Friday, 29 January 2010

Now, i have heard it all

This morning on the radio I heard super nong, Steve Fielding,  describe Australia's detention centres as "world class"!!!

Thursday, 28 January 2010

Skewiff and sloppy

On Friday at the baggage carousel at Melgridleigh aerodrome I stood beside M A R C I A  H I N E S. (Warning clumsy sentence to follow...)Unfortunately I didn’t have my copy of her guide to life, the title of which is pure simplicity itself (Props to you Margaret Fulton and that lovely orange gingham patterned aerosol can of polyunsaturated oil spray), “Life”, for her to autograph.

Marcia looked pretty A-ma-zing and buff and naturally youthful not botoxed. She was s h  i n i n g. She looked kind of sportive and although no white frilly knickers were observed I BELIEVE she was in Mel to watch the tennis for she just had the air of a tennis spectator and she IS an avid tennis player these days.

I had a great time in Mel but am now coming down from the good times, delightful company, generous hospitality,  and oh, alright, a fair bit of tippling with Mr Booze; my nerves are a little shot and my mind somewhat rattled and guilty. I don’t think Marcia would tipple the liquor freaktastic with Mr B that much or EVER.

I’m still a bit scrambled today and could not work out what to wear (Love and thrusts to you, Trinny and Suzannah, you snooty, botoxed slappers). Consequently, I ended up coming to work in something somewhat inappropriate - one of my playtime sunfrocks with buttons down the front.

I caught a very packed bus this morning and had to stand the entire trip, occasionally bumping and annoying someone with my teeny tiny backpack, oh so pratique but still a trifle cumbersome. I apologised the first time and tried to stop bumping but it’s a bit impossible and I do believe that you cannot get in a snit about being bumped when you are the one seated and able to read a newspaper – oh yeah bel justice right-on.

As I stood pressed to poles and people, a woman prodded my torso and advised in stage whisper, “Your buttons are undone”. I was mildly concerned, looked down my front but couldn’t really notice any gaps, so I stage whispered back “Where? ”. To which she responded with a clicking of tongue and pointed below my chest and then on my belly. She was right and was duly thanked.

I am too addled to be mortified but next week I should be ready to write an article for the inner west courier about “My private pain” .

Monday, 18 January 2010

I've got a lion in my pocket and baby, he is ready to roar

Ah Prince so many great tunes and even doubly greater lyrics. And how about those pockets? Capacious or what?

I’ve been hearing a lot of Prince lately as I got the motor’s cd player and radio  working . Farout. No Radar Love blaring yet but plenty of good times!

For some reason when I listen to the popular music stations they are perpetually celebratin’ music from the 80’s. Sometimes stuff I liked then (sincere or ironic use of back in the day is soooo last decade). Fortunately there is never any goddamn Thompson Twins but unfortunately no Wham! The hit parade can be a source of bafflement.

Back to Prince. Have you heard that he has to have a double hip replacement? How excruciatingly painful. Poor Prince, still he did go around carrying that lion in his pocket. Admittedly an impressive feat but with the benefit of hindsight NOT such a wise thing to do was it, sonny Jim. Oh the folly of the young and amply endowed.

The harsh reality of that judgement leads me to observe that January is the month for anniversaries. It’s bigger than October and November for birthdays and other significant occasions. F'r'instance it’s 5 years, 3 days, 2 hours, 10 minutes and 23 seconds (as Prince would document it) since I moved into Tupper Mansions.

And January is totally birthday centrale, oh it’s a veritable Capricornocopia of ‘em. Happy birthday to ya, indeed.

Attended celebrations for a milestone birthday of my first nephew over the weekend. It was a very jolly and relaxed affair, apart from the crazed rush by his grandparents to collect a stash of cupcakes from the food table before the speeches began. (The elderly seem to eat so much but never stack on the lbs, what's with that?)

 The bairns who are in their late teens and early 20’s just cannot be part of Gen whine; they are so a-dorable and pleasant and centred (and no, I do not mean self-centred). Admittedly my experience is, as usual, limited, and restricted to the offspring of relies and friends. I have not worked with this age group yet.

I principally used, oh, in fact, coined (excuse me, while i smugly rub my sensationally  super tight abs),  the term Gen Whine to describe those who were born in the late 70’s. In truth mainly to describe a series of really disgustingly whingy, over confident, competitive, self-centred, spoiled, frustrated and petulant co-workers ( I know with such qualities we really should have bonded- it was the self-confidence that tore it ). So perhaps it is not fair to besmirch a whole generation because of several sulky gels and jocks.

Yes, what should the point of this rambling monodrone be ....

I guess what I’ve learned is that if you cannot make generalisations in the blogosphere, well, it’s all just a little too grey. In sum, you should never act on intelligence or knowledge but  instead opt for spurious, irrational emotion and always ensure that it is at the expense of another. In the name of Alan Belford Jones I do believe that I'm ready for talkback!

Thursday, 14 January 2010

Is there anything you cannot do

Not a question but more an exclamation of wonder tinged with vexation . In fact, it is uttered so often to me that it has actually become my aura.

Whether I’m straddling a toboggan, smiling and drinking from a can of Coke while tearing down some slope in Zermatt (yes! a l l at once), finessing (not to mention savaging the English language) chapters of my new self-help guide, or creating an exclusive and sensational line of organic lingerie, perfumes, soaps and lotions, there IS absolutely not one thing that I cannot do.

I am presently sportin’ a white lab coat and enormous spectacle frames sans lens as I type (‘anything she cannot do’ I hear you Murmur in Wonder). I have just added some essence of crepe myrtle to a concoction of oignon and cumin which forms the basis of my new parfum, Cretin d’estate - an homahge to those fools who sport jumpers and cardies on overcast and rainy days in summer despite the humidite being over 80%. (Oh MIW to you too! However I am ,of course, humouring you).

Consequently I have a legion of admirers, copycats (just step on board the superficial information highway and you'll find more rip-offs than that series of K-tel record covers from the mid 70's - from stealing bums to buns of steel) and, of course, detractors.

Maggie T often bemoaned the tall poppy syndrome in Australia. Even more ridiculously Slapper Faithfull cited the term and applied it to herself in her bio, which I foolishly read (I was multi-tasking though so not a minute was wasted). However, I believe it is just the Price one pays for being a high achieving, goal driven super competent.

No time for tickets in this day and age.  Pass me that Pluravit multivitamin would you.

Furthermore,  I am in good company. Cast your sweet, feeble minds to Sting, Kyle Sandilands, Simon Cowell, Jessica Mauboy, every celebrity chef who has graced a cucina  and you’ll realise that you, my sweet NSRs, are plum smack bang (I told you I could savage the English language!) in the middle of another R E N A I S S A N C E!

And angels, there is someone else who we really, really must add to this pantheon, I’m talking of he who heads the vanguard

Ronnie Wood.

Lord love that talented artiste. Sure he has been diddled out of song writing credits big time;still Renee Geyer did record a cover of “I can feel the fire burning” and I ‘m sure that the royalties rocked on in then. Musician, talented painter, rooter of young Russian hostesses, sorry, hookers, and wordsmith extra-ordinaire. Please read his bio and the collection of brilliant letters between him and Rod Stewart (compiled by one of the Mitford/Mosley great-grandchildren – they’ve run out of correspondence between hons and vons). Matt Moran is a huge fan.

Charlie Watts said that Ronnie had brought nothing musically to the Rolling Stones but he brought a whole lot of bonhomie. I should receive such testimony.

What really has triggered my new found respect for the Ronster, well , this epiphany about his being the Renaissance man of this our fabulous 21st century was a bit of cyber research yesterday.

I read that Ronster had just been ditched by his latest Russian lady and that he had bestowed upon her a scarf from his collection of designs for Liberty!! (not that the ditching happened because of the latter.)

M.I.W. ad infinitum!!! Ronnie’s grand designs are the toast of fashionistas from Jerrys Plains to Dagestan.

Baby boomer royals and hons and vons,  who feel like being hip and rockin' , are wild about the collection. C. Parker Bowles has a set of PJs and Chilla a scarf he dons for polo matches plus a glorious kerchief for the breast pocket of his blue blazer. Prince Al-bear of Monaco has a startling matching g-string and singlet. The list of sexy jetsettin’ fans just goes on but I must stop for I have to lecture a Motor Mechanics class for beginners at midday.

Tuesday, 12 January 2010

Arse end of the universe

Well, may Ava Gardner (possibly one of the worst actors evah. No,  truly Joan Collins was terrific in some Noel Coward plays and in Dynasty. Perhaps Aaron Spelling should have created some televisual spectacular around Ava...  As  for Ava's  choice of beaux, Mickey Rooney and Thugster Sinatra ... - Gordonia de Benatar), have been misquoted with her comment about Melbourne, which was nothing as crude as this post's title, while Shuting (oh geddit!) On the Beach but oh, it makes great copy; I think of it every time my mind drifts to Melbourne and her bluestone splendour of a summer.

A big hearty, sympathetic hello to my hot, sticky and grumpy cousins in the Riverina, Victoria and  S.A.

How ghastly that oppressive heat in Victoria can be. I give you props Victorians, or perhaps you'd rather be given paddlepops, but oh dear, that'd mean another lifetime on those already ample hips... As for S.A. well, angels, my limited imagination does not even dare contemplate the possible hot and scary scenarios occurrin' in that state of insanity.

Hope Code Red is extinguished very soon and please put yourselves before your chattels and exercise some good old fashioned common sense.

In the above picture, Ava looks quite a bit like Fanny Ardant, wouldn't you agree?

Monday, 11 January 2010

Silver Screen so far

Movies viewed this X-(sorry, wait a second, I'm putting the Christ back in, ooph, heavy as lead you are baby J) Christmas (Ah , that's better, Tubbs)/New Year break. Let's keep the holidays HOLY goddamnit!!

Lovely Bones – Quite good. Isn’t ‘quite’ a horrible and insulting qualifier! My paternal grandfather, who was actually very agreeable and kind but moderate used ‘quite’ a lot. Anyway the movie is quite good, pretty moving at times, still you could wait for dvd or for the digital tv free-to-air station to broadcast it.  Loved the fairy tale picture book  quality to the special effects. Speaking of special effects...

Avatar – REALLY BAD. Why on earth did I go and see this? I sincerely thought it was going to be about Lord Ganesh. The Avatars in this fillum were a hybrid of Jumblies and Angelina Jolie (hottt!). And the dialogue, NSRs. Good lord. How many times can people say “you’re going down, bitch!” I hope I never say that, except, well does that last sentence count?... On Christmas day one of my nieces told me she had seen said film twice and that it was A-mazing. I am surprised by her making such a pronouncement about something so woeful.. I wonder if she really did like the Christmas present I gave her- a lovely sponge bag with some nice House of Bromley lemon scented hand lotion.

The goddamn fillum was at Hoyts and it was chockers the day I attended. I had to park the Getz on the penultimate level of the shopping centre. Even worse there were no empty seats in the cinema's theatre. I had to sit directly next to people and a-top an elderly gent's lap. Fortunately they were not the types who sucked on slurpees or fizz, or shoved foul smelling popcorn in their cakeholes. What’s with all the eating at the cinema? The occasional choc top, yes but I say NO to those ginormous boxes of foul smelling popcorn and you should too.

Bright Star – BEAUTIFUL, MAGNIFICENT, devastatingly heartbreaking. Characters were lambs apart from loathsome, toady, jealous, frustrated Mr Brown. Most splendid actoring I have seen since Stefan Dennis masterclass or Cate Blanchett being interviewed by Kerry O’Brien on 7.30 report ...but seriously SUPERB ACTORING. Please see.

Cinema was gorgeous 30’s picture palace, restored by Mike Walsh but surely not in collaboration with  Jade Hurley. Woman seated next to mother had one noisy gurgly stomach. I originally attributed it to mother's belly which she denied but I suspect mummy was lying and put the blame on Mame, boys. Woman next to me was fond of a Fantale or ten. I hope she remembered to remove the wrappers, paper corrodes dentures, well it depends which movie star's bio is on paper. Not good to leave Monte Clift bio on teeth for too long. Fortunately, NO Marella Jubes available or I would have started thinking about Peter Carey as an adolescent and his sessuale awakenings.  Hope you are now.  One, two, three "eeeeeeeewee" ! That's right let it all out, pets, as did Peter in that Good Weekend interview in the early 90's.

Sherlock Holmes – Oh I know! and a step off, Bel and what would you expect to you an'all, thanking you muchly.   T'was rather enjoyable in its lame-O-ness. It was rather funny because Robert Downey as Sherlock Holmes seemed to be channelling Tony Curtis as Danny Wilde thus rendering Jude Law as Roger Moore playing Bret Sinclair AS Dr Watson. So a Victorian version of the Persuaders,  really. What more could one expect from G. Ritchie. Alas, no hokey, I mean, groovy dancing with Continental accented fillies at end; shame. AND NO music of the calibre of John Barry's compositions. Movie was too long. Cinema was pleasant and served quite a decent drop of sparkling and not much popcorn cooked or eaten.

It’s complicated – YES it is the title of a movie and not some lame-o relationship status that one of your Facebook friends has just notified the entire world about. I wonder if Facebook has a just tinkled or laid log status for one's profile, that would be a lot more interesting and a good way of monitoring irregularities in ones' 'friends'’ physical health. I mean it’s a given that one's mental health is well, shot – cos you have to be wacky, zany and just plain  c-r-r-razy  to be on Facebook. Actually, no, that's the pre-req. for my place of employment. Shake your head, roll your eyes upward and laugh for that is what  I do 5 days p.w.  I can't believe that I am paid to have THIS much fun.

Anyways I really enjoyed the movie and laughed a lot. I love MERYL and Alec Baldwin is a goddamn hoot. I enjoyed the schmaltz too.  So “bite me”, I think that’s the first time I have uttered that expression to boot. Don’t know if it is the correct context.

Love and bile and good times to ya for 2010