The Century Club Part I

This be my 100th post. One Hundred opinions, rants and observations!! (NB - had to split it in to 2 posts. Turns out 100 is a big number!)

So here is my list of 100 things that do not fail to make me smile. This list was started a little while ago, in a Top 6 style post. So here are the other 94. Feel free not to read at all, if indeed anyone is reading this at all... I thought it a fitting way to celebrate my longevity as a blogger! From the inane to the profound, the tasty to the tasteless.

Make no mistake, I am not really expecting anybody to read all this. I am writing it for myself (which is really the reason I blog in the first place), and so I have an easy reference point when shit goes down (and I am expecting a shit storm soon. the shit weatherman has told me so) and I really need to crack a smile.

1. Peeling the top off the butter - Simple joys. A bit like peeling off a label from a beer bottle, but more satisfying. And I can't really explain why...?

2. The change of tempo in Franz Ferdinand's "Take Me Out" - (previously blogged about here) This part of this song will always always always result in the stereo or headphones being cranked right up high, and I usually make the white man's overbite with unbridled joy. Such joy!!!

3. Clean pyjamas in clean sheets - When bedtime is just awesome, in a clean, non-entendre kind of way.

4. The bell on Friday at 3.15pm - This means that there are hours of time with diminished Boy Factory influence. Of course, there is no off position on the English Teacher switch. There is not really a bottom of the pile of things to do. But at least on the weekends, procrastination is just a little more guilt-free.  Except in football season, when of course all attention goes to the Mighty U-14s...

5. Michael Cera's face

Double-dare-physical-challenge not to giggle at that mug!

6. My dog realising I am holding the lead and leaping into the air with joy - Because he is a bit of a stupid dog. He does do stupid things. Like bang his head every time he walks past his kennel. Which might explain why he is so stupid... But he understands the signifyer of a human bending down to pick up his lead. It's WALKING TIME!!! Of course being a lazy lab, he gets about half way through the walk and wants to go home to his food bowl and his cushion...
 
7. Bad Puns - If the green pea rolls of the plate, it is an Escapee. If there are 2 old wooden buckets in a glass cabinet in a museum, they are Pails in Comparison.
A meal of roast lamb will no doubt result in comments of "feeling sheepish, aren't ewe?"
I have heard that the pun is meant to be the lowest form of humour. I wholeheartedly disagree. That honour lies with Two and a Half Men.

8. The Mysterious Ticking Noise - This video:



Catchy use of a metronome. Combination of Harry Potter characters AND puppets???! Gets me every time!

9. Red Mary-Janes - I know, I know, it is such a cliche for a girl to like shoes. But as far as addictions go, I am sure that this is slightly less expensive than cocaine. And perhaps a little better for the structural integrity of my nostrils. I mean, how many pairs is too many pairs? These ones I bought today:

10. The Mighty U-14s - Like the Mighty U-13s before them, I put a great deal of energy into these kiddies. Training once a week. A few hours on the weekends. I go in to battle to reclaim points that should never have been stolen. I organise extra matches against snooty private schools. I am somewhat vocal in my encouragement and instructions on the sideline... this sentence may be a slight understatement. I have been known to lose my voice due to this coaching style. I have been known to theatrically collapse onto my back when a well crafted attack fails at the last moment. When these kids try, they make me laugh and smile and giggle. They don't even need to win, they just need to give it a red hot go.

11. Mondegreens - Someone getting the lyrics wrong to a song is a delight. Especially when they are totally sure of themselves. Some of my favourites include:

• "I've got no towel! But I've got undies on! You're never gonna keep me down!", made famous by one-hit-wonder of the 90s, Chumbawamba. Apparently, all the rest of their songs are anarchist anthems...? (this one courtesy of a friend of Sparky's)
• "And I sold my soul with my cigarettes, to the black marching band" from Australia's favourite drinking song (from one of brightest yr 12 kiddies at The Boy Factory)
• "But to shower you with visits, would do you no good at all", which would make no sense from Powderfinger at all! (thanks little bro!)

And while I was actually writing this blog entry my little bro has struck again with this golden gem:

For more of these little gems, look to kissthisguy.com, named after Jimi Hendrix... who was actually asking to be excused so he could "kiss the sky"...

12. Spaced - The greatest TV show ever created. Previously blogged about here. Also publicly loved by this lovely lass here. Launchpad to fame for director Edgar Wright (Shaun of the Dead, Scott Pilgrim etc), funny men Simon Pegg and Nick Frost. Comedy gold, with a homage-a-meter!!

13. My girls - I have previously mentioned that many moons ago I directed a play called The Women. All female cast and crew, a labour of love that was so much hard work, and so much joy, that has continued through many many years. If I need a grin, these lasses will provide, no questions asked!!

14. Tshirts - I like to wear my sense of humour on my sleeve. Or on my heart and belly, really. Threadless is based in Chicago, and is a user-based internet success story. Any punter can be a member. Any member can submit a design, and fellow members rate the design out of 5. The highest rated get printed! There's two different kinds of designs, really. The arty ones that are aesthetic and fine - I think of them as the feathery ones. And the cartoony ones that are usually a visual pun, with more simplistic lines and colours. I like the latter better. JD wears Threadless tees on Scrubs. Todd sports them on The Gruen Transfer. I get a threadless-length tan line in summer. My favourite ones are:

The Communist Party (Karl Marx is my favourite) and 99 Luftbalons. I am on my second tshirt for both of these designs, having worn them til they disintegrated!

15. Tina Fey - I have a massive girl crush. Funniest chicka in the world. 30 Rock = comedy gold, and the moment when Sarah Palin was named as running for VP of the USA, she just must have rubbed her hands together with glee. "I can see Russia from my house!"

16. Blacks and Cans - yes, yes, I am a Drama Queen. T even bought me a mug that says so. I tend to lead a fairly dramatic life, and tend to overreact to things a little bit. And when I first got bitten by the theatre bug, it was all about being in the limelight, the centre of attention. All about the glory. But when I was about 15 I tried my hand at Stage Management. And have hardly looked back at all. From the first little hit of the production meetings and casting process, to hunting down a cheap crystal whiskey decanter. Mixing the poster glue. Burning the candle at both ends with mega-hours put in at bump in. Pandering to childish whims of actors. Giving notes that contradict the director. Handing out flyers in a foreign city. Grinning from ear to ear as the lights go down and the applause comes up. It is stressful and hectic and time consuming and not very glorious. But that little spark of knowledge that there is no way it could have been done without me is my own little moment of glory.

17. Personalised coffee art - The Toothie does the best coffee in West Bubblefuck. I have been a most loyal customer since I first returned back to town, based on their expert use of the oh so tasty Merlo beans. And when my doubleshot flat white is delivered with the spectacular coffee art by one Samantha Kelly, who wouldn't smile like a goose!

2340, 15 White Street, Tamworth NSW 2340

18. Brendon Burns - Australian comedian in exile. Yes, he is offensive. Yes, he is self-indulgent. But he remains my most favoured stand up comedian, which remains my most favoured art-form. Previously blogged about here, and now seen... seven times live? Wow. Groupie much?

19. The photo at the top of this blog - and the fact that the cloud looks like a racing snail, zooming across the sky! And the fact that I changed the photo from an image of the Glebe Point Bridge (representative of all things urban) to this whimsical rural road trip shot. Symbolic of my acceptance of my not-so-new life in West Bubblefuck.

20. Couch time - Living in my own little corner of the Boy Factory, surrounded by the noise of their shenanigans. There is one place within my lovely little flat where the noise, the rascalling and the minor riots do not affect me.

My comfy, cushiony couch time is so so sweet. Plus purchasing this baby felt like a milestone, like it was further evidence of me being a grown up.

21. The A-Ha moment - and not the 80s one-hit-wonder with the brilliant animated music video. Being a teacher, especially an English teacher in the Boy Factory, I have to attempt to impart some pretty complex concepts. Like irony. Or perspective. Or implied information. But that moment when a kid gets it, the moment when he uses a hardcore analytical term CORRECTLY in conversation or discussion, the unbridled joy in too much to contain. I have been known to punch the air, face twisted in ecstasy, resembling something like a straight haired Elaine from Seinfeld. When one particular kid, who never really showed much affection for the mother tongue,correctly used "it's ironic, isn't it" in a PUB conversation (the year after he graduated, nothing untoward here!) I nearly fell off my barstool!

22. British Chocolate - It is difficult to explain, but chocolate from the British Isles tastes so much better than the Aussie stuff. Sure Cadbury has got their act together recently, with their new recipe and their new Fair Trade angle. But UK chockie is just creamier and meltier and so so sweet. Galaxy Bars can be sent to me, via The Boy Factory at any stage. Feel free.

23. Getting a follower for this here blog - I only have 2. My 2nd arrived today. *HI*!!! I don't know how many people read my less than coherent rangings, but I am a little bit of a sucker for some positive reinforcement...

24. Soda Stream - Making my own soda water does wonders for my life.

a) I don't create so much waste - 7 PET bottles a week was getting a little unruly

b) I get a little bit of fluoride for my teeth

c) I get to make that awesome PSSSSSST noise when I loosen the bottle from the shiny red machine (Red? Moi?)

25. The Gene Genie - In Life on Mars and later Ashes to Ashes, the shining light, the beacon, the blazing flame of resplendent awesomeness is Gene Hunt. Sexist, racist, bigoted, slightly corrupt, alcoholic. As I have previously said, I think he is the petrolhead, cop version of Mr Darcy. Insensitive, proud and sexy as hell.

26. Florence - The singer. As in 'And the Machine'. Not the city. Though the city was fun, with its Piazza del Nudie Rudie, and the Arno River - cause there Are No fish in it (see 7. Bad Puns). But the singer - with the porcelain skin, the flaming red hair and the voice of a dead set angel, who has been smoking a pack a day and drinks Irish whiskey, neat. Lungs is a brilliant album. Great music for any occasion.

27. Wearing stripey socks - Dunno why. I've always liked it. Don't like it so much when The Jealous Bitch (Sparky's dog) chews them up!!!!!! And even though the emo kids have kind have taken over a little bit, I don't care. I still love them!

28. The Oscars - Some divine friends of mine and I have developed a tradition. Each Oscars season, we try to watch as many nominated films as possible. Preparations start in November, as the field starts to take shape. Summer heat can be escaped in the overly cool air conditioned cinema.

Two awards are given - Most Films Seen and Most Films Picked in the tipping comp. Of course, being based in West Bubblefuck leaves me at a distinct disadvantage, what with out much maligned cinema being tres lame.

But of course it lights my ever-so-slightly competitive nature. And despite the fact that the Nine Network have been messing with the scheduling and the editing, I am still pretty enamoured with the whole Oscars Fest season.

29. References to The Wizard of Oz in The Simpsons - arguably the most referenced text in the incredibly awesome pomo animation. And everytime, it cracks me up!

30. Sparky - I guess at this point, representing my current age, and the party that he was instrumental in assisting me with, it might be a good time to mention the bf that makes me laugh. Even when the Boy Factory is getting me down. Even when I'm cranky pants, hungry, tired, disillusioned or feeling beige. Morning, evening, afternoon or wee small hours, this fella is truly a comedian and it was the very first thing that made me feel that first spark. Thanks, gorgeous! (OK, schmultzy part done!)

31. Stationery - Possibly the reason I became an English teacher. Do you know all my over-sized paperclips and teeny weeny staplers are tax deductible? Every trip to The Big Smoke involves a sneaky visit to BOTH kikki-k and Smiggle. And I cannot WAIT until West Bubblefuck gets an Officeworks!! Ah, it truly is the little things, right?

32. The Flames - Up until earlier this year, it had been some time since I had graced the boards of a basketball court. But based on a passing conversation and a loose commitment of "yeah, that sounds like fun!", The Flames were born! Sometimes referred to as The Boy Factory WAGS, this ragtag bunch of enthusiastic players range from the novice to the guru, the PE teacher to the gaspingly unfit. Last season we were PREMIERS... of C Division. We have been promoted and this season so far we are undefeated... But there has been some close calls. It feels great to be back in a team, back in a situation where I can find an outlet for my outrageously competitive nature. And the fact that a few of my team mates have grace, skill and the ability to shoot allows me to hide behind my defensive skills!

33. Fat babies - because skinny ones just aren't as cute. Don't get me wrong, I have seen some bloody GORGEOUS skinny infants, but studies show that fat ones actually make me much cluckier.*

*actual data not available

34. All of Harry Potter except the epilogue at the end of Book 7 - My brother's friend (Hi Dean!) is planning a walk-out at the end of Deathly Hallows Part II so as to avoid seeing that bitterly disappointing epilogue. But all of the rest of it is well constructed narrative, beautifully drawn characters and page-turning writing. Even Chamber of Secrets!

35 The dancing scene out of Little Miss Sunshine -

This scene doesn't just make me grin a little bit. It makes me laugh so hard that I cry. Even when I have seen it about a million times. Even when I am sitting at home alone watching it through my incredibly slow regional wireless internet (no comment Mr Rabbit). Without fail. Brilliant film.

36. Shameless namedropping - CLUNK Did you just hear that? It was the sound of me dropping another name. Like that time that Elle McPherson borrowed my hairbrush? Like that time I was in a lock in with Claire Danes in an enormous argument about the pronunciation of 'foyer' with a lovely Kiwi and a bunch of poms. Like the times I see my uni mates get beaten up or totally naked on Underbelly... It is pretty shameless and narcissistic. But I don't care!

38. Long beaded necklaces, combined with the phrase "La Douche" - I don't quite remember how these got from innocent to entirely filthy in one single conversation in a kitchen in Paddington. But now I cannot see nor hear these things without corpsing like mad.

39. Converse Chuck Taylor All Stars - I have committed to only buying these oh-so-comfy sneakers when they are on sale. Retail price Chucks are for chumps. I have been a bit smitten with this flat footwear for about 17 years now, through all of its incarnations of cool since the mid-90s. Grunge. Stage managing. The emo resurgence. Currently I have only a few in rotation... light blue, navy, red lace-less and ladybug pattern!

40. Squinty McPout - I love the fact that if Helen Hunt and Scarlett Johannson had a daughter, she might look like Renee Zelweger. And she would be known as Squinty McPout

41. Every time Vampire  Bill says "Sookie" - it sounds like Sucky. Nothing like a Brit playing an American Vampire from the deep south!

42. Oporto - Fast food done so so well. The day one opened in town I was so so excited. A double fillet Bondi meal with extra extra chilli (when I was in the Big Smoke, it was only extra chilli, but it turns out in West Bubblefuck, the chilli dosage is lower), layered with some chips. There are a few boys from The Factory that work there, and they make it the best. Sometimes when it comes out, the wrapper says "Miss Chop". It's like I am some kind of celebrity

43. Sunsets - West Bubblefuck gets some stunning sunsets. Way better than The Big Smoke. Bigger, more colours, longer time... Though the 360 degree ones at Bondi were pretty fantastic too, I guess!

44. The drum solo in "Laid" - A song that is a favourite with trivia masters everywhere. And the drum break is best played on a steering wheel, with the stereo cranked, on a road trip somewhere.

45. Photo-Leg - The phenomenon of  the female form being twisted slightly, front leg raised slightly to rest on the toe, chest thrust out. The kind of pose that chicks think makes them look skinnier. The kind of pose that makes them seem like a vacuous bint, and worthy of ridicule!

46. My espresso machine - As a part of the campaign of I'm A Grown Up Now, So I Need To Spend Money And Buy Stuff, my beautiful little robot was purchased. Gone are the days of plunger coffee and instant crap. When I used to get my fix on the commute, when I live AND work at The Boy Factory, I thought this little toy an entirely necessary gadget for my tiny tiny galley kitchen. My morning saviour... Ah, spoken like a true addict.

47. This photo -

48. Astolat Dayz - Nostalgia has a bad rep. Sentimental, living in the past... Whatever neg you want to throw at it, it has been slung before. I have done more than my fair share of share housing, on both sides of the globe. But my first share house was the best. Me and three fellas from Baxter managed to snaffle a big brick house in a quiet cul de sac, filled with found furniture and cheap crockery. We held cracking parties, did lots of shouting at the television and had epic games of Mortal Kombat. The house had a few different line-ups, and each had its merits. But as usual the original was the best. These boys all have wives now, increasing the pressure for me to find my own wife... In fact, they are the same girls they were together with when we lived together. We are now sprinkled all over the globe. We have only been completely re-united a few times in the last 10 years, but when it happens, it is a little bit like regression and a little bit like perfection. I love those dudes!

49. Frank Gallagher -

Toxic father. Brilliant character. Shameless is yet further evidence as to why the Brits make the best TV in the world.

50. S.T.A.M.P.S. Watches - Having an enormous watch face has an added bonus as a teacher. I can glance at it without giving it away to the Boys at The Factory. But I also like wearing a little bit of art on my wrist. I have 3 - a Barcelona Chair design, a Russian Soviet flag design and the record one pictured below!

to be continued....

Combination of 2 of the Best Things in the Universe

Go here.

http://community.livejournal.com/ohnotheydidnt/27350111.html

Now.

Combining two of the greatest men the world has ever seen. (Aside from the less green one who possibly may have some anger issues.)

My love for Muppets finally meets my long standing admiration for Christian Bale

This is just the start:

Winter Blockbusters: Salty

Angelina is a premier action star. Philip Noyce is a premier action director. Salt promised to be a tasty tasty action flick, and considering the pedigree, had the potential to be rich in storyline and thick with stunts.

I am delighted that this film doesn't have Tom Cruise in it. What with him being a shit excuse for an actor, and barely passable as a human being. What kind of creature denies the existence of mental illness??!?

The reason I include this, of course, is because the role was originally intended for the Tiny Man, but fortunately there was a scheduling clash. A win for all, I think. So Angelina was brought in, she of the anti-stunt double, anti-green screen. She who has almost as many tatts as she has children. She who used to wear a vile of her husband's blood around her neck. Pretty much hardcore, is what I am saying.

So to Salt. The set pieces were phenomenally good. Ripping a moving roadbike out of the hands of the rider. Enormous explosions on barges, and running up walls in hand to hand combat against security guards and the CIA alike.

But the plot was as thin as Angelina's waist, and seemed to leap about like she leapt from truck to speeding truck. The flashback sequences tried to hold some semblance of a storyline together, but I don't think they were strong enough. Spy stuff CAN have a plot. Bourne for example. Or Alias. Or Chuck. And Bond might be formulaic, but there is usually character development, even if it is the same character, doing the same developments everytime. I think possibly the filmmakers were trying so desperately to keep us in suspense that they forgot to let us in one just enough details for us to give a damn whether or not she was a goodie or a baddie.

But this is an action flick. Hard core popcorn. It doesn't NEED a plot to hang together!!!

The question of whether or not the audience has more sympathy with her because she is a woman...? I mean, really? Are we not past this yet? It is the same bullshit question about whether or not Gillard didn't get as many votes because she is a female. To be honest, I would think that it would make the audience more suspicious of Evelyn Salt that sympathetic. I mean, chicks don't trust chicks, what with us being conditioned to compete for jobs, fellas, maternity leave and the last size 41s in West Bubblefuck. And blokes don't trust chicks, because we  are unpredictable and don't have a willy.

There are some lessons about action flicks and gender to be learned, as NY Mag reveals. Including the old died hair correlation...

But I trust Jolie more than I would trust Cruise. In pretty much anything.

Schmecorating

I am not an exceptional artist.

I leave that to the more talented members of my family.

My brother can paint. Hell, he can pretty much do anything.

My cousin, Clare Bear, can print. And decorate cakes like some kind of freaky pastry chef. Her dad's 50th birthday cake was a chocolate bass guitar.

For Grandma's 80th birthday party, she did a collection of gorgeous little cupcakes.

When Grandma's real birthday came around a few weeks later, it was left up to me to do the decorating. Mum made a fruit cake. Handed me the candles. Told me to do something with them...

... Those candles are supposed to be in the shape of an M. For Mary.

It looks only slightly better lit up:

My most recent attempt, while incredible lazy and haphazard, actually looks about a billion times better. For a couple of dudes in the staffroom at school.

1. Buy a cake from the shop, already frosted
2. Find a Crunchie bar to two hidden in your desk drawer for the purposes of bribery of children or emergency chocolate rations.
3. Bash the chockie bar and sprinkle with complete abandon
4. Eat

Things that make you go Grrrrr

Recently I have been trying very hard to consider the things that make me happy - the things that are guaranteed to make me smile (there is a fairly epic and self-indulgent 100th blog-post that I have been crafting over the last week or so... watch this space).

But in this last week, there seems to be a number of things that are making me furious beyond rage. That kind of anger when your thoughts are drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears. So in the interests of venting my spleen, of letting go of this carcinogenic bile, of returning to some semblance of contentment, allow me to rant a little.

West Bubblefuck Soccer Association
So I have already vented about my successful campaign to regain the points that were robbed from me and my merry band of U14s boys. But they still continue to frustrate me.

This weekend was a washout. At least, today was. Despite the beaming sunshine. But the catch-up day tomorrow is still on. Because what else does anybody want to do on a Sunday than do a re-run of Saturday.

And The Matriarch of Soccer in West Bubblefuck refuses to tell me where I can find the information about whether or not tomorrow is going ahead. Instead she demands that I call her to find out. Because she wants to be at the centre of the universe.

The Australian Media
If Tony "Bert" Abbott gets in as our new PM, I may well cry. Having said that The Redhead's policies of Education Funding are almost as depressing... But if The Right Wing Nut gets in, it will be because the Australian Media has allowed the Australian Public to forget about what a COMPLETE LUNATIC Abbott actually is. This is the man who referred to women 'saving their precious gift'.

This is the man who preached abstinence then was involved in a paternity situation. This man said he wasn't going to let his daughters get vaccinated for the cervical cancer vaccine! This man said that Aboriginals might just have to pick up rubbish because everybody needs a job.

This man shouldn't be allowed out of his own house, let alone be in charge of the House of Parliament!!!!

NSW Institute of Teachers
I finally submitted my accreditation report-that-is-in-no-way-a-portfolio-even-though-it-very-much-looks-like-a-portfolio-sounds-like-a-portfolio-walks-like-a-portfolio. The whole process was incredibly frustrating. And when I have needed assistance - finding a form, paying the $100 per year (gone up in 5 years by $20...) for the privilege of turning up to work every day - I have received nothing but rudeness and contempt from the 'ladies' on the other end of the line.

Now I am fine with paying a fee to a professional organisation in order to raise the standards of my chosen career to a profession. I am fine with jumping through hoops, and being accountable, and ticking boxes. It is all incredibly tedious, but if this is what needs to be done to turn teaching into a profession, then so be it. Of course, it stands to reason that as a professional, I should also get the 6 figure salary and instant respect from the general public and mainstream media too.

The whole process is so easily corruptible too. By ticking boxes and submitting a not-portfolio, I have proven that I am good at paperwork. Which is actually a total lie. I am shit at paperwork. However, now I have completed it, and it has been stamped on the back of each page, and signed in triplicate, I have now proven that I can teach to a level of "competent". Of course the hours of my life that the not-portfolio has taken away from the actual business of teaching - the marking, the planning, the welfare/pastoral stuff that I NEED to be doing in order to be successfully completing my To Do lists - seems to be a massive paradox. Should anybody wish to purchase my not-portfolio to save them the hours of hard work, I am happy to negotiate a fee. Of course, you may also need to bribe your supervising teacher to sign off that it is indeed your own work too, but that is your problem.

Gutless Wonders
If you want something, you ask for it. If you don't want something any more, then man the fuck up, and be honest.

Bullies & Thugs
Napoleon is alive and well, and living in West Bubblefuck.

Everybody has a job to do. Your job is important, no doubt. My job, also kind of important. I have no desire to make you feel like you are shit at your job, or that you need to be doing something different. I also have zero desire to hear your opinion on how I am doing my job. Got a suggestion, great. How about you don't frame it as an order from on high? How about you try to see that we're all working hard, and your little-man crankypants tantrums aren't helping things at all.

OK. Feel just a tad better after the rant. Vitriolic bile vented. Time to get on with my life.

Abbott Proof Fence

*Thanks Ngaire for the title*

I have studiously avoided discussions of politics on this here platform. My lefty tendancies are oft alluded to, but this soap box is not really intended to steer votes or spruik policy. But it has been somewhat saturating my brain for the last few weeks.

Election time tends to morph me into a bit of a politics nerd. ABC doesn't really assist in this. The Chaser, Gruen, Tony "Silver Fox" Jones and Leigh Sales on Lateline, and of course Mega Ranga Kerry. I managed to lodge an 11th hour change of address. So now I am registered in West Bubblefuck - Mr Garret can't count on my preferences for his seat this year!

But what strikes me most about this year's campaign is not how eye-bleedingly dull it is. Not how the left and the right are shifting to sides of the centre that seem strange and surreal. Not how every fricking politician seems incapable of answering a question in a full and honest manner.

What strikes me is that nobody is mentioning how much Abbott looks like Bert!!!

Does nobody else see this??????? The irony being that Bert & Ernie seem to have been happily married, if not simply co-habitating for decades.

What a muppet...

Like son, like father

I might have mentioned my mixed-metaphor middle brother? He who wanted to "borrow grandma's rosemary beads" to go to a Catholic uni. He who is fairly happy "with his plot in life". He who though there was "a really good cellibate" at the last wedding he went to. And my personal favourite, he who doesn't want to "butter around the bush".

But last night there was a hint as to where it came from. Dad was on the phone to some head honcho of rugby league, and he said "you know, I am pretty green behind the gills on these matters."

Gold from the patriach!

What Wright did next

My love for Spaced is no secret. Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz are similarly adored. In my mind, director Edgar Wright can do little wrong.

My love for Michael Cera is similarly boundless. Such a perfectly symmetrical, awkward and bird like face. His comedy heart is smeared all over the golden Arrested Development, Juno and Superbad.

In the weeks leading up to the release of Scott Pilgrim vs The World, I have been engaging in some expectations management. I like to call it the My Girl effect. That bitter pill of disappointment you feel when something you have been looking forward to for so so long turns out to be not quite as awesome as you expected.

But even so, I was hitting extreme levels of excitement.

Dammit.

The plot follows Scott Pilgrim, Canadian slacker muso, with no job and a gay room mate. In his quest for self discovery and actualisation through the love of a good indie woman. The central premise is the difficulties of negotiating the past of your new partner. Through the metaphoric battles of wills, that in this film are physicalised, video game style.

I should be totally in love with this film. It is stylish and witty, with an eclectic mix of unpredictable characters with all the quirks that usually make me giggle. There are kickarse fight sequences, geeky allusions to all kinds of pop culture. Witty wordiness. A complete lack of judgement in issues of gender and sexuality. Frequent shifts in pace. It was a little bit Wes Anderson in feel, and a little bit like a manga cartoon. Basically it was all the stuff that I usually find smittening.

But I found it a little bit of a let down. Maybe because I was sitting next to the sleep-deprived-Wes-Anderson-hating-unartsy Sparky, who was frequently heard whispering "what the fuck is going on?" Maybe it is because my expectations were skyhigh, even though I thought I had them under control.

Maybe this film needs another chance. Or perhaps it is just better on paper?

When Flood Damage(s) is a good thing

Just a few weeks ago, The Boy Factory was flooded in. As in, both roads to the "civalisation" of West Bubblefuck were completely cut off. Drive through at own risk, of being swept off the road, of having car impaled with debris, of forfeiting any insurance you might have... of being booked by the watchful constabulary.

Fortunatley I was all stocked up in the fridge. And with my beloved espresso machine, my caffeine addiction was sated. No Supercoaching, no Saturday morning omelette at The Toothie. Last year the Mighty U13s didn't miss one game due to weather. We did play our semi-final in a dust storm... This year it seems like we have only played half the season. Droughts and flooding rains indeed!

But the vindictive wealther finally gave me a chance to devour the highly recommended Damages. So many people have told me how good this show is, that I had already purchased both available seasons. And once I started watching, there was just no stopping me. Season 1 was consumed on Saturday, and 80% of season 2 was gobbled up on Sunday.

Set in NY city, in the cut-throat world of corporate law. The show focuses on the relationship between the meglamaniacal Patty Hewes (Glenn Close) and the rookie lawyer Ellen Parsons (Rose Byrne). The performances from these two incredible actresses are phenomenal, these characters stay with you, and colour the way you see the world for days afterwards. If I had have been at the mercy of Channel 9, having to wait a week between episodes, I may have gone insane with these two women in my head the whole time.

The structure is non-linear - starting with a flashforward and skipping between timeframes. The viewer sometimes knows much more than the characters, but is always asking so many questions. Why is Ellen covered in blood? Did she get attacked? Was she the attacker? Was Patty behind it? Every little piece of information given is both satisfying with the questions that it answers, and frustrating in the further question marks that are created. The fact that there is not a mysterious smoke monster or strange loops in the time-space contiunuum makes this show infinitely superior to the drawn out and convaluted Lost. Instead, at the end of each season, most questions are answered. Most character arcs are complete, with just enough open-endedness to spark up interest for the next season.

The powerplay between the Mentor and the Novice is central premise of each season. Trust and Power and Intention and Motivation. Whether the end justifies the means. This is not just a fluff-piece - the martini-swilling teenagers of Gossip Girl's NY are not here. There are slight parallels to The Devil Wears Prada, and seeing as I always have to think twice about the distiction between Close and Streep, I think those parallels are quite fitting. In fact, doe-eyed Byrnes is a little bit matching with doe-eyed Anne Hathaway too... But this is not the overly feminised world of fashion we're talking about here, but the masculinised realm of corporate law.

Gender is not something that is explicitly discussed, but the Woman In Power = Bitch is an idea that is played with - supported, subverted, questioned and affirmed. Whether or not a Woman Can Have It All. Patty Hewes sees herself as a failure as a mother. Incapable. Not wired that way. She is pretty discouraging of Parsons' engagement, and of motherhood in general. And maybe the fact that the show has been created by three blokes is reasoning behind this.

There are some other social commentaries throughout both seasons. Corporations are inherently evil, money grabbing bastards. Energy companies are manipulative and corrupt, with little regard for consumers or the environment. I imagine Season 3 has an equally topical case to chase down.

I can't believe I left this show on the shelf for so many months. Entirely addictive TV!!

Winter Blockbusters: The Explodables

There are a heap of awesome films coming out soon. Summer season in the northern hemisphere means that the blockbusters are upon us. And I'm hoping to catch quit a few in the coming weeks.

But the first one was not a piece of cinematic brialliance. Don't get me wrong, I had a great time at The Expendables, but it is not chance going to set the world on fire. Even though that is what pretty much happens.

The line up looks like the who's who of 1980s action. Sylvester Stallone directing (that was the first giggle of the afternoon... and co-writing the screenplay! HA!) a bulge* of overly muscled and skin-stretched actors - and I use that term loosely... really I should say celebrities - in a shoot 'em up, blow 'em up, Almost A-Team style renegade bunch of ultra-violent mercinaries.

The storyline is thin indeed. South American dictator, financed by an ex-CIA slimy suit. Up against this band of merry men. The said Stallone script is less than thin - something closer to entirely implausible, ridiculous and farcical. Of course, the action-man one liner is there. And me, I love a great action one liner. The cheesier the better. But these were simultaneously the best and worst lines this film had to offer.

Joining Sly in this hyperbolic adventure is the rollcall of action stars. Jason Statham, Jet Li, Steve Austin... Mickey Rourke as the tritagonist tattooist... Obe Wan with silver streaks in his hair. Cameos of wrinkled close ups of Bruce Willis AND the Governator... The casting for this film was quite obviously a case of "well, such and such is on board"... "OK, I'll do it then". Watching the wierd skin folds of the overly plasticised Arnie, Sly and Mickey was a little off putting. The collagen in their lips, dressed in their all-too plucked facial hair made watching them speak a little bit like seeing fleshy, pink catepillars wriggle about on someone's face. They even look sillier than Meg "Fishlips" Ryan. And that is saying something!!!

Of course the highlight of the film was the set pieces. Car chases with improbable twists and turns. Bullet riddled fight scenes with baddies who can't seem to land a shot. Explosions aplenty from makeshift and improvised petrol bombs. The crunching of a broken neck in hand to hand combat. The crimson splatter of self-armed warheads ripping through flesh.

The low points... I don't really want to dwell on them to be honest. If I focus too long on what was shitty about the film, then I might lose that glow of fun and giggles. Shithouse acting. Rubbish script. And the fact the the females in the film (and there were ONLY two) were damsels in distress, requiring Statham and Stallone to swoop in and save them. I mean, as Sparky told me, I can't really expect anything less, considering the geneology of a film such as this. But considering this is the 21st century, I kidded myself into expecting just a tad more.

Plus the jokes at Jet Li's expense - his accent, his height, his Asian-ness - were pretty lame too.

I'm hoping that Salt and Tomorrow When The War Began live up to the Summer Blockbuster Dream a little better. But most of all, I'm looking forward to Scott Pilgrim vs The World!!!

*Here I go again, inventing fantastic collective nouns. I think that A bulge of action stars is a perfect collective noun!!

The universal truth about Fight Club

I have never reviewed a YouTube ckip before...

My fondness for Jane Austen has been reported here many a time. I am indeed a latecomer to her genius, and I do love the modern stuff that has been done with her few novels. She has been transformed into a real horror show. She has been mashed-up with time-travel.

And now there is this puppy:



One of my favourite films, meets one of my favourite genres of novels and dramas. This is the REASON YouTube works!!

Olivia, Viola, Malvolio. Oh my!

Lots of people have an opinion on Shakespeare. Mostly what they think is fairly non-complimentary (unlike bar nuts. They're complimentary), lots of "I never like all that Shakespeare mumbo-jumbo" or the irony of "it's all Greek to me." And then there are those who think that all we should teach the kiddies is Shakespeare because it is a 'classic' and therefore worthy of the classroom. (Thank you Miranda Divine. I kinda hate you too, just so you know.)

Teaching The Bard is challenging, and interesting, and difficult, and fun. Getting a bunch of Year 9 kids to read a scene from R&J and go "ah, I get it!" is joyous. Having the ratbags of Year 10 perform a scene from Macbeth in original language, but the context of surfer gangs a la Bra Boys is elating. Having Year 8 guys say "Miss, that sounds dirty" about Kat and Petruccio's Sting conversation, and assuring them that indeed they are interpreting it correctly - in the dirtiest way possible. (Funny thing is, the new Child Protection Policy, Keep Them Safe explicitly states we are not supposed to speak to students using double entendres or sexual innuendo. How is it POSSIBLE to teach Shakespeare without these, my favourite features of the English language?)

Every English Teacher and Shakespeare fan has a different favourite. Some like the tragedies, with the blood and guts and gore and raped women with no hands and no tongue. Some like the comedies that aren't funny at all, they're just called comedies because not everyone is dead at the end. One my colleagues likes Henry V  for the epic speeches. Another likes R&J for the epic love story.

And my favourite is Twelfth Night.

It has all the usual golden moments of mistaken identity and twisted genders, disguises and deceptions, suspension of disbelief as small crowds stand directly behind someone, unseen and unheard. Shafts of double entendres (can we make 'shafts' the official collective noun for double entendres? any other suggestions?). A slightly unrealistic storyline, based on shipwrecks and true love. And a subplot about punishing the puritanic do-gooder for being a party pooper.

One of the drawbacks about living in West Bubblefuck, as I have bemoaned before, is the general wasteland of culture that we have. Our cinema is almost strictly a diet of blockbusters and romcoms. Previous to this year, the theatre scene has really only consisted of the local musical and dramatic societies murdering the scripts of modern classics. But since the opening of our very own theatre, the wasteland is beginning to look a little more colourful.

And one of the blooming cactus flowers was the touring production this, my favourite Shakers play, done by none other than Bell, Australia's most fabulous Shakespeare company. I saw the show last night, and LOVED it.

Bell always does wonderous things with context and modernisation. Created as a play, within a play, it is set within the context of Black Saturday. They have incorporated modern songs, sung a Capella or accompanied by acoustic guitar. Performed around an enormous pyramid of donated clothing, in which they find all the required props and costumes to create the story, and distract them from the devastation and loss and grief that has burnt through their lives.

As usual, they have imaginative dramatic devices to get around doubling-up actors (little bit of mime, little bit of half-worn costume... and a bell) and quick escapes by helicopter (tiny little model on a fly, dressed in miniature costume). The greatest uses of boxes since my brother and I made our baby brother a bat cave for Christmas out of a fridge box, used as disguises, as armour, as a gaol...

With a star turn from the very delightful and hysterical Ben Wood (last scene camping it up as a butch Emcee in NUTS production of Cabaret... OK, he has done other stuff since, but that was the last time I saw him on stage), I was privileged to have seen this production. If it comes near you (and it is pretty much going EVERYWHERE), you should go see for sure!

NB/ How can this be the FIRST post I have made about theatre? When I have been such an addict to the stage for such a long time? Evidence of the cultural wasteland, I suppose...

Supercoach Strikes!

Previously on TMM, I have proclaimed my desire for coaching success. Living up to the self-given moniker of Supercoach has been somewhat eluding me this year. Despite a tea,mlist that on  paper looks tighter and more skilled than last year, the Mighty U14s were not really living up to their name either.

The West Bubblefuck Soccer Fraternity have also been conspiring against me, penalising me three points for fielding an unregistered player. Named Connor McKillop. Who the hell is Connor McKillop, you may ask...? As do I. I have never met nor heard of anyone of this name. Let alone written his name on my team card. And I said as much to the President of the West Bubblefuck Soccer Association, in an email. Funny thing when the Pres is running for election as a local member, seems very willing to be of prompt assistance in such matters. And three points were reinstated. Victory tasted pretty sweet.

And then today...

There is a fair amount of daylight between us and first place. And not a a whole lot of room behind us to third. So playing #1 today was going to be a pretty big deal.

The Supercoach pre-game speech was about confidence. About not worrying about what we DON'T have today. A striker away at City To Surf. A star midfielder not shown up at all - only to turn up three minutes before kick off with a raging case of tonsillitis. A sweeper wearing borrowed boots because he left them on the bench at home (honestly, who does that??!?). But rather, thinking about what we DO have. Good teamwork, high skill and pace. Rep quality players. Last time we played top of the table, we choked. Sure, we didn't lose (score 1-1) but the boys (and girls) in maroon had only 9 players on the park. I reminded the M.U14s that we play best when we think we can win.

The first 25 minutes, they played with mighty effort. They moved the ball around, they called, they passed, they peppered the goal. But in the last 5 minutes, they began to think that their efforts were wasted. They stood flat on their heels, waited too long to receive passes, too many touches before getting the ball away. It was infuriating to see.

Half time was a blessed relief, as the Nemesis Team began their counter attack. My Supercoach sidekick took the reins in the half-time speech. All about increasing the energy in the centres, and lifting the midfield. I spoke about intensity and energy and hunger. The boys had some more specific things to say about using some more physicality in the tackles and setting up through balls.

My boys in green and gold started the second half valiantly. Weight in their toes, lots of communication. Great passing, good trust.

And a very tidy little goal about midway through the second half.

They didn't suffer their usual over-confident counter-attack after their goal this week. They kept tight, kept together, kept the intensity. One striker rolled his ankle right in front of their goal. My sweeper got his calf kicked, right behind his enormous shin pads.

But my rookie defensive midfielder made his very first non-foul free throw. And my never-played-a-team-sport-before everywhere man put some beautiful passes through, with some accuracy and power. The superskilled trusted the kids with less experience. They talked and ran and dived and tackled and the keeper did some beautiful saves.

I came home a Supercoach. I have had this warm feeling in my belly, that only beating the top of the table can give.

And is if by some divine intervention by the deities of Disney, or some fantastical coincidence, D2: Mighty Ducks is on Channel 7 this afternoon. Coach Gordon Bombay, such an inspiration!

What Whedon did next

Joss Whedon can't seem to get a break. He is a master auteur of the television medium, especially in cult dramas with a comic twist. Buffy was a televisual masterpiece. A perfect example of a kick-arse female protagonist, who is successfully juggling identity, puberty, relationships and the responsibility of being a superhero. Fight scenes, monster make-up, morality tales of sex-before marriage, with some killer one liners and brilliant concept episodes. Like "Hush", which had hardly any dialogue in it at all. And "Once More With Feeling", the musical episode. Now while I don't really understand how US television networks operate, this show was dumped by one network and picked up by another. It ran 7 seasons in total, and pretty much finished up when star Sarah Michelle Gellar didn't sign up for an 8th season.

Angel is the darker, ever-so-slightly inferior spin off. I never thought it had the same depth as Buffy but it was pretty addictive television nevertheless. It was cancelled by the network at the end of the 5th season despite high ratings, allegedly because Joss pushed the execs for a renewal, and they canned the show instead.

Firefly was a hybrid sci-fi western with witty dialogue and characters to fall in love with. It was so popular in DVDs and less-than-legal downloads that the feature film Serenity was released in cinemas. Despite Whedon's plans for the show to run for 7 years, the network cancelled the show about mid-way through the first season.

And next? Dollhouse. Starring Eliza Dushku, the premise of this show sounds a little naff. It is based around a corporation that hires out humans to the uber-rich at highly inflated prices for whatever the client desires. The bodies are filled with the memories and skills from the library of minds. And while I am a hardcore Whedon fan, I found it a little tricky to emerse myself into this one early on, I was eventually won over. I think the reason I had difficulty is because the characters don't ever have the same personality from episode to episode, except in flashbacks. I mustn't have been the only one that thought that, because as Season 1 went on, the characteristics of the protagonists began to shine through.

Central to Dollhouse, as with the other 3 shows, are the ideas of mind control and the ultimate power of corporations, and of feminism and feminine strength. The presence of Big Brother (1984 George Orwell style, not reality television social experiment style) is constant and sinister.

Unfortunately, during its 2nd season in the States, this show has been canned too.