Rise of the Planet of the Shite.

"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!

2011, And Still The Same Old Cunts

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.

CSB, WTF & SOTW

Neptune Enters Uranus

I was doing my usual, slow, art gallery-style wander through Chapel Street Bazaar recently with my son. You have to walk slowly in there. Lots of great stuff to look at. Nothing anybody actually needs of course, but nonetheless a fascinating journey through the history of records, glassware, tin pots and trilbies.

While the kid was pressing his sticky hands against a glass display case containing action figures of a bygone era such as Bugs Bunny* and The Smurfs**, I eavesdropped on the following conversation between an employee and the flakey proprietor of a similar, but much smaller, knick-knacks shop located just up the road in Windsor:

CSB Employee: How's Mathilda*** working out?

Flake: Oh you know, she works really hard, she's great with customers, she's really pretty, she's smart, I really like her and she really likes me but, unfortunately, I just found out she's a Capricorn.

CSB: Oh?

Flake: Yeah, I'm going to have to find someone else. I don't get along with Capricorns.

Flake's interviewing technique clearly needs refinement.

*

Here's song of the week. It's from Blur legend Damon Albarn's 'virtual' band Gorillaz. I'm quite partial to vocalists who sound like they're singing via a trans-oceanic pipeline. The album includes appearances by a number of guest vocalists including, surprisingly, that grumpy old cunt from The Velvet Underground Lou Reed.

Wari, this one is ok for 9 year olds (I think - what do I know about 9 year olds?) unless he/she is particularly fond of jellyfish.




*May not actually be an action figure.
** Certainly not an action figure
***Names have been forgotten changed.

Oh, for God's sake people!

"Yeah, sorry, can't talk now, I'm being devoured."

Well, that was…disturbing.

Sitting in the cubicle in the toilets at work the other day, whence came the faint but unmistakable sound from the next booth of the tap, tap, tap of somebody texting.

Texting!

On the toilet!!

It was probably some dick-biscuit tweeting*.

As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t mind the odd, leisurely read while sitting on the crapper but I draw the line at texting.

Are we so committed as a society to our gadgets that we now use them while having a bowel movement? What’s next; tweeting while eating? Having a haircut?

Having sex?

Give it a rest, chaps. Just give it a rest.

* “Justin is…currently having a shit”

What?!

It's too early in the morning for me to write a lengthy post about this, and too early for me to really grasp why I am so offended/annoyed by this article.

But I am, so here it is. Discuss away.

Barnaby - A Top Joyce

A left-leaning Barnaby Joyce?

I suspect this is where Labor's focus should be as we move towards the 2010 election.

Fancy Barnaby Joyce not being deemed fit for the job of shadow finance minister.

Who'd have thought it?

Dan is thinking about eating rissoles for lunch

Phil is deciding whether to read a book or update his status on Facebook

I wonder if people who like to post their 'status' (i.e. whatever inane thing they happen to be doing at the moment their walnut-sized brains decide to make the post) on Facebook or Twitter, really think anyone gives a fuck.

Do they think they're so important that others are hanging on their every vacuous post?

"Keith has been working hard and is now enjoying a glass of beer."*

Fuck off Keith, I don't give a shit. If you were really enjoying your beer, why don't you just drink it, instead of telling everybody about it, you arsehole.

"Rick thinks your (sic) going to love Avatar."*

Rick, you don't have any fucking idea what you're (see how I spelled that?) talking about, twat.

And incidentally, the people that respond to your status don't give a fuck either, they just want you to check their status:

"Doreen is glad there's something good on TV!"*

Well fucken watch it, bitch, instead of telling your stupid friends about it.


*Actual status updates - names have been changed.

Amazing news to amaze you!

Following Bob’s excellent de-tox post, I thought I’d get into this bad science caper as I am completely out of original ideas keen to debunk gibberish wherever it is found.

The UK’s Daily Mail reports amazing details of ancient amazing science which seems to be pretty…err…amazing.

The paper notes;

Ancient man had his own form of 'sat nav' that helped him find his way across Britain, according to new research.

The sophisticated geometric system was based on a stone circle markers.

Our ancestors were able to travel between settlements with pinpoint accuracy thanks to a complex network of hilltop monuments.

Wow, pretty amazing eh?

Researcher Tom Brooks analysed 1,500 prehistoric monuments, including Stonehenge and Silbury Hill in Wiltshire, and found them all to be on a grid of isosceles triangles - those with two sides of equal length - each pointing to the next site.

He believes this proves there were keen mathematicians among the ancient Britons 5,000-6,000 years ago, at least two millennia before the Greeks who were supposed to have discovered geometry.

The trouble being, it’s complete bollocks, as the always amazing Ben Goldacre points out in this blog, Bad Science;

Matt Parker, his nemesis, is based in the School of Mathematical Sciences at Queen Mary, University of London. He has applied the same techniques used by Mr Brooks to another mysterious and lost civilisation.

“We know so little about the ancient Woolworth stores,” he explains, “but we do still know their locations. I thought that if we analysed the sites we could learn more about what life was like in 2008 and how these people went about buying cheap kitchen accessories and discount CDs.”

The results revealed an exact and precise geometric placement of the Woolworths locations. “Three stores around Birmingham formed an exact equilateral triangle (Wolverhampton, Lichfield and Birmingham stores) and if the base of the triangle is extended, it forms a 173.8 mile line linking the Conwy and Luton stores. Despite the 173.8 mile distance involved, the Conway Woolworths store is only 40 feet off the exact line and the Luton site is within 30 feet. All four stores align with an accuracy of 0.05%.”

Matt Parker used an ancient technique: he found his patterns in 800 ex-Woolworth locations by “skipping over the vast majority, and only choosing the few that happen to line-up”.

So there you have it comrades.

From which we can take away the lesson that either; ancient people had access to advanced science (possibly as a result of visiting aliens travelling unimaginable distances to teach geometry to a bunch of smelly people wearing animal hides) or people make shit up.

You be the judge.

Hold the Onions

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the King's horses and all the King's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again

Ok, I was tempted to blog about the suggested alteration to this classic nursery rhyme from 1810 but, as you can see, it's already been done and, anyway, it's probably just a beat up and, anyway, I really don't care that much because we've been down this road before and we've all got annoyed about it - perhaps even angry - and we're probably mostly over the ridiculousness of these acts of stupidity and the ludicrousness of these crimes of absurdity.

After all, are kids really going to be offended, scared or saddened by some dimwit (and clearly fictional and largely comical if we can make a judgement from the picture above) egg taking a tumble off a wall and smashing his protective shell into smithereens, and thereafter dying a horrible death while being picked over by the King's four and twenty blackbirds (ok, that's a different nursery rhyme but I'm imagining a Tarantino or Altman-esque screenplay where nursery rhyme characters' lives intersect)?

I mean, there's even a moral here: kids, don't climb shit cos it's dangerous. Eggs are, after all, things to be eaten (and that's apart from their very important role of providing a cosy, gestational home for foetuses). I personally like mine fried with a side of bacon and mushrooms and liberally seasoned with pepper. Eggs, not foetuses. Preferably on thick, heavy, European style toast if it's available. And I'll sip a flat white while I'm about it thanks very much waitress and do that walk as you head back to the kitchen that's the girl.

But it got me thinking about nursery rhymes in general. Many of them revolve around death, injury or violence. Let's look at Jack n Jill. Two stupid kids climbing shit, falling over and cracking their skulls open. Ring a Ring a Rosy is about dying horrifically from the Black Death. Goosey Goosey Gander? A guy gets thrown down the stairs for not saying his prayers. I suspect Perseus and Boogey could entertain us with a grandiloquent discussion about the merits of this one. A baby crashes to its presumed death in Rockabye Baby. And then there are the sudden beheadings in Oranges and Lemons.

This all occurred to me as I recited nursery rhymes to my son in attempt to get him to sleep last night. No wonder he has nightmares.

Dickhead of the week

News comes from the United States that the parents of six year old “balloon boy” Falcon Heene may be charged by local police.

The ABC reports:

The flight of a home-made helium balloon that sparked a frantic rescue attempt for the young boy thought to be aboard was a publicity-seeking hoax, a Colorado sheriff says.

Police say the stunt was designed to drum up publicity for a reality television series, and although parents Richard and Mayumi Heene have not yet been arrested, charges are likely to come.

There was a massive search and rescue operation and a media frenzy last week when it was thought that six-year-old The flight of a home-made helium balloon that sparked a frantic rescue attempt for the young boy thought to be aboard was a publicity-seeking hoax, a Colorado sheriff says.

Police say the stunt was designed to drum up publicity for a reality television series, and although parents Richard and Mayumi Heene have not yet been arrested, charges are likely to come.

There was a massive search and rescue operation and a media frenzy last week when it was thought that six-year-old Falcon Heene was stuck in a runaway flying saucer-shaped helium balloon floating through the skies above Colorado.

The boy was later found hiding in his family's garage

Leaving aside the issue that any father who calls their kid “Falcon” deserves a swift punch to the solar plexus; it seems this bloke has form when it comes to being a dickhead.

The internet magazine Salon reports Richard Heene has – shall we say – a somewhat jaundiced view of modern women and a YouTube produced by the family includes this little screed;

"Pussification [poo-si-fi-ca-shun]: The modern day teachings of human beings living a superficial lifestyle of consumerism, obesity, and over protectiveness [sic] for themselves and their children (put them in a corner for "Time Out") in an effort gain [sic] as many supporters as possible to believe that they are better than everyone else around them. The females are typically referred to as "Soccer Moms" while the males are referred to as "Pussies."

What a putz.

Hey Hey Go Away

This is the best thing that could've happened to the "return of variety television". A bit of controversy to wash away any hope of this show returning for another season.

Marieke Hardy sums it up nicely and this was before the black and white minstrels sketch. What a bunch of old school, double entendre-spinning, washed-up fuckwits. I hope we never see their (the 'Hey Hey Gang') faces again. And that goes for the 2 million knobs who watched it.

What the?!

I just received this flyer in the mail.


I seriously cannot believe a company in this day and age would be so blatantly racist. I've sent them an email to tell them so.

Psycho Bitch plus PSF Update

As I have mentioned before, I don't lock any of my doors at home. I live in Lorne, and there is no real crime here... certainly no burglaries that I know of. Oh, maybe at the height of summer when this town of 950 swells to 25,000 one might take some extra precautions, but really, it's a quiet town and we all know each other. Especially this time of year. The only danger is the pub on a Saturday night when bogans from Colac come down looking for trouble...

But last night, this happened: I came home from a dinner function in Torquay at about 9.45pm. I pulled up in my car space from where I can see into my house. I had left the lights on in the house and so I could see in. I saw a woman in my house, wandering around my kitchen. At first this didn't bother me because I have a few friends locally that know they can come into my house any time, but, I suddenly saw this woman stumbling a little, then, peering with more concentration, I realised I didn't know who it was.

I got out of the car and stood there. Just next to my kitchen is an alcove where I have two laptops... was I being burgled? How many were in there? I was suddenly angry that I was being burgled, and marched towards the house. The sensor light came on in my back yard and the woman noticed and saw me coming down the path. She came out my back door and we met in my yard. She was mid-20's, blonde, attractive, but swaying, as if drunk.

"Who are you?" she asked me, slurring her words.

"Who am I? Who the fuck are you? Why are you in my house?" I said sternly.

She looked confused, then laughed.

"Oh man," she said, "You're not Paulie!"

"No, I'm not Paulie. Paulie lives next door. Who are you?"

"Oops!" she said, laughing, "Wrong house!"

She started to move past me. She was carrying three bottles of wine, and I looked at them. They were mine... expensive wines.

"That's my wine," I said.

"Oh, yeah, sorry man..." she said, and handed them back to me. Then she laughed again and said, "Calm down, you look really tense. It was a mistake."

"I don't know who you are, and you were in my house. Yeah, I'm tense."

I grabbed the wine off her and walked into my house, all the while she was laughing and yelling out, "Oh come on, don't be like that..." and words to that effect.

I figured it was a friend of my neighbour Paulie who was just really drunk, and, after checking that nothing else had been stolen, I decided to calm down. I went out the backyard for a cigarette, and could hear her at Paulie's back door.

"Let me in Paulie!" she yelled.

"No! Fuck off! You're a psycho bitch! I want nothing to do with you!" I could hear Paulie yelling from inside his house.

"I'll suck your dick, come on, let me in," she was yelling, and banging on his back door.

"Fuck off!" he yelled.

"I just want half a gram of weed Paulie. I'll suck your dick..."

"I don't even smoke pot you psycho. Fuck. Off!" he was yelling.

I ran back inside. I didn't want her to see me in case she came back in.

I could hear some more yelling, then it went quiet.

Then my phone rang. It was Paulie from next door.

"Mate, lock your doors. There's a psycho on the loose," he said.

"I know. I caught her in my house. Who is she?" I asked.

"Mate, she's the girlfriend of Steve Hawthorn, a local guy who has a drug problem. He's been in Melboure for the last few years so you might not know him. Anyway, he met this chick at The Melbourne Clinic, and she's a junkie. She tried to stab him last week when he was sleeping. His arm's all cut up, and the cops took her, but then he dropped the charges or whatever, but now she's lost the plot again. He kicked her out of the house yesterday and she's just loose in Lorne... she wanted to suck my cock!"

"I know, I heard her. I often dream of a good looking woman turning up to my house willing to indulge in sex... but in my fantasy, it's not a crazy junkie**."

"Yeah," said Paulie, "It's been ages since I've had sex. Nine months, and remember, I told you, the last time I scored a chick I accidentally vomited on her, so, you know, I thought about letting her in... but it's not worth a headjob if you're also risking being stabbed when you fall asleep later... is it?"

"No..." I said.

Paulie went silent. He was thinking. Then, he came to his decision.

"No, it's not. Oh... but.. no, it's not worth it."

"No, Paulie. You did the right thing."

"Cheers mate," he said, and we ended the call.

I put the kettle on and turned on the cricket.

And locked all the doors.

Somewhere in my town, there is a psycho on the loose.

_______________________________________________________________

** In my fantasies, it's not a blonde either.

By the way, no real names were used.

_______________________________________________________________

In other news, Mark Latham has called Julia Gillard a 'sell-out'. Why do the media even bother to report what he says, ever?

_______________________________________________________________

UPDATE!

Well, nobody else is doing Poetry Slam Friday, so I will...

And how appropriate is this? Here is the opening lines of Dylan Thomas's 'Under Milk Wood' which is about the odd goings-on of the inhabitants of a small seaside town. Given what happened last night, I can think of nothing more appropriate to post.

But wait, there's even more appropriateness! My former internet girlfriend Puss in Boots sent me 'Under Milk Wood' - a 1952 print in good condition - as a belated present for my 40th, which came in the mail yesterday.

It all falls into place...

To begin at the beginning:

It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless
and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched,
courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisible down to the
sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboatbobbing sea.
The houses are blind as moles (though moles see fine to-night
in the snouting, velvet dingles) or blind as Captain Cat
there in the muffled middle by the pump and the town clock,
the shops in mourning, the Welfare Hall in widows' weeds.
And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are
sleeping now.

Hush, the babies are sleeping, the farmers, the fishers,
the tradesmen and pensioners, cobbler, schoolteacher,
postman and publican, the undertaker and the fancy woman,
drunkard, dressmaker, preacher, policeman, the webfoot
cocklewomen and the tidy wives. Young girls lie bedded soft
or glide in their dreams, with rings and trousseaux,
bridesmaided by glowworms down the aisles of the
organplaying wood. The boys are dreaming wicked or of the
bucking ranches of the night and the jollyrodgered sea. And
the anthracite statues of the horses sleep in the fields,
and the cows in the byres, and the dogs in the wetnosed
yards; and the cats nap in the slant corners or lope sly,
streaking and needling, on the one cloud of the roofs.

Go Away!

Isn't this lovely.

Wouldn't you think these arseholes would just go away? The only people they appeal to are fucking cunts. The party is made up of fucking cunts. They are all fucking cunts.

I'm calling for all members of Australia First and anybody who supports them and anyone who says 'I don't vote for them but I think they have some great ideas' or anyone who says 'I'm not racist, but...' or anyone who is anti-immigration just because they don't like foreigners or anyone who thinks all Muslims are terrorists, or all Aborigines are no-hopers or all Asians are drug-smugglers, to be transported on crowded, diseased, rotten timber ships, to a specially designed island made of dogshit and drunken teenagers' vomit, somewhere in the southern ocean. There, nobody will want to migrate to your country, you slime-bags.

Well done, those skinny, naked vegans.

And a big hello to the knuckle-heads at People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) for doing what I had previously thought impossible – making me feel sorry for fashion designer and “personality” Alannah Hill.

For those coming in late, PETA in the past have;
* Claimed a spate of shark attacks were “revenge”*,
* Stated parents who fed their children meat were indulging in “child abuse”,
*Said people who bought animals from pet shops were guilty of “genocide”** and
* Nude up at every single protest, thus forcing the world to witness more skinny white vegan flesh than is recommended***

PETA – go away, just go away.

As Morrissey once said “that joke isn’t funny any more”

*Revenge for what, they don’t say. Maybe the sharks were forced to watch Jaws 3

** Or possibly “petocide”.

*** Recommended safe viewing level of skinny white vegan flesh is currently set at zero.

...some corner of a foreign field. Forever Australian...?

While browsing the interwebs this afternoon, my jingo-o-meter was set off by reading this story, in which those dastardly Indonesians are planning to build a restaurant, bar and club on the site of the Sari Club, target of the first Bali bombing in 2002. This would be instead of a peace park and museum to commemorate the bombings in which 202 people were killed. The writer of the story declares that apparently the "desolate" 800 square metre site of the former Sari Club is "considered hallowed ground by Australians".

In that case, the construction of an 'entertainment complex' on such 'hallowed ground' is totally appropriate considering the sensitive way in which Australians have treated other 'hallowed ground', such as Gallipoli, the Gallipoli Mornington Peninsular, even the 'hallowed turf' at Flemington. Not to mention the sensitive way in which a long line of Australians emboldened by cheap booze, a relatively strong 1st world currency and a mind-numbing sense of cultural superiority have been fine ambassadors of our country to the world.

I know, I should be ashamed for reading the Herald-Sun, but without my daily dose of outrage, what would my life be?

LS

Dogma My Arse

Lars von Trier is at it again. His latest film, ‘Anti-Christ’ has premiered at Cannes.

“Charlotte Gainsbourg drills a hole through Willem Dafoe's leg and sticks a stave through it after smashing in his testicles with a piece of firewood. But it is the moment when she apparently cuts off her clitoris with a pair of scissors that has become the succes de scandale of the great French film festival.”

Is there a more over-rated artist in the world than this fuckhead?

“Oh, but he has something to say...” his fans implore. But what? What does he have to say? All these people who protect him don’t know what it is he’s saying, just that he ‘says something’. So let us go to the man himself. When asked by a disgusted journalist to defend his film, Lars said, “...it's a good starting point for a discussion, the fact that you feel something about the film."

A ‘starting point’? What the fuck? Shouldn’t the ‘starting point’ be the reason for the film in the first place, or its story, as opposed to the revulsion felt by the audience? Fuck me – even he doesn’t know what his film is about!

“Oh, but his films are confronting...” say the Dogma groupies.

Fuck off. Anyone can be confronting. I could drug a nun, smear dog shit over her tits whilst masturbating into a tub of lard and that’s criminal and foul, but if I call myself an ‘artist’ first, suddenly I'm 'confronting'.

Just because something is confronting, doesn’t mean it has artistic value, or meaning, or is entertaining, or is any good at all.

It is so easy to be ‘arty’. All you need is no talent, no direction and some money. But to create something of artistic worth? Now that takes some talent. Ay, there’s the rub.

Lasr von Trier is the pinup boy of this mass confusion as to what art has become. Call me old fashioned, but a central feature of great artists no matter what their field, is great proficiency at their art. You may not like Warhol, but he knew what he was doing. There was a meaning behind it. Lars lacks this. All he has is his stupid fucked up ‘Dogma’ which is a set of rules and agreements as to how a film should be made, and because he has stuck to these agreements, he earns the respect of movie fans around the world. But it’s just a mass stupidity as far as I can tell, a mass delusion of sorts, where because one person said, "Oh, he has integrity," his reputation spread like swine-flu.

“He makes films that adhere to his own artistic ethos...” So what? Just because he has a production ethos, does it mean he’s any good?

I can do that!

Perseus Q’s POGMA

*Only make films in black and white
*All films to be shot in real time
*Only one-take.
*Use different actors to overdub all voices
*Only use actors from broken homes
*Real dog shit must be smeared over a nun’s tits in every movie

There. If I make ten films like this with no coherent story purpose, no technical ability, no meaning, no direction, but rigidly stick to these rules, will I go down in history as an artist with integrity? Probably. But did I entertain people? Probably not.

I'd confront them though. Oh I'd be confronting alright. I'd confront them with inane 'shock value', just like Uncle Lars.

It is very difficult to create something that both entertains and enriches, and what we ask of artists is that they do one or the other, or even better, both. Britney Spears at least does one of these things – she entertains millions of kids, and for that, I have more respect for her singing and dancing talent than I do for the entire body of work created by Lars von Trier.

'Shock value' can exist in art. 'Guernica' by Picasso. 'A Clockwork Orange' by Burgess. 'Suicide In An Airplane' by Ornstein. 'Pulp Fiction' by Tarantino even. But what Tarantino, Ornstein, Burgess and Picasso have that Lars lacks is simple - artistry.

'Breaking The Waves', 'The Idiots', 'Dogville', 'Dancer In The Dark'... I mean seriously, did anyone see these films and say, "Wow, that was really good!"?

To quote TISM: “It’s novel, it’s unique, it’s shithouse.”

*

Rant over. Everyone back to Ramon's poem please.

IDAHO: not just potatoes

I turned on the TV in my room last night and discovered I had BBC World News. At first, I was rather excited that I had another option besides CNN, but that quickly turned to confusion and anger when I watched the first story presented.

A BBC reporter was in Moscow, where the Eurovision final is to be held on Saturday night. A gay rights activist had petitioned the city council for permission to hold a gay pride march, but had been denied (every application since the first in 2006 has been turned down by the mayor, Yuri Luzhkov, who describes the parades as ‘satanic’). However, the council is allowing “hardcore nationalists and religious groups to stage a counter-demonstration on the same day.”

Being gay is apparently not illegal in Russia, but there are many cases of gay and lesbians being the victim of violence from “neo-Nazis, ultra-Nationalists and Christian fundamentalists.” Including British activist Peter Tatchell, who was badly beaten in Moscow two years ago, and Irina Fedotova, one half of the first lesbian couple to seek a marriage certificate in Russia (they were denied), who says she has been beaten twice by extremists. While I was watching the story, she intimated that many gay people in Russia have to hide their sexuality for fear of violence against them, and that anti-gay activists will wait outside gay clubs to bash people leaving them.

Indeed, Mikhail Nalimov, leader of the United Orthodox Youth, has said there will be “a very tough reaction from a lot of [their] activists” and claims gay activists are “spiritual terrorists” and that the “aim of the gay movement is to destabilise the country and society.” Of course, it’s not possible that the aim of the gay movement is simply to allow gay people to have the same basic human rights as everyone else.

I am completely baffled by opinions such as this. I just don’t understand what people have against homosexuality. What does it matter what two consenting adults do in their private life? How on earth does it impact on anyone else? Why do religious people get their knickers in such a twist about it (such as the ‘God Hates Fags’ group in the US)? And not just religious people, but anyone? Why? I’ve heard of some people who are against homosexuality, and in particular same-sex marriage, bring up paedophilia as an argument, and say society makes it their business to prevent that sort of perverse behaviour, and claim that it’s no different to homosexuality. But that’s bullshit. Paedophilia is not between two consenting people, because one of the parties involved is a minor and unable to give consent. There is also the ridiculous argument that if we allow same-sex people to marry, what’s to stop someone from marrying their dog in the future? For the same reason – the dog can’t consent.

While I was watching the report, and listening to Nalimov say the church and his activists will continue to fight against gay activists (and putting aside the very important issues that those who call themselves Christians are hardly acting like Christians when they bash other people and act with such intolerance), I just kept repeating to myself, “But why? Why do you care if these people are gay? How is it affecting you?” Sure, you might think homosexual acts damn the soul and what not, but what does it matter to you if someone else is doing it? I hardly think bashing someone up is going to endear you to god, even if said person is doing something you think god doesn’t approve of. Two wrongs don’t make a right and all of that. Not to mention, Jesus doesn't say anything about homosexuality in the New Testament of the Bible. You’d think if it was really that important, he might have mentioned it once or twice.

I really don’t understand homosexual-hate. Anyone have a clue?

P.S. May 17 is International Day Against Homophobia (IDAHO), so I thought this was a fitting topic.

This Cycling Life

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

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

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

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

Lift your game.

Let's club this dumb cliche to death, right now.

When Kruddy got up as leader of the opposition in December 2006 the commentariat had a field day.

“Dull”, “egg-head”, “pale shadow of the Tories”, “will fall apart during the election campaign” were some of the lines trotted out.

“Hang on”, I thought “this sounds familiar”, so I had a look back at some of the pieces that appeared in the UK media in July 1994 when Tony Blair became leader of the Labour Party.

Sure enough, the same clichés popped up; “dull”, “egg-head”, “pale shadow of the Tories”, “will fall apart during the election campaign”.

It therefore pleases me tremendously that Blair went on to win three general elections before retiring as PM.

The media never “got” Blair and they don’t “get” Rudd (both intelligent, highly complex politicians who also were/are widely popular). Witness, for example, this particularly stupid piece in the Age recently or Crikey referring to “Kevin Chavez” – a reference to the authoritarian Venezuelan President, Hugo Chavez. I'm also sure they'll be using the same tired arguments from now until the time Kruddy finally decides to pull the pin

Veteran journalist Mungo MacCallum, in his book about the 2007 election Poll Dancing, was struck by the difference between the Rudd of the gallery (“boring”, “dull” etc, etc) and the Rudd on the campaign trail (warm, relaxed, easy-going, popular).

I think the gallery, in large part, hates Rudd because he’s smarter than just about all of them – and lets it show. Rudd also knows that the vast majority of the Canberra journos are absolutely irrelevant and prefers to talk directly to the punters, which prompted petulant foot-stamping from the likes of Barry Cassidy when Kruddy declined to show up on Insiders but appeared on Rove instead.

And I’m sure the (what I’m going to call for the lack of a more suitable local insult) Guardianistas will continue their irrelevant bleating for the duration of the Rudd government as they did for the Blair government; especially these pompous knuckle-heads.

Here’s a message chaps – nobody in Canberra really cares what you think. They don’t give a flying fuck if you call yourselves “citizen journalists” or “the new media” or “Captain Walt the Wonderful”. You want to witter away, feel free but don’t kid yourself you’re doing anything useful or important.