Tuesday, 31 May 2011

Just a Thought: Careers

Isn’t it ironic (don’t ya think?) that all the industries that are considered ‘feminine’ are ruled by men? I don’t understand how blokes can go around thinking that fashion and food are girly career choices. I mean, most of the world renowned fashion designers and chefs are men. Sure, there’s probably loads of women in each of these industries but the ones at the top are usually men – why is this? I could go on a feminist rant and say that it’s the case in every industry because our Western capitalist society is inherently patriarchal – but I won’t.
It just seems really funny to me that there would be weirdness in some families when a son says to a father “Dad, I want to be a fashion designer/chef”.
How are these “girly” careers? Traditionally, women are the ones who cook and take an interest in clothes but it’s the highest peak of these workplaces that are occupied by men.
Just a thought...

Monday, 30 May 2011

Girls These Days...

Why are parents letting their children gad about in mini-skank outfits? Why are they letting their little girls roam the earth looking like real life “Bratz” dolls?
Okay. Parents are in trouble when their kids are lying face down on the floor of the store thrashing their little limbs around, face red with rage screaming for “that pink, glittery boob tube!” Tough times. I get it.
I guess the really sad part is that kids want to dress this way. You know the way I mean. Tiny scraps of plaid fabric that apparently result in a skirt teamed with a tight fitted mid-drift exposing shirt that reads something like “bad girl” or “rock star” (for the sake of our society I hope neither of these statements are true) whilst they totter along in high heel glittery shoes with their overly crimped, teased, combed hair bobbing and adorned with various plastic junky clips and a tiny and pointless handbag containing nothing. 
Whatever happened to gingham dresses? And little sandals with ladybirds and butterflies on them?
I remember as a kid my favourite outfit consisted of a florescent green, yellow and blue striped, faux-angora turtleneck sweater teamed with some khaki corduroy trousers. When I wore these things I thought I looked sophisticated and awesome. Looking back I realise I looked like a total retard. Nonetheless these are lessons we must learn.
I got to high school and realised girls my age were dressing like young women – young adults even (though to me that meant they were wearing jeans and a tee-shirt but you get the idea). My friends had matching accessories and styled hair. I went home found everything in my wardrobe that was red – pants, shirt, shoes and hair clips and gave my hair a vicious brush and went out into the world looking, once again, like a total fool. But I was sure this was what was necessary. The next outing would involve me wearing everything blue or orange and that is what makes you a kid. You are learning. Learning how to dress, what suits you, what styles are best and so on and so forth. The fact is you need to learn this for yourself – not have your favourite celebrity and store jam their style down your throat.
To this day I still look at photos of myself from a couple years prior and shudder at the outfit choices I made but I don’t regret it. I mean my kids need something to laugh at, right?
So as a message to the tweens that roam the shopping centres and are far better styled than I am – wear stuff that’s your age! There’s nothing wrong with dressing your age because, believe me, if you try to dress as a 13 year old later – it will be a big mistake. A huge mutton-dressed-as-lamb mistake.
And for the love of all things holy – take off the push-up bras! There’s nothing to “push-up” so relax! Nature will prevail in its own time.

Friday, 27 May 2011

The Land of Oz

I live in a rather rural area. This means for the most part it is very quiet during the day and night except for the soft scratching and scurrying done by frogs, crickets, cicadas and so on. Usually I look out my window to see big blue butterflies fluttering past or maybe some little birds flitting about. It sounds poetic but this is what I’ve grown accustomed to and I rather like it.
Recently, sulphur-crested cockatoos have made it their business to fly around my house all day long. I have no idea where the heck they’ve come from but there’s nothing quite like seeing thirty or forty of these pretty things glide over the house and onto the horizon. Again – this sounds lovely... as long as you are deaf. Have you ever heard a cockatoo? They sound like a chainsaw full of rocks or a really rusty (and I mean barely can move kind of rusty) iron gate. Magnify this by thirty or forty and you can imagine my frustration. Watching television has become a contest between me and the cockatoos. They’ll start squawking their heads off so I’ll have to turn it up, so they turn up, so I turn up until all the poor neighbours can hear is “SQUAAAAWWWWKK!! PREVIOUSLY ON “HOUSE”. SQUAAAAWWWWK!!” If you’ve never heard a cockatoo then I suggest you find one and listen to it.
Now that I think about it... there are few Australian animals that are pretty, sound nice and won’t hurt you. In fact, pretty much everything in Australia will kill you. You can’t take one step without being attacked by eighty different types of creatures that will result in painful, painful deaths.
Don’t despair. I’ve been living here my whole life and I haven’t been killed. Mind you I never go outside and I live in a plastic bubble... but I digress.
There are ten of the most deadly snakes in the world – seven of them live in my state. Comforting? Where I live is exceptionally hot and right next to the beach but you must be a fool – who I will pity – if you even consider taking a dip in that cool blue water. We’ve got two different types of jelly fish that will rock your world in horrific ways as well as sharks and saltwater crocodiles. Don’t be fooled though. You can’t swim in rivers either because – lo and behold – saltwater crocodiles can swim in fresh water. Snap. There’s some statistic like you’ve got more of a chance of being hit on the head with a coconut than getting attacked by a croc. Which means our trees will try to kill you too.  
What else have we got? Spiders, snakes, goannas, cassowaries, cane toads (mostly just disgusting) and then there’s the sting rays. Never thought they would have been deadly until poor Steve Irwin got the barb treatment.   
Now that I think about it... is there any Australian animal that won’t harm you in any way? Hmm... I guess koalas are the example everyone is thinking of. Sure they look cute but they have claws and chlamydia. And they’ll probably pee on you too.
This isn’t doing much for the tourism of Australia... maybe we need an ad campaign that won’t freak everyone out... like “See Australia! But from a safe distance” or “Visit Australia and get attacked by its beauty”. No wait... I’ve got it.

Hope to see you visiting soon!

Monday, 23 May 2011

Things we Learn from Films

WARNING: There may be spoilers.
Titanic & Titanic II:      NEVER get on a boat with “Titanic” in the title. It will only end badly.
Juno:                            Teen pregnancy is without consequence as long as you have a quirky attitude and a phone in the shape of a hamburger.
The Mummy:                  Don’t mess with foreign artefacts.
The Mummy Returns:    Don’t mess with foreign artefacts.
The Mummy 3:              DON’T F***ING MESS WITH FOREIGN ARTEFACTS!
Avatar:                           Pocahontas is hot regardless if she is blue or not.
Tron Legacy:                  Tron is a pretty crappy universe.
Harry Potter 1-7:            Emma Watson will never learn to act.
Black Swan:                   You can dance the best “Swan Lake” of your life as long as you have a shard of glass lodged in your abdomen and are prepared to die at the end of it.
Gone with the Wind:      You can be successful if you marry a lot and slap everyone.
The Dark Knight:            Screechy violins make for a lot of tension.
Mean Girls:                     Janice Ian needs to wash her hair more often.
Girl with a Pearl Earring:       Be prepared for nothing much to happen.
The Young Victoria:               Be prepared for nothing much to happen.
Saw:                                       Avoid people with terminal cancer.
The Shawshank Redemption: Prison walls are deceptively crumbly.
Pulp Fiction:                       Nothing says family memento than an ass watch.
Inception:                           Crazy ex-wives ruin your career. Even if they are dead.
Fight Club:                          Your alter ego can be much hotter than you.
The Matrix:                         You’re not cool if you don’t wear leather.
Psycho:                                When in the shower – remain vigilant!
The Silence of the Lambs:   Buffalo Bill puts an awful lot of effort into his outfits.  
Forest Gump:                       I want a friend called Bubba.
Spirited Away/Alice in Wonderland:        For the sake of the audience’s sanity – just roll with it, okay?
The Shining:                        Stephen King gets a bit carried away with extra plot details.
WALL-E:                               The human race is destined to be fat and doomed. In that order.
Inglorious Basterds:            World War II fan fiction at its best.
Up:                                        A barren, dead wife does not a happy film make.
The Wizard of Oz:               Always steal the shoes of dead people.
Slumdog Millionaire:          You can easily cheapen any great film with a dance number at the end.
The Sixth Sense:                Bruce Willis’ character likes to hang out with young boys.
District 9:                           Aliens like cat food.
V for Vendetta:                   Natalie Portman’s  character lost her hair for no reason.
The Social Network:           Friends are expendable for fame!

Saturday, 21 May 2011

The Almighty Facebook

First of all let me start this entry with a big hello to all you readers that – like me – have made it through the supposed 21/5/11 Judgement Day and Rapture. Honestly, could anyone really survive without this blog? Yeah I didn’t think so...
And now – onwards!
Has anyone else noticed how creepy Facebook is becoming? I mean the whole thing is pretty odd how we each feel the need to update personal information and physical evidence of our lives to one another but it’s getting worse.
I’ve never been a huge fan... I mean I was forced into using the system by a friend who will remain nameless and since then I’ve lazily browsed this site for the past few years. I’m not one to update my profile picture every few days (or ever actually) and put up albums upon albums of photos constantly searching for comments from others – no. I am, as I said, a pretty lazy user. I admit it is good for sharing photos. Like when you go to a party and there are, like, 12 different cameras being passed from drunken hand to drunken hand and you really want that one picture of yourself jumping off the roof and swinging around on the clothesline hoping it will capture you in the process of turning back time – well Facebook provides. You no longer have to annoy every witness of this feat but just wait til that little red number comes up on the screen stating that someone has uploaded and tagged you in this act of stupidity. Brilliant.
First the site was fine. It seemed pretty normal. Not creepy and stalkerish at all. Gradually, bit by bit, the site has been tracking our movements and creating carbon copies of us in this virtual world so soon we will be rendered redundant by this technological god and forced into the dark and binary-like recesses of a miserable apocalypse. Wow, I started this out with a crackpot apocalypse theory and now I’m making my own – huh monkey see, monkey do.  
Anywho the site started getting annoying when it became bombarded with advertisements. Yes, we are use to these as avid internet surfing junkies but these were detecting our likes and dislikes and showing us ads accordingly. I mean if I said to someone that I really enjoyed drinking litres of juice without a doubt the next refresh would show an ad for “the best juice in town! Click here to know more”. What if I typed in something really crazy like “Man, I just found out that I totally love rubbing old rotting garbage over my naked body whilst watching monkeys at the zoo picking bugs out of their nostrils”? Then what? What you gonna say to that, Facebook? I shudder to think...
The next creepy thing – and this is the clincher – that I recently discovered was when I went to upload a bunch of photos (took me a while... I can tell you – I felt like an old person feels when they leave their front porch – tired and confused). Facebook then asked me to begin the laborious process of tagging each individual person in every photo only to stop me in my tracks. Facebook can now detect what you look like. Facebook had identified my face in most of the photos. Well in some of the photos – I mean if I was pulling a hilarious face... or just smiling for that matter... it needed more confirmation. At least it didn’t confuse my face with a toilet or a farm animal or something (yes I photograph a variety of objects – I don’t discriminate). The fact of the matter is Facebook is slowly gathering information on all of us and using it to further itself. I get that it’s a business and it wants to make money but holy smokes it’s trying to steal our identities! Remember that EVERYTHING you post is tracked and kept. Nothing goes away. So if you don’t want Facebook to know that you have herpes that don’t tell it (no idea why you’d want anyone else to know but you get the drift) – not even in private messages. Also the act of tagging where you are at any one time – stop taking the fun out of stalking.
In summary, we should all just start doing random and out of character things, posting weird entries (mostly about lima beans and wake boarding) and actually tagging our faces as strange stuff to confuse the all-knowing, all-powerful overlord that is Facebook.

Saturday, 14 May 2011

Ahhh! Real Weddings!

I’m pretty sure every little girl dreams about their wedding. What they will wear, who will attend, the colour palette, the food, the music and rarely any details about what getting married actually entails.
Despite this, the dress seems to be the thing on everyone’s minds when they think wedding. This has been seen with the most recent Royal Wedding and the bets that were placed as to which designer label dress Kate Middleton would wear.
I’m sure as a child I dreamed of wearing an enormous white monstrosity with fireworks and kittens firing out of it and a tiara studded with fist sized diamonds. Dream big, huh? Looking at the wedding dress role models I had as a kid – well it’s no wonder I had no taste... although wedding dresses today still look pretty rotten in general. But I digress.
Let us look at a couple of the more well known wedding dresses in the popular media in the last couple of decades.

There is Princess Diana of Wales who we all knew and loved who wore this snow beast outfit. Okay, okay she looked beautiful and it was exactly what the doctor ordered in terms of it being a royal wedding (Kate’s was beautiful but a tiny bit of a let down considering this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill wedding – it was royal! Go nuts!) but the train on Diana’s dress was so long and heavy that walking down the aisle would have been fine except that she felt she was dragging a hippo carcass behind her.
Then there is Ariel. Now “The Little Mermaid” was and remains one of my favourite films. But take a look at this.

Seriously Ariel, what were you thinking? Were you thinking? I’m pretty sure she knows how to swim what with her previously being an aquatic creature and all – so why the floatation device sleeves? Look I don’t care that it was the 90s and lived under the sea her whole life and she didn’t know better – this thing is unforgiveable.
Though I think we all know the worst wedding dress – ever. Jordan.

Need I say more? Yes, yes I do. Nothing like basketball knockers to really seal the "I'm so classy and innocent" deal.
Moving on to the bride’s head gear.  There are two exceptions to the rules of tiaras at weddings. The first of these brides are actually princesses. I understand that women want to feel “like a princess” on their big day but that doesn’t literally mean you have to wear a crown. Pretty sure the average wedding isn’t going to be able to afford a proper crown but instead a tacky rhinestone number to adorn their unattractive up do.  
Similarly, women today seem determined to wear strapless corseted dresses that explode out into a meringue at the bottom – why? Very few people can pull of a strapless and even then you can’t put your arms down because they will undoubtedly look fat. Facts of life.
I guess for my wedding (as I’m giving into peer pressure) I’ll have a dress the size of a stretch limousine with lots of bows, ruffles, sequins and enough tulle to choke a blue whale and a veil that constantly gets in my way and makes my head look like it’s sprouted with a crown on top that says “Booty-full Bride” in flashing pink plastic jewels. I’ll have forty-five bridesmaids with matching lime green hot pants and a golden lycra corset and the groomsmen will have matching green speedos with golden muscle shirts. Everyone’s hair will be as big as possible and I will walk down the aisle to the unforgettable yet totally classy “Don’t cha” by the Pussy Cat Dolls.
For more information on “classy” and “elegant” weddings click the link (or go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPHDp1ZgBck) to see the most disturbing yet addictive program titled “My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding”. Trust me, it’s worth it.

Friday, 13 May 2011

Singing and or Dancing

Am I the only one who finds it embarrassing when you are on the dance floor, a song comes on that you sort of know, you make dancey movements based on the beats of the song only to have them stop suddenly and you are caught unawares making the wrong move to the wrong part of the song?
That was a long starting sentence but the problem is there. I go to a club half-knowing a tune and dancing about only to have my song ignorance physically played out before the eyes of every sweaty onlooker in the club. Eep.
For example the song might go “Jump, jump, jump, jump then move like a chicken. Jump, jump, jump, jump and STOP!” only to have me moving like a chicken in a world of frozen yet judgemental looks.
It’s the same with karaoke (one of my personal worst nightmares – I mean if I wanted to hear people sing badly I’d watch “American Idol”) or even just singing along in the car - you start singing what you think are the words only to have the person/people listening laugh hysterically at your stupidity. Most people don’t even think about the lyrics to a song when they sing them... which is really disturbing when you catch a nine year old singing “oh yeah baby I’ll shake my ass just for you – we can do it too – and then you can see my ooo ooo oooh!” (okay I made that up but there are some pretty sexually explicit and twisted lyrics floating around the airwaves).
I’ve been caught out singing the wrong words... I guess I wasn’t really thinking but rather getting lost in the sweet tune of “Single Ladies” by Beyonce. The song goes “Up in the club, we just broke up, I’m doing my own little thing”. I thought she said “Up in the club, I just woke up, Doing my own little thing”. Well for the most part I got it right and I think the laughter was only a slight titter from my audience at this point... it wasn’t until Beyonce starts with “If you liked it then you should’ve put a ring on it, Don’t be mad once you see that he want it” that I sing (or rather bellow as this is a loud powerful part) “If you liked it then you should’ve put a ring on it, Don’t be mad cos’ I peed on it, If you liked it then you should’ve put a ring on it”. Wuh uh oh.
Cue uproar of laughter from all sides.
Sure karaoke has the lyrics highlighted for you but if I’m mid-song, getting into my groove, eyes closed, power stance in place like I’m going to be double checking.
I guess in future I’ll sing quieter, study lyrics more often, dance less wildly and laugh it all off...
...Pfff... No.

Wednesday, 4 May 2011

My Evil Kettle

When I moved house I was given a shiny new kettle. A silver, modern yet cute looking kettle for my boiled water needs. This kettle was different to all the same old white plastic boring kettles out there – this one was better.
Or so I thought.
Little did I realise that this kettle was actually forged by Lucifer himself out of the pits of fiery hell and conveniently boxed to look like every other cute shiny kettle on the shelf. This is the tale of my evil kettle.
Sure it can boil water thereby achieving its very purpose in this world but I never realised it was also designed to burn me in every way it possibly could. It beings with filling the kettle. The lid refuses to be replaced in any complete sealable way. There is always an unforeseeable space where the steam will also emerge from. This extra steam fries the hand pouring the water so that serving tea becomes laced with unnecessary profanities.
And then comes the time when you jam the kettle back down with that burnt hand frowning at it for causing you pain. Maybe even getting upset (as it has happened many times) and shoving it a little to show it who’s boss. It’s only after you shove the kettle you realise with the remaining fingers left on the kettle that it is extremely hot and is burning you right back. Here's how I see the kettle...
The really downright cruel part of this kettle is whenever anyone else uses it they don’t have any problems at all – in fact they love the kettle. This kettle is seducing my housemates into thinking it’s darling, sweet and boils some deliciously magic water. This is a crafty kettle.

My only conclusion here is that I am the only person in my household without android hands impervious to burns and that this kettle is more manipulative and two-faced than Cinderella's stepmother.
And no, this whole scenario hasn't come about because I'm incapable of using a kettle.
Any day now the damn thing will fly at me from across the room and scald the life out of me. 
Just you wait...

Monday, 2 May 2011


Remember when you were a child and the night before your birthday seemed to take forever because you just couldn’t wait to rip open your sweet presents? Eventually the dawn would come and you would race into your parents’ bedroom screaming “I WANT MA PRESENTS! WHERE MA PRESENTS!?”. Bleary eyed but masking their belligerence at being woken up so early for the sake of your special day they produce a pile of presents and lay them before you. So many choices... I always liked leaving the biggest one until last to get a better excitement climax out of the whole experience.
Little does a child realise that ripping off the packaging and playing with the new toy are two completely conflicting activities – time wise that is. Because removing the wrapping takes about 3 seconds whereas trying to remove the toy from overly complicated box packaging takes eons. Like Barbie dolls. Barbie would smile at you through the plastic window of her prison waiting to be played with. She would look perfect in the box but it isn’t until you try to get her out that you realise she has been taped, stapled and roped in there – as have her useless accessories. There are plastic ties around her wrists, ankles and neck as if every Barbie doll tried to escape at the factory of their creation. It’s like bondage for Barbie – she is smiling after all.
Why is it they need to do this to children? By the time I had opened the biggest present my parents had probably fallen back asleep with their eyes open just to fool me and would be unable to help with the opening process. Meaning Barbie would cheerfully grin at you whilst you attempted to use your useless child digits to release her. Basically you need everything short of a blow torch to get these suckers out. I’m sure it’s the same with any toy. Trucks, baby dolls, dinosaur toys and even blocks have proven nigh impossible to get out of its packaging without a major struggle.
After seeing “Toy Story” I actually wonder if they are trying to escape... though didn’t the toys in the movie like being played with? All I know is after I saw that film I tried to trick my toys into talking to me. I’d leave the room and then race back in to catch them unawares. No luck. I’d sit down on the floor with them and reason “it’s okay, guys, I know you can talk... just show me. I won’t tell anyone else.”     
But they never spoke to me...
Or did they?