The last blog entry got put on the back page of the SMH. At least I believe it did - I didn't actually buy the paper. My theory is that in the 80's we were living in a material world but now everything is digital and I'm just not a material girl. Also I'm cheap and lazy and walking up to the newsagent with my $1.50 just didn't appeal.
Anyway it got on the website. If you want to read it with better punctuation and a fancy heading that some sub-editor put there, go for your life. I plan on doing few blog entries suitable for widespread publication so if you want to read me crapping on you'll have to come back here.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
I just want normal beer
Beer drinking used to be a simple pleasure. It tasted good, it made conversations more interesting and it made those around me appear considerably better looking. When I went to the grog shop my buying choices centred on whether to opt for the regular cheap domestic brew or stump up for some fancy imported stuff. Now I have to decide whether I want my beer low carb, carbon neutral or with a twist of lime.
Clearly adding some weird citrus flavouring to a beer is wrong and deeply unAustralian. If anyone feels like having fruit in their drink, they should get a cocktail waiter to fetch them a daiquiri.
Skinny beer is similarly pathetic. The truth is that if you want to get rid of a beer gut it takes hundreds of hours or vigorous exercise. Sitting on a bar stool drinking some reformulated low carb concoction isn’t going to do the trick, no matter how much it tastes like medicine.
Perhaps the most shameful new addition to the bottle-o cool room is however the carbon neutral beer. Niche marketing at its worst, the eco-beer is targeted at naive people who believe that by displaying their profound environmental concern in alcohol form they will be able to win the affection of some other clueless modern day hippy.
Next time you go to a barbie you can expect to find one of these guileless consumers proudly sipping on their trendy eco-beer. As they turn their tofu sausages they will no doubt blather on about carbon footprints and sustainability, all the while making you feel like an environmental vandal, just because you chose to bring a beer that was created without the use of solar panels. Stay away from them. Who needs a guilt chaser ruining the taste?
It’s difficult for anyone to enjoy a beer any more. Turn on the news and government sponsored boffins warn that if you imbibe more than about four teaspoons full of beer you will suffer severe health damage. Then during the break you will likely be confronted by an ad showing how partaking of the demon drink will lead inexorably to a bar fight, vomit soaked shoes and a DUI conviction.
Apparently I can’t be trusted with my beer any more. When I go to the Cricket Ground and need to quench my thirst, I’ll be offered a foamy mid-strength beer, served in a plastic cup. Obviously they believe I’m going to become unruly and glass someone. Were that my nature I would have joined a rugby league team.
Clearly adding some weird citrus flavouring to a beer is wrong and deeply unAustralian. If anyone feels like having fruit in their drink, they should get a cocktail waiter to fetch them a daiquiri.
Skinny beer is similarly pathetic. The truth is that if you want to get rid of a beer gut it takes hundreds of hours or vigorous exercise. Sitting on a bar stool drinking some reformulated low carb concoction isn’t going to do the trick, no matter how much it tastes like medicine.
Perhaps the most shameful new addition to the bottle-o cool room is however the carbon neutral beer. Niche marketing at its worst, the eco-beer is targeted at naive people who believe that by displaying their profound environmental concern in alcohol form they will be able to win the affection of some other clueless modern day hippy.
Next time you go to a barbie you can expect to find one of these guileless consumers proudly sipping on their trendy eco-beer. As they turn their tofu sausages they will no doubt blather on about carbon footprints and sustainability, all the while making you feel like an environmental vandal, just because you chose to bring a beer that was created without the use of solar panels. Stay away from them. Who needs a guilt chaser ruining the taste?
It’s difficult for anyone to enjoy a beer any more. Turn on the news and government sponsored boffins warn that if you imbibe more than about four teaspoons full of beer you will suffer severe health damage. Then during the break you will likely be confronted by an ad showing how partaking of the demon drink will lead inexorably to a bar fight, vomit soaked shoes and a DUI conviction.
Apparently I can’t be trusted with my beer any more. When I go to the Cricket Ground and need to quench my thirst, I’ll be offered a foamy mid-strength beer, served in a plastic cup. Obviously they believe I’m going to become unruly and glass someone. Were that my nature I would have joined a rugby league team.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Does the old woman at the bakery have a thing for me?
I had a spinach and cheese triangle for lunch at the Annandale Vietnamese bakery today and it was tops. While I was sitting at the table enjoying it I was also contemplating what I should have next. I decided on a large chocolate donut with sprinkles (it was either that or a date scone and I decided to go for the kiddy option rather than than the grandpa option - I like bright colours). Anyway, I gave the woman my $1.50 and not only did she give me a big chocolate donut but she gave me a cinnamon donut as well! Score.
In the ten minutes I had been sitting there the woman hadn't given free donuts to anyone else. This led me to think, why am I so special? While I'm terrible at reading body language, the wink the big old bakery woman gave me as she placed the cinnamon donut in the paper bag did seem quite suggestive.
I had always fantasized about a relationship with a bakery worker who would fatten me up with croissants, pastries and donuts. The fantasy however involved a svelte young French woman, not a fat old Vietnamese woman. Still you can't complain about a free donut.
In the ten minutes I had been sitting there the woman hadn't given free donuts to anyone else. This led me to think, why am I so special? While I'm terrible at reading body language, the wink the big old bakery woman gave me as she placed the cinnamon donut in the paper bag did seem quite suggestive.
I had always fantasized about a relationship with a bakery worker who would fatten me up with croissants, pastries and donuts. The fantasy however involved a svelte young French woman, not a fat old Vietnamese woman. Still you can't complain about a free donut.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Me a publicity slut?
Big stunts are a great way to generate publicity but slamming jumbos into skyscrapers is really hard to organise and let’s face it, I’m lazy. To raise the media profile of the Guerrilla Poetry Organisation needed I needed something that took hardly any effort and when some random American journalist emailed me global recognition seemed assured.
I arranged to meet journalist Jake Wagara at St Leonards Station along with compadre Ray de Asian. At first I thought the meeting may have just been a cunning ploy by the people from North Sydney Council to nab the organisation responsible for putting stickers all over their light poles. When I saw Jake squeeze his big arse through the turnstiles my suspicions were erased.
Jake was definitely an American – he dressed like an overweight Seinfeld; he had a canvas cowboy hat and when he first arrived he headed straight to the shops to get a Snickers bar. Unfortunately Jake didn’t seem to realise that most of the work produced by the GPO involved poems about sex with robots/mermaids/amputees/dwarves and when interviewed our saucy sailor mouths ensured nothing he recorded was suitable for broadcast. Still we persevered.
Watched on by security guards we placed lots of plastic army men (with poems attached) around the big pond in the middle of the plaza. For a ridiculously long time no one took any of them but finally an awesome old guy in a green checked Sherlock Holmes hat picked one up. He then studied it closely, put it down, picked up another one, studied it, put it down, repeated the process ten times, went to walk away and then finally came back and took one. We were excited. Then a group of four drunk people came, all picked them up and read them on the spot. They then threw their heads back in laughter (there was even back arch on a couple of the girls). Jake seemed impressed and we left him to waddle off, put together a story and make us heaps famous.
I arranged to meet journalist Jake Wagara at St Leonards Station along with compadre Ray de Asian. At first I thought the meeting may have just been a cunning ploy by the people from North Sydney Council to nab the organisation responsible for putting stickers all over their light poles. When I saw Jake squeeze his big arse through the turnstiles my suspicions were erased.
Jake was definitely an American – he dressed like an overweight Seinfeld; he had a canvas cowboy hat and when he first arrived he headed straight to the shops to get a Snickers bar. Unfortunately Jake didn’t seem to realise that most of the work produced by the GPO involved poems about sex with robots/mermaids/amputees/dwarves and when interviewed our saucy sailor mouths ensured nothing he recorded was suitable for broadcast. Still we persevered.
Watched on by security guards we placed lots of plastic army men (with poems attached) around the big pond in the middle of the plaza. For a ridiculously long time no one took any of them but finally an awesome old guy in a green checked Sherlock Holmes hat picked one up. He then studied it closely, put it down, picked up another one, studied it, put it down, repeated the process ten times, went to walk away and then finally came back and took one. We were excited. Then a group of four drunk people came, all picked them up and read them on the spot. They then threw their heads back in laughter (there was even back arch on a couple of the girls). Jake seemed impressed and we left him to waddle off, put together a story and make us heaps famous.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
World peace - it can be done.
Beauty pageant contestants are always keen for world peace but I don’t feel they are being utilised effectively. Under my plan for world peace every beauty queen would get sent to live for one year in the country of their enemy.
My theory is that if the face of the enemy is drop dead gorgeous and attached to a hot body, it will change the way people think. If not, it will at least change the part of their brain they are using to think with and let’s face it, who ever thought of killing while they had a hard-on?
The beauty queens will also perform a vital secondary role – that of human shields. Can you imagine the US randomly bombing the shit out of Iraq if Ms Montana, Ms California and Ms Hawaii were hidden somewhere in the country?
I believe that whole “make love not war” thing makes a lot of sense. Instead of encouraging young people to become terrorists and indiscriminately blow up enemy civilians, they should be encouraging them to be sluts and indiscriminately blow enemy civilians. I reckon attitudes would change quickly and if the enemy did misbehave they could just deny them sex…
My theory is that if the face of the enemy is drop dead gorgeous and attached to a hot body, it will change the way people think. If not, it will at least change the part of their brain they are using to think with and let’s face it, who ever thought of killing while they had a hard-on?
The beauty queens will also perform a vital secondary role – that of human shields. Can you imagine the US randomly bombing the shit out of Iraq if Ms Montana, Ms California and Ms Hawaii were hidden somewhere in the country?
I believe that whole “make love not war” thing makes a lot of sense. Instead of encouraging young people to become terrorists and indiscriminately blow up enemy civilians, they should be encouraging them to be sluts and indiscriminately blow enemy civilians. I reckon attitudes would change quickly and if the enemy did misbehave they could just deny them sex…
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Are flying fish trying to be like Michael Hutchence?
I saw a fish jump out of the water three times in a row and it got me thinking – why the hell would he do that? My first theory was that it was just sick of being wet. My second theory was that it was just showing off. My third theory was completely stupid.
I thought maybe that fish was trying to be like Michael Hutchence. Sadly Michael’s attempt to partially asphyxiate himself while whacking off went a little awry when he stopped breathing completely and make things really awkward for the hotel cleaning lady. Fish can’t really breathe very well out of water and I think this one, like Michael, was just attempting some extreme masturbation.
If you’ve ever caught a fish chances are it was doing the same. None of them are really fooled by your half frozen prawn dangling from the end of a line. They bite into that thing so they can lie there in the sun on the warm deck of your tinny, gasping for air and flapping their fins over their sensitive bits. Some of them get thrown back and they tell all their fish mates how good it was and that’s the only reason anyone ever catches a fish.
I thought maybe that fish was trying to be like Michael Hutchence. Sadly Michael’s attempt to partially asphyxiate himself while whacking off went a little awry when he stopped breathing completely and make things really awkward for the hotel cleaning lady. Fish can’t really breathe very well out of water and I think this one, like Michael, was just attempting some extreme masturbation.
If you’ve ever caught a fish chances are it was doing the same. None of them are really fooled by your half frozen prawn dangling from the end of a line. They bite into that thing so they can lie there in the sun on the warm deck of your tinny, gasping for air and flapping their fins over their sensitive bits. Some of them get thrown back and they tell all their fish mates how good it was and that’s the only reason anyone ever catches a fish.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
My concerns re circus bears
People worry about the cruelty involved in teaching a circus bear to dance. Apparently they make them stand on hot coals so they have to hop from one leg to another. Frankly this doesn’t bother me so much because I believe the ends justifies the means. Seeing a bear dance is awesome and if I had received the same training in my youth I may now have some far better moves on the dance floor.
My concern is that the bears are tired. From my extensive studies (I watched a lot of Yogi Bear cartoons) I have learnt that bears hibernate during winter. Circus bears however just continually travel from one town to another performing all year round. As much as I like watching them riding a tricycle while wearing a funny hat sometimes you can tell there hearts just aren’t in it – they want to be asleep in a cave (or stealing a picnic basket).
If I was extremely sleep deprived and had massive claws I’d probably lash out at my handlers or cut up one of those annoying children who had come to interrupt my slumber with their high pitched squeals.
My concern is that the bears are tired. From my extensive studies (I watched a lot of Yogi Bear cartoons) I have learnt that bears hibernate during winter. Circus bears however just continually travel from one town to another performing all year round. As much as I like watching them riding a tricycle while wearing a funny hat sometimes you can tell there hearts just aren’t in it – they want to be asleep in a cave (or stealing a picnic basket).
If I was extremely sleep deprived and had massive claws I’d probably lash out at my handlers or cut up one of those annoying children who had come to interrupt my slumber with their high pitched squeals.
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