Send in the Clooney

Politics is a tricky thing. There is nothing more public than the process of democracy. It is in its very nature the centre of all things public and communal.

But the personal CANNOT be extracted from the political, because it is the people that run the politics.

Wow, Danne, way to start your first proper post in AGES in the driest most boring possible way ever! (Recent posts have sneakily been drafts lying in wait.)

I'm not really ashamed of it, but I am a bit of a politics nerd. I watch Q & A religiously. I take matters of society and power quite seriously. I don't necessarily think Julia Gillard is a particularly strong or reliable leader, but I do like some things that she does. Blowing up the pokies, for instance. And I am quite fanatically fond of The West Wing. In fact there lots of political films that I love. Wag The Dog. Primary Colours. V for Vendetta...


So The Ides of March. I think it wins for Movie Poster of the Year. (Is there a competition for that? There should be.) This is What George Clooney Did Next. I loved Good Night & Good Luck, it spoke to the lefty communist that hides inside me. I liked it in a Wow McCarthy Was A Total Fascist And Bush Isn't That Much Better kind of way. Clooney is a very handsome man, with an exceptional talent for seamless performances and comic timing, especially in the hands of my beloved Coen Bros (who seem to have gone all serious now...). I can't say at I have ever really fancied him in a PHWOAR! kind of fashion. And this is a very healthy thing. When he porked up a little and grew a beard for Syriana he kind of resembled my father. And the only thing more disturbing than watching a dude who looks like your dad getting his fingernails pulled out as a part of a torture scene is the possibility of fancying someone who resembles your father. Digress, much? I guess the point is, I think Clooney is cool and I like what he does.

And as such, I like Ides of March. This title comes from Shakespeare, another dude whose work I hold in high esteem. Julius Caesar in fact. Old Bill's tale of political assassination has links with the corruption and back room dealings of Ides but that is kind of where the similarities end. The lovely Alice Tynan thinks that this is a serious flaw in this film - it doesn't live up to the lofty heights of the title.

In the final stages of a fictional primary election in the US, Lefty governor Mike Morris (Clooney himself) is fighting for his spot on the presidential ballot. Ides follows the press secretary Stephen Myers (Gosling) feeling his way up the ladder of political behind the scenes. He is initially supported by the very intense mentor/campaign manager Paul (Phillip Seymour Hoffman - my goodness he is a phenomenal performer) and intern Molly (Evan Rachel Wood). The interpersonal relationships at the heart of the political machine play out between these characters, with Tom Duffy (Paul Giamatti) weighing in as Paul's nemesis, and the dude behind The Other Guy's campaign.

Morris talks Big Ideas of Politics - foreign policy, defense, education, the environment and the car industry. Sometimes there is just a nuance that Clooney loaded this political flick with these speeches to give him a chance to express these ideas. While he harps on about the bug stuff, the petty conflicts of the personal shape how the debates are constructed. Because his opponent is short, in the first scene, Myers requests taller lecterns for a debate. The jealousies that drive party minds are rife. Ambition, lust, greed for power. Wrath, secrets and deceptions. Marisa Tomei's New York Times journo is affably manipulative.

This film reminds us that it is people tat are behind politics, and that is why the systems are so flawed. Communism works, in theory, but is brought crashing down by the inevitability of human corruption and greed. The free market democracy is also open to this serious human flaw.

The corollary of this is that not only is it the personal that drives the political machine, but the politics profoundly impacts the lives of the individuals. Who they shag, what they drive, where they work, how they deal with scandal. These decisions are of course our own, but they are sparked or at lest influenced by people in suits in closed rooms with fluro lighting.

While some might say this film has lessons to teach about integrity and honesty, I believe it is about how important it is to ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE!! Each twist, each turn, each disaster, at a micro or macro level, could be avoided if the character who OWNED the phone just answered it when they were called. Not too much to ask?

There is a touch of The West Wing to this movie. The behind the scenes of politics context will make comparisons unavoidable. I really think George was aiming for a Sorkin-esque snappy dialogue kind of movie, and I don't think he quite nailed it. But the sense of homage is certainly there. Unfortunately, my beloved Josh Lyman and CJ Craig are not. But that is what DVDs are for.

I really enjoyed this film. It is certainly allow burner, and definitely not Sparky's cup of tea, but for a family Boxing Day flick, it was perfect. Raising questions, getting us talking. If we had have gone in expecting the pomp of Shakespeare, the snap of Sorkin or the usual fireworks of a Boxing Day Blockbuster, I fear we would have been disappointed. But we weren't. Happy family viewing. For the slightly politically geeky family.

Turkey

Seeing as I didn't liveblog or tweet my Turkish Trip in realtime, things are now a little hazy. A school excursion (cough-only-6-kids-the-rest-were-parents-or-kids-from-another-school-cough) that toured sites of Ancient and Modern History, starting in Istanbul.

So rather than attempt to recreate the narrative of the visit, I thought I might go Dot Point With Pictures.

Day 1.

River Cruise.

War Museum.

Stuck in mega traffic jam because some doofus abandoned his Beemer on a roundabout outside Louis Vitton.

Baklava to die for.

Took students on a walk. Got mega lost. At sunset. In one of the most chaotic cities in the world. Tried not to panic. Good cure for jetlag.

Day 2.
Eggs & Feta for breakfast.

Topkapi Palace.

Spice Bazaar.

Turkish coffee = Tru Love 4 Eva

Awkward Hammam (Turkish Bath) and Massage. Possibly scarred for life.

Day 3.
Blue Mosque. Wow.

Hagia Sofia.

Grand Bazaar. Made up for being lost on the streets by navigating crazy maze of 4000+ shops.

Basilica Aquaduct.

Day 4.
Gallipoli.

Sunset over the Dardenelles.

Day 5.

Troy.

Pergamom. Theatre as therapy? Sounds perfect to me!

Day 6.

Temple of Apollo.

Ancient Theatres.

Day 7.

Ephasus.

Re-Wrote and Performed extract from Antigone in the Great Theatre. A highlight of trip, and possibly of life.



Next stop: Belgium.

Real men of Oz Rock

The highlight of the musical calendar in West Bubblefuck this year (apart from the Both Kinds Of Music Festival) has been Bogan Mecca - a Chisel reunion tour. There has been much excitement about the return of Barnsey, Mossy and Walker. The inevitable rendition of all the hits played in almost exactly the same way as they appear on the album, except for the carving Ian Moss solo has had the rednecks in a tizzy.

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate Chisel. They have some BRILLIANT music, Walker has written some lyrics that carve a deep scar into the Australian psyche, telling some stories that capture and articulate our vague definition of culture in this country. But the Fans of Chisel kind of irk me. Much like how the fans of Midnight Oil will belt out the lyrics to "Beds Are Burning" with gusto, but chuck around racist slurs with similar gay abandon. Similarly, the thuggish Barneseque Seem not to care about the anti-war, anti-suburban lyrics of the songs that criticize the way they live.

My personal highlight of the evening was not watching Jimmy sweat it out on stage, or even seeing the beautiful digital art on the backdrop.

Having Rock Legend, and Musical Hero Tim Rodgers in my town made me so freaking happy. I don't care what the bogans and haters-of-the-support-band say, Timmy and the You Am I boys slayed that stage, on a Tuesday night. It was stunning.

Smells Like Victory

All families have traditions. Those rituals to marks the milestones or merely the passing of time. And our family is big on rituals. We're big on a lot of things really. Mostly, we're just big. Like Nana used to say "Rats don't have mice" (Surely Nana could have had another quip that didn't so heavily involve my two biggest phobias???!)

Some of our rituals are big. We do Christmas like a boss, on both sides of my extended family. Meats, fruits, salads, desserts. Booze. New and ingenious ways to give gifts without breaking banks or collecting masses of plastic tat.

We do 21sts with gusto. There are many golden anecdotes of 21st tales. Mystery vomiters. Ugly sweaters. Shocking speeches. Drunk uncles who refuse to let flat mates into family photos (when really. He just wanted to go past to get to the loo).

Our weddings are stylish, our birthdays are feasts. But what I really love are the little ones.

Monday night is usually Fam Din (because we're just too lazy for all the syllables of Family Dinner). A chance for all the family who are in town to eat together.

But I think I like Saturday mornings the best. Coffee, and sometimes eggs, with a copy of the Sydney Morning Herals, bumper Saturday edition. More specifically The Good Weekend section. And The Quiz.

Trivial information seems to stick in my brain. Perhaps it is the allure of knowing something that not many people do. Perhaps it is that narssicistic joy of being right. Perhaps at collective junk of my brain just needs to have some kind of outlet. But trivial pursuits make me happy. When I lived in the Big Smoke, there was no mid week engagement more important or cemented into the diary than the pub quiz with my team, The Paddock Darts & Something Topical/Amusing Club.

Trivia teams require a delicate balance. A mixture of the extroverted and the introverted. Those willing to scribe, and those willing to whisper. Those keen to battle for their answers, and those happy to compromise, and then try not to shout "I TOLD YOU SO!" when the answers are announced. But even more importantly, there needs to be a balance of knowledge and interest. I like the music questions best. All the pop culture ones. Movies, TV, celebrity gossip. I also like the wordy ones - a word that can go before -jack, -box, -ban and -berry to make a new word? They are my favorites. But I am totally shithouse on geography. Mediocre on history. Sub par on fashion and architechture. Pretty rubbish on sport. (*there's too much sport*) But if you can build a team with the right balance, then your team will know no boundaries.

My family team is pretty well balanced. Dad covers off sport and geography like a champ. Mum is a history buff. Yes there are holes in our knowledge, but sometimes our brains trust for that week will fill them in. One brother does medicine, the other does psych and art (and does music a damn sight better than me). Usually we get about 11/15. Some weeks are worse. If we're less than 9, we're not happy with ourselves. If we're over 12, then we're pretty smug.

And we have said for a few years now that if we ever got full marks, we would take ourselves out to dinner.

Last weekend, we nailed it.

Dad rang me with 4 questions unknown. An Oscars one, a TV one, a comedy one and a celebrity one.

Smacked it out of the park.

That night we went to dinner at The Ritz. Tapas and tarts. And it tasted good. And it smelled like victory.


You can do the quiz in The Good Weekend magazine with the Saturday Sydney Morning Herald. Or you can do it on the smh app like I'm going to do right now!

Sometimes teaching isn't just about imparting knowledge and babysitting.

As a year coordinator at The Boy Factory, and also as a human being, sometimes you field lots of hard questions. Mental health. Relationship problems. Social awkwardness.

There are people that say that High School Is The Best Years Of Your Life. I feel pity for those people. Because if those years of uncertainty and horror and confusion and being in a perpetual state of judgement are the best in their lives, then I am thinking they never had the unbridled hedonism of university, the enormous self satisfaction that directing a play can give, the excitement, adventures and break from reality that happens in overseas travel...

School can be shit.

And this week I have found two things that I can use to help me understand/remember.

Triple J has bounded into the trend of the It Gets Better movement:

And Allie at Hyberbole and a Half has created a beautiful and haunting exploration of her own battle with depression: Adventure in Depression

All people have the bad times. Even, no wait, scratch that, especially kids.

White Coke

I'm not talking about illicit narcotics here.
Advertising and spin have a strange effect on me. I'm simultaneously intrigued and disgusted. Companies spending mega bucks on continuing to increase their ever swelling massive profit margins, the consumer being hoodwinked into handing over their hard earned, simple truths ignored for gimmicky tricks. All of which play into some seriously vague and unattainable vision of what We ( as humans, Australians, women/men etc) are SUPPOSED to be.

And I say this as a reformed advertiser myself.

I left the ad world for teaching, and have never regretted it. I loved the people I worked with, especially those that loved their job, but I thought it was a sad indictment on the society we live in that the most creative minds we have, the most talented artists, writers, photographers, use their talents to persuade people to buy shit they don't need. Instead of just art for art's sake.

Ah, crap. I really don't mean to sound like Judgy McJudge. This really isn't what this rant was MEANT to be about.

Advertising HAS brought some more golden gems into my life - as well as my pals from the agency lunch table. Gruen. 30 Seconds. Mad Men (HOLY CRAP!! Just realised I have written NOTHING on Mad Men!!! How is this possible??!?!). This Old Spice ad.

I try to remember some of these good things when I get a boiling ad rant going...

But...

Have you seen these?

All these photos via Coca Cola Australia's FB page 

As if the whole thing wasn't pissing me off enough already, some clown needs to bring the toxicity of Twilight into the equation

Notice anything?

Where is the representation of multicultural Australia? Where is Phu? Karma? Tamieka? Wallid? Teik Kim? At what point did the Brand Manager of Coke say "Yep. Our market here in Australia is all whitey white. Let's make them feel special about that."

And OK, my sample is not wide here. The bottles stocked in the West Bubblefuck servo may well be especially selected for our arch- Anglo demographic. Yes you CAN order your own custom bottle or can from the FB page, but they have to make choices about the ones they send to the supermarket shelves, right? Perhaps they corner shops in Cabbramatta and Lygon St are more reflective of the rich depth of cultures that we have in this country.

But I'm thinking not.

Grid Iron Addiction

So by now we all know of my weakness for trashy teenage dramas. (Of the television kind - I'm not in the least bit interested in the soap operas of the small people of The Boy Factory.) But my track record of being smitten with trashy TV is pretty well recorded. Gossip Girl. The OC. Glee. One Tree Hill. These are the machinations of the microcosms of society, through the lens of those burgeoning humans about to burst through the threshold into the world.

Or maybe that is over thinking it.

My latest true TV love is Friday Night Lights. I'd heard Good Things. From the kind of people who share a similar taste in glittering trashy tv as me.

And Good Things it is.

Even if you don't care for Grid Iron (and I really don't. I mean, what kind of a game takes so many hours to play, for so little game time? What kind of game has a separate offensive and defensive sects of the team?! What kind of a contact sport requires THAT much padding and headgear??!?) this show is LOTS of Good Things.

The titular lights of the Friday evening refer to the floodlights of the Panthers football stadium in the small football obsessed Texas town of Dillon. A small town school that is uber obsessed by football? Has the Boy Factory been transplanted to the US? I swear some of my life has been transformed to Texan teleplay somehow.

The story lines really resonate. Staff politics of a school. The Jocks and their privileged role in the school. Budgeting and the prioritising of sport over all else (one sport in particular.) Small town gossip mills. Those awkward mother-daughter sex conversations. This show is so well written, it stings a little bit.

The whole style of the show is pretty gritty. The breathtaking performances from the cast are largely improvised, one take with 3 cameras. It makes all the character interactions uber realistic. Talking over the top of each other, interrupting each other, the kind of pregnant pauses that pepper real life conversations. The camera operators chase the actors, rather than the actors finding their mark and delivering to camera. This all gives a real doco style to the show. Framings are usually skewed, focus is loose and the grainy stock gives a hint of the voyuer. There is a comfort in the score. Snuffy Walden's theme song drums somewhere between The West Wing & Studio 60.

And given that I have knocked over 3 seasons in 5 days (being knocked flat by stabbing sinus pain can sometimes result in Good Things), I am somewhat bewildered that I hadn't sunk myself into the brilliance before. Just watching the performances, and the characters is like wrapping yourself in a doona on my pride and joy comfy couch.

The central character, Coach Eric Taylor, is that kind of gallant, proud and hospitable Texas man that my US travelled friends tell me is a real thing. Kyle Chandler who plays him shows a parade of hidden emotions. He's come a long way since Early Edition... His wife Tami (Connie Britton) has THE BEST HAIR ON TELEVISION. I am suffering from some serious hair envy. I'm also pretty jealous of the way she has with students. As counsellor, she always knows the right things to say, the right comforting or motivating words- the kind that I am always looking for in my daily life. Jason Street & Lyla Garrity (Scott Porter & Minka Kelly) start out as the picture perfect quarterback/cheerleader couple. He is charming and chiseled. She is cute as a button, and is almost certain to play Rose Byrne's sister one day. But I do hope she is kicking herself for being involved in the horrid tv remake of Charlie's Angels (What? Axed already? Colour me shocked!)

But the character I am truly besotted with, the dude that just might have made it into my favorite TV characters ever (hmm, there is an idea for a post...!) is Tim Riggins. I can't even really think of him as a real person actor type human Taylor Kitsch. This dude is like the white trash seven dwarves all rolled into one being. Broody, Pouty, Boozy, Punchy, Sexy, Smirky and Occasionally Deep. Ridiculously good looking. Brilliant hair. A smile that could calm me down in the middle of 5th period Year 9. He is an utterly watchable rogue.



Phwoar!!!!

 At first I felt a little bit icky about being so pervy on a teenage character, given my daily dealings at The Boy Factory. But then I remembered that he wouldn't have been PLAYED by a smelly teenage boy - and it turns out he is only a year younger than me! (Thanks imdb.com for being so fantastic at alleviating Dragon 'Are You Old Enough' style guilt!!) And then I realised that he actually looks a great deal like my very own teenage pouty crush, River Phoenix. And then I realised that he played Gambit  in X-Men: First Class - my third favourite character EVER from the cartoons. Now I think I might very well hold my breath until they make an X-Men film focused entirely on Gambit. With Riggins back in the role.
Having my own life mirrored in Texan drawl is surreal and arresting. This show might sneak about like trashy teen drama, but it is gutsy and funny and highly addictive.

Post Scripts:
So after I wrote this entry, I have found/figured out some other bits of info...
The acronym FNL is an anagram of NFL!! Too word nerdy? Oh. Sorry.
ABC2 (for Aussie readers) is playing FNL on Friday nights!!! Fitting, yes??

Blow up the Pokies

I hate poker machines.

I have nothing against local clubs and pubs. I have no grudge against local sporting teams and charities reaping benefits from those organisations. I don't mind if individuals choose to pump their hard earned into the belly of the one armed bandits.

But poker machines make me Oh So Cranky.

On a purely rational level, EVERYBODY KNOWS that the House Always Wins. EVERYBODY KNOWS that pubs and clubs don't put those sparkly tinkly machines in just to GIVE money away to patrons. We KNOW that there are algorithms and computer equations that ensure a teeny tiny percentage is paid out hill the rest goes into profit.

But when fueled with the power of a few frosty sherbets, a punter is powered by Possibiliy. It COULD pay out big. And it COULD be me.

But chances are, it won't be.

Xenaphon, Wilkie and Gillard have come up with a plan to help problem gamblers. I'm not sure I 100% understand what it is. Something about a compulsory precommitment to new machines that require a registered card to keep a track of who puts what in? Clubs Australia says it won't solve the problem, but it will hurt the clubs. Which makes as much sense as when the retailers said plain packaging won't stop sales of cigarettes but will send corner stores broke. You cannot hold two diametrically opposite points as true. Unless you are a hormonal female in need of TLC...

Ray Warren accidentally gave an ad-that-as-not-a-political-ad during the Manly Broncos semi final. And Nick Xenaphon is baying for some political blood. Clubs Australia has gone a little bit nuts here in West Bubblefuck, with Our Tony such a kingmaker down there. Bowling clubs, rugby clubs, all freaking out that they will go under without the coin from the Pokies.

GetUp, the lefty More Lower Case liberal Than Labor activist group aired their own ad, depicting pokies as taking the money straight from the punters at the ATM.

What not one person or interest group has mentioned here is that, unlike a game of poker, or a race of horses, pokies are the product of research. Addictive Behaviour research. Computers that are programmed to Keep you coming back! To keep you pumping your hard earned in. Rational, logical, intelligent humans who know all of those universal truths that I mentioned earlier are fully aware that they will not get their money back. But these computers, just like nicotine, just like my beloved caffeine, just like crystal meth, are addictive. And designed to be so.

And this doesn't even mention how toxic they have been to live music in Australia...

I don't know if a nanny state ID card system is the way to go. But I do think that these toxic machines should all be unplugged. Right now. Destroyed.

I'm with Tim Freedman on this.


 

Childhood Home. Or My Life as a Belonging Text Part II

The first home I can remember was in Manly. Well, Fairlight to be more precise. And returning to it today was a true assault to the memory. The Corso smells the same. The Esplanade has the same wind whipped sensation. The bus stop mirrors the past perfectly, I could almost see my friends huddled in wait for a late night bus, after we had played a sweaty, smoky game of laser tag, and eaten our own body weight in Royal Copenhagen ice-cream.

And to make matters even more comfortable, the whole place is draped in maroon and white, anticipating a great Sea Eagles victory on Grand Final Day this Sunday. I spend a fair bit of my life at The Boy Factory, and in various watering holes across QLD & NSW defending my love of the Manly Warringah Sea Eagles. There are not many of us out there that are true believers in the Silver Tails. As HG Nelson said "Everybody hates Manly. Except a few people who grew up in the Brookvale area."

But I love them. And most of the people I went to school with love them too.

My first proper boyfriend busted out the smooth moves at Brookvale Oval. Or perhaps I played the damsel-in-distress My Hands Are Cold card... Anyway, we ended up holding hands. I didn't mind much that Cronulla beat us that night. I was too busy swooning.

Brookvale Oval was a very great place for a date in the following years. Cheap, seeing as Dad snuck me a $4 entry players card from when he was coaching the school team. And demonstrating me to be the kind of chick that likes football, that isn't afraid to sit on a hill, that doesn't need the cliche girly treatment.

I understand the hatred from the other clubs. I understand the perception of the Silvertails from the fancypants Northern Beaches, in the working class game of Rugby League. Incidentally, the docoThe Fibros and The Silvertails is a brilliant film for looking at sports, journalism and identity with junior students. Works wonders with Year 8. But I digress...

Last night, my friend Jase used my love of Manly as a kickstarter for conversation at the pub. The aghast looks I received I found laughable. I was with a hard core St George supporter, a Souths player and a Queenslander. Not much support for Sea Eagles there.



So after swanning about with the lahdidah set in the city's east, I now feel a little more at home. Seeing palm trees wound with my team colours, and the wings of a spread eagle snapping on flags atop awnings and car rooves is comforting beyond belief.

How my life just might be a Belonging text

Term 3 is notoriously hectic. Near hellish, really. Shunting Yr12 out the gates in a fitting celebration, with minimal casualties. Cranking Yr11 up into their HSC year. Trialling Yr10 in the last school certain ever. Mania is a word that begins to cover it.

So now I have escaped West Bubblefuck to the increasingly unfamiliar sites of The Big Smoke. Considering I grew up here, moved back here and lived here for most of my adult life, I am somewhat surprised by how much of a tourist I am here now. The fact that I am staying in the uber-alienating leafy Woollhara, with the Yummy Mummy set and gentlemen who punctuate their sentences with "dahling" and the sound of them kissing their own teeth... Is is any wonder I am feeling a tad of an Outsider??

In West Bubblefuck, I think the Locals tend to consider ME out there. Latte sipping (even though my addiction is soley The Flat White), lefty, trendy tshirt wearing, artsy and a bit too opinionated for a chick. The fact that I refer to my "home"town as West Bubblefuck may indeed suggest that I feel like I am living somewhere not as progressive as I might like. But here I am not ENOUGH of a lefty/fashionista/trendy/out there human.

I'm sure it's just the hipster suburbs I've been floating in. Woollhara. Paddington. Surry Hills. This afternoon will be Bondi Beach. Maybe I should stop being such a posuer.


Or maybe I just need some more sleep.

Gun powder meets lasers

I quite like a good po-mo mash up of genres. Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz for example. Gotta love a Rom-Zom-Com or a Slasher-Cop flick.

And the combination of Western & Sci-Fi has worked before - Joss Whedon's uber-brilliant-and-tragically-short-lived Firefly is a perfect case for this.

But I can't say I've ever been the hugest fan of the Western genre. Deadwood was entertaining, but I only saw a couple of episodes with Irish, and I haven't touched on it since. It seems incredibly blokey to me - battling the frontier, men against the elements, men against each other. There is also an inherent racism in Westerns. Them damn Injuns! The Native Americans and Mexicans are so far removed from mainstream, their otherness screams loud and clear in their sullen facial expressions and lack of brimmed hats. And as for women? Whores and virgins abound, except for a few hard-as-nails she-males, leathered and weathered from that same battle against the land. There also seems to be this overarching obsession with the father-son relationship... Doing daddy proud or some such macho nonsense.

The third installment of Back to the Future was always my least favourite.

I guess that formula has always just... bored me. It is the kind of films my grandfather watched. Long silences that I suppose are meant to build tension. Grubby faces and squinty eyes - oh won't someone give that man a pair of shades?

But still, with Jon Favreau at the helm, the icon of Harrison Ford, the hotness of Daniel "Mr Pout" Craig and Olivia "Turquoise Eyes" Wilde, how could I resist a little bit of excitement about Cowboys & Aliens?

What have I said about expectation management?

Like all westerns, this one starts off slow. We have stage coach robberies, and shoot outs on dusty streets. An amnesiac protagonist always helps in the exposition of information, because they can hide behind the idea that the character learns as we do. And Daniel Craig makes amnesia look pretty darn attractive. Plus there is the added mystery of that weird angular manacle...?

Hey Harrison! How cool is my Indiano Jones outfit?!

Anyway, it starts off slow. And there are a few brief moments of action, mostly when the aliens attack, and steal away the townsfolk. Lasers, and retracting chains, and exploding buildings. And flight craft that resemble beetles. But that's about it for pace. Key feature of the Western: move SLOW.

So the Wild West has been taken over by the hungry-for-gold space crabs. Closely resembling the "Prawns" from District 9, the invading forces take that idea of Vagina Dentata to a whole other level. In fact, the phallic and vaginal imagery goes a little bit bonkers in this genre mash up. And it's possible I am viewing in through my own post-feminist lenses, but it all just got a bit too much for me. The huge phallic spaceship. The guns, and pulsing hot rod weapons. The protruding digits from mucusy, triangular fleshy caverns.... This is not just me, is it?

I think the point they were trying to get at is that money ruins us all. Corruption and power and violence and green are all inextricably linked. When you get the money, you lose perspective of the important things. Like the love of your wife, the respect of your community, the motivation to be a good man (because really, it's all about the men in the Wild West!) and the decency to other living things. Aliens want gold, and they're happy to destroy everyone in their path to get it. Which is not a huge stretch from Daniel Craig's Jake (before he went all forgetty) and Harrison Ford's Dolarhyde (pron: Dollar Hide. Man who runs cattle for a living... Really?) before their purposes were united by a common alien enemy. So yeah, I get the point of the film. I see the moral, through all the glowing blue lasers exploding green blood.

Doesn't mean I have to like it though.

Cowboys & Aliens didn't really arrest me. I don't think there is quite enough sci-fi in it for the geekiest of us, but if you're into the dusty westerns, it may work for you

Teacher Geek

This arvo I have been totally Teacher Geeking out. Trawling twitter for teachers to follow. Discovering blogs. Finding resources. Signing up to edmodo.com.

And rediscovering Wordle!!

Here is my current Wordle for The Mixed Metaphor!! I wonder what it will look like in a year's time? A month? A week?

The Strangest of Choices

Who'd be an English teacher?

When Trial time comes around, Year 12 kiddies freak out a little (if they give a crap) about a simulation of the HSC experience.
And some teachers bauk at the amount of work that involves for us. Set the exam, copy the exam, check the exam, supervise, collect... and MARK.

There is a certain amount of envy I have for elective teachers. Art has 10 students. Geography has 5. Granted, those teachers need to mark all sections of that one paper.

I still have fifteen essays to go.
 In 2 weeks I have marked 95 essays.
A total of 110.
There is only so many times you can write You have some interesting observations of the text here, but you need to work on your essay structure. Greater focus is required on techniques and how meaning is created. Always ensure you include a direct quote from the text to support your ideas.

HSC students, let that piece of information be a guide to all essays you write for English. I may well just get it tatooed on my arm. Nah, probably not, it is permanently etched on my brain as it is.

Sell Sell Sell!!!!

Sometimes, as Mother to 110, you spend vast chunks of the day talking to teachers, counsellors, executive staff and SAS about students. Some days it is one specific student. How you can get him to break a pattern of behaviour, how you can get him to build some positive feedback and positive experiences in his life. Some days there are so many emotional coins invested in someone that when that individual (and sometimes you need to be reminded that he is just a child) tries very hard to push you away, to openly and publically disrespect you, to demonstrate that he is "doing alright" on his own... It smites a fair bit.

Last night felt a little bit like an Emotional GFC. My wise and very experienced mother told me when I started teaching that she has seen a pattern of female teachers taking the experiences of teaching far more personally than the male members of staff.

And I KNOW it is not personal. I KNOW it is written into the job description that a 14 year old boy must be emotionally stunted, must challenge authority and push boundaries. But in a vulnerable moment, I was exposed.

This morning it feels quite difficult to get back into the middle of that educational and emotional stock exchange. If I could just store all my emotional banknotes under my mattress, and take only apathy into the work place, there are times when I would.

Greening out

I don't usually get political on this site.

I did once, and it turned out to be my most popular post ever. Which is getting WAY more hits now than it ever did. Not that it is the meaty, political contents of my Q&A loving brain. If you didn't read it, I am basically comparing Tony Abbot (Or Mr Rabbit as careless/amused journos are liable to call him) to Bert of Bert & Ernie fame. Yeah, not the biteyest of satire, or the most profound of observations.

And the reasons I don't rant politics much is because of my job. Being an English teacher, we are often painted as radical lefties trying to brainwash the younger generations into joining our unions, saving our planet, and closing the gap between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people in this country. I know. We're outrageous. Just ask Miranda Devine. (Her going back to the Daily Tele has totally reduced my paper-reading anger levels...)

But I have to be very careful NOT to try to saturate my students with the contents of my own brain. I need to teach them HOW to think, not WHAT to think.

But.

(There is always a But.)

Today I went to a "rally" that was "organised" by Get-Up, the lefty-left-left-left advocacy group who want things like basic human rights, equal rights for genders and sexual preferences, a sustainable future for our country and planet, and other unreasonable demands. This "rally" was a Say Yes To Carbon Pricing, an attempt to show support for the "tax" and generally try to indicate that here in West Bubblefuck, we are not actually a bunch of red-neck bible bashers who want to mine and pollute to our hearts content.

Except it seems we are.

I reckon there were only about 60 people there. Granted, I am pretty rubbish at estimating numbers, so there might have been anywhere from 50-100, but to my dodgy eye, it looked a bit like 2 classes worth of greying hippies. But it was a pretty insignificant number, in this city of about 50,000 that we live in. Hence the sarcasmo "inverted commas" when I mention the term "rally."

Here in West Bubblefuck, our local member is Tony Windsor, one of the most powerful men in the country, holding the balance of power in his brown, leathery farmer hands. He was a National Party Member, until they screwed him and his seat over a few too many times, and he went Independent.

And while he is not a hard core, global warming advocate, he holds the belief that most people do. If the actions of humans are in any way impacting the climate of our globe, then we should change our behaviour. And if there is a chance that our actions are NOT affecting the climate, then what have we got to lose by NOT pumping pollution into the air/water/ground?

This is what irks me about climate change Deniers. (Which does include some of my nearest and dearest. And most of my students.) Approximately 97% of SCIENTISTS believe that humans are changing the climate of the earth. But Deniers have read something that someone said about people not having any impact on the climate of this planet, and because it was more safe and comfortable and status quo, they chose to believe THAT person.

Not the economists. Not the experts. Not the resounding majority of the scientific community. But the person with the vested interest in mining/coal burning/deforestation.

So when 3 of these 60 people started ARGUING with the speakers at this "rally" I realised that not all of these 60 people were believers, some of them were shit stirrers who wanted to pick a fight. Yes, shouty man next to me, it is a PROVEN SCIENTIFIC FACT that Australia is the BIGGEST polluter per capita. Lots of space/mines/machines/cars? Not many people? BINGO!! Yes, China DOES pollute more than us. But here is the thing about the phrase "per capita" - it means per head of population? And yes, we make more than them in that particular ratio...

And I also know that the term "carbon" is all wrong, especially when discussing emissions and taxes etc. What with us being carbon based life forms. And carbon being a kind of essential thing for us all to get by. But they had to pick an element to fixate on, and some of the others already have too many connotations. And the fact is that listing all the pollutants on the name of the tax is just not feasible.

The Daily Tele/my students/my BF/my aunt/my mother's aunts/talk back radio hosts and listeners may all believe that Ms Gillard is charging us "another big tax" but I hope nobody crumbles. I hope Mr Windsor realises that there are more than 60 people in his electorate who believe in him. Put the price on. Pay the $10 a week. Get the rebates back. Let the government put some more money into research of power sources that don't involve pumping toxins into everything.

How about we stop treating the planet like we, in this generation, in this century, in this species, in this country, in this economic climate.... like we are not the be all and end all of this planet.

Galactic Green Peacekeepers

My love affair with Hollywood's love affair with comic book movie adaptations continues. They keep pumping them out, and I am that audience member that keeps flocking to see them. (Can a single person flock?)

I do try to avoid seeing and hearing reviews BEFORE the film comes out (which makes watching David & Margaret a little tricky!) but I managed to catch some of  the reviews for The Green Lantern by osmosis. SMH Film blogger gileshardie said on twitter:

"THE GREEN LANTERN. Ummm. Yeah. If you like films. Or if you like yourself. Just don't see it. More flaw than film."

Both Margaret AND David saw flaws in the film, but gave it 3.5 and 3 respectively.

And I could see where they are coming from.

The vast tracts of backstory voice over in the start of the film, if they happened to be the opening paragraph on a Year 10 Short Story assignment (because that might give you an insight into where my life is this week!) I would have scrawled in the-not-as-demoralising-as-red blue marking pen something along the lines of "Start with ACTION. SHOW, don't TELL" - so NOT the most engaging of opening scenes.

The premise is all about a superarmy of fearless green suited warriors from around the universe who use the power of Will, and are charged with a mission to fight Evil. And the grandaddy of Evil is Fear, the only force in the universe more powerful than Will.

So... Complex scifi alterno-reality to create, and a voice over backstory is prob the only way to do it with any kind of brevity... But I still reckon they could have woven it into the story, so we could have found out when Hal found out.

Hal.

Ryan Reynolds.

Most certainly NOT a flaw of the film. Very much flawless. And spends a fair whack of the film flaunting his flawless figure. Sigh!

He is utterly convincing as an irresponsible, impulsive, emotionally retarded manchild. I know some of them, so I find them easy to recognise.

And Blake Lively is near perfect as the female interest, Carol Ferris. Mostly she is not a totally insipid damsel in distress, but there are moments when we lapse into those comic book stereotypes. She is, as she and all female counterparts in comic book movies are meant to be, smoking hot. There are some shots of her that I imagined could have come directly from the original DC pages - the framing, the perfecting drawn hair, the unrealistically red lips... Comic book perfection in a way that can only be drawn. Kind of reminds me of Jessica Rabbit...

For a change, the chemistry between Reynolds and Lively is pretty... lively (sorry, that was terrible, even by my standards...) and starts off pretty sparky from the get-go.

And in keeping with comic book traditions there is the Compulsory Alliterative Character. In this case, the evil fear minion, Hector Hammond. Part elephant man, part Fear's magic wand, the very attractive Peter Sarsgaard does a pretty good job uglied up. Scrubs down alright.

The special effects are phenomenal. Sparky & I heartily agree that 3D films are nauseating, distracting and do little for the cinema experience. So we managed to catch a 2D screening. And while I know that if I saw it in 3D, I would have left with a headache, nausea and a general feeling of malaise, I actually think there is a possibility they could have done some good things with that tech this time. The Big Bad Fear Monster, part dragon, part octopus, would have been incredible launching out of the screen. The asteroid belt, and the Lanterns' translucent green weapons of Will (ie whatever they imagine) and all the flight scenes had the potential to make 3D work quite effectively. Of course, you will have to see that for yourself. Because I won't be doing it for you.

AFTER the tedious intro, the early scenes are snappy. And being Ryan Reynolds, hilarious. They have pace and characterisation and interest, which is tricky for a Meet The Characters on what I'm sure the producers hope will be a franchise. We see Hal selected to join the Feds of the Universe. That transition from irresponsible to dutiful is highly entertaining. Once the action starts, however, things get a little more predictable, with the set pieces and raised stakes. Hal becomes less unpredictable and spontaneous, and much more... boring superhero-y.

I once read an article (and do you THINK I can find it??) that said that superheroes are by their very nature boring and reactive. Their day to day life of tedium is only challenged when a more interesting supervillain comes along with big plans to shake things up and take things over. And after we meet Hal and learn about what he can now do now, he joins the boring ranks of the Dean Cain/Christopher Reeve era Superman, or a Val Kilmer/George Clooney style Bruce Wayne (Michael Keaton has too much sarcasm, and Christian Bale is WAY too dark to be Captain Goody Goody).

Lantern is about a bajillion times better than Captain A-MEH-rica.

Kick arse action, totally unrealistic scifi goodness.

Things That Shit Me About Captain America

Yes, comic book films are not meant to be High Art. Yes, they are generally the schlock that Hollywood rolls out to bring in some guaranteed coin. Yes, the scripts are usually fill-in-the-blanks, predictable drivel to tie together the action packed set pieces.

But I love them.

Usually.

Captain A-Meh-rica however, kind of gave me the shits.

Here's why:

1. The "Yay" America Attitude.
Yes, I was prepared for it. I mean, it IS in the title after all. But I wasn't prepared enough to not let it shit me. And yes, there are a few token characters from other countries, flung against the Nazis and their suped up uber-scientists. But they are pretty tokenistic.

2. The Historical Inaccuracies
I'm not really a stickler for History. Making things entirely Realistic or True is not necessarily what I am all about. I LOVED Inglourious Basterds. Fantasy & SciFi stuff makes me happy. The X-Men franchise is totaly not plausible, but I have so much love for it. And I have no problem with scientific divisions of the military creating super soldiers with serums and rocks that wield the power of the Gods.
But I have great issues with the portrayal of women at the front line of WWII.
Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell) is smoking hot. 1940s lips and hair to die for. Pencil skirts that make me wish I had hips like that. Great dialogue, and a kick arse attitude. And I could almost believe that she was an intelligence agent. I could almost believe she was working behind the scenes to bring about the downfall of the Nazis. But it really shat me when she was firing off a machine gun in the advancing line, next to commanding officer Tommy Lee Jones with other soldiers dissolving into blue sparks beside her. Completely naff and disrupting.

3. Derivative to a point of vomitous

I realise in this post-modern context we all live in that nothing is original any more. Every new piece of art (did you know comic-book films are art?) comes from somewhere else. Another Marvel film is always going to be saturated with enough intertextuality to sink a MAD Magazine, especially when it is set to be part of a whole series of Avengers films. So I am aware that OF COURSE this film was never going to be a stand alone piece.

But I think they took it too far.

When making an alterno-fantasy about battling the Nazis, it is difficult not to lean towards Raiders of the Lost Ark. And in Star Wars, when George Lucas named the Empire soldiers after the German Stormtroopers, he really did twist up the ideas of fantasy and history. Director Joe Johnston just had to make his Nazi Hydra Soldiers look like blackfaced Star Wars style Storm Troopers, and Boba Fett's your uncle... Bad guys!

A shot for shot recreation of the pena-climactic chase sequence from Return of the Jedi, however, was completely surplus to requirement.. The coathanger rope to knock the bad guy down? Check. Left some surprise explodey things behind to blow the next bad guy up? Check. Two dudes on very fast motorbikey things trying to overtake through the scrub in the other lane? Check. I thought at any moment the Ewoks were about to jump out and help.

 

4. Bobble Head SFX

I think it was kind of cool that the film included a pre-buff Chris Evans, before super powers, super strength and super cut abs. But seeing his enormous head on his tiny body through the wonders of CGI just made me disconcerted. I mean, supporting that weight would cause some serious neck strain.

5. The lack of attention to the AMAZING support cast.

Yeah, Chris Evans, chiseled jaw, rippling muscles, blah blah.

What about Dominic Cooper?! Huh? He of History Boys and The Duchess fame. Casting wise, he is pretty perfect for a Robert Downey Jr Daddy. Suave, cocky, liable to make mistakes and not admit them. But where was his dialogue? Where was his screen time?  Give me Cooper over Evans ANY day.

And Our Hugo? Weaving is the antagonist, and he plays the sociopath like an expert indeed. But there just wasn't enough opportunity for us to see it.

But the biggest tragedy of the cutting room/story editing has to be Stanley Tucci. I love him. I have loved him forever. Not in a want-to-jump-his-bones kind of way, but in a could-watch-him-forever kind of way. As a character actor, he is so versatile. Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream. The husband in Julie & Julia. The dad in Easy A. The tragic clown in The Devil Wears Prada. But my all time favourite Stanley Tucci film is The Imposters. Farcical hilarity, with Oliver Platt & Billy Connolly. But I digress.

Surely with a character as complex as Dr Abraham Erskine, escaping the Nazis to use his scientific formula for the good guys instead, could have been given more of a role? I know, the Hero needs the motivation to rage against the enemy, but... I don't need to offer solutions to my whinges do I?

Unfortunately, we didn't stick around to see the teaser for the next Avengers film at the end of the final credits. I've heard it's special, and I probably should have made the time for it, but I was so blerged out by
the whole film, I thought it time to go.

Only see this if you... plan on seeing the next ones? Iron Man it ain't.

The X Factor

My deep seated obsession with James McEvoy has been documented. Shameless, Atonement, Macbeth, Becoming Jane, Narnia, Wanted... If my James wasn't the best thing about these movies/shows, then he was pretty darn close.

My long running infatuation with the X-Men franchise is no secret. And my penchant for superhero flicks, either the original characters or the comic book derivatives is not something I am ashamed of.

The only thing that has kept my excitement about the latest prequel, X-Men: First Class has been the insanity that is my life of late, and the discipline of my routine of Expectation Management. Not only does this movie have superheroes in silly suits, not only does it have character drenched back-story, not only does it have the uber-hot January Jones and the super-sexy Rose Byrne, but the condescending and ever-so-slightly bossy boots of Professor Francis Xavier is played by the oh-so-delicious James McAvoy!!

But he isn't the best thing in the movie.

In terms of a review, there isn't really much to say. There isn't much that is unexpected about the plot - the conflict in increasing stakes, the war between the mutants and the humans. The set pieces are a little predictable - pretty fab, action packed, lots of henchmen getting slain. The overarching message of the piece - the issues of the greater good, the question of a struggle for identity, of being true to ones self - these are not new messages, and are certainly not new for the franchise. The big, weighty, clunky "B-Word", known in depth by English teachers, and feared by HSC students for the last few year, is hurled around with gay abandon.

I always like an alternative history. First Class is set post WWII, in the time of hunting those nasty Nazis, and with the Cold War freaking everyone else out. And seeing the Cuban Missile Crisis play out with mutants was significantly more explodey and special effecty than the walky-talky Katy Holmes-Greg Kinnear version on The Kennedys tonight. Funny how a piece of history hits you from multiple angles in one day. Whereas The Last Stand heavily cemented the metaphor of  mutantism with homosexuality, this prequel centres it back on the cultural or religious stereotypes and prejudices. The oppressive fear of nuclear war, the threat of the Red Other, the commies, is effective as a metaphor for the evolutionary revolution that the mutants continue to harp on about.

The performances are all pretty good - though some are better than others. Jennifer Lawrence is a little bit Squinty McPout for my liking. Very soon, some sassy director is going to cast her as Helen Hunt's sister. Or daughter. Or past-self. My beloved James is suitably smug, conveying Patrick Stewart's later arrogance. Though his tendancy to massage his temple is a little annoying. Kevin Bacon continues to look disturbingly piggy (is this nominative determanism at its most literal?) but doesn't seem to be quite evil enough as the major antagonist, Sebastian Shaw.

So if you weren't going to see the film anyway, there is nothing I can say that is going to inspire you to do it.

Except for perhaps two words.

Michael. Fassbender.

A brilliant name like this hasn't been seen since Benedict Cumberbatch. And he has the talent - both acting and physical- to support a brilliant name like this.

The character of Magnito requires some serious screen gravity. Sir Ian McKellen has it. Great voice, lived in face, rich in character. This character has to be able to walk the thin wire between total meglamaniac, and a voice of insanity that actually speaks the truth. He recognises the precarious nature of humans - their capacity for unrestrained cruelty and violence. And chooses to fight back, rather than bend to human pressure.

And Fassbender walks that line with grace. I've seen him in Inglorious Basterds and Band of Brothers, and his face is so likeable, so manly and chiseled. And that hint of Irish lilt doesn't hurt either. So I think I have just found yet another gentleman for my celebrity crush list. Almost ALL of the reviews I have seen and heard have agreed that Fassbender is the highlight of this installment. And I'm with them.

The X-Men franchise is not without its problems. The sexual politics of the original 1963 comics is understandably problematic. We are talking pre-sexual revolution here. Jean Grey is completely objectified, totally passive in her powers and ever the damsel-in-distress that needs rescuing. Even the post-feminist installments are not necessarily pro-grrl. The inclusion/tokenism of various races - and the 'disposable' nature of some of the un-Caucasian characters makes me a little uneasy. And the temporal setting of the Cold War in this one raises the issues of the women's place - in the CIA, in the sexual manipulation of men, in combat situations... The question I tend to ask myself is if I love the characters enough to ignore the blatant and latent bigotry?

Of course, the ending is set up for another follow up. Though, I think it would be rather confusing to run THREE different time lines on the one franchise. The Wolverine line, with the sequel with Hugh Jackman (scrummy), and something about Japan. And then the Deadpool Origins film with Ryan Reynolds (more scrummy-ness). Then there is this line, with the First Class kiddies, the beginning of the X-Men Academy. I think it should be called X-Men: Second Class, but that might be seeming like a judgement call on the story or something. Wiki says it is X-Men: First Class 2. And then there is the original series, with  an X4 film slated  as a possibility.

Bring it on, I say. I will hand over  my money to the box office every time.

"This Week". Or "Bad Poetry that is Not Well Thought Out". Or "I'm Tired."

Radio silence again.

Here is why.

Monday.
4 periods.
90 min staff meeting of being told what a shit job we're doing.
2 hours of report writing.

Tuesday.
6 hours of school.
45 minute welfare meeting.
2 hours rehearsal for closely pending play.
1 hour report writing.
Basketball.

Wednesday.
6 hours again.
4 periods again.
Piecing together emotional boys and refereeing minor conflicts.
2 hours rehearsal for closer pending play.
2 hours reports.

Thursday.
6 hours school.
Cancelled soccer training - one hour of Me time to chase the B Team before their player numbers increase.
3 hours duty.
2 hours report writing.

Friday.
4 hours of class.
2 hours of soccer training, but not my team.
1 hour of game, U14s vs the Privos from Up The Hill.
5 hours of watching/supervising football in various codes.

On morning TV
A giggly blonde woman said
That if you work more than 11 hours a day,
you are 64% more likely to have a heart attack.

Bring on Europe!

Bluesfest: The Rest of Day 1 - Trombone Shorty, The Bamboos & Franti

Music has the most amazing power to infect with emotion, to uplift, to educate and to make you wiggle your butt.

First step after the surprise of Timmy Rodgers, and after tracking down the various members of my extended family with limited phone signal (damn you Vodafone!!), was the phenomenal Mavis Staples. Gospel music, soul music, and tunes from the civil rights movement, with a kicking voice and an amazing stage presence. She is a little bit like music royalty, getting the nods from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Rolling Stone Top 100 singers of all time and Grammy Lifetime Achievement. And the lady deserves it all.

Her cover of 'The Weight" really kicked the crowd into gear, and her special guests on the stage made us all very excited for the next act. But more on that in a moment. The set of lungs on this lady was most impressive, and her command of the crowd was incredible.

But next... Next was Trombone Shorty (the future Mr Proctor, he will soon be joining our gang of merry revellers) & Orleans Avenue. Oh my.

I stayed to watch these dudes on the recommendation of American Danny. As opposed to me, Australian Danne. Or Sane Danne. That might hint at what American Danny is like, if I am the benchmark for sanity. Though given the brilliance of Trombone Shorty and his band, his sanity is hardly called into question from me.

I heartily regret not getting to New Orleans before it was ravaged by Katrina. But if the music scene is as alive and well as this talented outfit, I should get myself on a plane without delay. To start with, Trombone Shorty (Troy to his mother, personally I like his pseudonym better) is fit. Like the British version of fit. a proper athlete of a muso, using his chiselled abs and sculpted muscles to belt out every note on his trombone and trumpet. And belting out is kind of an understatement. One note lasted for something close to forever, but really was probably about two minutes. Circular breathing never looked so sexy.

The uber-sexy Trombone Shorty. Photo thanks to Mikey J.

But Shorty wasn't the only talent on the stage. Each band member was rocking on his instrument of choice. And then in the final number, there was a quick band conference huddle in the centre of the stage. Without skipping a beat, Shorty took the drumsticks, and took over the rhythm. There was a shuffle of the weapons of choice, and the band played on. Impressive!

Spirits were sky high after those antics and those upbeat relentless tunes.

And there was nowt that battle-of-the-fros seventies-throwbacks Wolfmother could do about it. I have never been their biggest fan anyway. Perhaps "Joker & The Thief may be the only one that gets me wiggling. But I found their performance significanly lacking in pizzazz. But perhaps that was just because I still wanted to be tasting Trombone instead of Led Zeppelin...

If you approach your day at a festival uncertain about where you will spend the headlining set, there is a chance you may fall into the Indecisive Trap that I fell in on Day 1. I really wanted to see The Bamboos. I've got an album, I like them a lot, and I have heard great things about them live. But Michael Franti was playing at exactly the same time. And the rest of the tribe were resolute about that.

So I started at The Bamboos. Solid Aussie funk and soul. Horns aplenty. More rhythm than an old school Dulux Paint ad. And their lead singer Kylie Auldist CAN wail! Massive voice with a fab head of curls, a great rack (I notice these kinds of things), a stunning dress... But most importantly SEQUINED BLUE CHUCK TAYLORS!!!!! I have a sneaky suspicion that while Kylie is billed as the 'feature' singer, she actually rules the roost. Her attitude and awesome voice made me fall just a little bit in love with her. I was kind of tempeted to stick it out at the smaller stage... But...

Kylie & the Bamboos. The tragedy is you can't see her shoes!!

I am so pleased I caught The Bamboos. But I feel like I missed the best part of their set. I feel like they were just building up to something pretty special when I snuck back to the Crossroads Stage to catch the end of Michael Franti's set.

And it was going NUTS!!

The whole tent was jumping, and the bidding of the dreadlocked and tattooed singer songwriter, his voice undulating between gentle and soulful to vehement and inspired. I could see the infection effect Franti was having on the crowd, but I just couldn't emerse myself in it. Whether it was a case of 'you had to be there' from the start in order to get the glee, or whether there was a little piece of myself kicking me for leaving the brilliant Bamboos set, I will never know.

Having said that, he was pretty darn amazing. He did a walk through the crowd, and played a verse within spitting distance of me and the rest of the bouncing tribe. He told stories of his chats with songwiriting idol Bob Dylan, with such an affable and genuine nature I think we all just wanted to take him home with us to our rambling beach house. With his final song, he invited all the kids and oldies up to boogie on stage - and filled all the rest of us with life-affirming lyrics and melodies. <>  <>

 

Franti, just over there. Not even very much zoom being used here, if any at all.



It was a brilliant way to end Day One. My face hurt from my Live Music Grin. My feet hurt from dancing in gumboots. I was tired, sore but so so happy. And there was still two more days of fun to go.