Musical Monday

Back to the old stuff… because I came across some classics the other day, and I love ’em.

I discovered Joan Jett a few years ago, way after the rest of the world. Wellll, I knew her stuff, I just didn’t realise she sang it! And I love her stuff. There’s something about upfront, self-respecting and occasionally raunchy rock chicks that I dig 😛

Here’s my first and always favourite Joan Jett:

Bad Reputation

And the second favourite:

Then the classic that everyone – everyone – knows:

There, was that fun? 🙂

TV Advertisers: Speak Aussie, Dammit!

There’s one TV experience that’s guaranteed to make me scowl.

Not ads, in and of themselves. I may sigh, or scoff, or make smart-arse remarks, but I don’t often scowl. But when I do, it’s almost always because some multinational company is too cheap to Australianise their ads. And that gets me wanting to kick some butt. Because surely these ads are meant to appeal to people, right? And not paying attention to what appeals to the viewers kind of makes the whole effort pointless, doesn’t it?

Rule Number One

Think hard before you just import your ads wholesale. It’s possible that your ad has universal appeal, and everyone will like it and buy your product. But it’s most likely that your head is stuck firmly in your arse if you think this. Tommy Hilfiger, I’m talking to you. Starting your foray into the Australian market with a chick running around waving an American flag was just dumb. Newsflash: not everyone in the world loves the USA. Shock? Sheesh.

Rule Number Two

Use Australian terminology. Betty Crocker, this means you! I don’t care HOW successful and all-American your company is, we call the stuff on top of the cake icing, not frosting. How hard is that to remember? Huh? I bet your cute little sugar-addicted actor kid can cope with it even if you can’t.

Rule Number Three

Don’t dub your ads. I know this seems like a simple solution to stop my whingeing – but it won’t. Because it’s bloody obvious that the ad’s been dubbed, and the crappiness will bug me every time I see it, and I’ll associate your product with dodgy quality forevermore and never buy it.

Of course, if your ad campaign is designed to irritate or induce yawns… feel free to continue on your merry path. Arsehat.

Fever! In the Morning…

Well, the mystery virus is still with me. I woke up yesterday morning feeling OK-ish… then subsided into sleep and fever and aching everything. Darn. About midnight, last night, the fever lifted. I have dire suspicions that it’s just biding its time, but I’d love to be wrong. Because this thing is NASTY. Inflamed sinuses, bad headaches, digestive upset, fever… it’s like a goody bag of viral symptoms. On the bright side, though, my nose is running freely now (wish the rest of me was) … so I figure maybe the sinuses have calmed down a tad.

But still – BLAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Thanks for all the well-wishes, folks. Hopefully I’ll be back on my feet, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, soon. 🙂

Blahhhhh

Sorry folks, no Musical Monday today. Am lying in bed feeling sorry for myself… my head’s pounding, sinuses are aflame, and limbs feel more like dumbbells than… well, limbs. But on the bright side, Nurofen is my ever-faithful friend. I’d usually finish with a MWAH, but you don’t wanna catch whatever the hell this is.

Six-Word Memoir Meme

Anja tagged me for a meme. The wench probably thinks she’s an agent of divine retribution. She’s probably right 😉

• Write a six-word memoir.
• Post it to your blog including a visual illustration if you would like.
• Link to the person who tagged you in your post and to this original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogsphere.
• Tag 5 more blogs with links (or however many people you feel like annoying)
• Don’t forget to leave a comment in the tagged blogs with an invitation to play.

I’ve struggled with this one. Big time.

How about this:

Love is a state of mind

Or this:

Pain is a state of ARGHHHH

Or:

I love youse all! Even you

Actually, that works.

Here’s my carefully thought-out six-word memoir in its proper glory:

As to who to tag… well I’m gonna be brave and tag some people I haven’t known long. Guess it fits the memoir 😛

Writer Chick

Planning Queen

Suze

Starving Babies, Postnatal Depression, And What To Do?

If you’re not from around here – most of Brisbane has been shocked and saddened to discover that a pair of 18 month old twins died from starvation and possible torture/abuse a few weeks ago. One of their siblings found them.

I think it’s fair to say that most people are outraged. But I’m not (sorry, if you were looking for a self-righteous rant). I’m deeply saddened, and not wanting to think much about the pain and misery those babies suffered – but I’ve seen the dark side of childbearing for myself. I know how it can feel to be so far past the end of your tether that only the strictest self-control can stop you from breaking out into thoughtless violence. And judgmentalism isn’t the answer. That much I know.

But the real question, then, is – what the hell IS the right answer? And that’s what I’m struggling with right now. What the hell can help parents who are so far down a dark tunnel of despair that lifting the phone seems a ridiculous feat of strength? Damn it, there’s got to be something that the community can do to cut down these sort of things. They’re happening far too often. And sure, we’ll never thoroughly get rid of crime against children. I’m not that naive. Some people are just too soaked in evil and want to hurt kids. But I’m talking about the crimes that come out of misery and depair run absolute riot in a person’s life. Where they want to do the right and loving thing, but just don’t have the strength left. That’s where the wider community can help. That I’m convinced of. But I don’t know how.

Respite care? Wouldn’t people just abuse it as free childcare? What would the liability insurance cost? *sigh*

There’s an answer out there. I want to find it.

Killing Bunnies

A few Christmases ago, Hubby was given a game by my parents. They’d been a bit unsure what to get him, so took the advice of my littlest brother. BWAHAHAHA.

The game is called Killer Bunnies (and the Quest for the Magic Carrot), and it’s a bit of a cult phenomenon. Because it’s damn funny, and it’s addictive, and you get to blast poor little bunny wabbits in ways Elmer Fudd never imagined. Here’s a preview of some of the cards –

The purpose of the game sometimes fades into the background. Obtain carrot cards, as many as possible, and keep at least one bunny alive. At the end of the game, a random carrot is deemed the winner. If you have that carrot, and at least one live bunny, you win. But in the meantime, you attack bunnies, set loose ‘roaming red’ cards which cause havoc wherever they go, and make people cry.

And yes, I have made people cry while playing this game. Namely my son Bogan Boy, who still thinks I’m mean. Well duh.

Very Personal Opinions Meme

I thought this up on the way to the train station the other morning. Why? Good question. I think it might’ve had something to do with Evyl, and not having had brekky. Meh.

My opinion on –

Body piercings:

Too much effort. Yup, I’m a lazy sod.

Genital piercings:

That’s gotta feel better than it looks, right? Cos it looks bloody painful. But I still cringe.

Tattooing:

*droooool*

Best place for a tattoo:

Arm. Because people think you’re a bit sluttish if you pull down your pants to show off your cool tattoo.

Body modification:

Oh. My. God. Discovered it months ago and still not sure whether to be intrigued or weirded out. I love the Lizard Man –

Flavoured condoms:

Yuck. Gross. Just… why the hell? Coloured, ribbed, studded, glow in the dark… all these things I can understand. But flavoured… nasty. Just plain nasty.

Skinny jeans:

Ahhh, takes me back to the early 90s. I love me a (slim) man in skinny jeans. But here’s a tip, men – if you’ve got an enormous gut, don’t wear skinny jeans. Makes you look like a non-edible Paddle Pop (icecream on a stick, non-Aussies).

G-strings/thongs (not the footwear):

Ahhhh… love em. Especially the non-elasticated organic ones I discovered recently. They allow me a bit of flab without making it flub unattractively. Because nobody likes flubby flab. Tip for women: I thought this was obvious, but apparently not – don’t wear these things if they cut into your flab and give you flubber-rolls. Flubber rolls are NOT attractive. Neither, for that matter, are muffin tops. Let your flab sit where your body stuck it. Attempts to fit into clothing smaller than you will NOT improve your look.

High heels:

Nice for a formal occasion. Pain in the arse (literally, if they provoke sciatica) at other times. And the things they do to people’s feet longterm… eurgh.

Sex with socks on:

Meh. As long as the socks are on the feet, no worries.

Bert Newton:

Oh dear god. Why the hell did he come to mind straight after ‘socks with sex on’?? I mean… oh stuff it. Once Bert Newton turns up, I’m outta here. Cos he is too scary.

TAG

I tag:

Anja

Evyl (even though a third meme this soon might just drive him over the edge – feel free to ignore it, dude)

Dok Holocaust

Have fun 🙂

This Is The Story That Never Ends…

I think maybe THAT distinction can go to my Life in a Fairytale series… but damn this Fiction Blogger story is spawning AND going in a bloody weird direction. Although looking forward has at least given me a few giggles 😀 Thankfully. Because it’s pretty bloody boring so far. Hopefully someone’s sticking with it regardless, because I just posted the latest update – Caught. Typed up from handwritten notes (“oooh how retro!” I hear you say) jotted down while waiting for the train yesterday.

If you have no idea what the hell I’m on about – I write fiction in my spare time. Then I post it on Nomesque Fiction. My latest short stories (apart from the one-off (I hope) story about a man sticking a pen up his arse) are about a woman who makes a living from writing fictional blogs – but no-one knows they’re fictional. Until she gets caught, of course.

Talking of retro – the other day I got in a lift with some teens. One of them was listening – loudly of course – to his mp3 player. So I could clearly hear that he was listening to Violent Femmes’ Blister in the Sun. Ye gads!

“That’s some vintage music you’ve got there!” I couldn’t help shouting at him.

“Yeah, the Femmes – you like them?”

“Love ’em!” I said, and walked out of the lift feeling cool. For a couple of minutes. Then I realised that no-one says ‘cool’ anymore.

Breastfeeding Bikkies – Recipe

OK, dodgy name. But this is a recipe I threw together yesterday for a friend who’s having a baby soon, and it’s the best name my enfeebled mind can come up with at the moment. Basically, they’ve got ingredients which are said to help promote milk production. Oats, flaxseed oil/meal and fennel. I’ve included the flaxseed in LSA (linseed/flaxseed, sunflower and almond) because it’s supposed to provide omega fats in the right ratios, which also might help in milk production. The other stuff is just there for flavour, really.

Keep in mind that this is a REALLY new recipe. I’ve seen recipes for similar bikkies around, but I didn’t have an opportunity to look any of them up, so I just made it up as I went. Hence, it might be a bit off. Apologies if I stuff anyone up.

Ingredients

125g margarine (I use Nuttelex or a cheap soy margarine)
1 cup sugar
½ cup LSA (linseed – aka flaxseed, sunflower and almond meal)
½ cup dark chocolate chips
1 tsp fennel seeds, ground
1 cup oats
2 cups plain flour
¼ cup of golden syrup
¼ cup coconut milk/cream

Instructions

Cream margarine and sugar.

Add other ingredients and mix well. Add extra coconut milk, soy milk or water if the mix is too dry.

Take handfuls of mix, roll into balls and flatten. Place on a biscuit tray and bake at 200C for 10-15 minutes.

(Note: in my oven, these browned on the bottom way before they browned on the top. So you may want to check the bottoms when they smell done, because they probably are. They’ll be quite soft, but harden when cool.)