Our Political Climate - We Definitely Need Climate Change!

Shit, I can't wait until the election is over. I just don't want to deal with the dross in the news anymore. Every day I think the dismal quality of politicians we have here reaches its nadir, but then a new day dawns with some fresh hell that is another sign of the political fuckwittery we have in this country.

The news that's had everyone sicking up their breakfast today is that One Nation's Steve Dickson has resigned after being filmed in a strip club. I actually don't care that he went to such an establishment. I care that he was willing to compromise our safety by sucking off the NRA. Why didn't he resign after that? So anyway, he's gone to a strip club. In theory, I think: 'Woop-de-doo, who cares?' But isn't he one of those pious Holy Joe types who espouses family values and passes himself off as a conservative type? Yeah, I don't care if a pollie goes to a strip club - it's an infantile form of entertainment, but so what? -  just don't be a hypocrite about it.

More irritating than Dickson's surface hypocrisy is the language and terminology he used whilst there. Stuff like: 'I think white women fuck a whole lot better; they know what they're doing. Asians don't', and 'I've had more Asian than I know what to do with.' Hey, Steve, now that  you're out of politics, how does a career writing messages for Hallmark sound?  Oh, and he said something derogatory about the figure of one of the dancers. Steve, look in a mirror. Did you see the image of Johnny Depp? No? Well, shut the fuck up; you're in no position to criticise.

The best bit was this tweet he posted upon tendering his resignation. Check the typo:

Uh, yeah.

In the meantime, La Hanson has given an interview in which she portrays a meltdown that would set of the warning siren in a nuclear plant. In that awful, adenoidal, lachrymose voice she mewled, 'People are hoping and praying that I'm going to be the voice for them.' Pauline, you have a voice like a cat sucking helium on a bandsaw; I don't want you to be the voice for me.

That fat scofflaw Clive Palmer has been boasting of his practically immeasurable wealth. Hey, Fat-Stuff: if you're that damned wealthy how about paying those employees of Queensland Nickel you ripped off? In the meantime, he's metaphorically dancing with that happy-clapping slogan bogan Scott Morrison.  Go away, the pair of you!

On the happier side, today I got my makeup and author photo done for the upcoming Howling on a Concrete Moon. A friend, who's a whiz with the war paint, did the honours. I've emailed a picture, along with the back cover blurb to the publishers. Now, I'm waiting to see samples of cover art for approval.

Life is hard at times, but sometimes, it's pretty fine.

Reflections on ANZAC Day 2019

I'm just taking it relatively easy today. I've not been rostered, but I didn't attend the Dawn Service this year on this most solemn of days. I generally do, but I slept all through it this time. I have been working a lot, so I decided I need to attend to self-care today.

My husband didn't march this year, but our son did, wearing his great-grandfather's medals (WWII). Very, very proud. I haven't been doing much for ANZAC Day this year, but I have had my own quiet reflection. I live not far from a pub, and I can hear a boisterous game of two-up, if the intermittent roars and cheers are anything to go by.  There does not appear to have been too much of the woke AF anti-ANZAC sentiment about this year. Honestly, these people make me ashamed to have the left-leaning politics I do. I seriously don't care if you people don't care for ANZAC Day, but how about you all stop trying to be deliberately inflammatory about it? The reason you have carte blanche to spout your obnoxious twaddle is largely due to the sacrifices made by some scared young men 114 years ago, so think about others for a change, okay? When there has been a shitstorm in the media over posts and tweets from certain well-known types, they tend to play victim. In some instances, when they've received threats and been stalked, it's understandable they'd feel aggrieved. I do not support threats being made, either. But for the love of God, if you're going to poke the bear, don't act surprise if it swipes you. If you're going to dance with the Devil, don't complain when a series of cloven-hoof shaped scorch marks sullies your parquetry, okay? I personally do not issue threats or nasty abuse, but will call out bullshit when I see it. I'm actually a gentle person, so I am surprised, and incredibly amused, to see I have been blocked on Twitter by some shitgibbon who is notorious for being deliberately offensive and provocative regarding ANZAC Day.

What else have I been up to lately? Well, I downloaded Sha La La La Lee by the Small Faces onto my iPod. Should put more of their stuff on, too. I've always loved Itchycoo Park, so I'm surprised I haven't put that one on, instead of going for Sha La La La Lee, but I've had the latter in my head, so that's probably why I chose it. My musical tastes are very broad, and I do love me a bit of Sixties Brit Pop and Mod. Steve Marriott was an awesome front man with a firecracker of a voice, and the world is a poorer place without him.

Well, I've got some poetry to analyse, so I'd best get on with it.

Lest we forget.

Spruiking Stories

Good afternoon, gentle blog-browser. I see it has been a week since I last posted here, but that's not because I haven't been pissed off, it's just that I've been seriously busy. Before I clicked on the 'new post' icon on my website, I had a look at some of the past posts I've written, and the common theme seems to be taking to task the overly-PC sooks who want to censor, or ban, or alter just about every work of art produced by anybody who is not woke AF.

Apropos of my last post, I haven't streamed the new Chris Lilley series on Netflix yet. I think it only became available yesterday, but I was doing so much other stuff, it just didn't happen. All the stuff I've been doing this week entails work, and actual WRITING work. I've picked up some writing tasks via Air Tasker for people who need application letters written, court references written, and essays written. My savings account is starting to become just that: a savings account, and not some useless service listed in my banking details with a token title. These Air Tasker procured jobs don't really rely upon my creativity, but they do use my writing skills, and for that I can be thankful.

I'm working most of the Easter weekend, either home caring or tutoring. I had some fun tutoring this week because - and if you're wearing socks remove them as this has the potential to knock them off - I happen to like Shakespeare. Yeah, shocking, I know. I'm foul-mouthed (or worded) in my blogging, listen to metal, and enjoy watching some politically unsound shows. But I do enjoy Shakespeare. I just love words. What I did yesterday was take along a list of Shakespearean insults (and there are some utterly crackerjack ones!), and together we read them, and deciphered them. I explained some of the less obvious ones. Reader, if someone is quoting Shakespeare at you, to wit: '...you three-inch fool!' (The Taming of the Shew), he or she is not saying you are short. This is the Elizabethan and/or Jacobean version of that gesture people make with the pinkie finger to denote someone's, er, shortcomings. Next time someone's pissing you off, why not refer to him or her as a 'lump of foul deformity'? (Richard III)

But what I really want to share with you is the news my novel Howling on a Concrete moon is getting closer to release. I have to write a back cover blurb for it, which must inspire the reader to pick it up and buy it. The book is nothing like my blogging style. When I blog, I tend to use a rather acerbic and bitchy voice. This novel is a lot more gentle. So too is a short story I have published on Amazon called Miss Winfield's Bookshelf. I will share a link for it here, and you can download it to a Kindle reader. I wrote it in 1996, and it won be some awards in competitions, and like my upcoming novel, the narrative voice is of a gentle nature. It's listed at 0.99cUSD, and I'm not sure how the Aussie dollar stacks up against that. But think about it. Here's a link: here .

Well, I must away. Got a front lawn to hopefully get mowed this afternoon, and some groceries to purchase.

Lilley-White

I'm finally shaking the flu that has been hanging around for the past week like an annoying drunk at a party.  I think as I'm getting older, I'm getting more unconcerned with what people think. This is a good thing, isn't it? I'm all for being respectful, but not at the expense of art and comedy. Regular readers know this is a constant theme of mine. Anyway, Netflix has announced the new series from Chris Lilley: Lunatics. The usual gang of whingers has taken up, well, whingeing.

The biggest cry is that Lilley does blackface. Yes, he has done this in the past. But the character in this new one just looks like a lady with frizzy hair who happens to be South African. Did anybody care when Lilley did, um, yellowface in We Can Be Heroes? I'm referring to the character of the Chinese Physics student, Ricky Wong. Ricky, along with other Chinese students, was staging a revue about our nation's First People. It was called Indigereedoo, or something really, really rank like that. So we had a white man portraying an Asian trying to portray an Aborigine. You know what? It was fucking funny! I'm saying this as someone who has been involved in some rather cheesy amateur theatrical productions over the years, and I found this silly production he was doing very relatable. The songs made me want to cover my face and squeal with the sheer tackiness of it, but here's the thing: Lilley is bloody good at creating characters that make you cringe. Remember the character of Phil Olivetti, the police officer who had nominated himself for Australian of the Year? He was so AWFUL! The fact I didn't want to watch when he was onscreen showed how clever Lilley's characterisation was.

I couldn't get into the series Angry Boys, but I did enjoy Summer Heights High, and J'mie. I'm going to give this one a look, and if I enjoy it, I'm going to keep watching. He's been accused of cultural appropriation and ableism (I had to look up ableism), and probably in the running for a few other '-isms', too. The complaints seem to be coming from people under the age of forty. How in the blue blazes did a generation who grew up watching South Park and Family Guy get so fucking offended by everything? Memo to all aspiring comedians: find another career path because the whingers will be coming after you with pitchforks, no matter how innocuous you believe your joke to be. Shouldn't comedy push boundaries at times? And pretty much EVERYTHING has the potential to be offensive to SOMEBODY. I find the so-called comedy of Ray Romano offensive because I think the character he plays is a total knob, so I don't watch it.

Okay, here's my relatively informed (unlike much of what I've read) opinion on the verdict in the Geoffrey Rush defamation case. His Honour's ruling was the Telegraph defamed Rush. The Telegraph couldn't run their 'truth in defence' tactic because his Honour ruled the evidence of one of the witnesses to be what's known as 'unreliable'. This doesn't mean he called the young woman a liar. It means her evidence did not 'stack up' (not a standard legal term) for the guidelines, rules of evidence, and law to which his Honour had to refer when formulating his decision. It's rule of law here, folks. Nothing to do with 'old white men', and seriously, you could line up a row of shot glasses and skoll every time you read that phrase in your newsfeed - you'd be on the floor spewing up flecks of carrot in no time.

Anyway, the upshot of this is I'm still going to enjoy the art produced by people who aren't popular.

People, just enjoy things. Don't go through life being scared to fart in case you shit yourself.

My Take on the Vegan Protest

Let me preface this post with the disclaimer that as a rule I have the utmost respect for vegans. One of my oldest friends is vegan, and so is one of my nieces. It's a lifestyle that takes dedication, but it's not impossible. Vegans have a reputation for being militant and preachy, but my friend is nothing of the sort. If asked, she will explain to people why she has made the choice she has made, but not enforce her views on others.

What I don't have respect for is utter cockwombles like those I saw in the news. You clowns want to storm a farm? You want to cause distress to a farmer, who is likely in a fragile state of mind owing to the crippling drought? Go for it, but don't come crying to me if you get hurt at the hands of an angry farmer. Do you globules of pus-ridden knob cheese ever actually stop to think of the outcomes of your actions? ('Hey, here's a good idea! I'll cut the fences so the cattle can get out...watch me, everyone. Look how cool I am with these bolt cutters. There you go, cows; run like the wind! Oh, man; there's a cow tangled in the fence! What'll I do now? Oh no, a cow went on the road and was hit by a truck! This wasn't meant to happen! What'll I do now? I want my mummy!')

Yes, you DO have the right to protest. It is a legal, and extremely important, right here. However, that right limits you to NOT obstructing people going about their lawful business, and it looks like you did that in droves.

In doing this, I have had to endure countless comments along the lines of: 'Make them foot the bill'. You know, this might sound weird to you socially activated little twerps, but I actually don't mind if my taxes go towards any bills for legal representation because the right to legal representation is one of the cornerstones of a democracy. Even though I think you all have the collective IQ of a developmentally delayed wobbegong, I wish you only fair legal proceedings.

This means I have also had to read headlines to the effect: 'Taxpayers foot the bill...', and '..at a cost to taxpayers...'.  Your actions have been the catalyst for these  scurrilous headlines, designed by the Murdochracy to inflame and offend. You know it's aggravating to read these headlines from a press helmed by an old monster (with just enough swipe left in his yellowing claws) who doesn't even pay tax in Australia? Thanks a lot for causing this.

Worst of all, the Prime Minister has used that odious term, the one I hate so much, the one that makes me want to stomp on the head of a newly-born kitten (and I, too, am an animal lover), the one that makes me combative, the one that goes: 'un-Australian'. Thanks for giving cause for me to be reminded that this country is not being led by a person with empathy, diplomacy, and intelligence; but instead by a happy-clapping boofhead trying to be ocker.

Now, if you want my advice (and you probably don't, but then again, Australia didn't want the disruption yesterday), remember this:  you catch more flies with honey than you do vinegar.  You want sympathy and respect for your cause? Don't do it in ways that just piss off the populace.

The Vagaries of 7 April, 2019

This is just going to be a mish-mosh of the vagaries in my mind of late. I have been horrendously busy, but also feeling pretty punk. I haven't had much by way of energy, but I think the shitty cold is on its way out.  I'm glad of this because today I drove to Maitland, and caught the train to Newcastle Interchange to check out the Newcastle Writers Festival. I wasn't able to see as much as I would have liked, but I had a nice day. Newcastle has a gorgeous foreshore and marvellous old buildings in the CBD. City Hall, where I went today, is just a glorious sight to behold, and oh-so-sumptuous on the inside. It kind of reminds me of an old art deco theatre. On my way home, I called by Bunnings and purchased a cantilever umbrella to put over my outdoor setting in the back patio area of my house, and I'm just thrilled to bits. Seriously, how frigging boring is my life this week?

I've also been busy doing some writing jobs, which have been procured via Air Tasker. Even though it's not for myself per se, it is nice to actually earn as a writer properly. It's keeping that lupine beast from the door, in any event.

Speaking of writing, I've promised someone I will promote something she published on Kindle Direct. It's called After the Meeting Was Cancelled, and the author is SP Baylan. It's a short story in the erotica genre. I'm in an online writing community, and we promote each other's works. It's my turn to promote hers, so I'm keeping my promise. It can be purchased from Amazon. My books can be purchased from Amazon, too. (What was that loud thud? Must have been the heavy hint I dropped).

Sigh. 'Prime Minister Scott Morrison says the horse racing legend Winx and her team 'epitomise' the idea of 'a fair go for those who have a go'.'  I'm quoting from what I read today. Again: sigh.  Scomo, Winx is a fucking horse, okay? Most of us aren't racehorses. And what happens if we have a go and fail; do we get turned into a pot of Perkins Paste, or a tin of Pal? Get out of Parliament, you twit. 

 I'm finishing this on a sad note, which is probably adding to the malaise brought about by the combination of tiredness, remnants of the flu, adjustment to reinstated Australian Eastern Standard Time, and a big day out: I learned about the death of someone I had considered a mate in the past. This was someone I knew back in my legal days, a someone very well liked by the criminal law fraternity. Out of respect for his indigenous heritage, I won't say his name, but if you don't know, he was the Aboriginal lawyer who played for the Wallabies but declined to play as an honorary white against the Springboks. Anyway, this Friday night (as I did on many a Friday night years ago) I will be raising my glass and toasting your memory, Sir.

'It's un-Oss-stray-yan!' (Fuck Off & Die, Whoever Says This!)

The likelihood of me ever becoming Prime Minister is infinitesimal, but if I did, I would do everything in my power to push for a new law stopping people from using the term 'un-Australian' to describe anything. I know I should let it go, but this obnoxious and odious term (I refuse to call it a 'word') really grinds my molars and boils my piss. I would also encourage people who feel they have been somehow dudded in a restaurant to complain like an adult, and not post things on social media.

In case you're wondering why I'm in this mood, it's because I saw an article this morning wherein someone complained about the miniscule scraping of Vegemite on the toast he/she/moron was served in a restaurant at the airport. This person complained by posting a picture of the miserly serving on social media. Naturally, people weighed in with their outrage, saying this tiny amount of the spread was 'un-Australian'. As an aside, I might just point out to people who complain something is 'un-Australian' that they might consider doing society a favour and get themselves sterilised.

If I ran a café and was going to serve Vegemite with toast (note my preposition is 'with', not 'on', and there is a reason for this), I would serve the spread in a little pot, thus allowing the customer to apply Vegemite to his or her own taste. Preparing a stranger Vegemite on toast his fraught with danger because it is such an individual phenomenon. Some like a tiny bit, and some like it slathered on like they're rendering a wall.

People, if you're in a restaurant and the food served isn't quite what you expected, do you think posting a picture on Reddit, or wherever, is going to improve the food? It MIGHT improve your own self-esteem because you're probably a narcissistic twat who needs social medial 'likes' for your own validation, but the food situation won't change.  What you have to do is speak nicely to the server, and state your disgruntlement - but be polite about it. The reason you must speak to the staff is because they cannot read your mind (and if you feel you have to have a gripe on social media instead of taking appropriate courses to complain, then it's quite apparent you don't have a mind, anyway).

Anyway, I'm off to watch television because I have a heavy cold that's left me feeling lethargic and miserable. My mood has not been improved by the person mowing the field next to where I live because the air is now redolent with fennel. Whenever this happens, my eyes itch and I sneeze so much I'm in danger of my nose flying off, leaving me a bit like Michael Jackson, had Michael Jackson been a slim, fair-skinned woman (oh, wait...).