It appears I haven't been entirely fair to the Catholic faith.

And I've been informed of this by email (subject line: Have You got any idea?). So, in case any of you are weak minded and have been led astray by me on this matter, let me just set you all straight, as soundly as I have been.

Greetings whoever you may be,

some how got onto your stupid site, and stumbled across your take of the new Pope Benedict (Ratzinger). Let me just ask you "Who on earth are you to make such unqualified views (statements) which, by the way are totally fucked up". I'm not an ideal Catholic by the way,a pretty bad one in fact.... But when I read such senseless rubbish, I get fucken mad.

You have no idea who the new Pope is, but make a statement that "he sucks". Well let me tell you, your the sucker mate. Your narrow minded, and totally ignorant to the stance the catholic church has in terms of morality. Before you say that the catholic church is narrow minded and totally ignorant to todays issues, just remember that to succumb to these ideals would be allot easier than to challenge them morally.

So you'd like it if the church say's it is o.k to have sex before marriage and have countless partners. You'd like it if the church say's it is o.k to get married countless times. Is it o.k to have homosexual relations? Well the church does not question homosexual love, but homosexual sex as it is outside the sanctity of marriage (just like heterosexual sex before marriage) and it is self gratification without a means of procreation (likewise having heterosexual sex with a condom).

This view is not ignorant and narrow minded.... Why can't all you dumb asses look beyond, and think a little deeper. It would be very easy to agree to all these modern lifestyle ideals, and be in line with the modern view....but to challenge them takes guts... and the world needs a moral institute such as the catholic church to draw the line somewhere.

You see, if we all practice celibacy until we got married and only had one sexual partner in our lifetime (husband or wife), we would wipe out AIDS, and all STD's in one generation. By saying condoms is o'k goes against this view, as it would condone sex before marriage.... As one would not need condoms within a marriage. Also, condoms do not stop the spread of HPV which is being spread in enormouse proportions, and as many as 1 in 4 people carry the virus. So the Catholic churches view in terms of sex before marriage and the non encouragement of use of condoms is righteouse. Condoms do not stop disease, celibacy does. Studies also reveal that as many as 45% of all condoms leak. Therefore, one must ask is it wise to encourage the use of something that may not be really that effective? The catholic churches views are all researched thoroughly, and rules are made to benefit morality and mankinds well being.

You'd be better barking mad at the governments who do nothing to stop the spread of AIDS in African countries, but rather spend huge amounts of money on military and weapons.

As for homosexual sex, one of the main reasons the catholic church is against such acts is because of the great poligamous lifestyle the gay community lead. That's one of the reasons gay sex is one of the leading factors of infections of AIDS in the western world. Therefore, the sanctity of marriage is undermined by the gay communities poligamous lifestyles. You should also remember that the catholic church does not close its doors on gay worshippers. They are all welcome to worship and take part in mass, and take holy communion. The catholic church is against gay sex as much as they are against heterosexual sex before marriage... no more or less.

By saying the catholic church is discriminatory against women is the biggest load of shit.... get your facts right before you make such a statement. This general view that the catholic church discriminates against women is propaganda at its best. Are you aware that Sainthood is the biggest honour the catholic church bestowes on human individuals? Are you not aware that as many female saints have been canonised as male saints. Are you not aware that a greater amount of female saints play a more major role in catholic faith than male saints. Australias only saint is a female (St. Mary Mackillop). St. Mary, St. Terese, St. Joan of Arc are just to name a few. Also, there are vocations for females which are equally important as male vocations. A female nun is not viewed as being lower in rank to a male priest. They both have different vocations, but both of equal importance in our faith. So how can you say that the catholic church discriminates against women?

Just one more thing..... Bet you'd never insult the Islamic faith or any of its leaders how you did insult the catholic faith and it's loved leader. Why? Because you would be shit scared and you would probably get killed.

Then ask yourself if it is wise to insult any faith?

No.

Because if you do it again, I will fucken find you and kick your head in. Like I said, I'm not a good example of a chrsitian, and i know that..... But I am sick to death of cunts like you insulting any faith with fucken wise ass remarks that bear no weight. You are not intelligent enough to even try challenge the leaders of any faith.

It makes me sick thinking about the poor souls who are weak, and would read your bullshit and be lead astray. I think it would be wise of you to add a paragraph of an apology in your web site for the things you said against Pope Benedict and the Catholic Faith.... And say that you are totally unqualified for such statements, and that you are really sorry for writing such shit.

If you don't do this.... you haven't heard the last of me.



--

Language Is A Virus.

Further proof that blog language infects all who are exposed to it, this morning during my Tuesday Breakfast Radiothon show, I referred, quite unintentionally, to the anti-terrorism laws passed last year as "Wrongtown". SO wrongtown.

3CR Radiothon.

It's Radiothon time again. This morning I did the Women on the Line Radiothon show, begging for cash. And I'll be doing it again tomorrow morning for the Tuesday Breakfast Show. So GIVE MONEY. I don't care if you've never listened to the show, hell, I don't care if you've never even heard of the show. YOU HAVE TO GIVE MONEY. To the 3CR Tuesday Breakfast Show. Please. Call (03) 94198377.

And keep the night of Thursday June 22nd free, because there will be a Women on the Line fundraiser. A trivia night. A womany trivia night. And you have to come. And don't fob me off with, "But where, Elanor?" I'll let you know as soon as I do. PUSHY.

UPDATE:
Ignore the above paragraph. AND HEED THIS ONE. Keep the night of WEDNESDAY JUNE 21 free, because there will be a Women on the Line fundraiser. A trivia night. A womany trivia night. And you have to come. To UPSTAIRS AT VIBE, 123 SMITH ST FITZROY, AT 7.30PM. It's $15, which is a lot, I know. But you are just money to us. VERY VERY NECESSARY MONEY.

Bloggerati.

Spent yesterday in the wonderful company of some bloggers having a BRILLIANT group discussion I recorded for this thing I'm doing at SBS at the moment. Was cracking up last night listening to ALL THE FUNNIES they made and going, "Hmmm, mmmm, yes you're so right" to all their HIGHLY INTELLIGENT observations. So thanks so much to Guy, Jess, Ruth, Mel, Agent and Jelly for bringing their brains. My dad was very impressed when he heard it, saying, "Jeez, there's more to this blogging lark than you would think. But seriously, Elanor, do your essay."

The gosh darn loveliness of LOW.

Sigh. Saw them tonight at the Corner Hotel, and found that when their voices converge, or when one of them holds a long pure clear note, or hits you with a subtle inflection, or does any one of a variety of other fine fine vocal things, it's like BOOM. Your eyes just prickle and well up. Because of The Beauty. Which is just so BIG. So I am very happy right now. Even if I was pleading silently with them all night to "play Closer", and they didn't. But people, if you are able to, seek out and secure tickets for Wednesday night's gig at the East Brunswick. Because then you will be happy too.

Message to Kate Holden:

Quit ruining my weekends. Please. Just. Stop.

Whitebait made me do it.

"It" being a Geographic Personality Test.

Test Results

Extroversion 40%
Emotional Stability 43%
Orderliness 36%
Accommodation 40%
Inquisitiveness 63%

Your sloan type is RLUEI
Your primary type is Unstructured

You are reserved, moderately moody, unstructured, egocentric, and intellectual, and may prefer a city which matches those traits.

The largest representation of your personality type can be found in the these U.S. cities: Albuquerque/Santa Fe, Salt Lake City, Charlotte, Richmond, Denver, Providence, Louisville, Washington DC, Austin, Harrisburg, San Antonio, Baltimore, Indianapolis and these international countries/regions Bulgaria, Canada, Brazil, Poland, Finland, Israel, Italy, Mexico, Hungary, Germany, France, Argentina, Portugal, Thailand, Switzerland, Spain, Russia

Curse you, Whitebait, for making me face the fact that I am as unstable as a Mormon. A MORMON, Whitebait.

Worse than that, I clicked on the 'type' links, for the larks and what not, but just check out how depressing a RLUEI is:

avoidant, withdrawn, not usually happy, does not believe in human goodness, loner, moody, avoids crowds, depressed, overwhelmed by unpleasant feelings frequently, agnostic/atheistic tendencies, unsure where life is going, impatient, avoids eye contact, does not think things work out for the best, discontent, negative, suspicious of others, uncooperative, socially uncomfortable, hard to get to know, not punctual, low self confidence, pessimistic, lonely, does not finish work on time, does not like to lead, attracted to things associated with sadness, ambivalent about the problems of others, feels defective, fears failure, often bored, ambivalent about the suffering of others, unproductive, avoids unnecessary interaction, easily frustrated, does not finish many things, lower energy level, focuses on fantasies instead of reality, ambivalent about the needs of others, easily annoyed, rarely prepared, disorganized, quiet around strangers, slow to forgive, hard to understand, not that interested in others, skeptical, wounded at the core, self absorbed

And an Unstructured:

more random than controlled, likes to look wierd, more in the clouds than grounded, more comfortable when things are imperfect, does not like the security of working for a company, does not feel best when working, likes to go to concerts, untraditional, more abstract than logical, impulsive, more likely to enjoy drinking and smoking, underachiever, prone to wanting a tattoo, bad with money, prone to petty theft, likes night life and crowds, more artistic than articulate, prefers the unfamiliar, can't do anything when they don't feel good, has love/hate relationship with most things, does not value organized religion, likes to be different, more likely to have been hyperactive as a child, prone to add or adhd, flakey, prone to missing appointments, finds ordinary tasks draining

It's also quite disturbing that neither type has any listed career prospects whatsoever, either favoured or unfavoured. YIKES. I HAVE PROBLEMS.

Marissa Nadler

Walking up High St on my way to the Northcote Social Club, I was commented upon by two generations of men. The first were late-middle-aged tradey looking types whose path I crossed while they were getting into their car. It was odd, but one of them acknowledged my presence with the statement, "The power of the pussy." Which I found mystifying. Was I supposed to respond by raising my fist? The second incident happened a few hundred metres further up the road. A group of young rev-heads waved that I should scurry across the road before they turned into it, and as their car passed behind me, out of the window came, "Girl, you fine." I'm sorry young man but you are quite clearly incorrect. Freak. And all I could think was, "What the hell is going on? I mean, I am wearing A CARDIGAN."

Anyway, I walked on and joined the collection of gentle people at the NSC. Marissa Nadler's appearance had touches of goth to it that I wasn't expecting in a New York folk artist. She said the crowd were much nicer than the people who usually yelled things at her in dive bars. She was charmingly unassuming and soft-spoken about the fact that all her songs are about rape, murder, death and heartbreak. Her singing was lovely, and Sylvia was particularly good.

Uselessly Out of Context.

Flicking around the TV channels last night, there were two moments of absolute comedy gold that had us splitting our britches with the hilarity of it all. However, trying to explain them in context is just too boring. Note: they are only hilarious in context. But trust me, these lines could not have been more funny:

1. "You could use glue... You could cut some off one of your mates."

2. "Eva was on a roll."

I am cracking up right now, just looking at them.


So, Marissa Nadler tonight at the Northcote Social Club.

Claire Fisher, O How She Rules.

From Six Feet Under a few minutes ago:

"What are you? Some kind of red-neck blogger pig?"

Sigh.

Photo Opportunity of Shame and Humiliation.

I'm at 3CR editing some things for tomorrow's Breakfast Show, and I think I just did something highly embarrassing. A photographer from the Melbourne Leader came by to take photos to promote our Radiothon, and I was coopted into mugging for the camera like a goon. Sitting in the studio making stupid 'comedy' faces while people thrust CDs and records at me. This is just terrifying.


But hey, if you do have to get up early in the morning and are inclined to listen, the line-up for tomorrow's show is as follows, approximately:

7.05am - We'll play my recording of the speech Dr Salam Ismael of Doctors For Iraq gave last Thursday night at the Voices For Peace public meeting.

7.30am - I'll be interviewing Jo Wainer about her book, Lost: Illegal Abortion Stories, and about her involvement in the history of abortion and reform in Victoria. On Thursday night there is a public forum in her honour at the Yvonne Bowden Auditorium (132 Grattan St, Carlton) at 6pm, for anyone who is interested [excluding the violently "pro-life", obviously].

7.45am - Co-host Alex will interview Herman Wainggai, one of the 42 West Papuan asylum-seekers who was granted temporary protection. He will be one of the speakers at a forum on Tuesday night, Pacific Prisons Are No Solution, at Trades Hall in Cartlon at 7pm, for anyone who is interested.

8.15am - Co-host Alex will interview David Manne, Refugee & Immigration Legal Centre, who has been representing the West Papuan refugees and will also speak at tomorrow night's forum.

I only mention it because I think these are people worth listening to.

Three Princes and a baby

Some delightful and entertaining things I learned from last night's [super exclusive and so in-depth I really had to sift through all the revelations] The Three Princes:

1. Charles likes Leonard Cohen.

2. That is all.


Some other things I learned from the internet a few minutes ago:

1. There have been births.

2. The birth to pay the most attention to is this one. Her name is Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt. And while that looks terrible, let's just hope that it is pronounced Shy.Lo. Say it out loud. I think you'll find it sounds quite sweet, in a Maeby Fünke way. Yes.

Voices For Peace

Went along last night to the pre-Peace Conference public meeting at Storey Hall to record it for radio. I wanted to use the female speakers, Cindy Sheehan and Kerry Nettle, for Women on the Line, but they weren't exactly super-fantastic, so I'm not sure if I will. But I'll listen again and see.

Also, question: did people know that Joe Dolce is an activist folk singer? I certainly did not. So it was weird. He didn't play Shaddap You Face, but rather songs about Iraqi children and Coretta Scott King. As I said, weird.

However, the other main speaker was quite something else. Indeed, within moments he had Leah next to me swooning and falling in love with his Brains and Integrity. So here, meet Dr Salam Ismael from Doctors For Iraq.

Punchables.

I often have the desire to punch the people I see on TV. For example, last night while watching the RAW Comedy final on the ABC, the desire to punch Wil Anderson hard in the balls reached its usual white-hot level. However, when I reviewed the whole week's worth of Punchables, I decided it was probably unfair to find Wil the MOST punchable of the week, considering he engenders rage simply by being extremely shithouse, which, though a severe crime, seems like nothing at all when placed next to other examples of extreme shithouse-ness with a far uglier aspect to them.

The case in point being: JOHN HEARD.

Did you catch him on SBS's Insight program about gay marriage on Tuesday night?

And did you find yourself thinking, "WHO ARE YOU, JOHN HEARD? DO YOU HAVE ANY FRIENDS? GOOD LORD, LET US HOPE FOR THE SAKE OF ALL BEING RIGHT WITH THE WORLD THAT YOU HAVE ZERO PUBLIC ESTEEM... I WANT TO PUNCH YOU."

That is what I felt, anyway. Because I just don't understand how someone can enter this debate having completely discounted the systematic discrimination visited upon gay people in this country, and chosen instead to focus all energy on creating secondary shit-fights about how 'it is selfish for gay people to want children', 'the Australian population agrees with me', and 'gay people don't want to get married anyway'. I mean, while these opinions can be opposed on their own childish terms, eg. 'no, it's not selfish at all', 'well, that doesn't make them right', and 'hey, you don't speak for everybody', I find it just incomprehensible that someone could believe those arguments can be put forward as points that in any way outweigh the basic fundamentals of the issue (of which gay marriage is one part), that is, EQUAL RIGHTS. Please, just think about the completely different standards you're applying. Because that is what it is fucking ABOUT. Do you think gay people are not equal to straight people? Do you think gay relationships are not equal to straight relationships? Do you think straight people should have more rights than gay people? Do you think it is in any way defensible that gay people are excluded from the rights that straight people enjoy? Are you a PUNCHABLE GOON?

I had a massive fight with my dad after that Insight program. Similarly, I couldn’t understand his response at all. The first thing he said once the show ended was, “Well, do you think that was really fair and balanced? I mean, it’s pretty clear that one side had to be more courageous in putting its views forward, eh?” And I was like, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? COURAGEOUS?!” And he was like, “Well, there was a definite hostility. And those people (who oppose gay marriage) represent a feeling in the community and so should get a fair hearing.” And I was like, “But they’re WRONG!” And he was like, “Well, that’s your opinion.” And I was like, “NO. They’re WRONG. Why should I consider their views or worry if they feel uncomfortable? They SHOULD feel uncomfortable.” And he was like, “You’re such an elitist. Community sentiment actually has value IN A DEMOCRACY.”

And, well, I couldn’t speak for fully thirty minutes. Because I was crying. Hot silent tears of rage. It was like I’d been slapped. And I was unable to make any arguments because any attempt at speech would have exploded into an humiliating and indecipherable loss of control. I was such a hostage to my extreme emotional reaction that I was barely managing to maintain what I had going - which was, red-faced shaky glaring from hot streaming eyes. I was finding it a challenge to even breathe without convulsions. And I kept waiting and waiting to calm down and regain my composure, but the confusion and anguish and rage and revulsion and disillusionment just kept building on each other, so for ages there was no relief.

To give you some historical context, I’ve only ever felt like this once before in my whole life, after the INFAMOUS! MASSIVE! 2004 PRE-CHRISTMAS BUST-UP @ Cookie between me and my sister’s now fiancé. Which was over the same issue. And I’d never before felt rage like that towards a real person. I mean, sure, I get mad all the time at figures in the mediated wider world, say that I hate them, have zero respect for them, etc. But it just doesn’t happen in real life. Until that bust-up. Which was the first time ever on a personal level that I felt something so violently negative. And we haven’t recovered from it. Nor are we likely to. Seriously, my opinion of him sank too low to allow for rehabilitation, and I’m intractable like that.

So anyway, back to Tuesday night’s immobilising anguish. Because while I was in the throes of it, I realised that I found these two flashpoints so incapacitating for 3 reasons:

1. The shock of having to make an equal rights argument at all. Because it’s supposed to be obvious, with merits indisputable and overwhelming, etc.

2. The shock of having to defend the principle of equal rights IN MY OWN FAMILY. Sure, the outside world is tainted by all manner of freaks, but MY FAMILY IS A NON SHITHEAD-AFFLICTED UNIT. How can it possibly be otherwise, when I love these people?

3. The realisation that ideas of tolerance and balance are being used to support people whose views are hateful/exclusionary/discriminatory (either in their origins or implications), while I should really make an effort to temper my intolerant and anti-democratic views, and quit being such a foolish discredit to myself in taking things “so personally”.

All of which makes me mad.

Newsflash: Today Tonight is dodgy.

Just got home and watched a totally offensive treatment of the Rex Hunt Pays For It scandal on Today Tonight. It started with Naomi putting on a soft caring voice to introduce the story of Rex's 'emotional' and 'frank' admissions. GAH! The story then gave a bit of time to Rex's appearance on 3AW talking about what he did, and then swiftly moved to the DODGY territory - that is, focussing on women's roles in this thing, rather than on Rex being a creepy sleaze. For example, this lovely voiceover work from the Today Tonight reporter about why Rex is coming forward now: "Finding out what so many people know, that if a woman is willing to accept money for sex, she might be willing to accept money to talk, too." This is when I exploded. To the glee of my brother, who took the opportunity to put on an obnoxious voice and say shitty sexist things (in jest) while I stomped about screaming "THIS IS SO OFFENSIVE!". I mean, what level of fuckedness do people have that they slime the moral quality of the women while giving Rex a free fucking pass, extending him (and only him) the courtesy of having 'private reasons' for PAYING FOR IT, getting his "rocks off" and cheating on his wife? A high level of fuckedness, in my opinion. Which they then topped off by focussing the rest of the story on "Why do wives stay, even in the face of overwhelming evidence?" AARRGH! Gee, I know how we can play this story, let's shit on some women and make the others justify and explain themselves while talking about what a big man Rex is being in this tumultuous time. FUCK. OFF.

Hidden.

I saw it last night, and was once again reminded that watching movies in French makes me ponce about the house demanding things. In French. In very poor but obnoxious French. As the appeal of that seems to have palled (only with those around me, bien sûr, parce que je n'ai jamais assez de ça), I will now review Hidden. In attempted French. The insights will be razor-sharp, let me vous dire.

Le film, Caché, était bon. Mais, je ne l'ai pas compris. Qu'est-il arrivé? Qui faisait les vidéos? Le mystère n'est pas résolu... Mais ce n'est pas la peine. Il y a plus dans le film que cela, vraiment. Par exemple, un désespoir profond. Si triste.

Also, this morning on the radio show, I enjoyed turning a song from The Saboteurs' new album into a gay rights/love song, simply by dint of the context (that is, being played after one of my interviews about the passage of the ACT's Civil Unions Bill). I mean, context couldn't really impact all that much on The Magnetic Fields' When My Boy Walks Down The Street, but I really think it brought something new to The Saboteurs' Forever. I mean, how gay and rights-y do these lyrics sound now? Context, c'est tout:

"You and me, forever,
We belong together.
And we'll always and ever,
Throughout any type of weather."

And:

"You wrote our names down on the sidewalk,
But the rain came and washed 'em off.
So we should write 'em again on wet cement,
So people a long time from now will know what we meant."

GAY.

Crumbs.

I've been searching in vain for an image. It's the most arresting piece of work I noticed when I was watching the movie Crumb. It's of a woman lying on a bed, but her face has been caved in, and beside the bed is a quivering little man with an enormous nose, the shape of which exactly matches the cavity that used to be the woman's face. I just found it to be such an original and disturbing image, which was both surreal but also made me think about men and women and how it can just go so violently wrong. But, I can't find it.

I did find something else that I liked, however.


Doesn't it just look like the feeling you get sometimes, when say, you're watching the Logies or Oprah or something? And you Just. Can't. Take. It. Anymore.

SIEV X Tarago.

A few months ago Leah and I were driving somewhere (I mean, she was driving us somewhere), and we saw a thing that, well, was most definitely 'a thing'. To be remarked on, and such. It was a Tarago van. Not so exciting yet, agreed. Even if you do strongly associate Taragos, as I do, with the 'Catholic mini van brigade' due to the large collection of them, or their like, outside the school gates each afternoon back in the day, all helmed by diligently coiffed and three-quarter chino panted madams awaiting the collection and transportation of their broods... So yes. Still not that exciting. But this Tarago van had an astounding personalised number plate. Which was: SIEV X.

And we just stared at that. The whole confounding image it presented. And it dawned on us that it was a rather brilliant thing. I mean, it was a Statement Tarago. But it wasn’t absolutely clear what the statement was. There was such meaning to be made of it. The thing threw up so many questions. Or, at least two. The first question being, Why? For indeed, what would prompt a person to have SIEV X as their number plate? To identify their car with the sinking of a smuggler boat and the consequent drowning deaths of hundreds of desperate people, mostly women and children, seeking asylum in Australia. And the second question being, For What Purpose? What are you trying to say with this corker of an idea?

Some interpretations Leah and I came up with:

1. This van is a sinking ship.
[Quite a literal interpretation, yes. But we were only warming up. Still, we couldn’t tell you what saying, “This van is a sinking ship” actually meant, even though we said it a few times and thought it sounded catchy.]

2. Pitiless death is perilously close at all times, so don’t get complacent in your sedate family vans.

3. Remember SIEV X. Right now. While you’re driving.

4. Something about blending ‘relaxed and comfortable Australia’ with ‘a lot of death for other people’.

5. This is a family van. A people-mover. It’s how families move about. Sometimes, families need to move across water to escape persecution. But they are still just families moving about. Families like the one inside this van. Obviously, they shouldn’t die.

6. Look what you can do with personalised number plates. There is no limit. Rather, there is great opportunity. Think about that.

7. What does branding a tragedy onto an everyday appliance, such as a car, make people think?
[This one a more experimental, self-reflexive artistic statement from the Tarago.]


Thoughts?

Anyway, my point is, this was a good thing to come across. So I support Taragos As Travelling Political Everyday Art Statements. TATPEAS. I would like for it to become a movement, please.

Dave Chappelle's Block Party.

Is a joy.

It will make you happy.

Running through the whole thing is the sense that everyone knows the worth of everybody else. Which makes you feel warm and cosy.

A good day.

Ignore this if you're not me, but I need to mark the occasion for my own records.

On this day, I received an email that was so good I have designs on laminating it.

That is all.

I’m just a huge manatee.

Yes, it’s going to be one of these.

Thursday 20 April

I meant to tell you this story earlier, but anyway. The whole thing began rather normally. It was late at night and I was deeply tired and had a headache and was losing consciousness on the couch. My mum was still up, and was in one of those moods you just have to let parents have sometimes. You know, when they look at you all misty-eyed and want to stroke your hair and tell you how much they like you. You really can’t talk to people when they’re in moods like that, and it was just easier to submit. Anyway, when I woke up the next morning my hair was of course insanely frizzy, because you just can’t subject it to such corny hair-stroking, daughter-loving ministrations without consequences. But, no matter. I got up intending to make the first cup of tea of the day, but stopped in my tracks when I saw what was on the floor at the end of the couch, directly below where my unsuspecting head had lain for hours of naïve and trusting slumber. And what I saw there was, to say the least, INTENSELY DISTURBING. Because, you see, it was a PILE OF MY HAIR. That had been CUT OFF. From MY HEAD. While I was ASLEEP. I can’t tell you how chilling a thing that is to wake up to. However, resilient as I am, I immediately turned and walked up the hallway to my little brother’s room, all the while patting my head in a quizzical fashion, of course.

ME: Simon, WAKE UP.
SIMON: Huh.
ME: Seriously, you will not believe what mum did to me while I was asleep. Come and see.
SIMON: No. I’m asleep.
ME: Oh get up. You don’t want to miss this.
SIMON: Yes, I do. I don’t care. Go away.
ME: Okay, fine. But you’re only ruining the experience for yourself… So, do you notice anything different about me?
SIMON: [squinting] Your hair’s really frizzy. More than usual. Go away.
ME: Well, at least you’re close. But fine, I’ll just tell you if you're not going to get into the fun of it. Is that what you’re forcing me to do?
SIMON: Yes, that's what I’m forcing you to do.
ME: Last chance. You really will be missing out if we do it like this. Are you sure you don’t just want to come and see?
SIMON: Elanor, just tell me and then go away. I am not getting up yet. It’s not even 10am.
ME: Fine… MUM CUT MY HAIR OFF. WHEN I WAS. ASLEEP.
SIMON: [weak beginnings of a laugh] What?
ME: I know! This is so DISTURBING. It’s like that time she almost gassed me.
SIMON: [explodes in laughter.] [explodes in more laughter.] [could not be more awake now, such is the extent of the explosive laughter.] Ah, the memories. Right, let’s see it.

That’s basically the end of the story. I mean, we went and looked at the pile of hair. And then I dustpan-and-brushed it. And that was that.

Saturday 22 April

Watched three DVDs – Alexander, Last Days, and Maurice. They all had something gay in them, which was pleasing.

Alexander is quite bad. Actually, it’s very very bad. Truly awful, and insanely so. And it contains an embarrassment of embarrassments [and by that I mean ‘a lot of embarrassments’. Don’t know why I couldn’t just have said that, but I couldn’t. And still can’t]. There are some ridiculous accents, and Angelina Jolie’s stands out with some force. Also, the tunics are very short, so there’s this hilarious scene where Colin Farrell is being all imperious about a war plan, standing on top of a model city on a table and punctuating his imperious talk by jabbing the air with a dagger, all of which - in a shorty tunic - looks very much like a bratty little boy failing to convince people he’s an important grown up. The MOST hilarious and embarrassing moment, though, is when Colin Farrell inexplicably starts growling like a tiger as part of some pre-sexual play with Rosario Dawson. WATCH THE MOVIE SIMPLY FOR THIS. It’s astounding. However, I don’t recommend watching the film all the way through, because it takes too long and bores and maddens too much. My brother simply couldn’t take it anymore. And he kept asking me why I was still watching it. And I would say, “Listen, you won’t care, but I want to see if there’s more of the Jared Leto love story. Yes, it’s been pretty thin on the ground so far. In fact, they barely seem to speak to one another except for that heartbreaking scene where he gave him that ring, just before that stupid tiger growling madness. But I’m watching this film until the end because he just has to spend SOME time with his boyfriend, at some point. I’m frankly baffled that he doesn’t seem to even be talking to Leto, even though he’s always around. For real, at this point I’d be prepared to settle for some lingering glances, or one even, just to show that Stone is remembering to set Leto apart from the rest of the entourage. But you’re giving me nothing, Stone. What the hell are you playing at? Don’t you see that the only time Alexander is cool and nice is when he’s all soulful about his dishy glam boyfriend? It's the only good thing about this fucking disaster of a movie! So why can’t there be more of it? HUH?… Oh, and also Simon, apparently there is some Colin Farrell dick shot that caused test audiences to positively lose their minds and which so overshadowed responses to the film that they decided to cut it. But it appears in this Director’s Cut. So I am waiting for that, also.” So Simon sat down again and endured the movie until the famous dick shot. Except that when it came, it wasn’t actually a dick shot at all. My brother said it best when he disgustedly pronounced, “THAT’S BALLS.” He was being literal and in the moment, but it remains his review of the film as a whole (although he didn’t stay to watch it all the way through. Unlike stupid hopeful me. But don’t do what I did, because it’s just SO CRAP).

Last Days was super excellent, in my opinion. Makes me sigh with lovely thoughts when I think about having watched it. Sigh. What a good thing it is. Makes me think that maybe Finding Forrester - which I haven’t actually seen but still hold to be a black mark in the career of Gus Van Sant (I shudder with revulsion at the thought that he directed it, much in the same way as when I think about Matthieu Kassovitz having directed Gothika, which I also haven’t seen) – wasn’t such a wholly unrehabilitatable thing, considering it’s the movie in which Gus Van Sant first happened upon Michael Pitt. I think. But anyway, yes, Last Days is tops. People are wearing pyjamas like they’re clothes, which is something I relate to. Lukas Haas’ pyjama fashion is especially good, as are his glasses. And I was very impressed with the music that Michael Pitt wrote/played in the film. It worked. Which made me really wonder whether the song/video clip that appears as a DVD extra was just a big joke. Because it really doesn’t work and appears to be the worst kind of Nirvana-lite. I really hope it wasn’t serious, and was never actually thought of as a releasable song to launch Michael Pitt’s music career, if he has aspirations of that kind. Because it’s very bad. It’s called “Happy Song”, and let’s just hope that the band he appears to be fronting in the clip, Pagoda, isn’t a real band. Because that would make me think bad things about Michael Pitt, which is not something I want to do. And I really can’t decide either way. Does the fact that Johnny from the OC is the drummer make it more or less likely to be a joke/fake thing? I really don’t know.

I also liked Maurice very much. It’s based on an E.M. Forster novel I had never heard of, and it has a young Hugh Grant playing Clive, the boyfriend of Maurice. And they’re both at Cambridge (or Oxford), and it’s 1910 or thereabouts, and they discover their love and erotically stroke each other’s hair and hug electrically, but then have to hide and mute their love, which is sad. But then Hugh Grant caves like a bad chap, and marries a woman, and then becomes a silly person, extolling the wonders of women and how clever and nice they are, in a very forced and desperate way, to Maurice. You really should get one of your own, etc etc. But Maurice will have none of that, because Rupert Graves is lovely.

Sunday 23 April

Went to see Inside Man with Leah (and my brother). There had been a build-up of increasingly positive responses to the film from friends, and we were too excited. So just before we went in, Leah and I made half-hearted attempts to reason with ourselves and attempt to cool down our mounting expectations of being thrilled to bits about it. But who cares about that now. The film is just a DELIGHT. You just love it from the opening shot. I mean, I was trying not to get ahead of myself, so I had remonstrations running through my brain, saying, “Now don’t fall over yourself about it yet. Sure, it’s all AMAZING stuff so far, but there’s still two hours of film left, and that’s a lot of seconds in which to find disappointment and betrayal. Yes, I know it’s Spike Lee, but don’t fall too fast.” And I really did try to keep myself in check, but you can only do so much. Especially after The Thing happened. The Thing was the moment when I knew I would irrevocably love this film, because something so right cannot possibly go wrong. I believe it was the same moment for Leah, too. Because when it happened, we both happily gasped and nudged each other and hugged ourselves. The Thing was Denzel Washington’s hat. It is very enjoyable.
(Also, Clive Owen could not be hotter. So tall, so lean, so slim-hipped but also looming. Jesus Christ, I love painters' jumpsuits. JESUS. CHRIST.)

Monday 24 April

On this day, my sister became prestigious. Because, you see, she was on Lateline. Sure, she was only in the background, sitting at her desk. But she was ON IT, god damnit. She works at the Bureau of Meteorology in Darwin, you see. So huge thanks to the cyclone that was advancing on Darwin. You were a GIFT to the prestige of my family.

Tuesday 25 April

Saw Dylan Moran at his 5pm Hamer Hall show. It was nice to see him, because it’s very pleasant just watching him shamble about. I also enjoyed the breakout of whispering and consultation in the audience that followed the pronunciation of his name in the intro, which seemed to jolt every audience member into turning to the person next to them to say, “Moor-in? I’ve been saying Mor-ann. How embarrassing.” However, I did not laugh very loud or often during the show. And actually, because I was so tired and in Hamer Hall (the place acts like a sleeping draught on me, for some reason. I’ve nodded off without fail at least once during every Melbourne Symphony performance I’ve attended) I must admit that for the middle section of the show I wasn’t entirely conscious. Anyway, I noticed that he does that whole ‘talk about people as nationalities’ thing that I usually find so annoying, as in, “Australians are so laid back” et al hackery. But I also noticed that when he did it, he didn’t really do it like that, and therefore didn’t suck in his execution of it, but I can’t remember any examples of why. I do, however, remember feeling slightly miffed at certain points when it felt like he was making the audience complicit in forming and cementing his own low opinion of them, by randomly throwing out cheap uninspired shots about America or New Zealand to which people of course responded in excessive ways not supported by the strength of the joke. It was like he entrapped them into revealing how lame they are. I mean, it didn’t feel like he did that cheap material because he believes it works as comedy - and I’ve seen people who do think it actually works, so I hope I can tell the difference. No, it just felt like he was putting crap stuff out there as a test. But then moving on immediately. So it’s not like he was baiting people into revealing kneejerk reactions as an entry point into having them light-heartedly interrogate themselves and see things in a fresh light. No, he was just waking the lameness beast so that he could note its presence. The point wasn’t to make it reflect upon itself. Which is not nice. Don’t make the silly people reveal the gap between their tastes and brains and yours and then not help them out about it. That dirties everybody.

Thursday 27 April

Went to see Tim Minchin, David O’Doherty and Demetri Martin. All were tops, with Demetri Martin being the topsest.

I didn’t see Tim Minchin’s show last year. I’ve spoken to people who did, and they seem to enjoy this year’s show less because they have last year’s as a comparison. But I am not burdened in that way. So I thought he was good. Funny, you know. Especially that love as cancer and women as moles song. PUNS!

I liked David O’Doherty before I saw him, simply because he’s in that comedian cool group that’s ACTUALLY COOL - a threesome comprising him and Daniel Kitson and Demetri Martin that became apparent to me last year during Daniel Kitson’s first late gig. It seemed that Danny Bhoy was also in that cool group, but I have mentally removed him from it because I don’t think he is in its league. David O’Doherty is, though. I like his “very low energy musical whimsy” or vlemwy. I like his stories. I suppose less invested people might consider him Daniel Kitson-lite in his ‘take on things’, as in, just slightly less impeccable opinions on quite similar things, but it was fine with me.

Demetri Martin was a cut above, of course. Dr Ernest Parrot Presents is an infinitely better show than last year’s, and I LOVED last year’s. I’m very glad Demetri won the Barry, too, even if he did have to beat Kitson to do it. But it’s fine because Kitson already has one, right? And this show was a joy. Sigh. Such a good thing. There was one disturbing moment, however. It was during the slideshow of how ‘uncool’ Demetri is, which of course could only enhance and confirm our estimation of his sweetly dorkish cool. Because what’s not sweetly dorkish cool about a cutie short kid in a traditional Greek dancing costume? Nothing. Especially if that kid has also just performed before your very eyes a show he’s written about the “brain nook” that floats above his head, and is in general just a gentle clever funny dude. However, as I said, there was one glaring and disturbing moment in that slideshow, when I looked at a photo and thought, “FUUUCK. How on earth could that possibly be Demetri Martin? I guess there’s hope for everyone if that was once Demetri Martin. JESUS.” It was a photo possibly taken in his early twenties. He had short hair and a despicable goatee and he was wearing a tacky patterned tie and a white long-sleeved shirt that puffed out of his belt and non-flat-fronted office pants. Anyway, all of this conspired to make him look like a cheesy greasy IT tech support guy, or the loser nephew of some small business owner you might work for, who would absolutely have a Simpsons quote as his mobile ring tone, and would point to it with a smile every time it rang, constantly having to involve other people in his needy loserishness, or something, and just generally having no prospects whatsoever of proving to be an interesting person. That is seriously what he looked like. I was astonished. But he’s of course not like that at all. Instead he’s great and in the coolest cool group around. I mean, they don’t need to involve other people in anything, and I like that.

Saturday 29 April

Was at the State Library doing some preliminary research into the activist campaigns we’ll be featuring in next year’s 3CR calendar. Then had some time to kill before the evening entertainments of Daniel Kitson and then Demetri Martin’s late gig, so I took myself off to see The Squid and The Whale. Which I strongly recommend. It’s funny and unsympathetic but still sympathetic if you know what I mean. There are terrific performances, especially from Jeff Daniels. And believable family scenes, as in, having the family separation meeting begin with an “Eugh, Mom!” when she comes out of the bathroom and brings a stink with her. What I mean is they’re grounded in reality. But in their own reality, is also what I mean. I’m not applauding a film for making everything relatable because the specifics of this family have been diluted in some mindless gesture towards universality. That’s not what this film does. I’m applauding that it doesn’t do that. Which is an accomplishment, is all. So yes, believable. The younger kid is the son of Phoebe Cates and Kevin Kline, who I just happened to see recently in The Anniversary Party. I like him. He’s a cool kid. And I have to read Kafka’s Metamorphosis this semester, so all the references to it actually made me want to. I loved when the older kid, who gets his opinions direct from his dad, tries to impress a girl with his literary nous by bringing up Metamorphosis, even though he’s obviously read as much of the book as I have [that is, none], and then has a mental panic before calling it ‘Kafkaesque’. HA. It was the freshest but simplest use of a cliché I’ve heard in ages, and of course the girl gently but firmly responds, “Well, yes. It’s by Kafka.” Golden. I mean, the older kid knows it’s by Kafka too, but the point is he’s such a hostage to competitiveness for much of the film that he misses the whole point of things, even when he loves those things [‘those things’ being reading and writing].

Anyway, I bought a new packet of cigarettes on this night. And I feel it’s worth mentioning that they had gangrene on them. Which didn’t make me want to stop smoking. I was rather thrilled at the novelty of being able to flash a gross photo of a gangrenous foot each time I whipped out the smokes. But then I opened the packet, and became confused and OUTRAGED. You see, I smoke Marlboro Lights specifically for their white butts. I simply will not have cigarettes with brown butts as my brand. I don’t even know why they make so many cigarettes with brown butts. They are just not aesthetically pleasing! Anyway, despite this packet bearing all resemblance to a Marlboro Lights packet, gangrene aside, the butts of the cigarettes inside were brown. And I was like, “If you want me to quit smoking, this will fucking do it. If they’ve changed the Marlboro Lights butts to brown I will spit on somebody.” There was quite a lot of rage. And then I lit the cigarette and became more confused. Because it didn’t taste like a Marlboro Light, it tasted like a Marlboro Red. Which blew my mind because, whoah, the packet was white and gold. I was truly spun about by all this. And outraged, as I’ve mentioned. But confusion did tend to dominate. In the end, I did like the gangrene so I got over it. But I haven’t solved the mystery of it, as the next packet of Marlboro Lights I bought was back to normal. It didn’t, however, have any gangrene on it, and the gangrenous ones are the newest, so I do live in fear of future rude shocks.

Daniel Kitson was just superb. I think it’s the best I’ve seen him, and I’ve seen him GREAT. I was so high and blissed out after this show, I just kind of wandered about in a flushed dreamy reverie. I mean, once I was outside I of course had to run across the street to the next show, but I damn sure looked like I was in a flushed dreamy reverie all the way from my seat to the stairs and then all the way up them as well. Because, quite frankly, HIS THINKING IS JUST SO IMPECCABLE. He never pisses you off by disappointing you with a substandard conclusion or point of inquiry. It’s quite amazing, really. I mean, he’s basically talking about tastes, which is as subjective and nuanced an area as you can get, really, and one that you would expect to present many insurmountable points of difference that violently turn you off. But HE’S RIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING. And the WAY he’s right just compounds how right he is. Sigh. Points I remember - doing stuff just because you think it might be good, decency and contrariness, not going to see live music for the beer, how perfectly fine it is for art to be pretentious, how people you hate can like the same things as you, how your principles don’t work in certain hypothetical or real contexts (coupled with a display of beautiful but sound mental agility that doesn’t allow for copping out either), how cunts abound, etc etc etc. God, I love this man.

Also I just want to write this down so that I remember it:

Weltanschauung
1) The overall perspective from which one sees and interprets the world.
2) A collection of beliefs about life and the universe held by an individual or group.
3) A comprehensive and usually personal conception or view of humanity, the world, or life.

Idiosyncratic but comprehensive. Yes, I need to remember that good word. Also, before the show there was great music playing, and I made sure to note down a lyric that would send me in the right direction with a Google search. The lyric that seemed best suited to this purpose was “sucking dick for ecstasy”. And it worked. So now I adore The Moldy Peaches, and you would be advised to do the same.

Demetri Martin’s late show was a looser collection of Other Jokes, and it was fine, but obviously not as polished as his main festival show and even quite flat sometimes. But you can’t be brilliant all the time.

Thursday 4 May

Went to see Liars at the Corner Hotel. It was a fantastic gig, with a bloody excellent line-up of supports: The Young Professionals, Damn Arms, and Snowman. Have only praise for the entire evening. I've been intrigued to see The Young Professionals for a few years now, ever since Mel used to live with them. And I was very impressed with how leotarded they were and the gusto with which they set about their songs. Was quite delighted with them, really. Then Damn Arms were great as usual. And then the dark echoey falsetto/touches of rockabilly (?) from Snowman was top notch too. Then Liars came on. I was happy that they were playing a lot of stuff from their excellent new album, and I particularly enjoyed the display of hot back by the extra drummer/sound guy, Aaron. Last time I saw them when they supported Yeah Yeah Yeahs at the HiFi, he tended to face the audience so there wasn't nearly so much of his hot back. I was really hanging out for them to play Grown Men Don't Fall In The River, Just Like That, and also The Other Side Of Mt Heart Attack, but you have to let them put on the show they want to.

Some other things I want to mention that aren’t so date-specific.

There’s an ad on the television that has crushed me. It’s for Honda Civic, I think. And it crushes me because it uses exactly the same song that I used when I made a 3CR community service announcement last month for Voiceworks Magazine. The song is Sunshine and Clouds (And Everything Proud) by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, and I thought I’d made a lovely little csa with it. I was happy with it. But now it’s all been sullied and I’m sullied and my ideas are spoilt and common and crap. Once again.

There’s another ad on the television, but I have ‘a thing’ going with this one, so it makes me happy when it comes on. But also ashamed. Hmm, really can’t escape these negative responses. But still, it’s mostly joy in this case. It’s the Continental side dish ad with the Supernanny on it. I hope you’re enjoying it too, but if you’re not, let me direct your attention specifically to how it ends. Because, for serious, what an ending! It’s such a gift. When I first heard it I was stunned into wide-eyed silence [for a moment]. You see, Continental are trying to make people aware that they’ve redesigned their brand so that there’s a big red ‘C’ on the packets. And so at the end of this particular ad, the Supernanny [who, let's face it, is a right slapper] says the same new phrase that’s being implemented across the board with Continental products but it is FUCKING HILARIOUS when she says it. Because what she says is, “Look for the big C.” And when I heard that my head just snapped around to stare at the TV. I was stunned, as I mentioned. And then I had to bite my fist, in a hammy attempt at stifling. But my adolescent hysterics could not be kept down for much more than a moment before I exploded with “I’M LOOKING RIGHT AT HER!” Oh the exhilaration. Oh the hilarity. I laughed excessively at my genius there, and high-fived myself a bit. And now I do that every time. The shame comes later, of course. But it is fucking worth it.

Ooh, I bought the DVD of You And Me And Everyone We Know, because I just love it to bits.

And American Dreamz is much better than you’d expect. In fact, it’s good.

And finally, a small housekeeping point for you to ignore if you notice it at all. I’ll be adding titles to all my posts from now on, and to all the previous posts too, as time permits, because none of them have titles and having titles is a requirement of some vague corporate adventure I was solicited for. Anyway, I’m not really used to thinking up titles for posts. For example, the title for this one is just a lyric I liked in my new favourite thing, the Moldy Peaches song Nothing Came Out. It’s also applicable to me as a person, I suppose, or to the size of the post, if that’s necessary.

Somebody, PLEASE, stab out my eyeballs.

The Age

Ridiculusmus in The Importance of Being Earnest

I saw it last night and it is bloody terrific. Of course it is. Do try it.

In other things, just annoyed my brother by screaming in happy shock [which, admittedly, does sound a bit like Lucille Bluth discovering Gene Parmesan] on finding out that Low is coming to town. LOW! And then annoyed him again by almost immediately screaming in happy shock a second time, on finding out that Liars are coming to town too. LIARS! I love stuff sometimes.

Recently, I have been obsessively listening to Song To The Siren by Tim Buckley, and Laurie Anderson's Big Science album. And yes, these are hangovers from Antony's guest-programming of Rage. But I really can't stress enough just how truly great they are. Seriously, Antony nominated This Mortal Coil's version of Song To The Siren as his favourite recording ever, but I really must dispute this. At the moment I am of the opinion that Tim Buckley's is The. Best. Thing. Ever. Or at least, it sits comfortably up amongst all the other Best. Things. Ever, a grouping which of course includes Big Science.

Also, I do love the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs album, Show Your Bones. I mean, of course I do. But really, I do.

And finally, a thing from before the iPod died. See, I've started making playlists according to themes, so that I have INSPIRED selections of music to play on the radio after interviews. The point is to have easy access to the option of playing AIH's Do The Whirlwind or The Fiery Furnaces' Gale Blow after an interview about wind farms. And so forth. Anyway, there's this song I put in the "asylum-seeker" playlist, and I can't shake how eerily appropriate I find it. It is like, SO appropriate, even though I'm quite positive it wasn't even remotely inspired by the experience of seeking asylum in Australia from the sea. But even its title is appropriate: Three Days At Sea (Three Lost Years)... Doesn't that just blow your mind. Anyway, it's a lovely song by Great Lake Swimmers, and I've put it in the "asylum-seeker" playlist, is all.

Good Friday quote of the day.

As heard on the ABC 7pm news this evening, a priest of some kind encapsulating the meaning of Easter thusly:

"Easter belongs to people with a mental illness."

Oh how I laughed.

Short cuts.

Hey Guy, Kylie now has the same slammin' hair-do as you.

The depth of your devotional fan link cannot be overstated.

In other news, I've been doing stuff. Just uni stuff and 3CR stuff, which is nice but not worth getting into. Had a massive catastrophe with my lap top screen cracking and being sent away on the same day that my iPod died, leaving me completely bereft of entertainments. Except that I finally saw Capote last week, which was utterly utterly GOOD. Loved it. Also saw A History Of Violence this week, which was also very good. William Hurt really was quite excellent in the small amount of screen time he had, and Viggo was very good at violence. I liked how strong the wife was. Anyways, I chuckled to myself as I left the theatre, because I actually heard someone say, "Well, that's definitely the most mainstream Cronenberg's ever been." It just made me laugh that someone even bothered to say that. And I watched The Brown Bunny. I liked it. Vincent Gallo is good at being pathetically sad but cool at the same time [his penis is also very nice]. Ooh, and yesterday I was scanning the magazine shelves and couldn't resist the lovely invitation to read Interview magazine after noticing this delightful premise: "Hot Bohemian Devendra Banhart by Lindsay Lohan". HOW ODD. My favourite bit was when Lindsay was telling Devendra about how she plays his music for people and she tries to describe him for them by saying something to the effect of, "He's like a way cuter version of the Charles Manson type." Which she followed up with, "I drove past Sharon Tate's house once. It was really weird."

Some general points to make about The World, etc:

Nuclear energy is not a 'clean' energy option. Just want to make sure people are aware of that, because it seems even Tony Blair doesn't bat an eyelid in calling it clean. Even when IT'S SO NOT. How did we get here? Because truly, it's quite unequivocally not. For instance, extracting and processing uranium is not a carbon emission free process in the first place. So it's not the solution to climate change, okay? A false choice has been set up between coal and uranium, BUT THERE IS OTHER STUFF, is all. And then we can get into the moral problem of how 'unclean' it is for us to be part of the nuclear industry. Weaponry, bad stuff, insane problems for future generations, and we'd be implicated. See, there's that massive problem of there being NO WAY to safely dispose of nuclear waste... NUCLEAR waste. And the industry's not even being run in a safe way. Just last year ERA got prosecuted for some contamination leaks out of Ranger, which was like, a total first in terms of attempting to make the indusrty accountable in Australia. In conclusion, the aim is to be nuclear-free, right?

FUCKING HELL! This just heaps disgrace upon disgrace. We are such creeps. I mean, WE HAVE RESPONSIBILITIES in which we are already being negligent, but instead of moving in the direction of making things right, of being DECENT after years of fucking people over, we're going to be WORSE than even WE have managed to be before! I hate us.

This news approaches something close to good.

Anyways, going to see Martha Wainwright tonight, which will no doubt be lovely again. And Comedy Festival is here. I've scored some freebies to The Importance of Being Earnest on Saturday night, but otherwise won't be going this week until I've done my homework. When I've done my homework, I plan to hit Daniel Kitson, Demetri Martin, David O'Doherty, Andrew McClelland, Rich Hall & Mike Wilmot, and possibly their play too. I've got Dylan Moran tickets. Other things depend on reviews and buzz and such.

BIRTHDAY #3

Happy Birthday Blog,

Yes, you’re 3 years old now. And mama hopes you have a lovely day darling. But please quit pestering me about “when’s dada coming around? Do you think he’ll bring me a present?” etc etc. Yes, I’m sure he will, but don’t put me in that position, okay? You know what I mean. We’ve talked about this. It’s really quite bratty of you to make it my responsibility to build dada up in your eyes and keep your love for him alive in case he happens to drop by and take you out on a play date and get you hopped up on sugar. Honestly. Can’t you see what an humiliating and soul-destroying exercise that is for me? And don’t start at me about “What did you do to make dada leave?” For all we know, it might be your fault, dearest. Now now, don’t get in a huff. You know the rule. Every time you scowl like that, it’s Gin & Tonic time for mama, and let’s hope we won’t have to revisit what happens when you don’t get it into mama’s hand within 2 minutes... Darling, I’m waiting... Oh, aren’t you good! Mmmm yes, just the bestest kid in the world, you are! Now, get out. Mama’s going to have one of her lie-downs in the dark of her room. Er, where do you think you’re taking that? Leave the gin, dear. Where is your mind today? Honestly, sometimes I think I gave birth to a simpleton! No no, mama wasn’t talking about you, darling. What on earth gave you that idea? Of course mama thinks you’re a genius. Never said any different, did I? Now, I guess it’s time for your present. Well darling, you know what mama says about cheapening the sentiment with constant repetition. But as it’s your birthday, I guess it’s alright to say it, this once - Mama loves you very much. There. Happy now? Okay sweeheart, just wait in the hall by the front door to let your father in if he comes around. Won’t that be fun for you? And please don’t disturb mama for the rest of the day. Have a lovely birthday darling!

Big kisses,

Your loving mother.

I’ve got CONSUMPTION [CULTURAL]

(but mostly TV shows)

And I’ve got it pretty bad. See, the only reason I’m actually blogging tonight is that I appear to have watched every single Gilmore Girls episode yet screened in the US, ditto with The OC [“don’t call it that”]. And while I do still have some L Word Season 3 episodes in reserve, I was so devastated by the one I watched on Friday night that I kinda need some space to grieve. Truly, I had to strangle silent sobs so as not to wake the family, it was so sad. Anyway, basically, I’ve been a glutton and now I’ve run out of distractions.


So now, a LIST OF THINGS I’VE…

I’ve been watching some films that will be appearing in the French Film Festival, and I ighly recommend Little Jerusalem. Also, Lemming is alright, mostly because of Charlotte Gainsbourg’s clothes. Just superb clothes. How Much Do You Love Me is quite dreadful, even with Monica Bellucci in it. You think it's going to be good, but then it just disintegrates into crap. A big load of.

As previously mentioned, I’ve watched a lot of upcoming episodes of The OC, and I will tell you three things:
1. Marissa and Ryan’s love KILLS. PEOPLE. Somewhat.
2. There is a lovely meta-joke involving The Valley, but I am about to ruin it for you so, WARNING! WARNING! Okay, this is what happens: you hear a character on The Valley, which is being watched on a TV by characters on The OC, say “Hey, will I see you at Death Cab tonight?” And then an OC character, hearing this from the TV, says, “Death Cab are on The Valley? Never listening to them again.” DO YOU SEE? Hilarity! [I have actually never listened to Death Cab.]
3. In conclusion, and as Gob Bluth would say, “WOW. He [Ryan] certainly has a type.”

I’ve watched the second season of The Mighty Boosh. Vince is a goth now, and quite the hot property with the fellas. This second series is actually more adventurous. Quite insane, really. But it is in no way an undisciplined wank. NO, IT IS NOT. The best episode, in my opinion, is the one where they need inspiration for a “new sound” to present at a record label meeting in a few hours. Eight cocks figure into it.

I’ve finally watched Crumb. It’s very good, isn’t it. But I really wish he wouldn’t touch women. The way he strokes their shoulders makes me shudder in a way only Woody Allen can. Or so I thought.

I’ve purchased the Arrested Development Season 2 DVD, because it is available to be purchased in that way. So now I am legally able to enjoy it.

I’ve also purchased the I Am Not An Animal DVD, because I got a really bad craving for it, blah blah, had to have it right away, as is my increasingly impatient acquisitive nature with such things, etc. However, putting the title into LimeWire only got me bestiality porn, so it became easier to buy it. Also, it’s a worthy buy. A knob of butter, INDEED. [Mark Andrews rules.]

Last night I saw Damn Arms and Temper Temper at the Northcote Social Club. Temper Temper were a cross between this band and that band, but let’s not say these things about them, because I found them highly pleasing anyway. They had great hair, wore tight jeans, and did it better than so many others. Maybe a little derivative, but definitely not crap. Moving on, Damn Arms may not have enjoyed playing this gig as much as I enjoyed seeing it, but my experience is the one in question here. And I still love them, so there. Kanye West’s album was played in the interval, and I liked the way Damn Arms themed their onstage talk accordingly, for instance, “This next song is about bitches and money”, even, and here’s the kicker, when it wasn’t. I also liked it when they finished playing The Cormorant and said, “That song is TOO FUCKING LONG”, and when they said, “This is our last song, THANK FUCK.”

I hope you all watched/taped Antony’s appearance guest-programming Rage last night. Didn’t I tell you he was a warmly funny man? I’m not saying you doubted me, I’m just pushily making a hollow prior claim. Anyway, wasn’t it lovely? And wasn’t it extra-lovely that our ABC realised that this IS the kind of thing they SHOULD be advertising. People WANT TO KNOW who is guest-programming Rage. It didn’t hurt that you told us, did it, ABC? And perhaps you could even do it every week? (Once this is accomplished, we may even dare to mention the next item on the agenda, that is, “Why not let’s have the artist and song title at the end as well as the beginning of the song, eh?” So that we are not forced to go, “Oi, this is bloody lovely. What is it? Blast, I missed the beginning. Now I’ll have to wait for the name of the next song and then back-track it on the Rage website…” etc etc. Don’t tell me you DON’T do that. Anyways, I know it would be a break with tradition, and one of the things I love about Rage - along with its lack of slap-worthy host and associated competitions, its lovely lengthy-ness, its unfailing all-inclusiveness, which you curse when you seem to come home only to the death metal portion of the night, but it’s OKAY, because what would the death metal lovers do without it? And what would I do without it, were I a death metal lover myself? DIE, probably… Okay, where was I before this digression? Oh yes, here: “I know it would be a break with tradition, and one of the things I love about Rage…” IS THAT IT DOESN’T CHANGE. I love that it seems to have had the same opening and ending credit sequences, the same font in white on the bottom-left corner, since forever. And I really respect this resistance to change or ‘jazz things up’. It’s great. You’re great. Truly, Rage, NEVER CHANGE… EXCEPT for this one teeny tiny thing. I’m not corrupting your vision or anything, I just want to know the name of the song, EVEN if I haven’t been watching it from the start. I know, I’m a horrible person. I feel guilty even asking it of you, but really, even the ABC News is giving updates in the middle of the broadcast to catch people up. OKAY I’M SORRY, that was a terrible example and I am a terrible person. Stay gold, Rage. Keep yourself decent. Don’t go changing for nobody. I love you just the way you are.

I was talking about Antony, wasn’t I? Yes, well, I taped it. And then watched it today with my severely hungover brother. And it was magnificent, especially as my brother kept saying, “Oh my god, what IS this? This is WICK” [an annoying contraction of “wicked” he has been using of late, and which I hate. I don’t even like “wicked”]. My point is, I was frequently able to say things like, “Well Simon, that’s Jimmy Somerville. He’s an important gay man.” And Simon would be like, “How do you know that? Where are you getting this Jimmy Somerville crap from? The band is called Bronski Beat.” And then I would say, “Feel like a glass of water, you poor sick baby?” so as to dodge the question and not have to admit the very shallow basis for this scrappy knowledge, namely, a cover article in Bnews or the Melbourne Star or something from which I recognised Jimmy Somerville’s face, the discussion of which would inevitably lead to admitting to my little brother that this was also my first time hearing anything by Jimmy Somerville, unravelling the whole “me and Antony are like this” (cross fingers to indicate how entwined and complementary and close our tastes, etc, are) thing. Anyways, it was Simon’s first time seeing that amazing Laurie Anderson O Superman clip, so thanks for that. And for introducing both of us to Nina Hagen. She screeched “I love you”, and I decided she was probably Eastern European, but I haven’t checked up on that.


REMINDER:

Six Feet Under returns tomorrow night for its final season, Channel 9, 10:35pm. Lock it in.


AND KEEP A LOOK OUT FOR:

Rash, that documentary about street artists in Melbourne, which is going to be on the ABC some time in April. Do watch it.

Abortion, Corruption & Cops, that documentary about Bertram Wainer, the crusading doctor from that excellent Good Weekend article on illegal abortions. SBS, April 6.


AND FINALLY, HERE’S ME, DICTATING YOUR OPTIONS:

If I had some kind of power over you, I would tell you to spend next weekend like so:

On Friday night, you should go to the Evelyn. Ninetynine is playing, AND, if what I heard on RRR last night is true, you will get a free Unstable Ape Records sampler. And you definitely want one of those. The last one I got had great stuff on it, the greatest of which was Zulya & the Children of the Underground’s No(t) Home. This time around, it’s looking like Yellow Lights by Marissa Nadler will be the thing. I probably won’t be able to get out of work to go on Friday myself, but I’m sending my brother. I want that free CD. Badly. You should get it too. And you should watch Ninetynine. Randomly, I actually know someone in that band now, although I have kept how much I adore them a secret from him. Really wouldn’t do.

On Saturday night, you should go to the Tote for the launch of the DIY Arts Show CD Showcase. It’ll be experimental music by local bands. What could be more fun than that? Some of you will most definitely be attending with me. I have made promises of that kind.

On Sunday afternoon, you should attend the Workers and Communities Solidarity Picnic at the Yarraville Gardens from 1pm. You know why.

Commonwealth Games Opening Ceremony

9:03pm
Er, what are you trying to say here? That koalas in footy shorts aren't the best option, aren't really all that capable even, for the job of rescuing insipid child actors? HOW DARE YOU! We wouldn't put them in charge of rescue if they weren't up to it! WHAT AN OUTRAGEOUS IMPUTATION!

9:14pm
Yes, ballerinas and motorcross riders do share a sexual tension as deep as the gender divide. Yes.

9:17pm
Bloody hell, the teams are entering already? Well, that's it. I'm done.

Oh Jens Lekman, what a doll you are.

Honestly. So sweet and lovely. Also, am very much liking how Architecture In Helsinki members keep forming, at least in part, the touring bands of visiting dignitaries.

Some excellent things holding my attention in the last while:

Liars, Drum’s Not Dead

Neko Case, Fox Confessor Brings The Flood

Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Gold Lion (EP)

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

Cat Power, The Greatest

D.N.A on No New York

The Magnetic Fields, 69 Love Songs and i

Minimum Chips, kitchen tea thankyou

PJ Harvey & John Parish, Dance Hall At Louse Point

Sufjan Stevens, Come On Feel The Illinoise!

Deerhoof, The Runners Four

The Strokes, First Impressions Of Earth

Yep. Anyways, I’m off to see Jens Lekman tonight at the Northcote Social Club. I really hope he plays Pretty Shoes.

We are honoured and shamed, both.

You see, we have worried the Fop with our shoddy blogging. He has sent us an “Are you okay? Are you alive? Don’t you just love Girls Aloud?” email. Admittedly, we received this email almost two weeks ago, which further adds to our shoddiness, but the shame and the honour, you see, were quite powerful and took a great deal of time to work through. The answers, by the way, are “Yes. Yes. And YES!” Also, I must address this “we” business, officially. You may have noticed the lack of Guy in this purportedly plural blog. It is because he has left us. I mean, me. He has moved out, as it were, to another place. Yes, I know, he did this a while ago. But he had done it before, you see, and had come back to me. So I assumed this more recent attempt at autonomy wasn’t permanent. I ignored all the signs. For example, the telephone call querying whether he should really be listed as a Symposiast, all things considered… To which I replied, “What do you mean? Of course you should! It’s not plural without you. It’s our blog.” To which he replied “[silence]”. Or the numerous conversations since then, over a series of months [I am quite thick], in which I referred to it as “our blog”, and he immediately countered, “No Elanor. Your blog.” It only took about fifty goes before I got the message. And now I have. It’s not a disaster. He’s only a bounder in the blog sense, because in the real world sense, nothing has changed. It’s true, we haven’t spoken for a week, but only because he is in America being a literati at the moment. And I know this because a) he told me, when we, eg. spoke, as we do quite frequently, b) he asked me to read his conference paper and give highly valuable and insightful feedback, so he sayed, and c) he messaged me a farewell as he was going to the airport, or quite possibly even as he was boarding the plane! This is how perfectly fine and cosy we are. So please don’t freak out. This is not a bust up. He just doesn’t want to share blog space with me anymore… for some reason. I have no idea what I’m going to do about the “it’s plural because there’s two of us” thing. My lawyer is looking into it. HA!

Everyone all right? Okay. Now, I’m going to do one of those ENORMOUS catch-up posts detailing every thing I have been up to. Don’t groan. You can handle it. Yes, I know this is becoming a habit of mine. And I’m actually quite concerned at how befitting it is to my actual personhood. You see, I’m sure it has been said of me many times, “She’s not consistent, but she is large.” Deal.


Tuesday 14 February

I’m going to start here, because, aside from a mini diversion into celebrating the passage of a bill on Thursday 16 February, Valentine’s Day is where we left off.

In the morning, on the Breakfast Show, these are the slightly off kilter ‘songs of love and devotion’ I played, to get into the Valentine’s spirit:

I Don’t Believe You, The Magnetic Fields
[Why? A perfect start to the morning, I believe, as it begins with the lyric: “So you quote love unquote me…” How darling!]

Girlfriend In A Coma, The Smiths
[Why? Obvious.]

Nothing Better, The Postal Service
[Why? This: “I feel I must interject here / You’re getting carried away feeling sorry for yourself / with these revisions / and gaps in history / So let me help you remember / I’ve made charts and graphs that should finally make it clear / I’ve prepared a lecture / on why I have to leave…”]

Single Again, The Fiery Furnaces
[Why? This: “He beat me he banged me / was sure he would hang me / and I wish I was single again…”]

My Imaginary Guy, Deanie Parker & The Valadors
[Why? Well, it’s fabulous, old and about the qualities of an imaginary boyfriend. And this: “When I find a man who will treat me right / I’m gonna mess up his mind and, ah, make him mine…”]

These Boots Are Made For Walking, Nancy Sinatra
[Why? Obvious.]

Where Does The Good Go, Tegan & Sara
[Why? They were in town. I like them. Be quiet.]

By Your Side, CocoRosie
[Why? It’s ironic. The WHOLE THING. Devoted housewifey wearing your black eye and baking you apple pie! HA! THAT is how you write a song of devotion! Take that Destiny’s Child…… Sorry sorry. I didn’t mean it! Please, I love you! I was just very disappointed with Cater 2 U…VERY.]

Not sure how smoothly these tunes segued with interviews about whale slaughter, West Papuan refugees and an RU486 rally, but hey, it was Valentine’s Day.

Can’t remember what I did for the rest of the day. Oh yes. I was still working at my 3CR summer job. Gosh, this was a long time ago! Anyway, in the evening, went to see Jarhead with Guy, Leah, Camille and my little brother. It was very romantic! Mmmm, spending Valentine’s with Sarsgaard. Not sick at all to characterise it like that. No, not sick at all. The film was good, I think. Yes, it was. I was to-ing and fro-ing about it a bit. I remember being mightily pissed off at the lame attempt at ‘deepness’ at the end, but my rage was quickly overtaken by a need to bob my head to Jesus Walks. What struck me most about the film was the way it showed how army people watch war movies very differently to, well, normal people. For instance, I had never even considered it possible that people would be whooping and cheering through Apocalypse Now. I mean, WHAT?! It was disturbing. And it also raised the interesting spectre that it’s quite possible that Jarhead itself may one day be co-opted in this fashion. Creepy.


Wednesday 15 February

Went to see Tegan & Sara at the Corner Hotel. Things of note were:

1. They were their own roadies, albeit in the cunning disguise of eye masks and red capes. Doing your own roady work seems to be ‘a thing’, which I will get to much later.

2. Tegan was wearing a Gogol Bordello t-shirt. That is a good thing.

3. They were just as tetchy about a loser fan as everybody else was.

4. Sara is my favourite.

5. Right before they sang Where Does The Good Go [which, if you’ll remember, I played to fit my alterna-Valentine’s Day music theme the day before], they said “This song is for any of you who had a sucky Valentine’s Day / don’t dig Valentine’s Day”, or something to that effect. I found this odd, because they could have said it about any number of their songs, and yet, they said it about exactly the same song as I chose to convey the same deal. Weird. My ideas are common. [Not so weird.]

6. There was a support act from Sydney called Sparkadia, which I realised I would very much like to play very loud while hugging myself, but only in secret. You never read this.


Thursday 16 February

At 3CR, chatted to Nicole who is on the Promotions Collective with me, [yes, we are a collective devoted to promotions. It is very cutting edge], and who does the DIY Arts Show. I was telling her how I’d seen Deerhoof the Friday before and how they were amazing, and how I had enjoyed Tegan & Sara the night before. Nicole is Canadian. And do you know what she said, quite as if it was nothing at all? “Oh yeah? That’s great. I used to do gigs in Toronto with Tegan & Sara back when they were Sara & Tegan. They had a deal you see. They agreed to switch the names after a few years. Oh, and I did a really fun tour with Deerhoof in San Francisco one time. Yep.” LIKE IT WAS NOTHING AT ALL.

Also, as I’ve mentioned, the RU486 bill passed in the House of Reps.


Friday 17 February

Edward from work burnt me The OC, season 3 episodes 1-11. I was wary, because at that point there’d been about 3 episodes on TV and they had SERIOUSLY sucked. But I hope you have stayed true despite that, because from the ‘Marissa enters public school’ episode onwards, it’s fucking BACK. Which is a relief. Keep an eye out for charming nods to 90210's "Let Donna Martin Graduate" campaign [I say 'charming nods', but they're not subtle. Unless Summer wearing a t-shirt that says "Donna Martin" is subtle]. There are also some slight political traces in jokes about 'quagmires' and such. Also, keep an eye out for articles about Love Of Diagrams, because their song No Way Out features on one of the episodes. Do not turn against them. Sure, they’ll get the treatment. But they are actually good. I really dig them, and have played that song many times on community radio that NO-ONE listens to. So they are still okay. OKAY?


Saturday 18 February

Went to the UN Youth Association’s forum on “Gender, Equality and Empowerment” to record Lyn Allison and Hana Assafiri for Women on the Line.


Monday 20 February

Got the all clear for uni, then met up randomly with Jedda at a pedestrian crossing, then went with Guy and Leah for coffee and then went with Leah to see Syriana. It’s good. It won’t blow your mind to a great extent, but it’s well-made and good. There. I am an awesome reviewer.

The rest of the week is pretty much lost to the haze of assembling Women on the Line.


Friday 24 February

Edward from work burnt me Prison Break, season one. DUDES, I LOVE IT. Here are two things you NEED TO KNOW, and which I can’t possibly stop myself from blurting:

1. OH MY GOD. HOLLY VALANCE! Holly Valance has a role in this show. This is EXCELLENT. So keep watching it. WE MUST SUPPORT HER.

2. The show is good TV for a bunch of reasons, but who cares about those. Let’s just talk about my FAVOURITE MOMENT from the entire series. It happens like so:

Michael Scofield is asking this wigga to do him a favour. And, to indicate his answer in the affirmative, [translation: “Yes.”], the wigga responds thusly:

“Does my momma got big breastesses?”

Holy crap, it was brilliant. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined this amazing moment for you by telling you of it in advance, but I just couldn’t stand it. I NEED to be substituting “Does my momma got big breastesses” for “Yes” RIGHT AWAY, and I can’t have people looking at me like I’m crazy. I need it to be ‘a thing’ that ‘makes sense’.


Saturday 25 February

Went to Guy’s going away party. He’s away for two weeks only. However, one would only snigger at and mutter about ‘the ego’ of throwing yourself a party for a mere two-week absence IF the party was bad. But the party was very good, and therefore, perfectly reasonable. During the party, I had two ‘agree to disagree’ conversations. The first involved climate change. Someone, who shall remain nameless for his own protection [Shayne], thinks it is bosh. That is just not so, sir. I conferred with my sister the meteorologist about it, and she says it is very real, and backed up the arguments I had made, and said that only cranks think it’s not real, and only SUPER-cranks think it’s a big conspiracy cooked up by ‘the environment industry’. Let’s hope you recover your senses. The second ‘agree to disagree’ was about Madonna. I said, “I hate Madonna.” And I got looks. And Simon said, tightly, “We will just have to agree to disagree on that.” And Catherine narrowed her eyes at me, and said, “But surely not Hung Up, of course?” And I said, “No of course not. I LOVE Hung Up. I just mean in general.” And then Like A Prayer came on. And they looked at me again. And I said, “Well, obviously not Like A Prayer either. I LOVE Like A Prayer. I just mean in general.” And then Express Yourself was playing, and I got looks again, and I said, “Well, obviously not Express Yourself either. I LOVE Express Yourself. I just mean in general.” And then Vogue came on, and I got looks. And I said, “Well, of course not Vogue. I LOVE Vogue. I just mean in general.” And I began to think that maybe I do love Madonna after all. Let’s hope I recover my senses. There was also an ‘agree to agree, and to agree with gusto’ conversation about taking Sophie Panopoulos DOWN!


Sunday 26 February

My sister arrived for a visit from Darwin, and we were invaded by family, and some friends of the parentals. The girl is engaged, you see. Let’s not go into it. There is family stress.


Monday 27 February

Met up with sister and distressed aunt for bout of shopping. In the evening, went to see Les Savy Fav, The Hold Steady, and Thunderbirds Are Now at the Corner Hotel. It was magnificent. And all the bands were their own roadies here as well. You see how it is ‘a thing’? For some reason I thought Thunderbirds Are Now had a girl in it, but it doesn’t. The guy on the contraption was a great spaz, though. I was most seriously impressed by The Hold Steady. Amazing. From the moment the singer worked up to yelling “We’re gonna start off with a POSITIVE JAM”, I was theirs. There was also some indecipherable and energetically gesticulated off-mic yelling throughout their set, which could have been crowd exhortation or abuse, or simply the lyrics, but who fucking cares? It was all GREAT. Really really GREAT. There was a guitarist who looked like Stephen Merchant, and the singer reminded me of, you know, Philbert the turtle who lives next door to Rocko the kangaroo in Rocko’s Modern Life? He reminded me of him, with his hunched shoulders and geek glasses, except he was not at all repressed like Philbert, and he had this awesome wicked grin. The man is cool. No need to really tell you how cool Les Savy Fav are. But they are. Very. What a great thing this gig was.


Tuesday 28 February

Had classes at uni, blah blah blah. Not important, BECAUSE, in the evening, went to see Broken Social Scene at the Corner Hotel. And it was fucking sublime. I’d been talking to Dave in the lead-up about not really knowing whether I loved these guys, but still being quite certain that seeing them live would be something special. And it so was. And now I listen to the albums again and enjoy them way way more than I used to. I also fell in love with the dude of course. He was Sarsgaard-esque, and warm and nice and lovely and talented. His voice sounded amazing, he talked about having food-poisoning. You know, swoon. Everything was great, but the stand-outs for me were Anthem For A Seventeen Year Old Girl, Bandwitch, Major Label Debut, 7/4 Shoreline, Handjobs For The Holidays with the “huh huh” breathing, Cause=Time, Lover’s Spit, and the one where New Buffalo sang, which I think was Hotel. Also, am I remembering this correctly - did the dude who used to be in Pavement play on the song named Ibi Dreams Of Pavement [A Better Day]? I think he did. Pavement, guesting on Pavement. I like that.


Wednesday 1 March

Went to the Civil Rights Defence forum, “War on terror or reign of terror?” at the Kaleide Theatre to record Julian Burnside, Rob Stary, Terry Hicks, and, via video link, Moazzem Begg. It was fucking great. My recording was a little rough but I’ve been playing it on the Breakfast Show anyway, with Jack Thomas’s gorgeous little girls making child noises beside me and all. A seriously excellent night.

Anyway, got home from the forum and happened to check the TV guide. OH. MY. GOD. THE L WORD SEASON TWO WAS ABOUT TO APPEAR ON ACTUAL TV! Yes, I’ve seen it, but that didn’t stop me from squealing and jumping and rushing to message anyone who might be interested that IT WAS HAPPENING!

Anyway, I tried to find the Cuntiest Photo Ever, that is, John Howard at that podium which said “Strong Direction, Mainstream Values”, but I couldn’t. So just picture that here. And weep. And rage.


Thursday 2 March

Had lunch with mother, sister and brother at the Flower Drum. It was my first time, and maybe I chose badly, because it sucked. The hot and sour soup was like sludge and I had to add so much chili to it, and then my Szechuan Scallops were pretty whatever. Mum had squid with salt and pepper, and that was pretty damn good. But on the whole, disappointed. There were all these business guys having long lunches, and we took to trying to figure out what sinister dealings and plots they were involved in, right under our very noses!

Anyway, had to man a stall at a pre-International Women’s Day event at the Melbourne Town Hall that afternoon. Then I recorded the speakers, who were pretty fucking twat and pointless. The only good one was a young woman from the Karen Women’s Organisation talking about her life and work in the refugee camps along the Thai-Burma border. Other than that, there was a woman who had walked from the edge of Antarctica to the South Pole, but she was more of a tourist than an adventurer, and we were treated to her holiday snaps, and then Catharine Lumby spoke about absolutely nothing, and then Evonne Goolagong Cawley boringly and exhaustively went over her whole career. I have no idea what the point of these speakers was. They were so boring and toothless. Anyway, foul mood descended.


Saturday 4 March

Went to see The Drones and My Disco at the Spanish Club. My Disco were awesome, of course. But like, really really. I was afflicted with a massive headache just before the Drones came on, so that wasn’t good, and I didn’t enjoy it properly. Rather, I sometimes found myself begging them to stop, please, stop. I like the way he throws himself around though. I swear he wasn’t that expressive when I saw them that time at the Forum when they were supporting the Black Keys.


Sunday 5 March

Watched Brazil.


Monday 6 March

Damn, I just realised I have to write my Oscars bit now. Boo. I really thought we were almost done here. Right, if you don’t want the expanded version, this is it in brief:

I was really very happy with the nominees this year but at the same time really really don’t think Crash was the thing - Michelle Williams is now totally my favourite person - ooh yay, there was a Sarsgaard-Gyllenhaal in the audience shot - er, no disrespect to a great girl but, does Dolly Parton look ‘old-lady-anorexic’ to anyone else? – Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin are super gals – I believe it’s time to say goodbye, Queen Latifah - Reese Witherspoon’s speech was overcooked – and I of course love Jon Stewart.

Now to expand, slightly. Jon Stewart, that man is a class above. Because, you see, he actually made a good joke out of Brokeback Mountain. Only the second one ever [the first being Brokeback to the Future, of course. What a display of knowledge! What an eye for detail! What a faultless application of slow-mo!]. See, I’m really quite sick of lame-arse duds simply adding “brokeback mountain” to the end of a sentence and thinking that constitutes a punchline, making what preceded it a joke. This is just not the case. Firstly, Brokeback Mountain isn’t all that funny. Secondly, you’re a dick. But anyway, Stewart’s cowboy movie montage thing was BRILLIANT. And my happiest moment of the night was when the Brokeback score won. About Crash, yeah, it had good moments, like that brutal one with Tony Danza where an astoundingly oppressive set of humiliating power relations were played out simply with the words “Do we have a problem?”, or that violation bit with Thandie Newton, or that ‘oh no, the little girl is dead, and just look at the expression on her father’s face’ bit, but Shayne’s right, the film felt a bit emotionally cheap and wasn’t perfection. And it was up against films that were, so they should have won [I haven’t seen Capote or Munich yet]. That is all.


Wednesday 8 March

Happy International Women’s Day.