Gifts NOT to buy at Christmas

Christmas, eh? What a drag. Here's a good way to put the silly into the silly season:

1. Nose hair trimmer

Nothing says I love you like "go trim your jungle of nose hairs, you ugly old git". Not to mention that it looks like a torture device. Ouch.

2. Cumming: The Fragrance

Not sure how this one would go down with Dad.

3. Fundies

Well, they do look like fun. But no.

4. Banana Bunker

"Pamper your banana" - now that's a slogan if I ever saw one. It protects your banana so it doesn't get all bruised and squished in your bag ... an a-peeling prospect, surely (groan).

If you go to their website, there's a handy video showing you how to use it too.

5. Pole dancer doll

You think Barbie's a bad role model? Pole dancer doll will give your little girl something to aspire to ...

... And why should mummy miss out on all the fun?

6. iPod toilet roll holder

You can bet people won't be washing their hands before they use this one.

7. Um ... is there really a word??

I told my boss I would get her this for her baby shower. Yes, it is creepy. We're thinking that Total Recall was maybe the inspiration behind this creation:

8. Poo pourri

I think we all know what people are going to use this for. Do they really need to spell it out?

9. Farting Santa, or as I like to call him: Farter Christmas

No Santa, it most certainly was not.

10. Dog Poop Calendar

Every month, the same shit? Not with this calendar.

11. Coughing and screaming lung ashtray

Every time you place a cigarette on this ashtray, it starts coughing and screaming. Of course, you only bought it because you love them and want them to quit ...

The fat and skinny of the obesity/body image debate

We should not tell girls it's OK to be chunky. It's quite an attention-grabbing and slightly sensationalist headline, and this and the words that follow beneath it seem to be causing quite a stir, particularly on social networking sites like Twitter. I don’t disagree with many of the points Virginia Haussegger makes in her article on obesity and body image, but I can also understand why it’s caused much outrage.

It's true that there is an obesity problem in Australia. However, those who argue that “obesity is not a health issue” are wrong. A very small majority of fat people can blame a medical condition for their weight, and I would safely claim that for the majority of cases, the simple fact is that they eat too much (and of the wrong foods) and don’t exercise enough. Genes might cause them to pile on more weight more easily, but it can't carry all the blame and anyway – it’s your responsibility to adjust your lifestyle accordingly. As for the body mass index (BMI): I don’t even know what my BMI is, and I don’t really care. I’m happy with the shape I’m in and have a pretty good handle on the state of my health - I don’t need some number to tell me that. People who live and swear by it should probably understand that a test with such limited scope is going to be flawed in some way and should only be used as a very simple and quick guideline – one that is not entirely accurate. As a result, I am not surprised that people considered as overweight/obese according to the BMI are actually very healthy people. In my view: take what the BMI’s telling you on board, but don’t take it too seriously. This applies to all people, skinny or fat or in between.

The problem is that there is no clear-cut definition of 'fat' and to a lesser extent, skinny, and clearly the BMI is being used, probably not very accurately, to stick some kind of label and measurement on it. The ambiguity surrounding weight and health just makes the issue far more complex.

I could use myself as an example of the many contradictions that exist in these areas. I’m a tall size 12, but I wouldn’t say I’m crazily healthy: I don’t eat as well as I should and my alcohol intake isn’t exactly moderate. But I like to indulge and I don’t blame anyone else but myself for the consequences, and am happy to deal with them. I exercise quite a bit, but I could do more. While I am definitely ‘curvy’, genes have blessed me with a fast metabolism, probably the only reason I’m not as big as the side of a house right now. There are probably (much) fatter people out there who are healthier than me. People seem to see me as skinny, but I would be considered a plus-size model if I ever decided to go that way (yeah, fat chance). Confusing? Tell me about it. But the two main things here are that a) I am/feel healthy (well, except on Sundays) and b) I’m happy in my own skin. These are exactly the two most important things that we want women to have/feel. But the question is: how do we help them get there?

I can understand why fat women feel shunned and shamed by Haussegger’s comments, but I don’t think that was her intent. I don’t think we should promote images of obesity or poor health, but I also don’t think overweight women should be shoved out of the spotlight because they – in some people’s opinion – represent these things. Women of all body shapes, cultures and backgrounds should be portrayed in the media simply because that’s what our world is like - diverse - so shouldn’t our media reflect that?

Then there’s the argument “me being fat isn’t anyone else’s business”. No it’s not, but the media’s representation of women is our business. I don’t read Cosmopolitan, nor do I work in the fashion industry and I barely even watch TV – but I also acknowledge that some very impressionable minds do and what they show can have a strongly negative/positive impact. I really don’t think it helps when women are constantly condemning a stick-thin model on some catwalk somewhere (who a much smaller number of people would've seen if the media hadn't publicised it - see the irony?) or celebrating with over-exaggerated vigour a picture of a woman with a bit of extra meat around the belly and thigh on the catwalk or in a fashion shoot, crying “yes, finally, a real woman!” (Which as Helen Razer put it so well, “belittling the big”). And think how a naturally thin woman would feel being splashed all over the media and branded as “aneroxic”? Or how an overweight woman would feel about becoming the poster girl for other people's body image campaigns when it was not her intention for this to happen?

However, what does help are honest representations of women (i.e without excessive touch-ups and airbrushing) who are clearly happy with themselves, don’t feel the need to comply to a social norm, don’t feel the need to be objectified, and don’t constantly feel inadequate or obsess over their bodies to the point that it negatively impacts their lives. Whether they’re skinny or fat – who cares? If they’re happy, healthy and beautiful women, what’s the difference? It’s important to look and feel good, but not only skinny people can achieve that. We should be celebrating what woman have achieved, not what they look like - after all, it is that kind of behaviour that has been feeding the problem in the first place.

Racist foods

If Creole Creams are racist, then what are these? Chopped liver?

While I do believe racism and any other kind of discrimination should be kept as far away as possible from food products and commercial branding (or anywhere, for that matter), this issue raises the question: where exactly do we draw the line? Are Gaytimes considered offensive as well? Do Thins discriminate against overweight people? Do Cracker Barrell cheese and licorice bullets promote gun violence?

I know we live in a different world now, but how cool was it when we ate Fags, not Fads, and we let Fanny and Dick exist in Enid Blyton books, because even though they might draw a snigger, that's how Enid would've wanted it. And feel like some Spotted Dick? Well you can't have any.

This is racist food/marketing done properly:

Hollandaise hell at Tenth Muse

Brunswick Street: it's a thriving metropolis of trendy cafes, cute boutique shops and busy bars. So I figured, as I made my Sunday sojourn there for a lunch date with a friend - an exercise that has become something of a tradition lately - that we couldn't go wrong. Oh boy, was I wrong.

Having been the first one to arrive, I scouted the street for a place I could read the newspaper and sip coffee while I waited. A place called Tenth Muse at the northern end of the street (across from Bimbo's) caught my eye. It had funky retro orange seats and a low-key, relaxed vibe. In a gastronomical leap of faith, I went inside, and took a seat near the window while I waited for my friend to arrive. An older blonde woman who looked like she had barely woke up nonchalantly asked me if I was after coffee or lunch. I ordered a cappucino.

Twenty minutes later, my friend arrives, and I still haven't received my coffee. None of the waitresses had come near me. I was tired, hungover, and in dire need of sustenance; even some water would've been nice. When my friend sat down, I considered, on account of the absent coffee, leaving and going somewhere else, but my friend had already got comfortable. I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.

The blonde woman returned and then said apologetically to me, "Oh you ordered a coffee, didn't you? A latte?"

"Cappucino," I corrected.

Not a great start.

So our coffees come out after a bit of a wait. We were given menus to peruse but neither of us were really taken by the options. And where were the eggs? There was nothing in the way of eggs or breakfast at all. We were considering going somewhere else until my friend asked the waitress if they had any breakfast options. The woman, who looked tired and ragged, apologised again and dumped another menu, this time with the all-day breakfast menu attached, carelessly on our table. ("Someone's got a hangover," my friend muttered to me under her breath). Great. So we'd wasted a whole 20-25 minutes staring at a menu we had no interest in.

We made our decision on our breakfast options pretty quickly. But trying to get a waitress to come anywhere near us? Another story.

After another 15-20 minutes, I finally managed to flag down a waitress and ask if we could order. I ordered the eggs benedict with mushrooms and a hashbrown, while my companion opted for the eggs florentine. Pretty straightforward. The lady (dim blondie again) nodded as we made our orders, without taking notes, but you could tell it was going in one ear and out the other. So surprise, in five minutes she was back: "Sorry, you'll have to repeat your orders," she says vaguely. Neither of us are feeling good about our situation at this point.

So after another long wait - probably something like 30 minutes - our orders finally arrive. By this point we are irritable, completely famished and ready to inhale our meals. However, this was not meant to be. The plate is plonked in front of me and to my horror, two poached eggs stared up at me, completely naked, teasing me with their bare orange yolks. The hollandaise sauce was noticeably absent.

"Hollandaise sauce is on its way; apologies from the chef," the waitress says politely (a brunette this time, who seems a little more switched on than her sleepwalking blonde colleague) but we are less than impressed. I'm thinking (and hoping to high heaven) the sauce is going to follow. Soon.

Wrong. We were forced to stare at our meals for more than 15 minutes, as our mouths watered and our tummies groaned. I was losing my patience.

Finally, a waitress returned and assured us we would get discounts on our meals because of the missing hollandaise. "So what, are we supposed to eat them without the hollandaise?" I asked her. She assured us it was still coming. I told her the eggs were now cold. The chef came over, and finally it was agreed that she would make the meals again, from scratch, and bring them out with the hollandaise sauce included. Wasteful, and annoying. "I'm so sorry, " the chef said, "but we're really under the pump today." Looking around at the half-full cafe, I wondered what would happen if the place was actually busy?

The waitress and chef said they could have the meals back out in five minutes. We weren't holding our breath. And lucky that, because it took something like another 15 minutes for the meals to emerge again. I also had to ask for another fork, and we had no salt at the table. The waitress had also said she'd bring us more water, and hadn't. They offered us drinks as compensation. But no, we didn't want more coffee. We just wanted to eat and get the hell out of there.

So finally, the much-awaited eggs arrived, but not without what almost seemed like the cafe's twisted idea of a joke. The whole meal was literally swimming in hollandaise. The offending yellow liquid had taken over the whole plate, completely eclipsing the eggs, engulfing half of my hashbrown and disturbing the buttery harmony of my mushrooms. And if that wasn't enough, an extra glass tub of hollandaise sat perched amongst it all, mocking us in some kind of glaring yellow statement. Really guys, we know you must've gone to a lot of effort to make the stuff, considering it had taken something like an hour for us to get it, but did you have to (literally) rub our faces in it? Not only that, it was shabbily made: not creamy like hollandaise should be, but drowning in oil. Gross.

Following our meal (I think the waitresses were too scared to collect our plates) we argued with the staff over the payment. Finally, the chef insisted that we could both pay $10 each, less than half-price. I agreed to this even though my friend was reluctant. I was just tired and wanted the whole experience to be over. Tenth Muse is a new kid on the block (I think it only opened this year) so I did feel sorry for them to some degree, but the standard of service was simply unacceptable. I don't know if we were unlucky or what, but if I can give them some advice it would be: 1. Hire some staff who give a shit or even at least pretend they do. 2. If you can't make hollandaise sauce, you probably shouldn't be in the industry. 3. If you can't memorise orders, use a notepad. 4. If you keep up service like that, you won't last long.

Needless to say, we left Tenth Muse feeling far from inspired. The only - and hopefully the last - bad meal I have ever had on Brunswick Street. Next time, I'll settle for the cheap pizza at Bimbo's.

What is this bird's real name? And does anyone care?

Forget football, and forget Gary Ablett - at the 2009 Brownlow it was all about the oversized funbags.

Complete with orange Oompa-Loompa spray tan, a women widely reported across all media outlets as 25-year-old "Brynne Gordon" arrived on the arm of former Sydney Football Club owner and controversial doctor 66-year-old Geoffrey Edelsten.

If you have somehow been living under a rock, read all about it here: https://www.smh.com.au/national/lessismore-geoffrey-edelsten-walks-blue-carpet-with-fiancee-brynne-20090922-fz00.html

And here: http://www.heraldsun.com.au/sport/afl/tania-buckley-rebecca-twigley-all-the-frocks-and-flashes-of-brownlow-medal-night/story-fn422eni-1225777558341

But wait a minute, then who is this chick?

http://www.heraldsun.com.au/entertainment/confidential/look-who-loves-the-doc-now/story-e6frf96x-1111118456710

To quote the article: "Leaving no doubt the pair plan to tie the knot, Ms Groden introduced herself in a North American accent as 'Brynne Groden - soon to be Edelsten'."

So clearly, unless this woman does not know her own name, or the paper is lying (both of which are very feasible), then I don't see any reason to question this information.

Fairfax also named her as Brynne Groden: http://www.smh.com.au/national/tell-him-i-love-my-husband-but-not-that-much-20090911-fkxj.html

And Wikipedia has regurgitated these "facts": http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geoffrey_Edelsten

Oh but wait. Just to make it even more confusing, The Punch is calling her "Brynne Gorden": http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/good-to-see-geoffrey-edelstens-grown-up/

So who the hell is she then? C'mon media, tell us: who is Edelsten actually marrying?

A blossoming kind of romance

I'm pretty sure our real estate/garden writer wants to have sex with this tree:

"The lemon-scented gum that stands sentry at the bluestone-paved driveway is absolutely breathtaking. Stretching some 40 metres skyward and boasting a bough span large enough to create significant shade, this tree has a girth that can only be measured by a group hug."

There's so much I could say but I won't.

This is REAL real estate

Anyone who knows me, knows that I constantly whinge about editing real estate. Today I subbed an article about a land release in some bumfuck middle-of-nowhere outer-north suburb. The "sweeping views" were of clumps of grass and tumbleweed. The landscaped gardens were just excavated dirt.

I'm an advocate for "truth" in real estate, and if there was an "accuracy" in agent's reports, this would be a listing for my house:

A terrace house with real period charm - was built in the '20s and comes in its original condition.
It has a one-flush toilet that will mean you'll never want to do number twos again! And it's outdoors, meaning regular, refreshing trips outside in the freezing cold and pouring rain. Bathroom has shower and bath; mould and hair dye stains on the lino provided.
In the kitchen, a four-burner cook-top comes with crusty burnt food leftovers.
The lounge room is spacious, complete with trendy iron mark in the carpet.
Bedroom no.4 has a nine-metre ceiling, with a giant skylight that blinds you with daylight at 7am: no more sleep-ins! And a window, that goes to the dining area, so when your housemates come home at stupid o'clock and turn the light on, you'll know all about it. The high ceilings are also a feature in the other three bedrooms - you'll never be able to change a lightbulb again (unless you use a stepladder topped with 15 books and almost kill yourself)!
The front veranda is adorned with attractive fretwork, that may break off and nearly kill you at any moment - what a way to live on the edge!
Extra features include refrigerated cooling (it's like a freezer in winter) and central heating (furnace in the summer). The cracks in the walls also provide good ventilation.
Oh, and the location! Right next an engineering workshop that provides the rhythmic background noise of constant drilling, banging and ringing all day - well, only 9-5 on weekdays.
This sought-after Clifton Hill area also has a claim to fame - the notorious Hoddle Street murders happened just around the corner! And more recently, a cab driver got stabbed and almost died - just a skip and a jump away.
The crappiest pub in Melbourne is also just down the road. Train station nearby, but there are never trains running because of track maintenance works.
This house also comes with 'You suck' freshly spraypainted on front doorstep.
You better be quick - this baby won't last long.

Vaginas rock!!

So everyone's banging on about the sausagefest that was the Triple J's Hottest 100, but I'm wondering how many of these whingers voted for a female artist - or a band containing a female - in their top 10 lists, or if they even voted at all.

The noticeable absence of females does raise some concerns, but I blame it on two things: the fact that there are more male artists and bands in general (I don't have the statistics, but I'm sure males outnumber female musicians by a massive margin) and that the majority of the more commercially successful female artists - particularly those over the last two decades -are the kind that pump out catchy, but ultimately forgettable, pop tunes that are far from "classics" - well, not by Triple J listeners' standards anyway.

However, there is some fantastic female talent out there, and to give them the credit they deserve, I'm going to put together my all-female Hottest 100 songs of all time.

This required a lot of time-wasting at work, and the order of the songs probably still isn't up to scratch, and there's songs surely that have been left out, but frankly, I couldn't give a toss.

THE ALL-FEMALE HOTTEST 100 OF ALL TIME:

1. Dolly Parton - Jolene

2. Breeders - Cannonball

3. Fleetwood Mac - Dreams

4. Dusty Springfield - Son of a Preacher Man

5. Aretha Franklin - Respect

6. Roberta Flack - Killing Me Softly

7. Janis Joplin - Piece of My Heart

8. Nina Simone - Feeling Good

9. Heartbeats - The Knife

10. Joni Mitchell - Big Yellow Taxi

11. The Supremes - Baby Love

12. Nancy Sinatra - Bang Bang

13. Lesley Gore - You Don't Own Me

14. Salt'n'Pepa - Push It

15. Blondie - Atomic

16. Shirley Bassee - Diamonds Are Forever

17. Mazzy Star - Fade Into You

18. Eurythmics - Sweet Dreams

19. Nina Simone - My Baby Just Cares for Me

20. Everything But the Girl - Missing

21. Sinead O'Connor - Nothing Compares 2U

22. Ronettes - Be My Baby

23. Dusty Springfield - Spooky

24. Hole -Violet

24. Edge of Seventeen - Stevie Nicks

25. Jefferson Airplane - Somebody to Love

26. Elastica - Connection

27. Lulu - To Sir, With Love

28. Bjork - Isobel

29. Fleetwood Mac - Seven Wonders

30. The Seekers - Georgie Girl

31. Beth Orton - Central Reservation

32. The Carpenters - Tambourine Man

33. Joan Jett - I Love Rock and Roll

34. Martha and the Muffins - Echo Beach

35. Patti Smith - Because the Night

36. The Slits - Heard It On the Grapevine

37. Yvonne Elliman - If I Can't Have You

38. Kate Bush - Wuthering Heights

39. Donna Summer - I Love the Nightlife

40. PJ Harvey - Good Fortune

41. Cat Power - Metal Heart

42. Bjork - Hyperballad

43. Nina Simone - Sinnerman

44. Cat Power - Sea of Love


45. Portishead - Glory Box


46. Delerium (featuring Sarah McLachlan) - Silence


47. Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings - 100 Days, 100 Nights

48. Lamb - Gorecki

49. Blondie - Heart of Glass

50. Shirlee Bassee - Big Spender

51. Bjork - Big-Time Sensuality

52. PJ Harvey - This is Love

53. Cyndi Lauper - Time After Time

54. The Shirelles - Will You Love Me Tomorrow

55. Nancy Sinatra - These Boots are Made for Walking

56. Madonna - Like a Prayer

57. The Pretenders - Brass in Pocket

58. Goldfrapp - Black Cherry

59. Veruca Salt - Seether

60. Blondie - Rapture

61. Madonna - Live To Tell

62. Tori Amos - Professional Widow

63. Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings - How Long

64. Tori Amos - Cornflake Girl

65. Hole - Doll Parts

66. Magic Dirt - Locket

67. The Divinyls - Boys in Town

68. The Cranberries - Zombie

69. Amy Winehouse - Rehab

70. Fleetwood Mac - Tusk

71. I feel the Earth Move - Carole King

72. The Divinyls - Pleasure and Pain

73. Moloko - Sing it Back

74. Sarah Blasko - Don't U Eva

75. Ladytron - Destroy Everything You Touch

76. Lily Allen - Smile

77. Fiona Apple - Criminal

78. The Bangles - Eternal Flame

79. Kylie Minogue - I Can't Get You Out Of My Head

80. Mavis Staples - I'll Take You There

81. Magic Dirt - Dirty Jeans

82. Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Maps

83. Sharon Jones and Dap Kings - What Have You Done For Me Lately?

84. Lisa Loeb - Stay

85. The Pretenders - Middle of the Road

86. L7 - Pretend That We're Dead

87. The Cranberries - Dreams

89. PJ Harvey - To Bring You My Love

90. Sarah Blasko - Perfect Now

91. The Bangles - Walk Like an Egyptian

92. Cyndi Lauper - True Colours

93. Camera Obscura - Let's Get Out of This Country

94. Gossip - Standing In the Way of Control

95. Regina Spektor - Real Love

96. Blue Boy - Remember Me

97. Beth Orton - She Cries Your Name

98. Eurythmics - There Must Be An Angel (Playing With My Heart)

99. Garbage - Stupid Girl

100. Janis Joplin - Me and Bobby McGee

I heart these T-shirts

See where I got these from, and other cool pics at http://twitpic.com/photos/JaredWoods

Media mash-up

It's been a while. What has happened in my absence? Bar mat mums have been barred from Disneyland. Mars Bars have got smaller. Vegemite and cheese are no longer separate entities. Ben Cousins' finger made national headlines. Chk Chk Boom girl made everyone want to buy a gun. Poking fun at dying children was deemed not funny. There was a competition over who was ugliest - Gordon Ramsay or Tracy Grimshaw. Chastity Bono decided she would rather be a man than grow up looking like Cher. We said goodbye to Terry Wallace, Peter Costello, Dean Laidley and ABC's head of comedy Amanda Duthie. Oh and Des Moran, who has given Underbelly scriptwriters another ratings winner.

I could go on. And if I had the time, I could've written a blog post devoted to each of these events. Instead, I'll give a rundown of some of the lowlights and highlights.

My deep dislike for the Herald Sun and the cronies who run it (or if I could be more broad - News Limited) is no secret. Maybe I'm a tad biased because I work for their enemy, but if you ever needed proof, here's some doozies I found on Twitter:

@erica_lick: I'm sorry, what were you saying? I was distracted by your boobs. http://bit.ly/1pASr

@watchingdan: Dear Herald Sun, I know there's an economic crisis on, but surely you can afford spellchecking software..Mmm Chickem... http://bit.ly/q2Jjo

Looks like that spell check could've come in handy for this one as well, courtesy @JaredWoods http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,25624514-661,00.html

And from Murdoch's baby, The Australian:

@the_enthusiast: Oh dear, the Oz subs can't spell "accessory": http://bit.ly/Ke6X2

Yeah, OK, Fairfax isn't perfect either. During coverage of Rove's "private wedding" to Tasma Walton, Clem Bastow drew attention to The Age's poor taste in running photos of the happy couple, blissfully celebrating the start of their new marriage, in the same photo album displaying a grieving Rove at Belinda Emmett's funeral: http://tinyurl.com/lsel8e

And, some more great input from Miss Bastow: http://twitpic.com/793ni

But it wasn't all bad. Points go to the Hun for their fantastic 'Dim Sym' headline relating to the fall of cricketer Andrew Symonds. I love it and I wish it was mine.

On the subject of headlines, I'm also a sucker for this one I stumbled over recently: http://bit.ly/851ID

And I love that The Age included the Woman's Day editor's punctuation error in this article. They may as well have come out and said: "The Woman's Day editor is a dumb bitch". Maybe we should rename the mag "Womans Day"? http://bit.ly/31TgPk

This lame MediaWatch wannabe mash-up is all I've got time for, folks. Till next time.

The '50s called. They want their cardigan back.

I am still trying to live down the embarrassment generated by the monstrous fashion eyesores my mother made me wear as a kid. Particularly grotesque outfits that stand out in my mind include: a black tracksuit with a jumper completely covered in multi-coloured bows, a hideous shirt and skirt set with panels of a black-and-white pattern and red and plastic jewelled buttons, a blue polka-dot pants and top set (my little sister had a bright pink version, which we wore together), a parachute tracksuit with fluoro pink and yellow stripes and a mustard-yellow and a magenta Sweathog (which I pronounced 'SweaTHog') tracksuit.

OK, I understand it was the early '90s - a time when stirrup pants, scrunchies, boofy fringes and stonewash jeans were the ultimate fashion statements -but my mother had no excuse. She would repeatedly buy me outfits that after the age of 8 I had enough common sense to reject, but no. It was either that, or I went naked. I had no choice.

Throughout my teens, the fashion nightmare continued. Not only at the hands of my parents, but the Catholic education system. Every winter schoolday I was required to don a grey, woolly jumper (a potato sack had more shape), shirt and tie, itchy blue tights and a heavy, long kilt. You'd think I'd give a sigh of relief when casual clothes day came along, but alas, no. Instead it filled me with dread. Yes, I would prefer to wear some ugly school uniform than the clothes my parents, whose fashion sense seemed stuck somewhere in the 13th century, bought me. It was bad enough having to wear 'Lynx' sneakers with my P.E uniform - as these items of footwear - the only status symbols us uniform-wearing students could wield - were pivotal in cementing your place on the social food chain (you can probably guess where I sat). But until I was of legal working age, I was doomed to this fashion purgatory called my childhood.

So while the scars of this trauma remain, having these ghastly moments of your childhood captured and preserved in time, then flashed about on lounge room walls and cabinets is just downright cruel and should really be some criminal offence of some sort. With my far from clean past in the fashion stakes, I myself have been the victim of the occasional titter or jibe when a friend, or even worse - boyfriend, catches a glance of a family portrait at my parents' home.

The worst thing is, I thought I'd left this trauma far behind me. I'd cleansed myself of my inner style-sabotaging demons and redeemed myself as someone that it's OK to be seen with. I'd been to fashion rehab, and reclaimed my mojo that my parents so cruelly squished. I thought I'd moved on. But now I find it's all coming back to haunt me.

Not that long ago, to my complete and utter horror, my mother told me, and my three siblings, that her only wish as an anniversary present was a family portrait of all four of us. WHY WOULD SHE DO THIS TO US?

Sites like this only deepen the fear:

http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/

Or in a way, it actually makes me feel a little better about my situation. I mean, at least my parents never made me do this:

Congratulations: you're fired!!

Today we had our staff awards (we have them quarterly). In a time of financial doom and gloom, in which most employees are being laid off/forced to quit/made redundant, the company decided to, for the first time, throw a little ‘presentation party’ with beer, wine and little puff-pastry goodies provided. A member of management even decided to dress up in some ridiculous-looking stripy shorts and bow tie for the event and crack lame jokes. We were all congratulated for our hard work and encouraged to get to know our fellow employees during the session.
All the cheesy team-building camaraderie immediately put us on edge. ‘What are they buttering us up for?” we thought. “Are some more lay-offs in store? What is this all about?”
I wondered if the company had been inspired by the recent Logies, and decided to continue the theme of unnecessary ceremonies to celebrate mediocrity (aka excuse to get pissed on cheap booze). I was expecting Gretel Killeen to walk in at any minute.
They even had a door prize. I was handed a ticket as I grabbed a nice cold Heineken from the bar fridge and company-funded pastry-wrapped goodie from the plate. I wondered what on earth the prize could be. “Yes, ticket number L55! You’ve been fired!”
That said, I wouldn’t mind winning an award. I mean, I need a new paperweight. Or something to throw at the CEO when he walks past my desk. And I was amazed that an organisation with such a tight-ass reputation could afford to give out Myer vouchers as prizes worth a whopping $50!! Whoa, hold on guys, aren’t we in a recession? Shouldn’t we be tightening our belts, not loosening them? I was waiting for management to say ‘Thankyou to the many people we sacked over the past six months. Their wages are paying for the free beer, wine and food. Oh, and the paperweights.’
They even had a ‘Paris Hilton’ award for “performance outside the workplace”. Why don’t they just come right out and call it the “Sexual Discrimination Award”. The girl who won it (I can’t remember what for, even) did not look the least bit impressed, and red-faced and reluctant, made her way to the front to accept the award, only to be snapped by the photographer when she wasn’t expecting it. Damn paparazzi!
They had an ‘Energiser bunny’ award and one for the best ‘cross-seller’, which drew a few amused titters from the crowd.
I guess it was their way of keeping people motivated and lifting morale in the workplace. I’m not sure it worked though. It all seemed so put-on and farcical. Give me Gretel Killeen and the Logies any day.

Vo-Vo eating Flashdancing Hookers

This week in the news:

'Hooker named Indoor Athlete of the Year' may conjure up all sorts of ideas, but things aren't always what they seem. Headline of the day and perhaps a sub-editor's once-in-a lifetime opportunity:

http://news.smh.com.au/breaking-news-sport/hooker-named-indoor-athlete-of-the-year-20090429-an7h.html

And this one here really takes the cake. Makes my bakery puns (see earlier post) seem rather stale:

http://business.theage.com.au/business/krispy-kreme-backs-down-on-vovo-booboo-20090430-ao18.html

And last, but not least. Giving 'Flashdance' a whole new meaning:

http://www.theage.com.au/national/serial-flasher-targets-dance-schools-20090428-aloj.html

Cooking with balls

Who doesn't like having balls in their mouth? The Testicle Cookbook is a must-have for any aspiring chef.

This sackful of recipes, which are sure to put some hair on the chest, comes in a very nice package.

Let it all hang out.

Here's the full link:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/worldnews/article-1066230/On-ball-Introducing-worlds-testicle-cookbook.html

I love how they use the word 'crunch' in the opening sentence.

Quoteable quote: "All testicles can be eaten - except human, of course."

Happy as Pie about these buns of Steele

Ahead of this Saturday's Essendon v Collingwood Anzac Day match (which I scored last-minute tickets to ... booya) I am over the MOON that the man with the coolest name in football may be making an appearance. You can't help but CRACK a smile when you read this young high-flyer's name:

http://www.afl.com.au/tabid/208/default.aspx?newsid=75495

Let's hope he gives the Pies a Steeley resolve to win tomorrow.

No half-baked bun, I mean pun

This is my first post. I'll get to introductions and all that exciting stuff later. But today I felt there was something worthy of sharing with the world. That is, the endless joy of bakery puns.

Every quarter, we have staff awards, one of which is for 'best headline'. A colleague of mine, the lovely Luna, keeps a comprehensive list of the gems we write so we can nominate them when the time comes. Standouts this quarter include: "Bickie lovers Arnott happy" (mine) and a whole lot of others I can't remember. I'll get back to you.

But today I spotted one that was worthy of commendation. It was "Council warms to smell of history in the baking": about the restoration of a historic bakery. I forwarded this to Luna and the following exchange followed (this took place over two working days).

B: One for the list: 'Council warms to smell of history in the baking' NWK
page 5, 23/4, by Ken.

L: He'll get the dough for sure. thanks for sending!

B: yes, it's sure to get a 'rise' out of the other entrants.

L: I don't think the yeastern office can compete, even if they do want a
slice of the action.

B:It's no half-baked headline. A great way to earn a crust.
(Whoever runs out of bakery puns first gets floured!)

L: Uh oh I'd better watch my buns

B: Don't flake out on me yet

L: FLAKE is not a bakery pun. You knead to watch it!!

B: Apologies for flakiness. I batter lift my game. Muffin can stop me now.

L: Scone the crows, that's brilliant.

B: It takes the cake! OK I need to stop

L: Well, I guess that's the way the cookie crumbles

B: I'll 'toast' to that.

L: That's the best pun invented since sliced bread.

B: I am sick and tart of all these bakery puns.

L: So piss off to south morang.

B: Do you think they'll let me loaf around?

L: yeah, but i hear the views there are pretty crumby.

B: I donut think so.

L: You and your pie in the sky ideals.

B: Don't stop me, I'm on a roll.

L: Puns really are our bread and butter

B: Did you say buns? I think it's time to ryes and shine.

L: yep, time to start earning a crust from doing this.

B: That one's already been used. That's barley fair.

L: You're right, it was a bit stale. I'll have to go oat and think of a new one.

B: Especially when these puns are coming every naan-o-second.

L: Wow, that's very international of you. You get pide of place for that

B: I think you'd biscuit off this tangent.

L: Ooh, you sandwiched that in well

B: This is giving me a my grain.

L: You are a well-bread thinker, that much is clear.

B: I'm happy as pie you think that, but I feel you're trying to butter me up.

L: Go jam it!

B: I knew you were a crusty character.

L: It's cause I married a Shepherd ('s pie)

B: Oh, so you're Mrs Potato Head. That's a pita.

L: I feel really flatbread now.

B: Would you like me to leaven you alone?

L: well I am become quite a sourdough old sub about this...

B: D’ough! Time to get pie-eyed then.

L: I am from an upper crust suburb. We don't get pie-eyed.

B: Damn, I accidentally deleted the bakery thread. I think I'm gluten-
intolerant anyway.

*B*