Year In Review

2006

I’m aware these things are meant to be completed in December 2006, and it is now January 2007. This alters nothing. Let’s year.


ME 2006

I had a birthday, so I am now as old as it is possible for me to be at this point in time, which is 25.

I punched a sexual harasser.

Guy left the blog. The blog turned 3 (note: growing up without a daddy and being neglected by a depressive mother was only supposed to be a joke, but the blog did suffer, methinks. Quite neglected this year it was. Sorry blog.)

Saw the briefest of returns of the Symposiasts Period Romance, made a Catholic defend Catholicism and damn it with insane praise, and discovered that writing things about Daniel Kitson will get you into his ever-expanding email harem. Happily, I was unaware of being one of many until months later, when Amy told me about the collective, "oh", that happened at RYWHM. Still, it was a life-affirming thrill. Even if he did shop it about.

So, note to boys everywhere. If you want to get a bevy of ladies to swoon and type at you, this is the (possibly prefab) email you should send them:

hello there.

im a bit of a dick, and search for myself online. largely but not
entirely because im a dick. i read the thing you wrote about my show
and as pathetic as this may well be, i wanted to say thankyou.

it gets tricky sometimes to keep doing stuff when the people who talk
to you after or shout in the street have so clearly missed the whole
fucking point so it was really lovely to read a complete understanding
of the show. including all the stuff ive never been quite sure im
articulating, so. really. thanks a lot.

im pleased you like my friends too. and you seem to have excellent
instincts. so thats nice.

anyway.

sorry to bother you.

im a dick.

Sigh. BEST. EMAIL. EVER.


If, however, you want to make girls think ill of you, you can do what Oscar Humphries did, and send a generic hate email (subject line: You are a cunt…)

I got an extra job for a while, which seemed like a thrilling enterprise, lots of enthusiastic talk about “being on the ground floor of the digital revolution” (playing catch-up). I got a bip card that I could swipe across a red light and turn it green. It went ‘bip’ when it turned green. And then I could open the door and wander around SBS like I was meant to be there. However, the digital radio network for which we were making pilots became an increasingly theoretical prospect, but at least I realised that this life failure wasn’t actually my fault.

Failing uni, however, was my fault. I am now a uni drop-out. I felt entirely relieved when that happened, like I could quit stalling now and start my life. So now I have to make a life, unencumbered by inconsequential things like qualifications… So my future is wide open and LIMITED.

We won a grant for our archive project from the Victorian Women’s Trust. So stay tuned for an eight-part series using archive audio from the past 20 years of our show to give a potted history of, well, women talked to and issues talked about. It’s actually bloody interesting, like finding treasure (when the treasure is not scarce, is stored in chronological order on cassette and CD, to be cross-referenced and navigated using folders full of similarly ordered running sheets detailing content, guests, etc).

Made another Seeds Of Dissent calendar. PLEASE BUY ONE. If you don’t I will have to keep putting myself about in order to promote the thing. For example, made a fool of myself talking about it to a nice chap on RTR in Perth the other week. And will make a fool of myself again on 2SER this Tuesday. It’s actually horrible, being on the other side of an interview. I DON’T LIKE IT. WHY DO PEOPLE AGREE TO DO IT?

Marked the advance of civilisation by renting DVDs on the internet and receiving them in the mail (BigPond Movies), and devoting myself to illegally downloading exciting cultural treasures. Also, you know how eBay’s been around for like, ever? Well, this year I actually used it. And I got dresses and boots and went quite giddy over it. Expensive habit.

In other life changes, after a lifetime of detesting Earl Grey Tea, I woke up one day and bloody loved it. Weird.

NOW LET’S LIST, PEOPLE.


SONGS 2006

My iPod died at the start of this year, was out of warranty, so I got a new one. Therefore my Top 25 Most Played is a pretty accurate reflection of 2006’s musical obsessions.

These are the ones at the top of the list, My Top 3 Most Played Songs, 2006:

Administer A Prosthetic Dream, My Disco
Get Me Bodied, Beyoncé
Waitin’ Around To Die, Townes Van Zandt

And I really must apologise to Guy for most ungraciously accepting the birthday gift he gave me (that being, Beyoncé’s B-Day album). I made a horrified face and may have gasped “NO” as he gave it to me. But Guy, I was wrong. I was so wrong. And your exemplary track record of superb birthday gifts is only burnished further, old chum.

Aside from the popular vote, I’d like to mention some other songs that I keenly enjoyed this year:

Roscoe and Young Bride, Midlake
Raining Pleasure, The Triffids
Beef Jerky, Cibo Matto
C and Dream Wanderer’s Tune and Dinner For Two and Blue Cash, Deerhoof
Airships, Metallic Falcons
God’s Gonna Cut You Down, Johnny Cash
Vicious Circle, Solomon Burke
Tricycle, Psapp
Total Eclipse Of The Heart, Bonnie Tyler
Watching You Without Me, Kate Bush
Nothing Came Out, The Moldy Peaches
Tire Swing, Kimya Dawson
Party Line, Adam Green
A Song For You, [Whiskeytown version]
So Many Ways, Mates Of State
Highway Delights and Steel, NinetyNine
Goodbye, Minimum Chips
Waiting To Know You, The Fiery Furnaces
Vernoona and Bolte And Dunstan Talk Youth, Augie March
No Bad News, Bonnie “Prince” Billy
Coming In From All Angles, Ground Components [feat. Macromantics]
Hands In The Air, Ground Components
I Love A Man In Uniform, Gang Of Four
I Want To Be The President, Electrelane
Rake and Nothin’, Townes Van Zandt
Treasure, Kes
These Words and When I’m Not, Broken Hills
Ghosts Are Good Company, Bishop Allen
Major Label Debut, Broken Social Scene
American Flag and Love & Communication, Cat Power
Iceblink Luck, Cocteau Twins
Not Moving, D.N.A
Dream Scream, Daniel Johnston
Love Fight, Dannii Minogue
My Imaginary Guy, Deanie Parker & The Valadors
The Clapping Song and The Real Nitty Gritty, Shirley Ellis
Condemnation and Never Let Me Down Again and Enjoy The Silence, Depeche Mode
Through Being Cool and Jerkin’ Back ’n’ Forth and Satisfaction (I Can’t Get No), Devo
The Garden, Einsturzende Neubauten
Various Stages, Great Lake Swimmers
Woman King, Iron & Wine
Black Mountain, Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan
The Charging Sky, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins
Pretty Shoes and I Saw Her In The Anti War Demonstration, Jens Lekman
Monkey & Bear and Cosmia, Joanna Newsom
Who By Fire and Take This Longing, Leonard Cohen
Dark Side Of Dallas, Macromantics [feat. Ground Components]
A Prayer, Madeleine Peyroux
Hung Up, Madonna
I Wish I Had An Evil Twin and I Don’t Wanna Get Over You, The Magnetic Fields
Double Dutch, Malcolm McLaren
Yellow Lights, Marissa Nadler
Don’t Give Up, Kate Bush & Peter Gabriel
I’m Your Puppet, The Stylistics
They Are Night Zombies!! They Are Neighbors!! They Have Come Back From The Dead!! Ahhhh! and The Perpetual Self, Or “What Would Saul Alinsky Do?” and Chicago (Multiple Personality Disorder Version), Sufjan Stevens
Here I Go, Syd Barrett
All The Young Children On Crack, Television Personalities
Muppet Face, Xiu Xiu
Turn Into, Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Do It First, The Crayon Fields
Lyla, CocoRosie
Mount Wroclai (Idle Days), Beirut
Interesting Results, Ariel Pink
A Nervous Tic Motion Of The Head To The Left, Andrew Bird
Song To The Siren, Tim Buckley
From The Air, Laurie Anderson
Don’t Lose Touch, Against Me!
Closer, Low
One Hit, The Knife
The Other Side Of Mt. Heart Attack, Liars
(You Better Love Me) Before I Am Gone, The Brian Jonestown Massacre
Bright Things Come To Confusion, Because Of Ghosts
Méchant Pétard, Plastic Bertand


MY ALBUMS 2006

Joanna Newsom, Ys
Midlake, The Trials Of Van Occupanther
Metallic Falcons, Desert Doughnuts
NinteyNine, Worlds Of Space, Worlds Of Population, Worlds Of Robots
My Disco, Cancer
The Crayon Fields, Animal Bells
Bishop Allen, Charm School (and the 2006 monthly EPs)
Laurie Anderson, Big Science
Cat Power, The Greatest
CocoRosie, Noah’s Ark and La Maison de Mon Reve
The Fiery Furnaces, Bitter Tea
The Knife, Silent Shout
Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Show Your Bones
Various, The Late Great Daniel Johnston: Discovered Covered
The Moldy Peaches, The Moldy Peaches
Kimya Dawson, Remember That I Love You
Low, Things We Lost In The Fire
Johnny Cash, American V
Ground Components, An Eye For A Brow, A Tooth For A Pick
Macromantics, Moments In Movement
Because Of Ghosts, The Tomorrow We Were Promised Yesterday
Bonnie “Prince” Billy, The Letting Go
Sufjan Stevens, The Avalanche
Cibo Matto, Viva! La Woman
Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan, Ballad Of The Broken Seas
Kes, The Jelly’s In The Pot
Beirut, Gulag Orkestar
Liars, Drum’s Not Dead
Midnight Juggernauts, Secrets Of The Universe
Muse, Black Holes & Revelations
Damn Arms, Patterns
Augie March, Moo, You Bloody Choir
Beyoncé, B-Day
Neko Case, Fox Confessor Brings The Flood
The Magnetic Fields, 69 Love Songs and i
Minimum Chips, kitchen tea thankyou
Deerhoof, The Runners Four and Apple O’ and Milk Man
The Strokes, First Impressions Of Earth


MY ALBUM DISCORD 2006

Joan As Policewoman, Real Life
Felt to me like middling Adult Contemporary.

Various, Leonard Cohen: I’m Your Man
Now, I love me a tribute album. Couldn’t do without Whiskeytown’s version of A Song For You, or Sheryl Crow and Emmylou Harris singing Juanita on the Gram Parson’s tribute album, or Clem Snide’s Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Your Grievience and Bright Eyes’ Devil Town on the Daniel Johnston album, or for that matter New Buffalo’s Four Seasons In One Day on She Will Have Her Way. Tribute albums can be great things. But as far as Leonard Cohen is concerned, I’ve encountered a wider problem that I hoped this album would fix, (and that, with the exception of Beth Orton singing Sisters Of Mercy, this album hasn’t fixed) in that I’ve never yet heard a cover of one of his songs that I prefer over the original, or enjoy in isolation from - or with reference to - the original. Ever. Truly, the original Hallelujah is a great thing, with a lovely drrring and a choir. Perhaps it’s not so suited to thoughtful/wistful montages, but it’s still better. I’m not saying don’t cover Leonard Cohen songs. By all means, persist. It’s just that I remain unsatisfied.


GIGS 2006

I didn’t go to nearly enough, but here they are, I believe chronologically:

CocoRosie supporting Antony & The Johnsons @ Hamer Hall
CocoRosie (and Kes) @ Northcote Social Club
Big Day Out
The White Stripes @ Festy Hall
M.I.A @ Prince
Franz Ferdinand and Cut Copy @ The Palace
Deerhoof and My Disco @ Northcote Social Club
Tegan and Sara @ Corner Hotel
Les Savy Fav, The Hold Steady, and Thunderbirds Are Now @ Corner Hotel
Broken Social Scene @ Corner Hotel
The Drones and My Disco @ Spanish Club
Jens Lekman @ Northcote Social Club
Damn Arms @ Northcote Social Club
Martha Wainwright @ Forum
Liars, Young Professionals, Damn Arms and Snowman @ Corner Hotel
Marissa Nadler @ Northcote Social Club
Low @ Corner Hotel
The Fiery Furnaces @ East Brunswick Club
The Strokes @ Festy Hall
Chicks On Speed @ Prince
Midlake @ The Corner
The New Pornographers @ Prince
My Disco and Kes Band @ Northcote Social Club
Crayon Fields @ Northcote Social Club
Modest Mouse @ The Palace

The Best Gigs were:
CocoRosie @ Hamer Hall
Deerhoof and My Disco @ Northcote Social Club
Midlake @ The Corner
Broken Social Scene @ Corner Hotel
My Disco and Kes Band @ Northcote Social Club (seriously, keep an eye out for Kes’ new stuff. It’s fucking wonderful. Album launch on Feb 9, fyi.)
Liars, Young Professionals, Damn Arms and Snowman @ Corner Hotel
Low @ Corner Hotel
The Fiery Furnaces @ East Brunswick Club
The Strokes @ Festy Hall
The White Stripes @ Festy Hall


TV 2006

Some rehashed thoughts on the TV Landscape

I’ve discovered that I’m quite disconnected from the outrage I should be feeling when shows get dicked about. Stupid broadband - as necessary as running water though it may be – has removed me from the depressive rages of The People, who simply ask that good shows be put on TV and carried through to their conclusions. And I’m sorry Green Guide letter writers, but advising everyone to ‘get the DVD’ is not the solution. Making the TV networks program in a sane fashion is the solution. Stop dismissing The People’s concerns, you stinkingly smug TV-from-the-internet-instant-gratification brigade. You make me ashamed to be one of you.

I very much enjoyed the Glen Milne incident at the Walkleys. It was marvellous. But the surprise and glee were for me too shortlived, almost immediately being stomped on and sullied by, a) the stupid human feeling I involuntarily extended to Milne after seeing the dawning humiliation on his face as he was dragged off stage, and b) Stephen Mayne’s immediate killing of the fun through his determination to run fun into the ground by sheer force of his personality, a feat that went on for days and days afterwards. Thankfully, someone on Crikey has managed to say something that doesn’t irritate and enables the greatness of the incident to live on untarnished. So here’s to you, Mungo MacCallum, for writing:

“You’ve got it slightly wrong. Glenn Milne’s drunkenness only gives drunkenness a bad name. It’s his journalism that gives journalism a bad name.”

Anyway.


GREAT TV 2006

Deadwood (seasons 1-2-3) [IT CAN’T BE OVER. Also, I hate Hearst. Hearst is a fucking cocksucker. If you know what he’s done, you’ll understand. IRREDEEMABLE.]
Entourage (seasons 1-2-3) [SO ADDICTIVE]
Weeds
Gilmore Girls (seasons 5-6-7)
L Word (seasons 2-3) [Season 4 starting in America soon, YAY]
The Office US (seasons 1-2-3) [This IS VERY GOOD. DO NOT DISMISS IT.]
Extras (seasons 1-2) [GENIUS. Will expand on this after the list.]
Mighty Boosh (season 2)
Prison Break (seasons 1-2) [Season 1 ended badly. I mean, the prison blueprints are tattooed all over your freakin body and still you're left holding a blade to the warden's neck and running off on foot with the fuzz hot on your tail?? DUDE. Anyway, Season 2 begins slowly, but really gets going after a while, so persist.]
Six Feet Under
The West Wing
The Sopranos
Oz
Shameless
The Civil War
Firefly
My Name Is Earl
Strangers With Candy
Veronica Mars
Laguna Beach [initially watched it out of perplexion, thinking: But… why? I feel like I’m stuck listening to the dominant people in a group of friends repeat and repeat and repeat themselves. Why doesn’t someone scream “HE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU. ALSO, HE’S A DICK!” Also, what do you, ah, think about stuff? OTHER stuff... Nonetheless, I didn't stop watching]
Daily Show [I love you]
Letterman [now on Channel Ten. At reasonable times. In actual proximity to the original air date. CRAZY. Do we dare to dream that this means the end of Hotdogs? If the Uplate Game Show has been consigned to the scrap heap, and Quizmania is all that remains, I think this shows a certain level of order, as in, The Universe working according to the rule of ‘First The Worst, Second The Best, Third The One With The Hairy Chest’. You see, Uplate appeared first, and so is The Worst, Quizmania appeared second and is The Best, and Midnight Zoo appeared third, was scrapped first, and showed a lot of chest.]
The OC [CANCELED. This season is our last. But Taylor Towsend is SO AWESOME.]
Heroes [will be HUGE. I'll say it again, HUGE. And Hiro Nakamura is something to love]
Ugly Betty [will also be HUGE. I've seen two episodes, and it's going swimmingly so far. Also, Maggie from Extras and Dawn from The Office are in it.]
YouTube [but only for the TV clips, really. Not the real people.]


NOW, LET’S TALK ABOUT THE SECOND SEASON OF EXTRAS.
It is a superb thing, managing to expertly mix extreme hilarity with true despair and humiliation. The clip below is from Episode 5, featuring Ian McKellan and Germaine Greer… an episode which, in my opinion, is the BEST EXTRAS EPISODE EVER. So adamant am I about this point that I carry the episode with me always, on the iPod, for those special occasions when I feel the need to invite humiliation on myself by snorting in public. To be repetitive, Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant are genius men. Fo serious. Within Extras they have also written an alternate comedy series, a play, films, theme songs, and brilliant fake versions of real celebrities, and all these pieces work as entities themselves as well as entities within a larger joke and, and, and… well, to be trite, let’s just sigh and say OH, THE LEVELS. Anyway, within this Best Episode Ever is the following scene. I want you to watch it attentively and in full, because it contains A Glorious Achievement In The History Of Comedy – namely, a highly original reworking of the ‘spit out water in surprise’ gag. This achievement is made all the more glorious, in my opinion, by the fact that the usual ‘spit out water in surprise’ gag appears (and, to be frank, still works on me) in an earlier Extras episode, in the show-within-the-show that is Andy Millman’s soul-destroyer, “When The Whistle Blows” – a program defined by cheap humour, catchphrases, funny wigs and glasses, along with the occasional morsel of a good joke well-executed slipped in to make us sit up and imagine what survived from Andy’s original vision, or to worry that we could enjoy what is being presented as the worst kind of TV comedy. They play with us, you see. Therefore no, I don’t think I’m over-reading a jot when I commend these guys for first flagging what bad TV comedy does with spitting and water, before showing what they can do with spitting and water, which is, quite simply,

THE FUNNIEST THING, 2006:

FILM 2006

It bothered me that I mostly had unsatisfying conversations throughout the year about Brokeback Mountain. Conversations in which people would always qualify their response to it in what I felt were diminishing ways, eg. “Oh, it’s a universal love story, not a gay love story. You could substitute class or race or anything experiencing a difficulty of coming together and it would be just as apt.” On these occasions it’s my default to go to the Harvey Fierstein place, which from my recollection of the Celluloid Closet goes something like this, “Fuck you, it bloody is gay. To see it as universal requires an act of translation on your part, similar to that performed for so long by gay people when translating straight film to their own experience. Make no mistake, this film is fucking gay.” At Christmas, Brokeback came up again because we had the DVD lying around, and an uncle saw it and remarked, “Oh yes, I saw that. I only saw it because it was an in-flight movie. Otherwise I wouldn’t have watched it, obviously.” To which I was thinking, “Why the hell not? Didn’t you mark Brokeback Mountain Day? Didn’t everybody? And what is this ‘obviously’ business?”, but what I actually said was, “Really? I loved it. Takes a while to warm up and seems jarring at first but it bloody breaks your heart. Makes me cry. Fucking tragedy.” To which he responded, “Tragedy? Well, for the wives maybe.” To which my eyes widened, and I was thinking, “No no NO… I mean, yes, sure. But there are questions of degree here. For the wives, it’s a niggling feeling that something is missing, a kind of removed tragedy. But the intense, right up on your throat tragedy is the one experienced by the men, because they know exactly what they’re missing out on. There is no fucking distance from that.” But my dad stepped in to defuse any possibility that I might get ‘difficult’ with, “Well, I suppose the scenery is probably nice. Maybe I’ll watch it for the scenery.” Which made me want to crumple into a heap. Anyway, already reviewdy.

Just one more thing before we get to lists. Maurice was a film I watched and I wrote that it was based on an E.M. Forster novel I had never heard of. Thing is, Guy has. Heard of it, that is. In fact, he’s just finished his Masters thesis, in which he wrote a fucking excellent chapter on that very same Forster book. So now, a question: is it bad that I was basing all my feedback for Guy’s chapter on my memories of the film? TOO LATE NOW. But would YOU trust as a sounding board the person (me) who wrote this?:

“The film 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.”

Anyway.

These lists are of films I watched this year, irrespective of release dates.


FILM 2006: The Great

The New World
The Wind That Shakes The Barley
Brokeback Mountain
Road To Guantanamo
Tristram Shandy: A Cock & Bull Story
Pride & Prejudice
October 17, 1961
The Battle Of Algiers
The Betrayal
Darkon
Capote
This Film Is Not Yet Rated
Mutual Appreciation
Funny Ha Ha
Dave Chappelle’s Block Party
Shortbus
Little Miss Sunshine
Wordplay [sidenote: have you seen Bill Clinton’s hands? HOTT.]
Transamerica
Walk The Line
United 93
Superman Returns
Harvey
The Libertine
Infernal Affairs
Live Forever: The Rise & Fall Of Brit Pop
Last Days
Gerry
The Queen
Vera Drake
Withnail & I
Brazil
Harold & Maude
Welcome To The Dollhouse
Singin In The Rain


FILM 2006: The Good

Inside Man
Miami Vice
Hidden
Good Night And Good Luck
Harry Potter & The Goblet Of Fire
Al Franken: God Spoke
The Squid And The Whale
Drawing Restraint 9
Maurice
Another Country
Slither
Munich
King Kong
Syriana
Rampage (except George Gittoes BUGS ME A LOT)
Thank You For Smoking
Bubble
Shopgirl
A History Of Violence
The Brown Bunny
An Inconvenient Truth
Autofocus
The Mayor Of Sunset Strip
Townes Van Zandt: Be Here To Love Me
Strangers With Candy
The Devil Wears Prada
Little Jerusalem
The Perfect Catch
The Three Burials Of Melquiades Estrada
Happy Endings
But I’m A Cheerleader
Pretty Persuasion
Dirty Pretty Things
Being Julia
Inside Deep Throat
Tarnation
Five Easy Pieces
Bloody Sunday
Palindromes
Jarhead
Oldboy
In The Bedroom
Hairspray
Wedding Crashers
Glitter
Birth
The Station Agent
Everything Is Illuminated
The Machinist
The Edukators
Serenity
Crumb


FILM 2006: The Not So Great

A Prairie Home Companion
Sheitan
V For Vendetta
Match Point
The Human Stain
Last Tango In Paris
Dirty Dancing 2: Havana Nights
Beyond Beats And Rhymes: A Hip-Hop Head Weighs In On Manhood In Hip-Hop Culture
Nacho Libre
The Anniversary Party
Baadasssss!
Breakfast At Tiffany’s


FILM 2006: The Awful

Unrequited Love [quite possibly the crappest movie ever and the lowlight of MIFF 2006]
A Lot Like Love [Ashton Kutcher and Amanda Peet I thought would be a grand combination. I was wrong.]
The Lake House
2:37 [seriously, this was SO CRAP. AND IT WAS NOT A SERIOUS FILM. It felt so fake and emotionally cheap, except for that character who couldn’t control his bladder. Only the very unsophisticated could consider the ending to be clever. POOR.]
Alexander
Flightplan
Snakes On A Plane [Sure, it's a good title. I didn’t see it when it came out, as I began to feel something fabricated and exploitative about this being a movie “we” had made, what larks, eh. It seemed like the studio was screaming WE ARE SO IN ON THE JOKE WE’RE ALMOST COOL PEOPLE, THIS IS SILLY FUN, which made it all not so fun. But I rented it recently, and it’s, you know, nothin.]


THEATRE 2006

I Am My Own Wife.
It was, quite simply, the best play I have ever seen.

“I Am My Own Wife tells of author Doug Wright's fascination with the life of Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, a German transvestite caught up in the great European dramas of the 20th century. Unlike many contemporaries, von Mahlsdorf survived the Nazi regime and its replacement in East Germany, the Soviet-dominated Communist dictatorship.”

Other great theatre-ish things were Ridiculusmus in Importance of Being Earnest, Demetri Martin in Dr Ernest Parrot Presents, Daniel Kitson in Weltanschauung, and David O’Doherty in Grown Up.

It has struck me that I may be undernourished, theatre-wise. I am embarking this year on a Melbourne Theatre Company subscription, so let’s see if I take to it, and whether I, you know, like plays and such. It begins with Don’s Party on Monday night.


THE AMERICAS 2006

Something political happened in America. John Kerry and some insane people provided a lesson in the importance of the word “us”. Especially in punchlines. Say it with me, “Get us stuck in Iraq. Get us stuck in Iraq.” His point was actually a good one. What is wrong with people? Why are they so crazy?

However, voters weren’t so crazy. And I think Stephen Colbert said it best, so let’s usher in the Brave New World and keep the dream alive before it becomes not as great and progressive and unwrong as we want it to be. But then, maybe it will be good?

But this is all stuff you know already. Now let me tell you of an American phenomenon with which you may not be so acquainted. My former 3CR co-host Bec moved to North Carolina this year, and has since had some delightful news to share, which I will now pass on to you. It has to do with thug fashion. See, for a while Bec was door-bitching, and she noticed that too many of the tough guys decked out in bling and driving pimped-out cars shared an element that was, shall we say, less than scary. And that element was this: Coogi t-shirts. That’s right, COOGI. So I have devised a plan to take over the gang scene in Charlotte, NC. It’s a pretty audacious power-play, but I think it will demonstrate a superior sartorial nerve that can only awe them into submission, these PUSSIES who only go as far as t-shirts. We have the resources, people. We can surely whup them, and leave them cowering in the wake of the force that is THIS MUCH BLING:


That town is ours for the taking, is all I’m saying.


So there. That’s 2006. It’s over with.

But 2007 is no bad thing. Indeed, it’s already shaping up to be pretty exciting. You see, tomorrow night, for the first time… GUY AND I WILL BE MEETING FOP.

…

SCREAM!

Because I Have Decided To Read Again.

But before I actually crack open a book, here's a story. A few years ago, a friend of mine wanted to try her hand at short film making, and she decided the topic to explore was the self-help industry. I think she had a mockumentary in mind or something. Anyway, so her ex-boyfriend had a scary amount of self-help material, which I assume he had paid for and read, and he lent me some books because I was supposed to help her do 'research'. Thing was, we'd sit down to do 'research' and just end up pissing ourselves laughing and reading bits aloud that struck us as particularly insipid. And then we'd get a little frightened that people were serious about this stuff, and so require a smoke break. As you can imagine, nothing came of the film. But today I've been searching around my room trying to find a copy of Sense & Sensibility, because I have quite the hankering to read it NOW. Still can't find it, which is a bother, but I've realised that her ex-boyfriend's stash of self-help books is still in my possession. So I really need to return them asap, because two years is just plain rude. Also I can't stand to have the pernicious filth - now that I know it's in my house - in my house ONE MOMENT LONGER. Thankfully he'll be at a party tonight, so the filth can be returned to him. Anyway, here's the point: I noticed a bit of blue sticky paper marking a particular passage in one of the books, on which I'd helpfully written "INANE! GOLD!". And I'd like to share it with you now, because it is just a beautiful thing. It's from Reading People, the New York Times bestseller by "America's leading expert on reading people", Jo-Ellan Dimitrius PhD. This is how she begins a section called The Lost Art Of Reading People:

"Unless you've been stranded on a desert island for the past fifty years, you've noticed that the world has changed."

Are there words?





ANYWAY HERE'S A TIP FOR HOW TO SPEND YOUR LEISURE TIME TONIGHT:
Before you go to see My Disco at the Northcote Social Club, why not pause for a while at the Wesley Anne to watch my friend Camille's band, Broken Hills. They play at around 8pm, which leaves you plenty of time to travel the hundred metres or so to the next gig. Yep, this is one super-fantastic plan.

New Porn.

Forgot to mention the New Pornographers gig I saw last week at the Prince. What a sweet bunch of dags they are. And with the vocal punch.


You really can't fault them. There's the Neko. And there's the cheery drummer who keeps the beat while swigging hard liquor out of the bottle. It's just so darn nice.

Whew. Lemon gelati and Midlake.

Is all that I can handle today.

I went outside before, and quickly thought better of it. Hopefully things will have cooled down by tonight, and there had better be fans (not Midlake fans, but you know, electric-powered fans) moving air around at the Corner Hotel, because I have recently discovered that moving air is ESSENTIAL to my survival/relative comfort. Because IT'S A BIT HOT. The house is completetly shut up, and I'm stranded on the couch drinking water with ICE in it. It's rather good, too. However, lemon gelati is the best. And I just wanted that on record. Lemon Gelati Is The Best. (By the way, is it -ti or -to? It's been playing on my mind, because the tub says gelato, but I've always said gelati. Can we both be right?)

Benefits Of Being A Bujalski Fan.

#1. You get to say Bujalski.

Bu-jal-ski.


#2. You get to enjoy films made by Bujalski.

During this year's MIFF, Mutual Appreciation charmed me silly, and I said to myself, "Who is this Bujalski?" And, "Where can I find more of him?" Well, had I had my wits about me at the time, I would have realised that more Bujalski was to be found right then and there, at MIFF, because his previous film, Funny Ha Ha was also screened, replacing Larry Clark's Wassup Rockers for some reason that was never explained. However, as I had quite badly wanted to see Wassup Rockers, but found all attempts to book for it foiled by this pesky unknown entity called Funny Ha Ha, I did the equivalent of sticking my tongue out at it and saying, "Forget you." Witless, I know. But that's all in the past, because I recently sought out and watched Funny Ha Ha, and it similarly charmed me silly. Yes, I like me a Bujalski film. But more specifically, I like seeing a pattern emerge in terms of Bujalskisms. And the Bujalskism I'd like to highlight here relates to casting. Which leads us to:


#3. Pshaw. Cute boys.


If it's been your experience that, upon discovering cute boys - and this is especially the case when the cute boys also radiate sweet-naturedness and smartness and distinctly nice niceness - you make a point of learning their names so that you can do things like Google them, and/or correctly address them in the pretend conversations you commence having with them in your head, well then, we are on the same page, is all.

The point is, the featuring of cute boys is Bujalskism 101, people, and let's be thankful for it. I refer you to Figure A, Justin Rice in Mutual Appreciation, and Figure B, Christian Rudder in Funny Ha Ha. So very cute. And the effect is only amplified when they are, say, moving and/or speaking. FYI, they do both rather well, and Justin Rice manages to pull off the feat in both films. In Mutual Appreciation though, Justin Rice also does rather well at acting like he is in a band, which prompted me to suggest to him, in one of the pretend conversations which have become a feature of our time together, "You know what, Justin? You could really be in a band. You should look into that. You would be rather good at it." For some reason, I pursued that suggestion no further, until months later, that is, quite recently, when paying close attention to the end credits of Funny Ha Ha, I noted that certain pieces of music from the film were attributed to the following songwriting pair: "J.Rice, C.Rudder". Well then. It seems Justin, lovely man that he is, has been humouring me just a tad. In his wisdom, he was probably trying to prevent the attack of gleeful hyperventilation that's hitting me right... about... now.


#4. You get a New Favourite Band.

SCREAM. They are called Bishop Allen. Oh, you will like them so much. Well, perhaps you already do. Really, how could you not?

And they are being particularly prolific at the moment, so get on board, people.



IN OTHER NEWS, YOU WANT A LOVELY WALL CALENDAR, DON'T YOU.

Well, in a happy coincidence, I happen to have made one (along with three other people and the financial backing of 3CR Community Radio), and am willing to let you know how to buy it. GENEROUS.


Here, LOOK AT IT.



And furthermore, LOOK WHAT'S INSIDE IT.




So very pretty. And to get one of your very own (and one for your mum, your dad, your gramps, your aunties, uncles, cousins, friends, etc.), why not call 3CR on (03)94198377, or get along to 21 Smith St Fitzroy to buy it in person, or check the 3CR website for the various quality bookshops at which it is available.


Alternatively, and if you have a spare $20 and a conscience today, I will be flogging calendars/having a conscience at the David Hicks rally at Federation Square from 2pm. You should probably come along even if you don't have $20, I would suggest.

So You Thought She Could Dance?

Aw, wasn't it fun? Pauline Hanson on Dancing With The Stars, what a battler, what a dag, giving it her besequinned best, what a great dancing lady, WE LIKE HER.

Yes, people went INSANE for a while, which made me go insane. The Pauline Hanson Revival struck me as astonishing bullshit, as a sign of the apocalypse, as TOTALLY FUCKED UP. And I found myself rubbing my head and mumbling, “But, how can people go on television and say ‘I love you Pauline’ without causing shocked silence and a mass refusal to make eye contact? IT JUST DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE. SHE'S PAULINE HANSON!” And yes, I did tend to get a bit shouty. But can you blame me? She was PAULINE HANSON, she had always been PAULINE HANSON, and surprise surprise, she remains PAULINE HANSON.




"We're bringing in people from South Africa at the moment, there's a huge amount coming into Australia, who have diseases, they've got AIDS".

"They are of no benefit to this country whatsoever, they'll never be able to work."

"Why do we have to bring people in who are of no benefit to this country whatsoever, who are going to take away our way of life, change our laws?"

"Our governments have bent over backwards to look after them (Muslims) and their needs, and regardless of what the Australian people think".

"You can't have schools not sing Christmas carols because it upsets others, you can't close swimming baths because Muslim women want to swim in private, that's not Australian."




So for fuck's, let's not be seen hugging her in public or praising her courage and conviction and Great Australian-ness EVER AGAIN. The time to start backing away from her is ALWAYS.

Today's paper. Quite a something.

I Actually Have A Lot Of Things To Say.

And will get around to it soon.

Ish.

Thursday of Infamy.

Let us take a moment to consider the 78 people who should be going to bed tonight feeling more than usually ashamed of themselves. Truly, you are just bad people.



I mean it.




Anyway, to make it all better, (well, not all) I'm going to watch Episode 9, Season 3 of Deadwood. Right. This. Instant. Because I need some delight in my life. And some Brian from Queer As Folk being Wyatt Earp. And some whores and politics, obviously.

Metallic Falcons, Desert Doughnuts

I bought this album last night. I listened to it today. I love it.

At the moment, Airships, Snakes and Tea, and Silent Night are the songs for me.

A keeper.

MIFFing In Action.

Apologies, I have been busy. And although my 'hectic' schedule has only been partially related to attending films at MIFF, let's just blame it for the entire blog absence thing, if only because the working/ 3CR-ing/ Deadwood-ing/ discovering I am still at uni and so actually have to attend (!), etc, are all factors not worth bothering about because they simply aren't as punny.

So, MIFF.


Sticky Carpet, Friday 28 July, 9:15pm, ACMI


Um, well. It was okay. It kind of dragged a bit, to be honest. But it was a freaky surprise to see 3CR featured as if it was on a par with RRR and PBS, which I think will please the music show programmers, who really are underpromoted at the station (a condition which might change soon, I think, as one of the people on the Promotions Sub-Committee with me has PLANS. Not mwhaw haw haw plans. Just "we're under-utilising a great resource" plans). So anyway, it was fun to watch and annoy my brother by jabbing him with my elbow every time I a) saw someone I knew/recognised or b) felt the need to tell him things like "Pssst, that's Studio 3". Such information was greeted by him with an exasperated shake of the head, a response I duly ignored so that I could continue illuminating his experience of the film with various 'insider' gems like, "Yep. See that mural on the wall behind him? Tom painted that. Oooh, I sat in that chair just this afternoon. And look, look! They've spelled Iain's name wrong. Isn't this just fascinating for you?". Glares.



Al Franken: God Spoke, Sunday 30 July, 7:05pm, Greater Union


Now, I'm a person who likes my Al Franken. I think he's nice. However, this film has kind of radicalised* my like for him, so I feel it my duty to inform you that, having seen this film, I WILL NOW NOT HEAR A WORD AGAINST AL FRANKEN. DO YOU HEAR ME? NOT ONE WORD CRITICISING AL FRANKEN WILL FLY WITH ME FROM THIS POINT ON. IF I EVER HEAR YOU MAKE ONE DISPARAGING REMARK ABOUT AL FRANKEN, WE ARE OVER. OVER! NOW, I WON'T END YOU OR ANYTHING. BUT WE WILL BE FINISHED AS FAR AS CIVILITY GOES. BECAUSE THE MAN IS THOROUGHLY RESPECTABLE AND DECENT AND HE WADES THROUGH SCUM ON OUR BEHALF. I am not kidding. He is a deeply lovely man. And the people he has to counter are despicable and low. Yes, I know this isn't groundbreaking news about Anne Coulter/Bill O'Reilly etc, but YIKES! Those douches are OBSCENE AND SILLY. IN A NASTY WAY. QUITE SIMPLY, THEY FOUL UP LIFE.

* However, not radicalised to the extent that I can't appreciate the fact that the hippie couple near us who insisted on doing the Nazi salute every time George W came on screen weren't, shall we say, COMPLETE. DOUCHES.


The Wind That Shakes The Barley, Sunday 30 July, 9:10pm, Regent Theatre


This was excellent. Really. It's just plain good. But it kind of made me want to disown one of my Irish great-grandfathers - the one who was working for the British oppressors, AGAINST HIS OWN PEOPLE, as a policeman. "Too right you got fire-bombed out of town!", says I with idiotic Cillian-inspired fervour, shaking fists. (Oh god I am so sorry for saying that, forefather of mine. I didn't mean it. And I am sure it was much more complicated for you than that. Just trying to feed your family and keep the public order, probably. Weren't you? I'm so sorry. I'm sure seeing your children cower under the kitchen table was horrendous for you, and I shouldn't be glib about it. And I wouldn't be alive if you hadn't pissed off your fellow countrymen and emigrated in fear of your life. I really am grateful for that. Again, so sorry for saying all that "too right" stuff. It's just that the film is quite powerful, you see... Sorry again) - and instead want to talk quite loudly about my other Irish great-grandfather, who died out in the field with the IRA, FIGHTING AGAINST THE OPPRESSORS and who will now be referred to as Cillian Murphy. Anyway, the film was actually more complex than my reaction is making it seem. It's very tense and conflicting, and you feel yourself saying to the characters, "You are a good person. Please, don't do anything you will be ashamed of... Oh." But you still know who's really really good. Because they die.


Beyond Beats And Rhymes: A Hip-Hop Head Weighs In On Manhood In Hip-Hop Culture, Monday 31 July, 7pm, Greater Union


This felt to me like a bit of a misfire, but it was worth seeing because of some of the instances that were captured. For example: Busta Rhymes, shame on you. But anyway, the concept was good, just poorly executed. Indeed, I think there are great riches to be found in people taking issue with stuff they LOVE when the stuff they LOVE is problematised by things like misogyny and homophobia. It's like when Tim says, "Man that Jamaican Dancehall's catchy. Wait, did he just say Stomp on the fag's head? OH DAMN. BUT IT'S JUST SO CATCHY!" (We were at Catherine's 21st birthday party. The quote may not be verbatim.) Anyway, my point is, it's a good subject, and something we all experience, I think. Because we really do love stuff. And that pleasure sometimes makes it very difficult to quarantine ourselves from being implicated in the stuff within the stuff we love that we really don't love. If you get my meaning. So yes, a rich subject. Pity then, that the guy at the helm of this film didn't quite have the chops for it, cultural-analysis wise. Seriously, if the premise of the film is "Homophobia is bad and misogyny is bad and gun culture is bad, (agreed) and yet it is present in a lot of popular hip-hop music", but then the film isn't able to give a good account of why is this so?, then the film fails. The dude's intervention was brimming with the language of cultural analysis, but lacked the precision necessary for meaningful conclusions or thoughtful clarifications. Instead, there was a tendency to draw conclusions without serious attention to context. Sure, Spring Bling is freaky and disturbing, but I wouldn't attempt to draw conclusions from it that can apply to the whole hip-hop culture and the messages that young people are receiving from it, without some qualifications. Sure, the behaviour on display may hint at wider attitudes, but you can only make that argument with integrity if you also acknowledge that the conditions of Spring Break-associated freakfests do heighten the freakiness on display. Also, I felt that the film's simplistic equalisation of all the 'hyper-masculine images that bombard us', was flawed. I don't think you can say that Man With Gun = Man With Gun, in terms of the impact it will have on da yoof. Tony Soprano with a gun in the context of a show like The Sopranos which explores many levels of morality and culpability, is not the same as a cowboy with a gun in an ugly old vengeance Western. You just can't lump them in together in a montage and say, "No wonder. Look at this celebration of violence". It's sloppy. It's Tipper Gore sloppy. For me, the thinking was muddled even to the point where the film ended up seeming to dust off a binary opposition in which rap is either conscientious or fun and daring and a bit (or very) wrong. I will admit that the film managed to kind of point to a valuable criticism, namely that the hip-hop that had begun as fun and daring and a bit wrong (ie. gangsta rap) had become the mainstream moneymaker and been leached of its original impetus, co-opted by Whitey and corrupted by market dominance, ending up a ridiculous parody running with a bad crowd. And I think it's perfectly fine to challenge mindless pap and to be concerned about its popularity and how it may contribute to the normalisation of hateful attitudes. Also, I think it's a good argument to say that the kind of mindlessness the film-maker took exception to does flourish in the absence of a sound and principled critique/considered challenge/presentation of alternatives. However, although those things do exist and I would have thought that one of the aims of the documentary was to disseminate them more widely, and to place them right in front of the people making hip-hop mistakes so these considerations are present for them (us) as reference points, they are precisely what was missing from this deal. Hmmm, maybe not missing, just lost.


Darkon, Tuesday 1 August, 3pm, ACMI


THIS WAS JUST FANTASTIC. A DELIGHT! The tone was finely judged, and by that I mean, ABSOLUTELY PERFECT. And by that I mean, HILARIOUS. BUT NOT CRUEL.


Flanders, Saturday 5 August, 7pm, Regent Theatre


See the image above? That was a frequent and almost pavlovian response, but without a discernible trigger. Indeed, when he climbed on top of her once again in the film's final scene, people in the audience actually laughed. Because it had become silly, and we had all long ceased to care a jot.


Bubble, Saturday 5 August, 9pm, Capitol Theatre


This film won't shake your foundations, but it's well made. A simple well-observed story, with an added point of interest in that it's weird to watch dolls being produced in their separate dismembered parts.


The Betrayal, Monday 7 August, 3pm, Forum Theatre


The above image I found for this film is black+white. But the film is not shot in black+white, just so you know. And if I was cheap-minded and fatiguing, I would say "No, this film is most definitely not black and white, haw haw haw (in more ways than one, eh! IF YOU GET MY DRIFT! THEMATICALLY). Because, you see, the story of the film is about a questioning of the loyalty (or, a becoming suspicious of the loyalty) of some Algerian conscripts in the French army in occupied Algeria in 1960. But, oh ho! Where is the true trahison, eh? Isn't it really on the French side, with the allegiance it asks of these Algerian men placing them in a terribly precarious position, not for their own sake but for the sake of France's interests, while to France they are disposable, 'not really French' and copping disrespect from all sides? THIS FILM IS VERY FUCKING GOOD.


Mutual Appreciation, Monday 7 August, 5pm, Regent Theatre


I really enjoyed this. It's just sweet and dithering and there's a gentleness and you just like these people. If I told you it was about some twenty-something New York indie kids you'd probably get all huffy and dismissive and assume it was pretentious wank. But you'd be wrong.



That brings us up to date with MIFF so far. I've still a few things to go on my Mini Pass, namely, Unrequited Love, Global Haywire, October 17 1961, and This Film Is Not Yet Rated. You will no doubt hear about them once I've seen them.


There is one more thing of note that I must mention. And that is, THE STROKES. Who I saw last night at Festival Hall. And it was the closest I've ever been to them ("them" being Julian Casablancas). I would estimate about 5 metres. And this pleased me. It kind of freaked my brother out, though. Afterwards he kept saying, "I know this sounds strange, because we've seen them before. But I mean, they were right there. Like, right there. As if they're people." He hasn't quite got over it. If he does manage to move on from that thought, it's usually to talk about how much people suck, because we had some doozies around us. But he wasn't the one being humped from behind all night, so I don't know what he's complaining about. Nah, it was of no great consequence. And once I'd ascertained that there was really nothing negatively aggressive about the motivations of the girl behind me, pummeling me with her whole body, grabbing on my shoulders and arms to steady herself every once in a while, ie. her complete lack of boundaries, poor duffer, I just devoted myself to staring at Julian Casablancas, enjoying myself, protecting the woman in front of me from a tranference of the onslaught, and making sure my legs didn't give out when the excitable child would knock against the back of my knees.

Fun fact: Julian Casablancas makes me go a bit silly in the head. For example, this morning, the morning after the concert, while I was preparing myself for the day, I became quite taken with the idea that it was not completely outside the realms of possibility that Casablancas would feel like dropping in to 3CR in the afternoon, when I would be there having a meeting. I mean, he's in town, I said to myself. What's so crazy about thinking he might take it upon himself to 'check out the community radio scene' and what-not? So I took extra care in picking out my outfit, and almost made myself late for my lecture. Do you see? I dressed for Casablancas. It was INSANE. For many reasons, I grant you. But the one that strikes me now is that, I dressed for Casablancas on the Monday, when the possibility of being in his presence was remote, but not on the Sunday night, when I was going to see him play a gig, ie, when being in his presence was beyond doubt. Wow. I have issues. But as I said, Julian Casablancas makes me go a bit silly in the head. It is therefore much more fitting, and no doubt more enjoyable for him and his ilk, that people more charming and hilarious than myself are the ones with the real stories to tell.

Giddy.

People, an awesome thing has happened. Truly, it is so awesome that I very nearly didn't even know it was happening. Luckily, the Green Guide was just read out to me, and so I have GOOD NEWS.

Do you remember back in 2004 of course you do when I was so distraught about the disappearance of Jon Stewart's show from SBS that I was actually moved to send them a quailing desperate and needy email which, in summary, went, "Hey guys, you don't know me but, um, WHAT IS HAPPENING? WHERE IS JON STEWART? PLEASE PLEASE DON'T TELL ME IT'S OVER...! SOB SOB SOB" and they replied "Er, sorry crazy lady. It is out of our hands..." Hmmm? Do you remember that? DO YOU?

Well chill the fuck out, because he's back. TONIGHT. At 10pm. And it is going to be a BOFFO SMASH.

A Sorry Excuse For A Song.

Feel like saying farewell and good luck to my erstwhile and lovely Tuesday Breakfast and Women on the Line co-host, Beck, who did her last 3CR brekky with us this morning. She is off to live in The Americas, you see. In Charlotte, North Carolina, to be precise. Because she don't wanna wait for her life to be over. She wants to know right now, what will it be? She don't wanna wait for her life to be over. Well in the end, oh will it be ... sorry. Doo do do doo. Doo do do doo. Doo do do doo.

Things I Underlined In A Book.

I've been reading a book for about seven months now. As you can probably tell, I haven't been reading it much. Because I am a bad person. A very bad person. I mean, even the attractions of possibly one of the best books ever written cannot prevent my profligacy. Even though it is A Confederacy Of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. Even though when I do read it, I find it terrifically enjoyable.

Getting to the point, I'm one of those people who has to buy books because I like to underline the bits I particularly like. In pen.

A few weeks ago, I underlined this. Because I REALLY REALLY LIKE IT. And I am determined to use it as an expression, just you wait:


boffo smash. Makes me happy. Let's do something about it.

Anyways, diverting from the point, I laughed violently hard yesterday. And I would like to relate the incident to you. I was on the couch with my little brother, explaining to him that I'd screwed up my Windows XP in a fit of deletion last year and the night before had finally decided to fix it. Which meant reinstalling the thing to factory settings. Which meant wiping my C:drive. My purpose in informing him of this was to convey that he needn't be alarmed. I had taken measures to protect most of the precious cargo (my music library) by moving it onto the D:drive. I just wanted to give him a heads up that if he found we were missing some songs, it was because there hadn't been space enough to save them. But they could easily be reloaded, so just don't freak out, yeah? Anyway, this is how I conveyed the information: "So don't worry. I wiped my C:drive, but the D:drive was unaffected by the reinsatllaion, okay? I only wiped my C:drive." He responded by raising his eyebrows at me and taking a pointed sip of his tea. Which to me signified that he had detected some kind of wrongness. So I went, "What?... What? Did you not understand me? Everything is fine. I didn't muck up our lives. It's all okay. I only wiped my C:drive. Simon. Don't you believe me? Is this making sense to you? I only wiped my C:drive. Not my D:drive. My C:drive." To which he responded by spluttering into his tea with mirth. Again, I was flummoxed. And just looked at him in a confused manner. I think he waited some moments in deference to my supposed 'quickness', giving me the opportunity to figure it out for myself. But I just kept looking at him, all wide-eyed and searching, and eventually, he took pity. "Yes, Elanor. I get it. You don't need to keep saying it. I get it. You wiped your... C:drive."

AAHAAHAAAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAH AHAHAHAHAHAH AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH AHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH AHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

I almost spewed from the hilarity.


Anyways, getting back to the point, here is another thing I underlined in a book. The same book as before:


It is full of gems like that.

No Clap Your Hands Say Yeah.

Which is a shame.

This is a low.

And a first.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs are in town and I don't get to see them. I want to hurt someone.

Additionally, my self-pity today was exacerbated by a cold, a raging headache, and my office window's constant outlook onto the Forum Theatre across the road. All. Day. Long. Insensitive brute. I mean, couldn't the building have moved somewhere else for today. So rude.

Character. Is. Everything.

There was a time when Timothy Olyphant was nothing to me. That time is gone.

“I stand before you a married man.”

OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD.

And that’s just one line. You should have seen how he delivered his greeting. “Evening…” FUCKING. HELL.

And that’s just him speaking. You should watch him close a door and then silently stare and stare and stare at it. It’s fucking powerful and internally tumultuous and HOT. And he has his back to the camera the whole time. And he’s just staring and staring and (we must assume) staring at that door with his knuckles pressed hard against it and OH. SWEET. FUCK.

Deadwood. Is making me lose my mind a bit, it's that good. Oh my, IT'S... JUST... SO... GOOD. And it makes possible things you were quite certain were not possible. For example, who would have thought that there could be only one resounding interpretation to the spectacle of a man beating a woman’s father to a pulp on a saloon floor? Further, who would have thought that singular interpretation would be… “Whoah! A public declaration of love!” Further than that, who would have thought, watching that, you would find yourself (wincing, yes, but mostly just) completely convinced that the man giving the beating is a GOOD man. In fact, the BEST MAN EVER. And not because of a causality of events or a righteousness or because you have vindictive feelings about the man receiving the beating. But because, gah! I can’t explain it. It’s just THE SHOW. I mean, you even remain convinced he is a good man while you’re watching him stone the brains out of a Sioux. OF A SIOUX. And sure, you wish he wasn’t doing that, but it certainly doesn’t shake your foundations about his worth as a person. I am not kidding. Seriously, the people who make this show have such TOUCH. And there’s not a clumsy or manipulative thing in it. You feel like you know the characters down to their bones, yet they are still full of surprise and delight and revelatory instances. I don’t know how it happens, but you can feel what a man is feeling when he walks back out onto the street after beating a woman’s father to a bloody pulp, because you can see the shame and purpose in his very gait. It’s just WONDERFUL. And it’s not simply because of Timothy Olyphant’s character (let’s just call him Seth Bullock, because HE’S REAL). Somehow, you feel for and ache about each and every character. Oh, these characters. I JUST HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS FOR THEM. I mean, The Doc (WHAT A GUY!), and Sol (DITTO), and Dan, and Trixie, and Alma, and Jewel (SHE’S SO FUNNY) and the tragic Preacher, and Charlie - and what about that General who came to camp. Especially the hilariously exasperated way he said “Oh my god” when the newspaperman wanted to double-check about accurately noting down the speech he delivered (which was about the vengeful slaughter of a whole camp of Sioux men, women and children, by the way) – and let’s not forget Al, and even E.B. Yes, even E.B! Again, IT’S THE SHOW. And it’s SO GOOD. Indeed I have to pause it sometimes just so that I can sit back and breathe and say, “THIS SHOW IS SO GOOD.” Because it BEGS TO BE SAID AND CANNOT BE DENIED. See, along with all the cold, hard death-dealing, there is such a seam of goodness running through it on its own terms, and so many interchanges that spark a warm thrilling sensation in me and electrify my internal organs and make me vibrate with emotion. And I am just compelled to savour them over and over again. And still, repeated viewings can’t diminish the thing. Sigh.

I have a problem now, though. I find I cannot move on from Season One. The last two episodes are just so immensely good that it seems a pity to leave them. Watching them is a spiritually enriching experience. No, I am not overstating that shit. So I just keep watching them again and again, not daring to risk disturbing my glowing happiness about them by beginning on Season Two. So I’m stuck in a good place.


OTHER THINGS.

I bought two CDs the other day, which are awesomeness:

Kimya Dawson, Remember That I Love You

Johnny Cash, American V: A Hundred Highways *


* “God’s Gonna Cut You Down” could not BE a better thing. That is all.



UPDATE

DAMNIT. Season Two has made me cry. DAMN. IT.

Forgot to mention Fiery Furnaces.

Have been using internet for the sole purpose of downloading Deadwood, so excuse this post for not dripping with currency. But yes, I did go and see The Fiery Furnaces on Friday night at the East Brunswick Club. Of course I am happy about this. It was the third time I've seen them.

Some things:

1. This time their arrangements favoured an undercurrent of heavy guitar sounds and individual songs played with breaks in between them. For some reason I found this revolutionary, or at least, I noted that it was a change from interweaving different songs into one longer jam (which I think only happened once this time). Also, they spoke a bit. You know, in between songs. Again, it seemed revolutionary to me.

2. In previous gigs, I have fixated on Eleanor, or on the hot drummer, but this time around, the drummer didn't seem so hot (a different person? I don't know. Still blonde, but just not... the same). Eleanor was still a focus, but being on the opposite side of the stage to her made me realise that I have completely ignored Matthew all this time, and he seems such a nice and gentle man.

3. Case in point (of the above): Gig Highlight #1. See, in between the early songs, a dude at the very front kept shouting out "TROPICAL!.... TROPICAAAL". After this had happened a few times, the band finished a song they were playing and Matthew pre-empted the dude by saying, "Hey dude. You. Dude. We're going to play your song. Just a little later." And I thought it was very nice of Matthew to give the guy a heads up. It made me laugh, though, when the dude responded to this kindness with another bleary "TROPICAAAL..." and Matthew nodded and said, "Yes. Later." Warm but firm.

4. Gig Highlight #2 - OR "When a cheap coincidence makes Elanor feel superior to, and more 'connected' than, the TROPICAAAL dude". See, I don't yell out song suggestions. I'm a very reserved person, especially in public spaces. My brother and I look like unfeeling rigid people at gigs. We just like to be very attentive, which seems to cancel out diversions such as movement or vocalisation indicating, well, anything. It's a bit creepy. So yes, I don't yell stuff out. I just silently plead with intensity. In my head. For the band to play a song I want. So anyway, at one point during Friday's gig, it struck me that the song I wanted to hear next was Waiting To Know You. And I had barely finished formulating "Hmmm, I hope they play Waiting To Know You, next", when they fucking started playing it. And in my immaturity, I remember actually thinking this thought: "Ha. Some people don't need to yell. Losers." Or some shit. Anyway, they played a nice mix from across all the albums. I was particularly happy to hear Single Again.

5. Gig Highlight full stop. Was Black-Hearted Boy. It was the best.

Nods approvingly.

Mel has written a thoughtful response to what happened in the Big Brother house on the weekend. Do check it out.

The other response I enjoyed was a comment on Ms Fits' site from Audrey, who not only made good points, but also funnies:

"I can take a joke, I just don't want to be slapped in the face with one."

Good things.

Symposiasts Period Romance

Our Period Romance has been revived after about a two year hiatus. For those who don’t know, Guy and I tandem write a ridiculous romance fiction without regard to taste, sense or history. Guy got the ball rolling again with the most recent instalment the other week and so now it is my turn to make an addition. To get you up to speed, here is where Guy left us:

"Fermina emptied the contents of the bag onto the sodden mattress. Out fell a bar of soap, a cheaply embroidered red dress, a string of pearls and… she gasped… a battered tiara, similar to those worn by the prostitutes she was once able to spy through her bedroom window at Le Denetrione. Was she about to face what she feared all along? Was this to be her sorry fate? Immediately, she felt light-headed, Aware that she was losing consciousness, she slapped herself hard on the face: 'NO, Fermina. Not this time. I am a survivor. I am not going to give up. I am not going to stop. I am going to work harder. I am a survivor. I am going to make it. I am a survivor. Keep on surviving.' The words came to her as if in a dream. She would survive this.

There was a knock on the door…"

And now, it continues.


Alejandro's sleepless mind veered between wearied anguish and frantic panic. To observers, this internal agitation – at times verging on hysteria, truth be told - would have been undetectable. Those who knew him well might have noticed that his eyes had darkened to pitch, if they were observant. But his self-possession was so profoundly ingrained in his manner that even the traces of these most tumultuous days of his life hadn’t pierced the toughness of his façade. It had been a week since he had aided Fermina's escape at the city walls of Madrid. He had continued his journey to the coast, keeping up the pretense that she remained ensconced in the carriage – precious cargo to be delivered to the captain of Las Castellenata for transport to a desolate island convent. Alejandro had paid for the captain’s silence, and would have feared for the safety of the souls on board after the imperiling night of drinking and raging his coin had furnished, were his mind not completely occupied with the urgent need to get back to Madrid and locate Fermina. Every moment he thought of her alone in that city sent a violent jolt through his tensed body. After finally assisting the slumping but still interminably yarning captain up the gangplank to collapse into a group of swabbers, Alejandro sprang back to the carriage to begin the dash to Madrid. He arrived there in the early hours, his seat bruised by the rough roads and the carriage’s furious speed. Returning to the city and to Count Daza’s household, Alejandro was less concerned about his master’s fury should he discover the manservant’s duplicity than he was with Fermina’s safety. The duplicity went on undetected, but he had now been searching Madrid’s lowly quarters for three days and nights and was haggard with worry about his inability to find her. In the midst of this haze he found himself out late at night, walking along an out-of-the-way street that was not unfamiliar to him. With an almost habitual regularity, he seemed to find himself here when he could no longer bear alone the agonising pang of his ardent love for Fermina, which threatened to cut his heart out from the inside. Cursing his weakness, Alejandro disappeared into a nearby doorway under the blush of a red lantern.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The door of Fermina’s cell swung open and once again she was faced with the merry twinkling eyes of her captor. “What a sight you are,” he said, taking in her garb. “Come along, Oranges. We’re putting you to work.”

Fermina remained where she was. A look of irritation flashed across his face. She found it mirrored her own. “You can’t have expected me to follow you blindly, captive or not. Now tell me - where am I, who are you, and what ‘work’ are you putting me to?”

“I’m not obliged to tell you anything at all. There is no ‘captive or not’. There is just captive. And you are ours. We have housed and fed you for a week, now we’ve clothed you –

“Housed and fed me! –“

“Housed, fed AND clothed you. Which we did out of the goodness of our hearts… and the expectation of a pay day. And now you’ve stopped stuffing your face long enough to tell us that you are Lona Francisca from Valencia, and NOT the daughter of Count Daza as we thought. By all accounts, that prize piece left on Las Castellenata four days ago. We’ve had girls go that way, and they never return to Madrid. So now we’re stuck with you. A nobody. And we are quite put out. And you owe us for the trouble we’ve taken. So we’re putting you to work.”

“If I’m so much trouble you could just let me go.”

“You’re only trouble to us because you’re not working. Right now, you’re a drain. And an unused asset. That’s wasteful. We abhor waste. And we run a business to which you are undoubtedly suited. If only by your sex.”

“What business is that?”

“Whores of course.”

Fermina was shocked. And fearful. She felt like a little girl who had only just discovered she was surrounded by adults, and wasn’t as mature as she thought she was. Then, without meaning to, she said the first silly and childish and naïve thing that came in to her head. “Oh. It’s just that the pies were so good, I thought…”

He seemed to smile for a moment, and gave her a softening look. “Ha, well. As far as the city fathers want to know, we are a bakery. Of course they know otherwise. And I suppose we are a bakery too. But really, it’s whores.”

“And I am to go with you now with my pearls and tiara and red dress and be a…?

“God no! We have no idea about you. My goodness child! We don’t want you upsetting the customers. I mean, you may turn out to be a profitable acquisition for us. Who knows? It’s always hard to tell at the beginning. But you’ll be cleaning the rooms until we can trust you enough to do the real work. So come along, Oranges.”

Feeling that danger was now more distant, Fermina found herself flooded with relief and compliantly attentive to her employer’s instructions as she followed him through a complicated network of decreasingly ramshackle halls. Eventually, he left her in a circular room onto which five red doors and one brown door opened. She had entered through the brown door. They were presently all closed. Before he had left her there, her captor had been quite emphatic that she not attempt to open any of them, especially the red ones. Also, it was essential, he had made plain, that she keep the cauldron of scented water in the centre of the room at a rolling boil at all times. There were lines strung across the room at different points, upon which soft heavy cloths hung drying, and on the floor there was a hamper of folded cloths of various colours, ready to be put to some use. A hatch in the floor connected her, she had been told, to the kitchen and laundry, and she was to yell down any orders for food, drinks, towels or other comforts and deliver them to the rooms IF REQUESTED. Requests would be made by the whores on behalf of the customers. She was to help the whores in any way they asked. They would let her know what she was to do. And so, Fermina de la Saint Amour found herself all alone at some nexus point in a Madrid whorehouse, waiting for a whore to appear. And eventually, one did.

“You’re new,” she said.

“I am,” Fermina replied shyly.

“Hmmm, very new. I’m Dolores. People cal me Dolly. You’re people now, so you can do the same. Could you hand me one of those cloths? Mine are the blue ones. What’s our resident Great Wit calling you?”

“Oranges, I think. It was Contessa but I think he’s mad about that now. Er sorry. Hello, I’m Lona. Um…” Fermina was quite flustered. She had passed a thick blue cloth to Dolly. And then Dolly had done something entirely unexpected. With bored efficiency, she had dunked all but a corner of the cloth into the boiling scented water, hitched up her skirt and with the now steaming wet cloth given her nethers a bracing once over. She’d then casually thrown the used swab back into the cauldron.

“Leave that in there a minute and then hang it with the rest. I’m going out for a break but I’ll be going in there shortly,” she said, pointing to one of the red doors. Fermina followed her every move with astonishment, and just kept nodding at Dolly’s instructions. “He’s in there already, but the room’s a bit messed up because we’ve been without one of you for a few days. So go in and clean up. Replace the old towels with fresh ones. And bring the poor man a beer. Aw, don’t fret, pet. I wouldn’t ask you to go in with a man in there, this being your first night and all. But he’s harmless. Lovely really. He comes in sometimes, tries to forget someone he’s desperately in love with. You’ll get used to him. You’ll come to appreciate him, really. Usually just passes out from the pain of it all. Very intense.”

At this point she seemed to lose her thought, but came out of her reverie upon sighting Fermina’s overwhelmed face. “Relax girl. He won’t try anything. Only troubled me once, and it was no trouble, let me tell you.”

Dolly departed through the brown door with a friendly wink in Fermina’s direction. Fermina, trying to keep her head together, decided to focus on simple tasks. She fished the blue cloth out of the cauldron and hung it out to dry. She lifted the hatch door. It took a while for her to find her voice, but eventually she yelled tentatively, “BEER. TOWELS?” And was greeted with “RIGHTO” from the steamy noisy murk below. She heard a pulley jerking, and a platform laden with the requisite BEER. TOWELS? jolted gradually up towards her. She pulled them through the hatch and turned to face the door. There was a man behind that door. A man in a whorehouse. Behind that door.

As she entered the room she heard snatches of manful groggy singing coming from the occupant splayed out on the linen-shrouded bed. She couldn’t make out all the words, muffled as they were by his face being buried in his pillow. Additionally, the tune was often rent by powerful sobs. Fermina gently shut the door behind her so as not to be detected, and went about in the darkness of the room, placing the fresh towels and a tankard of beer on the table at the foot of the bed. As she scoured the room and scooped up laundry, she paid close attention to the intelligible scraps of his mournful tune which served as an accompaniment to her activity:

My poverty revealed,
I would like to try your charity
Until you cry, "Now you must try my greed."
And everything depends upon
How near you sleep to me
……..

I stand in ruins behind you,
I love to see you naked over there
Especially from the back.
………

So let me judge your love affair
In this very room
Where I have sentenced mine to death.
……..

Just take this longing from my tongue
All the lonely things my hands have done.
Untie for me your hired gown,
Like you would do for one that you love.

Like you would do for one that you love.

There was silence then. Fermina turned and saw the man was watching her. Well, she assumed he was. As much as she could tell in the dark and separated by the diaphanous curtain hung around the bed, he seemed to be sitting up with his head turned in her direction. In a voice cracked with trouble and regret he said, “Love me. Love me. Say that you love me.”

I've got one word to say to you, Gretel.

WEAK.

Drawing Restraint 9

Nice use of fabrics. And shells. And liquids that set... Darling, this sushi is just delicious. Do try it. Oh darling, you know very well that's not sushi. It's part of my leg.

Supreme Court RULES.

Yippee! And they weren't cunty about it!

THE US Supreme Court has ruled that the military commissions set up by the Bush Administration to try Guantanamo Bay detainees, including David Hicks, are illegal and have to be abandoned...

It means that at the very least, the Pentagon will have to set up standard courts martials for detainees, with all the protections afforded by US law.

Well, maybe they were a bit cunty:

The court ruled that the Administration had the right to detain the prisoners held at Guantanamo, but ruled that if they were to be tried, it had to be through regular court martials.

But let's not think about that now. Let's think about how Guantanamo means fuckedness, and even dickheads are now realising this. The dickhead in point: KOCHIE. My brother informs me that this morning on Sunrise he was making good, obvious, decent points about Guantanamo being fucked. Yes. KOCHIE. Now now, don't freak out about this intersection of good and evil. Instead, think about it this way. The Guantanamo thing is such an affront to justice that there is now a status penalty for supporting it - namely, being worse than Kochie. It's a sobering thought, people.

Tristram Shandy : A Cock & Bull Story.

YES.

Bloggers On The Radio.

I'm filling in for the Monday Breakfast Show on 3CR tomorrow morning, and I'll be playing my recording of Guy, Jess, Ruth, Mel, Agent and Jelly talking about blogging. It's about 30 minutes long and I'll be putting it on at 7.10am, so tune in to 855AM in Melbourne for the shit.

The Sounds Of Children Playing.

Was just having a cigarette in my backyard, and overheard some odd things from the mouths of babes playing in the yard diagonally behind mine. I'm not sure exactly what they were doing, but it sounded like they were appointing roles for a game they were playing. Anyway, this is what I heard, in the manner of Duck, Duck, Goose:

"Arsehole, fag, faggot, nun. Oh, you're a hypocrite Maddy. You're a hypocrite. Maybe you're the dumbest and stupidest person in the world. NO. You're a BANANA."

And then a chorus of giggles, etc. Good times, good times.

Women on the Line Trivia Night

Please do come along and help us raise money for 3CR's Radiothon.

WHEN: Wednesday 21 June @ 7.30pm
WHERE: Upstairs at Vibe on Smith, 123 Smith St Fitzroy
WHAT: A trivia night, obviously. All the questions relate to women, so test your knowledge. Ausculture Jess will be the MC so it should be a fun night.
ENTRY: $15
WHY: To raise our portion of money for 3CR's Radiothon and support community radio's national women's current affairs program / keep women's voices on the air! etc, etc, and more such wank. I am so tired of spruiking. But you should definitely come, is all.

"Since I'm already screwed, here's a message to you: My heart's wide open..."

We have been waiting for many many years for Paris Hilton's album to hit us and cause our brain stem to explode, a wait that has been made cruel and torturous by Paris' own quite constant public claims, in response to questions about what she actually does, that "I'm working on my album." Hearing this over and over in the past few years, I have in some weaker moments been moved to scream, "BUT WHEN IS IT COMING OUT, WOMAN?" It seems, however, that the day IS approaching, and I have been listening to some of the bounty. The brilliant lyric I chose to title this post is from her song Screwed, and yes, it's quite genius, no? We are, however, a bit more worried about Paris' navigation of modern sexual mores, if we are correct in extrapolating her mindset from the lyrics in the single, Stars Are Blind. Particularly, we are quite taken with the pathos and yearning and schoolyard level coquetry of:

"If you show me real love baby, I'll show you mine."

Which we think is just very very sad. What an innocent she is. We are worried she may get her feelings hurt by engaging in such quid pro quo.

Here is another song, Don't Touch It:

"Don't touch it, you ain't bawdy [or, "bought it"?]
You can have a look but you can't afford it.
Don't push it, don't rush it,
You can have a look but you just can't touch it."

Worrisome. Also, we cannot quite believe that it is Paris singing the vocal on Bye Bye Boy. We believe there may have been a mix up on The Internets. Indeed, when I heard it, I exclaimed, "But, she can't talk that fast!"

ALERT: Paris will be appearing on Letterman on June 12. But WILL SHE PERFORM [musically, that is]? Obviously, THIS MUST BE WATCHED.

Get some fucking perspective, you insane fucking cunt.

Three men have killed themselves at Guantanamo Bay. And do you know why? If you thought it was due to the torment of being detained for years and years without charge, you'd be wrong. See:

Navy Rear Admiral Harry Harris, commander of Guantanamo, told a news conference the suicides were an act of warfare.

"They are smart. They are creative, they are committed. They have no regard for life, neither ours nor their own. I believe this was not an act of desperation, but an act of asymmetrical warfare waged against us," Harris said.

I. Hate. You.

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.