thegirlwhogotoverit

We've had this conversation

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 23:52:42 GMT

If you want me to cook dinner for you, or you and your partner, or you and your fifteen closest friends, fine. I'm your girl, and I've really not got anything better to be going on with (most of the time).

What's the one thing you never, ever say to me?

"Cook whatever you want."

We've been through this, people. I can't go to the store or the market or even the milkbar without a PLAN.

Because then you get me, in the kitchen, with eight green bags and an enormous piece of paper, saying to Ben, "Well, we could go with jambalaya and pasta and cambodian beef salad, or we could do spinach and chorizo and risotto and thai noodles, or..."

And it takes forever, and it costs a fortune, and if you wanted meatballs and roast lamb, you should have just said so in the first place.

Cricket

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 12:53:07 GMT

I miss the Old School Boys.

Actual First Test conversation:

Wen: Wait, who's that guy?

Buff: I dunno. Some guy with gum. He sure likes gum. Beej, who's that?

BJ: That's Marcus North.

Wen & Buff: Oh. (to each other) That's Marcus North.

Commentator: Phil Hughes on screen there, he's been making some runs in practice matches.

It's a Who's That? of wanna-be legends out there. Gonna be a looong series.

Here we go again

Tue, 30 Jun 2009 11:46:17 GMT

OK, so it's time for Dry July, where we raise money for charity by not drinking.

I started Monday - two days early, but you've got to start these new-week's-resolution style things on Mondays, or they don't work.

The whole gang has decided to get in on the action - Mikes has already been off for something like two months, Aims will be sober weekdays, and Mum is going to try to last the month with me.

We've gathered some sponsorship money (not nearly enough to beat Lou, but shut up), and, now we're not drinking... expect to see a lot more blogging action. Because it's a long, long month comprised of long, long nights.

Grin.

Actually, I took the week before last off, and it was a lot less challenging that it's been in the past. Should be a breeze.

As an added bonus, we've started an official lifestyle challenge to make the most of the non-drinking. We've all weighed in, and whoever loses the biggest percentage of their body weight by the end of the month is the winner. No idea what the prize is yet, but with all the money we're saving on booze, it's bound to be something moderately awesome.

I'll write in more (entertaining) detail from tomorrow. Tonight I think I might just sleep off watching that Hewitt match. Couldn't lie down, could he? Had to COME ON. Until four am. No wonder I don't like that kid. My affections, in the previously-unthinkable absence of both Nadal AND my tennis boyfriend, have been transferred to the A-Rod.

The Oldest Profession

Tue, 19 May 2009 13:17:15 GMT

Leaving aside the "lawyered!" triumph that proved conclusively that "fisherman!" was, in point of fact, the oldest profession, let's file this one in the "I could not make this up, and I, my friend, can make up some stupid shit" folder.

We've got a pro working the outside of the Tav. She comes through, tries her luck with the guys in the smoking rooms, and moves on. She's pretty good at turning away from the cameras as she walks under them, so the pictures we've got aren't much good, but the guys say she looks like she has been on drugs but has been off them for a while, and she looks pretty young. She's never been into the venue, so she might not, in fact, even be eighteen.

But she's been propositioning the boys, and man, do they think it's hilarious.

Mostly because she first tried Noel, and her spiel goes like this:

Her: Can I have a ciggie?

Him: Yeah, love, no worries.

Her: Thanks. You wanna job?

Him: A job? What sort of job?

Her: A blow job.

No, I am not kidding. Yes, this is an actual transcript, and I know he didn't embellish, because everyone has been telling me in exactly the same words.

Do you wanna job?

Seriously.

We, of course, have been trying to find out who she is. To that extent, people who know people have had the lady who runs this stuff out our way come in and look at the cameras.

Read that one again, I'll wait.

Clunky, I know. It's still true. We have a "this stuff" out this way, and we have kingpins (kingpinettes?) of said "stuff." We also have people who are connected. Who said all the intricacies of my job would be over when I left Lygon St?

I kind of love QuidProHo*, though, because "I'll have a schooner... and a job" has become the latest gag. And some kid I'd only just met ordered a parma, chips and salad, a job, oh, and gravy, and we giggled like twelve-year-olds.

I mean, really. The Werribee Plaza Tavern? Really? At 1215? This is where you "ply" your "trade"? Poor kid can't be making any money.

*Noel: Really? How much?

Her: You look after me, I'll look after you. You gave me a ciggie...

Noel (to me): So, I bought a carton.

Heh. QuidProHo. I have had three days to think of something better before posting, but I'm sticking with it.

I know. Twelve.

Oops.

Fri, 01 May 2009 12:40:11 GMT

I messed up, all y'all.

Tonight was meant to be the Night Of No Heat - last night I cooked two different types of curry. Tonight it was all easy, awesome things - Citrus Lamb, Chorizo/Capsicum Pasta Sauce, Bolognese, and Veggie Soup.

It all went very well for the first three dishes - the hottest thing in them was the smoked paprika, and they were good, warming winter dishes. Unluckily, I lost my way a little with the soup.

It tastes like a freshly cut chilli smells. It tastes like I cooked a chicken curry but forgot to put the chicken in, so nothing cuts the heat. The worst of it is there's no respite - I used the two jars of chilli I got for my birthday, and one's front mouth heat and the other is back mouth, so it's just a hot soup all the way through.

I mean, don't get me wrong, it's still awesome, and I can't stop "taste testing" it, but I meant for it to be everyone friendly, and it's kind of more... overtly hostile.

Huh.

Tue, 28 Apr 2009 14:19:39 GMT

I have found something I DON'T love that Jason Segel is in.

Let's just say that The Good Humour Man thinks it might be an arthouse flick.

It is not.

Imagine if a David Lynch film was crossed with Dazed and Confused, and the resulting film also starred Kelsey Grammar as a nerdy seventies parent.

Oh, and then add extra pretentiousness.

And subtract anything you might have liked about those two films (except for that one part where he did not like her party hat, then name-checked Go Dogs Go).

I just heard the line "you know, my dad used to like a good radish sandwich." I know it was meant to be ironic, but it really didn't pay off. There's a Jay character who looks like a budget version of Jay from Jay and Silent Bob crossed with Nick Stahl, and that Hurley guy from Lost is a psycho, and some chick who looks and acts like Andi from Dawson's is the Upper Class Chickie.

Now, maybe I am cross because Segel is the insane murderous guy (not a spoiler. as soon as that guy is onscreen you know), but I think this film is possibly the second-most pretentious thing I have ever seen.

The Brown Bunny is, as it ever was, top of that list.

What's for lunch?

Sun, 19 Apr 2009 10:35:57 GMT

Oh, wow, guys.

Massive problem at Casa Del Claughto today: after eating leftovers from Good Friday for a full week, we were down to a bowl of Crunchies and a basket of Easter Eggs.

No, really. There's cheese on toast, and after that, it's all chocolate.

I had a Cadbury Bunny and a cuppa at work for lunch, until Tracey yelled at me and made me a toasted sandwich.

Obviously, it's time for cooking.

Unluckily, we're in dire straits here at the Casa, what with the Comedy Festival and birthdays, so it was budget eats. I spent $38.60 at the supermarket, used stuff out of the pantry, and here's what we've got.

Ooba Gooba - chicken curry with tomatoes, onion and scads of chilli - hot as buggery and will make at least six meals when added to rice.

Wen and Aims pasta - chorizo, cherry tomatoes, red and green capsicum and chilli, we'll get at least four out of that. (ETA: I got six, actually, and I had a tasting bowl out of the pot before I stored it.)

Red Beans and Rice - this one I'm terribly proud of, because I used all pantry ingredients and offcuts. I used the end of the red capsicum that's been soaking in the ooba gooba sauce, an onion, two mild green chillis the neighbours gave us, and two cans of red kidney beans. Adding it to rice, and it looks like three or four meals in there.

Easy! The actual recipes are, of course, massively complicated, but we've got fourteen-odd meals out of forty dollars, which is pretty budget when you get right down to it - what's that, just over three a meal? Awesome.

And they have the massive added bonus of being Not Chocolate.

Very Quick Rundown

Mon, 13 Apr 2009 08:51:22 GMT

OK, so here's who I have seen since last I wrote:

Daniel Moore
Tom Ballard
Bart Freebairn
Mark Watson

Have been working and cooking and having a general ball (yes, even at work. Can you believe?), so I have nothing prepared, and I plan to cook all night with the leftover whatsits I found in the fridge, so I am just doing thumbnails for tonight.

Daniel Moore: Oh, he is so great. This year will totally be his breakout festival if we can just get people to go along. He has a singer/songwriter with a guitar in one corner, and he tells the story of finding his feet post-move to Melbourne with as much heart as humour. He is really endearing, and really funny, and the story is great. In short, I WILL have some of that imaginary sandwich. No, that's not dirty. grin.

Tom Ballard: We got free tickets to this one because we walked out of Dan Moore and there he was - a big doofy bloke in a blue shirt offering us tickets. We thought we were busy, but our tickets were at nine thirty not at half eight, as we'd thought, so in we went - mostly because Aims said "That's Tom from the radio!" He's just come out, and he's doing a show about that. I would never have seen this based on the posters or on the description in the guide, but he was great. For nineteen, he's amazingly assured on stage, he's obviously really enjoying himself, and he's genuinely funny. He singled Aims out in the front row, but unlike THE OBNOXIOUS ADAM ROZENBACHS (still hating on him), it was more inclusive than abusive. We were astonished to love him.

Bart Freebairn: The other night on Twitter, Josh Thomas said that he wanted Bart's jumper. I had had a chat with Bart earlier that night, and I totally agree. Kid rocks a green sweater. We went to see Bart because he stopped to chat about my All Your Base tshirt, and didn't attempt to flyer us - I asked what he had. This is another one I would never have seen based on the "Doppleganger" description in the book, but it was a really funny, compelling show, in spite of the obnoxious audience members in the two front rows. Freebairn is quick on his feet, and a bit of a nerd, and this is a really good show. Plus, he said this to us: "You guys have seen a lot of shows this year, huh? Have you seen Dan Moore? Haaaaaave.... you seen me?" We like him as a person, we like his choice of friends, and we like his comedy.

Mark Watson: Disclaimer: opinions may be coloured by love. I love Mark Watson. I loved him when first I saw him, with the bell and the years of his life shoehorned into an hour. I loved him when I found out he was doing a 24 hour show, I loved him more when I saw it. I love his wife, who turns up and makes him eat. I love how much he adores his wife, and how incredulous he is at being married at all. I also love his comedy. Mark Watson is smart, funny, and he's got heart. He digresses and laughs at himself and is generally endearing. He starts every show in the audience, and only about eight people recognise him. I'd be hard-pressed to repeat any joke he told that you would laugh at, but in context? Hilarious. This year he told a story, and I laughed, and he started to move on, and the punchline repeated on me. And I laughed again. Bear in mind that I had laughed until I had breathing problems the first time. If you're seeing one show, see Mark Watson (if you're seeing two, see Kent as well. If you're seeing three, add on Sammy J, because he really deserves the hype. And I saw him give to charity the other day). Ten shows, Town Hall, just fabulous.

Wow, that was less thumbnail-y than hand-y, but you get the sketch.

I'm basking, already

Tue, 07 Apr 2009 13:23:38 GMT

All right, it's now time for me to put aside my blinding, white-hot rage at Ticketmaster (mine is an epic anger)(fire of a thousand suns)(yes, that was a Veronica thing and a Shakespeare thing one after the other)(I'm eclectic and stuff), and bask in the glory of the awesome that is Andy and Lawrence cracking each other (and us) up in a show that was all for them - we just happened to be along for the ride.

Not as smooth or as technically good (think the powerpoint in Pirates, or Lawrence's Love/Rubiks show) as the shows that came before it, Time Ninjas was nevertheless these boys at their best. Andy's exuberance is what sells his comedy (I said exuberance, not earnestness - biiig difference, Save The World show!), and he's really into this show, with the singing and the traveling through time and the seat-of-your-pants improv (and even the beatings). Lawrence has always been a little more staid in terms of his onstage persona, so it feels somewhat intimate when he breaks character to giggle, or looks at Andy like he's gone nuts, or makes a little "move it along already!" hand gesture.

There's no real way for me to explain it without giving away all the best bits, and if you're anything like me, you're going to want to wait on the surprise. They travel in time. They sing. They are incredibly awesome. A lot. It's juvenile, in places, and it could be considered unprofessional in places, too, but what it feels like is these two everyday guys, friends for a lifetime, sharing with us what makes them laugh.

And that, for me, is worth the price of admission, nowadays. I loved Chris Addison when he was just making himself laugh, and I love Andy and Lawrence doing the same. I think it might help that we have the same sense of humour.

In other news, I've figured out why I didn't love Josh Thomas like I thought I would - I want a story that hangs together. If you're going to tell short stories, I will need an overriding theme to elevate it from a guy on a stage telling knock-knock jokes to something I want to take home and relive. Kent Valentine did that this year - took a standup routine and tweaked it until it hung together. He did it better last year, but I'll see him again and again because that sort of comedy is just better to me.

Josh Thomas has been at the Festival for four years now - this is his third solo show, and he did the Comedy Zone the year before that. Everything about his delivery says he's comfortable onstage, and his persona is endearing (at worst). He seems mature, and I know he's funny, but I got to the jokes before him almost every time (you may recall that when that happened with Ross Noble I just stopped seeing him - that's two thirds of the fun gone!), and a few pictures on the back wall do not amount to enough of a framework to hang stories together. I hope his material takes that step up next year, or I will take out my Purple Pen Of Pensiveness and remove him from the list. I will be sad to do it, because I really like him. I'm sad to say nasty things about him this year, same as I was sad the year I thought Man Bites God were underprepared. I expect good things from people I consider precociously talented.

Speaking of which? Kent Valentine. He has a story about a plane in this year's show, and I thought that story would be my favourite one of the night. It was Kent in full flight - all gangles and gestures and weirdly erudite descriptions juxtaposing sweetly against the physicality. I love Kent in full flight. The plane story is the one I will tell over and over, like the napalm story from last year (which... give me a minute)(heeeee!). His closing story, though... last year his closing story made me cry, and it still makes me want to when I think about it. I'm a sap. My pen's a cynic; it was pretty blatant emotional manipulation, and it's almost a lazy sort of way to get the audience onside, but credit where it's due - Fistful of Rainbows was a good story brilliantly told. This year's closer was of the same ilk, a story that you take home with you and hold close to your heart. The sort of thing that makes Kent better than Josh Thomas, for mine, though you won't see it in the money or the representation or, sadly, the crowds. That final story, with the final twist, that pulls the whole disparate show together into a unified whole.

Basically, the show is about why we should love everyone, even the arseholes (see, it's all right there in the name)(that will make you smile if you see him). It's a bunch of short stories about how we interact as individuals and as a society. Once again Valentine is not afraid to take stories from his experience and exaggerate them until he looks like a doofus (shortcut to endearing. I'm easy. Don't sue). There's stuff about Star Wars, and stuff about Nazis, and stuff about his fiance. He's too hot to take on the out-there persona of Andy or the geekiness of Lawrence, too geeky to be a Daniel Townes everyman, and too well-built to be a Josh Thomas. He's carving out his own niche, though, with a sharp wit that can segue into making himself laugh nearly as often as he makes us laugh, and he tells as story as well as anyone I've seen.

The kid's good. Final thing: though I rate this show less highly than last year's, I didn't see the twist. Fistful of Rainbows, I saw the twist coming, but this year I had him going in a completely different direction, and that impresses me.

Yeah, I am a nerd. What's your point? Smile.

So... then that happened

Fri, 03 Apr 2009 12:15:23 GMT

So, you know that bit where I am a little bit of a comedy festival stalker?

Well, I went through the entire booklet thingy, and I played online for AGES, and I couldn't find Justin Kennedy anywhere.

I was sad. We still use Michael Buble, from the first Kennedy show we ever saw, and we saw five shows in a row: the one with the guitar in the basement where people left early and he fretted until he realised that it was for the last train, the one where he was on the party boat, the one where his subconscious hated him and made him sing Billy Ray Cyrus, the one about the ladies, and the follow-up one about the ladies (look, I was eloquent online about these once, I don't have to be all over it now, ok?).

So I found his Facebook page and wrote him a note. Something along these lines:

Hi. I know this is kind of stalky, but my sister and I noticed you weren't doing a show this year, and we've seen you every year for a few years (I think the first one was Simple Pleasures in the basement at the Vic). We just wanted to let you know that you're missed. Ok, enough stalking, Wen

I thought he might think I was a complete freak, but I rarely write to people like that, and I just think... what if nobody else mentioned it? And we were disappointed. He's like Andrew McClelland - automatically on our list each year. So I sent it, let it go, and figured at least he doesn't know what I look like, right?

I got a message back today, saying that I wasn't stalky, it was nice to hear it, he'll be back next year, and this:

Until then, thanks for caring. Maybe I'll see you at the festival, while we're both waiting to see somebody else's show.

So, we go see Sammy, we are there early, of course. We get second row seats round the side, and when we stand up to wait our turn walking out, guess who is three rows behind us, also watching Sammy J?

The Comedy Festival has some sort of sick fascination with making me look like a stalker. Once again I thank my lucky stars that I was there first. How many times now has The Festival made me look like a Swimfan? And I am deadset that now he's seen me he's put it together, too. Sigh. Lucky I was ready to look like an idiot from the outset, right?

Sammy J - 1999

Fri, 03 Apr 2009 12:01:02 GMT

Confession: I went along to Sammy J tonight worried out of my mind. Last year he won prizes and kudos and everyone wanted to feed him, and then at this year's gala he did the Backwards Song again, and... I was stressed.

I mean, don't get me wrong, that man needs a feeding (so does Josh Thomas, honestly, but I don't see either of them coming round to feast any time soon), and I love the Backwards Song as much as anyone (I even know a bunch of the words), but I didn't want to go and see a "Best Of Sammy J!" show this year, especially after The Hurricane (2007), a show that felt like every song I'd ever heard from Sammy J shoehorned into a concept.

Nasty? Yes. Honest? You are correct, sir.

So we said on the way in that we'd give him (a) a pasting or (b) a panelling depending on how much of the music we'd already heard. Comedy snobs, anyone?

We've been laughing all the way home. Utter triumph on the part of Mr J. Relief, joy, giggles, and happy memories of partial (skinny!) nudity. Woo! Best night ever!

So, it started off late and slow, and we spent a lot of time in the Council Chambers teaching people how to work the move-y seats and rummaging through the drawers. Council Chambers are heritage listed, including the carpet (remember, Ed Byrne?), so they confiscate bottled water and won't allow food and generally ask you very nicely (although that could just be the Brit accent on the Festival Lady) not. to touch. anything.

Sammy has regressed to Year Ten, and fifteen years of age, and sings songs about packing his school bag and reading Dickens (BOO!) and going off to school. Either he was a little nervous to start with (bear in mind I saw a preview show, his second), or he's deliberately slightly off early as a lack-of-confidence character trait. The story is your usual comedian fare - not popular, likes girls who don't like him, bullied by the jocks, etc. It takes a twist, though, and while I don't want to spoil anything, I will say that The Twist Song is hilarious. The girl behind us was singing it to herself during the post-song applause.

Sammy J has a lot of heart, and even the most cliched of subjects can become poignant in his hands. His timing is spot on, his voice spans genres and octaves with equal aplomb (bonus points for use of the word aplomb), and the show is... it's a play, it's a guy singing, it's a surreal fantasy, it's a multimedia extravaganza.

In short, it's way more awesome than I deserved, given my pretentious tooliness pre-show. I am telling all my friends to go see it (all three of you. no wait, two, aims has already been).

I am thinking that I am the only person who considers "Sammy J in a speedo" to be a selling point, though.

Colin Lane: I'm not sure about the music

Wed, 01 Apr 2009 12:23:10 GMT

Well, it's back, guys. Once more I am completely consumed with planning and viewing and writing about comedy. If you don't care for it, too bad. You invisible regular readers will have to imaginarily patronise somebody else's blog.  So nerr.

We opened this year with Colin Lane. Opening acts are, of course, carefully chosen so as to see something funny that won't discourage my driver from attending everything else I have on the short(long)list.

I kid.  We just looked at who had the best discounts during preview weeks and stuffed them all into the first four nights.

Anyone who is familiar with Aims and I knows that we're long-term Lano and Woodley fans (we've got the videos [yes, we're old] and the book)(yes, there was a book)(it was called housemeeting)(yes, I know where it is)(not really)(I've just moved house).

Excuse me a moment, I have to go and assure the parentheses police that I've not been drinking and can be trusted behind the keyboard.

Anyway. Lano and Woodley. One of the first comedy shows we ever saw live (I am not sure if The Amazing Jonathan was before or after them). It was 1995 or 1996, I believe, and we stood in line afterwards to get our tshirts signed (we are nothing if not slavishly supportive). I wore that shirt until it fell apart, and we saw them twice during that festival run.

Since they split up, we've been supporting their solo careers when we hear about them in time - we caught Frank's solo festival shows, and we were very excited to see Colin's show in this year's festival guide.  He's playing The Butterfly Club, which I'd never actually been to before (the last three times I wanted tickets to something there it was sold out before I got in - stupid lack of credit card!). It's practically next door to the South Melbourne Town Hall, and it's one of those festival venues that would normally be way too cool for me to be allowed into during your average everyday week.

It's an intimate venue (this is my way of saying "dude, take a bottle of water or a beer or something in, it's hot as buggery in that tiny room under the lights), and we walked in to rollicking piano music. I have a confession to make: I have forgotten the pianist's name, because Aims told me on the way home that she knows a guy named Tristan who is a dead ringer for that kid, and that reminded me of a Tom Basden song, and then I was singing all the way home, and I... have forgotten the poor boy's real name.  He is, however, excellent. I'm a sucker for a man who can harmonise and add flourishes at the same time.

Without offering a complete recap of the show or a proper review, I'll come down on the side of the overwhelmingly positive. The songs are excellent -- during a couple of them I simply couldn't look away.  The main idea is that Colin isn't sure about the music - the songs themselves, the relentless self-promotion and commodification of artists, the whole shebang (Col? I agree.  All those single ladies can, in fact, fuck off. Oh, and I hate you for getting that song stuck in my head).

It's not just the music, though - Colin Lane is just generally dissatisfied with life, the universe, and everything. He has a few chats with his inner self, works his way through something of a midlife crisis, has a dip at a popular musician or two (I might have to abandon one particular cd - I'll never hear the chorus the same way again), and sings his way to some sort of catharsis.

It's a solid concept, and the music carries it along at a good pace. Lane was pretty nervous on his first night, though, which resulted in him losing his place a few times. Aims and I were saying that his years of experience stood him in good stead here - when memory faltered and the script was abandoned, he relaxed into himself, and himself? Funny guy.

I would have liked to have seen more a more distinct voice for the interior monologue - it was difficult to keep track at times. Perhaps a different voice, or a lighting change? Justin Kennedy did a couple of shows where he played different characters, and used both those techniques, plus a tape for his conscience, if I recall correctly. Yes, I know, that's pretty hyper-critical, but I am at least trying to offer solutions! Difficult to implement solutions, yes. Shut up.

Overall, I really enjoyed it, and I will go back towards the end of the run to see where he's tightened it up and how it's evolved. If you're into music, go and see it. There's a singalong! And Colin has a heavy heart! And there's a piano! And jokes!

Also, just between you, me and the internets? Colin Lane is a lot hotter at forty(ish) than he was ten years ago.

What? Nothing. I'm going to make some tea.

The Final Word

Fri, 09 Jan 2009 09:26:58 GMT

On this season's Test Cricket.

Here is what the good old boys at The Australian had to say:

"Smith gritted the teeth he has struggled to clean because of the pain from his recurring elbow complaint, but in the end could not resist Mitchell Johnson who has so impressively taken from the injured Brett Lee the mantle as Australia's pre-eminent fast bowler. He was bowled with just 10 balls remaining.

Smith's heart must have been as heavy as the burden of failure that was lifted from the Australians, but characteristically he kept a brave face and immediately embraced Makhaya Ntini who, to the surprise of all who know him, learned something of himself by holding the Australians at bay for 103 minutes and 75 balls to be undefeated."

That's not Patrick Smith, you guys - that's Mike Coward, usually a voice of reason, this week as emotional as a fifteen year old who received only stripes and razors for Christmas.

Everyone's been just thrilled by this series, and I'm no different. When Smith took the field I gave him a standing ovation behind the counter and shushed Jean when she tried to talk to me. Because I was all choked up. Looks like I wasn't the only one. I mean, it's not the Ashes, or anything, but it was one vs two in the rankings, and it was played in good spirits.

And we got totally boned, of course. They were too good for us. We'll be rebuilding for a while. We might lose these Ashes in England again, too. No matter. Smith batted with a broken hand and a bung elbow, Mitchell Johnson came of age, Duminy came in as a replacement and left as a revelation...

Smith borrowed a shirt from Kallis and had his fast bowler dress him, you guys. Not because a win was imminent, either - just to try and grit out a draw. Come ON. I heart South Africa.

The night before the last day of the third test, when everyone got all emo-excited about cricket, Ben and I were talking through Aims about our favourite Aussie captain and why, and it turned out we both were Steve Waugh fans. All I could think about Smith on Weds was that he was so Steve Waugh. No wonder everyone has turned around on him this series.

On the last day of this test series, Ponting was joking in the field with one of his failing batsmen, who was joking right back. Michael Clarke was glowing, as usual, because cricket just flat-out floats that kid's boat. Siddle can't believe his luck, as a Victorian, and bowls every over like it might be his last chance in Test Cricket, ever. Aims' Boyfriend Mitch was calm and collected, even though he's been stuck with leading this attack that was a chance of getting tonked by me. And that's just us. Their bowlers stuck around, Kallis didn't complain when Ronald the Ranga claimed a catch that dead-set bounced, Ntini stuck around and stuck around with (Jock)Steyn, who has been outstanding and frustrating in equal measure.

It was hugs all round at the end, and even though we got done at home for the first time in sixteen years, on that last day we still felt good about ourselves and test cricket. And that's all we want, right? Hard-fought matches that make us feel uplifted. You know, "in these tough times" and whatnot.

I'm proud of everyone. I'm fucking stoked I chose Smith as my South African cricket boyfriend the very second he strapped on a 20Twenty microphone. I'm pleased as punch for Aims and her cricket boyfriend, because she got beaten to the punch on Clarke and ended up with a boy with just as much exuberance and heart.

And mostly, I am so, so excited for this year's test cricket. Return series in South Africa, new boys, let's go. Ashes series in England, no sleep, rock on - bye, KP, nice having you as captain but you dove before they could push you, kiddo. You think Strauss can match Ponting? Maybe; we are playing a reserves side, but oh, yeah, let's go.

Tests have been in trouble in the face of one dayers and Twenty20 (I don't know which way it goes, honestly, I'll try both), but they're resurging after this series, which is great on multiple levels - India has been amassing more and more power because of their financial acumen within the arena of the short game , but we can counter it with a thriving test market, which we can no longer doubt exists in the face of such awesomeness.

Woo, sport. Sorry. I'm such a sport geek. I'm so totally in trouble at work for refusing to take the sport off the big screens.

You would not believe how entertaining it is to watch the Lygon St Mafia saying "you BEAUTY!" at the cricket.

HaHaHa... Awww.

Thu, 08 Jan 2009 11:40:52 GMT

Sigh. As many of you will already know, my semi-beloved mobile phone has chosen to do a Michelle Wu into the spa.

Now, this is not as bad as when my awesome, joysticky, accompany-me-to-the-US-AND-Adelaide-AND-all-the-way-down-to-MacKenzie-Falls mobile phone decided that a working screen was no longer something it chose to provide me in return for all my years of loyal bashing it about, forgetting to charge it and leaving it in the safe at work.

It is, however, still pretty bad, as I am without a phone for as long as it takes me to brave the shopping centres and pick up exactly the same phone all over again.

What? It has flashing blue lights which mean there is a message! That's just cool!!

Ok, I just can't afford another Joystick Model and I know I can't be trusted with an iPhone. What's your point?

Anyway, given that Nokias are built Ford Tough, I think it might do me the enormous favour of drying out. Because I will do karma the enormous return favour of using my alarm clock to ACTUALLY WAKE ME UP IN THE MORNING.

Now, I know y'all are thinking, "Well, Wen, this is just run-of-the-mill idiocy for you, why are you bothering to post about it?" And you'd be right.

However, this time I have taken the added bonus step of heeding Evan's advice on how to dry my poor old screen-impaired (yes, I've tried it, and yes, I am kryptonite for screens) phone out.

And my mobile is currently nesting in a bed of rice. Because rice draws out moisture.

I am not sure if it should nestle IN the rice or ON the rice, so it's currently covered in rice. In a lidded ex-take-out container. Alongside the battery, because though I'm pretty sure the battery was kind of ok, there, since it turned on the phone's lights when I put it back in, I can't be too careful, right?

Except, you know, the part where I might have been careful enough NOT to take the bloody thing into the spa in the first place.

You're harshing my buzz, Conn

Tue, 02 Dec 2008 09:06:28 GMT

Y'all may have noticed that I've been pretty pleased by the return of Test Cricket, and, in particular, the hotness of the New Zealand side they sent to restore our confidence.

Now, yes, they collapsed like tomatoes under heat, but still, they're young, they're untried, and I thought the games were played in a really good spirit. I like them almost as much as I like South Africa; I yearn to have Vettori miked-up a-la Graeme Smith during a Twenty-20. Sure, they copped what could be called a pasting, but I liked their attitude.

So I'm a little miffed at Malcolm Conn over at The Australian. I usually like his articles, and find him an eminently sensible commentator. This time, though... there was this one time I wrote a review of a book that was so nasty I sent it to my mum first, and asked her if I could in good conscience submit it.

She passed it on to her mate Tony, who is in PR at her workplace, and both of them emailed back to tell me it was well-written, and I could submit it as read, but... why?

That's how I feel about today's piece by Conn. Yeah, maybe you have a point, but... why? These kids got done, good and proper, they'll learn from it. I don't think they need to feel ashamed of themselves, though. We didn't stand up to much stiffness of breeze there, either - it's not like we should be throwing large stones.

Perhaps I'm unreasonably attached to the NZ side, but I thought comments like the following were uncalled for.

"BY its rank ineptitude the New Zealand cricket team has publicly offended its captain, Daniel Vettori, and rendered Test cricket another disservice."

"Young, raw and naive the team may be but there can be no excuse for the lily-livered batting which abruptly ended proceedings yesterday"

"Martin Crowe expressed the fear that with the country's stocks so abysmally low it could be another 15 years before the Black Caps have a win against Australia. On yesterday's showing that could be an optimistic call."

"Vettori has every right to feel affronted. Even if New Zealand is renowned more for its accomplishments in the abbreviated game, he was entitled to believe his men could pool their modest resources and challenge the Australians in these two matches."

See... I am not stupid, I know they weren't good enough, they made stupid mistakes and were generally overmatched here, but they tried. They held catches. Vettori changed the bowling up when he needed to, set smart fields. His injury-depleted stocks were never going to get the job done, but I felt like they always threw themselves into the matches, and they maintained positive body language throughout.

Yeah, hang shit on us (or anyone else!) for not aggressively chasing a win. Condemn negative tactics like over-sledging or stacking one side of the field to dry up runs or calling someone a monkey or needling Pigeon about his wife (never, ever EVER is the answer to "when are you letting that go?"). But don't be snarky just because you can about kids who were trying and just fell short.

A lot of the time in Test cricket, you feel like you can say "oh, I will go make a cuppa, grab a sanga (yes, when you are watching cricket you talk like that), nothing's going to happen until we change the bowling." For the record, I said something like that to Vic during the first day in Adelaide: "Well, let's watch the next ep of Chuck, because we won't take a wicket until Ponting changes up the bowling here." I never felt like that when the Kiwis were bowling. I felt like I had to watch it, because they were always trying something new. I don't normally care to watch us bat, but I watched every second of it this time.

And isn't that what we're going for in Test cricket? Why discourage them? Seriously?

Look.

Sun, 30 Nov 2008 08:25:05 GMT

I rate Daniel Vettori enormously highly (and not just on my list of Sports Stars I'd Love To Bang), but I think The Age may have gone a little too far here.

"Only an act of God or Daniel Vettori can prevent a 2-0 defeat, and the inevitable slide to eighth on the Test rankings."

BookMail

Thu, 27 Nov 2008 16:24:09 GMT

OK, from Kel's blog. Here are a bunch of pretentious books we're all supposed to read. Bold the ones you've read; italicize the ones you read for school; underline the ones you didn't finish or are sitting on the shelf waiting for a free week. Now, I know I'm a nerd, but I don't know how well I will fare given that this might be a US-biased challenge. Copy and comment, y'all. I don't care how long this gets.

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Anna Karenina
Crime and Punishment
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion
Life of Pi : a novel
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Ulysses
Madame Bovary
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice (read it for school too, but read it at home first)
Jane Eyre
The Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel
War and Peace
Vanity Fair (oh, how I wish I'd not bothered)
The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods (and wow, do I need to read it again)
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (I think Wen has read this for everyone and said to stay away, but I could be wrong)(YES I DID!!!)
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran : a memoir in books
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : the life and times of the wicked witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales
The Historian : a novel (really? this is on here? Egads! Don't bother people!)(removing it from list)
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead (half read for me)
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch (you know what? I can't even remember if I read this or not. I think I did. But I can't be sure)
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Christo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible : a novel
1984
Angels and Demons
Inferno
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D'Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables did not read it in French, but made it anyway
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (kel hated this but Ev will love it)
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes : a memoir
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-present
Cryptonomicon (Oh, sue me. I love Gaiman and Stephenson!)
Neverwhere (speak of the devil)
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved (bugger off Oprah)
Slaughterhouse-five (what? Why not?)
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots and Leaves (kel I can send you a copy?)
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake
Collapse : how societies choose to fail or succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a rogue economist explores the hidden side of everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
The Aeneid
Watership Down (audio copies count?)
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood : a true account of a multiple murder and its consequences
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield (I will read no more Dickens! NO! MORE!)

I will copy this to Kel's blog later, and you all should, too. I think my score is pretty respectable here.

It is all over

Mon, 24 Nov 2008 18:56:07 GMT

The comp for best headline ever has been won by The Age, at not quite six am my time.

Conductor in vitriolic opera clash dies suddenly

Now, I will grant you that it looks almost innocuous compared to some of the headlines you 'll see, but sit back, look at it, and let your mind extrapolate for just... one... moment.

See?

It's Leopold, it's Bugs Bunny, and that's just for starters, people.

I will never, ever read the article, is all I'm saying.

Hi, Boys

Fri, 21 Nov 2008 12:45:28 GMT

There's really not much I can do to convert the unconverted, here, save taking them to the Boxing Day Test and exposing them firsthand to The Boys.

But... The Boys are officially back in town, and I couldn't be happier. Wow. What a pair of days, Test Cricket-wise.

The two Test Series in the forefront of everyone's minds prior to Thursday were both against India, both hard-fought, both slow, gruelling, and bitter. None of the beauty of Test Cricket was really on display - all of the graft, all of the effort was there. Piece by piece, we watched men being stripped down to their bare bones, and what was exposed was often unpleasant.

Against New Zealand on Thursday and again today, it's been... you know, I would say "transcendent," but even I know that's overkill. Seriously, though? This is cricket played in the best spirit of the game, and the guys on both sides are loving it. Southee (nineteen, people!), O'Brien (when Stuart Clark swung and missed yesterday!), Martin (looks like Skeletor, bowls kind of ok), and, especially, Vettori (and!! and Taylor, with that juggled catch, and D guy with his run out today, and the fat kid, starts with R, but I keep calling him New Tubs? Aw, but Vettori!).

Ah, Daniel Vettori. Before I even knew I needed sporting boyfriends, I knew I loved him. Chem major, threw it over to spin for NZ against us at eighteen. Love. He's captain now, and he's thought this whole thing through. Bowl first, play to a plan against Hados, bounce Punter, change the tempo against Haddin because he's got something to prove... even his fields look well thought-through, and if even I can see that (ta, channel nine graphics), it must be true.

Young team, exuberance aplenty, and they kicked our arse. And I loved every second of it. I watched every second of it, too, bar the time Des was driving me home (lunch break) and I was talking about it (sorry, Des).

Of all the guys in all our teams (yeah, I know we're only supposed to have one, but its makeup is so malleable!), Michael Clarke was the one who managed to hang on. And I know he's loving life right now because not only did he just get engaged to one of Aus' hottest women, he also finally got over his Indian Virus Trauma. But he was enjoying every second of that cricket. Even when he nearly got caught in slips, but it bounced first... and the next ball he hit the same shot better, and it went for four... everyone was laughing.

When Stuart Clark slipped and nearly fell, and Vetttori made like the ball was a half-metre from running him out, and he scuttled back into his crease, only to realise he was in by a mile... everyone was laughing.

When Mike Hussey was given out today, even though he missed the ball by a half a foot (and I'm being generous), things could have turned sour. Huss wasn't laughing. I wasn't laughing. Nobody at work was laughing, except Jean, who finally had to concede defeat as regards how many people are actually caring about the cricket (AsianMaurice doesn't speak great English. "Look! Wendy, look, look now! Look! Noh ev-han cloooose!! Ohhhhh, Koetzen!")(RedHead Dave: "that's fucked.")(Random Guy I've Never Seen Before Today: "Will ya look at that. Rudi, Rudi, Rudi. We should have gone with [Kofi].").

But if you watched closely afterwards, you would have seen Michael Clarke walk before the third umpire gave him out. In fact, the pending decision turned to "out" suspiciously soon after it became apparent that the kid had walked. Oh, he was out, no problem, but from a couple of angles you might have given him the benefit of the doubt, and the third umpire wouldn't have gotten through them yet.

That's what I'm all about - sportsmanship, honesty, and understanding that it's the sort of life and death that you've really got to leave on the field. So far both teams have played honest cricket (OK, so Haddin will Warney [er, appeal off the smell of an oily rag], and appealing for Hussey's wicket was ok for the bowler and possibly even the captain, but unforgivable for the keeper, though there was a sound). Both teams have played positive cricket - even when wickets have fallen, they've been attacking instead of blocking, and both Vettori and Ponting have bowled thoughtfully and with getting wickets in mind.

This is the sort of Test Cricket that we need to see all the time. You get the feeling that if you turn away for a second, something might happen. There have been very few periods of play where I've thought "I'm cool to change the channel/get a cuppa/go to the loo." Test Cricket is as intense and enthralling as limited overs cricket; I'd label it more intense, because it's over such a sustained period. This first Test between Us and Them has been played in a great spirit so far, and we've switched the lead so many times it's anyone's guess as to who will win right now (actually, I like Them for it - going into the fourth and fifth day, even with the rain, I'd be more comfortable with a specialist spinner). How often does that happen in Test Cricket?

I hope nothing changes. I hope the Gabba Test is a template for the rest of the season: fair, hard-fought, and fun. I hope things are as good against South Africa. It will be the more heavily scrutinised series, and there has been some bitterness to the rivalry in the past (she says, hoping to gloss over the racist-crowd accusations). Still, I love Graeme Smith for his Twenty-20 commentary, and I remain hopeful.

Test Cricket may be in trouble, but watching The Boys on both sides simply glow these last two days... well, I'm biased, but I can't see how that sort of enthusiasm can't hold an audience.

It's a start, right?

Wed, 12 Nov 2008 12:54:51 GMT

So, parliament has moved to recognise the rights of same-sex couples in de-facto relationships. I know that currently they're UNABLE to be anything BUT de-factos, but still.

It's a start. All of those financial things that have left partners grieving as well as facing financial ruin are now not so problematic.

I just... I would love to think that we won't have a Proposition 8 situation over here. I would love to think that Aus could legalise gay marriage and have it stick.

I'm sorry, have a look at my soapbox (which may or may not say "Lux" on the side), but most of America won't bother coming out to vote for their PRESIDENT, but they will turn up to officially register their mindless hatred?

Honestly, I'm just so upset about Prop 8 passing, and I'm clinging to any straws that say it might not have happened here.

Yay Parly, for once.

Don't stop there.

Ah, Smith

Tue, 11 Nov 2008 09:35:58 GMT

Patrick Smith has thrown his two cents at Test Cricket this week, and I very much enjoyed the article.

Selected highlights include this:

Lastly, cricket is played over such a long period of time it allows for moods and not just moments. Matches are won or lost, retrieved or squared over long periods where a match hangs in the balance not for an over or just one ball but a set of strategies applied by both bowlers and batsmen. No other form of cricket allows for this intrigue.

..and this

Spectators are drawn to limited over cricket and Twenty20. They are forms of the game that have their own skills, both brutal and nuanced, but neither game allows for periods where one side dares another, asks for a response, tests for a weakness in mind and heart.

I've always said that if they'll show eight hours of cricket a day I'll watch all eight, email my brother about them afterwards, and get up early to read the newspaper coverage in three papers before it starts up again.

I love Test Cricket, and not just because there's more of it. I love it because early on the first day one side can totally dominate, but be behind by the third afternoon. I love it because Brett Lee might get exposed as all flash and no staying power, because Mike Hussey might stubbornly set himself for two days, or because after hours turn into days in the Indian heat, Michael Clarke is still on the ball enough to run someone out in seconds.

Test Cricket is gruelling to play, and it can be almost as gruelling to watch, but it involves thinking. Fifty and twenty over cricket is about throwing bat and ball around with reckless abandon, while Test matches are about crafting something.

While every paper suggests the bell tolls for Test cricket, I remain steadfast. One of those who finally breathes deeply late in November when the boys stroll onto the Gabba in their whites. One who tunes in early to watch the presentation of new baggy greens. I'll be watching; I'll be singing along with the anthem, even if I'm at work that day.

Don't get me wrong, I'll throw all manner of enthusiasm at any sort of cricket that throws itself at me. But there's something about the (temporarily) pristine whites, unchanged in decades, that just flat-out trumps the ever-evolving KFCommonwealThree uniforms of the one-dayers. Yeah, it's cool to find out the nicknames when the boys play Twenty20, but none of that seems serious.

We don't battle England for the Pura Cup One Day Crystal Trophy Thingy (and by the way, one day cricket will trophy-up for anything), we fight for the Ashes, five Tests, five days each (unless we whip them in three, of course). It might be slow, but Test cricket has dignity. We'd be poorer for the loss of it, and I for one can't wait for next Thursday.

When we spend eight hours a day telling New Zealanders that their mothers shag sheep. Gravitas, people!

They Might Be Giants

Sat, 08 Nov 2008 14:15:30 GMT

...but we can still have an opinion.

TWoP did a list of the sluttiest male characters on tv, and I think we can edit their list a little bit, not least because you will never have heard of some of these guys. I would also ask you to recognise that the title of the list did not specify "right now," "currently," or even "this decade." So, come on.

Here it is, for the record:

1. Barney Stinson (How I Met Your Mother) - Well, this one really went without saying, didn't it? Barney would almost certainly bang your mother, after he bangs mine. Even if she's not hot, if she were willing to go for one of the three vehicles that are still on his list, he'd be there. No contest.

2. Mark Sloane (Grey's Anatomy) - yeah, total himbo. Cute, towel scene, other people's wives, towel. Actually, we've seen him be in love with Addison, and run away from that with Callie, but I'm not willing to exclude him from the list just because he has layers. He can stay.

3. Jason Stackhouse (True Blood) - well. All y'all prolly won't know this kid yet, but y'all remember Tweeter? "I'll fuck anything that moooooves!" Tweeter? "Is that a rash" Tweeter? Y'all get what sort of Texan kid we're talking 'bout, here? Still no contest.

4. Chuck Bass (Gossip Girl) - Well, now we have ourselves a little argument. Chuck Bass is in love with the best of the best of the best, with honours, sir, but he's been shagging the skanks to make her jealous lo these three years. I give him a pass, like I give Bill Clinton a pass, in that his philandering is a cry for help. I know that he deserves a nod on the "top ten guys getting oodles" list, but a list specifically titled "sluts"? I don't know. Want someone debonair who actually is a slut? Michael Mancini, people, is all I'm sayin'.

5. Christian Troy (Nip/Tuck) - JULIAN MCMAHON, you guys! Yeah, THAT ONE, from THAT DANNI VIDEO! Hi, if you're not from Australia, well, um, you probably don't know why we're running around laughing and freaking out that anyone would ever think this guy could be some sort of sexual icon, successful enough with women to be on this list. You Tube is your friend. You want this kind of kid for this kind of list? Go all the way back to Jake from Melrose. Don't waste my time on some fake-tan Aussie wanna-be.

6. Don Draper (Mad Men) - OK, in Aus we haven't seen this, but he's a high-up ad exec with a smoooooooth manner, and he, if I am not getting him confused, manages to bag Zoe Bartlett. But that does beg the question, if we're going for guys with power who snag their underlings... why not go for someone from the West Wing? Like Josh? Or, hell, if we're going for the mysoginist entry, why ignore Tony Soprano? He bags way more hot chicks at a much bigger handicap! I think Don Draper has a heart of gold, and should not be here when his spot could be taken by many a more callow fellow (sorry).

7. Cooper Freedman (Private Practice) - he's the McSteamy of the spinoff. He's all new-agey but still stone-age when it comes to women. Hell, let's just swap him for Angel right here and be done with it.

8. Bill Henrickson (Big Love) - man has what, seventy-three wives at last count? Including Chloe Sevigny? I'm not denying this kid anything. Enjoy your spot on the list, mate.

9. Daniel (Ugly Betty) - Magazine guy who only dates models. Emphasis on dates. Why did this list need a faux gay kid? And if he's actually straight, swap him out for the same kid on Las Veags. His chicks are hotter.

10. Dean (Supernatural) - at TEN? Dean? Comes in? At TEN?? Dean IS Tweeter; did Kripke write Varsity Blues? Dude. Purple Nurple episode, anyone? Sigh. This is ridonkulous. This is an injustice. And, much as I love the kid, hell yeah he belongs on the list!!

But... what about the others? What about Zach from Saved By The Bell, what about Dawson? Hell, that kid was looking for love in all of the conceivable places, and some that were, say it with me, inconceiveable! How about Parker from Buffy, Alex on Grey's?

Who else you got, people? Because I have not even sight-read my dvds, and I already think I have at least twenty to add to this list.

Oh, and just quietly? No, wait. I mean boldly and loudly, emphatically and angrily - California can get fucked on Prop 8. A certain mate of mine is right when he says that in ten years we (for him as Americans, for me as a society) will look back, appalled at how obnoxious we were (and by we I mean Californians, and by obnoxious I mean bigoted).

I will rant no further. But, really. In Eric's words: Same-sex marriage has been legal in California for 4 months -- can anyone honestly step forward and argue that it threatened their heterosexual marriage?

Rooftop Cinema

Sun, 26 Oct 2008 12:50:18 GMT

Now, leaving aside for the moment whether or not it is actually desirable to watch a film on a rooftop in the middle of Melbourne, I have to say, the guys who program Rooftop Cinema have done it from my dvd collection. That is all.

I have not read it

Thu, 23 Oct 2008 13:26:11 GMT

I don't think I CAN read it.

Look, here's the thing. I know, I KNOW that the boys who play the sports aren't perfect. I have met a lot of them. I adore a lot of them. I think some of them are as thick as two short planks, and I think some of them are complete camera whores who couldn't stop being so if I offered them all the money in a Cup Week TAB.

See, footballers, well, shit, footballers? It would be nice if they were all Bucks or Buff's Boy Murphy, but they're not. They're just precociously talented kids who are stuffed into stockings they can't always fit. Can-kick-a-ball does not equal can-be-a-role-model.

Thing is, naive as it may be, I chose my cricketers. I loved the ones who cared about each other, who cared about the team, and who cared about the integrity of the game.

Oh, say what you will about McGrath and That Eruption, I will never agree that any sledging should have mentioned his breast-cancer-riddled wife. Steve Waugh may have been tough as nails as re: sledging, but any man who runs in his gear into a bushfire is on my list for life.

Gilly is on that list. He just is. He walked. More than once. He didn't cure me of my HealyLove, but he made me aware that I could love again, and I did - who couldn't love a man who scored like an opener, defended like a middle order batsman and fought like an Aussie for every second of every innings?

He was an old-school cricketer, a great vice captain, for Aus, because he was a role model. I don't think his strategies would ever have won a series solo - I love him dearly but I don't think he was ever one of cricket's great thinkers.

But I do love him, and that's why this is such an upsetting headline for me:

Gilchrist questions Tendulkar's honesty

I don't want to have to take sides on this. Not because I doubt either side; I just don't want this to be happening.

In these troubled times

Wed, 15 Oct 2008 11:00:40 GMT

-- oh, no, don't worry. this isn't going to be serious. grin. --

As I was saying, in these troubled times, thirty-three dollars is kind of a lot of money. I could stretch that to feed Evan and I for about a week, actually. I could make two meals out of it, at four days a meal when you factor in the frozen portions... yep, let's not kid ourselves. As global economies spiral into a frightening maelstrom of doom, it gets harder and harder to justify spending almost fifty dollars on a book.

An untried book - a book by an untested author, a book reviewed by a woman who can't spell*, a book you've not been hectored into reading by a friend. Judging a book by its cover has, in fact, never been more fiscally irresponsible than it is right now.

And yet, I did it. I liked the unadored carapace of A Fraction Of The Whole. I liked the name. Alas, like A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius before it (WenTitle: A Stultifying Work Of Unbridled Self-Absorbed-y-ness), AFOTW failed to justify the trade paperback price.

[By the way, I got a look at the paperback edition the other day, and wow. If that thing stays bound, I'll go he.]

Still, my investment doesn't have to be wholly without dividends, does it?

You guys all remember making a phone book into a Christmas Tree? I think, failing kindling, this is the best use for AFOTW. It will look very dapper folded and sprayed silver, don't you think?

*Hi, SO'C at the Herald Sun. Yeah, I'm talking about you. I am, always and ever, saying nasty things about you. In fact, if I care to buy a book, I first check that you don't like it. Am I painting a word picture here?