All your best one-liners/borrowed from a film

If you have a good idea, it’s an even better idea to package it up for different audiences and syndicate it.

In fact, if the recent rash of remakes is anything to go by, there is much potential in repackaging old stories for new audiences.

One such film genre that gets a regular remake (sometimes seven times in one year) is the teen movie. And I’ve been thinking that there’s huge potential in the repackaging of hideously successful teen films to ensure they maximise their potential earning capabilities with new audiences. I've workshopped this idea extensively with Indeed (as is the way of the film-industry).

So here are our suggestions:

Grease

Synopsis: Good girl Sandy and greaser Danny fell in love over the summer. But when they unexpectedly discover they're now in the same high school, will they be able to rekindle their romance?*

New Audience: disaffected youth seeking inspiration for future careers (Education Department/Small Business Training Video)

Update: Neat freak Sandy and slacker Danny fell in love over the summer. But when they unexpectedly discover their common love of dry-cleaning, will they be able to pursue their passion into a career?

We will call it…..Crease


What’s eating gilbert grape?

Synopsis: Gilbert has care for his brother Arnie and his obese mother, which gets in the way when love walks into his life

New audience: musical theatre aficionados

Update: Gilbert has constant quarrels with his partner Sullivan and his entrepreneurial producer Carte, which gets in the way when he tries to poke fun at the ruling class who stupid, stinking Sullivan tries constantly to befriend before Carte robs them blind to keep the Savoy Theatre open.


We will call it….What’s eating Gilbert and Sullivan


I know what you did last summer

Synopsis: Four teens are in great danger one year after their car hits a stranger whose body they dump in the sea.

New Audience: The druids, England’s most mysterious religious sect

Update: Four teens are in great danger one year after they accidentally drop a menhir on a stranger whose body they bury under some standing stones.

We will call it…..I know what you did last summer (solstice)


St Elmo’s Fire

Synopsis: A group of friends, just out of college, struggle with adulthood. Their main problem is that they're all self-centred and obnoxious.

New audience: Gen Y counter-culture

Update: A Group of friends, just out of year seven, struggle with adulthood. Their main problem is that they're all self-centred and obnoxious and listen to way too much ‘A Simple Plan’

We will call it…..St Emo’s Fire


Dude, where’s my car?

Synopsis: Two potheads wake up from a night of partying and can't remember where they parked their car

New Audience: White Russian sympathisers, circa 1918

Update: Two Russian laudanum users charged with Royal security awake after a night of partying to discover that their leader and his entire family has been kidnapped and the country has “gone all Bolshevik”.

We will call it…..Dude, where’s my czar?



Now all I need is a time-machine and studio backing, and my career is SET. Does being distantly related to Paul Smith from the Henderson Kids give me industry cred?

* The original synopses here are from excellent movide database, imdb.com.

There's a gang that shoots then listens

Howard thinks that Indigenous community poverty and family violence is “our Hurricane Katrina”. There are so many things wrong with that statement that frankly I want to punch something.

He notes, somewhat obviously, that “the hand of god” is not present in the crisis in Indigenous communities. But I’ll tell you Mr Howard, the hand of Government is also decidedly absent.

I saw an Indigenous leader speak at an event a couple of years ago, where she angrily observed that it was simply not good enough that all kids in Indigenous communities have to look forward to, to aspire to in their working lives, was CDEP. CDEP, like social security, is not a living wage. It is, in many cases, an excuse for busy-work to keep Indigenous people in their communities and out of the Anglo-dominated towns.

If CDEP contributes to welfare dependency, then part of the responsibility for this lies with government policy, departments and organisations who do nothing to build the skills of communities, and business organisations who are unprepared to provide ongoing development for those who go through the program.

Because while Howard might hate Indigenous poverty, no doubt what he hates more is voter-outrage about the “Aboriginal problem” in major towns like Alice Springs, or the possibility that enough people are moved by this problem to change their vote in response to it*.

CDEP is not good enough. But there is nothing to suggest that the Government wants to do things to seriously improve the skills-base of people in remote communities. Government spending can be part of a solution to systemic unemployment in a community or local economy. You can see this by the location of major government services in smaller towns right around the country. So if it’s okay to locate a Government centralized service in Traralgon or Launceston, why not a community whose dividends would be massively increased by government investment? There is nothing to stop the Government, for example, building a huge government call-centre at Wadeye. Except perhaps the essential services that the rest of us take for granted.

The Federal Government also displays a breathtaking lack of understanding of the interaction between Indigenous communities and government bodies. By failing to recognise the stolen generation and proposing only solutions which are perceived to strip communities of their rights, the Federal Government have perpetuated a system in which families are reluctant to get an “ear nose and throat check”. This isn’t just an issue of family violence (although that plays a significant role), it’s also Government’s reaction to it – that a routine ENT check might turn into the removal of children who are under-nourished because vegetables are out of reach of people on welfare payments. I agree that it is a critical situation if people are avoiding the doctor because they are the victims of sexual assault, but this is a common thread through many victims of sexual assault. What is just as worrying is that this is a group of people in our community so desperately frightened of Governments that they would rather die than see a doctor.

What’s more, while crowing over the amazing achievement of the Budget surplus for the last ten years, Howard has refused to allow remote communities to participate in the economic wealth of this country. “Choice”, he says, and “best for families”, and “pulling yourself up by your bootstraps”. Well if economic prosperity doesn’t mean increased opportunity for everyone, perhaps I’ll just start slacking off now. What is the point in making this country a better place if it's not better for all of us?

Don’t get me wrong, I want the Government to spend more money. I want children and women to be safe. But this is an issue which requires sustained, long term action, not a panicked reaction to the threat of media reports.

I’m not saying the problem isn’t massive. I’m just saying that Howard’s response to it, now, seems like the reaction of a lazy watchman who fell asleep on the job, who is now big-noting himself by chasing after the robbers when the televisions of his department store are long gone.

Any response to an issue of major national significance should be one of collaboration, not occupation. Indigenous communities need help to find solutions to the massive problems of poverty and injustice meted out to all members of the community. Indigenous people and leaders have been waving at the Government from a remote island called “Novotesinit” for decades. A “highly prescriptive” approach of the type Howard is suggesting could have been avoided, if only the Government had listened before we reached this point.


* Sadly, this is unlikely.

She had cool, cool hands when the fever hits...

Today is my mum's birthday.

She is one day younger than Tim Finn, although she has never written a song about her birthday to the best of my knowledge.

Happy birthday Mama Giggle.

I'm glad you are feeling better.

Love Gigglewick

Reasons you might hate me

Some have expressed the disbelief that I could cause another person to hate. You guys are lovely. But it’s worth noting that I’m pretty sure there is a whole league of people organised almost singly with the hating of me (or people like me) in mind.

So, one of Mr Fix’s relatives really, really dislikes me. This wasn’t immediately apparent (she was able to keep herself nice to my face for about three months).

And because I can be remarkably respectful, especially where other people’s families are concerned, I have let it go on for years and years without saying anything. More fool me, etc, etc. But they’re not my family, and it’s been hard to break the hoodoo that I am somehow beholden to offer them respect, even when they show nothing of the sort to me.

So here, readers, is the Abrasive Aunt best six reasons to hate me

1. I have Chinese relatives
Apparently Abrasive spent some time poring over our engagement party photos trying to work out what nationality my father was. Then she didn’t come to our wedding (these two things may or may not be related – I’ve never been able to work it out). She’s also very fond of the slang “Vietnamatta”. My dad is half-Chinese. His family have been in the country longer than any of my European relatives. But even if my Dad was friggin' Chairman Mao, dude WTF? Since when is this a character flaw?

2. I’m a horrible feminist and possibly a lesbian
Abrasive thinks she is a feminist. She thinks she is a feminist because “a lesbian threw a beer at me once”. I don’t know how she joined the two. We had a gentle conversation about that once, but I’ve never been able to figure out her logic on that one. I am an active member of a women’s organisation Abrasive didn’t approve of. So, you know, tarnished for life there. She also seems to think that it's impossible to think that women have, and historically have had, a pretty raw deal without being a man-hater. I seem to manage it okay, but also you know, some days I don't wear lipstick, so I'm sure as far as Abrasive is concerned, anything is possible*.....

3. I’m possibly planning the violent Left overthrow of the government
Apparently the only person who deserves to lead the country is John Howard, because, as she pointed out loudly at a dinner party one night to my neighbouring guest, “AT LEAST HE’S HAD A REAL JOB, unlike Kim BEAZLEY”**. Ouch! She really got me there! I guess me and my lefty mates had best scuttle back to our caves and grow in some more dreadlocks.

4. I talk too much about myself
In 2001, shortly before my first ever trip overseas, Abrasive came to my MiL’s place for dinner. One of my MiL’s friends asked me what I was doing while in Europe. I started to answer her, before being interrupted by Abrasive looking straight at me, then turning back to her daughter and saying “OH BLA BLA BLA BLA BLA BLA! Like ANYONE is interested in what she is saying!”. I was deeply, deeply shocked and hurt by this. I didn't see it coming, and I certainly didn't know how to handle it.

5. I have deliberately taken up with the black sheep of the family who is now married, running a successful small business and the father to our lovely Grizzlewick
Clearly I have done this to spite her two children and cruel her grandmotherly ambitions. She has not been happy about the stability in my marriage, nor in Mr Fix's life since my arrival in it, especially when contrast to her kids. I would argue that this is pretty unfair, considering how insanely young Mr Fix and I got married. We are the exception, not the rule for our peer group. But it’s fair to say that she waxes and wanes with Mr Fix also. Once at a family gathering, Mr Fix was expressing his support for 50kmh speed zones. She responded, “Yes, but you would Mr Fix, because you’re just WEIRD”. No irony. No cheeky grin. Deadpan delivery worthy of William Hurt.

6. I hate her
I actually don’t. But I’ve probably had a stricken look on my face when she has made one of the twenty-odd deeply upsetting things she’s managed over the course of our “relationship”. And after the “bla bla bla” incident (which was followed by four phone calls the next day from other members of the family to apologise for her behaviour), I did start to avoid her for a while.


Some people keep little diaries of the funny things their kids say. I’ve been tempted to keep a log of the offensive things Abrasive has said. But seeing as I find it difficult to hold a grudge (no willpower), I guess I just never got around to it. I was hoping that she might roll out some gold-class insult on the weekend, but it didn't eventuate. I was ready, for the first time in my life, to stand up for myself. And then she was completely civil.

What a wheel-chock.

* As well as thinking that all people of Asian background are in some way evil druggies, she also seems to think that you can "pick a lesbian a mile off" by physical appearance and ability to complete home repairs.

* For the record, never a fan of Kim Beazley.

Mr Coffee Man knows what he wants/He wants a coffee and he wants it right now

I have, as I have previously outlined, a coffee place I always go to. At least once a day, sometimes twice, with my top visit count in one day currently standing at five.

And lately I’ve been thinking a bit about tips*. If you have some spare money, but not much (let’s say $10 a week that you basically piss away on stupid things like mints, an extra biscuit at morning tea you don’t really need, etc), is it better to

a) give that money to charity or
b) leave a small, regular or large, irregular tip for the staff of a coffee place you frequent daily?

Now, I’m a big believer in giving to charity – I make a regular contribution to (at last count) four organisations I’ve thought carefully about, and I almost never say no when some one comes to the door collecting, providing it’s a cause I philosophically support.

But lately I’ve been wondering if the poor long-suffering coffee-slaves who work for a pittance at the local café, aren’t somewhat deserving of my support too? I like their work. They’re cheery and friendly. I enjoy their coffee. I’m not a giver of the automatic tip, but if I have a spare buck here and there I will give a tip (and a reasonable one if I get really good service).

One might reasonably argue that the “barista” in my coffee place doesn’t really need a new pair of shoes, and that’s what I’m facilitating by giving her a tip. But would it be different if she was using the money to improve her intake of vegetables? And on the other hand, one can’t necessarily control where charitable donations go either.

I’m aware that there is something vaguely unethical about this train of thought – some one with gainful employment is clearly much better off than some one living in systemic poverty. But is wishing a better quality of life for some one who works in the service industry a bad wish, or just a misplaced one?

I guess the question isn’t so much about whether you give a tip, it’s a question of whether or not leaving a tip is a contribution to a better society – and if so, what kind of contribution?



* I have worked in hospitality. I got very good tips…mostly about ironing my uniform….. ka-chow!

McSweeney's Recommends: Recommending Things

It’s not that often that I use this blog to make an impassioned plea (well, okay, it’s about once a week. But if you knew me in real life, you’d know that this is about as “not that often” as I get when it comes to impassioned plea-making).

But I must implore you, if you are inclined to buying things over the interweb, to get over to McSweeney’s sharpish and buy up all their stock.

McSweeney's, as anyone who has the misfortune to have their email address in my address book knows, is not only a profound source of ongoing internet time-wasting, but it is chock full of satirical humour in a way that satisfies so many needs.

McSweeney’s, as well as running The Believer and Wholpin, seems to be the new nesting place of 90s uber-scribbler, Nick Hornby. I should know, I bought his book there.

McSweeney’s was founded on the understanding that there were a literal trailer-load* of fantastic emerging artists, writers and designers without access to the closed world of magazine publishing. Although it gave these artists a voice, it is now an amazing source of art and satire from a diverse range of writers, designers and musicians from David Byrne to Michael Chabon.

Regular readers of this blog and the blog of Ms Fits will be familiar with McSweeney’s Lists, where Ms Hardy has been spectacularly successful (they named a book after her list!). Mine languish here, because strangely enough I am the main person who finds them amusing.

But they have many other sections, the likes of which can while away a boring evening (or workday, if you’re that way inclined).

Anyhow, the point I’m trying to make is that McSweeney’s has found itself in, through the bankruptcy of its distributor, in a bit of financial trouble. And while reading endless “Lists”, "Short Imagined Monologues” and the ever-amusing “Letters from an Earth Ball” keeps us amused, it doesn’t make them any money whatsoever, or at least, none from me.

So if you’ve ever thought that the awesome McSweeney’s goodness in their store tickles your fancy, now is the time to buy (particularly for we capitalist pig-dogs who like to keep an eye on the exchange rate).

I have this week bought the hilarious “Baby Be Of Use” 4-book set** and “The Future Dictionary of America”. And now I get to wait with childlike glee for the postman until they arrive. Oh, it is so exciting.


Meanwhile, what are you still doing here? Get over there now, dammit!

Do it for me, kids. I'm too lazy to find anything new.



* I don’t know if they tested this by putting them in a trailer, but it seems feasible.

** Guess what all the parents I know are getting for Christmas this year?

Get your motor runnin'/Get out on the highway

Dearest of the dudes,

I know you’ve been missing me*. But I have been negotiating the wilds of country New South Wales, relocating myself and my family to Wagga (or just south thereof) for a 60th birthday party for my mother-in-law.

Trip highlights

Country tranquillity

One might have thought that I’d had my share of this in my recent relocation. Apparently one would be wrong. There were kangaroos hopping past the verandah, an awesome collie/samoid cross dog belonging to my MiL, and long country walks up and down hills. In addition, there is something to be said for new partners of MiLs trying very hard to impress their children/children’s family – we were the recipients of much hand-and-foot style waiting that I very much appreciated.

Copious quantities of high-quality food and wine

There is a social committee which apparently organizes all events held at my MiL’s partner’s house**. They prepared a sit-down meal with two kinds of roast meat, several sauces, roast potatoes, cheese platters and three different cakes and assorted petit fours for her birthday lunch. Cop that.

As well as all this ace food (and cooked breakfasts which I didn’t have to prepare three days in a row) there was copious and varied wine consumption which commenced at midday each day and continued well into the night.

I am so having my next party there.

The Albury by-pass

If you have ever lived in Albury for a prolonged period of time (as Mr Fix has) you will find the Albury by-pass the most spectacular urban development in the history of the world. So predictable was Mr Fix’s response to it (he promptly phoned friends from high school to express wonderment at it) that when his sisters were driving through Albury an hour later, the following exchange occurred:

Sister 1: Wow! This bypass is amazing! Check out how different it is! It's really cool, isn't it?!

Sister 2: Snort! Good on you, Mr Fix.

Sister 1: OMG that really was exactly what he would say, wasn’t it?

Sister 2: Yes. Yes, it was.

I liked it because it meant that when we got to Albury the by-pass dropped us off right outside Dan Murphy’s, before spitting us back onto the “ring-esque” road moments later with a boot heaving with high-quality wine.

Trip lowlights

Grizzlewick = fully sick

Grizzlewick woke on Monday morning and proceeded to vom all over my bed, and then all over his own. AND HE WASN'T EVEN HUNG OVER. Having recovered from this, a short time later he consumed six pieces of toast, two bananas and four weet-bix. All of this was against my better judgement, and precipitated a wait in Wodonga for two hours to ensure that he wasn’t going to spew all the way home. Ah, the joys of parenthood.

Grimacing through the types of views I have sought to avoid my entire life, my WHOLE LIFE

There’s really only so long you can listen to:

1. Your partner’s aunt bitching about how much she hates her son-in-law
2. Statements like “that’s something women do, isn’t it?”
3. Anything which begins: “Well, it’s all this PC*** nonsense these days, no one can say what they really mean anymore....”
4. Lewd jokes about the sex lives of people you have only just met

Eight and a half hours in the car, each way

Some people would find this fun. I am not one of those people. I do now have an in-depth appreciation of truck-stop dining, and not nearly enough caffeine in my system.

Sadly for me, the weekend wasn't the cornucopia of blogging fodder I had hoped. There was enormous potential, as one of Mr Fix's relatives really hates me, but sadly even she was on her best behaviour. Oh well. Better luck next time....


* If not, just pretend.

** No, she is not dating John Howard.

*** This, surprisingly enough, does not refer to personal computers.

The most annoying song in the world when on an 8 1/2 hour car trip....

...or so I am told by Mr Fix, through gritted teeth....


Something something and something
Some something something something and something
Astro boy, astro boy
He is brave and gentle and warm

Stronger than all the rest
This little robot will pass the test
Something someeeething
Something soooommmmething
The amazing Astro boy!



And in case anyone was wondering, here are the actual lyrics:

Soaring high in the sky,
He may be small but only in size.
AstroBoy, AstroBoy,
He is brave and gentle and wise!

Stronger Than all the rest,
this mighty robot will pass the test,
Oh villans fear him, so we cheer him,
The amazing AstroBoy!

When you need someone strong,
Our robot friend will never be long.
AstroBoy, AstroBoy,
He will try to right any wrong!
When there's danger near by,
No matter who, what, where, when or why.
He'll defend us, he'll defend us,
The amazing AstroBoy!

I won’t be singing these, as I have now lost interest.

Damn you, cusp-of-Generation-Y tendencies!

I said/who put all those things in your head?

Members of the Academy, readers, friends,

Thanks for joining me tonight, where I'd like to take this opportunity to ...

...blame my parents.

Not for everything, mind. Although they did use the hothouse of our family to develop a few words not used in the common lexicon that I have had to use in public to find out they aren’t real words (thanks guys). But I do blame them (occasionally) for the way I think.

Let me explain, with a colourful story which includes references to North Fitzroy and alcohol.

A few years ago, I was at the Empress having a few drinks with a mate, let’s call him Sharky. Sharky spent about half an hour railing heartily against the decidedly more conservative views of some of our former house-mates. Oh, how I was enjoying that conversation. These were the kind of people who used to go to the local primary school on polling day and marvel at how you could buy books by the kilo, and complain about the price of a cooked snag. I say three things about that:

1. Selling books by the kilo is something that the urbane schools of the inner city would only resort to during the worst of the Kennett-Howard years, when all hope seemed permanently lost and

2. Those who buy books by the kilo with scant regard for their content will, in most cases get what they paid for and

3. It’s a friggin’ school fundraiser you tight-wads. For crying out loud, they get two elections every four years, don’t hassle out the Parents Association for charging (as I recall it) $1.50 for a sausage in bread.

Anyway, I digress. The actual point where Sharky lost me was when he made the following observation. Namely that:

“F-cking Young Liberal scum always swallow exactly what their parents tell them without ever thinking about it themselves. They are so f-cking brainwashed”

Now, I had had some major arguments with the people he was talking about. In particular, they had claimed several rather scathing things about various friends of ours due to their religion, ethnicity and/or income status. So I wasn’t predisposed to cut them any slack.

I grew up in lefty household though. And I remained a lefty. Therefore, am I not the same kind of “f-cking…brainwashed scum” (NB this is a rhetorical question)?

I will posit that I have spent more time than some developing my political perspectives. I also think that a bunch of people who start with the viewpoints of their parents take them to a completely different conclusion to what their parents did, for a myriad of reasons. Tim and Peter Costello being one excellent case in point.

So maybe what really happened to our brain-dead cohabitants was that their parents taught them not to be Liberals, but to be brain-washed – to believe anything they heard, regardless of the source. My folks taught me to be a whole lot more argumentative, and I think I’m a better person for it.

So what about you?

Did you steal your political viewpoints from your parents, or are they all your own work?

Fraud is in the air

Volkswagen, the brainchild of Ferdinand Porsche and Adolf Hitler and the mover of all kinds of tribes around the world, has recently kicked off an advertising campaign heralding the 25 year anniversary of the Golf.

The television advertisement features a boomer-aged couple who go parking in their original Golf on a hill top...only to be interrupted by doof-doof style Generation Y-types in a new Golf with stereo blaring (who, in the back-story, no doubt live at home and steal their parents’ credit cards).

On seeing their compadres in illicit amore getting grumpy, the Ys switch to a version of 'Love is in the air'. Oh, how the happiness ensues, everyone snuggles, no one gets pregnant and a G-rated time is had by all.

Which is all very well and good. It’s not, quite frankly, how I like my ads (my latest favourites are a dead tie between The Age’s guide to the Short Film Festival and the Cadbury ad featuring the words “And if you kick the goal and you’re a winner/When you get a trophy, it’s your dinner”). But what bothers me more is the subliminal repositioning of baby-boomers into a WHOLE NEW (younger) AGE BRACKET!

Let’s suppose, for a moment, that the boomers pictured are “average” baby-boomers, supposedly echoed by the teenagers who pull up beside them. If they were considered “peak” boomers, they would have been born in 1947. This would put them in their late teens in the middle of the ‘60s. Even if they were late-boomers, they would still have been teenagers in the mid-70s.

'Love is in the Air' was released in 1978.

Now I’m not saying it’s not possible that boomers didn’t like that song, without their significant buying power, it couldn’t have made it as high up the charts as it did. But was it a defining song of their teenage years? NO IT BLOODY WASN’T. Not any more than ‘Wannabe’ by the Spice Girls was for me (although I was a teenager when it was released, I’d rather claim ‘Berlin Chair’ or ‘Cannonball’).

And has anyone else noticed the other significant mathematical anomaly here?

Volkswagen Golf = 25 years old

‘Love is in the Air' = 29 years old

Here is my selection of other songs one could have chosen if appropriately celebrating 1982, based on their appropriateness for pairing with the Golf’s Anniversary/ads featuring so-called canoodling:

'Come on Eileen' – Dexy’s Midnight Runners

'Make a move on me' – Olivia Newton John

'Abracadabra'* – Steve Miller Band

Or if we’re feeling pluralistic and want to choose something German, perhaps

'The Model’ by Kraftwerk?

I'm also disappointed they passed over the intervening four years without resting on the obvious synergies between 'Too Drunk to F-ck' (released 1980) and our evolving respect for anti-drink-driving campaigns.

Either way, as I am led to understand it, none of us are now allowed to use the words “retirement” (see “lifestyle change”), aged care (ditto) “senior citizen” (???) or basically to allude to anything which might suggest that the boomers are getting older. Heaven forbid they might have to face up to it any time in, ooh, say the next twenty years?

See, this is what happens when you send some one on the cusp of X/Y to see a demographics presentation. It makes us** all grumpy***.




* Abracadabra, for those who aren’t aware, wins my award for worst lyrics of all time for rhyming the words “abra abra cadabra” with “I wanna reach out and grabya"

** Did I say us? I meant me.

*** Demographics, and the fact that I have been about as sick as I've been in the last couple of years to celebrate the long weekend. It's possible I may have spawned a rare new form of phlegm/mucous which can colonise otherwise dead planets.

Tell me that it's meme-olution/well, you know....

I got tagged by onlineguy: “Each player of this game starts with 6 weird things about himself or herself. People who get tagged need to write a blog entry of their own as well as state the rule clearly. In the end, you need to tag 6 people as well and list their names. Don’t forget to let them know they’ve been tagged!”

Six weird things about me

Geeze, only six weird things? Plus also, isn’t this essentially my whole blog? My foremost hobby these days does indeed seem to be embarrassing myself on the internet….

Okay, let’s go for the oddest/ones I can think of (but bear in mind, they’re chosen by me, so you’ll get what I deign to tell you). And also, no fair IRL peeps adding their own…

1. I get obsessed with words and use them into the ground. Here is a calendar of recent word usage:

June 2006 Seriously
August 2006 Yes. Yes I do. (or variants on same)
September 2006 Ace*
October 2006 Dude, WTF?
November 2006 Awesome
January 2007 Groovy
February 2007 Kids (as in, “come on kids, let’s go!” except applied to people of all ages)
March 2007 Dude

While I haven’t stopped using any of these words/phrases, they are being toned down as a new word enters my everyday usage. What will it be next? I’m guessing “rad”.

2. When I was a teenager, my parents’ nickname for me was “Piles”, because I used to leave neatly organized stacks of things around instead of putting them away. Particularly true of books and paper, which dominated the landscape of my room for many years. Anyone who has worked with me (or lived with me) can no doubt also relate to this nickname. I argue that I don’t always know instinctively where something goes when I first receive it**, and it needs some ruminating time. Notably, this is a habit endorsed by PJ O’Rourke’s Bachelor’s Home Companion.

3. I have two birthmarks which are rarely seen, and to stop you all having lurid thoughts, I’m going to tell you why. The first WAS a massive boil-shaped lump on my head at my right temple. Mostly now, it is covered up by my hair. But when I was a little baby (and quite the bald-o), a woman stopped my mother in the street to say “Goodness me, aren’t you going to get that cancer cut off your baby’s head?”. Thanks must go to my mother, who ignored her, and as my head got bigger*** it flattened out, leaving a bald patch. The other birthmark (on my outer thigh) also used to be quite lumpy, but has now flattened out and has a slightly different texture to the rest of my skin. Of course, I’ve gone and evened it up now through my persistent scar that was the result of this injury.

4. I am, for the most part, a strident pragmatist. I think there’s something inherently paradoxical about this. But I guess I know, for the most part, how I would like things to be, and also how they are likely to be. This makes me weird for the most part in the company I keep – who are for the most part rampant idealists or dyed-in-the-wool pragmatists****. Some might say that you can’t achieve without idealism, and I agree that idealism is what drives most people. But I’ve also seen enough of how the world works to understand that most ideals are an ambit claim, rarely lived up to by realities (whatever your ideological/political stripe). Lo! How the cynicism shapes a nation.

5. Sometimes when I see “famous” people, I get the almost irrepressible urge to make fun of them to their face. For example, when I saw Ryan Heath in a conference scrum***** on Monday, I had to stifle my urge to run up to him and say “Dude, what is with your hair?”******. I resisted this temptation, because I am much more polite than that. Well, in real life, at least. And also, as one of my friends quite rightly pointed out, it would have made it a little bit more difficult to have an in-depth conversation about his book if I started our conversation by insulting him on his appearance.

6. I get dandruff in my eyebrows. One of my former work colleagues claims this is the result of failure to moisturise my whole face (because when you moisturise you naturally avoid your eyebrows). I am not sure if this is true, but it is quite perplexing. Also one might argue it negates me making any comments whatsoever on the appearance of others, including, but not limited to, Ryan Heath.

I’m quite pleased that this meme is not to be completed by Mr Fix. I’m sure he can think of many weirder things than this.

Also, I don’t know if anyone else is intrigued by onlineguy’s “mission”. I certainly am.

Tagging: Bevis (to return the favour), Killer Rabbit, I’m Not Craig, Snoskred, Meva and Mr Fromage


Footnotes-a-looza*******

* I had to stop using the word “Ace”, when I applied it to Grizzlewick and he said, “I’m not ace, I’m Grizzlewick”. Seems there was a child called Ace at his childcare, something which made my use of the word very confusing.

** Interestingly enough, the answer seems to be “the bin”. But I like to delay the inevitable by placing it in my fastidious pile first.

*** And who says it has stopped?

**** There are exceptions to this rule. You know who you are.

***** Not an actual scrum. Although, that would have been an innovative way to sort out who got a cup of tea first.

****** In writing this, I remembered that I actually DID approach Becky Thomas from the Mavis’s at one point and ask her essentially the same question (except with a more gushing tone). She was similarly unimpressed, despite my obvious ardour for her “do”.

******* As opposed to, say, "loser".

I've got the key/I've got the secret (apparently)...

For those of you who have been reading along this whole time (which, as I judge it, is INCraig and Harpo, with Meva and Snoskred following not far behind)....



You may remember the heady days of my early blogging life (aka September last year).

I revisited it myself this week, in a personal celebration of the tedious milestone that is my 100th post (it was the one about the rude waiter, yesterday).



But, did any of you pick my INCREDIBLY MISSED BUSINESS OPPORTUNITY?

There I was, in my innocence, casting around for something to blog about and taking MW's suggestion that I should ask the universe for stuff.

Apparently (so Oprah says), this is an INTERNATIONALLY RENOWNED PHENOMENON* which has made SOME ONE ELSE** very rich.

It's probably wrong to get huffy at the universe.

But I'm going to do it anyway.

Kicks are hard to come by down this way, and the Dalai Lama isn't visiting anytime soon, so I figure I'm safe. Or am I?

* I am not linking to that crap. NO NO NO.

** Why did Oprah arrange an interview with the so called "creator" of the Secret, and then spend all her time talking to the guy who, by his own admission, was running the biggest friggin' drug trade on the coast of the US, and who now describes himself as "a visionary"?

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

I'm not sure if you were wondering where I have been (probably not), but the answer is Melbourne.

Specifically, I've been down for a weekend of hanging out with friends followed by a several work-related seminars. I did all of this sans Mr Fix and Grizzlewick, which was nice/weird.

There seems to be a lot of talk on the internerds lately about bad service. So perhaps there was some kind of karma going on this weekend.

I had a last-minute brunch with Mr Fix's family, who happened to be assembling in the city on Sunday morning. I decided to tag along, because I hadn't seen them in a while, and it seemed like a nice thing to do.

So we wandered around Degraves Street for a while, decided it was too busy and then settled on a cafe a short distance away. Do not let this fool you - said cafe was still quite the trend-ness.

I sat down with Mr Fix's mum and her partner, while we waited for the rest of the family to arrive. We ordered coffee, and I became slightly obsessed with the specials board. When the rest of the family arrived we ordered brunch. By this stage I was starving, having caught the train for a three-hour trip and skipping breakfast to make it in time.

I ordered an intriguing 'cinnamon toast with poached pineapple and maple syrup'. I'm only half-a-fan of maple syrup, so I asked for it to be served on the side, so I could be my usual control-freak self. The rest of the fam ordered omelettes, bacon and eggs, and the like.

About thirty minutes later, our food had still not arrived. We started to joke amongst ourselves about what the hold up was, with everyone blaming the cinnamon toast.

Two minutes later, everyone's food arrived. That is, everyone's but mine.

Five minutes later, the waitron brought out my meal and, within inches of placing it before me, said "oh, you wanted to the maple syrup on the side" and whisked the plate back inside before I could say "well, yes, but I'm so hungry now I don't really care".

Another ten minutes elapse.

My plate reappears with the pineapple and maple syrup in a bowl next to a piece of pleasingly soft toast, dusted with cinnamon. Ace. Or would have been, if anyone had given me cutlery.

Finally we hailed a waitron to get me a knife and fork. He leaned over "conspiratorially" and said:

"It's that girl's first day, so....."

This is restaurant code for: don't complain.

I can live with that. I've had first days too, and it's never pleasant when you don't know where everything is. I did notice the second waitron tell her off in a stage-whisper, which I thought was possibly slightly unnecessary, and not particularly in the spirit of his "let's all come bathe ourselves in love while we support our faltering young foal"-style aside earlier in the piece.

About ten minutes later, we were in full flight of breakfast and I was in the middle of telling the story of my latest WDTAOK post, when second waitron returns and stands tapping his foot for a couple of seconds before leaning across me and saying:

"Look, I hate to interrupt your cutesy story, but does anyone here want any more coffee?"

Now I'm not sure about you, but I would have thought being a waitron would teach the following skillz:

1. At your peril do you interrupt a parent from telling a story to an adoring grandparent

2. At no time should you use the word "cutesy" to a customer

3. I'm a performer*, goddammit, and when I'm in full flight with hand gesticulations and florid language is not the time to ask if we want more coffee.

The table suffered a slight frisson at this moment, followed by an explosion of outrage once he moved beyond earshot.

I was prepared to overlook the bumbling, the incorrect order, the lack of cutlery.

But that dude = so rude.

To paraphrase Rebecca Barnard, "I wouldn't talk to Gigglewick like that if I were you".


NO TIP FOR YOU.


This post is dedicated to my sister Doc, who I am missing a lot, and who never fails to tell me all about the good/bad/horrid food she consumes.


* Not really. I mean, it's not on my passport or anything.

That's the way it is/What's so good about that?

I love my Ipod. You know, for some, Ipods might be a glorified herd of cows.

But I think you can never quite match an Ipod for giving you a soundtrack to your life of which 'That Girl' or, heaven forbid, Mary Tyler Moore, would be proud.

And when I match the European stylings of Southern Cross station with Johnny Marr's 'Bangin' On', I do feel quite the modern miss.

Just for a few seconds, anyway.

Ms Staypuft

Half a bag of marshmallows.



It's not....


strictly speaking,


for all intents and purposes,


at the end of the day,


when you break it down,


taking everything to account,


all jokes aside,


weighing up all the options,


when you've done the research,


interpreting all the data,


when all is said and done,






....lunch.



Is it?