I've been questioning my own behaviour of late. Do I find it my life mission, my raison d'etre to set misinformed people straight, or to just downright annoy them in a fit of perverse superiority? The people I like annoying are usually the ones who follow an elected senator. Not just any elected senator, but one who has never actually fecking well voted in an Australian election in his life and then has the hide to stand for Parliament. Him, his minions, and the mainstream media are just doing my head in again. Look, I'm about to say something that's probably not a likeable comment, but I'm sure if my interpretation of policy is correct, is a true one. First of all, you've no doubt seen the headlines about how 'hardworking Australians' are 'outraged' that 'their taxpayer dollars' have gone toward the legal bills of Cassie Sainsbury in Colombia. Those are clichés and standbys straight out of the Bog-Standard Journalistic Maxims textbook, in particular the chapter that deals with how to whip up public outrage. Tabloid media, shock jocks, and shock-jock-turned-senators are whipping away like frenzied dominatrixi. I am sure the plural of dominatrix is 'dominatrixi', but as I type this my on my 'pute, the stern red squiggly line appears below. I tried 'dominatrixes' , but 'it' didn't like that spelling either. Spelling semantics aside, I'm sure you get my drift. The crappy senator wrote a post all huffing, puffing, bluff and bluster about this, how Cassie is a 'some time prostitute' (note to the senator: Who gives a flying - ahem - fuck? Judgemental and irrelevant, much?) and the hard working taxpayer blahblahblah (he was no doubt cribbing from the aforementioned textbook). Look, I'm now at my point: my interpretation, albeit sketchy, of the Foreign Affairs policy is that in these overseas cases there will be funding made available in instances where the defendant is charged with a crime that could garner (a) the death penalty, or (b) a sentence over twenty years. Cassie was for a while looking at option (b), hence the funding. It's our law, and it must be applied without fear or favour. Also, the $100,000 that has everyone losing their shit where they stand is really pretty small potatoes, chats really, compared to the obscene amount of money spent on the same sex marriage postal survey.
But questioning my behaviour? I think I just enjoy stirring.
Okay, who watched tonight's episode of 'Countdown'. It focused on 1982, and started with a snippet of Christopher Atkins performing 'How Can I Live Without Her?' from that woeful, cine-shite 'The Pirate Movie'. Atkins probably peaked in 'The Blue Lagoon', when he had that absurd perm. I hadn't wanted to see 'The Blue Lagoon'. Even at fifteen, I was not a 'chick flick' type of gal. I knew of the controversy surrounding the movie, and also knew the nude scenes were performed by a body double. There was fuss because the Brooke Shields character experiences menstruation. I didn't care; most women do experience menstruation and I was three years into the menstrual stage of my life then, anyway. But I was wheedled into viewing this film by some younger cousins who needed an older teenager to accompany them. 'Will you take us to see 'The Blue Lagoon', Simmie? The girl gets her periods in it!', they pleaded. So I took them along. And sat in the cinema bored out of my scone.
On the bright side, the episode screened a clip of Iron Maiden performing 'The Number Of The Beast'. How awesome a singer is Bruce Dickinson? I knew he was a pilot, but had forgotten he was also a high-ranking fencer, having declined a place in the Olympic team because he was touring with the band. I sniggered at the lycra, and pointed out his black studded wrist bands to my 16yo, telling him I used to wear similar, having been something of a metal head when younger. Upon hearing his mother used to sport such gauche accoutrement, my son said, 'You are not a good person.'
Other bands were featured, some of whom I'd never heard and indeed would have remained happy in my ignorance; one featured a singer who appeared to be a precursor Courtney Love in that she was bleached, skanky looking, and had a painful singing voice (which matched the shit song she was, um, delivering). Seeing Devo performing 'Whip It' was lots of fun, and compensated for the rest of the dross.
But it was fun, and made up for the aggravating afternoon I spent trying to purchase my 13yo son a pair of shoes. I couldn't find suitable ones in his size, but he found some elegant women's high heels and put them on, strutting around the store like a cross between a catwalk model and Dr Frank'n'Furter.
I have also prepared a lesson for a lad I am to tutor in English tomorrow. So I am feeling virtuous. I am also feeling tired, and have a kitchen to tidy.
Ciao for now.
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