get over it

victorian parochialism and vfl nostalgo-panic reached a new high today on the front page of the age. trumpeting the interstate final that's proudly victorian, the article lists all the players for the SYDNEY SWANS and the WEST COAST EAGLES, who actually hail from victoria. gosh, there are alot. wow, i feel better already.

apparently this year sydney have put the kibosh on too much talk of "the bloods", as they would like to win a premiership for themselves this time thank you very much. so i guess there had to be another ingenious angle to help victorians feel better about not making the cut.

*calls the waaaah-mbulance*

broken english

yesterday, after sending my car to the wreckers [vale, silver bullet] i was grabbing a coffee in one of brunswick's finest establishments when i faced the indignity of having to read the australian. now, it's not novel to have animosity towards this terrible hun-esque rag masquerading as a broadsheet but even by my standards, the scorn i pour on this publication is intense. i tried to ameliorate the situation by reading only the higher ed supplement [i was temporarily out of the ivory tower, you see, and had already become homesick]. i was gobsmacked to see an op ed piece by ghassan hage. it was excellent. admittedly, it was tucked away on the back page BUT IT WAS THERE. you can read the whole thing here.

given his reputation as a raconteur, hage actually explains the different world views of conservatives and progressives in a mature and sensitive way. though i am wont to do it often, it really doesn't help to dwell on facile characterisations of left and right, and hage here demonstrates the kind of scholarship that i should aspire to. it was good to be reminded of how well he writes - i always remember the radical nature of his ideas, but it's also worth emulating the cool precision of his style.

substantively, the major point he makes is that the new "values debate" about who should and should not be included is obviously going to alienate those it seeks to 'assimilate'. no real news here. but, in the tradition of his best stuff from white nation, he also reminds us that the only people who benefit from this endless defining and redefining of "our values" are those who think they already possess them. why else would politicians screech about naughty immigrants who won't learn english IN ENGLISH? why would they not just quietly go about the business of helping new arrivals get access to language lessons? because it's posturing - designed to make english speaking, 'real' australians feel better about having the 'right' values. this way, even other immigrants can feel superior to those who can't speak english. it's perfect!


but my favourite part of his article comes towards the end, which made me glad to have read the australian after all. referring to the fact that the british terror suspects had perfect english, were english, would have passed any "values test" of englishness, hage hints at the real reason they didn't love their country - they were alienated from it. of australia, he notes:

"sometimes it seems as if conservatives prefer people to hate australia using good english rather than love it using broken english."

and that reminded me that many of the most moving declarations of love for australia that i've heard have been in broken english.

wha happen?

am i imagining things or is everyone a bit over their blogs? there seems to be a decisive lack of inspiration going around like a virus. i couldn't even find it in me to ridicule mark latham or kyle sandilands. even brownlow, with its paucity of tragic ensembles, was too much trouble. does it normally happen this way? a collective lull? where we all draw breath and find our mojo again? i'm only 100 posts in and still unsure of the way things work.

some people are hitting a rough patch with projects due and business elsewhere. some of us are a bit bored. some of us seem to be having a crappy time of things. of course, still others are swimming along just fine and producing wonderful musings on life and its associated quandaries.

but i do detect a certain ennui spreading among us. for instance, i was moved to post this because i have work to do that's not getting done. could it be a time-of-year thing? perhaps us bleeding hearts are just becoming desperate and hopeless about the increasingly fucked-up society we live in? [why aren't i blogging blair and brown? or the new york times report? or channel nine?] or is it just a coincidence? oh, and is there an etiquette to these things that i just trangressed?

just thought i'd ask...

for those about to rock

we salute you. and we'll get our tail feathers down to the empress tonight to show our support for local talent. we'll maybe even meet there early for dinner and then get rolling drunk in honour of the men who make it happen. we'll see the hottest drummer in the whole world do a striking impression of animal from the muppets, and we'll also see various saucy girl bloggers getting their groupie on in the worst way [well, at least one]. we should really make an effort to go out on a school night. we should meet up with all our new peeps and drink to absent friends. we should prepare for the arockalypse.

oh no, it's memin' again

thanks supertramp. and thanks also to the dresden dolls for your unbelievable sauciness, the memory of which is enough to get the blood up. worship them here. thanks to the peeps who tagged me with this meme [sorry for the tardiness but obviously i had to wait until i had a huge piece of written work due before i could tackle it]. thanks to bonnie for offering the corrockinrolla to her carless mate. i actually did mean carless but, yes, i realise i can be careless too. thanks to the sexy and sweet toby, who snuck into my house this morning to gimme some lovin' [on the way to work]. thanks to the delightful folk at the green refectory for continuing to provide me with fine illy coffies and for always having at least one guy on staff who looks like he wandered in off the street for some chai and never left. thanks frank, for keeping up the spirits [his and mine] despite the indignity of being stuffed in a korean fairy costume for our amusement. thanks doc, who yesterday picked me up in his baby blue convertible mg to look at a house in footscray; you're my personal saviour and i invite you into my heart. here's the now-ubiquitous three things meme:

1. three things that scare me

• needles
• bonnie's driving
• not finishing my thesis

2. three things that make me laugh

• unfashionable names for drugs [doobies, colombian marching powder etc]
• realising in the middle of a tantrum that i am, in fact, nikki from bbuk
• my supervisor

3. three things i hate the most

• racism [which i hate], no really, um, violence - emotional or physical
• yarra trams ticket inspectors/city of yarra parking inspectors
• hippies

4. three things i don't understand

• my father's taste in women
• technology
• girls gone wild [girls with low self-esteem]

5. three things i'm doing right now

• drinking a flat white
• smoking a cigarette
• looking out the window onto sydney rd and wondering if i'm really ready to leave the hood

6. three things i want to do before i die

• live in a houseboat off the coast of mexico
• become a doctor
• be good to my children ['sokay, i plan on not dying for a wee while]

7. three things i can do

• remember things photographically [except appointments]
• communicate
• sing

8. three ways to describe my personality

• stubborn
• persuasive
• generous

9. three things i can't do

• play scrabble [or frisbee apparently]
• resist anti-authoritarian impulses
• abide fools

10. three things i think you should listen to

• rrr
• loudon wainwright's pretty good day
• ryan adams

11. three things you should never listen to

• the herald sun
• coldplay
• tony robbins [and his ilk]

12. three things i'd like to learn

• endnote
• punctuality
• another language [maybe spanish or french?]

13. three favourite foods

• eggs benedict from the bomb in abbotsford
• sashimi salad from iku in brunswick
• calzone from mellino's in fortitude valley

14. three beverages i drink regularly

• coffee
• coca cola [yes, paddy, i know it's killing workers - i can't help it]
• beer

15. three shows i watched as a kid

• monkey magic
• a country practice
• wombat

16. three people i'm tagging

• doc [who should use his blog for something other than a catalogue of how cute he is]
• the 13th cat [who has been very quiet]
• dave mack [new! improved! older! wiser! even more rad!]

i'm out. if you need me, i'll be at my computer pretending to type the words that make the sentences that get the thesis finished that changes the world.

to quote my younger self...

IT'S NOT FAIR.

today had promise. it was hot. it was breezy. i still had a buzz on from seeing the stupidly sexy dresden dolls last night [more on that story later]. it all started to go wrong when i saw this headline and thought it was brendan, only to find it was willie.

then my car died.

so it has been towed to the tip, er, transmission specialist. but given that the repair may cost thousands and i bought the car ten years ago for eight hundred dollars, i'm not holding my breath. in the words of sarah brightman and andrea bocelli, it's time to say goodbye.

the most valuable thing in that vehicle is the booty from our winning streak at trivia [four cartons of undrinkable beer and a bottle of cheeky red].

sigh.


UPDATE: mechanic guy called me at EIGHT O'CLOCK this morning to tell me that a new transmission costs 1700 bucks [before labour] or he can find a second-hand reconditioned transmission for 800. um, yeah, i'm just gonna borrow someone's car to pick up the grog and my large collection of seventies cassettes.

p.s. i just cried when the tv showed bindi reading out a eulogy for her mental dad. jesus h. fucking christ.

hanky panky

one of my secret skills is the ability to confer nicknames that stick.* partly because they have that advertising-language-type ease of memory, and partly because they usually refer to something fundamental about their recipient. not a great skill, granted, inasmuch as it's pretty useless in this "real world" you speak of [unless i am one day charged with jingle writing] but still, i get a kick out of giving a name to someone that they keep forever. i was christened "kp" by the darling dan white when we were a couple of whippersnappers, and he doggedly called me that until everyone did. he, like me, hated kazza. to come to the point, a dear friend of mine has no good nickname and i'm at a loss as to what we should call him. i call him hank [he's a real live henry] but he's requested something with [and i quote] "more va va voom". my instinctive suggestions; bobby dazzler, razzle dazzle, loudmouth ungrateful bastard; didn't impress him, so i'm handing it over to you. here's all the information you'll need to nickname-ise him:

• he's ridiculously good looking
• he's gay as a christmas tree [hmm, how gay are they?]
• he's a fashionista/glitterati/man about town type
• he's nouveau riche
• he's smarter than an entire friday night crowd at the market combined

i hope you can help. he's rather like a lost dog, with all the moony eyes, and the sinking feeling that if his friends don't have an affectionate pet name for him, perhaps they don't love him as much as he so richly deserves [i do].

*other secret skills include the ability to recite the state capitals of the usa on demand. what are yours? [a la molly ringwald in the breakfast club with her boobalicious lipstick trick]

once more with feeling

last week i invited all of you to come and bear witness to the subtle genius of redbreast. some of you came and met me last saturday, only to find that my dairy was faulty and bad metal is not dead. if i may atone, this weekend is the real deal. you can read my breathless recommendation here and listen for yourself here. i'll be in attendance at their second show on saturday, from 9pm at section 8 on tattersalls lane, in the city. if you want to meet up, give me a yell and we can swap numbers. otherwise, have yourselves a merry little weekend.

happiness [todd solondz style]

who says the indonesians never do anything for us?


happy birthday, shane.


what was that you were saying, auntie germs?

the life pursuit

this one goes out to the ones i love - belle and sebastian, who are right now embarking on the adventure of a lifetime. i am so proud of the energy and dedication you have both shown; to each other, but also to each of us, and to the important work that you do. i'm proud to be such a big part of your lives, your memories of melbourne and, i feel sure, your future. i can't explain the feeling of calm i have about this. i just know you'll be fine. i know you'll be accomplishing brilliant feats, i know you'll find friends that you can't believe you haven't known forever, and i know i'll be seeing you before too long. as this year attests, time passes quickly between the ones we love. was it only january when we sang this [again]?

got on a lucky one
came in eighteen to one
i got a feelin'
this year's for me and you
so happy christmas
i love you baby
i can see a better time
when all our dreams come true...

waddya know?

ich bin ein dummkopf

it's next week. helen's band, redbreast, are playing at the rob roy and section 8 on saturday of NEXT WEEK. i found this out when i was at the rob roy yesterday waiting for them to arrive, and saw a poster for redbreast on the wall, stating very clearly that they would be playing on the 16th of september. luckily for everyone, a very bad metal band were playing instead, so we can laugh about it now. if anyone, especially amanda [so sorry!], tried to attend either show, i forcefully and sincerely apologise.

i blame my new dairy.

a thousand anxious passions

this weekend, melbournetown has some very special visitors. my dear friend, helen, is bringing her band for two gigs tomorrow. they're called redbreast, and listening to them is a bit like taking a bath in warm treacle. languid and liquid, stylish and subtle, a little bit sinister, a whole lot winsome, and rich rich rich. you can listen to some of their stuff here. if you like it, they're playing the rob roy at 3pm tomorrow [this show is with nathan hollywood who sings LIKE A FALLEN ANGEL] and section 8 in tattersalls lane at 9pm. i'm thinking of going to both, so if you want to come along, give me a yell. i predict two splendid shows, very different venues, but afternoon gigs are always fun to get drunk at, and section 8 is a more dramatic space. so i reckon they'll both be ace. because i detect shades of sigur ros and bjork in redbreast, this is a special shoutout to richard and rach to come along if they can...

the meme of ten books

1. one book I've read more than once. perfume by patrick suskind is the book i keep buying because i keep giving it away. i re-read it probably about once a year, and it's no exaggeration to say it gets better every time. it moves me so profoundly, it defies adequate description. suffice to say, it's an unorthodox love story, and a book i shall never tire of.

2. one book I would want on a desert island. the dictionary. any old one will do.

3. one book that made me laugh. parliament of whores but really anything by p.j. o'rourke [also filed under guilty pleasures] - the man is so charming, so sexy, so commanding a comedic presence that when i read his stuff, i titter like a schoolgirl and forget that he' s on the wrong team.

4. one book that made me cry. broken circles: fragmenting indigenous families 1800 - 2000 by anna haebich. jesus, this fucking broke my heart. for anyone who wants to understand the full impact of child removal, haebich takes you through everything from government policy to individual experience, without ever browbeating or sermonising. this is the best kind of academic work - it engages emotion without being ruled by it. the hardest thing i've ever read was the story of louis st. john johnson/warren braedon. it haunts me still.


5. one book I wish I'd written. gangland: cultural elites and the new generationalism by mark davis. so gutsy, and so densely empirical it can't be argued with, gangland is the book that thrilled me into action. i remember reading it and thinking that we need a hundred more mark davises. he's the real deal.

6. one book I wish had never been written. i want to say the entire oeuvre of keith windschuttle but i guess i wouldn't be here if that were the case. i'm gonna go with the fountainhead by ayn rand, because then i wouldn't have to listen to so many otherwise erudite and clever people telling me how good/valuable/profound it is. it just isn't. except as a cultural artefact of a moment in history and an addled mind.

7. one book I'm currently reading. oryx and crake by margaret atwood. this book was sold to me [not literally] by my friend ian, who said it was one of the best he's ever read. i found a beautiful hard cover edition at the now closed book barn in daylesford. bonnie also gives it the thumbs up. i'm only a little way in and finding the going tough.

8. one book I've been meaning to read. the jesus man by christos tsiolkas. i studied loaded at undergrad, and now i've taught it too. it's an extraordinary book, as is dead europe [book of the year! hurrah!], so i want to get inside that brilliant mind again and read the second novel.

9. one book that changed my life. the women's room by marilyn french. until i read this book [in 1995], i had no instinctive feeling that women had been wronged, or were structurally disadvantaged. by telling a story, in the form of a novel rather than a treatise, french moved me to understand that my privilege doesn't insulate me from that reality. i've read it many times since, and it has dated, but it remains a seminal book for me.

10. one book that made me think. burmese days by george orwell. i guess i could put any of orwell's books in this category but this is the one that set me on fire. it turns on a fulcrum of steadily encroaching catastrophe, wrenching your gut until the stunning climax [whereby you realise that the worst kind of damage can't ever be seen or predicted]. it exposes the horror of colonial oppression in a quiet, calm way. which, of course, makes it all the more horrifying.



why, thank you, sherd! that was quite enjoyable as far as sophisticated procrastination techniques go. i think all my peeps have been tagged with this [or they "don't do memes" - you know who you are, get off your high horse and play down here with the plebs] but if you haven't, and you wanna be, you're it.

dear dairy

last time i owned a diary, that was how i began every entry. i would actually say it loud as i wrote it - "dear dairy". in the pantheon of childhood mispronunciations, it's up there with corjugal, hostible, besketti, and in my case, olyompics. i recently purchased a new dairy. a red one. it's shiny and lovely and smells like a dead cow [in a good way]. it won't be home to guilty confessions, love declarations and schemes to overthrow my stepmother, like my other dairies. but i'm told that, in adult life, they serve a useful purpose and cut down on the regularity of missed meetings and birthdays.* so dave mack, here it is:



today contains these entries:

• start marking essays
• trivia @ b-east

which reminds me, tonight will mark the triumphant debut of 'celebrity fart date' [our new team name], if anyone cares to come and join the winners. you are most welcome.



*darling mads had a birthday last week and was most understanding about my failure to acknowledge it. it just goes to show what a good sheila she is. ken oath, mate.

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

bonnie's birthday card to me contained the following excerpt:

"who could have predicted the changes this new year of your life has seen?"

as ever, she's right. and there are bigger changes coming. i thought i'd bring you all up to speed.


as most of you know, i'm hopelessly in love. that means that everything looks a little different. some things seem harder but i suspect that having a new centre, a new anchor, challenges those certainties you had always relied on before. i have reevaluated so many things, and some of them have been hard to let go of. but mostly, i am exhilarated. and gratified. and dizzy with love. that's a big change.

another change, that took place a little while ago, is that i'm no longer the assistant editor of overland magazine. it was a terrifying moment - realising that i have less than a year to finish an 80 000 word thesis, on a subject that pains me as much as it excites my blood. in that same instant, i knew i had to give up two of my four jobs. deciding to stop teaching literature at v.u. was relatively straightforward, but leaving overland was traumatic, to say the least. it was such an honour to do the job for as long as i did, and i honestly believe it's one of the best publications of its kind. it fulfils such an important role in the australian public sphere, and i'll always read it, love it, value it. my colleagues were incredibly supportive of my decision, and i assured them that i hope to have a long association with the magazine. oooh, i feel a little hot behind the eyes just thinking about it. it was the right thing to do but it still stings a little.

so now, i continue teaching at melbourne [australian studies] and i look down the barrel of the last year of my phd. big changes are required to make this happen. i need to focus my energy and write like a woman possessed. i can't be sidetracked, or distracted, or discouraged. i can't afford to let time spiral away, or lick old wounds, or let the black dog creep around corners and ambush me. i have to get this gone.

so i'm staying put at the house i've been trying to leave. it's a fine house. an old warhorse, with plenty of flaws but also plenty of charm. i'll give it another chance to sustain me. as you can see, some of these changes, are more like samenesses. i still live here, i still have to write up my thesis, i still have incredible, wonderful people in my life who want to help me endlessly. the changes are linked to a new mindset. i'll get this written. i'll find time for those i love. i'll be better.

mein hund

he's black. and white. and tan. he's a kelpie mini-foxy cross [his first vet's best guess] rescued from the rspca in toowoomba 5 and a half years ago. he's obnoxious, adoring/adorable, clever, lazy, needy, greedy, sometimes hilarious [and stinky], never boring, always gorgeous. he's a little bit country and a little bit rock 'n' roll. he's frank. he's my dog.







and now he's crook. the paw that you see in that picture is now very sore, and is causing frank to limp. apart from the obvious comedic value of calling him "hopalong cassidy", i would much rather it wasn't paining him. cos if it pains him, it pains me. he had a very traumatic visit to the vet last week, to see about said paw, whereby he received multiple jabs and a course of antibiotics. the feeling was that he would get better. a phantom recovery ensued [which i think was down to the fact that good cop was the primary caretaker while i was away] but now he's limping around again. just so you know.


so now you've all met my dog. i realise that the conventional wisdom states that any blog featuring posts about pets has officially jumped the shark. i hope you'll forgive this transgression and agree that under the circumstances you might make an exception and keep reading next week. he is rather cute. in fact, this saucy lady has just invited him to the park tomorrow. frank kindly accepts your invitation, madam, but reminds you that he will be convalescent.



*ticks frank hardy off the list*