By Michelle Batty
Rolf Harris’s latest offering, ‘sing along with Rolf Harris’ is a fine compilation of his best loved musical efforts. Directed towards at a young audience, children will delight in trip back in time into Australiana.
This catchy sing a long album will now doubt create a new generation of Rolf Harrris devotees, lassoed into the catchy and funny well worn lyrics.
Rolfes latest offering features favorites such as ‘tie me kangaroo down sport’ and snow white boomers, all pulled together with Rolfe’s crazy instrumental ability with wobble boards and wash boards.
This album will make a great Xmas gift or an asset to any school production.
Friday, 18 May 2007
‘Sing Along With Rolf Harris’
‘Sing Along With Rolf Harris’ includes hits like Tie My Kangaroo Down and Six White Boomers and has been released just in time for Christmas!
This album might appeal to small children or elderly women. The album is extremely Australian, too Australian some might say. There are also a few bad covers.
Rolf Harris’ voice has not aged well; his singing voice is far from harmonious. Other instrumentalists involved in this project also have little to be proud of. Every track is nothing short of appalling.
I think Christmas-gift-buying money would be better spent on Mariah Carey’s back catalogue.
This album might appeal to small children or elderly women. The album is extremely Australian, too Australian some might say. There are also a few bad covers.
Rolf Harris’ voice has not aged well; his singing voice is far from harmonious. Other instrumentalists involved in this project also have little to be proud of. Every track is nothing short of appalling.
I think Christmas-gift-buying money would be better spent on Mariah Carey’s back catalogue.
For Kids Only
Rolf Harris’s Sing along album…is as it states on the front cover, for kids. No sane adult could sit through two hours of this repetitive, tedious music without wanting to throw large, heavy objects at the cd player.
A hint for loving parents, if you still want to love your kids at the end of a 2 hour car trip DON’T buy them Rolf’s album to sing along to. Child services won’t accept it as an excuse.
Not only does Rolf continue to make fanbloodytastic use of the wooble board but he has ruined classic Disney tunes. And seriously, what is really necessary to murder The Trogg’s 60’s hit Wild Thing?
A plea to the public, don’t buy the album. Send out the appropriate message to good OLD Rolf.
When an artist puts out a sing along album, it is time to retire.
A hint for loving parents, if you still want to love your kids at the end of a 2 hour car trip DON’T buy them Rolf’s album to sing along to. Child services won’t accept it as an excuse.
Not only does Rolf continue to make fanbloodytastic use of the wooble board but he has ruined classic Disney tunes. And seriously, what is really necessary to murder The Trogg’s 60’s hit Wild Thing?
A plea to the public, don’t buy the album. Send out the appropriate message to good OLD Rolf.
When an artist puts out a sing along album, it is time to retire.
Tie Rolf Down. Someone.
Rolf Harris is, in some cringey way, the Australian everyman. He’s got the John Howard eyebrows, the Sydney Opera House teeth and a voice with a two note range. Not that he’s ever let that stop him, and with the release of ‘Sing-along with Rolf Harris’ the legacy continues.
The album, released just in time for Christmas, is an accumulation of classic Rolf Harris tunes accumulating in one spot, like old mates getting together for a beer, some womanising and a couple of racist jokes.
What can really be said about Rolf? What you see is what you get. The album is one cheesy pop hook after another, which Rolf meanders jovially over with musings about farming and the blazing sun. The production is simple and clean, and the instrumentation is solid, if not slightly gimmicky (does every song really need a wobble board solo?).
Essentially ‘Sing Along With Rolf Harris’ is a novelty-album. Unfortunately, it seems like Rolf isn’t quite in on the joke. He’s like an excitable 10 year old boy, coaxed along to play with his older brothers only to be pushed out of the tree-house and laughed at. If ‘Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport’ is Rolf entering the tree-house, the cover of ‘I Feel Good’ is little Rolfey hitting the ground hard.
The likeliness, however, of Rolf Harris tumbling into anything but money, is quite unlikely. The joke really is on us.
-Tom Webster
The album, released just in time for Christmas, is an accumulation of classic Rolf Harris tunes accumulating in one spot, like old mates getting together for a beer, some womanising and a couple of racist jokes.
What can really be said about Rolf? What you see is what you get. The album is one cheesy pop hook after another, which Rolf meanders jovially over with musings about farming and the blazing sun. The production is simple and clean, and the instrumentation is solid, if not slightly gimmicky (does every song really need a wobble board solo?).
Essentially ‘Sing Along With Rolf Harris’ is a novelty-album. Unfortunately, it seems like Rolf isn’t quite in on the joke. He’s like an excitable 10 year old boy, coaxed along to play with his older brothers only to be pushed out of the tree-house and laughed at. If ‘Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport’ is Rolf entering the tree-house, the cover of ‘I Feel Good’ is little Rolfey hitting the ground hard.
The likeliness, however, of Rolf Harris tumbling into anything but money, is quite unlikely. The joke really is on us.
-Tom Webster
Sing- a-Long with Uncle Rolfie
Rolf Harris’ latest album of his greatest hits is ironically Australian. If you’re throwing an Australia Day party anytime soon and you really want to annoy your guests and send your neighbours batty then this is the CD for you. With the great classics like 'Tie me Kangaroo Down Sport,' 'Never Smile at a Crocodile,' and 'Six White Boomers' your sure to have those peskie relatives that just never seem to leave out the door faster than you can say 'Crikey!'
Jolly Rolf Hits us Again
Jolly Rolph Harris has released his 'most loved' compilation - you can find all the songs you remember from childhood on this album - "Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport!", "Never Smile at a Crocodile". The songs are just as bouncy and cheerful now as they were in the car to Kindy. Listening to Rolf just makes you grin; his chirpy Aussie accent is reminisent of Blinky Bill and reminds us of our outback bush roots. Rolf uses his twangy country guitar and the 'whoop whoop' of the tin iron sheet enthusiastically to make you jig along. There's never been an entertainer quite like Rolf Harris. He's been an entertainer and artist for over 50 years and still manages to fill the seats.
Jolly Rolph Harris has released his 'most loved' compilation - you can find all the songs you remember from childhood on this album - "Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport!", "Never Smile at a Crocodile". The songs are just as bouncy and cheerful now as they were in the car to Kindy. Listening to Rolf just makes you grin; his chirpy Aussie accent is reminisent of Blinky Bill and reminds us of our outback bush roots. Rolf uses his twangy country guitar and the 'whoop whoop' of the tin iron sheet enthusiastically to make you jig along. There's never been an entertainer quite like Rolf Harris. He's been an entertainer and artist for over 50 years and still manages to fill the seats.
Monday, 14 May 2007
THE SECRET
The Secret convinces you that if you follow the laws of attraction, the universe will in turn grant your every desire. The Secret captures its audience by giving believable examples of its use throughout history and using the wise, powerful words of experts. The commentary is forceful and persuasive and it gives you no choice but to be drawn in to this intriguing Secret.
Meet the Robinsons - Meh
by Lea Emery
Meet the Robinsons, Disney’s latest contribution to the world of animation, does nothing to poke its head out above the murky waters of mediocre animation.
The only funny moment has been repeated again and again in the trailers, only disappointing the audience more as they walk from the cinemas having their expectations dashed.
The movie follows, Lewis, a 12 year old orphaned inventor who is desperate to see his mother. But before he can test his machine which would allow him just to catch a glimpse, Lewis is interrupted by Wilbur Robinson, a strange boy who claims to be from the future.
Wilbur warns Lewis to watch out for a man in a bowler hat before whisking him off to the future.
It is here were the wheels seem to fall off.
The movie lapses into a chaotic pace which may be too much for the kids that it was aimed at to follow.
Characters are introduced with a frightening rapidity which leaves you wanting more. Especially from Wilbur’s mother’s band of Frank Sinatra singing frogs.
The film then tries to makes it obligatory moral statement about being considerate of those around you but the method it chooses to do so is nothing short of frightening.
The main problem with Meet the Robinsons is that it is too frightening for the kids who would really get the most from it.
Meet the Robinsons, Disney’s latest contribution to the world of animation, does nothing to poke its head out above the murky waters of mediocre animation.
The only funny moment has been repeated again and again in the trailers, only disappointing the audience more as they walk from the cinemas having their expectations dashed.
The movie follows, Lewis, a 12 year old orphaned inventor who is desperate to see his mother. But before he can test his machine which would allow him just to catch a glimpse, Lewis is interrupted by Wilbur Robinson, a strange boy who claims to be from the future.
Wilbur warns Lewis to watch out for a man in a bowler hat before whisking him off to the future.
It is here were the wheels seem to fall off.
The movie lapses into a chaotic pace which may be too much for the kids that it was aimed at to follow.
Characters are introduced with a frightening rapidity which leaves you wanting more. Especially from Wilbur’s mother’s band of Frank Sinatra singing frogs.
The film then tries to makes it obligatory moral statement about being considerate of those around you but the method it chooses to do so is nothing short of frightening.
The main problem with Meet the Robinsons is that it is too frightening for the kids who would really get the most from it.
World Trade Centre
Lou Wallace
World Trade Centre sees Nicholas Cage lead a team of emergency services officers into the disaster zone of the 2001 September 11 attacks, and outlines the survival of two policemen.
This Hollywood blockbuster managed to focus solely on the rescue of Nicholas Cage and his trade mark teary eyed demeanor. It scratched the surface of what was a devastating event for millions around the world, and failed to outline how it affected their lives.
The far from epic account has been described as a ‘pitiful attempt’, and that ‘replacing the term "police officer" with "miner" and "World Trade Center" with "coal mine", the entire script would work perfectly as a cave-in disaster movie’.
Predictable in nature, the cast does this movie no favors, and the story line gives the audience no particular plot to hold on to. The events of this day deserve more respect than to be made into a generic, poorly-written disaster movie less than five years after it happened.
Lou Wallace
World Trade Centre sees Nicholas Cage lead a team of emergency services officers into the disaster zone of the 2001 September 11 attacks, and outlines the survival of two policemen.
This Hollywood blockbuster managed to focus solely on the rescue of Nicholas Cage and his trade mark teary eyed demeanor. It scratched the surface of what was a devastating event for millions around the world, and failed to outline how it affected their lives.
The far from epic account has been described as a ‘pitiful attempt’, and that ‘replacing the term "police officer" with "miner" and "World Trade Center" with "coal mine", the entire script would work perfectly as a cave-in disaster movie’.
Predictable in nature, the cast does this movie no favors, and the story line gives the audience no particular plot to hold on to. The events of this day deserve more respect than to be made into a generic, poorly-written disaster movie less than five years after it happened.
Nightmare Labyrinth
Nightmare Labyrinth
A Fairytale with no suitable audience, Laberinto del Fauno, El (Pan’s Labyrinth) is excessively brutal. This foreign film stars Ivana Banquero as Ofelia and centres on her imaginary world during the fascism of Spain in 1944. A Faun Pan played by Doug Jones emerges as Ofelia’s mythical guide to a better life and introduces three nightmarish challenges she must undertake. There is plenty of senseless violence that may have come from any Hollywood blockbuster but it is the bizarre characters that instill true uneasiness. A child-eating Pale Man with hands for eyes and a gaping whole for a mouth is more frightening than any boogey man under the bed. Pans Labyrinth is nothing close to David Bowies Labyrinth but that is not necessarily a bad thing.
A Fairytale with no suitable audience, Laberinto del Fauno, El (Pan’s Labyrinth) is excessively brutal. This foreign film stars Ivana Banquero as Ofelia and centres on her imaginary world during the fascism of Spain in 1944. A Faun Pan played by Doug Jones emerges as Ofelia’s mythical guide to a better life and introduces three nightmarish challenges she must undertake. There is plenty of senseless violence that may have come from any Hollywood blockbuster but it is the bizarre characters that instill true uneasiness. A child-eating Pale Man with hands for eyes and a gaping whole for a mouth is more frightening than any boogey man under the bed. Pans Labyrinth is nothing close to David Bowies Labyrinth but that is not necessarily a bad thing.
Disturbia - Could've been worse.
Remake - the one word that usually induces a cringe in veteran film enthusiasts. However, fortunately for “Disturbia” director D.J. Caruso, Hitchcock’s “Rear Window” was a long enough time ago for the remake status to be hardly applicable in the Box Office.
The plot is archetypical. Troubled boy under house arrest, spying on the neighbors (including an apparently stereotypical girl next door type), uncovers a deadly secret and pursues it in reckless teenaged abandon.
However, the weak plotline is studded with some unexpected gems in the form of some entertaining acting.
Sarah Roemer as the apparent ‘girl next door’, Ashley, is genuine and surprisingly complex. Keep an eye out for a glimpse of reality in her character’s tenuous hold on popularity. David Morse (think the nasty cop in House MD) plays a superbly creepy Mr. Turner, a personification of every serial killer book you’ve ever read. And Carrie-Anne Moss (Trinity from the Matrix) is every struggling, despairing, loving mother rolled into one.
It’s undeniable that Shia LeBeouf is the next ‘it boy’ for teen flicks, but whether or not he can act is another story. Kale was one dimensional, and LeBeouf needs better roles than that to be able to determine his actual skill.
Yes, the plotline has been done time and time again. Yes, this is a teen-freak-flick. But to be honest, it was fun to watch. It wasn’t overtly gory, and you didn’t have to think too much. Disturbia is an escapist flick, it'll get you away from the outside world just fine – don’t go in expecting miracles and deep inspiration. It is a good movie (but not great...) and if anything, its lack of pretensions is refreshing.
The plot is archetypical. Troubled boy under house arrest, spying on the neighbors (including an apparently stereotypical girl next door type), uncovers a deadly secret and pursues it in reckless teenaged abandon.
However, the weak plotline is studded with some unexpected gems in the form of some entertaining acting.
Sarah Roemer as the apparent ‘girl next door’, Ashley, is genuine and surprisingly complex. Keep an eye out for a glimpse of reality in her character’s tenuous hold on popularity. David Morse (think the nasty cop in House MD) plays a superbly creepy Mr. Turner, a personification of every serial killer book you’ve ever read. And Carrie-Anne Moss (Trinity from the Matrix) is every struggling, despairing, loving mother rolled into one.
It’s undeniable that Shia LeBeouf is the next ‘it boy’ for teen flicks, but whether or not he can act is another story. Kale was one dimensional, and LeBeouf needs better roles than that to be able to determine his actual skill.
Yes, the plotline has been done time and time again. Yes, this is a teen-freak-flick. But to be honest, it was fun to watch. It wasn’t overtly gory, and you didn’t have to think too much. Disturbia is an escapist flick, it'll get you away from the outside world just fine – don’t go in expecting miracles and deep inspiration. It is a good movie (but not great...) and if anything, its lack of pretensions is refreshing.
A Perfect Stranger
A Perfect Stranger, starring Halle Berry and Bruce Willis was so full on it left my drink full, my seat cold (I was never on it) and my mum’s hand bruised.
Whilst the movie starts out a little slow, it nevertheless is compensated for later with a plethora of palm sweating thrills.
However, it must be acknowledged that it was a little hard to take Halle Berry’s role as a journalist seriously based on A: her glamorous Hollywood appearance/wardrobe throughout the story and B: the apartment she lives in. This damaged her credibility to an extent and made the viewer more aware tha5t it was an actress playing a role rather than convincing them it was actually a journalist.
It was also disappointing to see the a recycled plot idea – the idea of the main character being the cause of the problem in the story or ending up as the killer has already been seen in movies like the Sixth Sense, the Village, Secret Window and Hide and Seek. Walking away, it’s not like you were impressed by the originality of the story.
All in all, 7 out of 10.
Whilst the movie starts out a little slow, it nevertheless is compensated for later with a plethora of palm sweating thrills.
However, it must be acknowledged that it was a little hard to take Halle Berry’s role as a journalist seriously based on A: her glamorous Hollywood appearance/wardrobe throughout the story and B: the apartment she lives in. This damaged her credibility to an extent and made the viewer more aware tha5t it was an actress playing a role rather than convincing them it was actually a journalist.
It was also disappointing to see the a recycled plot idea – the idea of the main character being the cause of the problem in the story or ending up as the killer has already been seen in movies like the Sixth Sense, the Village, Secret Window and Hide and Seek. Walking away, it’s not like you were impressed by the originality of the story.
All in all, 7 out of 10.
THREE HUNDRED
Perhaps this movie would have been more entertaining for me if I enjoyed intense CGI usage, intense slow motion sex scenes and intense fake muscle guts.
Sure, I understand there are people who are really interested in this war history stuff – in fact, I find it quite interesting if I can have a bit of space to use my imagination a little.
But this film was far too intense for me.
So intense I found it boring.
Apart from one brief moment of what I found to be comic relief. Whether it was intended to be funny is another story.
It was when one of the small ugly creatures – if you’ve seen the film you will know what I mean – begged the king to allow him to fight. When the king rejected his plea, he let out a “damn you mum and dad” to the sky, shaking his fist at his parents for making him so ugly.
The really great part was when this little guy later went on to betray the king and team up with the baddies.
Perhaps it’s my Aussie “fight for the underdog” spirit coming out – but it was really lovely to see the poor little feller get the upper hand.
Susie Lipscomb
Sure, I understand there are people who are really interested in this war history stuff – in fact, I find it quite interesting if I can have a bit of space to use my imagination a little.
But this film was far too intense for me.
So intense I found it boring.
Apart from one brief moment of what I found to be comic relief. Whether it was intended to be funny is another story.
It was when one of the small ugly creatures – if you’ve seen the film you will know what I mean – begged the king to allow him to fight. When the king rejected his plea, he let out a “damn you mum and dad” to the sky, shaking his fist at his parents for making him so ugly.
The really great part was when this little guy later went on to betray the king and team up with the baddies.
Perhaps it’s my Aussie “fight for the underdog” spirit coming out – but it was really lovely to see the poor little feller get the upper hand.
Susie Lipscomb
Friday, 4 May 2007
Egosurfing
Who, in all honesty, hasn’t ever googled themselves?
For many this ‘egosurfing’ is a form of self indulgence: how many hits will my name bring up? Others claim it is “personal brand management”: you have to make sure that your name is out there!
Many people are delighted to find they are in fact a tennis player from France, a country music star from Texas or a Russian film director. Others are not so happy being an infamous criminal from the 1960s or popular porn star from Sweden.
What is scary however is if some of those hits provide information about you, the real you, that you might not want the general internet using public to know.
Having googled searched my mother’s name, without even having to enter a site readers could see my home phone number and my parents’ email address. I’m almost certain my mother wouldn’t realise this information was so accessible and I’m sure she wouldn’t want it to be so.
Having an unusual name myself the hits I get are usually about me. Unfortunately these hits are posted by someone else and have my name and in one case my photo in them. I’d prefer to have no hits than several passing mentions in blogs.
While it is slightly intrusive, numerous egosurfers would celebrate with so much as a misspelt last name or random bloggers comment.
For many this ‘egosurfing’ is a form of self indulgence: how many hits will my name bring up? Others claim it is “personal brand management”: you have to make sure that your name is out there!
Many people are delighted to find they are in fact a tennis player from France, a country music star from Texas or a Russian film director. Others are not so happy being an infamous criminal from the 1960s or popular porn star from Sweden.
What is scary however is if some of those hits provide information about you, the real you, that you might not want the general internet using public to know.
Having googled searched my mother’s name, without even having to enter a site readers could see my home phone number and my parents’ email address. I’m almost certain my mother wouldn’t realise this information was so accessible and I’m sure she wouldn’t want it to be so.
Having an unusual name myself the hits I get are usually about me. Unfortunately these hits are posted by someone else and have my name and in one case my photo in them. I’d prefer to have no hits than several passing mentions in blogs.
While it is slightly intrusive, numerous egosurfers would celebrate with so much as a misspelt last name or random bloggers comment.
Crowds, rain, and… oh yeah, music
It’s raining, mud is covering me from my waist down while thousands of crazed teeth grinding maniacs run around me screaming “Where’s all the gum? I need some more gum!”
All this I get for the price of $185.
Whatever happened to the day when you could pay $90 for an all-day ticket to watch live music when the line-up consisted of high-profile international bands, and the crazed gum-munchers would leave you alone? Those days seem to be well and truly gone.
What I want to know is how can the organisers of these events justify taking advantage of the tens of thousands of young people who have likely had to save up for an entire year just to be able to afford a day out, when the festivals rely primarily on volunteers and the quantity of popular international artists seems to be dwindling?
It's supposed to be all about the music. But the sad fact is, many young people don’t even care who’s playing. They just want to mingle in with the crowds, even if it means living off nothing but two-minute noodles for some weeks leading up to the festival. Meanwhile, some greedy insensitive person sits there in their mansion watching the dollars come rolling in, laughing at the young, under-nourished music fans desperately trying to stay alive in the stampede. They might be virgins to the scene and want to find out what the big deal is, or hope to be in the mosh pit when the joints are being passed around. And maybe, if they’re lucky, they might even get a free piece of gum.
All this I get for the price of $185.
Whatever happened to the day when you could pay $90 for an all-day ticket to watch live music when the line-up consisted of high-profile international bands, and the crazed gum-munchers would leave you alone? Those days seem to be well and truly gone.
What I want to know is how can the organisers of these events justify taking advantage of the tens of thousands of young people who have likely had to save up for an entire year just to be able to afford a day out, when the festivals rely primarily on volunteers and the quantity of popular international artists seems to be dwindling?
It's supposed to be all about the music. But the sad fact is, many young people don’t even care who’s playing. They just want to mingle in with the crowds, even if it means living off nothing but two-minute noodles for some weeks leading up to the festival. Meanwhile, some greedy insensitive person sits there in their mansion watching the dollars come rolling in, laughing at the young, under-nourished music fans desperately trying to stay alive in the stampede. They might be virgins to the scene and want to find out what the big deal is, or hope to be in the mosh pit when the joints are being passed around. And maybe, if they’re lucky, they might even get a free piece of gum.
Looks can kill
The point creates the effect of daggers shooting the sole. My grimace turns into a smile as I ignore the throbbing pain now moving up my legs. The only reason why I can smile is because I’m thinking about how I got the last pair of these beautiful shoes in this size. But why do I put up this? Why does any woman put up this?
We are a flock of sheep staggering through the doors of Nine West in an effort to inflict further pain on our already buffed, polished, pedicured and weary feet. The glossy bibles tell us what fashion to wear and how to wear it. A latest style of tying the straps of your high heeled shoes over your jeans but they forget to tell you how stumpy you’ll look. Only wear ballet flats but they also make us look stumpy and short, a point which is absent from our gospel. They show us a beautiful buffet of delectable shoes but they fail to mention the not so hot effects of following the fashion.
That is until you turn to the final page of the magazine. All sorts of bumps and hard bits poking out through the bejeweled straps on the feet of our most worshipped celebrities. Those photos should really be at the front of the magazine. Massive red warnings telling us that we should really just succumb to the homiped shoes. Sometimes comfort should become before fashion.
We are a flock of sheep staggering through the doors of Nine West in an effort to inflict further pain on our already buffed, polished, pedicured and weary feet. The glossy bibles tell us what fashion to wear and how to wear it. A latest style of tying the straps of your high heeled shoes over your jeans but they forget to tell you how stumpy you’ll look. Only wear ballet flats but they also make us look stumpy and short, a point which is absent from our gospel. They show us a beautiful buffet of delectable shoes but they fail to mention the not so hot effects of following the fashion.
That is until you turn to the final page of the magazine. All sorts of bumps and hard bits poking out through the bejeweled straps on the feet of our most worshipped celebrities. Those photos should really be at the front of the magazine. Massive red warnings telling us that we should really just succumb to the homiped shoes. Sometimes comfort should become before fashion.
It's Time... Apparently
By Michelle Batty
Michael is my nearly six foot tall fourteen year old son. He is your stereotypical teenager, comes complete with a filthy room, full grunt capability, and may begrudgingly help out around the house under the threat of X-Box confiscation. It is at this point he does his best Napoleon Dynamite impersonation, but uses words other than gosh.
When puberty reared it’s ugly head at home I made sure to read lots of books on how to deal with sullen Emoesk like teenagers, in doing so I thought I was a bit prepared for the ‘I hate everyone, especially you’ phase and so far Mike hasn’t let me down on that front, everything is going to plan.
Until now….
On the weekend Michael presented me with a gift. He told me that I wasn’t just his mum, I was only middle aged not old (I’m only 37), and that I deserved a break sometimes from my job as his indentured slave. I was then presented very ceremoniously with a lovely envelope completed with cute drawings of me and the dogs, lovingly drawn by the other male household member, Wade 9.
As good mothers should do, I made sure to look suitably surprised and bewildered as to what this could be, an early mothers day present perhaps or another wonderful drawing to add to the family memory box. Ohh nice.
Nope, not even close, it was a print out of an RSVP online profile, can you guess who it was…yup it’s me. The smile on Michaels face wasn’t his usual ha ha sucked in see what I did smile, but one of genuine concern for his poor old spinster mum who obviously needs to get a life.
I was then given a luke warm cup of tea by the younger one and firmly lectured by the 14 year old that it was time……I fully expected Gough Wittlam to turn up at any minute and the jingle to kick in, but no, that would be a dream, this was real.
Apparently I have been too focused on being a semi ok parent, mature age uni student and part time employee , I now have to parade my spinsterhood on the internet for all to see…yay.
With absolute mortification written all over my face, I sat stunned as Michael login to the online dating site and proceeded to show me how he had included all of my likes and disikes…yes all of them. The list was lengthy; it included but was not limited to how I wanted a great looking guy, not fat or geeky and that he should enjoy many of the same activities that funnily enough Mike and Wade both enjoy.
If I had known beforehand what he was up to I would have hit the roof, but with a bit of tweaking and removal of words like dork and War craft from the profile it’s actually not too bad.
In retrospect I have been known to moan about never having time to go out because I am so busy with everything else….. so maybe it is time to find the man of my sons dreams, I might get a look in as well.
By Michelle Batty
Michael is my nearly six foot tall fourteen year old son. He is your stereotypical teenager, comes complete with a filthy room, full grunt capability, and may begrudgingly help out around the house under the threat of X-Box confiscation. It is at this point he does his best Napoleon Dynamite impersonation, but uses words other than gosh.
When puberty reared it’s ugly head at home I made sure to read lots of books on how to deal with sullen Emoesk like teenagers, in doing so I thought I was a bit prepared for the ‘I hate everyone, especially you’ phase and so far Mike hasn’t let me down on that front, everything is going to plan.
Until now….
On the weekend Michael presented me with a gift. He told me that I wasn’t just his mum, I was only middle aged not old (I’m only 37), and that I deserved a break sometimes from my job as his indentured slave. I was then presented very ceremoniously with a lovely envelope completed with cute drawings of me and the dogs, lovingly drawn by the other male household member, Wade 9.
As good mothers should do, I made sure to look suitably surprised and bewildered as to what this could be, an early mothers day present perhaps or another wonderful drawing to add to the family memory box. Ohh nice.
Nope, not even close, it was a print out of an RSVP online profile, can you guess who it was…yup it’s me. The smile on Michaels face wasn’t his usual ha ha sucked in see what I did smile, but one of genuine concern for his poor old spinster mum who obviously needs to get a life.
I was then given a luke warm cup of tea by the younger one and firmly lectured by the 14 year old that it was time……I fully expected Gough Wittlam to turn up at any minute and the jingle to kick in, but no, that would be a dream, this was real.
Apparently I have been too focused on being a semi ok parent, mature age uni student and part time employee , I now have to parade my spinsterhood on the internet for all to see…yay.
With absolute mortification written all over my face, I sat stunned as Michael login to the online dating site and proceeded to show me how he had included all of my likes and disikes…yes all of them. The list was lengthy; it included but was not limited to how I wanted a great looking guy, not fat or geeky and that he should enjoy many of the same activities that funnily enough Mike and Wade both enjoy.
If I had known beforehand what he was up to I would have hit the roof, but with a bit of tweaking and removal of words like dork and War craft from the profile it’s actually not too bad.
In retrospect I have been known to moan about never having time to go out because I am so busy with everything else….. so maybe it is time to find the man of my sons dreams, I might get a look in as well.
Boredom on Public Transport
I find whenever I’m on public transport I start to people watch. It’ not so much that I deliberately set out to look at other people when I board the train but public transport really seems to lend itself to this activity. Perhaps it’s because everyone tries so hard not to be noticed when they board.
They scramble on, avoiding eye contact with anyone and quickly shuffle their way through the isles to find a seat, plop down, pull out their reading material or plug in their ipods, and remain static for the rest of the trip. Or you’ve got the people who for one reason or another have forgotten to bring anything to keep them occupied so they stare intently out the window for the duration of their journey. Anything to keep them from thinking about the filth they are currently sitting in.
I mean seriously you can’t help but wonder what kind of disease you might pick up from touching the handrail or opening the door, let alone what is potentially hidden in the cushion of the very seat your sitting on….your mind starts racing like the jaws sound track right before she gets dragged underwater by the shark. At any point your cushion is going to leap off the chair and devour you whole.
The really scary thing with that of course is that no-one would even know you were gone, because as you well know your fellow passengers are desperately trying to ignore everyone else around them. Comforting thought isn’t it?
They scramble on, avoiding eye contact with anyone and quickly shuffle their way through the isles to find a seat, plop down, pull out their reading material or plug in their ipods, and remain static for the rest of the trip. Or you’ve got the people who for one reason or another have forgotten to bring anything to keep them occupied so they stare intently out the window for the duration of their journey. Anything to keep them from thinking about the filth they are currently sitting in.
I mean seriously you can’t help but wonder what kind of disease you might pick up from touching the handrail or opening the door, let alone what is potentially hidden in the cushion of the very seat your sitting on….your mind starts racing like the jaws sound track right before she gets dragged underwater by the shark. At any point your cushion is going to leap off the chair and devour you whole.
The really scary thing with that of course is that no-one would even know you were gone, because as you well know your fellow passengers are desperately trying to ignore everyone else around them. Comforting thought isn’t it?
Happy Birthday To Whenever
It’s my birthday tomorrow, and I’ve never been so panicked in my life. I had luxurious plans of waking late, drinking hard and eventually stumbling down to my local to be showered in flowing amber gifts; alas, it seems these messy plans have been washed down the sink. Females are organising me.
One of my friends wants me to celebrate my extended existence by going to her place for fruity cocktails and even fruitier conversation. Today I sprung another making surprise party plans. A third has prepared a day brief for me which would have been fit for desert storm.
My Granddad, Johnny, lost his birth details in a fire and as such had no idea when he was born. It was grand. One day every year the old boy would spring up, claim that ‘today was the day!’ and get sodding drunk. My family are epic organisers, and it infuriated them to see Johnny sneak a birthday past them without so much as the baking of a cake or the blowing of a candle.
So here’s the plan – everyone can choose their own birthday. The indulgent amongst us can pick a day months in advance and allow the organisation of good-willed friends to overwhelm them. Me? I’ll enjoy a sneaky day off, void of any preparation or presents. And if anyone has a problem with it, I’ll tell them to piss of. It’s my birthday.
One of my friends wants me to celebrate my extended existence by going to her place for fruity cocktails and even fruitier conversation. Today I sprung another making surprise party plans. A third has prepared a day brief for me which would have been fit for desert storm.
My Granddad, Johnny, lost his birth details in a fire and as such had no idea when he was born. It was grand. One day every year the old boy would spring up, claim that ‘today was the day!’ and get sodding drunk. My family are epic organisers, and it infuriated them to see Johnny sneak a birthday past them without so much as the baking of a cake or the blowing of a candle.
So here’s the plan – everyone can choose their own birthday. The indulgent amongst us can pick a day months in advance and allow the organisation of good-willed friends to overwhelm them. Me? I’ll enjoy a sneaky day off, void of any preparation or presents. And if anyone has a problem with it, I’ll tell them to piss of. It’s my birthday.
Diet Drug Increases Appetite for Sex
Scientists this week announced they have developed a drug that has the potential to decrease a woman’s appetite and increase her libido. Before you accuse me of printing a belated April fool’s gag I must assure you that when it comes to appetite suppression and improved sex drive, thou shalt not jest.
However, one must question why it has taken so long to discover the miracle drug? Especially considering it could inevitably eliminate world hunger and put an end to the war. Imagine all the extra food that could be shipped over to starving nations while everyone else is either not hungry or rolling in the hay? And I’m sure if Mrs. Bush didn’t suffer from constant pre-coital headaches, Georgie boy would have withdrawn his troops a long time ago.
But before you go and throw out your supply of horny goat weed and put your green tea plantation on the market I must warn that the drug has so far only been tested on marmosets. We have a few evolutionary years left before it hits the shelves. Stay tuned.
Someone call a taxi
Traveling, it’s all fun and games until somebody gets abducted in a Mexican taxi. Alright so you get all excited… “See the world,” they say. “Go on exchange,” they say. Why is there no handbook on how to get by in the great big dirty world? If you come across such a manual, please keep in mind traveling solo gives you life experience you can only learn first hand. Between leaving my license and plane tickets in Mexico, being caught in a cyclone, missing my plane and being suspected of drug smuggling, there was little time to giggle to myself. They tell you “things that don’t kill will make you stronger”... whatever.
What am I, a psychologist?!
I don’t know how many times I’ve had to tell them, the scales don’t measure your health!
Working as a fitness technician/circuit coach at a women’s fitness centre is like being a psychologist. It’s the most emotionally draining job, especially when you have to repetitively tell the women, they look great, the 200 grams of weight they’ve gained could be the coffee they drank before they came to do their workout, and to stop stressing because they are healthy and that’s all that matters.
And then there are the slackers who never get any results, and blame us. They think they can lose weight by just walking through the door. What goes through a person’s mind that makes them honestly think that they can make no effort whatsoever when they work out, go home, eat take away and get results.
I make so much effort to encourage them and show them all the benefits that they are getting from exercise and dieting. I make so much effort to explain to them what they are doing wrong and what they could improve.
I’m not making excuses for them anymore. I can’t help people who don’t want to help themselves.
Working as a fitness technician/circuit coach at a women’s fitness centre is like being a psychologist. It’s the most emotionally draining job, especially when you have to repetitively tell the women, they look great, the 200 grams of weight they’ve gained could be the coffee they drank before they came to do their workout, and to stop stressing because they are healthy and that’s all that matters.
And then there are the slackers who never get any results, and blame us. They think they can lose weight by just walking through the door. What goes through a person’s mind that makes them honestly think that they can make no effort whatsoever when they work out, go home, eat take away and get results.
I make so much effort to encourage them and show them all the benefits that they are getting from exercise and dieting. I make so much effort to explain to them what they are doing wrong and what they could improve.
I’m not making excuses for them anymore. I can’t help people who don’t want to help themselves.
Ticket to Disappointment
The tension, the frustration, the tears, the disappointment... since when has buying a ticket been so hard!
Be it the Christina concert, Splendour in the grass or State of Origin tickets, the Internet has created a generation of stressed credit card wheeling entertainment junkies, all racing to double click first.
Gone are the days of sleeping in a line outside of ticketing booths to get tickets first, now most people are piped by fast typing, techno enhanced 12 year olds that can buy tickets faster than I am to be brought to tears after realizing all the tickets are sold.
The solution, either ban 12 year, gain the worlds fastest internet connection thus beating them all out, or reside to the fact that entertainment is now reserved to the internet obsessed double clickers that I envy why I sit at home bored.
Be it the Christina concert, Splendour in the grass or State of Origin tickets, the Internet has created a generation of stressed credit card wheeling entertainment junkies, all racing to double click first.
Gone are the days of sleeping in a line outside of ticketing booths to get tickets first, now most people are piped by fast typing, techno enhanced 12 year olds that can buy tickets faster than I am to be brought to tears after realizing all the tickets are sold.
The solution, either ban 12 year, gain the worlds fastest internet connection thus beating them all out, or reside to the fact that entertainment is now reserved to the internet obsessed double clickers that I envy why I sit at home bored.
12 months in limbo…
Today I officially lodged the paperwork to take a year off from uni.
A Leave of absence.
12 months intermission.
.. or as I see it > 365 days of freedom.
Having spent the last 13 and a half years studying, (supposedly anyway) I’ve decided to take some much needed time to clear my head, re-evaluate and embark on a long awaited, clichéd adventure: ‘a year to find myself’.
No - I won’t be heading to Paris, beret on head, Kodak swinging from my neck – this year I plan on a ‘closer to home’ route to self discovery. One that doesn’t involved seedy backpacker hostels and stolen passports, but a list of things I’ve always said I’d do – but never had the time, or the heart to do so.
This blog will document the trials and tipsy tribulations of my 12 months in limbo, an account of the journey between who I am, and who I’ll be.
Stay tuned each week for updates and anecdotes from my year off, a universal trend among teens and twenty-something’s. A time to regroup, goof off, break down, and rebuild…
A Leave of absence.
12 months intermission.
.. or as I see it > 365 days of freedom.
Having spent the last 13 and a half years studying, (supposedly anyway) I’ve decided to take some much needed time to clear my head, re-evaluate and embark on a long awaited, clichéd adventure: ‘a year to find myself’.
No - I won’t be heading to Paris, beret on head, Kodak swinging from my neck – this year I plan on a ‘closer to home’ route to self discovery. One that doesn’t involved seedy backpacker hostels and stolen passports, but a list of things I’ve always said I’d do – but never had the time, or the heart to do so.
This blog will document the trials and tipsy tribulations of my 12 months in limbo, an account of the journey between who I am, and who I’ll be.
Stay tuned each week for updates and anecdotes from my year off, a universal trend among teens and twenty-something’s. A time to regroup, goof off, break down, and rebuild…
Computer vs. Man
Can you substitute a man with a computer? My quirky black computer has almost everything a boyfriend can offer. In some ways it’s even more helpful. Zoltar the Conqueror (that’s his name, he has a gender) auto corrects my work, sends my emails, helps me shop and organises my music. He plays games with me too. If I ask the boyfriend to play Scrabble or proofread my assignments the most frequent thing I hear is “Are you sure that’s a word?”
Although Zoltar can’t cook dinner or take out the rubbish, the boyfriend isn’t much good at it either. At least Zoltar won’t hover over my shoulder, point accusingly at yummy vegetable pasta and query, “Where’s the oil?”
“Oh you’re right, it’s as dry as the ocean isn’t it?” I reply. There’s another point. Zoltar would understand that in fact, the ocean is not dry at all, and he certainly wouldn’t try to argue his way out of this after he’d already agreed with it.
Most recently, I’ve found myself feeling sorrier for my computer when he’s injured than when the boyfriend staple guns a hole through his door. Probably due to the fact said boyfriend programmed the internet so all cookies, worms and general computer- destroying viruses were redirected to Zoltar from the nasty websites boyfriend and other male housemate were stalking.
Late on a Monday night when I’d just wiped Zoltar clean of offending viruses, a tiny grey box appeared saying, “You’re computer will shutdown in 30 seconds”. Poor Zoltar was being hacked; obviously by some horrible, greasy (male) nerd who’d been haunting one of the games sites my boyfriend had visited. “No!” I screeched. If Zoltar shutdown, it would be the end. No more assignments, games, music or TV. No more Zoltar. My boyfriend rushed into the room, opened up some internal programming prompt, typed an unintelligible command and the grey box disappeared. He smiled at me and walked away. Zoltar was resting peacefully on his desktop as if his existence had never been threatened.
You definitely can’t swap a man for a computer. Computers need to be fixed by the man, just like the mower and the toilet and the car. Now, I’m not discriminating against women and saying they can’t fix computers or toilets or cars. My mum is queen of DIY household repairs. But the boyfriend is better. And now he owes it to me for messing with my computer. On the weekend we went shopping; he bought me music and wine, and cooked pasta without oceans of oil.
Although Zoltar can’t cook dinner or take out the rubbish, the boyfriend isn’t much good at it either. At least Zoltar won’t hover over my shoulder, point accusingly at yummy vegetable pasta and query, “Where’s the oil?”
“Oh you’re right, it’s as dry as the ocean isn’t it?” I reply. There’s another point. Zoltar would understand that in fact, the ocean is not dry at all, and he certainly wouldn’t try to argue his way out of this after he’d already agreed with it.
Most recently, I’ve found myself feeling sorrier for my computer when he’s injured than when the boyfriend staple guns a hole through his door. Probably due to the fact said boyfriend programmed the internet so all cookies, worms and general computer- destroying viruses were redirected to Zoltar from the nasty websites boyfriend and other male housemate were stalking.
Late on a Monday night when I’d just wiped Zoltar clean of offending viruses, a tiny grey box appeared saying, “You’re computer will shutdown in 30 seconds”. Poor Zoltar was being hacked; obviously by some horrible, greasy (male) nerd who’d been haunting one of the games sites my boyfriend had visited. “No!” I screeched. If Zoltar shutdown, it would be the end. No more assignments, games, music or TV. No more Zoltar. My boyfriend rushed into the room, opened up some internal programming prompt, typed an unintelligible command and the grey box disappeared. He smiled at me and walked away. Zoltar was resting peacefully on his desktop as if his existence had never been threatened.
You definitely can’t swap a man for a computer. Computers need to be fixed by the man, just like the mower and the toilet and the car. Now, I’m not discriminating against women and saying they can’t fix computers or toilets or cars. My mum is queen of DIY household repairs. But the boyfriend is better. And now he owes it to me for messing with my computer. On the weekend we went shopping; he bought me music and wine, and cooked pasta without oceans of oil.
The Little Things
Over the summer my boyfriend and I traveled through Europe. It was probably the most rewarding experience of my life. We traveled through twelve different countries over three months. But when you’re with someone for three months straight, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week you really start to learn things about each other. Those once endearing habits start to get on your nerves. I learnt that Joel likes to be in control, know exactly where he is, is a neat freak, and likes to have everything planed out down to a T.
On one particular freezing cold day when we were in the beautiful city of Paris we decided to go exploring. We set off all rugged up with our backpacks and most importantly our map. We had been in Paris for about a week and the area was not totally unfamiliar to us. We had heard the Latin Quarter in Paris was a great place to go for good cheap food and shopping so that’s where we headed.
Joel, as usually wanted to be in charge of the map which normally doesn’t bother me. As we walked the streets of Paris the cold seemed to intensify. Once we got to the Latin Quarter we decide to get out of the cold and get something to eat. We started to explore our way around the area. Joel stopped at almost every street tiring to locate our position on the map. After a while I suggested asking someone for directions but Joel said that we should “just have a bit of a walk around and we would find a place soon enough.”
After what seemed like an hour of walking in circles I asked to see the map sure that we had walked along this street at least three times. Joel reluctantly handed me the map and proceed to look over my shoulder as I tried to locate where we were on the map. I handed the map back to him without locating our position and said “don’t worry we know which direction the main river is we will just head that we and we will be able to find our way back to the hotel from there .”
I started to walk towards the river assuming that Joel was following me. Five paces later I turned around to see him scrunching up our only map yelling “I hate the F***ing French”. At this point I ran back towards him and stopped him from putting our only map in the bin. From then on I always held the map just incase there was another frustration outburst.
On one particular freezing cold day when we were in the beautiful city of Paris we decided to go exploring. We set off all rugged up with our backpacks and most importantly our map. We had been in Paris for about a week and the area was not totally unfamiliar to us. We had heard the Latin Quarter in Paris was a great place to go for good cheap food and shopping so that’s where we headed.
Joel, as usually wanted to be in charge of the map which normally doesn’t bother me. As we walked the streets of Paris the cold seemed to intensify. Once we got to the Latin Quarter we decide to get out of the cold and get something to eat. We started to explore our way around the area. Joel stopped at almost every street tiring to locate our position on the map. After a while I suggested asking someone for directions but Joel said that we should “just have a bit of a walk around and we would find a place soon enough.”
After what seemed like an hour of walking in circles I asked to see the map sure that we had walked along this street at least three times. Joel reluctantly handed me the map and proceed to look over my shoulder as I tried to locate where we were on the map. I handed the map back to him without locating our position and said “don’t worry we know which direction the main river is we will just head that we and we will be able to find our way back to the hotel from there .”
I started to walk towards the river assuming that Joel was following me. Five paces later I turned around to see him scrunching up our only map yelling “I hate the F***ing French”. At this point I ran back towards him and stopped him from putting our only map in the bin. From then on I always held the map just incase there was another frustration outburst.
The Censorship of Art
by Serena Wong
I for one, despise censorship. Since when did being politically correct gag us, make us mute puppets with nothing to say?
Our conservative society has made us afraid of speaking out, taking risks and anything that could potentially offend anyone.
The catch is, you can’t make everyone happy, ever. So that probably explains why the police were called to the Art Gallery of New South Wales to investigate a ‘pornographic’ painting by Brisbane artist, Andrew Frost. The painting depicts a naked woman performing a sex act and the outrage is over exposing children to pornography. While it’s hardly surprising that some people got worked into a fluster, it’s still annoying.
But as Mr. Frost said it’s not the gallery’s place to censor art. If parents don’t want their children to see these images, then that’s their responsibility.
Some might remember the film ‘Mysterious Skin’ when the Australian Family Association tried to ban the movie because of it’s depiction of sexual abuse. They felt that the ‘R’ rating wasn’t enough, because the movie could be used as an ‘instruction manual’ for child abusers.
What annoys me the most about the conservative right wing people of this country is that they claim to know what’s best for everyone. It’s that famous catch cry “but what about the children”. Well isn’t that why children have parents to educate them, teach them and explain to them things that might be a bit controversial.
I don’t give a fig about what the Australian Family Association thinks; I want the opportunity to make up my own mind. I want to see art, watch films and read books that challenge and evoke new ways of thinking.
After all, those people that called the police about Mr. Frosts work didn’t really stop and think. There is a message behind this ‘pornography’, and it’s about hope. Mr. Frost said that the painting was about the similarities between pornography and hope, how they are both are ‘unsatisfying’ and ‘unrewarding’ and that neither of them are real.
So what Mr. Frost is really guilty of is destroying hope, not pornography. Food for thought isn’t it?
I for one, despise censorship. Since when did being politically correct gag us, make us mute puppets with nothing to say?
Our conservative society has made us afraid of speaking out, taking risks and anything that could potentially offend anyone.
The catch is, you can’t make everyone happy, ever. So that probably explains why the police were called to the Art Gallery of New South Wales to investigate a ‘pornographic’ painting by Brisbane artist, Andrew Frost. The painting depicts a naked woman performing a sex act and the outrage is over exposing children to pornography. While it’s hardly surprising that some people got worked into a fluster, it’s still annoying.
But as Mr. Frost said it’s not the gallery’s place to censor art. If parents don’t want their children to see these images, then that’s their responsibility.
Some might remember the film ‘Mysterious Skin’ when the Australian Family Association tried to ban the movie because of it’s depiction of sexual abuse. They felt that the ‘R’ rating wasn’t enough, because the movie could be used as an ‘instruction manual’ for child abusers.
What annoys me the most about the conservative right wing people of this country is that they claim to know what’s best for everyone. It’s that famous catch cry “but what about the children”. Well isn’t that why children have parents to educate them, teach them and explain to them things that might be a bit controversial.
I don’t give a fig about what the Australian Family Association thinks; I want the opportunity to make up my own mind. I want to see art, watch films and read books that challenge and evoke new ways of thinking.
After all, those people that called the police about Mr. Frosts work didn’t really stop and think. There is a message behind this ‘pornography’, and it’s about hope. Mr. Frost said that the painting was about the similarities between pornography and hope, how they are both are ‘unsatisfying’ and ‘unrewarding’ and that neither of them are real.
So what Mr. Frost is really guilty of is destroying hope, not pornography. Food for thought isn’t it?
Thursday, 3 May 2007
Rate the world around you
The pillory is back. Public denunciation is as popular and as easy as never before. The internet enables a modern lynch law machinery to start a campaign to take an eye for an eye. So now it’s payback time for everybody who you feel has done wrong to you ever.
First website to visit is http://www.ratetheplate.com.au/. Here people can let out all the suppressed rage they accumulated driving on Australian roads. Just type-in the number plate of somebody you think drives far too slow on the left lane on a motorway or steals your parking spot right in front of the house. Then you can make a juicy comment on their driving skills and expose them nationally. Uncensored, of course. If the fact that you make an unproven accusation on an international website does not bring enough satisfaction, think about the fact that one day the police might discover the website and will simply believe you.
From there you can go back to the early injustice of your schooldays and have an even more emotional go on your teachers. Go to http://www.ratemyteachers.com/, look for your school or create its profile if it isn’t listed. Then you get the possibility to name the teacher you want to make a comment about, turn the tables and mark his performance. On a scale from one to five criticize them for their classes’ easiness, clarity and helpfulness. And again, you do not have to be objective when you come to the comment section. Just pour your heart out about your mean old Latin teacher in his stinking socks and sandals and his way to catch you every time you were about to fall asleep.
Here the best thing about the virtual pillory becomes clear. You entirely remain anonymous.
So feel free to rate the world around you and google what else you can make a comment on. Www. divorcenet.com offers you to rate your partner for example. Unfortunately not to tar and feather him, only to find out whether it’s time to contact the creators of divorcenet.
First website to visit is http://www.ratetheplate.com.au/. Here people can let out all the suppressed rage they accumulated driving on Australian roads. Just type-in the number plate of somebody you think drives far too slow on the left lane on a motorway or steals your parking spot right in front of the house. Then you can make a juicy comment on their driving skills and expose them nationally. Uncensored, of course. If the fact that you make an unproven accusation on an international website does not bring enough satisfaction, think about the fact that one day the police might discover the website and will simply believe you.
From there you can go back to the early injustice of your schooldays and have an even more emotional go on your teachers. Go to http://www.ratemyteachers.com/, look for your school or create its profile if it isn’t listed. Then you get the possibility to name the teacher you want to make a comment about, turn the tables and mark his performance. On a scale from one to five criticize them for their classes’ easiness, clarity and helpfulness. And again, you do not have to be objective when you come to the comment section. Just pour your heart out about your mean old Latin teacher in his stinking socks and sandals and his way to catch you every time you were about to fall asleep.
Here the best thing about the virtual pillory becomes clear. You entirely remain anonymous.
So feel free to rate the world around you and google what else you can make a comment on. Www. divorcenet.com offers you to rate your partner for example. Unfortunately not to tar and feather him, only to find out whether it’s time to contact the creators of divorcenet.
Deputy Labor leader Julia Gillard was recently blasted by Liberal Senator Bill Heffernan, who said her deliberate barrenness made her unfit for politics. Gillard has previously said that it would be impossible for a mother to be a top-ranking Australian politician.
But isn’t there a more sensible, or even political and humanitarian reason for Julia not to have children? Have we forgotten the primary reason for all of the world’s problems?
Obviously Julia Gillard would not be doing her political career any favours by suggesting that her barrenness is the selfless act of a global citizen. Humans are wired to have children, and the view that not having children is selfless would come across as an attack on parents by the public. But is it not a legitimate idea?
By no means do I think that all those who have children are acting selfishly. Generally speaking, those who have children do so with selfless intentions. Nevertheless, in terms of the strain on the Earth, they are still acting irresponsibly. Having a single child now could make you responsible for up to fifty carbon emitting, water guzzling, space-consuming humans within just a hundred years. Over a longer period, you could find yourself responsible for a thousand or more human creations. With global warming, poverty and water crises threatening the planet, you can be sure that not having children does a thousand times more for the global cause than limiting your showers to 4-minutes or catching public transport.
At best this view is going to fall on deaf ears. More likely it will fall on extremely angry ears. But sooner or later, we are going to have to think seriously about our planets over-population. We have already climbed from under a billion people in the 19th century to over 10 billion now, and we are faced with severe consequences as a result. How serious does the problem have to get before we change our attitudes towards child-birth?
Obviously having no children in the world at all wouldn’t help the human plight, but it’s about time we had some serious discussion about what can be done about this important problem. And having the Howard government tell us to have more children isn’t a good start.
But isn’t there a more sensible, or even political and humanitarian reason for Julia not to have children? Have we forgotten the primary reason for all of the world’s problems?
Obviously Julia Gillard would not be doing her political career any favours by suggesting that her barrenness is the selfless act of a global citizen. Humans are wired to have children, and the view that not having children is selfless would come across as an attack on parents by the public. But is it not a legitimate idea?
By no means do I think that all those who have children are acting selfishly. Generally speaking, those who have children do so with selfless intentions. Nevertheless, in terms of the strain on the Earth, they are still acting irresponsibly. Having a single child now could make you responsible for up to fifty carbon emitting, water guzzling, space-consuming humans within just a hundred years. Over a longer period, you could find yourself responsible for a thousand or more human creations. With global warming, poverty and water crises threatening the planet, you can be sure that not having children does a thousand times more for the global cause than limiting your showers to 4-minutes or catching public transport.
At best this view is going to fall on deaf ears. More likely it will fall on extremely angry ears. But sooner or later, we are going to have to think seriously about our planets over-population. We have already climbed from under a billion people in the 19th century to over 10 billion now, and we are faced with severe consequences as a result. How serious does the problem have to get before we change our attitudes towards child-birth?
Obviously having no children in the world at all wouldn’t help the human plight, but it’s about time we had some serious discussion about what can be done about this important problem. And having the Howard government tell us to have more children isn’t a good start.
Damn Opinion Bashers!
After a long day at work and uni, many people just want to have a relaxing ride home on public transport. It’s a time to retreat from the world, soak up the events of the day and basically ‘wind down’. And I know that I am not alone in this endeavor. Peering through the seats on the bus, looking across the isle on the train, the same blank and somewhat gaunt faces stare off into the distance.
But more recently I am not looking at as many bored faces peering off into oblivion. Mainly because I cannot see the faces as clearly anymore. Instead the rustling of paper and the pictures of celebrities surround me as the commuters take in the words of mX. Catching onto this craze, I too ‘pick it up and take it home’, reading the light hearted features that fill the pages. But I especially like the ‘opinion-bashing’ pages or more formally known as ‘Have your say’. I’m sure you all know what I mean. The pages where members of the public write in with their views of the world. This is becoming a full-fledged war that ravages the pages discussing or rather, attacking the ‘minority’ groups in Brisbane.
So far the victims have been emos, overweight people, smokers, body odour, public transport and bicycle riders. And the list is growing. Now, giving your opinion is ok, and it can even be justified criticizing these groups of people. But what oversteps the line is the back and forth ‘pay-outs’ of other people’s opinions and quite frankly, most of them aren’t very nice. Most people don’t like to be put in a stereotype and be ‘bashed’. But what hurts people even more is having your personal opinions beat into the ground. Brisbane needs to lighten up a little. Yes, express your opinions, it’s a free society, but there is not need to disagree so strongly with people’s opinions were it becomes offensive.
Lauren W
But more recently I am not looking at as many bored faces peering off into oblivion. Mainly because I cannot see the faces as clearly anymore. Instead the rustling of paper and the pictures of celebrities surround me as the commuters take in the words of mX. Catching onto this craze, I too ‘pick it up and take it home’, reading the light hearted features that fill the pages. But I especially like the ‘opinion-bashing’ pages or more formally known as ‘Have your say’. I’m sure you all know what I mean. The pages where members of the public write in with their views of the world. This is becoming a full-fledged war that ravages the pages discussing or rather, attacking the ‘minority’ groups in Brisbane.
So far the victims have been emos, overweight people, smokers, body odour, public transport and bicycle riders. And the list is growing. Now, giving your opinion is ok, and it can even be justified criticizing these groups of people. But what oversteps the line is the back and forth ‘pay-outs’ of other people’s opinions and quite frankly, most of them aren’t very nice. Most people don’t like to be put in a stereotype and be ‘bashed’. But what hurts people even more is having your personal opinions beat into the ground. Brisbane needs to lighten up a little. Yes, express your opinions, it’s a free society, but there is not need to disagree so strongly with people’s opinions were it becomes offensive.
Lauren W
The Net Effect
We are so often told that the Internet is the future. This World Wide Web is going to transport us through the tumultuous times ahead. However, from this seat, I haven’t seen much information or consideration of the impacts that this new way of life is having on us, as users.
The Internet is a fast moving, fast talking cyber-world where so much information is available at any time, day or night. It’s an information super-highway. It’s a wealth of knowledge waiting to be unlocked by a curious mind. It’s a place for creativity. It’s also a killer.
My attention span was pronounced dead two years ago. It took a terrible turn for the worst when I started university and was opened up to the many diverse uses for the Internet. If I’m honest, I look at a monitor for a length of about twenty seconds and get itchy fingers if I don't find exactly what I want.
Watching Doctor Who in the (new) series two, there was a particular episode that was situated within a school. Children in the classrooms were sitting in front of a computer, typing furiously and fixedly concentrating on the screen. It was as if the students were part of the technology. One signal and they were out, back to the real world, out into the playground as if nothing happened.
This can so easily be brought down to time restraints these days. For instance, reading a newspaper in the morning my lack of attention brings me to a headline and the lead but nothing more. I gain the basics of a story and move on. Is this healthy? Are global Net Citizens leading their attention spans to an early grave by logging on every day? Is this degradation of my cognitive performance a reflection of the impacts of technological advancement during the X and Y Generations?
You would hope not. Net users might become the walking dead. Stalking the streets flicking their eyes quickly towards advertisements and other stimulus. Or on the other hand they may live entirely indoors, feeding off thousands of articles and information, rarely engaging with anything in the real world.
Whether this whole attention space issue is just a personality trait of my generation I don't know, but it’s a bleak future if all the attention spans in the world have a nasty demise like mine.
R.I.P. Attention Span, I might miss you dearly if I have time
The Internet is a fast moving, fast talking cyber-world where so much information is available at any time, day or night. It’s an information super-highway. It’s a wealth of knowledge waiting to be unlocked by a curious mind. It’s a place for creativity. It’s also a killer.
My attention span was pronounced dead two years ago. It took a terrible turn for the worst when I started university and was opened up to the many diverse uses for the Internet. If I’m honest, I look at a monitor for a length of about twenty seconds and get itchy fingers if I don't find exactly what I want.
Watching Doctor Who in the (new) series two, there was a particular episode that was situated within a school. Children in the classrooms were sitting in front of a computer, typing furiously and fixedly concentrating on the screen. It was as if the students were part of the technology. One signal and they were out, back to the real world, out into the playground as if nothing happened.
This can so easily be brought down to time restraints these days. For instance, reading a newspaper in the morning my lack of attention brings me to a headline and the lead but nothing more. I gain the basics of a story and move on. Is this healthy? Are global Net Citizens leading their attention spans to an early grave by logging on every day? Is this degradation of my cognitive performance a reflection of the impacts of technological advancement during the X and Y Generations?
You would hope not. Net users might become the walking dead. Stalking the streets flicking their eyes quickly towards advertisements and other stimulus. Or on the other hand they may live entirely indoors, feeding off thousands of articles and information, rarely engaging with anything in the real world.
Whether this whole attention space issue is just a personality trait of my generation I don't know, but it’s a bleak future if all the attention spans in the world have a nasty demise like mine.
R.I.P. Attention Span, I might miss you dearly if I have time
addict
I’m an addict. I use it everyday, twice a day. I feel dirty afterwards but also so satisfied. I’m not talking about a crack addiction. I’m talking about perezhilton.com – one of the most popular gossip blogs on the internet. I know it’s shameful, but I honestly can’t help it. As a journalist student, I should be reading intellectual and witty articles found in ‘The Age’ or ‘The Guardian’ but I usually end up trawling the internet for the latest updates in gossip blogs.
I've become so desperate in my wait for certain updates that I find myself venturing to other blogs. Dlisted.com, egotastic.com, popsugar.com – there are hundreds maybe even thousands of them out there.
In my attempt at recovery, I found an article about "blogoholics". Although for me, it's not so much that I need to write one, but that I need to read one.
So the next time you log on and get your next hit don’t feel too guilty - take comfort in knowing that there are millions of others out there who do the same thing.
I've become so desperate in my wait for certain updates that I find myself venturing to other blogs. Dlisted.com, egotastic.com, popsugar.com – there are hundreds maybe even thousands of them out there.
In my attempt at recovery, I found an article about "blogoholics". Although for me, it's not so much that I need to write one, but that I need to read one.
So the next time you log on and get your next hit don’t feel too guilty - take comfort in knowing that there are millions of others out there who do the same thing.
The Problem with Rugby
Australian rugby is in a downward spiral. Politics within the sport, and the general nature of the Union’s attitude as more a “boys club” rather than a sports union is killing the game. Has anyone noticed that none of the Australian Super 14 teams are close to the top four this year? I can give you one answer: In fighting. The closest Australian team to the top is the Western Force; newcomers to the competition, so infant that they haven’t had a chance to be corrupted by the disease that is the Australian Rugby Union. Which explains their rise to the top; that and a fantastic coach, something which all the other Australian teams don’t have… they have good coaches, but no-one in the league of John Mitchell.
Having said this though, Eddie Jones of the Reds is slowly (at a snail like pace) rebuilding the Reds after in-fighting and the clash of inflated egos systematically broke down the foundations of the club between 1998 and 2005. The mass exodus of players in 2005 to rival Australian clubs was the pinnacle of about 5 years of turmoil within the Reds ask key players such as Nathan Sharpe, Junior Pelesasa, Josh Valentine (list goes on) walked out on the club, leaving not only it’s roster crippled, but also it’s account books. Without key players who formed the core leadership team of the club, sponsors did not want to go near the Reds as they were seen to have no chance of winning. The problem lies at the heart of the club, with the prospect of playing for the Reds no longer attractive to good players.
Yet steps are being taken to secure the clubs future; even if a REAL future is about 10 years away. The club has taken on board Queensland Rail as it’s major sponsor, and although is currently last place on the Super 14 ladder for 2007, the future is looking brighter with each key signing. An average coach he may be, Eddie Jones gives added reasons for key players to join the side, having coached the National team for a number of years. Re-signing key players such as Hugh McMeniman, James Horwill and various other young, up and coming stars is laying the platform for this rebuilding. Recent signings of Wallaby Junior Digby Ioane and Leroy Houston gives light to his ability to coerce juniors into playing under him, forming key players
Give it about 10 years and the Reds SHOULD be another force in Provincial Rugby; provided they sort out problems in the board room… but that’s another story for another day from another magazine.
Having said this though, Eddie Jones of the Reds is slowly (at a snail like pace) rebuilding the Reds after in-fighting and the clash of inflated egos systematically broke down the foundations of the club between 1998 and 2005. The mass exodus of players in 2005 to rival Australian clubs was the pinnacle of about 5 years of turmoil within the Reds ask key players such as Nathan Sharpe, Junior Pelesasa, Josh Valentine (list goes on) walked out on the club, leaving not only it’s roster crippled, but also it’s account books. Without key players who formed the core leadership team of the club, sponsors did not want to go near the Reds as they were seen to have no chance of winning. The problem lies at the heart of the club, with the prospect of playing for the Reds no longer attractive to good players.
Yet steps are being taken to secure the clubs future; even if a REAL future is about 10 years away. The club has taken on board Queensland Rail as it’s major sponsor, and although is currently last place on the Super 14 ladder for 2007, the future is looking brighter with each key signing. An average coach he may be, Eddie Jones gives added reasons for key players to join the side, having coached the National team for a number of years. Re-signing key players such as Hugh McMeniman, James Horwill and various other young, up and coming stars is laying the platform for this rebuilding. Recent signings of Wallaby Junior Digby Ioane and Leroy Houston gives light to his ability to coerce juniors into playing under him, forming key players
Give it about 10 years and the Reds SHOULD be another force in Provincial Rugby; provided they sort out problems in the board room… but that’s another story for another day from another magazine.
Stealing is bad
Stealing is bad. That’s what my father told me. That’s why I was so nervous when I pocketed the wallet. It was a nice little black tri-fold number, with a price tag I couldn’t afford, no matter how many afternoons I stood outside Domino’s Pizza waving my wobbleboard at passing traffic. I walked out of the classy department store next to my dad, the wallet bulging ominously in the pocket of my school trousers as we passed the security guards. I still love that wallet.
I recently told my father the story of how I stole that wallet as a fourteen year-old while shopping with him. He told me he was disappointed. No shit, dad. But it got me thinking; when is stealing not so bad? I still feel absolutely no guilt for stealing that wallet. I’m pretty sure it didn’t dent the store’s profit margins in selling overpriced goods to wankers. In fact, I’m quite certain that I gave my wallet a better home, rather than condemning it to the pocket of a yuppie for the two weeks until it wasn’t trendy anymore.
People steal every day. We steal each other’s looks, mannerisms, phrases, opinions and ideas. We often steal other people’s jokes and conveniently forget to give them credit (anyone who doesn’t do this is a liar). In fact, short of taking people’s belongings, we often steal on a daily basis. Most of it, however, is legal. I may feel no guilt for stealing my wallet, but it doesn’t make what I did right. Some people have to steal to survive. To trivialize their circumstances would be wrong. Bloody good wallet, though.
I recently told my father the story of how I stole that wallet as a fourteen year-old while shopping with him. He told me he was disappointed. No shit, dad. But it got me thinking; when is stealing not so bad? I still feel absolutely no guilt for stealing that wallet. I’m pretty sure it didn’t dent the store’s profit margins in selling overpriced goods to wankers. In fact, I’m quite certain that I gave my wallet a better home, rather than condemning it to the pocket of a yuppie for the two weeks until it wasn’t trendy anymore.
People steal every day. We steal each other’s looks, mannerisms, phrases, opinions and ideas. We often steal other people’s jokes and conveniently forget to give them credit (anyone who doesn’t do this is a liar). In fact, short of taking people’s belongings, we often steal on a daily basis. Most of it, however, is legal. I may feel no guilt for stealing my wallet, but it doesn’t make what I did right. Some people have to steal to survive. To trivialize their circumstances would be wrong. Bloody good wallet, though.
Education undervalued
Education is one of those issues that is always on the public agenda. Teachers are constantly criticised for their methods and expected to take on more of the tasks of raising the citizens of the future. Despite the criticisms, most teachers work hard to provide a good education for their students. And yet, is there a job that is more undervalued?
Teachers have never been particularly well paid. Graduates get above the average for a graduate employee across the fields, but the relative salary quickly drops down the list and after ten years, if a teacher wants to stay in the classroom, there are no more pay rises. However, the situation in Queensland non government schools is especially bad.
My husband has just been offered a job as a teacher in a Queensland Catholic school. According to my readings of the award, if he were to take this job, his salary would be $9000 less per annum than if he worked in a state school and at least $13000 less than if we had stayed in New South Wales.
No wonder most education graduates get out of teaching as soon as they can. The salary, combined with the everyday difficulties of classroom management, means that there is no incentive to make a career in teaching.
Perhaps when all the baby boomer teachers retire and there are 50 kids in a class, someone will wake up and pay teachers what they are worth. Until then, education graduates will continue to seek employment elsewhere.
Teachers have never been particularly well paid. Graduates get above the average for a graduate employee across the fields, but the relative salary quickly drops down the list and after ten years, if a teacher wants to stay in the classroom, there are no more pay rises. However, the situation in Queensland non government schools is especially bad.
My husband has just been offered a job as a teacher in a Queensland Catholic school. According to my readings of the award, if he were to take this job, his salary would be $9000 less per annum than if he worked in a state school and at least $13000 less than if we had stayed in New South Wales.
No wonder most education graduates get out of teaching as soon as they can. The salary, combined with the everyday difficulties of classroom management, means that there is no incentive to make a career in teaching.
Perhaps when all the baby boomer teachers retire and there are 50 kids in a class, someone will wake up and pay teachers what they are worth. Until then, education graduates will continue to seek employment elsewhere.
Howard's Nuclear Nightmare
As the Howard government moves closer to the election date, becoming increasingly nervous with poll results, the weekend announcement of the push for nuclear power was classic Howard and his attempt to wedge the Labor opposition. This time though it maybe Howard who has miscalculated both the depth of anti-nuclear power feeling within Labor itself and the electorate at large.
On the weekend Labor in a largely stage-managed conference laid to rest the bizarre idea of opposing uranium mining but supporting the currently existing three mines which actually expanded under Labors own time in government. Kevin Rudd got his way and Labor now supports uranium mining.
However and this seems to be where Howard has miscalculated, to a person there was no support at all for the establishment of a Nuclear power industry. This would seem to also be true of the general public. While there has been a rise in support for nuclear power amongst the general public where the real crunch comes is when people are confronted with the idea of one in their own backyard. The silence of Government MP’s calling for the establishment of a nuclear Power plant in their own electorates has been deafening. In the lead up to an election this is hardly surprising.
Howard may well have been hoping that Rudd would have been rolled on the weekend at the national conference and then put into a situation where his party was anti-uranium but still supporting current mines. This would have made Rudd’s position untenable. His push for Nuclear power though seems to fly in the face of his stated support for the coal industry and it will be interesting to see what the coal industry thinks of the massive amount of government funding that will need to be poured into the nuclear power industry to make it viable.
Howard will be forced at some stage as he goes down this road to also name actual locations for these power stations and one can be fairly sure that it will not be Bennelong or a blue ribbon liberal electorate that will be confronted with the specter of Nuclear power stacks on their horizons.
It seems to be a desperate move by a government becoming increasingly desperate to wedge the opposition into a corner but one wonders where the motivation for such a move has come from. It could be that some of the Liberal power brokers who have formed a consortium to establish a nuclear power plant have had some influence of convincing Howard that this is an issue that would wedge Labor but the lack of any push from within Labor circles to establish a Nuclear power industry seems to fly in the face of that perception.
On the weekend Labor in a largely stage-managed conference laid to rest the bizarre idea of opposing uranium mining but supporting the currently existing three mines which actually expanded under Labors own time in government. Kevin Rudd got his way and Labor now supports uranium mining.
However and this seems to be where Howard has miscalculated, to a person there was no support at all for the establishment of a Nuclear power industry. This would seem to also be true of the general public. While there has been a rise in support for nuclear power amongst the general public where the real crunch comes is when people are confronted with the idea of one in their own backyard. The silence of Government MP’s calling for the establishment of a nuclear Power plant in their own electorates has been deafening. In the lead up to an election this is hardly surprising.
Howard may well have been hoping that Rudd would have been rolled on the weekend at the national conference and then put into a situation where his party was anti-uranium but still supporting current mines. This would have made Rudd’s position untenable. His push for Nuclear power though seems to fly in the face of his stated support for the coal industry and it will be interesting to see what the coal industry thinks of the massive amount of government funding that will need to be poured into the nuclear power industry to make it viable.
Howard will be forced at some stage as he goes down this road to also name actual locations for these power stations and one can be fairly sure that it will not be Bennelong or a blue ribbon liberal electorate that will be confronted with the specter of Nuclear power stacks on their horizons.
It seems to be a desperate move by a government becoming increasingly desperate to wedge the opposition into a corner but one wonders where the motivation for such a move has come from. It could be that some of the Liberal power brokers who have formed a consortium to establish a nuclear power plant have had some influence of convincing Howard that this is an issue that would wedge Labor but the lack of any push from within Labor circles to establish a Nuclear power industry seems to fly in the face of that perception.
Kick em out for their own good
Kick em out for their own good
Stephen Hodge
Every week we cop it from some white, cauliflower-eared, overweight former Springbok prop who comes down from his farm to whinge about how South Africa’s provincial rugby teams get such a raw deal when playing rugby in Australia and New Zealand in the Super 12 / Super 14 competition. They complain they have to travel more than their competitors in Australia and New Zealand and are disadvantaged by their vastly different time zone. They usually get one team in the semi finals every year or so, but one team out of five isn’t a pass mark by anyone’s standards, especially when the rest of their teams finish near the bottom of the competition ladder. They also whinge about how the monolithic forward-based style of rugby is not suited to the fast-paced, expansive rugby played in by Australian and New Zealand teams. Not surprisingly every year they bitch and moan about how unfair the competition is and how they are going to quit and join the Heinekin Cup, the European provincial rugby competition.
Do they think they can just walk in being banned from international sport for 20 years and tell us how to run our own competition so it suits them?
Scheduling the competition and changing the rules to suit South Africa is certainly not in the interests of Australian rugby. So kick em out of the comp. If they get such a raw deal here, playing somewhere else is bound to be better for them. Where they play is up to them. They can revamp their own domestic competition, the Currie Cup, or play in Europe with its similar style of rugby and time zone.
If they leave we will lose some money for television rights but the benefits outweigh this. At the very least it would stop the whingeing we hear every week across the Indian Ocean. There would automatically be a more-expansive and attractive playing style. We could invite teams from and open up new markets in Pacific Islands of Fiji, Western Samoa and Tonga where rugby already has grass roots. They’re all much closer to home and less likely to whinge. 360 words
Stephen Hodge
Every week we cop it from some white, cauliflower-eared, overweight former Springbok prop who comes down from his farm to whinge about how South Africa’s provincial rugby teams get such a raw deal when playing rugby in Australia and New Zealand in the Super 12 / Super 14 competition. They complain they have to travel more than their competitors in Australia and New Zealand and are disadvantaged by their vastly different time zone. They usually get one team in the semi finals every year or so, but one team out of five isn’t a pass mark by anyone’s standards, especially when the rest of their teams finish near the bottom of the competition ladder. They also whinge about how the monolithic forward-based style of rugby is not suited to the fast-paced, expansive rugby played in by Australian and New Zealand teams. Not surprisingly every year they bitch and moan about how unfair the competition is and how they are going to quit and join the Heinekin Cup, the European provincial rugby competition.
Do they think they can just walk in being banned from international sport for 20 years and tell us how to run our own competition so it suits them?
Scheduling the competition and changing the rules to suit South Africa is certainly not in the interests of Australian rugby. So kick em out of the comp. If they get such a raw deal here, playing somewhere else is bound to be better for them. Where they play is up to them. They can revamp their own domestic competition, the Currie Cup, or play in Europe with its similar style of rugby and time zone.
If they leave we will lose some money for television rights but the benefits outweigh this. At the very least it would stop the whingeing we hear every week across the Indian Ocean. There would automatically be a more-expansive and attractive playing style. We could invite teams from and open up new markets in Pacific Islands of Fiji, Western Samoa and Tonga where rugby already has grass roots. They’re all much closer to home and less likely to whinge. 360 words
The Stictches and Craft Expo!!!!
Looking into Brisbane’s entertainment scene, I honestly don’t know where to start. Do I look only at the concerts touring to Brisbane? Do I look at the stitches and craft expo at the Exhibition Centre this week? Or do I look at the sport aspect of entertainment?
I think Brisbane has a great array of markets, concerts and musicals that come our way.
This week - and pretty much all year round, you can stay entertained with a variety of attractions and shows for you amusement. According to the events calendar at www.ourbrisbane.com entertainment in Brisbane takes on many shapes and appeals to a wide variety of ages.
In particular, I found the PINK I’m not dead tour May 4 & 5, Brisbane Broncos taking on South Sydney Rabbitohs May 4, and the Caxton Street seafood and wine festival 2007 of personal interest to fill my weekend.
Along with these popular events there is also the fixed feature of Brisbane’s nightlife but I’m lead to believe it is classified as “thriving”, with a great variety of pubs, clubs, themed bars, and many other venues. These are most popular in the Fortitude Valley (commonly known as ‘the valley’) which was zoned as an entertainment precinct in 2004.
So all in all I don’t mind the Brisbane ENTERTAINMENT scene.
I think Brisbane has a great array of markets, concerts and musicals that come our way.
This week - and pretty much all year round, you can stay entertained with a variety of attractions and shows for you amusement. According to the events calendar at www.ourbrisbane.com entertainment in Brisbane takes on many shapes and appeals to a wide variety of ages.
In particular, I found the PINK I’m not dead tour May 4 & 5, Brisbane Broncos taking on South Sydney Rabbitohs May 4, and the Caxton Street seafood and wine festival 2007 of personal interest to fill my weekend.
Along with these popular events there is also the fixed feature of Brisbane’s nightlife
So all in all I don’t mind the Brisbane ENTERTAINMENT scene.
Complaints, complaints, complaints. There’s supposedly nothing to do in Brisbane. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Try growing up in a regional town where the only ‘live’ entertainment consists of karaoke, local DJ’s in the local pub, one and only one night club and the odd big name Australian act (think Frenzal Rhomb, Jebediah, Superjesus) none of who play in the actual middle of the town but in some pub 20 minutes drive away. Brisbane, at least, plays host to the number one night club in Australia, and a multitude of bars, pubs, clubs and night spots. However I can understand those people who say there is nothing in Brisbane. Personally, I can’t stand city clubs and bars. Give me a quiet pub anytime.
Brisbane's Entertainment? What Entertainment?
So it’s a Saturday night, you’re dolled up to the nines, your posse of faithful friends are half way to intoxicated as the result of cheap goon and mini bar liqueur and then comes to the most dreaded part of the evening. And no it’s not holding your best friend’s hair out of their face during a prized power chuck and no it’s not waiting in line for 20 minutes to get a slice of the best “wannabe New York” pizza in Brisbane. It’s one of the most irritating and down right annoying concerns facing a young Brisbanite in 2007 – the difficultly of finding an actual half decent place to go out.
Ok so the Valley. What can I say? Apart from the fact that Maccas is being taken over by the worst kind of aliens - emos and dehydrated pill-popping junkies who don’t want to fork out 8 bucks for a water are making the line for the 7 Eleven longer than the baby bonus collection line at Woodridge, there is nothing really too say.
If you are one of the “beautiful people” then you’re looked after, you’ve got GPO however if you are wearing something that did cost under $1000, don’t even walk past the place. And to those of you who are crying “oh but the Fringe Bar is just past it”, don’t bother they don’t want you either. If you don’t want to be standing in a line for lock down, then you better start moving – Birdee Num Num is probably the only place that will let you in but remember they let all kinds of cheap trailer trash though their doors which means that you’ll be fighting for a place in the block long line with most of the City “gang”. Gag.
If you are like most of the stupid youth of today who actually think drugs make you cool and your shirt “Hugs not Drugs” is a pretty sweet cover when really everyone looks at you like a you’re a freak cause they know you popped five pills at the Family last Friday night (come on really a Friday night, don’t you have a life), then we’ll find you (trying to get your leech of a dealer off your back) at either the Family, the Monastery, the Empire or maybe even the newbie, the Met.
Argh emos. I suppose I better mention them other wise I’ll probably have some boring, whinging, song that doesn’t consist any musical notes, written about me. As long as they stay in the middle of the mall, no way near McDonalds or anyone else for that matter, I suppose I’ll be able to deal with it.
Not finished. And I know I have been very mean but I not really that mean, really I’m not and I feel bad sorry, really. I am sorry.
Ok so the Valley. What can I say? Apart from the fact that Maccas is being taken over by the worst kind of aliens - emos and dehydrated pill-popping junkies who don’t want to fork out 8 bucks for a water are making the line for the 7 Eleven longer than the baby bonus collection line at Woodridge, there is nothing really too say.
If you are one of the “beautiful people” then you’re looked after, you’ve got GPO however if you are wearing something that did cost under $1000, don’t even walk past the place. And to those of you who are crying “oh but the Fringe Bar is just past it”, don’t bother they don’t want you either. If you don’t want to be standing in a line for lock down, then you better start moving – Birdee Num Num is probably the only place that will let you in but remember they let all kinds of cheap trailer trash though their doors which means that you’ll be fighting for a place in the block long line with most of the City “gang”. Gag.
If you are like most of the stupid youth of today who actually think drugs make you cool and your shirt “Hugs not Drugs” is a pretty sweet cover when really everyone looks at you like a you’re a freak cause they know you popped five pills at the Family last Friday night (come on really a Friday night, don’t you have a life), then we’ll find you (trying to get your leech of a dealer off your back) at either the Family, the Monastery, the Empire or maybe even the newbie, the Met.
Argh emos. I suppose I better mention them other wise I’ll probably have some boring, whinging, song that doesn’t consist any musical notes, written about me. As long as they stay in the middle of the mall, no way near McDonalds or anyone else for that matter, I suppose I’ll be able to deal with it.
Not finished. And I know I have been very mean but I not really that mean, really I’m not and I feel bad sorry, really. I am sorry.
Random Titbits
It seems that entertainment is Brisbane comes in random titbits.
For months, residents of Brisbane are forced to tune into reruns of The Simpsons and other mind-numbing international imports, relying primarily on the latest Bert Newton game show to feed their ravenous entertainment needs. The thriving city of over one million people quickly resembles a small hick town; with residents staying indoors simply because THERE IS NOTHING TO BLOODY DO!
Then, as if to test whether or not we are still paying attention, an onslaught of entertainment gigs and events will pop up from nowhere. International superstars grace our (newly water restricted) shores, competing amongst themselves to see who can charge the most for a ticket and still play to a full Entertainment Centre audience. Within 3 months, Brisbane audiences were given the opportunity to see Beyonce, Chris Brown, Pink, Christina Aguilera, 30 Seconds to Mars, and Michael Buble (among others) play live. Brisbane city life quickly resembled an MTV television special, with audiences paying up to $850 (yes – you read correctly) for a single concert ticket.
Throw into the mix a few great Australian artists (Eskimo Joe, Missy Higgins, and Little Birdy) and you’ve got a few (albeit expensive) good nights out! Brisbane – enjoy the hype, the buzz and the thrill of live entertainment while it lasts. This time next month, it’ll be back to footy franks, Family Feud and early nights.
For months, residents of Brisbane are forced to tune into reruns of The Simpsons and other mind-numbing international imports, relying primarily on the latest Bert Newton game show to feed their ravenous entertainment needs. The thriving city of over one million people quickly resembles a small hick town; with residents staying indoors simply because THERE IS NOTHING TO BLOODY DO!
Then, as if to test whether or not we are still paying attention, an onslaught of entertainment gigs and events will pop up from nowhere. International superstars grace our (newly water restricted) shores, competing amongst themselves to see who can charge the most for a ticket and still play to a full Entertainment Centre audience. Within 3 months, Brisbane audiences were given the opportunity to see Beyonce, Chris Brown, Pink, Christina Aguilera, 30 Seconds to Mars, and Michael Buble (among others) play live. Brisbane city life quickly resembled an MTV television special, with audiences paying up to $850 (yes – you read correctly) for a single concert ticket.
Throw into the mix a few great Australian artists (Eskimo Joe, Missy Higgins, and Little Birdy) and you’ve got a few (albeit expensive) good nights out! Brisbane – enjoy the hype, the buzz and the thrill of live entertainment while it lasts. This time next month, it’ll be back to footy franks, Family Feud and early nights.
NIGHTCLUB'S PRICE FOR SAFE PARTYING
Sarah-Jane Johnson
The Australian Drug Foundation outlines, “Pace yourself. Drink plenty of water.”
We see time and time again, media messages advocating for people to drink more water as a strategy to prevent the dangerous penalties of intoxication.
Yet, Brisbane’s nightclubs have been charging high prices for cups of water long before water restrictions hit our households.
The Beat Mega Club in Brisbane’s Fortitude Valley charges $2.50, which is more than what it costs for one basic spirit drink on the club’s cheap-drink Thursday.
This is my lead, however haven’t enough time to finish…
Sarah-Jane Johnson
The Australian Drug Foundation outlines, “Pace yourself. Drink plenty of water.”
We see time and time again, media messages advocating for people to drink more water as a strategy to prevent the dangerous penalties of intoxication.
Yet, Brisbane’s nightclubs have been charging high prices for cups of water long before water restrictions hit our households.
The Beat Mega Club in Brisbane’s Fortitude Valley charges $2.50, which is more than what it costs for one basic spirit drink on the club’s cheap-drink Thursday.
This is my lead, however haven’t enough time to finish…
Whinig Is Not Entertaining
Whining is a vicious disease, one that is usually transferred on public transport by humans deprived of a smile, but it seems a new strain has attached it self to the youth of Brisbane, who are now complaining about a lack of entertainment in this vibrant city.
Pink, Beyonce, Chrtina Aguleria, Eskimoe Joe, Little Birdy and The Vines have all graced Brisbane venues in the past month.
Is this not entertainment.
Not to mention Powderfinger, Silverchair, Xzibit and possibly Snoop Dogg who are touring in the next few months.
Brisbane's fortitude valley is Australia’s sole entertainment precinct, it harbors a variety of live music and dance infested sweat boxes.
Is this not entertainment.
What must Brisbane do, Robbie Williams and U2 can’t play every week.
Pink, Beyonce, Chrtina Aguleria, Eskimoe Joe, Little Birdy and The Vines have all graced Brisbane venues in the past month.
Is this not entertainment.
Not to mention Powderfinger, Silverchair, Xzibit and possibly Snoop Dogg who are touring in the next few months.
Brisbane's fortitude valley is Australia’s sole entertainment precinct, it harbors a variety of live music and dance infested sweat boxes.
Is this not entertainment.
What must Brisbane do, Robbie Williams and U2 can’t play every week.
Brisbane’s Entertainment – Alright if you can get there
There are good and bad aspects to Brisbane’s entertainment scene and the old adage, depends where you go, is truthful here. West End, for example, has entertainment potential, if you are really into ethically produced coffee and don’t mind the art/hippy/vegan set. New Farm is great if you are a model or some trendy young professional. And then there’s Fortitude Valley – fine if you are just out of nappies and the next thing you grew in to was a back pack.
Then there is the problem of getting home if you want to indulge in the popular Australian pursuit of “getting a bit pissed”. Brisbane is the most spread out city on the planet and so taking a taxi home could mean paying the driver your life savings (especially if you’re really pissed – there is a danger you have emptied the nearest atm some time during the course of the evening).
Buses and trains – I would love them if they weren’t so sparse. Trains to where I live in Doomben go about once every two years. Buses stop at about lunch time. Okay so it is not quite that bad but can feel that way after a night out waiting at midnight (except trains have well and truly stopped by this time to Doomben). Don’t even bother to try and get anything public transporty to the suburbs after midnight unless you can tailor your party animal ways to catching the one train Cityrail provides somewhere between midnight and about 6am – and this still excludes Doomben.
I find the best entertainment pursuits in Brisbane occur during the day. A barbeque at one of the public parks. Catching the ferry for fun (if you’re lucky enough to live near one). A stroll around South Bank markets or any of the other markets scattered about the place. A leisurely bike ride – provided you stay away from the main roads where there are no bike paths and frustrated drivers want to turn you in to road kill.
The Brisbane shopping centres actually have potential for entertainment of the superficial, cynical kind. They seem to be a breeding ground for teenagers who are carbon copies – cloned perhaps - of each other and dressed so appalling they obviously don’t own full length mirrors. The line for McDonalds is about 10km long because that is the staple diet of the shopping centre set. The entertainment here is just gawking in amazement. Where do so many aesthetically challenged people come from? I know I’m no oil painting but really. The place is obviously crowded too because there are no parking spaces left. Do so many people have so many consumer needs or are they just there for “entertainment”?
Like me? I do avoid them like the plague unless some thing comes up like needing to get out of the house before my boyfriend and I kill each other. The retail therapy aspect is especially good for him. He’ll buy anything that stands still long enough or constitutes a completely needless random gadget.
So entertainment in Brisbane is vast if you broaden the definition a little! Dianne Williams
There are good and bad aspects to Brisbane’s entertainment scene and the old adage, depends where you go, is truthful here. West End, for example, has entertainment potential, if you are really into ethically produced coffee and don’t mind the art/hippy/vegan set. New Farm is great if you are a model or some trendy young professional. And then there’s Fortitude Valley – fine if you are just out of nappies and the next thing you grew in to was a back pack.
Then there is the problem of getting home if you want to indulge in the popular Australian pursuit of “getting a bit pissed”. Brisbane is the most spread out city on the planet and so taking a taxi home could mean paying the driver your life savings (especially if you’re really pissed – there is a danger you have emptied the nearest atm some time during the course of the evening).
Buses and trains – I would love them if they weren’t so sparse. Trains to where I live in Doomben go about once every two years. Buses stop at about lunch time. Okay so it is not quite that bad but can feel that way after a night out waiting at midnight (except trains have well and truly stopped by this time to Doomben). Don’t even bother to try and get anything public transporty to the suburbs after midnight unless you can tailor your party animal ways to catching the one train Cityrail provides somewhere between midnight and about 6am – and this still excludes Doomben.
I find the best entertainment pursuits in Brisbane occur during the day. A barbeque at one of the public parks. Catching the ferry for fun (if you’re lucky enough to live near one). A stroll around South Bank markets or any of the other markets scattered about the place. A leisurely bike ride – provided you stay away from the main roads where there are no bike paths and frustrated drivers want to turn you in to road kill.
The Brisbane shopping centres actually have potential for entertainment of the superficial, cynical kind. They seem to be a breeding ground for teenagers who are carbon copies – cloned perhaps - of each other and dressed so appalling they obviously don’t own full length mirrors. The line for McDonalds is about 10km long because that is the staple diet of the shopping centre set. The entertainment here is just gawking in amazement. Where do so many aesthetically challenged people come from? I know I’m no oil painting but really. The place is obviously crowded too because there are no parking spaces left. Do so many people have so many consumer needs or are they just there for “entertainment”?
Like me? I do avoid them like the plague unless some thing comes up like needing to get out of the house before my boyfriend and I kill each other. The retail therapy aspect is especially good for him. He’ll buy anything that stands still long enough or constitutes a completely needless random gadget.
So entertainment in Brisbane is vast if you broaden the definition a little! Dianne Williams
Borebane or BrisVegas?
By Donna Roberts
What do Burt Bacharach, Guns and Roses, Alice Cooper, Disney on Ice and the Dalai Lama all have in common?
They are all going to be in Brisbane this year.
If you have the initiative to search and the money to spend, there are many events occurring everyday in our riverside capital to entertain you.
Websites have been created with the local Brisbane consumer in mind. At the time this was written, there were no less than 1 750 events listed from about 16 500 venues on one particular site.
Yet people still complain that there’s nothing to do.
It is a common catch-cry heard all around the new trendy apartment buildings. An influx of urban professionals and childless couples with disposable incomes has led to an array of nightspots and festivals being created in order to keep the masses entertained.
Musically speaking, some of Australia’s biggest bands and artists have come out of the Brisbane live music scene. Although few and far between these days, live music venues still offer local artists a stage to regularly be seen and heard by their fans. This Saturday night alone, there are 71 music events of all different genres being staged in Brisbane.
Still got nothing to do?
Is it sport you’re after? Brisbane boasts two of the best sporting venues in Australia. Most weekends they will play host to an exciting sporting event, usually involving one of Brisbane’s beloved home teams, depending on what time of year it is.
Perhaps I am naïve when it comes to evening festivities as I have rarely been in any other city to enjoy its party colours. But the question still needs to be asked…
Why is Brisbane commonly referred to as BrisVegas if not because of its vibrant and exciting nightlife?
Stop! Right now! Thank you very much!
OK ladies and gentleman excuse me while I jump up onto my soap box. Right, now that I’m here let me look down on you all from the dizzying height that is my personal opinion.
Stop complaining! Please for the sake of my sanity and the rest of us who don’t give a damn about your social life.
Who really cares if your favourite band doesn’t want to make the ‘mammoth’ one and a half hour flight from Sydney to play? Who really cares if there aren’t any places for live bands to gig? Who really cares if the clubs play lame music?
Who??? Not me. Definitely. (OK, maybe I care about the lame music bit but really it’s not that important).
But it seems there are quite a few of you out there who do care. It also seems you all get a kick out of complaining about it in my presence. Maybe it’s a conspiracy.
Public transport is your favourite place to torture me. When I’m trapped amongst a mass of sweaty human bodies I hear you voices floating at me from across the aisle.
“Oh my god I can’t believe how crap Brisbane is.”
“Why do we have to live in such a hole?”
“There is, like, nothing on this weekend”.
Please just stop! Maybe if you’re nice to me, Karma will be nice to you. Because we all know that Karma has the power to bring groovy tunes, awesome gigs and Hilltop Hoods to Brisbane. And if we are all really nice, she might kick Keith Urban out.
Stop complaining! Please for the sake of my sanity and the rest of us who don’t give a damn about your social life.
Who really cares if your favourite band doesn’t want to make the ‘mammoth’ one and a half hour flight from Sydney to play? Who really cares if there aren’t any places for live bands to gig? Who really cares if the clubs play lame music?
Who??? Not me. Definitely. (OK, maybe I care about the lame music bit but really it’s not that important).
But it seems there are quite a few of you out there who do care. It also seems you all get a kick out of complaining about it in my presence. Maybe it’s a conspiracy.
Public transport is your favourite place to torture me. When I’m trapped amongst a mass of sweaty human bodies I hear you voices floating at me from across the aisle.
“Oh my god I can’t believe how crap Brisbane is.”
“Why do we have to live in such a hole?”
“There is, like, nothing on this weekend”.
Please just stop! Maybe if you’re nice to me, Karma will be nice to you. Because we all know that Karma has the power to bring groovy tunes, awesome gigs and Hilltop Hoods to Brisbane. And if we are all really nice, she might kick Keith Urban out.
Brisbane Entertainment?
Brisbane: the town that comes alive at night. Or so they say.
I don’t spend much time in Brisbane. Other walking from one bus stop to another – occasionally it’s a run through the Queen Street Mall.
Clubbing in Brisbane on a weekend is the only glimpse of Brisbane’s night life that I’ve seen. And even that is a rare event.
For me to go out in Brisbane, I have to get there...which isn’t easy. I have to get a bus and then a train – so both my friend and I can drink. It takes over a hour…if the bus is on time. And then we have to sit there with dirty old men staring at us like they’ve never seen a couple of girls dressed up to go clubbing before.
Getting home is worse. Especially now they took the early AM trains away. I either have to wait until 5AM or get a taxi home.
$50 to get home? I don’t think so. If there’s a few of us then cool, it works out to be about $10 each. But then again, we’d have to wait ages in the taxi queue. And then listen to the driver’s pointless stories or crappy music.
So…entertainment in Brisbane, perhaps I’d care more if it wasn’t such a pain to get there.
- Zoe
I don’t spend much time in Brisbane. Other walking from one bus stop to another – occasionally it’s a run through the Queen Street Mall.
Clubbing in Brisbane on a weekend is the only glimpse of Brisbane’s night life that I’ve seen. And even that is a rare event.
For me to go out in Brisbane, I have to get there...which isn’t easy. I have to get a bus and then a train – so both my friend and I can drink. It takes over a hour…if the bus is on time. And then we have to sit there with dirty old men staring at us like they’ve never seen a couple of girls dressed up to go clubbing before.
Getting home is worse. Especially now they took the early AM trains away. I either have to wait until 5AM or get a taxi home.
$50 to get home? I don’t think so. If there’s a few of us then cool, it works out to be about $10 each. But then again, we’d have to wait ages in the taxi queue. And then listen to the driver’s pointless stories or crappy music.
So…entertainment in Brisbane, perhaps I’d care more if it wasn’t such a pain to get there.
- Zoe
LOOK! NAKED PEOPLE!
Ha! Got your attention. I’m not an entertainer. I tried to run away with the circus when I was ten but in my haste I found myself in a room with a drunken clown and started to cry. In my younger days (say, five or six) I used to put on dance recitals for all my relatives. I was a chubby kid and as such had limited flexibility. It was emotionally damaging for both parties and as a consequence, I have an aversion to most forms of ‘local’ entertainment.
So what about ‘Entertainment in Brisbane”? Gosh darnnit, I don’t know what to say. Firstly, I don’t live in Brisbane and I’m still struggling to navigate the Queen St Mall. Secondly, most forms of entertainment give me the shits. I’m not a hermit- I do attend functions, music festivals and parties BUT I spend months planning my attendance and I’ve canvassed every aspect of it. Also, they’re usually massive events with hundreds of people and minimal clowns.
I don’t get the idea of local entertainment. What is it? Is it markets? Concerts? Musicals? I don’t know. Sounds a bit to me like the Goulburn Pie Festival – you know it’s there, but you don’t really understand why (unless you like pies, in which case it’s the highlight of your year). I can’t help but wonder though; if we took the ‘local’ out of ‘local entertainment’ could we possibly fix the problem? Pure, unadulterated, grand scale entertainment devoid of bumbling locals and marketed worldwide. Hell, we could even have glossy pamphlets!
Look, I know that if I lived in Brisbane I might see ‘Local Entertainment’ as being positive and integral to the community. I live on the Gold Coast and our ‘Local Entertainment’ consists of meter-maids and strippers but hey, let’s be honest, they’re the nucleus of our tourism industry boom.
Brisbane baby, your entertainment is shitty and if you’re not careful, your little town will only be remembered for having a Riverside Expressway made of Lego.
So what about ‘Entertainment in Brisbane”? Gosh darnnit, I don’t know what to say. Firstly, I don’t live in Brisbane and I’m still struggling to navigate the Queen St Mall. Secondly, most forms of entertainment give me the shits. I’m not a hermit- I do attend functions, music festivals and parties BUT I spend months planning my attendance and I’ve canvassed every aspect of it. Also, they’re usually massive events with hundreds of people and minimal clowns.
I don’t get the idea of local entertainment. What is it? Is it markets? Concerts? Musicals? I don’t know. Sounds a bit to me like the Goulburn Pie Festival – you know it’s there, but you don’t really understand why (unless you like pies, in which case it’s the highlight of your year). I can’t help but wonder though; if we took the ‘local’ out of ‘local entertainment’ could we possibly fix the problem? Pure, unadulterated, grand scale entertainment devoid of bumbling locals and marketed worldwide. Hell, we could even have glossy pamphlets!
Look, I know that if I lived in Brisbane I might see ‘Local Entertainment’ as being positive and integral to the community. I live on the Gold Coast and our ‘Local Entertainment’ consists of meter-maids and strippers but hey, let’s be honest, they’re the nucleus of our tourism industry boom.
Brisbane baby, your entertainment is shitty and if you’re not careful, your little town will only be remembered for having a Riverside Expressway made of Lego.
Brisbane also known as "Borebane"
By Natalie Samios
My love for Beyonce should not have been enough to have me sacrifice a pair of shoes or in my tight budget these days my whole weekly pay. But indeed I forked out the money and made my way to “Beyonce’s B’day Tour” which turned out to be more like a 16 year-old disco dance. Don’t get me wrong Beyonce is my favourite entertainer but I felt rather out of place and wondered what every other 21 year old is doing on a Sunday night. Yes, Brisbane also known as “Borebane” is lacking somewhat in the Entertainment department. So when it came to Beyonce coming to Brisbane and performing on a Sunday night, I couldn’t bare another night having coffee at park rd or driving around aimlessly and paid to see the booty shaking singer in the flesh. While a few singers are coming out this year to Brisbane, it doesn’t change the fact that Brisbane is still boring.
Maybe this is why MySpace has made such a huge impact on Brisbane and I can’t help but see that most Brisbane people are online on their MySpace each and every single night. What is most disappointing is the lack of cultural acts that come to Brisbane. It might even change the hoards of youth that hang around every MacDonald’s in Brisbane. Or the crowd down near every waterway in Brisbane who go to hang out because nowhere is open. While we might not have the population to support every act, who is to say that this isn’t possible and that maybe if they came they would be presently surprised by the turn out? I mean if a shoeaholic like me can sacrifice a pair of shoes for a night out I am sure the rest of Brisbane will spend the money if it's worth their while and stop Brisbane from becoming “Borebane”.
Confessions of a Mess
I forgot my lunch yesterday. I was so busy catching up on assignments, cleaning my slum of a room and figuring out how to pay off the phone I had just lost, that lunch time was over before I knew it. In theory this should excuse me from later committing the sin of a mid-afternoon snack. In theory, that is, except that my mid afternoon snack consisted of a packet of chips and a brownie. This ‘theory’ falters even further as I admit that while I forgot eating my lunch, I still did actually eat it.
Yes, I confess: I am an uncommitted eater. I am one of those people who try to squeeze in everything at once, and consequently forget the important things. Like the fact I had eaten. A self-committed member of procrastinators anonymous, I leave everything so late that my basic human functions take second priority – like eating. (On another note, this scattered behaviour is also what caused me to have my second phone in three weeks stolen.)
My lunch was actually quite nutritious: a Greek salad with Turkish bread, it was also definitely substantial. If I had treated lunch like a proper meal time, my body would have realised this and wouldn’t have forced me to resort to junk food.
Yes, I confess: I am an uncommitted eater. I am one of those people who try to squeeze in everything at once, and consequently forget the important things. Like the fact I had eaten. A self-committed member of procrastinators anonymous, I leave everything so late that my basic human functions take second priority – like eating. (On another note, this scattered behaviour is also what caused me to have my second phone in three weeks stolen.)
My lunch was actually quite nutritious: a Greek salad with Turkish bread, it was also definitely substantial. If I had treated lunch like a proper meal time, my body would have realised this and wouldn’t have forced me to resort to junk food.
Australia's battle
Savage Garden got it right when they sang, “I believe that junk food tastes so good because it’s bad for you.”
This very lyric could sum up the “epidemic” of obesity in Australia. Well, that and the fact Australia can’t help but follow in the wise-old-footsteps of Uncle USA.
Why are we Aussies so often tempted to give in and take the easy way out? The answer was given in the question; it’s easy. And so readily available! I’m not just talking junk food in the form of a Big Mac (or the newly-born Son of Mac), but the stuff that crowds our supermarket shelves that’s full of salt, preservatives and sugar. In a fast-paced society, we have entered into an age of convenience and food plays a big role it that. And let’s face it, most of the time it does taste pretty good.
This very lyric could sum up the “epidemic” of obesity in Australia. Well, that and the fact Australia can’t help but follow in the wise-old-footsteps of Uncle USA.
Why are we Aussies so often tempted to give in and take the easy way out? The answer was given in the question; it’s easy. And so readily available! I’m not just talking junk food in the form of a Big Mac (or the newly-born Son of Mac), but the stuff that crowds our supermarket shelves that’s full of salt, preservatives and sugar. In a fast-paced society, we have entered into an age of convenience and food plays a big role it that. And let’s face it, most of the time it does taste pretty good.
Forty, fat and frightened.
KJB224: Feature Writing
Paul Brand (n0686123): Tute Group Thurs 10am – 12pm
Blog: Junk Food
Bachelorhood teaches you many things; life skills, if you please. How to justify not paying the insurance premiums, how to wring the last drop of blood out of a phone bill deadline and perhaps more pertinently, how to live on junk food. But, what bachelorhood giveth, age taketh away.
New Year’s Eve 2006, in an orgiastic overindulgence of tequila, poker, ill-fitting sarongs and what usually follows, the pizzas were being thrown around like Frisbees, the KFC buckets being emptied with gusto. The inevitability of at least one trigger-happy budding professional photographer came to fateful fruition and the night was intermittently split by blinding, headache-augmenting flashes of white brilliance. All in good fun; all in the spirit of revelry.
For me, the party stopped about a week later when said photographer gleefully shot me an email heavily laden with numerous attachments. Whilst the usual hoard of glossies detailing cigar appreciation, pouting lovelies and at least one of the male congregation gleefully mooning the New Year made an appearance, it was the inclusion of three photographs in particular that came with all the subtlety of a screwdriver to the skull. All of me, all in profile, all chronicling one wretched fact; I was fat, pure and simple.
My near-40-year chronic aversion to physical exertion and over-developed sense of beer appreciation aside, there was one thing that immediately came to mind; junk food. Foul, fattening, oily, fried, battered, super-sized, scrumptious, wonderful, heavenly, divine junk food. Something had to give, about twenty kilos of it in actuality, most of it accumulating around my neck and mid-section. Almost to the point of having to look up the word ‘diet’ in the dictionary, I satisfied myself with renting Spurlock’s “Super Size Me” from Blockbuster and settled in with a Crown and a jumbo packet of Twisties for an afternoon of DVD abandon. An hour and half later, driven almost to the point of being physically ill, I procured another frosty from the Kelvinator and tried to steady my rapidly shredding nerves.
Much like cancer, weight gain is a cumulative beast, albeit with far less of a timeframe. And much like poor PC in the latest volley of pithy rants for Apple, I came to a sad realisation. Cancel or allow? Allow! However begrudgingly.
Battle of the Mustachioed Chicken Merchants
Since the moment sometime in the late 90’s when the fish and chips shops and MacDonald’s of the world were challenged for the throne of food court supremacy, the kingdom of fast food has become an infinitely more multicultural place. Invading hordes of pita wrapped and ambiguously meated Turks battle the new svelte brand of American warriors, each of whom purportedly contain six grams of fat or less. In turn the Americans are under siege from an ever increasingly well supported clan whose fusion of seaweed, rice and raw fish are winning hearts and minds despite its lack of flavor and inability to satisfactorily fill a stomach.
All of this is but a distraction from the main theater of war, for the gourmet and the out of shape, lazy, bong smoking student alike understand that the Portuguese alone hold the keys to flavor country. In much the same way a disaffected youth is drawn to radical Islam but faces the quandary of whether to align themselves with the Sunni or the Shiite, so too is the connoisseur of chili chicken burgers torn between the two great branches of the discipline. To Nandos or to Oporto? That is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of spending an outrageous fortune at Nandos but receive a fillet of something that is recognisably from a chicken, or to try your luck with Oporto which while easily Nando’s equal in the flavor department is made of something that resembles a chicken’s anorexic cousin.
The fight for the chili chicken dollar is a microcosm of the fast food industry in general. What do people really want? Are they willing to sacrifice quality in order to eat quickly and cheaply? Nandos and Oporto, while offering similar products are servicing slightly different clienteles. People who are impressed with table service and numbers made out of ugly, garish wooden chickens will invariably aim for the Nandos while people who want their hot ass chicken flavored sandwich and want it now will go down the Oporto path.
It’s all a moot point for me. At $8 even the Oporto is out of reach for the stingy
All of this is but a distraction from the main theater of war, for the gourmet and the out of shape, lazy, bong smoking student alike understand that the Portuguese alone hold the keys to flavor country. In much the same way a disaffected youth is drawn to radical Islam but faces the quandary of whether to align themselves with the Sunni or the Shiite, so too is the connoisseur of chili chicken burgers torn between the two great branches of the discipline. To Nandos or to Oporto? That is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of spending an outrageous fortune at Nandos but receive a fillet of something that is recognisably from a chicken, or to try your luck with Oporto which while easily Nando’s equal in the flavor department is made of something that resembles a chicken’s anorexic cousin.
The fight for the chili chicken dollar is a microcosm of the fast food industry in general. What do people really want? Are they willing to sacrifice quality in order to eat quickly and cheaply? Nandos and Oporto, while offering similar products are servicing slightly different clienteles. People who are impressed with table service and numbers made out of ugly, garish wooden chickens will invariably aim for the Nandos while people who want their hot ass chicken flavored sandwich and want it now will go down the Oporto path.
It’s all a moot point for me. At $8 even the Oporto is out of reach for the stingy
I LOVE MCDONALDS
I LOVE MCDONALDS
by McDonalds Lover
I know that McDonalds is bad for me and I don’t care. Toxic, fatty, poisonous, whatever; my happy meal always tastes great and yes, I’ll have a girl toy with that please. Lately the fast-food joint has copped so much flack for their menu; they have succumbed to pressure and introduced the Healthy Choices menu. Boo healthy choices. Hold your head high McDonalds – I promise I don’t love you for your body – but for the comfort you consistently provide me.
I drive-thru or line up with the emos, construction workers, tired mums and excited kids frequently. It’s gotten to the point where I’m on first name basis with my friends at the Milton, Wintergarden and Albion McDonalds.
“The usual please Dave” I cheerfully sing every Wednesday at around 1pm.
“Coming right up Jess, how has your week been?” Dave sings back.
McDonalds is quick, cheap, easy and it tastes the same every time. So don’t bore me with your nutritional nonsense and healthy choices menu. I’m here for my Big Mac to go, and I would like fries with that please.
by McDonalds Lover
I know that McDonalds is bad for me and I don’t care. Toxic, fatty, poisonous, whatever; my happy meal always tastes great and yes, I’ll have a girl toy with that please. Lately the fast-food joint has copped so much flack for their menu; they have succumbed to pressure and introduced the Healthy Choices menu. Boo healthy choices. Hold your head high McDonalds – I promise I don’t love you for your body – but for the comfort you consistently provide me.
I drive-thru or line up with the emos, construction workers, tired mums and excited kids frequently. It’s gotten to the point where I’m on first name basis with my friends at the Milton, Wintergarden and Albion McDonalds.
“The usual please Dave” I cheerfully sing every Wednesday at around 1pm.
“Coming right up Jess, how has your week been?” Dave sings back.
McDonalds is quick, cheap, easy and it tastes the same every time. So don’t bore me with your nutritional nonsense and healthy choices menu. I’m here for my Big Mac to go, and I would like fries with that please.
Norwegian
Coming from the land of home-made bread and fish, the junk food culture in Australia feels suffocating. It seems impossible to get away from. Not only are you bombarded with huge posters inviting you to McDonalds for breakfast, the smell of deep fried food forces its way into your nostrils and comfortably stays there for an eternity; until you desperately inhale any other smell just to make it go away. Starting the day with a mc-muffin or a brekkie role from Hungry Jacks is just wrong!
On the other hand it’s easier and cheaper to get a Whopper from Hungry Jacks than a nutritious ham-sandwich, but who would surprise their mum with a meal from KFC on mother’s day? That’s the suggestion in the latest advert from KFC.
Rather than sucking me into the junk-junkies way of life, the hundreds of ads thrown at me every day makes me detest the calorie-boosted food even more.
Coming from the land of home-made bread and fish, the junk food culture in Australia feels suffocating. It seems impossible to get away from. Not only are you bombarded with huge posters inviting you to McDonalds for breakfast, the smell of deep fried food forces its way into your nostrils and comfortably stays there for an eternity; until you desperately inhale any other smell just to make it go away. Starting the day with a mc-muffin or a brekkie role from Hungry Jacks is just wrong!
On the other hand it’s easier and cheaper to get a Whopper from Hungry Jacks than a nutritious ham-sandwich, but who would surprise their mum with a meal from KFC on mother’s day? That’s the suggestion in the latest advert from KFC.
Rather than sucking me into the junk-junkies way of life, the hundreds of ads thrown at me every day makes me detest the calorie-boosted food even more.
Illness v Junk Food
Being desperately ill over the past few weeks has lead to two things. Well two more significantly than the rest, long hours of lazing on the coach in front of the TV and a mostly liquid diet. And now the constant viewing of junk food and take away advertisements and a severe lack of solids has made true of the saying desperate times call for desperate measures.
On Sunday night, after an hour of Desperate Housewives and therefore around 15 minutes intermittently of Heaven caramel chocolate ads, I cracked. I roused myself from the hovel of blankets and empty tea cups I’d spend all week hiding amongst, trudged to the local corner store and purchased two blocks of Cadbury Dairy Milk chocolate which I proceeded to gorge on in the hope of inducing a thoroughly toxic sugar coma.
On Monday an over load of KFC ads lead to a 20 minute phone call of pleading and despair, trying to convince a friend to drive the half hour distance between our houses to bring me a Zinger burger combo meal, purchased from the KFC around the corner from my home. After miserable failure I quickly dismissed the option of actually walking to buy it myself and settled for canned soup and toast. But this got me thinking about something I’ve often heard people complaining about, why don’t they deliver? I’d pay good money to have a bucket of their deliciously greasy deep fried chicken (and maybe a DVD or two) brought to me on demand.
Classes and doctors appointments on Tuesday meant my attention was dragged away from daytime made for TV movies and while out and about for the first time in quite a while I had the opportunity to duck into the supermarket. With full intentions of purchasing fresh fruits and vegetables, from the depths of my shopping basket were soon visible the colourful labels of double chocolate ice cream and Snakes Alive.
Unfinished...cos I'm sick ....and lazy. Sorry. Bessie.
On Sunday night, after an hour of Desperate Housewives and therefore around 15 minutes intermittently of Heaven caramel chocolate ads, I cracked. I roused myself from the hovel of blankets and empty tea cups I’d spend all week hiding amongst, trudged to the local corner store and purchased two blocks of Cadbury Dairy Milk chocolate which I proceeded to gorge on in the hope of inducing a thoroughly toxic sugar coma.
On Monday an over load of KFC ads lead to a 20 minute phone call of pleading and despair, trying to convince a friend to drive the half hour distance between our houses to bring me a Zinger burger combo meal, purchased from the KFC around the corner from my home. After miserable failure I quickly dismissed the option of actually walking to buy it myself and settled for canned soup and toast. But this got me thinking about something I’ve often heard people complaining about, why don’t they deliver? I’d pay good money to have a bucket of their deliciously greasy deep fried chicken (and maybe a DVD or two) brought to me on demand.
Classes and doctors appointments on Tuesday meant my attention was dragged away from daytime made for TV movies and while out and about for the first time in quite a while I had the opportunity to duck into the supermarket. With full intentions of purchasing fresh fruits and vegetables, from the depths of my shopping basket were soon visible the colourful labels of double chocolate ice cream and Snakes Alive.
Unfinished...cos I'm sick ....and lazy. Sorry. Bessie.
What is 'junk food' anyway?
What’s in the word ‘junk food’? What do we associate with the rubbish filled, useless debris that we fill our stomachs with or constantly dream about eating? The way I see it everybody has their own junk and the scale of what’s healthy and what’s rubbish differs significantly in everybody’s mind.
For a health freak, junk food might be an apricot muesli bar with a fine layer of chocolate on top which turns guilt into a 3hour workout at the gym. For a 4 year old boy, junk food is the dreamy desire of ice-cream and chocolate sprinkles at dessert. A teenager might classify a weekly trip to McDonalds as a junk food run but wouldn’t forfeit the Tim Tams and Cheezles in their lunchboxes. An airhostess would proclaim the mush served on Qantas as the worst rubbish you could eat yet secretly enjoy the greasy chicken curry.
But basically, the point is that junk food is all a state of mind. We all have those little treats stashed away that give us a few minutes of joy in our hectic lives. There is no right or wrong about how junky these foods are and it’s up to us when we eat them. So why not treat yourself every-so-often, whether it is every few weeks, days or even hours. I know I’m in the latter and I’m happier for it. Perhaps I’ll also be jollier and wobblier in a few years time, but I’ll come to that then…in the meantime I say enjoy!
by Grace Tobin
For a health freak, junk food might be an apricot muesli bar with a fine layer of chocolate on top which turns guilt into a 3hour workout at the gym. For a 4 year old boy, junk food is the dreamy desire of ice-cream and chocolate sprinkles at dessert. A teenager might classify a weekly trip to McDonalds as a junk food run but wouldn’t forfeit the Tim Tams and Cheezles in their lunchboxes. An airhostess would proclaim the mush served on Qantas as the worst rubbish you could eat yet secretly enjoy the greasy chicken curry.
But basically, the point is that junk food is all a state of mind. We all have those little treats stashed away that give us a few minutes of joy in our hectic lives. There is no right or wrong about how junky these foods are and it’s up to us when we eat them. So why not treat yourself every-so-often, whether it is every few weeks, days or even hours. I know I’m in the latter and I’m happier for it. Perhaps I’ll also be jollier and wobblier in a few years time, but I’ll come to that then…in the meantime I say enjoy!
by Grace Tobin
Claire and Junk Food
I still live at home so my mother and I have a deal regarding junk food. For every month that I do not eat junk food she will buy me a book to read. No matter what the book costs it is mine for the taking. But this is not as simple as it seems. My mum is the one who organises all the food in the house, she shops and then she cooks but when she wants something quick or does not want to cook she gets the keys and drives down the street. Now I am not complaining about eating what she buys but then again I loose out on my deal because I have taken part in this forbidden activity. Sure I may have a stack of books piling up that I have not read yet but still I like the fact that I have been given a challenge and have held on and not given up and most of all I like being rewarded.
Walking through the city is a nightmare. The feeling only gets worse as the clock ticks closer to lunchtime. Too many times I will find myself trapped amongst the tall buildings, which hem in the small space we call our city like a variable fortress, stomach growling, wondering if I can possible find something to eat with the scant amount of coinage that I always keep in my pockets. I try to think about the places where I can get a good, healthy meal.
Vietnamese soup? Too expensive. Japanese Curry? Eaten far too much of that in recent weeks. MYO? Why would I want to pay for the privilege of making my own sandwiches, when I can do that at home?
Creeping up on me is a feeling I know all too well. Stuck, tired, hungry, a small whisper of a voice starts to sing the praises of a lunchtime meal that I thought I had left far behind me.
But that does not stop the voice. It talks of crispy chicken skin that masks the fleshy, tasty, yet oil dripping meat, of burgers that go down so well that you happily accept the immediate stomach-sick sensation and of big, golden chips that blur the distinction between real potatoes and potatoe deb.
The next few moments are critical. If I do not hold onto my reason and common sense, I can find myself wandering in a delirium ending up in front of a counter manned by a pimply faced 12 year old.
Vietnamese soup? Too expensive. Japanese Curry? Eaten far too much of that in recent weeks. MYO? Why would I want to pay for the privilege of making my own sandwiches, when I can do that at home?
Creeping up on me is a feeling I know all too well. Stuck, tired, hungry, a small whisper of a voice starts to sing the praises of a lunchtime meal that I thought I had left far behind me.
But that does not stop the voice. It talks of crispy chicken skin that masks the fleshy, tasty, yet oil dripping meat, of burgers that go down so well that you happily accept the immediate stomach-sick sensation and of big, golden chips that blur the distinction between real potatoes and potatoe deb.
The next few moments are critical. If I do not hold onto my reason and common sense, I can find myself wandering in a delirium ending up in front of a counter manned by a pimply faced 12 year old.
Junk Food
I have not eaten Macca’s for the last three years and I have not had a can of non-diet soft drink since I was 15. I do however get the odd craving for chocolate, but I just have to use mind over matter and try hard to push away my cravings. I can’t be tempted to have even one piece because I know that if I do, it will all go downhill and I refuse to let myself feel depressed for the rest of the week. My only real junk food I succumb to which is like an addiction is gelati and the absolutely amazing frozen yoghurt from Oasis. Although they have fully become stingy with the serving sizes at Oasis and still charge $3.20 for a cup literally half the size. I am feeling so hungry thinking about gelati, my stomach is making gurgling noises…as soon as this tute is over I am going down to that coffee shop and getting a white chocolate gelati- A-M-A-Z-I-N-G stuff!!!
melissa
melissa
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)