What's Annoying Me Today

I'm not going to do a very lengthy post.  Well, I'm not planning to, but I might just take some breaks.  I've hurt the middle finger of left hand, and just want to rest it.  Not sure what I did, but it's a bit swollen.  But now that I've started, typing does not appear to be a problem.  Typing on a computer keyboard is pretty easy given the keys offer little to no resistance.  One of those old fashioned typewriters - and I'm talking pre-electric here - would probably have been gripping my hand to my chest and howling like it has just been  slammed with a mallet.

Whilst not discommoding me too much, the swollen finger is annoying.  Different things can be annoying.  You know, I never thought I'd find the Salvation Army annoying, but I read they have criticised Australians as being selfish for selling used and unwanted items on Gumtree, rather than donate to charity.  I actually don't have anything for sale on Gumtree at the moment (although I do advertise my services as an English tutor on that site), but whoever made this dungheap of a statement is most welcome to come to my house, look at my bills, and - to invalidate the necessity of me selling something online rather than donate - take the bills away and pay them all him- or herself.  Until then, I would respectfully suggest you shut your freaking cakehole about other people's decisions about what to do with THEIR OWN used household goods.

My children went back to school yesterday.  This is not annoying; this is awesome.  And because I had a few hours to myself, I decided to read and then meditate.  I read for a while (a Carl Hiassen - love his work!), and then switched on my Himalayan salt lamp, found a version of the Ho'opona Opona chant on You Tube, lay back on the lounge, closed my eyes and started to breathe S-L-O-W-L-Y and D-E-E-P-L-Y.  

Then the dog farted.

In an ungainly manner, I manoeuvred myself from my supine position, spluttering and wheezing as I did so. My chakras had been sent into a tailspin, and I knew my meditation session just was not going to happen.  This was annoying.

I looked at my Facebook group, and someone posted an annoying song by Billy Joel: The Longest Time.  This song just annoys me.  I don't mind old Billy, indeed, I have been known to sing along to Say Goodbye to Hollywood when it comes on the radio in the car (and I sound horrific, believe me).  But The Longest Time just annoys the living snot out of me.  In case you're wondering, here are some other songs by Billy Joel that have me blowing out an exasperated breath:

1. Uptown Girl '...You know I can't afford to buy her pearls...'  Don't bullshit us, Billy; you can afford to buy her three whole oyster farms if you wanted to.

2. Innocent Man Just overblown and grandiose wailing.  'I aaaaaaam an innocent maaa-aaa-aaaa-aaaaan!' But you're guilty of making my ears feel as though they've been fisted by a knuckleduster-wearing stevedore.

3. Longest Time Just sounds like nonsensical playground chanting to me.

4. Piano Man Oh, I actually rather like this, too, but whenever he goes: 'There's an old man sitting next to me/Making love to his tonic-and-gin', I just think Ick.  I mean, just: ick.  Would you not notify management and have them remove the pervert if there was such a depraved and obscene act going on next to you at the bar?

Anyway, time for my lunch, and perhaps a nap before the kids get home. 

What A Time To Be Alive

Most of us would all know Bob Dylan once sang, 'The times, they are a-changin'.'  Well, 'sang' might be too generous a term.  Perhaps 'brayed like an adenoidal donkey' would be a more accurate description.  Come on people, you know I'm right.  He's a brilliant lyricist but his voice is sheer torture.

But yeah, times sure are a-changin'.  I am just thinking of major news stories from when I was growing up.  When I was eight or nine years old, I had a flick through my parents' newspaper and hitched a breath as I beheld a photograph of a Vietnamese boy, probably the same age as me, with his head bandaged from shrapnel wounds.  This boy was weeping, and contemplating an uncertain and scary future as a refugee to Australia.  I was contemplating my immediate future of an episode of The Flintstones, my dinner: chops, peas, and mashed potato, and reading a few chapters of Charlotte's Web.

Other major news items were the Whitlam Dismissal, which caused one of the nuns at my school to have an orgasm.

Whilst I was still a youngster in primary school, I spent one Christmas playing with my new toys and grieving for people I didn't even know, people who lost toys and presents and houses and - in some cases - their lives; victims to the fury and ferocity of Cyclone Tracy.  You know something? I still recall headlines and quotes from witnesses: 'Darwin looks like a giant rubbish tip; and 'If you've seen pictures of Hiroshima after the atom bomb, then by God you know what Darwin looks like'.

Since reaching and traveling through adulthood, the news we saw included: the Chernobyl disaster, the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the September 11 attacks.

Now, when I scan for headlines, this is what I hear about:

1. Donald Trump supposedly paid a woman to spank him with a copy of Forbes magazine.  I actually don't really care if this is his fetish; he's allowed to have it and it's harming nobody.  Well, in theory, it's harming nobody.  But there is irreparable grave damage to the psyche and soul of everybody who has imagined this grotesque Dorito-in-human-form bending over a chair, pants around his ankles, yelping as the magazine makes contact with his arse. This is an arse that is not quite seventy and undoubtedly resembles two large blobs of blancmange, and each strike of the magazine would create a series of ripples across said blobs like a pebble dropped into the creek.  I will now take a brief respite from typing as I upend my keyboard and shake loose the flecks of vomit that have lodged betwixt the keys.

2. People have to be told to not eat detergent, to wit, Tide pods (I've not seen Tide on a supermarket shelf in Australia, but I've heard of it from reading US-based novels).  No, I'm not kidding.  We live in an age where pretty much every piece of information we've ever needed is accessible with the typing of a sentence and touch of a button, on a device that can be held in the palm of the hand, yet people have to be discouraged from eating a pouch made from polyvinylalcohol containing, among other things, sodium hydroxide, borax, and sulphates.  You people taking part in this warped challenge: what the fuck is wrong with you all? But on the other hand, this could be Darwinism toiling hard to rid society of these pointless oxygen thieves.  Bon appetit, foolish cockwombles.

3. There has been a scandal in a beauty contest.  Hey, this is nothing new. Controversies have sullied beauty contests in the past.  Personally, I'm not a fan of these things in principle, but if people wish to enter them, then that's their right. I remember the scandal when Vanessa Williams had nude photographs surface (God, why do people bloody CARE about this?  Does nobody have a skeleton in the cupboard?  It's not like she murdered anybody). I remember a stir one year in the Miss Australia contest - might have been around 1992 or so - when the drama was the entrant who should have won on merit, being the amount of money raised for the charity supported by the contest, was a man.  I'm not talking a she-male, or cross-dresser, but a legitimate cis-gendered male who entered the contest.  He wore a tailored suit in the evening gown section, and like I mentioned, he actually won on points.  However, the judges have to award according the rules, and the rules stated Miss Australia has to be female.  I thought this a great lark, and was very admiring of the man who had the - ahem! - balls to do this.  I don't know why he did it.  Maybe to raise money and awareness for the charity. Maybe to challenge gender stereotyping and sexism.  Maybe for a laugh.  Whatever. Good on him, I thought.

But, continuing with Point 3 above but merely inserting a likely-needed paragraph break, a scandal has rocked another beauty contest.  Contestants have been injected with Botox, in a beauty contest designed for camels.  I cannot tell you how much I wish I was typing that wrong.  I'm not.  There is a beauty contest for CAMELS, and it has been shaken to its very core because some contestants have been injected with Botox.  Okay, is there a big red button emblazoned with 'STOP' that I could press?  I'm not sure I really want to be on this planet anymore, and would like to get off.

So, my friends, we have images of the 45th POTUS (a buffoonish travesty) being spanked with a magazine targeted toward rich business folk (I think he's meant to be one).  We have to tell people to not eat detergent (I'm not talking babies and toddlers who put things in their mouths whether they be buttons, vegetable peelings, or dog poop).  Camels have been Botoxed in order to gain an unfair advantage in a beauty contest (and how on Earth do you determine a camel's desirability, anyway?  The creatures are ugly and ungainly, and the whole things sounds seriously sick).

What a time to be alive.

My Mental Meanderings on Art

I'm just wondering what SJWs will make of my novels?  Surely to goodness they cannot fault my protagonist in Calumny while Reading Irvine Welsh? As an aside, I will point out I've learned the title of a work of art must be italicised in an article, and the preposition is not capitalised.  Well, I kind of knew that already.  I'm calling 'preposition' on the word 'while' in this title.  My protagonist Martha is a modern day Boudiccea.  Perhaps not quite Boudiccea, but she's ballsy and shoots from the hip.  However, because she is a passionate cook this will be a manifestation of my internalised misogyny (whatever the fuck that is) because my heroine engages is what is traditionally viewed as the female role.  What will not occur to SJWs is that I made her a good cook because when writing a novel, the dictum is: Write What You Know.  I happen to be a damn fine cook myself, so therefore it was easy to write this stuff.  Also, that I've introduced a love interest who is a photographer for a men's magazine in the vein of the now-defunct Zoo Weekly is another example of my letting down the sisterhood.

Abernethy will see me facing all sorts of criticism if only because my protagonist is a male. That my titular character is a talking beagle will not distract them from the lugubrious fact I don't have many strong female characters in this book.  Billy's mother is a kind of strong character, but people will not see that.

Silver Studs & Sabre Teeth will see me being chased through the village by outraged pitchfork-and-torch laden SJWs and SWERFs because my protagonist falls in love with a woman who gives him a paid-for rub-and-tug.  The fact this novel also addresses the issues of male depression and same sex marriage will be brushed away like crumbs on the kitchen bench; 'they' will see me propagating some kind of subjugation of women.  But hey, one of my major secondary characters is the world's most accurate Marc Bolan impersonator, so surely that much count for something?

I guess I'm thinking these rather weird thoughts because people find certain works of art very offensive.  Different sectors of society will read sexism, or racism, or capitalist crushing of the masses into just about anything.  I don't care what the subject of a work of art is, as long as the work (1) 'speaks' to me, and (2) is produced by someone with a modicum of talent.

Today I was reading, and contributing to, comments on a work by Jean-Leon Gerome, a French painter in the style of academicism.  This one in particular:

Look at it.  Just look at it.  It's exquisite! I looked at it for a long time; I saw so much beauty in it.  Unfortunately, we are apparently not allowed to just enjoy works of art because they hint at racism, or enslavement.  

I was looking at some of the artist's other works, in particular his homage to the trial of Phryne.  Phryne (aka Mnesarete) was an Ancient Greek courtesan who stood trial.  I think the charges aren't clear, but they're generally considered to be Impiety.  I'm sure we don't have the crime of impiety in our criminal code, which given my sensibilities is probably just as well.  Anyway, Phryne's advocate ran this as his legal argument: someone with her beauty couldn't possibly be wicked, and to destroy the beauty (impiety was a capital offence - yikes!) would surely offend the gods.  To really hammer home the extent of her beauty, he disrobed her before the court.  Anyway, Gerome has painted his interpretation of what this must have looked like, but I'm imagining people comparing this magnificent work to a puerile Benny Hill skit, wherein an actress was often suddenly disrobed for comedic affect, which is of course just another example of the patriarchy's privilege.  In case anyone's thinking of hanging around court rooms now, I'm confident this line of defence isn't argued and probably inadmissible under the Evidence Act.  Look, if what I'm saying is bothering any of you, I also think Benny Hill is a stupid and infantile old man (yes, I know he's dead).

As I've often wondered in my ramblings, is the world coming to a point where we can no longer just enjoy the works of art for what they are?  It must be really draining getting offended by just about everything on the basis of its subject matter, or who has produced the work.  I set about thinking this afternoon about works of art (whatever the medium) that have offended me, and I had trouble coming up with any.  I might not LIKE the finished product, but it doesn't mean I'm so offended my life is ruined.  If you're interested, the only movie I can think of off the top of my head that has truly offended me is 1977's I Spit on Your Grave.  Just typing the title made me throw up in my mouth a little.  The subject matter (a woman who gets revenge on her gang rapists), the acting (bahahahahaha - what acting?), the cinematography (from some twerp who was probably stoned), and the actual rape scene (it went for thirty minutes or so) all combined to one big cinematic vortex of pure nauseating horror.  I cannot recall being so appalled by a movie-watching experience in my life.  The best part of the movie was the credits at the end because then you knew it was over.  But did I think it should have been banned (which it was for a while)? No, because if some actors (bahahahahaha - I slay even myself!), and a director, and all the other associated crew have produced a movie of their own volition and free will that is intended for public viewing; why ban it?  By all means warn the public about the atrocious content, but let the public decide for themselves.  If you want to watch this movie, go right ahead.  Just don't invite me over to sit beside you and share some popcorn.

From Bland Studios...

I am having some rather lugubrious thoughts regarding the future of cinema.  We will no longer have the opportunity to view a film because it's been made by somebody who has been accused of doing something stupid, offensive, obnoxious, or illegal.  Certain topics will be off-limits, and every unsympathetic character will get his or her comeuppance, like back in the Fifties.  No more artistic licence.  Films will be reduced to a bland morass of homogeneity, all directed by Ron Howard and all starring Tom Hanks.

Female actors have been apologising for having worked with Woody Allen.  Other female actors who have not publicly decried the man, such as Cate Blanchett, are being called out on this, as are male actors who have appeared in his movies without apologising to the world and calling for his house to be burned down.  Hey, I don't know if Allen is guilty or not.  However, he has been neither charged nor convicted of any crimes, and you actors who want to work with him: knock yourselves out; it's your business entirely how you see fit to practise your craft and earn an income.  Years ago, I left a very toxic workplace, but I don't think this makes me responsible for any suffering experienced by my successor.  The suffering was caused by the bullies in the workplace.  Could I have stood in the street warning anybody who looked like they might be walking into the building for a job interview? Perhaps.  But I had a new job to concentrate on and I seriously did not wish to be within an ass's roar of the place.

Everybody else, if you take a high moral ground you're going to have nothing to enjoy.  Most people are flawed in some way, and some more than others.  Phil Spector was undoubtedly a whiz in the recording studio, but if I listen to the magnificent music he produced, does this mean I am in some way endorsing the senseless shooting of a woman?

What people are finding to jump up and down about is really getting beyond a joke.  Has anyone heard of 'Bojack Horseman'?  It's about an character who is half-human and half-horse.  And just to give you the heads up: he's not real; this is a story.  The story is presented in the form of animation, and can I just point out that films, animated ones included, are an art form, and various tricks and illusions are amalgamated into the finished product?  The characters in animation are drawn by artists, and voiced by actors.  It takes a very talented voice actor to bring a character to life.  Anyway, someone's lost their shit over what is deemed 'whitewashing' by Hollywood because some of the humanoid characters are voiced by actors outside the ethnicity of the character.  Can the snivelling grot who actually started a change dot org petition about the casting in this movie do a few things?  They are:

1. Fuck yourself.
2. Sit on a pine cone that has been seeped in turpentine.
3. Give yourself a few uppercuts.
4. Seriously think about your life choices.

I'm pretty certain the Bojack character isn't being voiced by some bi-species mutant dreamt up in Dr Moreau's laboratory.  But someone else has asked the show's creator about one of the characters - Diane Nguyen who is Vietnamese-American - being voiced by a US actress.  God in Heaven, who fucking CARES? It's ACTING!!! Bart Simpson isn't voiced by a ten-year-old boy.

I foolhardily pointed out the folly of complaining about white washing when the characters are acted via voice, not appearance.  I got accused of being sheltered by my white privilege.  No, I'm not sheltered by any white privilege.  I just happen to have a bit of common sense, and am a firm believer in art for art's sake. Look, white washing is a thing and I do think it's important for actors of colour to be given work, too.  There was another stink recently (probably kicked up by the same twits) regarding some of the casting in the upcoming Aladdin movie.  It's not the main characters, it's because some extras have been 'browned up' with make up.  So what?  Maybe the only extras available were Caucasian, and here's something else: they were required for scenes where animals were to be handled and stunts performed.  These jobs require appropriate training and qualifications. It is a safety issue, and safety must come first.  If the only stunt people and animal handlers available for filming were of Caucasian background, then so be it.  Slap a bit of dark foundation on them, and this also enables the make-up artists to showcase their talents for future employment.  Yes, casting appropriate looking actors in the lead is important, particularly for actors who are POC, but let's have a bit of common sense in other aspects of film making, please.

In case some of you SJWs haven't been told, I will really enjoy breaking this to you.  Before I do, do a wee, sit down, and remove your socks because what I'm about to tell you is going to knock them right off.  Ready?  Okay: the actors who played the Nazis in 'Hogan's Heroes' were Jewish.  Got it?  This is what acting is about.

People aren't perfect  Hell, I want people to buy my books, but I'm not the greatest person alive.  I once put gladwrap on a school toilet seat and the cleaning lady pissed on it.  I am a monster!  (Almost thirty-five years later, and I still think that's really uproariously funny).

Anyway, I'd better watch as many art house, or bizarre, or ickily-themed movies as I can before my choices boil down to 'Directed by Ron Howard and starring Tom Hanks', and 'Directed by Ron Howard and starring Tom Hanks'.

Thanks, Paul Weller...

Friday night I cried a little. Life had been tormenting me cruelly.  It had been sitting up the back of the classroom firing off saliva-sodden wads of paper via a slingshot at the back of my head.  It had been sticking 'Kick Me' signs on my back.  It had put a frog in my school bag. It put its school bag on the remaining seat on the bus and said I couldn't sit there (I've drawn this metaphor from an incident that happened to me when I was thirteen, and if you're reading this - and you should know who you are - just remember you're a cunt and you now weigh close to 100 kilos, and I've stayed reasonably hot and smart).  It took my lunch.  It took my lunch money. It knocked on my front door and ran away. It put snails in my letter box.  It put a dog turd in a paper bag, placed it on my front step, set fire to it, rang the doorbell-

But I didn't fall for it.  I refused to stamp on a flaming turd-in-a-bag (doesn't that just sound like some kind of quick-to-prepare convenience food you'd buy in a supermarket?).

Today I tackled some housework, and as is my wont, pressed 'shuffle' on my iPod to prepare me for the tasks.  Those of you who know me well will know how important music is to me.  You will also know I have broad and eclectic musical taste.

The first track that came on was 'What Is Life?' by George Harrison. I interpret this as being from the point of view of a confused enamoured man.  But for the past few days I have been wondering just that.  What is life?  Stacking the dishwasher, I had to ruefully chuckle as I wondered had the Gods of Music colluded with the Gods of the Universe.

I think they did.  Why?  Because as I sprayed over the kitchen benches with my environmentally friendly and efficient home-made cleaner (recipe can be provided upon request), the next track to play was 'Walls Come Tumbling Down' by Style Council.  I have always liked the pep and passion in that song.  Today I really listened:

'Are you gonna try to make this work
Or spend your days down in the dirt
You see things can change....'

Paul Weller, you're right: things can change.  I 'don't have to take this crap'.  I 'can actually try changing it'.  Thank you, Paul Weller.  Thank you, Style Council.

Feeling better than I have in days, I got out the vacuum cleaner, accompanied by Foo Fighters' 'Learn To Fly'.  Ostensibly I was assembling the appliance, but in reality I was 'looking for something to help me burn out bright.'

Ah, the power of music.  As much as of a drudge as housework is, today I felt better than I have in days.  I pulled the freshly laundered clothing from the washing machine, and Tom Jones came on.  I skipped that track.  Tom Jones appears on my iPod courtesy of Mr Bingells.  Thanks, dear.

I learned a new word today.  Well, it's not a new word per se, but a very old one that has slipped away from everyday usage.  I'm bringing it back.  That word, my friends, is: ultracrepidarian.  How fantastic is that word?  It's both a noun and a verb, and it pertains to a person who criticises or gives judgement on a subject about which he or she has little or close to fuck-all authority.  I deal with lots of people who display that trait.  I used it today, in fact.  Someone in a Twitter feed called me a 'twat'.  I responded in a Wildean manner, telling him to insult me I would first have to value his opinion, which I happened to not do.  He then called me pompous.  Responding to this metaphorically thrown gauntlet, I used the word 'ultracrepidarian' in my reply.  I wont regale you with the details of the convo, but will assure you it was well above the sandpit style of 'Ink Pink You Stink' type of verbal warfare.  On my part, anyway.

But there's the important thing. I laughed.  I had a really good laugh at this.  Friday night I cried a little.  Sunday afternoon I laughed.  I laughed a lot.  This is a good thing.

Blackness of Hollywood

Tonight I'm just wondering where the arts, or the Yartz as Sir Les Patterson called them, are heading.  Whilst I applaud the women taking a stance and speaking out about sexual abuse in the entertainment industry, I do worry about the sundering from the blessed adage of ars gratia artis.  Those are the words you see around the MGM lion, and if you're not too big on Latin, it's art for art's sake.  It can be interpreted as art having no obligation to conform to societal norms, and there need be no didacticism in a work.  A work of art must be judged on the merit of the art alone, not the artist nor the subject matter.

What's got me thinking this is what I've been reading about the Golden Globes, and the let's-all-wear-black-ladies protest.  Personally, I'm glad I didn't see my childhood dream of becoming an actress fulfilled because if I was attending, I wouldn't be wearing black. I frigging loathe that colour (or lack of colour if you want to be nitpicky), and it makes me look like I've gone for a blood transfusion, only they put milk in the IV instead.  Some narks have said it's all very well for the women to protest against sexual predators, but some of those women still make movies with Woody Allen, and gave Roman Polanski standing ovation a few years ago.  Okay, Satan's probably got a legal team, but I'm going to give them a break and take on the role of Devil's Advocate.  Woody Allen has never been charged with anything (yeah, I know; neither has Harvey Weinsten).   Woody Allen happens to make - to my understanding - good movies (I haven't seen all that many of them so I'm not sure I can judge, but I did think 'Mighty Aphrodite' and 'Annie Hall' pretty good).  His movies have good female characters, and good scripts.  I cannot blame an actress for wanting to be involved in a production that would have a commendable movie at its end.  Also, the actresses are entitled to work with which ever director they so choose, if given the opportunity.  It's nobody else's damned business.  As for Roman Polanski, someone recently pointed out to me the standing ovation he received was for his oeuvre, not the man himself.  Yes, I'm actually happy for him to receive an award for his work.  He makes good movies.  It's dishonest to not award someone who's produced the best work on the basis he or she happens to be a sleazoid prick, or she-prick.  I would happily hand Roman Polanski his own testicles on a platter, but I still think his movie 'Rosemary's Baby' is one of the best novel-to-screen adaptations I have ever seen.

Unless you've been on the moon for the past few days (welcome back, and congratulations on not burning up on re-entry; hope you're not finding the adjustment to gravity too strenuous), you'll be aware of the allegations being made against Craig MacLachlan.  I'm not going to comment on them TOO much because (1) I've no idea if they're true, having not been there at the salient times; and (2) trial by social media is simply offensive; and (3) even if true, he is entitled to due process.  He has been removed from the current production of 'The Rocky Horror Show'.  I am planning to take Master 13 to see the show if and when it gets to Sydney.  Yesterday, I explained whatever night we go, there will be a different actor doing Dr Frank'n'Furter.  Years ago, his dad and I saw Craig playing Dr Frank'n'Furter.  Whilst part of me thinks it's a shame he's stood aside because it goes against my belief in the long standing legal principle of one being presumed innocent until proven otherwise, it is probably for the 'greater good' that this has occurred.  The show would likely lose money because of the boycotts from the public, and this is not fair on the investors, the crew, the cast, nor the band.  So, for the time being the understudy will take on the role.  Whether another 'big name' actor will take the role remains to be seen.

But the stupidity of some people has me shaking my head.  I saw on the news tonight there are people demanding refunds of their tickets because they refuse to see it now Craig's no longer playing the extra-terrestrial, cross-dressing, sexually ambiguous and rapacious scientist.  They wanted to see Craig do the role.  Fine.  But here's the thing: purchase a theatre ticket, and there is a chance one of the billed cast will not be taking the boards.  This can be due to anything: illness, illness in the family, a prior commitment, accident.  This is why shows have understudies.  Folks, you're seeing a SHOW, not a concert from that one performer.  Who remembers the original Australian production of 'Les Miserables'? Those who do will recall Normie Rowe played Jean Valjean.  Anyway, my mother was visiting Sydney one weekend, and staying with my aunt.  My sister suggested to them she organise theatre tickets for the matinee, with a view to my mother, my aunt, and myself attending.    We sat in the stalls, and just before curtain up came the announcement that for that particular performance, the role of Valjean would be done by the understudy.  It didn't matter.  We enjoyed the show.

Some time later, a production of 'Hair' was staged at the Footbridge.  I got myself a ticket, moseyed along, and bought a program.  I sat in my seat studying the program, and was delighted to see the role of Claude was to be played by an actor upon whom I was then harbouring a bit of a crush.  'Oh good,' I thought to myself, 'it's that hot bloke from the Cherry Ripe ad.  Can't wait for the nude scene!'  And you guessed it: as the lights dimmed, a stentorian voice boomed that for the evening's performance, the role of Claude was to be played by ... someone whose name I cannot recall.  I thought to myself, 'Oh, bugger!'  I then watched and enjoyed the show, and had a nice chat during intermission with the man in the next seat, who told me he'd seen the original 1969 production.  What I did not do was storm off in a huff and demand my money back.  You see, I knew to enjoy the show, because I was seeing a show in its entirety, not ONE PERSON.  Purchase of a ticket is likely a legal contract, but there is no contractual nuances if one of the cast members changes.  Don't like it?  Suck it up, or sell the ticket to someone who isn't such a buffoon.

Bye for now!

Having Words

Tonight I was reading a forum of words and phrases people hate.  If you are wondering, here are some of mine:

1. 'Irregardless'.  What the actual fuck.  Seriously, what the actual fuck. Okay, let me give you a lesson, if not in etymology, then in plain English: Nincompoops say this word like they would 'irrespective', or 'notwithstanding'.  Now here's the problem:'irregardless' as a word just does not exist.  It does not.  It is a unicorn, the mythical fairy creature of words.  Look at the word.  Its base word is 'regard'.  There is a suffix '-less' added thereto, which will make the word 'regardless'.  'Regardless' is a word, and as the suffix suggests, means having no regard to the topic or theme to which it has been applied.  To add the prefix 'ir' totally negates the meaning of the word 'regardless' - ahem! regardless - of the fact 'irregardless' is not even a word.  Therefore, those of you who say it should cease and desist immediately.

2. 'Would of'.  This is my pet peeve.  You should be saying 'would have', or 'would've'.  Not 'would of'.  NEVER 'would of'.  If I was running the country I would enact legislation that would see perpetrators of this nonsense led to a public place, locked in stocks, and pelted with rotting vegetable matter.

3. 'What?' instead of 'I beg your pardon?' I don't mind 'What did you say?', but plain 'what' is just pig rude.  I'm not entirely tyrannical on this; if someone has been given horrifying news and gasps 'What?' in shock, that is totally understandable.  But if we are having a normal discussion, or if I make a comment in totally normal conditions which is unheard or misunderstood, and you say 'What?', don't expect me to repeat myself.  I will not.  Over the years I have told various work colleagues I do not respond to 'What?', and I now tell my children the same.  This utter loathing for the misuse of this pronoun cum determiner cum adverb is genetic: my father hated it, also.  He once told me, in tones seeped in annoyance, that people saying 'What?' sounded like a snappy old dog barking.  By the way, don't try and be funny by saying, 'What?' if I ever mention how I hate people doing that.  It's an old, hackneyed joke.  And like many old, hackneyed jokes is truly unfunny.

4. 'Fillum' instead of film.  Listen, those of you who do this: the 'lm' at the end of 'film' form a diphthong, not a syllable.   If you persist in this heinous mispronunciation, I will - fairly or unfairly - consider you an uncultured swine.

5. 'UnAustralian'.  I've mentioned this annoying-at-best-and-infuriating-at-worst knob-end of a word before.  Like the abhorrent aforementioned 'irregardless', it also makes me snarl:  'What the actual fuck?' I totally detest it as a word, and I detest the manner in which it is used - usually by some poor loser or misery-guts politician (I've heard Peter Dutton use it) who disagrees with a point of view.  Why would you say something is 'unAustralian'? What does that idiotic word even mean? If someone has a point of view, or carries out an activity that goes against mainstream accepted practice here, someone implies they are in some way unpatriotic, leaning towards treasonous.  It's a bog-standard lazy word, and is plumbing the same depths as the old word 'yuppy' for pointless narky insults.  Stop using it, people.  It makes you looks like a jingoistic deadshit with no argument of substance.

Will no doubt have another list prepared soon, but for now, I bit you adieu.

Bukkake'd By Twisties! And Some Somnolent Songs

Been having a bit of a chuckle tonight.  Lord knows I need a chuckle.  I've received an electricity bill so high I might need to enlist the services of a Sherpa to scale it. Not only that, we appear to have two petulant brain dead twits engaged in a pissing contest.  That loathsome fool in the White House, you know, the one who looks like he's been bukakke'd by a packet of Twisties, has actually tweeted:

North Korean Leader Kim Jong Un just stated that the “Nuclear Button is on his desk at all times.” Will someone from his depleted and food starved regime please inform him that I too have a Nuclear Button, but it is a much bigger & more powerful one than his, and my Button works!

Why don't they just compare dicks already?  Wow, what a time to be alive.

Anyway, to keep my mind off the vicissitudes of life, I have been chuckling at my Facebook group who are tonight sharing songs they absolutely cannot bear.  It's interesting to see what really annoys other people, music wise.   I of course posted the putrescent song  'Float On', by The Floaters; an aptly named band given that song is really a musical manifestation of a turd bobbing about in a toilet bowl.  Have a listen to it, people.  It's the audio equivalent of being hit on by a bloke with a bad toupee, bling, and an unbuttoned shirt over a beer gut exposing a growth of chest hair that looks like coconut matting. 

There seems to be an commonality in the songs posted by my group: they are turgid, boring, pointless, soporific, and somnolent. Here are some examples, and I defy you to tell me I'm wrong:

1. 'True Blue' by John Williamson.  As well as the abovementioned qualities, this is jingoistic, atonal, gangrenous dung.

2. 'Seasons In The Sun' by Terry Jacks.  I apologise for the earworm that is going to burrow through to your brain until you are bashing your head in with a hammer to get some relief.

3. 'In The Air Tonight' by Phil Collins.  Boring and turgid bloat.

4. 'Mull of Kintyre' by Wings.  Yeah, I know it went to Number 1 here.  I still think it's as boring as fuck.

5. 'I Was Only 19' by Redgum.  It's probably politically incorrect to dislike this song, but I just think it ticks the above boxes.  Besides, I didn't post it, so I am not alone in this view.

6. 'Throw Your Arms Around Me' by Hunters & Collectors.  Yeah, another rather atonal offering.

7. 'Honey' by Bobby Goldsboro.  Its properties are consistent with those listed above, but this also has proven to be a strong emetic. 

So yes, I have been having a chuckle.  And in some cases, trying not to have a chuck.  If anyone knows of any other somnolent, soporific songs I'd be curious to hear your views, if not the songs themselves.