Skim through back issues, check Juzzy’s avatar on his sports rant, make note of the fact that the front page of our website is called the Daily Shout. Yes, we get angry from time to time here at Casa Del Tribune, we admit it. Lots of things raise our hackles, and we are lucky enough to have an outlet for all that ire.

There are things that just piss us off, like stupid people who throw out our cheese from the fridge at work. There are things that get us shouting loudly and doing what we can to get others to shout along with us, like Conroy’s lunatic internet censorship scheme, or anything Tony Abbott says.

I'm about to launch into US politics and media, but bear with me, because it's relevant to us. Shit runs downhill, and when America gives us a Global Financial Crisis, we all suffer. When they start a war, we inevitably follow, and the whole world reaps the whirlwind. What's happening in the US is scary, because, unless we wake up to ourselves, we'll follow down the same track.

We’ve published a couple of stories about our whippets on this site. The story about how Owen inadvertently caused Justin to charge, frothing with rage and vile obscenities, at Eric Bana in a public park was probably the most popular, but there have been others.

Well, a few weeks ago Phoebe the Whippet was hit by a car. We opened our front door and she ran on to the road before anyone had time to stop her. The driver that hit her saw her run out, but was going too fast to stop in time.

My adopted Australian family and many friends can attest to the fact that I have a very well developed sense of – not only am I hilarious, I also am charmingly so, because I don’t brag about it (obviously).

When I was in London in the early nineties the temp agency I was working for accidently sent me to a job at the top end of Merrill Lynch, the last bastion of upper class debs and old Etonians. It was interesting enough, in an anthropological way, and while they were all very nice to me they did tend to regard me as some kind of bizarre zoo exhibit. Colonial? Unilingual? Only 4 cousins? Staying in London on the weekends? Merciful heavens!

There is a fundamental law in particle physics that a system can't be observed without being altered. That is, the act of observing something changes it. It's a simple but incredibly important notion. For us to see something happening, light has to hit it and reflect back. Our eyes pick up the light and our brains sort it out and tell us we've seen it. That's fine with a galaxy, or a pendulum, or a pint of beer, or most of the things we look at in the name of science. However, when the things we are looking at get very small, it becomes a problem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I should be dead. (pause for effect 1…2…3)

Okay, so a short time ago I had reason to travel, in my car, at a speed that was above the acceptable level. I was late for a plane. Well, not really, I was late to pick up beloved at an agreed upon time so that we could go to the airport and get on the plane. Although I had plenty of time to make the plane I really was running out of it to pick up beloved.

The only thing that usually gets delivered to us at our local is a hefty tab, so it was nice for a change, to receive a couple of new books for review.

Europe in the 30s was the crucible that formed so much of what we now consider the modern world, and Steve Brook has crafted an amusing and ribald journey through that tumultuous time.

Brook had an Uncle Sam, about whom he knows almost nothing except that he died in a mental hospital in England, and this affords him the opportunity to create a life for this mysterious, unspoken-of relative, at the same time putting an interesting spin on events of the era.

I have a general theory that the world can be divided into two types of folks (a gross generalization but let it slide): those that like everything to be essentially the same, or in other words no surprises, and those that totally crave and love surprises - the unique, the one of, even the weird.

If you haven’t already done so I strongly urge you to get yourself to a cinema screening the fabulous new hit movie ‘Julie and Julia’, starring the ever fabulous Meryl Streep and Amy Adams. The Streep part of the film provides an hilarious and enjoyable account of Julia Child’s life in 1950s Paris, her determination with Le Cordon Bleu and finally the success of Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Mastering the Art of French Cooking was an ambitious cook book publication which made a significant contribution to the evolution of American meals. The book was a joint contribution from American Julia Child and her French colleagues, Simone Beck (Simca) and Louisette Bertholle. It offered an elaborate level of information on French cuisine and a positive and meticulous approach towards cooking.

I’ve no interest in Melbourne Football Club, other than as the brunt of standard jokes; you know the ones about Range Rovers, thermoses, tartan rugs and missing most games because the ski-fields beckon. Apparently their supporters are all people for whom the seasons are verbs (as in “where will you Summer this year?”).