Note to Idol producers: 'Acoustic' is not a genre

The recapping service is temporarily on hiatus for re-tooling.

Instead, please enjoy these complimentary Haikus.

Damien


Kannis has new teeth
A sordid film clip goes with
There’s hope yet for Leith



Chris

Known as fat Jesus
There’ll be no second coming
Let’s crucify him

Lisa

I know Haiku’s rules
But there is a dilemma
How to count snoring?

Jessica

Likened to Whitney
Her voice certainly matches
Other habits too?


Bobby

Someone once asked me
Why I am a lesbian
I showed this picture


Ricky

This man’s greatest hour
Was before he sang a note
Where are you now Jorge?



Dean

Crap crap crap crap crap
Crap crap crap crap crap sucks crap
Crap crap crap crap crap

You know you're thinking about Idol too much when...

You see a car with a sticker saying "Save Flynn School", and rather than correctly identifying this as related to the ACT Government's proposal to close nearly 40 schools, you initially think it is an advertisement for a school where you can learn how to save Bobby Flynn.

3-unit texting, anyone?

In case you like laughing...

...and reading about Idol - at the same time!

That is to say:

It's only fitting after Lavina's Jordan tribute jugs graced the stage that Ricky would follow with a song famously covered by Peter Andre.

Disco Bull

Here we are in a post-mutto world. I must say, it’s pretty darn outstanding.

Although I’m starting to think that Courtney Murphy’s brother is potentially an even larger tool, what with all the prancing around and persistent air guitar. I wish the freakishly muscley guitarist in the Idol band would show Murphy what real guitar feels like, all over his smug face.

My threshold test for a successful ‘disco’ theme night is if we can get out of this without anyone singing “I will survive”. Happy to see 8 Donna Summer performance though. We shall see.

Looks like we’re in for another massive Marcia Hines promotion. Unfortunately for Marcia, the historical footage package of her origins in the ‘70s only goes to make obvious the copious amounts of plastic surgery she’s had. Disappearing nose anyone?

Half of Courtney Murphy’s brother’s intro package was about how sick the poor tiddums has been this week, which all just seems like major spade work on the part of the producers to keep this twit in the show – “please vote for me even though I’m going to suck.”

And he doth bring the suckiness people, squeaking out a flaccid performance of Play that funky music. Even the cat’s looking a little nauseous after this tripe.

He just IS David Brent, this man. He even has the mega-shiney forehead thing going on.

I just don’t want to talk about him anymore.

On to Lavina, who is clearly the most talented singer in the competition, with Best of my love. Unfortunately, I don’t think Lavina’s picked the best of the Network Ten wardrobe, with a dress that’s dangerously close to her skin tone (not good on the wide shots).

The performance is just one long shouty glory note though. A shame really, I am still desperately trying to find someone to like this year and Lavina was almost that person.

And then Ricky Muscat ‘sang’ Get down on it, all there was great meh-ing across the land. For a moment I thought he was doing ok, and then I realised he’d stopped singing and all I could hear was the background singers. Way to suck the fun out of disco, Ricky. This isn’t just Young-Talent-Time-bad, this is high-school-talent-quest bad.

If you missed the show and you want to know what it was like, stand in front of a mirror and in a monotone voice say “get down on it” for two minutes, whilst shuffling from one foot to another and occasionally waggling your hands up and down. Perfect.
Damien Leith’s pre-performance package is another “aw, I’m so sick and can’t sing proper” whinge. But anyway, onto to the talking point for the evening - I wish I were a talented writer, because it is very hard for an amateur such as myself to describe just how ridiculous and fearfully shocking this odd circus of a performance was.

Singing Celebrate, Damien has erred terribly here and the question for the judges now is whether to acknowledge that there was never any chance of Damien singing disco well, or whether to just carpet him for what was, honestly, Daniel Belle-esque. With that falsetto voice of his, couldn’t Damien have chosen some Bee Gees?

Carpetting it is. Kyle’s “worst thing I’ve ever seen on television” was pretty harsh. Did he never see ‘Yasmin’s getting married”? Boom tish!

Half way through the show, who brought the oranges?

Now, who is policing whether the Idols’ song choices are within the theme, because I have my doubts about whether Blondie’s Heart of glass counts as ‘disco’. In any case, I think Deborah Harry is right now somewhere slashing her wrists so she can die and be buried and then roll over in her grave in response to Lisa’s teenification of the song.

Yes, this was a pretty pants performance. But seriously, does Mark Holden really expect her to go from 16 year-old Missy-Higgins-wannabe to disco diva in one week?


I expect Dean couldn’t-be-Gayer has had a tough week what with having to look outside Triple M’s play list for song choice.

So anyway, Turn the beat around people! Dean commands you!

So, a white, Christian, South African singing disco. Yes, television has reached perfection. There is nothing left to say or do. Except – a back flip.

Yes, Dean completes his performance with a back flip. Next week, Dean will swallow knives, um, balance balls on his nose, er, um, do something with no connotations at all I’m sure.

Bobby Flynn sings ‘Superfreak’ and I’m sure all sorts of jokes could be made there, and no doubt will be. But not by me. I’m just too bored. BORED. Some points to Bobby though for at least thinking about his song and doing something to it so it would suit his voice. Which would seem like the obvious thing to do, Damien Leith.

Oh dear, whilst I was typing this I got distracted by the cat eating on the power cord and didn’t notice Bobby getting a touch down. Standards are that low this year?

You know what would have been a good song choice? Abba’s Man after Midnight – what with it recently being on the radio (woah-oh-oh-oh) sampled on Madonna’s ‘Hung Up’. Too easy.

Jessica Mauboy – thank you! You have made my pre-show wish come true with some sweet sweet Donna Summer. In the words of Summer Wheatley – “Vote for Summer!”

You know, I was thinking the other day, I honestly can’t say who I think will win this year. I don’t even know who I want to win. Such a disappointment.

Things wot one shouldn't have to hear in the office #43

"That thing on my butt has turned into an abcess."

"Is that why you're walking funny?"

"Yeah."

Public holiday surcharge

No Idol recap tonight, I'm taking the long weekend off.

Although I might make one observation - a million points to the kids in the crowd with the sign featuring black texta on yellow cardboard saying "Yeah! Yellow Poster!"

The Idol theme tonight requires song choices from the year one was born - if the finalists were of my vintage, you'd expect a boatload of Queen, or Billy Joel (bottle of red....).

For shits and giggles, let's all browse a list of songs from the year of our birth and pick which one we would have sung in front of da nayshun.

Here's an el crappo website from which to make a selection (see list on right hand side).

Or alternatively, have you heard of Google? It's totally a search engine you can enter bitchin' keywords into and get 'search results'. You can't get it on floppy disk though, which is a bit of a bugger. But try it anyway.

From 1980, the LovelyWife picks "Call me" by Blondie. Not bad. Not bad at all.

My selection comes from 1978: "Hot Blooded" by Foreigner. Yes! Top that!

Dean couldn't-be-any-Gay-er may have topped it with "You give love a bad name" though.

Do you worst, best blerst people!

Second comes right after first

I hope they don't feel too bad.

They were excellent.

Well, except for all those shots on goal they missed.

But I guess one goal extra wouldn't have made a difference.

I'm sure they will take heart from being part of such an amazing Grand Final.

Football was the winner on the day.

I'm ok with West Coast winning, really!

At least it wasn't bloody Brisbane again.

Stuff wot one shouldn't have to overhear in the office

"I think I should go to the doctor before it gets infected again."

"It only hurts because I got it pierced again last night."

"She doesn't want the fuckin' gear box she only wants the tyres."

"Can you squeeze it for me?"

These are as described to me by the LovelyWife.

This is the mental picture I have when she relays these antidotes anecdotes:

Even Rod Stewart's had number one hits...

Yes! Here we go again! Read on only if you’d really quite like a lot of disjointed observations about an entirely forgettable television show.

Let's all just get our sniggering out of the way right now, for tonight's show's theme is number 1s.

GUFFAW!

First thing tonight, most of the male idols pull out a gameshow host jog up onto the stage when introduced. Takes me back to the good old days when entertainment = Tony Barber.

Panning across the ‘crowd’ tonight, I think there may have been some ‘creative sign making’ taught at Sunday School today with some kiddies in the crowd holding up a cardboard and glitter glue creation saying:

“Deano – chosen by God, chosen by me!”

If, as believed by Whitney Yooston, children are our future, I’m ending it all now.

This week we see the obligatory montage of the idols taking “how to dance like a boy-band member” lessons, led by a couple of suitably faggy dance coaches.

Does that mean an end to the idols acting out their lyrics? An end to Courtney Murphy’s brother’s constipation stance (you know, bending slightly at the knees, squinting and holding out one hand for help)? Dear God!

Klancie with a K is the first to learn how to move like a Young Talent Time reject. With moves like that she’ll be ready for the stage at Westfields across the country in no time.

A friend and I had a discussion recently – which is worse, a national tour of Workers’ Clubs, or a national tour of Westfields during school holidays?

We couldn’t decide, but the idols had better start thinking about this soon as that’s where their career ‘journey’ will end up.

About now I’m considering a divorce as the LovelyWife sings along word for word to Klancie with a K’s ‘number one’ (snigger) choice – If You’re Not in it For Love (or, as sung by Klancie “lah-ah-arve”) by Shania Twain. And then I got in trouble for not knowing the song… (insert raised eyebrows here).

Next time you see Klancie with K, check out her freakishly protruding collar bone. Yeech.

Damien Leith has chosen some Garth Brooks pap, just to prove to the producers that the number 1s theme IS NOT a guarantee of tasteful song choices. Just lots of sniggering in this house…

Just want to break in here and say how horribly unfair it is that this cretin will get to sing at and therefore attend this coming weekend’s AFL grand final (to see the mighty swannies go back to back) and I won’t. As Rick would say “Bastards!”


Just another thing to add to the list of justifications for that killing spree I’m planning – lousyworldfullofinjustice.

Finally, Damien’s boring boring song is over. He’s more and more like an Irish Shannon Noll each week, even if he has lost the filthy little flavour saver beard.

Next up on the ‘dance floor’ is Lavina ‘I’ve got Polynesian soul’ Williams. Not nearly as good-looking in trakkie daks as her sister, but I fear I might be going over old ground there with how teh hawtness Emily was.

But snaps for Lavina! She’s singing my favourite 1986 song ever!

Don’t leave me this way. Let me put it this way, in 1987, the year of my first walkman, I had one cassette tape – the 1986 Top 40 taped from the radio, and the Communard’s cover of this song was on it. So therefore, it was my favourite. That, along with Lady in Red.

Not sure about the entirely untasteful top she’s wearing, what with the abundance of corsetry-style laces all over. More laces than a converse hi-top. I’m tellin’ ya!

Now, we all know that Marcia never really says anything of meaning in her comments (viz “I know you tried hard up there tonight and that’s all I’m going to say” = say what?), but I think she throws in a “you go girlfriend” when she’s really stumped.

For this reason, I’m thinking of tossing this into everyday use in my professional life – for those meetings where I know I’m supposed to be all assertive and confident, but I have nothing to back up my position with:

Some jerk: “So we’re aiming to take this proposal forward for consideration at the 11 July meeting, does anyone have any objections?”

Me: “I think you still haven’t addressed our earlier concerns, and so we’re likely to oppose its consideration, but you go girlfriend!”

Hmm, I smell a promotion!

Up next, Courtney Murphy’s brother. I’m hoping the faggy dance coaches beat the air guitar out of him with a real guitar. Alas, this show brings more disappointment and it is glossed over. But they do pick up on his constipation singing stance.

Wha?! I was joking earlier about Phil Collins being a likely song choice for tonight! But Courtney Murphy’s brother has made a sage of me, singing “Take a Look at Me Now” – stand by for some obvious jokes about how I’d really not prefer to.

It seems the faggy dance coaches have cured the constipation stance problem by gluing his hands to the microphone and stand. Good on ‘em.

The performance was, however, a pile of vomit.

The faggy dance coaches can barely conceal their hot, throbbing man-lust for Dean Geyer – I’m sure there was more than just a bit of:

“No, Dean, you’re moving your hips wrong, let me just move in here behind you real close so you can follow my movements….uh, yeah, that’s iiiitttt."

What is it with Dean Geyer and songs from Triple M’s playlist from 1998-2001? The effect is that every week is just the same basic performance.

Except this week he is exceptionally out of tune. Not that this will matter, thanks to the power of 14 year-old girls with unlimited SMS plans.

Something from the Goo Goo Dolls this time. Next week, something by Nickleback or Three Doors Down, even if the theme is the Beatles or Motown. You’ll see.

Now look, I’d really prefer not to write anything about Guy Mutton, but for the sake of completeness, here goes.

What an utter utter tool, this man is.

And to back that up, he’s singing Hoobastank. Hoobastank Guy Mutton? Yoobastank. Real bad.

Jessica Mauboy. She really is Whitney Yooston. I don’t care what you say. Jess sings a “Christina Aguilera classic” (classic - wtf?!?!?) Beautiful.

She’s wheeled out her year 10 formal dress for that touch of elegance tonight and I think we should all be quite happy with this song choice.

After Kyle’s taunts last week I think this would only have been topped if she’d sung that new song “Shut up Kyle you fat, thick fuck” – but I don’t think that’s hit number 1 (snigger!) yet, so it probably wasn’t eligible. Shame.

But yes, a ‘touchdown’, which is just as lame a gimmick as it was in the previous gajillion series. Surprise!

The faggy dance coaches are quite tactful about Bobby Flynn in the ‘learning to dance’ montage. At least in front of the cameras anyway…

Bobby’s singing Arthur’s Theme and is dressed even more like a first-year Arts student than ever before.

Bobby’s performance is as close to muzak in prime time as you’re gonna get and it would be my pick for worst performance of the night except for Guy Mutton… I can’t honestly pick what audience segment would have enjoyed that.

Thence to Ricky Muscat, who I reckon probably kicked on with the faggy dance coaches for a ‘special’ coaching session afterwards, if you know what I mean – and if you get grotesquely obvious double entendres, then I’m sure that you will.

Ricky’s singing something by Chicago which being a ‘hit’ from 1982, would have to have been released before he was born into his life of chemical-wharehouse-servitude. Who picked this? His music teacher? Lame!

Tonight Ricky’s performance is full of boy-band-esque fist-pumping histrionics.

So yes, I think it’s fair to say there’s definitely been some one-on-one ‘body movement’ coaching going on (or ‘getting it awn’ – you choose).

Lisa Mitchell is the last contestant so the end is in sight – for this recap and for Lisa Mitchell. Well, I can only hope – on both counts.

She’s singing Vanessa Carlton’s A Thousand Miles.

Tomorrow’s headline – “Vanessa Carlton travels many thousand miles to take revenge on Lisa Mitchell for singing her only hit like a strangled cat having its temperature taken”.

Mark Holden is still desperately trying to justify his previous “best thing musically to come out of this country” comment, so he wiggles his way up her arse just that little bit more with some fakey fake praise.

So yes, the end of another instalment of my bloggy-come-lately Australian Idol recapping.

Do I have a tip for tomorrow night’s boot-ee?

I’m going to have to go with Ricky Muscat to at least be in the bottom three, and maybe also Courtney Murphy’s brother – but that’s just me hopin’.

Does Bobby Flynn have any fans? He’s going to need them.

But I shouldn’t make such predictions – I constantly predicted Shannon Noll would drop off the face of the competition, but even now he’s still around, wailing about in his computer-enhanced voice (it’s like vocal air-brushing, and it makes him sound like a Bee Gee).

Note that the verdict show will be on at an odd time due to the live telecast of Adam Goodes winning his second Brownlow.



Yeah baby!

Barry Hall of fame

Carn swans.

Looking after number one

PROGRAM Australian Idol
EPISODE Final 10: Number Ones.
DATE 24 September
TIME 7.30pm
DESCRIPTION The 10 most talented singers in the country will take to the Australian Idol stage, and step up and sing for their once-in-a-lifetime chance at becoming a recording superstar. Hosted by Andrew G and James Mathison. Tonight's theme: Number One's.

Coupla things:
1) "10 most talented singers in the country"?

I don't need to come up with any jokes of my own if the Ten Network program listing writers keep coming up with this gold.

2) "Tonight's theme: Number One's"

Massive snigger!

Not too keen on the superfluous apostrophe, but willing to overlook it in anticipation of the laughs I'm gonna get on Sunday night when I hear "number ones" over and over again.

With this theme, the producers obviously think that they'll be able to force the idols to pick something popular/tasteful, but I don't think they've counted on the propensity for Australians to send absolute rubbish to the top of the charts.

Let's peruse a sample list of previous number ones (guffaw!):

Get outta my dreams and into my car - Billy Ocean

A groovy kind of love - Phil Collins

When will I be famous - Bros
Nice choice for the group performance, dontcha think?

All that she wants - Ace of Base

(Ooh Aah) Just a little bit - Gina G

Tucker's daughter - Ian Moss

Right here waiting - Richard Marx
Oh no, wait. Someone already sang that. And got booted!

I rest my case.

Insert Naked Gun joke here

So I'm curious to know, is there a proper way to handle one's gun when naked?

So many jokes to be made. So little time. So little maturity.

Mogblogging

In which Tobias decides to pounce on and kill the camera...

Rock, paper, scissors, assisted suicide.

I’m giving this live blogging thing a go for tonight’s Australian Idol.

Be nice, it’s my first go.

07.30 The show starts with a reminder of what happens when you bring Richard Marx into the homes of the country – YOU GET BOOTED, just like Joseph whatshisface. Who we’ve all already forgotten about.

07.31 This week’s theme is ‘rock’ – so will we see power ballads or powderfinger? I’m REALLY hoping for some Warrant (‘she’s my cherry pie…’) or some Van Halen. I think I might be disappointed…

If I were playing a drinking game, it would include a ‘take a chug’ for every time someone said ‘rock chick’ or ‘rock god’. And it looks like everyone think rock = 1970s rock or just not shaving for a week.

07.34 Oh God, Mark Holden just made his first ‘devil’ finger sign. It’s going to be a long 90 minutes.

07.36 So, if the stylists have spent ages ‘transforming’ the idols into ‘rock gods’, does that mean that each will get grilled by the judges for “not being true to themselves”, as they did last week? I expect consistency in my reality TV, so they better had.

And why are we seeing a montage of the stylist’s childhood? This has to be THE NEW LOW for Idol filler material.

Kicking off with Ricky “Jorge Bek killah” Muscat. And he’s going to murder some Franz Ferdinand. Choice.

Dear God, this is almost “Daniel Bell singing Robbie Williams” bad (please watch the linked video if you've not seen it before - gold).

I think the LovelyWife is going to bring up her dinner. I’m glad Tobias is currently asleep. I don’t want him learning the swears she is currently dishing out.

07.48 I’m starting to think Lisa Mitchell is a one-trick pony – can she do anymore than mumble along in her kooky accent? I doubt.

One minute into her performance and the LovelyWife asks, “is she singing yet”? I have to support her here (the wife, that is), Lisa’s being consistently out-sung by the back-up singers. Oh wait, sorry, she has black nail polish on. OMG so HARDCORE!

07.53 Do they script these piss-weak fights between the judges? If I could be bothered pressing the ‘7’ button on my phone that many times I’d text “zzzzzzzzzzzzzz” to 199-revenue raising Judge.

07.54 Has anyone noticed that the new upper level of the stage has a ‘hand painted’ sign for each performer which have so obviously been made by the props department?

They’ve obviously tried to make them look as though fans have brought them in, but they’re too neat and the letters spelling out the names (which are correctly spelled – a massive give away) are evenly spaced and don’t get all bunched up towards the edgewhenthespacerunsout…

07.56 Guy Mutton. All I’m going to say is that I’m never actually going to type or say the nick name they’ve given him.

Hang on a sec. He’s shadow boxing? To coldplay? I was eating some off strawberries before. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Whilst I know that ‘vomit’ is not ordinarily used as a noun, that was a real vomit of a performance.

08.01 He just did the “phone me” mime into his microphone. DIE DIE DIE.

08.06 Klancie with a K – not sure yet how I feel about her. She did sing the Dixie Chicks, which gains points. Chances are she’s a National Party voter and has been to a B&S Ball, so minus a million points for her.

She’s singing something from 1986. Wikipedia defines 1986 as a common year starting on Wednesday of the Gregorian calendar. On January 21 the first National Hugging Day was observed and on October 11 Ronald Reagan and Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev met in Reykjavík, Iceland, in an effort to continue discussions about scaling back their intermediate missile arsenals in Europe (the talks break down in failure).

Woops! I totally got easily distracted and missed out on Klancie’s performance! Damn it!

08.16 Bobby Flynn. The stylist describes him as “an individual” and says that there’s “nobody like him in the competition” and says this with the desperation of someone trying awfully hard not to say “he has a square head and a big, 1980’s woman’s hair cut”.

Wow. Bobby sings a bit like he’s having a seizure. Lots of closed eyes, jolted movements and high-pitched squealy noises. Maybe dogs will vote for him, as I think only they can hear some of his notes.

08.23 Reigan Derry. Reeeeeeeeeeigan Derry. Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeigan Derry. Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeigan Derry. Oh, sorry. Just trying to keep myself entertained while she’s singing.

Oh no. That’s a shame. Reigan is acting out the lyrics with hand movements (pointing to her eyes when she sings “so glad you see” and pointing to the ground when she sings “bring me down”). Going to have to hack off her arms with a rusty hacksaw for that.

08.33 Damien Leith looks like he’s going to a fancy dress party dressed as a ‘rocker’. Ten out of ten, ‘style’ department. He’s about as ‘rock’ as a christian air guitar contest.

Damien sings track 3 from “rock songs by men who sing like girls” – Radiohead’s Creep. More like ‘cretin’, if you ask the LovelyWife. He’s wearing a t-shirt that says “Buddhist” and is wearing a crucifix. Rock on!

I have to say, I don’t really like any of this year’s contestants. I don’t even really hate any of them either. Makes it really hard to blog about them. This might end up being a one-off exercise.

08.44 Up next is Whitney Houston Jessica Mauboy. Oh wait, tonight she’s being Kelly Clarkson. Cute. But she still manages to slip in a couple of Whitney-style glory notes and random, gratuitous “wooo” noises throughout the verses.

Oooo! Kyle just called her fat! Reowr! Scripted controversy! I like.

08.50 Ahhh, Courtney Murphy’s brother. I really like to loathe this guy. He only has one move on stage – crouch slightly whilst closing eyes and holding up his non-microphone hand. You watch next week. You’ll see.

Tonight he has also brought his air guitar. Tonight he is wearing denim. Tonight, he’s about as close as it gets to getting David Brent out on stage to sing.

Mercy.

There’s a slow hand clap starting up in our house for the end of this show.

One of the recurring ads this evening is for the Monster Trucks at the Canberra Greyhound club . Wow! You’re all so jealous you don’t live here, huh!

09.00 Okay, the show should be over now, but we still have 2 performers to go. The first of which is DRUG MUFFINS Lavina Williams. Now, long time CSH afficianados may remember I had a bit a thing for Emily Williams last year.

Let me tell you the feeling doesn’t appear to run in the family.

The LovelyWife says she reminds her of Jennifer Coolidge.



Maybe not.

Dang! I missed another whole performance! I think it was just a 2-minute long glory note anyway.

So this is like, my longest post evah!

09.10 Dean picks another song from the LovelyWife’s list of “songs she wishes never to hear again” – something called ‘Shimmer’, that I think was the only song on the radio in 1998.

9.15 So that’s all the singers done now. I can’t believe I blogged the whole thing! As Kim Beazley once said after a commanding performance in Question Time: NEVER AGAIN!

Series-ly

Part one in a new series I like to call Signs I Have Enjoyed:


This one was spotted in Melbourne over the weekend. Looks like I'm not the only one who is flabbergasted at the willingness of pedestrians to lemming themselves onto busy roads without warning or a zebra crossing.

Keep an eye out for my other new series, Parking I Have Not Enjoyed:



For fark's sake!

Luckily (or not, depending on how you look at it), living in Canberra means this could be a potentially endless series.

Stingray Shot through the heart! And you're to blame...

One thing I've noticed over the past couple of days, what with all the "aussie icons" carking it "doing what they loved", is that tributes only ever "pour in".

Seriously, it's always "tributes are pouring in for Steve Brock Irwin who died today, triggering a bajillion Australians to email the story to all their friends, with the subject line: 'Crikey!'".

You never hear "tributes are trickling in for insert cadaver's name here" or "a modest number of tributes have come in for former human".

And if tributes "pour in", where or what are they pouring into? The bottomless pit of sensationalist tabloid news? The gaping void of my yawning mouth?

I've really started to get the irrates with the way people have been getting so distraught about the deaths of celebrities who they've never even met, let alone formed a meaningful, two way relationship with.

You just wait until the tacky-renaming-of-things-in-honour-of-Steve-Irwin begins.

The Steve Irwin Maternity Ward anyone?

I promise you, these things are already being proposed with government, and my suggestion is not too far off.

Think about it

There's been some knickers knotting over the inclusion of Osama Bin Laden in the list of people Jack Thomas is forbidden to contact.

The way I see it, leave Bin Laden off the list.

The CIA, FBI and US Army have scoured the planet trying to find him, only to come up with a big fat zero.

But it seems the Australian Government thinks that Jack Thomas knows where he is.

So why not permit Thomas to contact Bin Laden, and just follow him there?

It'd be a bit of a coup, really.

Australian Idol's live interview with Anthony Callea

In which Anthony Callea comes out to the nation by wearing THE GAYEST SHIRT IN THE HISTORY OF GAY:



So gay!

Down on the pharm

I had occasion to go to the chemist earlier today and noticed a sign for "pseudo-watch":



Does that mean they're not really watching?

Sorry, sorry. I am sick. Give me a go.

Park your eyes here

One of the first things you notice when you move to StinkTown Canberra is that you have to pay for parking. Everywhere.

If, like me, you've come from Sydney where pay-parking is normally charged at a rate of about $15.00 per hour, this is likely to give you a mild heart attack at first.

And, if you're also like me in that you're remarkably stingey good with money, you'll also spend your first month in Canberra parking in the street, 5 blocks from where you're going, to avoid what you think will be a $50 parking bill.

Then you discover that the most you're likely to pay is about $1.00 per hour.

Ah Canberra, so like the 1980s in so many ways.

Anyway, this of course means we Canberra residents have the joy of collecting a wee ticket upon entry to each car park and revelling in the delights of temperamental ticket machines and booths.

A machine once swallowed my money and refused to validate and return my parking ticket. I pressed the 'help' button and the responding technician asked me if I had used "dirty money".

?

At the same car park I spotted this sign the other day:



So, you want me NOT to insert it correctly?

And you're telling me I should stop dipping my ticket in my cup of coffee, as is my normal routine these days?

Picky!

Just like a prayer

I've been praying a lot lately, about Australian Idol.

Well, does shouting "F*cking christ you suck Mark Holden!" and "oh dear GOD, will anything decent come of this year's series?!" at the telly count as praying?

Yeah, well, that's just your opinion.

ANYWAY, it seems my 'prayers' have been answered.

Just got into work? Want to extend that "just a little pre-work interwebs surf" just that bit longer?

God has delivered unto the earth the p*ss-funniest idol recap I've read since I proof-read mine the other day.

Do you feel the same, or am I only dreaming?

So when did Idol become a simulcast with Mix FM?

It’s not?

Then why did all the contestants sing 'the best from the 70s, 80s and 90s'?

Seriously, Eurythmics? Whitney Houston? Queen?

WHY!?!?!?

I mean, if you heard that on the radio, you’d switch over, right? (Except, I guess, on those drunken trips home in the back of a taxi, in which case you’d sing along…) So why choose those songs for teh idol?

And also, any contestant that makes the little telephone hand-sign thingo (you know, the “call me” hand-sign – thumb to the ear, pinky to the mouth) when Andrew G is reading out their vote-line number is GUARANTEED not to get my vote.

Not that I would vote. But those that do the hand-sign, double-guaranteed never to get my vote.

Further, looks like we haven’t learnt anything from previous seasons of Idol (ie, those who dictate history education through poxy ‘history summits’ ignore history are doomed to repeat it):

Marty Worrell 2:


Courtney Murphy 2:


Shannon Noll 2 (ok, with a Guinness chaser):

Looks a bit like he’s been hit in the back of the head with a 2x4…

Tarni Stephens 2:

Note to Tarni 2: wearing a sleeveless, strapless top for a head and shoulders photo shoot makes you look nude.

And yes, I intend to continue watching.

Baby bonus

So Dr Charlotte Beaumont on All Saints is blubbering about how no one respects her medical opinion since she became pregnant and that she is clearly on the outer as regards career opportunities at the All Saints emergency department.

Well BOO HOO! Should have stayed a lonely, barren, stereotypical television lesbian, Charlotte.

Anyone remember when Charlotte was a lesbian? I do, although the transition to noice, normal, baby-having straight doctor has been done almost without a mention you'd be forgiven for forgetting.

Pfff.

At least as a stereotypical television lesbian all Charlotte would have had to worry about was either dying lonely and unfulfilled, or descending into psychosis and murdering her partner. Yes, as a television lesbian, the possibilities are twofold endless.

And yes, I am aware that staying a lesbian wouldn't have precluded pregnancy for Charlotte. But as a pregnant television lesbian I'm afraid to say she and her baby would have been dead certs for some kind of horrific life-ending tragedy.

end rant .... for now

So what would you do?

You walk into the tea-room at work (and by 'tea-room' I mean converted broom cupboard with a sink and a microwave in it) to find a colleague busy washing up his mug and happily letting rip a massively trumpet-y fart (and by 'trumpet-y fart' I mean a very high-pitched 'brrrrrrrrrrrrrrt').

Said colleague then turns and sees you, pauses for a second, and then turns back to continue mug-washing without batting an eye-lid.

No one should be able to cope with office-based embarassment that easily!

I wanted him to wither and stutter out some lame excuse ('er, it was the pipes', or similar).

But he just walked off, leaving me there to decide whether or not to walk into the fart-laden air of the tea-room (smelling other people's farts makes me feel dirty).

I decided to put off having my coffee for a little while.


I'm sure this colleague would be happy that I now think of him as 'fart-man'.

Here's to my new chum

No, that's not it.


No, not quite.


Here he is!

Cheers little fellah!

PS - I am aware this is the blogging equivalent of an 'in-joke'. Cope.

This frustration is compulsory for all tax-payers

I hate inconsistency.

Short tax return instructions 2006

STEP 4
1(b) if you were single without a dependent child for part of 2005-06, and your Medicare Levy Surcharge income was less than $100,000 (plus $1500 for each dependent child)...

??!!

Next year I think I'll just take the Homer approach to taxes:

Homer: Marge! How many kids do we have? Oh, no time to count, I'll just estimate! Uh... nine!

Marge: Homer, you know we don't h--

Homer: Shut up, shut up! If I don't hear you it's not illegal! OK, I need some deductions, deductions... ah!! Business gifts!

[Homer grabs the boat painting from above the couch and hands it to
Marge.]

Here you go, keep using nuclear power!

Marge: Homer! I painted that for you!

Homer: OK, Marge, if anyone asks, you require twenty four hour nursing care, Lisa's a clergyman, Maggie is seven people, and Bart was wounded in Vietnam!

Bart: Cool!

[Homer shoves in some quick gifts and tapes the envelope up in a ball.]

-- Homer does his taxes on the last minute, "The Trouble With Trillions"

Mediocrity - Australia says "sure, why not?"

Why does it have to be 'Australia' says no?

Why can't it be 'human beings' say no?

It's as though we can only influence the behaviour of people in this country through jingoistic references.

"Better not beat up your wife - it's not very patriotic."

Guh.

Tobias mix-tapepost

Can't blog for long, Australian Idol just started

So I'm about 5 hours into Munich. I guess I could take the rest of the week off to finish watching this movie but is it worth it?

I've already lost half my weekend to it... and it's probably still got 12 hours to go...

A list of 11 assassination targets, 45 minutes dedicated to each assassination. I don't have the attention span for this. Who has the attention span for this?

Speaking of which, this post is way too long. I just read it back to myself and had to stop for a Coke Zero and a game of playstation half way through.

Exhausting.


Caption: Eric Bana and Geoffrey Rush on the set of Munich during the 3rd year of the 12-year shoot.

This one reads like an atlas...

And what exactly is "Tenasy"? Is it anything like 'tenacity'?

PS Things Tobias has taught me: I shouldn't spray perfume onto cat scratches. And also, don't spill wine on cat scratches.

It's over

You said you’d changed. You promised, in fact. You said “this time, it will be different”

But you’re just the same.

Sucking me in with the promise of something special but in the end you’re just all vanity and spite.

You say it won’t be like last time, but it’s always there under the surface – the sniping, judgemental arrogance trying to suppress your obvious ordinariness.

You can put all the spin you want on it, but in the end I know what you are – a voracious parasite taking all you can from everyone you meet.

And the worst part is that I’m a sucker for it. I can’t tear myself away.

I know it will always be like this but like a car crash, I can’t look away. I say to myself “it’s just a bit of harmless fun, I can get out of this without being sucked down to your level.”

And, for a while, things are good, and I think that everything’s going to be ok.

But then, you showed a new side to yourself that shows you haven't changed a bit. I know it's going to be just like last time and I'm so depressed I want to die.



I hate heart hate you Australian Idol.

Newsworthy

So, let me see here, former Olympic athlete doesn’t look quite as ridiculously buff as he did 2 years ago for the Olympics, which, coincidentally saw him grind his way through months of all-day elite fitness training… SURPRISE.

Quick! Let’s put it on the front page!

I really hate the Herald sometimes.

Cat got your tongs?

I'm sorry. Couldn't help it.

I think I mentioned it once...

Witnessed at Kingston markets on Sunday morning - small girl, probably 5 at the most, goose stepping, with her finger held up to her upper lip to form a Hitler moustache.

Girl's Mother: [in an angry whisper] Vanessa! Will you stop doing that!

I think Vanessa is discovering Channel 7's Saturday afternoon repeats of Fawlty Towers, don't you?



Wonderful.

This isn't about the cat

I think that personalities and personal expression are banned at my new(ish) workplace. I’ve only noticed a couple of other people with photos of loved ones or pictures up at their desk.

In any event, I decided to stuff that unwritten rule and have lobbed a few things up at my 'work' station.

To go with my deliberately provocative photo of TheLovelyWife and I in suits and ties and my figurine of comicbook guy, I have wall calendar featuring the art of Edward Hopper (not my first choice, but when one decides to buy a wall calendar in May, the choices are limited to this kind of thing or 12 months of Bichon Frise or freaking Anne Geddes - shudder).

ANYWAY, July’s picture is this somewhat pensive piece:



I’ve been staring at it for a while, and it may be a reflection of how disinterested I am in the subject matter of my work at the moment, but I’ve been trying desperately to determine whether it is morning, or evening light that is streaming in through the window. I thought I'd be all clever and use my skills of observation to work it out.

At first I thought it was morning light, but then I thought, no, the bedclothes are undisturbed. And to me, that orangey mellow light is reminiscent of about 5pm on an autumn afternoon – sort of just hanging there and making everything a little luminescent. You know, that is the best time of year for sunsets…

But then I thought that can’t be right. If it was autumn, she’d be cold just wearing that slight dress and with the window open.

And then I thought, so maybe it is morning after all. But it seemed too yellowy for the morning light, which is typically a whole lot clearer and a bit more pinky, if you know what I mean. The light in the picture lacks the specific crispness of morning light.

Unless of course the painting is of one of those some horribly skanky, humid summer mornings – you know what it’s like in February when the humidity barely subsides over night and the morning is a just a cruel hangover of the dense and oppressive evening you’ve just endured.

It was at this point that I suspected I might be thinking about it too much (and no doubt by now you think I've written about it too much, if indeed you've read this far), and I turned back to my work.

That lasted about 5 seconds before I turned back to the calendar and reconsidered the subject’s face.

It can’t be morning I thought, the subject looks as though she is wearing make-up. So maybe she’s just come in from a long day at the rat-races, slipped into something more comfortable and is taking in the cityscape whilst pondering the wastefulness of recent tax-cuts, or wondering how long before George Bush nukes Iran, or something like that.

But then, I thought that it probably isn’t make-up, that the boldness of her features is probably just a reflection of Hopper’s sometimes stark painterly technique.

And then I really thought I was thinking about it too much.

So I forgot about it for a while.

And then something happened to make it clear that I really do think about things too much. And also that I don’t pay attention to detail as much as I probably should.

I happened to look just slightly below the picture on the calendar, below the fold, and there it was, in small print:

Morning Light
Edward Hopper
1952 Oil on canvas

In this picture you might be able to see just how ridiculous it was that I missed it:



So much for those clever 'skills' of observation.

This kind of thing really gets me down.

Tobias vs teh interweb

By popular demand, here are another couple of gratuitously cute Tobias pics.



This next one titled "Tobias discovers auto-googling with pleasing results".

Mog-blogging

Meet Tobias.

One hour since coming home from the RSPCA and he's found the middle of the couch.

He'll fit in here quite nicely.

Life rewards cheats, yet again

I honestly don't understand people who say that Italy's World Cup win is solace for socceroos supporters. I'm sorry, what?!

When the team that cheated its way to an undeserved victory over the socceroos (who were playing all over Italy, just don't mention the lack of goals) goes on to prove better than all the other teams in the tournament, all I can think of is "that could have been the socceroos".

Which is a horrible, horrible feeling.

But, that's not as horrible as the surfacing of the inevitable claims that Camilla was asking for it.

Shudder.

Sportsportsportsport.

Do you ever find yourself wondering about how certain sports came into being?

I mean, when you think about it, it's not hard to see how something like soccer came about. It seems pretty instinctive to just want to kick something - people often just kick a rock or whatever is in their path when walking down the street.

Makes sense, right?

But who the heck thinks "I know, I'll stretch my arms out awkwardly in front of me and whack at a ball like a moron"?



I don't care what you say, volleyball is wrong.

I'm multi-tasking!

Puff puff ... blogging whilst riding my ... puff puff... exercise bike.

I'm such a modern woman.

Anyway, everyone just needs to settle down about this whole Big Baloney Brother malarkey. And by that I mean I think there is a predictable outcome to all the scary talk of increased Government censorship.

I know there are a lot of people out there getting upset about what the Government may or may not do by way of a regulatory response.

To my mind, the proposals for instant axing, or closer parliamentary scrutiny of television programming are coming from the real loony right of the Coalition (and some 'independent' loonies). The news media likes to give air to these loony proposals but at the same time, are readying their not insubstantial guns to fight like hell any move away from the de facto self-regulation their massive lobbying power has bought them.

In addition to that, Howard is (unfortunately) quite clever and knows that he has to be seen to be 'doing something' in response to the harping, screeching 'family' values types.

But at the same time, he knows how scared the average punter is of any kind of extremism, left or right. So, I reckon he has to let these extreme views get some kind of airing, but when it comes down to it, knows that no one is really going swallow a North Korean broadcasting model.

So we all just need to calm down for a while and let the hoo-ha pass over. Soon Howard will get back to one his many 'core' victimisation policies.

Or maybe the endorphins are making me inappropriately optimistic...?

It's time to go...

I give two points for nomination to stupid-freaky-workmate for being a stupid-freaky-workmate.

This morning he came in and the first thing he said was:

"so, I see we still have computers on this planet. Nothing has changed since yesterday"

Shut up!

So yeah, two points for nomination for making me feel uncomfortable in the house office.

Text 'stupid-freaky-workmate' to 199EVICT!

I need a quick show of hands...

Ok, time for a quick survey.

Do you think it is tacky/unacceptable/inappropriate for people to have pinned up at their desks at work ultrasound photographs of their unborn child?

This is apparently all the rage at the LovelyWife's place of employ and for her, it is akin to pinning up one's gall-bladder scans or brain MRI results.

I guess I don't see it as much in the medical sense as she does - more akin to just a regular photo of a child. I also suggested that maybe she needs to relax, just a little bit...

And what better way to seek resolution of this meaningless and insignificant difference of opinion than by seeking the views of complete strangers!!!

A great tragedy has befallen this country...

No, not the f*cking football result (f*ckety f*ck f*ck).

I'm talking about this:

7:30 pm
Channel Nine
Hey Hey By Request No. 2 (60 mins, Rated: G)
Genre: Comedy

Daryl Somers presents a one-hour special featuring the most viewer-requested segments chosen from Hey Hey It's Saturday over the past two decades. Includes What Cheeses Me Off, The Shove Boat, Jacki MacDonald, Chevy Chase, Take That, Christina Applegate and other classic funny bits.

"Genre: Comedy" ?!?!?!!?

I'll say it again: "?!?!?!?!?!?!?"

Also, it claims to be "the most viewer-requested segments". I hope to high heaven that these aren't recent requests. I don't think I could go on knowing that people are requesting this pap still.

I mean, if people want to request televisual horror, there are plenty of more recent examples to choose from. Comedy Inc, Clever or a couple of hours of Jessica Rowe's honking laugh on Today...

I don't like those odds

There have been 9 Big Brother evictees so far and each time, Centrebet has correctly picked the person to go by giving them the shortest odds.

So anyway, Centrebet are currently offering $1.57 on the Coalition to win the next election, with the ALP at $2.25.

Damn.

Give your whistle to your guide dog, ref!

I've been trying to avoid getting angry about the 'refereeing' of Australia's World Cup matches so far.

After all, Australia won the match against Japan despite a massive refereeing blunder gifting Japan a goal. And Australia lost against Brazil because of missed chances in front of goal, not the 25-9 free-kick count that went against them.

Besides which, there's something a bit "bad-sport" about whinging about the ref.

But you have to wonder when you read about the carryings on of mega-c*nt Markus Merk, who officiated the Australia-Brazil whistle-fest earlier in the week:

Merk for allegedly [told] Kewell he would not play against Croatia when responding to the abuse, leaving the official open to accusations of pre-meditation in reporting Kewell.

"He basically said: 'Your World Cup is over', and that Harry would not play again," said a teammate, speaking on condition of anonymity.

So, he had it in for Kewell. But that's not the worst part:

FIFA insiders suggest Merk changed his story when he realised his role at the tournament might be threatened after his performance in refereeing the Australia-Brazil game.

So he knew he was sh*t, and tried to cover his arse by reporting Kewell. Niiiiice.

Kewell is understood to have been furious after the 2-0 loss because Merk was congratulating Brazilian players on their win. Merk oversaw a 25-9 penalty count in Brazil's favour.

Yes, I can understand that - "congratulations Brazilians on that win I gifted you". Hey Merkin Merk, see those big yellow signs all around the ground? They are the FIFA FAIR PLAY signs, dickwad. Look it up, it says something about impartial refereeing.

And it's not just the parochial, jingoistic Australian press that noticed the blindingly obvious bias in the refereeing - which makes me feel less like a whinging sore loser:

Brazil, the aristocrats, seemed to be given free-kicks whenever an Australian breath blew across the pitch.

But anyway, it absolutely stinks that after all the anguish and angst socceroos supporters have been through to see their team finally get to the finals, the fate of the team could have been determined by this freak, and not the usual factors, such as Tony Vidmar (poor Tony) giving away a spot-kick or Bresciano skying the ball over the cross-bar again and again...

PS Points to Kewell for the nature of his outburst to Merkel after the match - he apparently said to Merkel "you're fucking shit", several times, which is funny because, *snigger*, two swears at once!

We wuz robbed

I don't feel like I can make fun of freaky tourette's John from Big Brother, so instead, I'm going to make fun of those nasty Brazilians.

So, spot the difference:





And again:





I know it's hard to split them, but try your best.

I call this meeting to or-diddly-order

So this new job involves a LOT of meetings. And a lot of ‘pre-meeting’ meetings (something about strategy, don’t ask me).

But anyway, the point of this is to jot down three observations from a meeting this morning:

1. A guy in a poo-brown double-breasted suit and a green shirt had one really long hair growing out of his eyebrow – it was about 5cm long I reckon. Best bit was it looped out in front of his face and back down into his eye. He didn’t seem to notice though. I was sitting side-on from him so I was transfixed;

2. A woman brought along a small leather pencil case full of her favourite pencils (yes, pencils). I’m intrigued – convenient, but definitely kooky and my question is, how many pencils do you need in a 45-minute meeting?; and

3. A guy with a flat-top haircut and a handle-bar moustache was making a sketch of the person across from him (who he’d only just met) in his notebook. And he wasn’t trying to do it surreptitiously, he was sketching for a bit then looking up at the person, sketching, looking up, and so on and so forth.

Crazy Canberrans.

Half-glassed!

You know that line of thought which says that you are able to tell whether someone is an optimist or a pessimist according to whether they think the glass is half-full or half-empty?

Well, nothing sh*ts me more than twee, trite nonsense such as this.

It really isn't such a deep question when you think about it.

A glass will always be half-full if you are filling it at the time. Ie, you are aiming to get the glass full, so half-way there is half-full.

Likewise, if you are aiming to empty a glass, half-way there is half-empty.

The appropriate description is dependent on the objective.

I mean, sure, you could be all 'normal' and relaxed about this and just take a commonplace saying for its intended meaning...

But I prefer the unnecessarily cynical and picky approach every time, thanks.

That is all.

Go sport!

The LovelyWife and enjoyed quite a marvellous footy match today, with the Swans (after predictably throwing away an early lead) managing to get their sh*t together for long enough in the final quarter to get up over the NorthMelbourne-WesternSydney-Canberra-maybeGoldCoast Kangaroos.

The sun was shining, beer was flowing in cans, pies were plentiful...ah, bewdy.

But can someone please explain what it is that makes people dress up in all their rugby union or rugby league supporters' gear when going to an AFL match?

And I'm not just talking about someone wearing a cap that happens to have their league team's colours or logo.

I'm talking about the people I saw today, who have obviously scraped together all their supporters' gear, such as the woman wearing a Brumbies jersey, under a Brumbies jumper, with a Brumbies scarf and a Brumbies hat!

Or the guy wearing a Raiders jersey (1989 stylie) with a Raiders hat under a Raiders beanie.

So I don't think that it is the case they had nothing else to wear. This appears to be pretty deliberate.

I just wanted to go up to these morons and shake them by the shoulders:

"What are you trying to say here?! Who exactly are you supporting? Sport in general? Do you really think it is possible to support 'sport'?!?!"

I really do not get it. If you like the Brumbies so much, why don't you just f*ck off to one of their matches and leave your seat free for an AFL fan?!

I understand that in StinkTown Canberra, we don't get that much AFL, so all those West Australians, South Australians and Victorians exiled here get to come along and give their Weagles, Port or tattered old Collingwood jersey an airing. This I understand.

I mean, at least they are wearing gear from the same sport they are watching. At least they are close.

But then again, Brumbies supporters in Canberra have always been insufferable - thinking that maybe, if they buy up really big on pointless merchandise (like Brumbies numberplates) they'll look like proper rugby fans, even if they've never had anything to do with rugby until the Brumbies started winning and they started going to matches...

If I was ever to turn...

Well, that's not really likely, but OHMYGOD I love Paul Keating:

Howard has certainly shifted our moral compass, he has burnt our soul, he has played to the basics of human instincts, he has ... turned our sense of fairness and egalitarianism on its head

Hmmm, although I'm wondering if he meant to say "basest of human instincts".

Anyway, all of you who were of voting age at the 1996 election - shame on you!

He also brings up an area in which I think the current ALP leadership have been criminally negligent - combatting this notion Howard has managed to drive into the voters' minds that only the Coalition can manage the economy:

"The huge reform that occurred in the life of the Keating government, as distinct from the Hawke-Keating government, have underpinned the 15-year expansion," the former Labor leader said.

All this at the launch of a new book on our current and previous PMs.

The best bit though, was Keating's verdict on the book:

"Would I write a better book? Of course I would. I am a better writer and I know more," he said.

Forget Shorten, forget Grubbard Gillard, bring back Paul!

A labor leader with confidence? *Swoon*