The Site Formally Known As

Shaggin' Wagon

2012-02-10T08:47:00.004+11:00

...and so he turned to his mate and said, "Now we can all get some sleep."

But I digress.

So, back in November, my girlfriend Andromeda was invited to go camping for three nights by a friend of hers who I'll call Fat-Slapper. Mean, spiteful woman. Anyhoo, Andromeda said yes to the camping thing, even though it happened to be on her birthday weekend. I was a little annoyed because I wanted to take her out to a nice restuarant for her birthday (which I did, three days early) and also because I wasn't invited to the camping because Fat-Slapper doesn't like me and I don't like her. But on the eve of her birthday, Andromeda rang me from the camp-site and said, "I spoke to Fat-Slapper, and you can come tonight to our camp site, but with the following rules: You can only stay for one night, you can't stay in our tent - you have to stay in your car, and you and I can't have sex..."

I agreed to those rules, even though they were ludicrous, but in the end, I wanted to spend Andromeda's birthday with her, and she wanted me there. So I got to the campsite, and Fat-Slapper gave me evils for kissing Andromeda hello, and the whole night was awkward. So I got drunk. So did Andromeda.

At 2am, I went to bed in the back of my Subaru station wagon where I had shoved a mattress.

At 2.15am there was a knock at my window. It was Andromeda, looking for a birthday shag, and because I'm a gentleman, I obliged, but the things is, because I wasn't expecting sex that night (because of Fat-Slapper's rules), I wasn't armed with protection.

Back of the station wagon, metres from the beach, drunk, no condoms... you know how it goes.

Meet Perseus Jnr:

Due in August. As Lou Reed said in his song, 'Beginning Of A Great Adventure', "...It's the beginning of a great adventure."

travel special: some of europe

2012-02-06T17:37:00.010+11:00

This was Den Haag on New Year's Eve. I think it was Russian champagne. Anyway, cheerski, comrades

This was taken in Jukkasjärvi . I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed saying, "Oh, I was just in the Arctic Circle a few weeks ago"

I loved Sweden, not least because the A tile was worth 4 points

I had five weeks of huskies, reindeer, moose (plural), gondolas, daleks, bells, rockets, Mickey Mouse waffles and it was (way, way) better than Dog Rock

Bad things that happened: we lost LittleSquib in Stockholm Airport, BigSquib left her bag in the Mona Lisa room and almost had the Louvre evacuated, a seagull pooped on me at Tuileries Garden (I plan to return and track it down Moby-Dick style), I slept on the tray table on the way home and now I have back problems

I'm a little bit sad to be home because, let's face it, this is Perth

Pokies 'n' stuff

2012-01-24T13:22:00.002+11:00

"Damn you Andrew Wilkie"

There's been much comment in the mainstream media about the Commonwealth Government's revised plans for pokie reform - most of it shit.

Sure, there's been endless tripe about what it means politically but I'm not aware of any journo having a good, hard look about the proposed trial itself; will it work, is it a good idea, what are the policy implications.

You know, the stuff journalists should be doing.

Being of an inquiring mind, I've managed to find this post by Tom Cummings who has done what just about every single journalist in Australia has failed to do; produce a coherent, well written analysis about what the proposed trial may mean.

I urge you to read it.

But the question rises again; why is this sort of heavy lifting being left to bloggers? Or more to the point, why is political journalism in this country so deeply shallow?

I Hate Everything and Everyone

2012-01-19T10:31:00.005+11:00

It has been five days since my last cigarette.

I'm doing it cold-turkey, no nicotine-replacement shit at all, and without even any 'winding-down' process beforehand. I gleefully smoked twixt 20 and 30 cigarettes a day for 23 years, then, last Sunday morning, I smoked two cigarettes with my morning coffee and that was it.

The physical side-effects of quitting are:

* Dizziness.

That is all. I was waiting for sweats, trembles, DTs, viruses due to drop in immune system and so on, but nope, all I get is a bit dizzy when the cravings are at their worst.

Now here's a list of the mental side effects:

* Anger
* Sadness
* Impatience
* Melancholia
* Boredom
* Confusion
* Disorientation
* Loss of short-term memory
* Loss of libido
* Loss of concentration
* Self loathing

The last one is almost the worst. I hate myself for starting smoking. I also hate myself for quitting. Nobody told me to quit, so why am I quitting? It's fucked. But I want to live longer, so I have to quit. But what's the point in living longer if I'm this sad? Oh, I know, I'll be less sad as time goes by, but I'll certainly be more boring, and bored. Smoking is cool, I don't care what anyone says. It's cool, and now I'm not cool.

I've not read one good piece of advice from Vic Health, or Quit, because they refuse to say smoking is cool. And I think it is cool. And because they say it isn't cool, I have no interest in what they have to say. They can't help me. But I reckon I'm going to make it - in my own way. I have three little helping thoughts that are getting me through this, and they are:

1 - Andromeda (who now lives with me) slept a few times in another room, and when I asked why, she said, "You were wheezing..." That is so not sexy, and I am prepared to lose coolness in return for sexy.

2 - I am only ever quitting the next cigarette. Dad actually gave me that little advice - it's how he quit. I get a craving, I want a cigarette, it consumes me, but I tell myself, "No, I won';t have this cigarette right now...". Magically, the intense craving passes after a few minutes, then I just repeat the same thing twenty minutes later when the next craving comes.

But, even with those two motivations, I was still thinking that I was going to fail and start smoking again, until I came up with the third and most genius motivation...

3 - I'm going to take up smoking again when I'm 65 years old.

Believe me, just thinking about that glorious day (in the year 2035) is giving me the strength to quit for now.

I still can't think of a snappy title for this one!

2012-01-13T09:28:00.000+11:00

The woman in the background is clearly thinking "nice bum".

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!

In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!

"Try not the Pass!" the old man said;
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!

"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!

"Beware the pine tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!

At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!

A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!

Or in my version.

Maiden: "Fancy a fuck, then?

Youth: "Gosh, thanks for asking but I have to freeze to death for no apparent reason."

Maiden: "Suit yourself. I really prefer chicks anyway."

Well done, that woman!

2012-01-11T09:16:00.001+11:00

Huzzah!

Honestly, would it kill some people to say "well done" to the Commonwealth Attorney-General, Nicola Roxon?

Through quiet negotiation, diplomacy and generally not being a dick, Ms Roxon has managed to get the Japanese authorities to agree to release the three ~~dickheads~~ whale freedom-fighters who jumped on that Japanese boat earlier this week.

Ms Roxon has proven herself to be one of the best performers in the Gillard Government - again.

I think large parts of the media and commentariat were gearing up for another extended rant about how the Gillard Government "can't get anything right". It must irk them beyond belief when the Gillard Government, in fact, gets it right.

And while I'm in ranting mode, the Shonan Maru No. 2* was not inside Australian territorial waters at the time of the boarding. It was in our economic zone, which is not the same thing at all.

* Which reminds me. Whatever happened to the Shonan Maru No. 1?

A "value for money" PSF

2012-01-06T08:30:00.000+11:00

"Fuck this shit"

I stood on the bridge at midnight,

As the clocks were striking the hour,

And the moon rose o'er the city,

Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection

In the waters under me,

Like a golden goblet falling

And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance

Of that lovely night in June,

The blaze of the flaming furnace

Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters

The wavering shadows lay,

And the current that came from the ocean

Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them,

Rose the belated tide,

And, streaming into the moonlight,

The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing

Among the wooden piers,

A flood of thoughts came o'er me

That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, oh, how often,

In the days that had gone by,

I had stood on that bridge at midnight

And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often, oh, how often,

I had wished that the ebbing tide

Would bear me away on its bosom

O'er the ocean wild and wide!

For my heart was hot and restless,

And my life was full of care,

And the burden laid upon me

Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me,

It is buried in the sea;

And only the sorrow of others

Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river

On its bridge with wooden piers,

Like the odor of brine from the ocean

Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands

Of care-encumbered men,

Each bearing his burden of sorrow,

Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession

Still passing to and fro,

The young heart hot and restless,

And the old subdued and slow!

And forever and forever,

As long as the river flows,

As long as the heart has passions,

As long as life has woes;

The moon and its broken reflection

And its shadows shall appear,

As the symbol of love in heaven,

And its wavering image here.

Happy New Beer!

2011-12-28T12:39:00.002+11:00

Yay!

As most of you lot will know, I'm a big fan of test cricket and over the past couple of weeks I've been following the New Zealand and Indian matches fairly closely.

Unfortunately, this also involves watching a lot of commercial television, an action normally on a level with inserting red hot needles into one's scrotum.

One ad that particularly irks me is for a health insurance company - whose name I can't be arsed finding out - which involves ordinary looking schlubs finding their "healthy selves", said "healthy selves" having a slightly manic healthy glow which I find deeply unsettling.

Oddly enough, both "normal" and "healthy" selves seem to be having an absolutely cracking time, with the punch line being that the company can help you find your "healthy self".

I don't think that's likely to happen to me.

Healthy Ramon: "Normal Ramon! It's me, Healthy Ramon!"

Normal Ramon: "Yes, and?"

Healthy Ramon: "I here to say that you too can have my healthy glow!"

Normal Ramon: "Oh?"

Healthy Ramon: "You just need to give up the booze!"

Normal Ramon: "Yes?"

Healthy Ramon: "And the fags!"

Normal Ramon: "Right."

Healthy Ramon: "And the fatty food!"

.......................

.......................

.......................

Normal Ramon: "Fuck off, you weirdo."

That's it for 2011 comrades and what a long, strange trip it's been.

See you on the flip side*.

* Whatever that may mean.

A "beware the wrath of the women" PSF.

2011-12-16T10:10:00.001+11:00

"What rhymes with scum-sucker?"

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf’s hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said
“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not
Her husband’s presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek: perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say “Her mantle laps
Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat”: such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart—how shall I say?—too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace—all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men,—good! but thanked
Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech—(which I have not)—to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark”—and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
—E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master’s known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

The only Poll that makes sense.

2011-12-14T11:06:00.002+11:00

Robespierre had a very bad press.

Well the catch up with Melbs, Mr E and Kettle on Saturday was ace.

Much beer was drunk and many lemons were...errr...lemoned.

Over the course of the conversation, we discussed a number of ideas about the future of this blog. In the spirit of half-arsed democracy that hovers uneasily, I wouldn't mind getting your feedback about where we should be headed.

Would people like;

* More posts analysing the meeja/politics?
* Book/film reviews?
* Obscure/possibly fanciful aspects of history?
* Amusing cat stories?
* Stuff that passes over my mind?

I know Kettle is keen on more PSF, so I'll crank that sucker up again.

Or should we just say "enough is enough" and put this puppy to sleep?

Over to you.

Stop me if you think you've heard this one before.

2011-12-07T10:00:00.001+11:00

How will the breakup of The Smiths affect the Rudd-Gillard thingo?

To the Canberra Press Gallery.

Chaps, I know it’s the silly season and all and the desk still expects you to file even if nothing is actually – you know – happening in Canberra, but you really need to ease up on the whole “Rudd versus Gillard” thing.

It’s just getting silly.

Witness the current brouhaha over the decision not to give the tender to run the Australia Network to SkyNews*. Instead of focusing on what the decision means in terms of broadcasting policy, how the region perceives us and whether the entire tendering process was a good idea or not - the stuff I rather thought journalists were supposed to do - a goodish chunk of the Gallery decided to focus on how the entire saga reflected on the “Rudd versus Gillard” Strum und Drang.

Spare me.

What’s next?

“Earthquake in China kills thousands, will Rudd challenge?”

“Syrian Government accused of massive human rights violations, can Rudd and Gillard get along?”

“Obama’s nuclear plan reveals stresses within Labor.”

Sit back, have a quiet lie down and a cup of tea and trying and work out what’s important and what isn’t. Because, quite frankly, you’re making yourselves look absurd.

* And stop it with this cutsie-poo typography. That joke isn’t funny anymore**.

** You see what I did there? I worked two Smiths references into the one post. Win!

Puss's Most Awesome and Amazing Wedding!

2011-12-01T14:12:00.007+11:00

So, it's been a while! Apologies for my extended absence.

Essentially, I tried to do too much myself (appalled at the cost of things), my bridesmaids weren't being very helpful (I was trying to be subtle in my requests for help, and in their defence, I am not known for subtlety), started a new job, tried to keep doing a full time uni load, and the result was having a nervous breakdown back in March and ending up on anti-depressants (which made my attempts at slimming down impossible).

But! I am all awesome again now! Getting weaned off the anti-depressants as we speak.

So, the wedding was quite the extravaganza. Squirrel themed, with a lot of little touches. I started out with quite a large budget, and then, as I said, was appalled at the cost of things, so I made a tonne of stuff myself, but instead of then putting aside the money I had saved, I just put it towards other stuff, so that the wedding ended up being quite the production! I was really just trying to make sure everyone had an awesome time. I hate boring weddings!

Entrance to venue

Ceremony room

Reception room

Practically everything was hand made. What I (and my bridesmaids, once they realised I needed help) did myself was:

-hand made over 300 paper flowers to decorate the venue

-designed and made all of the stationery

-hand made the napkin rings (with leftovers from the stationery)

-hand made the menu towers for each table

-hand made the table "number" cards for the tables: 11 different types of squirrels. On the back of the card was info about the squirrel for the guests to educate themselves

-made the wishing well out of an old stump, lacquer, paint, and some wooden letters and ribbon

-collected a tonne of vintage tea cups to stack and use as décor

-created an "our story" board, with photos of both the groom and I, as well as various keep sakes. My stuff started on the right, his on the left, and we merged in the middle with photos of the two of us together and keep sakes from our time together

-designed and had made my wedding dress

-designed and had made the bridesmaids' dresses, and the bridesmaids' shoes

-designed and had made the mother of the bride's dress

-designed the menu for the venue

-took detailed measurements of everything at the venue (including furniture) so I could create to-scale floor plans for the layout (I like to know how everything is going to fit together!)

-organised Azalea bonsai trees to be created as centrepieces

-took piano and voice lessons from March onwards to learn to play and sing Regina Spektor's version of John Lennon's Real Love (I had no previous musical experience)

-collected various jars and bowls for use on the lolly buffet, as well as decorating mini suitcases with collected vintage post cards of all of our honeymoon destinations (and the groom hand made the blackboard heart tags, because they were really pricey on Etsy)

-hand made the lolly buffet boxes (unfortunately this pic is not the right way out, so you can't see the decoration on the front - scalloped paper with cute squirrel button and ribbon)

-went to dance classes with the groom to learn a hip hop routine to MC Hammer's You Can't Touch This

-searched long and hard for 6 pairs of Louboutins (start tall, and work my way down to flats!)

-purchased vintage 80s board games for the guests to play during the cocktail hour (which was actually two hours)

-hired a photo booth for the guests to amuse themselves in during the cocktail hour

-provided a range of bathroom products for guests to refresh themselves with throughout the night (there was a lot more than this photo shows! Everything you could think of, I had provided it)

-hired a Mr Whippy van to dispense ice creams for dessert

-provided flat shoes for the girls, so they could dance all night

-bought a range of vintage-style handkerchiefs, which the groom's grandmother embroidered with our initials. These were for guests to take and use at the ceremony if they needed to

-bought a bunch of glass jars for the venue to fill with home made lemonade for the guests to drink on arrival to the ceremony

-trawled Etsy for finishing touches, such as tiny felted squirrels, felted acorns, felted acorn & oak leaf place settings, squirrel buttons (for decorating), squirrel paper clips, hand crafted hair pieces, Star Wars lego cufflinks, ostrich feather signing pen, vintage-style paper straws, other wholesale craft things to create the décor

-trawled the internet and op shops for other things, such as vintage silver coffee sets, vintage books, tea cups, 3D squirrel puzzles for the guests to put together, acorn salt & pepper shakers for the table, squirrel table number holders, vintage-style easels for signs, and a billion other things!

-hand made the flower bouquets and buttonholes the night before the wedding

Other highlights included:

-an awesome string quartet

-the DJ playing Weird Al Yankovich

-the vintage Jags

-trivia cards for each guest, with whoever scored the highest at the table taking home the bonsai centrepiece

-people cutting it up on the dance floor

-everyone having a super awesome fun time, and many of the guests saying it was the best wedding they'd ever been to! They really appreciated all of the little details and things to keep them occupied.

There were only two small glitches. The photographer had us stand at the front entrance of the venue after the ceremony to do a "congratulations" thing (people are supposed to come and say hi before you dash off for photos). Unfortunately, it wasn't really the right space, and not many people came to say hello, because they couldn't see us. We should have stayed in the ceremony room.

The second was that I had put together a box of props for the photo booth, including hats, blackboard signs, moustaches on sticks, glasses on sticks, etc etc. When the groom and I went into the booth to take a photo, we noticed they weren't in there. I sent the event co-ordinator (my sister's husband) off to find the box, but he returned saying there wasn't anything. I knew that wasn't right, because I'd brought it to the venue myself. In any event, I let it go. Two days later when I went to pack up the venue, the box with all of the props was right there. So our photo booth photos of guests are nowhere near as fun as they could have been. Oh well.

So yeah, overall, it was a great day and night!

How to really shock Melbourne people.

2011-11-29T09:02:00.001+11:00

You didn't read "The Slap"? You monster!

I had the following conversation with my sister the other day.

My sister: “Did you see the latest episode of The Slap?”

Me: “I’m not watching The Slap.”

My sister: “Oh, it’s just that I thought you might be interested in how it compared with the book.”

Me: “I didn’t read the book.”

At which point she stared at me for some seconds in gobsmacked horror, as if I’d said I had a sneaking admiration for Tony Abbott.

But it’s all true. I haven’t read The Slap and have no intention to, because;

The author sort of annoys me,
I’m spent most of my life avoiding the sort of arseholes that populate the book* and have no desire to make their acquaintance now and
Books that are described as “capturing the zeitgeist of the time” really, really, really annoy me.

Why, I can’t really say. Partly it might be intellectual snobbery, a queasiness about reading a book that everybody else seems to be reading, but mostly because they’re often shit; the sort of book that people look back on in ten year’s time and say “what on earth were we thinking, this is shit**”.

I may change my mind about The Slap. But I doubt it.

* Based on the reviews, obvs.

** Having said that, Oranges are not the only fruit holds up pretty well. The same does not apply for The Bone People. The Bone People brings to mind Dorothy Parker’s line about a book she was reviewing; “This is not a book to set aside lightly. It should be hurled with great force”.

No reason.

2011-11-15T13:30:00.001+11:00

A "sometimes the anti-depressants take a while to kick in" PSF

2011-11-11T09:09:00.001+11:00

We're alone in a Godless, meaningless universe. Here's a picture of kittens.

I'd sell your heart to the junkman baby
For a buck, for a buck
If you're looking for someone to pull you out of that ditch
You're out of luck, you're out of luck

Ship is sinking
The ship is sinking
The ship is sinking

There's a leak, there's a leak in the boiler room
The poor, the lame, the blind
Who are the ones that we kept in charge?
Killers, thieves and lawyers

God's away, God's away
God's away on business, business
God's away, God's away
God's away on business, business

Digging up the dead with a shovel and a pick
It's a job, it's a job
Bloody moon rising with a plague and a flood
Join the mob, join the mob
It's all over, it's all over
It's all over

There's a leak, there's a leak in the boiler room
The poor, the lame, the blind
Who are the ones that we kept in charge?
Killers, thieves and lawyers

God's away, God's away
God's away on business, business
God's away, God's away on business, business

Godddamn there's always such a big temptation
To be good, to be good
There's always free cheddar in a mousetrap, baby
It's a deal, it's a deal

God's away, God's away
God's away on business, business
God's away, God's away
God's away on business, business

I narrow my eyes like a coin slot baby
Let her ring, let her ring

God's away, God's away
God's away on business, business
God's away, God's away
God's away on business, business

A very cynical PSF

2011-11-04T10:52:00.000+11:00

Nice crown!

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea;
And love is a thing that can never go wrong;
And I am Marie of Romania.

Because last week's was so sweet.

Qantas. Part eleventy billion.

2011-11-02T09:01:00.000+11:00

The latest addition to the Qantas fleet.

I know I don’t expect much from the Canberra Gallery these days. But I would have hoped that even the dimmest hack’s reaction to repeated claims from the Opposition about the crisis at Qantas that “the Government should have stepped in earlier” would have been to ask “ummm… why?”

The dispute, before the management of the airline grounded the entire fucking Qantas fleet, was grinding slowly towards a resolution- as the industrial umpire Fair Work Australia has already noted.

Nor was there any wide-scale disruption to the travelling public, until management’s little dummy-spit.

Qantas management grounded the fleet. The Government went to Fair Work Australia, who ordered management to un-ground it*.

Which they did.

I fail to see the problem.

My boss at the union where I worked as an organiser had a saying, along the lines of “every industrial dispute gets resolved eventually”.

This was happening in Qantas. For the Opposition to now claim that the Government should intervene in an industrial dispute because of…stuff… suggests their grasp of industrial reality on the ground is somewhat less than through.

* They also ordered the unions to suspend their industrial action. Which I rather suspect was the whole point of this caper**.

** I also rather suspect this is akin to trimming your toenails with a shotgun, but I’m not the one being paid the big bucks.

The lamest PSF EVAH!

2011-10-28T09:24:00.001+11:00

The Queen! On a tram!

Idid but see her passing by,
And yet I'll love her, till I die.

Later

She did but pass me by again!
She was talking to some bloke called Ken.

Yeah. Bastard foxes!

2011-10-21T10:28:00.000+11:00

Oi! Fox! Stop spoiling the vines!

I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.

As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.

As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.

He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.

Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love.

His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me.

I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.

The voice of my beloved! Behold, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.

My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: behold, he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, shewing himself through the lattice.

My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.

For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;

The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;

The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

Take us the foxes, the little foxes that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes.

My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.

Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.

Shurly some mistake

2011-10-19T09:48:00.001+11:00

Don't mind if I do!

In what was obviously the aftermath of Ride to Work Day, a work colleague had a sticker on their desk saying "I love riding to work".

For some seconds, I thought it said "I love drinking at work".

What this says about my default mental position, I shudder to think.

a very lower case psf

2011-10-14T10:04:00.000+11:00

i love you much(most beautiful darling)

more than anyone on the earth and i

like you better than everything in the sky

-sunlight and singing welcome your coming

although winter may be everywhere

with such a silence and such a darkness

noone can quite begin to guess

(except my life)the true time of year-

and if what calls itself a world should have

the luck to hear such singing(or glimpse such

sunlight as will leap higher than high

through gayer than gayest someone's heart at your each

nearness)everyone certainly would(my

most beautiful darling)believe in nothing but love

Families, eh!

2011-10-12T10:28:00.000+11:00

What Bill said.

Over the last school holidays, I had the chance to spend a week with The Boy doing…umm…boys’ stuff.

Nothing that spectacular; a visit to the National Sports Museum, a boat on the river, a hit of mini-golf, the sort of stuff you can do when it’s sunny outside.

The good thing is that The Boy is still very keen to have both his dad and his mum involved in his life, to the point where he passed up the opportunity to have dinner at a mate’s place because “he was lonely for his mum and dad”.

I know this won’t last and it shouldn’t last. They grow up and they grow away. That’s how you get the next generation of adults. But it’s nice to have these sorts of memories, something I never really had with my own dad.

Bill Murray in Lost in Translation said something like, “when your kids are born, it’s terrifying because you know nothing will ever be the same, but they learn how to walk and they learn how to talk and they become the most fascinating people you’ll ever meet”.

So far, he’s spot on the money.

I apologies for the revolting level of mawkishness in this post. The next one will be full of abuse and sarcasm, possibly involving Tony Abbott.

And/or owls.

Sic transit gloria mundi, PSF.

2011-09-23T08:56:00.000+10:00

Gloria Swanson. Not Gloria Mundi.

The tusks which clashed in mighty brawls

Of mastodons, are billiard balls.

The sword of Charlemagne the Just

Is Ferric Oxide, known as rust.

The grizzly bear, whose potent hug,

 Was feared by all, is now a rug.

Great Caesar's bust is on the shelf,

And I don't feel so well myself.

You're just too hip, baby. Part two.

2011-09-19T09:58:00.001+10:00

I'm third from the left.

Yesterday I went to the High Noon festival in High Street, Northcote for my annual dose of bands and beer*.

As somebody who participated in the hippest festival, in the hippest street, in the hippest suburb, of the hippest city in Australia**, I thought I’d post my observation of what’s hot and what’s not*** for you – the loyal readers of this nonsense.

For teh chicks;

The sixties look is very big this year – possibly inspired by Amy Winehouse.
Lesbians are big.
Big lesbians are big.
Beer is big.

For teh blokes;

Beards are big. Half the blokes there looked like extras from the Story of the Kelly Gang, so this bodes very well for Mr Kettle.

For everyone;

Tatts are outsville, baby. I don’t think I saw a single person under the age of 30 with a tatt, for which we should all be profoundly grateful.

Also, after a Melbourne winter, if you put a street full of pasty-white people out in the open on a sunny spring day – said people will be all sorts of interesting shades of red by the end.

Sunburn sucks dogs’ balls.

* Although I probably have a beer a bit more frequently than that.

** I’m sorry, but we just are.

*** Although, given how fast these things move, it’s probably already out of date.

An "oddly enough, this is how most of my former relationships finished" PSF

2011-09-16T10:01:00.001+10:00

Except the current one, of course.

The current one ROCKS!!

It's over
You don't need to tell me
I hope you're with someone who makes you
feel safe in your sleeping tonight
I won't kill myself, trying to stay in your life
I got no distance left to run

When you see me
Please turn your back and walk away
I don't want to see you
Cos I know the dreams that you keep is wearing me
When you’re coming down, think of me here
I got no distance left to run

It's over, I knew it would end this way
I hope you're with someone who makes you feel
That this life is the night
And it settles down, stays around
Spends more time with you
I got no distance left to run

A poem about chickens. Huzzah!

2011-09-09T13:01:00.000+10:00

The chick in the egg picks at the shell, cracks open one
        oval world, and enters another oval world.

“Cheep… cheep… cheep” is the salutation of
        the newcomer, the emigrant, the casual at the gates
        of the new world.

“Cheep… cheep” … from oval to oval, sunset
        to sunset, star to star.

It is at the door of this house, this teeny weeny egg-
        shell exit, it is here men say a riddle and jeer each
        other: who are you ? where do you go from here?

(In the academies many books, at the circus many sacks
        of peanuts, at the club rooms many cigar butts.)

“Cheep… cheep” … from oval to oval, sunset
        to sunset, star to star.

What. A Pack. Of Bastards.

2011-09-08T16:26:00.002+10:00

The Age notes here.

Labor MP Craig Thomson cannot be guaranteed a parliamentary "pair" to attend the birth of his child if it occurs during the period of the carbon tax debate.

"We have made it crystal clear that only in the most extraordinary circumstances will pairs be offered for the carbon tax vote," Mr Abbott told reporters during a visit to Tumbi Umbi in Mr Thomson's NSW central coast electorate of Dobell.

Update.

Tones has now announced he will grant a pair if Mr Thomson's wife goes into labour.

Smooth move, Tones.

What the what!?

2011-09-07T11:32:00.000+10:00

Oh goody. I'm in the Olympic spirit already.

As many of you will be aware, I’ve given up on political commentary in this country as all too often, it reduces me to a spittle-flecked rage.

Unfortunately, upon reading that The Clash’s mighty 1979 song “London Calling” is being used as part of the countdown to the London 2012 Olympics has reduced me to a spittle-flecked rage.

Again*.

What I suspect happened is that some 20-something “marketing consultant”, who has never heard of The Clash or indeed heard “London Calling”, had the brainwave** of thinking “Oh, this song has the word London in it. The London Olympics are coming up. We’ll use this song.”

Right, because nothing says “Olympic frolics” like a song about the coming apocalypse, environmental destruction, political repression and possible violent death.

And I don’t know about you, but the lines

London calling to the faraway towns

Now that war is declared-and battle come down

have me just itching to book tickets.

Once again, a precious part of my youth has been pissed away in some stupid marketing campaign.

* Any suggestion that “spittle-flecked rage” is my default setting is a foul slander.

** Possibly as part of “blue-sky***” thinking.

*** Whatever that is.

Libya.

2011-08-24T11:04:00.000+10:00

Good work comrades. Don't let them fuck it up.

"In this moment, only the mediocre in spirit could refuse to share in the pure joy inspired by this in every way compelling event"

French philosopher, Bernard-Henri Levi.

A more traditional PSF.

2011-08-19T09:11:00.001+10:00

"Oi, cunt! You calling me stout?"

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,

And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;

Round many western islands have I been

Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.

Oft of one wide expanse had I been told

That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne;

Yet did I never breathe its pure serene

Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies

When a new planet swims into his ken;

Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes

He star'd at the Pacific — and all his men

Look'd at each other with a wild surmise —

Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

Another ace PSF!

2011-08-12T09:25:00.001+10:00

"You put a ape mask on me, I disembowel you. Just so we understand each other"

If you said "Nice day," he would look up
at the three clouds riding overhead,
nod at each, and go back to doing what-
ever he was doing or not doing.
If you asked for a smoke or a light,
he'd hand you whatever he found
in his pockets: a jackknife, a hankie --
usually unsoiled -- a dollar bill,
a subway token. Once he gave me
half the sandwich he was eating
at the little outdoor restaurant on La Guardia Place. I remember
a single sparrow was perched on the back
of his chair, and when he held out
a piece of bread on his open palm,
the bird snatched it up and went back to
its place without even a thank you,
one hard eye staring at my bad eye
as though I were next. That was in May
of '97, spring had come late,
but the sun warmed both of us for hours
while silence prevailed, if you can call
the blaring of taxi horns and the trucks
fighting for parking and the kids on skates
streaming past silence. My friend Frankie
was such a comfort to me that year,
the year of the crisis. He would turn
up his great dark head just going gray
until his eyes met mine, and that was all
I needed to go on talking nonsense
as he sat patiently waiting me out,
the bird staring over his shoulder.
"Silence is silver," my Zaydee had said,
getting it wrong and right, just as he said
"Water is thicker than blood," thinking
this made him a real American.
Frankie was already American,
being half German, half Indian.
Fact is, silence is the perfect water:
unlike rain it falls from no clouds
to wash our minds, to ease our tired eyes,
to give heart to the thin blades of grass
fighting through the concrete for even air
dirtied by our endless stream of words.

The return of PSF (special kid friendly version).

2011-08-05T11:39:00.001+10:00

FIRST
Be it a girl, or one of the boys,
It is scarlet all over its avoirdupois,
It is red, it is boiled; could the obstetrician
Have possibly been a lobstertrician?
His degrees and credentials were hunky-dory,
But how's for an infantile inventory?
Here's the prodigy, here's the miracle!
Whether its head is oval or spherical,
You rejoice to find it has only one,
Having dreaded a two-headed daughter or son;
Here's the phenomenon all complete,
It's got two hands, it's got two feet,
Only natural, but pleasing, because
For months you have dreamed of flippers or claws.
Furthermore, it is fully equipped:
Fingers and toes with nails are tipped;
It's even got eyes, and a mouth clear cut;
When the mouth comes open the eyes go shut,
When the eyes go shut, the breath is loosed
And the presence of lungs can be deduced.
Let the rockets flash and the cannon thunder,
This child is a marvel, a matchless wonder.
A staggering child, a child astounding,
Dazzling, diaperless, dumbfounding,
Stupendous, miraculous, unsurpassed,
A child to stagger and flabbergast,
Bright as a button, sharp as a thorn,
And the only perfect one ever born.

SECOND
Arrived this evening at half-past nine.
Everybody is doing fine.
Is it a boy, or quite the reverse?
You can call in the morning and ask the nurse.

Rise of the Planet of the Shite.

2011-08-02T15:30:00.002+10:00

"Get me my agent! NOW!!

At some point, while watching Tim Burton’s over-long, ponderous 2001 film Planet of the Apes, I turned to my wife and whispered, “You know, I don’t think Tim Burton is the artistic genius he’s made out to be”.

It was not so much a “the Emperor has no clothes” moment, but more of a “the Emperor has no clothes and appears to have soiled himself” moment.

This latest, lazy, trip down memory lane is brought to you by the news that the prequel, Rise of the Planet of the Apes, is about to hit our shores.

To be fair, the prequel is made by somebody else and is said to be much better than Planet of the Apes but fair dinkum, I could have filmed my cat, asleep in front of the heater for four hours with an ape mask on her, and it would have made a more amusing film than Planet of the Apes*.

Let’s all give any ape-related films a miss – shall we?

* And nobody said “Get your hands off her, you dirty ape”**.

** Or even “Damn you! Damn you all! You blew it all to hell!”

Ripped off!

The rich, rewarding world of fine literature

2011-07-27T14:46:00.003+10:00

Teeeeeeeeeeeeee!

I've just finished Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

My conclusion?

Too much Austen, not enough ultraviolent Zombie mayhem.

Horrible. Horrible.

2011-07-25T15:34:00.000+10:00

In light of the terrible news from Norway, it should be possible to hope that we might have a little more civility in public debate in this country.

It might be nice if the radio shock-jocks refrain, if only for a little while, from suggesting the Prime Minister should be pushed into a bag and thrown into the sea.

It might be nice if people stopped referring to the Prime Minister as a ‘bitch”, “witch” and “liar”.

It might be nice if people realise words have power. Words can kill.

It might be nice if more people responded to claims that "Muslims are ruining our way of life, muslim immigration is out of control" with "that's fucking bullshit".

It might be nice. But I’m not holding my breath.

“I'm proud to live in a country that has managed to stand together in the face of tragedy. I am impressed over how much dignity, care and strength we have. We're a little country but a proud people. We are shaken but we will not give up our values. Our response is more freedom, more democracy but not naivety.”

Norwegian Prime Minister, Jens Stoltenberg.

Raised on the classics

2011-07-19T10:44:00.000+10:00

"Do you do kids' songs?"

Before we leave the house on any excursion, I say "Hey, ho" and The Boy responds with "Let's go!".

He does this every time.

I must be doing this parenting caper right.

Allons enfants de la Patrie, Le jour de gloire est arrivé !

2011-07-15T10:09:00.002+10:00

Storming the Bastille. A distant ancestor of the Insertnamehere family is in the front line, spurred on by the belief that there is free beer inside.

People often come up to me* and say “Ramon, you filthy rouser of rabble, what’s your favourite revolution?” to which my answer is always “why, the French Revolution, of course**”.

Think about it.

The French Revolution brought us;
• Angry mobs,
• Blood,
• Dead aristocrats***,
• A Reign of Terror (both kinds),
• Robespierre,
• More dead aristocrats, and
• A really, really kick-arse national anthem.

Interestingly enough, the French Revolution also gave us the terms “left and right wing” and the Red Flag as a symbol of revolt.

Happy Bastille Day, French Republic.

You rock!!

* This is not true.

** This is true.

*** My favourite kind of aristocrat.

The Things We Do For Love

2011-07-13T11:30:00.004+10:00

Big Mac, aka Funburger.

*

As mentioned previously, I have a girlfriend, Andromeda. Being single for almost five years before that I got used to doing things my way; not having to socially compromise on anything, always being able to choose what's on the telly and what music is playing when I do the housework, and eating what I want and when I want.

Whilst Andromeda is happy to eat whatever I prepare or suggest (when we go out), left alone to her own devices, she has pretty junky eating habits. Like all cliche girls, chocolate is its own food group in her diet, as are these hideous packeted food-drinks called 'Up n Go' (I had one sip and nearly spewed - it tasted like soggy weetbix that had been left on the table for a whole day, in the sun). She also likes Red Bull (I had one sip of that too - all my teeth decayed by 10%).

She also likes McDonalds. Which is a problem, because I've maintained a blackban on McDonalds since 1989 (though I did have a long macchiato from Maccas in 2007, at 2am, on drugs, drunk, and attempting (and failing) to pick up a chick who happened to want a Cheeseburger at that time).

I have been proud of my 22 year blackban, irrational as it is. I don't think McDonalds is any more evil than any other franchise of anything, but like Nike, Nescafe, Microsoft and USA, being the biggest at some enterprise means being the principal target of anti-capitalist ire, but I'm sure that Le Coq Sportif, Moccona, Norton and Norway would be just as evil given half the chance. I eat Hungry Jacks occasionally, but not Maccas - that's irrational, but sometimes, it's nice to just stick to something, no matter how inconvenient it is so as to feel some sense of discipline, or achievement. I set myself a boundary, and kept to it.

But recently, at a dinner party, I made mention of my 22 year ban on McDonalds, and Andomeda said to me, "...that's because you're anti-fun!"

I argued that the eating or non-eating of McDonalds had nothing to do with 'fun', and that indeed, I am a LOT of fun even with the absence of Maccas - hell, the other night, I read Jack London's 'Call Of The Wild' on my I-phone in three hours whilst stroking her hair when she was asleep! I'm a lot of fun! But she wouldn't be deterred. She, somewhat wrongly, but a lot rightly, pointed out that my lifestyle, with the exception of when I have a few drinks under my belt, revolves around arty musings, political debates and lazing on the couch watching sport.

So, two nights ago, we drove to Colac to do a big grocery shop (because there's so many poor people there, the groceries are real cheap - kalamata olives at $7.99 a kilo!) and planned to get fish n chips, but it was shut. "I want McDonalds" she said so I went to the drive through (which they spelt 'thru', which nearly made me crash), and she ordered a cheeseburger, some chicken nuggets and a watered down coke, and before I knew it, obviously with the 'anti-fun' jibe rattling in my head, I heard myself order a Big Mac and medium fries.

It was like riding a bike. One bite into the Big Mac and I thought, "I remember this". An hour later, when I felt nauseous, fat, sickly and lethargic, I thought, "I remember this as well".

I was right to instil a ban on that crap food for 22 years, but here's the rub: I enjoyed it. Sort of. I enjoyed not having to get out of the car, and to be fed, cheaply and quickly, with food that whilst disgusting on almost every measurement, was good for both my appetite and my relationship. Also, I proved I was capable of 'fun', and now that I've proven it to her, I can give Maccas another 22 year wide berth.

Carbon tax inertia!

2011-07-12T13:14:00.002+10:00

Coaltion claims "prices of rubber chickens to soar under the carbon tax"*

Well, I’ve been giving this whole “carbon tax” brouhaha a fair bit of a squiz and so far, I’m pretty impressed.

The starting price of $23 a ton** seems pretty realistic and the Government (and Greens and independents) seem to have constructed the compensation quite well.

To recap;

• The carbon “tax” is not a tax on the average punter as such, but is a price that will be levied on large polluters to encourage them to switch to lower polluting methods. The money raised by the carton price will be used to invest in more environmentally friendly technologies and to compensate lower to middle income earners.

• Just about every commentator I’ve read argues nine out of ten Australian households will not be affected by the new price on carbon. Through a combination of measures (through changes to the income tax threshold and welfare benefits) most households will be no worse off and if they switch to companies that use either lower-polluting or non-polluting technologies (which is rather the whole idea), then a lot of people will be much better off.

• The argument that “Australia should wait for the rest of the world” is an argument for never doing anything, at any time until the end of the universe. In any case, the rest of the world is looking at forms of carbon abatement schemes. The EU has a carbon abatement scheme; the UK is looking at a carbon abatement scheme. Hell, even China is looking at a carbon abatement scheme***.

As to what it all means politically – who the fuck knows?

My suspicion is that by the next Commonwealth election in 2013, most people will be wondering what the fuss was all about and who is that funny, shouting man that seems to be leading the Federal opposition?

* Possibly not true.

**Or is it “tonne”? I can never remember.

*** A process that seems to be assisted by the fact that discussion and debate in the PRC is perhaps less than rigorous.

So.

2011-07-01T11:05:00.001+10:00

I live and die
through England.
I live and die
through England.
It leaves
sadness.
It leaves a taste,
a bitter one.

Remedies
never were,
remedies,
not within my reach.
I cannot go on as I am.
I cannot leave.

A withered vine,
a bitter one
reaching from
the nations' dirt.
England,
I have searched for your springs,
but people stagnate with time
like water or air.

Undaunted, never-failing love for you,
England,
is all, to which I cling.

The greatest PSF EVAH!

2011-06-24T11:14:00.000+10:00

"What!?

Let us sail. Sail with
Fogarty’s chin to Alexandria,
While the Beamish Brothers
Hurry giggling to the tower,
Proud of their gums.

A thousands years passed since
Agamemnon said, “Don’t open
The gates, who the hell needs
A wooden horse that size?”
What is the connection? Only
That Shaunnesy, with dying
Breath, refused to order an
Appetizer with his meal although
He was entitled to it.

And brave Bixby, despite his
Resemblance to a woodpecker,
Could not retrieve his underwear
From Socrates without a ticket.

Parnell had the answer, but no
One would ask him the question.
No one but old Lafferty, whose
Lapis lazuli practical joke caused
A whole generation to take
Samba lessons.

True, Homer was blind and that
Accounted for why he dated those
Particular women.
But Aegnus and the druids bear
Mute testimony to man’s quest
For free alterations.
Blake dreamed of it too, and
O’Higgins who had his suit
Stolen while he was still in it.

Civilisation is shaped like a
Circle and repeats itself, while
O’Leary’s head is shaped like
A trapezoid.
Rejoice! Rejoice! And call your
Mother once in a while.

The Big Man has left the band.

2011-06-22T12:06:00.001+10:00

Shut yer neck, hipsters!

News from the United States that saxophonist Clarence Clemons, famously known as the “Big Man” from Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band, has died aged 69.

I was never the huge Springsteen fan my comrades from the ALP Club in the mid-1980s were, but I know enough about the Band and its music to have an appreciation of what this must mean for Springsteen fans – and indeed, for Mr Springsteen himself.

I remember with bemused fondness a car trip to Adelaide at the time with a comrade - now a senior member of the Gillard Cabinet* - who, for the entire trip, discussed in some detail the political meaning of every single Springsteen song and why they were all endorsements of democratic socialism.

I suppose this is what getting older is all about; the slow dropping away of all the meaningful events and people from your past, until all that you’re left with is confusion and the mild contempt of the young.

I think that’s something for us all to look forward to.

OK – that’s not a very upbeat ending.

On the weekend, when the family is away, I’ll play "Born to Run" until the blood is dripping from the speakers and the hipsters next door are threatening legal action.

So I will.

* Strange but true.

There at it still

2011-06-20T19:43:00.005+10:00

I told you there's no apostrophe in 'tacos', cunt

I'm quite aware that I, and perhaps others, have posted in the past about poor spelling, grammar and punctuation. But despite that, people of the world haven't, surprisingly, taken heed of my contempt. And I don't just refer to abbreviated text-speak, although that certainly doesn't help, but outrageous clunkers contained within long hand sentences, on shop signage and, most rampantly, in the comments columns of YouTube and newspapers, and Facebook 'walls'.

The following are some of the most common mistakes.

The Apostrophe

Of course, the classic bit of punctuation that is misused more than any other. People who place apostrophes in words that are simple plurals CAN GET FUCKED.

Just in the last few days I've seen avocado's, box's, apple's and spa's.

Cunts.

If you asked the writers of these abominations why they threw an apostrophe in, they wouldn't know. Well, of course they wouldn't know because there can't be a reason!

And of course then there's the missed apostrophe, such as Johns Diner, the misplaced apostrophe, such as childrens' clothes, and the downright confounding Im.

And despite it feeling a little like a possessive, there is no apostrophe in Its feet.

There/their/they're...your/you're

Check any thread of commentary on YouTube. 9 out of 10 times somebody writes any version of the above words, it's the wrong one. They just don't know. They probably don't care. Don't people realise they're means they are? If they do know that, why do they write "Hey, there wrong about that, and Im right!!!!!"

It's impossible to read that without initially misunderstanding it. Unless you're 90% of the population who thinks it's correct.

Multiple exclamation/question marks

One's enough!

See?

Should have v should of

It's SHOULD HAVE! Enough said.

David Mitchell is quite likely one of the finest blokes around and he's much more witty and eloquent than me, so I'll let him take it from here:

Poetry Slam Friday

2011-06-17T14:02:00.002+10:00

(I picked this one because it reminded me of Bob and Ramon)

Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold;
But the Alehouse is healthy, and pleasant, and warm.
Besides, I can tell where I am used well;
The poor parsons with wind like a blown bladder swell.

But, if at the Church they would give us some ale,
And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,
We'd sing and we'd pray all the livelong day,
Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.

Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing,
And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring;
And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church,
Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.

And God, like a father, rejoicing to see
His children as pleasant and happy as he,
Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel,
But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.

Top Ten Australian Albums

2011-06-16T09:46:00.009+10:00

Look over there everybody, it's the ALP party line

I was having a discussion via email with Perseus about all time best Australian albums. This was instigated as a result of my accidental stumbling over the Triple J top Australian album list as voted by the industry, while perusing the ABC website.

Here is that list.

Perseus retorted with his own list, which I will boldly publish below without his consent:

Tender Prey - Nick cave

10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1 - Midnight Oil

(I'm) Stranded - The Saints

X-Aspirations - X

Black Milk - Beasts of Bourbon

Living in the 70s - Skyhooks

Great Truckin' Songs of the Renaissance - TISM

Hit Me With the Surreal feel - Kim Salmon

Prayers on Fire - Birthday Party

No More Shall We Part - Nick Cave

Chagrined, I retorted with my own list:

10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1 - Midnight Oil

Place Without a Postcard - Midnight Oil

No More Shall We Part - Nick Cave

Murder Ballads - Nick Cave

Sound As Ever - You Am I

(I'm) Stranded - The Saints

Gossip - Paul Kelly & The Coloured Girls

Stoneage Romeos - Hoodoo Gurus

Night of the Wolverine - Dave Graney and the Coral Snakes

Human Frailty - Hunters & Collectors

The Honeymoon is Over - The Cruel Sea

Goodness, these were crazy times:

Interesting things wot I have learned, part 26.

2011-06-16T09:17:00.000+10:00

I'm getting funny looks on public transport because of you, Missy!

This week I’ve learned that if you sing along to the chorus of “Written on the Forehead” from Let England Shake – which from memory is “Let it burn, let it burn, let it burn, burn, burn” – you get funny looks from people on the train.

I’ve also learned that if you sing along to the track sampled on “Written on the Forehead” – in which a Jamaican fellow is singing cheerfully about “Blood, blood, blood. Blood and fire” – people start moving nervously towards the emergency exits.

Apart from that, the album is an absolute cracker.

A Poetry Slam Friday on Friday! Fancy!!

2011-06-10T12:11:00.000+10:00

So there, EMS!

I sought a theme and sought for it in vain,
I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
Maybe at last, being but a broken man,
I must be satisfied with my heart, although
Winter and summer till old age began
My circus animals were all on show,
Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot,
Lion and woman and the Lord knows what.

What can I but enumerate old themes,
First that sea-rider Oisin led by the nose
Through three enchanted islands, allegorical dreams,
Vain gaiety, vain battle, vain repose,
Themes of the embittered heart, or so it seems,
That might adorn old songs or courtly shows;
But what cared I that set him on to ride,
I, starved for the bosom of his faery bride.

And then a counter-truth filled out its play,
'The Countess Cathleen' was the name I gave it;
She, pity-crazed, had given her soul away,
But masterful Heaven had intervened to save it.
I thought my dear must her own soul destroy
So did fanaticism and hate enslave it,
And this brought forth a dream and soon enough
This dream itself had all my thought and love.

And when the Fool and Blind Man stole the bread
Cuchulain fought the ungovernable sea;
Heart-mysteries there, and yet when all is said
It was the dream itself enchanted me:
Character isolated by a deed
To engross the present and dominate memory.
Players and painted stage took all my love,
And not those things that they were emblems of.

Those masterful images because complete
Grew in pure mind, but out of what began?
A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,
Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,
Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut
Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,
I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.

Well yes, but it is winter.

2011-06-09T13:39:00.000+10:00

Brrrr, bit chilly!

Well, it’s been hailing and snowing in some suburbs, we haven’t see the sun for some time and the temperature is struggling to reach double figures* and quite frankly I’m sick of those idiots whose soul conversation consists of “oh, isn’t it cold, I’m so cold, aren’t you cold, gosh it’s cold”.

Well, it’s freckin’ winter. It comes around every freckin’ year.

Honestly, it’s as though we’re turning into a bunch of nimby-pimby, namby-pamby Sydneyites**.

Winter in Melbourne is the perfect time for hearty soups, hearty steaks and hearty stouts, open fires in pubs, wearing black all the time and sneering***.

Suck it up.

*Rather like the Australian cricket team.

** Also rather like the Australian cricket team.

***Oh, wait. We do that all the time.

These and other questions will be answered later

2011-06-02T17:27:00.000+10:00

"A price on carbon you say? Across Middle Earth? Shit, yeah!!

Learn how Lizzie met an Aussie
Told her girlfriend Mary-Anne
"Mary-Anne I've met a man who says he's an Austray-lee-an"
"Fallen for him have your Lizzie?"
Lizzie blushing shook her head
Said Mary-Anne "don't think you can fool me" and then she said:

Is he an Aussie, Lizzie, is he?
Is he an Aussie, Lizzie, eh?
Is it because he is an Aussie that he keeps you busy Lizzie?
Has he jazzy ways and does he make you go all fuzzy wuzzy?
Got you dizzy, has he Lizzie?
Is he an Aussie, Lizzie, eh?"

"Seems this digger likes my figure"
Lizzie then told Mary-Anne
"Likes my ways and claims to think I'm
what these Aussies call fair-dinkum"
"Throws a fond eye, talks of Bondi
And he's tried to kiss me twice
When I said 'No' he said 'Good-oh'"
Said Mary-Anne "How nice"

Is he an Aussie, Lizzie, is he?
Is he an Aussie, Lizzie, eh?
Is it because he is an Aussie that he keeps you busy Lizzie?
Has he jazzy ways and does he make you go all fuzzy wuzzy?
Got you dizzy, has he Lizzie?
Is he an Aussie, Lizzie, eh?"

Soon this wonder from Down Under
Got himself right down to biz
Lost no time in coaxing Liz
To promise that she would be his
He being well-born, lived in Melbourne
So they sailed at once for there
Poor Mary-Anne without a man
Repeats this maiden's prayer:

"Is he an Aussie, Lizzie, is he?
Is he an Aussie, Lizzie, eh?
Is it because he is an Aussie that he keeps you busy Lizzie?
Has he jazzy ways and does he make you go all fuzzy wuzzy?
Got you dizzy, has he Lizzie?
Is he an Aussie, Lizzie, eh?"
(he's a bonza bloke)

Well strap me vitals, another year!

2011-05-26T10:24:00.000+10:00

Awwwwwwwww

As this blog staggers towards its third birthday, it’s usual at these times to say something gushing and faintly maudlin like “This blog couldn’t exist without the enthusiasm of all the writers and contributors. It’s you who make it special.”

So I will.

Ahem.

This blog couldn’t exist without the enthusiasm of all the writers and contributors. It’s you who make it special.

And after a year of (often furious) discussion about politics, sex, religion, bad science and owls I think I can speak for us all when I say there was one thing we can all agree upon.

And that is that Laid was actually pretty shit.

Onwards and upwards, comrades.

Midweek Rant

2011-05-24T20:34:00.006+10:00

"Abbott doesn't believe in climate change but he's offering tax cuts!"

What the fuck's the matter with swinging voters? Get a fucking opinion. Have a philosophical angle. Do they take absolutely no notice of the three years of government and opposition policy and only tune in during an election campaign, when politicians start offering personal incentives and are even more full of shit than usual? They should be voting on greater philosophical and political questions rather than waiting for which side's going to give them a bigger hand out.

For fuck's sake. Pick a side.

Channel 10. What a bunch of arseholes. They roll out The 7pm Project under the guise of 'news', featuring comedians pretending they know shit about stuff, a few doctor types with 3 day growths and square jaws and Steve Fucking Price. Then they think "well, now we've got Steve Price, let's also dumb down George Negus and give him a Today Tonight style show and, while we're at it, hell, let's give that old fact-distorter Andrew Bolt his own show."

His. Own. Show.

What the fuck.

I bet PJ Harvey isn't a swinging voter and doesn't watch Channel 10 cos she's ace.

This just in; Bible-basher fails to understand Bible

2011-05-23T11:56:00.001+10:00

"End of the world, eh? Better get some pints in then."

But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only.

Matthew, Chapter 24, verse 36.

The brouhaha over the failure of The Rapture to arrive on time has got me a bit puzzled, given that the Bible says quite explicitly that nobody knows when the Second Coming is due*.

Given that most of the people concerned about this tend to be a bit – you know – religious, you’d assume that they’d be familiar with the actual Bible.

But it seems not.

Mind you, The Rapture is very dodgy theologically speaking, dating as it does from 17th century American Puritan** thinking and isn’t an important part of other Christian faiths.

Still, it’s all been a bit of a laugh, unless you’re one of the poor schlubs whose parents spent your entire college savings on the grounds that there wouldn’t be much point after 21st May.

In that case, it’s probably a bit of a pain in the bum.

*Except God, of course.

**And weren’t they a fun bunch.

Weekend Wrap

2011-05-23T11:28:00.004+10:00

Haven't done one of these for a while, and there's good reason for it. You see, I had to stop blogging, because, well, I had nothing to say about anything important, or if I did have something to say about something important, what I had to say wasn't important. In the absence of brevity of thought, I resorted to blogging about my girl problems which I tried to tell myself was cathartic, but really, it wasn't. It was tabloid blogging at its worst, attention-seeking trash, but when I hit the 200+ comments mark on some of my more outlandish weekend wraps I kept at it; letting you all into my ludicrous bachelor life and the stupid situations I got myself into.

I can't remember exactly which blog it was, but at one point, when bemoaning my latest dalliance with the 3-year-long on-again off-again Ponygirl, some bloggers here decided to barrage me with insults and humiliations. "Pathetic loser" was the general tone of the comments, which I took to heart, because I didn't feel like a pathetic loser at all. In fact, I felt good about myself, even though things weren't going as I planned or wanted. And so to avoid further insults, I stopped blogging about it.

But, it's been about six months so I thought I'd update you on my girl-situation.

PONYGIRL: Haven't spoken to her since October and she can get fucked and I loathe her. There was an incident... I was thoroughly depressed for about 3 months.

SONGSTRESS: Became a good friend, somewhere in amidst all that. We catch up monthly, and talk weekly. She's now dating another somewhat-rockstar who some of you will know (well, you might know the band if you're JJJ inclined, but he's not the singer).

PONYGIRL II: You don't know her, but she's a girl who happens to have the same name as Ponygirl. She picked me up at a gig. She's 20, and was my lover for two months (Dec-Jan) and because of the 21-year age gap there was no way on Earth I was going to blog about it, because you were all going to yell at me.

MISS MIRROR-ME: You don't know her either, but she's a 30 year old who listens to 774, likes footy, drinks coffee and red wine, smokes cigarettes, reads literature and poetry, wants babies one day and has no interest in back-packing, ie: a mirror of me. We went on four dates and it just fizzled. I was a little upset, but then, even though we had heaps in common, for some reason, our conversation was always awkward, so it didn't really matter. She was into astrology anyway, which I think is a sign of retardation, and according to her sister, I apparently wasn't 'blokey' enough for her. Still, she was a nice girl, and we occasionally chat.

**

Stranger things have happened but I can't name one. It was early March and I had to head to Melbourne for 5 days and needed a house-sitter. I asked around town and someone said, "Oh, Legs 11 is back from Canada and is staying in a hotel room for a couple of weeks before moving into a house. You should ask her!" Now, Legs 11 was a girl I knew from around town a couple of years ago. She lived in my town for a year. I always referred to her as 'that cute chick with the great legs", but I never spoke to her beyond "Hi there". After a year of ogling her, I decided to ask her on a date, but just as I was about to do that, I heard that she had quit her job and was moving to Canada, so I gave up on that.

A year later, and suddenly she's back! And so, I asked her if she could house-sit for a week and she was keen. She came around to check out the house so I could run her through how to feed the cats and play a DVD and all that. I offered her a wine. We drank two bottles. Then we got on to the port. At 1am we went skinny-dipping, and, well, aside from a bit of status confusion in the first few weeks, we've been an 'item' ever since. Yes indeed, strangely enough, and at the expense of entertaining blogging, I appear to have a girlfriend. It sunk in over the weekend when I realised we keep toiletries and pyjamas at each other's house.

Legs 11 is 29, likes kayaking and gossip mags, doesn't smoke, hates footy, watches Glee, wants to get married in a Catholic Church, wants to climb Everest, can't cook and listens to Lady Gaga and other pop acts. We have NOTHING in common.

But wait, that's wrong. We do have a lot in common. You see, the advice nobody ever gave me was this: Having social, religious, political or artistic things in common means nothing. What matters is having emotional, moral and temperamental things in common. On that, we appear to be perfectly aligned. Hell, even our sleeping patterns are aligned. We both had happy childhoods. It's these intangibles that make it so perfect, for now. So much so, that her blog-name has been promoted from Legs 11 to Andromeda 4.0 (Andromeda for short). Wish me luck.

In other news, GO TIGES!

The Memoirs of William John Wills

2011-05-17T21:36:00.010+10:00

"Burke Couldn't Organise a Piss-Up at a Brewery"

The following are extracts from the diary of William John Wills who tragically perished with his companion Robert O'Hara Burke while searching for an inland route from Melbourne to the Gulf of Carpentaria.

20 August 1860

And we're off. A long way to go still. Burke reckons it might take a year. Maybe even two. Wish he'd told me that before we left. I was hoping we'd be back by Friday. Probably going to miss the start of the cricket season. I've been working on my outswingers.

21 August 1860

Slow going. I suggested to Burke that we should jog. He said we'd be tired by lunch. Speaking of lunch, I'm looking forward to more of that salted beef. Delicious!

30 August 1860

Burke's been acting strangely. Last night he had an argument with his hat.

6 September 1860

We reached Swan Hill. I mentioned to Burke that it seems to be already well established. He said everywhere we'd been so far has already been settled. Annoying. I'd been making maps. I asked why we didn't start from here.

20 September 1860

Burke's really starting to annoy me. He's the worst bushman I've ever seen. Last night he accidentally set fire to a camel.

12 October 1860

We reached Menindee after nearly 2 months of travelling. Apparently the mail coach does it in a week. If I'd know that I could've posted myself some food. This salted beef seems rather high in sodium.

18 October 1860

Crossed a small creek today and Burke sunk. King pulled him out and Burke pretended he'd meant it. There was an eel in his pocket. We ate it for afternoon tea.

26 October 1860

I've been walking behind Burke for weeks and I conclude his pants are too high. No one wears them like that anymore. I wore them like that back in '53.

11 November 1860

We reach Coopers Creek. Still haven't set foot in territory unchartered by Europeans. Burke tripped over a horse and landed on a bullants' nest. He was badly stung and ran around shouting obscenities at King. King was brushing his teeth at the time and humming old show tunes. He didn't notice.

20 November 1860

Still at Coopers Creek. Burke is starting to move his neck like a camel.

5 December 1860

Burke has taken to drinking his own urine. King pointed out that we still have plenty of water.

16 December 1860

Burke decided just four of us would set off for the Gulf of Carpentaria. Him, me, King and another bloke who I only noticed for the first time this morning. And only because he shat on my boots. Pretty annoyed with that. I pushed him onto the fire and Burke immediately began roasting marshmallows. Don't now where he got them. What else is he harbouring?

3 January 1861

I swear I saw something moving in Burke's beard. I mentioned it and said he was was just readjusting his lips. A likely story. Whatever it was it had a tail.

11 January 1861

Burke's been complaining of sore feet. He's been wearing his shoes on the wrong feet since we left Essendon. King and I have been giggling about it for months.

18 January 1861

Burke's been randomly placing bits of cheese in his beard. Definitely something living in there. Fucking duplicitous Irish cunt. And where the fuck did he get the cheese?

29 January 1861

Burke claimed we were lost. I asked how we could be lost when all we were doing was heading north. King pointed out that we were always lost because nobody had been here before. Burke got confused and asked a swallow for directions.

9 February 1861

Reached the Gulf of Carpentaria. Yay! There was a swamp blocking the way to the ocean but, you know what, close enough. We'll just tell them we made it. King put a scorpion in Burke's trousers this morning. Hasn't been a reaction yet. Not sure why.

10 February 1861

Turns out the scorpion had died. I think Burke squashed it when he sat on a rock to eat his salted beef. Must find another one.

14 February 1861

Valentine's Day. King slipped a love letter into Burke's back pocket. Burke was furious and didn't let King use the shovel for the rest of the day.

15 February 1861

Fuck it's hot.

18 February 1861

Burke finally realised his shoes were on the wrong feet. Seriously, what a fucking nonce.

25 February 1861

I snuck a peek at Burke's diary. Every entry referred to his underpants and how well they fit. He has no fucking idea how to punctuate.

2 March 1861

Getting hungry. All I've eaten for the last 3 months is salted beef, snake and grubs the local aborigines gave us. Burke has supplemented his diet with dirt.

7 March 1861

I saw something move in Burke's beard again. Tomorrow I'm going to make a grab for it. Burke bumped into a small hill today while looking for firewood.

8 March 1861

King tackled Burke to the ground and held him down while I rummaged through his beard. Nothing. Burke didn't seem to notice.

25 March 1861

Burke gave the fourth bloke a terrible beating for stealing his porridge. He spent a lot of time lining up each slap and yelled 'rissole' with each blow. Where the fuck did that cunt find porridge?

30 March 1861

Burke squatted for a poo but forgot to pull his pants down. How King laughed. Burke was distressed and tied King to an emu.

10 April 1862

Burke shot the last horse. He'd been aiming at a cockatoo in a nearby tree. We ate it anyway. King did the butchering and distributed the meat. Burke had trouble cutting his piece before realising it was the saddle.

17 April 1861

The fourth bloke died today. I thought about eating him but didn't mention it. King suggested we dig a grave with Burke's dessert spoon. Burke ate a sock.

21 April 1861

Finally returned to Coopers Creek. The camp was abandoned. They'd left us some food buried under a tree. Fucking salted beef. Was that a joke? Turns out they'd left that morning. Burke finally ate his other sock.

4 May 1861

Nothing for it. Burke has gone mad. Tried to climb inside a camel to sleep. The camel was visibly shaken and refused to eat.

the sad demise of cross-hatching and moustaches and even cross-hatched moustaches

2011-05-12T14:41:00.000+10:00

"I do not like your hat"

I had a story in an anthology that was launched last night. Of the 19 people I invited to the launch, only *two made it. After all, why would anyone want to go to an event around the corner with free booze and live music and comedy? I did tell some people, don’t feel obliged etc but I didn’t fucking mean it. Obviously

This is why books make the **best friends. They are easy to understand and we get along nicely and they take me to places like a dram shop in 19th century Paris or collecting candlenuts and breadfruit on some Polynesian island

I’m currently reading The Three Musketeers (new movie out soon). Somehow, it’s a children’s classic which means there are publishers who believe today’s child will read and understand a book in old fashioned English about political turmoil and romantic intrigues in 17th century France, 710 pages long. Optimistic!

I love it. Let me show you why

“Come, then, let us go,” said he. “Ladies, do not disturb yourselves; only give me time to kill this gentleman, and I will return and finish the second verse.”

* maybe I need lucky door prizes at my funeral?
**and frogs

"I want the finest wines available to humanity, I want them here, and I want them now!"

2011-05-10T09:41:00.000+10:00

"Maybe we should order something over dessert?"

One of the more annoying items in the Saturday Age of late is an unbearably cutsie piece called “The Good Life, lunch with…”, whereby a journalist I vaguely recall interviews some luvvie with nothing much to say at a restaurant I can’t afford.

Inevitably in the article, there’s some twee line about how the journo and guest decide “to be incredibly naughty and order a second glass of wine”.

A second glass of wine?!

Sweet Jesus!

If I was lunching on the Fairfax expense account, I’d be half way through the second bottle of red* before entrée was over.

In the unlikely event I ever feature in “The Good Life, lunch with…”, the piece would run something like this.

“I met the enigmatic blogger Ramon Insertnamehere in the beer garden of his local, where he was wreathed in smiles and cigarette smoke.

“I ordered the salad and Ramon ordered a roast chicken larger than his head.”

You get the general idea.

*But only the second most expensive bottle. I’m not a complete monster.

Religion in State Schools

2011-05-05T19:44:00.008+10:00

I Would Like to Offer a One-Sided View of Religion to your Vulnerable Children Please

Some bureaucratic cock wearing snazzy trousers with a sharp crease down the leg in the Victorian Education Department recently decided, with legal advice*, in the case of religious instruction in Victorian primary schools, that the word 'may', where it appears in the relevant legislation, actually means, wait for it, 'must'. Wow.

No it doesn't. Never has.

In short, the department has decided that if a religious group (as long as it's the Christian religious education provider Access Ministries) approaches a state primary school with the offer of religious instruction, it 'must' be take up by the school.

This is regardless of whether the principal, the teachers, the parents or, indeed, the students, want it or not. Irrespective of whether there are kids of other cultures, religions and backgrounds at the school which, you would have to think, would be the case 100% of the time. Christianity may well be the dominant religion in this country, but it hardly represents a cross section of society. At least those members of society that I hang with.

There's no compulsion to teach kids about any other religions, let alone teach them anything about the lack of scientific basis for the existence of supernatural beings. At least not until these kids have a dedicated science class. Even then, I doubt the average science teacher would be as passionate about atheism, assuming he/she is an atheist, as a fundamentalist Christian nerd is about Christianity.

Religious Instruction under these circumstances is to be taken in the main classroom for half an hour per week, as a normal part of the curriculum. Children do have the right to 'opt out'. But where does this leave the very few children** who do opt out? Another class is generally not provided for them. Often, I understand, they're made to sharpen pencils, run errands or sit reading books by themselves. They're made to feel like outsiders while the majority of the class remains under the formal learning umbrella.

Imagine how difficult that decision is for the parent who wants to opt their child out. The child wouldn't want to opt out. Especially at the age of 5 or 6 where all they care about is sitting next to their best friends.

This is a totally unacceptable situation. That children are given a biased view of religion. That they're being indoctrinated into Christianity regardless of background. That the parents who feel strongly enough to avoid their children undergoing indoctrination by Christians (whether it's because they're Athieists, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Hindus or for any other rational reason) are made to feel like second class citizens.

So much for our secular society and the division of church and state.

My son attends a primary school where religious instruction has apparently never been offered and, according to the principal, who is very much against the idea, is extremely unlikely ever to be. This is most likely due to the demographic of the student population***.

So for now my son is safe from such gross misrepresentation of reality and generally unfair beans. And if it does ever happen I plan to sit in on the session and ask hard questions****.

* Possibly Dennis Denuto
** History suggests that most children don't opt out
***Migrants, weirdos and smarmy artists
**** Such as "Please explain Epicurus' Paradox"

This just in - Waterworld still shit.

2011-05-05T14:38:00.000+10:00

You're a baldy git, Costner.

You know those films, those big budget flops that mature over time and become half-way decent.

I’m here to report that I watched Waterworld on one of the digital channels the other night and it was still shit.

The cat wandered in half-way and you could tell by the body language that even she thought it was shit.

So I stayed up until Dennis Hopper appeared, then went to bed.

Verdict – it was shit.

Apart from Dennis Hopper

Loathsome clerico-fascist dead.

2011-05-03T12:11:00.000+10:00

Even as we speak, hoards of loyal readers of The Age/Sydney Morning Herald are putting pen to paper about the death of Osama bin Laden to write to the papers claiming, variously, that the death was “murder”, that he “should have faced trial” and that “violence never solves anything”.

Sharper minds than mine have dealt with these issues already but just for the hell of it, here’s my two-cents worth.

It was murder/he should have faced trial.

Personally, I would have loved to see the bastard hauled off in chains to court but that was never going to be a realistic option. The US troops involved in this were apparently given instructions to take him alive if possible but I think things had reached a state where it was unlikely bin Laden was going to stick up his hands and use the Arabic equivalent of “fair enough Guv’nor, you got me bang to rights, I’m coming quietly”.

There was an exchange of gunfire, during which bin Laden was shot dead. I fail to see how this was murder.

Violence never solves anything.

Well, sometimes it does – it certainly did for the fascists pretty good in 1945.

As Obama said in his speech announcing bin Laden’s death, “the American people did not choose this fight” and at the risk of repeating myself, bin Laden chose to attack the US and other western countries not for their vices but for their virtues.

The fact that bin Laden despised the west for its (relative) free, open, secular nature shouldn’t be forgotten.

He wasn’t that fond of Jews or women either.

Dylan

2011-04-29T10:26:00.004+10:00

An Enigmatic Musical Genius, or a Grumpy Cunt? You Decide.

Just before Easter I went to see Bob Dylan at the Rod Laver Arena. I haven't been to an arena concert since Dire Straits in 1984. And quite an event it was. People were streaming through the heavy rain from all directions, bags were checked at the door and ushers with torches showed you the way to your seat. It was a far cry from the sticky carpet music venues I more often frequent, where barmen shove beers at you across a sodden beer mat and busboys push through dense crowds to collect discarded beer glasses, while some spotty kids skip around on stage belting out pretty much every song from their latest (and so far, only) album.

Dylan has been, in modern times (pardon the pun), much maligned when he plays live. There's always reviews pronouncing him too old, or too grumpy or that he can't sing. Sure, this is all true, but so what? Yes, he's the same age as my dad, but I don't see my dad rocking out on stage. And yes, he's kind of grumpy. But I think more than that, he's just Bob Dylan. He's not so much grumpy as an enigmatic musical genius who's always done things his own way. Sure you don't get exact replicas of his studio recordings. But if you want exact replicas of his studio recordings, you may as well sit in your loungeroom and listen to the studio recordings. No, he doesn't interact with the audience. But nobody ever said he's a great orator, a comic wit, or even particularly smart. I didn't go to hear him talk. He's a poetic rock and roller, and he was there to play his music.

Admittedly it was a trifle comical when he tried to hit few high notes. His voice has degraded to an enormous extent. I mean, he could never really sing in the first place, but that's not what he's all about. As Stephen Thomas Erlewine has said, Dylan's influence on popular music is incalculable. Seeing such a legend of modern music play Like a Rolling Stone, Ballad of a Thin Man, Highway 61, Desolation Row and Don't Think Twice it's Alright, was worth every cent of the $140 I paid for the worst seat in the house.

The cunt turns 70 on May 24. Give him a break.

A very uplifting PSF

2011-04-15T14:51:00.000+10:00

"We're being nice to Germans now?!"

Don't let's be beastly to the Germans
When our victory is ultimately won,
It was just those nasty Nazis who persuaded them to fight
And their Beethoven and Bach are really far worse than their bite
Let's be meek to them
And turn the other cheek to them
And try to bring out their latent sense of fun.
Let's give them full air parity
And treat the rats with charity,
But don't let's be beastly to the Hun.

Books wot I have been reading

2011-04-12T10:43:00.000+10:00

Archduke Franz-Joseph just fails to make his ground during the crucial Fourth Test in Melbourne.

Recently I’ve been reading two books that have given me tremendous satisfaction, so I thought I might share.

The Radetzky March by Austrian writer Joseph Roth is an account of the decline and decay of the Austro–Hungarian Empire as seen through the lives of the Trotta family while Out of the Running by cricket writer Gideon Haigh is an account of the decline and decay of the Australian test cricket team as seen through the life of Ricky Ponting.

Although at first blush, the two books seem widely dissimilar they have in common a number of themes.

One book is a masterly account of the slow decline of a once great power through a combination of inertia, excessive bureaucracy and greed, presided over by a paternal authority figure who is gradually losing his touch.

The other is a book about the Austro–Hungarian Empire*.

Taken together, they make an ideal gift for the loved one in your life who has an excessive interest in test cricket and Eastern Europe**.

* Boom, and dare I say, tish.

** True, this would probably rule out everybody in the English reading world apart from me and possibly Perseus, but that’s your problem.

A Restaurant Review

2011-04-11T06:40:00.000+10:00

This better not be mid-strength!

I've never done a restaurant review before. Partly because I don't really know enough about food to make an informed comment (although I do know what I like) but mainly because people who review restaurant are usually arseholes.

I eat out regularly, perhaps once a week, almost always within walking distance of my house (there are a plethora of places in my immediate vicinity - Windsor, Prahran, St Kilda) and almost always with the Missus and the Kid.

On Friday night perhaps we made the mistake of venturing too far from our immediate locale to a mid-priced Italian bistro. In short, we crossed Commercial Rd into the fashion (shithouse) end of Chapel St. The South Yarra end. The yuppy end. The tourist end. (My Windsor bias is showing).

I should've been warned off by the phone call I made to enquire about opening hours.

Me: Hi. What time are you open tonight?

Guy on Phone: Mate, we're open until 10.

Me: Yeah, but what time do you open?

Guy: Whaddya mean?

Me: I'm not sure how to phrase it any other way.

Silence.

Me: Will you be open at 6?

Guy: Of course!

As if I was supposed to know.

Me: Should I book?

Guy: Nah.

Bad signs. But we went anyway.

We were the first to arrive - fair enough, it was only about 6.15. For some strange reason, they were playing techno house beats, loud. Sure it was Friday night in Chapel Street, but it was just past 6 and we were a family of three, clearly not about to head out to a club, drop Es and throw back shots of Sambuca. I would have preferred old style Italian music, even a live piano accordion player. Perhaps a hurdy gurdy and a monkey

I immediately ordered a Peroni, then took the kid to the toilet up greasy old rickety stairs which threatened to give way. Upon returning to the table something unacceptable had occurred. The waitress had brought me some sort of light or mid-strength beer which was also low-carb. It was labelled Peroni, sure, but was not real beer. It was some sort of Italian Pure Blonde (the very worst beer ever made). An abomination. I didn't complain. I never complain before the end of the meal for fear of the spit. The Missus, incidentally, had received the same thing.

Then I ordered penne and spicy meatballs. Instead of penne I received spaghetti. No big deal and the meal was pretty good and certainly spicy. The Missus ordered a medium rare porterhouse steak and received a well done porterhouse steak. Not a trace of pink to be seen. So much for chefs being precious about steak.

The Kid, fortunately, received his cappricciosa pizza and apple juice without incident.

So, in summary, of the 6 things ordered, 4 were wrong. The blame would lie partly with the waitress, partly with the chef and partly with the manager (for even stocking mid-strength, low carb beer in the first place).

Luckily the food tasted good and the staff very friendly. The place is called The Old Pepper. And I give it 5/10.

A grumpy PSF

2011-04-08T09:10:00.001+10:00

"I wish you discomfort"

Think not, because I wonder where you fled,
That I would lift a pin to see you there;
You may, for me, be prowling anywhere,
So long as you show not your little head:
No dark and evil story of the dead
Would leave you less pernicious or less fair—
Not even Lilith, with her famous hair;
And Lilith was the devil, I have read.

I cannot hate you, for I loved you then.
The woods were golden then. There was a road
Through beeches; and I said their smooth feet showed
Like yours. Truth must have heard me from afar,
For I shall never have to learn again
That yours are cloven as no beech’s are.

Cop that, young Harry!

2011-04-04T13:03:00.000+10:00

I wish I could grow hair like that.

Can’t remember if I’ve posted this before, but it bears repeating and I’m bored – so here goes.

Two members of the Commonwealth Parliament in the early years of last century, Isaac Isaacs and George Reid hated each other with a passion, being from opposite sides of the political spectrum

One day, Reid noted Isaacs glaring at him from the opposite side of the Chamber.

Reid boomed out “It looks as though the honorable member for Indi [meaning Isaacs] would like to eat me.”

Isaacs shot back “The honorable member for East Sydney [Reid] has forgotten my religion.”

Certainly beats “moving forward”.

A useful cart PSF

2011-04-01T14:44:00.006+11:00

what a fine ship it was, back then

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

Dinosaur Snr

2011-03-28T15:04:00.006+11:00

J Mascis wins a shoe for getting a new high score on Street Fighter while simultaneously eating cheezels and reading the latest Batman comic

For those of you who loved Dinosaur Jr in the 90s (and for those of you who attended one of their gigs and has consequently been reduced to 15% hearing capacity), well frontman J Mascis has released an acoustic album. He sounds like J Mascis and the music sounds like, well Dinosaur Jr gone acoustic. It works. Least I think it does. Die-hard fans will no doubt cry foul.

J Mascis - "Not Enough" from stereogum on Vimeo.

A super long PSF today. You lucky people!

2011-03-25T13:07:00.000+11:00

"Bless you Ramon, for all your wonderful PSFs"*

I was walking far from home
Where the names were not burned along the wall
Saw a building high as heaven
But the door was so small, door was so small

I saw rainclouds, little babies
And a bridge that had tumbled to the ground
I saw sinners making music
I've dreamt of that sound, dreamt of that sound

I was walking far from home
But I carried your letters all the while
I saw lovers in a window
Whisper, "Want me like time, want me like time"

I saw sickness, blooming fruit trees
I saw blood and a bit of it was mine
I saw children in a river
But their lips were still dry, lips were still dry

I was walking far from home
And I found your face mingled in the crowd
Saw a boatful of believers sail off
Talking too loud, talking too loud

I saw sunlight on the water
Saw a bird fall like a hammer from the sky
Saw an old woman on the speed train
She was closing her eyes, closing her eyes

I saw flowers on the hillside
And a millionaire pissing on the lawn
Saw a prisoner take a pistol
And say, "Join me in song, join me in song"

Saw a car crash in the country
Where the prayers run like weeds along the road
I saw strangers stealing kisses
Giving only their clothes, only their clothes

Saw a white dog chase its tail
And a pair of hearts carved into a stone
I saw kindness and an angel
Crying, "Take me back home, take me back home"

Saw a highway, saw an ocean
I saw widows in the temple to the law
Naked dancers in the city
How they spoke for us all, spoke for us all

Saw loaded linen tables
And a motherless colt, then it was gone
I saw hungry brothers waiting
With a radio on, radio on

I was walking far from home
Where the names were not burned along the wall
Saw a wet road form a circle
And it came like a call, came like a call
From the Lord

*Well, somebody had to say it!

The Dfat List

2011-03-22T10:48:00.005+11:00

Somalian locals out duck shooting

The Australian Department for Foreign Affairs and Trade advises against travel to the following countries:

Afghanistan

due to the unpredictable security situation and threat of terrorist attack

Bahrain

due to the unpredictable security situation and threat of terrorist attack

Burundi

due to high levels of serious crime, possible civil unrest and risk of terrorist attack...risk of armed violence, banditry, kidnapping and cross-border attacks by rebels

Central African Republic

due to the activities of rebel groups, poachers, rogue security and military forces, and high levels of serious crime and lawlessness

Chad

due to the volatile security situation, ongoing civil unrest and the threat of terrorism

Ivory Coast

due to the extremely volatile security environment and the escalating violence as a result of the disputed Presidential election

Guinea

due to the volatile security situation

Iraq

due to the extremely dangerous security situation and very high threat of terrorist attack

Libya

due to ongoing military operations and very dangerous security situation

Niger

due to the very high threat of kidnapping, the unpredictable political and security situation, the risk of armed banditry and clashes between Niger’s security forces and armed groups

Somalia

due to the intensification of armed conflict, the ongoing very high threat of terrorist attack against Western interests and dangerous levels of violent crime, including kidnapping

Sudan

due to the extremely dangerous security situation, the risk of armed conflict, high level of violent crime and the high threat of terrorist attack

Yemen

due to the ongoing deterioration in the security situation and continuing violent clashes

It's a dangerous world we live in. My advice to all people living in all countries everywhere is to just do what the government says. Don't argue, don't contradict, do smile when you see a government official, especially if he carries a gun, don't be a different colour, religion or football team to the president, don't be gay and, as a general rule, don't ask for too much (meagre portions of rice are full of nutrients and dirty water still contains water).

I would like to add to the list:

India

due to the very high risk of getting the runs

Thailand

due to the impossibility of finding good bread

Germany

due to the high number of people refusing to speak English

China

due to the high likely development of lung cancer

New Zealand

due to the highly unlikely outcome of finding quality beer

The Films of PT Anderson

2011-03-20T08:46:00.007+11:00

PT Anderson? Where have I heard that name?

Paul Thomas Anderson is known for his 'quirky' films featuring ensemble casts and lots of camera movement. His style is reminiscent of Robert Altman (especially the ensemble cast and interweaving storylines of Magnolia), the Coen Brothers (the use of 'regular' actors, idiosyncratic characters and sometimes bizarre narratives) and even the great Stanley Kubrick.

I highly recommend seeing them all, several times, if you haven't already.

Hard Eight or Sydney (1996)

Underrated and little seen it stars, among others, Samuel L Jackson, Gwyneth Paltrow, Philip Baker Hall, Philip Seymour Hoffman and John C Reilly. An interesting plot featuring gambling, betrayal, murder and other good stuff.

Boogie Nights (1997)

Boogie Nights launched him into the mainstream consciousness to some extent. Starring Burt Reynolds and big-dicked Mark Walhberg (in a Quentin Tarantino-like casting move) it's a behind the scenes look at the porn industry of the 1970s. It also stars Luis Guzman, William H Macy, Phillip Seymour Hoffman and John C Reilly.

Magnolia (1999)

Starring Tom Cruise, Julianne Moore and, um, oh William H Macy, Philip Baker Hall, Philip Seymour Hoffman and John C Reilly, this is the classic Altman-esque interweaving storylines film. Great stuff. Cruise is fantastic playing a misogynistic motivational speaker.

Punch Drunk Love (2002)

Another superb casting choice where Adam Sandler proves he can act in something other than a LCD (Lowest Common Denominator) comedy. This is a terrific film with some fine set pieces, again underrated and often, disappointingly, maligned. Probably because Adam Sandler fans tuned in for some crazy fart-joke hijinks.

Philip Seymour Hoffman's in this one, incidentally. So is Luis Guzman. So is Emily Watson.

There Will Be Blood (2007)

You won't find Philip Seymour Hoffman, John C Reilly, Luis Guzman or Philip Baker Hall in this one. But you will find, in every single fucking riveting scene, a fucking mesmerising Daniel Day fucking Lewis.

This is brilliant and was released in a year that also saw the release of No Country for Old Men, making that year, 2007, fucking great. Fuck.

The conclusion? Luis Guzman needs a middle name.

A PSF to cheer you up in these dark times

2011-03-18T09:42:00.000+11:00

Awww

She's my only true love
she's all that I think of
look here in my wallet
that's her
She grew up on a farm there
there's a place on my arm
where I've written her name
next to mine
you see I just can't
live without her
and I'm her only boy
and she grew up outside McHenry
in Johnsburg, Illinois

Erin go Bragh!

2011-03-16T11:48:00.001+11:00

Possibly not an historically accurate representation.

Well comrades, it seems to be an unending cavalcade of horribleness this week; Japan, Libya, the cat next door.

I’ve been trying to make sense of it all but every time I’ve sat down to write something I just get too depressed and end up staring moodily out of the window, which doesn’t do anybody any good.

In the meantime, The Boy is very excited about the Saint Patrick Day celebrations at his primary school*.

Not many people know that Saint Patrick was probably originally from Wales but in what was a piece of very successful sixth century spin, the tourism authorities back then realised the Welsh do not have a reputation of roistering, good-natured drunks and thus the decision was made to focus on the Irish portion of his CV.

Hope you all have fun tomorrow.

*And no, the school won’t be serving green coloured beer.

It will, of course, be serving ordinary beer**.

** Possibly not true.

National Days - 195 is Barely Enough

2011-03-16T11:43:00.004+11:00

It's What Tomorrow?

St Patrick's Day is, I suppose, again coming up on 17 March. It's an excuse for everyone to get out and drink heavily at their local Irish-themed pub. These pubs are usually pretty shit. But they do serve fine beer, who could deny it?

Now I do love the Irish, their accents and their little drink Guinness (the greatest ingestible product known to man), but I'm wondering why we don't celebrate other national and/or saints' days. The most logical one, given this country's English ethnic majority, would be St George's Day on 23 April. Maybe everyone could drink gallons of warm brown ale. Or perhaps Scotland's St Andrew's day on 30 November could be an excuse for imbibing whiskey by the pint. What about St David's Day on 1 March for the Welsh? I propose drinking Gwin a Bragawd.

Then there's the Ukrainians, the Bolivians and the Kenyans. The Guatemalans, the Danes and the Mongolians. The Turks.

Depending on who you ask, there are somewhere between 192 and 195 countries in the world. I propose celebrating each of them with equal enthusiasm, which means we have a reason to drink heavily on up to 53% of all days across a single year. And if two of them coincide, one should be reallocated to a day that isn't currently celebrated. I like the idea of an even spread. This could be decided by a game of 'paper, rock, scissors' by the competing countries' presidents. Best out of 5.

A nice cuppa PSF

2011-03-11T10:52:00.000+11:00

Huzzah!

In my own hands I hold a bowl of tea; I see all
of nature represented in its green color.
Closing my eyes I find green
mountains and pure water within my own heart.
Silently sitting alone
and drinking tea, I feel these become part of me.

The carbon tax for you at home.

2011-03-07T15:11:00.000+11:00

"Tony Abbott is proposing what now!?"

I’ve been waiting patiently for the mainstream media, with their depth of experience and resources, to provide a detailed piece examining the proposed “carbon tax” but they’re obviously too busy tweeting or re-tweeting somebody else’s tweets* to oblige, so in the great “DIY” tradition of the Internet**, I thought I’d give it a crack myself.

At the moment companies can release large amounts of carbon into the atmosphere with no more consequence than pursed lips and some “tut-tutting”***. The purpose of a carbon tax (or levy, however you want to put it) is that polluting companies will be charged a fee (yet to be set) for every ton of carbon they release.

This means that not only will there be an economic incentive for companies to switch from high-polluting to low-polluting technologies; it will also provide an incentive for consumers to move from goods and services involving large carbon emissions (costly) to goods and services involving lower carbon emissions (less costly).

It also means, as PM Jules has repeatedly said, that the costs of some things will rise, which is why some of the money raised by the carbon tax will be used to compensate lower-income earners as well as being invested in newer, greener technologies.

As to whether the PM “lied” or not, well really, who gives a fat fuck.

She said before the election that there needed to be a price on carbon. Whether you call it a “tax” or a “levy”, it’s completely irrelevant as to whether it’s good policy or not.

Based on everything I’ve read, it’s a good start.

* I don’t know what that means.

** I don’t know what that means, either.

*** I may exaggerate slightly.

An even shorter PSF!

2011-03-04T10:33:00.000+11:00

Ohhh, classy!

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.

10 Things Most People Like But Are Actually Shit

2011-03-01T16:35:00.009+11:00

You think I give a fuck?

1. Soccer. (Yes, there really aren't enough goals scored.)

2. Google Maps. (Oh boy are those directions and timings SHIT or what?)

3. Grinderman. ("You can't criticise Nick Cave!" "Yes I fucking well can. Grinderman are shit.")

4. Meryl Streep. (You're shit!)

5. PCs/Windows/Microsoft. (Would you be happy if your car broke down EVERY day? Microsoft are SHIT!)

6. Facebook. (The MOST user-unfriendly major website around. And I DON'T CARE what you're doing/where you're going/what you're thinking - cos it's usually so fucking vacuous it hurts to read it!)

7. Twitter. (Even shitter than Facebook!)

8. Vietnam. (It's the worst place I've ever been!)

9. BMWs. (there is no real difference between a BMW X5 and a Ford Territory - other than the $80,000 discrepancy.)

10. Natural Therapies. (They might be natural but they don't fucken work!)

11. Stephen Kernahan.

A super quick PSF today, comrades.

2011-02-25T09:57:00.000+11:00

"Why no Emily Dickinson?"

Nobody knows what waits ahead
Beyond the earth and sky
Lie-d Lie-d Lie
I'm not afraid to die

And there the work of my own hand
Be broken by and by
Lie-d Lie-d Lie
I'm not afraid to die

Sometimes it finds me fast asleep
And wakes me where I lie
Lie-d Lie-d Lie
I'm not afraid to die

Forget my sins upon the wind
My hobo soul will rise
Lie-d Lie-d Lie
I'm not afraid to die

Lie-d Lie-d Lie
I'm not afraid to die

Let England shake.

2011-02-18T08:58:00.000+11:00

OH! pleasant exercise of hope and joy!
For mighty were the auxiliars which then stood
Upon our side, we who were strong in love!
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
But to be young was very heaven!--Oh! times,
In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways
Of custom, law, and statute, took at once
The attraction of a country in romance!
When Reason seemed the most to assert her rights,
When most intent on making of herself
A prime Enchantress--to assist the work,
Which then was going forward in her name!
Not favoured spots alone, but the whole earth,
The beauty wore of promise, that which sets
(As at some moment might not be unfelt
Among the bowers of paradise itself)
The budding rose above the rose full blown.
What temper at the prospect did not wake
To happiness unthought of? The inert
Were roused, and lively natures rapt away!
They who had fed their childhood upon dreams,
The playfellows of fancy, who had made
All powers of swiftness, subtilty, and strength
Their ministers,--who in lordly wise had stirred
Among the grandest objects of the sense,
And dealt with whatsoever they found there
As if they had within some lurking right
To wield it;--they, too, who, of gentle mood,
Had watched all gentle motions, and to these
Had fitted their own thoughts, schemers more mild,
And in the region of their peaceful selves;--
Now was it that both found, the meek and lofty
Did both find, helpers to their heart's desire,
And stuff at hand, plastic as they could wish;
Were called upon to exercise their skill,
Not in Utopia, subterranean fields,
Or some secreted island, Heaven knows where!
But in the very world, which is the world
Of all of us,--the place where in the end
We find our happiness, or not at all!

Up or Out?

2011-02-14T09:18:00.005+11:00

I love it here Tyler, but I wish they'd close down that old pub and replace it with an overpriced bar.

There's been a lot of talk - here and elsewhere - about the fundamental awfulness of new apartment buildings which are springing up all over town. Whether they are new buildings or conversions of warehouses, factories or other old places, they seem to raise the ire of local residents. Young hip couples, single professionals and party animal arseholes seem attracted to these places. And, living in the heart of Windsor, let me tell you I am affected as much as anyone by the associated increase in traffic, noise, pricks and over-priced cafes, restaurants and bars.

But I am also a supporter of putting an end to urban sprawl. I think high density living is preferable to spreading Melbourne's boundaries even further than they already are.

So where does that leave me?

Well, it leaves me ignoring the problem and watching movies, reading books and listening to music instead of worrying about it.

Caution - angry chicks ahead.

2011-02-11T08:53:00.001+11:00

"What are you lookin' at?"

Ahh you people can watch while i'm scrubbing these floors
And i'm scrubbing these floors while you're gawking
Maybe once you tip me and it makes you feel swell
In this crummy southern town
In this pit of hotel
But you'll never guess to who you're talking
No
You'll never guess to who you're talking

Then one night there's a scream in the night
And you wonder: 'who could that have been ?'
And you see me kind of grinning while i'm scrubbing
And you say 'what she got to grin ?'
I'll tell ya
There's a ship
The black freighter
With a skull on it's mast-head
Will be coming in

You gentlemen say: 'hey gal, finish them floors
What's wrong with you ? earn your keep here'
You toss me your tips and look to the ships
But i'm counting your heads as i'm making the beds
'cause there's nobody gonna sleep here tonight
No
Nobody
No-one
No-one

Then one night there's a scream in the night
And you say: 'who's that kicking up a row?'
And you see me kinda staring out the window
And you say: 'what's she got to stare at now ?'
I'll tell ya
There's a ship
The black freighter
Turns around in the harbour
Shooting guns from her bow

Well you gentlemen can wipe those smiles off your face
'cause every building in town is a flat one
This whole frigging place will be down to the ground
Only this cheap hotel standing up, safe and sound
And you yell: 'why do they spare that one ?
'why?
'why the hell do they spare that one ?'

All the night through with the noise and to do
And you wonder: 'who is that person that lives up there ?'
And you see me stepping out in the morning
Looking fine with a ribbon in my hair
Well just look at me now
And a ship
The black freighter
Runs a flag up it's mast-head
And a cheer rings the air. hey!

My ship on the dock is a swarming with men
Coming out from the ghostly freighter
They're moving in the shadows where no-one can see
And they're chaining up people
And delivering 'em to me
Asking me: 'kill them now or later ?'
Asking me: 'kill them now or later ?'

Noon by the clock and so still at the dock
You can hear a fog horn miles away
And in that quiet of death i'll say:
'right now !'
'right now !'
And they pile up the bodies
And i'll say: 'that'll learn you.
That'll learn you.'

And the ship
The black freighter
Disappears out to sea
And
On
It
Is
Me !

Hey Kettle - maybe you could go to your party dressed as this pirate.

The Egyptian Uprising explained. Also Laid!

2011-02-08T15:16:00.000+11:00

"We're still a bit cross, you know"

Rather to my surprise, some commentators on this blog have been crying out for my analysis of the political unrest in Egypt; why I’m not too sure.

I have, however, an obsessive interest in international politics, a drinking problem and way too much time on my hands which makes me – I suppose – as qualified as anybody else outside Egypt to come up with a half-arsed explanation.

So here goes.

The current uprising has been sparked by the Egyptian people being feed up to the back teeth with a regime which is a) brutal, b) corrupt, c) incompetent and d) loved by none.

True, since 1955 the Egyptian people have been governed by regimes that were – at times – a mixture of all of the above but the difference seems to have been the recent uprising in Tunisia and the extensive coverage this received.

There’s been much blather about what a post-Mubarak government will look like, how representative it might be and the role of the Muslim Brotherhood.

The Brotherhood, despite being the oldest and best organised Islamic society in the country, would probably have around 20 per cent support in any free and fair elections. But what seems obvious from the mass scale of the uprising and the nature of the demands being made is that the bulk of the demonstrators want democracy – not an Islamic state.

The other thing some commentators are pointing to is the Iranian Revolution of 1979, which saw a largely secular uprising hijacked by theocrats. However Iran, with its substantial supplies of oil was always better placed to go it alone politically, unlike Egypt which is closer tied to the West, both through tourism and Western economic aid.

The usual suspects are also pointing to the role of the West in backing corrupt, authoritarian regimes, like Mubarak’s. That’s true but the region is not without corrupt, authoritarian regimes that have no backing from the West. The problem, I suspect, is that the countries ruled by the Ottoman Empire didn’t go through the historical process known as the Enlightenment which eventually lead to the creation of stable liberal democracies in the West.

Also.

I was quite prepared to view Laid with an open mind, but the constant publicity around it is pretty sick-making, so I think I’ll give it a miss.

It's back! By popular demand!! PSF!!! Now with even more exclamation marks!!!!

2011-02-04T09:03:00.000+11:00

Good luck, comrades.

'And that slaughter to the Nation
Shall steam up like inspiration,
Eloquent, oracular;
A volcano heard afar.

'And these words shall then become
Like Oppression's thundered doom
Ringing through each heart and brain,
Heard again - again - again -

'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number -
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many - they are few.'

The ABC’s Mark Colvin, on the other hand, is not so sanguine.

Danton observed “the Revolution is like Saturn, it devours its own children”.

We shall see.

You're just too hip, baby.

2011-02-01T13:52:00.000+11:00

Oh, go away, you lot!

The other day I was in Westgarth*, looking for lunch.

My usual café was closed, so I wandered down a couple of doors to a place that looked vaguely; a) open and b) palatable.

Imagine my horror comrades when I went in and found the place full of hipsters!

Hipsters! Filthy hipsters!

Hipsters everywhere; being ironic, wearing the sort of glasses that only John Faulkner can rock and tweeting about their latest “fixie” bike to their hipster mates.

The food wasn’t bad but you couldn’t get a beer** for love nor money.

I’m not necessarily opposed to hipsters gathering at a particular café (it keeps them from roaming the streets, being all ironic), but I suggest a simple warning at the entrance to alert normal people – something low-key like;

Warning!

Hipsters inside!!

Hipster cafes*** - Nie wieder!

* I know Desci is rolling her eyes and saying “well durrr, a café in Westgarth, what did you expect?”, but in my defence I was hungry and foolish.

** Not even a beer that tastes vaguely of mud from a micro-brewery operated by two blokes from a shed in Brunswick.

*** It also had artificial grass out the back. Fuck that shit.

Matchbox Cars

2011-01-31T14:59:00.004+11:00

When we were kids Perseus, Fanta (my brother) and I would hold regular Hotwheels/Matchbox Car race meets. Various tournaments would take place on varying tracks with varying importance. Sometimes it would be on orange plastic Hotwheels brand tracks, at other times we would use PVC pipes which we found lying around in the backyard, or planks of wood or even custom built tracks which had built-in (although not entirely deliberate) handicaps. Occasionally we would measure the furthest jumper or the fastest in individual time trials, but usually it was races of between 4 and 6 cars at a time, culminating, after several hours, in a grand final of the 4 fastest.

We had around a hundred cars each, we would relegate and promote them to the various tournaments based on their recent results and long term averages and we would draw up complex fixtures based on rankings. Each car had a name, the top cars were highly prized and stored carefully between races, while slow cars would regularly be thrown in disgust. We would argue over results (we alternated the roles of starter, judge and scorer) and would rotate the venue to eliminate home track advantage.

It was some of the best fun I ever had as a kid and, given that nobody else could be arsed posting anything, I thought I would reminisce in front of you.

God's Performance Review

2011-01-20T06:44:00.002+11:00

So there, God!

Human resources consultant, Colin Rawlings, interviews God as a part of God's tri-millennial performance review.

*

Colin: (intercom) Margaret, could you please send in the next client.

Margaret: Certainly, Colin.

Margaret appears at the door standing beside a man with a long, grey beard.

Margaret: Colin, this is God.

Colin: Thank you Margaret.

Margaret sidles off.

Colin: Take a seat, God.

God: Thanks.

Colin: Now, I've just been reviewing the information you provided.You omitted to specify your area of responsibility.

God: There wasn't enough room on the form.

Colin: Well, in summary?

God: Oh, I suppose I'd say responsibility for the entire universe.

Colin: (writing) entire universe. Big job, huh?

God: Keeps me out of trouble.

Colin: Sure, sure. Look I have to say the feedback hasn't been great.

God: Who says?

Colin: Well, there's a comment here..."If there's a benevolent God why is there so much evil in the world?"

God: Who says I'm benevolent?

Colin: It's in the job description.

God: What job description?

Colin: You would have received a job description when you first started.

God: That was ages ago.

Colin: Well you should've kept it.

God: Yeah, well. Anyway, who said it?

Colin: It's confidential.

God: Go on.

Colin: Epicurus.

God: That arsehole.

Colin: Well he has a valid point.

God: Well I've been busy. Can't stop everything.

Colin: Ok, well I have a copy of the job description here for future reference.

God: (Reading) Bloody hell. Omniscience! I don't even know what that means!

Colin: Keep reading.

God: Omnipotence? What's that?

Colin: All powerful. You can do anything.

God: You're shitting me? I can't even boil an egg.

Colin: And then there's omnipresence.

God: Which is?

Colin: Being everywhere at once.

God: Jesus, that'd be handy for the Missus when I'm down the pub.

Colin: Look, apart from evil, there's also a lot of feedback about the environment. Global warming and all that.

God: That's man made!

Colin: But you made man.

God: Yes, yes.

Colin: In your image.

God: I didn't anticipate mass vehicular transport.

Colin: What about coal?

God: I didn't know anyone would burn it.

Colin: Fatal diseases is a topic that comes up a lot too.

God: Oh now you want a cure for cancer! Ask much.

Colin: Look, quite simply, I think you've neglected your duties. And many agree.

God: I sent Jesus down.

Colin: What have you done in the last 2000 years?

God: Um...

Colin: Well frankly, there's an increasing number of people who don't believe in you.

God: Sounds like you don't believe in me.

Colin: I mean they don't believe you exist.

God: Well I guess I do keep a low profile. I don't like crowds.

Colin: Perhaps you should intervene more.

God: I used to do that but it wasn't popular.

Colin: So I hear.

God: They even wrote a book about it.

Colin: Yes I read that. I'm afraid it wasn't very flattering.

God: I could strike some people down with lightening or something. Start a plague.

Colin: Perhaps something more benevolent.

God: Oh yeah. Like what?

Colin: Stop wars, famine, suffering.

God: Or invent a way for people to communicate over long distances!

Colin: I'm afraid it's been done

God: Oh.

Colin: Well it'll take some thought.

God: Yeah, ok, I'm starting to see some possibilities.

Colin: Ok, well you put some thought into it, read my report and some of the feedback and we'll speak about it next time.

God: Ok, thanks for your time.

Colin: No, no. Thanks for coming in. On your way out make an appointment with Margaret for around 3000 years from now.

God: Can I make it a Wednesday?

Colin: See what's available. When you come in we'll have another look at how you're going.

God: Cool, thanks Colin. See you then.

Colin: Well I won't be here but good luck with it.

God: Cheers.

Death of a pub.

2011-01-19T14:01:00.000+11:00

When I'm dead, cremate me and spread my ashes over the front bar.

To the hard drinking, the death of a pub can come as a tremendous blow.

The other day, while driving through North Fitzroy, I noticed the Recreation Hotel (formerly The Old Homestead Inn) was up for sale; to be replaced by “executive apartments”*.

The Old Homestead and I go back a great many years. If I had a dollar for each hour I’ve spent there; drinking, laughing with friends, meals, birthdays, flirting with the barmaid and playing pool I’d have a shitload of money to spend drinking, laughing with friends, meals, birthdays, flirting with the barmaid and playing pool – only this time at another hotel.

The Old Homestead is the latest in a number of hotels in the inner city to close and be replaced with apartments; a development I regard with some concern and not just because it limits my capacity to intake perfectly legal, mind-numbing intoxicants.

Pubs were important to the development of a civil culture in Melbourne. Political parties and trade unions were formed there, sporting clubs and friendly societies used them as meeting rooms and any number of bands (a great number of them truly awful) played their first gig in a Melbourne pub.

When they go, what replaces them**?

Drive out through any of the new housing estates being built on the outskirts of Melbourne and you won’t find a single corner pub. You won’t find much in the way of corner milk-bars, newsagents, fish and chip shops or phone boxes either, but that’s not the point. If you’re lucky, you might find a licensed establishment in one of the shopping centres but that’s not the same as the local boozer you can drop in for quite ale after work or walk to with the family for a Sunday afternoon roast.

Of course, many of the old corner pubs were appalling blood-houses but most were a way of catching up with friends and neighbours for a consoling beer.

Good-bye Old Homestead. I’ll miss you.

And may the new inhabitants of the “executive apartments” to be built on its site be haunted by the souls of a hundred years of noisy drunks.

* No, I don’t know what “executive apartments” are either but they sound ghastly.

** People who say “social media” can fuck off right now.

"Oh dear, anothing sporting rant by Ramon. Maybe I'll make a cup of tea instead."

2011-01-18T12:17:00.000+11:00

"Thirty seven million beers, thanks."

In breaking news allegations are emerging of a drinking session by key Australian players in the lead up to ~~getting an absolute pantsing by the English~~ a humiliating Ashes series defeat at the MCG.

The Age reports

A photo has emerged of the cricketers posing with fans at The World Restaurant and Bar in Southbank, reportedly taken just 12 hours before the Australian team took to the field on the fourth and final day of the Boxing Day Test.

The thrashing saw England retain the Ashes on Australian soil for the first time in 24 years.

It follows allegations by Melbourne-based Englishwoman Emily Goodyear in a British newspaper that the pair drank vodka with her and criticised their "boring" teammates for not going out drinking with them.

I think I speak for every Australian cricket fan when I say “well, durr”

If I was faced with the prospect of being whipped like an egg-sucking dog over five days in the face of several thousand jeering English fans and having the results broadcast around the world, then I would have been on the sauce from ten in the morning.

And I would have insisted on the drinks break being sponsored by Cooper’s Ale.

In related news The Boy has taken to cricket with an absolute mania and insists on discussing the LBW rule with me over dinner.

I’ve either created a monster or the next captain of the Australian team.

Possibly both.

Travel Special: Albany

2011-01-13T14:14:00.011+11:00

A picture from our holiday...

This is not a martini

We went south to Albany (4 hour drive). Albany has a rock that looks like a dog's head. It's called Dog Rock and you can buy the postcard

Albany has a March fly problem

Albany has many Klingons driving 4WDs like the one who parked his big fat black Nissan Navara in front of our beach shelter

We stayed at my dad's place. I drank his beer and it was Best Before 2004. He has an ant problem. This is some wallpaper and lino from my dad's place

We had a power cut

LittleSquib (7) got an electronics kit for Christmas so she rigged up a wee light circuit to tide us over while she discussed foreign affairs

LS: We should do more for China

Huh?

LS: Oh, come on! Can't you tell?

Not really

LS: Because everything in this whole world is made in China, including even this spoon. They have to do everything

The End

2011, And Still The Same Old Cunts

2011-01-10T13:19:00.004+11:00

Pakistani politician Salmaan Taseer, a fomer trusted aide of Benazir Bhutto and current Governor of the Punjab Province, was assasinated a few days ago by one of his own security guards (honestly, you just can't get good help these days).

The reason the security guard went all Terminator on his arse was because Salman Taseer, in a display of logic and goodwill, opposed Pakistan's knuckle-dragging blasphemy laws that lead to the state-sponsored death sentence of a woman called Asia Bibi. Asia was sentence to be hanged for committing an atrocious crime. What she did was, she fetched some water for some of her neighbours, but because she's a Christian, her neighbours decided that the water was tainted. Anyway, one thing lead to another, there was a bit of an argument, and Asia said something about the prophet Mohammed. Yes, said something, but when religious zealotry takes hold of a community, 'saying something' is just as bad as raping a babies eye-socket with an AIDS infested cock, so the courts sentenced her to death.

Anyway, ol' Salmaan Taseer kinda then said something to the effect of, "That's a bit unfair don't you think?" and got shot for it, with a machine gun. His assasinator has since been hailed as a hero and when he appeared in court, people threw rose petals over him.

It occurs to me that on the one hand, Muslims are asking for 'tolerance', and we are to kowtow to their religious sensitivity and not say bad things about them, but their definition of tolerance only goes as far as tolerating what they believe. The second you veer from it, it's 'blasphemy'.

It's not 'tolerance' they want, it's supplication.

(Yes, yes, I know, there are moderate Muslims. There's also moderate footballers, philosophers and roof-tilers, but they're not worth writing about).

How come we can make nun porn, but not draw a cartoon of Mohammed eating an apple?

Fucktards.

Don't you laugh Catholics, you invented blasphemy laws in the first place you wankers.

Puss - I hope you didn't get a new intenet boyfriend in my absence.

January Stocktake Sale - Don't Miss Out!

2011-01-08T10:22:00.006+11:00

Of Montreal's Kevin Barnes taking a break from gardening.

Through the power of digital technology, I am now offering my annual Best Of album via download. All you have to do is go to THIS LINK and all 26 songs in mp3 format are yours. What do you expect to pay? Not $49, not $39, not even $29. It actually costs nought dollars! That's right, if you download within 12 days this fantastic collection of music from the 80s, 90s, 00s and today (not including 80s, 90s or 00s) can be yours. You'll be the envy of all bloggers, tweeters, cyberbullies and trolls. Not to mention facebook status updaters. And it's absolutely safe! No trojans, viruses, worms, spyware or malware!

I know hard copies are better and they include artwork and a defined order but that's so last year. And it's a shitload easier for me to do it this way.

In other news, I'm giving up on cricket and focusing all my attention on stockcar racing.

Go Yellow!

A cooling PSF.

2010-12-31T10:17:00.000+11:00

"Is Frosty playing in the fifth Test?"

Given it's stinking hot here in St Petersburg-on-the-Yarra, I thought I'd post a very cold Poetry Slam Friday.

You might want to skip over this one, EMS.

Next year, comrades!

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

A very special, non Christmas, PSF.

2010-12-24T08:53:00.000+11:00

"I've been dead for 46 years and I still have more teeth than Shane MacGowan"

Last night as I slept
I dreamt I met with Behan
I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day
When questioned on his views
On the crux of life's philosophies
He had but these few clear and simple words to say

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

I have cursed, bled and sworn
Jumped bail and landed up in jail
Life has often tried to stretch me
But the rope always went slack
And now that I've a pile
I'll go down to the Chelsea
I'll walk in on my feet
But I'll leave there on my back

Because I'm going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I'm going, I'm going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

Oh the words that he spoke
Seemed the wisest of philosophies
There was nothing ever gained
By a wet thing called a tear
When the world is too dark
And I need the light inside of me
I'll walk into a bar
And drink fifteen pints of beer

Because I'm going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

Well, what a long, strange trip it’s been.

See you on the other side comrades and a very Merry Christmas*. Especially to EMS who, at this very moment, is crouched over a heater somewhere in London muttering “cold…so very cold”.

*Or is it “Happy Christmas”? I can never remember.

Some thoughts on Sydney.

2010-12-22T14:27:00.001+11:00

Sydney Carlton. Not Sydney, Australia.

Just back from the Harbour City with some ill-observed, intemperate observations.

• Honestly Sydney people, would it kill you to dress with a bit more style! Wandering around over the three days, it looked like everybody shopped out of a Ken Done catalogue. Sheesh!*

• I never stopped sneezing. I must be allergic to Sydney.

• Your customer service sucks, ranging as it does from cheerful but incompetent to surly and incompetent. Surly I don’t mind, but incompetent really gets my goat.

• Here’s a hint to Sydney taxi drivers. If I book your cab and say “take me to X please, I’m from Melbourne and I’m a bit vague about directions”, thrusting the street directory at me and saying “I don’t know where that is, can you look it up?” will result in me saying “I. Don’t. Know. I’m. From. Melbourne.” Only crosser.

• On the plus side, The Boy reckoned your double-decker trains were ace!

Other than that, I had an swell time!

* To counter this, I wore my “slap me, I’m from Melbourne**” outfit which consisted of black jeans, white Triple R tee-shirt and black leather-jacket.

** Nobody slapped me.

Top Ten

2010-12-20T21:58:00.004+11:00

Prahran Coles, Friday around 10.

My top 10 albums of the year are:

1. Broken Social Scene - Forgiveness Rock Record
2. Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti - Before Today
3. Woods - At Echo Lake
4. Beach House - Teen Dream
5. The Walkmen - Lisbon
6. Black Mountain - Wilderness heart
7. Gorillaz - Plastic Beach
8. Deerhunter - Halcyon Digest
9. The Tallest Man on Earth - The Wild Hunt
10. Titus Andronicus - The Monitor

Honorable mentions go to Charlotte Gainsbourg, LCD Soundsystem, Local Natives and Of Montreal.

Biggest disappointments and/or the most boring records go to Interpol, The National, Spoon, New Pornographers, Grinderman, Band of Horses, Belle & Sebastian and Arcade Fire.

The following is Helicopter by Deerhunter. It's not the best song on the album but it is a terrific album. Lead singer, Bradford Cox, has Marfan Sydrome, which gives him an awkward, gangly appearance. Joey Ramone had it to.

Merry Christmas.

Thursday rant instead of PSF

2010-12-16T13:26:00.000+11:00

There will be no Poetry Slam Friday tomorrow as I will be in Sydney with the family*.

In lieu of this, I present a passage from Paradise Updated by Mic Looby.

All of it is a pretty good read but this passage just struck me as a wonderful piece of writing for some reason.

The anti-hero, Richard Rind, is in some hellish, third-world airport reflecting sourly on the “independent travellers” streaming past him.

And all the while, barging past, mocking him with their exuberance, fresh-faced travellers revelled in the tedium and red tape. The fools. This was the nonsense of travel. This was the great lie. Travelling for pleasure was a contradiction in terms. Not that he expected those braying backpackers to understand. They finished school yesterday, and now, brimming with credit-card-fuelled bravado and decked out in the latest, skimpiest wash-and-wear wonder-garments, they were off to somewhere foreign to get drunk and have orgies, because that was what all their friends did. Well they could rut all they liked. They’d learn.

I do like some invective.

*Hey Kettle, it looks like the Sydney public transport ticketing system kind of sucks. Can you confirm?

You Want What?

2010-12-15T10:20:00.005+11:00

You don't need a rice cooker. Dude, use the saucepan.

Well, it's almost Christmas. I don't believe in God and, by extension, I don't believe some guy called Jesus was his son (or brother, nephew or any other relation). Nevertheless I celebrate Christmas and give in to the commercialism of gift giving. Of course, we could all decide to stop giving presents and just buy ourselves something that we actually want. But the mere suggestion would probably make me a Scrooge.

There's something noble about the ever revolving wheels of commerce, at least when it relates to the supply of and demand for stuff we actually need, but the concept of buying shit that nobody needs kind of reeks of ignobility. Yet we all do it, for ourselves and for others.

Perhaps we should return to a pure, subsistence lifestyle. Just grow the food we need, build our houses out of sticks and occasionally milk a goat. Live off the land.

Yes, let's do that. Who's in?

Emily Dickinson really should have gone out more

2010-12-10T09:27:00.000+11:00

"Couple of jars? Tonight? That would be grand!"

I taste a liquor never brewed –
From Tankards scooped in Pearl –
Not all the Frankfort Berries
Yield such an Alcohol!

Inebriate of air – am I –
And Debauchee of Dew –
Reeling – thro' endless summer days –
From inns of molten Blue –

When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove's door –
When Butterflies – renounce their "drams" –
I shall but drink the more!

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats –
And Saints – to windows run –
To see the Tippler
Leaning against the – Sun!

The Julian Assange piece I really didn't want to write.

2010-12-09T10:07:00.000+11:00

I haven’t written anything about the current who-harr about Julian Assange because, I suspect like most of the English-speaking world, I’m thoroughly sick of hearing about the pompous twerp.

What I do find disturbing is how large sections of the so-called “left” are currently rampaging up and down this country about how the allegations about Mr Assange are a sinister CIA plot and how the Australian Government has failed “to protect him”.

Given Mr Assange is currently living in the UK I find it difficult to work out how exactly we’re supposed to “protect him”*, other than offering consular assistance at the court proceedings – which we have done.

Still, this hasn’t stopped some insisting that requiring Mr Assange answer questions from Swedish police about sexual assault allegations is somehow a sinister CIA/Swedish Government**/feminist/Social Democrat plot to something, something.

Given the complete absence of said CIA plot, the next step by some now appears to smear the women making the allegation – as this article in Salon magazine notes.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I rather thought several decades of left and feminist thinking was to encourage women to make complaints to the police about sexual assault – unless of course it involves a high profile “anti-imperialist”.

As Salon notes;

Wow. Admittedly, I don't have as much experience being a feminist as Wolf has, but when I see a swarm of people with exactly zero direct access to the facts of a rape case loudly insisting that the accusation has no merit, I usually start to wonder about their credibility. And their sources.

Quite.

*Given Mr Assange has been remanded in custody in the UK and currently has the assistance of 70 billion lawyers, you could make an argument that he’s pretty damn-well protected now.

**And isn’t it remarkable how Sweden has morphed from “social-democrat paradise” to “hellish hell-hole run by the CIA. And feminists. And probably Julia Gillard".

A Tribute to Johannes Kepler - Not a Cunt

2010-12-07T07:48:00.008+11:00

"I'm going to tell Galileo about this...as soon as I finish my special fried rice."

A day is the time it takes the Earth to complete one revolution on its axis. A year is the time it takes the Earth to complete one circuit of the sun. There are approximately 365 days in each year. More accurately there are 365 and a quarter days. That's why we have a leap year every four years, to catch up to the antics of the cosmos. However that's a slight over-compensation so every hundred years, despite it being a 'fourth' year, there is no leap year. This, however, is a slight under-compensation, so every four hundredth year, despite it being a 'hundredth' year, is a leap year.

So 1900 was not a leap year, but 2000 was.

I dunno who made the definitive decision that the Earth year is exactly 365.2425 days long, but I'm certain that figure would not have been arrived at if not for my favourite mathematician/astronomer Johannes Kepler, who described elliptical orbits and was not a cunt.

And it's a proven fact* that anybody, including Jonathan Coleman, born on 29 February is a cunt.

What, me worry?

Kevin Barnes of Of Montreal is also not a cunt, but he most certainly is bizarre. This video is rated PNFK (Probably Not For Kids):

* Possibly not a fact.