This will hurt me...

  Picture this: a broken-down wind turbine marooned in a semi-arid, cold South Australian desert, with rain slanting down like a cosmic joke. Once a symbol of innovation and progress, it's now a hulking testament to stalled dreams. And isn't that just the perfect metaphor for the Australian Dream? We were all promised a slice of the pie, a fair go, a home with a bit of a garden, maybe even a white picket fence if you were into that sort of thing. But now it feels like the dream's been yanked out from under us, leaving us all standing around like that useless wind turbine—broken, rusting, and utterly bewildered as the rain pours down. This disintegration isn't just about the fading hopes of home ownership or a cushy retirement. No, it runs deeper, right to the heart of what once bound us together. Class solidarity, the good old notion that we're all in this together, seems to have crumbled like a sandcastle in a storm. Maybe it's the endless grind of casualisatio...

Blogs are everywhere. Campbell Street, Hobart CBD, October 2010. Theme Thursday yet again and this week I wanted to talk about the current touch football season. Now, I could bore you with vivid descriptions of our SOMNOLENT defensive line (or lack thereof), but I wouldn’t want to bore you with clichés . I could talk to you about the myriad of injuries incurred in what is supposed to be a non-contact sport – game one = sore shoulder, game two = bruised thigh, game three = jarred knee – but I won’t. I won’t lie to you: we’re struggling . Zero and three three rounds in, we remain [mathematically] still in contention for the finals. We’re taking it one week at a time . There is no point getting ahead of ourselves , but (like the boy with the barrow), there is a big job in front of us . The reality is that we have had a number of injuries to senior players (my long list, a broken finger, back spasms, bruised egos), but we are looking at it as a chance for the kids to step up . Despite th...

Young people today! The corner of New Town Road and St Johns Avenue, September 2010. Theme Thursday yet again, and my, how appropriate is the theme today! Yes people, we are gripped by ENNUI . Well may you scoff at the notion of being engrossed in your own listlessness, but modern life is just like that sometimes. Look at the graffiti above. Consider the written expression. Are the authors likely to be dynamic and enthusiastic members of their local community? They can’t spell “ sucks ” and they forsake the Australian “ arse ” for the bastardised American “ ass ”. If that does not tell you something about the state of their melancholy, nothing will! Taken as a whole, the message is unclear. PiGS SUX COCK ASS Now, I could be generous and presume that our wanton vandals are actually intrepid young veterinary students positing a revolutionary new procedure for our porcine friends. Indeed, we might postulate that PiGS SUX [meaning suxamethonium chloride ] COCK ASS refers to some kind of...

This is the moon. Have I mentioned how much I adore the zoom on my camera? It's Theme Thursday you see, and after last week's limp effort, I have been thinking about how I might redeem myself. Then I clicked on the topic and discover that it was BUTTON. We've been hearing a lot about the moon in the past couple of weeks. Apparently some fellas went up there and played golf and what-not forty-odd years ago. The desire to get to the moon, however, was not simply about enhancing opportunities for Meg and Mog titles and skirting local planning by-laws in the construction of new and innovative golf courses. No, all of your Sputniks , "One small steps" and freeze dried ice cream was about one thing , and one thing only : MAD Now, I don't mean mad in terms of "bloke breaks record for number of scorpions he can get up his bum", no I mean MAD as in Mutual assured destruction . When I was a young man you see, there was a lot of talk about the type of m...

First, a definition: Budgie Smugglers A male bathing costume that encloses the wearer's genitalia in a manner that resembles the concealment of a budgerigar. The establishment that I feature above, Budgie Smugglers , is a takeaway joint that can be found on Collins Street here in Hobart. As the name suggests, they no doubt consider themselves a funky dive. It is Theme Thursday you see. Today's theme is a word that sends shivers up my spine: FUNKY . Funky , you see, is a loaded term. Of course, those etymologists amongst us will recognise the root from the Latin, fetid ; that is, offensively malodorous . 'A foul odour ', if you will. It is certainly what I think when someone starts getting funky on my arse. That is because funky is a dated term that is meant to denote something stylish and modern in an unconventional way . As with most things, this terribly unconventional tendency is now a convention. Thus, all those I know who have embraced funky as both a word an...

Here you can see the location of the world famous Hobart Real Tennis Club . No, it's not like Real Madrid, it's Real Tennis, or as I like to call it: Real[ly stupid] Tennis! Even better, the court is located in an old brewery! I have one more thing to say: I DON'T CARE ABOUT BRAD PITT AND I HATE ANGELINA JOLIE SO FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE STOP PUTTING THEM ON THE NEWS!!!!

Can you believe that it is time for Theme Thursday already? Today we are not talking chocolate , toddlers , mess or ignominy . No, today we're dealing with ANIMAL . Now I could have posted a picture of a possum, numbat, wombat, wallaby or any other furry killing machine that roams our fair isle, but I figure that I'd use a far more deadly creature as an example of an animal . Some people - I know them as fools - have chosen to embrace that highfalutin idea that human beans are for some ungodly reason superior to animals. Of course, what these imbeciles seem to forget is that were are simple animals ourselves ! Anyone with a baby, toddler, teenage boy or Queenslander in their household could tell you this. Look at Henry [above]. One chocolate frog in the back of the car on a sunny day and all of a sudden it's Elagabalus meets Bacchus for a quick shandy in the Serengeti and we're down on all fours carrying on like a cat in heat. Fair dinkum, anyone who chooses to ...

I'm tired, so I figured that photos of the gruesome twosome might win be a free pass on the lack of droll, urbane and terribly insightful banter. Not content with pea-eating or see-sawing, both of my lads are also keen exponents of what I believe are now called eXXXtreme sportZ . However, the preposterous legislation in this feeble nanny state of ours unjustly forbids virile and eager Aussie babies and toddlers – like my own – from making their mark in the world. Thus, we have to satisfy ourselves with pallid simulacra while we twiddle our thumbs, waiting for the government to get real . Above, you can see Henry in training for eXXXtreme ice motorcro ZZ racing. Sure, there's no engine, wheels or ice, but don't blame me, blame society . Below, Ez is preparing himself for some skydiving. Obviously, he'd rather do it out of a plane, but it seems some nancy decided that chucking babies out of planes was iniquitous and disallowable . Lovable rogue that he is, Ez wo...

So here is the sky this morning, at about 7:45 am. Some interesting cloud formations going on, and if there are any meteorologists out there that can explain to me why you get these ‘cotton ball’ clouds, I’d be most appreciative. I don’t watch a lot of TV. I do stick it on for the morning news headlines though, so even with my limited exposure I haven’t been able to miss the almost-pornographic orgy of grief that appears to have overtaken Australian television screens over the past few days. I’m all for covering important stories, and I understand that capturing the ‘human element’ is important when endeavouring to understand the magnitude of an event like this, but there is a point that aiding comprehension becomes gratuitous exploitation of other people’s misery . This morning the TV crews appeared to have run out of locals to goad into crying for the camera, and had resorted to the old standard of “one branch of the media talks to another branch of the media about the locals”. In ...

There has been some pretty shocking weather today: hot, incredibly windy, dusty, and - worst of all - smoky because of some bushfires around the state. You can see the effect on the view from Salamanca Place across Sullivan's Cove to Hunter Street. I have a theory about hairdressers that involves an elaborate and sophisticated system of overlapping and interlocking – yet deviously independent – plans, plots and cunning schemes to perpetuate the greatest hoax on humankind since that whole notion of New Coke (what a gyp that was). No, I’m talking about the tendency to shamelessly exploit the vanity of women by lobbing on a thirty percent tariff for seemingly having the temerity to even walk into a salon. No, that’s an everyday garden variety scam . What I am talking about is something far more sinister , and ultimately, something far more dangerous . You may well be familiar with the concept of the Große Lüge , or – if you like – the 'Big Lie'. The Große Lüge concerns a ...

Here you can see the view westwards from the very bottom of Argyle Street this morning. It appears that discourtesy , deafness and poor motor skills are all pre-requisites of a Metro bus driver here in Hobart. Other desirable attributes include morbid obesity , limited mathematical skills , a n inability to read the time accurately and a vocabulary that does not extend beyond the range of grunts and guffaws one might expect of a troop or gorillas in the highlands of Rwanda. Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions on the good folk at Metro Tasmania (can you see how carefully I am choosing my words?), but between you and me – and judging by the sweat stains under the armpits – maybe the gorillas slightly trump them in the hygiene department. After all, I am not sure who might be willing to pick the nits off an unkempt bus driver... Bitter, moi ?

The no bill posters building that I featured yesterday also seems to be a favourite of the anti-New World Order crowd (remember them?) I quite like their stencil work (it’s better than the “dick” written on our fence), even if you get a little tired of being told how horrid Americans are (and, consequently, how horrid anyone is that might take issue with lumping 400 million-odd into one vile basket). You see, there is something inherently offensive about people that are seemingly driven to lecture high-minded principles about the way one should or should not live (and indeed the way that one should or should not think ; yet at the same time exhibit a kind of hypocrisy that is as extreme as their political and cultural viewpoints. Of course, this tendency towards extremism does not limit itself to a particular set of pre-conditions (other than ideological certainty). I have seen it in libertarians and communists; Christians, Muslims and atheists; left and right. On one score, I can’t he...

I’ve banged on about immunisation in the past , so I will refrain from doing so at length again. But I want to post this link from the Stats Blog (also featured previously ), which is about identifying and correcting scientific misinformation in the media resulting from bad science, politics, or a simple lack of information or knowledge. It disturbs me that the sort of simplistic thinking of many anti-vaccination campaigners has such carriage with a lot of people, especially when it threatens the health and wellbeing of kids. So I’m always about promoting evidence that undermines their cause. So if you’re at all interested, have a look at this quick read (with citations) about a number of measles outbreaks in the US among unvaccinated kids. The numbers of deaths pre-vaccination alone are telling, and well worth reminding people of when they resort to anecdote instead of hard evidence. NOTE TO SELF: Remember to include the link ! LATE LATE NOTE TO SELF [and the world], this is post num...

As Chrissie Hynde sang in 1982, back on the chain gang for me today. And wouldn’t you know it, more meetings. Seven-point-six hours in a day and already three vanished in bloody meetings. One has to smile. Throw in catching up on correspondence and pleasantries, and can understand why I am pressed for time. Of course, I have not let this prevent me from getting a big ol’ bunch o’ snapshots this morning on the way in. Thankfully, it was a crisp but clear winter morn, rather than an overcast beginning to the day. The light, it must be said, was tremendous . But I want, for a moment, to comment on other matters. Despite making little effort of either keep an eye on or steer clear of them, I am already mightily sick of these blasted Olympics. It is the media you see, as usual they are starting to get my goat, and he doesn’t like it one bit. You see, Australian ‘journalists’ (as a pack) can be an infuriating bunch. When we’re doing well, it is all “GOLD! GOLD! GOLD! By Christ We Aussies Are...

Here we have the homes of the some of the Hobartian elite [which must be pronounced AY -leet in order to convey the full effect that I'm aiming for]. As with many cities the world over, the former docklands of Hobart – once home to the worst sort of filth, disease and moral depravity that one expects among the lowest rungs of society – has now been transformed into la-de-da apartments, and once grimy and slummy terrace-housing have become “semi-detached town houses” fit for the sort of urban living now desirable to the privileged upper-classes. For over half a century, the Hobart silos were used for storing grain destined for export. As the utility of Hobart as a working port declined, and the global competitiveness of Tasmanian grain dwindled, the future of the silos looked bleak. Cue urban regeneration, and today they house thirty luxury residential apartments , and have become amongst the most lusted-after addresses in Hobart. The powerful and famous can be spotted each morning...

If there is one thing guaranteed to get my goat, it is the continuing tendency of people – often people employed in the media – to immediately blame the state of the road for fatalities. You know what people; highways don’t lurk about in the dark, plotting and scheming before cunningly setting about to “ claim victims ”. If the road DOES happen to be dodgy, show more bloody caution! On this theme, it is about time we got rid of this word ‘accident’ from the reporting of car crashes. Someone falling asleep at the wheel and running headlong into another car is not an ‘accident’. Someone four times over the legal limit flying off a cliff because they can no longer see straight is not an ‘accident’. Someone doing 175 kilometres an hour in an 80 zone losing control and hitting a wall is not an ‘accident’. To my mind, an ‘accident’ is a quite specific, identifiable, unexpected and unusual external event, without apparent or deliberate cause but with marked effects. The person that drives...

I have posted a picture of a sign spotted on the bus today. The timing could not have been better, as I have a few issues that I would like to get off my chest. Thus, I have decided to share my letter with all of you out there in Internet-land. "Sir, I am contributing to this review as a regular patron of Metro Eastern Shore bus services, as I utilise public transport to commute from Geilston Bay to and from my workplace in the city. I shall not dwell on more technical matters, such as the need for fluid dampeners or adequate driver training. Instead, I will focus on nine (9) easy issues that Metro can address and would comprehensively improve the quality of the passenger experience. The first concerns individuals who arrive at a stop when you are waiting for the bus and ask, "Has the bus come yet?" Logic should dictate that if the bus had arrived, one would not be standing there. I feel that if at any point the driver is informed that someone has asked this, Metro shou...