anything by michael bay

blows. there's more to movies than noise, special effects, and explosions.

in my limited experience

canada has the best bloggers. fact.

it's hard to believe

anyone could take tim henman so seriously. poor thing.

someone has pulled a blanket of canada

over melbourne. it's wet, overcast, and rather gloomy. is this any way to start a weekend?

when all else fails...

re-decorate.

turnips

is terrible.

hooray, culture comes to oz at last

the production of "the bold and the beautiful" is currently in sydney filming new episodes. don't scoff. it's the best we can do. 220 years ago we were just banging sticks together and eating grubs. sadly, some of us still are.

just think

how many happy people there'd be if microsoft's excel magically disappeared from the face of the earth.

battersea

is a tremendous name for a goldfish.

melbourne on the arno

obscure as it is, melbourne is still one of the coffee capitals of the world. that's why starbucks does such lousy business here. but it wasn't always this way. we used to be tea-drinkers. why the change? well, we aren't as culturally cosy with the english anymore. but, mostly, it's all the italians' doing. they instilled the espresso taste and established the café culture. and, believe me, we're all jolly grateful.

and as i was thinking of italian things...

things italians do well: coffee, art, architecture, scooters, food, clothes, cities, religion, attitudinizing, lassitude.

things italians don't do well: sport, government, tv, music (except monteverdi), war, suburban villas, cars, men.

please remind me if i've omitted anything.

busier than blue soup

last month i rather wished i was in madrid, taking in the tintoretto show at the prado. this month i'd rather be in boston, where edward hopper's best stuff is on display.

after cézanne art is hopelessly boring, diffuse and vapid—apart from these four:

edward hopper (the lone figure in the landscape)
walter sickert (always vital)
risko (a fantastic portraitist)
dr suess (an utterly original illustrator, and pure joy).

it's one of those

inside-out umbrella sort of days.

shoe mania?

not me. not excessive.

back row (left to right): 3 pairs of dead runners (no shock absorption left but useful for other sporting purposes), 1 pair of trail runners (last used in point nepean national park among the wallabies).

front row (left to right): 1 pair of über-dead runners only good for mooching around in, 2 pairs of trainers, 1 pair of lightweight "flats" for races.

it's all in the label.

census silliness

the census is a classic example of what lisa simpson calls "pointless busy-work". the purpose of the last oz census, we're told, is to calculate the amount of unpaid domestic work done. that's easy. this morning i brushed my teeth and washed the breakker things. so i guess i should send an invoice to her maj, care of canberra? being a sporting chap, i'll throw the shoe-shine in for free.

wimbledon

england is the austin a40 of world sport. inept. so can we please get through wimbledon without the bogus "local hope" hoopla? your henmania is embarrassing.

a mean owl

was lurking in the backyard tonight with pretty obvious intentions of feasting on a junior brushtail possum i was sharing an apple with (that's him on the left, with his mother). impressive looking bird. but had to shoo it away. possums aren't for eating. everyone knows that.

despite the fact

that the stupid cat slept on them all autumn, some of the bulbs have started to emerge. unharmed. can't tell if hyacinth or tulip. they are nature's skittles.

at the movies

rita hayworth gets some sterling dating guidance: "remember mama's advice: don't frighten him with your intelligence. just act simple and mysterious". funny for so many reasons. not least the idea of hayworth's intelligence. (from "you were never lovelier").

the age of beige?

english prime ministers come in different colours. the thatcher years were blue. john major's premiership was grey. now we have gordon brown. is brown the new grey? or will it be a tartan monstrosity?

for tomorrow

hope your birthday
is a mirthday.

bless her

"i am always bored." (gwendolen harleth)

absinthe

makes the heart grow fonder.

does

minnie driver have a brother called laurie?

i'm frowny

at canadapost. they're bloomin' hopeless.

i think

i've seriously damaged my vocal chords. laughing too much.

shiraz or chardonnay?

that is the question.

joy in the morning

sometimes

the bad guys are the coolest. like alain delon in "le samouraï". or, especially, feathers mcgraw here.

as a male in mixed company

you can either think "every woman in this room fancies me" or "no woman is this room fancies me". maybe mr collins is on to something by adopting the sunnier attitude?

i like the new britney spears

much much more than the old britney. she's finally found a way to be famous which doesn't involve either her singing, or me having to hear her sing. the airwaves are "free at last". it's the best of both worlds, really. meanwhile she remains an on-going inspiration to fem teens everywhere. everybody wins.

if there's any hope

it's with the poles.

it is a fact universally acknowledged

that every sentient person likes elizabeth bennett. but i didn't realise how closely some women identify with her. what else can explain this vehement dislike of poor, pushing mr collins? unless it be that they are imagining themselves the object of his desperate, simpering affections? in which case i understand their queasiness. to me he is simply wonderful comic relief. absurd, but not odious.

if we all

could but play our parts as well as mr collins plays his (aside from ardent suitor, he's quite hopeless at that). then i think we'd all get on awfully well.

if only we were all like

outside the grave maurice

london is:
crime
grime
congested
expensive (very)
not quirky
a great city.

when people say existential

they usually mean ontological, but are too dumb to know the difference. not much in life is existential. except "dancing with the stars". and being caught in traffic.

angela merkel

is a colossal disappointment. and a menace.

life imitates cartoon

the fellow most likely to be the next prime minister of oz looks almost exactly like danger mouse's hamster sidekick, penfold. but so far, to my great chagrin, he hasn't exclaimed "crumbs!" in a press conference yet. maybe one day?

london

looks nothing like its picture-postcardy depictions in the richard curtis movies "four weddings", "notting hill", "love actually" and the "bridget jones" scrapes.

is the moon

really made of wensleydale?

every january

i vow i'm going to drive up to the dandenongs and pick loads and loads of blueberries, raspberries and blackberries, which i'll then freeze for year round pancake and smoothie-making purposes. and, of course, i never do.

not quite a world

more of a sideshow, actually. though one operated without the usual chicanery.

teenage girls

have so much to answer for. especially "big brother". i suppose that's just an inkling of how gruesome life would be in a gynocracy. yes?

I've been on the phone with palace staff all day

being passed from one equerry to another. inexplicably my name wasn't included on the list of queen's birthday honours. the queen, i'm told, is shocked. her majesty's really quite distraught about it. nevermind. just make sure next year it's a baronetcy or better.

how banal

those clintons are! bernstein's book pronounced dead before arrival (at bookstores). ennuyeuse.

elgar is everywhere

or so it seems. (2007 is his centennial year.) anyway, it's fine by me. i seldom hum classical music to myself, but when i do it is invariably elgar's cello concerto. so sonorous.

get lost peggy guggenheim

the best place to get cards in melbourne is from the gift shop attached to the national gallery. but that's not possible now. the whole place is being remodeled to make way for a travelling guggenheim exhibition. just the usual collection of post-cezanne junk. and not nearly so much fun as mrs jarley's waxworks. so the gift shop is out of action. what a bore. apologies to all for the sub-standard cards i've been sending.

inside a marshmallow

love the fog.

my favourite tv host

i love it when he wears tweed and acts supercilious.

my favourite hollywood star

slow learners

it is usual practice for the european union to take opposition serenely in its stride. when a country rejects an e.u. treaty or proviso brussels simply makes them vote again. and again. until a "yes" is finally registered. democracy, after all, is a terrible nuisance.

however this happy state of affairs was upset in 2005 when france and holland pooh-poohed the long, illiterate european constitution. this was itself surprising. as it usually falls to england (with the support of poland) to defend the democratic principle in what is a very "do as i say" polity.

is constitutional government like consensual sex? does no mean no? apparently not. because the apparatchiks in brussels are prepared to carry on as if nothing happened.

i guess afterward, as it's zipping up its pants and leaving, brussels can say "it was all a misundertanding" or "europe doesn't know what it wants". and knowing europeans they'll probably lie back and meekly take it.

that sort of thing wouldn't wash here. or in america. we like to have a say about whom we sleep with.

at the movies

tired of hearing people extolling "strong women" in the movies as if this were the ultimate accolade.

isn't.

what we'd like to see are dramatically interesting characters. that obviously means a combination of strength and weakness. in "all about eve" the strong character, anne bancroft (eve), is much less interesting than the frail characters played by bette davis (margot channing) and george sanders. complexity's the thing.

acting isn't wrestling. it's not a test of strength.

books i'm currently cheating on (with other books)

henry fielding, "tom jones".
charles dickens, "the mystery of edwin drood".
henri barbusse, "under fire".
alan bennett, "untold stories".
lord chesterfield, "letters".
dashiell hammett, "the thin man".
gustave flaubert, "sentimental education".
roy jenkins, "gladstone".
john henry newman, "plain and parochial sermons".
richard j. evans, "the third reich in power".
saki, "the chronicles of clovis".
and about a million journal/magazine articles.

fact

the zoo
smells
like poo.

she knows

or i think she does.

if i mentioned "fascination fledgeby" barely any of my friends & acquaintances would have the foggiest. it's a sad state of affairs. i know. though the ignorance is reciprocated. if they asked me who the star of "grey's anatomy" is, and who she's shagged, i'd likewise be lost for words.

still, thanks for knowing. they don't know what they're missing.

numismatic nomenclatura

in oz we have brightly coloured plastic money. like toy money. (also when we want to send a message to someone we spell it out first on the fridge with magnetic letters, take a picture with our camera-phones, and sms it to its destination.) just as americans call $10 a "sawbuck", we've likewise given our currency notes pet names—in this case derived from their colours. so for the benefit of tourists, who may be bewildered:

$5/$10 (fiver/tenner)
$20 (lobster)
$50 (pineapple)
$100 (gremlin)

fun, what?

old england, new england

years from now, after the aliens have colonised us, they may amuse themselves by writing the history of england. when they do they'll have no difficulty identifying the signal event in english history. it won't be the norman invasion, or the arrival of st. augustine, or the unfortunate signing of the mäastricht treaty. no. it will be the advent of jade goody. there is england before jade, and england after jade. she forms a perfectly clean break between the two. even now the two countries are almost unrecognisable.

a very english sense of humour

"stevenage will in a short time become world-famous". (lewis silkin, minister for nothing in paricular).

not a counter-tenor, i hope

my taxi driver claimed to be an out of work opera singer.

and then he goes and spoils it all by saying something stupid

the "new yorker" is swell. but there's one thing that grates. the obeisance it makes to liberal pieties. like joe e brown says in "some like it hot": nobody's perfect.

this week anthony lane spoiled an appreciative essay on hergé, the author of the tintin escapades, with some humbuggery about racism in "tintin in the congo". phooey! the congo episode is not racist. but it is poorly drawn. and rather lacking in drama. it just isn't up to the typical tintin standard. the series only really gets going in the third issue, "tintin in america".

the reporter also makes heavy weather over the jewish villain bohlwinkel in "tintin and the shooting-star". imbecile.

for the record: "tintin and the shooting-star" is my favourite. if only because it happened to be the one i read first as a child. also the giant spiders were a winning touch.