I have a twitter, and I’m not afraid to use it

ACHTUNG!

Actually, I don’t mean that. But funny story about it- until about two years ago, I had always thought achtung translated as “Attention”, and not “Danger”. So whenever I used it to get my dad’s attention, he’d jump up in fright.

Enough hilarity. I’d just like to mention that I have recently started my own Twitter account (twitter.com/b_e_day). Now, I haven’t started this just to update people on my personal life. The truth is, I was already using Twitter semi-regularly to see what my favourite writers, musicians, and assorted others were up to, and I thought it would just be easier for me to get an account. But for some reason, non-users of Twitter seem to think that it is just an amalgam of Facebook status updates, that its primary use is for people with no appeal whatsoever to melancholically update others on every aspect of their mediocre lives.

Whilst there may be a significant portion of the Twitter crowd who do engage in this, I think the more media-savvy, intellectual part utilises it for its greatest obvious benefit- the rapid sharing of information. Twitter, with its 140 character limit, allows, nay demands news to be told in a concise manner, and in this era of information overload, is not part of the problem, but rather part of the solution.

It’s also, as previously mentioned, a great way to keep up to date with your favourite celebrities, for want of a better word. For instance, the other day I found out that Chuck Klosterman’s newest piece of work, a series of cards called “HyperTheticals”, will be released in July. He announced this exclusively (I think) over Twitter, a small reward for his 20000 odd followers. This kind of thing is now becoming commonplace, with the celebrity allowing the snowball effect of Twitter to come into play.

Okay, I’ll admit that there are some bad aspects of Twitter. It gives Ashton Kutcher a crazily high opinion of himself. It has the potential to ruin the lexical abilities of current generations (and generations to come). It allows Graham in Cairns to think that knowing what he had for breakfast is of actual value to anyone and everyone. But when used correctly, Twitter can also be kind of cool.

Kate’s Party

To Kate, Justin Bieber, turbans and misogynists.

What is your appeal based on? Why do people feel the need to create wave after wave of groups dedicated to you, your exploits, or just exploiting you? I admit that the original ideas are often very clever; that Laughing So Hard My Turban Unravels and Falls Into My Curry is a hilarious exercise in acronymal beauty; that the viralling of Kate’s party was ingenious.

But why must you clog up Facebook in a relationship resembling that of the Internet and porn? What do people feel they gain from creating, or even joining, a group whose title is in the format “Lame Joke about Justin Bieber’s gender #347”? Why do they think it is groundbreaking to combine these themes into a portmanteau group?

Why are backward-thinking jokes about women and irons and kitchens so in vogue? Who would repeat these sentiments in real life?

Why are people so disparaging of Justin Bieber? Actually, I know the answer to that. Generally, they’re jealous of his popularity, feel it’s unearned- why should he be so adored when he looks like a kid off a toilet paper ad?

Most importantly- why do you even exist?

Please answer these questions promptly and thoughtfully.

Yours in disdain,

Brendan.

Drops of Stupidity

Here’s my random thoughts of the day:

• How the hell does a band like train release “Drops of Jupiter”, a horribly saccharine yet super succesful song, and then never be heard of again? Same goes for Plain White T’s, Sandi Thom, Dexy’s Midnight Runner- once you’ve worked out the secret to success in the music industry, why go and ignore it for the rest of your overwhelmingly underwhelming careers?
• Either John Mellencamp is the world’s most egocentric douche, or he’s the marketing guru I wish I could become. Let me explain: supposedly he made a deal with his son that if the kid could get 1 million people to join a Facebook group for his benefit, then he would give up smoking. Semantics aside (this being the stupidest reason for quitting smoking ever), it’s obviously an unbelievably clever (and free) opportunity to thrust himself back into the spotlight- perhaps in time for a greatest hits album? Though it would have to be more of a greatest hits LP- he’s only released five singles, and only one of those (“Hurts So Good”) is actually decent. Oh, and how did I hear about this? By listening to the drudgery of Star FM, which brings me to my next rambling….
• Supposedly Cold Chisel reformed tonight/ last night/ tomorrow/ who the hell cares, for one show only. I’ll admit that even I am impartial to a slice of Chisel (figuratively speaking), and don’t really mind when “Khe Sahn” is played on the radio for the 12th time that day. After all, it’s basically Australia’s version of “Born to Run”, in that it imbibes a sense of patriotism into you whenever you hear it. But is it really necessary, Star FM, to play Jimmy Barnes’ solo material ahead of a group reunion? I swear to Chuck Klosterman, the next time I hear him butcher “River Deep, Mountain High” I’m just going to scream. And not in a masculine manner, either.
• Kristen Stewart is only 4 months older than me, yet is approximately 4 million times more successful than I will ever be. My life is now over.
• Christmas is stupidly commercial. “The Christmas Season”? What a load of crap. How does one day gets its own season? How does one day cause us to put up stupidly kitsch and greenhouse gas-causing lights? How does one day cause so much pain for those without anything to look forward to? How does one day highlight my pseudo-nihilistic existential ponderings through the metaphorical construct that is the delicious turkey? (Alright, I made that last one up.)
• Avatar looks ridiculous. I cannot conceive of any situation where I will watch it and take it seriously. The unintentional comedy made possible by having blue-skinned characters is superb. The amount of Smurf/lizard mating jokes should top the million mark.
• Tony Abbott? Are you kidding me?
• At least he’s better than Fat Joe.
• Australia’s World Cup draw is really not that bad. Germany are admittedly a class above, but Ghana and Serbia should hopefully provide us with a win or two, and a passage through to the round of 16- where, in all likelihood, we would play England, a match that I could not realistically be any more excited for.
• I saw a packet of cookies in my work the other day. They were targeted at children, and came with the subtitle, “Lots A Fun!” Now I’m not one of the so-called Grammar Nazis (just a horrible, horrible title, by the way) but I really do feel scared when blatantly stupid things like this somehow slip through the networks of production. If I ever see a bag of cookies with “They’re full of LOLZ” on it, I promise to light it on fire there and then.
• Ah, I’m gettin tired.
• So very sleepy…….
• Coffee? No thanks, I’m Irish
• Alright, I’ll stop, my jokes are simply incoherent.
• Wait, one last thing: listen to Dane Cook sometime. Having done so, ask yourself this: did he actually make any jokes? I’m not even kidding; he just seems to state facts, puts emphasis on certain words, makes weird noises, AND TELLS THE AUDIENCE TO LAUGH. I cannot emphasise this last point enough. Comedians are supposed to induce laughter through their witty and satirical observations of humanity’s foibles, and not by going, “Hey guys, I just made a fart noise with my armpit! Applaud that shit!”
• I’m going to bed.

The Barbershop

Yes, the title does in fact describe where I went today. It’s part of a new blog direction I’m taking- “What’s new and mundane in my very boring life”. But unfortunately, this does not actually fit either of the descriptives of the blog, for I have been going to get my head sheared (yes, sheared) by random strangers for years, and today’s experience was actually semi-interesting, in an awkward kind of way.

See, my hair is the kind that looks normal when it’s cut for approximately the next three days; after this, all hell breaks loose. It explodes into a kind of surfer dude- jewfro- hat hair amalgamation, which is probably not the most desirable combination of hair qualities. Ever heard a shampoo commercial advertise its jewfro potential? Didn’t think so.

Anyway, I went to Umina (don’t ask why) and decided to get it cut, right there and then. Of course, this decision was made easier by the fact that West Street, the main street of Umina, has about 50 shops lined up along it, of which at least 11 are hairdressers. And while I’m on it, are they really dressing my hair? Isn’t it more the opposite? It’s not like they’re crocheting me a beanie with a bonbon on it (which I would definitely wear, irrespective of the weather).

So I decided to go to “Nathan’s Barbershop”; it had one of those old-fashioned candy-striped poles in it, which I’m a sucker for. However, the epynomous haircutter refused to tame my wild locks, and instead I got stuck with an ageing woman (its not an insult- literally everyone ages constantly, in case you hadn’t noticed). As I took my seat and explained what I wanted done (two inches off all round, thin it out with the “chomping shears”) she merely grunted, and got to work. Her fingers flying, my hair was soon just a puddle on the ground, if said puddle was made out of hair and not water. Beads of perspiration dripped down her furrowed brow as she expertly trimmed; beads of sweat dripped down me because I’m a prodigiously sweaty guy. As the finishing touches were applied, I stared in wonderment at the new man in the mirror in front of me, and once dusted off, paid my charge and left a happy, relatively unhairy man. So what’s wrong with this stupidly embellished story?

Well, during the whole time she cut my hair, she didn’t say a single word to me! Not one! For half an hour, I was forced to sit there in silence and not endure the tiptoeing nature of smalltalk. That’s bliss, you say. But you are wrong, because there is no such thing as silence in a hair salon (there I go again). There should be awkwardness due to too much conversation, and not a lack of it. But no, she wouldn’t even ask a simple, “So you’re 19. You’re getting your hair cut at 10 in the morning. What the hell are you doing with your life?”

And for those of you who feel that I should have made an effort to intiate, you’re crazy. What are we, ordinary citizens of the world, meant to say to these people? Here’s a sample of how smalltalk fares when initiated by the customer:

CUSTOMER: So, how has your day been?

BARBER: Are you actually serious? Can you not grasp the fact that my work is so inherently self-explanatory that even a small child would know how my day has been? (voice rising) How has my day been? It’s been great; having to listen to idiotic questions like this one is my passion! I’ve always wanted to do this; I remember when I was little, and I’d tell my mother, “When I grow up, I want to listen to inane strangers rabbit on about their pitiful lives, and when I get sick of this and ignore them, the barrage of questioning regarding my existence will just be the proverbial icing on the cake!

(Yelling)

NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY STORE!

What is the best chocolate?

For centuries, humankind has asked one question of confectioners: What is the best type of chocolate? Well, using my patented “Pros versus Cons” method, today I will discover the answer to this age-old mystery, and in the process of doing so, enrage two-thirds of chocolate lovers.

Disclaimer: I ignored ones like marble, chocolate with fillings, and fruit and nut. Because really, who honestly enjoys fruit and nut? Chocolate-covered peanuts are good, and the same goes for the raisin variety, but both in the same block? It’s akin to tuna and Nutella being equally delicious on a sandwich- except that people aren’t idiotic enough to put them on the same piece of bread.

White Chocolate

PROS

• It’s white, so you know it’s got to have milk in it
• Has the greatest potential of any type of chocolate: a good white chocolate will obliterate any competitor
• If it melts on your white t-shirt, it doesn’t show!
• Adopted nickname of Jason Williams- NBA player, and possibly the most street-skilled white guy in the entire league.

CONS

• Dangerously high in fat; at least, moreso than the other two types
• Bad white chocolate is, more often than not, actually just really old milk
• The preferred chocolate of Neo-Nazis and the KKK

Verdict: Whilst a tasty option, the fact that white chocolate was originally made as a way of getting rid of excess cocoa butter diminishes its place in the pantheon. Also, don’t eat this outdoors; the likelihood of being accused of bigotry is unbelievably high.

7 bananas.

Milk Chocolate

PROS

• It’s called milk chocolate for a reason!
• The most popular form of chocolate in history, slightly edging out the wonderful alliteration of Neanderthalean charcoal chocolate
• Consistently brilliant, irrespective of the brand
• Barack Obama’s chocolate of choice (unverified)

CONS

• Still really, really fatty- if they made a “Super Size Me”-style documentary about a guy eating only milk chocolate for a month, he’d get diabetes three days in
• When I said “consistently brilliant”, there was an exception: Hershey’s Chocolate, which tastes oddly tangy- not something I actively seek
• So populist, man- hipsters are way too cool for this shit

Verdict: Easily the most reliable form of chocolate, milk rarely fails to deliver. The common ideologies it manifests, though, may be off-putting to our culture’s non-conformists, who would rather eat the independent thinker’s chocolate of choice, dark, thereby paradoxically conforming themselves. Sound confusing? Well that’s because it’s stupid.

(Note: Have you tried eating a block of the stuff used for cooking? It’s nasty.)

11 bananas.

Dark Chocolate

PROS

• The healthiest option; doctors keep saying that it lowers the risk of cardiovascular problems
• Not as sweet as the other two, which, using the logic of beer, makes it exponentially more manly
• Morgan Tsvangarai’s chocolate of choice (again, this is totally unverified)

CONS

• Its proliferation has led to Lindt making those “85% Cocoa” dark varieties- quite possibly the foulest tasting chocolate in the world.
• Isn’t chocolate an indulgence? So shouldn’t our indulgences not really benefit our health? It’s similar to if there was a type of cigarette that, instead of causing lung cancer, actually increased our aerobic capacity. In other words: it’s not on!
• In relation to the logic of beer, it is not advisable for females- when you have to shave your chest girls, you know you’ve gone too far.
• Quite possibly also Robert Mugabe’s chocolate of choice

Verdict: In this age of super-obesity and health-consciousness, it is probably the right choice. However, if you live by the self-fulfilling motto “Life’s too short”, then it immediately is replaced by a bacon sandwich, only the bread is replaced by two slabs of milk chocolate. And why is this motto self-fulfilling? Basically because if you live life to the fullest, and indulge at every possible opportunity, then your life will indeed be too short, as you will die of a cocaine overdose at the age of 24. Whereas if you take the “Life’s a bit of journey, isn’t it?” approach, you will take things as they come, be sensible about your decisions, and lead a sheltered, unexciting existence up until the ripe old age of 87. You may not be any wiser about the world, but at least you got to see the first Aboriginal Prime Minister!

9 bananas.

So the winner is: Milk chocolate! Take that Arts students!

Fat Cops

In case you hadn’t noticed, Australia (and to a similar extent, the developed world) has gotten fat. There are myriad reasons for this, including (but not limited to) an increasingly sedentary lifestyle, the development of the “Fast Food Nation” that Eric Schlosser detailed in his identically titled expose (a brilliantly eye-opening read), and the overabundance of food at baseball games. I’m not kidding about that third one either; there’s a fantastic article (http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=hruby/091014&sportCat=mlb) at the ESPN website about this subtle trend. It would have been my favourite article of the week had Bill Simmons not posted his NBA preview a few days later. But that is really, really, really beside the point. In fact, I haven’t even got to the point yet. So please let me elaborate, for you shall die from the suspense if I do not do as such.

We have heard much about the “fat police”. These mystical creatures, whose real identities have remained unknown, are supposedly cracking down on the causes of our obesity epidemic, in a futile attempt to stem the flow of people going from “normies” to “fatties” (self-conscious large people, I apologise). But dear reader, you will be amongst the first in the world to know of their true identities, as I discovered it for myself last Tuesday. So sit back in your plush leather seat, and brace yourself.

It all started when I was walking to Central Station. Having completed my classes for the day, I was off to my home, and with a spring in my step I strolled down one of the many wonderful back streets of Sydney (if you ever get lost in Sydney, it’s a blessing in disguise, trust me). Whistling merrily to myself (and to the bemusement of others), I noticed a pair of police, one man and one woman, walking towards me. As a single bead of sweat swam down my face* I shifted over to the side of the footpath closer to the road, in anticipation more than anything else. Yet as I walked forwards, the two previously diminutive figures that I had spotted all of a sudden grew, like they were those spongey dinosaurs that you got as a kid and sprayed with water to enlarge in size**. As we approached the point of intersection, I found myself moving closer and closer to the road, as these two gargantuans took up more and more of the pathway***. Upon crossing paths with them, I suddenly lost my footing; I had been forced on to the road! Treading on the gritty tarmac, my extra-sensory perception went into overload and I found myself stumbling wildly, as if I had just been kicked out of Blush nightclub. Pivoting with alarming difficulty, I craned my neck to observe for any oncoming traffic. And wouldn’t you know it, bearing up on me is a great big dirty Hummer, oblivious to my existence (as Hummer drivers can only see other Hummer drivers. Little known fact.) Praying to the Lord Almighty, I was struck a mortal blow by the 4 ton weight of the car, and paralysis was instant. Cruelly, I was still alive at this point, for in the throes of death, we are often required to look back on the accomplishments of our life. My greatest accomplishment? Creating a blog that was actually read by someone outside of immediate family.

As I lay prone, the police turned around to see what all the commotion was about. Seeing me motionless on the road, they quickly scurried over; well, as quickly as their massive frames would allow them to. Sensing I was in dire trouble, they did what they were trained to do: put me down. Emptying two cartridges of bullets into the back of my head, they laughed quite disconcertingly, and as I passed into the afterlife, their cackles rang through my ears like an  inconsiderate bogan’s ringtone.

What is the point of all this? Well, dear reader, the point is this- that the fat police are, indeed, simply fat police.

Now, to quote a (sadly)unknown Skyhooks song, I may be living in the 70’s, but aren’t our law-enforcement officers meant to be in peak physical shape? If a robber were to literally be on the run, shouldn’t they be able to run them down?  I’d like to think of our cops as being like Starsky in the movie version of Starsky and Hutch: living for the job. Yet with the advent of technology and the likes, our police seem to be getting fatter and fatter, and presumably (perhaps unfairly) less devoted to serving the citizens of their fair city.

The same goes for ticket inspectors on the train. The amount of times where I have been sitting in an aisle seat and been brushed in the face by an unwarranted muffin top are too numerous to count. Maybe this extra mass helps with stopping renegade ticket-avoiders, but what happens when they run the other way? Do the inspectors give chase for two carriages and then pause for a short nap? Or am I being the most insensitive person since Michael Richards****?

 

* Is there anyone who doesn’t get slightly more nervous when they see police? And I’m not just talking to my Mount Penang readership here. Even if you have done absolutely nothing wrong, you can’t help but be anxious passing police, as if they’re going to apprehend you for wearing an untucked t-shirt.

** I’m great with similes

*** This is about where the real story ends, and the drugs kick in

**** Look at me! I’m a real writer now that I’m using footnotes!

NBA Season Preview

I know that I shouldn’t really write about sport as it is such a divisive (and to many people, boring) topic, but never have I anticipated a professional league’s commencement as much as I do the 2009-10 NBA season. So here’s just a quick preview of how I think the season will go, followed by a few predictions:

 Eastern Conference Final Standings (predicted)

15. New York Knicks- 15-67 (15 wins, 67 losses)

14. Milwaukee Bucks- 24-58

13. Charlotte Bobcats- 29-53

12. New Jersey Nets- 30-52

11. Philadelphia 67ers- 35-47

10. Detroit Pistons- 37-45

9. Miami Heat- 37-45

8. Toronto Raptors- 40-42

7. Indiana Pacers- 41-41

6. Atlanta Hawks- 44-38

5. Washington Wizards- 47-35

4. Boston Celtics- 50-32

3. Chicago Bulls- 51-31

2. Orlando Magic- 60-22

1. Cleveland Cavaliers- 66-16

 Western Conference Final Standings (predicted)

15. Sacramento Kings- 9-73

14. Minnesota Timberwolves- 23-59

13. Golden State Warriors- 25-57

12. Houston Rockets- 26-56

11. Oklahoma City Thunder- 35-47

10. Memphis Grizzlies- 38-44

9. Los Angeles Clippers- 40-42

8. Denver Nuggets- 46-36

7. New Orleans Hornets- 49-33

6. Dallas Mavericks- 50-32

5. Phoenix Suns- 52-30

4. Utah Jazz- 53-29

3. Portland Trail Blazers- 59-23

2. San Antonio Spurs- 62-20

1. Los Angeles Lakers- 67-15

 

MVP: LeBron James

Rookie of the Year: Blake Griffin

Pothead of the Decade: Lamar Odom

Player most deserving of a Red Bull sponsorship: Anthony Randolph

Greatest hobo impersonation by a multi-millionaire: Pau Gasol

 

“World” Champion (that’s what the winner is called): Cleveland Cavaliers over San Antonio in 6 games.

                                                   

Five players whom I guarantee will improve:

1. Kevin Durant
2. Anthony Randolph
3. Courtney Lee
4. Rajon Rondo
5. Trevor Ariza

 

Five players who will get worse/injured:

1. Derek Fisher
2. Dwyane Wade
3. Stephen Jackson
4. Elton Brand
5. Kevin Garnett

 

Five players who you might assume would get better, but they won’t:

1. Danny Granger
2. Andre Iguodala
3. Jameer Nelson
4. Deron Williams
5. LeBron James- only because it’s practically impossible for him to get any better

 

 

Completely Random Predictions/Thoughts

• Kevin Durant will average 30 points a game AT LEAST
• LeBron James will repeat as the almost unanimous MVP save for a solitary vote to Shaq, who somehow wrangles his own voting form and nominates himself
• Lamar Odom and Khloe Kardashian (I don’t even know if that’s the right one) will split up 3 months into the season after he introduces her to LeBong James
• Robin Lopez will be forced to shave his head after catching his feminine locks on the ring
• Same for Joakim Noah
• Anthony Randolph will smash the league record for “most games spent crying on the bench”
• Glen “Big Baby” Davis will shed the unfortunate moniker after losing 80 pounds in the off-season; is now called “Tall, Skinny Baby who doesn’t actually look like a baby at all”
• Rajon Rondo will deck at least 12 opponents, yet somehow never get suspended due to the fear instilled into David Stern by Rondo’s alien relatives
• Dwight Howard will be rendered useless after packing on so much muscle that he is unable to actually jump
• Hedo Turkoglu will be too embarrassed to play in his first game for the Raptors after his traditional pre-game meal of pizza results in an acne breakout
• Tyler Hansbrough, fresh off being named the College Basketballer of the 2000’s, will be honoured with another title: “Most dunked-on player since Shawn Bradley”
• After learning how to shoot three-pointers, Hasheem Thabeet will become this generation’s Manute Bol.
• Dikembe Mutombo will be hired as the Houston Rockets’ game announcer
• OJ Mayo will release an orange-flavoured mayonnaise that inexplicably proves to be wildly successful
• The Memphis Grizzlies take a leaf out of “Semi-Pro” and play with a real live Grizzly bear as their mascot
• The New Orleans Hornets follow Memphis’ lead and release a swarm of hornets into the crowd
• The Orlando Magic follow suit, and Rashard Lewis “magically” disappears into thin air; his body washes up on the shore three days later
• By the season’s end, we might actually find out if Blake Griffin is white, or Hispanic, or African-American, or just an amalgam of the three.

Queer Eye From A Straight Guy

In case you hadn’t heard, the old Sydney University rag Honi Soit last week published its annual Gay and Lesbian issue, and was given the title “Queer”. Now not to sound like a sociocultural dinosaur, but just when did this term transform from a pejorative remark into an expression of power? Is there some dreadful irony that I am missing here? While we’re on it, the same goes for dyke. When exactly was the tipping point at which this primitive insult turned into a term of endearment? Nevertheless, I marvel at the ability of the gay community to turn these affronts to their sexuality into part of their nomenclature.

 But really, all that’s beside the point. The thing I have the most trouble understanding is why exactly they choose to run a “Queer” edition in the first place. Whilst I support the concept of giving the gay student population a voice, I just don’t feel the execution is top notch. Here are the facts:

• Percentage of people at university who are gay/bisexual: The Queer Society would have you believe that everyone in the world has an unconscious, Freudian urge for homosexuality. But realistically, the number is more likely around the 20% mark.
• Percentage of people at university who read Honi: 10% (and that’s being generous)
• Hypothetical percentage of people whom this issue will appeal to: 2%

 2%! That’s one out of every fifty students will see this issue and pick it up. If only 2% of the student population is actually reading it, that has to count as an undeniable failure to inform, especially considering Honi has basically a monopoly on the university newspaper market (sorry, The Bull). So here’s my proposal:

 Have a section of Honi Soit devoted to gay and lesbian affairs (not ones of the sexual kind either).

 I mean, if the post-graduates can have their own two-page section, why can’t the homosexual students? Hell, they could even replace the post-grad part; it’s easily the most boring part of an already dull newspaper. But really, wouldn’t it be better for the gay student community to be constantly, and not annually, updated on their rights, stories etc.? Plus this way the regular readers don’t get disrupted. And you wouldn’t want to anger the readers. They might write an angry letter to the editors. They might even start using spare copies as toilet paper! (Alright, that’s just me.)

 Also, to me it screams preferential treatment when there is a “Queer” issue, yet the international student cohort doesn’t get their own issue, despite being a similarly sized minority. What’s that? You say, “How could they do an international issue, when there are obviously students from many different cultures and backgrounds?” It’s a newspaper! Newspapers consist of many pages! Many pages= many stories= many cultures being represented. Duh.

 But really, the strangest thing about this is why do we actually still need a gay and lesbian issue? How can there be people who don’t know that some people are homosexual? Well, I think this naivety isn’t actually the problem. No, the problem rests on the uniform-clad shoulders of The Village People.

 The Village People, in case you’d forgotten, were the boy band (man band?) behind such horrible, inexplicable hits like “Macho Man” and “YMCA”. Their ultra-camp outfits soon led to them becoming gay icons (despite the majority of them not being gay), and inadvertently created many unwarranted gay stereotypes. They also effectively destroyed the reputations of the YMCA and the Navy, but we don’t really care about that. What is relevant to this post is that the effects, nay the curse of The Village People is only just wearing off. People are now realising that all gay people do not in fact wear leather police outfits and cowboy costumes whilst performing neatly choreographed dance routines. They are only just discovering that having a moustache does not equate to homosexuality (nor does it to pornstardom). So in effect, and in conclusion, The Village People set gay rights and perceptions back about 120 years. And it’s only now that it is being fixed.

 Note: If you liked this article- actually, scratch that- If you read this article, then tell your friends! And by tell them, I mean direct them to this site. I want to get more viewers of this than there were theorised readers of Honi‘s Queer edition. Which was 900.

Commerce to the Rescue

I just came up with possibly the greatest idea for a business in the history of mankind. Well, maybe that’s selling it a bit high; it’s probably just the best idea thought of in the general vicinity of Gosford that hasn’t revolved around selling beer exclusively in paper bags, complete with a complimentary ringtone accesory to allow you to play crappy music at full volume on the train, much to the chagrin of all other passengers. And when I say the best, I mean the only. But ANYWAYS…, I was thinking that it’s a shame that the blogger has been typecast as a pretentious narcissist whose sole aim is to either write incoherent babble or regurgitate stale opinions. I mean, surely there are hundreds, if not thousands, if not millions, of people who write a well-thought out and structured blog that is possibly funny and/or socially relevant (unlike this one).

My idea? To publish an online magazine/journal/collection of unique and clever blog entries. These would hopefully span a variety of areas, and be submitted to the editing group by bloggers who, initially, just want to widen their audience, and as such would work pro-bono. Published perhaps weekly, the magazine would either be funded by advertising (hopefully not of the obtrusive manner) or by a reader’s subscription fee.

Why is this a great idea? Because people still want to read informed opinions, and since the physical newspaper industry seems to be dying an ungainly death (and is being replaced with an informative, though not informed, style of news reporting), the blogging community seems to increasingly be the first place they look for deconstructions of these pieces.

So what do you think? Yea or nay?

Spread the word! Tell your friends! kingculture.wordpress.com

Email me at brendo_day@hotmail.com

A tale of two cities

1.

As a freshman student, there are two items that are essential if you wish to assimilate into the culture of the University of Sydney: 

1. An iPhone- Note: An iPod Touch may be sufficient, as two of my coursemates from the Central Coast have one of these each, and have whipped them out at every opportunity they can get. No one seems to spot the difference.
2. A pair of Converse shoes

Now I realise that there are different requirements for certain sub-groups; things such as boat shoes (for Law students), a scarf (Arts), a year-round wearing of footy shorts (college trustifarians), or perhaps a grandiose opinion of oneself which causes others to mock you mercilessly behind your back, yet still go out and get hammered with you after the lecture (again, Law students). But to be welcomed into the main class of students, you really do need at least one of the two aforementioned belongings. As I have neither the money required (nor the unsubstantiated belief that Steve Jobs is God) for an iPhone, it looked like I was going to have to get myself a pair of Chuck T’s.

I got off to a bad start, paying $90 for the low-cut black version, and finding out the next day that Paul’s Warehouse had these at half the price. In addition, my penchant for buying shoes a size too small always leads to a “wearing-in” week, one of the the only experiences I can empathise with females about. However the compliments were soon flowing, and I found myself making new friends hourly, trading tips on how best to accentuate the white toe of the shoe or perhaps deemphasise an overly long lace. Women were throwing themselves at my feet (literally), offering me drinks (or more!), and soon enough I was living the hedonistic lifestyle I had always deserved. But all good things must come to an end, as a wise man once said….

(Note: Why is it always assumed that it was said by a wise man, and not woman? Surely there have been a few profound statements by the fairer sex in the history of mankind? Women’s lib, thank me later.)

Fast forward to this week. My beloved shoes have started to fall apart. The soles have worn right through; the toes are not nearly so white anymore. It’s been six months, and they’re already worn out. $90 down the drain, essentially. Yet there is always a bright side to every situation, for it is now approaching summer, and that can only mean one thing- Havianas!

2.

Today my mother and sister left for America, where they will attempt to play basketball against some of the local schools, and live out my lifelong dream BY MEETING THE LOS ANGELES LAKERS! But I don’t want to talk about that. That’s boring. No, what I want to know is why on earth do airlines make people empty out their liquids/gels into plastic bags?

Well obviously the airlines believe that by doing so, they are being proactive in the fight against terrorism. It prevents people from carrying on potentially explosive liquids with them, they’d say. But when you think about it, is this really going to stop terrorists? Are they going to plan for months and months in advance on an elaborate scheme involving hiding liquid explosive in their handbags, only to be thwarted by the requirement that everything be in a plastic bag? And are they then stupid enough to label said explosive “EXPLOSIVE- Use when flying” and not simply put it into a skin care tube? I mean, how are the border security guys goin to test whether something is toothpaste or perhaps ammonium nitrate? Lick it? This is a situation that seems impossible to control without placing a complete embargo on carrying anything onto planes- i.e., all passengers fly in the nude. And that’s not going to happen. We just have to trust that people aren’t suicidal maniacs, I guess, and if we find out they are, then do everything in our power to stop them.

Yeah. That’s all.

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10 random Anchorman quotes, 10 random thoughts

Anchorman. Just a great movie. Here’s ten quotes from it, with ten additional, extremely random, thoughts:

1. Well I could be wrong, but I believe diversity is an old, old wooden ship used during the Civil War era- A bizarre claim, paralleled by Kanye’s outburst at the VMA’s this week. What I don’t understand about the whole thing is how Kanye managed to even get up onto the stage. I mean, he was pictured hundreds of times on the red carpet chugging from a bottle of Hennessy, so that should have put security into danger mode instantly. After all, he has a reputation for interrupting these shows. But then, when Taylor Swift was accepting her award and Kanye started to swagger towards the stage, why did nobody even try to stop him? It’s not like it was hard to spot him, either; he was sitting next to Swift in the first place!

2. I DON’T KNOW WHAT WE’RE YELLING ABOUT! LOUD NOISES!- A classic line from the always befuddled Brick, it reminds me that Bulgaria’s national lottery drew the same numbers for two entries in a row. The odds of this are supposedly 4.2 million to one, so I think it’s fair to say that the lottery is rigged. But if it is rigged, then who would be dumb enough to do the same numbers two times in a row? Surely they’re not that greedy that they couldn’t wait a month or two before pulling such a stunt.

3. They named it San Diago, which of course in German means “a whale’s vagina”- Ah, I don’t really feel like trying to link these quotes to my ramblings anymore. But is anyone else secretly pining for the new Dan Brown book? Don’t get me wrong, it’s the literary equivalent of fast food; easy to digest, never satsifying. Yet for some reason I want to know about the follies of Robert Langdon and co., even if it is just to mercilessly mock them.

I think it’s like the last book of Harry Potter. When that came out, I had grown tired of the Potter franchise. I resented the fact that it actually was a franchise. I despised the fact that Daniel Radcliffe continued on as Harry, despite the fact that not only was he nearing middle age, but he provided much greater comedy with his coming-of-age role: one which required him to be naked in front of a horse! But I still went and bought the book, because I felt an obligation to do so. Having said that, the part where they sit around and do nothing for at least one hundred pages was easily one of the worst passages ever written in the history of the world. It was possibly even more boring than the actual Lord of the Rings books, which brings me to random quote/thought #4:

4. Boy, that escalated quickly. I mean, that really got out of hand fast!- Because of the movies, the Lord of the Rings books have exploded in popoularity over the last few years. But has anyone actually tried reading them? Trust me, you don’t want to. Judging by the first half of the first book (all that I could get through), this is the most boring trilogy to EVER be adapted into a multibillion-dollar movie series. Then again, it’s probably the only one in that category.

Regardless, Tolkien could probably learn a lesson from Matthew Reilly, a man whose books read like action movies. And yes, I immediately regret that decision. 

 5. 60% of the time, it works every time.- To the Parramatta Eels. Has Jarryd Hayne been knighted yet? I’ll admit that he has played some outstanding football these last couple of months, but the praise that is being heaped on him makes me just a little bit sick. He’s a great attacking player and all that, but what about his non-existent defense? Isn’t that what goes on for half the game?

I also feel the exact same way about Fui Fui Moi Moi.

6. You ate a whole wheel of cheese? I’m not even mad. That’s amazing- This is directed at Twitter. I am yet to lose my Twitginity, so I may be misinformed on this front, but isn’t Twittering reminiscent of smoking? Here’s some examples why:

• The non-participants don’t understand why those who do participate do as such
• Most users are addicted, needing at least 10 hits a day
• Prolonged absence from the activity causes a sense of anxiety in users
• Both cause lung cancer
• Only the strong-willed can recover from addiction
• Were, or are, the height of cool for celebrities

(I made one of those up)

7. I love lamp.

Do you really love the lamp, or are you just saying it because you saw it?

I love lamp. I love lamp.- I love Sean Micallef. I love watching Youtube videos of his older shows. I love Talkin’ ‘Bout Your Generation because of him. I hate that Josh kid, though. His schtick consists of being a whiny little dipshit, and nothing else.

8. I know what you’re asking yourself, and the answer is yes, I have a nickname for my penis. It’s called the Octagon. I also nicknamed my testes. My left one is James Westfall, and my right one is Dr. Kenneth Noisewater- Continuing on in the television quiz show vein, I’d like to say that Good News Week is magnificently overrated. I’ll admit that Paul McDermott’s monologues kill me, but Mikey Robbins is so smug about his not having to play the fat comedian typecast anymore that I just can’t handle it. His smirk rivals Peter Costello in the smarminess stakes, closely followed by David Stratton. But wait! I’m not finished with David Stratton. Though I am getting tired, so I’ll just talk about him after Quote #9.

9. I read somewhere that their periods attract bears. They can smell the menstruation- David Stratton is the only person in Australian television that can pull off the smirk. And that’s because he’s earned it. Imagine having to host a show with the elfin Margaret Pomeranz for 23 years. Imagine having to put up with that cackle as you watch movie after movie. Imagine being criticised for giving GI Joe 1 star. Now imagine that you have half an hour each week to convince Australia that all this has not driven you to insanity. David, give yourself a pat on the back, and smirk all you want. You’ve earned it.

10. We’ve both seen our share of pornographic materials. Oh, you never have? Of course you haven’t, how stupid of me. Neither have I. I was just speaking in generalities. I’ll stop by the school a little later, Sister Margaret. Bye- The funniest phone call in movie history is a good place to end, though I’d just like to mention the effect this movie had on its stars.

Will Ferell- Virtually unknown outside of America at the time, he’s gone on to become one of the biggest comedy actors of this decade, only surpassed when Hollywood remembered that Jewish people are funny too, especially if they’re overweight, smoke pot with their stoner friends and improvise dialogue that makes you laugh without being witty at all.

Steve Carell- First he was the comedy star. Then came the television star. Then came the dramatic turn (basically, he grew a beard). And now it’s the children’s film actor. Next up- quirky Transformer that takes the place of those awfully stereotyped black Transformers.

Paul Rudd- Actually was in stuff before Anchorman (Friends, Clueless). But since then, has skyrocketed in popularity, culminating in the lead role in I Love You Man, a film made great purely by its excessive use of Rush discography.

Christina Applegate- Oh. She got breast cancer. But I’m 99% sure that it wasn’t caused by filming Anchorman.

That’s all.

Wolfmother!

Wolfmother have nothing to do with this post. That’s the last you’ll hear of them from me, that’s for sure.

However, I would like to talk about an experience I…experienced…tonight. I went to the gym tonight for the first time in about three weeks. This is the norm rather than the exception: each time I go, it is so traumatising to be outbenchpressed by a balding middle age man that I go into a deep funk, reversed only by the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol later that night. But it really got me thinking about what the appropriate behaviour is for an anti-gym junkie like me. After all, there are four main types of gym-goers:

1. The macho man- This makes up 40% of all gym customers. These guys live for the gym. Strutting around like they own the place, these men once had a job. Unfortunately, their extreme muscle density has infiltrated the space usually reserved for a brain, causing them to forget simple requirements such as turning up to work and living on a diet not dominated by protein supplements. They all have father issues- Ever since Dad crushed them in their annual wrestling match for the 18th time in a row, they’ve been determined to show everyone who the real man of the family is. Who cares if he can barely stand up straight after a lifetime of labouring, let alone wrestle a young man at the peak of his fitness? That SOB is going down!
2. The “mature” man– This species often wears muscle shirts, perhaps to emphasize that there was once something there filling said shirts out. He clings on to his halcyon days like a footballer’s sputum, often reminiscing with the younger lads until they find the courage to tell him to piss off. And rightly so. After a vigorous workout, the mature man will go for a coffee (preferably a skinny latte) with his wife, a HGH-fuelled, plastic surgery riddled caricature of her younger self. He then pops a couple of Viagra on the car ride home and…. I’d prefer not to have to go on.
3. The newbie- Often a high-school aged kid, the newbie will awkwardly negotiate equipment with a few of his friends, putting weights on that Mr. Schwarzenegger himself would have struggled with in his prime. This breed will either (i) quit the gym scene after two weeks, when they realise that they aren’t any more muscular after six gym sessions (who would’ve thought?), or (ii) stare enviously at the macho men, and resolve to become one. Basically, what I’m trying to say is that every newbie is either (i) an idiot, or (ii) on their way to becoming one!
4. Women- Women’s behaviour at the gym is dictated by one rule- stay away from the weights! As our backwards-thinking society still believes women should not be seen to exert any effort in any activity, they are hence restricted to the cardio equipment. This is the sole reason why they live for six years longer than men. Women often band together in deceptively titled “cycling classes”. Have you ever been into a cycling class? Let me tell you something: there isn’t much cycling going on at all. In fact, this is just a front for the meetings of factions of females, ones who plan to gain equal treatment for women at gyms. After a particularly intense session, they will often storm outside, ready to take over the place once and for all. But this quickly dissolves into chaos, when the women remember how physically dominant men appear. Minutes later, a Fernwood Fitness Centre will open up down the road.

 

But anyways…….I’m not really too sure which of these groups I fit into. For one, I have been going to the gym, admittedly infrequently, for about three years now. I can’t really strut around like I’m the man, because I do cardio as well. However, I’m most definitely not a newbie; I know my limitations, and stay well away from them. I’m 19, so that rules out the old man part, unless you, dear reader, are a kindergarten student- and if this is so, then kudos!

It would definitely be much easier if I was a women- then, I could go to the gym for an hour or so, race home to my Facebook account and put my status as “Just went to the gym…TIRED!!!! lol ;D”.

Ah screw it, I’ll just never go to the gym again.

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