Welcome to 2010.

An interesting thing about this year is that it’s going to present several palindromic days, such as 01/2/10. Perhaps, for want of anything better to do, you could go through the calendar and circle the next few, and then hold a series of Palindromic Day Parties. Or perhaps you could stick your head in the microwave at work and lick out all the food splatters.

The imminent closure of The Tote, at least under its current management, has generated a lot of debate and comment about liquor licensing in Victoria, some of it constructive, most of it, unfortunately, not. I’m quite well-versed in the law on this subject, and what follows will, I hope, give you a bit more insight than “bastard government killing live music rah rah”.

Tony Abbott is a tool of the highest order, but I find myself in a position of actually defending the little prick, and I hate it.

I remember the dim dark distant past when reading The Age would get me angry for the right reasons. Back then I got angry about the events the talented journalists at The Age were reporting; now I just get enraged by the news they are attempting to manufacture. Someone should explain to them that there is a difference between media and journalism. Smarmy twats.

NOTStephenConroy on the Soapbox:

Merry Christmas to all of you, especially the children, the computer-illiterate, and the Religious Right. I hope you all enjoy the giant present I’ve left you, in the form of my wonderful, absolutely perfect, won’t-cost-a-thing, does-everything-without-slowing-down-the-internets-at-ALL, Protect-The-Children web filter!

It has been said that one of the fundamental laws of particle physics – that the act of observing a thing alters the nature of the thing being observed – is also fundamentally true of the media. By observing and reporting on an issue, the media create or alter public perception and response.

He’s got lovely eyes,

this guy Russell at the office I like,

but he’s not making it easy,

The reason that I go to work on public holidays.

I have often pondered the logic involved in staying home on a public holiday. The joy of listening to my neighbour’s kids torment their dog at 7.00 am, the buzz of a chain saw or the guy on the other side of the valley who rides his Harley motorcycle (without a muffler) take some of the shimmer out of those cherished morning lie-ins.

Christmas Day, 5am: Thundering feet in the hallway. Whoever coined the phrase “pitter patter of little feet” clearly never met any children. Two huge heavy shapes land on the bed and stomp on stomach and testicles of sleeping husband. Giggles and whispers (whispers??!) “mum, dad, wake up it’s Christmas”.

Huddle down under doona and make fervent atheist prayer that it will all go away. Muffled screaming from husband.

I’m sure every one of you good folk reading this have had the ‘AOL and Microsoft are tracking this email and will give you $1 for every copy of this forwarded’. I think it was one of the first examples of how someone can cobble together a bunch of utter bullshit into a few paragraphs and then witness the gullible clogging the inbox of every one they’ve ever met. It’s disturbing enough that there are still people that actually believe this shit and forward it on to their entire address book, but there is also now an even more disturbing trend.....

Snowtown

By the time you read this my beautiful wife and I will either have, or be very close to having, our very own small person. So, understanding the possibility that there may be a subsequent reduction in the amount of time available to drop everything and go on holiday, we decided over summer to, well, drop everything and go on holiday.

...so of course I don’t have anything else to think about.

Thank God for Mia Freedman and her blog. If it wasn’t for her I would never have heard about My New Pink Button, which is a wonderful new product for women whose lady bits are just not quite that perfect shade of pink.

You know those people, (usually celebrities), that you’ve never met but still hold in high regard. For my money, Bruce Willis is one. Bruce is the epitome of cool. It seems that he would be as comfortable having a beer in the dingiest of pubs as he would walking the red carpet of a Hollywood blockbuster premiere. I have never seen or read an interview that left me thinking he was a bit of a tool. The way he handled his and Demi’s divorce and her subsequent marriage to Ashton Kutcher left me in awe; safe to say that I had a bit of a man crush.

Fairytales and wings, caressing and lying: neither one of us believed we could marry forever and always love. When summer comes, maybe with my old friends, we will laugh and cry along the blue grass of a beautiful sunny day and understand the value of love. Now, with new people and the last rain of winter, we sit at a coffee shop in Spain, viewing the water line knowing that with your soul I am never alone. One good day when you are alone, you will understand the water and that it’s not the same. The time is now, to be the Australian traveller.

Remember, you are unique. Just like everyone else. The first time I read this was on one of those so-called DeMotivational posters. You know the kind that take the piss out of the posters with uplifting messages about Success and Teamwork and all the other nonsense, “Work will set you free…blah, blah, blah.”

I will never forget a day joining other family members for lunch at the home of my wonderful Aunt Clare and Uncle John. Clare was a rather reluctant cook in many ways, yet she routinely sought to create a convivial and generous table. ‘Who said food had anything to do with lunch anyway?’ John would often demand, partly to quell her culinary aspirations and partly, possibly, for the sake of a quiet life. ‘Give me cheese and bread and wine any day.’ I loved this philosophy and enjoyed many such meals with them.

I had the great pleasure recently of spending time in two of Australia’s most wonderful wine regions – Margaret River and the Mornington Peninsula. Wonderful for a number of reasons, but the combination of fantastic food and wine scenes, magical scenery and awesome Aussie beaches and surf is hard to beat.

For a couple of issues last year I burbled on and on about the Tour De France; it was hard not to, given that I was sitting up til 3am every single night for three weeks watching it. I was watching cycling, I was riding most days, I was reading about cycling, it was a magnificent obsession, and I ended up having to apologise again and promise not to bang on too much. I behaved myself for the rest of the year, and went back to bagging Demetriou and crying about St Kilda, and putting shit on Brendan Fevola. So, for what’s about to come, I apologise, and I promise that it will be just these few paragraphs, just this issue, then we will resume regular transmission.