Earth Hour: Worth the Energy?

This evening saw the lights go off in Brisbane as part of Earth Hour 2008.

Sadly, with street & traffic lights, transmission towers and guidance beams remaining on, the streets were not (as I'd hoped) plunged in a post-apocalyptic mire, crawling with flesh-eating zombies and flesh-scarring emos.

Still, I did my bit - turned off all the lights and appliances in Chez Clumsy - then grabbed my camera and took to the streets, in the hope of scoring some magnificent photos of a dark and sombre River City. Didn't really turn out that way, but here are the results nonetheless.

This is the view from the Normanby five-ways across the Roma Street Parklands towards North Quay.


Lord Mayor Campbell Newman has been a big supporter of Earth Hour, but I couldn't help noticing his (now out-of-date) election billboard on Musgrave Road was still lit up like a Christmas tree:


Here's a sight - Brisbane's infamous Suncorp-Metway digital clock, which makes the time available across the CBD. This is the first time it's been switched off in 30 years.


However, less than five minutes later, like a burning, dawning sun, the colossal timepiece burst into electric flame again, signalling the end of the hour of darkness with a jaunty 9:01. The camera can't even make out the digits, such was its brightness:


I wasn't in a good position to see major structures like the Story Bridge, Kangaroo Point cliffs, City Hall, XXXX Brewery and State Library go dark, so I can't really judge how effective the campaign was. However, the streets of Spring Hill seemed much the same as usual, if not a little quiet for a Saturday night. As I began my walk, I heard a group of residents in an apartment yelling to their neighbours to "turn them off, it's Earth Hour!", but there was little other evidence to show a mass dimming of the lights.

Anybody else get out and about? Was there much participation in suburbs further out from the city? And was Earth Hour worth the energy?

Three Sisters

Girl Clumsy and The Wah attempt to solve the Mystery of the Missing Three Sisters!

Gagging For It*

Do you ever break out some first-class comedy stylings, only to have them completely fly over the heads of their intended audience?

I'll explain.

I was just on the phone chatting to my Dad, who was expressing concern about my health. You see, I woke up this morning with another bout of labyrinthitis, an inner-ear infection that affects your balance, and makes you dizzy (Big shout-out to Louise, my labyrinthitis sister sufferer over in Shanghai). I'm just chilling at home, and mainlining Stemzine, so I reckon I should be right soon.

But because I've had a couple of colds recently, my Dad was being very stern, advising me to go to a doctor, or at least take some vitamins. "You just make sure you look after yourself," he finished.

"I AM Dad," I replied. "I AM looking after myself!"

....Get it?

Now I know the old Lean Cuisine ads date back at least 10 years, but come on. Surely that catchphrase is ingrained into the Australian psyche? Apparently not, as my Dad pressed on with his "concerns for my welfare" (pfft!), and completely ignored the champagne freaking comedy.

Another example. I was at OfficeWorks last week buying some print cartridges, when I noticed a box of massive, neon-coloured plastic calculators. Goodness knows what kind of maths-brain needs a 30cm by 20cm calculator, but there they were, propped up next to a support beam near the cashier's counter.

So I plopped my cartridges on the counter and said to the guy, "Can you help me? I really, desperately need some giant plastic calculators!" He looked at me strangely, then spotted the calculators and pointed, looking somewhat confused, yet pleased he could solve my problem.

I realised it had completely gone over his head, and just waved my hands and tried to explain it was just a joke. He looked even more confused then. I just sighed inwardly to myself. Perhaps it's just the people I hang out with, but dammit, that would've scored major laughs. Hys-freaking-terical.

Has anyone else got good examples of great gags that failed?

*I've recently put Google Analytics on this site, just to see what the visitor stats are like. You can actually see what search terms people used that brought them to your site, so I'll be interested to see how many people who may have been looking for porn have inadvertently stumbled here instead.

Poor Pammy

I've been having somewhat of a maudlin day. Various things have conspired to leave my ego a little tender, a little bruised.

But all that pales in comparison to the tragic end to one of the great romances of our time: Pamela Anderson and Rick Saloman.

The couple wed in October last year, separated in December, and now, despite all my hopes for a reconciliation, have officially annulled their union.

You may not know Rick Salomon by face or name, but you'd certainly know him by arse - he was the gentlemen fawned over lovingly by then-girlfriend Paris Hilton in a very tasteful and classy night-vision movie called "One Night in Paris".

Pamela herself is no stranger to au naturel on-screen performances: indeed, her cinematic exploits with first husband Tommy Lee really blazed the trail of homemade celebrity sex tapes.

I'm sorry, but if you can't believe in the romance between these two pioneers of celebrity porn, what can you believe in? Posh & Becks? I think not.

Excuse me, I just have something in my eye... *eep*.

Bad Friday

A very dear friend of mine was today on the receiving end of a random act of stupid and cowardly violence.

Travelling to the city on a train, he was punched in the face by a complete stranger. The man was a young fellow, whom my friend describes as "looking for a fight". He had threatened him from across the aisle, before moving to sit down next to my friend, hassling him, before taking his bag, punching him, and jumping off the train as it pulled into the station.

What's worse is the man was accompanied by a woman, who while apparently not impressed with his behaviour, didn't stop him from hassling or hurting my friend.

Now my friend is thankfully OK - some very kind commuters called the train driver, and then an ambulance. He suffered a bloody nose and shock, but is otherwise fine. He luckily had his phone and wallet in his pockets, and his GameBoy in his hands. However his bag was taken, containing various books, games and other items.

He saw his attacker clearly and I believe will make a statement to police. I hope this disgusting and cowardly individual is caught as soon as possible. He is a person who needs to learn his behaviour isn't acceptable, and does NOT make him a "big man". Hopefully his female companion will turn him in, especially in the light of the recent One Punch Can Kill campaign, and other efforts to get women to shun men who fight.

My friend is a very calm, easygoing, "live and let live" type of guy. It's just plain wrong for him to be treated this way. The Wah and the Spoon, who accompanied me to the RBH to pick up our friend and drive him home, have made various vows of physical retribution, but I'm sticking to sending out bad karmic vibes to the universe. It has an uncanny way of dealing out frontier-style justice where necessary.

I took note of the irony of this attack occuring on Good Friday. Or perhaps it's appropriate, rather than ironic, given the religious holiday marks the anniversary of an extremely violent event. It's somewhat interesting that my friend has a slender frame with long wavy brown hair - and bears a fair resemblance to painted ideals of Jesus. I'm sure the attacker didn't think that much about it: all evidence at the moment points to him not thinking at all.

Tragic telemovies I have known

I flicked on the tube today to be confronted by the very worst of daytime TV - the dramatised biopic.

Ugh.

I really struggle to find any kind of redeeming qualities in these types of "films". The acting is generally poor, the scripting stereotypical and melodramatic, and the endings - whether uplifting or tragic - nauseating.

Today's offering was the 2003 flick "America's Prince: The JFK Jnr Story".

Now I might be going out on the controversy branch here, but I really hate this whole "Kennedy legacy" thing. Sure, there were a couple of big-time major suckfests - the assassinations of JFK and RFK. I'm sorry, but that's where it ends. Ted's Chappaquidick adventures were just sordid, Jackie died of natural causes, and the ones done for that murder of that chick back in the 70s were just idiotic psychos. "Oh my God! Every generation, someone in this family dies! Every so often, it's in traumatic circumstances!" By those standards of "cursed", every bloody family is cursed.

And, as far as "John-John" goes, I really find it hard to feel any kind of tragedy-tinged nostalgia for him. Fine, he died too young, and that's sad. But as far as I can make out, his life up until the unfortunate ditching off Martha's vineyard was a smorgasbord of money, hot chicks, powerful family connections and a half-hearted attempt at magazine publishing. I'm sorry, but dealing with a slightly controlling Mom, a slightly controlling wife, and the paparazzi does not make you Hamlet.

Not that I wasn't impressed with the dude they roped in to play JFK Jnr. He appeared to have made the decision to let his outrageously over-inflated and pomaded hair do the acting for him. Honestly, the fringe stood a full three inches above the hairline. A hairdresser would require scaffolding and planning permission from the council to give it a trim. And they got the icy cool Portia de Rossi to play the ice cool Carolyn Bessette Kennedy, John-John's wife. Now she's a chick who's got dagger-eyes down pat. But Jacqueline Bisset as Jackie Onassis? Oooh. No.

For credibility's sake, the "filmmakers" also decided to include some historical footage, such as the iconic reel of "John-John" saluting his father as his funeral procession went past, or sitting on JFK's lap on a plane, just to really shove the whole "he needed to fly to be free" message down your already refluxing throat. Unfortunately, that kind of stuff in a telemovie reminds you just how fake everything about the production is, and how the subject's life could never have been as perfectly scripted as it is in a made-for-tv docu/drama.

I didn't catch the end of the film, but I assumed it concluded with a fateful light plane journey: perhaps with John and Carolyn looking wistfully into each other's eyes and promising to make their marriage stronger in future; perhaps with John discussing new ideas to get his magazine out of the poo, or expressing a longing to enter the political arena and continue his father's dream of banging movie starlets (or civil rights, who knows). We don't know what their final conversations were, but thanks to the magic of Hollywood, we can leave the film reassured that their deaths were an untimely tragedy, to be remembered and honoured with downcast eyes, perhaps even with a Celine Dion soundtrack.

I remember once seeing parts of a truly appallling Diana telemovie, one filmed not long after her death. That followed an earlier mini-series based on the Andrew Moreton books. I've seen a telemovie about Jackie Onassis, in which she was played by Joanne Whalley-Kilmer. There's been a few about Marilyn Monroe, including that one with the Aussie chick from "Without a Trace". As far as I can make out, no A-grade celebrity is immune from portrayal by a B-grade actor in a C-grade dramatised biopic.

Anyone else seen some dodgy telemovies? And am I being too harsh on the Kennedys?

Free beer! (and journalism)

It's been an exhausting but exciting couple of days for your humble correspondent - I've been attending Wired for Work, the 11th Annual Freelance Journalists Convention. Run by the MEAA, and held at the slick new State Library of Queensland, it was two days of networking, schmoozing and listening to stories and advice from others in the industry.

The conference was really the first "career development" shindig I've ever attended, and I'm looking forward to going to more. My favourite sessions included "Interviewing: Tricks of the Trade", which featured political reporter Cathy Border from Ten News, and Anna Bronowski, the filmmaker behind "Forbidden Lie$", the marvellous documentary on Norma Khouri. That session contained some priceless stories and insights about the art of asking the right questions and dealing with the (often wrong) answers. I also enjoyed the Sunday morning panel on the future of the media. Turns out joining Facebook was a step in the right direction, as opposed to a needy, self-indulgent waste of time. The panelists, which included Crikey.com.au contributor Margaret Simons, were all dead enthusiastic about social networking as a future source of news for most people. The terms "Search Engine Optimisation" and "User Generated Content" were also bandied about with alarming frequency, which was just another thud of a reminder about how much I still have to learn/teach myself about the internet. Good thing I've started with that domain name.

Saturday night was the convention dinner, held at Decks Restaurant at Southbank. It was lovely to walk in and be greeted by a wave from one John Birmingham, who was there to give the keynote speech - despite suffering from a nasty head cold. We wound up sitting at the same table, with a trio of stylish UQ journalism students. I tell you, I wish I'd been that glamourous at university. They had proper haircuts and everything, as opposed to the mass of badly-dyed red frizz that I sported during my UQ days.

The dinner was sponsored by Lion Nathan, and the company's chief brewer was on hand to give expert opinion about the beers that were on offer throughout our three courses. Now I'm not a drinker, but I was encouraged by Birmo to sample a few of the brews. I probably had about one standard drink all up, but that's a lot for me. At one point in the evening I turned to John and asked if it was normal for one's head to feel a little cloudy after consuming the amber fluid. 'Yeah, that's beer," was his reply. So, hoorah! Girlclumsy gets a beer buzz. New experiences abound.

You can see in the picture some of the beers that we taste-tested. This was taken before desert, when the cherry-flavoured Belgian beer and supposedly chocolate-y James Squire Porter were wheeled out. The one I enjoyed most was probably the Hahn Low-Carb Super Dry. It had a more wine-y texture, was quite smooth, without a lot of the bitterness that puts me off beer. I'm sure low-carb beers are sniggered at amongst most afficionados, but I figured I can probably get away with drinking a big girly beer.

John's speech was very entertaining - some of the anecdotes about trying to get money out of various publications were hilarious. Apparently a certain rock magazine once sold their review CD collection to pay for a photographer. Here was I thinking magazines are professionally-run operations! He was also very gracious putting up with my questions about his writing, books and even that film throughout the evening.

Sunday afternoon saw the speed-pitching session, where we had five minutes with three different editors, in order to throw out the ideas line and hopefully get a bite on the end. I don't yet know if I've managed to reel in a good catch (have I tortured this analogy enough yet?), but I'm quietly confident, and just taking it one game at a time (fishing AND sport! She's got all analogy bases covered!). At the very least I managed to pass out a fair few of my shiny business cards, so I may have a new viewer or two to the old 'blog - sorry, online digital new media social networking bookmarking experience centre.

Nice beaver

The new ad for Kotex's "U" brand of tampons has created something of a storm this week. Rated M, it features a young woman on a day out with her furry, cartoonish pet beaver, with the catchphrase "You only have one/For the ultimate care down there".

The Advertising Standards Bureau received a "large number" of complaints after it was first aired on Sunday night, and there have been calls for the campaign to be pulled. I am glad to see, however, that the ads remain on air, at least for the moment.

I thought this ad was a cute and inventive way to advertise tampons. Certainly a lot more engaging that those old ones featuring women swimming, or playing tennis, or riding bicycles, because their tampons just make them feel so free and active. Or that recent Libra Fleur one where the dumb boyfriend was using the tampons as dangly temptations for the pet cat. What was that all about?

Quite frankly, I think people need to lighten up a lot about vaginas. For some reason, while the penis is widely accepted and admired, vaginas still seem to scare people. They seem particularly upset but what is really just a natural function of that part of the female anatomy. Surely the playful comparison to a beaver is fairly harmless? Surely viewers would be a bit more squeamish about a tagline like - "You bleed from the vagina, so use Sphagnum-Brand Super-Absorbo-Pads!"

Imagine if an ad for a personal men's cream or similar product featured a man on a day out with his friendly "trouser snake". They'd laugh together, have a meal, perhaps enjoy a Jessica Alba movie. Would the catchphrase "Because every man needs to look after his trouser snake" offend people as much? Somehow, penises are more socially acceptable than vaginas, despite the fact that they continue to be uglier and far more basic in design.

I can think of half a dozen ads for various deodorants or mens' magazines that I find ten times more offensive than the Kotex beaver ad.

I get the feeling those people complaining about this ad may have the view that ladies don't "talk" about "those sorts of things". Well, you know what? I'm proud to have a beaver, and I'm sure it would love to receive a gift of Kotex anyday. After all, have you seen the cost of tampons lately?

Politicians Do It Better (and more expensively)

There's nothing funnier in American politics than sex scandals, don't you find?

My personal favourites are the ones involving rabid anti-homosexual right-wingers getting caught doing naughty things with boys. Monseiur Larry Craig's wide stance is a perfect example. Others, like the Bill Clinton/Monica Lewinsky saga, become so legendary, you can still dine out on intern jokes years later (cigar, anyone?).

But now there's a new one adding spice and sensation to the otherwise dull lives of ....um, New Yorkers.

State Governor Eliot Spitzer has been linked to a high-class prostitution ring, that reportedly charged clients up to $5,500 a pop. Today he's given a brief media conference, admitting to nothing in concrete, but admitting he needs to spend time "regaining the trust" of his family.

Which brings me to my next point - The Wife.

Stoically "Standing By Her Man" - Silda Wall Spitzer said nothing during the conference, and even held hands with her husband as they left. One wonders if she dropped it like a stone once they were out of view of the cameras. What must it be like for her? While Spitzer himself will be hit by an outpouring of surprise, disbelief, anger, and shame, his wife will cop all of that, plus another, more terrible thing. Pity.

Pity her for not knowing what her husband was up to. Pity her for not leaving him straight away. Pity her for what she has to tell her three daughters. And perhaps, just perhaps, pity her for not being "enough" for him sexually. (That's not my personal view, just what normally happens with these sorts of things. Remember what they said about Liz Hurley during the whole Hugh Grant/Devine Brown affair? "If you get good home cooking, you don't have to use the drive-thru", that sort of thing).

What do you do in a situation like that?

And more generally, what happens to people's sex lives when they become a politician? Now apparently power is an aphrodisiac. A girl I know who worked as a media adviser in Canberra for a time once told me she often saw pretty-and-super-well-educated young women eyeing off much-older politicians simply because they got off on being close to powerful figures. Now I can't even imagine sauntering up to Alexander Downer, or Wayne Swan, or even Julia Gillard with a sly wink and a sexy grin, but perhaps I am in the minority.

And what's the temptation for women in politics? One can't imagine that they don't have the same temptations with their own young, smart, well-educated advisers - or perhaps they too dig their male counterparts, a la Cheryl Kernot.

Governor Spitzer's affair is obviously a cash transaction - does that make it better, or worse? I try to keep an open mind about prostitution, because it's not going to go away, and it's (generally) a safe and responsible option for both participants. But would I want my own other half popping off for a $5000 professional shag?

Well, for starters, I'd want to know where he got the damn cash, and whether the chick also cleaned my house, car and re-painted the roof for that price.

I'm not sure if Mrs Spitzer would be thinking the same though. I'm a more povvo kinda gal...

Can Bad Songs Be Redeemed?

For years, I loathed the song "Africa" by Toto.

But after two years of listening to "Get This" (the brilliant but sadly terminated Tripe M radio show featuring Tony Martin, Ed Kavalee and Richard Marsland), I've developed a keen fondness for it.

The "Get This" boys would often take the piss out of the song, mocking its tragic 80s-ness, and the fact it was a staple on the Triple M play list. It became synonymous with fun for me, so now when it comes on the radio (as it invariably does), I turn it up and belt out with gusto "I feel the RAIN... down in Africa".

Another example is the song "Hold On For One More Day" by Wilson Phillips. A fairly wussy song, I defy anyone who's seen "Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle" to not smile and burst out singing when they hear it.

So the question is - can bad songs be redeemed by their use elsewhere? Does the song become cool or gain credibility because cool people like it, or utilise it? Once it's linked with something "good", does that negate the "badness", or simply exploit it?

And do you have any more examples of songs you once hated, but now quite enjoy?

Domain-ified!

www.girlclumsy.com

Go on, try it.

It's in transition, but certainly after a few days, you should be re-directed right back here.

Awesome.

Yes, I know people have had domain names since Jesus was in short pants, but it's still very exciting for me.

Purchasing the domain through Blogger (aka Google) was extraordinarily easy and cheap, and gives me access to various Google applications, including personal email at girlclumsy dot com. If you know my first name, give it a shot! (I'm trying to avoid filling the inbox with spam for at least one day).

Also, a man known only as "The Spoon" is currently residing at Chez Clumsy, along with his giant keyboard, and, god forbid, a Mac. I mention this only because he asked if I was blogging about him. Ego, much? ;)

Keepin' it Streak

I reached a marvellous milestone today. I took part in my first honest-to-goodness media scrum.

Don't get me wrong, I've been in many media conferences full of journos and camera operators, all scrambling for vision and/or audio.

But this was the first actual "on-the-run" question session - where the subject refused to stop walking, and we were all forced to jog alongside him, bumping microphones and cameras, and tripping over ourselves, and him, as we went. Tune in to the TV news services tonight, and you may just catch one Girl Clumsy Esq., with slightly big hair, flailing about with a microphone.

And who, you ask, was the subject of such hardcore media scrutiny?

Why, this man, of course.

Not Andrew Symonds, but the naked man he's shoulder-charging.

The young man's name is Robert Ogilvie, and he's a 26-year-old miner on the admirable salary of $4000 per month (these are the things you pick up in court).

Last night, he and a group of friends set up shop in Section 15 of the Gabba stands, to enjoy a few beers while Australia tried to salvage the tri-series in the second final against India. Around 6:20pm, Ogilvie had the stunningly brilliant idea of togging down, scaling the fence, pelting past some security officers and police, and running, bollocks-out, onto the pitch. The crowd roared, but the police began to give chase.

But Ogilvie made a crucial mistake. He failed to realise that Australia was in a precarious position after the first loss in the finals series, which had come at the end of a summer full of controversy and "monkey" insults. The stakes were high, and Symonds had No. Frigging. Time. for such shenanigans.

Ogilvie also failed to remember that Symonds had indulged in a spot of pre-season training with the Brisbane Broncos.

THWACK!

Executing a perfect coat-hanger maneouvre, Ogilvie's triumphant naked run was brought to a sudden, stupefying end by the sharp end of Symonds' right elbow. A number of police then executed a perfect "stacks-on" method of detention, body-slamming the bare-arsed entertainer so deep he'll be washing grass off his back for weeks.

The crowd roared, then laughed. As Ogilvie was led off in hand-cuffs, they got back to the serious business of watching Australia lose.

But young Ogilvie's actions meant Australia's loss of the tri-series trophy was NOT the most memorable thing about the evening. Could one call that a public service?

Is Ogilvie a legend, or a dead-set loser?

Judging from his own attitude when he emerged from the back of the Brisbane watchhouse around midday today, having just been fined $1500 for his bravura, he thinks he's nailed a pretty-bloody-Aussie achievement. He powered his way through the press corps, answering questions in short sentences, or just a few words. He said being hit by Symonds was "just like playing football, really", and that "you're only young once". He said he wasn't embarrassed by his actions, but wouldn't be doing it again. Ogilvie apologised to the Australian team for interrupting play, and told one reporter who asked if he'd take legal action against Symonds for assault to "wake up to yourself".

As the throng eased, he made his way up towards Roma Street, being pursued (apparently) by an A Current Affair film crew.

I couldn't stop laughing. I know there are serious issues involved here - the interruption of player focus, the bad example to children, the over-consumption of alcohol - but after three hours sitting in court, I needed a giggle.