Wanted: One ark. Reasonable condition.

A road trip to the coast, summer with my brother. Beach, booze, a bit of art and music, but mostly catching up with friends flung northward. Sounds like fun, eh?

In reality, the road trip was a little more eventful than relaxing. Less beach time, and more avoiding the rising flood waters. Which the media is saying is "the biggest natural disaster to ever hit Australia", and I am sure if you count the devastation in Victoria (where flood meters have been swallowed by the torrent), New South Wales, Tasmania and South Australia, it is probably true. But they do tend to stretch that thing called truth, now and again, don't they?

Escaping Brisbane before it was totally inundated was a wise move. Waiting for the insanity of lunatics evacuating early was also fairly well thought out - we drove in fairly dry conditions, with near empty roads, to the safety of the Gold Coast. But after we got out of Dodge, the flood waters across the nation's rivers continued to follow us. We took a 4 hour detour to travel 65ks around Grafton to Woopi.

Grafton, the Clarence River

The rivers we crossed were swollen and ragey, pregnant with the promise of angry, anarchic watery children of chaos.



Woolgoolga and her flood stained beach

 The beaches we planned to swim at were stained unpleasantly with untreated sewage and chemicals that wanted nothing more than to inflict me with another summer ear infection.

But listen to me whinging while the multitudes of flood refugees from Brisbane, Grafton, the Lockyer Valley and northern Victoria have lost all their worldly possessions. I know my plans had to be tweaked a little, but my diatribe is knowing - I have sweet FA to complain about.

Most of the minutes of the last week on television have been saturated by tear stained faces, and all-too-eager reporters trying to evoke extreme emotions, prodding them sharply with microphones until they bleed the required tears. Lives have been lost, and more are still missing, a week later, and it is devastating what the floods have done to homes and businesses. But the overwhelming response from most of the victims of the journos is hope, and relief that things aren't as bad as they thought they would be, and so much joy at the generosity of helpful strangers with the cleaning and the sweeping.

It has got me to thinking, and these thoughts were somewhat clarified by the oh-so-articulate John Birmingham in the SMH. He wrote a beautifully bitter piece about the fact that this country we live in continues to remind us that we're not welcome. that it isn't Ours to control, not really fit for human habitation. This continent continues to push back, against our riverside properties, and our constructions that don't seem to hold up to the winds or the flames, the deluges of water or the long stretches of time without it. The sheer arrogance of "It Won't Happen To Me", the reason behind so many teenage driving deaths, the reason behind people catching STIs, is the same reasoning behind riverside properties being overtaken by Mother Nature. Yes, it happened to that property in 1974. Why wouldn't it happen again?

The day the flood warnings came to Brisbane, Tuesday, the day after the horrors of Toowomba and the Lockyer Valley, I tried to go to a cafe in Newstead. And I was told, with very little sugar coating in the tone of her voice, that the cafe was shut, in preparation for the rising flood waters. I scoffed.

Rising flood waters in Brisbane. At about 4.6m

Sandbagging in action

Then the waters rose. And the city evacuated (not officially, mind you. Just all of the office managers said "if you want to get home, you'd better leave now). And the sandbags began to appear, as if from nowhere. At times it was adventurous. We stocked up on booze and frozen pizza, rolls of toilet paper and candles. Then the reality of no power and no plumbing hit home. So my bro and me - we hit the road.

I too am of that same brand of arrogance that expects it Not To Happen To Me. I thought it all a media beat up. Scare mongering in the vein of post-tsunami a few years ago. And I have had to eat my words most humbly.

I haven't donated to the flood appeal yet (aside from a few gold coins rattled into buckets and tip jars here and there). Mostly because I am waiting for pay-day on Wednesday, because it needs to be a significant donation.

Give lots. Give to Queenslanders with their new-found kick arse premier Anna Bligh. Give to New South Welshpeeps, with their divided and isolated towns. Give to Victorians, who really deserve a break. Give to Government appeals QLD: http://www.qld.gov.au/floods/donate.html. Donate to charities http://www.vinnies.org.au/qldfloodappeal, to animal shelters, to anyone who will do good with the cash.


Side note:
In times of floods, good road trip listening material can be found in Eddie Izzard's Glorious. Noah has a Sean Connery voice.

The Girl With The International Bestseller

Author's note:
Hey-zeus! This has been sitting in the unpublished post pile for FAR too long. Time to get this puppy outta here!

Have you read The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo?
Did you love it and rave about it to everyone you knew?
Or did you think (like me) that it was just a little bit poo?

I don't know many people who didn't love this book. I heard it called "Thrilling" and "Exciting" and "Really different". The buzz/spin surrounding this book was epic. The two pages of call-outs from reviews from around the world are falling over themsleves with repetitive praise about how spectacular this novel is.

In my post reading websearch, I of course stumbled across the review from the so so fabulous First Tuesday Book Club . And on there was 2 blindingly bedazzled reviews. Jennifer Byrne said she thought it was "terrific". Jason Steger said he thought it was a "great read" and "completely absorbing". And their opinions seemed to reflect the wider reading community.

Fortunately there were three wise souls on the panel that week. Marieke Hardy (bless her red-lipped soul! total girl crush!!) was pretty ambivalent about the book, though I totally disagree with her assessment of it being "efficient" and with her experience of being "involved the whole way" through reading.

Wendy Harmer, whom I very rarely agree with, called the book a blunt instrument, and I completely concur that the cliche riddled and clunky phrasing of the book was very off-putting. She cited "she ran away as fast as her legs could carry her" as one such example of groan-worthy narration. She and Peter Corris (a crime writer of more consise tales) both mentioned the vast tracts of exposition, which I found frustrating and useless.

The basic outline of the story is still pretty convaluted. A shamed journo takes a job from a rich dude to simultaneously write his family bio and solve a cold case. He is assisted by a tattood waif hacker with aspergers and a tiny temper. There is a whole lot of corporate crime stuff that I couldn't give a rats about. there is an intriguing rich family of inbred Nazis that I didn't find at all endearing. And the journo, Blomkvist, can't seem to keep it in his trousers and seems to shag anything. Who sets off on multiple missions to uncover the truth about just about everything.

One friend of mine (not Harmer's) said that she liked the fact that it wasn't totally action packed. That it was undulating in tension, and not at constant break neck speed. A refreshing kind of thrillier. I think that is bollocks. If it is NOT thrilling, then it can hardly be called a thriller right? I mean, huge tracts of description of inconequential details are a sure fire way to slow down break neck tension. And I'm sure if I was after a novel of shopping lists of how many pairs of warm socks one dude bought, I would look in the Tedious as Hell section of the bookshop to find it.

The character of Lisbeth Salander - who does have an awsome name, by the way - is intriguing. But by no means three dimonsional. Something of a male fantasy goth style character. Pierced. Monosyllabic. High sexual appetite. And a tendency for violence. But hardly empowered, as some readers suggest. And sure she is likable, and sure she is intruiging. She does make you want to know what happens to her, but then so does the ultra-insipid Bella Swan (I nearly dry retched just typing her name). I have already got a long list of arse kicking female characters in my BFFs of Pop Culture. Buffy, Lyra Belaqua, CJ, Katniss, Viola, Liz Lemon, Eliza Bennet... Lisbeth Salander doesn't really measure up to this high standard. The Times UK agrees with me here, stating she "isn’t so much a character as a revenge fantasy come to life, powering her way through the novel like the heroine of a computer game"

I realise this book is English as a Second Language - which might explain why the figurative language is so cliched and clunky. But that is no excuse for tedious narration and roughly hewn stereotyped charcters. Some ESL books are brilliant in translation. Bernhard Schlick's The Reader for example. Patrick Suskind's Perfume, classics like Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (also a brilliant name - and this one comes directly to mind as I am reading it at the moment.) This ESL novel is not one of those.

And yes, in case you were wondering, I have read the second volume The Girl who played with fire. In it, the oh-so-empowered female protagonist gets breast implants. And when I finished that, I read the third one. Finishing these books was more of a relief than anything else. I can tick that off and give these enormous tomes away to someone who might want them more than me. On Amazon.com, the populist vote is 7:1 positive to negative, so I am outvoted there. But Alex Berenson of the NY Times agrees that the "beginning is dull, the end is unbelievable and dull, the characters are so roughly drawn they are more shadows of stock characters than fully fleshed out humans, and the sexual polotics is all about men who hate women. incidentally, the original swqedish title of the book". The popularity of this series may entirely be about the fact that Laarson is now dead - the Van Gogh approach to the popularity of art.

And no, in case you were wondering, I haven't seen the film.

This book is good for a long plane journey, a lazy summer escape from the maddening Christmas crowds or a long commute to work. As a piece of fiction, in the tomes of the classics, it will not arrive. Or at least it shouldn't.

Road Trippin' to The Wet Country

So far road tripping with my bro is going gangbusters. Despite the almost total lack of sunshine. There has been more puns and accents than you could possibly hope for. There has been stunning views of greenery. There has been caffeine in abundance.

And there has been a stowaway. We named him Cody. It seemed to be appropriate. A little frog from West Bubblefuck that just wanted to get away from it all. In the boot of my car

2010 - The year that was

This has been a pretty roller-coaster kind of year. In the style of ACA, lets have a look, shall we?

January - 2 weddings in the sun, and a few weeks in Bondi. My relationship with Sparky was just new, and exciting and full of promise. The Festival, otherwise known as the West Bubblefuck Country Music Festival was full of dancefloor fun, and far too many bottles of Pure Blonde to be healthy. The Basics, Bob Evans and The Bushwhackers were highlights. The lack of school for the month was also a sparkling gem. Won the Guess the Hottest 100 comp at Sparky's Hottest 100 party. Competitive? Moi?

February - Possibly worked the hardest in this month. New Year 7s asking fifteen bajillion questions, and constant supervision, distraction and conversation for Boys away from Home, finding their feet at The Factory. Got incredibly sick in Week 4, followed by year 7 camp in Week 5. Tried to compete in Oscarsfest, but failed rather dismally (still blaming West Bubblefuck cinema for being so crap). Joined a basketball team, The Flames, in C grade of the West Bubblefuck Basketball comp, kind of made me feel like a local?

March - Slightly less manic than the first half of the term. Got my PERMANENT JOB!! Feeling very validated and grown up, and a little bit like all my hard work had paid off. Bought my couch, my first piece of proper real grown up furniture. Took an hour and a half for the delivery guys to get it into my lounge room. Neglected to tell them that I had negotiated for free delivery... The start of my beloved Couch Time. Cruised on in to Easter. The start of football try outs, the debating team kick off - or the Boy Factory First IV. Won most of the games with The Flames.

April - Turned 30. Felt exceptionally good about it. All grown up (new permanent job), all loved up, and all liquored up. Fantastic party at The Coast House, with a dozen or so of my closest friends converging for a BBQ and prawns, and a few frosty beverages. The night before party of curry, carrot cake and 30 year old port was also a blast. Sprained my ankle with The Flames - changed direction without telling my feet I was going to do so. Trip 1 to Melbourne for The Comedy Festival, slightly more hobbly than wandery due to ankle injury.

May - Slightly swamped at The Factory again. So much so that I have little memory of May at all. A weekend in Sydney. More basketball, more Sparky time, more Couchtime. The Mighty U14s kicked into gear and started playing like a team of teammates, which is just what a Supercoach wants. Games of local rugby in the freezing cold

June - The World Cup, and the ensuing sleep deprivation that goes along with it. A lot of bandwagon jumpers to the round ball game, and overnight experts in team configeration. Henry broke down in the drive thru of Oporto. The Flames won the C grade basketball grand final, but I damaged my rotator cuff in the semis.

July - More delicious school holidays. A trip to Sydney to celebrate the success/birthday/bon voyage of good friends. Read the Chaos Walking trilogy, and excellent book decision. Became addicted to MasterChef, despite my own desire not to. The Flames were promoted to B Grade, but I wasn't playing due to my body falling apart. More football Supercoaching, more rugby games.

August - Got to see my favourite Shakespeare play performed by my favourite Shakespeare company playing at the West Bubblefuck theatre - and love it. Got flooded in at The Boy Factory as the drought of the past 10 years decided to break with great vengance. More football. Started a list of 100 things that make me smile. Finished reading the Hunger Games trilogy, and wished it was more than 3 books, a la Douglas Adams.

September - Supervised 2 dances in one week. No-one busted drinking on my watch. Saw my cousin get married, and nearly cried making a speech. Finished writing the list of 100 things that make me smile (100 is a big number! It took some time!). Got to hang out with The B team. Made a return to the court with The Flames, but tentatively - fitness an issue, and plagued by injuries. Mighty U14s narrowly lost GF, 1-0. A sad but proud Supercoach, here. Powderfinger, superb  Aussie band, started their farewell tour, including a brilliant night in West Bubblefuck, despite what the cynical locals say. Brought to tears by Bernard and the boys. Drowned a little in report writing. End of Term 3 insanity with Year 12, including the Annual Staff v Students Soccer Match and the Formal. Big month.

October - Marking marking marking of Year 10 trial exams. Sheesh. Almost total holiday wastage. Brilliant few days for Trip 2 to Melbourne with Little Red, with the excuse of seeing Tim Burton's exhibition at the ACMI. 80s dress up party for by boss' 40th. I looked AWESOME as Dana from Ghostbusters. Year 11 Leadership Camp. More report writing.

November - Not one single blogpost. Drowning in report writing. HP7 came out. Road trip with The O Team to see the Ultimate Powderfinger concert in Brisbane. Informed that I would FINALLY be teaching a DRAMA CLASS in '11, tres excitement. Quick trip to Sydney under the guise of learning to be an English teacher. Also a brilliant excuse for tax deductable flights to a Mad Men party - the birthdays of several excellent friends. Took Year 7 camping - like PROPER camping, in tents and stuff - by the side of the river.

December - River we were camping beside flooded, camp moved at midnight on day 2 and evacuated on day 3. High stress situation. Grandfather died. Took year 7 on tour to Dubbo, which was flooded. Sparky's mum died. Got close enough to a giraffe to touch it (but didn't because it was against the rules) but patted a wombat. Came home from Dubbo early due to flooding/weather. Fardy's funeral. Family friend died. Sparky's mum's funeral. Wagged presentation day. Family friend's funeral. One year anniversary understandibly ignored/forgotten. Well earned holidays. Caught up with friends who flitted home from OS, including engagement party. Enormous Christmas with Paternal Tribe. New Year's Eve long weekend with burgeoning Chosen West Bubblefuck Tribe.

And now I am here.

Reading Resolutions

PottyMouthMama doesn't do resolutions. She does habits.

I do Resolutions. I usually set mysefl 5 every year, so that if I complete 3, then I am going well. They need to be attainable and quantifiable. And they need to measurably improve my life.

But this post is not about those 5 Resolutions (mostly because I haven't nailed them all down yet.)

The Top Ten Tuesday from The Broke & The Bookish is about the books you are wanting to read in 2011. And I have re-decided that I don't go in for Top Tens... So cliched. But I do like a Top Six. And not out of laziness, because I can't be arsed completing the Ten. Mostly because I am too indecisive to complete a Top Five. So here is the Top Six Books I Want To Read In 2011. In no particular order.

1. The Road - Cormack McCarthy
I have tried to read this a few times. It is a truly evocative book, and I haven't really got more than a quarter into it, because I find it so grim, that it is difficult to go on. I think I need to infuse myself with the grit and determination of the characters in order to forge ahead.

2. The Hound of the Baskervilles - Arthur Conan Doyle
As I have hinted at, my new-found love affair with the antisocial detective and his amiable assistant is blossoming nicely, thank you very much. Long may it continue.

3. Breath - Tim Winton
This blue book has nestled untouched on my shelf since Easter last year. I just know I am going to get lost in his rich imagery, and I've no idea why it has been postponed so long.

4. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
My very favourite Glaswegian told me that this is a staple text for studying in Scottish schools. He told me I would really enjoy it, and he has rarely set me on the wrong path before! Again, sitting on my shelf, sneering at my lack of time and commitment to reading, shameful for an English teacher.

5. Antigone - Sophocles
I actually have to teach this to my first ever Year 11 Advanced English class in Term 1, so I really need to get a wriggle on. I have seen a production of it, but through the hazy memories of university, I wouldn't be confident in teaching it to teenage boys.

6. A Monster Calls - Patrick Ness
I know it isn't going to be The Chaos Walking series. But I want to sink my teeth into some more Nessness! I haven't seen the book yet (it is slated for release later this year) and I haven't read any press, but I want I want I want!

Echo Point?

Sometimes I link to this blog on my stalkbook page. Sometimes I link to it from my twitter. Occasionally I will include the longwinded address as my own personal URL. Mostly to increase traffic to this site.

But I don't really know why I am writing it. Writing this blog (as can be seen in the list of how many entries have been  made in the last 6 months) often gets relegated if I am too busy or too brain-fried to find the words. There are umpteen posts written in my brain about books I have read, and films I have seen, and records I  have heard. But getting the fingers to do the tapping before my witty and insightful commentary has evaporated from my brainbox is a dilemma I have been trying to deal with.

And I don't really know who I have got reading it, and whether or not I am writing it to be read, or writing it to see my own words in pixels on the screen, some kind of narcissistic public navel gazing. But I do like to think that there is someone out there reading my whimsy.

So if you do read here occasionally, feel free to share your opinion of my own unsolicited opinion. Feel free to tell me that I am way off the mark in my appraisal of all things Sherlock, or overthinking Harry Potter way too much. Or that my fixation with Mr Darcy and his recurrence in all modern pop culture is purely in my imagination. Or maybe you DO agree that all television, cinema, literature and trash needs to be pulled apart, and my assertions are right on the money? I guess I am looking for an answer to all of this opinion that I am hurling into the gorge of cyber-space, rather than just getting a hollow echo of my own words bouncing back at me.

Here endeth the self-flogging.

The Penultimate Potter

I've been to see the latest HP flick twice now. Once in a super-overcrowded theatre space with uncomfortable seats and highly annoying audience members, like the small child who keeps asking her father questions, and the father that keeps answering his small child's questions, and the completely daft woman who keeps exclaiming the obvious like "Oh, so he has it!" in a less than hushed voice. And once with the B-Team, in gold-class seats at the West Bubblefuck cinema (who in a long string of cinema-based stuff ups, tried really hard to stuff up our tickets, but we didn't let them).

And I thouroughly enjoyed both viewings.

There are those that say that splitting the last story into two parts is a money grabbing attempt by the studio to strangle some more cash from the addicted masses. There have been some that say that this film is far too long and drawn out, with too many longing looks and slow motion pans of scenery.

To these criticisms, I say "Pah!"

The last book, The Deathly Hallows is fast paced and rich story, but it is incredibly long. And a great deal of that action is actually bound up in frustrating inaction, in planning, decoding mysteries and trying to figure out ways to bring down the great magical tyrant of Lord Voldemort. And our heroes, Harry, Hermione and Ron are on a quest, and the baddies aren't the only demons they have to battle - they also have to deal with their own self-doubts, mistrust of each other and keeping up the motivation to continue. And I think this is why some deranged fools think the film is drawn out - we're not just dealing with the wham-bam-thankyou mam action flick. These critics are suffereing the same frustrations that Ron feels with Harry's lack of understanding of his difficult mission. So I am going to say that this misunderstanding by some douches is actually indicative of the successes of the film.

The whole concept of The Guerillas vs The Tyrant is a well trodden path, in film, books and real-life history. And it is this idea that makes Deathly Hallows so good. The concept of prejudice and power is woven through the tale of Voldemort's rise to power, reflecting the idea that "Might is Right" (also appearing smeared across the windscreen of a redneck ute in enormous slime green letters, seen on the main street of Port Mac - a nauseating sight). This kind of mentality has lead to the success of dozens of tyranical autocracies. Fear, violence and the threat of death is a powerful tool. Ask Poland. Ask Kim Jong Il. Ask Joseph Stalin. The parallels between Hitler's Third Reich and the reign of Voldemort and the Death Eater's are clearly drawn in this film. Down to the beautiful-if-morbidly-disturbing art deco design of the anti-muggle propaganda. The message in this is clear - the power of the mighty is not righteous, and should not be idly watched by the fearful and the meek.

But speaking of the beautiful, this is a stunningly crafted film. Yates has found all of the most gorgeous locations in Great Britain, and our heroes apparate between and across them. Frosted forests, and chalky cliffs, sweeping moors and deep lochs. Breathtaking scenery plays another character in this, the 7th film, as Harry and his buddies break free of the confines of Hogwarts to really explore the world, testing its limitations and their own. (Plus the sneaky shots of Picadilly and Shaftsbury Ave gave me that London Nostalgia that I have discussed before.)

Stunning too is the animated sequence in the middle of the film, telling a Potter-verse fairy tale. It is done in the style of shadow puppetry (and I am ALWAYS going to love some good puppetry), with a Middle Eastern flavour. Directed by Ben Hibon, this section is easily a highlight of the film, and is a highly effective method of exposition/intertextuality. Hermione narrates the story, voice over style, as the shadows meld and twist and flesh out the tale. It is sharp-intake-of-breath kind of cinema. Apparently, Hibon is a named starter for a new Peter Pan feature, and I am intrigued as to what he will do with it.

Also beautiful are the effects, and some of the performances. But we are playing with some of the greatest actors Britain has ever produced. Bill Nighy appears for far too brief a time - though his accent is confused, a little. Alan Rickman is as always spectacular, but again, doesn't get much screen time. Rhys Ifans is new to the franchise, and he embodies Xenophilia Lovegood (gotta love nominative determinism!) with empathy, if perhaps a little too much shouting. As ever, Ralph Feinnes is noselessly brilliant, acting his way around a complete olfactory deficiency.

Of the three main youngsters, there is still some clunkiness. I think a drinking game incorporating the jaw-clenches of Daniel Radcliff, the eye-brow-wiggles of Emma Watson and the exaggerated-gulps of Rupert Grint would be a rollicking good time, but we would all be plastered by the end of the first act. I think Grint has developed into the most mature of the performers. Radcliff and Watson are still a bit reliant on shouting and stomping to convey their emotion. And I think by the time they are 17, the hormonal angst is generally all inverted (based on real life experience) especially for thinky types like these. And sure, I might be slightly biased towards Grint because he is an adorable, funny ranga (it is no secret that I have a tinge of a twinge for a ginge) who has filled out nicely. Hmmm. Oops, got distracted a little...

There are still some great gaping plot holes, old ones from previous films and new ones created. Some have been filled with less than convincing plot-gravel - the introduction of Bill Weasley for the first time? Clunky much?? And  there are others that I am interested to see how they are dealt with. Regarding Lupin and Tonks, and their glossed over announcement from the first scenes. And Lilly Potter has been overlooked again.

If you haven't seen the earlier films, never read the books, and generally couldn't give a snot-flavoured bean about Harry Potter, then don't bother with Deathly Hallows. You will be confused and befuddled, and may need to be oblivated if you are to go on with your life. But true believers should love it. And we can't wait for the next one - only til July this year!