Things I should like that I don't

Inspired by Redcap, I have decided to catalogue the things that are purportedly awesome that I cannot stand. Nothing like a bit of bile and vitriol to get the heart moving.


The Lord of the Rings trilogy

Viewers of the movie may not have realised that most of the characters of this epic tome can’t walk two goddamn steps without breaking into some inaccessible elvish excuse for music.

And it’s not even irritation that gets me with TLOTR (as my nerdish partner informs me it is abbreviated) it’s boredom. I don’t bloody care what Frodo is up to. I don’t care whether or not Sauron rules the world or if Aragorn has his kingdom returned. And because I love a poor excuse to blow my own trumpet, here is a list I tried to send to McSweeneys (it was rejected) that I think is quite funny

Middle Earth Academy of Motion Pictures presents its nominees for ‘Best Picture’

Sauron in Love
Legolas of Arabia
The Elvish Patient
Frodo Gump
Guess Who’s Coming to Second Breakfast?


Australian Idol

It seems that Australian Idol straddles the world of white trash and po-mo* in a way that means that if you’re part of the gen pub you can enjoy it with gusto and no guilt, but also if you are part of the coolsie set you can watch it without fear of cauldrons of scathing hot jeer being heaped upon you. This gives me the irrits. But not as much as the show, which frankly is just New Faces without ugly people**.


The Strokes

Oh no. hang on, I’ve changed my mind about them. And it wasn’t even Valensi related.


Stanley Kubrick/Andrei Tarkovsky

See Redcap’s decimation of Kubrick over here.

And might I add: for god’s sake, get over yourselves. I know it’s all trendy to love Russian arthouse cinema and everything, but the one thing that the George Clooney version of Solaris had going for it was that it didn’t go for several hundred hours of wandering around a bright-white space-ship with absolutely nothing to do and no plot advancement/questionable cinematography. George’s production company very cleverly cut the amount of that “action” in half. Chalk me up to the huddled masses on that one….Tarkovsky – I just don’t get you.


Hairy legs (on me)

I am a devoted feminist. Anyone will tell you (particularly boys) that I have spent more than my fair share of hours on a feminist soap box giving passers-by a lecture about inequality in the workplace, the home, sexual relationships and basically wheverer else I feel women are being systematically diddled out of their rights.

One of the key tenets of second-wave feminism however is that one should embrace ones’ own appearance, that dressing up for others is a definite no-no, and that women should learn to love themselves for what they are. I kind of feel like I do that already, I just get a teensy bit of waxing done.

I have tried to embrace my hairiness, I really have. But the bottom line is that I am practically a monkey with dark, dark hair, and the chances of anyone living through a semi-naked encounter with me in my natural state are slim to non-existent. Don’t get me wrong, I will march and petition for women’s rights to let their leg hair grow so it’s trailing along the ground if that is what women want. It’s just not for me.


Bikram Hot Yoga

This is usually right up my alley. I do actually like yoga quite bit, despite being currently on a hiatus. But there’s something about deliberately over-heating yourself while undertaking strenuous exercise that seems a bit stupid to me, particularly living in the cooler climes as I do (and knowing that the straight-from-Antarctica gale-force wind* that hits you in the face as you’re leaving will probably force you to a hospital bed).

I saw several people out and about last night participating in what seemed to be Bikram hot bike-riding, and they didn’t even have to pay $30/lesson for the privilege. Selfish bastards.


Sticky date pudding/blue cheese/port/figs

I don’t like any of these things. Try as I might, I cannot convert myself to wholesale consumption of any of them. Not even while very, very drunk.

Extras

Meh.

Honourary Doctorates for Dumb-heads

There is a school of thought that if you are absolutely ace at what you do and yet you’ve never attended university, you should get some kind of honourary doctorate. I think that’s fine in several very limited circumstances. I don’t have a problem with, for example, our Hazel getting an honourary doctorate: she has made a genuine contribution to the community for which she is unlikely to receive the recognition in the public sphere that she so richly deserves.

I do however, have a major problem with Shane Warne being awarded one. I’m not saying he isn’t a good sportsman. My point is that surely he is regularly lauded for that contribution, and making him a freaking Doctor of Philosophy or some shit is just pushing the envelope way too far for my liking. I suppose I should see it as being a fantastic role modelling exercise for young people to see Shane Warne at a university in full academic garb, but what it says to me mostly is “woo hoo! Major publicity opportunity for otherwise under-valued university faculty that should be as popular as cricket but just isn’t”. That, and “Gee mum, so you don’t actually have to do seven years’ work to get a doctorate, you can just be a sports person and get accolades piled upon you, seven different sponsorship agreements that will keep you comfortable well into your twilight years AND a university will be so desparate to glom on to you that they will give you a piece of paper that means nothing because you haven’t worked for it, but you can pretend that all those years were really spent at the “school of hard knocks ™”? Guess I’ll finish school in grade three then, and by the way, where is my bat?”****


* aka post-modern

** or Max Sharam

*** the one which led me to remark recently, “Pfft. Antarctica. Won’t we all be glad when THAT’S gone”

**** Before you pull me limb from limb for attacking Shane Warne, please note that he is now no longer on the national side and therefore not deserving of any kind of patriotic fervour.

If he ever was.

Which I would question.

Seriously.