BDO

Highlights of BDO:

Passion Pit cover Dreams by The Cranberries

Water tent

Girltalk in Boiler Room

Dizzee Rascal

Peaches crowd surfing

Grinspoon

Lily Allen really wasted

Hemp yogurt

Tony Abbott once admitted that he had dabbled with drugs in his youth, trying some "hemp yogurt".

Despite these wild adventures, Abbott has been offering sexual counselling to young Australians, urging them to stick to the rules on sex before getting married.

As if hearing the word "sex" and Abbott's name in the same sentence weren't disgusting enough, Abbot goes on to state women should stay virgins until they are married.

If you haven't guessed by now, Abbott is a die hard Catholic. He almost joined the seminary when he was younger and as health minister, successfully blocked the abortion pill RU486.(Surprising for someone who knocked their girlfriend up at 19.)

Abbott could invent his own contraception method. Think of him (especially in the above photo) when you're about to climb in the sack.

26th January

Australia Day can be really embarrassing.

Seriously, who actually gets up in the morning, wraps a giant flag around themselves, looks in the mirror and says, "HOT"?

I saw bunch of drunk bogans sporting the usual green/gold/Australian flag combo in Hyde Park. They grabbed some dude by the shoulders and screamed in his face, HAPPY AUSTRALIA DAY, MATEEE.

Cringe.

"They say if you leave a horse alone it dies, nestles into the hay and shuts its eyes..."

Last night I awoke to find that my most dreaded fear had come to life.

There was a cockroach in my bed.

And it had just crawled over my leg.

Some people say that we wouldn’t be so afraid of cockroaches if they were called something cute like “Fairy Bugs”.

I wouldn’t be so afraid of cockroaches if they weren’t so fucking disgusting.
How is this related to the Mystery Jets album Twenty One?

Unfortunately, I had to use it to crush the body of the audacious insect that had dared invade my mattress on the floor.

It was the only thing handy. I would much rather have used something like Hillsong’s This Is Our God, but I don’t keep that in my house.

I started listening to Twenty One more when I came of age a few weeks ago.

The lyrics are profound, amusing and honest. Umbrellahead is one of my favourite songs off the album.

When you come of age it’s not the same

No umbrella over your head when it rains

And your friends would rather get high than play a game

Oh it’s such a shame the way they change

And Emily’s hung over, Bill feels rough

Thinks his girlfriend might be up the duff...again

She threw up twice last night on the bus

And I never thought growing old could be so tough

The band’s blog says they have a new album coming out sometime during 2010. Its supposed to be the “big brother” to Twenty One.

Next time I will be keeping my sister’s Beyonce CD beside me while I sleep in case of emergency.

Everything I do is ordinary.

Red Riders are an indie act from Sydney who have been around since 2005. They emerged alongside bands like Dappled Cities and Expatriate but have an individual sound which has had many hooked since the release of "Slide In Next To Me" in 2006. Interestingly, in January 2008 the bassist Adrian Deutsch was replaced by Brad Heald, formally of The Vines.

Their first album Drown in Colour was released mid-2009 and one of the stand out tracks is "Ordinary". The video clip is cute and those familiar with Sydney's inner city will recognise the surrounds. Campos coffee also makes an appearance.

Here is the link for the clip:

http://www.lovegeek.net/blog/2009/07/07/video-red-riders-ordinary/

"...um... uh... dear oh dear..."

Who decided that it would be a good idea to put Lindsay McDougall on Triple J's drive time at 3 pm weekdays?

You almost feel sorry for him as he continuously stumbles over words and fills sentences with "ums" and "uhs". His stories are so boring I think it is actually dangerous to have him on air. He may put people to sleep at the wheel. Why would you want to hear about how he borrowed a pair of shoes off his brother? (That's it, that's the story.)

He mentions at least once every hour that he used to be in Frenzal Rhomb or still is or whatever. Triple J is supposed to be a "yoof" radio station. Ok, he is only 32. But he sounds 42.

At least the new breakfast hosts are Tom Ballard, 19, and Alex Dyson, 21. Move McDougall onto ABC 702 and leave Triple J to the yoof.

Iraqi deaths since invasion may top 1 million people

Why is the number of Iraqi casualties so hard to find in mainstream media?

Why democracy will never work in Iraq

On April 9, 2003, a US Marine corporal climbed the statue of ousted Iraqi president, Suddam Hussein. He roped a steel hawser around the statue’s neck and it was pulled to the ground, signifying the beginning the US mission to “liberate” Iraq and install democratic institutions. However, the US proposition of democracy in Iraq is in an improbable idea. Western style democracy will not work in Iraq because:

1. Iraqi culture places value upon human relationships and the preservation of harmony and face. The government emphasises homogeneity, fraternity and solidarity. Fraternity is strongly related to the tribal culture of the Iraqi people. Within this tribal culture, national figures of unity and strength are sheikhs and tribal leaders. To succeed in Iraq, democracy must take into account the importance of tribal culture. However, Western democratic governments are inseparable from media politics and the neo-liberal market, which inevitably produce radical individualism. Individualism threatens the tribal and religious divisions of Iraq. In contrast, Western culture is loosely integrated reflects a passion for freedom. The US government also promotes equality, a dominant cultural myth in Western society, as seen in the Equal Opportunity Laws of the US. These major cultural differences show why democracy will not work in Iraq.

2. There is also a contrast in Arab and Western worldviews. Worldview refers to a culture’s most fundamental beliefs about “its place in the cosmos”, religious beliefs, and beliefs about the nature of humanity. The Arab worldview is dominated by Islamic religious attitudes, dictating that humans cannot control the world and that God holds utmost power. Article 7 of Iraq’s interim constitution stated, “Islam is the official religion of the State and is to be considered a source of legislation”. This directly opposes the worldview promoted by the US, where government is not influenced as much by religion as by science and technology. As Alex de Tocqueville said, “[in the United States] they all consider society as a body in a state of improvement, humanity as a changing scene, in which nothing is, or ought to be permanent”. The scientific approach of the US government is seen in the $533.8 billion military budget for 2010 and the array of high tech, destructive weaponry that the US holds.

3.If the US government is ruled by a religion, its name is capitalism. The West is ruled by wealth and free market economies. Labour is seen as a way to get rich. In the Arab world, labour is viewed as a duty and a virtue.

4.The more democratic governments implanted in the Middle East, the more extremist and authoritarian it will become. The rise of extremist groups shows the immense resistance to Western values and beliefs. It shows that Iraqis largely view democracy as an arrogant assertion of American cultural superiority and as a brutal disregard to the values of the Iraqi people. There has been a recent upsurge of violence in Iraqi provinces previously considered “secure”. Anbar province has experience a sudden recurrence in bombings, assassinations and violence. http://www.gulf-times.com/site/topics/article.asp?cu_no=2&item_no=337822&version=1&template_id=46&parent_id=26

This is my view on why democracy cannot work in Iraq. Relations between the West and Iraq cannot improve while US forces attempt to colonize Iraq, as the contradiction between the US as democratic model and an invading force is too obvious. Improving relations instead involves the Middle East being left to evolve without foreign attempts to impose political structures.

Beautiful People

I first heard about BeautifulPeople.com when I read an article about a journalist trying join the exclusive online community. If you haven't figured it out by now, its for beautiful people only. You apply with a photo of yourself and over 48 hours members decide if you are hot enough. Members of the opposite sex.

So anyway, this dude who wrote the article was rejected.

Of course he was. I saw his picture. He was way ugly. Where as I am like, way the opposite.

I would totally apply and have no worries but uh... I have to wash my dog after I finish writing this blog post. (Yes, beautiful people wash their dogs too). I'm not afraid of being rejected or anything I just don't have time (beautiful people don't sit around on the Internet all day, uglies.)

But seriously.

Obviously a lot of people would start screaming about how un-PC this website is, and how it encourages prejudice and one ideal of beauty, but I think it is an awesome concept.

I really do. The website is based on one cornerstone of human nature, people want to be with somebody they're attracted to.

So they're not bullshitting anyone. The terms and agreements are made explicit.

But the main reason I like this website is that it is absolutely brilliant. Pure genius.

The more people who apply for this and are accepted, the less out terrorising and disgusting innocent humans with their vanity and self absorption.

It provides a barrier between them and the outside world.

It protects other people from brainless, shallow zombies.

However, only an ugly person would say this right?

Fuck off, I could probably steal Helena Christensen's boyfriend. I just have to wash my dog first... then take out the garbage... and um, read some post-Soviet literature, then...

"Hope is about to come to Haiti"

100, 000 to half a million people are feared dead after the earthquake in Haiti.
The Red Cross has launched a $11 million appeal for donations.
You could buy a song off iTunes or... possibly help someone related to one of the bodies in the trunk of this car.
And to the backwards man sitting in a Sydney pub this afternoon, earthquakes are caused by seismic waves. Not "the hot hot sun".

Bratz

I am pulling the black “spray on” pants over my ankles. So far so good. Now I am wrenching them over my calves…
But no.
My arse will not accommodate this $135 item of clothing.
How the FUCK does Russell Brand fit into these and not me?
I mean, he has a penis for Christ’s sakes.
The girl in cubicle next to mine is giving me the shits as well. Her whiney little Year 10 voice seeps under the door like a malodorous gas.
“So my Mum is like, such a bitch! Like, can you believe it? Who wouldn’t buy their own daughter a formal dress! She’s all like, ‘You can’t have it because its over $400 and we have to get the mortgage paid…’ blah blah blah!”
“Oh my god, I totally understand!” Her equally annoying friend replies from another cubicle. “My Mum is exactly the same. They are sooo selfish! They won’t even let us look good for like, the biggest night of our lives! Don’t they get how important looking good is?”
“Who knows…” Brat No. 1 replies, “I mean, they haven’t looked good in like, forty years or whatever, so they’re probably jealous. My Mum is horrible. She doesn’t know how much she brings down my self-esteem. Do you know she actually called me superficial!”
“No way!” Brat No. 2 exclaims.
“Yes way!”
I violently peel the pants off, chucking them in the corner of the changing room.
Must.
Get.
Out.
I flee the store.
I flee the shopping centre.
Lighting a cigarette in the car park, I realise that Bratz Dolls are not plastic toys. They are alive and roaming our streets.
Beware.

Ko Phangan

Blackwater agrees to pay for killing Iraqi civilians

This private army which "roamed the streets of Baghdad killing innocent civilians" must be punished.

As Mehdi Abu Zaman says in the article, Iraqi blood is not cheap. Blackwater, which has renamed itself Xe (I wonder why...), is offering money to the families of those needlessly slaughtered. Money? What about jail sentences?

This is a disgusting display of the hypocrisy, impunity and greed of the US government in Iraq.

By the way, here is the number of Iraqi civilian deaths from 2003 to 2009: 94, 939 - 103, 588

http://www.iraqbodycount.org/

The number of Iraq Coalition Military fatalities from 2003 to 2010 is 4691.

http://icasualties.org/

(please click the title of the post to go the article I am referring to)

My name is Salmon, like the fish.

In the adaptation of Alice Sebold's novel, The Lovely Bones, Susie Salmon is played by Irish actress Saoirse Ronan.

It is almost impossible to separate a review of the film from the novel. Inevitable comparisons are drawn. The film skims over the rape and murder of Susie (but I am not totally against this, who actually wants to see a 14 year old girl raped and murdered?). They skip a lot of the plot, which is understandable when you have to compress so much content into a film.

But the malignant tumour of the movie, George Harvey, is terribly miscast. Played by Stanley Tucci, he is creepy but not terrifying. Perhaps this is the point? Is the audience meant to sympathise with the pathetic creature that he is? I do not know. But he is unconvincing as a hateful, malicious psychopath.

Susie watches over her family from her place in the "in between". In true Peter Jackson style, CGI is exercised liberally. However, one of the most effective uses of this technology occurs in a scene shortly after Susie's murder. Her father, played movingly by Mark Whalberg, starts to smash his collection of model boats encased in glass bottles. He and his daughter had constructed them together. As he throws them against the ground, Susie sees them in her "in between", only in gigantic proportions. They are massive ships floating in even larger glass bottles, each one eventually crashing against the rocks of the beach. The shattering of the glass and the collapsing of the delicate, carefully built models shows the grief of Susie's father and cannot fail to move even the most cold hearted viewer.

The use of CGI is also awesome in the scene of Susie dancing with Holly dressed in Indian hippie costumes on a globe of green grass. It is an LSD trip to the max, but expresses joy and happiness, something that the film needs more of.

Another highlight is Susan Sarandon, who plays the drinking, smoking grandmother. She takes control when Susie disappears. She provides the only comic relief. In one scene, Susie's little brother is painting his grandma's toenails. He says to her, one day you will die too. She replies that 35 is far to young to die, whilst dragging on a cigarette.

Lindsay Salmon, played by Rose McIver, is convincing and realistic as the sister left behind. The scene in which she smashes George Harvey's basement window with her sneaker is perhaps the most compelling. Even though I knew she would escape, I covered my eyes and cringed.

"I waited for justice," Susie says in her afterlife, "Justice did not come." Taking the film aside from the novel, the evil rapist/murderer does get what he deserves. If that is what you define as justice. And the family do receive their closure in the finding of evidence which would be more than enough to convict George Harvey of Susie's murder.

Despite Ronan's more than competent performance, there are too many shots of her with the same facial expression... "Dad! Noooooo!" The film could have done with a bit more editing. But, in short, it is not a waste of money. Go see it, then whinge about how the novel is better. But appreciate the acting, which is pretty damn good with exception of Stanley Tucci.

"Bye Dad."

"Bye Susie."

Such a casual exchange. But it compels you to appreciate the moments you have with those annoying family members you encounter everyday.

Fisheye Pony

Ride it, my pony...

He was the first to share my bed

He was the first to share my bed. I held him close against my body. In the dead of night I would whisper... "I love you".

He kept me warm.

And then one morning, he was gone.

I rose from the bed and ran screaming down the corridor. I knew what had happened before I heard the dreaded sound... the whirring of the machine.

"BLUEY! NOOOOO!" My scream pierced the air and echoed throughout the tiled laundry.

"I had to." My mother said calmly. "He was so dirty. Now don't get hysterical."

But I was beyond hysterical.

"I HATE YOU! He's going to get hurt in there! He's going to drown! He'll be all cold and wet!"

She tried to restrain me, but I kicked her, biting and scratching until she let me go.

"He can't swim!" I wept. "How could you? He can't swim!"

My mother gazed at me, her eyes wet yet expressionless. She left the room.

I crawled down beside the Westinghouse front loader and searched for his furry blue face with the red stitches for lips and brown beads for eyes.

And then I saw it.

Hideous, matted and bloated.

Mashed up against the glass, frothy with white suds it appeared nightmarish.

I recoiled in horror and ran back to my bed.

Later I saw it pegged up by its ears on the line, dripping. Its damp, limp body swayed eerily in the wind.


My mother put it back on my pillow that night.

Her eyes searched my face keenly. She smiled hopefully and stroked my hair.

"Look! He's all clean!" She exclaimed. "I even put him in the dryer for a little while."

She snuggled the thing in beside me and revolted, I turned away.

Bluey may have been clean, but he was a shrunken, knotted and ugly version of his former self.

A Frankenstein bear.

His fur was matted. A brown thread dangled where one of his eyes should have been.

My mother stared down at my face, the light in her eyes now gone.

"You don't think he's cute anymore?" She demanded. "Well you should have thought of that before you put your sticky jam fingers all over him."

She kissed my forehead, but it felt more like a hard collision of lips and skin.

"Goodnight." She snapped off the lights and left me in the dark.

I kicked the bear to the foot of the bed.

I slept better without all that fur in my face anyway.

"... he is breaking eggs, and he is breaking black ones."

I am totally ready to walk into the Newtown Mission on this Wednesday afternoon and interview some Aboriginal people.
After all, I have already conducted two interviews with indigenous inner city dwellers. I know my subject matter: the bias of the Australian media and how it has perpetuated the struggle of Aboriginal people within our community; the Howard government’s Northern Territory intervention; ongoing racism in Australian society.

But despite these hard-hitting topics and my previous discussions, I still feel nervous.
Actually, I don’t feel nervous. I feel like I am going to shit myself.
As I stand waiting at the gate of the Newtown Mission I feel stripped bare. Who am I to these people? Another yuppie university student, filled with white guilt. How can I pretend to understand their struggles?

So, wearing my $200 “vintage” jeans and an expression of pure terror, I walk into the kitchen of the Newtown Mission. Without thinking, driven by the adrenalin of fear, I spot the nearest dark skinned man and sit down next to him.
He doesn’t notice me.
I clear my throat hesitantly.
“Excuse me, hey…” I stumble.
He briefly looks up from his meal.
“I’m doing an assignment for school. It’s about the bias of the Australian media and how it has perpetuated discrimination against the indigenous population.”
He turns his face towards me and stares me straight in the eye.
“What the fuck makes you think I’m “indigenous”, girl? I’m a fuckin’ Maori! You think every black fella in here is Aboriginal? I’m on my lunch break from the construction site, just trying to get a fuckin’ feed…”
I am looking at my shoes. God, why did I come here?
He seems to sense my mortification and his face softens.
“Look, lovey, you wanna talk to an indigenous bloke? Go see Darren Bloomfield. He’s a sort of indigenous activist, just the type you’re after. Should be here soon, alright? I’ll tell ya when he comes in.”
So while I wait I look around and notice that yes, there are a number of indigenous people here. But there are also loads of people wearing fluoro vests and work boots. Caucasians and Asians and men wearing dresses.
The Maori gentleman suddenly nudges me.
“There he is, Darren. To your right.”
I look over and see a tall man with a head of dark, curly hair. He’s stopped to talk to the pastor. Now an Aborginal cross dresser has joined their conversation. How will I get his attention?
“Oi, Daz, this little girl over here wants to have a chat with ya!” Yells the man next to me.
It proves a nice icebreaker and Darren Bloomfield strides over to our table and sits down next to me.
“And what would you like to talk about, then?”
I briefly explain why I am here. His eyes light up and he calls over to the pastor.
“Hey, Charlie, you mind if I borrow your office for a few moments? This girl and I have some serious issues to discuss. We need somewhere quiet.”
There are laughs and winks exchanged around the room but Charlie chucks the key over with a smile.

The room is cramped. Darren takes the office chair and I sit on the couch opposite.
I pull out my tape recorder and ask him to tell me about himself.
“Well I’m Darren Bloomfield. Born and bred in country New South Wales. Part of the Stolen Generation. I am a Tent Embassy Spokesman.”

In 2003 Darren appeared on the ABC news after the Aboriginal Tent Embassy site opposite the old parliament house in Canberra was burnt out. Important documents and items relating to the Embassy’s 31-year history were destroyed. For Darren, the damaged Embassy is a constant reminder of racism in Australia. He was arrested after 40 police raided the damaged structure and assaulted those who stood by it.
In 2007, Darren did what he was “given the right to do by Clover More” and set up an Aboriginal Tent Embassy in Victoria Park, Sydney to assert his sovereignty.
“The council didn’t seem to think I had the right to be there, but it is Aboriginal land, always was, always will be.”
He was forcibly removed by what he calls the “stormtroopers”.
Darren helped launch a “peace walk” in January 2009, from Sydney to the steps of Parliament House in Canberra to protest against the continuation of the NT intervention and the mining of nuclear materials on Aboriginal land.
He is then, a fully fledged Aboriginal activist.

We begin to discuss the role of the Australian media in the discrimination of the Aboriginal people.
Stories on Aboriginal health are so few that they do not rate as a major news category. The annual number of news stories on Aboriginal health in 2008 was 255. The annual number of news stories on random animal attacks was 286.
Stories that Australians do get about Aboriginal affairs must fit the definition of what is newsworthy.
Take for example when Four Corners, a program claiming to be investigative journalism at its best, described The Block in Redfern as “a small, squalid, shameful slum”. Or, the Lateline report which told Australians that Aboriginal children as young as six were being raped by their fathers.
Alcohol, child abuse and rape appear to be the stuff of good news.
The press published articles claiming widespread pubic support for the Northern Territory Emergency Response, a package of changes to welfare provision, law enforcement, land tenue and other measures introduced by the Howard government in 2007.
The intervention came after the publication of Little Children Are Sacred, a report commissioned by the NT government, written by Rex Wild and Patricia Anderson. It claimed that child sex abuse and neglect was rampant in NT Aboriginal communities.
According to Darren, the government used that report and the public’s reaction to it as their medium to move into the NT and establish “this system of quarantining and rationing.”
That was how the Australian government dealt with Aboriginal people on missions in the early twentieth century.
“What the media is portraying to people outside the NT is that the intervention is good. If you go there and ask why Aboriginal people are being treated this way you will be told that they are not feeding their children… that there have been incidents of…” Darren struggles to form the words, “…child rape.”

However, it cannot be said that indigenous opinions of the intervention have not been voiced in the mainstream media. After all, Noel Pearson, director of the Cape York Institute for Policy and Leadership, had his opposition and then strong support of the government’s move widely publicised.
“Quite frankly,” Noel Pearson told Lateline in June 2007, “I couldn't care less whether John Howard or Kevin Rudd ruled this world. My priority is to take advantage for immediate intervention for the protection of children.”
Pearson denied that the intervention was a land grab, asking “Who wants a land grab in main street Hopevale, for goodness sake?”
But Darren Bloomfield questions whether Noel Pearson can even be considered an indigenous voice.
“That Noel Pearson should be speared by his own people. He decided to support the intervention because of money involved and the positioning. And he was offered it. Noel Pearson has used his White Man’s education. He knows the only way up to the top of the ladder is to break as many eggs as you can along the way. And he is breaking eggs. He is breaking black ones.”
The government then won the support of Galarrwuy Yunupingu, the Northern Territory's most powerful Aboriginal leader. Until Mr Yunupingu met Mr Mal Brough in a secret meeting in August, 2007, he had been one of the fiercest critics of the intervention, telling people at an indigenous festival only days earlier that the Government's actions were "sickening, rotten and worrying". The meeting is believed to have been brokered by Noel Pearson. Details of the negotiations were kept secret.

Going back to the subject of media coverage, Darren recalls the Redfern Riots. On 14th February 2004, 17-year-old Thomas “T.J.” Hickey died after being pursued by police. He crashed his bicycle and was impaled on a fence.
Dozens of images depicting Aboriginals rioting in Redfern were published across Australia.
“A Molotov cocktail explodes during a violent confrontation between police and Aboriginal youths, triggered by alcohol heat and grief.”
This was the caption of a photograph in Daily Telegraph.
“Try it,” Darren challenges, “Try reading stuff like this about yourself everyday, ‘you’re all drinkers, you’re all violent’.”
The perceptions of Aboriginal people that Darren mentions have been the basis of warnings amongst non-indigenous Australians in Sydney. Do not go to Eveleigh Street, do not go near The Block.
“Ask these people? Who has told you this?” Darren demands, “Ask them if they have been to Eveleigh Street and if they have been bashed. No, they haven’t. It’s always a friend, or a friend of a friend. Because they’re working off word of mouth. I will take you to The Block and show you how our people live because of racism like this.”
Darren is referring to the high level of drug usage on The Block. The NSW Health Department deposits up to 4,000 needles at The Block every week. Darren informs me that it takes no more than five minutes to score heroin on Eveleigh Street.
“I worked needle exchange with my brother down there. We had to. It was an AIDS epidemic. Floors littered with needles. Young girls have diseases like hepatitis. Hepatitis A to hepatitis Z, they’ve got it. And this is what the outside entity wants. They say ‘destroy yourselves, we will give you the means’.”

The Koori Mail and The Indigenous Times provide an alternative news source for Aboriginal people. But these publications have limitations.
“These papers get the message out,” Darren concedes. “Its honest, but it is controlled by the government… all they do is take photos of Aboriginal people shaking hands with white fellas.”

The news is one of our senses. It is an eye for what occurs beyond our sight. This is why the media must change its portrayal of indigenous affairs. Darren is sure that the number of Aboriginal suicides would decrease if the media changed the way they report on indigenous issues.
He has one message for the editors of The Sydney Morning Herald, The Daily Telegraph and The Australian.
“Stop using Aboriginal misery to sell papers.”

Last night I met a girl, who says she has connections in the Melbourne independent music community

Muscles at Cargo Bar NYE...
Muscles, hurry up release a new album.