I hope nobody was looking at my face when I spotted this in the Bourke St HMV today.

How embarrassing to be caught looking so DELIGHTED in a public place. What a feeling! I have been on the lookout for this album in CD form for many years. I don’t know why, but I never seem to play the vinyl album we have, so I became fixated with finding the CD somewhere. And it has been an ongoing, unfocussed and distracted, quest. And now it is completed. Hurrah. And now that I think about it, Flashdance is quite possibly the very first album I was ever obsessed with. In my life. Ever. I can remember dancing around to it A LOT when we lived in Yugoslavia. And I was aged 3 to 5 when we lived in Yugoslavia. That is rather young. What the hell was I doing being obsessed with the Flashdance album at age 3 to 5? I think we got it after seeing the movie. But what the hell was I doing watching the Flashdance movie when I was aged 3 to 5? And why was I not influenced to become arty and gorgeous by this early exposure to avant-garde girlie club dancing? WHY? So many questions. Oh, how I wish that this devoted cultural consumption at such an early, impressionable and formative age had been more, well, formative. Drat. But anyway, so happy right now. This is one glorious album. There is not one thing on it that isn’t great. And it’s all already hardwired into me. So familiar, yet so exciting. I am totally inflicting some part of it on community radio listeners next Tuesday morning. But which part? I’m sorely tempted to play Love Theme From Flashdance. But I also want to play He’s A Dream. And Romeo. Oh, such a tough choice is before me. Thankfully, there are many Tuesday mornings in a year. For instance, this morning, when I spoke to this guy and played some Drones and Le Tigre and Coral and Björk and Pixies and Cut Copy and Bit By Bats. And then went shopping. And then met Guy for lunch. And then came home and loaded up my iPod with fresh new purchases while re-watching the North & South finale. And then blogged. God, there are actually things that I am supposed to be doing. I should really go and do them. Now. With my iPod set to Flashdance.

Six exciting things about which I am, predictably, EXCITED:

1. MR THORNTON

Did you see him? Did you love him? Did you FALL OVER when he scowled? And also when he smiled? And when he stared? And when he spoke? And so forth? GOOD.

2. The Mess Hall and WHIRLWHIND HEAT at the Northcote Social Club on Sat 18 June. I seriously suggest you do not miss them. Seriously.

3. Bloc Party and Cut Copy at the Hifi on Wed 20 July.

4. Queens Of The Stone Age at the Palace on Tues 26 July.

5. Interpol at the Metro on Wed 27 July.

6. The Futureheads gig, wherever and whenever it ends up being, which had better not clash with anything else Splendour-related. DO YOU HEAR?

And one annoying thing about which I am, increasingly, ANNOYED:

1. We have been patient. And usually patience is all that is required when our comments system goes on the blink. But I am sick of waiting, comments system. RIGHT YOURSELF.

Two Google search phrases, which become amusing when taken together:

1. why do people react negatively to tom cruise Katie Holmes romance?

2. Tom Cruise referred to Katie as nick on oprah

I believe the appropriate reaction is now written as HAR HAR HAR.

Hello. I am not a weird person. I am not a freak, okay? I thought the last two Star Wars movies were "terrible, frankly", just like everybody else. I even thought they were more terrible than some other people thought they were, so I'm like, extra not freaky. Okay? Good. Because I have just watched Revenge of The Sith, and I want everyone to understand that I am in no way a loser no taste freak when I say I LOVED IT. IT WAS AWESOME. OH MY GOD. IT RULED.

Please, don’t shun me. And also, excuse me if I occasionally make outbursts like IT WAS GRIPPING and so forth. Sorry, but I’m quite excited. I mean, the last two were just so devastatingly poor. I had no expectations when I sat down to watch the new one this afternoon. And IT WAS GREAT. I was actually engaged, rather than rolling my eyes. I was pleading with the characters, etc. I was calling them names. IT WAS THRILLING.

Look. Here is the basic arc of my reaction to the film:

“Oooh, this is rather good, eh. That opening bit where the STAR WARS bit comes up and the music packs a wallop. I'm really glad at least this aesthetic was maintained. Also, just generally Lucas, LOVE THE WIPES."

"Jolly good. Flying and fighting and being all comrade-y. Wait, but what are you rescuing HIM for? HE IS BAD.”

“Oh lovely. Look how they are hugging and in love. Wow. I actually believe it. That’s odd.”

“Seriously, that guy is BAD. What are you hanging with him for? Don’t be such an IDIOT.”

“Could you TRY and get some perspective? THINK THINGS THROUGH. Talk to your woman for fuck’s sake. She will set you straight. Why does she even let you hang out with HIM anyway? HE IS BAD. And A SHIT.”

“Dude, seriously. THE DARK SIDE IS WANK. Don’t even think about it. IT’S WANK!”

“STAY WHERE YOU ARE!” (hey, that was quite moving, that staring over the city bit) “STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”

“This is just weird and stupid. It cannot possibly work out for you. Now you are HIS bitch. And he’s not warm and honest and cheerful like Ewan MacGregor. JUST THINK ABOUT IT.”

“OH MY GOD. NO. STOP IT. STOP. IT. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? *stunned into gape-mouthed silence*

(It is at this point that I almost started crying)

“OH, YOU ARE A SHIT. AND AN IDIOT TOO. CAN'T YOU SEE? YOU ARE ON THE WRONG SIDE AND YOU HAVE JUST DONE TERRIBLE THINGS. WHY? YOU FOOL.”

“Aw. You’re breaking my heart when you say ‘you’re breaking my heart’, Natalie Portman. IT’S MOVING...EMOTIONALLY...YES, IN A GEORGE LUCAS FILM.”

“Hey, you scream real good when you burn.”

“Hmmm, I would have had his knees buckle in grief there, so that he was on the ground and clutching himself while sobbing wrenchingly. That whole NOOOOOOOO business was just cheesy, and robbed the thing of its emotional impact. We should have been able to feel the desolation. Bad George Lucas. Naughty.”

“You are all going to die. Eventually. Babies are cute and all. But YOU ARE ALL GOING TO DIE... EVENTUALLY.”

THE END

If you'll excuse me, I'm just going to watch it again before dinner. And I am not a freak.

A new morning routine has been developing, in which I watch about 30 minutes of Mornings with Kerri-Anne while breakfasting. I respect the fact she can look so Gold Coast by 9am in the morning. But anyway, I noticed a creepy infomercial thing the other day, for Wyld vitamin supplements. Or more specifically, Wyld for men and Wyld for women. The creepiness went as follows. The perky, slightly superspeed presenter woman said something like: "each Wyld product is specifically formulated to meet the needs of both men and women. For example, Wyld for men provides increased stamina and libido, whereas Wyld for women combats fatigue...". Full stop. Libido for men, an ability to withstand men's libido for women. Yikes.

Cool vibes, why don't you kill me?

So, on Saturday, I watched my tape of Friday night's Eurovision semi final, and out of the 25 performances, I liked FOUR. And they were these:

MOLDOVA

[do you SEE the granny with the drum? The song is ABOUT her and how she bangs a drum. Genius.]

NORWAY

[look, he’s attached an orange scarf to his mic stand and he’s waving it around. POLITICAL.]

SWITZERLAND

[I cannot get this song out of my head. "Cool vibes, why don't you kill me" indeed. DEEP.]

ICELAND

[this one was just really really good. I wasn't laughing or enjoying it 'ironically'. It was just a great thing.]

Of those four, only three made it through to the final, so can I just take this opportunity to belatedly say, ICELAND. ROBBED.

I only caught the closing stages of the final on Sunday night, and I am highly incensed that none of my remaining three won. TRAVESTY. Also, I think I need to repeat: ICELAND. ROBBED.

Anyways, congratulations to the Australian Voting Public. Angela is gone. Thank you for that. I disliked her intensely. She was one of those latch on/lash out people. Incredibly irritating. And seemingly without any sense of what a ghastly loser no friends she is. So I’m glad she’s out of our lives forever. What? She isn’t? Ah yes, could people please refrain from asking her opinion on things. It makes her think we value it. Angela, we don’t. Please go away. You are exhaustingly annoying.

So, Australian Voting Public, next week you are going to get rid of Hotdogs, aren’t you? Because, as the mostly excellent Geneva says, “HE’S TEDIOUS.” Quite right, Geneva. And if I might just add, he is also a major TOOL. So, you know what to do.

Anyway, now it’s time to yell CUNT CUNT CUNT in the direction of Warren Entsch;

"If we start folding here, then suddenly we'll find there'll be literally thousands - hundreds and hundreds - of kids ending up in a similar situation because their parents see it as a way out," he said.

God, I hate A LOT, don't I? But, you know, troubling times in the world and all that. So many foul people. However, luckily, the Radar release date has passed, so only the small matter of air freight is now separating me from this darling thing:

"I went to bed last night and my moral code got jammed. I woke up this morning with a Frappucino in my hand."

YOU SIR, ARE A GOD

Always and forever,

Elanor.

Wow. Can't believe it. But, actually, I can. As Erin suggested, via post-shock sms flurry, "strangely expected". I guess, to me, because Kylie was always immortal (the robot queen, the Xanadu goddess, the girl next door), she always seemed strangely "safe" from illness. Yet in a way that's why I'm not shocked by this. Because she was so untouchable, that's why it's not shocking. It just seems to reaffirm that everyone is human. Something I obviously know, but choose to overlook. But fuck, why does celeberity illness always have such "perfect" (read, shit) timing?

Firstly, I hope she recovers quickly, as I hope anyone who is ill gets better. When she does recover (because odds are she will), it will be interesting to see what this does to her Kylie "persona". This sounds clinical, but as someone trading off youth, beauty, unreality and sexuality, I wonder how such awful illness will effect the way we perceive her, and how she presents herself (assuming she chooses to stay within the spotlight). But anyway, this is all premature. As stupid as it is, I'm in shock (as is everyone else in Melbourne, judging by overheard conversations). To a speedy recovery!

WHOAH! Guy has just messaged my phone with the news that Kylie has BREAST CANCER! I think I need to take him out drinking or something, to salve his pain [re: Kylie's pain, yes, but also the cancelled tour]. But I can't. I'm going out to see Cat Power tonight. So stay strong, mister. Here's a picture.

I was quite disturbed by a moment in tonight's Big Brother. The resident psychologist, Carmel Hill, was assessing the attitudes of Constance and Nelson, and their decisions not to inform Big Brother about currently being in relationships, which they then talked openly about in the house, like it wasn't a big deal!!! And Carmel Hill concluded, making plain her disapproval, that this behaviour showed they had, gasp, contempt for Big Brother... And I was fucking gobsmacked. Now, I'm no psychologist or anything, so correct me if I'm wrong here, but surely having contempt for a fake authority figure retardedly hellbent on exercising 'power' is nothing short of HEALTHY. And Carmel Hill MUST see that. Right? Please, she must still inhabit a universe in which she can see that. Because if she can't, she has seriously LOST HER MIND.

Weird. Unlike Ruth, I found this quiz to be inaccurate on every single point. Or am I just blind to myself? Look.

Wackiness: 54/100
Rationality: 60/100
Constructiveness: 42/100
Leadership: 66/100

You are a WRDL--Wacky Rational Destructive Leader. This makes you an Enemy of the State.

You are charismatic and winning and a very dangerous enemy. You favor justice over compassion, and would almost rather see your opponent fail than you succeed.

You impact the lives of those around you more than any other personality. People remember your name and respect you. You are a tremendous amount of fun to be around and astonishing to watch. You are generally abstinent in your habits, and you like things tidy and ordered.

When picking teams, it is smartest for others to pick yours.

Of the 122869 people who have taken this quiz since tracking began (8/17/2004), 1.5 % are this type.

I swear I'm not that cool. Anyway, this next one appeals to my vanity.

Sunny/Dark: 7/10
drY/Gross: 3/10
Traditional/Offbeat: 4/10
Active/Passive: 5/10

You are a DYT--Dark Dry Traditional. This makes you a Cynic.

You're a realist. You'll take the piss out of anything, and do it with style and a skinny gray tie. You find humor in the mundane. When the mundane is thousands of working class families watching their retirement savings get snarfed by unpunished white collar bandits, that REALLY gets the larfs.

You bring humor with you, and can flip over any situation to find the tender funny underbelly.

Incidentally, you're better equipped than anyone else to shake off the bad things happen to you. Mysterious lump? You've seen scarier lumps in your garlic cheesey grits. It seems like nothing makes you truly happy, but nothing really upsets you, either.

Your comic sensibility was more in tune with the eighties. But cross your fingers -- another coupla years of Bush and maybe we'll work up a nice Reagan-era national bitterness again. A sardonic orange cat will once again rule the newsprint, and Springsteen'll write more righteous Jersey retro-cock-rock anthems for the progressive pols of 2024 to cold gank. What's past is prologue!

You might like David Letterman, or maybe stay up to see if Conan has another "Pierre Bernard's Recliner of Rage."

Of the 19226 people who have taken this quiz, 10.1 % are this type.

Your Active humor score of 5/10 means you're a yellow dash of comedy down the middle of the humorous road. You prefer to listen than to be the center of attention, inserting funny observations and comments rather than driving the herd. That's cool. Just remember that the quantity of funny you provide tends to make people think you're up to something.

However, this quiz is complete balls.

Your score as a human being is 101.75.

You are a pleasure to be with and a pleasure to be. Your friends do not envy so much as admire you, and you lead your life with grace, honor, and dignity. This site is humbled to have you take a test on it.

Which brings one to wonder, what are you doing goofing off on the Internet?

Seriously, does nothing work anymore? How are we supposed to know ourselves if these quizzes keep malfunctioning? HOW?

In the few hours since I last blogged, I have -

• come to ADORE The Rogers Sisters. Really quite powerfully.

• come to believe that Love Of Diagrams are somehow very very good, though I don’t quite know how precisely enough that I could explain it to you.

• given exact change to one of the Architecture In Helsinki chicks, as she was working the merch booth.

• had the persistent smell of shit in my nostrils. I swear, I have a brain tumour. That, or something stinky is going on in Northcote.

• listened to LCD Soundsystem in the taxi home.

IN MEMORIAM
I have only just discovered that last month the world lost yet another luminary, a man of letters whose creative impulses defined a generation. Yes, William J. Bell, the creator of The Bold and The Beautiful and The Young and The Restless, who also wrote Days Of Our Lives for a significant time, is dead… And not ‘dead’ dead, either. Rather, actually dead. For real. Like, no crazy scenario whereby he somehow didn't die, but instead ended up trapped on some mysterious island with everyone else who has ‘died’ while his friends and family back home think he’s dead, and so mourn and get into romantic entanglements. And let’s just take a moment here to hope for the poor man’s sake that he wasn’t actually expecting that to happen. Sweet jesus, can you imagine the shock of his final moments if he was? When it finally became clear that no, an evil twin was not going to materialise, be mistaken for him and be taken by Death in his stead. It would torment me indeed if the great William J. Bell's last words were “…but, my obsessed kidnapper should be here by now.” I'm sure those weren't his last words at all. And now, yeah, he’s really dead. No, really. He is. I swear. Oh, how can I explain it so as you'll understand? He’s dead. As in, not coming back. Ever.

You know, I thought I had found the perfect way to communicate how permanent his death situation is. See, I was going to say he’s dead, as in ‘Taylor dead’. But FUCKING HELL. She’s NOT DEAD!

BUT HOW?

“Prince Omar appears and explains that he saved Taylor’s life and put a dummy into the coffin to be buried. In complete disbelief, Ridge turns to see Taylor walking toward him.”

No, really. HOW?

“Taylor explained all of the circumstances which lead Ridge to believe she had died. Taylor explained that when Ridge thought she was dead, she was in a coma, only. Taylor explained that Prince Omar's men had gone to the hospital and discovered that she still had a heart beat. She explained that the men revived her and brought her back to Prince Omar where she remained in a coma for a very long time.”

That fucking Prince Omar. He is one obsessed and consistent blast from the past.

Anyways, William J. "she was in a coma, only" Bell, WE SALUTE YOU.

I haven't been to the movies in months, so the backlog of films I have to see is rather huge. Even films that I had been keeping tabs on and waiting for with high anticipation, like Bad Education and The Life Aquatic, I still haven't seen. Instead of seeing movies now I just compile lists of the ones I need to see, so that I don't forget about them. And so, Match Point is definitely on the list, for obvious reasons.

HOT.
I am actually on the floor. The shock of the hotness. Is. Profound.

Yes, I have fucked up and inconsistent values. They play out like this - my reaction to new information about people is pretty much already determined by how much I already like them or hate them. For example - Tom Cruise orders flowers for his new girlfriend and I decide that this only reconfirms what a complete prat he is. While in the case of Jonathan Rhys Meyers, I can decide to stare unhealthily at the left side of the above photo and not allow any thoughts about assaulting girlfriends anywhere near my consciousness. Indeed, if I think about it at all, it is only to remark, "My, they do have a charmingly equal relationship, don't they?" I may have problems.

It is quite IMPOSSIBLE not to love Fop.

We're just saying.

I have a habit. It's a kind of obsessive and fruitless habit and I generally do it alone. I walk into a Borders, head straight to the Culture & Media section of the magazines, stare at the rack, and then walk out. I have been doing this at least twice a week since the start of the year, and sometimes I become petulantly crazed, and sometimes I almost start to cry. You see, I have been chasing the whiff of a promise made last year - that the bestest magazine ever, Radar, was coming back. And now I discover that I could just as easily have spent my time obsessively checking Gawker, who have themselves been fixated with their own Radar habit. And if I had been paying close enough attention to Gawker I would have discovered YESTERDAY that Radar is now online! In online magazine form! Can you see my ecsatic paroxysm of joy from where you are? Can you? Well just pray that you're not in the vicinity when I walk into a Borders one day in the near future, head straight to the Culture & Media section of the magazines, stare at the rack, and find THIS [*screams in classic Beatlemania stylee*]:

OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!

Best. Lecture. Ever.

The other day, I had the best lecture ever. It was about popular music and gender. Here are some of my hazy recollections and notes, which will hopefully make it clear to you all why it was unquestionably THE BEST.

• general points were made about the ridiculous tendency to reduce the plurality of popular music into the binary opposition of rock/pop, with its value-laden correlations, authentic/synthetic, masculine/feminine etc. Along with the tendency to valorise rock and denigrate pop, there is the related tendency to privilege the musical passions of young men as ‘male connoisseurship’ while denigrating the musical enthusiasms of young girls [and perhaps also The Gays]. Leading to a situation where women struggle to be taken seriously as creators and consumers in rock. Also, the tendency to bind women in [the devalued form of] pop tends to allow a situation in which female performers are too easily presented as mouthpieces of the pop machine. All of which contributes to discounting women as musical innovators. Bastards. And I was thinking, if the dismissive 'not real artist' pop thing impacts more negatively on women than men, you know I want to be able to argue against it. So luckily I was reading an interview Salman Rushdie did in the 80s in which he said "One of the things about the Indian tradition is that the performer and the creator are almost always the same person. The idea of performance as being central to creation is present in all Indian art. The dancer is the artist, for example, and not simply the exponent." Yep, I'm taking that as artillery.

• a brief history of the Riot Grrrl movement was provided, and I started freaking out with excitement when I realised that I was in a lecture that rightfully held KATHLEEN HANNA up as an authority. Loved that. Loved that so hard. Although I knew she was in Bikini Kill before Le Tigre, I had not yet made the effort to recognize how uniquely AWESOME that is, eg. Bikini Kill and Bratmobile actually created the zine “Riot Grrrl” with its catchphrase “Revolution. Girl Style. Now!” and then Riot Grrrl became the name for the whole organised grassroots political network of zines and music and meetings she was involved in, even though she was uncomfortable with that one label being taken to represent a diverse contested and debate-filled movement, etc. Anyways, I got even more excited when the lecturer started talking about Melbourne’s Rock ‘n’ Roll High School and I was like, “hey, Claire’s sister was involved in that when she played bass in that band…” and then the lecturer trumped me by going, “Now we’re going to listen to a song from Hecate”, and I completely SPAZZED OUT! Because Hecate was the band my friend Claire’s older sister played bass in for long enough to have a backstage run-in with Courtney Love, causing my warped teenage mind to settle on a stupidly low opinion of La Love which required years of accumulative breakthroughs to fully rectify. But hey, I came through when it counted. Anyways, yeah, for a few weeks back in Year 9, me and Claire stood around on the rooftop garden at school with one earphone each listening to the Hecate album after Claire was all like, “my sister just joined this band!” And I was like, “COOL!” And it WAS cool, especially this one song that I would make Claire play over and over…And you’ll never guess, but that is precisely the song that the lecturer chose to play! Amazing. So I’m sitting in my lecture grinning and, despite the huge time lag since last hearing it, mouthing the words – “By myself/ I never nee-eed/ No one else…” – and just generally having major flashbacks and appreciating just how awesome that song is. Oh yes, IT IS. Anyway, the lecturer moved on to the backlash that occurred towards the Riot Grrrl movement eg. “it’s all about fashion, it’s all fluff; it has nothing to do with substance” which was not true, but, after the Riot Grrrl-ers generally eschewed talking to the mainstream media they lost control of their image and so the popular view - as filtered through a media that trivialised Riot Grrrl’s political activist-y foundations - became distorted. And this distorted view began to have an impact within the movement itself, creating hostility, jealousy etc, in a movement originally intended to engage women in rock music on their own terms.

• anyway, the lecturer argued that Riot Grrrl’s impact on rock values meant that it was no coincidence that at the end of the ‘90s…along came GIRL POWER. With the Spice Girls borrowing much from feminism and providing an ideal counterpoint to lad culture. Girl Power meant taking control of your life and, significantly, promoting this as fun. It was a powerful and accessible form of feminism and young girls were the largest consumers of it. It was criticised as being a naïve and simplistic false ideal, and for encouraging girls to revel in and put forward their sexuality, and for feeding into and reproducing the universal awareness of women primarily as bodies, but the lecturer argued that old school feminists didn’t ‘get’ Girl Power and the way it was embraced by girls. It wasn’t about cultivating the male gaze as a source of empowerment, it wasn't about pleasing boys - it was about pleasing yourself / loving the Spice Girls to bits and wanting to be all feisty like them. And anyway, “the celebrity feminine is not the sex object imagined by traditional feminist cultural studies; her relationship with the media is one of mutual exploitation.”

• so right on cue, Kylie Minogue as a CASE STUDY!!!! How many lectures have you been in where the lecturer has said, “and now we’re going to look at Kylie Minogue as a case study”? Anyway, so women currently dominate mainstream popular music, and where women are highly visible, the way they are represented is significant. Is today’s female popstar role model a positive or a negative thing? There is a debate about it. It’s a schism that divides feminism, apparently. Anyway, critics initially wrote off Kylie as an incidental pop pawn, and a media focus on her bottom rather than her talent risks her being treated as a body rather than as an interesting artist. There is concern that despite people's undoubted ability to read more depth into a Kylie song/video/production, the generalized effect is one of body-focussed feminine glamour. So what about girls who aren’t fabulous? Is this dominant female pop form alienating to them? Can they be female pop artists? Blah blah. All open questions. Anyway, Kylie’s success and longevity - attributed by one commentator to her mix of control and graciousness in her professional/creative collaborations - also reflects women’s growing power to control their image. And Guy will like this bit, as it so mirrors his own view – people feel they know Kylie and have grown up with her while she ingeniously maintains a sense of intrigue.

• final lecture highlight: footage was shown of parts of interviews not included in the final cut of the ABC series Love Is In The Air, with the following delicious tidbits - (1) Deb Conway explaining that the unequal time limit for male and female performers in being considered 'past it' can be traced to a general attitude about reproductive age, that “As long as you can squirt, you can do anything”; (2) Angie Hart talking about touring Aussie pubs as a female lead singer, and telling the story of a gig in Gove where one guy spent the whole gig standing right in front of her with his dick out and screaming ‘FUCK OFF!’; (3) [and this is the best one] Marcia Hines talking about seeing Kylie in concert, and I quote, “Credit where credit’s due. Girlfriend works hard…I’m very proud of Kylie. ‘Go Kylie’. That’s all I can say.” OH MY GOD. Incontrovertible proof that she was already like this BEFORE Australian Idol! It’s pre-classic ‘classic Marcia’. In fact, I cannot believe how set the Marcia template was before Australian Idol ever gave her an outlet for making the performances of everyone else, ever, ALL ABOUT HER. You go Marcia. You are one consistent sister-girlfriend.

So that was the lecture. Meanwhile, WHAT THE HELL, RENÉE?!! From Jack White to… Kenny Chesney???? Girlfriend. No.

I have now watched the Big Brother launch epsiode, after taping it last night because, you know, the ABC was showing Elizabeth Gaskell's North & South and then a re-dramatisation of the life of George Eliot. Are my priorities out of whack - I honestly do not know. But, thanks to the miracle of the VCR, I never need to find out. I can have it all, and so forth. So this morning I caught up on the opening jaunt of BB05. Thoughts: I believe that I like Geneva, but I'm not sure how much her likeness to Maggie Gyllenhaal plays into it. I believe Constance is a prospect too, after hearing her describe herself as "the least successful person I know." Ah. She was the one bright spot of self-deprecation in a seething mass of self-promotion. Also, I very much want to like lefty Tim, but we shall see. Hotdogs is, of course, a tool. My god. But I did enjoy it when, after referring to himself constantly as 'Hotdogs' during his introduction tape and Gretel-time, once he actually got into the room with the other housemates he went, "Hey, I'm Hotdogs. Hey, nice to meet you, I'm Hotdogs..." Sorry, I didn't catch your name?... "It's Simon... Er, [cringing] Hotdogs." He he he. He's already regretting it! Way to be BRAVE in the face of other people's disdain, Hotdogs! Anyway, I have no idea if this season is gonna suck or not, but I am quite concerned by the high ratio of people who a) feel completely at ease in getting all gauche on us and describing themselves without the diffident qualifiers polite society requires, and b) settle on self-descriptions that either reek of cliché or that plainly do not hold up to reality-based scrutiny. Especially the boys. THE BOYS SUCK. Please refrain from talking about yourselves, ever. Anyway, you can keep yourself updated on the proper way to think about all this on Ausculture Jess' BB05 blog, or at the online diary the show itself has set up - which is utterly brilliant, by the way. Whoever writes that thing, I salute you. SO DRY.

These first two things are not what this post is about. They are just some preliminaries to get out of the way before the Main Blog Event:

Thing #1. I neglected to mention this, but I hope you took your cues from someone else who told you to watch Nighty Night when it was on. Because it was brilliant and I loved it and now it is over, so I hope you watched it too. Just in case you do take your cues from me on these matters, you are now most definitely advised to watch I Am Not An Animal. Most hilarious moment for me from Wednesday's debut was when the animals were getting out of the truck and 'blending in' by making their animal noises, but the monkey was making cat noises and so the horse hissed, "Hugh, your real noise!". And the monkey obliged by saying, "monkey". HA HA HA. This was not the only hilarious part, of course, as this show rocks. LOVE this surreal black comedy jaunt we are on now.

Thing #2. Went to see The Vasco Era supported by The Roys at the Northcote Social Club. Only saw the last few songs of The Roys, and hmmm… Nah. Anyway, still love The Vasco Era. Especially when the lead singer whacks those drum things, because the look on his face when he does it is priceless. I burst out laughing each time I see it. It’s so adorable. And awesome. Also love it when the bassist breaks out some rhythm blocks. Dock dock, dock. However it annoys me that these, their extra-awesome songs, aren't on the EP I have. Anyway, pretty much everything I said last time still stands.

AND NOW THE MAIN BLOG EVENT... [it's dramatic]
So the other day Florida went all crazy, yeah? By way of explanation, I tender this dramatisation...

Florida: "No you cannot possibly have an abortion, you cheeky 13-year-old girl, you."

13yo girl: "Why can't I make my own decision? It's my business...It would make no sense to have the baby. I'm 13, I'm in a shelter and I can't get a job."

Florida: "Aha! She admits it! In a shelter, you say. Perhaps in the care of the state? You are so busted! Hoisted by your own petard, you darling fecund girl. You see, due to an infallible and thoroughly correct Florida statute we made, well, 'In no case shall the department [of Children and Families] consent to sterilisation, abortion, or termination of life support.'”

13yo girl: "I see. Um, WHY does a statute governing the state's social services department have anything in it about abortion at all?"

Florida: "Um, because we’re Florida. In fact, we're Florida LAWMAKERS. We are FUCKING CRAZY."

13yo girl: "Get bent. The US constitution guarantees me the right to an abortion, and it's all federal and shit, so it totally overrides your piddling 'state' stuff, doesn't it. Ha!"

Florida Court: [stepping forward, clearing throat] "Er, we're going to say... no."

13yo girl: "What do you mean 'no'? But, but... can anybody help me?" [looks in Jeb Bush's direction]

Florida Governor: "What? ME? Nope. I must of course concur with the brilliant judges of Florida here... [moves to pat her on head] Now girlie, you may be too young and sexually active to know this about me, but my record is utterly consistent on this kind of thing. I totally leave sad and tragic cases like this to be settled in the courts. I would NEVER attempt to intervene. Did I mention that I am really really really CONSISTENT on this?"

13yo girl: [begins to cry, silent, wrenching tears]

ACLU: [from stage left, soothingly] "Hey, hush now. Don't listen to him. Don't listen to any of them. They're from Florida. They are fucking crazy. Of course we'll help you. How could we not? We are cool. And not evil."

Florida: "Shut up, ACLU. Everybody hates you."

Sigh. So I suppose after Florida's little outburst of crazy, I maybe shouldn't have been surprised to find that now it's Texas' turn. I mean, of course it is. Florida does something stupid or nasty or crazy, Texas just has to keep up and vice versa. I know it's the way of things, but I really wish they wouldn't egg each other on like this. Anyways, so now Texas is all, "You think you're so crazy? You don't know crazy. Take this, Florida. TAKE IT!"... 'IT' being, in short:

Texas' House of Representatives voted 85-55 to approve a bill that would forbid sexy cheers and give the Texas Education Agency authority to punish schools that allow "overtly sexually suggestive" routines at football games and other events.
State Representative Al Edwards, a Houston Democrat who sponsored the bill, complained of cheerleaders "shaking their behinds, breaking it down" [ha ha ha ha ha]. "People are calling and telling me how disgusting it is to see sexually suggestive routines on the part of marching units or cheerleaders," he said.

Ooh yes, DISGUSTING, yes. You are so right! I am DISGUSTED and OUTRAGED and whipped into a FERVOUR re: the sexy dancing. It is the MOST DISGUSTING THING EVER...[psst, readers, I'm being devilishly sarcastic here. Oh boy, just wait a few beats and prepare yourselves for the glory I'm about to unleash: my blazing all-purpose Texas smackdown. Here it comes. It's gonna be like, BAM!]... Freakin hell, Texas. If you want to ban something disgusting, um… START WITH THE DEATH PENALTY.

Boo yah! That zinger does not get old. You can use it in EVERY situation, EVER. Do try it. Anyway, I've realised that for the sake of keeping the Florida-Texas thing even, [so they maybe won't feel duty-bound to further compete for the 'social policy most damaging to the public' prize next week] I shall have to provide a dramatisation for Texas' recent craziness too. All fair, all even. Please, I did not mess with the balance, see...

Texas Lawmakers : [all flushed and excited and pleased with themselves] "Look at us! Look at our excellent priorities! And we are SO SMART! So much smarter than Florida. In fact, we trump Florida big time. We even nip stupid Florida's problem in the bud. Check it: with our ban, not only do we put an end to the heinous evil of booty shaking, we also in effect prevent teen pregnancy altogether by tackling it at its source (booty shaking). So we'll never be embarrassed like Florida was, 'leaving it to the courts' like sissies. It's pure logic: Texan teenagers won't have sex now because they won't be watching the sexy cheerleading which leads to sex. So, there'll be no teenage ward of the state problem pregnancies for us! EVER! Oh yeah baby. Texas pisses all over Florida."

[high-fives all round. Cigars. Silence... Uh-oh, these are Reflective Cigars! NO! They leave time to THINK. And so the dawning realisation of what Texas has done fills all eyes with horror (to which the cigars add pungent smoke)]

Texas Lawmakers: "OH. MY. GOD. Circumventing teen pregnancy...? [gasps...screams...tearing out of hair] What have we done? WHAT HAVE WE DONE? Don't you see what this MEANS? Now we may never get the chance (not even the chance!) to ban a 13-year-old girl from having an abortion! EVER! [starts breaking things] YOU ASSHOLES! You call yourselves Texans! Banning 13-year-olds from having abortions is the whole reason I got into politics in the first place! YOU KILLED MY DREAM!"

THE END

This morning on the radio show we had a studio guest - Cameron Reilly, one of the founders of The Podcast Network. I think I almost got my head around this podcasting thingo. Which is good to know, since it's coming and all. He said the content at the moment is highly geeky, but will no doubt broaden out, a la blogs. An interesting development, anyways.

SOME THOUGHTS ON TONIGHT'S LOGIES...[psst, they were terrible]

The GOOD
As far as I could gather from the [classy!] White [classy!] Carpet Special, I think Best Dressed was a draw between Toni Pearen and a girl from Blue Heelers whose name I don’t know. She has blonde hair, was one of the ones who got some Maybelline action, was nominated for best newcomer or something, was wearing Toni Maticevski. I will try to post pictures to show you what I’m talking about as soon as I find some. Both these women also had EXCELLENT shoes. Mark my words. They dressed the best.

The Chaser boys won again. They beat John Safran but...Yay! And The President vs David Hicks won. Yay!

Casey Donovan achieved good hair – at last – but she really should ditch the Aretha-style wrap. Really.

Highlight of the night: the Neighbours spectacular. It was bonkers, unexpected, surreal, out of place. And therefore BRILLIANT, obviously. The most interesting and opaque thing to happen at the Logies in years. Everything’s white. Harold comes on with a white suitcase, and you’re like, “What is he going to do? I feel like some kind of Marcel Marceau street theatre freak on is about to happen.” Oh YES. Only on a much grander and more ridiculous scale. Involving Dr Karl putting a white stethoscope to a white lawnmower, Harold busting some white boy rhymes, and Principal Susan Kennedy and others interpretive dancing their white bums off. I repeat, BONKERS. However, upon reflection, and after teasing one kernel of possibility out from the multitude of meanings always present in performance art of this undisputed calibre, I have come to wonder whether this apparently ‘purposeless’ playful delight might in fact cloak a message of hate, all wrapped up and delivered unsuspectingly by the Neighbours cast on behalf of some evil agenda-bending behind-the-scenes honcho. Can it be possible that this confusing display was not at all a case of “oh we are a bunch of INSPIRED silly gooses”, but rather a coded “yes we are VERY FUCKING WHITE! Whitey forever!” response to Green Guide writer Brian Courtis’ recent spray? Has Neighbours been co-opted as a vehicle for a race war? Was this its chilling manifesto, a declaration of escalating hostilities?…Jesus, performance art does my head in.

The BAD
Eddie Maguire is a desperate, desperate man, becoming ever more fully aware of how over he is. Also, he is lazy. Don't think we didn't notice how his appearance in the Logies opening credits was a straight cut-and-paste job from the Footy Show opening credits, which left McManus and O'Keefe to fit themselves in around Eddie's many seasons old footage.

Hello. I henceforth dub thee Catriona 'my breasts deserve their own tiara' Rowntree.

However, I blame Alex Perry completely. For some reason, I cannot think badly of Catriona. Have I been programmed?

What is with the fashion sense of ALL female newsreaders?

Anyways, Worst Dressed definitely goes to Pauline Hanson. Because she really did have a horrid dress on... is horrid, etc. And, may I repeat, SHE IS NOT OKAY. This whole 'her being okay' thing is NOT OKAY.

Just generally, whoever booked the talent needs to not be doing that ever again. In particular, what the hell was Il Divo doing there? And, a separate but equally vexing question, why was their performance backed by images of the Statue of Liberty/map of New York etc? They are an Italian 'opera boy band’ [trailblazing! mould-busting!], performing at the Logies. Where does New York figure into it at all? Yeah, they were singing a Sinatra hit, so what? It was My Way, not New York, New York! Where is your brain?

And finally, is anyone else having flashbacks to Tara Reid’s swollen too-taut-skinned bursting boobies? I just look at Madeleine West’s here and wince. OUCH!

So, I went to Architecture In Helsinki quite intrigued about how they would all manage to fit on the Northcote Social Club stage, and then navigate all the position swapping and such. But they managed fine, and were good. I don't think they were as awesome as when they supported David Byrne, but they were still good, and their cover of what I'm told was Roxy Music's Love Is The Drug was excellent - as of course were their own musical stylings, eg. Do The Whirlwind, It's 5!, Wishbone, In Case We Die, and that love song one, etc. Anyway, aside from the show, what is with cunty types, and why do they have to put themselves about, especially where you don't expect to find them? Like at the gigs of really good bands. How can boorish 'lads' like the same music that I do, or even be interested in it? It's actually worse when they do have an interest in the music. Because then they proceed to have preposterous conversations. Tonight wasn't very bad in that way, but me and Erin talked about it a little while watching some wankers, and now I'm just having flashbacks to cunty types, young and old, at various gigs around the place, who have astonished me with their existence. Have you noticed that some subsets of this general cunty type are inordinately excited by beer, even though it isn't even brand new or anything? Still, it must be commented on every time, nonethless. Sometimes high-fives are required too, and just generally looking cuntsmug. Cuntsmug is my new word. I stole it off my brother, whose friend claims to have coined it. You use it in this way - "He's not just smug. He's cuntsmug." See? Isn't it wonderful? Anyway, the point of my detour here is this: crap people are wankers. Deep. Getting back to the gig, Prue was there tonight with a posse of former telemarketers, circa 2000. And one of them was the AIH bassist, so I got to shake his hand and say "I'm Elanor. EL-A-NOR." Which was neat and brief, but an exchange nonetheless.