I ventured out this evening for Photo-Synthesis, an exhibition of graduate work by photoimaging students from the Southbank Institute of Technology, and featuring a very fine collection by my friend Aurelie.
I had helped Aurelie out by writing up a media release for the group, and forwarding it on to a few contacts in an attempt to drum up publicity. I don't know if it did much good, but I was nonetheless rewarded for my efforts on arrival with a basket containing chocolates and a bottle of red wine.
But I was not three minutes into my perusal of the ground floor folios in West End's Flipbook Gallery when something happened - and the bottle went crashing to the concrete floor. It tumbled down in slow motion, before shattering, and oozing its blood-red cab-sav contents right underneath a folio containing a big photo of a cute blonde flowergirl throwing rose petals to the ground.
It was my very own, very embarrassing art installation.
Now I was quite tired (it's been a busy week on little sleep), and the carrier bucket was probably not the safest of containers for glass bottles. It was also busy in the gallery, and I may have been bumped, or trying to avoid being bumped into when "The Droppening" occurred.
But let's not forget the primary reason that things like this happen to me - I am Girl Clumsy. The nickname exists for a very good reason. I am a hulking, lumbering maladroit completely lacking in spatial awareness and balance. Of course I smashed the bottle.
This knowledge of my own destiny to be the bearer of broken vino vessels didn't stop me feeling horribly embarrassed. I frantically attempted to scoop up all the broken glass and errant Cadbury Favourites into the bucket. I had shoved my handbag into the arms of my friend Wade, who was looking at the mess beneath him with some confusion, and mild distaste (Wade does distaste beautifully. He can sour your hopes and dreams with a look. I can write that here because Wade doesn't read this blog. It's become a game for me. The more I egg him to read it; the more other things he has to do. He'll even come and watch performance art with me; but he won't read my articles. He is indeed a conundrum, wrapped in a riddle, and clad in a distressed The Presets t-shirt).
Luckily Wade's partner Susan is an Action Babe, and rushed to get help - napkins, mops, buckets, oh my. She tried to get me to stop picking up glass for fear of injury. But I was so terribly self-conscious, I just wanted to get it cleaned up as quickly as possible. Sure enough, I eventually realised that my right hand was covered in a different shade of red liquid, and with a girl on scene with a mop, I figured it was a good time to hit the bathroom to run my hand under the water. I eventually cleaned out most of the nicks and Susan helped me put band-aids on my teeny wounds (I had the band-aids in my handbag. Clumsiness eventually begets Preparedness).
Honestly, I wish I could be more graceful. Grace would have enabled me to safely carry that bottle all night. As it was, I felt like I'd spoiled all the good work I'd done, and wasted a lovely present the students got me Everyone moved on, and no one was angry with me, but I couldn't shake the feeling of frustration with myself.
Later in the evening, I was chatting to one of the other girls graduating and displaying their work. I relayed the story of how I'd smashed the bottle. A bit later again, I gave her one of my business cards, which lists this here blog as my web presence.
"Hah, Girl Clumsy," she said, looking at details on my card. "Are you very clumsy then?"
I looked at her. "I just dropped a bottle of wine at a public art event, then cut myself trying to clean it up," I said. "Of course I'm bloody clumsy!"
I wonder if there's some sort of insurance policy I could take out to cover injuries to myself and others incurred by my gross ineptitude at everyday activities such as walking and standing.
Nov 28, 2008
Nov 27, 2008
Impro Mafia stands up
Now isn't this a sexy sight?
That's right - the new official Impro Mafia standees. Standing over two metres tall, a smidge under a metre wide, simple yet seriously striking, they're going to make a great impact in all of our future shows. They certainly look a treat in the living room at Chez Clumsy.
You'll be able to see them at our Iron Improviser show at the Brisbane Arts Theatre on Sunday 7 December from 7pm - all for the low, low price of $10. Come earlier to hear details of the theatre's 2009 program and get some free food!
That's right - the new official Impro Mafia standees. Standing over two metres tall, a smidge under a metre wide, simple yet seriously striking, they're going to make a great impact in all of our future shows. They certainly look a treat in the living room at Chez Clumsy.
You'll be able to see them at our Iron Improviser show at the Brisbane Arts Theatre on Sunday 7 December from 7pm - all for the low, low price of $10. Come earlier to hear details of the theatre's 2009 program and get some free food!
Nov 26, 2008
Renaissance is Futile
The justifiably smug folks down at the National Gallery of Victoria have confirmed that a painting they acquired back in 1965 in London entitled Portrait of a Youth, is in fact a portrait of Lucrezia by famed Italian Renaissance artist Dosso Dossi.
Lucrezia was an intriguing woman, from a family of rat cunning politically-minded bastards. Her Dad wound up as Pope Alexander VI - the Renaissance being a time when that whole "chastity" thing was more of an offhand recommendation than a requirement.
Lucrezia reportedly had a similarly lax view of sexual morality - tales of her incestuous relationship with both her father and syphilitic brother Cesare are legendary, but quite possibly lies spread by the many and varied enemies of the Borgia clan. The rumour-mongers also painted Lucrezia as a homicidal fan of deadly toxins - prompting a classic line from Rowan Atkinson in Blackadder Goes Forth: "Baldrick, if you were to serve up one of your meals in Staff HQ, you would be arrested for the greatest mass poisoning since Lucrezia Borgia invited 500 of her close friends round for a wine and anthrax party."
But looking at the withering stare she sports in this portrait - I know I wouldn't want to get on her wrong side. Dosso Dossi must have worked very carefully indeed, and avoided all offers of a nice chianti.
Still, I love stories like this - previously unremarkable paintings picked up at a jumble sale for fourteen bucks that turn out to be the works of old masters, modern greats, or featuring famous subjects. Makes me wonder if anything in my underwhelming collection of object d'arte might be worth something one day. I've got a limited edition Futurama print hanging in my living room - it's number 72 of 100, and I'm hoping it's geek value will soar over the next few decades.
Anybody got something good hidden away? Or maybe something you're holding onto in the offchance it might have a famous association?
Nov 24, 2008
Australia
I had the pleasure of attending a swanky preview screening of Australia last night (champagne mini-bottles! salmon and lamb hor'doerves! Free Smith's Crisps and Boost bars on every chair!).
Before the film began, the Wah and I had a chat about what cliches we believed would crop up during this almost three-hour-long epic. Obviously some things (such as the romance, the bombing of Darwin) were expected after the saturation marketing and media coverage of recent weeks. But we constructed a fairly comprehensive list of other plot devices and character types we would be fairly confident putting money on occurring.
How close were we? Careful - spoilers.
*Fistfights/pub brawls. Check. (within the first 10 minutes)
*Droving accident. Check. (spooked cattle; a cast member dies)
*Natural disaster.
*Wisdom of indigenous elders. Check. (Gallapa/King George the Magic Man)
*Evil land baron wants Nicole's land. Check (David Wenham should have a moustache and tie women to railway tracks, he's that comically evil)
*Evil land baron uses heavies/burning stables to get her land. Check (to a point - the heavies frighten the cattle with fire to force a stampede - see Droving Accident)
*Impossible to be together. Check (Hugh has to be free! To roam the land!)
*Nicole discovers a kinship with the land/deeper meaning. Check.
*Rescue by indigenous friends. Check.
*Respect for indigenous friends. Check.
*Play an instrument - harmonica or guitar. Check. (Totally nailed this one)
*Campfire stories. Check.
*Haunted by past love/tragedy. Check.
*Bush dance. Double check.
*Accidental nudity/voyeurism - possibly at a water hole. Check. (Hugh's a great advertisement for bucket watering. He glistens! Glistens!)
*Racism. Check. (Oh my word yes - see Campfire Stories; Haunted by Past Love/Tragedy/Fistfights)
So out of our list, the only thing that didn't occur was a natural disaster - unless you count "the drought", which I don't, because they then have "the wet". What we forgot - perhaps in hindsight because it's so obvious - is "Self-Sacrifice". There was a helluva lotta that too.
I must admit, I let myself get completely swept up by the movie. Director Baz Luhrmann's obviously paying tribute to the great action/adventure/romance movies of Hollywood's Golden Era - like Red Dust, or Gunga Din, or even The African Queen. Let it be said - it is no Gone With The Wind. But it tries, and because I love that movie - and movies of its type - I decided to open up to Australia.
As evident by the list of hoary old cliches above - it's flawed. The dialogue is often laughably simplistic, the characters two-dimensional, some of the acting stiff and wooden (hello, Bryan Brown). The transition from great outback adventure movie to war movie is clunky, but it's softened somewhat by the character of Nullah, the son of a black woman and white father, whose story is far more compelling, and the performance of newcomer Brandon Waters so captivating, that if you don't tear up on at least one occasion, then you're an inhuman beast with charcoal where your heart should be.
Yeah, I'm looking at you Wah. ;)
David Wenham is laughably, laughably, evil. It's like he's walking around with a sign saying "Bad Guy" around his neck. Everything "bad" in the film traces directly back to him - I'm just surprised they didn't try to set him up as a Japanese spy or something, calling Emperor Hirohito to tell him when to send in the Zero fighters. Bryan Brown is fairly unimpressive, and Ben Mendohlson looks half-embarrassed as an army captain.
The positives? Aside from Hugh Jackman's chest?
Well, Nicole Kidman is better than I expected. I'm really not a fan of hers, and yet I found her performance entertaining. Her character provides most of the comedy of the first half of the film, and she pulls it off well -over the top, but amusing. She hits her acting stride in the last third of the movie, during the bombing of Darwin. Hugh Jackman is all stubbly goodness, but I wish he hadn't laid on the Strine accent so thick. He's meant to be a bit gruff and grizzly, sure, but there were a few too many "sheilas" and "crikeys" for me. Jack Thompson does sozzled station manager well; Ursula Yovich as Nullah's mother Daisy gives a touching performance.
It's also beautiful to look at. Baz Luhrmann excels at visuals, you have to give him that. The big set pieces (the cattle stampede, the bombing of Darwin) are brilliantly shot. It's also very respectful to its indigenous story, which focuses on Nullah and what happened to the children of the stolen generations. It makes some nice points about the hypocrisy of a society that justified its abuse of indigenous women by claiming it was "breeding the black out".
Ultimately it's a film that's big, bold, snazzy, and yes, cliched. But hey, it's going to do better business that most other Australian films - maybe not among Australians, but definitely overseas. The delivery may not be perfect, but the fact the film has ambition is what endears it to me.
Before the film began, the Wah and I had a chat about what cliches we believed would crop up during this almost three-hour-long epic. Obviously some things (such as the romance, the bombing of Darwin) were expected after the saturation marketing and media coverage of recent weeks. But we constructed a fairly comprehensive list of other plot devices and character types we would be fairly confident putting money on occurring.
How close were we? Careful - spoilers.
*Fistfights/pub brawls. Check. (within the first 10 minutes)
*Droving accident. Check. (spooked cattle; a cast member dies)
*Natural disaster.
*Wisdom of indigenous elders. Check. (Gallapa/King George the Magic Man)
*Evil land baron wants Nicole's land. Check (David Wenham should have a moustache and tie women to railway tracks, he's that comically evil)
*Evil land baron uses heavies/burning stables to get her land. Check (to a point - the heavies frighten the cattle with fire to force a stampede - see Droving Accident)
*Impossible to be together. Check (Hugh has to be free! To roam the land!)
*Nicole discovers a kinship with the land/deeper meaning. Check.
*Rescue by indigenous friends. Check.
*Respect for indigenous friends. Check.
*Play an instrument - harmonica or guitar. Check. (Totally nailed this one)
*Campfire stories. Check.
*Haunted by past love/tragedy. Check.
*Bush dance. Double check.
*Accidental nudity/voyeurism - possibly at a water hole. Check. (Hugh's a great advertisement for bucket watering. He glistens! Glistens!)
*Racism. Check. (Oh my word yes - see Campfire Stories; Haunted by Past Love/Tragedy/Fistfights)
So out of our list, the only thing that didn't occur was a natural disaster - unless you count "the drought", which I don't, because they then have "the wet". What we forgot - perhaps in hindsight because it's so obvious - is "Self-Sacrifice". There was a helluva lotta that too.
I must admit, I let myself get completely swept up by the movie. Director Baz Luhrmann's obviously paying tribute to the great action/adventure/romance movies of Hollywood's Golden Era - like Red Dust, or Gunga Din, or even The African Queen. Let it be said - it is no Gone With The Wind. But it tries, and because I love that movie - and movies of its type - I decided to open up to Australia.
As evident by the list of hoary old cliches above - it's flawed. The dialogue is often laughably simplistic, the characters two-dimensional, some of the acting stiff and wooden (hello, Bryan Brown). The transition from great outback adventure movie to war movie is clunky, but it's softened somewhat by the character of Nullah, the son of a black woman and white father, whose story is far more compelling, and the performance of newcomer Brandon Waters so captivating, that if you don't tear up on at least one occasion, then you're an inhuman beast with charcoal where your heart should be.
Yeah, I'm looking at you Wah. ;)
David Wenham is laughably, laughably, evil. It's like he's walking around with a sign saying "Bad Guy" around his neck. Everything "bad" in the film traces directly back to him - I'm just surprised they didn't try to set him up as a Japanese spy or something, calling Emperor Hirohito to tell him when to send in the Zero fighters. Bryan Brown is fairly unimpressive, and Ben Mendohlson looks half-embarrassed as an army captain.
The positives? Aside from Hugh Jackman's chest?
Well, Nicole Kidman is better than I expected. I'm really not a fan of hers, and yet I found her performance entertaining. Her character provides most of the comedy of the first half of the film, and she pulls it off well -over the top, but amusing. She hits her acting stride in the last third of the movie, during the bombing of Darwin. Hugh Jackman is all stubbly goodness, but I wish he hadn't laid on the Strine accent so thick. He's meant to be a bit gruff and grizzly, sure, but there were a few too many "sheilas" and "crikeys" for me. Jack Thompson does sozzled station manager well; Ursula Yovich as Nullah's mother Daisy gives a touching performance.
It's also beautiful to look at. Baz Luhrmann excels at visuals, you have to give him that. The big set pieces (the cattle stampede, the bombing of Darwin) are brilliantly shot. It's also very respectful to its indigenous story, which focuses on Nullah and what happened to the children of the stolen generations. It makes some nice points about the hypocrisy of a society that justified its abuse of indigenous women by claiming it was "breeding the black out".
Ultimately it's a film that's big, bold, snazzy, and yes, cliched. But hey, it's going to do better business that most other Australian films - maybe not among Australians, but definitely overseas. The delivery may not be perfect, but the fact the film has ambition is what endears it to me.
Nov 21, 2008
A Saucy Story
It's been a bit bleak around South-East Queensland this week - what with all of these incredible storms.
But you know, you can always count on a bizarre sexual deviant to brighten your day.
I call your attention to this story about a flasher in Newcastle, which I've already noticed spreading 'round the net faster than viral herpes. Hmm - an appropriate analogy, really.
This 46-year-old man decided his love of pasta sauce wasn't something to be ashamed of, or kept hidden away in the deep dark recesses of his well-stocked pantry. He decided to put the car in carbonara, and go parking with his best jar to get the Leggo's over.
And where did this vehicular menage a'marinara occur? Where else - but near Nobby's Beach.
Now what prompts a man to go balls deep in a jar of bolognese? Sure it's a rich blend of tomatoes, garlic and onions, but is it really that arousing? Perhaps he'd punted for one of those new-fangled versions - Tuscan garden vegetables or four cheeses - and just couldn't take the temptation any longer.
But the man's Latina Fresh encounter was seen, and it wasn't long before the police turned up, prompting a chase through nearby suburbs. The police finally got the car to stop, but had to use capsicum spray to try to force the man out. The presence of more fragrant vegetables must have sent the man wild, as he struggled with police as they attempted to remove him from the car. Officers stated he still had a 750ml jar wrapped around his genitals, and continued "pleasuring himself in between bouts of wrestling". The man later told a court he had been attempting to "make himself decent". Either way, it's something I think we'd all love to see incorporated into official World Wrestling Federation title bouts.
In the above article's most hilarious line, police then conducted a search of the vehicle, which uncovered "pornography, a home-made sex aid, women's stockings and a Jack Russell terrier."
I think we're all feeling just a little bit sorry for that dog right now. For one thing, he probably rarely got leftovers on fettucine alfredo night.
Ultimately, this man was fined $600 for offensive behaviour, wiping the Dolmio grin from his face - for a while at least.
But I think we all want to know - what's next for this man's particular perversion? Chicken Tonight, complete with flapping arm movement? A move to Indian foods to spice things up, with some Patak's famous korma or butter chicken simmer sauces? Or will he do it all for the gnocchi?
Ahh. It's times like this that I'm just glad my penne is mightier than my sauce.
But you know, you can always count on a bizarre sexual deviant to brighten your day.
I call your attention to this story about a flasher in Newcastle, which I've already noticed spreading 'round the net faster than viral herpes. Hmm - an appropriate analogy, really.
This 46-year-old man decided his love of pasta sauce wasn't something to be ashamed of, or kept hidden away in the deep dark recesses of his well-stocked pantry. He decided to put the car in carbonara, and go parking with his best jar to get the Leggo's over.
And where did this vehicular menage a'marinara occur? Where else - but near Nobby's Beach.
Now what prompts a man to go balls deep in a jar of bolognese? Sure it's a rich blend of tomatoes, garlic and onions, but is it really that arousing? Perhaps he'd punted for one of those new-fangled versions - Tuscan garden vegetables or four cheeses - and just couldn't take the temptation any longer.
But the man's Latina Fresh encounter was seen, and it wasn't long before the police turned up, prompting a chase through nearby suburbs. The police finally got the car to stop, but had to use capsicum spray to try to force the man out. The presence of more fragrant vegetables must have sent the man wild, as he struggled with police as they attempted to remove him from the car. Officers stated he still had a 750ml jar wrapped around his genitals, and continued "pleasuring himself in between bouts of wrestling". The man later told a court he had been attempting to "make himself decent". Either way, it's something I think we'd all love to see incorporated into official World Wrestling Federation title bouts.
In the above article's most hilarious line, police then conducted a search of the vehicle, which uncovered "pornography, a home-made sex aid, women's stockings and a Jack Russell terrier."
I think we're all feeling just a little bit sorry for that dog right now. For one thing, he probably rarely got leftovers on fettucine alfredo night.
Ultimately, this man was fined $600 for offensive behaviour, wiping the Dolmio grin from his face - for a while at least.
But I think we all want to know - what's next for this man's particular perversion? Chicken Tonight, complete with flapping arm movement? A move to Indian foods to spice things up, with some Patak's famous korma or butter chicken simmer sauces? Or will he do it all for the gnocchi?
Ahh. It's times like this that I'm just glad my penne is mightier than my sauce.
Nov 18, 2008
Mind The Gap
The Gap, Brisbane's north-west. 0713 hours. The military rolls in, with cameramen keen to get shots:
Intrepid reporter Girl Clumsy has been on scene since 0600 hours, after receiving an unexpected-but-should-really-have-been-expected-considering-the-scale-of-this-thing phone call directing her to Weemala Street, where Kevin Rudd (Prime Minister) would be touring badly damaged properties and offering to wash the feet of those affected. Or perhaps just shake their hands.
Either way, it's a good photo opportunity. Sadly, intrepid reporter Girl Clumsy fails to be intrepid enough, leaving her camera in the car, and only retrieving it after the PM left for Canberra. Still, much damage is noted after the media scrum lets loose its grip on the nation's top elected official:
Girl Clumsy captures these images after said Prime Minister packs up to head back to Canberra. She also managed to snap Anna Bligh (Premier) welcoming young army dudes, and directing them towards houses still covered in trees, branches and fallen powerlines:
Girl Clumsy eventually gets out of Storm Zone Alpha at 0745 hours. She returns to her studio base; happy to find her digital recorder has not, in fact, packed up due to water damage. She manages to download photos of her adventures - many of which she forwards on to Brisbane Times, where they feature prominently - with a credit!
Downside to intrepid reporting: calls from members of the public living in Keperra, which while also damaged by the storms, hasn't featured as prominently as The Gap in media coverage. Sorry Keperra people, and those from other suburbs badly hit by storms. Girl Clumsy knows you've suffered too. But she's only one person, and has to go where the politicians go...
Nov 17, 2008
Let's talk about politics
Between covering massive storm damage at The Gap this morning, and standing for 40 minutes in the rain waiting for a cricketer this afternoon (thanks, Cricket Australia), I was fairly busy all day.
But I did see a quick flash about a new political party set to be launched in Melbourne this week.
Looking to bone up on the subject this evening, I banged the phrase "sex party" into Google.
As the little cursor spun, I thought, "Hmmm. Probably not the best search term to hit."
And yes, the result is what you would expect.
Probably good I did the search on the home computer.
All I can say is - shine on, Australian Sex Party! Tap those voters!
But I did see a quick flash about a new political party set to be launched in Melbourne this week.
Looking to bone up on the subject this evening, I banged the phrase "sex party" into Google.
As the little cursor spun, I thought, "Hmmm. Probably not the best search term to hit."
And yes, the result is what you would expect.
Probably good I did the search on the home computer.
All I can say is - shine on, Australian Sex Party! Tap those voters!
Nov 15, 2008
Girl Clumsy Goes to the Ball
Late last week, I managed to snag myself a seat on the media table for the annual Queensland Parliament Summer Ball, which is presented by the Queensland Media Gallery (of which I am a proud member, and I'd show you my photo ID, only it's horrific).
I arrived in my blue cocktail frock to find it was a proper ball 'n' all, with many ladies in long gowns, and some even sporting elbow-length gloves. I think it must have been one of the fanciest shindigs I've ever attended, which tells you something about my sadly empty social calendar. The Speaker's Green at Parliament House was done up with balloons, lights, a stage, and dozens and dozens of tables with pretty stick centrepieces.
The evening began with socialising as people gradually made their way to their tables, and key representatives from the Media Gallery gave speeches to thank sponsors and outline fundraising targets. I felt a bit sorry for them as they were mostly drowned out by gas-bagging. I spotted the Lord Mayor Campbell Newman, Opposition Leader Lawrence Springborg, Treasurer Andrew Fraser, Ipswich Mayor Paul Pisasale and a bunch of my esteemed media colleagues on my way to Table 32.
I present to you now, a photographic essay entitled "Some of the Things I Saw at the Ball".
The line of people standing in mid-shot in the above photo was the queue for Buffet One. The fools. I was lucky, and was herded by party-goers more knowledgeable than I into the Buffet Two queue, which was much faster. We even noticed Anna Bligh herself - resplendent in her trademark red - standing in line, while we were back at our table, chomping away. Hah! Girl Clumsy = food; Premier of Queensland = food, more slowly.
No need for a personality of your own when you've got duds like this.
Guests had bid between $100 and $300 on the crabs in an auction - the crabs had been given politician-mocking names such as "Hard Hat Anna", "Bugger Off Beattie" and "Lovely Lawrence". Apparently an animal liberation-leaning guest bought the mudcrabs back so she could release them later into the Brisbane River.
Cheap parliamentary-branded vino:
There was the "Premier's Range" Verdelho, and the Speaker's Range something-or-other. The most common phrase I heard associated with them was - how can I put this delicately? - a liquid feline excretion.
Seriously, this chick got up onstage while the band was taking a break, and mimed along to a couple of recorded tracks - including Kylie Minogue's "On a Night Like This". There were some fairly exciting dance moves as well. She got a big round of applause from the crowd, but nobody was quite sure what she was on about. I don't know who she was, but there was talk she'd been on a table with conservative politicians. It figures.
It really was a great night out. I'm so glad I managed to bag a ticket! Other highlights include chatting with other media types, excellent desserts, cutting loose on the dance floor once the DJ broke out "500 Miles" by The Proclaimers, and being stalked on the Jumbo TV after attracting the attention of the mystery camera operator by doing some "trapped in a glass box" mime work (that footage is probably on YouTube by now). Despite finishing after midnight, I didn't turn into a pumpkin, and my handsome prince Wah very kindly returned to the annexe in the Corolla Coach to pick me up.
I arrived in my blue cocktail frock to find it was a proper ball 'n' all, with many ladies in long gowns, and some even sporting elbow-length gloves. I think it must have been one of the fanciest shindigs I've ever attended, which tells you something about my sadly empty social calendar. The Speaker's Green at Parliament House was done up with balloons, lights, a stage, and dozens and dozens of tables with pretty stick centrepieces.
The evening began with socialising as people gradually made their way to their tables, and key representatives from the Media Gallery gave speeches to thank sponsors and outline fundraising targets. I felt a bit sorry for them as they were mostly drowned out by gas-bagging. I spotted the Lord Mayor Campbell Newman, Opposition Leader Lawrence Springborg, Treasurer Andrew Fraser, Ipswich Mayor Paul Pisasale and a bunch of my esteemed media colleagues on my way to Table 32.
I present to you now, a photographic essay entitled "Some of the Things I Saw at the Ball".
Queues for food:
The line of people standing in mid-shot in the above photo was the queue for Buffet One. The fools. I was lucky, and was herded by party-goers more knowledgeable than I into the Buffet Two queue, which was much faster. We even noticed Anna Bligh herself - resplendent in her trademark red - standing in line, while we were back at our table, chomping away. Hah! Girl Clumsy = food; Premier of Queensland = food, more slowly.
Lots of oysters:
Never really liked 'em, myself. But I was impressed by the copious quantity.
Really awesome fashion:
No need for a personality of your own when you've got duds like this.
A fund-raising mud-crab race:
Guests had bid between $100 and $300 on the crabs in an auction - the crabs had been given politician-mocking names such as "Hard Hat Anna", "Bugger Off Beattie" and "Lovely Lawrence". Apparently an animal liberation-leaning guest bought the mudcrabs back so she could release them later into the Brisbane River.
Cheap parliamentary-branded vino:
There was the "Premier's Range" Verdelho, and the Speaker's Range something-or-other. The most common phrase I heard associated with them was - how can I put this delicately? - a liquid feline excretion.
A chick - either really game or really smashed - doing some impromptu lip-synching:
Seriously, this chick got up onstage while the band was taking a break, and mimed along to a couple of recorded tracks - including Kylie Minogue's "On a Night Like This". There were some fairly exciting dance moves as well. She got a big round of applause from the crowd, but nobody was quite sure what she was on about. I don't know who she was, but there was talk she'd been on a table with conservative politicians. It figures.
A fun time being had by all, including yours truly:
It really was a great night out. I'm so glad I managed to bag a ticket! Other highlights include chatting with other media types, excellent desserts, cutting loose on the dance floor once the DJ broke out "500 Miles" by The Proclaimers, and being stalked on the Jumbo TV after attracting the attention of the mystery camera operator by doing some "trapped in a glass box" mime work (that footage is probably on YouTube by now). Despite finishing after midnight, I didn't turn into a pumpkin, and my handsome prince Wah very kindly returned to the annexe in the Corolla Coach to pick me up.
Nov 13, 2008
Bone of Contention
In recent years, the proliferation of advertisements promoting men's sexual improvement products has spread far beyond seedy ads hidden in the classified section of the local rag.
Spend more than ten minutes listening to a radio station, or drive more than a few kilometres, and you're likely to hear ads about "nasal delivery technology" or see bright yellow billboards demanding to know if you "Want longer lasting CENSORED?"
Perhaps this is particular to Brisbane and South-East Queensland. Maybe the warm sun is doing odd things to our men.
At any rate, marketers have been getting more and more assertive about treating this problem, which used to be only talked about in hushed tones by gossipy housewives. It's become their solemn moral duty to free men from the wilting prison of erectile dysfunction - by mentioning it as often and as publicly as possible.
My radio station has begun running ads for a new product - and despite not being able to tell whether it's a medication or a device of some sort - I know exactly what it's designed to do, thanks to the name:
ErectoMax.
That's right. These people aren't even trying to be subtle anymore.
So I was thinking perhaps I should get into erectile dysfunction marketing, and help bring the humour back. How's these for possible product names:
"Cock-a-doodle-DO"
"Stiff Happens"
"Hard Knock Wife"
"Magic Johnson"
"The Tent Pitcher"
"Rod & Staff"
Actually, these all sound like names of bad porno films, don't they?
Spend more than ten minutes listening to a radio station, or drive more than a few kilometres, and you're likely to hear ads about "nasal delivery technology" or see bright yellow billboards demanding to know if you "Want longer lasting CENSORED?"
Perhaps this is particular to Brisbane and South-East Queensland. Maybe the warm sun is doing odd things to our men.
At any rate, marketers have been getting more and more assertive about treating this problem, which used to be only talked about in hushed tones by gossipy housewives. It's become their solemn moral duty to free men from the wilting prison of erectile dysfunction - by mentioning it as often and as publicly as possible.
My radio station has begun running ads for a new product - and despite not being able to tell whether it's a medication or a device of some sort - I know exactly what it's designed to do, thanks to the name:
ErectoMax.
That's right. These people aren't even trying to be subtle anymore.
So I was thinking perhaps I should get into erectile dysfunction marketing, and help bring the humour back. How's these for possible product names:
"Cock-a-doodle-DO"
"Stiff Happens"
"Hard Knock Wife"
"Magic Johnson"
"The Tent Pitcher"
"Rod & Staff"
Actually, these all sound like names of bad porno films, don't they?
Nov 11, 2008
Of moths and geckos
I decided today was time to clean out the pantry.
A couple of weeks ago I bought a "pantry moth trap", which consists of a sticky sheet of cardboard that you twist into a triangle. A small round spot releases an odour irresistible to my flying nemeses, causing them to slam themselves antenna-first into a wall of glue. Death follows.
The pantry moth trap of doom was working well, claiming about 20 of the little blighters in the first few days. But then I opened up the cupboard last week to look at it, and there was a little gecko, stuck all fours on the glue, staring back at me with its black eyes.
Gordon Gecko had found out that greed, in fact, is not good.
Now I'm not too proud to admit I'm terrified of geckos. Oh yes, you're all mocking me, thinking "how could anyone not like cute little geckos with their sticky feet and see-through bodies?". But you won't be laughing when geckos stop being satisfied with cockroaches and start eating your household pets. Oh yes, my friend. Then they'll move onto you. They'll cling to the wall, their giant bloated bodies transparent against the Dulux, then leap out at you, cling to your face, and slowly naw away at your flesh. Eventually nothing will be left on Earth except an insatiable army of frenzied, corpulent death geckos.
Ahem.
Point is, it was one of those life situations where I found myself completely useless. The gecko was still alive; but despite my fear I had no idea how I could possibly put it out of its misery. Of course, touching it was out of the question. Fortunately the Wah is at one with creepy, slimy insect-eating house lizards, and immediately sprang to its rescue. Cue half an hour of a one man's physical struggle against glue - with me anxiously watching at a respectful distance and offering to grab the scissors or the blunt plastic knife to help ease Gordon Gecko from his agglutinative prison. Every time the Wah managed to pull a leg free, the stupid creature kept shoving it back on the glue. But eventually the Wah was triumphant, and the battered little thing was set down to rest in our flower box. He seemed to live on; we're still waiting for Gordon Gecko's corpse to turn up under the fridge.
So with the option of pantry moth traps now set aside due to the collateral damage of trapped geckos proving too emotionally distressing, I decided a full-scale assault on the pantry was necessary.
Today I stripped it bare, planting the contents on the kitchen benches and any other available space. I wiped the whole pantry down with Pine-O-Cleen treated wipes, then vacuumed into the corners, then scrubbed the whole thing out with a bleach water mix.
Scorched earth policy. Leave no moth behind.
I went through all the dry goods and chucked out the infested products. If nothing else, the clean-out's been good for getting rid of a surprising amount of crap that's assembled in the pantry since we moved in. I cleaned storage containers and washed items still in plastic packaging.
Later this evening, I began re-loading the pantry, going for balance and symmetry. I realised we really have far too many cans of chickpeas and cut baby corn, but I'm sure it'll all get used someday.
Problem is, as soon as it went dark, the moths started flitting back into the pantry.The suckers are like bad tenants; intent on making my life a misery.
So if anybody's got any good ideas on how to permanently rid an inner-city flat of moths, please comment liberally. If you have any gecko-busting tips, even better!
It's been a while. A embarrassingly long while. But finally I got sick of the moths. Pantry moths. Horrid things that scamper and bound amongst my wholemeal flour and felafel mix. Tiny winged bastards that've decided the best place to raise their wriggly cocooned babies is nestled deep in my pegged bags of polenta and yellow split peas.
A couple of weeks ago I bought a "pantry moth trap", which consists of a sticky sheet of cardboard that you twist into a triangle. A small round spot releases an odour irresistible to my flying nemeses, causing them to slam themselves antenna-first into a wall of glue. Death follows.
The pantry moth trap of doom was working well, claiming about 20 of the little blighters in the first few days. But then I opened up the cupboard last week to look at it, and there was a little gecko, stuck all fours on the glue, staring back at me with its black eyes.
Gordon Gecko had found out that greed, in fact, is not good.
Now I'm not too proud to admit I'm terrified of geckos. Oh yes, you're all mocking me, thinking "how could anyone not like cute little geckos with their sticky feet and see-through bodies?". But you won't be laughing when geckos stop being satisfied with cockroaches and start eating your household pets. Oh yes, my friend. Then they'll move onto you. They'll cling to the wall, their giant bloated bodies transparent against the Dulux, then leap out at you, cling to your face, and slowly naw away at your flesh. Eventually nothing will be left on Earth except an insatiable army of frenzied, corpulent death geckos.
Ahem.
Point is, it was one of those life situations where I found myself completely useless. The gecko was still alive; but despite my fear I had no idea how I could possibly put it out of its misery. Of course, touching it was out of the question. Fortunately the Wah is at one with creepy, slimy insect-eating house lizards, and immediately sprang to its rescue. Cue half an hour of a one man's physical struggle against glue - with me anxiously watching at a respectful distance and offering to grab the scissors or the blunt plastic knife to help ease Gordon Gecko from his agglutinative prison. Every time the Wah managed to pull a leg free, the stupid creature kept shoving it back on the glue. But eventually the Wah was triumphant, and the battered little thing was set down to rest in our flower box. He seemed to live on; we're still waiting for Gordon Gecko's corpse to turn up under the fridge.
So with the option of pantry moth traps now set aside due to the collateral damage of trapped geckos proving too emotionally distressing, I decided a full-scale assault on the pantry was necessary.
Today I stripped it bare, planting the contents on the kitchen benches and any other available space. I wiped the whole pantry down with Pine-O-Cleen treated wipes, then vacuumed into the corners, then scrubbed the whole thing out with a bleach water mix.
Scorched earth policy. Leave no moth behind.
I went through all the dry goods and chucked out the infested products. If nothing else, the clean-out's been good for getting rid of a surprising amount of crap that's assembled in the pantry since we moved in. I cleaned storage containers and washed items still in plastic packaging.
Later this evening, I began re-loading the pantry, going for balance and symmetry. I realised we really have far too many cans of chickpeas and cut baby corn, but I'm sure it'll all get used someday.Problem is, as soon as it went dark, the moths started flitting back into the pantry.The suckers are like bad tenants; intent on making my life a misery.
So if anybody's got any good ideas on how to permanently rid an inner-city flat of moths, please comment liberally. If you have any gecko-busting tips, even better!
Nov 10, 2008
Finding your fun
Impro Mafia had a great show last night at the StageDoor Dinner Theatre.
And I'm not just saying that because I'm now the President of the company (all hail me!).
The disappointing thing is that we only had 16 people in the audience, and most - if not all - were fellow improvisers or friends.
Now it's been my responsibility for a while to look after marketing and promotions for Impro Mafia, and I confess I've been performing below par in recent times - my head has been elsewhere.
But having seen the great quality shows we're putting on in great venues (we have regular gigs at the Brisbane Arts Theatre too), I'm really keen to build our audiences and most importantly - introduce new people to impro.
I'm keen to get input from you, dear readers, about how you determine where and when you spend your entertainment dollars. Do you like live theatre or comedy? How much are you prepared to spend on entertainment that ISN'T a movie? What influences your choice - production values; proximity to public transport; proximity to a pub? And where do you find out information about "What's On" - from newspapers, radio, the internet, word of mouth?
Finally, I'll end by stating we have two theatre shows left this year:
And I'm not just saying that because I'm now the President of the company (all hail me!).
The disappointing thing is that we only had 16 people in the audience, and most - if not all - were fellow improvisers or friends.
Now it's been my responsibility for a while to look after marketing and promotions for Impro Mafia, and I confess I've been performing below par in recent times - my head has been elsewhere.
But having seen the great quality shows we're putting on in great venues (we have regular gigs at the Brisbane Arts Theatre too), I'm really keen to build our audiences and most importantly - introduce new people to impro.
I'm keen to get input from you, dear readers, about how you determine where and when you spend your entertainment dollars. Do you like live theatre or comedy? How much are you prepared to spend on entertainment that ISN'T a movie? What influences your choice - production values; proximity to public transport; proximity to a pub? And where do you find out information about "What's On" - from newspapers, radio, the internet, word of mouth?
Finally, I'll end by stating we have two theatre shows left this year:
- "Iron Improviser" Sunday 7 December at the Brisbane Arts Theatre $10
- "Grudge Match Christmas Special" Sunday 14 December at the StageDoor Dinner Theatre $11
Nov 6, 2008
Reasons my Gran is Hilarious: #357
My Gran is one fairly impressive lady. Born in London, raised in the British Raj in India, trapped by a piano after an errant Luftwaffe bomb smashed her house up, lied about her age to join the WRNS, smoked hashish with Arabs - the woman's done it all. And that's just before she married a Polish naval officer, gave birth to my Dad in Iraq, moved to the New Hebrides (Vanuatu), had two more kids, worked as a ship's agent, founded a tour company, helped establish and run the Vanuatu Red Cross, and receive an MBE for her troubles. Oh, and she acts and directs plays too.
See, there's a reason she's called Queen Pat.
Anyhoo, after much protesting, but on my Dad's insistence, Gran signed up for internet access. It's horribly expensive in Port Vila (that's a monopoly for you), and she doesn't do much web-surfing, but boy has she taken to email like an Anatidae to dihydrogen monoxide. She's a canny lady, but she's from a time when bad guys where fairly obvious - what with the moustaches, ridiculous hats, "up the proletariat" rhetoric and all. The net, however, poses a different set of challenges for those who set alarm clocks for Their Finest Hour.
Every so often I get the odd forwarded bit of spam from her, and I feel obligated to double check the facts and reply if I think she's been on the receiving end of some dud's attempt to get into the Guinness Book of Records for juggling babies or a conspiracy theory claiming Keira Knightley is the reincarnated love child of Marie Antoinette and a bratwurst.
(Actually, I do this with most people - I really, really, really can't stand chain emails that spread lies and rumours purporting to be truth. In this instance I hail snopes.com - that website is truly invaluable at recording and detailing various net hoazes and scams.)
So I recently pointed out to Gran that an email reportedly claiming that UK schools had removed the Holocaust from the curriculum to avoid offending Muslims was complete and utter bollocks. And this was her fabulous reply:
Now THAT's savvy netspeak!
See, there's a reason she's called Queen Pat.
Anyhoo, after much protesting, but on my Dad's insistence, Gran signed up for internet access. It's horribly expensive in Port Vila (that's a monopoly for you), and she doesn't do much web-surfing, but boy has she taken to email like an Anatidae to dihydrogen monoxide. She's a canny lady, but she's from a time when bad guys where fairly obvious - what with the moustaches, ridiculous hats, "up the proletariat" rhetoric and all. The net, however, poses a different set of challenges for those who set alarm clocks for Their Finest Hour.
Every so often I get the odd forwarded bit of spam from her, and I feel obligated to double check the facts and reply if I think she's been on the receiving end of some dud's attempt to get into the Guinness Book of Records for juggling babies or a conspiracy theory claiming Keira Knightley is the reincarnated love child of Marie Antoinette and a bratwurst.
(Actually, I do this with most people - I really, really, really can't stand chain emails that spread lies and rumours purporting to be truth. In this instance I hail snopes.com - that website is truly invaluable at recording and detailing various net hoazes and scams.)
So I recently pointed out to Gran that an email reportedly claiming that UK schools had removed the Holocaust from the curriculum to avoid offending Muslims was complete and utter bollocks. And this was her fabulous reply:
Thanks Natalie for your feedback & interest. We had a German chap here who I detested. He went around saying that the Holocaust never took place. Our society the BESA shamed him by making his remarks public and now he's somewhere in Bali I believe - living with a girl 40 years younger than himself. Horrible man. Love, Gran.
Now THAT's savvy netspeak!
Nov 5, 2008
That'll do, America, that'll do
Today marks the second time in my life when I can honestly say I watched history unfold.
The first was September 11, 2001.
Today's election of Barack Obama as President is a far, far more preferable experience. His acceptance speech was one of the best public addresses I've ever seen - I felt proud and happy, and I'm not even American. Watching Obama with his Vice-President Joe Biden and their families hug and wave in front of the hundreds of thousands in Grant Park, Chicago was beautiful to watch. I'm so glad so many were able to share in such a positive moment.
So, congratulations, USA. You've done a lot today to redeem yourselves, and I'll refrain from making any jokes about Yanks for the next 48 hours.
It is interesting to wonder though - would we have wound up with a President like Obama had we not gone through the purgatory of George W. Bush in the first place? (And I don't simply mean "a black man" - I mean a man of intelligence and reason, who puts hope before fear).
Nov 4, 2008
Review: The Breakfast Club
It may be over 20 years too late, but I’m finally in a position to review The Breakfast Club.
First of all, did this film make Judd Nelson a “heart-throb”? ‘Cause I can totally see it. I’ve only ever seen Judd Nelson as an adult actor, and he was kinda podgy. A “character actor”, is what they call it in Hollywood. But with his shaggy early 80s flick, flannelette shirt and fingerless gloves, he's a total bad boy babe.
Still, I don't quite know if that excuses Molly Ringwald totally "going there" at the end of the film. Let's face it, he was a complete a***wipe towards her for most of the film. She may be a preppy princess and his gruff exterior may be hiding a squishy sensitive inside, but I don't know that she deserved to have him stick his head into her crotch. That's some form of sexual assault, in my book.
It wasn't nice to pick on Anthony Michael Hall, either. I can't abide nerd abuse. Sure, AMH's modern day equivalent would probably downloading the infamous 2 Girls, 1 Cup meme video in between carving up Elvin princesses in WoW, but all AMH did was join the physics club and bring a gun to school. A little compassion, Judd Nelson.
The movie holds up well, design-wise. I was expecting a lot more fuzzy jumpers, rah-rah skirts and white pants. Emilio Estevez wears jock colours well. Even Ally Sheedy's insane arty type is somewhat timeless. But what's with the stupid headband Molly whacks on her after her makeover? And why does that convince Emilio she's snog-worthy? Surely that's still a bit shallow - "Before, you were crazy and ugly, now you're crazy and hot, and I'm prepared to go there!"
All in all, I found it handy that one of every American school stereotype happened to get detention for that particular Saturday. Who knows if their collective realisation - that every high schooler feels hurt and isolated, hates their parents and peer pressure, and yearns to be accepted for what they really are - would have happened at all if say, the jock had been absent, or there had been a group of alternative rebels instead of one. It just goes to show how shallow stereotypes are - they can be broken down and conquered in one day of pot-smoking, crazy dancing and teacher-baiting.
My favourite character was probably Anthony Michael Hall's sweet geek. Did anybody else notice when he got dropped off at the start of the film, the family car had the number plate 'EMC 2'? I thought that was genius. Ally Sheedy's mad-eyed artist comes a close second - her rant about her supposed nympomaniacal tendencies was a classic.
I guess I can say I enjoyed The Breakfast Club, if only because it explains a lot of jokes in Not Another Teen Movie. I don't know if I'll be rushing to see it again though, despite my obvious enjoyment of "Don't You (Forget About Me)". After it was beaten by a single vote on the GC poll, I believe I'll opt for Heathers next.
First of all, did this film make Judd Nelson a “heart-throb”? ‘Cause I can totally see it. I’ve only ever seen Judd Nelson as an adult actor, and he was kinda podgy. A “character actor”, is what they call it in Hollywood. But with his shaggy early 80s flick, flannelette shirt and fingerless gloves, he's a total bad boy babe.
Still, I don't quite know if that excuses Molly Ringwald totally "going there" at the end of the film. Let's face it, he was a complete a***wipe towards her for most of the film. She may be a preppy princess and his gruff exterior may be hiding a squishy sensitive inside, but I don't know that she deserved to have him stick his head into her crotch. That's some form of sexual assault, in my book.
It wasn't nice to pick on Anthony Michael Hall, either. I can't abide nerd abuse. Sure, AMH's modern day equivalent would probably downloading the infamous 2 Girls, 1 Cup meme video in between carving up Elvin princesses in WoW, but all AMH did was join the physics club and bring a gun to school. A little compassion, Judd Nelson.
The movie holds up well, design-wise. I was expecting a lot more fuzzy jumpers, rah-rah skirts and white pants. Emilio Estevez wears jock colours well. Even Ally Sheedy's insane arty type is somewhat timeless. But what's with the stupid headband Molly whacks on her after her makeover? And why does that convince Emilio she's snog-worthy? Surely that's still a bit shallow - "Before, you were crazy and ugly, now you're crazy and hot, and I'm prepared to go there!"
All in all, I found it handy that one of every American school stereotype happened to get detention for that particular Saturday. Who knows if their collective realisation - that every high schooler feels hurt and isolated, hates their parents and peer pressure, and yearns to be accepted for what they really are - would have happened at all if say, the jock had been absent, or there had been a group of alternative rebels instead of one. It just goes to show how shallow stereotypes are - they can be broken down and conquered in one day of pot-smoking, crazy dancing and teacher-baiting.
My favourite character was probably Anthony Michael Hall's sweet geek. Did anybody else notice when he got dropped off at the start of the film, the family car had the number plate 'EMC 2'? I thought that was genius. Ally Sheedy's mad-eyed artist comes a close second - her rant about her supposed nympomaniacal tendencies was a classic.
I guess I can say I enjoyed The Breakfast Club, if only because it explains a lot of jokes in Not Another Teen Movie. I don't know if I'll be rushing to see it again though, despite my obvious enjoyment of "Don't You (Forget About Me)". After it was beaten by a single vote on the GC poll, I believe I'll opt for Heathers next.
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