Aunty talk

Christ Krudd was ghastly on the 7.30 Report last night.  His supercillious, prissy, glib and redundant responses which began each tme by inverting Kerry's preceding question were just infuriating.

Kerry was disgusted and simmered. Krudd blanched as he attempted to duck the questions. Kerry had enough and requested that Snowy the puffed-up-priss answer directly. Krudd turned into white fury. Kerry was still incensed when he had to introduce the next story. Kerry held his own. Kerry is magnificent.

And can I  just say, Kerry, I mean, NSRs, that Clarke and Dawe were sublime to boot. Iview them NOW.

Before the 7.30 Report, Sydneysiders were treated to the most appalling and woefully risible news presentation I have EVER witnessed.  I don't know where Wah-nee-tah, Jeremy and Gra-Gra had gone but we (oh is this my first use of the smug first-person plural? Isn't it vile? ), had to endure the ABC team from CAN-berra. Jesus wept. The newsreader's intonation and delivery were like some 60 Minutes journo from the 80's and as for the weatherman and his sprig of fuschia grevillia on his lapel., well he was just utterly mental, and I mean that in the most accepting and caring way.

"She's a frozen fire "

Oh American noooo wave. I do love it and have been particularly partial to it of late, why, it's almost usurped my partiality for the old Napoleon pastry.

May (sweet, sexy, mystical and  kinda humble: why I do declare that  you are the subjunctive, the nanny figallilly of  tenses, yours Kel Richards) I just table right here right now that my enjoyment of the US new wave is not born of some cocking, wacky, zany, hankering to be D I F F E R E N T, or what Hilda Rumpole would term a "character" nor am i suffering from some like retro virus.  I just really loik it OK for it is fun and the lyrics, particularly those by the Cars, are rather pleasurable.

The Cars  lyrics and their general quest for the rhyme surpasses that of  Rod Stewart (and that IS impressive.)  It's tops. I wonder if  Ric Ocasek and Benjamin Orr's first language at hoame was Czech for the lyrics are very Velvet Revolution; possibly as interpreted by Tom Stoppard  but not as hammily delivered as by that ridiculous Matthew Newton . (OH what was the buzz about that violent podge?! - and  am I being  post-post modern in an ignoramous void i.e. ludicrous attempt to conceal severe lacunes in my general knowledge - oh desist inner dialogue and just let me b l o g).

The Cars were also baby boomin noo wavers not your gen jones variety, so probably influenced by hippy trippy imagery to boot. And dude, talk about influential: I suspect that you're all i've got tonight was the prototype for Huey Lewis and the news' (not power of love, you cynic!) but Stuck with you.  The Cars jumped the shark with Drive. Jesus that song, that fillum clilp!! (I know i've banged on  and blogged about it soo many times before but lawks!!!!)

Sad, institootionalised mental chicks ARE NOT sexy OK,  yours T. Abbott.

Then Vicodina Ryder and Avatarina Jolie adapted the Drive fillum clip to the silver screen (Moue moue uninterrupted) for which Jolie won an Oscar. How'd you be? An Edward Lear Jumblie crossed with  James Cameron Avatar as sex symbol channelling Mama Mia Farrow on kiddie shoppin' sprees in Indochine and Afrique and doing very nicely thanking you bulkly.

Um feeble carriage return to even feebler new wave musings...

The singer from the Knack joined Benjamin Orr in North American new waver heaven the other day.

I think that the first lp by the Knack was the first lp which I bought and deemed a complete and utter dud (Look just step off, The Seekers live at the Talk of the Town is a goddamn marvel!!). It was quite an upsetting experience (more so than Judy Durham stalking me in the 90's) as i really wanted to like it but couldn't....

 D I L E M M A but not quite of the Mary McGregor variety.  I thought I was guttted until the following year I bought that Emotional Rescue lp and well I actually lost my faith in Stonesy for the rest of my adolescence;  when i actually voiced my disgust i felt such guilt and anguish. It was nice once to be almost sweet  and intense about something, yours Lord Harry Wotton.  Still I rather like that title song now......Had better get myself to the youtubery to watch it for i am an audiovisualiste these daze.

'tude, toodez, and fine arab chargers to ya.

2010 into 90210

On the last day of the first month for 2010, I decided that  I would dispense with year of the tiger and its watery, firey elementals and establish another system with  many symbols as my guide. Let's face it,  these days that's  no longer a role for the conscience which  is practically non-existent; well  apart from the  minefield  that is my mind - it has a Greek chorus in residence (no Yartz Australia grant required and the space is  delightfully compact, dark and airy ).

 As I walked home on Sunday from another social engagement,  in between wondering whether the Roman Spring of Mrs Stone (like one of the first movies about a Cougar)  would be on You Tube (it is!!), if  i could be bothered cooking dinner and whether i could afford a spell in a soothing sanatorium , two other thoughts popped into my noggin.

Life  as an 'adult' never really moves from your heyday, for me beyond the mid 80's-early 90's (some heyday). All  that has happened is that one incorporates the Brady Bunch Oliver factor into one's life. You know, there is a  core group and in order for things to continue relatively happily without entirely imploding  new recruits featuring  younger, smarter, cuter, funnier  people, i.e. people born the decade after you and offspring , have to be brought in to invigorate and enliven things.

Oh  it was an extraordinarily powerful and original brainstorm.

The second thought was twofold:  I was glad January was almost over, and that each month of the year is like a 90210 character.

January is the goddamn Dylan "I'm mad, bad and dangerous to know" McKay of months.

You know, you R A G E then meltdown.. For me  this consists of seeing lots of people continually, the imbibulation of a fair bit of wine, ineffectually attempting to counter it  with soda water,  talking a lot of balderdash, and actually listening to a fair bit too, thanking  you muchly ; no toot or  trips down to Baja with my girlfriend's best friend or my best friend's sister, perhaps a spell at Mossy Point, but it does involve plenty of wrinkles, croaky voices, cool mincing and quizzical  raising of eyebrow .

Before you know it you've spiralled out of control, and you're paying Nat at the Peach Pit  $250 to blow toot up your ....

Woah, some wake up call.

So you need,  you NEED  time out and a spell of February with her good solid work ethic and honest-to-goodness home spun wisdom, cooking  and stable routine. Yessum.

May I introduce you to Miss/Mrs February.

 

Mrs Cindy Walsh. While her stability and sobriety is somewhat necessary,  i'm rather glad that there are only 28 days of the poop.

 Poop-poop indeed!