Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Madness for you at home.

The therapuss can see you now

Some of the semi-regular followers of my gibberish will remember I’ve been battling my natural tendency to be an arsehole, through a variety of means.

As part of this self-absorbed narcissism brave battle I’ve been seeing a therapist on and off for a couple of months now.

It’s hard going but I think, worthwhile. Part of the strategy is to unpack my fairly disastrous family history and put in place the tools I need to ensure I don’t pass this onto my son.

But the best point is – the clinic is just opposite a pub, which for a depressive alcoholic such as myself is pure gold!

Nothing better than a couple of quiet Coopers after a hard hour of wrestling the ol’ destructive inner demons*.

Therapy rocks!

*Not the football team.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Monday Sports Wrap


Apparently the Melbourne Formula 1 Grand Prix was on yesterday.

Who won?* Who cares? The organisers should be arrested.

I can see why motor sport attracts public interest, sponsors and bikini girls. It's glamorous, and, for motor enthusiasts like Stubbadub, it's a gripping contest featuring man and machine. But as a 'sport' it's failing, badly.

For starters, the Victorian State Government loses money. We don't know how much because this is never made clear, and it's hard to guage anyway unless they have some futuristic machine that can work out exactly how much every single visitor/patron spends on every gumstick, can o'Fosters and Bar 20 VIP passes. All we know is that it runs at a generalised loss. So really, the Government spends money in order to make overseas manufacturers and drivers richer, provide Max Mosley enough dosh to indulge in his more etxreme sexual fantasies and give a platform to Sir Richard Branson to pontificate about, umm, whatever the Hell it is he pontificates about surrounded by hot chicks.

But to compound the loss, numbers are down. In Melbourne, we don't really care anymore. We only really cared the first year - and even then, it was just the bogans blinded by Jeff Kennett's 'panem et circe' style of governance ("Yeah, he closed my local school, hospital, railway and now I have to pay to use roads that were once free... but he got us the Grand Prix!")

To illustrate: My friend Melody reported that her two sons, at Primary School, had their school excursion to the Grand Prix on Friday (warmup day). That's how desperate they are for numbers. They have to bus school kids in.

Also; At the footy Thursday night, there were heaps of people handing out brochures advertising 'The Who' concert... in fine print down the bottom was something about how you have to go to the Grand Prix to see them. When you need a band to attract an audience to a sporting event, the sporting event is cheapened.

The thing is, sports are meant to pay for themselves. The local netball team don't have The Who playing at their grand final because they can't afford it. The Grand Prix can't afford them either... luckily for them, the State Government pays the bill.

After ten years, it's time to get rid of this white elephant. Adelaide: You can have it back now. Thanks for the loan.

*Apparently, a man called 'Button'. Heh.


Richmond are shit.

Friday, March 27, 2009

Oooo - a political poem.

Who built the seven gates of Thebes?
The books are filled with names of kings.
Was it the kings who hauled the craggy blocks of stone?
And Babylon, so many times destroyed.
Who built the city up each time? In which of Lima's houses,
That city glittering with gold, lived those who built it?
In the evening when the Chinese wall was finished
Where did the masons go? Imperial Rome
Is full of arcs of triumph. Who reared them up? Over whom
Did the Caesars triumph? Byzantium lives in song.
Were all her dwellings palaces? And even in Atlantis of the legend
The night the seas rushed in,
The drowning men still bellowed for their slaves.

Young Alexander conquered India.
He alone?
Caesar beat the Gauls.
Was there not even a cook in his army?
Phillip of Spain wept as his fleet
was sunk and destroyed. Were there no other tears?
Frederick the Great triumphed in the Seven Years War.
Who triumphed with him?

Each page a victory
At whose expense the victory ball?
Every ten years a great man,
Who paid the piper?

So many particulars.
So many questions.

I was going to post Tigerland, but I didn't think Perseus would be in the mood.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Crikey, why bother?

Very interesting piece from the electronic magazine Inside Story, about the Queensland election and the malign role played by the News Limited papers.

Veteran journalist Geoffrey Barker argues;

But perhaps more importantly the media’s Queensland election debacle exposed two disturbing aspects of contemporary Australian political journalism. The first is the apparent spin that is put on the interpretation of events by News Limited papers; the second is the strong tendency of other media to follow News Limited’s lead – especially when they have the empirical support of polls commissioned by News Limited.

It’s well written and convincing and I urge you to have a look.

It also explains how Crikey’s Andrew Crook could produce this howler on the Thursday before the Queensland election;

Even if the ALP somehow squeaks home on Saturday, it would be galling indeed for the Queensland Left if its most senior campaigner Wood ended up costing his internal ally Bligh the election. But with the finger pointing already beginning in earnest, it seems Bligh, Kaiser and Wood may have already boarded a slow train to political oblivion.

“Squeaks home” eh? Oh dear. What a schlub.

Really, if Crikey is just going to parrot the nonsense talked in the mainstream media – then what’s the point?

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Two signs.

Posted up outside my local railway station.


This is a working class suburb.

If you must steal, steal from the rich

In my local supermarket.

Order your fish now for Lent.

From this I conclude I live in a suburb dominated by radical left-wingers and Catholics.

Possibly radical left-wing Catholics.

Who can say?

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Oh, FFS!

Thank you yes, I will have another beer.

The Melbourne media, politicians, talk-back hosts and that cat who lives down the road in my street and keeps shitting in my front yard have been in a mad flap over this, with much hand wringing and cries of woe.

Imagine! A fight! In a nightclub! On Saturday night!

Hand me the soup spoons and escape pack comrades, there’s alcohol-fuelled violence in the city – sometimes, with not many people hurt.

Get a sense of perspective chaps.

Violence in inner city Melbourne is nothing new. Read any newspaper from the turn of the last century and gangs would be fighting in the streets with razors. Fitzroy and Collingwood were “no-go” regions*. Violence is obviously distressing for those caught up in it but to assume things are getting worse is a nonsense.

And now that Marcus Einfeld is in the slammer, can we get rid of this stupid, stupid “National Living Treasures” sheep shit. It’s meaningless, pompous, twee gibberish – much like Radio National, really.

Run your eyes over this list from 2003 and one name stands out (apart from Marcus Einfeld, that is)

The Most Rev Peter Hollingworth AO OBE


And John Farnham!? Somebody has to be taking the piss, surely?

*They’re still “no-go” regions, but for very different reasons.

Skeletons In The Closet

All names in this post have been dramatically changed.

In a post I made a few weeks ago about my trip to the Mallee Desert, I made mention of how I stopped in the town of Ouyen on the way to Ponygirl's farm to do some research on my paternal side's family history.

At the Ouyen Historical Society's chambers (open Fridays) I found old rates' ledgers, old town maps and some other stuff featuring my great-grandparents.

They asked me to write down in the guest book any specific requests I had, and I wrote something vague like, "Looking for information on the Kneejerk family."

Well, yesterday, in the mail, came a letter from one of the old ladies at the centre who had, in her own time, compiled a whole geneaology for me. It must be her hobby or something, and I much appreciated it as not only did it have all the information as to when my grandfather and his siblings were born, married and so on, but it even had some information on my great-great grandparents (from Ararat and Ballarat apparently).

The one that shone out though was the entry for my grandfather's marriage.

It said: Leonard Arthur Kneejerk married Irene Rosenberg, 1931 (reg: 8236).

That's all well and good, except... who the fuck is Irene Rosenberg? My grandmother was Antonia Fairbairn, and she married my grandfather Leonard in 1935! When she was pregnant with my eldest Aunt!

I can now only assume that my grandfather was married once before. My Dad had never mentioned this to me, and indeed, he may not even know. Nobody might know! I may be the only person in the Kneejerk family that knows this. What do I do? Do I tell Dad? "Hey Day, did you know Pa was married before he married Nana?"

My grandfather died in 1992, and may have thought he took the secret to the grave. My grandmother died a couple of years after that. Dad is 70. Is this the sort of thing to tell a 70 year old man?

My grandfather Leonard was an odd man. I remember his as a grump, but a very interesting one. He was a voracious reader, a communist, a mad sports fan, incredibly well-dressed (after his retirement he sat in a chair in his Ascot Vale housing-commission flat for about twenty years wearing 3 piece suits, chain smoking from a pipe and downing a bottle of whiskey every day) and was only interested in discussing literature, philosophy, politics and sport. If the discussion was along the lines of "How's the health / kids / meal?" he'd not speak.

Hm. Like grandfather, like grandson.

I never saw him walk, though apparently he got his haircut every Wednesday.

Maybe his lack of sociability was all just a 50 year ploy to avoid ever disclosing his previous life.

At his funeral there were a group of people none of us knew. They weren't Masons. He hated Masons. We assumed they were Communists. They stood there, paid their respects, and then left, refusing to answer questions.

I'm now thinking they were Rosenbergs.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Sports Wrap

By Captain Perseus Kneejerk.


Tamsyn Lewis won her 15th National Title on the weekend. FIFTEENTH! And, in winning the 400m Hurdles, it is the third event she has won a national title for (along with the 800m and 400m). Admittedly, there's no way she would have won if Jana Rawlinson/Pittman was not injured, but you can only beat the opponents that turn up on the day. What makes her hurdle win even more impressive is that she only started practising the hurdles a couple of months ago. At age 30, she decides, "Hm, might jump over hurdles." She jumps over them like a retarded reindeer, and still wins the NATIONAL TITLE. I've posted about Tamsyn before and I'll reiterate my point again: She is a magnificent athlete, and has magnificent boobs. One point does not invalidate the other.

Tamsyn Lewis: "Gaw!"


McGain. Oh McGain. My heart bleeds. 0/149 from 18 overs. Jesus wept. But equally shamed should be the selectors. There seems to be a global agreement amongst cricket-playing nations that "Yer hafta have a spinner! Yer godda have a spinner!". Why? Surely, you just pick the best four bowlers no matter what they bowl? And anyway, we have Clarke and Katich in the team, who, as predominantly batsmen, happen to be fine exponents of spin bowling on the side. Why didn't they just bring the next best bowler into the team? Or even another batsman, and get Clarke and Katich to share the spin duties?

But even more noteworthy last night was Mitchell Johnson's century. He's a bowler. And, he's almost been the best batsman for Australia in the recent series. Certainly he's the most exciting batsman. Do the established batsmen get embarrassed when they face him in the changerooms later? He's better than them. In fact, the three highest scores in our second inning were posted by two bowlers and the wicket-keeper. Shame, batsmen, shame. Well may you point to McGain - it means you don't have to point to yourselves in the mirror.

Which prompts me to come up with the Perseus XI for the Ashes. A team made up mostly of all-rounders.


Hughes, P
Katich, S
Ponting, R
Clarke, M
White, C
Johnson, M
Haddin, B
McDonald, A
Symonds, A
North, M
Siddle, P

12th Man: Watson, S or Hopes, J.

Mark my words, at full fitness, this team will not be beaten.
NB: No Hussey. He's gawwwwwnnnn.

Andrew Symonds, Mitchell Johnson and Brad Haddin celebrate their selection in the Perseus XI.


I'm going to the footy Thursday night. Round One. Richmond v Carlton. Cousins v Judd. Richo v Fev. Can't wait. CANNOT WAIT. I've waited since August 2008 for this moment. I love footy. CANNOT WAIT. Round one, my hopes are high, I have nothing but positivity, optimism and confidence for my beloved Tigers' chances this year. The match starts at 7.40pm Thursday. And, as I am a Richmond supporter, and we are the worst performed team of the last 25 years, by 8.10pm I expect to be weeping and moaning, crying into my thermos of coffee, experiencing flashbacks and succumbing to my ongoing Richmond-based PTSD and shall book into therapy Friday morning.

As much as I love footy, at least when the footy isn't on, Richmond isn't losing.

Still, upsets are possible. And if we're ever going to cause an upset, this hopefully will be the one. There is something immensely satisfying about beating Carlton... probably because Richard Pratt is their President (same goes with beating Hawthorn with Jeff Kennett as their President).

Go Tiges.

Ben Cousins: Arrested for crimes against tattoo art.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

The Enigma that is Queensland

Anna Bligh has done it. She's won the Queensland election pretty comfortably in the end. Labor leads the state and the nation, still. Rudd breathes a sigh of relief. It shows his popularity is strong and his sober competence and so-called fiscal conservatism well regarded. At least in his home state.

Queensland is a funny place. It covers a huge and diverse geographic and ideological space. This is home, after all, to Joh Bjelke-Petersen, The Go-Betweens, Warrick Capper and the Big Pineapple. As well as some of the country's finest national parks, loudest greenies, toughest miners, best beaches and most horrendous beachside developments.

Arguably the most redneck state of all, they have voted in the country's first directly elected female premier. And she's Labor. Meanwhile, Hanson still manages to rakes in 20% of the primary vote in her electorate*. One might conclude there is a polarisation of opinion and a small middle ground. Based on such a superficial analysis of course.

* I suspect if those photos had proved to be her, she may have tipped 25%. Honk, honk. Know what I mean?

Friday, March 20, 2009

(Comic) Poetry Slam Friday

Warning! Contains strong owl themes!

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,'
O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!'

Pussy said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?'
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

'Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?' Said the Piggy, 'I will.'
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

Well, that’s it for the funny.

Next week I return to my usual themes of horror, death and decay.

Can’t wait!

Thursday, March 19, 2009

The End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine - I Just Had a Coffee)

There's something afoot in Melbourne town at the moment. Anyone living anywhere near the city must have noticed it.

Military activity in the skies, I'm talking about. Helicopters, dozens of them. Flying low in formation back and forth, back and forth. It's driving me crazy. They're occasionally joined by police helicopters too. It's constant and it's worrying.

Then there are the so-called Korumburra 'earth tremors'. Two in a week. Experts say this is rare. Not unprecedented sure, but rare.

The two things are linked, I'm certain of it. Call me paranoid, but has anybody seen anything about this sudden influx of military activity in the news? There's nothing. Not a thing.

Nuclear testing? Maybe. Alien invasion? More likely. Giant burrowing earthworm about to emerge from the darkness and consume us all after millions of years biding its time? You decide.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Stephen Elliott always struck me as a self-promoting pratt.

My memories of the year 1994 are a bit hazy owing, I suspect, to a lifetime of dedicated drinking. However one thing does vaguely stand out; if you wanted a night out watching an Australian film* there seemed to be only two real choices in 1994; The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert or Muriel’s Wedding.

I chose Priscilla and thus spent the evening locked in almost visceral rage** while all about me people were laughing like hyenas on nitrous oxide.

The fact that Priscilla’s director, Stephen Elliott, then made two critical and commercial flops and disappeared into a well deserved obscurity offered me a great degree of satisfaction.

Now, it seems, Mr Elliott is back.

And with a new film, Easy Virtue.


In a series of mostly puff pieces in the local media Mr Elliott claims that his nine year absence from the exciting world of cinema was due to his “self-destructive tendencies” or that he was “traumatised by being in New York during the 9/11 attacks”.


I think a more likely explanation is that he pissed a lot of other people’s money up against the wall making his two flops and people weren’t keen for that to happen again.

Apart from one or two local outlets, everybody else seems to regard Easy Virtue as possessing all the attractions of a piece of stinking fish so I suspect it may be some time before Mr Elliott pops up again.

*A mistake I won’t make again.

**Owing largely to its racism and misogyny. Oh and the fact that it was shit.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

This Cycling Life

I'm a cyclist. I ride my bike to work most days. When I don't, I take the tram.

Cycling is an excellent way of getting around. It makes you fit, it's green, it's free and, most of the time, it's fun. The state government should definitely be improving bike tracks, bike lanes and other bike-related amenities. As well as doing more to improve the public transport system and getting more cars and trucks off the road. It's obvious, but it's not being done.

Anyway, that's not why I'm here. Many motorists put cyclists' lives in danger by the way they drive. In the 30 minutes it takes me to get to work, there will be at least 3 incidents which, if I wasn't being vigilant, could have led to me being sprawled on the road in a pool of blood and possibly guts. Maybe even brains. But I am vigilant and I ride carefully. This doesn't eliminate all potential for danger of course, but it helps. I don't listen to an ipod, talk on my mobile phone, run red lights, ride with no hands, fly past stationery trams offloading passengers, zig zag through traffic or get self righteous every time a driver even looks like he's going to do something stupid and start pounding on his window. But most cyclists do. Most cyclists do some of these things. The reason? Most cyclists are cunts.

I'm not just talking about the lycra wearing poseurs. I'm also referring to brown corduroy-wearing hippies and skater helmet-wearing bogans. Red light runners the lot of 'em. The problem is they give cyclists a bad name. Most motorists, who aren't cyclists, hate the sight of bikes because of they way they use the road. Message to cyclists:

Lift your game.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Mike Sheahan's Top 50

I'm doing this post because

a) Ramon wanted Hanson begone
b) Melba suggested a sports post, and
c) I get to keep on the Herald-Sun's case for a bit longer.

For 20 years now, Mike Sheahan, chief AFL writer for the Herald-Sun, has published at the start of every season a 'Top 50' list... it is the players he thinks will cause the most impact in the coming season (on the field, otherwise surely Ben Cousins would be number one).

Every year, there is debate as to his list.

I shall not add to the debate, other than to say, the debate itself is as meaningless as the Top 50 list is in the first place.

I have two complaints...

1: A Top 5, maybe. But a Top 50?

Yo - all journalists, all movie reviewers, rock journos, bloggers, all people in all the world who compile lists of anything over TEN, listen here: Nobody cares.

I scanned Sheahan's list for Richmond players (Richo and Lids made the list) but otherwise, lost all interest after reading the top 3.

Same goes with any list of 'Top Things'. Top 10 Richest People is interesting, Top 100 is not. Top 10 songs this week is important, Top 100 is not. Footballers are no exception. The Top 2 or 3, that are a class above everyone else (Ablett, case in point), are worth discussion, but really, anyone from positions 6-50 could be interchangeable with each other.

2: But most of all, a Top 50 List of something that hasn't happened yet is ludicrous. The season hasn't started Sheahan! Half your players could be injured by tomorrow afternoon!

May as well get someone to do a Top 50 list of 'Best Movies of 2009 That Haven't Been Finished Yet, But Are In Post-Production'.


To the Herald-Sun: Instead of printing articles about things that haven't happened yet (Hanson's campaign being derailed) and lists of things that haven't happened yet, how about, you know, REPORTING SOME NEWS that has actually happened!

PS: Ramon. Before you seek to clarify, the above post relates to the game of AFL football.

PPS: This is Lids... Who, according to Sheahan, is number 41 in a list of players that, er, may be pretty good this year if they don;t get injured and they train hard and stuff.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Wrong - In So Many Ways

Good morning everyone.

At least the week can't get worse than this.

The above photo was taken from The Herald Sun who have published this photo, and another shot of a topless 19 year old Pauline Hanson with digitised boobs.

Here is what's wrong:

1. Pauline Hanson trying to be sexy.
2. The Herald Sun thinking shots like this are 'newsworthy'.
3. That Pauline Hanson is news on any level. It's just wrong wrong wrong. I want her to GO AWAY.
4. The fucker that sold the shots - FAIL to him - as much as I dislike Hanson, he too is a fucked up wanker creep for selling the shots.
5. The Herald Sun trying to make an angle out of it... by saying that publication of these shots may de-rail her election campaign. It strikes me that by making that statement, they have crossed from being news reporters to news-makers. It is the newspaper that published the shots. This story did not exist. They made the story. They didn't report the story, they authoured it. They are the story. The shots won't de-rail her campaing... it's the Herald Sun buying and publishing them that may de-rail her campaign. Know what I mean? The article should read, "Herald-Sun derails campaign."
6. Pauline Hanson in a state of undress. I fairdinkuum nearly spewed.
7. Just... ew.

Oh my giddy Aunt. What an awful, awful image.

Make it stop.

Make it stop.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Poetry Slam Friday; Part the Whatever.

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle:

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold:

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

I recited the first four stanzas of this as part of our wedding vows.

This was considered highly romantic and thus a “good thing” by all the chicks.

A less literate friend of my wife asked me “how long did it take to write such a wonderful poem?”

Wednesday, March 11, 2009


Oh no. Sam Worthington, of 'Love My Way' Ozzie soap opera fame has scored the role of PERSEUS in some big Hollywood blockbuster re-make of Clash Of The Titans which I bet will suck shit big-time.

Why re-make what is a fine film in the first place? Oh yes, the effects are dated, but so what? Make another film, cunts, with a different storyline, not the same one again. Do we have to re-make every fucking film that has even been made? There's more myths to choose from you know!

But I digress.

Point is, my internet name is about to become cheap and cartoony. I may as well be called Wolverine or The Hulk.

I picked the name 'Perseus' because I had read the book 'Clash of The Titans' when I was about 10, and I was already heavily into Greek mythology at the time... and then when the movie came out I was very excited (though at the time I did say (for the first of many times in my life), "It wasn't as good as the book."). The story of Perseus intrigued me as a 10-11 year old, particularly the Medusa saga, and my interest in the story has held over the years.

So when I made it on to the internet and had to pick a name, it was one of many I considered (others I considered were 'Jesus69' and Captain Kneejerk), but it won easily.

And so, I ask you all to let me know how you picked your internet name (maybe with the exception of 'Alex'.... unless that's not your real name.)

Charles Darwin was an all-round good egg.

2009 sees both the bicentennial of Charles Darwin’s birth and the 150th anniversary of the publication of the Origins of Species, making it a good time for all things Charles Darwin related.

I’ve been doing some reading on the Great Man himself and I’m mildly surprised to find that he was thoroughly decent human being and an all-round top bloke.

I already knew he was a loving father and husband and not the remote, aloof authority figure expected for a man of his class and age. But Adrian Desmond and James Moore’s most recent book Darwin’s Sacred Cause (review here) argues convincingly that Darwin’s quest for a common human ancestor grew out of his revulsion of slavery and his horror of the racist argument that black people were inherently inferior to whites.

An important part of this was the Christian belief in the essential brotherhood of humanity. Although Darwin drifted away from religious belief later in life, the lessons and impulses of his early life continued to influence him.

In the end of course, Darwin’s moral code was completely irrelevant to his scientific theories. It doesn’t matter if he was a brute who beat kittens* and farted in drawing rooms, the power of his theories derives from the empirical evidence.

But it’s still comforting, somehow, to find out that one of the most important thinkers in the modern world was a good egg.

*He also hatred cruelty to animals. What a nice man.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

We can do better than this, surely?

Over the weekend, the Mrs and I managed to catch a film, Ghost Town, which was an absolute cracker, thanks largely to Ricky Gervais.

For reasons I have never fully understood, Mrs INH insists we arrive on time so we can watch the commercials. This means we also watch the shorts for coming films.

Which is how I was forced to watch the short for Confessions of a Shopaholic.

Thirty seconds into this nonsense, I could feel the will to live ebbing from me. As I understand it, Confessions of a Shopaholic details the zany life of the said “shopaholic”, played at some volume by Australian actress Isla Fisher. I further understand that the Fisher character works as a “columnist” at a financial magazine, a role she fills by shrieking and falling over a lot – thus conveying “zaniness” and what not.

Bugger me sideways with a stick, how did we reach this point? How is it that most of the female characters in romantic comedies are generally portrayed as thick as two short planks covered in butter? And why are female characters in films from the 1940s, not a decade noted for its feminist advances, far more subtle, complex and intelligent?

Take for example, the character of Hildy Johnson, played by Rosalind Russell in the 1940 film His Girl Friday*. Johnson, a female journo on a Chicago newspaper, is respected and admired by her colleagues because she’s bloody good at what she does – not because she shrieks and falls over a lot. She also gives as good as she gets in the cracking dialogue.

Or Barbara Stanwyck in the 1941 film, The Lady Eve. As a razor-sharp conwoman Stanwyck runs rings around everybody else. I don’t recall much shrieking and falling over in this film, either.

I think you can trace the “female journo as shrieking dickhead” to Candice Whatshername who wrote the original column Sex and the City was based on. Either way, it’s a pain in the bum.

Both His Girl Friday and The Lady Eve should be available at any half-way decent video shop. I recommend them both highly.

Confessions of a Shopaholic I’d give a wide berth.

*And quite possibly the funniest film ever made, in the history of the universe.

Friday, March 6, 2009

In Terms Of Kevin Rudd

I would like briefly to bring some balance to the Rudd-lovin' that goes on here (lead admirably by Comrade Insertnamehere).

If a Martian came to Earth and read only this blog, they would assume our Prime-Minister was some sort of highly admired uberlord of the world. They would then assume that given his intelligence, charm and genius, that his syntax was exemplary. As such, they'd be saying 'in terms of' a lot.

Here's some Rudd quotes, each followed by my humble suggestion as to how he should have structured his sentence.

1. (Rudd and Swan will work with the Obama admin)... "not just on financial market regulations but also in terms of stimulus to the real economy".

My suggestion: "not just on financial markets but also on economic stiumulus."

2. Rudd angry about Pacific Brands: "In terms of the money they have got from the government, we will go through all of that in terms of what can be extracted back from them."

My suggestion: "We shall consider a return of Government money"

3. To Kerry on the 7.30 report: "...my responses to many of these questions in parliaments in recent weeks have been framed in terms of one, global oil supply, what can be done to boost investment in those countries which are the principal oil exporters? There's a problem there. Two, on the demand side. Global initiatives on energy efficiencies and the huge great push countries of China and India? Three, what do you do in terms of energy efficiency in economies like our own? That goes to the whole regime of fuel efficient cars, in particular. Four, what do you do in terms of an alternative fuel strategy? And five, what do you do in terms of public transport, in order to make it accessible, particularly in our metro areas?"

My suggestion: That Kevin reads some quality literature (Shakespeare perhaps) to remind himself that our language enables us to express things concisely and beautifully at the same time, without burying one's meaning in corporatespeak.

And to stop licking his lips and eating his own earwax.

Poetry Slam Friday returns!

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

There you go, Pers.

Don’t say I never provide the high-brow guff for you jokers.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

At last! Jane Austin! With zombies!!

I am sooo buying this when it comes out.

As the blurb notes

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies features the original text of Jane Austen's beloved novel with all-new scenes of bone-crunching zombie action.

Soon to be released;

War and Peace and Werewolves,

Hamlet vs the Living Dead

and the all time classic

The Old Testament; Elvira smackdown!

There is no work of classic literature that couldn't be improved with the addition of zombies.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

More Religious Fuckwittery

Brave Freedom-Fighters or Utter Cunts? You decide!

The Richmond Football Club were rightly pissed off when the media reported on Ben Cousins’ new home purchase (three bedrooms, two bathrooms), including taking photos and video of the home itself from the street and then publishing these images. “It’s intrusive,” they said, and they are right.

But, as Neil in The Young Ones said to Rik (when Rik discovered his parents were dead), “You think that’s bad.”

For true ‘intrusion on sportspeople’ we cannot go past yesterday’s incident involving a team of everyday bogan/gifted sportspeople just travelling to the sports-ground being attacked with grenades, rocket launchers and machine guns by psychopathic Islamic fucking nutjob cunts. Which results in multiple deaths and injury.

Suddenly, Today Tonight camped at your front door seems tame.

What Radical Islam needs is to have a good hard look at itself in the mirror. What it will see is a violent, stupid and irrelevant movement that has a limited lifespan. But then again, it is so stupid that it probably will never be able to see itself reflected accurately, as they obscure their own reflections with the ghostly visage of celestial virgins and Allah’s loving arms. Hey cunt: It's an hallucination.

Pakistan needs to get this sorted, and quick smart. There was a reasonable doco on Four Corners recently that examined what’s going on there and I recommend watching it if you have the time and band-width to do so.

In the interim, I reiterate my call to all level-headed Muslims to vehemently, loudly and publically decry yesterday’s incident, and to isolate the group responsible and shame them, and I call on Pakistan, Sri Lanka, the UN, the USA, Australia and Israel and anyone else who wants to play to send in their high-tech pre-programmed military machines to eradicate these backwater Bhutto-killing dimwitted failed rug salesmen. They have no place on this Earth. They are not needed.

Cricketers... for fuck’s sake. I tell you this terrorists, even God hates you.

I'm Captain Kneejerk, go to bed.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

First Lady Shock!

How is this news?

How can anybody care so much about what Michelle Obama (or anybody) is wearing that they feel compelled to comment on it in any way, let alone criticize it on such a ridiculous basis? Unless she's wearing a Nazi outfit, body paint or a bear suit, does it really matter? Isn't the USA a modern, western society which accepted many years ago that woman have not just legs, but arms? This is 2009.

Oh my God, she wore a sleeveless dress 4 times in 7 days! Outrageous! Apparently "these Big Speech Events are serious and important". She was deemed by some to be showing too much skin!* And, gasp, it was black!

Next she'll be doing a Keating when the Queen visits.

*See Picture for Appropriate First Lady Fashion