This will hurt me...

So this morning I say to Henry, "you know that the bruise on your cheek makes you look a little like a young Mel Gibson in the first Mad Max movie", and he's all like "whatchutalkinboutwillis", and I'm smirking and ask him where he's picked up the Diff'rent Strokes reference, but he's keeping stum and playing it cool like. So we're circling like lions over a carcass and I tell him that maybe it's a young Mel Gibson in Tim that I'm thinking of and he shoots me a glare that'd cut diamonds and I'm figuring "game, set and match" and strut off like Mick Jagger right after the first chorus of Brown Sugar at the Hollywood Bowl in the early seventies, 'cos, you know, I've just put Gary Coleman Junior in his place an' all. But he ain't havin' none of that and comes at me with a broken whiskey bottle (or maybe it's a banana), and it's on . So we're rolling 'round the floor and there'

Much like some infamous ads that I have already featured, race and racial stereotypes are often at play in advertisments. Who could forget #51 (' little darkey in a watermelon '), #38 (‘ Chip feels sorry for Jap kids ’), #31 (‘ darkies eating watermelon on the fence while the slaveholders puff on cigars ’), #25 (‘ really cute Eskimos beheading surprised seal ’), and #6 (‘ traumatised pickaninny has penis eaten by goose yet mistakes it for Nazi panzer attack ’). Yet this one disturbs me probably the most, and no, it is not the lack of burnt cork or muss (whatever that is). The whole notion of marketing the 'oddball eyes (adjustable to any angle!)', 'buck teeth' and 'plantation hat' as " great fun " is offensive to the extreme. The fact that the stereotypes are based on crude caricatures of misfortunes no doubt associated with neglect and ill-treatment makes it worse. When you consider that these sort of ‘entertainments’ could still be commonly p

Another sun burst! Forgive me, it's been some time since the last one . Here we are, late afternoon, on the Lindisfarne/Geilston Bay border. Think Mason-Dixon without the bloodshed. Henry has a ripping black eye today, after a tumble involving a chair, table and an obdurate desire to achieve altitude sickness (that is my guess, anyway). This latest accident occurred just one day after an impressive plunge off the couch that involved a pike, half twist and almost perfect headfirst entry onto the carpet. I would have taken half a point off for a slight bend in the knees, but I am of the old Soviet school: unforgiving to a fault.

All right settle down you lot up the back. Yes, I have blogged about this building before . For my money, it is the best example of the triumph of function over aesthetic that seemed quite common in the 1960s (tie-dyed jeans, anyone?) Yes, it's the infamous Tasmanian State Offices Building again! Like Henry to a flame, I am constantly drawn back to this quite unimpressive building. In many ways, I think that it may have something to do with my exposure to the souls that can be found in such characterless buildings. As you have probably noticed, I have been experimenting of late with a bit of black and white. I especially like it when it comes to this sort of functionalist monstrosity. When I look it this photo, it makes me think of the late-sixties, early-seventies. Of course, I wasn’t alive then, but the period to me doesn’t evoke flowers in hair, free love or going to San Francisco. No, I’m thinking more economic down-turn, energy crisis and an emerging angry disenchantment wit

Back at work today, so need to sharpen the spirits and post a picture of Ezra today. Here is the littlest bloke in the household demonstrating some fine neck control. There is something extraordinary in a baby who can lift up his whole head and look from side to side at birth, and Ezra could do that. He's clearly gifted! Let me share just one of my frustrations at work today. I expect to present at an upcoming conference. I have prepared the abstract, have a title and so on, and just needed to enter the details onto the hosting organisation’s website. I am quite adequate at computer-related business, in fact, in my sector, I am regarded as something of a ‘computer whizz’ (bearing in mind that being able to appropriately shut down a computer probably qualifies you to that title here). So all that I (think) that I need to do is enter the info. Twenty minutes of Name, Job Title blah blah blah through a bunch of slow loading pages (and we have a pretty impressive connection here at wo

BEFORE Haircut number three for Henry today, and oh what joy that was! I have been otherwise occupied [code for 'at work'] for the last two, although the first did rate a post way back in February . I think that maybe next time, a small sherry might be offered beforehand to settle his nerves. That said, we managed to escape with a little less hair, and all ears/eyes/noses intact. I thought that today I would offer up a list. Things that I have learned today : Pre-haircut Henry would not be out of place in the Byrds in 1969. His attitude is more Stones '71 though... Post-haircut Henry looks like a very young George Clooney, or at least that's what some of the ladies think. Toddlers + haircuts = a challenging equation. A fruit box is a welcome distraction while getting a toddler’s haircut, but it alone will not be enough. If you have a toddler on your lap who is getting his haircut, hold on tight. Toddlers struggle with the notion of a ‘before and after’ photo shoot. Tha

I think that these are pansies, but remain happy to stand corrected by the more green fingered of you out there in cyberspace. I don’t know if it is purely coincidental or not, but for my money, the loveliest flowers in town happen to sit right outside town hall. I don't have a lot to say, aside from how much I hope that the Cottage Pie with Cheese-crusted Leeks that is on the go in the oven turns out okay, so I'll say it with more flowers!

I have spoken some about my frustration with the incessant coverage of the Olympics just gone, but it would be remiss of me to not say how pleased I was to see that Australian fellow – Matthew Mitcham – win the GOLD in the ten-metre high dive late on in the piece. You see, I have an admission to make: I am a sucker of the unrepentant, naturally flamboyant homosexual. Aussie GOLD medallist Matthew is just that, standing still you wouldn’t pick it, but even the slightest of moves (flick of an eyebrow, twitch of the calf) and there it is loud and proud . Even better was his reaction to the coded questioning by the press gallery (hushed whispers at the back, “is he gay?”), “Errr, fellas, c’mon, whattaya reckon!?!” So on that note, I was happy to farewell the Games on a high note. Thus, I have been equally been pleasantly surprised to see that this orange juice company was so happy to employ a similarly flamboyant friend of Dorothy to promote their product. In fact, I think the fellow

Back to an arty farty black and white photograph today. Here are the Silos that I have featured previously , only from a different angle, and at a different time of day (this was Thursday morning). I like how both the light, and the contrast achieved by choosing black and white show the cracks in the render of the building. Hopefully it will cost the tenants a bomb to fix it. That said, given their likely links to the big end of town, I expect that they will find some way to weasel out of paying for it themselves! Bitter, moi ? I know that they are luxury apartments, but part of me likes to think of these things as nuclear missile silos. That only happens when I am wistful for the certainties of the Cold War . It is an odd thing to miss, I grant you, but from Tasmania, the old Soviet Union seemed terribly exciting .