We are all in the gutter...

The other night I was just about to drive off in my car, away from the unruly ambience that is my work car park, when I noticed something lying in the gutter.  On closer inspection - yes I went over - I noted that it was a gorgeous black kitten with gigantic ears.

There are quite a few black cats around the area, so this is obviously the latest generation of cuteness.  It blinked its little eyes at me a few times, stretched, and then went back to sleep, clearly unperturbed by the peak hour sounds of the empty-headed jackass public servants coming and going.

Poor little thing; but I believe people come down every day to feed them tins of tuna and homemade lasagne or something and apparently they live in the storm drains, which isn't the best accommodation for a growing family of felines.  But me no judge, just like I don't judge people for choosing to live in Queanbeyan, and just like I don't judge people for putting those retarded stickers on their car rear windows advising the world how many loathsome little brats they have, so let's let it go.

I watched this cruisey little cat, and after I convinced myself that taking it home was probably not what the cat's immediate family would want, I thought to myself 'screw this working for a living shite'.  What would be so bad about living in a gutter anyway?  That cat looked totally chilled with its state of affairs.

Perhaps I too could live in a gutter, although given my total disgust at the idea of camping, it is not bloody likely.  I don't understand why people work all year and then go and live like a homeless person for a few days.  I find this very perplexing.  I haven't been camping since I was about 13, but in the event that it ever happened again, I imagine that after a few days I would be willing to sell my body on a street corner for one hour in a hotel room.

If I needed to rough it though, I would prefer a pretty little gutter in the Cotswolds in England, my old stomping ground.  It would likely get fairly chilly in the winter, which is most of the year, but I'm sure a dear old soul would take pity on me and pass me out a knitted blanket and a tin of cat tuna so all would be well.

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars, and cleaning cat food out of our whiskers.  Who said that?  Someone notable, I'm sure.

Exorcism is good for you

So my new thing is the gym.  I really, really wish my new thing was an icecream addiction or a sailing-around-the-Carribean addiction, but, no, my new thing is the gym doing exorcism.  Exorcism, exercise, same same.  Oh look, I'm talking about exercise again, blah, blah, blah. 

Well, look, you need to learn how to deal, because if I have to go through the process of busting my coconuts with this exorcism thing, anyone reading my blog has to go through the pain of reading about it.  Go read someone else's blog if it's not up to your standards of fascinating subject matter, but let me tell you, you'll never find a blog as entertaining, stimulating, interesting, informative, trivial and useless as mine.  And that's a fact.

So, now that we've dealt with your blog content critic crankypants attack, let's circle back to topic.  Since I learnt that apparently my abs won't "become rock hard in only minutes a day in this exclusive television offer", I thought I should find another way to achieve this lofty goal. 

Thus, I began this crazy arse exorcism thing in October last year, when I was too stupid and naive to realise that getting fitter and stronger would hurt for the majority of the time.  My muscles, legs in particular, have been sore for about six weeks, and I couldn't work out what I was doing wrong.  It didn't help that a few people told me that they don't even stretch after weight training.  The horror.

But lately I seemed to have had a breakthrough, and nothing seems to be hurting after anything I do at the gym.  Except for yesterday, when all of my legs hurt at the same time.  So my new thing is to stretch and stretch and stretch all throughout my workout, which, I do believe, was what I was told to do in the first place.  Me and instructions. Meh.  Stretching lots is not really my cup of tea and is a bit of a pain in the arse really, but it is worth it for the end result, which is being able to walk the next day without resembling Gollum from Lord of the Rings.

So now that my focus is off my muscle pain, I do believe that this gym thing is probably sort of maybe good for me.  I love how you can angrily pound the mean streets of the gym on a cross trainer and then get called 'fit' by lazy people in your workplace who tell you they spent their evening on the sofa, somehow making it sound like you're the one making the mistake.

Patriotic theme parks

In news of total weirdness, thus completely normal French behaviour, France has announced that it is preparing to open a theme park that will pay homage to their deranged former military commander, Napoleon Bonaparte, as a celebration of 200 years since his passing, or when he gave up wearing white tights, or because he was 'born this way', or some other such momentous occasion worthy of a tacky theme park.  Evidently France thinks the world needs a never-ending sermon about the shit they've somehow managed to get away with over the years.

Napoleonland is the ludicrous brainchild of a former French politician, who wants to create this crazy French Revolution shrine south of Paris, where the N-Dog had his final victory against the Austrians.  Save it France; no-one cares about anything you do.  Washington hates you, most of Europe hates you, and the tourists only come to your country because of the Eiffel Tower and soft cheese.

The designers intend to recreate the Battle of Waterloo, there are plans afoot for a Battle of Trafalgar water show, and the piece de resistance will be a fun re-creation for the kiddies of Napoleon's greatest victory, against the Russo-Austrians in the bloody Battle of Austerlitz.  I guess it's going to be a case of 'do mention the war'.  My beloved Disneyland calls itself 'the happiest place on earth', so I guess Napoleonland will be 'the bloodiest place on earth'.  What a happy little educational theme park this is gonna be.

It's quite a fabulous way to alienate sections of the European tourist market if that is your intention, and knowing France, it probably is.  But I suppose all the nation states likely to get shitty don't care anymore, or have been subsumed by cooler countries and belonged in different empires back in the day anyway.  I'm not offended by war re-creations or their theme park equivalent, but I probably won't go to this one simply because it sounds like a really stupid pet project.  And it's based on a sociopathic military figure.  And it's in France.

Rather than pine for, and dredge up, and emulate moments that they consider to be full of historical brilliance, perhaps the French should look at their current political state of affairs and begin addressing their numerous failings that affect all of Europe and the rest of the world.  Like immigration, the troubled youth, the economy, Carla Bruni.

If they think this loopy theme park idea is going to pull them out of the financial doldrums they need to talk to the idiots running Euro Disney before they go ahead with it.  The French should just leave Mickey and Minnie alone and stick to what they are good at.  *if there was a sound to denote nothing I would insert it here*

I love theme parks; they are the best.  I put my adult love of roller coasters down to the fact that my parents didn't take me to Disneyland when I was little.  In fact, a holiday to United States a few years ago was designed around theme parks, because I'm all carny folk like that.  Yep, perfectly balanced, psychological response to the trauma that is CDD (Childhood Disneyland Deficiency).

Aren't theme parks supposed to be about escapism, rather than a history lesson? If schools did their job properly, like teaching kiddies about actual history, rather than teaching them how to recycle television sets by turning them into planter boxes and how to live your life in a biodegradable sack to reduce your carbon footprint, we wouldn't need to take history lessons from theme parks.

Australia already sort of has its own patriotic theme park.  Australia Park in Queensland is replete with fierce crocodiles and non-domesticated vegemite toast.  Perhaps, in the spirit of Disneyland, we should include Bogan Land, Macquarie Fields Island and an 'It's a Multicultural World' ride, that ends in passengers capsizing in a rocky ocean enclave, and being tormented by a glow in the dark, laughing hyena that sounds a lot like Prime Minister Gillard.

America has Dolly World and Graceland and, well, the whole country is a bit like an amusement park; highly entertaining, overcrowded, full of rich, fatty foods that make you sick and if you stay too long you may be thrown out of the country by an immigration officer who sounds like Elmer Fudd. 

Cake Neglect

There has been something very troubling going on at work that I believe needs to be brought to the attention of the authorities; perhaps the dudes who man the inbox for the Geneva Convention would be interested.

I first came across this atrocity last week, when I ventured into a dangerous warzone, often known as the Workplace Refridgerator.  I was unarmed at the time, so I couldn't do much to help the victim of what I thought was clearly the victim of a terrible crime.

There are certain basic minimum standards that should apply to all situations involving cake.  For example, no cake should be left behind, and yet this is what I found.  LEFT BEHIND CAKE.  I think it had been left there for a week.  It was a horrible and traumatic thing for me to witness.

There is a specific Geneva Convention protocol that relates to the protection of victims of internal conflicts.  I'm sure when they wrote it they were thinking of Cake Neglect following peace time morning teas. This is not rocket science, people.  No cake gets left behind.  

How does a whole section of people just forget about cake anyway?  Cake is never far from my mind.  I always know who has cake, how much cake they have, and I often pursue strategies to get some of it. Cake information is power in the public service.

Someone should do a thesis for their PhD on cake; oh wait, someone already has. Humanities academics doing what they do best; pompously pontificating about pointless drivel that is of little consequence to the rest of society. Sure, I harp on about pointless drivel on my blog all the time, but I don't have my hand in the taxpayer's wallet.

Sometimes I feel like I should apologise to the poor bastards who stumble across my blog and think it's something worth reading.  This is one of those times.  So, sorry, but the time you've spent here, reading about cake, will never be returned to you.  It's gone forever.

Italian fail

If you take a close look at the competency of Italians, you will note that it is really not the best idea to put them in charge of the running of anything of importance.  But fortunately, they are fairly genius when it comes to manfacturing stuff.  For example, the Italians excel amazingly at making quality sports cars. 

If I had a few extra billion lying around, I would buy a ferrari in every colour, except that gross mustard colour that seems to be fashionable at the moment.  Mustard and ferrari equals fail.  Mustard and anything that does not resemble a hotdog equals fail.  And I would complain loudly if they sent me one in baby poo brown.  There's something very wrong with the world if there is actually a ferrari in existence that is baby poo brown.

Italians are also pretty darn impressive at manufacturing footwear and the type of clothing that snooty, wealthy wankers wear to the mall, but secretly wish they could wear tracky dacks, rather than fancy schmancy haute couture designer sweat pants made from silkworms and baby duck fur.  The Italians can also kick around a football, but when you think about it, this isn't much of an admirable list.

At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter if your country excels in the manufacturing sector; what actually matters is if it can be trusted and is capable of being in charge of anything.  For example,  Italians clearly cannot be trusted to be at the helm of a cruise liner without running it into the ground. What makes Costa Concordia cruise liners so special? Um, at least one of their captains can't fucking drive a boat.  And Italians sure as shit cannot be trusted to be in charge of a government without running it into the ground. 

Former Italian PM Bonkasconi's superlative fiscal skills would run a brothel into the red.  Actually his government frequently resembled a brothel, and look how well that turned out with an Italian at the wheel. 

Italians clearly shouldn't be allowed to operate or be in charge of the security, protection or management of anything ever; they should just stick to making fast, red, shiny things and then let the grown up* nation states take over.  And Italy, if you don't want crude, offensive, insensitive jokes at your expense, then stop being so incompetent at everything that affects your citzens lives.

* When I say grown-ups, I wasn't technically referring to any of the countries of the E.U., which is, in my opinion, a dsyfunctional family of idiots.

Whole world of Gym Hurt

Look it blog, I can't stay away from you!  I just wanted to check in to say that everything fucking hurts right now because I have been to the gym for the past 3 days and I have a new program that I love/hate/love/hate and I've just realised how much work I have to do to get fit and how lazy I have been at the gym over the past few months.  If the guy who manipulated my previously easy program to within an inch of its life wasn't really cute and fit looking I probably would have told him to stick it somewhere.    

Because I am full of excuses as to why I can't exercise outside at the moment, yesterday I went to the gym to do some cardio, and all the equipment was packed, because evidently no-one in Canberra wants to be obese or unhealthy anymore. 

Then I caught sight of the women's gym, which I have never entered because it looks small and dark like a witches coven and it's the women's gym.  I have been avoiding the women's gym since I started because it's THE WOMEN'S GYM.  I don't want to go in there because I don't, that's why. 

Well, of course I went in, because I noted they have treadmills in there.  I'm just glad they weren't pink.  And let me say, the women's gym is awesome.  I spent an hour walking quickly up a steep incline that possibly could have been to the Mount Everest base camp; I don't know.

That in itself probably would have sucked if I didn't have the room practically exclusively to myself AND a huge beautiful fan blowing at me AND 2 TV's with 2 different Australian Open matches right in front of me.  AND all of the weights were in their right spots!, rather than dumped willy-nilly all over the place by silly little thoughtless Gen Yers with their freaky, scary hyper-abs.  Best gym experience ever.

Projects and the like

Hey Blog.  I've missed you, you know.  Whenever I leave you for more than a few days, usually because I'm utterly bored with you, I always come back all fresh and rejuvenated.  That said, it's been a week since I wrote 'I' in my A - Z writing challenge, which I pompously billed as an expectation to beat all new year's resolutions.

Well, thank you to astute readers who noted that I had broken my expectation (on myself) in my challenge this year.  Fair call; I'll pay that.  Evidently 'I' is nowhere near the letter 'Z'.  Although, it must be noted that 'I' comes before 'Z' in my name, so let's call it even.

I stopped the challenge this year because it wasn't inspiring me.  I know that kinda misses the point of the 'challenge' component, but I wasn't feeling it.  Writing never usually feels like work to me; it's fun, it's escapism, but it's not work, and I don't want it to become a drudge. 

My other project is going well (see here), which is good, given I ran out of excuses not to go a little while ago (see here).  After last year's health brouhaha during my winter of pain, miserableness and discontent (see here and here), I was determined to avoid the same fate this year, and thought getting fit and healthier would help keep me away from sickness, with the added bonus of teaching my muscles who is actually running the show.  Thus, I will venture to the gym four-ish days a week until I am fit and healthy with buns of steel.

If I hadn't been teased mercilessly for months with people pretending to flap their flippers at me, I would apologise to all the people who were inconvenienced last year with the sound of the human elephant seal coughing her lungs out and whinging loudly and endlessly about her pain and suffering.  The seal heckling didn't get old at all.  I have a long short-term memory, you know.  Some people, albeit slightly stupid people, are still flapping their flippers at me.  You gotta be remembered for something I suppose.

How do you solve a problem like Iran?

How do you solve a problem like Iran?  Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her. Many a thing she ought to understand. For example, I think perhaps Tehran should understand that if the U.S. didn't already have enough valid reasons to annihilate it from the world, it probably shouldn’t give them another one.

The latest brouhaha that has Iran all in a tizz is their insistence – INSISTENCE! – that the U.S. aircraft carrier that passed through the strategic Strait of Hormuz in the Persian Gulf last week should stay out.  Iran have warned the U.S. not to come back into its region or else blah blah blah. Or what, Tehran, what are you going to do? 

Let’s not forget that the U.S. stations itself there because the whole region is unpredictable, dangerous and insane, and is concerned that Iran will close the strait. Iran has not said what action it would take if the U.S. continue hanging around, but I double dare Tehran to even consider blocking the world oil supply.

I kind of wish Tehran was stupid enough to attack the U.S. carrier with one of their missiles. Iran might be developing their military capability but they are still highly inferior. A missile attack would allow the forces of hell to validate a total ambush on the city and reduce it to a stinking pile of rubble. Which means Tehran wouldn't look much different to how it looks now.

While this is my favoured method of 'sanctioning' this middle eastern dropkick, it is probably not the best idea, given that it has many other nation state allies that are equally as psychotic.  May cool heads prevail; which is a little impossible when it comes with dealing with the Middle East.

Hundreds and thousands of runs

In any professional sport, your value is determined by a number – specifically how high a number or, in Tiger Woods' game, how low a number. If you happen not to consistently reach, and consistently increase, the number than is determined by ‘experts’ to be the best you can be, well, it’s probably time to call it a day and get onto designing your own line of stylish sports socks and jocks or start commentating various athletic pursuits, as retired sportspeeps tend to do.

I thought about the obsession with numbers the other day, when I was watching the second cricket test match between Australia and India at the Sydney Cricket Ground. This is the hundredth test match that the SCG has hosted, and the Indian player Sachin Tendulkar, who is affectionately known as the Little Master in cricketing circles, is under pressure to reach his hundredth century, which means he has ran up and down the wicket a shitload of times.

Up and down, up and down, one hundred million gazillion times. I wonder if the Little Master goes back and forth, back and forth in his dreams, yelling, ‘faster, Little Master, faster!’, to himself in his sleep like some nutso. I think the expectation would be very frustrating. I don't see any other player reaching those lofty heights.

Although, this week, Australian captain Michael Clarke reached 329 (not out) before declaring, which made Ricky Ponting (134) and Michael Hussey (150 not out) look like they were bowlers or something. Apparently Hussey is a bowler, so it makes sense then that he only reached 150. I guess the Australian public is giving away respect, as Clarke’s high score allowed him to go from tosser to hero in the eyes of the country in just a day.

I'm not a fanatic, but I don't mind watching the old cricket, now and again. I especially like how commentators come up with scores of colourful ways to describe how the home team is losing, or winning, as though they spend their time between overs leafing through a thesaurus.

Like any professional side, Team Australia has had its ups and downs over the years, but, unlike some sportstars, I am now comfortable with members of the Australian cricket team inserting the word 'professional' before their occupational titles, which implies a level of competence that is, for the most part, very pointedly not in evidence in many of our other professional sportspeople.

Firebugs

Los Angeles, or more specifically Hollywood, spent a couple of nights this week being traumatised by an arsonist who was going round setting fire to stretch limos and ferraris and carports and stretch carports and other vehicle related objects.

So in a place that regularly explode cars and blows up buildings in downtown Los Angeles for movie stunts with actors dressed in police uniforms, the LAPD asked locals to keep a look out for suspicious looking activity.  I imagine it would be a little difficult to tell the difference between acting and suspicious looking activity most of the time.  It would be like the Australian Federal Police telling Canberrans to look out for public servants googling all day when they should be working.  How would anyone be able to tell the difference?

My suspicions that the firebug was actually Lindsay Lohan were thwarted when the LAPD arrested a 24-year-old man on suspected arson.  Their evidence seemed to be based on the fact that there have been no further fires since he was caught, and he apparently had materials in his car that could start fires.  I guess that's like matches or something.  I suppose they're right; people who smoke should be in prison. Just because.

Maybe he was sick of the traffic.  I agree with his premise there.  Or maybe he was a greenie who hates cars - maybe.  It turns out that he is a German National who is cranky about something immigration-ish.  It's a pity that he isn't Mexican, which would give the Americans a good excuse to get rid of all the illegals in downtown L.A.

A local music producer (of course) in Hollywood said he was nervous about the arson attacks so he downloaded a police scanner application onto his iPad.  Of course he did.  So if civilials want to turn up to potentially dangerous crime scenes in America can they sue?  Uh, of course they can. It's America - the land of the free and the libelous.

I wonder if you can download Australian police scanners onto an iPad.  We must have laws against this, or else every criminal in Australia would have one and every rubbernecker would be down at every crime scene.  Can someone please google this for me and advise?  I prefer to not put 'can I buy a police scanner in Australia?' into my Google search engine in fear of ending up on some terrorist watch list.

Fine, I'll do it.  Apparently they are legal in Australia, but it is illegal to act on any of the information that you hear.  Well it's a good thing that our criminals are renowned for their law-abiding behaviour, or we'd be stuffed.

Elbow Grease & Expectations

Elbow Grease

We are very nicely ensconced in the easy life in the West. Compared to non-democratic, non-free nation states, no matter how bad things are in Australia, they are better than in other countries.  Life is simple and easy, but it's all relative, isn't it.  People in free countries don't have to worry about problems they have in, say, North Korea, and vice versa.  So often when we want to achieve a goal, we often expect it to fall from the heavens, rather than do any heavy lifting ourselves to get the desired result.

And this is the case for me right now. I want to get fit, but I don’t want to put in the work at the gym. I want to run a marathon, but I currently prefer to sit on the back deck. I want to write more, but all I am doing is reading books. At some point, the gap between what I am currently doing and what I want to be doing will hopefully diminish, and then I will, I imagine, start to put in some work into achieving my goals.

But, really, it all depends on how badly you want something. I think if you aren’t doing something right now then you don’t want it badly enough. Simple and easy and straight forward and free of excuses.

I am currently reading a book on the early explorers of Antarctica – Mawson, Shackleton and the like. In the early twentieth century, when these pioneers were finding their icesheet feet, they would give up years of their life to achieve a goal, which was, for them, to be the first to conquer various sections of the mysterious Antarctica. An average expedition would last upwards of one-year.

I know things were different back then, but I can’t help but wonder where my motivation and inspiration level would sit on the spectrum back then. Would I challenge the norms for the average woman, or would I just make do with being a chamber maid for a society woman and her lothario husband? I imagine they would not be very high, given my current lack of enthusiasm to meet my goals.

Expectations

Although I don’t believe in making new year’s resolutions that I know I am mostly unwilling and unable to maintain because of a iffy character flaw called ‘human nature’, I am kidding myself that doing an A – Z writing challenge for the month of January is not something that I have pledged to do with quitting. Fine; it’s a resolution then!

There, are you happy, Elizabeth? You’ve just increased the probability of abandoning the challenge half way through the stupid month by calling it a dreaded resolution. You’re an idiot. Um – why am I referring to myself in the third person? Only wankers do that. Stop now.  Good ways to stick to a resolution are planning, having some substance in your goal and be accountable to someone.  Um, I'm accountable to myself I guess.

However, in a display of incredible self-denial, I have decided that my writing challenge is not a resolution at all; it is in fact merely something I expect of myself. It is an expectation, and, in theory, I will feel terrible if I let myself down because I have high expectations of myself.  Something like that. Fortunately I don't have to continue my daily expectation beyond 10 February. 

Dateline winning

Sleepy, cruisey Samoa has to do something pretty drastic to make international headlines, and they pulled out a showstopper this week when they jumped in their time machine and landed ahead of the rest of the world on the International Dateline, the imaginery line on the earth that tells us when to do stuff.  BAM! Winning.

Just in time to get to 2012 first. Or second maybe. I don’t know, and don't particularly care.

Samoa last made the news in 2009, when the Samoan powers that be decided that the citizens would be switching to driving on the right side of the road, which we all know is the ‘correct’ side of the road. Evidently not much of interest happens in Samoa.

Apparently this whole change of dateline thing was to better align itself with its main trading partners, Australia and New Zealand. Which makes a great deal of sense.  So all the coconut oil we already have in the country is only from three days trade a week?  Great, that's exactly what Australia needs; more coconut oil.

Obviously Samoa doesn’t care to align itself anymore with its previous favourite trading partner, the U.S. Take that America; dumped by Samoa.

Samoa’s Prime Minister went all Gillard on everyone’s arses and said there would be no ne-go-ci-ation or something to that effect because this jump through the space/time continuum would aid trade with its key partners and everyone should just shush.

The Samoan-shirted PM had become increasingly concerned that Samoa was losing two working days a week being so far behind the rest of the world.

Hm, no-one in Samoa thought to alter their working week? No-one at all? Only in Samoa would they not be able to come up with a solution to this conundrum.

If Samoan public servants are anything like Australian public servants, I imagine they will be super thrilled about their working week increasing from three to five days. 

And the Australian Public Service would have a total conniption at having to make such drastic changes with regard to resources and superannuation, but I guess everything is just cruisey with the budget in Samoa.

The Samoan PM thinks his townsfolk are rejoicing at the time change, saying, “You can hear the sound of a lot of vehicles going around town, going round the town centre clock and tooting their horns. People screaming”. They are screaming in distress, Mr Prime Minister. You have ruined their lives.

Coffee Uprising & Comedify your Life

Coffee Uprising

This is an important community announcement to people who claim to be slightly addicted to caffeine. Slightly addicted? There is no “slightly” in addicted. That’s like saying you’re “kind of” stupid. You’re addicted, and stupid for not recognising your addiction. Deal.

I do believe there is no more important way to start your day than with a cuppa. I imagine Mother Teresa used to have a latte before going out blessing people and saving lives. Well there might be a more important way to start your day, but I don’t know what it is.

No-one knows, not even the Hitchhiker's 42 will provide any assistance to this conundrum, which is why the working class peoples of the world who occupy a house with electricity get up at the crack of too-early and start grinding coffee beans in a sleep-induced haze.

Comedify your life

Another fairly fascinating and titillating titbit from the endless catalogue of excitement that is my life is the news that I was blessed with a Sound Machine for Christmas. A Sound Machine is fairly self-explanatory – it is a gadget that has a selection of sounds for any event that happens in your life, and, more significantly, can be used to exasperate anyone in ear shot. I’m not obsessed with my new gadget at all.

Just so you can share in the inexorable excitement, here is a list of its classic sound effects: clap, audience, canned laughter, unlucky, loser, bomb, gun shot, smashed glass, cash register, drum roll, punch line theme, spring, bright idea, wolf whistle, scream, fart and burp. It is the perfect gadget for incredibly immature people like myself. So I’ve started to comic strip my life, comedify my life, if you will.

Sure, I made up the word ‘comedify’. But the word police are too busy reading the thesaurus to care that I made up one. During one of my journalism lectures, a very sombre journalist (see: a sandal-wearing deep thinker) pontificated that it is best to dream up words when you deem that no other word will do. Hmm, I don’t know about that. Alternatively, some good advice would be to branch out and learn the existing words, which seem to be adequate to the rest of the English speaking world.

I am proposing to carry my new gadget friend to places that need a little cheer, like shopping centres, Parliament Question Time and Afghanistan, to name but a few places that need someone to break the ice through a unsolicited manufactured burp or raspberry.

I imagine I will need to engage in a bit of covert action to get in the door, but then everyone will be all agreeable with each other. Or I’ll be shot in the head with an uzi. That’s the inherent risk when you arm yourself with a fun Sound Machine – you never know what’s around the corner.

Breakfast & Butterfingers

Breakfast

*Gets on soapbox*

The Red Cross do incredible work for people in times of crisis, providing immediate and practical help and support to those in need around the world. As a charity, one of their fundamental principles is that no child should go hungry. To this end, Red Cross Australia manage an initiative called the Good Start Breakfast Club, which serves 850,000 breakfasts each year in 220 schools in areas of greatest need.

It sounds like a fantastic initiative but it begs the question that charities don't ask because they are open-handed and tolerant and don't judge people who possibly deserved to be judged every now and again. My question is this: If you can't afford to give your children breakfast then why are you breeding?? What the hell is wrong with people?

Unless you live in a third world country, it is inexcusable to send your kid to school without giving them a meal of some sort. Sending ravenous kids to school was unheard of when I was that age. No matter how busy my mum was, she always made sure we had something to eat before we headed off to school.

The oft used excuses dragged out in parents’ defence these days - ‘I don’t have time’ and ‘life’s busy these days’ – are all very well. But things have always been busy for anyone bringing up children. People create their own busyness. And all their busyness says to me is that they need start reprioritising and buy their kids some damn weetbix.

It's like anything in life that feels unfair, like those women who are unable to pay their bills because they have just bought an expensive pair of shoes.  We all have disposable income and we all have spare time on our hands; we just choose to prioritise things differently.

At what point do parents need to start taking responsibility for their own children’s health and nutrition rather than leaving in to the state and charities?

The Red Cross is for people who really need it. I imagine a lot of these parents do need their support, but, in that case, they need to put a halt in the breeding process and stop blowing their cash on grog and cigarettes.  And charities shouldn’t be abused by smug parents who can't be bothered to give their offspring cereal in the morning. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with people?

I can see people reading this now – “what does she know, she isn’t a parent?” Well, I know shirking responsibility when I see it.

*Gets off soapbox*

Butterfingers

I don’t really care to make new year’s resolutions, because who the hell keeps those things? But, for my own safety and for the safety of anything in my possession, I will resolutely endeavour to be more vigilant this and avoid walking into things as much as possible (for me).

I have a habit of walking into door frames, tripping over bed corners and coffee tables, walking into rear vision mirrors in car parks, and just generally hurting myself at least once a day. My talent for walking into things defies explanation.

I find it quite unfair when people tell me to just be more careful. I shouldn’t have to think strategically when I walk around a corner; shouldn’t the parts of my brain that look after spatial awareness and reasoning be onto this? I think someone has been having a siesta whilst on the job.

My explanation for this is my lack of depth perception – one short and one long sighted eye – but I will make an effort to walk into things less this year.

Animal Cruelty Laws

*Climbs on soapbox*

Bravo to the Daily Telegraph and other media outlets for posting the face of the evil psychopathic woman, Lily Maihi, who last week threw her four-month puppy off a 15 metre high balcony in Sydney because... blah blah blah. No-one cares what reason she has to defend herself; she should be in jail.  Animal cruelty is an issue that makes me, and most of the community, see red.

Since it happened, the media have shown pictures of the puppy being loved and cared for by veterinary staff on the nightly news; clearly standing up for a victim that is unable to defend itself against unspeakable cruelty. At the woman’s bail hearing, the magistrate said that cute pictures of "doey-eyed puppies" won't play any role in the court case, which is an attitude that we, as a society, should find greatly disturbing.

Seriously, what the hell? There was no jury to sway, although I think every animal cruelty case brought before a court should go through a jury. Well, the magistrate can spare me his dog-shit analysis. I note that judges don't seem to have any problem making emotional rulings when it comes to the rights of aboriginals or anyone in the islamic community.

Humans come to the defence of animals because they are vulnerable and are unable to stand up for themselves in a court of law and let's not forget the puppy is the victim here. Secondly, the RSPCA, the media and members of the public have to appeal to emotion because the animal cruelty laws are so lax in Australia - in every country - that there is no disincentive for the truly despicable people of the world to not do it.

How about we apply human regulations to animal cruelty cases? For example, if you throw your puppy off a balcony, you will be charged with attempted murder. If the dog dies, you will be charged with first degree murder.  On the whole, I generally think society is better off with less laws and less big government.  But the laws that we have are supposed to be in place to guide human behaviour which enables the efficient functioning of society. Thus, breaking laws should come with harsh consequences and penalties that should provide a disincentive to criminals who will most assuredly break the law again.

I'm sure there are a lot of people who have thought that the best thing for Maihi would be a dose of her own medicine, but no-one would do that because most people are generally good, unlike Maihi, who is pure evil.  The other reason no-one would push her off a balcony is because it is against the law.  There's that crazy deterrent of a life-time in prison working again.  Wow, applying the law really works, doesn't it?  Who knew.

I’m also a little tired of the argument that we don’t have enough jails. Well build more fking jails then.  It's not fking rocket science. And then allow the police a bigger slice of the state budget so they can have the resources to manage the penitentiaries so we can put these disgusting people where they belong, and keep them there.   

Granting bail to a woman who has been charged with an appalling act of animal cruelty is a disgrace. The only lesson she will take out of this is don’t get caught in the act. If the current crop of politicians won’t enact stricter animal cruelty laws and the current mob of judges won’t interpret the laws in a harsher context, they all need to move on so we can have competent people in charge who are capable of actual law enforcement.

Next time a human pushes another human off a balcony I shall ignore the victim’s sob story about their desire to catch the perpetrator and have them see justice. The magistrate in this animal cruelty case says that’s the right thing to do, so that must be the right thing to do.  We must refuse to let our emotions be clouded by histrionic hospital bedside pleas by the human victims and their families.  Because that would be humane and we can't have that.

As a society, we should demand tougher penalties for those who commit animal cruelty.    

*Gets off soapbox*