This will hurt me...

  Bass Strait is blue today. Sisters Beach, Tasmania. January 2021. Monkey Grip by Helen Garner Credit must go to Helen Garner for her frank reflections on her own choices and desires in this semi-autobiographical novel. She conjures up a Melbourne long-since gone, and a world of a bohemian vision of life filled with excess, collectivism and the withering away of norms like monogamy, patriarchy and the jingoistic nature of Australians. As I say, this is a time long gone. Garner writes well and with frankness and empathy that is to be admired. Yet despite her best efforts, the appeal of Javo – which is the central premise driving the book – utterly eluded me. I could see nothing of the charm, beauty, intelligence or love in the man. Even in the frank descriptions of the sex – and there is no shortage of fucking in this book, with Javo and others in this milieu of rootless artists – didn’t help explain the obsession. The novel consists of days repeating days. Swimming and drug...

[Ahem.] No comment.

And here I was this whole time thinking that tequila was the medicine for regret!

Occasionally this job throws up a few interesting studies my way, and I thought that I’d share one with you. I’m preparing a document for a hearing on a liquor licensing application, and was trawling the literature looking for information on the correlation between outlet density and community outcomes (negative and positive). So the case study that I’ve been looking at involves Rodney King, angry youths and a burning sensation that one might feel downstairs after a top night out. I know what you are thinking, “what are you talking about, you stupid, stupid man?” Well, after the 1992 riots in Los Angeles that emerged from the verdict in the trial of the police officers charged with assaulting Rodney King, it was found that many liquor stores were looted and burned out. In fact, liquor outlets tended to be specifically targeted, and copped over and above the average when it came to rough treatment. For many local community groups this presented an opportunity to achieve something that ...

As you can see, today’s ad is not of vintage origin. Perhaps it reflects a dynamic market response to a new consumer concern. Personally, I have not dwelt too much on the topic of the violation of one’s manhole . However, I do believe that a man’s manhole is a man’s castle, and nobody should enter that castle without permission. I myself have chosen to avoid using a security lock on my own manhole , but then again I have never felt that my manhole has been under particular threat. Looking at the fellow in the ad, he does look to be an anxious chap. Look at his eyes: tense, on edge, almost frightened; I have to wonder what all this talk of protecting one’s manhole has done to his nerves. Sure, he has the peace of mind that should anyone try and surreptitiously infringe upon his manhole , there is a guard there, but at what cost to his sanity?

Another comic. And a filthy comic at that! You might have come across this one: XKCD , a webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math, and language.

It has taken me three weeks to decide on advertisement number 50 in this series. True to form, I have squibbed it and gone for a double feature! The first is an ad for Sealy mattresses from 1944 that firmly adheres to the adage, sex sells . Here we have a precocious bit of jail bait in a admirable sweater (and even more admirable brassiere) doing her best Meg Ryan impression from When Harry Met Sally in order to entice some overweight, balding and middle-aged man well past his prime into parting with some hard-earned for a mattress that will never see the workout that the sales pitch of little old Lolita here promises. But you know, Hank, Frank or Charlie shouldn’t feel too bad for missing out on a bit of indecent, immoral (and by the looks of her age) illegal fun. You see, I am sure that I have seen Lolita lurking about someplace else. That’s right; here she is with a few more miles on the clock and the sort of wear and tear that comes with the journey. Consider that one a near mis...

Today’s topic, boys and girls, is a deadly serious one. There is no easy or polite way to introduce it, aside from offering a caution for the faint hearted. So here is your warning: if you are easily offended or already aware of the dangers of indulging in a little self-love, please look away now, normal service will resume after the post. Now that the prudes have all left the room, here is an extract (allegedly) from the French text Le livre sans titre (‘The book with no title’), published in 1844.The title of the panel of pictures is “The Fatal Consequences of Masturbation”, and will no doubt send shudders of fear rippling through people (young and old) the world over. Teenage boys in particular should take note of the cautionary tale. Now, a bit of research has left me uncertain as to the veracity of the extract. Those in the know seem to think that the language (French) does seem genuine to the time, but whether or not the images and text have not been doctored, I’m uncertain. It...