Okay, life is getting a teensy bit less hectic, although I have been exceedingly busy of late. I was not rostered today, so I have been following up proposed author appearances with local libraries, and organising interviews with local branch of ABC. At this stage, I am pre-recording an interview tomorrow in the window I have between finishing work and tutoring English. I will share a link to the interview, but I'm told the questions I'm likely to be asked are the usual run of the mill: What's It About, What Inspired You, and How's It Been Received. I said to the producer, 'A seventeen-year-old girl trying write her memoirs, I wanted to try something different, and very well, thank you.' In the meantime, peeps, here is a link to the first chapter of Howling on a Concrete Moon.
Being a parent brings many surprises and challenges, some of which you can really do without. My fifteen-year-old is a gluttonous, pimpled fiend, but thanks to his metabolism and the fact he is a dancer, he never gains weight. One thing I've noticed (and remember myself) is that fifteen-year-olds find the most infantile things funny. Last night, I drove He of Voracious Appetite to his dance class, and just as I turned off the engine, I was subjected to one of those things you can really do without.
Kid: 'Mum, we can't go in yet. I've still got a penis on my leg.'
Me (in a state that transcends normal flabbergasted): 'What?!!!!'
Kid (pointing to something on his thigh that looked like a crude prison tattoo): 'My friend drew a penis on my leg.'
I stared in abject delirium, and my kid told me the backstory to the work that went into this, um, art, including the fact the artist has wanted to draw pubes, but my son suggested the hairs on his leg would serve this purpose well. I told him he couldn't go to dance with that thing on his leg, and that he would have to scurry into the toilet and scrub it off. He then suggested - and I swear I saw the lightbulb appear over his head - that we turn it into a rocket ship. I handed him my pen, and my son went about sketching portholes, and combustion flames coming from what had once been testes but were now the base of the rocket. He added a stick figure sitting astride the craft, and asked me to write the caption: I'm going to the moon! So, I did. My son exclaimed at the apostrophe I included: 'Hey, you're even punctuating!' I replied, 'It's ME. I'm hardly likely to not punctuate, am I?' The cover-up was completed with my son taking the pen and tracing a speech bubble around the text and attaching it to the 'astronaut's' mouth. I compared myself to Mr Squiggle, and then had to explain to my kid who Mr Squiggle was.
I wonder how Mr Squiggle, Blackboard, and Miss Jane would have coped with this one?
Wednesday, 30 October 2019
Monday, 28 October 2019
My Night with the Boss, and Spying Government
When I was aged about nine, I was given for Christmas an anthology of tales by Hans Christian Anderson. The translation from Anderson's native Danish to English was impeccably done, and I found the tales enthralling. As a side note, I did try to read The Three Musketeers some time ago, and whoever translated Dumas's tale to English should think about his or her choices. Anyway, thanks to Disney, most of us familiar with The Little Mermaid, notwithstanding the studio's softening of the more grisly and gruesome aspects of the story. But this anthology had lots and lots of stories, and one of them was about a swineherd who was in fact a prince in disguise, and whilst in disguise he 'sold' a princess a magic kettle. The properties of the kettle included a function wherein if someone held his or her finger in the steam of the kettle, he or she would be able to smell what was being cooked in the households of the town. The price for this marvel of appliances (are you reading this, Breville; might be worth thinking about) was ten kisses from the princess. She was worried that someone would see, and had her ladies-in-waiting spread their dresses out and block them from view, as she danced the tongue tango with the swineherd (whom as we know, was a prince). The disguised prince got his kisses, and she got her magic kettle. She took it home and tried it out. The ladies-in-waiting thought it was amazing.
'We know who has soup, and who has pancakes for dinner today, who has cutlets, and who has eggs. How interesting!' they all cried.
Anyway, I read this, and thought: This is not interesting. Why on earth would you want to know what someone's having for dinner? (Fast forward to nowadays when thanks to social media, we get to learn what people are having for dinner whether we want to know or not!).
But I guess it just shows it's not a new idea, people in authority (and the monarchy depicted in this story do have gubernatorial authority) wanting to know what people are doing in their homes. I've read the Department of Home Affairs has suggested facial recognition technology to confirm people accessing online porn are of legal age to do so. Never mind having people just enable parental controls and filters on their computers to keep the kidlets away from questionable material, the government, in the manner of the princess with her kettle, want to know who's looking at what. I reckon the grotty grubs just want to look at everybody's 'orgasm face', and check out the sites they're viewing. Get out of our bedrooms, and our studies, or whatever room in which the computer is kept.
On Saturday night, I drove to a nearby town and watched a Bruce Springsteen tribute show. I really enjoyed it. I didn't spend too much time filming on my camera, because I have a newish camera and am not used to the filming function. I did capture some wobbly, wonky footage of 'Bruce' performing Hungry Heart, but after that, I put my phone away and just enjoyed the show. Most of the patrons were older than I am, but young at heart, as evidenced by the dancing. Well, I think they were dancing. There was one woman reliving her young sharpie days, and doing some blend of the Sharpie Dance and Interpretive Dance. It was a sight to behold. Some drunk guy tried to get me up to dance. I actually like to dance, but I declined that night because: (1) I don't like dancing with drunk men; (2) I didn't want to leave my handbag unattended; (3) my sexy new shoes were pinching my toes; and (4) I didn't want to put myself at risk of being stuck by the elbow or foot of the ageing sharpie. When 'Bruce' started on Dancing in the Dark, I actually did toy with the idea of dancing near the stage; I thought he might invite a woman up to the stage to dance a la the young Courtney Cox in the original video; and I so wanted to be that girl. But my misgivings overwhelmed me, and I remained seated. It was just as well, because this 'Bruce' didn't invite a female audience member onto the stage to dance. It might have been the insidious phenomenon known as Insurance - public liability and litigation are an evil mix at times when it comes to fun. However, I think he was also worried about his own health: extending an inviting hand would have no doubt led to the ageing sharpie knocking all competitors out of the way as she stumble-staggered to the stage, and 'Bruce' probably didn't want to be buffeted and pummelled by flailing body parts, either. To borrow from his grand finale - Born to Run, natch!: it's a death trap.
Anyway, that's it for now. Thanks for reading, and check out the first chapters of my novels (links on the homepage of this blog).
Will you walk with me out on the wire
'Cos baby, I'm just a scared and lonely rider...
'We know who has soup, and who has pancakes for dinner today, who has cutlets, and who has eggs. How interesting!' they all cried.
Anyway, I read this, and thought: This is not interesting. Why on earth would you want to know what someone's having for dinner? (Fast forward to nowadays when thanks to social media, we get to learn what people are having for dinner whether we want to know or not!).
But I guess it just shows it's not a new idea, people in authority (and the monarchy depicted in this story do have gubernatorial authority) wanting to know what people are doing in their homes. I've read the Department of Home Affairs has suggested facial recognition technology to confirm people accessing online porn are of legal age to do so. Never mind having people just enable parental controls and filters on their computers to keep the kidlets away from questionable material, the government, in the manner of the princess with her kettle, want to know who's looking at what. I reckon the grotty grubs just want to look at everybody's 'orgasm face', and check out the sites they're viewing. Get out of our bedrooms, and our studies, or whatever room in which the computer is kept.
On Saturday night, I drove to a nearby town and watched a Bruce Springsteen tribute show. I really enjoyed it. I didn't spend too much time filming on my camera, because I have a newish camera and am not used to the filming function. I did capture some wobbly, wonky footage of 'Bruce' performing Hungry Heart, but after that, I put my phone away and just enjoyed the show. Most of the patrons were older than I am, but young at heart, as evidenced by the dancing. Well, I think they were dancing. There was one woman reliving her young sharpie days, and doing some blend of the Sharpie Dance and Interpretive Dance. It was a sight to behold. Some drunk guy tried to get me up to dance. I actually like to dance, but I declined that night because: (1) I don't like dancing with drunk men; (2) I didn't want to leave my handbag unattended; (3) my sexy new shoes were pinching my toes; and (4) I didn't want to put myself at risk of being stuck by the elbow or foot of the ageing sharpie. When 'Bruce' started on Dancing in the Dark, I actually did toy with the idea of dancing near the stage; I thought he might invite a woman up to the stage to dance a la the young Courtney Cox in the original video; and I so wanted to be that girl. But my misgivings overwhelmed me, and I remained seated. It was just as well, because this 'Bruce' didn't invite a female audience member onto the stage to dance. It might have been the insidious phenomenon known as Insurance - public liability and litigation are an evil mix at times when it comes to fun. However, I think he was also worried about his own health: extending an inviting hand would have no doubt led to the ageing sharpie knocking all competitors out of the way as she stumble-staggered to the stage, and 'Bruce' probably didn't want to be buffeted and pummelled by flailing body parts, either. To borrow from his grand finale - Born to Run, natch!: it's a death trap.
Anyway, that's it for now. Thanks for reading, and check out the first chapters of my novels (links on the homepage of this blog).
Will you walk with me out on the wire
'Cos baby, I'm just a scared and lonely rider...
Thursday, 24 October 2019
*Hitches Breath & Ugly Bawls* : I'M OFFENDED!
Hey, AM radio stations everywhere, remove Centerfold by the J Geils Band from your playlists because - *hitches breath and ugly bawls* - I'M OFFENDED! The tune is a how-to and paean to incels (word du jour) everywhere, especially those with a raging Madonna/Whore complex. I'm just off to Change dot org to start my petition now. So, wait for it, peeps: soon to appear in your timeline and inbox - a petition started by your blogger calling for the banning of the song Centerfold for the reasons stated beforehand.
And don't I just sound like the most asinine twatwaffle going?
But this is what happens, people get offended by something and call for it to be banned. Latest one is the bride costume for children that K-Mart was 'forced' to withdraw from their shelves, because some woman in Melbourne likened it to the hideous practice of marrying off young girls. Um, what? It's a freaking COSTUME! Does this mean kids who dress as vampires and zombies are validating the insidious practice of sucking people's blood and eating people's brains? Look, nobody in their right mind is in favour of child marriage, but why in the blue blazes can little girls and boys not dress up in a bridal costume if they want to? Yes, we want to see an eradication of the paedophilic abuse of children, but banning a fun costume is not the way to go about it, okay? It's just Dumbarsery 101. And fuck you, Kmart, for capitulating to what is just pussy-arsed sookery.
And speaking of dumbarsery, we cannot let this post go by without a mention of Peter Dutton, who stated the IS brides should be DNA tested to determine their Australian citizenship. Wait, what? DNA testing will determine ethnicity and genealogy. It doesn't determine citizenship - that shit's documentary and can be determined via a search through the appropriate bureaucratic agency. Seriously, Dutton, did you not listen in Science lessons? You must have sat up the back of the lab squashing flies in those oppressively heavy missal text books we used to have. You're kind of in my age bracket, so I daresay you would have had those books, too. And when you squashed those flies, you probably experienced a malicious glee because you were harming something that wouldn't hurt you, nicely prepping you for your future career torturing children in detention centres.
Well, that's enough. I've been terribly busy lately; contacting libraries and book clubs, and hearing back absolutely zilch. I've also been teaching English to ESL students and young 'uns, and must say, am totally adoring it.
But I have been getting good feed back on Howling on a Concrete Moon, and you can check out the link to the first chapter right here, and if you are of a mind, purchase it.
And don't I just sound like the most asinine twatwaffle going?
But this is what happens, people get offended by something and call for it to be banned. Latest one is the bride costume for children that K-Mart was 'forced' to withdraw from their shelves, because some woman in Melbourne likened it to the hideous practice of marrying off young girls. Um, what? It's a freaking COSTUME! Does this mean kids who dress as vampires and zombies are validating the insidious practice of sucking people's blood and eating people's brains? Look, nobody in their right mind is in favour of child marriage, but why in the blue blazes can little girls and boys not dress up in a bridal costume if they want to? Yes, we want to see an eradication of the paedophilic abuse of children, but banning a fun costume is not the way to go about it, okay? It's just Dumbarsery 101. And fuck you, Kmart, for capitulating to what is just pussy-arsed sookery.
And speaking of dumbarsery, we cannot let this post go by without a mention of Peter Dutton, who stated the IS brides should be DNA tested to determine their Australian citizenship. Wait, what? DNA testing will determine ethnicity and genealogy. It doesn't determine citizenship - that shit's documentary and can be determined via a search through the appropriate bureaucratic agency. Seriously, Dutton, did you not listen in Science lessons? You must have sat up the back of the lab squashing flies in those oppressively heavy missal text books we used to have. You're kind of in my age bracket, so I daresay you would have had those books, too. And when you squashed those flies, you probably experienced a malicious glee because you were harming something that wouldn't hurt you, nicely prepping you for your future career torturing children in detention centres.
Well, that's enough. I've been terribly busy lately; contacting libraries and book clubs, and hearing back absolutely zilch. I've also been teaching English to ESL students and young 'uns, and must say, am totally adoring it.
But I have been getting good feed back on Howling on a Concrete Moon, and you can check out the link to the first chapter right here, and if you are of a mind, purchase it.
Thursday, 17 October 2019
Are We REALLY All Looking For That New World in the Morning?
There is a proud (why?) tradition in Australian pop music of releases by soapie actors. Sometimes the songs are not that bad; former Neighbours actor Natalie Imbruglia's rendition of Torn is a case in point. Sometimes the songs are a musical manifestation of the smegma scraped from beneath Satan's foreskin; Stefan Dennis - also of Neighbours - released a, a thing called Don't It Make You Feel Good, and let me tell you, Stefan: No, it bloody well DIDN'T! The whole thing is pathetic Eighties sleaze-cheese with a lame attempt at raunchiness in the accompanying film clip, which appears to be ripping off Duran Duran's Girls on Film.
I'm guessing it's not widely known that Neighbours was not the genesis of this phenomenon. Who remembers No. 96? Who remembers Abigail's insipid cover of J'Taime? Well, it was nowhere near as awful as Joe Hasham's turn at New World in the Morning. For some reason, I thought about this dire ditty the other day, and gave it an airing. I called in Mr Bingells to have a listen, and his face practically folded in on itself; he looked like he had bitten into a wad of aluminium foil. He pleaded with me to make it stop, and slunk out of the room in a cloud of delirium. If you ever decide to listen to it, and you've been warned, you will understand Mr Bingells's reaction. You listen to it, and find yourself wanting to say to the hapless chanteur, 'Hey, Joe? Have you lost something? You know, like some tone?' Maybe he was trying to sound like Bob Dylan, and it strays dangerously into Lee Marvin Wanderin' Star territory.. Anyway, it's the kind of appalling number that ends up an embarrassing guilty pleasure. Listen if you must, but if you want to give the actual song a fair chance, try Roger Whittaker's version.
Who is writing Trump's speeches? Has this cretin ever opened a history book? Here's a quote from Trump at the press conference with the Italian President: "The United States and Italy are bound together by a shared cultural and political heritage dating back thousands of years to Ancient Rome."
Um, what? Seriously? Maybe the writer should have written: 'The United States and Italy both have an ancient cultural and political heritage.'
More accurate would have been: 'Italy has an ancient cultural and political heritage, so does the United States to a degree, and I am a complete scofflaw who is completely out of my depth and I look like I've been bukkake'd by a packet of Doritos.'
Oh well. That's all for now. It's been a big day for me because Mister Eighteen started his HSC. This is new territory for me as a parent. What was also new for me today was that I underwent a mammogram (took advantage of the free screening offered to women of a certain age). It was not as painful or as uncomfortable as I had feared it might be. It involved lots of soulless squeezing from the apparatus, but all that really did was remind me of being groped outside the school dance when I was fifteen.
I'm guessing it's not widely known that Neighbours was not the genesis of this phenomenon. Who remembers No. 96? Who remembers Abigail's insipid cover of J'Taime? Well, it was nowhere near as awful as Joe Hasham's turn at New World in the Morning. For some reason, I thought about this dire ditty the other day, and gave it an airing. I called in Mr Bingells to have a listen, and his face practically folded in on itself; he looked like he had bitten into a wad of aluminium foil. He pleaded with me to make it stop, and slunk out of the room in a cloud of delirium. If you ever decide to listen to it, and you've been warned, you will understand Mr Bingells's reaction. You listen to it, and find yourself wanting to say to the hapless chanteur, 'Hey, Joe? Have you lost something? You know, like some tone?' Maybe he was trying to sound like Bob Dylan, and it strays dangerously into Lee Marvin Wanderin' Star territory.. Anyway, it's the kind of appalling number that ends up an embarrassing guilty pleasure. Listen if you must, but if you want to give the actual song a fair chance, try Roger Whittaker's version.
Who is writing Trump's speeches? Has this cretin ever opened a history book? Here's a quote from Trump at the press conference with the Italian President: "The United States and Italy are bound together by a shared cultural and political heritage dating back thousands of years to Ancient Rome."
Um, what? Seriously? Maybe the writer should have written: 'The United States and Italy both have an ancient cultural and political heritage.'
More accurate would have been: 'Italy has an ancient cultural and political heritage, so does the United States to a degree, and I am a complete scofflaw who is completely out of my depth and I look like I've been bukkake'd by a packet of Doritos.'
Oh well. That's all for now. It's been a big day for me because Mister Eighteen started his HSC. This is new territory for me as a parent. What was also new for me today was that I underwent a mammogram (took advantage of the free screening offered to women of a certain age). It was not as painful or as uncomfortable as I had feared it might be. It involved lots of soulless squeezing from the apparatus, but all that really did was remind me of being groped outside the school dance when I was fifteen.
Thursday, 10 October 2019
My Review of 'Joker'
For some reason I keep thinking today's Sunday, probably because I wasn't working and I went to the movies this afternoon; activities and situations that, to me, have always been associated with a Sunday afternoon.
Anyway, it's Thursday, and I saw Joker. Holy fucking mother of God hopping up and down on a pogo stick fitted with an outboard motor and shaving her legs at the same time, this was a mind-blowing experience. This would have to be Joaquin Phoenix's consummate and superlative performance. I'm trying to think of adjectives: mesmerising, flawless, engrossing, bewitching, poetry-in-motion, dazzling, bonzer...
You probably know it's not in the traditional DC comics vein, but more a character study of the person who become the archvillain Joker. To say the character is flawed and disturbed is an understatement on par with saying Cyclone Tracy was a bit of wind and rain, but I felt pity for the character, which I think is testimony to the acting. This movie is in no way uplifting, and you're not going to hug the person next to you when the lights come up; however, if you want to watch a pinnacle performance, then this is the movie to see. Phoenix, you 've come a long way since you played that kid just learning to jack off in Parenthood, when you were billed as Leaf Phoenix.
Soundtrack features clown-related songs like Send in the Clowns and Everybody Plays the Fool (wow, haven't heard that one in years!). There's also a scene where he's skipping down the steps to Rock and Roll Part 2. Well, doesn't that choice just have the Perpetually Outraged having a bitch? Headlines along the lines of Joker Movie Could Earn Convicted Paedophile Thousands of Dollars. Apparently, there have been calls to boycott the movie on this point. To this, I say: Pffffft! I will type this as slowly as I can:
1. Yes, there is a chance Gary Glitter could earn income from it. He sold publishing rights to his songs, but he is likely still eligible for royalties in the appropriate circumstances. Being paid a royalty is not being paid from the proceeds of a crime; a royalty is payment to an artist for a piece of art. Whether you would consider Gary Glitter particularly artistic is a non-issue. The principle remains the same.
2. Gary Glitter is not the only one who would draw income from the choice to use the song in the soundtrack. The estate of his co-author Mike Leander and the Glitter Band are also interested parties, and why should they be punished for this vile cretin's hideous actions?
3. The song's awesome. If you like the music, just listen to it. Nobody in their right minds condones what Gary Glitter did, but it doesn't mean you can't enjoy music to your taste. Many musicians and other artists have been very flawed, and in some cases monstrous, people. I still enjoy the music because I like glam rock. I also listen to a lot of the wonderful music produced by Phil Spector, but I don't support murder in the second degree.
Anyway, 4.5 stars out of 5 from me.
Anyway, it's Thursday, and I saw Joker. Holy fucking mother of God hopping up and down on a pogo stick fitted with an outboard motor and shaving her legs at the same time, this was a mind-blowing experience. This would have to be Joaquin Phoenix's consummate and superlative performance. I'm trying to think of adjectives: mesmerising, flawless, engrossing, bewitching, poetry-in-motion, dazzling, bonzer...
You probably know it's not in the traditional DC comics vein, but more a character study of the person who become the archvillain Joker. To say the character is flawed and disturbed is an understatement on par with saying Cyclone Tracy was a bit of wind and rain, but I felt pity for the character, which I think is testimony to the acting. This movie is in no way uplifting, and you're not going to hug the person next to you when the lights come up; however, if you want to watch a pinnacle performance, then this is the movie to see. Phoenix, you 've come a long way since you played that kid just learning to jack off in Parenthood, when you were billed as Leaf Phoenix.
Soundtrack features clown-related songs like Send in the Clowns and Everybody Plays the Fool (wow, haven't heard that one in years!). There's also a scene where he's skipping down the steps to Rock and Roll Part 2. Well, doesn't that choice just have the Perpetually Outraged having a bitch? Headlines along the lines of Joker Movie Could Earn Convicted Paedophile Thousands of Dollars. Apparently, there have been calls to boycott the movie on this point. To this, I say: Pffffft! I will type this as slowly as I can:
1. Yes, there is a chance Gary Glitter could earn income from it. He sold publishing rights to his songs, but he is likely still eligible for royalties in the appropriate circumstances. Being paid a royalty is not being paid from the proceeds of a crime; a royalty is payment to an artist for a piece of art. Whether you would consider Gary Glitter particularly artistic is a non-issue. The principle remains the same.
2. Gary Glitter is not the only one who would draw income from the choice to use the song in the soundtrack. The estate of his co-author Mike Leander and the Glitter Band are also interested parties, and why should they be punished for this vile cretin's hideous actions?
3. The song's awesome. If you like the music, just listen to it. Nobody in their right minds condones what Gary Glitter did, but it doesn't mean you can't enjoy music to your taste. Many musicians and other artists have been very flawed, and in some cases monstrous, people. I still enjoy the music because I like glam rock. I also listen to a lot of the wonderful music produced by Phil Spector, but I don't support murder in the second degree.
Anyway, 4.5 stars out of 5 from me.
Sunday, 6 October 2019
My Playlist for Today
I've been enjoying my long weekend. I actually got a short story published on Kindle, if anybody wants to check it out. It's a cheeky little piece of noir that will appeal to your inner Carrie, and make you chuckle with unholy glee (and who doesn't want to chuckle with unholy glee sometimes?) Here's a link: click here
I've been devising a bit of a playlist to reflect my mood these past few days. Here we are:
1. Over the Border by Skyhooks. This was released in 1979 as a dig at that draconian old fuck Sir Joh Bjelke-Peterson and his despotic views on protesters. I think it could get a re-release now for Peter Dutton and Michaelia Cash. Don't get me wrong, I too get irritated when protesters obstruct people going about their lawful business, or when they commit acts of vandalism or trespass. However, for Dutts and La Cash to propose suspension of any welfare payments is really foul, and possibly a violation of the relevant Criminal Code as it relates to a public officer. People in receipt of social security who are charged with crimes don't automatically have payments suspended, so why would people arrested in relation to alleged offences committed in relation to protesting get payments suspended? By the way, Senator Cash, if a person has carried out their obligations with job seeking, then it's nobody's business if they protest. They're allowed to. Dutton's crap about naming and shaming the protesters on social media makes about as much sense as trying to slam a revolving door, because the protesters would most likely have shared images to their own media already. What about people who are protesting, and are already employed? Are you going to have a word with their employers about suspension of payments, too? Go away, you pair of clowns; you've both completely blown every inner spring and cog you have.
2. Tired of Waiting for You by the Kinks. I had to take my fifteen-year-old son clothes shopping yesterday. Never mind shooting up like a weed; he's shot up like a triffid, and none of his shorts fit him. We attended our local Big W yesterday, and chose (after much prevarication and fart-arsing) three pairs of shorts for him to try. He went into the cubicle, and I leaned against the counter and sighed, knowing what I was in for. Time passed slowly. 'Have you got them on yet?' I called. 'Geez, Mum; you need to calm down' was the response from the cubicle. More time went by. I called to him that I could have learned a new language in the time it was taking for him to change. As the minutes went by, I called to him that not only could I have learned a new language, I could be speaking it colloquially by now. Finally, the curtain was drawn back, and my son stepped from the cubicle as though stepping onto a stage - with the shorts on over the pair he was already wearing. I had to suppress an almost insurmountable urge to wail to the sky, and told him to try the damned things on properly and be quick about it (in the full knowledge my kid just doesn't do 'quick').
3. White Room by Cream, because RIP Ginger Baker.
4. Joker and the Thief by Wolfmother. I'm thinking about going to see the movie Joker this afternoon.
5. Still the One by Orleans, because last week Mr Bingells and I celebrated our 21st wedding anniversary. We showed our kids our wedding album. It was a fun trip down memory lane, and a sad one, too, when we saw photographs of people no longer with us: my father, my husband's father, my husband's grandparents, our best man, two of my uncles, one of my aunts, one of my husband's uncles, my former boss... Sigh. It was a bittersweet experience.
Ciao for now.
I've been devising a bit of a playlist to reflect my mood these past few days. Here we are:
1. Over the Border by Skyhooks. This was released in 1979 as a dig at that draconian old fuck Sir Joh Bjelke-Peterson and his despotic views on protesters. I think it could get a re-release now for Peter Dutton and Michaelia Cash. Don't get me wrong, I too get irritated when protesters obstruct people going about their lawful business, or when they commit acts of vandalism or trespass. However, for Dutts and La Cash to propose suspension of any welfare payments is really foul, and possibly a violation of the relevant Criminal Code as it relates to a public officer. People in receipt of social security who are charged with crimes don't automatically have payments suspended, so why would people arrested in relation to alleged offences committed in relation to protesting get payments suspended? By the way, Senator Cash, if a person has carried out their obligations with job seeking, then it's nobody's business if they protest. They're allowed to. Dutton's crap about naming and shaming the protesters on social media makes about as much sense as trying to slam a revolving door, because the protesters would most likely have shared images to their own media already. What about people who are protesting, and are already employed? Are you going to have a word with their employers about suspension of payments, too? Go away, you pair of clowns; you've both completely blown every inner spring and cog you have.
2. Tired of Waiting for You by the Kinks. I had to take my fifteen-year-old son clothes shopping yesterday. Never mind shooting up like a weed; he's shot up like a triffid, and none of his shorts fit him. We attended our local Big W yesterday, and chose (after much prevarication and fart-arsing) three pairs of shorts for him to try. He went into the cubicle, and I leaned against the counter and sighed, knowing what I was in for. Time passed slowly. 'Have you got them on yet?' I called. 'Geez, Mum; you need to calm down' was the response from the cubicle. More time went by. I called to him that I could have learned a new language in the time it was taking for him to change. As the minutes went by, I called to him that not only could I have learned a new language, I could be speaking it colloquially by now. Finally, the curtain was drawn back, and my son stepped from the cubicle as though stepping onto a stage - with the shorts on over the pair he was already wearing. I had to suppress an almost insurmountable urge to wail to the sky, and told him to try the damned things on properly and be quick about it (in the full knowledge my kid just doesn't do 'quick').
3. White Room by Cream, because RIP Ginger Baker.
4. Joker and the Thief by Wolfmother. I'm thinking about going to see the movie Joker this afternoon.
5. Still the One by Orleans, because last week Mr Bingells and I celebrated our 21st wedding anniversary. We showed our kids our wedding album. It was a fun trip down memory lane, and a sad one, too, when we saw photographs of people no longer with us: my father, my husband's father, my husband's grandparents, our best man, two of my uncles, one of my aunts, one of my husband's uncles, my former boss... Sigh. It was a bittersweet experience.
Ciao for now.
Tuesday, 1 October 2019
Today's Rant
I will admit my area of general expertise is not economics. I am, after all, the kid who was sprung reading a MAD magazine during Commerce. But I'm wondering - and please let me know if my theory is true, all you economists out there - if people have more money, are they likely to purchase more products and services, and if they purchase more products and services, won't this actually help our general economy?
I am pondering this because of our government's dogged refusal to raise the Newstart allowance, which to my knowledge, hasn't budged in the past twenty-five years. Like I said, if people have a bit more money (money that can be accessed at their choice and not subject to the draconian whims of the cuntish Indue card), then they can afford to go out to dinner, or spring for the occasional treat, which obviously helps those service providers. In case you never realised, there is nothing wrong with people treating themselves occasionally. I get my hair cut and coloured by local TAFE students, and it appears they are going cashless, which is going to be a problem should the Indue card be rolled out in this area. I often hear the argument that people don't want their precious taxes going on someone having a treat or service, whether that someone is on Newstart or NDIS, but imagine being so sour you'd begrudge something nice to someone who doesn't have as much wealth as you.
Anyway, the government keeps sitting on its hands regarding a possible raise to Newstart, and this quote is attributed to social services minister, Anne Ruston:
I am pondering this because of our government's dogged refusal to raise the Newstart allowance, which to my knowledge, hasn't budged in the past twenty-five years. Like I said, if people have a bit more money (money that can be accessed at their choice and not subject to the draconian whims of the cuntish Indue card), then they can afford to go out to dinner, or spring for the occasional treat, which obviously helps those service providers. In case you never realised, there is nothing wrong with people treating themselves occasionally. I get my hair cut and coloured by local TAFE students, and it appears they are going cashless, which is going to be a problem should the Indue card be rolled out in this area. I often hear the argument that people don't want their precious taxes going on someone having a treat or service, whether that someone is on Newstart or NDIS, but imagine being so sour you'd begrudge something nice to someone who doesn't have as much wealth as you.
Anyway, the government keeps sitting on its hands regarding a possible raise to Newstart, and this quote is attributed to social services minister, Anne Ruston:
Hey, Anne, did you seriously say that? If you did, then - and I mean this in the nicest possible way - fuck you, and find yourself a camel with a festered penis and fellate the thing until you gag! How dare you demonise people on welfare, and assume they're all drug users? What about those in the corporate world, swanning around in the trendy inner suburbs, hoovering the booger sugar up their beaks? Should they not get paid because they're also making drug dealers more money? You suck, lady. Get in the bin.
The Indue card fixes NO problems, and creates them. It costs nearly as much to administer each card as it does to make a welfare payment, yet the government is baulking at raising Newstart by $75.00 per week. One of the people with interests in Indue is Larry Anthony, who happens to be the son of Doug Anthony - so connect the dots, people.
Small business and market stall holders don't want to lose the custom that Indue would take from them. My books aren't sold at Big W, and I'm actually not sure if an Indue card holder would be able purchase online. It is my understanding that for online purchases from sellers not given the blessing of Indue, the potential purchaser has to make application for permission to buy. Yeah, that makes sense: adults asking permission to buy a legal product. And given Indue is a private company, I'm willing to bet that the left hand doesn't tell the right hand what it's doing, and they all dick about, and there's likely to be an officer there who has a moral problem with someone purchasing fetish gimp gear, so will likely refuse the request. Hey, I know I sound like I'm about to add another layer of foil to my hat, but if you think about it, it's not really all that outlandish a notion.
I'm just wondering if anything good is going on at the moment. Well, I guess it is. I've been working on a short story today. I've also entered a competition to see Elton John when he comes to the Hunter Valley next January, and my entry is 'in the draw', as the saying goes. I've also been working on a bit of book promotion with local book clubs, so will get back to that, too.
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