In times gone buy, six or seven years you were a frequent viewer of childrens films. Accompanying your children along with several hundred parents and offspring to the cinema. At that time things weren’t so bad, these were the days of Toy Story, Finding Nemo, Shrek and Spy Kids (which caused the whole bloody thing). Then something happened and you made a vow to never watch childrens films again. In the future you would stick to your usual fodder of complex and convoluted tragedies with subtitles appearing at art house cinemas or high octane action films where everyone but the hero/heroine met horrible well deserved deaths. What happened was the film Shark Boy and Lava Girl.  Pestered by children and lulled into a false sense of security, due to the fact that it was directed by the guy who did Spy Kids off you went.

The title itself should have been a dead give away, if not that, then the appalling poster (see below), or the simple fact that it was in 3D, a novelty at the time, suggesting that they really hadn’t bothered with a story. However your single minded faith in the director of Spy Kids (which was quite a silly but eminently watchable film) led you to agree to seeing it in all its 3D glory.

To say this film was bad would be the understatement of the year, it was excruciating. Shark boy played by that now grown up buffed dodo in Twilight – playing a werewolf (he really hasnt progressed much) swam and jumped around the ocean with a blue plastic fin stuck on his back. The jumping part was more reminiscent of a dolphin – has anyone seen sharks do this? Lava Girl played by someone, happily, we havent seen cropping up as ‘fire woman ‘ or ‘flame female’, possibly choosing either addiction or taxi driving in her older years, shot lava out of her arms and somehow teamed up with Shark Boy. What happened?  cant tell you, nor do we care,  after the first 4 minutes you and all other adults just wanted it to end – end badly for Shark Boy and Lava Girl.

Losing two valuable hours of your life and paying for it – $60.00 to Hoyts (who doubles ticket prices in 3D sessions), you vowed to never see another childrens film. Especially any made by the Director of Spy Kids who had either:

a) Had a nervous breakdown

b) Developed an addiction to powerful hallucinatory drugs

c) Been murdered and had his identity stolen by a deranged teenager

Now, with time on your hands and no viable excuses not to take children you offer to take them to Hotel Transylvania, an animated romp about a holiday resort for monsters.

Up until witnessing this you had not believed it possible for an animated character to over act. Well they can – and they did, every bloody one of them. Was it as bad as Shark Boy and Lava Girl you ask. YES IT BLOODY WELL WAS.

Next time they can accompany you to an Art House Cinema and watch Pans Labryrinth, yes it might give them nightmares, yes they might have a fear of the dark for the next 15 years and be diagnosed as disturbed by school teachers. But you will have saved them from something even worse.

Time for a new idea….

Posted: October 9, 2012 in Uncategorized

I have decided not to pursue Scientology membership. This is due to the fact that all the viewings on my blog lately have been from the US. I am pretty scared that David Miscavage has now labelled me a suppressive person – and hate mail will shortly be arriving in my in- box. Back to the drawing board (and believe me I know how depressing that statement is – when you actually sit at one).

There are so many careers out there (if you’re young, good looking and 30), not so many if your old, your looks have faded and depressed by the behaviour of so many in the workplace. Still inspiration may hit soon. I have been thinking a lot lately about the likes of Alan Jones (repulsive little misogynist on the radio), you may remember him from my earlier posts. He has landed in hot water later (hotter than usual it seems) due to the fact that he made some very (typical) distasteful remarks about our prime minister’s (father) and how he probably died of shame having her for a daughter. I can only hope that every living relative of Alan’s is dead or sterile. 

Strangely reaction to these remarks has been huge (unlike all the other disgusting remarks Alan makes about about women, police, left wing politicians etc), resulting in a cyber campaign that has seen his radio network pull all the advertising from his show.  Poor old Alan is now mouthing off about cyberbullying which is in Alan’s mind quite different from Radio Talk Show Bullying, which he deigns completely acceptable.  To say Alan’s past is lily white would be a lie. There are bucket loads of grafitti around the inner city indicating that Alan has quite a penchant for activities that might also cause outrage. 

I doubt that Alan will be removed permanently from the airwaves (unfortunately), however I do wish he would shut the fuck up. And while we are on the topic of radio shock jocks lets not forget that other lunatic Kyle something who   has made a name on radio and TV for saying disgusting things to women. He is in America now so perhaps Scientology can do something with him. 

Scientology tryouts.

Posted: October 8, 2012 in Uncategorized
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Inspired by the Scientology advertisement (see previous post), I have spent several hours walking backwards and forwards in front of their Sydney offices trying to catch the attention of one of the ‘scientologists’ who launch themselves onto pedestrians.

Prior to beginning my quest to become someone ‘WHO MAKES A DIFFERENCE’, I decided to first wear something a scientologist would wear, this proved difficult, the only scientologists I could think of were Tom Cruise & his offspring, John Travolta, and that woman who plays Harrison Ford’s wife in all those terrorist movies – you know ‘Patriot Games’.

Tom Cruise and offspring seem to spend their lives in jeans (which I have) T-shirts (I have) and baseball caps (which I dont – and my eleven year olds selection doesnt fit). I have no idea what John Travolta wears – he wore a bad suit in his last movie, wasnt it Pulp Fiction? The people in the ad did not look like Quentin Tarantino characters – gun toting gangsters with barely concealed swords. Travolta’s hair was a bit difficult to emulate, that left ‘what’s her name’ Anne someone and I didn’t fancy myself in a woolen skirt and jumper and besides it is October. I went with jeans, tatty Tshirt and old shoes. Did scientologists like poor people? I wasnt sure, I hedged my bets and wore a flash watch. (Not really, a rubbishy fake from Bangkok but no one would get that close would they?).

So my quest began. There were about 3 scientologists on the footpath, holding clipboards, smiling and pretending they were having a great time. I knew they were pretending cause when someone they approached managed to make short change of the exchange they grimaced at each other and wrote notes.  One of them managed to snag a rather overweight 45 year old, I edged closer pretending to be texting on my phone, hoping to hear the spiel. The scientologist and overweight woman eyed me distastefully and edged away. I edged closer, managing only to hear the woman describe me as a typical weirdo that ‘hangs around here – should we call the police?’

Things got progressively worse. Not one of the scientologists spoke to me, the closer I got the further they moved away. Should I approach them? I wasn’t sure. Finally summoning up the courage I approached. ‘Hi’ (me), ‘Hello’ (scientologist), Silence – more silence then ‘Time for lunch’ (scientologist to other scientologists). They left and I realised I WAS NEVER GOING TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE!

Look you have had to face facts, and the facts are; you faint at the sight of blood, get squeamish at the sight of stainless steel cutting instruments, feel sick when dealing with vomit and other bodily fluids, and biology was your worst subject at school. This was probably because of science teachers, who in those days all looked the same. They had beards regardless of gender,  spoke in monotone soft voices that could barely be heard over the chatter and clanking chairs, failed to display any form of emotion, or move at a fast pace even when Philip Fitton set his hair on fire with the bunsen burner. You often wonder what happened to Philip Fitton. They wore matching khaki shorts and shirts,  long beige socks and comfortable brown shoes (that Rivers still sell), a sense of humor was not evident (not even when that disruptive shit set his head on fire, now no doubt the head of english Mr Richmond would have laughed himself silly at this and let Philip burn for a while before accidently dousing him with a flammable liquid like kerosene).

Science teachers seemed unable to write anything other than C or F on everyone bar the nerd up the front’s papers and found your lack of interest in the chemical reaction between two coloured things in a beaker almost grounds for execution. Science teachers drone and drone  on and on and on. Double periods were worse than two years at Guantanmo Bay or listening to a 3 hour orchestral concert at your child’s primary school. Even now you break into a sweat at the mere mention of ecological systems or dissection (a horrid experience that resulted in you vomiting and passing out in front of the whole class). Problem was up until year 10 biology was it, you didn’t even get to do potions (sorry chemistry) or physics till years 11 and 12. By the time Year 11 swung round you were so despised by every science teacher that they were actively seeking to discourage your participation in the only two interesting bits.

Medicine as tempting as it is – is out! Cult membership though could be in. A visit to the movies the other day found you tearing up at the Scientology ad. One Person can make a difference! Great graphics, moving imagery, good works – it made the whole thing look terrific. Perhaps this could be the answer, jobs in the organisation are guaranteed. You wont need to job hunt ever again!

Now obviously you realise that moving into a medical profession – could take years of study, 6 to be precise – 12 if one wants to become a specialist. Seriously.

Having Dr before your name (and not the silly PHD one, which just confuses everyone and devalues those with the real Dr) gives one a status rarely afforded anyone (apart from the Royal Family, popstars or actors). Yep watch peoples reaction at parties when they find out the (boring, not very attractive, wearing bad shoes) is a Dr.

It should be noted here that it is extremely rare for a PHD to respond to the profession question with Dr, usually they say something along the lines of – ‘I am an academic in social anthropology, have a PHD you know’ (they will weedle it in to any conversation), then about 50% will make joke about how hard it was or how mad they were to do it. If they are not academics (which they will remain bitter about for their whole lives), they will usually work in a government job (that pays three times as much as academia, but remains in their eyes of far lower status), to boost the government status one will be given a 5 minute description of their role and its complexities  peppered with unintelligible words that you have come across in the dictionary on the odd occasion you have opened it.

Real doctor’s of course, need say none of this. The word doctor sits there between you like a glowing beacon. Their previously boring conversation, unattractiveness and bad shoes are forgotten. This person is ‘really smart’, usually really rich and now, really really desirable. Yep doctors have an aura, they can do anything, you also know from American TV shows that;

1. They are dynamite in bed

2. Underneath it all have a heart of gold

3. Will save your life if need be

4. Work very long hours (more time at home by yourself spending their money)

They can also be drug addicts and get away with it – think House. Seriously can you imagine a story line about a drug addicted taxi driver with a positive spin on it? No – neither can we. TV has painted a picture of non stop excitement. It looks good. You fantasise fleetingly of your new life – yelling ‘Get me the crash cart’, flirting (and scoring) with whoever takes your fancy, getting upgrades on planes, your new status at parties and having access to great drugs.

This could be it!

Posted: September 29, 2012 in Uncategorized

One Awkward Year

Friends! Hello from the land of the late twenties, it’s glorious over here. Last night I went to bed at 8:15. Livin’ the dream!

Seriously, though, the last few weeks have actually been quite a whirlwind of good things. I finally got a smartphone,  perfected the art of brewing loose-leaf tea and a great, great friend gave me a homemade BLT for my birthday. Pro tip for the many people vying to be my best friend: bacon helps. Especially when piled high between two slices of white bread and slathered with mayo. Nom nom!  And on top of all that, there have been some thrilling new developments at my office, which I’ve been working towards for quite some time. As bumper stickers everywhere proclaim: Life is good.

One result of these new shakeups: I get to interview and hire an assistant! Well, I have to share the assistant with my…

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Having spent the day chewing the fat (pardon the pun) about becoming the next Matt Preston, you have decided really, it isn’t for you. For a start, vanity would prevent you from purchasing a wardrobe of neckties that make you look like you have no neck, you live in the inner city so all that colour on someone over 40 is a signal that a) you are recently uncloseted, b) divorced and desperate for a partner (age, sexuality, looks, etc not a problem, c)you are steadfast in your refusal to eat offal of any kind, d) you know absolutely nothing about food or tempering chocolate.

Perhaps one needs to examine more realistic options like taxi driving. Now there is a profession you are eminently qualified for. For a start you are a terrible driver (you know this due to the fact that people clutch the armrest and sweat when in the car with you), complete lack of driving skills seems to be a prerequisite for Australian taxi drivers. Yep as a taxi driver here you can get your thrills by screaming around inner city streets at 90, running red lights, cutting in on everyone including fire engines, ambulances and if you are really brave – the police (who probably won’t do too much as they are busy using their sirens to get to McDonalds for breakfast).  In addition unlike your UK counterparts you don’t need to know where you are going, or where Sydney landmarks are, in fact the less you know the better. Thus when unsuspecting passengers ask to be taken from Leichhardt to the CBD you can happily take them via Palm Beach and Blacktown, successfully increasing your fare to over $300.00 and that doesn’t even count the tolls.

The torture of passengers is a fun way to spend your day, you have already picked up the following tips from a range of taxi drivers – here are the best.

1. In summer never wear deodorant, wear polyester and keep the windows rolled up.

2. Listen to Alan Jones on full volume (especially effective if your passenger/s are gay, from an ethnic minority, left wing hippies, labour politicians or off duty police). Agree with everything he says- loudly, adding your own colourful interpretation tinged with just a little menace.

3. Join in to passenger conversations especially those of lawyers, stock brokers, police, corporates etc. Write down juicy titbits and phone them into Alan Jones in your break (suitably embellished), mention names.

4. Arrange rear view mirror so that you can stare menancingly at female customers (or gay customers if Alan is on)

5. Paste the inside of your cab with scary pictures (people with bullet holes drawn on foreheads etc works a treat)

6. Read up on conspiracy theories and regale your passengers with them – always ensure either Rupert Murdoch or James Packer is the cause.

7. Pretend you a practicing Scientologist, – convert them. Act surprised when you try to drop them off at the Scientology Centre and they refuse to get out.

8. Tell passengers you are in love with Tony Abbott, talk about how hot he looks in Speedos

9. Always stop to get more gas when they say they are in a hurry, take your time and eat a sausage roll with other drivers – park in the sun.

10. Stop at least 500 metres from where they told you to, become outraged if they make you go back

11. Talk about the film Taxi Driver in a low voice, get tattoos and tell passengers you were in the war (be vague about which one).

Yes taxi driving is a fun profession – how much does it cost to get a license anyway?Image