind of sad where you sit on the floor, sobbing.

recreational habits of the common couch potato

2010-02-27T12:07:00.020+11:00

I grew up with David Attenborough documentaries. As a youngster, I remember watching The Living Planet and The First Eden with my parents, and leafing through their big beautiful photo book of Life On Earth. In Year 12 biology class, our crotchety and wonderful teacher showed us all of The Trials of Life over several weeks; for most of my classmates this was bludge time, but I was glued to the screen.

For a long time, I've wanted to own some of Attenborough's work on DVD, as I've always been able to watch them no matter what mood I'm in – whether I'm switched on and absorbing every detail, or just letting the sights and sounds wash over me, I find them extremely engaging and oddly comforting. So recently I bought the complete box set of the BBC series Planet Earth. I was a bit torn as, though it's narrated by Attenborough, it's not written by him. But everyone I know who's seen it told me it was astonishing.

And, of course, it is just as astonishing as promised. But as I make my way through the episodes, one thought keeps pervading my viewing experience. It isn't 'This cinematography is extraordinary!' (Although it is.) It's not 'Our planet is an amazing place, full of unimaginable wonders!' (Although it most certainly is.) It's, 'This show would make for a fantastic drinking game!'

Clearly this says more about me than it does about the series itself. At any rate, here are the rules I've come up with:

1 DRINK every time something is described as biggest, smallest, highest, driest, etc. in the world
(e.g. 'these are the most densely populated reefs on the planet'; 'this is the smallest deer on earth')
1 DRINK every time something is expressed as a fraction or percentage
(e.g. 'this rainforest produces 10% of all the planet's oxygen'; 'grasslands make up one third of all the land on earth')
1 DRINK every time footage is shown in ultra slow motion, or ultra fast motion
(e.g. vision of a great white shark chomping a fur seal, slowed down forty times; baobab buds bursting into flower before your eyes)
1 GULP every time something is described as being the size of a country
(e.g. 'this glacier is the size of Wales'; 'this desert is the size of the United States')
1 GULP every time you're told something can be seen from space/the moon
(and an extra big gulp if you're actually shown the footage of said thing, as viewed from space/the moon)
1 GULP when Attenborough pronounces a place or animal name in an adorable foreign accent
(as if his ordinary accent wasn't adorable enough!)
FINISH YOUR DRINK if you see a human being

Perhaps there should be more rules, but even with these few you would be very pleasantly trashed by the end of an episode.

I suspect I may be the only person ever to think up a drinking game for a nature documentary series. I'm not sure if I should be proud or ashamed.

bert loses his ernie

2010-01-19T08:09:00.029+11:00

Life's funny, isn't it?

One minute you're celebrating recent professional successes, looking forward to Christmas and a promising New Year with your dear friends, family, and the love of your life. A month later, your relationship is over. The man you thought was the love of your life has fallen out of love with you and, before he's had the guts to properly end things with you, has started a new romance with a guy he met on Twitter.

Well, that's the short version anyway.

The long version is very long. It's a lot fairer to him, and a lot more honest about me. He didn't ditch me for a better prospect – it's much more complicated than that. And I wasn't the perfect boyfriend – but who is? Anyway, Byron and I are over. None of this was my choice, and I feel he went about ending it in a way that hurt me far more than was necessary. He was going through a lot, that led him to make the choices he did. He's still going through a lot now. But none of that is my story to tell. I can only offer my perspective, and that is to say that I don't think I was treated the way I deserve to be, and I'm incredibly fucking sad and angry about it.

Nothing can take away how important he's been in my life. Byron has made me happier and sadder, angrier and prouder than any single person in my life before. We are going to stay friends, even if there are moments when that isn't easy.

So now I'm trying to retrain my head, and my heart. I need to accept that all our conversations now will have shadows hanging over them, accept that (although I hope the entire world hears him sing some day) I'll never hear him sing for me the way he once did, accept that we're not going to hang out or kiss or fuck or watch TV or stupidly repeat nonsense words at the top of our lungs while laughing 'til we cry, in the way that we used to, anymore. And I need to accept that while I'm reminiscing about doing those things with him, he's probably already imagining doing them with someone else.

And that's hard. Because right now, even after being hurt so badly, I still miss what we had. I miss it like crazy.

So this, as it turns out, is the shape of my life in the final stretch to age thirty. Single (and, for my mental health, likely to remain that way for some time). Overweight (but ten kilos less than I was three months ago). Kicking goals for my career (most of the time). And surrounded by the most wonderful family and friends I could possibly hope for.

I'll be okay. Like I always am. I'm feeling pretty positive about the future, even if it isn't going to be the one I expected, or hoped for.

Onward and upward.

once more into the breach

2009-07-30T16:11:00.013+10:00

Do people even read blogs anymore? I have no idea. I'm quite sure nobody visits this one these days. But after a year of radio silence, here I am again. Whether this will last, I have no idea. I'll do my best.

Just before I disappeared from the blogosphere, I took a massive leap into a new career path... and then kind of freaked out. Actually, scratch "kind of". I completely freaked out.

I am very pleased to say I've pulled myself together and am still toiling away in the script department of Australia's longest-running serial drama. For a few months I was clinging on by the skin of my fingernails' teeth. But now I am quite comfortable in the world of television storylining; I feel like I know what I'm doing, and the people in charge seem to agree. (For now, touch wood.)

When people ask me what I've been doing for the last year, I usually give a boring account of the day-to-day ins and outs of plotting episodic television. But basically, I get to sit/stand/dance around all day talking and writing about characters and their stories. I am part of a massive machine that makes TV. Copious amounts of TV. The equivalent of a feature film every week, more than forty weeks a year.

And I'm inspired by, learning from and working with an astonishingly talented and hard-working group of people, many of whom I now count among my very dear friends.

Regrets? I had a few... But they didn't last for long. Doing something creative with my life was a long time coming (and required the forceful prodding of my nearest and dearest, SnazzieD in particular). I have no intention of looking back.

There are many more musings tumbling about in my mind - about life in general, stuff going on in the world, and the reasons why I'm back here throwing words at my blog again at all. But if I intend to maintain this with any sort of regularity (and hopefully I do), I'd better save something for next time.

Adios!

me in pictures

2008-06-04T11:46:00.009+10:00

As I nibble an Iced Vo-Vo and sip apple-juice, let's splash out on a quick meme before I get on with my work. This is pilfered from my lovely Lili.

And here's how it's done...

a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd's mosaic maker.

The Questions:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One Word to describe you.
12. Your flickr name

I had to cheat on the last one, as my flickr name gave me no results whatsoever. I was forced to spell "monkey" properly. What an outrage!

on the other side...

2008-05-30T18:46:00.008+10:00

...the Queen kept crying 'Faster! Faster!' but Alice felt she could not go faster, though she had no breath to say so...

The most curious part of the thing was, that the trees and the other things around them never changed their places at all: however fast they went, they never seemed to pass anything...

'Now! Now!' cried the Queen. 'Faster! Faster!' And they went so fast that at last they seemed to skim through the air, hardly touching the ground with their feet...

Alice looked around her in great surprise. 'Why, I do believe we've been under this tree the whole time! Everything's just as it was!'

'Of course it is,' said the Queen. 'What would you have it?'

'Well, in our country,' said Alice, still panting a little, 'you'd generally get somewhere else - if you ran very fast for a long time as we've been doing.'

'A slow sort of country!' said the Queen. 'Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!'

I knew this would be hard. And it's so fucking hard. I just have to keep reminding myself that this is good for me. And repeating a re-discovered mantra: When one must, one can. And hoping it's true.

I spent two days this week writing something that didn't even remotely come up to scratch. I'm spending this evening with a bottle of cheap wine, trying to put all thoughts of Erinsborough from my mind. Tomorrow, I shall regroup, before I spend my weekend re-writing.

So, how are you?

update-a-rama

2008-04-30T07:38:00.009+10:00

Apparently blogging once a month is about all I can manage at the moment. Kind of pathetic, I know. However, with events that are about to unfold in munkey-world, this situation may become even more dire. I honestly don't know whether it's going to be possible to continue this here blog at all, but I'll try.

Where were we...?

On Monday of this week, I officially gave two weeks' notice at my place of employment. Yes, I am leaving the admin role I've been working in for the last seven years, taking a great leap into the unknown. I have a (probably) six week traineeship at my new place of work, which will be intense, stressful, chaotic, creative and - hopefully - at least a little bit fun. And, bottom line, it should be a hundred times more fulfilling than what I have been doing. So what am I going to be doing with myself? What is this marvellous new place I'm heading into? I'm not really sure how much I should say. Basically, I will be working in the story-lining department of a very long-running nightly television serial drama (and, given that I live in Melbourne, if you can't figure out what show I'm talking about, then frankly I don't know what to do with you). But don't come looking for goss and scandal or inside info on this blog, because I really can't go there.

So yes, I have six weeks maximum to prove I can cut the mustard. And if I don't... who knows? Temp work? Call centre? I'll figure something out, I guess. This is the kind of uncertainty that sends my blood pressure through the ceiling even in theory. So now that it's actually happening, my head is kind of spinning, but I'm holding it all together.

Just to make things even more calm and relaxing, my car decided to die on the weekend. It's all far too boring and ridiculous to go into, but basically it's overheating pretty much constantly, and all signs are pointing to something head-gaskety, which (in case you don't know) basically translates as "horrendously expensive". Quite possibly so expensive that, in my case, it's not even worth fixing. The car is getting looked at by my trusty local mechanics today, so I guess I'll know just how bad the situation is before too long.

Meanwhile the book I was telling you about, to which I contributed a story, is now real and tangible. The compilation is simply called "short". I don't think it's out on the shelves yet, but you can read about it here at the publisher's website. All the royalties are benefiting the Big Brothers Big Sisters charity, so it's a good cause. Check it out, y'all!

And yet again this blog proves itself the very model of well-structured, carefully-considered writing. What a farce. I'm about to try and become a professional writing-type person, and I can't even string a coherent blog-post together. Lord, help me!

err... blogging. yes. um...

2008-03-28T07:26:00.006+11:00

Whoops! So, it's been a while. I wonder if anyone even bothers to look at this place anymore. Oh well, let's not dwell on it.

Many things have been happening!

I am, at long last, in the process of trying to obtain for myself a new means of employment. And it's looking positive. Obviously I'm not going to go into too much detail here but, yes, fingers are indeed crossed. It would mean a (possibly substantial) reduction in income, but it would also mean working in a creative industry for the first time in my supposedly creative life. I would no longer sense the acrid tang of stagnancy upon waking every work-day. I would no longer feel the dull ache of shame every time someone asked me what I do for a living...

ME: Oh, I'm still at the same place.
THEM: But haven't you been there for, like... ?
ME: Seven years. Yes.
THEM: But wasn't that meant to be, like... ?
ME: A temporary job between getting back from overseas and finding something I actually liked. Yes.
THEM: And now you've been there for...?
ME: Seven years. Yes.
THEM: That's longer than you were in high-school !
ME: Yes.
THEM: Doesn't that make you feel...?
ME: Like a pathetic failure whose life is leading nowhere. Why, yes. Yes it does. Thanks for mentioning it!

(Please note that the "them" in the above exchange merely represents the voices in my head. No-one I know in real life would be so rudely honest.)

In similar munkey-finally-getting-off-his-arse-and-doing-something-useful tidings, I am about to have a short story published in an anthology for young readers. I am but one contributor among many (deservedly) much better-known names, but still... my name in a book! A story I wrote being read by kids! Kids I've never even met! It makes me smile to think of it.

Some other, far more important news is that two of my loveliest, most wonderfullest friends have recently become parents for the first time. It's not my story to tell, of course, so I won't go into any of the gruesome details, but let's just say that my beloved friend had a particularly drawn-out and arduous journey through childbirth. If there really is an Intelligent Designer, I think she'd gladly give Him an enthusiastic kick in the head as thanks for His oh-so-clever ideas about how to get babies out of their mothers' bodies.

For my part, I am simply in awe. In awe that someone I've known literally all my adult life is now a mother. In awe of the fact that she and her husband have created this amazing, beautiful little girl (yes, it was a girl!) who, for a while, will be completely dependent on them. And I know that, as challenging as it will be, they are going to do brilliantly - are already doing brilliantly. I will get to watch as - under their care - this tiny, fragile life slowly grows and learns and reveals the wonderful new person who has come into the world. A new person, who never existed before! A new person who actually grew inside my friend and then came out !

It happens every day, all over the planet, but I don't think I'll ever really get my head around the idea of reproduction. I'm not about to write in to Oprah's Remembering Your Spirit segment, or cover my car with holographic purple stickers, but it really does seem to be almost a kind of miracle - a kind of magic.

On that note, I must drag my feet down to earth. By the way, isn't it lovely to be rugging up under umbrellas again!? I do love the change of the seasons. I find it most irksome when they all blend in together.

Sincere apologies to anyone who may have stumbled upon this here blog in search of structure or reason. How disappointed you must be. Fools!

ocean of noise

2008-02-01T07:08:00.001+11:00

Murky, garish, slightly overexposed - television footage of a shrill televangelist is projected onto the painted backdrop of enormous, dark red organ pipes. It's hard to make out the woman's words, but her tone is overpowering: raucous, impassioned, bordering on comically histrionic. A sign of things to come. As their Neon Bible symbol is illuminated high above the Forum Theatre's stage (which contains - among other things - more than fifteen different guitars waiting in racks, keyboards and synths, a xylophone, a black double bass, a piano accordion, a hurdy-gurdy and two megaphones mounted on mic-stands) Arcade Fire stride into view, unleashing a skin-tight rendition of "Black Mirror", and launching this particular atheist into the closest thing to a sacred epiphany he is ever likely to experience.

This is the third performance by a live band I've seen in less than a month. Both previous shows were brilliant (Kings of Leon and Sufjan Stevens, for anyone wondering). But - to labour the religious awakening metaphor just a little longer - if those concerts were like witnessing key sermons from two of the best preachers in the land, Arcade Fire's gig was like being present at the Sermon on the Mount.

Arcade Fire are seven permanent members and three touring musicians, centred around Win Butler (droll and physically imposing, he is a pillar of barely-contained intensity; he seems constantly on the verge of hurling his instrument or himself off the stage, as if he wants to physically destroy the invisible wall between himself and the audience), his wife Régine Chassagne (a mischievous pixie from another world, intrigued and exhilarated to find herself in a human rock-band; she sings at the top of her lungs even when not at a mic, and breaks out some awesome interpretive dance moves), and his brother Will (a force of nature who is drenched with sweat by the second number; he bangs cymbals literally until the drumsticks shatter, and hurls himself around the stage with an explosive energy that recalls the Tasmanian devil character in old Warner Bros cartoons).

I have quite simply never seen a group of people give so much of themselves in a performance. But the band-mates' constant instrument-swapping, manic movement and unbridled, almost cathartic ardour, all belie the precision and discipline with which the songs from Funeral and Neon Bible (as well as a few obscurities) are rendered. Although the activity on stage has been accurately described as organised chaos, the music Arcade Fire create live is no cacophony. And while they are clearly having a ball, this is by no means a bunch of people making noise for their own amusement. Their passion is utterly contagious; the audience are part of the chaos, and they love it.

The main set comes to an end with "Rebellion (Lies)". As the crowd throws the chorus's "Lies! Lies!" refrain back at the band, Chassagne grins from ear to ear as if this is exactly her desired reaction to the song. During the coda, the entire audience takes up the wordless backing vocal part, and continues singing it as the band make their farewells and disappear backstage. The applause and cheering mount, and the communal melody only gets stronger. The frenzied converts are calling Arcade Fire back to the stage with their own mantra. Suddenly, something strange happens to me. My breathing fits and starts. There are tears on my face. I am weeping. Sobbing! Why? I have no idea. Realising I am surrounded by strangers, I pull myself together in time for the band to retake the stage and bring us home. The crowd are still singing the final strains of "Lies" as Arcade Fire begin their encore.

During "Wake Up", the grand finalé, Win Butler breaks free of the stage at last, and steps out onto the security fence that separates band from crowd. He teeters there, held up by the hands of his followers. He screams the final line: "You'd better look out below!" and lets himself fall into their adoring arms.

As the masses slowly filter out of the Forum, the most common word I hear is "amazing". Oft overused, it's genuinely applicable this evening. I also hear a lot of "That was...", "They were just...", people trailing off, unable to express what they have been made to feel. For my part, even after seven paragraphs, all I can really say is: Arcade Fire are without a doubt the best live band I've ever seen. I now wish I hadn't foolishly bought only one ticket and come by myself. I wish I had dragged along every friend I have, every person I love, so we could have all shared this together.

...but boys grown tall

2008-01-16T07:01:00.001+11:00

Others will no doubt have more interesting and in-depth things to say about this non-story, but there are a couple of points I feel compelled to make.

1. If you treat a 16-year-old boy like a rock-star, he will behave like a rock-star.

2. You cannot aggressively reward a 16-year-old boy's behaviour with the exact response it was hoping to garner (i.e. bucketloads of attention), and simultaneously condemn that boy for continuing said behaviour. That is a contemptibly exploitative form of hypocrisy.

3. A 16-year-old boy is a minor. Surely any situation involving a minor - particularly when that minor's adult guardians are absent - needs to be handled by the media with utmost sensitivity? Apparently the media of this country abide by no such ethics. (Incidentally, this minor now appears to have, for all intents and purposes, run away from home; I hope his parents realise they have the media exclusively to thank for this development.)

4. The media seem to love drumming up furore along the tediously familiar "what's gone wrong with today's youth?" line. Perhaps we should consider that what's going "wrong" with today's youth has a lot to do with the fact that every time they turn on the television or open a newspaper, their minds are filled with repugnant mindless drivel.

5. Sometimes, the media make me feel physically sick.

just another day

2008-01-07T08:18:00.001+11:00

After two weeks off, one looks forward to a nice relaxing first morning back at work - a morning where one can ease gently back into the daily routine...

When I walk in, before I have even put down my bag and lunch, five people want me to do five random things for them: Show me how to photocopy this! Approve this leave form! I want a 2008 diary! Change my payment account details! Get me a new pair of boots! (Response: Figure it out yourself! Not my job! I plan to, once I've reached my desk! Sure thing, once I've reached my desk! NOT MY JOB!)

Simultaneously, five other random people are reaching out to shake my hand and wish me a Happy New Year, asking me how my New Year's Eve was, regaling me with tales of their New Year's / Family Court session / fishing trip / restraining order.

The shop on the corner (with whom we have an account) forgot to order any milk. A milk bar. With no milk. So there is none for the staff-room. Of course, everyone assumes it is my fault there is no milk. I give a workmate $20 from petty cash, asking him to return with enough milk for today, a paper, change and a receipt. He returns with milk. $20 worth of milk. And nothing else.

The entire network has crashed and none of the computers will talk to each other. No-one else in the office can do anything until I resolve this issue. It turns out to be the delightful combination of Telstra fucking up our internet account, and Norton deciding that all computers are evil menaces vying to corrupt each other (even ones that are part of the same network). This takes a good hour to fix, before I can even begin to confront the pile of mail, timesheets, leave forms, invoices and job files teetering on my desk.

But first, of course, I take a short break to vent my spleen on the internet.

So, business as usual then.

8 simple rules

2008-01-03T16:25:00.001+11:00

1. Do not go clothes shopping if you are already inexplicably feeling depressed.

2. Do not go clothes shopping if you are hideously overweight.

3. Do not go clothes shopping in "The Basement" section of Myer, which is designed for hip young things, plays irritating music, and has lighting so low you can barely see the clothes you're perusing.

4. Do not trust size tags; most are deliberately undersized, presumably just to make you feel even fatter than you actually are.

5. Do not drag your boyfriend along on your expedition, lest you treat him like a bitch and end up hating yourself even more as a result.

6. When finalising your purchases, ensure the doped-out teenage staff-member removes all the security tags, lest you have to traipse all the way back to the counter five minutes later, after setting off the alarm.

7. Do not exit via the normal Menswear section, lest you see a whole bunch of other nice, well-priced items, and begin to doubt your own purchases.

8. Wait until you arrive home before you start crying, especially if you are a grown man, lest your fellow tram commuters assume you to be some kind of fat, pathetic weirdo.

~~~~~~~

Guess how many of these rules I broke today!

and so it begins

2008-01-03T10:27:00.001+11:00

I kicked off last year - lazily, of course - with a New Years Meme, so why should 2008 be any different? Here are twelve miscellaneous sentences from this blog, one for each month of 2007:

January
For anyone wondering, this process involves a shitload of money, several wheelie-bins full of discarded packing material, and approximately 37 man hours dedicated to the construction of items from Ikea.

February
Every February, the Netherlands-based World Press Photo organisation honours its choices as the most significant press-photography of the last 12 months.

March
Now let it be known that unlike mosquitoes - which I would happily purge and exterminate even from the deepest uninhabited depths of the jungles, merely out of spite - I have no problem with ants as a rule.

April
In short, he was young, cute, small and completely non-threatening – the kind of stripling I found irresistibly attractive when, at the age of twenty-four, I finally plucked up the courage to post a profile on a dating website and Go Out With A Boy.

May
If you had asked me to make a list of one million topics I thought my Nanna might ever raise in conversation - especially with my little sister! - I can assure you that genital piercing would not have been on it.

June
As always with these self-reflexive narratives, many fascinating issues - free will, life versus art, the validity of creative process - are thrown into the mix.

July
A bunch of my beloveds and I are all gathering together tomorrow, to have the book read aloud by Ms Snazzles (whose reading-aloud skills are well documented), so we can ooh and ahh and grr together.

August
Howard's pledge to "clean up the internet" just seems like yet another flashy vote-grab: making it look like he's doing something, when in reality he's made no effort to even understand the issues, let alone tackle them.

September
My mother sometimes sat amongst the willow trees, waiting for hours to catch a glimpse of the platypus that lived in the river.

October
But just the other day, while driving around and listening to The Velvet Underground's song Heroin incredibly loudly, it occurred to me that - while to make a film you need a shitload of money, a crew, a cast etc, etc - all you need to write a book is something to write with.

November
This morning, for the first time since I was fifteen years old, John Howard is not my Prime Minister.

December
The rich apricot-coloured light of sunrise spills through the front window onto the Christmas tree, making the ornaments sparkle.

One thing that becomes painfully obvious while constructing this meme is just how lazy a blogger I was in 2007. Will 2008 bring about a new era of diligence and commitment? It looks doubtful!

munkey's-eye view: 2007 wrap-up

2007-12-31T10:42:00.001+11:00

Sweet baby Jesus, how can it possibly be New Year's Eve already?! 2008 tomorrow? No. That can't be right. I will, however peek out from beneath my denial for just a moment, to wander through the garden of mindlessmunkey's popcultural highlights of the year.

~~~~~~~

MUSIC

Due to my friends most generously subscribing me to music porn, and due to my discovery of several great music blogs, I have been exposed to more new music this year than ever before. This makes it far too difficult to name a single Album Of The Year. Rather, here is my top five, in a pleasantly democratic order I like to call "alphabetical":

Arcade Fire - "Neon Bible"
How do you follow up one of the greatest indie debuts of all time? How do you maintain your soul in a plastic world? Put the two questions together, and you get this modern masterpiece.

Beirut - "The Flying Club Cup"
Imagine if Morrissey and Edith Piaf had a child, and that child joined with a troupe of wandering minstrels from the Balkans, and together they serenaded passersby on the banks of the Seine. Welcome to Beirut.

Iron & Wine - "The Shepherd's Dog"
As predicted by moi, Sam Beam's first effort since his Calexico collaboration sees him evolving his sound in more and more directions, while never losing sight of his gorgeous pastoral spirit.

Okkervil River - "The Stage Names"
Epic and intimate, ironic and heartfelt, these Texans' fifth full-length is complex, intense and moving.

Radiohead - "In Rainbows"
The great warriors of outside-the-square rock music deliver a record that is their most accomplished, and most accessible, in years.

Honourable Mentions:
Björk - "Volta"
Bowerbirds - "Hymns For A Dark Horse"
Liam Finn - "I'll Be Lightning"
Kings of Leon - "Because Of The Times"
Ingrid Michaelson - "Girls & Boys"
The Shins - "Wincing The Night Away"
Sigur Rós - "Hvarf / Heim"
Spoon - "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga"
Patrick Watson - "Close To Paradise"
Amy Winehouse - "Back To Black"

Now, for my annual compilation mix-tape/CD. I explained the rules governing this last year, although they have changed a little, in that tracks don't now need to be from a 2007 album to qualify (i.e. singles and online-only releases are allowed too). So here it is, mindlessmunkey's Best Of 2007:

01 - DON'T MAKE ME A TARGET - Spoon
02 - REHAB - Amy Winehouse
03 - BOY WITH A COIN - Iron & Wine
04 - THE PENALTY - Beirut
05 - 1234 - Feist
06 - KEEP THE CAR RUNNING - Arcade Fire
07 - THE GREAT ESCAPE - Patrick Watson
08 - EARTH INTRUDERS - Björk
09 - DADDY'S GONE - Glasvegas
10 - PLUS ONES - Okkervil River
11 - HOMETOWN GLORY - Adele
12 - DELIVERY - Babyshambles
13 - FAUST ARP - Radiohead
14 - THE TRUMPET CHILD - Over The Rhine
15 - GATHER TO THE CHAPEL - Liam Finn
16 - THE WAY I AM - Ingrid Michaelson
17 - PHANTOM LIMB - The Shins
18 - RAGOO - Kings Of Leon
19 - BIG WHEEL - Tori Amos
20 - Í GÆR - Sigur Rós
21 - DARK HORSE - Bowerbirds

~~~~~~~

BOOKS

I am absolutely useless at reading books when they're released, so it's impossible for me to say what the best book of 2007 was. However, I read many wonderful things this year. I started on my journey through Proust's "In Search Of Lost Time", beginning (naturally) with Volume 1: The Way By Swann's. It's a tough slog but I got a lot out of it, and though it may take me years, I am determined to read all seven volumes. The conclusion of J.K.Rowling's Harry Potter saga, meanwhile, was sadly less rewarding. That is to say, it was incredibly enjoyable at the time, especially the festival of mirth my wonderful friends created around it, and I couldn't put the book down even after the festivities ended. But, in retrospect, I'm afraid the more I think about it, the more I'm irritated by thoughts of what might have been (with the whole series, not just "...Deathly Hallows"). So I've just stopped thinking about it. Disappointing.

I think I would have to say that my favourite book of this year (i.e. that I read this year) comes down to a three-way-tie between: DBC Pierre's "Vernon God Little", Tolkien's "The Children Of Húrin" and Jeffrey Eugenides' "The Virgin Suicides".

EDIT
Unfortunately I was creating this list with the help of my Facebook-based Bookshelf application thingy. Unfortunately this Bookshelf thingy does not allow me to add books unless they are listed on Amazon, and this in turn means I forgot to include a very important title in my list of books...

"Scatterheart" is the the first published novel (strictly speaking) by my dear friend Lili Wilkinson, and is absolutely one of the best books I read this year.

~~~~~~~

FILMS

I saw lots of great things this year, both new releases at the cinema, and catching up with missed gems on DVD.

The best movies encountered in the cinema included "Little Children" (wry and disturbing), "The Lives Of Others" (intriguing and beautiful), "Hairspray" (brilliant fun), "Snow Cake" (flawed but great) and "Control" (sad and haunting).

Meanwhile at home on my very own couch, I bamboozled my mind with "Mulholland Drive", tickled my fancy with "Stranger Than Fiction", was touched inappropriately by "Me & You & Everyone We Know", felt dirty with "The Magdalene Sisters" and gave my heartstrings a pluck with "Kramer vs. Kramer".

~~~~~~~

TELEVISION

In this modern age of bittorrents and shows "streamed live from the US" (LOL), it's far too hard to keep track of what's actually been made / released when and where in a given year. That said there has been some truly great TV around this year.

Suffice to say, I spent brief, intense periods with "Rome", "Life On Mars" and "Shameless", while there are a few crowd favourites which have been watched pretty much constantly by munkey's eyes over the last twelve months, including "Grey's Anatomy", "Brothers & Sisters", "30 Rock", "Ugly Betty" and "The West Wing". Whatever shall we do once the effects of the writers' strike filter through, and we find ourselves all adrift, without our beloved televisual escapes? Join the real world? Talk to each other? Heaven help us!

~~~~~~~

Well, that was exhausting, wasn't it. Thank goodness I only feel compelled to do it once a year.

I hope everyone had a wonderful 2007. I have to say, on the whole, mine was pretty bloody good, actually. Here's to a spectaculastic 2008.

Happy New Year!

not available in pharmacies

2007-12-30T13:40:00.000+11:00

and the bells were ringing out...

2007-12-29T15:18:00.000+11:00

I arrive at the Shopping Metropolis immediately after work, having already done about half my Christmas shopping, but still with several people to buy for. The first three times I walk into a shop with the intention of purchasing a gift, said gift is not available at said shop. I nearly burst into tears and go home. I persevere. Two-and-a-half hours later, after only once threatening the homicide of miscellaneous fellow-shoppers, my Christmas shopping is complete.

I shuffle into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and fresh-from-bed on what will be my last day of work for the year. The rich apricot-coloured light of sunrise spills through the front window onto the Christmas tree, making the ornaments sparkle. Outside the bathroom window, a small fragment of rainbow hangs in the sky beside the Eureka Tower.

Clutching booze cans and barbecue food in the large tin work-shed, my workmates and I fall silent in awe as the afternoon sky is split by lightning, and a torrential downpour of rain is unleashed. It is the kind of rain we haven't seen in years, if ever. It falls in waves like a descending ocean, and cascades down the sides of the glass office-building next door.

Christmas passes in a cavalcade of wonderful food and drink, the giving and receiving of gifts, and the company of much loved people. Perhaps my memory is just tainted by the terrible mood I was in last year, but I believe it's fair to say it was my most enjoyable Christmas in a long time.

I return home on Boxing Day to an empty house, Byron having set off to spend a week in Sydney. It is weird living alone again, especially after several days in almost constant, varied company. There is no motivation to cook proper meals, tidy the house, get up or go to bed at reasonable hours. I find myself spread on the couch reading books, or disinterestedly wandering the internet at ungodly hours of the morning.

Although, to my shame, I know very little of Pakistani politics, I involuntarily gasp and cover my mouth with my hand when I read of the assassination of Benazir Bhutto. I do not move at all for several seconds. What kind of world do we live in?

I awake with a vaguely awry feeling in my belly. Soon after, I am sitting on the toilet, clutching a bucket on my lap. This state of affairs continues for much of the morning. My body's mood for expulsion is so violent, it seems a wonder none of my internal organs become dislodged and ejected in the frenzy. I know I have been eating and drinking too much lately, but surely this punishment is a little harsh?

Today, with my guts still not entirely behaving themselves, I close all the windows and blinds against the scorching heat. I do a little work on my book, but it becomes too hot to think constructively. Instead, I have decided to lay on the couch in my dressing gown, and do something I could never do while Byron is here: watch the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy in a single day. (My mother would be so proud!)

Hope everyone had a lovely Christmas.

oh frabjous day! callooh! callay!

2007-11-25T08:30:00.000+11:00

This morning, for the first time since I was fifteen years old, John Howard is not my Prime Minister.

The enormity of this hasn't sunk in yet. I vividly remember the night Howard got in. I was so ashamed of him - literally embarrassed that this repugnant human being could be the figurehead of the country I loved. In the nearly twelve years since, I have never ceased to feel ashamed of him and, to an extent, our nation as well, for constantly being suckered by his lies, and by playing into the hands of his politics designed to appeal to our basest human instincts: fear, anger, bigotry, greed.

Today that shame has gone. Rudd has yet to prove himself, but his acceptance speech last night was inspiring stuff (well, the first half - he rambled on a bit long thanking everyone, but you have to allow him that). For the first time in nearly twelve years, I am proud of my country as a whole, and hopeful about the quality of its leader.

Congratulations, Australia. Next stop: the future.

grey skies are gonna clear up

2007-11-24T09:26:00.000+11:00

So, I'm not entirely sure why, but I'm feeling much better.

I'm still unbearably tense, but it now feels like a positive kind of tension - a nervous excitement.

The Coalition will not win the election today.

Labor will win comfortably - very comfortably - with at least 85 seats.

If I'm wrong, I'll get Byron to make me a humble pie (he's very good at baking) and I will gladly eat it.

holy shit, it's all over tomorrow!

2007-11-23T08:01:00.000+11:00

I'm not really coping right now. I'm certainly not functioning like a normal human being, and I must apologise to everyone who has the misfortune of enduring my company between now and tomorrow night. I am so tense and nervous I can actually feel my blood trying to push its way out of my veins.

One of the only ways I can keep myself together (not to mention distract myself from my workmates who are known to exclaim things like, "I'm not votin' for that squinty-eyed little bastard (meaning Rudd, apparently). We're better off under these cunts (meaning the Coalition, apparently) than we ever have been!"), is to rant away on this here blog. So here goes...

Let me tell you five things that absolutely shit me to tears about this election.

1 - THE UNDECIDEDS
i.e. People who don't decide who to vote for until the last minute.
Call me a political snob, but I have no respect whatsoever for so-called "swinging" voters. One of the great flaws of our political system is that it's inevitably the least informed, most apathetic section of the population who decide the result of our elections.
Ladies and gentlemen of the marginals: democracy, on the whole, is awesome. Sure, the system has its problems, but compared to the alternatives it is a great gift. And yet, like a puppy at Christmas, it's a gift that comes with a certain amount of responsibility. If you're going to accept the right to choose who leads you, it is also your responsibility to make that choice in an informed manner. It is not acceptable to turn up and treat the Federal Election like the Melbourne Cup. Simply backing the runner with the prettiest name, or with your favourite colour on his hat, is not acceptable.
It is your responsibility to know what the candidates stand for. Which brings me to my next point...

2 - THE "ME TOO" MYTH
i.e. The completely baseless notion that there is no difference between Rudd and Howard.
This is pure laziness on the part of voters and, worse still, on the part of the political media. It seems to have become a fall-back position in this campaign to simply paint Rudd as "Howard Lite", or as a younger more sprightly version of our current leader. I suppose relying on such ridiculously simplistic untruths is easier than actually paying attention to the content of campaign launches and policy statements.
I myself have pointed to numerous occasions on which Rudd has seemed to miss an opportunity to differentiate himself from Howard on a key issue. But as frustrating as this has been, the always-insightful Possum has pointed out that this merely shows Rudd's clever wedge-avoidance tactics. I don't like it, and I often feel like my own opinions aren't being voiced by either side, but that doesn't mean they're both the same.
Some of the ALP's policies are similar to some of the Coalition's. Of course they are, they're seeking to govern the same country, in the same circumstances. But if you honestly can't find a point of differentiation in the general political philosophy of these two men, you aren't yet well-informed enough to deserve a vote, and you certainly aren't well-informed enough to be commenting on politics in the public arena. Which brings me to my next point...

3 - THE MEDIA
i.e. The almost total lack of meaningful political analysis by the mainstream press.
The standard of political "journalism" during this campaign has been, for the most part, deeply disappointing. There have been moments of gold from both Kerry O'Brien and Tony Jones on the ABC, and Laurie Oakes' response when Jackie Kelly attempted to turn the fake pamphlet fiasco into a LOL, was awesome to behold (the gold comes in the last third of this video). Meanwhile Difference of Opinion last night made an eleventh-hour attempt to actually throw some policy scrutiny into the discussion - outlandish notion!
But you only need to peruse the Murdoch media's output over the last six weeks to see how shallow much of the coverage has been. The Australian has rarely broken free of thinly-disguised Coalition barracking, while The Herald Sun's absurdity is exemplified by its final endorsement of Howard, in which it acknowledges Rudd ran the better campaign, made better policy statements and has made a strong case for change... but shouldn't win the election, because he has no experience in government. So, he shouldn't be Prime Minister because he hasn't been Prime Minister before. By which logic, the government should never change ever, because it just might all go horribly wrong! Thanks for that brilliant insight, Herald Sun. (On the other hand, credit where it's due: congrats to most of the other Murdoch papers which have come through in the end. A cynical ploy by Murdoch to have a bet each way? Maybe, but at least it gives some impression of balance).

4 - THE "WASTED VOTE" MYTH
i.e. The absurd opinion that it's a bad idea to vote for a minor party as your first preference.
(Apologies to my father on this one. I love you dearly, and we share most of our political beliefs, but - with respect - you are full of shit on this issue.)
This comes from Beth Spencer in The Age (via Mr Lefty) who puts it better than I ever could:

Indeed far from wasting your vote, by putting an alternative party first you can, in a sense, double your vote's value.

If the alternative candidate doesn't make the count for the final showdown, the full value of your vote is automatically redistributed to your second choice. So you still get to vote to decide on which party forms the government. But you also get to send a message that the concerns, policies and approaches of the alternative party are important to you, a message that can have a powerful resonating effect throughout the next three years...

...But if you put them second, and put a major party first, no-one will ever know. The effect is zero.

For the record, I am voting The Democrats number 1 at this election - both because they are the party that most closely represents my own beliefs, and because I think it would be a tragedy to see them wiped out (as is a very real danger at this election).

5 - JOHN WINSTON HOWARD
i.e. The contemptible man whose divisive, dishonest politics have set this country back decades.

He must go. Enough said.

~~~~~~~

On a lighter note...

I now have a definite answer if I'm ever asked, Rove style, who I would turn straight for. Ladies and gentlemen, Senator Penny Wong.

We watched her on Lateline the other night, and when she said the words "scandalous affair", I swear I almost came. Hot.

three more sleeps

2007-11-21T08:19:00.000+11:00

...or, Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want

I spent over two hours yesterday working out exactly how I'm going to vote in the Senate. It was a rather complex process involving tallying up and averaging the group preferences of the ALP, Democrats and Greens, combined with my own personal research about some of the more obscure groups (for those playing at home, Citizens Electoral Council = fruitloops) all woven into a humungous but simple spreadsheet of my own design, and of which I'm rather proud.

Unless this is your first election, you'll know that the Senate ballot can be incredibly intimidating. In my home state of Victoria, there are a whopping sixty-eight candidates. That ballot paper is gonna be the size of a freakin bed-sheet.

Nevertheless, I decided at this election I am not going to take the easy way out and just place a single "1" above the line (not that I blame anyone else for doing so - it makes it much easier, and removes the highly upsetting prospect of misplacing a single digit and invalidating your entire vote). Yes, I am going to number every one of those sixty-eight little boxes below the line, and truly exercise the intricate might of my full democratic muscle. I'm under no delusions that my choice for twenty-seventh preference is going to change the future of this country - but the point, to be honest, is more symbolic than practical. I'm not entirely happy with any of the Senate group preference flows (the ALP, for example, are preferencing the Democrats way too low for my liking), and I want my vote to reflect my true personal preference.

Although largely overlooked in all the talk over the last few months, the Senate is incredibly important. For the last few years, the Coalition has enjoyed a free romp through both Houses of Parliament (not to mention a stacked High Court). This negates the entire purpose of having two Houses. Even if my mythological "ideal party" held government, I would want the balance of power in the Senate to be held by someone different. That second level of scrutiny on any legislation a government proposes is absolutely essential; it's because that second level was basically missing that widely unpopular legislation such as WorkChoices managed to get passed.

So don't underestimate the importance of the Senate vote. Basically, regardless of who wins government, if the Liberals manage to hold their majority in the Senate, we're still screwed (and don't even get me started on Family Fucking First).

~~~~~~~

ELSEWHERE: Possum has me creaming my jeans with this post, while Sam the Penguin has me pooping my pants with this one. I can honestly appreciate the likelihood of both scenarios. O! the emotional roller-coaster. I can't take it much longer. Bring on Saturday!

why do hippies want me to put foul-tasting things in my mouth?

2007-11-20T06:56:00.000+11:00

So Byron has decided modern life is filled with far too many harmful chemicals. He's almost certainly correct. He's decided we need to eliminate as many as possible of these chemicals from our home.
This is fine.

It means we have abandoned the Pantene and Imperial Leather from our shower, to be replaced with all-natural, organic products.
This is fine. I'm actually becoming rather fond of mandarin-blossom body wash and aluminium-free peppermint deoderant.

It also means our kitchen is filled with ungodly things like organic quinoa and non-GM soy yoghurt.
This is fine. My diet has been terrible for ages, and I'm open to improving it (although soy is not, and never will be, a substitute for dairy. I would rather no dairy at all than a soy imitation).

Additionally, it means we are now forbidden from cleaning the bathroom with anything other than white vinegar and baking soda.
This is fine. (I will keep a secret stash of Exit Mould under my bed.)

Unfortunately, it also means fluoride is now considered the work of the devil, so the trusty ole Colgate is out the door, to be replaced with "holistic" toothpaste. 'What flavour is this new, harmful-chemical-free toothpaste?' I hear you ask?

Let me tell you: Lemon and Salt.

Lemon. And salt.

This is not fine. Imagine, if you will, how bad lemon and salt toothpaste could possibly taste, then double it. Imagine doing a tequila shot, but instead of downing a shot of tequila between the salt and the lemon, you take a big bite out of a cake of pure, white soap. Salt, lemon and soap. Then spread it all over your mouth for a few minutes with a small brush. Now you're in the ballpark.

I'm all for living organically, eliminating carcinogens and purifying your environment, but I draw the line at combining two of Mother Nature's most unpleasant tastes and turning them into an oral hygiene product.

To lemon-and-salt flavoured toothpaste: Australia Says No.

it is quite beyond me how anyone could vote for this man

2007-11-08T07:46:00.000+11:00

Ladies and gentlemen, the Prime Minister of Australia:

John Howard has swept aside claims he broke his 2004 promise to keep interest rates at record lows, insisting that voters do not hold politicians to single promises but only to general impressions of their views ... "It's no one statement that totally, well very rarely, is it one statement that totally sort of, adumbrates the whole thing," he said. "It's the aggregate impression."

Tick, tick, tick...

a few things

2007-10-19T08:59:00.000+10:00

ELECTION 07
Well, it had to happen. Even after the crushing disappointment of 2004, I have gone and got my hopes up, haven't I. Realistically, I still think it's an enormous task for any party, with any leader, to take 16 seats from an incumbent government, but this time it seems more possible than ever - which of course is going to make the disappointment, if it comes, so much more crushing. If Howard & Co are re-elected yet again I will be so so upset.
I seem to be more up-to-date and aware of the blow-by-blow development of this election campaign than any before - testament to my emotional involvement - and the feelings of hope, anticipation and fear I go through daily are honestly quite exhausting. One of the most fascinating/infuriating/amusing activities is keeping track of the mainstream media's coverage. The Age seems to be toeing a cautiously optimistic line similar to my own feelings. The Australian has, predictably, launched into full-scale Liberal Party Newsletter mode led by that most buxoum conservative cheerleader of all: Dennis Shanahan. Meanwhile the Herald Sun remains unworthy of wrapping kitchen scraps for disposal, with all the analytical insight of a retarded baboon. But at least the sub-par primate seems to be flinging its faeces at John Howard about as often as it is at Kevin Rudd.
As I've made clear before, Rudd is by no means my ideal politician, but faced with the choice between he and Howard, there could not be a more decisive choice: Howard must go. I hate our current Prime Minister so much it's like a physical sensation. Please please please, Australia - make the right choice. The Howard Era should never have happened. It has most certainly gone on far too long. It must end now.

THE CHASER'S EULOGY SONG
Since when did everyone become so sensitive? Even the majority of voters in a trashy Murdoch media online poll voted that they weren't offended by it, so why are the pollies stumbling over each other to condemn it? Seriously, if these people reckon the Chaser guys are offensive, someone should show them an old video of the Doug Anthony All Stars. It would make their hair stand on end.

IN RAINBOWS
Well shock horror, Radiohead's fans didn't cough up enormous amounts of money for In Rainbows. Somehow I don't think the band was expecting to rake in millions. Although, free from the percentages usually swiped by record companies and pressing/printing costs, I'm sure the band members made a tidy sum from the £4 average per download. However, I suspect that wasn't the aim either.
All the predictable arguments allude to the fact that only an already successful band could get away with a stunt like this - that Radiohead's new approach is irrelevant to new, undiscovered bands. Those arguments are perfectly valid, but again they miss the point. I don't think Radiohead intended to single-handedly and instantaneously revolutionise the way music is delivered to consumers. They simply wanted to get people thinking about music, what it's worth, and how it will be acquired in the future. The old model is rapidly becoming unworkable, and any exploration or even discussion of alternatives has got to be a good thing.
Of course what has been largely lacking from most of this discussion is much analysis of the music itself. For my two cents: the album is great. Definitely more consistent than their previous offering Hail To The Theif, and probably their best work since Kid A - some songs are genuinely among the best they've ever recorded. Overall it is an eminently listenable record and - despite the now inevitable electronic influences - it has a very organic feel, with guitars, drums and a gorgeously arranged string section taking a more prominent role than they have since OK Computer.

GOOGLE IMAGE LABELER
I have a new internet addiction. It's this nifty little invention by Google, where you get to simultaneously play a fun game, and help tag images to make searches better. It's kind of hard to describe, but basically you get randomly paired with another player, then over the course of two minutes you both "label" images as specifically as possible, trying to get a match with what your partner is typing (which you can't see). The more matches you make, and the more specific they are, the more points you get. Go play, but only if you have nothing else to do for the next hour, because - believe me - you will not be able to stop.

OHIO
For a long time now, I've had this idea for a movie called Ohio. It's set in New York in 1969-70 and is about two teenage-boys who have a brief, awkward romance at boarding school, only to later discover they are actually separated-at-birth twin brothers. As they deal with this, trying to establish a relationship as brothers rather than lovers, they also become embroiled in the anti-Vietnam War protest movement, and the Kent State student shootings. It's a movie about rebellion and conformity, love and war, guilt and shame, sex, drugs and rock & roll, with an awesome soundtrack of songs by The Velvet Underground, Neil Young and Bob Dylan.
In more recent times, the idea all but faded away, as I increasingly accepted the fact that the likelihood of me having the opportunity to write and direct a film in the foreseeable future was very slim. But just the other day, while driving around and listening to The Velvet Underground's song Heroin incredibly loudly, it occurred to me that - while to make a film you need a shitload of money, a crew, a cast etc, etc - all you need to write a book is something to write with.
I have been trying to think of a reason why Ohio couldn't be a novel, instead of a film. And do you know what? I can't think of one.

yes. yes. oh god, yes.

2007-10-02T07:24:00.000+10:00

For anyone out there who's a fan of Radiohead, their new album is finished; it's called In Rainbows.

It will be available for download on the 10th of October (next week! squeee!). And the best part is: you decide what to pay for it. This is for real. By the sounds of the website, you can type in whatever amount you feel you want to pay (even $0 if you're stingy) and that's how much it costs.
There's also a super-deluxe made-to-order double-CD + double-Vinyl pack available which is (a slightly excessive) 40 British Pounds. A standard CD release will happen sometime in early 2008.

There will be no promo discs, press previews or advance copies. Basically (possibly to avoid nasty incidents like the early leaking of Hail To The Thief a few years ago) they're making it available to everyone in the world at the same time, several months before the CD release, for a price of the listener's choosing.

From the excellent Stereogum music blog:

Looks like In Rainbows will be the great equalizer: no advance copies, so probably no leaks -- just a world full of Radioheadheads pressing play on the same day ... really, we've got a band-sanctioned album leak complete with tip jar, a deluxe package, and the eventual record-store release of the album. It's a nice way of challenging the traditional model, of embracing the way people get their music, and of framing a host of new issues and alternatives for industry wonks to debate and consider for a long time to come.

time

2007-09-25T13:33:00.000+10:00

Just in case you weren't already furious about the new Citizenship Test (not to mention the massive advertising campaign to promote it, for which you - yes you - are paying)...

(from The Age website)

One sample test question asks: "Which one of these is a responsibility of every Australian citizen?"

The possible responses are (1) Renounce their citizenship of any other country; (2) Serve in Australian diplomatic missions overseas; or (3) Join with Australians to defend Australia and its way of life, should the need arise.

The correct answer is (3).

Now, they've been carefully vague, avoiding any tight definition of the word "defend", but the inference is clear: should the "need ever arise", it is my responsibility as a citizen to pick up a gun and be shipped off to die somewhere of my government's choosing.

So not only is this disgracefully arrogant Prime Minister now claiming the right to define what it means to be a citizen of this country, not only is he going to refuse people the title of Australian if they fail to identify Don Bradman as a personal deity, he's going to sneakily imply that unless you're willing to take up arms in defense of the Motherland, you aren't truly a citizen of this nation.

I am so sick and tired of the jingoistic, bigotted, exclusionary version of Patriotism that has been allowed to flourish under Howard and his cronies. I am so angry at what these conservative, power-guzzling hate-mongers have done to my country. There are more possibilities to being a good Australian citizen than just being either Donald Bradman or Simpson's donkey. I love this place where I was born and have lived my whole life. I want to be a part of this country. But I want to contribute to Australia without playing a sport. I want to be valued by Australia without fighting in a war.

Mr Howard, you have no right to tell me what makes this nation great. Your personal agenda has no place deciding who can and cannot become a part of my country. Your archaic notion of what makes a great Australian will not dictate to whom my respect is given or how I will contribute to my country.

I will contribute though, Mr Howard. I will do my best to make my country a better place. My contribution will be this: to place your representative last on my ballot paper, when you finally call the election. Perhaps, if enough people do the same, we might shake off the reeking shackles of your notion of Australia once and for all. We might cast aside the moldering chains that have turned this into a fearful, huddled wretch of a nation, and stand up truly proud of who we are and what we stand for. In time perhaps your fetid stench will pass away altogether, allowing us to forget the cripplingly restricted notions of your sporting, fighting Australia, and to celebrate our differences, our many-faceted achievements and our multitudinous opportunities. Without you and your ilk, Mr John Winston Howard, this might finally become the wonderful country it ought to be.

Australia is young and free, Mr Howard. You are old and oppressive. It's time.

lolsecretz

2007-09-20T07:47:00.000+10:00

By now, everyone who spends any significant time on the Internets will have encountered both LolCats and PostSecret. So, what happens when you combine the two?

LolSecretz, that's what.

Honestly, I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

three

2007-09-14T14:38:00.000+10:00

My mother sometimes sat amongst the willow trees, waiting for hours to catch a glimpse of the platypus that lived in the river. More than once, she lost her footing and ended up in the water. My cousin Nicholas teased her about falling in, so she teased him about having red hair and freckles.

My mother loved owls and dutch irises, painting and horse-riding. She unashamedly adored Pachelbel's Canon and "Land of Hope and Glory". She would fondly admire the mold that grew on old cheese in the fridge, and delighted in the rare occasions when Gang-Gang cockatoos would stay awhile in nearby hawthorn bushes. Once, she led my whole family on a long traipse across a densely forested mountain, searching for a Nargun.

My mother became fiercely enraged during arguments about Aboriginal health-care and the movie Dead Poets Society. She fought like a Trojan to get the best opportunities for my disabled brother, and literally wept with shame when he acted up and got in trouble.

My mother taught me about micro-organisms and being nice to people. She got furious about people who didn't immunise their children, and she told me to read The Old Man and the Sea. From her, I learned what big words mean and how the natural machines of the world operate. If you tell me something that contradicts anything my mother taught me, I don't care how much evidence you provide, I probably will not believe you.

My mother's father died after a long illness, when she was not yet a teenager. She once told me that she had trouble remembering him as anything other than ill and frail. This was something that made her very unhappy, and she was determined not to be remembered in such a way.

My mother died just after midnight, three years ago today.

And everything with wings is restless, aimless, drunk and dour;
Butterflies and birds collide at hot, ungodly hours.
My clay-colored motherlessness rangily reclines
Come on home, now! All my bones are dolorous with vines.
~ Joanna Newsom

a long overdue miff post

2007-09-13T09:24:00.000+10:00

So I seem to have dropped the blogging ball again, back around the time of the 2007 Melbourne International Film Festival. I know I know, MIFF was over, like, ten thousand years ago. But it's one of my favourite times of the year, and I like to do a spiel about it on here every year. So this seems as good a subject as ever on which to recommence blogging...

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Here are the things I saw:

KHADAK - A dreamy trip through modern Mongolian culture, focussing on the erosion of the traditional/spiritual life by industrial forces. With minimal dialogue and gorgeous imagery, the narrative is stronger in the first half, but remains intriguing and thought provoking even when it shakes off conventional structure altogether.

EAGLE vs SHARK - A charming Kiwi rom-com that is capital-Q Quirky without falling into the dangerous trap of irritating contrivance. Although the characters are, to a large extent, deluded no-hopers, writer/directer Taika Cohen never patronises them, but presents them with affection and - eventually, unexpectedly - pathos.

PRATER - With it's rich history and cultural significance, you wouldn't think it was possible to make a dull documentary about the Wurstelprater - the world's oldest amusement park. Ulrike Ottinger has managed though, avoiding any kind of depth and including only the briefest moments of (seemingly accidental) insight, in his rambling, tedious film.

BEYOND EYRUV - This documentary charts the struggles of 20-year-old Moshe - who after growing up in ultra-orthodox Jewish communities, experienced a profound culture shock when he decided to abandon the Hasidic life and find his way in New York City. His unsuccessful attempts to find his place in the world are uncomfortable and fascinating viewing, but filmmaker John Mounier isn't quite a skillful enough documentarian to do his subject justice.

THE WAR TAPES - Turning down an opportunity to be an embedded journalist in Iraq, Deborah Scranton instead armed three marines with video cameras, as they headed off for a six-month tour of duty. There they captured alarmingly candid footage of themselves, their colleagues, and their missions in Iraq which - it becomes increasingly obvious - have little to do with Iraqi Freedom. The resulting film is by turns shocking, funny, offensive and deeply sad.

GLUE - An intriguing young cast and some very hot bisexual making-out sequences cannot save this ponderous meditation on teenage angst in small-town Argentina. Writer/director Alexis Dos Santos has little new to add to the "kid slowly discovering he's gay" sub-genre, and chooses to shoot his film in wildly underexposed semi-darkness, and with the kind of shaky, hand-held cinematography that makes David Stratton long for a painless death.

BILLY THE KID - Jennifer Venditti's documentary about Maine 15-year-old Billy P. is a warmly endearing portrait of an extremely unusual boy going through universally familiar trials and tribulations. Billy's "issues" (as his wonderful mother lovingly puts it) are extreme, surely crossing the line into undiagnosable mental illness. However while this simple, highly skillful film is often very funny, it never mocks its protagonist. Rather, it draws the audience to identify strongly with him, highlighting the universality of adolescent experience.

MY KID COULD PAINT THAT - Another excellent documentary, this one about Marla Olmstead, who became, in rapid succession, a highly sought after artist, and then a suspiciously regarded potential hoax - all prior to her sixth birthday. Amir Bar-Lev brings the audience with him, as he begins to doubt the authenticity of his young subject, and the increasingly questionable adults around her.

THE BOSS OF IT ALL - Lars Von Trier takes a rare break from neo-Brechtian anti-American 'innocent woman gets downtrodden and repeatedly raped' narratives, to present a light comedy. No, really. Don't worry though, he hasn't given away fucking with our heads entirely. The film is shot using "Automovision", a computer program that randomly selects the camera angles, cuts and movements, and Lars himself makes bizarre interjectory comments throughout the film. It won't change your life, but it's lots of fun (which is more than can be said of Dancer In The Dark, etc.)

BLACK SHEEP - The latest entry in the return of the zombie genre is this highly entertaining film from New Zealand, in which a genetically modified breed of sheep become flesh-eating monsters. It's tightly written, well directed, silly, irreverent, gory and ridiculous. In short: everything you could possibly want from a zombie sheep flick.

CONTROL - Great performances from Sam Riley and Samantha Morton, an understated script and a beautiful visual style make this biopic of late Joy Division frontman Ian Curtis a sombre masterpiece. Famed music photographer Anton Corbijn directs with compassion and restraint: there is a visceral excitement in the phenomenal recreation of Joy Division's first live television performance of 'Transmission', and an effective avoidance of melodrama as Curtis marches towards his final surrender from life, at the age of just 23.

PAPRIKA - Japanese animé at its best, Paprika is complex, vibrant, thought-provoking and logic-defying. Stunning visual design and disarmingly fun music help tell a mind-bending tale of a detective with a guilty conscience who gets involved with a beautiful scientist - part of a team who have developed technology to enter and manipulate each-others' dreams. The plot abandons reason altogether in the final act, but is a fantastic ride if you're willing to take it on its own terms.

SAVAGE GRACE - If you enjoy seeing Julianne Moore gnash her teeth and say "cunt" a lot, this film is for you. This role - a high society mother clinging to her respectability as the sanity of her family disintegrates around her - has Moore's name all over it. And she pulls it off with the kind of shattered dignity and determined poise we've come to expect. The rest of the cast are great too, particularly the intriguing Eddie Redmayne as her troubled gay son. However the subject matter, particularly towards the end of this story - based on the real-life tragedy of the Baekeland family - will leave many squirming in their seats.

~~~~~~~

So there it is. Some highs and some lows, but overall I had a lovely time as always. It was especially great this year to be sharing the MIFF fandango with Byron for the first time.

Now, I have quite a few other things to tell you about too, so hopefully blogging will continue a tad more regularly from now on (we've heard that before, haven't we!).

cleaning out the tubes

2007-08-10T08:51:00.000+10:00

So John Howard wants to personally clean up the internet. It always frustrates me greatly when politicians of any given country make pledges to alter the nature of the world wide web. Do they even know what the first two Ws in WWW stand for?

Aside from the little problem of logistical impossibility, my first issue with his plan (or at least the way the media are reporting it) is the way porn is lumped in the same sentence as child molestation. Can we please not put these things in equivalent categories? Many, many ordinary - and perfectly moral - people look at, and enjoy, pornography in various forms. Basically since humankind began to express its ideas visually, there has been porn. From boys happily sodomising each other on Grecian urns, to the interactive user-sharing websites of today, there have always been people who enjoyed looking at depictions of others having sex. It's part of human nature, so as long as no laws are being broken, let's just grow up, deal with it, and move on. The issue of children being exposed to internet porn is really a very simple one, and it comes down to parental responsibility. If you're worried about your child being emotionally traumatised by the site of people having sex, then get yourself an internet filter; it's not the government's responsibility to do this for you.

Sexual predation of minors, on the other hand, is much more complex issue. Pedophilia is justifiably one of the most despised crimes that can be committed in human society. And, indeed, the internet would seem to provide an all-too-convenient environment for child-abusers to home in on their prey. But before we decide the best way to counter this problem, it's essential that we understand the facts. A recent Internet Caucus in the US (neatly summarised here on Boing Boing) shows how out-of-touch most efforts to deal with online "sexual predation" really are.

In the vast majority of cases, the young victims of these crimes are not children, but teenagers. In the vast majority, there is no deception involved; the so-called predator never disguises his/her age or identity. In the vast majority of cases, if sex between the minor and the predator does occur, it is consentual.

As a perfect example, let me tell you about a boy I briefly knew a few years ago, who we'll call Robbie. I received a message from him on a gay dating website of which I was a member at the time. After adding him to my msn account, he quickly told me that he had lied about his age (you were supposed to be eighteen to join the site, although this was not strictly enforced), and that he was in fact fourteen years old. There was a certain sadness in the way he chatted that piqued my usually-latent saviour complex; he reminded me of myself at fourteen. Thinking that perhaps he needed someone to talk to, I decided to be friendly to him. About fifteen minutes of casual chatting later, Robbie told me that he thought he was falling in love with me, and begged me to meet up with him in a romantic capacity. Alarm bells ringing, I politely declined, citing his age as the reason I couldn't even consider it. Robbie was very upset, but soon got over it. A few weeks later, he told me about a guy who we'll call Tom, who he'd met on the same site, and who was now his "boyfriend". Tom was even older than me, and Robbie eventually admitted that their relationship was a sexual one. I tried to get Robbie to see sense. I tried to explain how his insistence that Tom was "the nicest guy in the world" was belied by the fact that he was in his late twenties and fucking a fourteen-year-old. Robbie's "relationship" with Tom quickly fell apart, but it was only the first in a string of sexual encounters he would have with much older men. Every time, he was "in love" with them, until they inevitably revealed themselves to be total creeps. Gradually, I despaired of trying to tell him how dangerous his behaviour was, and grew tired of suggesting he try meeting boys of his own age. Before long, I ceased chatting with him altogether.

Clearly, what happened to Robbie was by no means an open-shut child molestation case. He invited, even begged for, the romantic attentions of much older men. Basically, he was a very messed-up and deeply unhappy kid. Through our chats, I came to discover his mother had died when he was very young, and he and his sister (a pregnant heroin user) had a decidedly difficult relationship with their Dad, by whom he had never felt loved. Robbie was painfully easy to analyse: this boy had never felt affection or even acknowledgement from an adult male, and now finding himself teenage and gay, the need for attention combined dangerously with his developing sexuality. Obviously Tom and the other guys who preyed on Robbie's vulnerability acted inexcusably. But if Robbie had not had such a troubled upbringing, I don't believe he would ever have cast himself in this role of teenage seducer.

Which brings us back to the internet. Clearly the issues that led to this situation were sad and complicated. The fact that Robbie, Tom and the others had access to the internet was simply not one of these issues. There is no doubt in my mind that, if Robbie had not had the internet, he would still have found a way to become sexually involved with older men (and would hanging around public toilets or other beats really be any better?). If Tom et al hadn't had the internet, they would still have found a way to prey on young teenagers (and would hanging around schoolyards or other youth venues really be any better?). The relationship here is much more complex than predator-prey. And it is certainly much too complex to be solved by restricting the world wide web.

Howard's pledge to "clean up the internet" just seems like yet another flashy vote-grab: making it look like he's doing something, when in reality he's made no effort to even understand the issues, let alone tackle them.

bye bye baiji

2007-08-09T09:02:00.000+10:00

After failing to find any sign of the species during an intensive six-week survey, a team of researchers has declared the Baiji, or Yangtze River Dolphin, to be extinct. This marks the first time in over fifty years that a large vertebrate has been wiped out as a direct cause of human activity, and the fourth time in about 500 years that an entire evolutionary branch of mammals has become extinct.

Baiji were one of only four species of freshwater dolphin

Traditionally considered the "Goddess of the Yangtze", early folk-tales described Baiji as the reincarnation of a drowned Princess. The dolphins were a treasured - and protected - national symbol of peace and prosperity.

From the UK's Guardian:

In Mao's Great Leap Forward, the overthrowing of idols saw their protection lifted and they were hunted for food and their skin. ... Conservationists described the extinction as a "shocking tragedy" yesterday, caused not by active persecution but accidentally and carelessly through a combination of factors including unsustainable fishing and mass shipping.

Numbering in the thousands before China's industrialisation, the Baiji population had dropped to an estimated thirteen by 1999, at which time it was declared the most endangered species in the world. The illegal (though widely practised) technique of electric fishing - along with habitat destruction, including the building of the Three Gorges Dam - undermined efforts to conserve and restore the dolphin population.

China's Yangtze River

I've never been a flag-waving "Save The Whales" type, but I find this story so very sad (although I suppose it's not altogether surprising, looking at pictures of what's become of the Baiji's former home). Everywhere you look, environmental issues are increasingly accepted as a necessary concern going into the future. And yet it seems, particularly to governments like China's, the welfare of our planet - and that of the creatures with whom we share it - is ultimately less important than the rumbling train of economic progress. I'm scared that the powers-that-be won't begin to take environmental conservation seriously until it begins to affect their own back pockets. And I'm scared that, by then, it may be too late.

who'd have thunk?

2007-08-03T08:35:00.000+10:00

My dear friend lili has very kindly presented me with a Thinking Blogger Award.

Along with this meme/award comes the great responsibility of sharing the love. Here are the rules:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote

There are multitudinous worthy bloggers, not least among them several loved-ones of mine. However, I have decided on this occasion to spread the tendrils of linkage a little further afield, and acknowledge some people who I do not know personally, but whose blogs constantly set my brain ticking over.

1. The Adventures of QueerPenguin - from politics to pop-culture, Sam always has a fascinating perspective.
2. Forksplit - a blogger from the US whose stories about her life are at times hilarious, and always astonishing.
3. Jabberwocky - she writes about her family with disarming humour, honesty and pathos.
4. Pavlov's Cat - quite simply one of the Australian Blogosphere's national treasures.
5. The Supermercado Project - gotta love a man who makes you think and laugh at the same time.

Ah, blogging! It really is just one big love-in, isn't it?

munkey's eye view

2007-08-02T17:18:00.000+10:00

THE CHILDREN OF HÚRIN ~ TOLKIEN

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Six thousand years before hobbits ever heard of magic Rings, the gloomy, beautiful tale of Tolkien's most tragic hero is played out.
~~~~~~~

While billed by publishers and the media - inevitably trying to capitalise on the legacy of popularity inspired by Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings films - as a "new" Tolkien work, Narn I Chîn Húrin (The Tale Of The Children Of Hurin) was actually conceived in 1918 - one of the first stories by the man who would come to define the fantasy genre. In fact, this is by no means even the first publication of the tragic tale; several forms of the story have been available in print for decades. However this edition marks the first time the various versions of the saga of Túrin Turambar - Tolkien's great, ancient anti-hero - have been compiled and edited together into a seamless and cohesive narrative. As such, the book is as much the work of tireless editor Christopher Tolkien, as it is that of his more famous father.

The Children Of Húrin is set amidst the struggles of Elves and Men against Morgoth - the first, and more terrible, Dark Lord - and his monstrous cohort Glaurung the Dragon. Túrin son of Húrin is born into a world overrun by Orcs and grieving over devastating losses in battle. Because of the heroic deeds of his father, Morgoth has placed a curse on Túrin's family. After his mother, in fear for her son's safety, sends him away to live with an Elven King, Túrin grows to be a mighty warrior, but constantly feels the weight of destiny upon him. Through his heroic deeds and determination to escape his fate, he only tangles himself more tightly within Mogoth's curse, and unleashes more unthinkable tragedy on himself and those he loves.

There is little humour in this world of bleak legend - no chortling banter between amiable hobbits or crotchety dwarves to lighten the dangerous, sorrowful landscapes of this war-ravaged world. Drawing largely on Tolkien's own love of Scandinavian and Greek folklore, this is a tale aching with the forlorn gravitas of true ancient mythology. The language - archaic and at times unwieldy - adds to the air of authenticity. While self-contained, this story is inescapably a fragment of something much larger. Laden with references to other events, characters and places from the pre-history of Middle-Earth, Túrin's tale is a prime example of the richness, complexity and consistency of Tolkien's created world, which has yet to be equalled by any other fantasy author.

While the creators of this publication have endeavoured to make the story accessible to even the most casual reader of The Hobbit and The Lord Of The Rings, the truth is that this is impossible. Set several millennia before Tolkein's more famous works, most of the significance of The Children Of Húrin will be lost on readers who don't have at least a cursory interest in the more distant history of Middle Earth. There is no denying that this is a profound and beautiful tale in itself, but the context and relevance of events will escape many. On the other hand, this edition may serve as a well-placed stepping stone for those who have enjoyed the famous trilogy, and wish to delve further into Tolkien's somewhat dauntingly expansive back-catalogue.

Featuring the gorgeous - somehow fragile looking - illustrations of Alan Lee, The Children Of Húrin is not for the casually curious, but is a dense and moving journey into the epic and exquisite world J.R.R. Tolkien created.

4½ (out of 5)

worst. series. ever.

2007-07-31T08:25:00.000+10:00

Long-time readers will know that I have been a committed defender of Big Brother. Since the glory days of Jess and Marty, Chrissie and Daniel, I have persevered through mediocre years and still found some enjoyment in watching the personalities and interactions of "ordinary" people living in the goldfish-bowl of my television.

Not this year.

I suppose I can't comment on the series overall, since my interest rapidly dwindled from day one, and I turned it off once and for all about six weeks into the series. However, based on the small amount I did see, I've got to say it was without question some of the worst television I have ever witnessed.

The regular technical fuck-ups have still not been ironed out (for God's sake, you've been producing the show for seven years now, surely you've figured out how to produce a live telecast without embarrassing yourselves?). Gretel Killeen is clearly completely over it, and seesaws disturbingly between bitchy apathy and near-manic hysteria (although it was a treat seeing her get belted in the head by a rubber chicken during the finale). They've run out of any interesting concepts for weekly tasks and/or Friday Night Games, and constantly re-hash the same old ideas.

But the most fundamental problem (as with the last few years, but it's getting progressively worse) is the choice of housemates. We're over the Aussie ocker bloke. We're over the dumb FHM models with fake tits. We're over absurdly camp gay boys. We're over improbably buff action-men/male models. Can we please please see some real people? Otherwise, what's the point? I don't know any people who resemble this year's Big Brother contestants, and frankly I don't wish to. Thus, unlike the first three seasons, the show no longer has anything to say about my life or my world.

Surely it can't be that difficult to assemble a genuinely diverse bunch of people? BBUK seems to manage. Are we just too small a country? Or is the problem a vicious cycle: Every year the housemates get duller and more stereotyped, so every year, less of the intelligent / charismatic / interesting / unsual people in the country bother to apply... and so the housemates end up even duller and even more stereotyped.

It also hasn't escaped my notice that the show's distasteful decline began at the exact moment Executive Producer - and original voice of Big Brother - Peter Abbott retired from the show. That man used to pour his heart and soul into this program, and it's quite telling that the whole affair has become progressively shallower and stupider since the day he handed the reigns over to others.

I could go on and on about my disappointment that a concept with so much potential is being so utterly wasted. But essentially it boils down to the fact that there needs to be a balance between making money off teenagers, and creating compelling television. It is possible to do both, but the current Big Brother producers are apparently incapable of it. For a few years there, the show had something of interest to offer me as a viewer. Now it's simply insulting to my intelligence.

i'm a few days late on this, but...

2007-07-31T07:43:00.000+10:00

May I just say it's awfully nice that we can all now step out into the open and freely admit how much we enjoy perving on this young man:

Yes, dear readers, star of the Harry Potter films Daniel Radcliffe has finally come of age, so we can no longer be looked down upon (or locked up) for our lascivious thoughts about him. Hurrah!

Here he is promoting his recent stint in a West End production of Peter Shaffer's brilliant play Equus. It's always been one of my favourite plays due to its fascinating exploration of sexuality and faith (and the complex relationship between the two) filtered through the eyes of a disturbed adolescent boy. And the idea of seeing a production starring the newest member of the Dark Haired Girly Boys With Enormous Blue Eyes Club is very appealing indeed.

I think there's a significant risk that Radcliffe will never be able to shake off the Harry role, and never be seen as anything other than Potter in the eyes of the public (although Equus was clearly a pre-emptive step in his attempt to do so). Personally I hope he does manage to have a career beyond the fantasy phenomenon, because I think he's a very likeable, promising actor (not to mention exceedingly dreamy) and it'd be nice to see him on our screens for many years to come.

Now, excuse me while I consider updating my Guilt Free Three.

spoilt rotten

2007-07-20T11:31:00.000+10:00

(N.B. This post does NOT contain Harry Potter spoilers. Because only a first-rate fuck-hole would spoil a highly anticipated book the day before it comes out.)

So, whether the earlier internet leaks were genuine or not, the secrets of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows are definitely out of the bag now. The New York Times received a copy, and published a spoiler-laden review. Great. Thanks guys. Why would you do that?! As Audrey asks: What's wrong with people? Why can't you just shut your damn trap for one more day?

I have avoided the Harry spoilers so far, and I endeavour to keep it that way. However, based on past experiences, it's not going to be easy; I am a veritable magnet for spoilers. It seems I hardly ever get to see/read anything without knowing what's going to happen in advance. For much of my life, this was due almost exclusively to my mother, who I often banned from talking about movies/books/TV shows at all, so incapable was she of keeping secret twists to herself. I remember when the Lord Of The Rings movies were first announced - a cause of some excitement in my family. Despite growing up with The Hobbit, I had not yet got round to reading the books...
[screen goes all swirly and harp music plays]

me - So I'm going to start reading them now, to make sure I've finished all three before the first movie opens.
mum - Are they making them as a trilogy?
me - Yup. To be released one year apart.
mum - Ah, so the first installment will end just after the death of Gandalf in the Mines of Moria.
me - Don't tell me that!
mum - Oh, don't worry. He comes back.
me - DON'T TELL ME THAT!

[end flashback]
Similarly with the previous Harry Potter books, because I'm such a slow/slack reader, I've never had the real excitement of wondering what the final pages contain. This time is different! A bunch of my beloveds and I are all gathering together tomorrow, to have the book read aloud by Ms Snazzles (whose reading-aloud skills are well documented), so we can ooh and ahh and grr together. (And if we don't finish it in our group session - nearly 800 pages seems a big ask in one day - I shall make Byron read it to me at home. He hasn't agreed to this yet, but he will because he loves me and I DON'T WANT TO MISS OUT THIS TIME.)

I'm really looking forward to it - not so much the book itself, but the shared experience of childlike anticipation and excitement. There's not enough of it in life, so I intend to savour this event for all its worth.

Thus if anyone spoils the ending of the book for me, I will personally hunt them down, along with their entire family, and mince them all with a pair of hedge-trimmers. There's not a jury in the world that would convict me.

have you seen this man?

2007-07-20T10:57:00.000+10:00

I mean, it's great that the Liberal Party is starting to show signs of implosion and all, and I'm sure Kev thinks he's doing the right thing by hanging around in the background. However it'd be nice to see him stand up in opposition to some of the more appalling things Howard & Co have been up to of late. You know - being the Leader of the Opposition and all. But I guess that's too much to ask.

"what's that, some kinda nazi word?"

2007-07-13T14:34:00.000+10:00

In news that will surprise no-one, while bringing gleeful pangs of schadenfreude to many, pseudo-punk wank-stain Lee Harding from the 2005 season of Australian Idol has been dropped by his record company.

I know what you're all thinking: WHO?! Cast your minds back - he was the one with stupid tufts of brightly-coloured hair and chains hanging from his hips, who thought that punk meant eyeliner, and that 'Tainted Love' was a song by The Living End. He inflicted that turd of a song 'Wasabi' upon our once-proud nation, and then basically disappeared back to Frankston. Well, now that you remember him, you can forget him again - just like Sony BMG did.

The Herald Sun has the story:

Sony BMG has dumped one-time Australian Idol contestant Lee Harding after weeks during which the singer's phone calls and emails to the recording giant went unanswered.

The Frankston funkster's limbo over the label's commitment to his second album ended last week with a letter advising it would not take up the option to release a follow-up to his gold-selling debut, What's Wrong with This Picture.

As much as I'm glad we won't be audio-assaulted with further output from Harding, I do feel a little sorry for the boy. He was clearly always too dumb to realise he was just a flavour-of-the-moment with eleven year-olds, and that they would forget all about him once puberty set in. I think he honestly believed he'd have a long and flourishing career, poor sod.

This kind of news must really perk up the spirits of the current batch of Idol contestants, who will be hitting our screens soon (and forgotten forever approximately 18 months after that).

breaking news: every word of the old testament true!

2007-07-12T10:33:00.000+10:00

According to news.com.au, the world's atheists are today huddled in corners, head in hands, begging forgiveness from the almighty.

You see, analysis of an artefact at the British Museum has found evidence that supports the historical existence of a minor personage who appears in one of the ancient story-book's chapters. Apparently this constitutes "proof of the accuracy of the Old Testament".

From UK's Telegraph:

Searching for Babylonian financial accounts among the [cuneiform] tablets, Prof Jursa suddenly came across a name he half remembered - Nabu-sharrussu-ukin, described there in a hand 2,500 years old, as "the chief eunuch" of Nebuchadnezzar II, king of Babylon.

Prof Jursa, an Assyriologist, checked the Old Testament and there in chapter 39 of the Book of Jeremiah, he found, spelled differently, the same name - Nebo-Sarsekim.

Nebo-Sarsekim, according to Jeremiah, was Nebuchadnezzar II’s "chief officer" and was with him at the siege of Jerusalem in 587 BC, when the Babylonians overran the city.

The media seems to have made the completely logical leap from this interesting historical tidbit, to the inference that everything in the Old Testament is therefore factual. Of course! We now have proof of the existence of one historical figure, who witnessed a battle described in the Bible, so it stands to reason that everything else in the Bible must be based on historical fact as well. Because, you know, it's not like the Bible was compiled from writings by hundreds of different authors over hundreds of years or anything.

Please don't try to contact me this afternoon. I'll be busy frantically repenting. And checking the Bureau of Meteorology website's rain map. You know, in case I need to start building an ark or something.

One of many historical events accurately described in the
super-accurate history text-book "The Old Testament".

wunderbar

2007-07-10T10:00:00.000+10:00

After a worldwide poll, the New Seven Wonders of the World were officially announced in Lisbon on Saturday (07/07/07, get it?).

From a field of twenty finalists, which included Australia's Sydney Opera House, the winning seven were:
The Great Wall, China
Petra, Jordan
Christ Redeemer, Brazil
Machu Picchu, Peru
Chichén Itzá, Mexico
The Roman Colosseum, Italy
The Taj Mahal, India
The Pyramids at Giza were removed from this finalist list after considerable controversy. Since the Pyramids are the only surviving original Wonder of the Ancient World, it was decided that it was unfair for them to be competing with the proposed New Wonders.

So what do we think of the final results? I for one am always dubious of online polls such as this one. The organisers used all the available measures to ensure fair voting (all voters had to be registered members, etc.) ...however I'm sure there are always people who find ways to get around the rules.

I'm a bit surprised by how strongly Central/South America is represented in the winning Seven, although that's by no means to say that the sites in Mexico, Peru or Brazil are not worthy choices. The Great Wall of China, The Roman Colosseum and India's Taj Mahal are obvious picks, and I'm absolutely thrilled that Petra made the list. (I like to imagine what it must have felt like for Johann Ludwig Burckhardt in 1812, exploring what was thought to be a featureless, stiflingly hot valley near the Dead Sea, only to discover an astonishingly beautiful and ancient city carved into the very cliffs!)

Of course, it's impossible to judge without personally visiting every option, but I'm rather surprised that things like Stonehenge, the Easter Island Statues and especially the Acropolis failed to win the popular vote. Meanwhile, though I'm sure some Australians will be upset, I'm not at all miffed that the Sydney Opera House failed to score a spot in the Seven; it's a beautiful piece of architecture for sure, but ranked alongside The Great Wall and Machu Piccu? I think not.

It shames me that I haven't seen any of the New Seven Wonders, and only three of the finalists. I would so dearly love to visit all the nominated places - winners and finalists - to experience these amazing symbols of human heritage, and to discover a taste of the varied and fascinating cultures that created them.

excerpts from swan lake, performed at wembley stadium! what a great idea!

2007-07-03T09:09:00.000+10:00

So I watched a little bit of the Concert For Diana thing last night.

Can I just say that Prince William "dancing" to rapidly-decomposing rockers Status Quo's Rockin' All Over The World, along with a hundred thousand fat British bogans, is probably the most awkward thing I've ever seen.

On the plus side, despite his appearance irreversibly drifting to the dark side, he does still have a damn sexy voice and accent, even if he can't give a speech without reading off cue cards. (Since giving speeches is essentially all Royals do, shouldn't they at least be able to speak for thirty seconds without consulting notes? I think so.)

The concert was a nice idea, I guess. Shame they couldn't get any decent acts to perform.

munkey's-eye view

2007-06-26T12:20:00.000+10:00

STRANGER THAN FICTION

~~~~~~~
"The thing to determine conclusively is whether you are in a comedy or a tragedy."
~~~~~~~

Reminiscent of such crowd-pleasing flights of post-modern fancy as The Truman Show and almost anything written by Charlie Kauffman, Stranger Than Fiction is the story of the exceedingly ordinary Harold Crick (Will Ferrell), who suddenly finds himself in an incomprehensible situation. After hearing the voice of a "narrator" commentating on his every move, he comes to realise that he is not, in fact, an everyday slightly compulsive tax-man, but the helpless protagonist of a half-finished novel telling the story of his life. More disturbing still, the novel he's stuck in doesn't seem destined for a happy ending.

The comparisons to Kauffman are inevitable and apt, the difference being that this screenplay by Zach Helm is not quite as bizarre or inventive, but is also a whole lot more likeable and accessible than most of Kauffman's work. While Kauffman's realities are often alienating and discomforting, Harold's dilemma is oddly involving and enjoyable to watch, especially when he enlists a crotchety Literature Professor (Dustin Hoffman, clearly having heaps of fun) to help him solve his dilemma. Emma Thompson's role as Karen Eiffel - the author who unknowingly holds Harold's fate in her words - enhances the lovely mind-tickling tone, as do delightful cameos by Tom Hulce, Linda Hunt and Kristin Chenoweth.

The film does have its flaws: a romantic sub-plot with the always-charming Maggie Gyllenhaal starts full of promise but goes nowhere. Gyllenhaal's character, disarmingly irreverent and appealing while Harold pursues her, disappears almost completely once the relationship is consummated, patronisingly rendering their romance as little more than a "goal" that is of no further interest once it's achieved.

While he occasionally appears to be trying too hard not to be funny, Ferrell creates an affably hapless character in Harold. But with perfect timing and an effortless balance of comedy and tragedy, it is Emma Thompson who is the film's true heart - and in fact its real protagonist. Meanwhile director Marc Foster gets the tone just right and knows when to give the pace a kick with perfectly-executed set-pieces. On the down-side, some quirky visual ideas, which catch the eye and give the film's world an aesthetic identity during the opening sequences, seem to be virtually forgotten by the second act.

As always with these self-reflexive narratives, many fascinating issues - free will, life versus art, the validity of creative process - are thrown into the mix. If his life is being controlled by an absent author, how can Harold be anything other than a passive protagonist in his own life? On the other hand, once she discovers that her chief character is (somehow) a real, breathing human being, how can Eiffel in good conscience write his death, even if changing the ending will mar her masterpiece? Stranger Than Fiction manages to chart a feel-good course, without undermining these complex ideas. None of the questions are answered - and the basic conundrum of how this situation has come about is never explained (or really even questioned) - but that's not the point. The film delivers just enough to leave you walking away thinking about it - and liking it.

3½ (out of 5)

i could kill you with one peck, doo-dah! doo-dah!

2007-06-22T19:03:00.000+10:00

Do you know what has just occurred to me?

Foghorn Leghorn is a chicken the size of a man.

A CHICKEN

the size of

a MAN.

Look how he towers over his old nemesis, the barnyard dawg!

Of course, I was always aware of this on some level, but I have just now been confronted by the enormity of it (so to speak) for the first time.

A chicken the size of a fecking man, indeed! And we show this nonsense to our children? It's the stuff nightmares are made of.

(I don't know why I felt compelled to post this. I'll be quiet now. *takes more cold-&-flu medication*)

let's hope he's a good climber

2007-06-21T11:14:00.000+10:00

DREAM DIARY...

Myself, Byron, Snaz and some others are in the downstairs foyer of a High School. We are not students, but not visitors either. Possibly we are staff members.

Kevin Rudd arrives. He is the new Year 11 English teacher. His first ever class is about to begin; the students are all waiting in a classroom upstairs. Kevin wants to make a memorable entrance that will leave a lasting impression on the kids. He decides to climb the large tree that stands next to the school building, and enter through the upstairs window.

He begins to clamber up the tree, but as he nears the window he falters and falls roughly onto the ground. My friends and I look at each other. This is not an auspicious beginning for a new English teacher!

Will he fall on his arse, or will determination get him to the top in the end?

Dusting himself off, Kevin gets up and tries again. This time he takes hold of a drainpipe which runs up the building, alongside the window. Almost defying gravity, he scrambles effortlessly up the pipe, shuffles along the ledge and steps into the classroom through the window, pleased as punch. The students are suitably impressed.

feed the head

2007-06-21T09:07:00.000+10:00

Feel like wasting ten minutes in a completely surreal fashion? Then I humbly suggest you have a play with the most delightfully bizarre Flash game I've ever seen:

FEED THE HEAD

There's no real object, and no way to "win". But can you get the head to breathe fire? Grow tufts of hair all over? Feed itself coloured balls with its trunk? Sprout legs and walk around the screen?

It's the kind of mad genius that makes me love the intermanet.

[via Neatorama]

dear blog,

2007-06-20T22:23:00.000+10:00

I think it's time we confronted the stilted awkwardness that has developed between us. Let's admit it: you and I have not been getting along very well lately. You could even say we have had a falling out. There are, no doubt, numerous reasons why our once-flourishing friendship has found itself floundering. But undoubtedly part of the reason was that I had simply, literally, become sick of the sight of you. It sounds cruel to say it, and I'm sorry if it hurts your feelings, but I must be honest: I couldn't stand even to look at you.

After Byron put together a lovely new template for himself, I realised that the chasm between us was as much my fault as yours; I had neglected you. Seeing Byron's sleek & shiny new blog, I must admit I felt jealous. So I decided to take action to try and repair our shattered love. I cracked my knuckles, unlocked the vault in my brain labelled "HTML skillz", and got to work. I've given you a much more streamlined, simple look, rather than the cluttered bells-and-whistles gaudiness of the old one. It's definitely working for me, and I hope you like it too. With any luck it will help to rekindle the passion we once shared.

I'm well aware that in order for this relationship to work, I need to put in a greater effort as well. We both know that I can't always be trusted to stick to a promise of updating you regularly. We both know I'm wont to disappear into the wilderness and leave you to your own devices for weeks at a time. You must have felt so alone at those times, and I truly apologise. I can't make any guarantees, but I will promise to try harder in the future. Please be patient with me. I do love you, and I genuinely believe that if we both but in the effort, this can be a truly beautiful partnership.

Yours sincerely,
mm

miss polly had a dolly

2007-05-16T15:23:00.000+10:00

Sick today.

Have spent the day sleeping and traipsing about the house in my purple stripey thermals (which Byron thinks are hilarious. How rude.)

My body is filled almost to bursting with orange juice and water and vitamins and lemon-and-ginger tea.

I am desperately longing to collapse on the couch in front of my DVD of Labyrinth, but alas it was last seen in the possession of the ex. Dammit, why do jailbird ex-boyfriends always flee the country with your best stuff?

I think I shall curl up with a nice worn copy of Lewis Carroll, for a much needed dose of comfort.

out of the mouths of geriatrics

2007-05-15T14:25:00.000+10:00

A conversation while patermunkey, Ms Cait (my 11-year-old sister) and I were visiting with Grandma Miller for Mothers Day:

patermunkey [to G.M.]: Have you seen Cait since she got her earrings?

G.M.: Yes, I think so.

patermunkey: She just had the basic ones then, but now she's got new ones.

[Cait shows off her pretty new earrings.]

G.M. [casually]: I was just reading in the Herald Sun about a woman whose daughter went to have a vaginal piercing, and it went wrong. They messed it up and now she's going to sue them.

[Mystified silence.]

G.M.: They get all kinds of things pierced these days, don't they, these young girls.

If you had asked me to make a list of one million topics I thought my Nanna might ever raise in conversation - especially with my little sister! - I can assure you that genital piercing would not have been on it.

the pot calling the kettle hack

2007-05-11T16:49:00.000+10:00

So Spider-Man 3 has beaten Revenge Of The Sith's record of highest grossing weekend ever (or something). And George Lucas has responded in a typically mature and thoughtful manner: by bitching. Apparently, according to George, Spidey is "a silly movie ... There just isn't much there - once you take it all apart, there's not much story."

Now I haven't seen Spider-Man 3 yet, and I'm no huge fan of the franchise, but still I feel I must say: What the fuck?! Has Lucas ever actually sat through one of his own (recent) films? I defy anyone to give me a logical synopsis of what actually happens in Attack Of The Clones.

You may also recall that last year Lucas rejected Frank Darabont's screenplay for the fourth Indiana Jones film. Yes folks, George Lucas rejected a screenplay. Does anyone else find this absolutely absurd?

I would love to go back to 1990 and submit the screenplay for The Phantom Menace to a studio, with all the names changed (except the name 'Jar Jar Binks' - we'll leave that in). How do you think the studio would react to its structureless, clunky, melodramatic inanity, if it didn't have 'George Lucas' or 'Star Wars' written on it? I confidently suggest they would use it to line their rubbish bin.

In conclusion: Shut up, George Lucas.

birthday! the musical

2007-05-10T19:12:00.000+10:00

So it was my birthday party on Saturday night. The invitation looked like this:

After Byron staged a kids' party (complete with fairy-bread and pass-the-parcel) earlier in the year, and Lili's short-story-writing activity party, I was informed by my friends that I was simply not allowed to have a "normal" party. My plans for a straightforward "let's go out for dinner and get drunk" went up in smoke.

Well I showed them! My musical birthday party began with all the guests (who were necessarily limited to quite specific numbers) submitting a song choice. It could be any song, as long as it had words and was reasonably well known. This was done a few days in advance, so Byron and I could make sure we had all the tracks available on CD. I also organised ahead of time to have a couple of people bring along some dress-up items, as well as a video camera. My friends were intrigued! And frightened!

Once they arrived, the activity began: we were making a musical! The process was a bit complicated, but worked something like this...

First we decided on a title. After each submitting a suggestion we picked "Compromise! The Musical" Next everyone randomly selected (by picking from a hat) a Character Role, a Character Description, and a Character Trait. So, for example, I ended up being "Romantic Lead #2" who was a "Busty Lusty Showgirl" who was also a "Fingernail Biter".

Then we arranged all our chosen songs according to showtune archetypes such as "Song of Unrequited Love" or "Song Of Villainous Intent". Once that was done, all we needed was a flimsy plot to string the musical numbers and characters together... and we had our musical!

Compromise! The Musical told the story of Verity (the busty lusty showgirl) and her love for Hetty (formerly Hudson, a transexual ingenue), amidst the treacherous plots of Helga Brunhilda (the absurdly-camp villain). Secondary characters included Jan the Janitor, a mustachioed lesbian best friend, and a mysterious bag-lady who is secretly a millionaire caviar farmer. Meanwhile the musical numbers included Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" (the unrequited love song), Belinda Carlisle's "Heaven Is A Place On Earth" (the love duet) and Bon Jovi's "Livin' On A Prayer" (the wise-old-person's advice). We performed and filmed our improvised musical scene-by-scene, while drinking copious barrels of grog (or was that just me?) and a generally rollicking time was had.

Of course, the whole idea wouldn't have worked at all if not for the fact that I have the awesomest friends in the galaxy, who were willing to go along with this madness. It's not everybody who can say to their friends, "Tonight we are going to put on stupid wigs and sing along to Madonna and The Cure on camera" and have them all agree. I realise I am extremely lucky to have such wonderful people around me. Thanks guys!

Now, I have edited the musical together, but I was made to swear a solemn oath that no footage of the production would make its way onto the intermanets. However I'm sure no-one will mind if I put up a quick still-frame, just to show how ridiculous and hilarious it was:

This is the final pose (incl. JazzHands) of "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend", the opening number. To protect the innocent, I shan't identify the players... but Yours Truly might be the very unattractive woman in the candy pink ball-gown.

I must say, if you're looking for a theme for your next party, Abject Humiliation Of Yourself And Those You Love is always a winner.

time marches on

2007-05-10T08:30:00.000+10:00

Every now and then, life throws one of those days at you where everything you encounter only serves to remind you that the world can be a total fucking misery of a place. Unfortunately, my birthday this year was one of those days.

I seem to be making a habit lately of being in a shitful mood on special occasions. Last Christmas, I was in an awesome humour through all the parties leading up to December 25th, but come the Big Day I was suddenly a misery guts for no entirely rational reason. Exactly the same thing seemed to happen with my Birthday this year.

It may have been partly that I was still a little hungover from my party on the previous Saturday (which was awesome, and which I shall hopefully blog about later tonight). It was partly the inevitable feeling of getting older and older without really accomplishing much. It was partly very bad news from a faraway friend that put me in a too-familiar slump of desperate uselessness. It was partly some stupid little issues that were making me annoyed - at the issues themselves and at myself for being too gutless to deal with them...

Anyhoo the upshot is that I'm feeling a lot better now. The world is still full of woeful, unfair things, but my own personal slump has drifted off. Twenty-seven is an okay age to be, I think. It's got a 7 in it! And it's 3 times 9! (Yes, I am bizarrely superstitious about numbers.)

And in even better news, I've been doing more creative stuff recently than I have in ages. I'm working towards making a proper demo of one of my songs for the first time. Exploring the equipment and software is fun, and Byron's helping me heaps (mostly by saying things like "I know you don't want it to sound completely clean and robotic, but it might be good if the instruments are at least kind of, you know, in time with each other"). I'm also working on a short story which I'm hoping to submit for an anthology Lili's helping put together - so fingers crossed I can get it to a good enough standard.

I've also learned that if there's something that's making you feel a little upset or uneasy, the awkwardness of bringing it up and dealing with it is much less painful than letting it fester and stew. I know everyone could have told me that, but yeh... I've never been good at the conflict thing - even tiny minor conflict that isn't really conflict at all.

Anyway this post has become way too long and emo, so I might just run along now.

TWENTY-SEVEN: BRING IT! etc.

...and hilarity ensues

2007-04-18T07:34:00.000+10:00

I'm not a huge fan of stand-up comedy. Here is a formula I worked out to explain:

IF(SUM(laughs experienced during 1 hour watching (ComedianX)))≥(SUM(laughs experienced during 1 hour spent with (MyFriends))), THEN(ComedianX) deserves my ($$$), ELSE (ComedianX) can (FuckOff)

and let it be said that I have VERY funny friends.

So as you'd imagine, I don't get too heavily involved in the Local Festival of Laughter etc. We tuned into a few minutes here and there of the Fantastical Charity Gala Shebang. Here's how it seemed to me:

Peter Hellier: I am a woefully unfunny bogan!
*bogans laugh, others cringe*

Shappi Khorsandi: No one trusts Iranians these days!
*hilarity ensues*

Dave Hughes: I am an irritating bogan whose every routine contains exactly one funny line!
*everyone laughs at the one funny line*

Fiona O'Loughlin: I don't really like my family that much!
*hilarity ensues*

Wil Anderson: Here is some internet humour from last month, passed off as my own fresh material!
*nostalgic chuckles from the crowd*

I'm sure there were some other acts in amongst them but you know... meh.

Of course, I went to see The Jim Henson Company's PuppetUp!, Henson having been one of my absolute personal heroes since before I entered Primary School. I am not ashamed to say that when Brian Henson took the stage - looking more like his late Dad every day - I actually had to hold my breath for a second so as not to burst into tears... which, you know, is probably considered odd at a Comedy show.

Now, any kind of improvised performance makes me slightly uneasy (due to bone chilling memories of highschool Theatre Sports contests when I would invariably remember mid sketch that I would rather be hacked to death with an egg-beater than appear in front of an audience without a prepared script). And in fairness, there were a couple of sketches in Puppet Up! that fell flat. But mostly it was inspired and hilarious.

I also attended two more traditional comedy/stand-up shows (purely because I happened to score free tickets as part of a winning trivia-night team). Let's see how the two shows compared:

Ben Chisholm - "Voicebox"
The Venue: Some dank shitbox deep in the guts of Trades Hall.
The Show: (sample joke, paraphrase) So you know what the best insult is? I reckon, instead of calling someone a Dickhead or a Cock, you should just call them a Penis! You're a Penis! Coz they'll just stare at you for a second, not getting it, and then suddenly they'll be like, "Did you just call me a Penis?!" and they'll totally wig out!
He then proceeded to sing a Robbie Williams song. Badly. For no reason.

And the survey said: NOT FUNNY.

Tim Minchin - "So F**king Rock"
The Venue: Capitol Theatre
The Show: Opening by captivatingly deconstructing his own persona, he proceeds to engage his increasingly adoring audience with hilarious stand-up, linking his songs that are beautifully performed, brilliantly inventive and achingly funny. Don't judge this guy by an excerpt you might have seen on the telly - you need to see a full show to appreciate his genius.

And the survey said: REALLY FUNNY and also occasionally TOUCHING and strangely ONGOINGLY THOUGHT-PROVOKING.

So that was my experience of the Comedy Festival.

Conclusions:
- a lot of stand-up is rank;
- some stand-up is worth watching on the telly, but most is not worth paying money for;
- if everyone in the world was a Henson, the world would be a happier place (inevitable inbreeding notwithstanding);
- I wish Tim Minchin was my friend; and
- "ongoingly" is not a word.

not getting any younger

2007-04-03T07:40:00.000+10:00

Why do I suddenly feel compelled to tell this story now? Who the hell knows. I just do, so go with it, m'kay.

(By the way, since I’m writing about someone I no longer know, I didn’t feel right about using his real name… but "Leonardo" is in the same vein, which makes it close enough.)

~~~~~~~

I met Leonardo in Winter. On our first date – a quick mid-morning coffee before he scuttled off to a class in his classical music course – he was wearing a warm jacket, gloves and a scarf, walking lopsided with the weight of his saxophone case in one hand. He was a beautiful boy of barely eighteen, whose mixed Italian and Chinese heritage had blessed him with smooth coffee-coloured skin, slightly sullen pouting lips, and dark exotic eyes, at once innocent and seductive. In short, he was young, cute, small and completely non-threatening – the kind of stripling I found irresistibly attractive when, at the age of twenty-four, I finally plucked up the courage to post a profile on a dating website and Go Out With A Boy.

Only a few weeks previously – after spending a Sunday afternoon crying, smoking weed and listening to Nirvana in my room, when I should have been at a family barbecue – I had sought long overdue treatment for depression. And just in the nick of time too; within the next three months, my mother’s cancer finally threw off the shackles of her determination and destroyed her body. She died in Spring, shortly before what should have been her forty-seventh birthday.

But when Leo and I met, my Mum was not yet "dying of cancer". She merely "had cancer", as she had done off-and-on for several years now; it was an unpleasant but accepted part of our lives. Meanwhile I was caught up in my new-found confidence – just the knowledge that I had given the Black Dog its marching-orders was enough to make me feel like a whole new person. And this adorable boy was an embodiment of the youthful mix of hope and trepidation I felt. His behaviour was often somewhat awkward, but every now and then, when telling a certain story or speaking of a certain friend, he would erupt with such grinning, eye-flashingly confident joy, it made my chest leap and my joints falter. I wanted him to talk like that about me. Even more than that, I wanted to talk like that, to feel like that, without faking it. I had been acting the part of a happy version of myself most of the time, for too long.

When my Mum died, I sent him a text message to let him know. He replied with the kind of unclouded yet uncomfortable kindness that only the young and emotionally inexperienced can muster. By this time, Leo and I were “just friends”. Shortly after our first couple of meetings, he had told me he didn’t like me “in that way”. I had cried for about three minutes, and then got over it. Some people told me to be patient: that as he spent more time with me, he might come to like me as more than a friend. But I knew that hope was over, had never really existed, and that it was probably for the best. Even then, I knew that he was less someone I wanted a relationship with, and more someone whose youth, attractiveness and future promise I hoped would rub off on me.

Shortly after his original sympathetic message – at some point in that initial time of grieving that was so numb and grey that I now barely remember it – he invited me to a picnic he was having with a bunch of his friends. I suppose he wanted to do something kind for me. Perhaps he felt obliged to spend time with me, but didn't know what to say, so avoided a one-on-one situation. At any rate, the picnic was the following week – on Mum’s birthday. I hesitated, and then accepted. I knew I should be spending the day with my Dad. But that time in our house was so unbearably insular, so unhealthily introspective. Life felt like a dead end - a constant, plodding monotony of grief and emotional exhaustion. So I did the selfish thing: I left my family in the labyrinth, and accepted the offer of a day spent surrounded by youth, in the sunshine.

That was how I spent the birthday my mother would never have. I met with them – a gaggle of about ten bouncing, giggling suburban teenagers – at Flinders Street Station. We made our way to the Botanic Gardens and ate junk food around a huge blanket. I manned the spinner and gave the orders for a game of Twister. Someone climbed a hill and took a photo from above as the rest of us arranged our bodies on the grass to spell out the word “PICNIC” (I was one half of the "C"). I talked and laughed with Leo and his music-student friends; his school friends were too close-knit a group for me to find a way into their conversations. I tried, unsuccessfully to avoid questions about my age (I was at least five years older than any of them!), my studies (I had finished University three years ago!), and how I knew Leo (we had met “Online” – I avoided further details). I successfully avoided discussing or, for the most part, even thinking about Mum.

On the tram back to the station, I overheard a couple of Leo's friends discussing a teacher they had hated at school.
“Oh well, she’s probably dead by now,” one of them said.
“No way,” replied the other, “She wasn’t even that old.”
Briefly, involuntarily, my eyes met Leonardo’s. If such a thing is possible, he shrugged apologetically with his face, and looked away.

When I got home, my Dad was very down, very quiet, a blank. We went out for dinner, as some kind of sombre acknowledgement of what would usually have been a happy day, although we didn’t really talk about Mum or her birthday. We didn’t really talk about anything. We especially didn’t talk about the fact that I had abandoned them on what was almost certainly the most difficult day since the funeral. I knew my Dad was upset. I don’t think he was angry or disappointed in me as such. I think he resented my escaping from the day, but only because he wasn’t able to do so himself.

It wasn’t the last time I would hurt my family by running away from things – emotionally and physically – during those first few weeks. I guess the realisation that I couldn’t rewind it all and go back to being eighteen again, that I now had no choice but to be as grown up as I could manage to be, took a while to sink in. Even now, very often I still completely forget how old and together I’m supposed to be, and do or say completely stupid things. By the same token, I will never let myself go back to feigning togetherness to mask the sombre husk of a person I became inside when depression had me in its shadowy embrace. I will always remember to find joy in things: to be frivolous and trivial and ridiculous as often as is necessary.

But ever since I sat amongst those laughing kids on the grass, and looked at that beautiful boy who didn’t know how to look back at me, I have known that I can't truly go back. I realised that this was my coming of age – the series of events that definitively marks the end of youth and thrusts you, ready or not, into your future. And going back is impossible. As impossible as my Mum ever turning forty-seven.

the best news story of the week

2007-03-14T08:58:00.000+11:00

When you're a politician, or indeed any kind of publicly responsible figure, there are some things you should just avoid doing. Sure, everyone is entitled to a private life, but when you're representing your nation, there are limits to what you can get away with. Getting picked up by police outside your official residence, blind drunk, surrounded by sex toys and strapped up in bondage gear - complete with rubber ball in your mouth - is probably one of those things you can't get away with.

From news.com.au:

ISRAEL has recalled its ambassador to El Salvador after he was found bound, drunk and nude.

The long-time diplomat, Tsuriel Raphael, had been removed from his post, ministry spokeswoman Zehavit Ben-Hillel said.

Two weeks ago, El Salvador police found Mr Raphael in the yard of his residence, tied up, gagged with a ball and drunk, Israeli media reported. He was wearing sex bondage equipment, the media said.

After being untied, Mr Raphael told police he was Israel's ambassador.

See, this is what's missing from Australian politics. Corruption, conflict of interest... SNORE. What we need is a nice saucy drunken ball-gag story.

For example, while I know none of us particularly wants to picture John Howard like this,

just imagine the look on his face as he tried to explain himself to the public at the next day's press conference! I'd like to see him try and implicate Kevin Rudd in that scandal.

the war on insects

2007-03-08T10:00:00.000+11:00

Our new abode does not have fly-screens. I'm all for this. The old-style windows are always open when we're home, and they allow for great air-flow (I'm a fresh air fiend, as young Mr Caulfield would say). And for a clichéd romantically melancholic pose, you just can't beat sitting at a window-sill, leaning outside and gazing wistfully at the city-scape. Also: the other day when she decided I was taking too long to answer the door, Snaz simply climbed right through our porch window into the kitchen. Exciting!

The downside to the no fly-screens situation is that - just like Snaz - it provides mosquitoes incredibly easy access to our living quarters. In the warm, muggy conditions Melbourne's endured lately, those blood-sucking little pricks just thrive. And apparently they particularly thrive when dipping their filthy little proboscises into my helpless sleeping body. Indeed, it seems drilling my dermis for human-juice is such a delightful occupation, it has become the latest mosquito fad.

This vexes me. It has been a long-held belief of mine that mosquitoes could be utterly wiped from the planet, without any detrimental effect whatsoever. To be more precise, I believe mosquitoes should be utterly wiped from the planet. And if there were detrimental effects, frankly I wouldn't care. It would be worth it. I do not enjoy starting awake at three in the morning to hear the horrendous tiny buzz of mosquitoes (like a microscopic dentist's drill - is there any sound worse?). I do not enjoy rising of a morning to find myself covered in itching pink hives.

As the mosquito problem reached maddening heights, we also encountered an ant problem. Now let it be known that unlike mosquitoes - which I would happily purge and exterminate even from the deepest uninhabited depths of the jungles, merely out of spite - I have no problem with ants as a rule. I'm happy for them to go about their anty business, so long as they stay out of my way. But these fuckers had managed to find their way through the cracks between our floorboards, and had created trails all through our house. The mosquitoes had already pushed me to the very brink of my Insect Tolerance. This was too much. This was war.

The ant problem would be easy to deal with... and also kind of fun. You see, perverse fuck that I am, I am slightly obsessed with Ant Rid. Ant Rid! It's so delightfully evil! It's like your very own, household WMD. See - you drip the stuff somewhere the ants will find it. It must taste like sweetest ambrosia (or crack) because the stupid little bastards can't get enough of it. They swarm to it. They fight over each other to lap it up. The fools! Oh God, it brings me so much joy to watch them greedily drink up their own destruction! I giggle and feed them extra! Drink, my pretties! Drink! They love it so much they carry it back to the nest with them and share it around! They give it to the Queen! And then a few hours later THEY ALL DIE. Fuckin' awesome.

Alas, the mosquito problem is somewhat more difficult. Citronella candles and mosquito coils are all very well, but I'm not going to sleep with things aflame near the bed, as I have no desire to be identified by my dental records the next morning. Climbing into bed reeking of Aerogard sounds profoundly unsexy. And I'm not prepared to endure the absurdity of netting. Therefore, simple Vigilance is my only weapon.

Since I obviously can't be on the lookout for the blighters while I'm asleep, the time immediately before bed is key. I patrol the outer perimeters of the bedroom with my trusty can of Mortein, knocking out any flying fuckers who might be scouting the room for a later attack. Byron chastises me for this, and says I've become "obsessed" and "paranoid". Nonsense! It should be noted that he isn't bitten nearly as often as I am; clearly he doesn't have tasty blood. I'm sure if he was as itchy and pock-marked as me, he'd be more sympathetic to my perfectly reasonable conviction that They Must All Be Destroyed At Any Cost.

Once I'm in bed, before the light goes out, I am alert but not alarmed, relaxed but ready to strike. Recently, while lying and chatting in bed, Byron suddenly noticed the way my wide, focussed eyes were constantly darting about, circling the ceiling and corners. "Oh my God!" he said, "You're looking for insects to kill, aren't you?" I made sheepish denials. Perhaps I had become a little too intense in my quest to exterminate all insects venturing into the boudoir. Then suddenly, almost as a reflex action, my arms shot out from under the covers, my hands clapping together to pitilessly crush a rogue mosquito whose flight path had foolishly crossed the airspace above me. "DIE CUNT!" I screamed victoriously, flicking its mangled corpse from my palm. Byron's face was genuinely fearful as he looked at me, shaking his head: "You've become a maniac."

Well... yes I must concede that perhaps he has a point. But then I remember that I am covered from head to toe in mosquitoes' itching blemishes of Pure Evil, and I am reassured that my cause is noble and true, and I must not rest until victory is mine.

(Although given both ants and mosquitoes have been around since the dinosaurs called Earth home, I fear my War on Insects is probably about as winnable as the War on Terror. Dang it.)

hurrah, etc.

2007-03-08T09:26:00.000+11:00

After topping the Triple J Hottest 100 earlier in the year, Augie March have now won the Australian Music Prize for their album Moo, You Bloody Choir.

Modelled on the prestigious British Mercury Music Prize, "The Amp" is only in its second year. However it seems to already carry significant Industry cred, not to mention a rather tasty $25,000 prize.

Fuck the ARIAs (and the Grammys), I say. Wolfmother? Pfft.

...a thousand words, and then some

2007-02-15T11:11:00.000+11:00

Every February, the Netherlands-based World Press Photo organisation honours its choices as the most significant press-photography of the last 12 months. It's well worth checking out this year's winners galleries, as well as past archives going back to 1955. Some of the photos are simply breathtakingly beautiful. Others send my mind into serious contemplation on the situation of being a human being. Some so poignantly draw me into a position of empathy with the subject, they nearly have me in tears.

Here are just a few of the 2006 winners which caught my eye:

A settler resists Israeli security forces during the forced evacuation of the Amona outpost.
(Photo by Oded Balilty)

The wedding of a US marine, returned after being wounded in the war in Iraq.
(Photo by Nina Berman)

A psychiatric hospital inmate in central Africa.
(Photo by José Cendón)

An accused burglar in Mexico.
(Photo by Daniel Aguilar)

A Latvian girl collects flowers in preparation for Midsummer celebrations.
(Photo by Espen Rasmussen)

And some from the past:

1995 - A young refugee in a bus fleeing civil war in Chechnya.
(Photo by Lucian Perkins)

1980 - A starving boy and a missionary in Uganda.
(Photo by Mike Wells)

1994 - A Rwandan man tortured by the Hutu militia.
(Photo by James Nachtwey)

2003 - An Iraqi man and his son at a prisoner of war holding camp.
(Photo by Jean-Marc Bouju)

1965 - A South-Vietnamese family crossing a river to escape US bombing.
(Photo by Kyoichi Sawada)

Truly, we live in an astonishing - and sometimes terrible - world.

feel the man-love!

2007-01-25T09:32:00.000+11:00

A few musings in Jellyfish's latest slice of magnificence got me to thinking about the way straight guys express affection for each other, and the way these expressions are often - suprisingly - incredibly moving. (It also introduced me to the term "bromantic", which is Solid Gold).

My workplace is ultra-manly. Like, really REALLY manly. Most of the employees spend their days digging big holes in the ground. On the whole, they are large, gruff, uncouth and masculine in that good, old-fashioned, Aussie, blokey way.

This place is so determinedly hetero-masculine that any display of affection between the employees is usually eschewed. My father patermunkey - being one of the more civilised of the bunch - is an exception here, in that he doesn't have an insecure fear of occasionally touching (or even hugging!) his workmates. Of course the others respect him far too much to doubt his sexuality on the basis of his openly bromantic behaviour, and have dubbed him with the affectionate (albeit unsettling) nick-name "Uncle Touchy".

Just before Christmas, Jim - one of the longest-serving and genuinely respected employees at my workplace - retired. There were speeches and the giving of presents at the break-up barbecue. Jim had been digging holes for decades. For the last five-ish years, he had been digging side-by-side with patermunkey. During his speech, he mentioned several guys he had worked closely with over the years. He left my Dad till last. He was brief; patermunkey would be embarrassed by anything too long-winded. Jim described him as the most intelligent and conscientious man he had worked with at the company, and he closed by wishing him the best for the future, saying, "I hope things get better."

Those five short words, delivered in the manliest of tones, spoke volumes. They spoke of a rough few years that my family has been through. They spoke of the reliable routine of working with Jim that, at times I'm sure, was about all that kept patermunkey going. They spoke of five years of friendship - what John Howard would sickeningly dub "mateship", and what most female friends would simply call "love".

I lost it. Tears were streaming down my face, and I suddenly thought, "Shit! Everyone's going to see me crying, and I shall be exposed among these blokiest of blokes for the pathetic homo NancyBoy that I am!" But to my surprise, a quick glance around revealed that everyone was crying. All these hairy burly tradies were struggling to choke back tears. The next few minutes were surreal. After the speeches, everyone started hugging Jim and talking about how much he meant to them.

And it occurred to me - this affection, this softer side, is always there. It just gets buried behind the macho bullshit that so many men feel the need to display, in order to be perceived as men. How did this happen? Has our society managed to turn emotion and affection into something shameful, which must be quashed and hidden, in order for men to be respected by each other? Or has masculine affection become the emotional equivalent of the good silverware - only to be brought out on very special (and/or drunken) occasions?

After the man-love died down, the drinking continued for many hours. Later, one guy oh-so-tactfully suggested his workmate better get a paternity test, to ensure he was really the father of the baby his girlfriend was carrying. Paternity test?! Fatherhood being questioned?! That equates to masculine honour being threatened! Tempers flared, bodies were pushed against walls, punches were thrown. Then - after a long negotiation/placation process that made the Arabs and the Jews seem co-operative by comparison - more tears.

Whether it's their physiological nature, or a result of ideological influences in a society that has never truly evolved beyond valuing them only for their hunting, providing and fighting abilities - one thing is certain: men are very strange beasts.

it's turkey lurkey time

2007-01-24T08:26:00.000+11:00

So, I have moved house! To be more precise, I have moved in with the adorable Mr Byron. We have spent the last week or so turning our lovely art-deco apartment in Richmond into a very comfortable home. (For anyone wondering, this process involves a shitload of money, several wheelie-bins full of discarded packing material, and approximately 37 man hours dedicated to the construction of items from Ikea.)

Although he is currently back in Sydney for about a week, finalising things up there, it feels very much like our co-habitational life together has officially begun. *cuts ceremonial ribbon with oversize scissors* Hurrah!

Everyone keeps asking us, "So have you had any major domestics yet?!" or "So are you still in love after all the chaos of the move?" This always strikes me as a bit odd. I guess it is a big step to go straight from long-distance to living-together. But all I can say is: so far so good. At this point, our "major" fights go something like this:

Byron - Let's get take-away tonight.
munkey - Okay. There's the noodle place, the burger place, the pizza place...
Byron - I don't care what we get.
munkey - I don't care either. You decide.
Byron - But I don't care.
munkey - Grrr...
[Repeat, as above, for about twenty minutes.]
munkey - Okay fine - noodles.
[Byron & munkey peruse menu for about twenty minutes.]
Byron - I don't think I want noodles.
munkey - Grrr!
Byron - How about burgers?
munkey - Burgers! Perfect!
[Byron & munkey peruse menu for about twenty minutes.]
munkey - I'm getting the Triple C (chicken burger with camembert and cranberry *drool*). What are you getting?
[Byron peruses menu for another twenty minutes.]
munkey - Well?!
Byron - ...
munkey - There's beef burgers, there's chicken burgers, there's veggie burgers. Burgers galore! They're all awesome! Just pick one!
Byron - ...
munkey - ... ?
Byron - ... I've definitely decided to get something on a bun.
munkey - GRRR!
[munkey attempts to stab Byron. Byron disarms munkey with merciless tickling. Chaos ensues.]

This basic format of argument is applied to every minor decision we make together.

A suggestion: if you have us over for dinner, you decide what we're having. Before we get there.

belated blogiversary

2007-01-24T08:09:00.000+11:00

In all the excitement of real-world happenings, I have been exceedingly lazy recently, blog-wise. As part of this blogcrastination, I completely forgot to celebrate the 2nd birthday of this here humble little blog! Let's make up for that now...

Happy Birthday, Munkey's Blog!

Okay, enough celebrating now. Enough! Put the fucking sparklers down, fool, it's only a blog! Sheesh.

Let me just belatedly say thanks to everyone who has stopped by in the last year. I do enjoy this online lark, and knowing there are approximately 4.3 people who peruse my dodgy outpourings, makes it all the more worthwhile.

Onward and upward!

quite possibly the most morbid thing on the internet

2007-01-15T14:30:00.001+11:00

Brought to my attention by mental_floss magazine is this site which is simultaneously deeply disturbing and completely compelling:

MyDeathSpace.com

As if MySpace itself wasn't wrongtown enough, these people keep track of the MySpace profiles of people who have shuffled off this mortal coil. It usually provides a brief article about how the poor sod died, as well as a link to their still-existing profile, often complete with messages of woe and tribute filling the comments box.

It's like a train-wreck; I hate myself for looking but I just can't stop. And MY GOD a lot of Amercians meet gruesome and untimely ends! Nasty.

proud to be geeky

2007-01-10T10:15:00.000+11:00

From the wonderful Neatorama:

If you laughed at this picture, you are officially a geek.

I laughed. A lot.

start in the way that you want to go on...

2007-01-09T09:42:00.000+11:00

Happy New Year to one and all!

I have been out of blog-action for the last week or so, due to the extremely exciting busy-ness of MOVING HOUSE. Yes, dear readers, my former dwelling at Munkey Towers now stands quiet and empty, and I have taken up residence in the lovely new House Of TurKey. My own move went off without any disasters, and Byron moves in on Thursday. Then we get to play house together! Fun!

Now, they say you should begin a New Year as you intend it to continue - and since we all know lazy blogging will be the order-of-the-year (just like last year, and the year before) let's kick off 2007 with a nice juicy New Years Meme. For this one, you're supposed to recount the first sentence you posted in every month of the previous year. Unfortunately, I realised the openings of my posts are almost invariably devoid of interest (see above) so instead, I am posting a random sentence from the approximate middle of every month of 2006:

January
Apparently since the female organ has been in his body, he has had an inexplicable passion for knitting, ironing, sewing and washing dishes.

February
Although, to be completely fair to this International Day Of Marketing-Induced Capitalism In The Guise Of Romance, my instinctive hissing and snarling probably arises because I have always previously been feeling lonely and/or heart-broken on this day.

March
Snazzles valiantly tramped out into the dark to help, but she had a tyre-thingy for mag-wheels (damn her funky purple automobile and it's butch wheels) that wouldn't fit Oli's girly nuts.

April
Recently, I find my surly sensible brain completely undermined and overridden by the pounding heat of my heart and a profound optimism burning brightly in my belly.

May
In an Alice-In-Wonderland-esque sudden change of surroundings, I am now getting changed in my old bedroom at patermunkey's house.

June
However, there is one story today that is genuinely warming my heart against the chilly Winter.

July
So with my now absent-once-again boyfriend, my means of transportation out of action, and my brain feeling a little like it's trying to swim the English Channel while carrying a harpsichord, it could be said that munkey is a bit lost just now.

August
The film creates a troublingly palpable sense of the conflicting feelings that come with a life spent physically attached to another, while also creating an almost Spinal-Tap-esque pastiche of the music industry.

September
I guess the bottom line is, I will never be okay with the fact that she's gone.

October
So that elderly, Morse-Code-trained lady really had heard the letters SMS emanating from her (grandaughter? niece?)'s handbag.

November
From another perspective... if memory serves, it's always been when I've felt under heaps of pressure that I've functioned at my most productive.

December
Oh my God, my long-distance boyfriend from Sydney was suddenly (and completely unexpectedly) standing outside my flat!

Looking back, 2006 wasn't a bad year at all. I kind of feel like it was a year of great promise for the future - when wonderful possibilities and new adventures presented themselves... now it's up to me to make 2007 into the glorious year it has the potential to be. I'm looking forward to sharing the ride with y'all!

munkey's-eye view: 2006 wrap-up

2006-12-31T11:16:00.000+11:00

What a year it's been! (Imagine that in Mike Munroe's voice, with Megan Gale standing nearby. It's much more impressive that way.) Let's take a look at mindlessmunkey's pop-cultural highlights of 2006... because I know you're all so interested.

~~~~~~~

MUSIC

A late entrant has trounced the field to take my (not at all) coveted Album Of The Year prize:

Joanna Newsom's "Ys"
(which apparently is not pronounced "Whys", but is pronounced "E e s". Whodathunk?)

Fucking breathtaking genius. Five Stars, etc.

Now... for many years I was obsessed with music magazines, especially the British ones. Uncut, Q, NME, I would peruse them all and buy all I could afford (in recent years this has dropped from several a month, to a few a year). Particularly exciting to me was always the end-of-year review issue, when the publications would proclaim their top albums, and provide a CD sampler of the best tracks from the year.

Recently, increasingly, this has not been sufficient. My own musical taste overlaps considerably with many of the mags... but just not enough. So, in my usual obsessive-compulsive about trivial things way, I have begun meticulously creating my own end-of-year Best Of compilations.

THE RULES:
The track must be from a record that was released in 2006 (duh).
No artist may be represented more than once (although, for example, a band and one of its members' side projects could both be included).
Running order is not based on favouritism, but on flow of songs and listenability.
The compilation must fit on a standard 80 minute CD. (For this reason, and because we want to cram on as many artists as possible, tracks are not necessarily the best tracks - as the best tracks are often over 10 minutes long (I'm looking at you, Ms Newsom) - but stand as representatives of the best albums/artists of the year. It's always a challenge to get as close to 80 minutes as possible without going over; this year's is 79'25". Awesome.)
Obviously I have not even nearly heard every record released this year. Things will be missed. It hurts me more than it hurts you.

So without further ado, here is mindlessmunkey's Best Of 2006:

01 - ONE CROWDED HOUR - Augie March
02 - SEX CHANGES - The Dresden Dolls
03 - POSTCARDS FROM ITALY - Beirut
04 - SUMMERSONG - The Decemberists
05 - I BET YOU LOOK GOOD ON THE DANCE FLOOR - Arctic Monkeys
06 - OUR SWORDS - Band of Horses
07 - LOVE COMES TO ME - Bonnie 'Prince' Billy
08 - THE BLUES ARE STILL BLUE - Belle & Sebastian
09 - HARROWDOWN HILL - Thom Yorke
10 - BANDITS - Midlake
11 - THE GREATEST - Cat Power
12 - UPON THIS TIDAL WAVE OF YOUNG BLOOD - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
13 - THE MISTRESS WITCH FROM McCLURE (or, The Mind That Knows Itself) - Sufjan Stevens
14 - NOTHING IN MY WAY - Keane
15 - LONG WAY HOME - Tom Waits
16 - POMPEII AM GÖTTERDÄMMERUNG - The Flaming Lips
17 - ROUGH GEM - Islands
18 - STEADY AS SHE GOES - The Raconteurs
19 - BEEN SO LONG - Vetiver
20 - COSMIA - Joanna Newsom

~~~~~~~

BOOKS

I've been a good boy, and have been reading almost constantly this year, but I am so bad at remembering what I've read... I really should keep some kind of reading diary. I know I popped my Chuck Palahniuk cherry. And I finally got up to date with Harry Potter...

But I think, off the top of my head, the Best Book I Read This Year would have to be out of "The God Of Small Things" by Arundhati Roy, or "The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas" by John Boyne. Completely different, but both wonderful.

~~~~~~~

FILMS

As usual, I didn't get to the movies anywhere near as much as I should have.

The Best Film I Saw This Year was probably "Downfall" on DVD. At the movies - though neither is anywhere close to a perfect film - I enjoyed the sheer audacity of "Brothers Of The Head", while "Little Miss Sunshine" is simply the most fun I've had in a cinema, maybe ever.

~~~~~~~

So there you have it, lovers and dreamers. That was my 2006 (with regard to entertainment anyway). How was yours?

...and to all a good night

2006-12-24T02:23:00.000+11:00

Yo!

Just dropping by to wish everyone a FANTASTIC CHRISTMAS!

Here are my Christmas presents, all wrapped and ready a whole day early. How organised am I ?!
(Answer: Just exactly organised enough to survive, and no more.)

Have a great one, lovers and dreamers. Make sure you get drunk and eat lots of rich unhealthy food.

See you on the other side!

december the fucking 20th already?! how did that happen?!

2006-12-20T09:22:00.000+11:00

Well, dear readers, you will be pleased to know that the show-business madness and the house-hunting madness have both come to an end, making room for the pre-Christmas madness to truly take flight. Shall I tell you how it all went?!

The show was fantastic. The Gods of health wreaked some havoc, with lurgees attacking several members of the cast - including myself. My throat and lungs decided they simply were not playing anymore, and sat around huffily flinging phlegm at each other for several days. Consequently, I sounded absolutely shit-house on a couple of the nights. However, I managed to drag myself up to scratch again for the final night, when all my peeps were there to cheer me on. Go and see the production photos here. GO, I SAY!

Byron was here for the weekend just gone... during which time we signed the lease on our new place. Feel the relief, people! After inspecting about thirty places, many of them vile, over the course of a full month, and getting our application knocked back at least ten times, WE FINALLY GOT A LOVELY PLACE. We move in on the 6th of January. Much hurrah.

Oh! Oh! And Byron also presented me with his Christmas present for me:
Yes, lovers and dreamers, it's a full-size Ernie puppet. I always said that if I was to marry a Muppet, it would be Ernie. But now I think that I shall marry Byron instead. Much more satisfactory.

Let's see, what else? Ah yes... last weekend we also had our annual Christmas Party / Feast / Carol-Singing shebang hosted as always by the extraordinary Lady Lili (who even gave us Christmas Hat Activities! Check it the fuck out!).

So yes - now I guess I'm feeling a bit flat. There's always a bit of a post-show lull, when you've spent months building up to this big spectacular event, which ends on a massive high... and then it's suddenly over. No cooling-off perdiod, no gradual decline. Just over. It feels mighty strange to be sitting alone at home in the evening, instead of rushing into the city, getting into costume and doing warm-ups with the cast. To be honest, it's a bit lonely and empty.

HOWEVER, let's not get gloomy. There is much happening. The Christmas Cheer is flowing heartily, as is the Christmas freaking-out-ness. The insanity of the last month or so has meant I now find myself less than a week out from the Big Day ( ! ) with barely a present purchased. Yikes. Never mind, it will all be okay. If you see a very cross-looking munkey scarpering frantically amidst the late-night shoppers over the next few days, chances are it'll be me. Come and say hi!

Alrighty... that's enough typing for today.

it's time to play the music, it's time to light the lights...

2006-12-07T11:28:00.000+11:00

That's right, lovers and dreamers, after months of hard work, IT'S FINALLY HAPPENING...

Do come along - not only to support quality non-professional theatre, not only to see munkey being all vengeful and Mexican, but for a goshdarn rollicking evening of music-theatre fun.

The show runs from tonight 'til Saturday the 16th (every night except Sunday and Monday) at 8pm. Be there or be, you know... uncool.

let's take another look...

2006-12-06T08:09:00.000+11:00

Last night, after a very long, but rather successful tech-run of the show, I stumbled home in a taxi tired but happy, only to immediately be disturbed by the absurdly abrasive buzzing of my apartment's intercom. Several moments' confusion and crankiness ensued; I assmued it was one of the druggy acquaintances of Mr Mentally Disturbed who lives across the hall. Finally I opened my window and peered down to the building's doorway - and who should I see there? My friend Mr David with a special delivery: Mr Byron.

Oh my God, my long-distance boyfriend from Sydney was suddenly (and completely unexpectedly) standing outside my flat! Upon hearing of my extremely down-in-the-dumps mood - and desperate need of a hug - yesterday morning, he promptly booked a flight to spend the night with me. How brilliant is that?! How insanely do I love this crazy wonderful man?! There are no words.

So, now that I've vented, rested, generally got over myself, and been thouroughly reminded that I am much-loved, let us re-address some issues...

The musical is going to be great. The show is extremely technically complicated - of course the first run-through in the theatre, and the tech run, will be drawn-out and arduous affairs. And dammit it's ridiculous to expect a performance to hit its stride properly during stop-start runs. The cast and crew all know what they're doing, and now we're ready to put it all together.

Patermunkey and I have worked out a time to convene at the familial home and do the Christmas Tree thang. The tradition continues (hopefully including the customary groaning at the crackly old Mario Lanza Christmas Carols LP that matermunkey always insited on playing).

I am applying for the job. Who knows whether I'll get it... whatever will be will be, and all that guff.

We will find a house. Oh yes, we will. We have at least another month before I get kicked out of my place, so it's far from panic time yet.

The fires continue to burn. There is a very light rain bank crossing the Highlands right now. It's not much, but hopefully it might help a little - at least to slow them down? I really know very little about how bushfires work. I suppose this is just a wait-and-see / hope-for-the-best situation.

So overall, I'm feeling a lot more on top of everything than I was yesterday. I don't expect things to settle down any time soon... but I know it'll all be okay.

Bring it on etc!

call that emo? i'll show you emo!

2006-12-05T08:31:00.000+11:00

I have burst into tears twice in the last twelve hours.

The musical has entered the "I'm not good enough to play this part, I'm going to let everyone down and I hate myself" phase.

My Dad and sister are going to decorate the family Christmas tree without me, for the first time ever, because apparently they can't make time on the one day this fortnight that I'm free.

A potential job opportunity that I've been interested in for ages has just opened up again, but I honestly don't know if I can handle the stress of applying. Rejection or acceptance (leading to more chaos and another leap into unknown territory) might be more than I can face right now.

It's starting to seem like my boyfriend and I will never find a house; he will have to stay in Sydney forever, and I will simply be homeless.

The place I love most in the world is currently virtually surrounded by bushfires.

Hold me.

~~~~~~~

[UPDATE]

Several people have made me feel exponentially better in the little while since I posted the above rant. It is really lovely to have peeps to check in on you when you're feeling overwhelmed. Thanks so much.

As a postscript / disclaimer: Please don't take the above melodrama to mean I'm reaching for the razor blades or pouring myself a hearty mug of industrial bleach. I think ultimately I just needed a big vent and a bit of a sook, in order to unload some internal crap, before I could venture forth and tackle the obstacles before me... which is what I'm now planning to do (with a little help from my friends etc).

Thanks again. Much love.

coming soon to an hmv discount bin near you

2006-11-27T16:49:00.000+11:00

I presume you can all guess how I feel about this travesty.

My, doesn't Lavina (just to Damien's left) look thrilled for him!

I'm so looking forward to an album of karaoke favourites, performed by a man with no stage presence or charisma, in an uncertain, occasionally-off-key falsetto.

For everyone's benefit, I shall withold further vitriol, and simply say that if Damien Leith's career lasts longer than a few months, I shall be extremely surprised.

As Snaz wrote in a text to me shortly after the proceedings concluded: BRING ON BOBBY'S ALBUM!

p.s. Someone in my building has been playing (I assume) a VHS tape of Jessica's performance of "When You Believe" from last night, over and over again, all day. Needless to say, it's getting a little tiresome, although I suppose I should thank my lucky stars it's not Damien's "Nissan Dorma" [sic].

sinking vs swimming

2006-11-22T09:53:00.000+11:00

So Ian Thorpe has officially "discontinued" his competitive swimming career.

Frankly I say good for him. It's something he started doing when he was fourteen, for God's sake. When I was fourteen, I wanted to study medicine. Medicine! I would think there are very few people who have the same ambitions when they're in their young teens, as they do in their twenties and beyond.

Thorpe was a teenage freak-of-nature with flippers for feet, who conquered the world in his chosen field at a very young age; yay for him. Does that mean he should be expected to continue in that field, even after his passion for it has died? Of course not.

I'm in no position to know, but he has always seemed to me an intelligent, articulate and driven young man, albeit often impatient with the media spotlight and public expectation. I'm sure he'll excel at whatever endeavour his passion now leads him into.

And in my inconsequential opinion, if he has quit sport to spend more time having poo-sex with a Brazilian water-polo player - as some have suggested - then good luck to him. What the poor lad chooses to do with his life - let alone his dick - is not our business (tantalising though the imagery may be).

~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, the swiftness with which the Kim Beasley celebrity-identity fuck-up gags have circulated, merely highlights what an utter joke the man is in the eyes of the nation.

Get him out of there, and let's get some legitimate political opposition happening in this country for a change! (The rumoured Rudd-Gillard ticket may not be perfect, but it would get my vote.)

Over and out.

heal the world

2006-11-22T09:21:00.000+11:00

This is fun!

Make your own puzzle here.

[Found at Gazza's place.]

how can you tell when a real estate agent is lying?

2006-11-20T09:00:00.000+11:00

Apparently the following is an apt description of my current abode:

This bright first floor apartment is set back from the street in a well maintained building that enjoys the important natural advantage of immediate proximity to beautiful Barkly Gardens. Security entrance protects privacy of appealing spaces including sunny, north-facing living/dining areas which incorporate an efficient open-plan kitchen. To the rear, a large double bedroom with walk-in robes and en suite ensures excellent accommodation and completes the perfect investment or smart start up property in an excellent location. Off street parking.

Jesus, they make it sound like a freakin' penthouse.

Also, it is quite a strange feeling to come across a picture of your living room (that you didn't take) on the intermanet:

...especially when they have oddly stretched the photo to make it look narrower and taller (Why?). Oh well, at least it looks tidy.

if my readers will kindly forgive a brief emo moment...

2006-11-17T11:02:00.000+11:00

Dear World,
If you want to see me cry and/or vomit, you are going the right way about it.
Sincerely,
mm

I honestly don't think I've felt this stressed out since I was at high-school. Of course, at various times over the years I've been more depressed, more distraught, more devastated and more hopelessly in denial than I am now. But for sheer frazzled don't-know-what-to-do-with-myself stressed-out-ness, I think this takes the cake.

Of course, I'm just being a big whinger. What I'm dealing with now is nothing in the grand scheme of things. It's just that I am absolutely hopeless when it comes to dealing with change, particularly change with an uncertain final destinaton. And I am even worse at instigating that change... but apparently I am a grown up now, and have to learn to do such things.

I'm not doing myself any favours either. I'm not eating or sleeping particularly well, which is stupid. I don't want to turn into one of those people who spends so much time stressing about everything, that I never get anything done. I'm supposed to be an extremely laid-back person! Where did that go?

*deep breaths, calm blue ocean, etc*

This will all be okay. As Byron reminds me: when I look back on this time in a year, I'll wonder why I was ever so worried.

From another perspective... if memory serves, it's always been when I've felt under heaps of pressure that I've functioned at my most productive. So maybe this frenetic time will serve as a kick-up-the-arse and boost me into a more productive, less passive life. Silver lining, and all that.

But for now, I'm freaking out juuust a leeetle.

shameless meme thief strikes again

2006-11-15T18:30:00.000+11:00

What a crap day!

Let's make ourselves feel better with a big fat meme, shall we?

~~~~~~~

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?
How can I have just slept all night, and yet still feel so tired?

2. Favourite planet?
I shall choose Jupiter, as I have fond memories of identifying its four largest moons through a telescope.

3. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell phone?
An annoying man from my work who tried to ring me at 8am while I was on holiday in Queensland.

4. What is your favorite ring tone on your phone?
Currently my phone plays an MP3 of The Muppet Show closing theme, which never fails to make me smile.

5. Do you “label” yourself?
I think everyone would like not to, but everyone does. It's hard to have an identity without some degree of labelling.

6. What does your watch look like?
I haven't worn or owned a watch since about Year Ten.

7. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Sleeping.

8. What did your last text message you received on your cell say?
*pauses world, washes brain, kisses you, un-pauses world* I love you.

9. What's a word that you say a lot?
While holidaying with my young sister, I did my best to refrain from swearing; since my return I have been saying "fuckers!" and "cunts!" as frequently as possible.

10. Last furry thing you touched?
There is a dearth of furry things in my life.

11. Favorite age you have been so far?
Jesus, I don't know. Stop making me feel old. 17 was pretty good, from memory. (I hope 27 will be spectacular.)

12. Your worst enemy?
My own self-doubt and lack of motivation.

13. What is your current desktop picture?

because I miss him.

14. What was the last thing you said to someone?
"See you tomorrow," as I left work.

15. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to fly what would it be?
Watch me soar! Zooooom!

16. Do you like someone?
Such an odd question. I like many people.

17. The last song you listened to?
Bob Dylan's "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright"

18. What time of day were you born?
11.32am

19. What's your favourite number?
I am extremely superstitious about numbers. 7 is the best and 4 is pure evil.

20. Where did you live in 1987?
On James Cook Drive in Endeavour Hills, in what was then among the more distant reaches of Melbourne's South-Eastern suburbs.

21. Are you jealous of anyone?
I try not to be.

22. Is anyone jealous of you?
I have no idea. I can't really imagine it.

23. Where were you when 9/11 happened?
Reading The Lord Of The Rings under an enormous tree in a beautiful National Park near the Ring Of Kerry in Ireland, while Snaz photographed a rare red squirrel nearby.

24. Do you consider yourself kind?
I would like to think I am, although too often I get wrapped up in my own goings-on and become thoughtless.

25. If you had to get a tattoo, where would it be?
I can't imagine I ever would get a tattoo, but I suppose it would be somewhere that isn't likely to stretch and sag too horrifically as I age – perhaps the shoulder-blade.

26. If you could be fluent in any other language, what would it be?
I guess I shall be practical and choose to improve my shabby French.

27. Would you move for the person you loved?
I don't think I could at this point in my life, but it's certainly not something I'd rule out in the future.

28. What's your life motto?
On the Gold Coast, I saw a hippie craft shop with a Thought-for-the-Day sign: "When one must, one can." Recently, I have been optimistically repeating this to myself.

29. What's your favourite town/city?
Apart from my home city of Melbourne, others include Marseille, Edinburgh, Český Krumlov (although I recently heard the heart-breaking news that it has become exceedingly touristy), and a small too-seldom-visited town in the Victorian Highlands named Jamieson.

30. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper and mailed it?
The 2nd of October.

31. Can you change the oil on a car?
No. I can check it and top it up, but that's all.

32. Your first love: what is the last thing you heard about him/her?
Actually we were talking about my first crush just recently. I don't think there was any news as such, just the usual lamentations that studying architecture seems to turn all men into arseholes.

33. How far back do you know about your ancestry?
Not very far at all. Only this year I found out for the first time that my mother's side of the family - the Millers - were still the Müllers as recently as WWI. To my shame, I couldn't confidently name a single ancestor more distant than my Grandparents.

34. The last time you dressed fancy, what did you wear and why did you dress fancy?
How fancy is fancy? The last time I wore my shirt tucked in all the way was probably my Grandma's funeral in April. The last time I wore a tie was probably at the Yarra Glen races last November.

35. Have you been burned by love?
Hasn't everybody?

aaand... i'm back.

2006-11-14T07:52:00.000+11:00

Well, hello there!

My brain is rather comprehensively fried after a lovely but very busy weekend, which I may or may not blog in more detail in the near future (Hint: It involved Byron! And Real Estate agents! And learning to cha-cha while singing in a Mexican accent!).

Previous to that, I was on holiday with patermunkey and Ms Cait on the Gold Coast - which I may or may not blog about in more detail in the near future (Hint: It involved mountains of seafood! And getting Wet and/or Wild! And discovering that I fucken love really fast, really scary theme-park rides!).

For now, let me use one of my favourite TV shows to compare my overall impressions of the locals in various Australian metropoli I have experienced:

Melbourne =
Sydney =
The Gold Coast =
Of course, there is a lot of overlap of these stereotypes between the different locales, but I feel these pictures represent a good rule-of-thumb.

Class dismissed.

i'm outta here!

2006-10-27T14:24:00.000+10:00

For the next two days, I shall be on a rehearsal camp for the show I'm lucky enough to be in. Perhaps it will be a bit like this ...but probably not. I have been practicing my scenes and song as much as possible, but I'm finding my brain is not what it used to be. When I was a teenager, I could learn lines without even trying; after running the scene a couple of times, it was cemented in my head. But these days it seems to take a lot more effort. I feel old. (N.B. That highly camp picture to the right is not of our show. It just amused me.)

After the fun and hard-work of play-camp, I'm spending about ten days here with patermunkey and Ms Cait. This will hopefully involve no hard work whatsoever. Athough, I haven't been on a roller-coaster or a water-slide since before my voice broke, so our trips to Movie World, Sea World and Wet'n'Wild may prove quite arduous. On the other hand, they will hopefully be quite invigorating and enyouthefying and might just transform me into an unjaded, upbeat energetic person. Stranger things have happened.

After the busiest week at work in about three years, I am feeling that this holiday is quite well-earned. But since I'm a total slacker 90% of the time, it's probably not. Still, I intend to enjoy myself either way.

See you on the other side!

not funny

2006-10-26T18:46:00.000+10:00

Two of the searches that have brought people here over the last 24 hours:

I feel sick.

television icons

2006-10-23T17:07:00.000+10:00

So George from Grey's Anatomy is gay. Good for him, although certain lady friends of mine are mighty pissed that yet another desirable man has turned out to be uninterested in boobies.
Byron's response: Really? ...oh wait, he presented a Tony award. Of course he is.

Fact: Any man is 50% sexier
when playing Mozart in Amadeus

And a big Boo Hiss to Isaiah Washington, if there's truth in the rumours that his homophobic slurs caused a fight on set.

~~~~~~~

Remember Fat Cat? In case you don't, he was a mute kiddies-TV character who got ripped from our television screens in 1992, after being deemed confusingly ill-defined (?) by the Australian Broadcasting Tribunal. My favourite part was always when he "danced"; so crap yet so compelling. I miss it. But Fat Cat is not dead! He still gets regular gigs on Sick Kids™ Telethons in Perth. (I saw this on tonight's Seven News, where Fat Cat was surrounded by a bevy of Channel 7 shlebrities (including "Kochie" and "Dicko") trying unsuccessfully to look charitable and inspired, waving their arms to dodgy music, while streamers tumbled down from above.

Meanwhile Patsy Biscoe is now a naturopath and local councillor in the Barossa Valley area. I wonder if she still has that creepy koala thing attached to her body.

~~~~~~~

I think it's simply delightful that Bert Newton willingly takes the piss out of himself for wearing a hair-piece. But does he have to do the pull a "spare" toupee out of your pocket and offer it to the bald/ing contestant/audience-member routine EVERY episode of Family Feud? Seriously, I know you're - like - eighty, but get some new material! You've been doing that schtick since at least the GMA days (I know this because a friend of mine was once on the receiving end of your high-larious gag).

And yes, dear readers, I'm aware how embarrassing it is that I watch Mr Newton enough to notice repetitions in his act. I never claimed to be cool.

can i buy a vowel?

2006-10-20T09:56:00.000+10:00

Check out this online trip back to childhood. Just Letters is an interactive "magnetic" letterboard, just like we all used to have on our fridges when we were little.

For some reason, I am having an inordinate amount of fun with this. There are up to 50 people playing with each fridge online at any one time, so it can be quite a challenge to write something without your letters getting stolen. I tried to write "STOP STEALING MY LETTERS YOU CUNTS" but I didn't manage.

[via Neatorama]

the bobby is dead. long live the bobby.

2006-10-17T20:49:00.000+10:00

I haven't said much about this year's Australian Idol, even though I must admit I've been sucked in, and watching it compulsively. Given that for the first time in the show's history, the judges (allegedly) went to an effort to include songwriters in the competition, I have been anticipating with interest tonight's Up Close And Personal show...

God damn it! I missed the start! Was there an intro? A group performance?! I shall never know!

When I tune in, Andrew G is telling us that Dean Geyer is still very shy around girls. Someone back stage coughs the word "faggot". Mr Geyer then announces his song is called Change and that it's about "change". I love the Deep Subtext. But, it's fair to say, subtext is not an essential ingredient of B-Grade soft-cock-rock anthems. And that's just what Dean delivers: a decent but unmemorable rock ballad. He looks irritatingly pretty throughout, as always. Much as it disgusts me to say it, I think Dean will probably win this year.

After an ad-break, Lisa is up, and she seems kind of vague and not too bright - as usual. She launches into her song - and lo and behold, it's not bad. It's a fuckload better than the shit I was writing when I was 16, that's for sure. But her vocals sound uncertain. Also, she's so awkwardly child-like - which I understand is part of the appeal for creepy-old-man types like Holden. But it puts me off. In a few years, this girl could be incredible, but right now she seems kinda lost.

Ricky Muscat comes on and announces he's from Werribee. That explains so much. We then hear his life story in thirty seconds. Andrew G prods him about his love life (does he seem unhealthily obsessed with the pretty male contestants' nocturnal activities? should we be worried about Andrew?) and Ricky confesses, "It's crazy. Me and Dean are having a ball!" to which Andrew G responds, "I'm sure you are!" Make of that what you will. I must admit, I didn't see Ricky's song, as I chose that moment to microwave myself some dinner. No great loss, I'm sure!

And now it's time for Mr Amateur Hour. Sorry, that's Damien Leith. This guy still has a lot of ground to make up with me, after his catastrophic rendition of Celebration a fortnight ago. Tonight he is performing a song of his own composition... which, predictably, is pure syrup. I just cannot take him seriously as a performer; he looks and sounds like someone's brother-in-law. The song's stirring chorus repeats the line, "I'm So Happy With Who I Am", which sounds like something they'd make retards sing at a Christian Camp.

Now we have a montage of the Idols visiting Sick Kids™ in hospital, as a promotion for Ronald McDonald House. A toddler seems to find Bobby hilarious. Maybe he's mistaken him for Ronald McDonald himself. The Idols are asked what they'll take away from the experience of meeting the Sick Kids™. Chris Murphy replies, "a [smug] sense of satisfaction". God he's a tool.

Chris and James Mathison try to chat, until Chris' arrogance collides with James' drug haze, rendering them both unable to communicate. Awkward! Chris' song is marvellously tedious. He has a glorious future of lunch-time RSL gigs ahead of him.

Another ad break. (HURRY UP AND GET TO BOBBY.)

OMFGWTFBBQ Andrew G is singing. Send help.

On to the stage bounds Jess Mauboy. She laughs. I think Andrew is using Jess to promote Multiculturalism. Jess doesn't mind; she laughs. Andrew asks how she felt when her friend Lavina got eliminated from the show two weeks ago. Jess says that it was "terrible... really sad", and she laughs. Then she does the song, and laughs some more.

Dear Jessica,
You are just lovely... but Please listen to Sarah Vaughan and Billie Holiday, and observe that what they do is "interpreting a song". What you are doing is "adding trills to a song". This is not quite the same thing.
Yours,
mm
p.s. stop laughing.
p.p.s. if Dean doesn't win Idol this year, I reckon you will.

ANOTHER FUCKING AD BREAK before we finally get to see Bobby. Bobby is insane. Bobby is completely bonkers! I love Bobby. He sings a song called The Boy Had Trouble.

Co-incidentally, I had spent this afternoon compiling a giant double mix-CD of folk-influenced songwriters like Devendra Banhart, Sufjan Stevens, Joanna Newsom, etc. It occurred to me that if I were to put Bobby's song on the CD, it would not only fit perfectly, it would be a stand-out track.

...AND OH MY GOD, HE WHISTLES! He's so cool.

Three cheers for Bobby.

~~~~~~~

pea.ess. I generally have a very short fuse when it comes to Bobby Bashing, but this picture by Sam made me laugh out loud.

secret messages

2006-10-16T14:39:00.000+10:00

A friend recently told the story of a young woman and her elderly (aunt? grandmother?) at a restaurant. The older woman had once been a Morse code translator during the Second World War. In the restaurant, the young woman's phone received a text message and emitted the familiar generic alert sound. You know the one:

bip-bip-bip beep-beep bip-bip-bip *pause* bip-bip-bip beep-beep bip-bip-bip

The older woman listened to the tone, bemused, and asked, 'What does "S M S" mean?'

~~~~~~~

Could the familiar message-alert tone really be spelling out SMS in morse code?

See for yourself:

In morse code,
S= . . .
&
M= – –

so
SMS = . . . – – . . .

which is bip-bip-bip beep-beep bip-bip-bip

So that elderly, Morse-Code-trained lady really had heard the letters SMS emanating from her (grandaughter? niece?)'s handbag.

Am I the only one who finds this fascinating? Am I the only one now wondering whether my alarm clock is really shouting, 'Get Up!' and my smoke alarm, 'You've burned the fucking toast again!'?

words of wisdom

2006-10-16T13:27:00.000+10:00

The splendiferous Lili has been blogging her way through a literary tour of Europe, as Writer in Residence over at Inside A Dog.

Do go and read her; the lady is magical.

ladies and gentlemen, we are in the handbasket

2006-10-10T18:31:00.000+10:00

I seem to have missed this story:

INDONESIA'S president has declared a disaster zone over part of East Java swamped by a mudspill, and ordered that four affected villages be abandoned, a government minister said.

President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono has ordered that the Indonesian company responsible for drilling a gas well near where the mud has been flowing pay at least 1.5 trillion rupiah ($218.5 million) to deal with the mess.

The toxic mud has been oozing from from beneath the earth's crust for 4 months. It is still flowing.

The sulfuric mud, which began spewing from the ground near a gas drilling site in May, is erupting at a rate of 126,000 cubic metres a day and has affected eight villages and displaced some 12,000 people.
Experts have said they cannot predict when – or if – the mud will stop seeping from the ground...

The drilling company that was working at the site, and which is owned by the family of the Indonesian welfare minister, has denied it is to blame and says an earthquake nearby may have caused the phenomenon.
Yudhoyono however has ordered the firm to pay...

Lapindo Brantas - the company whose operations have become the site of this "natural" disaster - is part owned by Santos, Australia's largest oil and gas prospector.

And according to this article, MedcoEnergi Oil & Gas - Lapindo's partner company - claim the operator did not adhere to the safety standards required to prevent "potential hole problems".

The Indonesian President is stating, in no uncertain terms, that he holds Lapindo Brantas responsible for the catastrophe. Our media, of course, don't go quite so far as to imply a cause-and-effect relationship.

As for me, I don't know what to think. I just know that it all makes me rather scared for the state of the world.

wikipedia is funny... but don't laugh too hard

2006-10-05T14:53:00.000+10:00

One can lose literally hours (if not days) wandering the byzantine corridors of Wikipedia. Now, I'm fully aware that Wikipedia is merely a collection of the mass "knowledge" of computer geeks and Average-Joes around the world, officially edited by 11-year-old girls (true story). But I personally like to 100% accept without question absolutely everything it says as fact. Life is much more fun that way.

Anyhoo, here's what I discovered today: FATAL HILARITY. Yup. Turns out you really can die laughing. Further investigation reveals several historically-recorded instances of people literally laughing themselves to death...

It is told that in 1782, a lady named Mrs Fitzherbert began laughing so uncontrollably during a performance of The Beggar's Opera, that she had to be escorted from the theatre. She continued laughing all that night and the following morning, and died the next day, still laughing.

More recently, in 1975, a 50-year-old bricklayer in England, laughed himself to death while watching a scene in The Goodies involving a Scotsman in a kilt and a homicidal black-pudding. His wife watched in amusement that no-doubt turned to horror, as Alex Mitchell laughed uproariously for twenty-five minutes, unable to stop, before he let out a "tremendous belly laugh, slumped on the settee, and died" of a heart attack.

But my very favourite instance of Fatal Hilarty comes from the Third Century B.C. when Greek Philosopher Chrysippus allegedly died laughing after getting his horse drunk on wine, and then watching it try to eat some figs.

Drunk horse! Figs! Make no mistake - that shit is dangerously funny.

So just be careful next time you're enjoying your old VHS tapes of Hey Dad...! And woe betide all the cackling baby-boomers tuning in for Russell Gilbert's re-runs of On The Buses and The Benny Hill Show on Saturday evenings. Fatal Hilarity can strike anyone at anytime.

And they always told us laughter was the best medicine! Pfft! Maybe if your doctor is this guy.

mindlessmunkey's non-sabbath sermon of the week!

2006-10-05T07:07:00.000+10:00

Lovers and dreamers, today's message is simple but extremely important. It is really a reminder. There is one, all-powerful blessing which keeps us going - which makes all our pleasures possible. It is the reason we get out of bed (at 6 o-fucking-clock) every-morning. It is the reason we put ourselves through struggles and arduous (often fucking tedious) tasks, day in and day out. My followers, that blessing has arrived at last, and it is our duty as The Faithful to show our humble, pious gratitude.

Join with me, dear readers, in today's prayer:

That is all.

A-fucking-men.