Heroine-In-Training

I guess it would have been awkward BUT STILL

2011-07-02T13:49:00.001+10:00

There comes a time in every girl's life when she gets home, looks in the mirror, and thinks...

"Did I seriously just spend the entire morning walking around the city with talcum powder marks on my boobs?"

WHY DIDN'T ANYBODY TELL ME?!

Peeve #468: Talking to unhelpful staff at Telstra shops.

2011-06-30T10:59:00.004+10:00

Me: [after spending months battling my anxiety to get to this point] Hi. I had a mobile account with you guys, but it got disconnected because I couldn’t pay my final bill. I was wondering if I could get the same number reconnected and under the same plan? Or a similar plan?

Telstra ponytail dude: *tsk* When numbers are disconnected, it means they’re suspended for twelve months.

Me: Ok.

Telstra ponytail dude: …

Me: …

Telstra ponytail dude: Ok, well I’ll check the computer… yup. So your number’s goneski.

Me: Yup… [waiting for customer service, offer to start another account, anything at all]

Telstra ponytail dude: …

Me: …

Telstra ponytail dude: …

Me: …

Telstra ponytail dude: …

Me: ...

Telstra ponytail dude: ...

Me: …ok. Never mind. Bye.

Telstra ponytail dude: Bye bye!

And I backed away slowly.

Weird.

Peeve #467: Nosy cab drivers.

2011-06-28T11:44:00.004+10:00

Cab driver: So, you just finished work?
Me: No.
Cab driver: You had a night off?
Me: Yes.
Cab driver: You had a night off, because you had a date with this young man? [points to T, who had just escorted me into cab, kissed me goodnight, and was now crossing the road in front of us]
Me: ...yes.
Cab driver: First date?
Me: ...second.
Cab driver: Is he a pushy guy?
Me: ...
Cab driver: You know, does he push you to have sex?
Me: ...no...
Cab driver: Oh good. That means he's a nice guy.
Me: That's a relief.
Cab driver: Some guys are pushy, you know, and just want to have sex. [meaningful look in rear view mirror]
Me: ...uh huh.

IT WAS LIKE HE KNEW.

Except not.

"I know you don't know me but..."

2011-06-05T17:21:00.002+10:00

Weirdest thing a customer has ever said to me (and there have been some doozies):

Him: You're very petite aren't you? My wife is tiny too, she's Thai; she finds it very hard to find clothes and shoes that fit here. She's about the same size as you, actually. Do you want her number? Maybe you could share clothes and shoes and stuff with her.
Me: *imagines getting a call from a complete stranger wanting to borrow your shoes*
Me: ...no thanks.

WHERE IS MY- found it.

2010-09-26T14:11:00.004+10:00

This blog is fast turning into a collection of drunken-night-out stories. Maybe not necessarily a bad thing?

On Friday night a group of us, including my Brazilian friends Brenda and Daniel, went to a Brazilian party at Number Five Bar. Really fun night. Towards 3am the bar closed, and a big group of revellers gathered out the front, partying with just a guitar and ourselves. After drunken conversations, pictures and loss-of-balance type mishaps, we called it a night and Brenda, Daniel and I started making our way across the river to Flinders Street (maybe stopping to have a pee under the bridge first I DUNNO SHUT UP).

That’s when Brenda realised all her money – a big wad of cash to the tune of $270, the pay check she'd recieved THAT NIGHT – was missing. We backtracked, stumbling back along the bridge, combing the street, retracing our steps, splitting up, checking the gutters, the railings, the water – not a single note was lying anywhere.

Brenda cried all the way home. I felt horrible since the poor thing works like a dog and in one moment a week’s worth of her money was gone. I managed to get us all a cab and arrange for us all to be dropped off. Once we pulled at my house, I rummaged in my bag for my money, secretly planning to pay for the entire fare, even though Daniel had loaned Brenda $50 of his own.

My wallet was gone.

I freaked out right there in the cab. The poor cab driver was probably thinking, “Not only do I have to deal with this crazy girl, she can’t pay me!” Brenda assured me she could pay, than rang Daniel sobbing, because for some fucked up reason she blamed herself for the whole night.

"I am so ashamed of my people!" she cried, "You've never even been to Brazil and all your shit got stolen!"

"Come on, Irmã, it could happen to anyone."

Having my money taken is one thing. Sure, it’s annoying, but cash is cash. I can pretend I spent it. Having my WALLET taken – my wallet has my fucking LIFE in it, my licence, my bankcards, student card, Myki, Priceline card, Myer one, Proof of Age (I always have a back-up ID, the perils of looking 16), Medicare card, ambulance membership…

The next day I got up, boiling with rage and barely having slept. I rang the club to see if the wallet was handed in. Nothing. So, I got ready for work, borrowed coins from Charm 'cos I didn't have a damn thing to enable me to get to work with all my money, bankcards and Myki card gone, and headed to the police station to report the thefts. I didn’t like our chances of anything being resolved, but I had to do something.

The officer was helpful, if a little unsure, and told me that although these things mostly went unsolved it was good to report the activity, and that the police could probably access security footage outside the club. So I was happy to wait fifteen minutes while he painstakingly completed the report. What does your wallet look like? How much cash was taken from your friend? Can you name as many items inside as possible? How much is the wallet itself worth? Between what hours did the thefts occur? Where were you at this time? What are your details? What’s your racial background? That one surprised me, actually.

Then he ducked inside to ring the club.

He came back out with a sort of patiently exasperated look. “Your wallet wasn’t stolen. It’s at the club, it was found on the floor. So you might want to go pick it up.” I didn’t even bother to defend myself by saying I’d already checked with the club and didn’t waste police time on purpose – I ran out of the station and all the way back to Number Five Bar to retrieve it.

“Thank God!” I thought, grinning while imaging the policeman shaking his head. “The cash will be long gone and I don’t give a fuck, I need all my cards!”

So I got to the club, a friendly bartender handed me my wallet back, and I strode out clutching it. Then I thought to myself, “Do I dare to dream?” and checked inside.

All my cash was still there. Every cent.

I have some damn good luck sometimes.

However, I left that last part when retelling the story to Brenda. I told her the wallet was handed in empty, and made up some shit about how they probably took the cash out and threw it on the ground. I feel so terrible about her lost money, I’ll just pretend I got robbed as well – at least she won't feel worse.

Close call, Cat.

Because they actually want to dance, not fuck

2010-09-09T09:28:00.017+10:00

Lyk ZOMG can't she tell he's teh GAY????///??/?

I always have an amazing time at the Night Cat - I love me some live salsa/reggae/funk beats. The only thing is, it can get awkward if I only go with one other girl; invariably some guy will jump in and grab one of us as a dance partner, leaving the other vulnerable. Or we’ll be targeted by college boys’ wingman routines.

So Brenda and I were warming up on the back dance floor, testing the salsa waters, when a young guy sidles up to Brenda and in a loud, aggressively Australian accent slurs, “I couldn’t help but notice you girls are pretty good. Would you mind giving us guys some lessons?”

I notice his friend skulking around to where I’m standing, and sigh. The old wingman routine. Guy #1 engages Brenda under the pretence of wanting to learn salsa steps - the urgency of which suddenly disappeared as he picked up her Brazilian accent and started trying to "get to know her" instead. Guy #2 made feeble attempts at small talk with me, which I am immediately bored by. “So what do you do? Yeah I’m doing my engineering degree. Do you study? What do you study? Where are you from? Where do you work? How do you two know each other? Yeah... nah... yeah...”

Oh, YAWN. I’m here to dance, not die of boredom reliving all my first-year-of-uni conversations.

The band starts up and we make an excuse to lose them, itching as we are to actually dance, as opposed to standing around nodding politely while being chatted up. Later as Brenda and I are in the bathroom she says, "The guy who liked you was cute, didn’t you like him?" I was hard-pressed to explain the whole “turned off by the obnoxious Aussie college boy vibe” to someone with English as a second language, and simply said, “Um, too young.”

Later on in the evening as Brenda is cutting up the floor with a bona fide salsa dancer I found myself flanked by the same two guys again, joined by a third who plonks himself down in the chair opposite to stare from a respectable distance at his mate’s attempted conquest. I grin to myself as I realise the trio are like a Melbourne version of JJ, Freddie and Cook from Skins – "Cook" the bold first guy who used salsa as a way to weedle a conversation out of us, "JJ" the shy but curious outsider, and "Freddie" the dark-haired one hitting on me.

Brenda is dancing with a campy (and holy FUCK he could salsa) guy wearing a beret and scarf with a tank top, and Freddie decides the best way to engage me in conversation is by being a homophobe and assigning me as the sole representative of all womankind everywhere and thus obligated to answer his stupid questions.

“Can I ask you a question?" he begins. "Do girls honestly find that-” pointing disdainfully at beret guy as he swayed against Brenda, “attractive? I mean, how is that attractive? What do you think, the hat, the scarf…” the offending guy broke away from Brenda and performed a spinning spot turn, “I mean, look at that!”

And he got up and performed his own spot turn, waving his arms in an exaggeratedly feminine manner as his mates laughed. “Isn’t that just gay?” Cook and Freddie continue to mock Brenda's partner, complete with hoots and shoulder wiggles as JJ spins his chair around and perches on the opposite side, legs straddling the back like twelve-year-olds do when they think it's cool.

I know this game. This is the part where I giggle insipidly at the boys' incomparable wit, join in making fun of gay guys, and roll my eyes over how stupid the girls who like them are (duh, can't their silly ladybrains recognise boys who wear berets as unsuitable breeding partners?), while also assuring some insecure kid of his superiority and thus encourage his advances. Hell no, Freddie, you’re not tricking me into reassuring you of your manhood. Times like this I wish I'd just pretended I didn’t speak English.

Suddenly, an equally “metrosexual” guy cut into our circle (I like to think he saw my frustration), complete with his own beret and a vest over his t-shirt. He held out a hand for me. “Want to dance?”

I grabbed him straight away with a relieved, “YES.”

And off we sambaed, leaving Freddie, JJ and Cook behind to ponder further why all the gay guys were getting the girls.

(Psst, here's a clue: sometimes, when women go places, the things they want to do actually DON'T somehow revolve around your cock!)

FFS Cat, just stop reading the comments already

2010-07-08T11:18:00.007+10:00

So there I was, reading Sarah Mckenzie's article about those pathetic "Spot and Share" ads for Brut deodorant. I thought, yes, right on, yes, this is true. Hardly news to me; I think I wrote an angry swear-word filled entry in my journal about women being portrayed as vacant means of transportation for tits and arses in men's deodorant ads when I was like, nineteen. So I'm reading and thinking, yes, I am right behind you Ms McKenzie.

I KNOW that right at the end of this article, there will be reader comments. I say to myself, "They will not be pretty! I won't read them! Ok, maybe I'll scroll down a little and read the very first one only..."

And the very first comment went to the tune of:

Sarah, when a women gets away with slapping a guys bum saying 'find other ways to be naughty' as a way to advertise cream cheese, all your arguaments collapse. You can not have it both ways. - Bill, ACT.

OH FOR SHIT'S SAKE. Where in that article did McKenzie assert, "I want to have it both ways" you wanker? She said - and I'm paraphrasing - stop reducing women to tits and arse and glorifying sexual harassment to sell some shitty deodorant to college boys, you hacks. And I'm pretty sure she does not work in marketing for any cream cheese companies on top of her freelance writing, so it's not like she's responsible for whatever ad you're talking about. Oh, why do I bother, the dude can't even SPELL "argument".

I just cannot stand this shit. A woman says, "That is sexist." A man responds, "NO IT'S NOT YOU'RE SEXIST, SO SHUT UP AND STOP BEING SEXIST AGAINST MEN." Yeah, that’s logical.

Basically, this could have been avoided if I had just not scrolled down to peek at the comments in the first place. Like, Bill was pretty mild compared to some of the paranoid, violent shit some commenters spout at the slightest whiff of the word, "sexist". Why are you people so easily threatened by other people's opinions?

He likes wrecking things

2010-06-30T11:53:00.009+10:00

This is what happens when I take my eyes off my pet cockatiel for two seconds...

Flawless victory.

No wonder my Running Man was particularly smooth

2010-06-08T21:40:00.004+10:00

So there I was, busting a move on the dancefloor during a clubbing rampage over the weekend, drunkenly thinking, "Man, I'm dancing so well tonight, it's like I'm gliding across the floor!"

Then I looked down and realised I was slipping and sliding around in somebody's spilled drink. At least... I hope it was drink.

But I hope I don't get killed by a giant boulder

2010-05-25T17:37:00.007+10:00

I’ve decided I want to be Lara Croft when I grow up.

Sure, I’d need millions of dollars to fund all the travel, equipment and training. Don’t own hiking boots. I’ve never handled a gun before. Not to mention the inevitable back problems associated with having boobs the size of cantaloupes.

BUT travelling the world discovering ancient relics and breathtaking new landscapes, exploring civilisations and ruins, climbing mountains, rappelling down gigantic mausoleums, fighting mythological creatures, burning across the desert in a quad bike, diving in search of Atlantis, collecting priceless artefacts, solving puzzles, adventure, action… WHERE DO I SIGN UP?

What’s a girl supposed to do when instead of studying, all she can think of is doing silly dangerous crap like this:

Heh, I love that. “I don’t need climbing equipment or safety gear because I’m BADASS.”

But it’s not all scaling waterfalls in a push-up bra. Lara Croft can be a hardcore jerk sometimes. She pretty much barges into these wonderful heritage sites and steals stuff and kills endangered or mythological or general minding-their-own-business animals. Most disturbing is the nonchalant way in which she executes lethal force against every human being she encounters – including the native inhabitants of the remote Pacific Islands villages she is invading. Smells a bit like Imperialism.

And more often than not, the priceless artefacts she so fiercely pursues fit into some sort of personal vendetta. She will do anything (including murdering copious amounts of people) to get a hold of items that COULD-I DUNNO-MAYBE hold clues to the mysterious and tragic disappearance of her mother.

And the gratuity? Oh, boy. If I’m ever a millionaire adventurer archaeologist trudging through tropical rainforests and deserts and the like I’m going to forgo showing off my cleavage/bellybutton for the sake of basic protection from the environment.

But for all the shady morality and being reduced to a series of sexy body parts, I can’t help being filled with childish glee every time I see pictures of Lara Croft doing something awesome. As a teen the Tomb Raider series ignited a brief interest in archaeology – although I realise now that real archaeologists must get sick of young people brought up on the likes of Tomb Raider and Indiana Jones entering the field and getting puzzled by dusty digging and time-consuming bone-collecting. What the games and the character really ignited in me was that longing for action and adventure – a longing to explore the world in my own way. The kind of recklessness I can only safely indulge in using a Playstation.

So I guess my implausible adventures will have to stay safely tucked away in my imagination as I return to the reality of essay deadlines and waiting tables on Friday nights. But who knows – maybe if I invest in some khaki hot pants, a motorcycle, and a membership at that indoor climbing place on Swanston Street, maybe I’ll at least feel a little closer to being Lara.

Off on my next adventure.

Widow's Bite

2010-05-16T14:25:00.002+10:00

So there I was, calmly watching Ironman 2 with my sister, when Scarlett Johansson appears in her Black Widow costume and proceeds to KICK INDESCRIBABLE ASS!

"Did someone order an ass-kicking?"

I'm disappointed that she wasn't more Black Widow-y until that scene (she was "undercover" posing as a PA for most of the film, so not a whole lot to work with but I still think there could've been more of a Romanova edge). In fact I'm disappointed that halfway through the film it didn't just turn into a whole lot of action scenes starring the Black Widow kicking each and every single person in sight's arse and using her stinger bracelets and performing amazing stunts until the end. SHE WAS USING THE STINGER BRACELETS! Though you do have to wonder if carrying kilos of artillery on your wrists gets old.

Watcing female action heros on film for me is like what Skye over at Heroine Content says: "When I walk out of a movie theater after seeing a film where the heroine kicks ass, I have to admit I walk differently. I feel stronger. I feel energized."

I got that feeling after seeing the Tomb Raider films as a teen. I got it after watching Mortal Kombat (I used to jump around pretending to be Kitana when I was 13ish), Domino, the X-Men trilogy, and the prison break scene in Watchmen. Even before the films ended I'd be sitting up straighter, with a secret smile on my face like somebody had just unlocked a new world for me where I had power.

I wish I had that feeling more often. The fact that I can count the amount of times I've been noticeably affected by female power fantasies in films on one hand, compared to the shitloads of male power fantasies that drip out of every cinema, makes me sigh.

BRONTЁSAURUS!

2010-05-11T09:34:00.000+10:00

I want these so bad.

I'm pretty sure this is ACTUALLY how it happened in real life. Right down to the Brontёsaurus with barrier-breaking feminist vision and lace trim.

Quite graphic now that I think about it

2010-05-10T15:55:00.007+10:00

The Prince of Persia film is coming out soon! I'm a sucker for implausible action/adventure movies. Bonus points if they're comic/game adaptations and set in fantastical lands with magic and curses and cool costumes. Let's hope it won't be based on my experiences playing the game at age 8 - otherwise it'll be very short with Princey getting impaled straight away on the first set of spikes. I COULD NEVER GET PAST THAT PART.

8-year-old Black Cat is playing! RUN YOU FOOL!

The Maguindanao Massacre

2010-05-05T20:18:00.004+10:00

Major trigger warnings.

This is "old news" I suppose; truthfully I haven't had the strength to post about it until now. I kept getting too upset and not being about to write.

On the island of Mindanao in the Philippines on November 23rd last year, in the approaching Maguindanao provincial election (part of the national elections in the Philippines), vice mayor of Buluan town Esmael Mangudadatu was attempting to file a certificate of candidacy. Mangudadatu was politically challenging mayor of Datu Unsay, Andal Ampatuan Jr., running for governor and patriarch of the powerful Ampatuan family. After death threats from the Ampatuan family, Mangudadatu organised a convey of female family members, lawyers, aides and journalists to file the certificate for him, believing the women would not be harmed and that the strong media presence would be an added protection.

57 members of Mangudadatu's convey were butchered, murdered and buried in mass graves after an ambush by 100 armed men.

Of the 57 massacred, 22 Filipina women suffered brutal rapes and sexual torture before their murders. Some had their genitals slashed and bullets fired into their private parts. Mangudadatu's wife, three sisters, female cousin and aunt, died in this way. Two female human rights defenders, Attorney Concepcion “Connie” Brizuela and Attorney Cynthia Oquendo, were among the victims, as well journalists and one woman whose car was mistaken as part of the convoy.

From Filipinaimages.com:

The massacre of 57 people in Ampatuan town, Maguindanao goes beyond a rido or clan war. The sheer scope of barbarity, the brazenness of the murders betrays the perpetrators’ belief in being beyond the reach of the law. Women, lawyers and journalists – no one escaped the butchers’ wrath. Fifty-seven people killed in broad daylight. The murderers had planned the deed, down to the mass burial of victims. That is the mark of the untouchable.

"Untouchable"? Oh, we'll see about that, murderers. I might just be an angry little Filipino-Australian woman on her computer, while you might be an evil monster with a thousand faces and thousands of arms and legs, used to brutalising women like they're extensions of your enemies in your clan wars, supported by firearms, rich families and a culture where you enjoy raw power. I might just be getting started in this world, while you've been festering and growing and terrorising for generations. But I will find a way to fight you.

Starting with raising awareness outside of your world, where you can't silence me or those I love.

Show your indignation and protest by signing an online petition on Strike against Impunity, Strike for Peace and Democracy.

I condemn the brutality of the Maguindanao Massacre. I will NOT let this pass. I want the whole the world to know, especially the Arroyo government that we will not stop until justice is delivered to the victims of the Ampatuan Massacre (otherwise known as Maguindanao massacre) . I grieve for all the women, journalists and other innocent victims who suffered extreme violence and the brutal slaying.

I will make sure you did not die in vain. We should not let allow this to happen again and we cannot allow this climate of impunity to reign.

For more information read the Filipina Images coverage here.

What the FUCK?!

2010-05-02T10:21:00.011+10:00

Trigger warnings.

A Sydney jury has cast doubts during a sexual assault trial, claiming the victim's skinny jeans could not have been removed easily unless there was some "sort of collaboration".

What the unholy FUCK?!

I wear skinny jeans. I'm an Australian size six, and last I checked I weighed 40 kilograms. Since my jeans are the cheap stretchy kind you buy from factory outlets for $25, let me tell YOU, you disgusting misogynist pieces of shit jury-duty arsehole rape apologists, it is extraordinarily easy for me to take my jeans on and off. They SLIP on and off.

But according to you ignorant scumbuckets, I'm virtually unrapeable when wearing them. OH MY GOD, you guys, why didn't women think of this before? All this time we've struggled for hours trying to get into our skinny jeans ('cos all women, like the SIZE SIX rape victim, are such FATTY-FAT-FATS and couldn't POSSIBLY get skinny jeans on and off without lying on the bed, shaking our love handles around, wriggling, twisting, jumping, getting out a chisel, entering the pin code...) we never ONCE considered the possibility of skinny jeans as magical rape-preventors! GEE. WOW.

Maybe instead of donating time and resources to sexual assault prevention on a local, national and international scale, we should instead issue every woman everywhere with SKINNY JEANS. They're just like a RAPE VACCINATION!

And how could poor defenceless men with their poor man-brains EVER figure out something so profoundly difficult like how to undo somebody's jeans and take them off? CLEARLY, when skinny jeans are involved, THERE IS COLLABORATION. Case solved!

What other items of clothing could magically help ward off rape, I wonder? Those wet look leggings that are all the rage this winter? They're much more of a pain in the arse to wriggle into and out of than skinny jeans. Or what about those jeans with buttons lining the fly instead of a zipper? Talk about FIDDLY. Or how about tricky bling-type belts? "Why, the victim was wearing that chainy-belt-with-multiple-buckles-thing; how exactly did the defendant get it off without some sort of COLLABORATION? I hear there were even DOUBLE-KNOTS involved!"

And I love that the obnoxious tone of the jury is just OOZING from those notes to the judge: "[please explain] how exactly Nick took off her jeans... I doubt those kind of jeans can be removed without any sort of collaboration." Emphasis mine. Because can't you just imagine some sceptical rape apologist sneering, "How, exactly?" EXACTLY the kind of person we want on a serving on a sexual assault trial.

This "jury" and the defence counsel that ran with this shit? A fucking joke. Some people will do anything, ANY-FUCKING-THING, to blame rape victims, anything to undermine them, I swear to God. When you're grasping at straws trying to argue that a size six 42-kilogram woman could easily prevent a bigger, stronger man yanking her clothes off with brute force by virtue of her tight jeans... TRY HARDER, you slimy pathetic excuses for vertebrates.

PS: Fuck Politeness has a much more impressive post on this case without all the name-calling here.

Edit 3/5/10: The man has been aquitted thanks to those fuckers. In other news, my vigilante training intensifies.

That was close, Cat

2010-05-01T01:09:00.007+10:00

So after work tonight, me, Charm and Mack were on the train without valid tickets, and lo and behold, there were ticket inspectors. "FUCK," we collectively thought. "But! It is 11:30pm on a Friday night and the train is filled to the brim with drunken idiots, surely they will go for them."

They did not! The four burly inspectors made a beeline for us girls, sitting innocently with our groceries (and our invalid Metcards). Each of us had a 10x 2-hour trip Metcard with an expiration date of some hours ago. If we had bothered to swipe our tickets before boarding the train, the machine would print an expiration time of two hours from now, thus proving our tickets were valid for that trip. But we had opted for saving $3.70 in the hope that inspectors would be scarce at this time of night. Oops.

As we presented our expired tickets for inspection, the leader puffed out his chest impressively.

"AHA! This expired at 7pm! So did yours, young lady! Why didn't you validate your tickets? Where did you get on? Where are you going?"

Mack and Charm were too terrified to answer, and I was panicking myself, but I took a stand (a stand filled with lies). "We DID validate them!" I claimed, fraudulently. "We just finished work and were running for the train so maybe it didn't scan properly! We just got on at South Yarra, and we're getting off at Flinders!"

Ringleader: "If you girls validate those tickets at Flinders and they print out new times [thus proving our tickets weren't valid for the current trip], you will each get a $178 fine."

Us: "FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK..."

The inspectors didn't traverse any of the train, choosing instead to hover threateningly behind our seats, and I heard a group of drunk boys snickering as they jumped off at the next station scot-free. Typical! As we arrive at Flinders St station the inspectors SURROUND us three small girls, and march us to the gates like criminals (which I suppose we were) while EVERY SINGLE OTHER PASSENGER runs like the wind laughing their arses off in their escape. Poor shy Mack by this stage is almost crying.

We get to the gates and I go first, swiping my Metcard. THE TIME DOESN'T PRINT.

Charm and Mack follow. THEIRS DON'T PRINT EITHER.

The ticket inspectors snatch my ticket away and are befuddled. "This isn’t valid! The time is expired!"

Suddenly, for some reason – possibly inebriation – I jump onto my high horse and cling for dear life. "My ticket IS valid, just like I told you! You SAW me walk through the gate and validate it, for God's sake. Here, want me to show you AGAIN?!"

And I snatch the ticket back, swipe it, and the time doesn’t print.

The inspector starts to backpedal. "Well, sometimes the machine is faulty, perhaps YOUR ticket is faulty." He grabs Charm's Metcard and swipes it – the time doesn’t print.

I grin, sensing the tables turning. "I'd like to see each and every one of your colleagues' IDs, please. And what's YOUR name?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because you've unfairly set upon us, when we had valid tickets (LIES), and I have the right to know who I'm dealing with."

"...Donald."

"Is there a last name that goes with that or what?"

He grimaces. "Donald Johns. Look, we're just doing our jobs, going by what we see on the tickets."

Me: "Yes, that's perfectly understandable; however in this case, you're clearly mistaken." LIES!

The group backs off. "Look fine, next time if the ticket doesn't print, take it to the station and get a replacement."

"I wasn't aware you could do that, thank you. Although it IS a little impractical to do so at this time of night, wouldn't you say?"

Female inspector, trying to maintain a shred of authority: "Well, do you still want all our names too?"

Me, airily: "Oh, it was an honest mistake, I'll let you off this time." The NERVE of you, Black Cat - you, who didn't have a ticket in the first place!

We go our separate ways. Once the inspectors are out of earshot...

Charm and Mack, crying with laughter: "HOLY SHIT CAT, HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT WOULD HAPPEN?!"

FIN!

PS: Answer is, I didn't.

PPS: And I don’t condone being a smart-arse to ticket inspectors when you’re actually the one in the wrong. This was pure, unmitigated luck on my behalf. What was that about Black Cats and luck, again?

I'd like to see you repeat that in the ring

2010-04-07T19:28:00.006+10:00

Via Feministing:

"We already knew Adam Carolla was an ass, but now is also a racist ass to boot. Join the Facebook group campaigning against his offensive remarks towards Filipinos."

I haven't seen the sketch, but it looks like what started as a tirade against boxer Manny Pacquiao (who also participates in Philippine politics) turns into a big old pile of racist shit.

[Manny is] “praying to chicken bones”

“Here’s how you know when your country doesn’t have a lot going for it: When everything is about Manny Pacquiao.”

“Get a fu**in life as a country”

“All you fu**in got is just an illiterate guy who happens to smash other guys in the head better than other people”

“Really, you want some guy with brain damage running your country? Why don’t you get your sh*t together?”

“All they have over there is Manny Pacquiao and sex stores.”

Yeah, 'cos the USA never idolises celebrity sportsmen of dubious intellectual capabilities who decide to dabble in politics. And they never have some guy with brain damage running the country.

Blame

2010-03-22T14:58:00.003+11:00

What is it with people and their frantic need to point fingers? The first thing they do after a tragedy is blame the nearest, most ridiculous thing. Shooting massacre? Blame video games! Murder-suicide? Blame heavy metal! High-speed car chase that ended in the criminal running a red light and killing a young family, himself and landing his girlfriend in a coma? Blame the police!

I know it's all misplaced anger and stages of grief and all, but still. Nobody is responsible for the actions of another, and considering the police ended pursuit before the collision it's a bit of a stretch to hold them responsible for this tragedy. To demand police pursuits are "banned" and blame the deaths of this innocent family on the police... I understand anger, I understand not knowing what to do with it, but I don't understand the need to blame when it makes no sense.

Karma!

2010-03-18T15:36:00.005+11:00

Last year, Sydney cab driver James Young refused to take a handicapped passenger, on account of his travelling with a guide dog. Although the passenger said it was illegal to turn him away, Young still refused. When asked for his ID number, Young tried to give a false number.

Turns out that's gonna cost him $3250, as that passenger just so happened to be Australian Disability Discrimination Commissioner Graeme Innes.

Whoops.

The best critics will always be those two guys off The Muppets

2010-03-04T10:51:00.006+11:00

Sensationalist film critics remind me of desperate people writing hateful caps-lock fuelled status rampages on Facebook. Take Robbie Collin's take on Alice In Wonderland. He is AAAAAAAAANGRY about this movie, people. It did not live up to his expectations! Thus he must take it down in a way guaranteed to SHOCK and OFFEND you - and his inner attention troll hungers, so you BETTER comment on his status! Erm, article.

He is so angry, that he begins by "quoting the wisdom of Orlando Bloom". Except he is actually quoting a line from Elizabethtown, the script of which Orlando was reading from, not writing, hence not directly responsible for its wisdom. But shush, Collin is an arbitrary person who has an opinion about a film, he knows more about stuff than you! Especially about being scathing towards 19-year-old actresses!

"[Mia Wasikowska has] got all the warmth of a refrigerated trout, and a face you'd expect to see Blu-Tacked to the inside of a London phone box. She's not a heroine - she looks like she's ON heroin. "

I can see his point: how dare she not be all sunshine and lollipops in this Tim Burton film! Burton is renowned and beloved for creating happy family-friendly films that aren't at all dark and quirky, like Sweeney Todd. Oh, did you see what he did there with the heroine/heroin? DID YA? DID YA? Johnny Depp also fails to impress:

"Johnny's Mad Hatter is a flailing, pointless idiot whose Scottish accent comes and goes like Ashley Cole on a US tour."

Apparently the idea of the Mad Hatter is a common misconception you guys; he is actually the Completely Sane Hatter That Serves A Clear Function, and should be portrayed accordingly.

Now, I'm sure none of you can be bothered looking that up, so I will helpfully paraphrase Robbie Collin's review for you:

"This was shit! Alice looks like a hooker, an unpleasant cheap hooker! Depp is a twat! Helena's only claim to worthiness is being Burton's missus! The animation looks like crap, I am an expert on such things! I made up the word "smugger", it means "more smug"! I HATED IT! HATED IT! Do I shock you? DO I SHOCK YOU? I'll even toss in a reference to a "Saigon execution"! Be shocked! Pay attention to me! Must have attention, must create controversy, GIVE ME YOUR ATTENTION! Blog about me, drum up page hits on News of the World, write about me in the SMH, follow me on Twitter! I AM A FILM CRITIC! THE WORLD WILL PAY ATTENTION TO EVERYTHING I SAY AND I WILL GO MAD WITH POWER!"

Yoink!

2010-02-17T14:32:00.006+11:00

After finishing her meal, the lady next to me at China Bar calmly asked a waiter for a small plastic container, then helped herself to ALL the tabletop sambal chili, oblivious to my stifled giggles as she noisily scraped the tin clean.

I didn't know you could do that! Free condiments, WHOOO! *steals soy sauce and cutlery*

She's ALWAYS fricken' right

2010-02-16T12:45:00.011+11:00

Trigger warnings.

Flicked to Dr Phil today, and saw the topic was "Abducted by a Predator", featuring guests whose children had gone missing or had been murdered. One throwaway line Dr Phil said - and I can't find an online transcript or corresponding video of this particular part, so I may not quote it correctly - struck me as odd:

[while advising college-aged twin girls and their mother about safety] These things do happen... I wonder how many girls who have been abducted, have the final thought in their minds of, 'My mother was right.' I shouldn't have been in the place, or spoken to that person...

I am lucky enough to have never (yet) had my safety threatened to that extent, but really, a victim's final thought being, "My mother was right"? Come on now.

Maybe, "Oh God, I'll never see my mother again", or "Somebody please help me", or "Why?" or "Please make it stop". And it makes me sick to write these, to imagine the ordeals of others. But I did it because I cannot believe someone would suggest a victim would take time out from the gripping terror and physical pain and pleading for one's life that comes with being abducted/tortured/raped/murdered, in order to chastise themselves for not listening to their mother. Even if they are in the "wrong" place, or talking to the "wrong" people, or wearing the "wrong" thing, or doing the "wrong" thing.

And of course, this is all making some major assumptions about all mothers everywhere offering the same "advice", and it being foolproof, and that everybody has mother figures in their lives.

I mean, I don't know firsthand what goes through somebody's mind as they are attacked. I have come close, having been threatened and harassed before, in situations where some tut-tutting outsider could shake their head and sigh, "You should have listened to your mother about not sitting in the front seat of a cab/ walking on the street at night/ talking to strangers/ being impolite to strange men".

But in each of those situations - and only one escalated to the point where I experienced the pure, total fear I imagine the victim of a kidnapping/assault would feel - the last thing I was thinking was, "My mother was right!" I was thinking a lot of things, all of which are covered in those entries, but not that.

Taking safety precautions and listening to your guardian's advice is one thing. Skimming dangerously close to blaming (female) victims is another, Dr Phil. It's insensitive (to say the LEAST) to even suggest that the thought "my mother was right" or some variation of the victim-blaming sentiment should even enter a victim's head WHILE THEY ARE BEING ABDUCTED/ASSAULTED/MURDERED.

Seems like only yesterday I was addressing this very attitude... oh wait, it pretty much was!

“Two black guys?”

2010-02-10T19:10:00.010+11:00

I nearly peed myself when I saw Samuel L. Jackson in the post-credits scene in Iron Man.

While talking about action movies with a male friend of mine, we got onto the topic of The Matrix. I started laughing, relating the story of how Will Smith famously turned down the role of Neo for the lead in the horrendous flop Wild Wild West, saying, ‘Yeah right – computers taking over the world?’

My friend laughed, but after a contemplative silence goes, “Well, I don’t think Will Smith would have worked as Neo anyway. It would’ve been weird to have Morpheus and Neo as black.”

Before I could stop myself, I yelped, “What? Don’t you think that’s a bit racist?” Which was bad ‘cos he was immediately on the defensive.

“It just would’ve changed my perception of the whole movie.”

“What do you mean? You wouldn’t know any better if it had happened differently, right?”

“Just that Neo is… he starts off as a really dry sort of guy.”

“And dry default equals white?”

“What?”

“You’re saying that Mr Anderson is meant to be an Everyman.”

“Yeah.”

“And an Everyman is a white middle class male?”

By now I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Yes… But what would I know, I’m just an ego-centric white middle-class male too.”

My friend has this way of sneering, ‘Yeah yeah, just ignore me, I’m just a white middle class guy who wouldn’t know oppression’ whenever I say anything about the ‘isms’. I jumped back onto why Black Neo would have been problematic.

He failed to give me an adequate response. Just kept going back to, ‘Well, Morpheus was black too. If both Neo and Morpheus were black it would’ve been… different.”

Is there a black leading guys quota I’m not aware of?

Is it really that much of a stretch to have two of three heroes (if you count the three heroes to be Neo – Morpheus – Trinity) as non-white in a major blockbuster movie?

Laurence Fishburne (Morpheus) is African American. Moreover…

Marcus Chong (Tank) is multiracial*.

Anthony Ray Parker (Dozer) is African American.

Gloria Foster (The Oracle) is African American.

The sequels included Jada Pinkett-Smith (Niobe) and Harold Perrineau Jnr. (Link) and Sing Ngai/Collin Chou (Seraph) and Randall Duk Kim (The Keymaker).

But if Neo was black that’s overstepping the mark?

WHY? Because we already have token black characters – we can’t make the hero of the whole movie black? That’s just way too different/unlikely/threatening? The hero has to appeal to EVERYBODY – failing that he has to appeal to the majority, the target audience for whom every conceivable thing on this planet is created to cater for – who just so happen to be white heterosexual middle-class men.

I just find it so weird that my friend would feel this way. I think I upset him a little (well, I more or less called him racist) but seriously? He didn’t specifically reject the actor for the role (although he did say Will Smith isn’t serious enough), it was specifically the race of the actor.

Is it that hard to have the hero of a major action movie someone who is Other? Someone who is not You – but might represent Someone Else?

I asked him to name some movies starring black action heroes. He came up with Blade and Shaft. Here’s mine:

Blade

And that is all I had off the top of my head. Talk about brain fart. After some internet inspiration…

Samuel L. Jackson (HELL YES, particularly Pulp Fiction, Star Wars and Snakes on a Plane, and I am so loving him as Nick Fury)
Bruce Lee (including general actors of colour)
Jackie Chan
Vin Diesel
Jet Li
Will Smith, even though he did turn down The Matrix, still counts with the likes of Bad Boys and I Am Legend under his belt

And yes, I realise this is not a ground-breaking realisation. White-washing in the media and racism in Hollywood and never casting people of colour as heros or solo stars in their own rights - all of this has been critiqued before. It's 'been done'. But no, it's not done, it's still relevant. 'Cos it's still a problem.

*I am not entirely sure of Marcus Chong‘s real ethnicity and can’t seem to find any information on it. I know he was adopted by Chinese-Canadian Tommy Chong and that his name was originally Marcus Wyatt. To me he appears to be of mixed descent.

If you didn't want to be assaulted you shouldn't have looked assaultable!

2010-02-07T13:00:00.006+11:00

Try to guess what Victoria Police Chief Commissioner Simon Overland is talking about when he advises, ''Don't display your iPods, don't display your valuable watch, don't display your valuable jewellery. Try to look as poor as you can." Is he cautioning Australian tourists in foreign countries with high crime rates, perhaps?

Nope. This was part of his speech at an international students' safety forum, in light of recent assaults on Indian members of the community, some of which have been racially-motivated.

Look, it is one thing to take steps to ensure one's safety when in public. Most reasonable people do indeed take every possible precaution to prevent harassment, robbery, violence, victimisation.

But it is another to make demands that people must change their entire lifestyles in order not to be victimised - where they live, when they travel, where they work. And I am getting so sick of hearing it all. Whenever the news is playing in the background about another attack or attempted murder on an international student, I hear the same old questions over and fucking over again.

"Well, why was he/she walking to the isolated train station/through the park at night/on the street/etc?" I can't answer for every case out there, but I have to take public transport late at night because I work in hospitality and finish shifts at 11pm-ish, can't afford to take $25 taxi rides every time, walking isn't an option and at this stage neither is getting a car. And I get the alarmed "but girlies shouldn't be on the train late at night!" schtick from people all the time. What do you want me to do, wait for a fricken' pumpkin to turn into a horse-drawn carriage? I take as many precautions to ensure my own safety that I can: I am extra alert when walking the streets, I sit near women on the tram to give the illusion I am not travelling alone, I stick to well-lit areas and always carry my keys in my hand. But shit can happen, and if it ever did the first thing I'd hear is a lecture about "being more careful", as if I were running down King Street naked but for a bikini made of $100 notes screaming, "COME AND GET ME YOU PUSSY C&%TS!" rather than a member of public going about her damn daily business. And it shits me off.

"Why didn't he/she live somewhere else if it was that dangerous? Why did he/she move into that dodgy poor area?" Well, I don't know, probably because living somewhere else was not a viable option, methinks! I'm pretty sure if you had the choice between living in a dangerous-as-fuck area and moving somewhere safer, you'd lean towards the "safe" side of things! Maybe that seedy suburb is all they can damn well afford. Or they don't know the city very well. Or they are moving in with friends/family already established there. I know it definitely doesn't mean they want to be victimised in their own neighbourhood, as most people generally do not want that!

"Why were they working at 7-Eleven/driving cabs/working the graveyard shift at Hungry Jack's/as a bussie at that club knowing it would involve shift work, late-night commuting, violent clientele, and possible armed robbery attempts?" The same reason other people get their various jobs, I should imagine! Because the pay cheque outweighs the other issues, or they can't find anywhere else that will hire them, or they don't have the skill sets to enter a different industry, or they are part of a family-owned business or partnership, or it's close to home, or they have no choice in which shifts they are allocated, or because they like it.

Everybody has the right to feel safe; and just because they have a shiny watch, or drive cabs, or take the last tram at night, or live in a shithole, does not mean they "kinda/sorta" had it coming when they are violently attacked. Telling people to "look as poor as they can", and not show off items that could draw the attention of muggers at night, well that's one thing. That's all fine and dandy.

Except you can tick all the items on the Police Commissioner's little safety list, and still be the victim of a robbery, assault, rape or murder. And what then? There are things about some people that draw the attention of predators and, unlike iPods, can't just be hidden. Gender. Race. Size. Sexuality. Disability. Profession. And people will go to amazing lengths to blame the victim, because it's easier to jump on something they did "wrong", rather than admit it could just as easily happen to you, or admit that predators are actual members of your community, not just scary opportunistic shadow people.

I don't even have an answer here, I'm just sick of hearing all this shit about what you should do to protect yourself, and if you get stabbed on the street at night, well what the hell were you doing there in the first place? Some people are just fucked up and think it's ok to hurt other people just because they're there. And the ultimate safety tip - BE INVISIBLE! - well it's not really viable, is it?

The fitting room

2010-01-27T14:39:00.008+11:00

Man I hate getting bra fittings.

I hate talking to the sales assistants, for starters – I can’t stand my body being scrutinised by a stranger, let alone a stranger who’s trying to sell me shit.

But the reason I hate bra shopping so much is because women at lingerie stores get my body wrong.

I’m a very petite person – tiny body, skinny limbs, short legs, small waist. It’s probably the Filipino in me. But I also have big boobs. Until recently I refused to buy new bras 1. Because I wasn’t sure if I was buying the correct size and didn’t want to waste money on ill-fitting bras, and 2. Because I was loath to seek help from fitting room ladies who acted like I didn’t know my own breasts.

A few years ago when the much-hyped U Plunge bras bandwagon rolled by, I jumped right on it and I eagerly went into Bras N’ Things to buy one. I have a few low-cut dresses where it’s not ideal to wear a bra underneath, but going braless isn’t really an option for me either. Those things get heavy, y’all.

So I picked the 10C and 12C out, and went into the fitting room where the salesgirl was alternating between myself and another woman next to me. She glanced at the bras I had selected – I explained the need for that particular style – then glanced at my size six body as I turned to face the mirror.

“Um,” she began loudly, eyes taking in my small frame with a smirk, “I’ll get you the B. I don’t think you’re that big.”

I cringed as she disappeared, wondering if the woman in the other stall was laughing at me. I outgrew a B-cup when I was thirteen, but I figured the salesgirl knew what she was doing. Maybe this bra style was designed with bigger cup sizes? How would I know?

I tried on the 10C and it didn’t feel comfortable. The salesgirl popped her head back in with the 10B, saying, “Yeah, it’s not supposed to sit like that. Try this one.”

I squeezed myself into the 10B and stifled a giggle. Now half my damn breast was hanging out each side, like someone had just slapped black duct tape over my nipples. The salesgirl looked in, and was just about to nod her head with approval when I turned and gestured at the unholy amount of side-boob. “I think it’s too small,” I announced drily.

I grudgingly changed into the 12C, but the bra itself (and the style is quite large anyway) was way too big and didn’t fit my body properly. The salesgirl came inside again and concluded with a frown, “You know, I just don’t think this kind of bra is made for you!”

She didn’t elaborate any further – like, why was this bra made for anybody with breasts except me? Were we perhaps getting the sizes wrong? Maybe she should actually step inside and measure me instead of snorting at me from beside the open door? But no, the gal was completely devoid of any helpful recommendations besides sighing and shrugging her shoulders at my amazing uncontrollable breasts. I thanked her and walked out, taking this message with me: There’s nothing wrong with the bra sizes or our products or my assistance, there’s something wrong with YOUR BODY.

And that’s about when I stopped buying new bras, instead wearing the same three favourites over and over again. But that kind of protest can’t last forever, and when those loyal old bras fell apart recently I was forced to face a fitting room again.

At a different store I was served by an older woman, to whom I explained I didn’t know precisely what size I was and that I wasn’t comfortable in most of my bras. She smiled kindly and said, “Ok, pick out some bras to try on and I’ll see what I can do. Just looking at you now you’re a 10 – what – B?”

I rolled my eyes to myself, mentally preparing for a repeat of the oh, I don’t think this bra is MADE for you... and she added, “Unless you’re deceptive underneath that big coat!”

As she joined me in the change room and properly adjusted the bra I was wearing she remarked with a laugh, “Ah, deceptive you are – you're a 10D. I'll get you one.”

And so I bought the first bra that has actually supported my girls properly in a long time. This older saleslady advised me I should always try a bra on and get fitting room assistance before buying it. It's bad for your breasts and your back to be wearing the wrong size, she said. It's our job to make sure you're wearing the right fit, she said. Don't be shy, always try, she said with a grin.

Pass. I figure I’ll just stubbornly cling to my new bras until I outgrow them years from now and have to do this all over again.

Oh, and EW

2010-01-23T12:31:00.013+11:00

What the hell? After a press conference in Milan, Italian reporter and weird freak Elena Di Cioccio groped David Beckham's balls claiming she was trying to check the size of his testicles.

She proceded to run around shouting, "E piccolo, Beckham" and ran alongside his car screaming, "You've taken us for a ride! How could you, David!"

She then told her camera crew for prank show The Hyenas: "Mmm, my God. I touched his balls."

I know The Age is all, "Italian pranksters" and "Haw haw haw, is Cristiano Ronaldo's bulge safe?" I know Di Cioccio works for one of those prank shows and it was all stemming from the "controversy" about Beckham's impressive bulge in his Armani campaign, but you know what? You need to be fucking arrested, lady. GROSS.

I mean, grabbing people by the genitals in public? You just don't do that, you pervert! Even if it's David Beckham!

And I just HATE the media coming off as, "OMG humiliating Beckham's manhood through sexual assault LOL!" It's not fucking funny, and this woman is an awful person.

What "tomb" are we talking about?

2010-01-08T19:31:00.004+11:00

Fuck off Google Images, when I search for "Lara Croft" I want pictures of her being awesome, not of Alison Carroll's vagina.

You're beautiful... just like this supermodel is!

2010-01-05T14:29:00.013+11:00

Women's mags, we've been here before. You, sitting over there with gesturing with your perfectly manicured hands, trying to assure girls and women that YES, you are beautiful no matter what shape you are! The current demands for women to look a certain way are unrealistic, you exclaim in a sudden epiphany. Squee! Revelation! Empowerment! Go girl!

While I, sitting over here examining my own chewed nails, wonder why if everybody's so damn beautiful and special, you just keep shoving the same specific body shape and beauty ideal down our throats again and again and again.

Prior to the release of their latest magazine cover featuring a nude and "untouched" picture of model Jennifer Hawkins in a bid to support the Butterfly Foundation (an Australian charity that provides support for people suffering from eating disorders and their carers), I imagine Marie Claire had a meeting that went something like:

Editor: We need something real for next issue, some serious lady topic that relates to our audience like no other. Perhaps with a tie-in to a charity organisation for a positive and hopeful angle!
Lackey: How about... eating disorders? That is a lady topic! How women constantly struggle with body shape and the insecurities associated with basing all our self worth on whether we meet a certain shallow criteria for attractiveness, and how this affects our physical and psychological health!
Editor: Yes! That has not been done before!
Lackey: And just throwing this out there but... what if - just this once, mind you - we have a cover girl who has not been digitally enhanced!
Other Lackeys: Gasp!
Editor: Brilliant! Showcase a real woman! Like that Dove thing a couple of years back! And, to further push the status quo... have her completely naked on the cover!
Lackey: You are a genius, madam. I will google Australian charities dedicated to fighting eating disorders right now.
Lackey: Any ideas on who the cover girl should be?
Editor: Well a popular and beloved Australian celebrity, of course, in order to raise awareness. And we have to actually sell the magazine so, y'know, preferably a model and beauty queen.

It seems to me that a charity organisation dedicated to fighting eating disorders - full of people who have seen the damage, devastation and death eating disorders cause - would point out that using a conventionally beautiful and thin model to raise awareness of the perils of negative body image might be problematic. But Julie Parker of the Butterfly Foundation has defended criticism of Marie Claire's choice of anti-eating disorder covergirl thusly:

"Jennifer sells magazines and she creates awareness. If Marie Claire had chosen to put on their cover an ordinary women [sic], say myself or a friend of yours, it would not have created the awareness it does."

Well, why not have an "ordinary" high profile woman on the cover, then? Magda Szubanski is a much-loved Aussie celebrity. When Kyle Sandilands bagged her out live on radio the entire country jumped to her defence. She's also a spokeswoman for Jenny Craig. I'm sure she'd have some perspective on negative body image issues and eating disorders.

Or Rebel Wilson? Awesome lady, confident and funny as hell. Have you seen her on Thank God You're Here? She's amazing. And suffers from weight issues.

Or Ricki-Lee Coulter? The former Aussie Idol contestant and singer/TV host has to constantly defend criticism of her body shape.

"I can't tell you the number of times people have told me if I just lost 10kg I could go much further in my career," Coulter said. "But I'm determined to show them - and other average-size women - it is doable and possible."

Now, I quite like Jennifer Hawkins - she seems very down-to-Earth, friendly and kind. I believe she is a good role model. And obviously as an actual model Jennifer knows firsthand the complex relationship between body image and self-esteem. It's great to see her here addressing the issue, and willing to take a risk to raise awareness.

But Jesus, surely a charity with a vision of living "in a world that celebrates health, well-being and diversity", and a magazine supposedly supporting this goal, could have selected a cover model that didn't just reinforce the same old narrow ideals of beauty they purport to be challenging.

White! Thin! Pretty! Young! Able-bodied! Blonde! Long legs! Big boobs! Perfect teeth! Tiny waist! Completely hairless body!

Imagine a young girl who already hates her body picking up this magazine and seeing the shallow message, you are beautiful just the way you are! See, naked former-Miss Universe here has flaws too! Because at sixteen, I knew I had no hope in hell of ever looking like that, I would've been like, "Wow, Jen's really positive and confident with her body - and I would be too IF I LOOKED LIKE THAT. WHICH I DON'T."

Having the same magazine with Ricki-Lee or somebody on the cover, along with the message, "My body is beautiful and I'm confident to embrace it. There's nothing to be ashamed of." ...that has more of the impact you want, Butterfly Foundation! Yeah, Marie Claire is ultimately about making money, and they're going to sell a hell of a lot more nudie pictures of Jennifer Hawkins than of somebody over size 8... but where's the challenge in that?

So, you really want to make a difference? You really want to raise awareness about eating disorders and promote diversity in the way women are portrayed in the media? You really want women to feel so comfortable with their bodies that one day eating disorders will be a thing of the past?

Then stop doing it half-arsed. Break your own taboos and showcase women who don't fit that beauty mould. There are plenty of 'em both in and out of the public eye. Don't tell me it won't "raise awareness". Don't tell me pointing out some dimples on a model's thigh is the best you can do. If YOU can't accept women outside the narrow convention of feminine beauty than you're doing nothing to promote change, no matter what the article says inside.

I know you're trying, but from here it just looks like you're running around in circles. Shallow, little circles.

Why my mum doesn't work in tech support

2010-01-02T17:35:00.004+11:00

INT. LOUNGE ROOM, HOME – DAY

THE BLACK CAT sits on the couch, quietly wasting the afternoon looking up South American capitals on Wikipedia via her laptop. Enter MAMA CAT.

MAMA CAT: Cat, do you know how to defrag your computer?
THE BLACK CAT: No, what’s that?
MAMA CAT: Your computer is too slow, so this will delete all the files you don’t need and make it faster! Look up “steps to defrag Windows Vista” on Google!
THE BLACK CAT: (complying) Ok… (after a pause) Do I have to download this thing?
MAMA CAT: WHAT?! NO! DON’T DOWNLOAD ANYTHING! LOOK UP THE STEPS! THE STEEEEPS!! (exhales angrily)
THE BLACK CAT: Ok, ok! Here, “how to defrag your Windows Vista drives”.
MAMA CAT: Let me read it! (scrolls up and down squinting at screen without glasses on)
THE BLACK CAT: (actually reading instructions, begins going through the defrag steps)
MAMA CAT: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! DON’T DO ANYTHING! DON’T TOUCH! I’M TRYING TO FIND IT!
THE BLACK CAT: (opens Disk Defragmenter program)
MAMA CAT: WHAT’S THAT?! STOP IT! DON’T DOWNLOAD!
THE BLACK CAT: I’m not downloading, that’s the program!
MAMA CAT: JESUS CHRIST! DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING IF YOU DON’T KNOW DON’T TOUCH IT! I’ll go to my computer and write down MY instructions. (storms off muttering) Don’t need to DOWNLOAD! DOWNLOAD!
THE BLACK CAT: If you do the exact same thing I did you are in so much trouble.

INT. BACKROOM, HOME – DAY

MAMA CAT is at her computer while THE BLACK CAT stands behind her.

MAMA CAT: (opens a webpage with exact same instructions THE BLACK CAT was following) Now, I’ll write it down, but just watch. You do this, and this, and click this…
MAMA CAT: (opens Disk Defragmenter program)
THE BLACK CAT: MUM, THAT’S THE EXACT SAME THING I DID ONLY SLOWER.

FIN!

Where does the Frankston train go?

2009-12-17T13:50:00.003+11:00

Overheard at Southern Cross Station: Random Lady with pram accosting two Asian students as they board the Sandringham train.

RL: Is this the Frankston train?

Students: (politely and clearly) No, this is the Sandringham.

RL: (in exaggerated slow, loud English) IS THIS THE FRANKSTON TRAIN?

Students: No, this is the Sandringham.

RL: (angry) IS! THIS! THE! FRANKSTON TRAIN?

Students: No!

RL: (exaggerated slow, loud English) WHICH ONE GOES TO FRANKSTON?

Students: The Frankston train!

RL: YOU FU- *doors close*

Lady, those brightly lit TV screens do tell you which train is what.

Who even uses the word "henpecked" anymore? Farmers?

2009-11-20T14:07:00.010+11:00

For fuck’s sake, Channel Ten. Anthony Sherna, sentenced to 14 years jail for strangling his abusive wife, was not “henpecked”. Stop updating the news with that stupid headline. That is the most outdated slur I have seen as part of a news headline in a while.

Sherna was the victim of horrifying domestic abuse over the span of eighteen years. The fact that he was the male victim of a female aggressor and you’re ridiculing him (and by extension, other men who are in abusive relationships) in this way is awful. I’m not one for advocating for the rights of murderers but mocking an abuse victim is sick and disgusting, considering there are men out there who are – YES – the victims in abusive spousal relationships.

“Henpecked”? Seriously? Are we in Elizabethan times? Why don’t you also call him a “cuckold” seeing as Wild cheated on him? Emasculating men when they’re victims instead of aggressors is just so FUNNY!

What, because when a husband doesn’t put his woman in her place he’s henpecked? And he somehow deserved the abuse? And it’s HILARIOUS – because a story telling of a years-long pattern of abuse and alienation ending in murder is as funny as a man who lets his domineering wife boss him around on sit-coms?

“Henpecked”? You’re KIND OF making light of the situation here.

Just, what the FUCK? Please stop. Would you call a battered woman a “wimpy wife” or something?

And no, “Male Rights” advocates, I'm not using this as an example of how oppressed men are. I'm saying that the media using stupid words that were coined as a way to mock "weak" men while describing a male victim of domestic abuse is not cool. Not to mention it trivialises the woman's murder and reflects the belief that if men aren't "in control" of women, they are aberrations of nature.

ETA: Meanwhile, Sam de Brito of White-Male-Privilege-R-Us reinforces the status quo with his very original article on why nagging wives are a pain in the arse and why weakling men shouldn't appease shrews. True to form, he throws in asinine slurs ("Sherna should have been given life in prison for being such a jelly-backed wuss"?) and responds to critical commenters with absolute contempt.

Nice Guy Whinetini

2009-10-30T00:36:00.012+11:00

Ho boy. So there I was at Berlin Bar socialising with and slowly getting to know my friend Monique's latest squeeze, when what does the guy do? HE GOES ON A NICE GUY RANT.

If friends’ relationships had that little option like YouTube comments do, where you can click “thumbs up” or “thumbs down”, this guy would be sitting on -2 as a prospective boyfriend.

“Here’s what I don’t understand about women...” he suddenly blurts. That gets my attention straightaway, and not in an attentive OMG-Smart-Man-Saying-Something-Witty way.

“With women it’s like, applying for a job, right? You ace the interview, you’re neatly-presented and polite, and have all the right qualifications. But they say no, actually, despite all that I’m going to hire this other guy who is less qualified than you, who turns up late for work and sometimes drinks! And then they phone you and complain about what a jerk the OTHER GUY is! What is with that?”

Luckily for this guy’s balls the topic was killed by the abrupt arrival of our cocktail waiter but I couldn’t get the painful sound of STUPID out of my ears all night.

Oh, so women – simply by existing – are by default “advertising” for this “job”. And every single guy is, by default, automatically granted this figurative job interview? What are these purported “qualifications” you have that are so wonderful anyhow? And what is this “job” you think you’re applying for, can we elaborate on that? The job of you getting to have sex with hot chicks? You picked the metaphor, jackass, I’m just rolling with it.

Here’s the thing about the Nice Guy rant. Oh, you know the one. “I’m so nice but women only want to be FRIENDS with me and they only like jerks and then they COMPLAIN TO ME ABOUT THEM THE INSENSTIVE DUMBASS WHORES WOE IS ME.”

1. You are assuming the world is made up of only three types of people. Nice Guys, Jerks, and Women.

2. Women are generally saying “I just want to be friends” or keep up some pretence of a civil relationship with you because they are socialised to be nice and submissive and polite, so although they are aware you are sexually interested in them they ARE NOT INTERESTED IN YOU but do not want to hurt your feelings or possibly compromise their safety by being a “bitch” about it. Like that matters, because somebody like you probably only sees women are bitches and hos anyway.

3. Is your head so fucking up your own arse that you don’t have the slightest shred of a clue about your own roaring hypocrisy? Going on about how shallow women are for rejecting you when you are only ever referring to women you find ATTRACTIVE? If an unattractive woman you found “nice” had a desperate crush on you, would you play by your own rules and date the Nice Girl Who is “Qualified” or the Hottie Who Is Slightly Less “Qualified” but you’re much more interested in?

4. If you expect sex as a reward you are entitled to for being a decent human being to attractive women, and complain about women who subsequently believe you’re their friend (probably why confide in you about their relationship problems, funnily enough!) after you fucking emotionally manipulated them trying to get yourself laid, and then get FURIOUS and BITTER when it becomes clear they're not interested... THEN YOU ARE NOT A VERY NICE GUY. At least a Jerk is straightforward about being a jerk – you on the other hand are creepy and calculating and do not accept a woman’s right to chose whom to date, whom to fuck and whom to reject.

5. In fact you can fuck right off you entitled misogynistic little turd.

6. No really, fuck off.

Yes, rejection sucks, but let’s not chalk it up to how you’re so fucking nice and it’s all womankind’s fault for being too shallow and dumb to see it. Here’s a novel idea! Try seeing women as human beings, not a collective vagina that won’t let you put your penis in it!

Monique, I’m worried. In case you’re wondering about what the other “thumbs down” was for, Mr New Guy is also very picky and judgemental about the way women dress – deriding passing girls with jeans of a certain fit as having a “bad look” for example, or asserting how women shouldn’t wear X with Y. Yet he looks like Elton fucking John. Both of these flaws about him are coming from the same place. It’s not the place Good Boyfriends come from.

Update: I just grew another one you guys!

2009-10-28T15:42:00.011+11:00

Man, you know narcissistic compulsive status-updaters on Facebook are reaching a new low when they start sharing every time they grow a hair.

Can you get me that thing that's in the thing beside that other thing?

2009-10-19T15:28:00.004+11:00

According to my voicemail my mum wants some “computer software” that has been left somewhere in my huge messy house after I swapped two old computers for one new one and a laptop; the "software", might actually be "hardware", she's not sure but she knows it is “in a drawer”, so could I please find the “thing” and express post it to her?

Gee Mum, can you vague that up a bit more for me?

"I'm sexy! I'm cute! I'm popular to BOOT!"

2009-10-16T12:29:00.002+11:00

At the train station, I was distracted from my book by a wildly-gesturing, loud-voiced young man pacing up and down the platform whilst talking animatedly on the phone.

“Yeah my trip was awesome, in ten days I was the most popular person at the backpacker’s, basically I was the crazy one everybody wanted to party with, I’ve long since worked out I can have fun with a cardboard box, so what are the plans for tonight, I’m meeting people in the city, or we might go to Prahran...”

A crazy thought struck me. Is it possible that he was staging an elaborate pantomime of a phone conversation for an audience of crowded travellers in some weird attempt to seem cool and popular? Because honestly, he just seemed like too much of an arrogant wanker to actually have friends that would listen to him talk for longer than five minutes, and the phrases he used and the volume at which his voice delivered them just screamed, “LOOK AT ME LISTEN IN TO MY CONVERSATION I WANT YOU TO KNOW HOW FUN AND CRAZY AND IN-DEMAND I AM I HAVE SOMETHING TO PROVE!” I mean, I haven't heard anyone use the word “popular” like that since high school.

Then again he might have been speeding off his head. The way his hips swung exaggeratedly while he covered the ground of the entire platform in maniacal struts would certainly suggest so. And hey man – ANYONE can have fun with a cardboard box! I practically spent my entire childhood making shit out of them! You’re not some über-special Bastion of Awesomeness!

He's lucky he's cute. And I'm chicken.

2009-10-13T13:28:00.005+11:00

Something said by a bar manager during a bar training session held at my place of work still bothers me and sort of illustrates perfectly why I loathe hospitality so much sometimes. Our trainer Ashley was explaining that when serving certain beers you shouldn’t pour all the way to the top of the glass, because some ‘beer connoisseurs’ (I know. I know.) like to have nose space in order to adequately discern the fragrance of the beer. According to Ashley, though, some customers don’t display the same levels of refinement:

“You sort of have to read the customer, like if you serve a beer like that to a New Zealander they’ll be all like, ‘What are you doing, top it up bro!’ But that’s just a lack of education.”

Erm.

Ashley, despite the fact I have a huge crush on you I must tell you that was an incredibly arrogant privileged classist and yes, racist thing to say (given that the accent you put on while imitating a New Zealander was of the exaggerated Maori type).

Here’s the thing. I could go through an entire PHD scholarship and never come across information pertaining to the manner in which I must drink some obscure beer in order to appreciate its subtle finery. If you were to then call me uneducated using a single encounter in some pompous bar as your evidence, I would probably throw that beer in your face.

You seem quite intelligent and despite a bit of industry arrogance you are quite a nice guy. But you’re hardly the most educated person I know. Some respect for others wouldn’t go astray.

It is so offensive to call anybody uneducated. It implies a smug superiority and usually plays on old stereotypes regarding class and race. These are still very real inequalities that affect people – class and/or race can decide whether an underprivileged person can or can’t access education.

Given that you were not talking about issues affecting society, but the way to enjoy some pretentious beer, makes the ‘lack of education’ slur doubly offensive. Some perspective, please.

I'm sure it would have been hilarious... in Texas 1959

2009-10-08T18:10:00.013+11:00

Ha, so there I was, watching The 7pm Project’s discussion of the shitstorm that is Hey, Hey’s blackface debacle, thinking, who is this complete and utter wankstain they have on as a guest?

Says he: “I think this is a big fuss about racism without anyone actually being able to find anyone that’s racist. [to Hughes, challengingly] Do you think Daryl Somers is a racist? Do you think those blokes are really in their hearts – racist?”

No! In their heart of hearts they weave rainbows and adopt homeless puppies and OH WAIT NO they are just racist actually! Yes, yes they are, even if they do nice things and donate to charity and don't commit mass genocide! Going on a crappy variety show and covering your face in shoe polish and dressing as a minstrel and PERFORMING IN BLACKFACE still falls under "racism", see?

Says he: “I do think there was no racist intent on their behalf. The whole thing is about seeming, not being... We beat ourselves up for being racist! Unnecessarily in my opinion.”

Oh my fuck, you can’t be serious. An educated, presumably well-read, grown man genuinely believing and perpetuating the belief it is more offensive to be called racist than actually doing incredibly racist things.

And let’s talk about intention, shall we? Let’s use a crazy comparison! Like, say I did something “incredibly dumb”, to use the words you use to describe this abomination of a skit, and got behind the wheel of my car and started texting. And maybe as a result I run over a couple of people and break their legs. Oh, but then I wring my hands and cry and wave my phone and wail, “I didn’t mean to! Sure it was a silly thing to do, something generally frowned upon by authority figures and bound to have consequences, but it was not my intention to cause harm.”

Ir-fucking-relevant. Your actions have lead to serious consequences. Address them. Don’t yak on about your itty bitty feelings and your bullshit “intention” after you’ve hit people with a fucking car. Which is what watching that racist-as-fuck skit felt like.

Says he: “Some of [the outrage] is a bit ‘look at me’ – the easiest way to seem noble and non-racist yourself is to accuse someone else... some people get off on that.”

Why, precisely! People expressing outrage over racism just want to look good! Not to mention people of colour who might have been offended – no really, I’m not mentioning them I’m just going to cleverly imply that anybody who is offended is some white guy who just wants to look noble! This outrage is coming from all those PC wankers that want ATTENTION! What is this guy’s address, I’m going to vomit in a box and send it to him.

“You’ve got to see it in a little bit of context... they were reprising something they did in the less sensitive years.”

Yes, the good old “less sensitive years”, when you could call Asians “Nips” and make fun of disabled people and perform in blackface and treat oppressed groups as subhuman, whatever happened to those merry times? Oh that’s right we tried to evolve into a society that respects all its members and treats people like human fucking beings!

Here's some fucking context you willfully ignorant scum of society.

What do you know? Turns out this illustrious guest was Andrew Bolt, of all damn people. Glad to see my fuckwit-o-rometer is still finely tuned.

PS: Oh yeah and way to go Hey, Hey - like we needed more proof that Australia is full of dicks.

This is why spelling matters

2009-09-30T20:56:00.006+10:00

"Jealous of a book to retard?" - Nikki, Twilight fan, defending Rob Pattinson from stench rumours.

Yes, Nikki, we are all jealous. Of a book. To retard. Emoticon.

Just.... ugh.

A drop in the ocean

2009-09-29T23:41:00.022+10:00

Glanced at the highlights sidebar on my Facebook feed yesterday, and saw something that made my heart sink:

“Sluts falling down – 2 friends became fans.”

I clicked the 2 friends, having a pretty good idea of who one of them would be. Real names are never revealed here, by the way.

Boris is such a typical homophobic misogynistic footy-head who laughs at webcomic rape jokes and whose favourite pastime is sitting in the window, waiting for a girl in a miniskirt to walk past and announce, “Cunt scarf!” Lukito is Boris’s cunt-scarf watching buddy. So in short I was both disappointed in my friends and disappointed in humanity.

Of course, being the masochist I am I clicked on the group and baulked at the wall posts alone... “Hahaha stupid sluts”, “so funny when bitches fall cunt over feet”, “Hahaha sluts are so much funnier horizontal and in pain”, “Maybe if they didn’t steal taken men they wouldn’t be such sluts!” Being confronted with such raging hatred for women on a social networking site shouldn't have knocked the wind out of me, but it did. Of course I’m being unbelievably generous using correct spelling, grammar and syntax there.

Then I clicked on the photo albums and was shocked to find pictures posted of actual Facebook users by bullying teens who’d tagged their enemies with full names, then written captions like “Kellie Harvard loves sucking humongous horse dick!” or “You know Trish is gonna fall down HARD, fat slut!”

And strangers who had joined the page had added sickening comments of their own, “Needs a cock in the eye”, “She’s hot I’d cream all over her face – she’d have to ask first though!”, “Dirty nasty slut!”

What the fucking fuck is wrong with these dumbshit people? Not only are you mindlessly participating in slut-bashing, not only are you revelling in a thriving frenzied hub of cyber-bullying, not only are you doing so under your own real names rather than the anonymity of cyberspace, you are exposing these girls (and yourselves) to all the predators, freaks, bullies, rapists and misogynistic monsters in the Facebook WORLD by posting their REAL, FULL NAMES AND PICTURES in a fucking GROUP entitled, “[I’m a fan of] Sluts falling down!”

Stupid misogynistic shit like this seems “funny” or “in-jokey” to these kids but they don’t think that any twisted sick fuck who actually DOES think it’s ok/funny/sexy/a power trip for “slutty” young girls to get hurt (the HEIGHT of misogyny) can join, and THOSE SICKOS can access these girls’ information that got posted as a bullying tactic. Am I the only one seeing a train wreck coming?

So I clicked away, hitting the handy little “report” button on every single photo (under Facebook’s terms of service you can’t upload photos that ‘attack an individual or group’), a few of the commenters, and on the page itself.

Today I asked a friend to do the same, and when she searched for the page she replied, “Um... I can’t find it. Well, I found it but it won’t open - it keeps redirecting to Home.”

So I searched, both the hard way and by clicking on Boris and Lukito’s profiles to check their “pages” list.

The group has been banned.

Ha.

Seriously though, that’s just a drop in the ocean of the horrific and often misogynistic cyber-bullying going on via Facebook alone. I sincerely hope the girls whose pictures were posted, tagged and derided via that group will be ok; the body count of desperate teens who kill themselves after relentless bullying ain’t going down.

(top l-r) Holly Grogan, M egan M eier.
(bottom) Chanelle Rae.

It was an ACCIDENT!

2009-09-23T20:47:00.007+10:00

Leigh Robinson, 61, who shot his girlfriend in the back of the head after she fled his car and headed for a neighbour's house, says it was an accident and he just wanted to talk to her.

...he was showing her how to use his shotgun before she suddenly ran away from him for no apparent reason.

Why, that's completely plausible! What better place for shooting lessons than one's car in the middle of Frankston? She must have run to make him a sandwich because of all that hard work wielding a firearm (they're HEAVY!), but unfortunately she failed to determine what KIND of sandwich he wanted! Seeing as Robinson had threatened her with a gun a week before, it's clear she wasn't learning her lesson about the sandwiches!

And in a sterling display of the quality of his character, Robinson refers to the murder victim with such endearing and respectful terms:

He chased after her, he said, in an attempt "to talk to the silly bitch".

Hence, when a neighbour opened the door to her cries for help, THAT's when he SHOT HER IN THE HEAD.

Accidentally.

Like how a Justice of the Supreme Court might "accidentally" sentence you to life in prison, scum. Whoops!

And they returned to find their cat on fire

2009-09-12T14:57:00.002+10:00

Why is it on soap operas that whenever characters angrily go to somebody's house to confront them, the home owner always walks off in a huff after an exchange of heated words, assuming (I guess) that their enemy will just let themselves out? I mean, it’s kind of weird.

If I’d just gone to somebody’s house, and we’d had a huge fight, and they stormed off leaving me to my devices in their kitchen/hall/living room... well, I don’t know, I guess it’d depend on what the fight was about.

Food Pranksters!

2009-09-09T13:32:00.004+10:00

One of my customers - a pretentious braggart we shall call "Redmond" - claims to be a music and TV producer. Or some crap, I don’t know, I wasn’t listening to him. So one time during an after-work drink Redmond announced, “Hey, we could use your restaurant for this great new idea I came up with for a TV show! We take people and give them food they wouldn’t normally eat – and film their reaction when they realise they’ve eaten it!”

This is how I imagined that would play out.

Host: Welcome back to Food Pranksters! So, how are you enjoying your chicken, madam?
Contestant #1: It’s fine, a little salty...
Host: What would you say if I told you THERE ARE PEANUTS IN THE SAUCE!
Contestant #1: I probably wouldn’t say anything, my airways would just close up and I’d go into anaphylactic shock- *collapses*
Host: Hohoho! Gotcha! And you sir, are you enjoying that halal stir-fry?
Contestant #2: It’s nice and spicy, with a great texture!
Host: Uh oh! That might be due to the secret ingredient – shredded pork! Somebody’s getting a smiting from Allah!
Contestant #2: *spit-take*
Host: Hohoho! Yep, that’s why they call us the Food Pranksters!

Me: “Um... Redmond I don’t think that’s a good idea for a show.”

I'll take a stab and say, "The same reasons men do"

2009-09-08T16:54:00.009+10:00

Did you know that this thing called “sex” exists and that sometimes women indulge in it? It’s true! I KNOW! It shocked my pants off, let me tell you! But as for the question that will inevitably pop up in your mind as it did mine – WHY? – fortunately there is a very helpful new book penned by professors Cindy Meston and David Buss who doubtlessly have nothing better to do. “Why Women Have Sex” delves into the mystery behind these unthinkable, extraordinary, freak-of-nature occurrences! I know I would spend over AUS$50 on a book that would clear up why I feel these strange tingles below the belt every time I see Colin Farrell!

So profound is this new book that it even made Channel Ten’s Morning News today. Some reasons cited by the women of Meston and Buss's unquestionably broad, reliable sample size?

Why Women Have Sex:
1. “To relieve the boredom – because it’s easier than fighting. It gives me something to do.”
2. “In return for a household chore.”
3. “Because it’s the closest thing to God.”
4. “I slept with a couple of guys because I felt sorry for them.”
5. “Because he bought me a nice dinner.”
6. “I have sex with my boyfriend to make my sexual skills better.”
7. “To relieve a migraine or stress headache.”
8. “With an unattractive man – because low testosterone attracts women by suggesting the man is less likely to cheat.” (WHAT?)
9. College separation: “Life is too short to be waiting four years to have sex again.”

It sounds like the same girl was quoted for all of those. Except #3. And I want to know who exactly #3 is having sex with. And his/her phone number.

What can I say, I'm a spiritual kinda gal.

Dancin' in the summer rain

2009-09-04T13:49:00.002+10:00

To the girl in the green shirt, white scarf and black pants running around my uni in the rain with her shoes in her hand jumping in puddles: you're awesome. That's how life should be lived.

Oh those upstart middle-class trollops!

2009-09-02T18:14:00.000+10:00

Not that I’m that invested in the royal goings-on, but this “speculation of a royal engagement between Prince William and Kate Middleton” story that’s making the news rounds this evening keeps catching my eye.

Namely because some random self-described Royal Watcher (i.e. professional busybody) is quoted saying: “If they get married, Kate Middleton – Kate Middle-Class – is going to be the queen of England someday.” *significant look*

Nice to know that class bigotry is still alive and well in England today. “Oh my goodness, dahlings, we can’t have a commoner on the throne! A want of good breeding there, to be sure!”

Does it really matter? I know being in the royal family means representing the great empire and carrying on the royal torch and all that jazz, but surely you can be groomed for that kind of thing. And isn’t the English monarchy sort of irrelevant now when it comes to actually running the country?

“Kate Middle-Class”? Oh-ho, I see what you did there! Lady, I would’ve thought that being some upper-class British snob meant you’d at least have good manners. Rude old bint.

I prefer married men sunny-side up, myself.

2009-09-01T14:55:00.004+10:00

Hey Fuck Politeness, I hope you don’t watch 9am with David and Kim because today’s hot topic might have made you do a spit-take into your cornflakes.

“Why do single women poach married men?” the hosts wonder. A random survey in the U.S (could there BE a more reliable source of information pertaining to Australian women? I think not!) found that college-aged women (approximately 18-23 years) find married or otherwise unavailable men more attractive than single guys. Those little hussies!

David: “So how does the poor, poor paranoid married woman protect herself from the single women who are going to poach her husband?”

Their special guest expert? “Dating expert” Samantha Brett. (cue FP spit-take!) Her response:

“We can put a lot of blame on the guy – men perv, that’s what they do. I think we should warn our partners that these type of girls are after them, and are specifically after the challenge of chasing married or taken men, nothing more. Talk to your partner, tell him to cut back on the perving a little.”

Could there BE more sound advice? I think not! Assuming your partner is just going to mindlessly fall between another woman’s legs? Check! Portraying men as the victims of “types” of scheming single girls that plan such elaborate traps? Check! Slotting every single woman under the category of “threat”? Check! Pointed refusal to examine the unique dynamics of individual relationships that may lead to cheating behaviour? Check! Making an unrealistic demand of your partner in an attempt to control him that will probably further isolate you from each other? Check!

“Honey, I know you love looking at those sweet young thangs, but you know, they only like you because you’re married! So could you maybe try not looking at any attractive young people ever again? For me? Otherwise I'll POUT."

I certainly know I would respond positively and submissively if my husband made such a request to me! And not looking at people I find attractive whether they be friends, work colleagues, strangers or celebrities is perfectly controllable and would not at all involve sequestering myself from the entire human race! Not to mention when you stop men from PERVING - you magically stop infidelity as well!

Come on Sam, can’t you advise women to say something reasonable and mature instead of, “You looked at that waitress’s butt! She’s young which means she's a slut who likes breaking up marriages! I’m not talking to you!” Why not say:

“Look babe, sometimes I can’t help being annoyed when you perve on other women. And when I perve on attractive younger men I daresay it annoys you. I think we need to acknowledge that we are always going to see or meet other people we’re attracted to. But even if that young Spanish delivery guy with the biceps caught my eye, there’s only one man in the world I want to be with and that’s you. I need the same kind of commitment from you. I have to know that despite the occasional perve, you want to be in a relationship with me.”

(Yeah, ok, I'm not entirely sure of the correct grammatical usage of the word "perv" - does it have an 'e' when used as a verb? Or when used as a noun? I'm confused.)

As an aside, I wonder how many good dates Sam the “dating expert” actually gets. Surely she would be in a some enviable healthy fairytale relationship with a gorgeous guy she snagged with all her dating expertise and such. Does anyone know if practising what she preaches is working out for her?

So now I always sit in the back

2009-08-31T16:41:00.006+10:00

I’ve never written about this incident – namely because it happened during the Great Four Month Homelessness of 2008, when I was living at Kuya's and had no access to my hard drive or my winter clothes. But Karen Healey’s recent post, Snakes in the Grass has brought it all back.

One Monday evening last year, when I was working at the old place (bar/restaurant in the city) the boys and I finished work so late that I’d missed all the trams and had to get a cab. Curtis flagged one for me after we’d had an after-work beer, and the cab driver (youngish) must have taken in the environment before I was in the front seat heading to Kew.

After a moment’s silence along Victoria Street, the driver broke the quiet with, “So, you like drinking? You like drinking with boys?”

The implications of that (abrupt) sentence would normally get me into a debate. But I wasn’t in the mood to argue about double standards and whatnot – I was in the mood to suddenly detect a threat and mentally calculate both the time it would take to get home and strategies for concealing my actual place of address while answering the question in a way that might deter any further conversation.

Which is not so much a mood, but y’know.

“Actually, that bar is where I work,” I answered stiffly. “Those guys are my colleagues.”

During that answer I surprised myself by indignantly thinking, I’m just wearing my work clothes and a hoodie! Why is he suddenly implying I’m a drunken floozy- no, stop right there. Even if I’d stumbled into the cab in a gold mini dress he’d have no right to harass me. Clothing should not make the slightest difference to the manner in which I am treated by a cab driver. Not that it made a difference later.

The driver attempted more conversation, most of which I answered untruthfully. What do you do? What do you study? How often do you work? Do you go out on weekends? Do you live alone? (to THAT one I invented several older brothers as housemates) Then, it was a sly, “So, are there any bottle shops around here?”

“What?” I asked, feigning confusion as my heart started to pound. “I don’t know, there’s a Dan Murphy’s coming up but I don’t think it’d be open this time on a Monday night, why?”

He grinned. “We can get some beer.”

Skin now crawling. “But you’re driving.”

“The beer is for you!”

At this stage I’m half out of my mind with fear, looking around the dark streets as we approach Kew Junction and knowing nobody is around. “No thank you, please just take me home.”

In response he turned off the meter. “The rest of the fare is on me.”

I squeaked a thank you, snaking a hand in my bag for my apartment keys and wallet.

We reached my street, and I told him to drop me off ‘on the corner’ – my actual apartment building was therefore hidden from view, but by this time I’m frantically wondering how fast I can run, how quickly I can turn the key in the door of the building (and let me tell you, I’m the kind of person who will muck any simple thing up in a state of panic).

I hand him cash for the fare, unbuckle my seatbelt, and he asks, “Ok, what about a tip?”

It is polite but not customary to tip cab drivers in Australia, so that was an unusual question but I put aside my fear long enough to reason, sure, he did give me a fair portion of the ride for free. I start scooping some coins together when he grabs my arm.

“No, I mean my sweet tips,” he insisted, using his other hand to tap his cheek. “My sweet tips.”

My mind exploded. Oh my God, he wants a kiss, he’s bigger than me, it’s so dark, he thinks I like drinking with boys, he’s still in control of the car, how fast can I run, how loud can I scream, is there anything in my bag I can use as a weapon, nobody knows where I am, does my phone have enough battery to call 000, would anybody be in that house over there, what if the childproof lock is on the car door, now he’s leaning closer...

Finally, I SMILED (probably trying to preserve myself best I can, but it still makes me angry) and threw the loose change at him.

The driver jerked backwards as the coins scattered everywhere, I threw the door open and ran for my life.

He did not follow me by car or by foot. I got into my apartment, barricaded the door with a lounge chair, and shook for about an hour before ringing my work friends and telling them.

“I’m shaking, what do I do? Do you remember what he looked like or anything?” I asked.

“No,” Curtis answered, “Jesus, did you get down his ID number?”

I froze. The name and identification card of Victorian taxi drivers is displayed on the windshield along with a six digit driver number. I hadn’t thought of that. “No.”

“Why not? If you did you could report him – you know there are security cams in taxis now, right? And he’ll probably try it on someone else, I mean don’t you remember anything? Did his picture match his ID? Or did you get the numberplate of the taxi?”

So here’s something I wish I'd thought of to say.

No, I did not record his identification number, the numberplate of the vehicle, and today I would probably be hard-pressed to give a detailed description of the guy. I am not of the habit of carrying around a notebook and pen and whipping it out in order to calmly record ‘useful’ such details DURING MOMENTS OF UNIMAGINABLE FUCKING TERROR.

I was scared OUT OF MY MIND. I took what I thought were the best courses of action - for all I knew, I had to protect my LIFE! Sure, it might’ve been useful if I’d had the presence of mind to memorise the ID number at some point. But try going back in time, to that moment in the dark passenger seat when you’re alone with a guy bigger and stronger and in control of the vehicle and SEXUALLY INTERESTED IN YOU gripping your arm and asking for a kiss and see how useful YOU feel!

‘Cos I was feeling pretty fight or flight, myself.

It’s just... when you’ve been victimised, you really don’t need to be treated like an idiot on top of that, you know? I was already blaming myself plenty. And given the way the situation turned out – unpleasant advances, minor physical altercation, escaped safely – I know it could have been worse. I protected myself as best I could in a situation I was not in control of. To add to that, “Yeah, but you should’ve...” is so undermining and wounding, to take away what I DID do to protect myself and blame me for what I DIDN'T do to protect some imaginary future person?

Don't. Don't ever, especially if you consider yourself a friend to the person who has just been traumatised.

So I’m going to end this disturbing story with Karen’s wise words to me, something she insists I should not have waited so long for:

You are, like everyone, absolutely entitled to the basic right to go about your day unharassed and unmolested. When someone acts as if you don't have that right, it is not because you suddenly don't deserve it. The failure is not yours.

"World peace!"

2009-08-25T15:30:00.001+10:00

I'm watching Miss Universe 2009 right now. Yes, we have very delayed telecasts here in Oz. Anyway, I’m not usually one for watching beauty pageants, but I have to admit to lovin' the evening gown worn by Miss Dominican Republic. I’m sure my mum could tailor a suitable knock-off. She’d probably raise an eyebrow at the butt-hugging and see-through parts, though.

...Ok I’m at the notorious Q & A segment of the pageant and am now realising why I do not watch these things. Miss Venezuela: “I believe women are at the same level as men... and we need to realise that there are no longer any barriers between us.”

Yeah, thank God that the objectification of women’s bodies is a thing of the past and we're not paraded around like pretty dolls and you’re not in a multi-million dollar industry founded on shallow and damaging feminine beauty ideals which reinforces the judgement of women on the basis of their physical attractiveness alone on an international scale.

Oh, wait!

ETA: Aaaand she just won Miss Universe. Figures.

This just in...

2009-08-24T16:09:00.007+10:00

Rove McManus is a complete tool.

Ok, everybody’s known that for years. But watch the very start of this clip (Rove Daily Ep 24, aired Sunday 23/8/09), just in case you were on the fence about this.

"...this week, a week in which Australia cemented a 50 billion dollar gas contract with China. Looks like putting that Asian girl on Neighbours paid off.”

For the uninitiated, Rove McManus (Aussie TV personality and variety show host) is referring to Neighbours character Sunny Lee (Hany Lee Choi) who arrived on the soap opera this year after criticism that the show was too “white”.

Sunny Lee is Korean. The actress portraying her is Korean.

I’m guessing somebody starring on the same network on which Neighbours is broadcast would be aware of this, as well as the "whitewashing" criticism.

The audience reaction (astounded laughter, squeals, and gasps) made me roll my eyes too. Don't encourage him, people! It was obvious Rove regretted the joke as soon as it fell out of his mouth, grinning stupidly and trying to awkwardly joke about the flak he was sure to cop. Rather than say, apologise for some pretty elementary school level racism that he clearly knew was uncool.

As an aside, I got teased for being "Chinese" on the school bus when I was eight and growing up in a predominantly white small rural Australian town – only after the kids saw my Filipina mother. But you know, as awful as it was at the time I’m willing to give a few former bullies some leeway because we’re talking about ignorant children here.

No leeway for some overrated media personality who has access to millions of viewers across the country, who told me as an adult woman, “Asians are a minority and all Asians look the same and they’re all Chinese! Hahahahaha!”

Rove you’re just so FUNNY. You know, in a way that's like, not.

More fun with Facebook

2009-07-29T19:43:00.007+10:00

Ugh. Trigger warnings.

So, my friend "Tyson" has shared an article weblink with my friend "Monty" via Facebook - ergo, sharing it with all of their mutal friends as it gets posted on their newsfeed. Including mine. The article?

Russian Hairdresser Kidnaps Robber, Rapes him for Three Days, illustrated with some gag BDSM picture.

The story is actually a true one I remember from some months ago, wherein a Russian hairdresser/martial artist subdued a would-be robber at her salon, then tied him up in the back room, held him captive and raped him. For three days.

Tyson added a comment to the article link: "Aside from the general hilarity of the story, doesn't that [picture] look kinda like Mr K?"

Oh, the hilarity of rape!

I'm not even going to touch that one - these guys, while pleasant enough to work with back in the day, are very very typical college boys with the old "politically incorrect" (or as I call it, "arseholish") sense of humour.

I already get sad when I see the mockery and downright contempt male victims of sexual assault face. Prison rape! Gay guy hitting on straight guy! Being some butchy woman's bitch! Hahaha! Non-manly men are teh funny!

I get doubly sad when it pops up in my Facebook feed.

Yes, sexual assault happens to men too. Sometimes at the hands of women. I guess I just don't have much of a sense of humour about it.

Cigarettes (or probably me) will kill you

2009-07-12T19:07:00.001+10:00

Don’t you hate it when you’re walking home with a couple, and that couple have just had a fight, and so you’re walking home smack in the middle of huffy awkward silence?

Well that’s what I was trying to avoid Saturday night with Kuya and Charm. After karaoke I ran ahead on Swanston Street trying to dodge them, but Kuya made Charm run to catch up with me so I wouldn’t be walking alone. Which in retrospect was probably a good thing.

So us gals were both steaming along, angry-drunk, her pissed off with Kuya and me pissed off in general, and this group of five or six guys walk past. One stops to remark, “You ladies both look beautiful tonight! Especially the one in the pink!”

Charm and I exchanged glances. Both of us were wearing black.

Shrugging, we continued walking, trying to quickly overtake the stumbling group, but alas the clicking of our heels gave away our gendered presence. One turned around, waving an unlit cigarette and slurring, “Hey, you girls have a light?”

Charm, who was actually taking a drag from her own cigarette, glanced at him with a straight face and goes, “… No.”

I would have laughed if I wasn’t already boiling with alcohol-induced rage, and we both quickened our pace. Skirting over Lt. Lonsdale Street, the same guy takes pursuit, and starts hollering.

“Oh, c’mon… do you have a light? Give us a light, c’mon…. hey, hey, can you tell me a secret?”

We waked faster, trying to lose him with the old ‘pretend you can’t hear them’ routine but he would not let up. At this stage I’d started muttering to myself, so Charm chose to engage with our pursuer.

“No, I don’t have a lighter, there’s a 7-eleven nearby, try there.”

“But um… I don’t have any money.”

“I don’t have any money either.”

“Oh… C’mon…”

We walked faster. He followed.

“Can I just light my cigarette off yours?”

Finally Charm grudgingly obliged, slowing down to hand him her cigarette, and Kuya – who had hitherto been following us a hundred metres back ‘cos he was still shitty with Charm – chose that moment to play Protective Boyfriend.

He shouldered in between Random Guy and Charm, towering over him, and snatched her cigarette back. “You enjoying that?”

The guy took a moment to register confusion and possible hostility, when Charm explained, “This is my boyfriend.”

“Oh – sorry man!”

End of saga. As soon as the bulky presence of The Boyfriend appeared Random Guy magically didn’t want a lighter anymore, funny that. I stood with my eyes narrowed and arms folded, seething until Kuya gently guided me back across the road. “C’mon darl.”

“Grrr…”

I really wish I’d said to the guy, “We don’t have to give you shit, you weird obsessive freak. Get your own lighter and leave us alone.” Or maybe a more polite variant. No fuck it, why do I have to be polite, you’re fucking scaring me!

Fuck you, drunk guy. We were just trying to make our way home. We had both had it and were shitty as hell. We did not want to be harassed by you. We are not obliged to give you a cigarette lighter or in any way respond to a stranger’s demands attentively and politely at five am on the middle of Swanston Street. Think about how a group of young men would pose a threat to the two of us, especially since a member of said group had already expressed a sexual interest in both of us. I’m sure you didn’t mean real harm, that you were just a typical arrogant drunk guy, given the way you ran off with your tail between your legs at the sight of Charm's beefy BF. So have some fucking respect next time and take a hint when women want to be left the fuck alone.

What do international students have to do with q-tips blocking the drain?

2009-06-17T01:23:00.005+10:00

We finally had someone come in to look at our broken washing machine yesterday and he goes, "Yeah... the machine is fine, it's actually the pipes. You have to call a plumber." THEN HE CHARGED US $104.

Me: For WHAT?

Washing Machine Man: Service charge $75, manual labour $20, plus GST $9.

The manual labour he is referring to is sliding the machine out then pushing it back again. I wish I had a job where I could charge whatever I wanted for doing fuck all! Imagine if I charged a customer $104 for a meal they didn't get plus manual labour for seating them and fetching them water? Oh this is a general service charge, but my official recommendation is that you need an actual CHEF to cook a meal for you.

But the burning hole in my wallet may have been worth it, because before he left Washing Machine Man had a few pearls of widsom to share with my sister.

Washing Machine Man: Y'know, the previous tenants probably fucked up the pipes somehow. I'm not racist, but... you know these Asian students that come over here? They don't stay too long so they've got no incentive to keep the place clean or take care of it. The way they live is just disgusting. They're rich too so they're used to people cleaning up after them.

My Sister: *staring with mouth hanging open*

So I called a plumber in, the plumber found the blockage and what do you suppose it was?

Hundreds of those little white plastic sticks from q-tip cotton buds!

Plumber: Say, do you wash cotton buds or lollipops or something down the drain?

Me: ... No.

So ended my day of WTF, with many questions left to ponder. Did Washing Machine Man take a manual labour job especially to spread his unsolicited racism around? What do international students have to do with q-tips in the drain? Is he aware a lot of Asian students are not rich brats with their own servants but normal smart kids sent over by hard-working parents? And I don't suppose he realised our mother happens to be Asian when he snarked about the way 'they' live?

This is especially funny 'cos the previous tenants of my apartment are folks with the suspiciously Anglo-sounding names of Sarah Maloney and Ryan Goodwin. You can't fool Washing Machine Man, you q-tip abusing commie bastards!

Feminist bashing for dummies

2009-06-16T16:33:00.018+10:00

It's thinking time, gals! Today's hot topic: Feminist Bashing for Beginners! Have you ever found yourself wondering...

Why it is that feminism sometimes rubs people the wrong way?
Why some young women would rather drink a turd milkshake then tell a guy that they are a 'feminist'?
Why there is so much stigma attached to the cause?
Wherefore all the silencing and derailing and ridiculing when one so much as mentions the word 'sexist'?

Is it because of...

Dominant forces being reluctant to relinquish power?
Systematic oppression being so deeply ingrained in our culture that change often seems hopeless, fighting seems futile, and to survive one must learn to adapt to the ways of the patriarchy?
Problematic aspects within the movement itself?

Or are you at a complete loss as to how to address these questions?

Never fear, friends. This girl California knows what the problem is with feminism - extreme university feminists hating on men! Because men make up, like HALF the population, duh! California isn't afraid to tell those extreme feminists to quit neglecting their personal hygiene and bashing innocent sexist men, 'cos they're giving us and the cause a BAD NAME!

California, you said it, girlfriend! Damn, you're so edgy and politically incorrect, and God knows that has never been done before! Like, it's totally ironic and satirical and stuff how you regurgitated outdated stereotypes about feminists and women in general and vomited them all over the screen like this!

It is SO GREAT how you challenge the status quo and promote feminism and recruit male allies by calling out certain university feminists for the crazy hairy bitches they are - they should stop being so damn prejudiced when it comes to men and stop paying out women who choose to be “traditional”! These “hairy legged fem-bots” should be more like you, ‘cos you don’t think in stereotypes at all! It’s narrow-minded people like those man-haters who make the rest of us ladies look bad!

Oh, and when you told them to “get back in the kitchen”? Tee-hee-hee, I see what you did there! You are so witty and subversive!

“I have had it up to hair-free armpits with these extreme, man-bashing, placard carrying, hairy legged fem-bots making cases that reduce all men to violent rapists and girl-bashers and all females to helpless victims who [are] endlessly threatened by a hostile patriarchal structure of society.”

Me too, California! But dehumanizing people is an excellent tactic for turning the rest of the world against them, and as an added bonus, you win brownie points from the vast majority of society by aligning yourself with their interests! Why didn’t anyone else think of that? Oh and bashing feminists by implying they’re unattractive? Solid GOLD! Your astounding creativity will definitely put those politically correct harpies in their place. And your obsession with their body hair quantities (as opposed to your self-proclaimed hair-freeness) most certainly does not reinforce shallow beauty standards of a “hostile patriarchal structure of society” wherein women’s value and merit is measured primarily by their attractiveness to heterosexual men!

Golly, you may be onto something here: feminism “could be a plausible cause”. Wow! It was totally prudent of you to make such an outrageous understatement, especially since the only reason you’re even able to convey this wisdom is thanks your own education and privileged existence that those razor-deficient loudmouths fought for. But careful, don’t want to be “Ms. Radical” or anything!

And your snipe that most women have “good reason” to fear what’s inside your university Womyn’s Room rather than “what lies beyond” totally doesn’t trivialize sexual harassment and assault on or off campus and it’s not at all thinly-veiled homophobia! You nailed it: why do those freaks need a “safe space” to meet like-minded women and discuss topics without being ridiculed or silenced, it’s not like men are raping them every time they walk to the cafeteria! God, it’s sad how these paranoid “womyn” jump to ridiculous baseless conclusions! And they can’t even spell ‘women’, I’m surprised with your sophisticated level of insight you didn’t pick up on that.

California, not only are you refreshingly unique and open-minded, you are self-aware and non-hypocritical, wow! Talk about having it all! Unlike those deranged university feminist contemporaries of yours, you don’t use “gross generalizations or heavy-handed intolerance” to put your views across! You just tell those butchy man-haters to shut up and bake brownies… in a totally cute tongue-in-cheek way! ^_^ I was wondering what I could do to get the support of men and non-freakazoid ladies when it comes to feminism, and you’ve totally shown me the light: we must beg for the patriarchy’s approval and join in their contemptuous scorn when dealing with, y’know, other feminists.

You are sooo the one having the “independent thought” – unlike the hive vagina mind of “El Feministo”. Alas, it seems you and you alone are the logical one! Damn, I mean look at these crazies with their stupid “placards” protesting against their bodies being governed by law, rape, sex trafficking, domestic violence, violence against women of colour, reducing women to sexual objects, impossible beauty standards, equal pay for equal work, honour killings, sexual harassment in the workplace, sexual harassment on the street, and murder…

Can’t they just listen to your doubtlessly superior feminist activism experience and realize that they should be less man-hating and more polite? Like California says laydeez, "nobody likes a sourpuss"!

California, let’s have a girl’s night out sometime – we can make fun of less attractive girls and trade baking secrets while measuring our self-worth by what men might think of us! ♥

PS: Mind if I wear this with my mini-skirt?

What does a superheroine look like?

2009-06-14T14:57:00.030+10:00

Not that.

That is a fan-made image of Megan Fox as Wonder Woman circulating the internet.

I was already spewing over Scarlett Johansson as deadly Russian super-spy Black Widow, and I like Scarlett Johansson. So I nearly choked when I saw the image above. Surely this can't be true? I thought, clicking desperately trying to find information on the (latest) casting rumours of the on-again, off-again, perpetually in the planning stages Wonder Woman film.

And lo, I found what Megan Fox herself had to say about potentially portraying one of the most iconic female comic book superheroes.

“Wonder Woman is a lame superhero… She flies around in her invisible jet and her weaponry is a lasso that makes you tell the truth. I just don’t get it. Somebody has a big challenge on their hands whoever takes that role but I don’t want to do it.”

Oh thank Christ. Megan Fox, I and countless others don't want your skinny ass anywhere near a film adaptation of any comic books superhero ever, ever, EVER. Wonder Woman especially. Stay the heck away from She-Hulk while you're at it, if that particular rumour is true. Oh hell, just don't even think about touching any character with ovaries in the entire DCU and Marvel Universe (at least). Just don't, for the love of kittens, don't!

Superhero women are heroes, not hotties trying to act. This is what superheroines look like:

Strong. Fearless. Smart. Active. Humane. Powerful. Selfless. Courageous. Skilled. Just. Spunky. Hopeful. Spirited. Heroic.

Look, the photo-shopped image of Megan as WW is kinda cool, but I doubt those twig arms would know their way around a haymaker punch and I seriously doubt Ms. Fox's acting prowess could pull off the emotional complexity of double-life-leading crime-fighters. The point of the image is 'Aw, Megan Fox is hot in a Wondy suit!' Whereas a superhero is so much more.

Real Men! grunt

2009-06-13T23:50:00.003+10:00

This article is really old but it still gives me a giggle.

Frustrated by the lack of beefy manly-men in the city circa September '07, Kate Adamson of the Melbourne Herald Sun gave us this article:

Are men losing their manly touch?

It addresses prevalent threats to society, such as men being less inclined to fix tyres and change fuses (leaving poor little women to the tasks) and the ever-looming threat of the 'metrosexual'.

There was also one of those helpful Cosmo-style quizzes at the end in order to determine whether your man is 'manly' or 'poncy'.

Will there be a follow-up article one day, I wonder? Something like, “Where have all the real women gone? Why are more and more men not getting their dinner on the table by 7pm because their little ladies are out in the public sphere, dammit? And where are all these baby-makers getting crazy ideas like being treated as people and not as a collective gender? That's why we should never have taught them how to read." *grunt*

But seeing as they can read, I’m going to write a belated response article and mail it to the Herald. It’ll be crush-a-beer-can-on-your-head worthy.

Honestly, Ms. Adamson. I don’t know anything about you, and I’m sure you’re a nice person dedicated to your career and whatnot, but that article was the most pathetic thing I’ve ever read in the history of the universe. Think outside the boys-are-blue and girls-are-pink square one day, ok?

Ramsay VS. Grimshaw

2009-06-12T12:51:00.008+10:00

Oh media frenzy, we're all a bit over it, give it a rest. One is a crass, misogynistic and obnoxious human being, the other makes a living exploiting and manipulating people with sensationalist soft 'journalism'. Neither is worth the three or four consecutive nights of coverage you're giving them.

I can't believe I can even be bothered weighing in on this.

Brutal truth about denial

2009-06-10T13:47:00.008+10:00

Paul Sheehan, stop hysterically pointing the finger at "Asian, Middle Eastern, Aboriginal, Pacific Islander" folks re: recent attacks on Indian students in Melbourne.

"Yes, this is terrible but it's those Middle Eastern people!" he insists over and over again, referring to Indian-Lebanese clashes in Harris Park last night. "Not to mention those dodgy Aborigines over at Redfern, know what I'm saying? Criminals hail from lots of different racial backgrounds, just look at the prison demographics, hardly ANY white people! Therefore crime is commited mostly by other races White Australia isn't racist it's not it's not I'm not I'm not I don't have to examine the implications here LALALALA I can't hear you!"

Yes, Indian students have been attacked by non-Caucasian offenders as well as Caucasians. Does it then follow that white violence against Indian students is a 'misconception'? That some perpetuators of obvious racially-motivated violence just happen to be Caucasian but the 'perception' of white racism against Indians is 'wrong' and the real problem is... I don't know, being Indian?

You seem much more disturbed and defensive over the Indian media calling Australians racist and violent, than by the fact that it might be true.

“I do not pretend to set people right, but I do see that they are often wrong.”

2009-06-09T23:31:00.008+10:00

Good one, Mary Crawford.

I quite like Mary Crawford. Any young lady so wildly over-confident as to make dirty jokes at the dinner table in a Jane Austen novel is all right with me. And look, here she is to the right, as portrayed by Hayley Atwell in the 2007 adaptation of Mansfield Park.

Now I'm not a Fanny-hater either (Fanny Price, Jane Austen character, to any pervert who misunderstood that statement). On contraire, I can relate to a girl who's so timid and painfully unsure of herself that her favourite activity is being a silent observer of those around her, and given that I have struggled with an anxiety disorder, I can definitely relate to Fanny's fears, particularly the terror she feels when at the centre of attention, being 'brought forward' or 'forced to speak'. The controversial protagonist of Austen’s ‘least likeable novel’ has triggered a lot of, shall we say, Mansfield Park flame wars*. One of the foremost supposed problems of the character is her silence and all the negative connotations that go with it – weakness, subordination, insecurity, timidity, restraint and invisibility. Not too surprising that some readers – especially those with high expectations in the lieu of Elizabeth Bennet and the like – find themselves drawn to the more lively and witty Crawfords. However, rather than silence being a marker of Fanny’s insipid or weak nature, I think of Fanny as a character with a naturally reserved temperament and a complex psychological background, with Mansfield Park charting Fanny’s personal and emotional growth.

Mary Crawford FTW, though.

One of my favourite scenes in Mansfield Park is when Mrs. Norris insults and humiliates Fanny in front of the Bertram family and the Crawfords. In the shocked silence that follows Mary suddenly decides to sit with Fanny and cheer her up. Despite being determined to hate her pretty rival, Fanny is grateful for Mary's kindness during this moment of mortification. Clearly, despite being shallow and snobby (and c'mon, Fanny can be just as bitchy, her jealous thoughts about Miss Crawford are rarely that of a charitable Christian), Mary has the capacity for kindness and empathy.

Despite her 'flaws' (that Austen paints with a rather damning puritanical brush), Mary Crawford is awesome. Sure, she’s selfish, materialistic, ambitious, morally ambiguous at times, and her strong opinions are usually just regurgitated generalisations she’s heard everyone else say. But she’s also sharp, clever, sensitive to the feelings of others (even though her lively tongue can’t seem to stop rudely deriding Edmund’s choice of occupation), confident, talented and good-natured. And while Mary Crawford seems to have mastered the social world, she is still learning about herself – whether or not she is valuing the wrong things, whether her old worldview correlates with her experiences, etc. She's only around 18-19, after all!

Edmund could never have made you happy, Miss Crawford. Someone with your looks, popularity and talents – not to mention that handy little fortune – could have done much better. I’m sure any heartbreak suffered at the hands of Edmund would have only served to rein in any of your ‘indelicacies’ and curb that derisive snobbishness. Sobering up after a broken heart, I like to imagine Mary Crawford used the experience to improve as a person and reassess some of her shallower values and stereotypical thinking. I especially like to imagine that Mary Crawford eventually landed a wealthy, morally-upstanding, and equally vivacious and witty man as a husband and found happiness. No less than she deserved.

* I was very much trying to avoid saying 'Fanny Wars', as they have been sometimes referred to...

Justice for LaVena Johnson

2009-06-08T22:13:00.003+10:00

From the ColorOfChange.org Take Action petition:

Overwhelming evidence shows that LaVena Johnson was raped and murdered while serving in Iraq. Yet the US Army refuses to investigate and insists LaVena's death was a suicide.

LaVena Johnson was 19 years old, serving in Iraq as a private in the Army, when she was raped, murdered, and her body was burned--by someone from her own military base. Despite overwhelming physical evidence, the Army called it a suicide and closed the case.[1]

For three years, LaVena's parents have been fighting for answers. At almost every turn, they've been met with closed doors or lies. But together we can help achieve justice for LaVena and other families who have suffered similar tragedies.[2]

1. "The cover-up of a soldier's death?" LavenaJohnson.com, March 6, 2007

2. "Is There an Army Cover Up of Rape and Murder of Women Soldiers?" CommonDreams.org, April 28, 2008

This story simultaneously horrifies me, terrifies me, and makes me so angry that I do that thing where I hold my breath because there’s a lump in my throat that feels like a furious rage-filled hour-long scream is going to come exploding out any second.

A nineteen-year-old girl was found dead inside a burning tent with a gunshot wound to the head, acid burns on her genitals (probably inflicted to prevent DNA identification of a rapist), debris on her clothing suggesting she had been forcibly dragged from one location to another, blunt force trauma to the face (two front teeth knocked out and a busted lip), with a blood trail outside her tent.

And the Army rules it a SUICIDE?

Even after this fucking mother-load of evidence of a struggle? Even after residue tests confirm LaVena may not have handled the weapon that killed her, nor would she have been able to shoot herself with her dominant hand judging by the trajectory of the gunshot wound? Even after her healthy psychological history?

This is just the tip of the iceberg of the misogyny and corruption that runs rampant through sexual assaults against women in the military. The US Department of Defence stats claim that one in three women who join the US military will be sexually assaulted by men in the military.

Makes you wonder what the hell they’re doing to civilian women in the countries they occupy, doesn’t it?

And what about male-on-male sexual assault in the military? Next to zero chance of that being reported or of perpetrators being brought to justice.

I’m so angry. I can’t even breathe. If this was my daughter somebody would be getting cut up right now.

A good time for flippancy this ain't.

2009-06-07T21:54:00.009+10:00

Man, that is one insensitive beeyatch.

Silly, I could've just MADE one for her

2009-06-07T15:28:00.002+10:00

I’m doing an old file cull on my computer and I stumbled across a Christmas gift list from 2006. I don’t even remember writing it but I’ve recorded gift ideas for family, my ex, work people…

Underneath my former housemate's name all I’ve written is:

A noose?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I am so droll.

"I am not guilty. I am innocent."

2009-06-04T12:38:00.010+10:00

Security footage from Melbourne's Southern Cross Station taken before Xue abandoned his daughter.

Nai Yin Xue, of the Xue family murder and abandonment notoriety (also known as the ‘Pumpkin’ case here in Oz) says he’s innocent.

Sure you are. That’s why your wife was found naked in the boot of your car strangled with one of your own neckties and why you abandoned your three-year-old daughter at a train station in a completely different country before going into hiding in the U.S, then denying everything once you got caught, deported and made to stand trial. Clearly the actions of an innocent man.

The nerve of you. No amount of jail-time or media haranguing or hate mail will ever make up for the terror and torture you put your wife through, the pain you have caused your daughter that is now her lifetime legacy, the grief of an entire family and friends. You aren’t fit to utter the word ‘innocent’, scum.

Fightbook

2009-06-03T01:38:00.007+10:00

Facebook provides me with entertainment in many ways. People fighting in the ‘comments’ section of their friends’ status updates is one of the main ones.

Just a warning, I’ve directly quoted comments (albeit with all names changed to obvious pseudonyms), painful misspellings, grammar/punctuation abuse, and all; there is also swearing and some offensive remarks. Hey, I'm not editing this crap!

Molly Pollywaffle: i dont care i am not paying for your gastric band surgery !!!stop eating have some exercise and go on a diet !!

That’s a status update by the way. Curious as to what the hell she was on about, I clicked to read the responses. That girl was always thin as a stick during high school, and she is not somebody I would consider overweight in any sense, so I caught a whiff of Thin Privilege, if that is the correct term, as well as an instinct she was going to take the self-righteous they’re spending my HARD-EARNED TAXPAYER DOLLARS route.

Debbie Deffington: hahaha, dont complain! trent pays about 40k a year IN TAX! so we pay for 2 people to bludge on the doll. THAT i think is bullshit >:(

Molly Pollywaffle: thats bullshit i mean why cant these ppl go on a diet excerise eat healthy seriously why should Mr. Pollywaffle pay for that

When another friend points out that losing weight easy isn’t for some, that she knows of somebody who needed gastric band surgery as a ‘matter of life and death’, and that Molly shouldn’t ‘think the worst of people’, Molly defends herself:

Molly Pollywaffle: i dont think the worst of ppl i know obese ppl who found it hard to lose wieght but they have done it lost have the wieght just do the hard work

And Debbie Deffington backs her up: i think the worst of those who bludge on the doll, and my hubby and i on our single income pay for them to do nothing… gastic bypass is a last resort, and honestly....nothing worth doing is easy [referring to losing weight]. gastric bypass leaves you with alot of flabby skin that then requires a tummy tuck to get rid of. so molly has a point. it shoudnt be something covered under health cover. it should be paid for fully out of pocket for those who are too slack to get off the couch.

Somebody else chimes in saying these two don’t know all the facts about people undergoing this surgery, including whether or not it is always covered by private health insurance or taxpayer dollars, and whether or not some people can’t lose weight for health reasons.

Molly Pollywaffle: honesty did u see the ppl on the biggest loser some of them were obese they didnt need gastric band surgery !

Debbie Deffington: and you know what - ANYONE is entitled to put their opinion on fabcebook. if you don’t like what you read, close your fucking eyes.

Everyone is entitled to put their opinion on Facebook… but not YOU ya skank, so shut up! Hey Debbie, how about if you don’t like what others are saying back to you, you close YOUR eyes? Apparently it makes the problems magically go away! And I was so waiting for somebody to use The Biggest Loser as an example in that discussion. Oh, you girls kill me.

Edmund VonCrybaby is another good ‘entertainment contact’. When I didn’t know him that well I used to actually be really concerned that he actually had some sort of depressive illness or needed help, until a mutual friend told me he’d been saying this kind of emo crap via MSN since Year Eight (over a decade ago). His status updates/comments etc. are annoying and ignorant, with whiny emo stamped all over them, and he’s often abusive or downright offensive through them, but I can’t bring myself to delete him ‘cos he’s such a hilarious tantrum-throwing attention seeker. It’s like having a troll on your friends list – only you know exactly who they are!

Edmund VonCrybaby: Do i deserve to be alive - All fingers point to NO

Edmund VonCrybaby: [after voting ‘no’ on a Legalize Same-Sex Marriage’ poll]: Its bad enough there are gay people in the world, we need this disease to die. P.s sorry to any gay friend that i have on here. LOL

Edmund VonCrybaby:To all my ex-friends that didnt bother to reply to my emails, you can go and fuck yourselves.

Edmund VonCrybaby: Doesnt care about life and stuff, soon my gf will leave me and her friends will be happy and god will be happy and the world will continue, she will get a much hotter bf just like she always wanted, well congratulations.

> Bertie Wilkins: (@Edmund VonCrybaby): u better be back at christmas woman or else ima send edmund over in a container to come and find u and bring u back

>Edmund VonCrybaby (@Bertie Wilkins): Christmas is soo long away. I will have faded away in the shadows of aloneness by then

Edmund VonCrybaby: Everyone on my friends list can go fuck themselves, you are all pathetic pieces of shit who should be shot for being fuckstains on the floor of your pathetic sad bedrooms you dumb fucks. Eat my dick you homosexual lesbian seamen manipulating little cunts.

Oh God, what a fucking idiot. And I do not manipulate sailors, how dare you? It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to comment on these ‘LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!’ posts. Luckily he has some girl on his friends list Pepper Papadakis who usually says pretty much what I’m thinking.

Pepper Papadakis: suck a fat one

Pepper Papadakis: whatever dropkick

Pepper Papadakis: Ohh seriously shut the fuck up you depressing cunt, for some unknown reason you actually have a girlfriend so stop being a downer before she realizes she can do better

Pepper Papadakis: ♥

[that loveheart thing being her only response to the ‘Everyone on my friends list can go fuck themselves’ post]

HAHAHAHAHA!!! So not deleting you Edmund, even though you’re an insufferable homophobic wanker with some rather painfully obvious issues.

Anyway, you just martyred the guy.

2009-06-02T00:17:00.026+10:00

WTF?

Do pro "life" extremists honestly not see their own hypocrisy and evil when GUNNING PEOPLE DOWN? In a fucking CHURCH, no less?

I can't believe Dr. Tiller even continued his work after 1985, after his abortion clinic was bombed. I would never have the courage to continue anything in the face of violence and terrorism and hatred, faceless people threatening my family, after bullets in both arms and angry vigils outside my home. I would have packed up, or given in, or gone insane, or changed my identity entirely. I would never have just kept going. But Tiller did for decades.

I do not see how committing horrific crimes can solve anything or be remotely helpful to any serious cause. For the record, most major pro-life organisations have condemned the murder of Dr. Tiller, rightfully saying that violence, terrorism and murder are quite obviously contrary to their goals of protecting the right to life. Some have done so in a pretty backhanded manner though.

"George Tiller was a mass-murderer. We grieve for him that he did not have time to properly prepare his soul to face God. I am more concerned that the Obama Administration will use Tiller's killing to intimidate pro-lifers into surrendering our most effective rhetoric and actions. Abortion is still murder. And we still must call abortion by its proper name; murder. Those men and women who slaughter the unborn are murderers according to the Law of God. We must continue to expose them in our communities and peacefully protest them at their offices and homes, and yes, even their churches."

Randall Terry of Operation Rescue

What exactly is your "most effective rhetoric and actions" if you are concerned that a cold-blooded murder will compromise them? I am really, really disturbed by that statement. Why, after this heinous highly-publicised crime, would you keep perpetuating hate-filled propaganda and practically excuse the murder of a man with friends and family by basically saying, "Yeah, he's dead, too bad he's going to Hell, but he was a murderer 'yknow, great work guys we must continue to 'expose' these people!"

As for you, Scott Phillip Roeder, you perverse, sadistic, pathetic coward of a human being. You value life then shoot it in the face once it's out of the womb, is that how it works?

Murderer.

F.Y.I, I am Filipino-Australian

2009-05-28T15:39:00.014+10:00

Dear everyone who thinks its any of their God-damned business what ethnicity I am:

First of all, it’s not. Any of your damn business, that is. I mean shit, here I am just waiting for the tram/trying to have a conversation with my friend/taking your order/entering my apartment building/studying in the library/ordering a beer, who the hell are you that I have to disclose personal information to satisfy your fascination? I mean, the mere fact that I'm a young woman in public doesn't mean you have a right to get up in my face in the first place, let alone ask intrusive questions.

When you look me up and down and start loudly proclaiming stuff along the lines of, “You soooo do not look Filo!” “You don’t look Asian at all!” you are perfectly entitled to your opinions. Far be it from me to tell people that their perceptions of what so-and-so ethnicities are supposed to look like are right or wrong. I can argue or disagree but I can’t tell you not to have an opinion.

I ask only that you keep this in mind. This is my RACE you are talking about. My mixed race, to be exact. Not a kooky t-shirt, or my hairstyle, or some teapot off Antiques Roadshow – my race. This is an unchangeable, significant and unique part of my identity that is completely removed from you and your preconceptions of race. This is something personal and important to me.

And you think you can just waltz on up and tell me I'm doing it wrong. Usually while HITTING on me. For God's SAKE.

Here’s something else: you are not the first and unfortunately won’t be the last to make these observations about my looks. I have to defend my own racial background to nosy people every day. Oh yes, I do. I have to smile obligingly and nod knowingly every time somebody stares at me like I'm an exotic flower and says, “Wow, you’re different, what are you?” I'm a girl minding her own damn business, what are you?

I have to laugh with them (over and over and fucking over again) when they say (often repeatedly), “But you don’t look Filipino! You don’t even look Asian! You look Italian/ South American /Thai/ Maltese/ Spanish/ Egyptian...”

Yes, you know, I think I get it! I’m biracial! I look a bit different! I’m not quite one race, not quite another! IT’S CRAZY!

When you tell me in what to you is a casual remark that I don’t look how I’m supposed to look, you make me feel like I have somehow failed something. And you are talking about MY RACE.

It’s like going up to random kids and saying, “Oh, is that your mum? You don’t look anything alike! No really, you don’t look like her at all, how funny! Are you sure that’s your mum?”

I mean come on, is that polite? Maybe to your eyes it’s the truth, but you don’t have to go talking shit about the way people look, do you?

You can say what you think I "should" be based on my looks.

Just like I can say for the love of God’s arse you need to shut the hell up, I’m sick of hearing it and you’re being fucking rude.

And no, I don't want to catch up for a drink sometime.

OMG there's an Asian person on Ramsay Street???

2009-04-22T18:49:00.009+10:00

Erinsborough residents marvelled as the Token Asian Girl tunnelled into Ramsay Street from China.

Ok, what? Just as I was complaining that there are hardly any people of colour on Australian TV, I tuned in to Neighbours last week for some Godforsaken reason and was introduced to a Miss Sunny Lee, latest arrival to Ramsay Street. I prepared to cringe.

In the brief parts of the episode I watched, this Asian teenager was confidently introducing herself as ‘the new exchange student from Korea’ and saying things like, “Is this how you do things in Australia?”

In a broad Australian accent. I can buy an exchange student who has travelled extensively (and perhaps been taught English in school – perhaps even attended an International School) having a good grasp of English. I don’t buy an international student who has never been to Australia with an obvious Australian accent. Is there an Australia-Town ghetto in Seoul? Maybe there’s some future plot that reveals that Sunny is actually a criminally insane teenage runaway pretending to be an exchange student, but the fact that other characters never question her story or accent seems to quell this theory.

After a bit of web-searching I’ve learned she is played by actress/model Hany Lee Choi. There is no information on this character or Hany Lee Choi on the Neighbours website but there are some active forum threads discussing the new character. There is also a page from that fountain of free knowledge, _Wikepedia. “[Sunny Lee] was created by producer Susan Bower in response to criticism that Neighbours was "too white" ^[1], as Sunny will be Korean.”

There goes that cringe.

What producer Susan Bower had to say on racial diversity on Neighbours: ‘‘I would like it (Neighbours) to reflect Australian society, but I can’t give Libby and Dan a black baby so it has to come in a natural way. I don’t believe in bringing in people for the sake of it. It has to be part of the story and it has to be believable. … I know we’re going to get flak about this gorgeous little Korean girl who’s going to be coming in next year, because you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”

Damn straight you’re going to get flak, Bower, when you can’t even stick to your own principle of introducing characters in a ‘believable’ and ‘natural’ fashion. So, you’ve begrudgingly thrown a token Asian girl into the White mix. Unfortunately you’re obviously not willing to tackle any further issues regarding her race, and so you fail.

Are you so behind the times that you think a pair of slanted eyes and brown skin will confuse your viewers? You think the only plausible way for an Asian chick to be in Melbourne suburbia is for her to be an exchange student (does over a hundred years of Asian migration to Victoria mean NOTHING to you?) yet you can’t be bothered either casting a native Korean actress for the role, or taking the time to research Korean culture/speech/etc. in order to train the current actress. Seriously, an exchange student from Seoul with a clearly Australian accent dressing like she’s in a Dangerfield ad and swanning around speaking perfect English? Weak. How stupid do you think your viewers are?

Why not just write her as an Asian-Australian girl? Plausible and interesting. But then you’d have to hire Asian actors to play her family as well, and that’s tipping the status quo a little too much, isn’t it?

There are a million ways you could have realistically introduced a ‘gorgeous little Korean girl’ onto the cast of Neighbours. Need to conveniently import her from somewhere and dump her into the Kennedy home? Need to justify why she was born in Australia but her Korean parents are nowhere in sight? She’s in foster care. She’s adopted. She ran away from home. She’s from Sydney and won a school scholarship and had nowhere to stay to pursue it. Her parents spend all their time travelling with her singer/actress younger sister. See how easy and non-insulting that is?

There are so many interesting ways to explore race through your medium. Is she homesick? Going through culture shock? How do the younger kids (Callum and Charlie) react to Sunny, presuming they are not exposed to many Asian people in their insulated little world? Do the other teenagers at school sing that racist ‘Chinese Japanese, dirty knees’ taunt that the boys used to sing to my Korean best friend in school? How about having her get angry when Paul Robinson or someone conflates her ethnicity with ‘Chinese’?

Or is it all too hard? You’ve thrown those loudmouthed critics a bone; I suppose you’ll want to leave it at that. Just over your ears and yell, “You’re still not happy with the pretty Korean doll? I told you – damned if you do and damned if you don’t! LALALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU ANYMORE!” like everyone else.

Tokenism.

PS: *facepalm* Why, oh WHY did I read the rest of the comments in that “‘Perfect blend’ to colour casting” article? Are you feeling threatened by the fact that Australian TV might not cater exclusively to you in future, opinionated- white- folks- who- throw- hysterical- screaming- tantrums- at- the- slightest- hint- that- somebody- somewhere- out- there- might- or- might- not- have- just- called- you- racist?

Backwards In High Heels

2009-04-19T19:35:00.022+10:00

To all those who argue that it is perfectly plausible for kick-ass superheroines (or women in similar professions that require stealth, athleticism, martial arts prowess or basic coordination, such as sexy-ninja-assassins!) to be wearing high heels during work hours: I give you the prison break scene from Watchmen.

Next to the opening montage set to “The Times, They Are a-Changin’”, this is my favourite part of the film – seeing Silk Spectre II carve her way through rioting convicts to bust Rorsharch out of prison with Nite Owl II. This sexed-up film translation of Silk Spectre II calmly and efficiently roundhouse kicks, dodges, spins, punches and karate chops these hardened felons and doesn’t even seem to break her stride. Finally she's in action!

Awesome (if a little stiff), isn’t she? About as close to a real life Black Canary as we can get. And look, Silk Spectre II wears spiked fetish boots and garters and no pants and can still kick considerable choreographed arse!

WAIT.

Where did her stiletto heels go during the actual kicking-people-in-the-head bits?

WATCH IT AGAIN.

The high heels are gone! Inexplicably replaced with sensible FLAT heels during the stunts! Fascinating. Certainly seems to suggest that even basic stilted martial arts choreography is hard to perform while wearing sexy spiky heels, doesn’t it? Stiletto heels - specifically designed to place the wearer off balance - would seem to impede one's ability to perform spinning kicking combinations, no?

See, this is my basic rule when it comes to superhero costumes (particularly martial artist type superheroes):

Excluding garishness / colours / capes / symbols / animal motifs / throwbacks-to-superhero-parents etc., would the costume function properly if you wanted to go jogging?

If you answered no to this question, than I daresay it is a very stupid costume indeed. Who the living hell goes jogging in heels?

I don’t get why the costume department didn’t just design Silk Spectre’s costume with flat boots in the first place and keep it at that. Is it so important for the character to be in stilettos, even if it clashes with continuity once she actually performs fight sequences in flats?

There are more female vigilantes/crime fighters/superheroes who appear to sacrifice basic comfort and balance for sexy sexiness than you can poke a stick at. Many, many more. And as Malin Akerman up there demonstrates, not even months of training and working out can counteract the devastating effects ridiculous high heels have upon one's ability to be completely and utterly kickass.

***

Further references for stupid non-functional superheroine costumes:

Rose/Thorn: A split-personality-disordered streetfighter who is quite cool but seems to think basic protection from the elements – let alone protection from bullets/knives/blunt weapons/bare hands – is completely unnecessary. Also wears thigh-high stiletto boots and proudly displays her g-banger throughout an entire issue of Birds of Prey, curtesy of Ed Benes.

Would you wear that to a MMA match?

Rachel Summers: Sure, Marvel Girl is a telepath/telekinetic who can harness the Phoenix Force, hence she doesn’t rely solely on her physical prowess, but that is no excuse to be wearing a miniskirt the size of an elastic band. I presume she needs to walk, run or sit down at some stage.

Nice knickers, Starchilde.

Black Canary looks great in heels – but stabbing factor aside, this martial arts master needs footwear that will aid her in her quest to put some serious whammy on thugs and the like, not clip-cloppy balance-disrupters of doom.

Yeah, she might make it look easy but that shit gets old fast in high heels. Not to mention it could be permanently crippling. S'why Dinah's ditched them for stompy army-style boots.

I'm not too keen on Elektra’s peekaboo red loincloth either, but that’s for another day. At least she wasn’t tottering around in high heels, though.

Serves you right, perv

2009-03-27T13:46:00.005+11:00

SCENE: Early afternoon, I am standing innocently at the Uni tram stop waiting to cross the road.

ENTER white van, the driver of which leans out the window and hollers at me.

DRIVER: Well hello, he-LO!

Thus distracted, driver of white van then crashes into the brand new Mitsubishi Lancer in front of it.

ME: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

FIN.

OHS is for sissies!

2009-03-25T12:42:00.006+11:00

Oh my God! This is one of those incidents that will make me both cringe and crack up laughing every time I remember it.

My finger - the one I slammed in a door a few months ago resulting in it swelling to the size of a golf ball before the nail gradually turned black then died then fell off and now there's half a baby nail and half a bare nail bed there - was as usual wrapped in one of those crappy plastic bandaids for work. As I was serving Table 10 (a really nice if somewhat boganish couple) IT SLIPPED OFF MY FINGER AND ONTO THE GIRL'S PLATE! WHICH ALREADY HAD CALAMARI SALAD ON IT!

Lightning-fast I retrieved it, convinced she knew what it was, and hurriedly went to change her plate and replace the food, when she was like, "No, no, I don't mind! What was it anyway?"

Reader, I took the coward's way out. "Uh... a piece of paper I had in my hand."

"Oh, ok." Maybe it was just me but she seemed A LITTLE SUSPICIOUS. She carried on eating nonetheless. So I left it at that.

OMG AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I am a terrible human being.

Hope she doesn't die or anything.

And she wonders why I didn't want to live with her

2009-02-27T00:56:00.007+11:00

Came home today, found a note sticky-taped to our apartment door.

“Please be advised that the Dumpmaster is for Serviced Apartments rubbish only. Thankyou.”

My first thought was a panicked, ‘Ohmigod my snotty ex-housemate has somehow found out where I live and is running around posting obnoxious notes on my doors again!’

Then I read it properly and thought, ‘What in the fuck is a Dumpmaster?’

After some time (and it took me entirely too long to come to this conclusion) I realised that the note was left by the cleaning or reception staff of the short-term stay apartments (the building of which we share however some apartments are privately owned/rented out) and that they might be referring to a dumpster/skip which alternates between our two parking lots. On top of that, either they believe residents have been misusing the skip and went around informing everybody, or they’ve narrowed it down to US and stuck a note on our door. I’ve never heard of this ‘Dumpmaster’ (sounds like bad slang for a toilet anyway) but it’s possible that they are right, and saw my sister dumping stuff in their skip or whatever. Who knows?

All I know is that notes like this really, really – and I mean fucking REALLY – rub me the wrong way. So passive-aggressive and my ex-housemate-like. They make me want to find the faceless composer, pin them to the ground in an aikido hold and force-feed them said note.

I’ve never been too fond of those beeyatches from the reception area anyway so maybe I’m over-reacting a little. And I better get my facts straight before I retaliate with a note of my own (“Please be advised that we do not use your ‘Dumpmaster’ and that our door is not a public message-board.”) so I’m trying to get a hold of my sis, who as usual has her phone off.

Actually I’ll be the adult and confront them personally tomorrow. Really don’t appreciate notes sticky-taped on my door like some college notice - WE HAVE A BLOODY LETTERBOX IDIOTS. Rude.

Oh by the way, once I figured out the mysterious note and stepped inside, I found my kitchen covered in ants.

Then I looked around and found my lounge room covered in ants.

Turns out ants can indeed get to a second-floor apartment and that they were crawling in via the balcony door gap and following their sense of smell to the jelly crystals and un-rinsed cocktail glass in my kitchen. My kitchen wasn’t even dirty, yo. Must be the weather driving them out of control, like with cockroaches this time of year. Or maybe that immature note-writer planted them. Bug warfare!

I hate it when ants suddenly go on these berserk little in-your-house sprees! Wish I could find their anthill and find ants from another anthill and pit them against each other so that each colony takes each other out. (I used to do that when I was a kid.) Instead I just cleaned the house top to bottom, sprayed Mortein everywhere and am hoping the extra hot weather forecast for tomorrow will kill them before they get to this altitude.

This is actually kind of funny, because one of the bratty notes my ex-housemate left for me and my sister on the fridge once was a classic: “There is sugar all over the floor. Please clean it up otherwise ants will come.”

Holy crap it really is my housemate haunting me.

Now I remember why I hated being a teenager so much

2009-02-26T01:30:00.005+11:00

Went for drinks at Cookie with the old work crew, was sitting at one table with Charmaine et al, while the next-door people (none of whom I know, barring Jess) were sitting opposite. I knew the guys were staring at us but I just ignored it, when Jess skirts over and casually asks, “Hey, you’re still single, yeah?”

Me thinking she’s making conversation answers in the affirmative. Suddenly, drink in one hand, other hand clawing my arm, huge grin on her face, she’s trying to drag me out of my seat. “Come sit with us! The guys want to get to know you.”

Charmaine read the look on my face instantly – oh, brother, I just want to have a fucking drink, do you have to be so obvious, not only are they watching your progress now they’re going to know I’m rejecting them, I’m outnumbered and uncomfortable, you're seizing my arm so tightly it hurts, this is so fucking immature, I’m so not interested, I'm too old for this, somebody get me out of here – and valiantly tried to be my defence. “Uh - we're going for a cigarette!”

Alas Jess continues her pulling and insisting until I pry myself away and duck out onto the balcony juggling my cocktail and Leo’s jacket. And lo and behold the entire table follows us. Charmaine literally tried to block the door by sitting in front of it (she cracks me up sometimes) but Jess pointedly asked, “Charmaine can you move?” And one of the staring faces peers outside and asks me if they can join us.

Charmaine’s like, “Jesus, you’re like honey! Everyone’s buzzing after you!” and I’m embarrassed as hell, Jess is still pushy, and I actually take a cigarette just for something to do. Dude, I don't even smoke.

And so begins a game of cat and mouse wherein I cling to Charmaine and Zach for dear life throughout the rest of the night, Jess tries to pry me away, various guys hover around me and I can’t socially circulate as much as I wanted to.

Times like this I miss having a boyfriend shield. I can still pull that ‘sorry, I’m taken’ shit with unwanted advances from strangers, but not so much people that actually know me. I’m sure there will come a time when I will love attention from groups of twenty-one year old guys who want to have a conversation with the contents of my bra, but now? NOT SO MUCH.

So guys, if you want to know what was wrong with that uppity bitch at Cookie last night, here’s a heads up:

Straight off the bat your little wingwoman cornered me and embarrassed the shit out of me.
There was a big group of you sitting there staring at me. That does not a happy Black Cat make.
Neither of you let it up all night, significantly reducing my having a good time.
I’m pretty sure if I looked like Magda Szubanski you wouldn’t want to ‘get to know me’ so much. Clearly you wanted something (and don’t we all) and just wanted to know how much it was gonna cost you to get it. Wasn't in the mood to play along.

I stopped with the adolescence and the hormones FIVE YEARS AGO, ok? Nowadays I’m more into guys that are at least my age and act it. If you’re interested in me, don’t send your friend over to find out if I want to sit with your friends. Don’t skulk around leering at me while I’m having a conversation with my friends. I respect a guy who takes the risk and goes about it the right way – even if I’m not interested, I will respect that you tried. I won’t respect someone whose entire group of friends harassed me and therefore sent me crashing into a flashback of being an awkward fifteen-year-old who just wanted to go home.

Nothing personal.

Ok, maybe a little.

Four seasons in a day

2008-09-16T17:20:00.005+10:00

Me: C'mon Melbourne Weather, it's Spring already. Can't you heat up a little?

Melbourne Weather: Hmm, well I HAVE had enough of being so relentlessly cold and dreary. It's time to shine! Sun is here!

Me: Yay! *packs away winter coats*

Melbourne Weather: *rains, blows, freezes*

Me: NOOOOO IT WAS A TRAP

It's like adding 'in my pants' to everything!

2008-09-11T19:55:00.009+10:00

Ha, here’s a fun new way for me to procrastinate! Smith Magazine asked its readers to submit their life stories in a six-word memoir (which are also collected in the book, Not What I was Planning). This is based on the legend that Hemmingway was once challenged to write a story in six words or less. He came up with, “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

Some of the submissions are witty, some are poignant, most are HILARIOUS.

My boobs used to be perky.
My iMac ate my kid’s homework.
Alone, but not lonely. I lied.

What would my 6-word life look like, I wonder…?

Aspires to superheroism. Alas! No powers.
Tiny body outweighed by big boobs.
Death not so bad. Living overrated.
Writing this when should be working.
Will be asked for ID forever.
Drinks 'til she spews. Good times.
Is cute 'til she punches you.

In August Austenprose caught onto this idea and asked commenters to submit 6-word reviews of Mansfield Park.

Pug. Fanny Price’s Fairy Dogmother.
Did Jane Austen write Mansfield Park?
Poor relative. Ha-ha romance. Maria defects.
Mrs Norris: worse than the cat.

How awesome if I could write essays like this!

Hamlet: Family drama. Everyone dies. The end.
Wuthering Heights: Seriously, what is it with Heathcliff?
Pride and Prejudice: Lizzie, Judgey-Wudgey was a bear.
The Fellowship of the Ring: United but fall. Resistance is futile.
Sherlock Holmes: Detective on crack. It makes sense.
Wuthering Heights: They needed to get out more.

This can be applied to frickin' anything.

Camden needs an 'Idiots Guide to Racism'

2008-09-10T02:18:00.017+10:00

What the president of the Camden/Macarthur Residents' Group, Emil Sremchevich, had to say on the group’s hysterical rejection of a proposed rural Muslim school versus their happy support of a planned Catholic school:

"Why is that racist? Why is it discriminatory? It's very simple: people like some things but don't like other things. Some of us like blondes, some of us like brunettes. Some of us like Fords, some of us like Holdens. Why is it xenophobic just because I want to make a choice? If I want to like some people and not like other people, that's the nature of the beast."

Um, Mr. Sremchevich? Are you, I don’t know, drunk or something? If you want to like white people and not like people of colour…

That’s RACIST you head-up-your-arse, threatened-by-anything-not-patriarchal-white-and-middle-class, ridiculous backwater TRASH.

Choosing to support the proposal of one educational facility over another primarily because of their respective religious foundations?

That’s DISCRIMINATION, idiotbox. (And amazingly, brown people can be Catholic too.)

When people like local folk, and hate foreign folk?

That’s XENOPHOBIA. (Oh what in the name of unholy fuck do you mean, 'WHY IS IT XENOPHOBIC IF I WANT TO LIKE SOME PEOPLE AND NOT OTHERS?' Do you even know the definition of this word? Hint: it does not mean 'fear of Xena'.)

Racism, discrimination and xenophobia are rather different playing fields when compared to having a preference for FUCKING Fords or FUCKING Holdens, you unbelievable rancid ass. Guess which one has a centuries-old history of human rights abuse, systematic slavery, genocide, murder, rape, lynchings, torture and hate crimes that still resonate in the fabric of society today and fuels hatred and violence and fear for everyone? But hey, your Play School logic gives me admirable insight into your character and intelligence quotient. With a name like ‘Sremchevich’ you’d think you’d be a little bit more tolerant of Other-ness.

You like some things, and don’t like other things? Oh hey, me too! I, for one, don’t like malicious, ill-educated bigots that spread their hatred around small communities and make me ashamed to be Australian.

Black Cats also get bad luck

2008-09-09T18:22:00.009+10:00

Oh, Yarra Trams? Can you guess the reasons as to why I never fail to faithfully purchase a Metcard before boarding your esteemed vessels?

In the grand ethical spectrum of Melbourne life, in a very black-and-white sense of the social world, I have come to believe that doing so is both morally right and my civil duty.
Negative reinforcement – I am scared shitless of being caught fare-evading, copping a $158 fine or ending up like this kid.
Peace of mind – I hate huddling at the back of the tram ready to jump out the window every time I see a group of people in dark coats lurking at the next stop and would much rather be sitting comfortably, ticket in hand, reading a book.
Because I want to stand in the icy cold dusk holding twenty kilos worth of groceries waiting for a tram that never arrives, or that will be excruciatingly full once it does, only to be forced to lug my frozen arse the four blocks from the intersection back to my apartment, juggling cartons of milk and chicken kebabs, trying not to drop my copy of A Tale of Two Cities, dodging psycho speeding cars and whipping winds, while my valid Metcard is sitting patiently in my wallet.

The answer to the above would be 1, 2 and 3. I spent this evening doing option number 4.

Thanks, Yarra Trams! I wish I could fine you $158 every time you screw me over with your late trams and outdated carriages and scary drivers.

I don't think they'll take this up

2008-09-05T11:44:00.008+10:00

Dear Cosmo/Every Single Beauty Magazine Ever,

Every month you can expect the same thing on your cover. Arbitrary white stick-insect model/celebrity, repeated ad nauseam.

I want to see more covers featuring Australian women of different (and recognisably different) ethnic backgrounds. Not just once in a while, either. Regularly.

How about a gorgeous Chinese cover-girl next month? Or a beautiful Sudanese woman? Where are the pretty Lebanese girls? And the Indian women? Have we EVER seen an Iranian / Fijian / Japanese / Columbian / Indonesian / Mauritian / Filipino woman gracing your cover page? How about the stunning Aboriginal model Samantha Harris (above), or spunky Video Hits presenter Faustina 'Fuzzy' Agolley (left)? The possibilities are endless! You have acknowledged that Australian women come of all different shapes and sizes, but it seems you are yet to acknowledge that their skin tones can be just as variable.

In this thriving multi-racial country I see billboard after billboard of white, white, white girls, and that's not what I see when I look around me. Though your magazines are (slowly) beginning to recognise women as something other than paper-thin unattainable ideals of beauty, you are yet to adequately represent women who are NOT WHITE. These young girls and women also want to read your magazine. And they are invisible for the majority of the pages within.

Do it for the young Asian/Middle Eastern/African/Latina/Aboriginal teenage girl who loves your magazines but can never find a role model that looks like her.

OMGQUICK what's the number for 911?

2008-08-22T00:34:00.005+10:00

I was visiting Dan at his shop today. We were chatting away, when he suddenly gasped and doubled over, clutching the right side of his chest.

Me: Are you ok?!
Dan: Ow, chest pains!
*pause*
Dan: Ah that's better. Felt like I was being stabbed. I think it was my heart!
Me: ...
Dan: What?
Me: Your heart's on the LEFT side of your chest.

A Haiku, by Deadpool

2007-07-24T20:13:00.001+10:00

I hate broccoli
And think it totally sucks
Why is it not meat?

Can't I get a bacon burger without being sexually harassed?

2007-07-23T12:50:00.002+10:00

On my way home from work on Saturday night I stopped by Hungry Jack's to get a takeaway bacon deluxe burger. Mmm. While I was in the line I was approached by some guy, probably 23-25, probably drunk but still able to carry on a conversation, holding his own takeaway bag and asking me what I was 'doing later'. I told him I was going home. He suggested I might want to come out with him and his friends instead. I declined, then placed my order. To my dismay he was still waiting for me when I stepped away with my burger, and continued following me and insisting I hang out with him after I left the store.

Halfway down the block his cries degenerated to, 'Waaaait! Don't leave me like this! Hey- hey what's your name? Oh come ooooonnn....' And then I think he got cold and went back to his friends.

Now. I have a feeling this guy probably meant me no harm, as weird as it seems to say that now. It looked like he was just having a guy's night out in the city with his friends, and as they stopped by Hungry Jack's he felt the need to chat up the girl in the next line. It kinda reminded me of my guy friends when they get pissed and sometimes start chatting up random girls. This guy actually seemed nice - just a normal, albeit drunk guy with his friends, probably didn't expect me to take him up on his offer, probably thought he was complimenting me, and just wanted to chat. He probably laughed to his friends later about the 'bitch' who ignored him. But he wasn't menacing, he didn't threaten me, besides the fact he followed me out of the store techinically I was pretty safe for the interim of our exchange.

So why was I terrified?

I was alone being accosted by a stranger who 1. Could physically overpower me 2. Expressed a sexual interest in me 3. Outnumbered me. 4. Followed me after I left a well-lit public area. That could have ended worse.

It didn't. But I am trained to analyse every interaction in EVERY walk of my life - not just meeting strange men at Hungry Jack's - with the possibility that I might be attacked. I've had that drummed into my head since I was a kid. Don't go there alone, don't go there after dark, don't wear this, don't act like that. YOU MIGHT GET RAPED AND THEN WHAT, LITTLE GIRL?

Question 1: Do guys do the same thing? I mean, apart from obvious things, like don't wander around the city alone after dark which probably applies to men as well (??). Do guys AUTOMATICALLY analyse situation in terms of whether they'll be attacked or not?

Question 2: If you're a guy I was just wondering, when you and your friends approach girls during nights like this, especially girls who are alone/outnumbered by you, do you ever feel that you might be threatening them? As in, you probably don't have the slightest intention of harming her in any way, but do you ever go back and think 'oh shit, we might have really scared her', that maybe your actions could be threatening in the circumstances? (i.e she is outnumbered, you are bigger than her, you're in an isolated/unsafe area, you are drunk and she isn't, you have just expressed a sexual interest in her, etc.) And would it offend you if you realised this?

Because maybe you've never thought about it that way?

And that burger was GOOD.

2007-07-15T16:15:00.002+10:00

Ever have one of those go-with-the-flow kinda nights that start off with one drink and end up with one or more of your friends running around naked?

Well that was my Friday night. It all started with after-work knock-off drinks, a tradition in the restaurant I work at. I was on my way home, and ex-colleagues Bron, Shar and Zar were hanging around, and they enticed me with that good old line: 'Just one more drink?' Yeah sure.

Around 15 drinks later somebody came up with the idea to go to the beach in the middle of the night. (It was probably Shar. 'Sometimes,' he always says, 'You've just gotta do something TOTALLY ABNORMAL.') This is during a Melbourne winter. I know everyone pictures Australia to be all desert-y and burning hot, but Melbourne winters are FREAKIN FREEZING!

So suddenly we're at St Kilda beach, it's raining, I'm about to die of hypothermia if not for the red wine, and Bron and Zar strip naked and run around screaming hysterically. Oddly enough, it didn't seem weird at the time. Now I'm dissolving into giggles at the thought of some poor member of the public stumbling upon us and sprinting for their lives.

Me and Shar hung out - fully clothed - on the shore, staring at the water and talking about life, love and death. Strictly speaking we aren't that close a pair of friends so it's funny we ended up confiding in each other the way we did. But sometimes a couple of drinks is all you need to really bond with someone. Not in that way, you perv.

However, my awesome inability to hold red wine came and interupted the moment, and before I knew it I was hurling out a cab door. Good night.

Zar's a funny one. He's a writer, which piqued my interest, but he has one of those unfortunate habits of trying to make every single moment a profound epiphany, and quoting random strings of poetry he's memorised trying to impress people. When you first meet him you're like, 'Wow! This guy is really deep and creative and profound' but after a while it spirals into 'Wow, this guy is really pretentious and annoying'. He's a nice enough guy but he needs to ease off on the monologues.

What I learned from this night and these people was that sometimes, you've gotta stop sitting around talking about life and love, in order to start living and loving for real. This is my life, right here right now; not hovering on the horizon while I sit on some God-forsaken Melbourne beach in the middle of winter; not sparking in the distance as I decide how I'm going to waste my time this week. My life is here, and I've got some catching up to do.

2007-07-10T00:09:00.002+10:00

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a procrastinating 21-year-old Arts student must be in need of a blog.

Here goes!