This will hurt me...

Why indeed... Top of Nanny Goat Lane, Battery Point. July 2011. You would think that a concept like 'Genocide' would be relatively straightforward. As always however, it is anything but. Like the seemingly perfect couple from a film who never managed to get it together, it's... complicated. Definitional war? Top of Nanny Goat Lane, Battery Point. July 2011.

The house generally wins. Elizabeth Street, Hobart. September 2010. I am not a gambling man. I am more a gambolling man. Punting is a game for mugs, and there does not seem a shortage of mug punters out there. There used to be a lively (if not quite happening ) music scene in Hobart. Now we have poker machines. Now I understand that not everyone wants to hear another version of Keh Sanh played at the wrong tempo and sung by a guy with less gravel in his voice than Nana Mouskouri, but it is surely better than the sound of some poor down and out pissing away his kid’s new pair of shoes in the hope of three pairs of cherries. I confess that I have no experiential knowledge of electronic gaming. As I said at the top, it is a mug’s game and I may be many things – charming, handsome, sophisticated, romantic, modest – but I am not a mug. So I turn to you, the global village , and ask what is so fun about poker machines ?

Some things - like this rock - are difficult to figure out. For example, why is the team with the worst record in Bundesliga (the top soccer league in Germany) history called Tasmania Berlin-Gropiusstadt ? A proud Tasmanians, Henry, Ezra and I would dearly love to know...

Here's a Hobartian winter sunrise (when it isn't raining), for your perusal. I think that the two columns there are masts from a couple of super maxi yachts parked down in Constitution Dock. I have just heard that poor old Michael Jackson has died. As someone of the firm opinion that Whacko Jacko's work enables him to stand in the column marked Musical Genius (at least until it all started to go pear shaped . I am wondering, what do people think of the guy? Pop genius ? Kiddie Fiddler ? Tortured child trapped in a man’s body ? Punch line to a thousand jokes ?

I took this photo back in February, down in the Salamanca district. As you can see, there are four Zebra Finches perched on the neck of what may or may not be an authentic Les Paul . The guitar was plugged in and run through a distortion pedal to an expensive stack of Marshall amps. The finches themselves were strumming out what sounded like to my ears the outro to a song I like very much: Elton John's 1972 paen to astronauts and cosmonauts the world over, Rocket Man (I Think It's Going to Be a Long, Long Time) . Like me, they like Elton's old stuff much better than his new stuff (by new stuff, I'm talking post-1983). Quick question to the mob though, what do you think is going on here? What's the point supposed to be?

Here you can see Henry doing Anthony Hopkins doing Hannibal Lector doing Henry, trying to eat Ezra's face. Don't panic though, it was only a game, and Ezra emerged unscathed. Far too long ago now, I a sked a question of everyone about which actor they would like to play them in a film. As I said at the time, others – cruelly and maliciously , I might add – suggested one of Robert Downey Jr, Hugh Grant and (most unkindly) Ben Affleck to play the part of yours truly. Of course, I vociferously and aggressively rebuked such nonsense, and suggested indie-favourite early-1990s floppy haired Martin Donovan. I think that he would have the height and gravitas to successfully translate me onto the big screen. Oddly, other people seemed reluctant to engage with this question – unlike the others that were asked that week – I put it down to the unhealthy tendency to subdue our egos that society often forces upon us. Naturally, this is I am happy to disregard at will. I am of the Shirley ...

Some time ago I revealed my secret that I am a bit of a flag fancier. It was this covert hobby that led to question three in the series of questions that I threw out into the abyss a couple of months ago. The questions were simple: Do you have a favourite flag? Is there a flag that makes you blush at the blatancy of its fashion faux pars? Now it's time to tally the results! Well, there were no clear winners or indeed losers, just a list of favourites and not so favourites. In terms of favourites, we had a couple of people nominate the flag of the United Kingdom, the illustrious Union Jack . Other popular picks were the standards of Israel , China , Botswana , Kenya and Italy . The now-defunct Soviet flag (a favourite of mine, I will admit), also secured a vote, as did the city of Denver , Colorado. But really, like the endless parade of dull karaoke shows that grace our TV sets these days, the real action can be found in the shockers. I was glad that someone supported my embarrass...

A nice, not too obscure (but not too easy) pop culture reference in the title there to get you thinking, coupled with a relaxing little picture of the Derwent River on a fairly typical spring morning. On Monday I offered the number crunch that emerged from the question posed back in September about sexy accents and the collective linguistic skills of the readers of this blog. Today, I have tallied up the responses to the second 'question of the day', which asked: If you were starting up a gang of your own, what would you call yourselves? Obviously I'm just going to list the responses here, but I thought that in order to make it interesting, I'd get you all to have a little vote on what gang name takes you fancy. So, in alphabetical order, to the entrants! Galloping Grannies Johnny & the Cowboys Kris Krackers The Bad-assed Moms from Hell! The Bundy Bints The Esteemed Colleagues The Fucken A's The Main Street Smells Despite my nomination appearing on the list he...

Here is a photo of a sunrise behind a few yachts safely moored in the harbour. A pleasant, serene image to start the week. Some time ago (September 22, to be exact), I launched an all new whizz bang revolutionary new globally interactive Blog-cept: question of the day . I promised to reflect on the results, so here I go. The first topic involved accents. As I said way back then , I know what I like and dislike in accents, but had little idea how people in other parts of the world gauge different accents. So I devised three questions. That sought to explore the concept in greater depth. The questions were: What is your primary language, and do you have a regional accent? Do you speak any other languages? [Most importantly] What do you think is the sexiest accent or language to your ear? Rather than whip up some spreadsheets, bar charts and pie graphs (umm, pie), I thought that's I'd indulge in a little blue sky thinking and mediate on the responses. Things that I learned includ...

Let’s face it, I love meat. If I worked at Woolworths, it would be in the meat department (another good name for a gang). So I must apologise in advance to any vegan, vegetarian or ovo-lactarian readers out there. It’s just that animals are so very, very tasty . Some hold that ‘the cuter the beast, the greater the feast’. I myself abide by the maxim ‘a happy animal is a delicious animal’. In this vein, I make every effort to source my meat (ooh err etc ) from sensitive, metrosexual, new age butchers. Now I do not shy away from the plain facts about meat, and – by and large – am prepared to eat creatures with heads still attached (provided they are BBQ’d or roasted; no boiling). Oh, and I don’t like tearing the heads off king prawns. The shifty little buggers stare at you like you’ve just farted or something. I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could spit ‘em. Anyway, to the question! For your money, what do you think is the world’s tastiest animal? If you just can’t bring yourself to ...

A child of my time, throughout my life I have on occasion taken to imagining my daily humdrum existence in cinematic terms. I’d think about lighting, angles, character arcs and plot development. This was no more prevalent than in those blissful days of University. Not very healthy, perhps, but it managed to pass the time when all one had to do was drift into university, crap on a bit, and then back home for an extended session of Syphon Filter 2 on the Playstation with a glass of cider set to one side and a jazz cigarette at the ready. In those heady days of youth (well, early-twenties), life was terribly easy : lots of reading; writing the odd poem or bit of prose; waxing lyrical on the subject of political theory and historical understanding a few hours a day; exceptional [if I do say so myself] marks and – most importantly – scholarship money . Of course, this lifestyle afforded moments of deeply serious reflection amongst a select group of esteemed colleagues , very few of them a...

I am not too proud to admit that deep down I’m a bit of a flag fancier . Now, this shouldn’t be confused with a flag waver , who have a tendency to annoy me. Similarly, I’ve never died for a flag (as it strikes me as a pretty silly thing to be dying for). But from an aesthetic and sartorial perspective, a flag can make or break a country when it comes to style . A number of years ago (1999?), I was very much amused to find Josh Matthews’ review of all the national flags in the world. I must admit, that I like his method, and think that he makes some very good points. At the very least, clicking the link to see his grading of national flags will give you a compact page featuring all the flags for your perusal. Of course, flags are not limited to countries, so feel free to include sub-state flags if you wish. So with this in mind, please consider my two pronged question of the day: Do you have a favourite flag? Is there a flag that makes you blush at the blatancy of its fashion faux par...

I mused on Mr McClagan’s fine blog the other day on a gang that struck terror in the heart of Burnie many years ago now that went by the tremendously awesome name of (wait for it), the “ Big Boys ”. You just wet your pants, didn’t you? In a similar way, around my way these days, there seems to be a comparable posse going by the moniker of the “ Risdon Vale Boyz ”, which is often shortened to “ RVB ”. Obviously more gangsta than the “Big Boys” (the telling substitution of the ‘s’ with a ‘z’ is a sure sign of genuine African Americanism), the Risdon Vale Boyz are clearly hardcore, hence the “ RVB 4 Life ” tagged all over not just Risdon Vale, but Geilston Bay and Lindisfarne too! Lest you think that I live in the Hobartian equivalent of Compton or Watts, let’s just say that the RVBs are more Play School than Old Skool . That said, the gangs have got me thinking, thus today’s question: If you were starting up a gang of your own, what would you call yourselves? Again, be as brief as you...

Yesterday I mentioned a revolutionary new globally interactive Blog-cept, and here it is. It’s a question of the day ! Yeah, underwhelming I know. But I am interested in the fact that Google analytics tells me that I have quite a diverse readership out there. Over the last week alone, I’ve had visitors from 66 countries. Now I want to harness that collective knowledge by asking you some probing questions. I’ve already written the questions, and they’ll be appearing at Noon (Hobart time) for each day for the next business week, yes. that means five days of questions. As it is only fair, I will answer my own question first on the comments page. You can be as concise or as loquacious as you wish. As is my wont, I’m open for answers as long as this here Internet lasts. My intention is to give it a bit, l crunch the data and then wax lyrical as to what I might be able to conclude from it. Onto the question! Given the linguistic and cultural diversity lurking out there, I’m looking to you ...