Speaking Broad-ly

Hey, how's this for a scenario? A guy engages the services of a plumber for an agreed amount of money, but reneges on the deal. The plumber, wanting his payment for services rendered, reminds the guy about their agreement, but the guy, who happens to be a politician, still refuses to come to the party. The disgruntled plumber, who understandably wants payment, goes public about the politician's welching on their agreement.

I do not wish to generalise, but I'd like to think many of you are nodding along and thinking: Yeah, I'm totally with that plumber. What a two-faced twatwaffle that politician sounds. He's obviously a snake in the grass who cares only for himself.

Okay, now I'm going to tweak this scenario slightly. Let's change the profession. Instead of a plumber, we will have a young woman who earns her income as a sugar baby.  The profession of her client will remain a politician. The politician does not pay the agreed sum, so she goes public. All of a sudden she's the bad guy in the scenario. Interesting, isn't it?

Of course, you're aware I'm referring to the Andrew Broad brouhaha that is clogging up our timelines and news feeds. The young woman is being accused of blackmail. All I see is someone trying to claim her agreed fee for a service. The amount sought totalled approximately $1,500.00AUS, so I can't see why that freaking fool Andrew Broad didn't just pay the damn money and be done with it, because nobody would be any the wiser.

What really shits me about Broad's decision to use the Sugar Babies dating site is his rancid hypocrisy. It's almost a cliché: married politician who espouses traditional Christian values, to the point he vigorously opposed same sex marriage on these bases, is - to use a pithy, overused, and somewhat odious phrase - 'embroiled in a sex scandal'. I don't care if people bang each other, provided they're consenting adults; I just get the shits with the hypocrisy of it all.  Not to mention his nausea-inducing pick-up lines about how he wanted to caress her and whisper 'G'day'.  Eeeeewwwww, I think my labia shrivelled. I remember when I was a young thing, maybe a bit younger than the subject sugar baby, and some guy said to me, 'I'm nineteen and still a virgin. What about breaking me in?' I thought was a shit chat-up line, but I think Andrew Broad cornered the market on them. If you're wondering: no, I did not take the guy up on his proposal.

Other thing that's bugging me: all the people whingeing about the Queen having delivered her Christmas message with a gold piano in the background. Couple of things: it's not gold; it's timber with gilt. Queen Elizabeth II didn't buy it; I understand it to have been bought by Queen Victoria. If this is the case, then it's been in the Royal household for quite a number of years, and so what? Something else: the Queen lives in Buckingham Palace, so her drawing room (or whatever the room in which she delivered the message - it could have been the dunny for all I know) is going to be furnished with relative opulence. You are not going to see an Ikea sideboard, atop which is a figurine of a cocker spaniel with chipped paintwork. The floor will be graced with authentic Aubusson, not a series of synthetic fire hazards from Maharajah Matt's Mats.  There will not be a magazine rack from Copperart in sight.  The artwork on the walls will resemble this:

and not this:

Personally, I take greater umbrage with the concept of a celibate man who lives in luxury deciding the issue of contraception for Catholics in impoverished countries who cannot afford to have more children, than I do with the Queen delivering a message on Christmas Day from the confines of a tastefully furnished room. I also get peeved off with grubs like Rupert Murdoch, a scabrous reptile who pays zero tax in Australia, having his news outlets engage in welfare bashing and trying to influence our government. But the Queen sitting in front of a rather gaudy looking piano? Nah, I think I'll pick a better hill to die on.

My Chrissie List

Again, I'm pretending to be the Grand High Executioner from The Mikado, and making my little list.  Here's some of the items on My Little List:

1. Christmas Songs On My Playlist:

1.1 Merry Christmas by Slade. Well, why wouldn't I? Anybody who knows me knows I loves me a bit of glam rock. I just love glam (today I bought rhinestone craft pieces with which to decorate my new phone cover, but didn't get craft glue, so will be back to the shops later). Noddy Holder has the dress sense of a gay clown and a face like a dropped pie, but even through the computer screen, the man's charisma is palpable. His voice sounds like it's being dragged over broken glass, and man he can belt it out. I will admit I'm quite partial to Slade - have been since I was about nine years old - so it makes sense I would include this one on my Chrissie playlist.

1.2 Rockin' Christmas by Ol' 55. For those of you who don't know, this is a gorgeous retro-themed one from my younger days. I think I might have been ten when it came out. You might recall Ol' 55 were a type of pet project for rock historian Glenn A Baker, and the band had a Fifties style.  The band also had actor/singer Frankie J Holden on lead vocals, and Wilbur Wilde on saxophone. This song always puts me in a good mood, and when I was younger it never really felt like Christmas until the radio stations played it.

Mariah Carey and Wham: get in the bin. Your Christmas songs blow mightily, and these two are great.

2. Things I Like About Christmas:

2.1 Bonhomie and good cheer.

2.2 Presents.

2.3 Driving at night to look at Christmas lights around town.

2.4 Food.

2.5 Nativity!, which is a fun and whimsical British movie about a school teacher who finds himself in charge of organising the school's nativity play. It stars Martin Freeman.

3. Things I Don't Like About Christmas:

3.1 Grinches.

3.2 Certain Christmas decorations, to wit, those little signs that stick in the ground, reading: 'Santa, please stop here'. I cannot explain why, but for some reason those signs get right up my nose. I wouldn't be so petty and venal to go into someone's yard, then knock over or pull out the sign, but Gawd-strike-me-bloody-magenta, those signs shit me.

3.3 Flies. This is Australia, and when having your Christmas lunch outside in forty degree heat and a westerly wind, you will likely be battling the little black bastards, who will be dive-bombing your food like little black Luftwaffe.

3.4 Love, Actually I started off not minding this movie, but now it just gets on my nerves. It's a discombobulated quagmire of vignettes wherein everyone's miserable or wants to shag someone he or she is not allowed to shag, usually for societal reasons. I found myself shouting to the Laura Linney character, when she was about to boink that hot dude from her creative agency when her brother (a person with intellectual disability) rang, thus creating some kind of pre-coitus interruptus: 'For Christ's sake, your brother is in care! Now just give  yourself some self-care and let the staff at the home tend to him, and jump that guy's bones already!' I also wondered what planet the staff of 10 Dowling Street were inhabiting, when they were describing the Natalie character as being chubby or big-thighed. She looked pretty normal to me. And how's that bit where Colin flies to the States and has three hot women screwing him because he's British? Hello? Viewers, please suspend all belief whilst viewing. On an interesting side note, this movie also features Martin Freeman, who stars in the movie I mentioned in 2.5 above.

Anyway, that's my little list for today, folks.

I'm hoping to blog before the 25th, but if I don't, as Noddy growl-screams at the beginning of one of the You Tube clips for 1.1 above: 'Meeeeeerrrrrrry Chrrrrrrisssssssstmassssssssss!'

Where I Talk of Stuff That Will Likely Be Banned on Lyrical Content

Last week I posted about the banning of Baby, It's Cold Outside following the loss of shit by a bunch of woke as fuck morons who totally miss the point, and have an abysmal lack of ability to (1) contextualise, and (2) enjoy a work of art for what it is: a work of art. Let me type this slowly for you, you bunch of ignorantly driven dullards: a work of art does not actually need to conform to a societal expectation or moral. Hey, there is stuff out there that personally offends me, too, but guess what? I have free will and opposable thumbs, and these tools enable me to either close the book, walk out of the cinema, turn off the television, leave the museum, or turn off the radio. On a sidenote, I'm wondering are they working to get the poetic works of some rappers banned, too. You know, the ones with songs peppered with references to the female gender as 'hos' and 'bitches'.

Anyway, I was goofing around on You Tube the other day, just playing some choons. Those who know me well know I am something of a music trivia buff, with a particular interest in what was termed the British Invasion of the 1960s. Think Rolling Stones, Herman's Hermits, Manfred Mann, Gerry & The Pacemakers, Dave Clark Five et al. I was listening to a Herman's Hermits number, which I will talk about in greater detail shortly, and it got me thinking: I hope no woke as fuck morons are listening to this, because they'll have it banned on account of what they'd interpret as deprivation of liberty and coercion. Sadly, this is not hyperbole. Anyway, strap yourselves in, gentle reader. Or how does 'buckle up, bitches' sound? Whatever, settle in and check my list of Songs Likely To Be Banned Because There Is An Extraordinary Number Of Cockwombles Out There:

1. Because I've already alluded to it, I pretty much have to list it first, and it's You Won't Be Leaving by Herman's Hermits. Have a listen to it folks. If you're like me, you'll just enjoy the sweet vocalising of the lead singer, a toothy type named Peter Noone who joined the band when still in his teens. If, however, you are riding the Woke Bandwagon (screaming slogans and chucking pamphlets in your wake), you will be bellowing and bawling that this is a predatory rapey type of song. Look, the narrative is clearly a seduction. I want to know: is there something WRONG with a seduction (assuming all the parties are willing participants)? This just in: people like to occasionally fuck. There, I said it. The lyrics include: 'Never know just why it was/You really came to see me'. This is open to interpretation as victim blaming at its finest. You know, the 'What did she expect by going there?' type of stuff. Hey, I find victim blaming offensive, too. But let's not worry about what is only a song. Yeah, I know to date (to my knowledge) there has been no call to get this whimsical ditty banned, but I wouldn't be surprised if it happened, given the current atmosphere. It's a shame people can't just enjoy things for what they are, like this song, which happens to be an example of the zeitgeist when it was recorded by a group of talented guys playing instruments, who happened to be able to sing and blend their voices charmingly.

2. Can't Get Enough by Bad Company. The problem people will have with this is the opening line: 'Well I take whatever I want/And baby I want you...'.  This will have the triggered tragics up in arms because it just reeks of entitlement, and the patriarchy's perceived right to a woman's body. Not only does Paul Rodgers sing that, the next verse has him seductively singing, 'Well it's late, and I want love...'.  According to the militant Let's-Ban-It-All snotheads, this is also an example of entitlement. You know, 'I want sex, so gimme.' Again, I've not heard calls for this song to be banned, but I wouldn't be surprised if it turned to be the case. Now, here's the thing: Paul Rodgers is the vocalist for Bad Company, and would you care to know something interesting? He's a fucking brilliant singer. He's probably one of the best rock vocalists ever. Mr Bingells and I had the privilege of seeing him perform, with contempories such as Roger Daltry and Alice Cooper, many years ago (before we conceived our oldest child) in what was called The Rock Symphony. He performed Can't Get Enough, and All Right Now (from his time as lead singer with Free). He was mesmerising. Stage presence all over the place, charisma in droves, and still able to hold a tune like a mother cradling a newborn infant. He didn't come on for the finale because, as the compere advised, he was suffering from flu. We had no idea, such is the talent of the man. You know what else? If Paul Rodgers sang those lyrics to me, he'd have me. Strewth, if he sang the contents of his shopping list to me, he'd have me.

3. Centerfold by J Geils Band. It surprises me greatly nobody's bitching about this. I seriously abhor the song because the narrator is one of those piss-elegant milquetoasts with a Madonna/Whore complex. I'm not going into great detail about the many reasons this song annoys me because I've said it all before, but you know something? I'm not calling for it to be banned, because as I've mentioned before in this post, I have free will and opposable thumbs, so can stop myself being subjected to a work of art which offends me.

Yes, I can take steps to prevent myself listening or viewing stuff that gets up my nose, so try it some time, all you social justice warriors; you might find yourself in for a pleasant surprise.

Today's Thoughts

I recently re-read MacBeth to brush up because one of my students was studying the text in English. I was thinking about that this morning. There is a point where the titular tyrant bewails, 'My mind is a nest of scorpions.'  I was thinking about that line, and thought: Yeah, me too, Macca. My mind feels like a bunch of premenstrual, wasp-stung, sand-stuck-in-the-vagina goblins that have been stuffed into a shopping trolley and set careering down a steep, rocky embankment.  It must be my weird thoughts.

One thought I've had is I should type a little note of explanation, or a public service announcement, if you will. There has been a suppression order made by the courts following the conviction of a high profile defendant the other day. Everybody seems to be asking the point to this, and why the censorship, and why this, and why that? Let me put it as succinctly as possible. This is difficult, because I don't do succinct. However, I hope I can explain it in easily understandable terms:

This person is the subject of another trial that has been listed next year. Any adverse publicity surrounding this conviction could be prejudicial to this upcoming trial. Yes, everyone knows who this person is, but it's not the point. The court's role is to uphold the principle that not only must justice be done, justice must be SEEN to be done. Therefore, appropriate judicial conduct has been carried out in the issuing of this order. If the defendant is convicted because of prejudicial publicity emanating from the recent conviction, then the court would be criticised for not having issued a suppression order, and this would be used in an appeal. Therefore, the court has done its job, and can't be criticised.

There was a similar situation years ago when the miniseries Blue Murder was screened. The court issued an injunction against the series being screened in Victoria, because one of the characters portrayed was due to stand trial further down the track. Yeah, any juror could have crossed the border and watched, or had an interstate friend record the series and send a copy. However, in doing what it did, the court executed its duty and would not be subject to any criticism of it procedural adherence.

Because I've been feeling cruddy, I've been playing some daggy stuff today. Here it is:

1. In The Country by Cliff Richard
2. Penny Arcade by Roy Orbison
3. Afternoon Delight by Starland Vocal Band

I make no apologies for this cheese; we must do what we must do to maintain the serotonin.

Baby, It's Cold Outside & The Temperature Matches Your IQ

I've still got this dreaded lurgy, and it's a merciless thief of energy. It makes me glad I don't find most works of art - be they film, song, or literature - offensive and want them banned, because I'd pass out with exhaustion! The exhaustion I've had this past week has made me very drained and miserable, but if I was one of those perpetually offended pussy-arsed sooks that takes umbrage with just about EVERYTHING, then I'd be catatonic from the debilitating lethargy.

In case you haven't heard, some radio stations in the North American area of the globe have removed Baby, It's Cold Outside from their Christmas playlist, following the whingeing of some chronically lugubrious malcontents who claim the song has coercive and predatory overtones. I'd like to say I'm being satirical, but sadly, I am not. Some stations have capitulated to these moaning morons, who are also likely the same moaning morons that think saying 'Merry Christmas' is offensive to non-Christians. Here's a hint, you miserable milquetoasts: it's not offensive to non-Christians. Non-Christians have realised there are better things to worry about.

So, is this song problematic in its lyrics? Are the lyrics predatory. Perhaps. Or perhaps they are just a bit of cheeky fun. It's up to the individual listener to interpret those lyrics. The song, when performed by a talented duo, can be a beautiful harmonic blend. But just for shits and giggles, I'm going to post hereunder a link to a performance by Rudolph Nureyev and Miss Piggy on The Muppet Show. Miss Piggy is portrayed as the would-be seducer, and Rudy wants to get away from her clutches. The scene for this - ahem! - ham-fisted seduction takes place in a sauna.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-EJ1SBAO1HU

Watch and enjoy. And all you naysayers, what's going to offend you in this clip? Aside from Miss Piggy's refusal to take no for an answer, maybe you're taking umbrage with the bestial interspecies erotica implied in this clip, or perhaps it's the fact that Nureyev, a gay man, is being forced to hide his sexuality owing to homophobia.

Is everything that might be slightly dodgy to be banned? Hey, I like the Osmonds as much as anybody - they're very talented - but they're going to be boring after a while because there will be nothing else to which we will be allowed to listen.

Baby, maybe it IS cold outside, but with this half-based idea, your HEAD is EMPTY inside.

Can I please beseech people to stop trying to have everything banned? You don't like it? Listen to something else. Problem solved. If you MUST have Christmas songs removed from playlists, start with The Little Drummer Boy and Last Christmas. Those songs suck the dried dags from the lanolin-matted wool around an old ram's arse.

Olfactory & Faust

I've not been blogging as prolifically as I would like to be. The main reason for my slackness of late is that I have been sick. The last post mentioned the assault on my olfactory senses with the passing of a rodent in my house somewhere. Well, if the wretched thing was baited this past week, then the putrefaction would be of no concern because I have been unable to smell properly for about a week now, owing to a head cold/flu of such magnitudinous strength that my nose has felt like there has been a medicine ball wedged in it. Along with the nasal discomfort, my head's ached, I've been breathless with exhaustion, and my ears are blocked.  On a side note, it's nice to type the word 'olfactory'. It doesn't get used often enough. Louden Wainwright III put it to good use in his ditty Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road ('You don't have to look/And you don't have to see/You can sense it in your/Ol-fact-or-reeee').

I had to take sick leave, and curl up on the lounge and binge-watch The Crown. Chez Bingells is moving with the times, and we now have Netflix. This capitulation to modern viewing habits is not something we had planned, but now my seventeen-year-old has a part-time job, he thought he could spend some of his pay on Netflix. Ergo, I have been bingeing on and drooling over The Crown.  I'm adoring it. I've always been fond of biopics, and am adoring the sumptuous costumes and recreation of the 1950s England, as well as the stellar performances. John Lithgow is mesmerising as Winston Churchill. I have always been a fan of Lithgow's, ever since his astonishing turn as the transsexual former footballer Roberta Muldoon in The World According to Garp.

But with the sickness, comes mild depression. I really hate being sick. I hate having no appetite (but enjoy the possibility of regaining the figure I had when I was in my twenties). I hate being miserable. I hate having blocked ears. Yesterday in the supermarket, I was so fed up with it, I decided to try an old remedy: I closed my eyes, held my nose, and swallowed. It worked; there was a temporary clearance of the ears. What was initial relief turned to abject horror when I realised the Faustian pay-off in having my full hearing return: the supermarket loudspeakers were playing Last Christmas by Wham, which has my vote of Worst Christmas Song In History Of Yuletide Celebrations.

Well, I must attend to other things now. Got some plans which I cannot yet discuss, but if they come to fruition, they will be blogged about, believe me. Just watch this space.