Because restrictions are lifting, on Friday evening we dined en famille, along with a friend of my eldest son, at a local pub with a Thai restaurant. I love Thai food, and I ate and ate and ate to bursting point. The occasion? The older son's birthday. It was his actual birthday on Thursday. Thursday was the official anniversary of that day nineteen years ago when I realised it is possible to feel exhausted yet ready to climb Mt Everest, tearful yet full of laughter, protective, as though a question has been answered ('So THAT'S what you look like!'), and fall in love - all at that same crazy second.
I still remember opening my exhausted eyes to see a tiny slippery little scrap of humanity in the gloved hands of a midwife, who placed him on my chest and he looked up at me with an indignant and puzzled expression on his face. The indignance has never really resurfaced, but the puzzlement and quizzical nature was always there: when he was three, all he ever said was 'Why?', and he was constantly asking me questions like why the streets of our town were thus named and designed in the manner they were. All I could tell him was that I'm not a civil engineer and therefore not in a position to help.
The scrap now towers over me, and will probably be heading back to his on-campus accommodation soon to continue his journey to becoming a Maths teacher. The university is due to resume in August.
I'm proud of him, and I know that resettling him in his student digs won't be that difficult. We went through it all at the beginning of February, and I didn't cry that much. Thought I'd be howling like a dog shut in the laundry, but that didn't eventuate.
Speaking of learning, I'm doing a subject online and had to purchase a text book today. I was shopping yesterday and saw a pair of shoes - they were a little like sneakers crossed with espadrilles, and oh, how I yearned for them. But knowing I have to prioritise, I put them back on the shelf, and today went on Amazon and ordered my textbook. I feel very mature and responsible.
But I do want those shoes.
Saturday 30 May 2020
Wednesday 27 May 2020
My Weeks in a Blog Post
Dear Constant Reader,
Please forgive my absence from this my blog of late. I was mired in other activities and time flew. Tonight, I was just about to get myself ready for the boudoir, when I realised I had not written here for a while. What has kept me from my creative outlet, I wondered. So I thought a bit, and this is what's been happening:
1. I partook in a podcast interview. It is now live, and it can be accessed right here. This will lead you to a page on the Arts Upper Hunter website, and my interview is second from top. I don't think I did too badly in it. At the end, I read from Howling on a Concrete Moon, my most recent novel. As I've mentioned previously, I am in the process of getting books distributed via Amazon privately once I have had the Zeus logo removed from the cover art. Well, that's been done, but I am yet to pay the local printing company - it's on my list of things to do next pay day.
2. Had my reading glasses prescription updated, and will be getting my new specs in a few weeks. Whilst choosing the frames, it got me pondering as to why exactly designer frames are so pricey? Given any person with an eye for aesthetics could design functional and flattering frames, why does a big name command a hefty price when a lesser known person can do just as good a job? I nearly crapped when the optician's assistant told me the price on the frames adorning my face, and when I removed them I saw the label: Calvin Klein. It was at this point things became clear (although they will be clearer yet when I have my new glasses).
3. Study. I'm due to commence a core subject via online university next Monday, and I don't have my text books (haven't yet been purchased for a myriad of reasons - one being that I had a bout of angst over the last few days). I have to complete a module on integrity first, and it is this that I worked on today.
4. Listened to what I believe is the town fucktard revving his engine. I don't think he lives in this street, but visits one of the residents. For reasons known only to him, and possibly every other testosterone-saturated twerp out there, it is imperative that he work his accelerator pedal like an elephant with St Vitus Dance working a kickdrum. Each consecutive rev is louder and longer than the one previous, and as the black smoke billows from his exhaust, the womenfolk everywhere must fight the almost insurmountable urge to rip off their clothing and ravish him. You understand what I'm getting at, don't you, ladies? Don't your loins throb with ache and desire and lust when you hear or see someone hooning and revving their car? No, didn't think they did. What is it this pea-brained petrolhead is trying to prove to us all? I'm guessing he wants us all to realise his dick is positively Lilliputian. A few times I've opened my front door to stand in my yard and make the time-honoured pinkie gesture at him, but he's already sped off up the hill and made the leap into hyperspace before I get outside. God, this guy shits me.
Well, that's been the story of my life this week. It's not a great story - I save those ones for my novels, and I am hoping to have links for you all soon. In the meantime, I still have some paperback copies from the old publisher. Contact me via Google or at my email (which should be in my author bio) if you are interested.
Please forgive my absence from this my blog of late. I was mired in other activities and time flew. Tonight, I was just about to get myself ready for the boudoir, when I realised I had not written here for a while. What has kept me from my creative outlet, I wondered. So I thought a bit, and this is what's been happening:
1. I partook in a podcast interview. It is now live, and it can be accessed right here. This will lead you to a page on the Arts Upper Hunter website, and my interview is second from top. I don't think I did too badly in it. At the end, I read from Howling on a Concrete Moon, my most recent novel. As I've mentioned previously, I am in the process of getting books distributed via Amazon privately once I have had the Zeus logo removed from the cover art. Well, that's been done, but I am yet to pay the local printing company - it's on my list of things to do next pay day.
2. Had my reading glasses prescription updated, and will be getting my new specs in a few weeks. Whilst choosing the frames, it got me pondering as to why exactly designer frames are so pricey? Given any person with an eye for aesthetics could design functional and flattering frames, why does a big name command a hefty price when a lesser known person can do just as good a job? I nearly crapped when the optician's assistant told me the price on the frames adorning my face, and when I removed them I saw the label: Calvin Klein. It was at this point things became clear (although they will be clearer yet when I have my new glasses).
3. Study. I'm due to commence a core subject via online university next Monday, and I don't have my text books (haven't yet been purchased for a myriad of reasons - one being that I had a bout of angst over the last few days). I have to complete a module on integrity first, and it is this that I worked on today.
4. Listened to what I believe is the town fucktard revving his engine. I don't think he lives in this street, but visits one of the residents. For reasons known only to him, and possibly every other testosterone-saturated twerp out there, it is imperative that he work his accelerator pedal like an elephant with St Vitus Dance working a kickdrum. Each consecutive rev is louder and longer than the one previous, and as the black smoke billows from his exhaust, the womenfolk everywhere must fight the almost insurmountable urge to rip off their clothing and ravish him. You understand what I'm getting at, don't you, ladies? Don't your loins throb with ache and desire and lust when you hear or see someone hooning and revving their car? No, didn't think they did. What is it this pea-brained petrolhead is trying to prove to us all? I'm guessing he wants us all to realise his dick is positively Lilliputian. A few times I've opened my front door to stand in my yard and make the time-honoured pinkie gesture at him, but he's already sped off up the hill and made the leap into hyperspace before I get outside. God, this guy shits me.
Well, that's been the story of my life this week. It's not a great story - I save those ones for my novels, and I am hoping to have links for you all soon. In the meantime, I still have some paperback copies from the old publisher. Contact me via Google or at my email (which should be in my author bio) if you are interested.
Friday 15 May 2020
Sky News Skankery & Wankery
Who out there watches Sky News? I don't, and I wouldn't. I'm going to try and share a link to some footage I happened to view yesterday. The footage features that harridan Peta Credlin, that buffoon Peter Gleeson, and that slime Chris Smith carrying on like the arbiters of other's morality over a Federal Court ruling allowing for NDIS funding to be made available for an MS patient to retain the services of a sex worker. Have you heard of the Three Wise Monkeys? Well, those three grubs acted like the Three Braindead Shitgibbons. Here's the link, if you want to watch them: https://twitter.com/i/status/1261056772015456256.
If you haven't copied that link and gone a-viewin', and I wouldn't blame you had you chosen not to, then I will give you a little rundown of what happens in it. In a nutshell, it's Murdoch stooges drumming up that perpetual outrage about how our tax dollars are spent, served up with a side dish of puerile sniggering from Peter Gleeson (seriously, dude, are you twelve?).
Presiding over the segment is that callous witch Peta Credlin (as an aside, do you menstruate ice cubes, Peta?). Her voice is saturated with spurious shock-horror mixed with snideness as she spits the word 'prostitutes' like she's spitting out a mouthful of spoiled milk. Peta, the preferred term is sex workers. She's also complaining how 'we're paying for it'. Well, given the NDIS is taxpayer funded, then yes, indirectly, we are paying for it. BUT WHO CARES?
Chris Smith chimes in with his two cents about how it's 'silly' that the Federal Court is deciding on a government policy and it's out of that court's jurisdiction. Chris, a quick perusal of your bio gives me no indication that you have ever practised as a lawyer, which is just as well because the Federal Court - wait for it! - does have jurisdiction over matters of Commonwealth legislation, under which the NDIS scheme falls. You're an idiot. Given your career highlights apparently include groping staffers, forging station lawyer's signatures, and running competitions to guess how many asylum seekers have drowned at sea, you're also an astorgous piece of shit that's low enough to parachute from a snake's arse and still have time to freefall.
Among Peta's spiteful rant was that she's happy to pay for services provided by NDIS, using words to the following effect: '...for people to go in and wash them and feed them...'. 'Wash them and feed them'? Peta, I will type this slowly for you: they are not exhibits in a zoo. They are PEOPLE. People also have libidinous desires. People also like to be touched. They are not freaks. I guess you're confused because you spend time tending to your pet Flying Monkeys, and don't realise how people function emotionally.
Throughout all this, Peter Gleeson just sat there sniggering, probably thinking: 'Oooh, boobs!'. Again, dude, are you twelve?
The segment was nasty, infantile, able-ist snottiness from start to finish. What is it about intimacy that makes people take the high moral ground? I'm sick of that trope about 'my tax dollars are paying for this'. Didn't our tax dollars pay for Bronny Bishop's helicopter rides and Barnaby Joyce's new fence? I've a greater problem with that. Peta, Smithy, and Gleeso, why are you concerned about other people's junk (Smithy to the point where he wants to grab at it)? I don't care about other people's junk. I don't care what they do with their junk. I don't care if they want to rub their junk against another consenting adult's junk. I don't care if they have their junk rubbed, manipulated, fellated, or duplicated. It's THEIR junk, and THEIR business. And as I hinted at earlier, it's not only a matter of getting one's rocks off; there is also the emotional connection with another adult that some sex workers provide for people with disability. Yes, I used a politically correct term: people with disability. I think it's better than the one Smithy was bandying in a dismissive tone: 'the disabled'. Yes, I know it's only a word, but the way it was used was, as I mentioned, able-ist and obnoxious.
Why don't you three crawl into a cannon and yeet yourselves into the sun?
If you haven't copied that link and gone a-viewin', and I wouldn't blame you had you chosen not to, then I will give you a little rundown of what happens in it. In a nutshell, it's Murdoch stooges drumming up that perpetual outrage about how our tax dollars are spent, served up with a side dish of puerile sniggering from Peter Gleeson (seriously, dude, are you twelve?).
Presiding over the segment is that callous witch Peta Credlin (as an aside, do you menstruate ice cubes, Peta?). Her voice is saturated with spurious shock-horror mixed with snideness as she spits the word 'prostitutes' like she's spitting out a mouthful of spoiled milk. Peta, the preferred term is sex workers. She's also complaining how 'we're paying for it'. Well, given the NDIS is taxpayer funded, then yes, indirectly, we are paying for it. BUT WHO CARES?
Chris Smith chimes in with his two cents about how it's 'silly' that the Federal Court is deciding on a government policy and it's out of that court's jurisdiction. Chris, a quick perusal of your bio gives me no indication that you have ever practised as a lawyer, which is just as well because the Federal Court - wait for it! - does have jurisdiction over matters of Commonwealth legislation, under which the NDIS scheme falls. You're an idiot. Given your career highlights apparently include groping staffers, forging station lawyer's signatures, and running competitions to guess how many asylum seekers have drowned at sea, you're also an astorgous piece of shit that's low enough to parachute from a snake's arse and still have time to freefall.
Among Peta's spiteful rant was that she's happy to pay for services provided by NDIS, using words to the following effect: '...for people to go in and wash them and feed them...'. 'Wash them and feed them'? Peta, I will type this slowly for you: they are not exhibits in a zoo. They are PEOPLE. People also have libidinous desires. People also like to be touched. They are not freaks. I guess you're confused because you spend time tending to your pet Flying Monkeys, and don't realise how people function emotionally.
Throughout all this, Peter Gleeson just sat there sniggering, probably thinking: 'Oooh, boobs!'. Again, dude, are you twelve?
The segment was nasty, infantile, able-ist snottiness from start to finish. What is it about intimacy that makes people take the high moral ground? I'm sick of that trope about 'my tax dollars are paying for this'. Didn't our tax dollars pay for Bronny Bishop's helicopter rides and Barnaby Joyce's new fence? I've a greater problem with that. Peta, Smithy, and Gleeso, why are you concerned about other people's junk (Smithy to the point where he wants to grab at it)? I don't care about other people's junk. I don't care what they do with their junk. I don't care if they want to rub their junk against another consenting adult's junk. I don't care if they have their junk rubbed, manipulated, fellated, or duplicated. It's THEIR junk, and THEIR business. And as I hinted at earlier, it's not only a matter of getting one's rocks off; there is also the emotional connection with another adult that some sex workers provide for people with disability. Yes, I used a politically correct term: people with disability. I think it's better than the one Smithy was bandying in a dismissive tone: 'the disabled'. Yes, I know it's only a word, but the way it was used was, as I mentioned, able-ist and obnoxious.
Why don't you three crawl into a cannon and yeet yourselves into the sun?
Wednesday 13 May 2020
The Not So Good, The Good, & The Meh
Things that weren't so good today: reading that Dutton wants, in the context of a suspect being interviewed by ASIO, the right for removal of a lawyer who is 'unduly disruptive' during questioning. Does he mean a lawyer who is acting in the interests of his or her client? Who deems what is 'unduly disruptive', anyway? Next stop: Police State.
Things that are good: Alan Jones' retirement from 2GB. I guess all the nasty spiteful vitriol concerning any woman in a powerful role and inciting race riots finally caught up with the misogynistic little venom-sac.
Things that are also good: I had a huge belly laugh at my fifteen-year-old's joke tonight. The joke wasn't especially funny, in fact it was rather silly, but he delivered it in such a funny way, and I daresay the tension and anxiety relating to the heightened 'Rona situation we're all in finally spilled over. Indeed, it's been simmering beneath my surface like bubbling magma, but tonight it erupted in the form of a fit of laughter, and it felt good. The fruit of my womb is returning to school tomorrow, for the first time in weeks, and he's looking forward to it. It's only Year Ten attending tomorrow, and he's delighted to be catching up with his mates in person.
Things that are meh: my Facebook group is having a theme today wherein we post songs that make us cringe or puke. Here are some of what's on offer:
1. Throw Your Arms Around Me by Hunters & Collectors. Hey, guys! I think you've dropped your tone somewhere.
2. I Don't Like Mondays by Boomtown Rats. Most banal tune sung in a cruddy voice for what is actually a very dark subject matter.
3. D'Ya Think I'm Sexy by Rod Stewart. This from a man who, at the time, was thirty-three years old and wearing spandex whilst rocking a shaggy mullet. Maybe he was being ironic. I hope he was being ironic, otherwise: eeeeuuuuuwww!
4. Amazing by Alex Llloyd. If it's so amazing, why does it feel like I'm coming out of anaesthetic when I hear it?
5. True Blue by John Williamson. This jingoistic junk sucks hippo poop at the rate of knots. It wasn't I who posted it, but it certainly resonated with many members of the group, who also loathe it.
6. US Forces by Midnight Oil. Not one of mine, but I totally understand why it was posted. Garrett always sounds like he's dry heaving when he sings.
Oh well, I must away. Back soon. Luv yas all.
Things that are good: Alan Jones' retirement from 2GB. I guess all the nasty spiteful vitriol concerning any woman in a powerful role and inciting race riots finally caught up with the misogynistic little venom-sac.
Things that are also good: I had a huge belly laugh at my fifteen-year-old's joke tonight. The joke wasn't especially funny, in fact it was rather silly, but he delivered it in such a funny way, and I daresay the tension and anxiety relating to the heightened 'Rona situation we're all in finally spilled over. Indeed, it's been simmering beneath my surface like bubbling magma, but tonight it erupted in the form of a fit of laughter, and it felt good. The fruit of my womb is returning to school tomorrow, for the first time in weeks, and he's looking forward to it. It's only Year Ten attending tomorrow, and he's delighted to be catching up with his mates in person.
Things that are meh: my Facebook group is having a theme today wherein we post songs that make us cringe or puke. Here are some of what's on offer:
1. Throw Your Arms Around Me by Hunters & Collectors. Hey, guys! I think you've dropped your tone somewhere.
2. I Don't Like Mondays by Boomtown Rats. Most banal tune sung in a cruddy voice for what is actually a very dark subject matter.
3. D'Ya Think I'm Sexy by Rod Stewart. This from a man who, at the time, was thirty-three years old and wearing spandex whilst rocking a shaggy mullet. Maybe he was being ironic. I hope he was being ironic, otherwise: eeeeuuuuuwww!
4. Amazing by Alex Llloyd. If it's so amazing, why does it feel like I'm coming out of anaesthetic when I hear it?
5. True Blue by John Williamson. This jingoistic junk sucks hippo poop at the rate of knots. It wasn't I who posted it, but it certainly resonated with many members of the group, who also loathe it.
6. US Forces by Midnight Oil. Not one of mine, but I totally understand why it was posted. Garrett always sounds like he's dry heaving when he sings.
Oh well, I must away. Back soon. Luv yas all.
Friday 8 May 2020
Getting My Theatre Fix
I planned to do some blogging the other night, but gave up. I could not think. The thing about being quarantined is my youngest kid is often online with his friends, communicating via a headset, and just as I start to think, he will start to whoop and yawp some blather and blarney that is undoubtedly the highest wit and badinage in the world of fifteen-year-olds, but it just makes me want to flip a table. So I gave up, and tried not to weep. I'm aware being on the verge of sobs sounds absurd, but we're in a heightened situation at the moment, and things get stressful.
As I've no doubt mentioned in other posts, my day job is an essential service, so I still work. My major routine and income have not changed. But it's getting harder and harder to think as a blogger, because all we hear about is that damnable disease. I want the restrictions to lift. I want to be able to send my kid to school so he can whoop and yawp with his friends in person. I know my eldest wants to return to campus and resume university life with his friends. However, I don't want the restrictions to live so quickly there is a second wave of this fucking thing - let's make sure it's REALLY stamped out, hey?
I miss little things like going to play trivia. However, I've joined virtual pub trivia and whilst there's no drink vouchers or vouchers for the pub bistro, there is the trivia fix and interactive fun. I miss the gym, so I've been doing yoga from videos on YouTube. I'm actually improving at it, although I'm still far from limber. But I can do a semblance of the dolphin pose for eight breaths now; a few weeks ago I would have been unable to even lift my knees from the floor. I can walk my dog for all the 'allocated' distance without stopping to rest as my back is getting stronger.
One of the things I cannot wait to do when this crisis has passed is go to the theatre. I don't necessarily mean a major frothy musical. I want to go to a venue on a side street in the inner eastern suburbs of Sydney, where there are tall trees and rows of terraced buildings, and the venue itself is made of brick with peeling paintwork, and I can sip champagne in the crowded foyer, and then go into the auditorium which is an intimate space with amphitheatre-style seating, and watch a serious play. I love live theatre. Its not like I attended every week pre-lockdown (I'm in the Upper Hunter Valley), but whenever I could, I would travel to Sydney and, in the company of my cousin-in-law, watch a production.
Speaking of theatre, I've decided to return to a genre I've not worked in for a long time: script writing. I have quite a few commitments at the moment which are all going to make novel writing a bit difficult; whereas a play script need only have ninety pages. I've got an idea churning in my head, and I've been making notes. I didn't work on my project today, because I was told about a production that's been posted on YouTube. It's a live recording of a stage version of Frankenstein, with the roles of the creature and Dr Frankenstein being played in alternate performances by Johnny Lee Miller and Benedict Cumberbatch. The one I watched today had Miller in the role of the wretched creation. Holy crap, what an awesome actor he is. I first became aware of him as Sick Boy in Trainspotting, and thought him good, but the performance I viewed today had me mesmerised. Cumberbatch was great, too. He brought an insane and garbled intensity to the scenes where the doctor is pondering actually acceding to the creature's request for a bride. I'm pleased I wore my slippers over my socks, because they would have been knocked off otherwise, and I didn't want to get on the floor and go looking under the couch to retrieve them (a few more months of yoga and I will be no doubt able to limbo under the couch for them, but not today).
Speaking of actors, another one I admire is Ricky Gervais. His series Extras is being shown in reruns, so I'm going to sign off and watch.
Yeah, work and study are keeping me a bit busy at the moment, but today is the only day I really have off this week, and I'm glad I put my feet up, grabbled a glass of cab sav, and watched the show.
As I've no doubt mentioned in other posts, my day job is an essential service, so I still work. My major routine and income have not changed. But it's getting harder and harder to think as a blogger, because all we hear about is that damnable disease. I want the restrictions to lift. I want to be able to send my kid to school so he can whoop and yawp with his friends in person. I know my eldest wants to return to campus and resume university life with his friends. However, I don't want the restrictions to live so quickly there is a second wave of this fucking thing - let's make sure it's REALLY stamped out, hey?
I miss little things like going to play trivia. However, I've joined virtual pub trivia and whilst there's no drink vouchers or vouchers for the pub bistro, there is the trivia fix and interactive fun. I miss the gym, so I've been doing yoga from videos on YouTube. I'm actually improving at it, although I'm still far from limber. But I can do a semblance of the dolphin pose for eight breaths now; a few weeks ago I would have been unable to even lift my knees from the floor. I can walk my dog for all the 'allocated' distance without stopping to rest as my back is getting stronger.
One of the things I cannot wait to do when this crisis has passed is go to the theatre. I don't necessarily mean a major frothy musical. I want to go to a venue on a side street in the inner eastern suburbs of Sydney, where there are tall trees and rows of terraced buildings, and the venue itself is made of brick with peeling paintwork, and I can sip champagne in the crowded foyer, and then go into the auditorium which is an intimate space with amphitheatre-style seating, and watch a serious play. I love live theatre. Its not like I attended every week pre-lockdown (I'm in the Upper Hunter Valley), but whenever I could, I would travel to Sydney and, in the company of my cousin-in-law, watch a production.
Speaking of theatre, I've decided to return to a genre I've not worked in for a long time: script writing. I have quite a few commitments at the moment which are all going to make novel writing a bit difficult; whereas a play script need only have ninety pages. I've got an idea churning in my head, and I've been making notes. I didn't work on my project today, because I was told about a production that's been posted on YouTube. It's a live recording of a stage version of Frankenstein, with the roles of the creature and Dr Frankenstein being played in alternate performances by Johnny Lee Miller and Benedict Cumberbatch. The one I watched today had Miller in the role of the wretched creation. Holy crap, what an awesome actor he is. I first became aware of him as Sick Boy in Trainspotting, and thought him good, but the performance I viewed today had me mesmerised. Cumberbatch was great, too. He brought an insane and garbled intensity to the scenes where the doctor is pondering actually acceding to the creature's request for a bride. I'm pleased I wore my slippers over my socks, because they would have been knocked off otherwise, and I didn't want to get on the floor and go looking under the couch to retrieve them (a few more months of yoga and I will be no doubt able to limbo under the couch for them, but not today).
Speaking of actors, another one I admire is Ricky Gervais. His series Extras is being shown in reruns, so I'm going to sign off and watch.
Yeah, work and study are keeping me a bit busy at the moment, but today is the only day I really have off this week, and I'm glad I put my feet up, grabbled a glass of cab sav, and watched the show.
Friday 1 May 2020
'Cook'-ing up the Outrage
PSA: If someone is planning on making a potentially controversial comment, please don't do it near dry or flammable material, because your sparks might cause said material to ignite. This is from the outrage. Every time somebody tweets a comment that is outside the box of standard accepted (and often right-wing conservative) views, the mainstream media reports this person has 'sparked outrage'. Seriously, I don't think a week passes where I don't read about somebody or something 'sparking outrage'. All these sparks - I hope the perpetrators have the sense to wear a welder's mask.
The latest person to provide the catalyst for a potentially calamitous conflagration is Victorian Deputy Chief Health Officer Annaliese Van Dieman who tweeted a comparison between COVID-19 and Captain (well, Lieutenant, really) James Cook in terms of arriving uninvited to a country and causing death and all sorts of other nasties amongst the inhabitants. Accordingly to the MSM, she has - sigh - 'sparked outrage' and caused offence. Yes, OFFENCE, I tells ye! Not only that, she has caused the fabric of the time/space continuum to disintegrate, and she's also the reason the dog tipped over the garbage bin.
Personally, I am neither offended nor outraged by her tweet. I actually see the point she was making. I neither agree nor disagree with what she did - just see what she's getting at, and I'm getting on with my life.
But there are those who are calling for her resignation, if only because they can't call for her head on a plate. Peter Dutton is one of those calling for the resignation. Can you believe the ungodly temerity of this odious grub? He's calling for her to resign over an opinion that's not necessarily popular (read: doesn't suit the Government's agenda)? If you're reading this, Dutton - and chances are you're not because I'm blocked - why didn't YOU resign over your part in the Ruby Princess fiasco, you tuberous turd? She tweets an opinion not in line with the conservatives views; you play a pivotal role in allowing passengers to disembark from a virulent hub, thus spreading a potentially fatal disease into the community, and you think SHE should be the one who resigns? Get in the bin, and pull the lid over yourself. What a horrible piece of evilness you are.
And then we've got the Liberal member for Brighton, James Newbury, wanting her to be investigated by the Public Service Commission because her tweet was sent at 10.16am, which by his reckoning are working hours, and she's being funded by the taxpayer. It is not unreasonable to assume 10.16am is within Ms Van Dieman's working day, but come on, has Newbury never had a ciggie, coffee, lunch, or dunny break at work wherein he's taken the time to do something personal? I honestly don't care if someone takes a few minutes to do something personal at work, provided their duties are still attended to. I'd take greater umbrage at funding being directed towards a frivolous and vexatious enquiry. Newbury, pick a better hill to die on, you big mess.
It seems that those who whinge the loudest about free speech whinge like a bunch of tired toddlers when the free speech doesn't align with their views.
On a lighter note - I'm working toward getting my books self-published now the original publisher has shut up shop. Hopefully will have some updated links over the next couple of weeks. Also, I have enrolled in some online study, and am slated to start the first subject in June. I'm quite excited about this.
The latest person to provide the catalyst for a potentially calamitous conflagration is Victorian Deputy Chief Health Officer Annaliese Van Dieman who tweeted a comparison between COVID-19 and Captain (well, Lieutenant, really) James Cook in terms of arriving uninvited to a country and causing death and all sorts of other nasties amongst the inhabitants. Accordingly to the MSM, she has - sigh - 'sparked outrage' and caused offence. Yes, OFFENCE, I tells ye! Not only that, she has caused the fabric of the time/space continuum to disintegrate, and she's also the reason the dog tipped over the garbage bin.
Personally, I am neither offended nor outraged by her tweet. I actually see the point she was making. I neither agree nor disagree with what she did - just see what she's getting at, and I'm getting on with my life.
But there are those who are calling for her resignation, if only because they can't call for her head on a plate. Peter Dutton is one of those calling for the resignation. Can you believe the ungodly temerity of this odious grub? He's calling for her to resign over an opinion that's not necessarily popular (read: doesn't suit the Government's agenda)? If you're reading this, Dutton - and chances are you're not because I'm blocked - why didn't YOU resign over your part in the Ruby Princess fiasco, you tuberous turd? She tweets an opinion not in line with the conservatives views; you play a pivotal role in allowing passengers to disembark from a virulent hub, thus spreading a potentially fatal disease into the community, and you think SHE should be the one who resigns? Get in the bin, and pull the lid over yourself. What a horrible piece of evilness you are.
And then we've got the Liberal member for Brighton, James Newbury, wanting her to be investigated by the Public Service Commission because her tweet was sent at 10.16am, which by his reckoning are working hours, and she's being funded by the taxpayer. It is not unreasonable to assume 10.16am is within Ms Van Dieman's working day, but come on, has Newbury never had a ciggie, coffee, lunch, or dunny break at work wherein he's taken the time to do something personal? I honestly don't care if someone takes a few minutes to do something personal at work, provided their duties are still attended to. I'd take greater umbrage at funding being directed towards a frivolous and vexatious enquiry. Newbury, pick a better hill to die on, you big mess.
It seems that those who whinge the loudest about free speech whinge like a bunch of tired toddlers when the free speech doesn't align with their views.
On a lighter note - I'm working toward getting my books self-published now the original publisher has shut up shop. Hopefully will have some updated links over the next couple of weeks. Also, I have enrolled in some online study, and am slated to start the first subject in June. I'm quite excited about this.
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