Filling out my diary

Yesterday I received Christmas gifts from my cousin in Germany. This is what fills me with guilt every year. Not the fact that I choose drink over Midnight Mass, or that I forego the donation to the Salvation Army in order to buy myself a cup of coffee instead. It's the fact that every year, without fail, my cousin sends us Christmas gifts, even though they may come after Christmas, and every year I just plain forget about her.

If I am to make one New Years Resolution this coming 2010, its to make a concerted effort to be better to my favourite cousin and let her know just how appreciated and loved she is by us all. Because really, I can be such a thoughtless shit.

What doesn't help the case is that my cousin never fails to give great presents. This year, she bought me a beautiful purple silk shawl/scarf (which I cannot wait to show off next winter), a lip gloss in a pink disco ball container, and a 2010 diary.

And what a diary this is.

A small black diary, where each week runs across two pages. I open the cover to find a small message: In case of loss, please return to:_(obviously my address would go here)_____

And then: As a reward $:________.

Really! I had never seen anything like this in a diary before. Bizarre. As for the value, I wouldn't know what to put in it. I mean, the year hasn't even started yet, so should I lose this diary, then the value would be nothing. This is purely based on a functional level, the diary immediately has sentimental value attached the moment it was in my hands, but you can't really put a price on sentimental value, and if you did, then the there's really nothing of sentiment in it at all.

But if we base this on a purely functional value, then that value would certainly change through out the year. When the new year starts, perhaps the value would be $1.00, as it is the height of summer, and there's really nothing filling my days excepted going to the beach or escaping the heat by sitting in air- conditioned comfort and reading. This value may stick for about 3 months, until March hit, and uni starts again. But until the important dates of assessments, group presentations, and internship reports are given to me, the value could be anywhere from $20- 30...and even then that may be an over statement, because I might not rely heavily on my diary until mid year, when I really need to take note of all due dates, and figure out how to balance the sudden work load. By that stage my dairy could value anywhere between $50- to possibly $100, depending on exactly when in the mid year I had lost my diary and how much trauma I would be in on account of me being without it.

Once the mid year craziness is over, however, the diary would then be of little consequence to me. I would be on holidays again and the value would depreciate back to the single dollar value until uni or another work commitment had started again, and I would be depending on this book to be a personal compass of sorts.

I don't think the makers at Moleskine thought this through when adding the reward option on the front cover. Perhaps I should print out the above thoughts and paste them in. That way it won't be awkward should I lose this diary, and the finder gives back to seeker.

Turning the page. Personal Data:

Name:

Surname:

home address:

telephone:

mobile:

email:

business address:

telephone fax ect:

family doctor...blood group..allergies......

vaccinations. Yes. Seriously. Vaccinations. Next to that there's a "valid until."

Identity card no...valid until....passport number...car plate...drivers licence.

They forgot to ask if I was micro-chipped and spade.

Flipping through the pages I come across a tiny bit of paper stuffed in a hidden compartment of the dairy. I thought, at first, it was some sort of warranty, which was invalid to me as the dairy would have been purchased in Germany and therefore no replacement could possibly be issued here should the dairy be damaged. Upon second look, I realized that this paper was not a warranty, but instead this little gem:

The History of a Legendary Notebook

"Moleskine is the heir of the legendary notebook used for the past two centuries by great artists and thinkers, including Vincent Van Gogh, Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemmingway, and Bruce Chatwin. This trusty, pocket- sized travel companion held their sketches, notes, stories, and ideas before they became famous images or beloved books.

In his book "Songlines", Bruce Chatwin tell us the whole story of his favourite notebook, which he nicknamed 'Moleskine'. In 1986, the original manufacturer--a family operating in Tours-- closed down forever: "Le vari molekine n'est plus" are the lapidary words he puts into the mouth of the owner of the stationery shop in Rue de l'Ancienne Comedie--also a legendary spot-- where Chatwin stocked up on the notebooks. The English writer- traveller bought up all the "Moleskines" that he could find, but they were not enough.

In 1998, a small Milanese publisher brought the legendary notebook back to life under the name "Moleskine", thus restoring a sold tradition, renewing notebookism, and sensing that mobile technologies needed to be accompanied by essential self- standing analog tools.

As the reverent keeper of an extraordinary tradition, the legendary notebook once again began travelling the globe. Capturing reality on the move, preserving details, impressing the unique aspects of experience upon paper: Moleskine is a reservoir of ideas and feelings, a battery that stores discoveries and perceptions without depletion.

Today Moleskine is culture, travel, memory, imagination and personal identity, both analog and digital. It is a brand identifying a family of notebooks, journals, planner and guidebooks, with different functions, complying with a free mindstyle, both basic and emotional, and connected with the digital world through a huge network of websites, blogs, groups, virtual archives in the Internet.

The adventure of Moleskine continues to widen, and its still- blank pages will tell us the rest."

In short:

Here is the diary. Not long from receiving this we will all make the inevitable discovery. Same shit, different day.

Happy New Year.

Excuse me whilst I self- assess

My face hurts from laughing, my throat hurts from talking so much, and I'm sunburnt and a tad dehydrated due to a lack of care for myself whilst I frolicked in the sun. It doesn't matter for I was amongst old friends.

- Don't be gay Vee.

- Shut up, I'm thinking here.

What is the meaning of a friend?

When I was young, this confused me and I guess it still sometimes baffles me today. Currently, I find that the word friend has sometimes a varied definition, which is often open to interpretation and gets thrown around a lot in a way which is easy to take for granted. Like love, in a lot of ways.

I think of this as I'm coming down from the buzz of merriment I have experience from spending the entire day with a large group of people that I have not seen in years. People whom I have referred to as my friends, and will still continue to do so despite not having any regular form of contact with them. So what does it mean to be a friend?

Not meaning to blow smoke up my own arse here, but I have considered myself to be a good friend. I certainly try to be. I hold my friendships very close to my heart, as to me they are an important part of my life and, in a strange way, a small part of who I am. If my friends aren't right, I'm not right. This empathy may seem a bit strange, but I have always been acutely sensitive in that way, and I don't know if it will ever stop.

I mentioned that when I was younger, the understanding of what it meant to be a friend was somewhat skewed. In my youth, I found myself be-friended by two people who held onto me like a personal possession of theirs for a number of years. Two separate cases, but both contained the same behaviours and consequent outcomes. To these people, friendship was a different world all together. It came with a set of rules that must be followed. I was only to talk to certain people whom my friend approved of. I was to never go anywhere without my friend on weekends unless it was a family event and they strictly were not invited. If I were to talk to someone my friend did not approve of, I was to explain myself and make amends for it. Needless to say, these were intense experiences, which gave me a rather warped perception of friendship.

Being a rather solitary person by nature, I never really mind being alone, but I also don't mind the company of others. Throughout time, I have come to rather enjoy being around friends and the laughter and experiences that I have shared with people who have come and gone through out my life. I also have managed to establish a second family of sorts with my best friends from high school, whom I don't see enough of, but always keep in touch with. Additionally, in recent years, I have developed a new found appreciation for my friends, as I've come to realize just how much I rely on so many of them, and how much of an effect they have had on me. Because of them, I know I will never be alone.

On a different level all together, we have MySpace and Facebook, which have stamped their own definition and meaning of what it is to be a friend.

MySpace and Facebook have been deemed as a "social" forum. Recently, a move on Facebook has been made urging us to "connect" with certain people that we have not 'messaged', 'commented', or 'written on their wall' for months on end. Currently, I have 351 friends on Facebook, and I mostly pester about 20- 30 of those friends with random messages and links to quirky websites that I happened upon whilst procrastinating from general living. That leaves hundreds of people who remain neglected. Their friendship is collecting dust in the world of Facebook, making me look like a down right turd. If I'm no Facebook friend to these people, what sort of real friend could I be? Sometimes a correlation is made when comments like "I'm just friends with them on Facebook, I really wouldn't talk to them in real life" crop up. Harsh, but true, and lets be honest with ourselves, we've all proclaimed it.

I look through my 351 friends. Could I possibly really be friends with them all? I mean, I went to high school with some of them, primary school with a small number of them, then there's uni, people I've met through social gatherings, and the random long lost child hood friend (Hi James)...I can't possibly divide myself this many ways, can I? The answer: Of course I can't. Are you nuts!?

"Friend" is a term which is indeed open to interpretation, it's just all dependant on your circumstance I suppose. As we've seen, we have best friends, party friends, school friends, work friends, and even child hood friends. All people we have met in different circumstances, some which could not be helped, and some which were sheer twists of fate. I cannot possibly be the same friend to one person as I am to the other, but I can hold them in the same regard as each other in that they are special to me for whatever the reason. Some make me laugh in ways which no one can, others can understand me without me having to explain anything to them, and some know my deepest and darkest secrets that they will carry to their graves. There are also those whom I share no common interest with whatsoever but for the memories that we share for the brief amount of time we spent together. Memories which I think of from time to time and smile or laugh out loud at the thought of them. And no matter how much time passes, that regard will always stay the same. I'm reminded of this every time I see a long lost friend, or in this case, a group of them.

So thanks for a great day guys, it was a blast. Lets try and not leave so long next time, but if we do, I look forward to the next time I get to see you.

Top 10 Films of the Future

Well, actually, what I'm writing about here are the Top 10 films I would love to see made, but will be too afraid to see them because of the possibility of disappointment.

Over this past decade we have seen an influx of films being made which have been inspired, based upon or adapted from childhood super heroes, television series and beloved stories and novels.

Both generation X and Y have been in a flurry of excitement upon the news that the Transformers, and Alvin and the Chipmunks were coming back to us, reverting us all back to our 7 year old selves as we remembered how hard we hit the pavement to run home from school to watch our favourite shows.

I was more excited for Alvin than I was about the Transformers. I friggin loved that show. The movie was bad, but...so good! You know, in that weird way.

Most recently there's so much anticipation over The Fantastic Mr. Fox, a book which I have never read but will be nonetheless eager to see. I had never been exposed the Where The Wild Things Are as a child, but I very much enjoyed the film, so I hope that Mr. Fox will be just as agreeable.

Indeed there have been so many movies which I have loved. However, there have been many which have severely disappointed and some which I have down right refused to see.

Twilight for instance (yes, I am one of those) was one which I was furious with, and although I went to see it 6 times, and have the DVD and the soundtrack, I still think it one of the worst films ever made, and one of the worst novel adaptations.

Speaking of which, My Sister's Keeper is a film which I refuse to see after hearing the changes they had made to the story. Changing the ages of the siblings, who are the central characters to the story, in order to accommodate for Cameron fucken Diaz was one which I was willing to overlook, but then to hear that they had changed the ending! The ending which, as a friend so eloquently put it, "makes the story". An ending which haunted me for weeks after I had read it. Abominable. A plague I say. A plague upon that studio. A plague. Indeed.

But with all these stories which have been told, there are many which still remain untold. This following list is some what of a fantasy list. These are the films I would love to see made...but am really scared that the wrong people will make them.

10. The BFG

I friggin love Roald Dahl. My childhood is defined by many TV shows and authors and Roald Dahl is indeed one of them. Matilda was the first book I had read in one sitting, and straight after that one came The BFG. I loved it. It was magic and its one of the few of Dahl classics which have not yet been made into a film. Which is a shame. Someone get Peter Jackson on the phone and find a quirky looking British orphan and make it happen. Just stick to the book and don't add anything to it. And whatever you do, don't involve Stephen Spielberg or George Lucas otherwise we could possibly have another bizarre experience ala Indiana Jones IV. *shudder*

9. The Enchanted Wood, The Magic Faraway Tree, The Folk of the Faraway Tree

If The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe was made, why oh why did no one think to start producing this Enid Blyton series? Maybe its because of cousins Dick and Fanny...or perhaps the Golliwogs are enough to put people off, but I have been told that Dick and Fanny have been changed to 'Rick and Franny', and Golliwogs are now 'Gollies'. But when you're a child you don't have any concept of what it is to be politically correct. All you know from reading this is that 3 kids moved from city to country and made friends with strange folks who live in a giant tree. A tree that has a ladder at the top that leads to a portal to magic lands that come and go as they please. Oh! Give me more!!!! Why is this not a film!!!!!

I want to see Moonface and the slippery dip. I want to watch the people duck Mrs. Wash-a-lot's dirty washing water as she pours it down the tree. I want to see grumpy Mr. Watsizname and how he be-friends The Saucepan Man. And I want to see Silky make her pop biscuits. I want to get excited watching them climb the ladder and see what land they enter and how long they have there before the land moves away from the tree. I want to see night parties in the Enchanted Forest with the faeries and goblins and gnomes. I want to hear the talking trees.

But perhaps these things are best left in your imagination. And knowing our luck, some studio will probably make The Wishing Chair before they make The Enchanted Wood. Incidentally, as much as I love Enid Blyton, I can not give her props on some of the sequel titles she came up with. I speak of the sequel to The Wishing Chair...The Wishing Chair Again. Lame. But that's another rant entirely. However, whilst on the topic of Enid Blyton, I would love to see The Naughtiest Girl in the School made into a television series. I think that would be charming.

8. The Jetsons

If they could make The Flinstones (twice), Scooby Doo (twice) and Josie and the Pussycats, surely, but surely, they would have the foresight to make The Jetsons.

I always thought The Jetsons to be the more superior Hana Barbera cartoon back in the day, which tackled the issues of man enslaving fellow man in the name of corporate America. In this case, corporate America takes over space. Spacely Sprockets CEO Mr. Spacely (played by Danny Devito) enslaves George Jetson (William H. Macy) to do his bidding. George meanwhile is in emotional turmoil as he tries to balance commitments between work and family (his ever loving wife, Jane, played by Diane Lane, and kids Judy and Elroy...remain uncast. Perhaps Amanda Bines for Judy? I don't know). Obviously there still needs to be a little more storyboarding, but I think this is a film which is possible and has potential.

7. Captain Planet.

EARTH, FIRE, WIND, WATER, HEART

- Heart?

- Yes Heart.

- What does Heart do?

- It...um..it...shut up. All I know is, is that when all those powers combine Captain Planet comes, and he doesn't come without heart and we need heart. So shut the hell up.

But think about it. Global warming, Environmental Activist rioting--if there was ever a time we needed Captain Planet most, it's now.

6. 'One Day' (title to be worked on)

This one is a fantasy of mine, but I've always thought there should be a film made about the introduction of the One Day International series. Because that would be awesome. Think of the soundtrack people! I'd also like to see 'Gold: The Steven Bradbury Story'. Spandau Ballet would make that soundtrack. ;-)

5. Elizabeth and Mary

Based on the historical accounts on their relationship as detailed by Jane Dunn in the book of the same title. The film would be about the relationship between Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth I. But I'm a sucker for medieval history so that could be just me who wants this film to be made. But it would be brilliant if made. I promise.

4. The life and times of Christopher Marlowe.

Tim Burton directs it. Johnny Depp is in it. Wicked. Just so friggin wicked.

3. The Obernewtyn Chronicles

Terry Gilliam. If these Chronicles were to be ever made, he would be the one to do it. He was actually going to make Mervyn Pyke's Gormenghast from the Gormenghast Trilogy but gave up because it seemed too ambitious. I would still like to see Gilliam make that film, but I think he needs to warm up with The Obernewtyn Chronicles. Only Gilliam can do it. Trust me.

2. Montana 1948

This was my favourite book to read in high school. I read it five times over. It's brilliant. I love it. If you haven't read this book, do it. It's got everything you could ever want in it, and if made right, the movie would be just as awesome.

1. It's a tie....

I know it's unfair, and not really traditional of a top 10 list, but its my list and I can do whatever the hell I want with it.

So at number one, we have a tie between:

Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. A story told through the eyes of a 15 year old autistic boy with a photographic memory.

and Jostein Gaarder's The Solitare Mystery. The story of a young boy who discovers philosophy with a magnifying glass he was given by a mysterious man, and a small book he found in a sticky bun.

Tell me you would not see these films if I could make them for you. My future top 10.

What's yours?

There's paper in my Advocat

Here I am trying to think of a witty title for this here blog post and all I can do is write the first thing in my head.

However, there is indeed a little bit of paper in my advocat. I don't know how it got there, but its there. And it's a shame because it is home made advocat, and its made by my mother, and she's AMAZING at making things, especially things involving alcohol. I am drinking advocat...I am consequently drunk. A little. I can still write, so that's a plus.

But you must excuse me....

while I pick out this paper in my advocat.

Mmmmm. Goopy. Well, one of the quaint charms of consuming something home made, is although it may taste AMAZING, and go down an absolute treat, it does come with its unique flaws. In the case of this advocat, it is a little bit on the thick side, so what I am consuming is not so much an alcoholic beverage, but more a custard with a bit of a kick that I refuse to eat with a spoon.

I like this advocat all the same.

Merry Christmas everyone. I hope you are enjoying the festive season in a safe and respectable manner. I sure am. Cheers to us all!

I've also just enjoyed the biggest Christmas dinner and desert known to man. Following Polish tradition as best we can (my family being Polish, obviously) Christmas Eve is the big deal as opposed to Christmas Day, so all the work goes into this evening. We also get to open our presents on Christmas Eve too. I love it.

Usually, we spend the entire day preparing Christmas dinner, however I had to leave my mum and sister to do all domestic duties as I had to work. Work was quite enjoyable though, so no complaints there.

For the past week, I have been bombarded with an array of Christmas albums both past and present. When it comes to Christmas albums, there's two things--

First point of call: When thinking of making a Christmas album, start by changing your mind. Don't fucking do it. There's too many on the market out there, and if your not Judy Garland, Bing Crosby or Nat King Cole, you just shouldn't bother.

Second point: If you have ignored the first point of call, take your left hand, curl it into a fist and punch yourself in the face. If you happen to be Christina Aguilera, Mariah Carey, Michael Bolton or Adrie Rieu please replace fist with plank of wood littered with rusty nails, but still apply same pressure to face.

Seriously. Enough with the vocal areobics. I'm getting a headache, and you're disturbing my time with my advocat. Speaking of which...I am getting a bit drowsy and fear that I soon will begin to make no sense.

That's Ka-Blamo.

Anyway, I received Adrian Mole: The Prostrate Years. Who here has grown up with The Adrian Mole Diaries? Joy to the world indeed.

Good night everyone. Stay safe, stay happy, and be well. Merry Christmas.

And God Bless Us, Everyone.

Get out of here Tiny Tim.

What's my age again?

Scene: Bookshop

Cast: Me
Shop Assistant

Time: Present

I (who is me) waltz on into the bookshop looking to finally finish my Christmas shopping in the hopes that I (again, me) will actually get to sleep tonight. After half an hour of neck bending book spine browsing, I (me...of fuck it you get the point) finally make my selection and wander on over to the cash register where I meet a sprite young shop assistant waiting to assess the damage these purchases are going to take on my wallet.

ME: Hi how are you?

SHOP ASSISTANT: I'm fine thanks, how are you?

ME: I'm excellent thank you, just these if I could, please.

I hand her the books

SHOP ASSISTANT: Excellent you say? Now that's a word you don't hear all too often. At least when people describe themselves that is.

ME: Yes, indeed.

SHOP ASSISTANT: It such a lovely word too. Makes me smile. When you just told me you were excellent, I felt so much more happier!

ME: Oh, well, that's great!

SHOP ASSISTANT: Yes! Ha ha ha. That will be $82 something or other.

ME: Excellent, can I put that on savings?

SHOP ASSISTANT: Oh! You said it again!

ME: Oh, why yes I did!

Giggles ensue

ME: I suppose it's my favourite word on some sub- conscious level.

SHOP ASSISTANT: I quite like fabulous actually.

ME: That's a pretty good word to.

SHOP ASSISTANT: Oh yes fabulous darling.

ME: Like Patsy and Edina.

SHOP ASSISTANT: Who?

silence


ME: Patsy and Edina, from Ab Fab.

SHOP ASSISTANT: ....I....don't...know what that is.....

ME: Oh.

SHOP ASSISTANT: I'm 16.

ME: Oh

SHOP ASSISTANT: I was thinking more Kiera Knightly from The Duchess.

ME: I hate her. Thanks for my books. Have a good one.

End Scene

Appropriate Chit Chat

Today was a some what wonderful day. With the sun shining, and the heat steadily rising I woke from my slumber this morning WITHOUT an alarm. With a smile on my face I stretched out my limbs with the line: "Free at last, free at last, thank god almighty I'm free at last" ringing through my head. Yes, I am free. Until next year that is anyway, but for nowlet me bask in the glory that is...

Summer Holidays.

Huzzah!!!

Time has certainly flown this year. Last years summer only feels as if it happened only yesterday! But as years do, the new one has come and is on its way out, and lo and behold, Summer is here yet again. So, I had a day off today, Haylee had a day off today...BEACH!!!!!!!!!!

Giddy with excitement, I started hunting for my bathers, boardies and my summer bag. I was definately reminded of the old times when I realized that I hadn't unpacked my summer bag from last summer. I found a water damaged and sand encrusted deck of Winnie the Pooh Uno cards I got as a Christmas present from Kirby. I found a full bottle of sunscreen though. SCORE! Summer for me is defined by three items: Sunscreen, Tanning Oil and After Sun Cream. Have those three on you at all times, and your set for the next 3 months. There's nothing more you could possibly need...except maybe a cider and some fish and chips, but that's a given.

Haylee and I were so excited about the seaside. The first beach day is always the most awkward though. The crowd that had gathered there were tanned, buffed, and beautiful. Not that I'm particularly insecure about myself, I see my purpose on the beach as one which adds diversity to the crowd, but when you're pale and pasty and have a lot of browning to do, you do feel like a bit of an amature amongst the bronzers.

The water was cold, but oh so good. Haylee and I were in bliss, paddling in the water, looking at all the people on the beach, then paddling in the water some more. Oh what fun we were having. During this time of happiness, an elderly gentleman was walking along the beach and decided to plant himself nearby our towels. After a while he started to get ready to go into the water. It became apparent that the gentleman in question did not bring his bathers with him, and decided to just go about the day in his jocks. After the obligatory chuckle (as young ladies tend to do at these sorts of matters), I thought: Ah, fair enough, more power to him. And we continued to enjoy our day.

The gentleman then entered the water, made his way towards us, and started to have a chat. It was innocent at first, these things usually are, and despite the fact that this guy was just in his jocks, we didn't want to be rude.

HIM: Beautiful day to be at the beach hey?

US: Hell yeah.

HIM: You have a day off?

US: Hell yeah.

Awkward pause

HIM: Water's nice.

US: Hell yeah it's nice.

HIM: Yeah, I went to the beach yesterday in Frankston.

US: Oh yeah.

HIM: Yeah. It was a nice hot day and I thought I'd go off to the beach after work.

US: Cool.

HIM: But there were so many people there.

US: Oh.

HIM: So I went looking for another beach. I found one which wasn't too far away from Frankston. It was called Sunnyside Beach. Have you ever heard of it?

US: No.

HIM: It's a lovely beach. Water was really nice and warm.

US: Cool.

HIM: It's a nudist beach.

Scilence

HIM: Yeah, one of the few legal ones here. There's a sign there and everything.

Silence

HIM: Yeah, a lot of people go down there. But usually only people in the 30-60 range. I'm 50 myself.

US: Ok.

HIM: Yeah, not many girls your age seem to want to go down there. And it's a shame because you're of the age where your bodies are in the best shape, and you don't show it off! It would be something nice to look at.

Silence

HIM: Yeah, well, you should think about heading down there sometime. It's not far from Frankston at all, and it would be a lot of fun.

Silence

HIM: Well, I'll be going. I shouldn't really be swimming because of my ear infection. Bye girls.

Silence

Seriously? Seriously.

Good day though.

Cooks and Chefs...

Currently housebound and with nowhere to go, the only thing keeping me entertained and somewhat sane is doing my work in front of ye olde telly.

The amount of lifestyle shows is astounding. Decoration, design, gardening and cooking galour in the afternoons. With the introduction of the new freeview channel 72 (aka 7 two "yes its time") there is more style to your life than you've bargained for.

Along with the Jay Leno show you can now watch the The Martha Stewart Show, where she interviews celebrities and cooks at the same time. I shit you not. The other day, Usher was on there rolling pastry dough, and talking about the anticipated arrival of his new born baby, and also his new CD. Amazing. What will they think of next?

The sudden rise in lifestyle shows, in my opinion, is more of a curse than it is a blessing. Whilst I am a proud connoisseur of food and wine, and I do boast a wonderful ability to produce the finest of meals and baked goods, I do realize that what I offer to the world of culinary cuisine is not as extraordinary as I believe it to be.

Masterchef, The Great Aussie Cookoff, and Ready Steady Cook has bought recipes and the art of cooking outside the realms of intimidation and has filled the general public with confidence in their ability to boil a pot of water and experiment with such things like 'fruits' and 'vegetables'.

A few months ago, A Current Affair ran a young Masterchef competition where children under the age of 15 showed off their skills in the kitchen. These kids were amazing, poaching eggs, roasting roasts and stirring...fry's...fries...stirfry's...stirfries....stir---oh you know what I mean. Point is, when I was 10, two minute noodles was what I considered cooking, and the triumph for me was not burning the toast in the morning. Home cooking has certainly excelled and more people are getting involved at an earlier age. No doubt there's a positive correlation between this and the increase in cooking shows and lifestyle programs.

Enter the curse. Tamasin Day Lewis. Best known for being the sister of Daniel Day Lewis, Tamasin is also a food writer, T.V. producer and director...she also likes to cook. Good for her. She also has her own show. Good for whom? Not for me.

Just because you're a food writer and know the difference between white and red meat does not make you a cook or chef by any means. It also doesn't give you the licence to create a show based around you cooking for any old occasion. That's clearly territory taken up by Jamie Oliver, who despite his naff charm and 'lovely jublies', can actually cook.

Inviting your mates around and firing off names of several dried spices whilst they answer "ooo", "aaah" and "delish" IS NOT WORTH FILMING. Also, using a hand held digital camera doesn't really help.

For some reason, in the middle of this particular episode I happened upon, Tamasin and her side kick friend, who she had come around to "help", stopped cooking to go out into the garden to eat a snow pea, and then run back inside because it started to rain...what the hell was the point of that?

The trip to the fish mongers was equally as awkward to watch, as she saunters in, demands that the fish monger tell her what's good to eat, then interrupts before he has a chance to answer because she wants to look at a crab. Rabbiting on and on about how she has five or six, possibly more, people to feed at her amazing dinner party she settles on a few pieces of cod.

After having made 100 biscuits, chicken liver for entree and baked cod for main, only two people show up to her dinner party and then call her food "creamy rubber."

Well done Tamasin.

And well done mum, who has managed to burn potatoes. Hmmm, I must excuse myself, but in the meantime, acquaint yourselves with someone who can cook without being useless or irritating. www.insanitytheory.net/kitchenwench

Do I have another option?

Hey how ya going? Hows it been? Yes yes yes I'm still alive. Exhausted, barely functioning, but still alive.

Needless to say--I have been busy. And along with neglecting my health (I do not even want to think about what I've put my body through at the moment), I've also neglected my friends. For that, my loves, I'm terribly sorry. I'm a horrible horrible person.

Please forgive me, I know not what I do.

Please forgive me, I can't stop loving you.

So summer is here. I was going to say almost here, but I'm sitting here in sticky humidity with the back door wide open and a breeze tickling against my skin. Summer is here.

Time to save up for Christmas presents, look awkward with fluorescent legs whilst I don shorts, hunt for a new bathing suit, try not to loose the two pairs of sunglasses that I recently bought to replace the two pairs of sunglasses I have lost last year, and start thinking about what to do for New Years Eve. Which is probably nothing. Because I'm beginning to hate New Years Eve.

My dear friend Miriam announced her distaste for New Years Eve a couple of months ago, and come to think of it, so do I. So I resign to do nothing to bring in the New Year this year, because I really couldn't give a shit enough to go out of my way to think about the year that has been and then think about the year that is to come. I would rather think about the moment that is now. Eckhart Tolle much? Meh. I don't know.

So Miriam, despite you hating New Years Eve, and not wanting to do anything, would you like to do nothing on New Years Eve together? I, for one, would like to have a Black Books/Dylan Moran marathon, drinking wine, laughing my ass off, and then passing out on the couch only to wake up to go to my bed and sleep for the rest of the day there. What do you say? Well, I'll get back to you on that I suppose. ;-)

Summer also means summer holidays. Meaning free time. Meaning catching up with friends. Some friends you catch up with you can pick up where you left off. Other friends take a little more effort:

THEM: "Hey how are you I haven't seen you in ages what are you doing?!?!?!"

ME: "Nothing much."

Awkward pause.

THEM: "Cool."

ME: "Yeah, I guess it is. How are you?"

THEM: "Yeah, really good, everything's fine, boring you know, but fine."

ME: "Well that's good."

THEM: "Yeah it's fine."

ME: "Sure."

THEM: "You seeing anyone?"

ME: "No."

THEM: "Really? It's been a while for you now hey?"

ME: "I haven't been counting actually. Probably because I've had something to occupy my time with."

THEM: "Ha ha ha. Oh you're so funny. But seriously, there's no one?"

ME: "Well, I wouldn't say no one. Yesterday a guy waved and winked at me, and then gave me the finger when I didn't care to respond. The week before that I was propositioned by a 50 year old man. A month before that a friend of mine offered me 'a hand' with my 'situation' and was then offended by my decline of his offer, and a few months before that I had my drink spiked. So I guess I couldn't really say there's no one."

THEM: "....I've gotta go."

And so do I. Fraiser's on.

Bohemian No!

I'm not usually one for judging a sub-culture....


Ah who am I kidding. I judge anything and anyone. It's an inherent trait I received from my mother, just one of the few things we happen to have in common. I'm not going to lie to you, I can be pretty mean at times.

In writing this, however, the motive is not to be mean, but to save you (and your ears) from the most terrible excuse of a band I have ever seen.

Although I don't know their name, I can tell you this:

If you see an army of cardigan clad men with an casually dressed drummer, run. RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!

I didn't.

I suffered.

On the stage the Bohemian army of 'musicians' stood, dazed, skinny and scruffy. They looked out into the crowd...at all 5 of the bohemian little gypsy minions that tagged along with them, already swaying before the music had begun. Those fucking gypsies.

The ominous sound of one of the THREE GUITARS ON STAGE begins to rattle. The lead singer, in a brown sweater, dirty dreads and an ugly face, braces himself and pulls out...


a melodica.

Wanna know what a melodica is?





Yes that's right. The BoHo 'played' the melodica. It was bright green, and plastic. An astute gentleman standing behind me bore the expression on his face that said it all:

"WTF?"

Not having seen a melodica before, I asked what the 'instrument' was, to which he replied: "A children's toy."

Quite right.

In case your wondering, the melodica is not the only thing the lead singer blows. He blows pretty much everything. Hmmm...let me rephrase that: he blows AT pretty much everything.

3 Guitars. 3 Guitars that 'band' had. One of them wasn't even playing...he was just standing there. Swaying back and forth. Mumbling to himself.

Fucking Bohemians.

Their minions weren't any better. The dancing...it was...I don't know what it was. One of them was romping around on the dance floor with a beer bottle in his hand.

Which was empty...

YET HE STILL CONTINUED TO DRINK FROM IT!!!

I could continue rambling on about the number of things I was disgusted with, but it is 1am in the morning and I really must go to bed. I have a full day ahead of me in which I will try and forget that this whole experience had ever happened.

Who knows? Perhaps I will convince myself that it was all a dream.

Human's Suck

I hate being human.

Particularly when I'm doing work that requires me to be a machine.

I hate trying to work at human speed. I hate human speed. You achieve nothing at human speed.

What have we ever accomplished at human speed?

"Landing on the Moon?"

Shut up. That's not human speed.

I need to be able to multitask at an alarming rate. I need to be able to read at the speed of light and be able to absorb as much information as a Shamwow absorbs water at the same time.

I need to be able to type up essays, as well as marketing drafts. I need to memorize a script whilst writing a new one.

I also need to take a shower.

Dammit. If I was a machine I wouldn't need to shower. I'd just need an occasional oil to prevent rust. Humans and oil don't go well together, which is why we will never rust.

What's worse than working at human speed, is working at human speed with a cold. This means that as a human, I'm now required to "rest" and "take it easy."

Negative. Cannot perform said foreign functions at this time.

If I were a machine I wouldn't get a cold.

"You could get a virus."

Shut up. Viruses on a machine are like STD's on a human. If the machine comes in contact with strange, unknown and unsecured programs, of course its going to catch something unsavoury.

I don't have an STD, I have a cold, and I don't want a cold, which why I want to be a machine because machines don't get colds.

"Shut up. You're getting off topic, and are now ranting and raving to yourself. Didn't you say you had work to do?"

Duly noted.

10 Reasons to go and see Moonwalker

In honour of what would have been Michael Jackson's 51st birthday, Village Cinema's are exclusively screening Moonwalker.

When Haylee and I found this out, off we went to the Jam Factory to buy our tickets. It was a hoot. What made it more special was that Mel had come along, and not having seen the film before, we were proud to be there with her for her first 'Moonwalker' experience.

If you have never seen it, or haven't seen it in a while, here are but 10 reasons why you should buy your ticket.

1. The film begins with a half hour montage of Michael Jackson and Jackson 5 hits for no particular reason at all except to make you try and find new and exciting ways to dance in your seat without embarrasing yourself.

2. The 'Badder' short film: If you haven't seen it, I won't spoil it for you, but I will say that when Mel saw it, giggles ensued.

3. Michael Jackson running away from claymation stalkers.

4 Michael Jackson turning into claymation Rabbit and then turns back into himself only to have a dance off with the claymation Rabbit...who's called Spike.

5. Michael Jackson dodging bullets and running away from dogs. If that isn't enough action for ya, tell me what is.

6. Baby Sean Lennon starring as one of the 3 children who accompany Michael on his Moonwalker adventure. What relation the kids are to Michael is never explained in the film, nor why they wander the streets at all hours of the night following Michael around to clubs and concerts with no supervision except for the occasional companionship of a dog.

7. Joe Pesci. In heels. Nuff said.

8. Smooth Criminal in all its wonderful glory.



9. Michael Jackson morphing into a car, then a robot then a spaceship, only to return and sing us a song.





10. Michael Jackson's delivery of the line "Do it and you're dead." Amazing.

The film is only screening until Wednesday, so get in there quick. Seeing it on DVD is just not the same.

"Boys Suck"...well tell me something I don't know

There must be something in the water, because women all around me are on an anti- male rage.

Meh, what else is new. I've been on that boat for a long time, which is probably the biggest contributing factor as to why I'm single.

Call me crazy, but I just haven't found the urge to pretty myself up, dress to the nines and throw myself at fine specimens such as these...




Granted, not all men look like that, and not all men suck, but please take note of the operative word here. MEN!!


For most women out there, and that's me included, the epitome of the ideal man goes a little something like this:



Or if you're a more of a modern day woman, a little something like this:



Oh Mr. Darcy. Be still my beating heart. The man every woman wants, and every man wants to wallop.

Before Zac Efron, and before Edward Cullen, was The Darcy phenomenon. The love of the character surpassed the love of the actor, and poor Mr. Colin Firth could never reclaim his identity as a truly wonderful actor. No matter what part he took after the BBC mini series, nothing ever came close to the euphoria which was experienced over watching Mr. Darcy on your telly. The closest Firth came to regaining the same success was with the release of Bridget Jones' Diary, where he rehashed the exact same character, but wore much more comfortable clothing. I dare anyone to wear a reindeer sweater in such a way that presents women with the quandary of whether rip it off, or do the deed with the sweater on because he just looks so goddamn sexy in it. (Or maybe that's just me....)

Yes, Mr. Darcy. Wonderful, strong, handsome, Mr. Darcy.

The man who despite his best interests fell in love with Elizabeth Bennett.
The man who fell in love with Bridget "just as she is."
The man who came to Elizabeth Bennett's rescue and saved her family from ruins.
The man who flew halfway across the world to free Bridgett from a Thai prison.
The man who said the unforgettable words: "In vain I have struggled, but it will not do, you must allow be to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
And the man who answered "oh yes they fucking do", when Bridgett proclaimed that nice boys "don't kiss like that."

Oh yes, Mr. Darcy. Wonderful, smart, rich, handsome, kind, caring, romantic, perfect Mr. Darcy.

Well of course he's perfect. He was created by these.





WOMEN!

Jane Austen created one of the most romantic and charming men since Shakespeare's Romeo. Helen Fielding followed suit and 'creatively' gave us a more updated version.

My point to all this?

Ladies, the perfect man does not exist. Why? Because it's impossible, not virtually impossible or practically impossible, but IMPOSSIBLE for a man to be near perfect let alone perfection. There's no such thing. Have another read of Pride and Prejudice and Bridget Jones' Dairy, even the two Darcy's have their flaws. But because we have become so besotted in the ideals and romance, there is a tendency to block out the bad and concentrate of the good.

The tendency also transfers to real life situations. I myself will admit to falling for it. We become so engrossed in the fantasy of finding Mr. Right that we start to put any Joe Blow on a pedestal when really, he has no place there at all.

Please don't misunderstand me. Just because there is no perfect man doesn't mean that functional relationships don't exist. I myself know many people who are in one. Good for them. That's great. But that's not what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about your average, and I mean REALLY average guy that many girls seem to loose their nut over. To explain what I'm talking about, the scenario goes a little something like this:

Girl meets Guy. Both seem to dig each other, and flirting ensues. Girl gives Guy number. Girl is ecstatic, raves about guy, guy doesn't call, and the girl is shattered.

or...

Girl meets Guy. Flirt. Exchange numbers. Call. Date. Guy doesn't call again.

OR...

Girl meets Guy. Flirt. Exchange numbers. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Calls. Meet in public -- guy treats girl like stranger.

OR MY PERSONAL FAVOURITE

Girl meets Guy. Flirts. Sparks. Calls calls calls...but clearly one is using the other. Guess who.

*sigh* Pretty tough to catch a break. Can you blame a girl for being so down trodden and upset?

Sisters, I understand.

"*sniff* No you don't," you sob. "I'm tearing my hair out over this, and you've got a full head of hair. Don't tell me you understand. *sniff*"

Sisters...WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!

Seriously, I'm all for love, romance, kisses and cuddles. I giggle with delight at them. But emotionally investing in someone who's clearly a dick just isn't right. He's not Mr. Darcy, and if he makes you feel like shit, he's not your Mr. Right. You can't change him, you can't make him do anything else, and you certainly can't get back the time you wasted on him.

No Deal.

Yes sweethearts, boys suck, and men can be idiots, but what else is new?

Why on earth would you place all your aspirations for happiness into one person?

Why do you place so many expectations onto a complete stranger?

Why don't you place those same expectations on yourself?

And if you spend any more time on the guy who wastes your time, you're going to miss out on the one who is actually worth your time.

The 90s scream NO!!!

This has to stop.






Now far be it from me to start being a fashionista. I don't have the greatest taste in clothes, as I'm more of a practical woman that buys things she needs rather than what she wants because it's all pretty and shiny. But this has gone on for far too long....



and I truly believe it has to be stopped.

There was a time I used to wear leggings, once. It was called the 90s and it looked a little something like this:



That's the reality of the situation.

Leggings make you look like a...hmmmm..how can I say this...a dip shit.

Take this for instance:




I don't see any reason to wear this unless I woke up one morning to find that I had a super power and an extreme sense of justice.

And if this isn't enough to make you see the ridiculousness of the situation...



I don't know what is.

"But surely what we see on the cat walk can not possibly walk through the actual streets in broad day light" I hear you think.

Dear reader, I regret to inform you that it has. People of all ages, races, and genders, are opting to don their leggings from outside the gym and into everyday life. My sister, bless her dear little cotton socks, is one of these culprits. I cringe every time she walks out the door in a gorgeous top and these disgusting grey leggings. And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, I was riding the tram into the city to be confronted with a man wearing black leggings, which were low in the crotch, paired with a blue soldiers blazer. And this wasn't a young boy who's just finished high school and is expressing his new found university freedom and individuality, this was a grown MAN.

IN HIS THIRTIES!!!


ALSO CARRYING A SATCHEL!!!!!

Like I said, far be it from me to judge what it is a person chooses to wear for the day, but I'll leave you with this:

You go out looking like a clown, people are going to laugh.

Pointing the finger at myself...

Usually, I'm very quick to judge the stupid shit that people do. I ridicule and mock them for the choices they have made in their lives as well as the way in which they conduct themselves.

Stupid is as stupid does so it would seem.

Today it's time to point the finger at me.

These past couple of weeks, I have been severely stupid. Not intentionally mind you, but with the way some things have turned out, I might as well be.

As it is, times have been tight where the finances are concerned. I've been struggling to keep up with my bills, and necessities, basically living from welfare cheque to welfare cheque. (I've been looking for a job, but as it is, they're pretty hard to come by). I've been plodding along nicely as it would seem until I realize stupid thing number 1.

I joined a gym.

A couple of years back, my best- friend and I thought it would be grand to bite the bullet and take our health and fitness into our own hands. We joined a gym. We went everyday for 6 months. I looked fantastic.

I have not been to this gym for 1 and a half years. Now, I have a 80 a quarter is taken from my savings. I'm giving money to a gym I do not even use. To discontinue my membership, it will cost $280 for the cancellation fee. I'm so fucking stupid.

Stupid thing number two happened two days ago. I managed to get two parking tickets on the same day, in different parking spots.

I've left the payment of another parking ticket too late, and when I went to pay that, also realized I've neglected to pay my phone bill...I'm not opening it, because I'm too afraid to look at what the figure will be. I'm so fucking stupid.

Today, I went and bought a Pilate's DVD...when I have a gym membership I am paying for an don't even use.

I'm also going out for a dinner with my best friend...when I should be saving up for my car to be serviced or fixed.

The car needs new tyers, brake pads, and all sorts of new gear...

Yesterday I bought $34 dollars worth of make up. It was one item that makes your skin glow. My best friend works for the make up company that I bought it from. I bought it so that she could earn commission.

At the end of all that, there's only one thing left to say...

The shit that people do...

If I'm known for anything it's not my intellectual prowess or fantastic sense of humor, it's my ability to find absolute crap on the internet and share it with you all whether you like it or not.

This little gem, however, I must to attribute to a dear friend of mine, who sent me this in a private message. Darling, I'm sorry, but I have to share this with everyone I know.

Here, my lovelies, in honour to those who are just getting into the series, and also to those whom are eagarly awaiting the upcoming flick 'New Moon', is a tribute to the shit that extremely obsessed people do.





TATTOOS!!!! What better way to show your devotion to a series that you love oh so much. That's right ladies and the odd enthusiastic gents, if you haven't already thought about it, why not permantly brand your love and devotion to the Twilight saga by getting a Twilight inspired tattoo. Here are some ideas and designs for you to consider.



This is a favourite amongst most girls. Its fulfills its purpose as catching the eyes of many, and detering any future male attention FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. Not that you would mind. You belong to Edward Cullen after all. Forever.



Some would say this is a bit too much. Others may say it's not enough. I say, it says it all.



Just when you thought it couldn't go any further with just the odd 'Edward and Bella' reference, here comes the Cullen Crest!!!!!! The Cullen's Forever!!! Cause Lord knows no one else will have a bar of you.



The 'stupid lamb' in this tattoo holds a double meaning.



And in case you meet someone who hasn't read the books yet, have a copy conveniently on you...literally.

For more Twilght tattoos you can have a look here.

Wha???

Tell me exactly where it was along track that we have forgotten the meaning of the word FICTION.

If you haven't yet heard of this news, let me break it down for you.

You may have already seen the posters, or even perhaps the trailer, for the upcoming horror movie titled 'Orphan'. The tagline of it reads 'there's something wrong with Esther'.

Looks alright, entertaining, something I wouldn't mind seeing on tightarse Tuesday. It's a bit of 'The Omen' mixed in with 'The Good Son' (which was a wicked WICKED film, I must see it again soon). All in all, it looks like an ok story.

Opertaive word here is STORY!!

As is seen from the Perez post above, adoption groups have rallied together in a protest against the film.

The Canadian Press has reported that critics of the film claim that an anti- adoption message is relayed to the audience. The adoption groups are not only calling for a boycott of the film, but are determined to meet with the CEO of Warner Bros himself, Barry Meyer, to discuss their concerns.

In response, Warner Bros has expressed intention of placing a pro- adoption message with the films DVD release. I wonder if it will go along the following lines:

"This movie may contain images of adopted children doing wrong. This is intended to fall along with the genre of horror. Warner Bros have produced this work of FICTION to make money. We have no actual interest in orphans what so ever. If you want to adopt one, that's your business. All we care about is the $30.00 fee you've paid to buy this DVD. Thank you for your business."

That there is the REALITY of the situation.

The REALITY is that Warner Bros appreciates the attention. This for them is free publicity, and now a movie which may have seemed mundane is now intriguing. What's more alluring than a film that a group of people don't want you to see?

The REALITY is that we KNOW that orphans are in fact children and not demon beings, and as such they deserve all the love, care and attention that all children deserve.

The REALITY is that Orphan is not the first movie of its kind.

Who can remember the 1990 hit 'Problem Child'? The story of a young orphan boy adopted by a childless couple, and what seems to be a match made in heaven turns to all sorts of bad, because the young boy is actually a little shit, and all mayhem ensues.

Nobody seemed to believe that the message of this film was 'don't adopt.' On the contrary, everybody seemed to like this film. In fact, the audience liked this film so much that the studio decided to go ahead and make the sequel, aptly titled 'Problem Child 2', where the there was not only one, but TWO little monster children wreaking havoc on society.

It must be said, I understand the advocacy groups concern. However, I think that this is all blown a tad out of proportion. At the end of the day, the movie is what it is, A MOVIE. It is FICTION. Nobody out there actually believes that orphans are damaged goods, or possesed by the devil, or cursed.

And if there is a film to be blamed for all the hoopla, then I present you with the culprit.

My Time with Brother John

On this wonderfully grey, overcast, windy day my sister and I set out to meet my dad for lunch. He would like to take us out on account of it having been my birthday. Usually, this is a pretty standard event. Having been a stickler for order all his life dad likes nothing more than going to the same restraurant on Lygon St. and ordering the steak, with tiramisu for dessert and tia maria to go with it.

Recently though, dad's been going for some major changes. Call it midlife crisis, or putting some spice in your life, dad is looking to try something new. Usually it's a bit hit and miss...like Brother John's.

We begin our cullinary journey in Sassafras, home of Miss Marple's Tea Room, Tea Leaf and The Sassafras Oracle. Lovely day out...if the sun is out to join you. Needless to say, if it's cold and grey in your neighbourhood, it's colder in the mountains.

Brother John's sits on top of a hill. As you drive towards it, signs with blairing red font scream at you: SOUP WE HAVE SOUP!!! SCONES WE HAVE SCONES!!! CARPARK WE HAVE A CARPARK!!!

How delightful.

Upon finding the

ENTRANCE WE HAVE AN ENTRANCE sign, you head towards the door and are faced with a small white chapel, ready to be booked, by you. How do I know this? Well, I saw the sign.

Before I could read on about bookings for weddings, an lovely ederly gentleman greets us. Looking rather frail and barely able to walk he shows to our table...outside. Yes, it seems that everyone is to be seated outside for lunch today. Don't worry, we were shielded from the wind and cold by plastic sheets.

I was more worried for the gentleman who was showing us to our table, I felt as if he should be sitting down and I should be bringing him the cup of tea. Despite his frail appearance, he was extremely happy-go-lucky, striking up conversation and giving me a random cuddle as I sat down. Whilst embracing me, he went on to show me the special board and what was what in the menu. I wasn't quite sure what to make of that, or the menu.

Brother John's prides itself on its soups and scones. Everything else...hmmm. The Parma was below average, the salad was made the day before, and there was this thing in a little bowl that came with it. I don't know what it was, and I don't know why I was given it. Upon first glance it looks like a smashed up boiled egg. Putting it to the nose it does not smell of egg. Poking it, it wobbles. Feeling brave, I place a little on my fork and pop it in my mouth. There's cream, coconut, peach and pineapple. I've never had anything like it before. Dad looked at it and ate it. He doesn't like wasting money you see. The words that came out of his mouth were 'Peach Melba.' Good people of Melbourne, please let me know: what is a Peach Melba and is it supposed to look like that? What was stranger than recieving what ever that was on my plate was the background music playing at Brother John's. There is no real triumph in eating your chicken parma to the tune of the Paso Doble.

Dessert was just as gross, and really it was enough to put you in a foul mood. Until I turned around and saw a giant Andre Rieu poster staring me in the face. Next to that a giant homemade banner: "Andre Rieu brings JOY TO THE WORLD".

I have seen and heard enough.

Promptly after discovering this banner I took a photo of it and sent it to Haylee, Dave and Mel. Haylee sent a message back which rang very true:

"Only YOU would end up in a place like that."

Indeed.

More often than not I do seem to find myself in places and situations that look like they've been torn from the pages of an American sitcom. Why this happens I do not know. I'm a big believer in everything happening for a reason though, and if there is one reason I can find within this strange and bizarre experience it is to tell you, don't go to Brother John's--unless it is a practical joke.

A Plea to Symonds

GODDAMMIT ANDREW SYMONDS WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?

Do you have a drinking problem? Is that it? Do you need help? Are you depressed? Bored? Lacking motivation? What? WHAT?

TELL ME WHAT IS IT!? What is so wrong that you just have to piss your talent away by CONSTANTLY STUFFING UP!!


WHY!!!!!!

Why bother doing all that work to get the attention of the selectors when you're willing risk it all because you can't be bothered showing up to a meeting, you'd prefer to have a drink than stick to curfew, and you don't mind having a public rant and rave over fellow players and airing out your dirty laundry.

You were once a favourite Symonds, and now you're just a douche. It breaks my heart to see they amount of players that have been demoted to playing state level because Cricket Australia believes that you derserve one chance after another. And of course, you just throw it away time and time again.

What is it? Tell us what it is!? Do you even want to play cricket anymore? What's the problem!?

Maybe there really isn't a problem. Maybe you're really just the arrogant disrespectful jerk-off you make yourself out to be. Maybe believing in you is truly a waste of time and despite all the great things you've achieved for your country should be overlooked all the same and the privilege of playing for Australia should go to someone who actually wants to be there.

Whatever it is, I hope you sort it out Symonds, not only for the good of the game, but for you own good as well. There's a little part of me who still believes that you're something special, and longs to see those days again.

Oh lord won't you buy me a colour T.V....and put something decent on it.

Whilst I am proud to be an Australian, I cannot say that I have been as proud of Australian T.V.

Over years gone by, there has been an apparent lack of original Australian drama and comedy being screened on commercial television. A failure to attract ratings against the American and British counterparts has left many commericial television sations seeking to invest their money internationally, rather than locally, leaving no room for new Australian content.

Much of what has been splayed on the screen have been Australian versions of American and British reality television shows that are sure to be a ratings winner. What has this left the consumer and avid viewer with? A lack of diversity.

Channel 10s line up has for the past 5 years consisted of American Idol, So You Think You Can Dance, and the Biggest Loser in the summer, followed by Australian Idol, So You Think You Can Dance Australia and the Biggest Loser Australia in the winter months. Channel 7 and Channel 9 have the news and the odd gameshow as their Australian content fix in between the new episodes and re-runs of the same old American crime drama, with the ABC slowly, but surely, becoming the BBC in between showcasing great shows like Spicks and Specks and the Gruen Transfer.

Growing up, Australian television had a distinct identity. I mainly attriubute this to the Australian satirical and cynical sense of humour that we were once so well known for. In the late 80s and early 90s, there was no lack of creativity when in came to the humble sketch show. Fast Forward, Full Frontal, and The D Generation are just some of the shows that defined my young adulthood, as well as typified the Australian sense of humour and rebellion. Tounge in cheek shows such as Frontline, Good News Week, and The Panel where just a handful of the shows worth switching the box on for.

But somewhere down the line, something went wrong.

The phenomenon of reality television provided production companies a source of cheap entertainment. Tapping into the perverse voyerism embedded in the viewers human nature was a sure way of not only achieving high ratings, but also garuntee more bang for the television station's buck.

The Free Trade Agreement saw more and more American shows and concepts infiltrating our screens in more ways than ever before. Suddenly, the Australian market was in more competition, trying to assimilate to the more dominant industry than keeping true to what made their industry so unique and attractive in the first place.

Recently, there has been a shift, perhaps for the better, however I fear that this is for the worst.

The 51st Annual TV Week Logie Awards is a demonstrated example of this shift in Australian creativity. There has been a rise in Australian drama with the introduction of such shows as Packed to the Rafters, Bed of Roses, and the recent phenomenon to hit the screen, Underbelly. There was an apparent energy in the air. This Logies felt like none other. There was something to be proud by being there, and by watching it. The obligatory international guest talent, for the first time in a long time, were not the main focus of the night. The focus was on the quality of the original Australian content, that, also for the first time in a long time, did not soley come from Working Dog productions. Finally, the American 'Days of our Lives' "talent" where viewed as what they were meant to be; guests, and not the main event, and with the exception of Annie Lennox, the night was supremely ours.

Upon winning his Silver Logie for Most Outstanding Male Actor in a Television Series, Gyton Grantley expressed his positivity towards the Australian Televsion Instudry that seemed to have been shared by everyone in the room. "We make good stuff, and a show like this being watched by Australian's means that we like our stuff...let's make more of it."

Indeed! Anything which supports the production of new and original Australian creativity is a must. The Australian Arts have a lot to offer to this country, and to the world, and we should be nothing more than proud and eager to see more of it.

However, here is my reservation of how this is interpreted, and unfortunately this may look like a bit of a jab at Channel 9, however the example which I use here is one which we all can learn from.

With Underbelly has come Underbelly: A Tale of Two Cities, and then shortly after that Bob Trimbole: The real Underbelly.

Do you see where I'm going here?

This is where the problem is. It's not that there is a lack of Australian stories to be told, it's just that it's so damn hard to get it told when you don't seem to fit into the "successful formula of the day." Televsion production, along with a lot of other creative industries (however broad you may believe this term to be) has become incredibly lazy, and scared.

For the past decade, the methodology has been: find something that brings in the money, and capitalize on it until we bleed it dry.

Productions stick with the same formula until it no longer works, and whilst this prooves lucrative in the short term, it provides no long term stability for Australian television and performing arts. Indeed, what the industry has become is a factory of some sorts, pumping out the same thing over and over again in a bid to sell and survive, and no aforethought behind it.

Where's the future in that?

I'm not quite sure if there's a golden answer to this question, and I'm not sure if there ever will be. Someone wonderful once told me that if you do find the golden answer, you've probably made a mistake.

I suppose what I'm trying to raise awareness to here is that there is a lack of risk taking where the Television and Perfroming Arts industry is concerned. No one wants to take a chance on something new, everyone feels more secure in playing it safe.

If taking a risk is too much perharps start with baby steps and make an adaption to the formula. Lets continue with the Underbelly example here for a moment. If anything, Underbelly showed that not only did Australian audiences have a fascination with Australia's criminal underworld history, they were also taken in by the fact that this was all based on true events. What happened on the screen in front of them actually once took place. It's something that is very real to them, and in turn they find something in it which they individually can relate too.

Underbelly: A Tale of Two Cities was marketed as "the time Australia lost its innocence". This captured people's attention, and there was also a morbid fascination into the corruption of something pure.

If this is what makes a good Australian story, for now, perhaps we should tell yet another one? There are plenty. The Stolen Genertaion, the rise and fall of One Nation, the Bali 9, hell, I think we can make a mini series on the life and times of Paul Hogan or even Bob Hawke! And that's just for starters.

More can be said for the lack of quality in Australian comedy, but until someone convinces some top knotch exec that Shaun Micallef should have his own show yet again until the day he dies, we'll have to be tied over with Kath and Kim, Spicks and Specks and Thank God You Here.

But this is an exciting time in Australian Television indeed, it's just a matter of where it's taken to from here.