Beggars' Choice

The other day I read something interesting - a man's dancing ability heavily influences a woman's impression on what he would be like in bed. I asked a few female friends if this were true and they all replied yes it was, and they were so, so sorry.

In my defence, I can only say that if you've seen me dance you would know it is physically impossible to be that inept in bed and stay with the same woman for 14 minutes, let alone 14 years.

Makes you wonder if Peter Garrett scared off many groupies. Same goes for Plastique Bertrand.

Last Saturday we took our kiddies to one of those Fun Factory places. I’m not sure of the correct generic name for these things, but they consist of a vast warehouse filled with climbing equipment, ball rooms, giant slides, bouncy castles, etc. They are very hot, and reverberate with excited laughter and the cries of the maimed.

I’m not going to name names though, because while their ad looked impressive the reality was very grim indeed - most of the stuff looked as if it had been scrounged on the cheap and a lot of it was broken. The centrepiece was a little car track on which kiddies could tootle about in little electric cars but unfortunately none of the cars were working. Someone had made a half-hearted repair attempt, because there were electronic entrails from one car strewn along the side of the track, but to no avail. For a while we watched 4-year-olds take turns at getting hernias as they vainly tried to push their friends around in these busted-arse vehicles.

Mrs B and I ended up passing the time by playing table soccer. Except we had to use a table tennis ball, and for some reason the players’ top halves were much longer than their lower halves so we had to make all the players stand on their heads so they could reach the ball. Not that it mattered anyway, because the table was so warped the ball would eventually roll into a corner and stay there.

One interesting final fact; according to their ad, they also do wedding receptions. You can contact me for details if interested.

"It's not a story about cricket, it's a story about lesos." - Frontline, 1994.

"[Australian bowling coach Cathryn Fitzpatick's] partner, the recently retired Australian women's captain, Belinda Clark, was appointed in July to run the new generation academy." - The West Australian, 14 October, 2005.

One of these sources is a satire of modern media, where the cynical heirachy try to sucker the easily duped public with trashy sensationalism that is not really relevant to anything. The other was a popular TV show from the mid-90's.

After the last federal election in Australia, the government gained control of both houses of parliament. This hasn’t happened for a long time, and they’re making good use of it. At the moment some controversial industrial relations legislation is coming through which means lots of SCARY SCARY TV Ads (c/- the unions) and lots of soothing, calming, driiiiink the Kool-Aid type ads (c/- the government).

Which leads me onto toady’s point. As a result of the control-of-both-houses thing, a lot of people have accused the government, and John Howard in particular, of being “drunk with power”. They always say it like it’s a bad thing. I for one would love to see John Howard drunk, he’d probably be almost as entertaining as (former leader of the opposition) Mark Latham. And that’s another thing … post-Latham diaries, everyone’s saying “well, thank God he didn’t get to be Prime Minister”. I say, it’s a damn shame he didn’t get to be Prime Minister! Where’s your sense of adventure? It would be like being adopted by Oliver Reed.

A friend of mine is considering adding an extra storey on his house. After cogitating for several minutes we decided that the cheapest and most efficient way to do this would be to drop a shipping crate on the roof. The rationale is that it would crush the roof, thereby abutting the existing structure quite nicely. The problem of water runoff from the flat roof of the crate had us stumped for a while, until we realised that the chances of it landing perfectly level would be about nil.

Brilliant! You know it makes sense.

Many years ago I heard Watergate break-in man G. Gordon Liddy on the radio. The only thing I remember was that he said he could kill a man with a pencil, and sometimes during times of idleness I wonder what other office supplies might be suitable for killing a man … a large steel ruler perhaps, or maybe a chain of suitably sturdy paperclips ... ah yes; eeexcellent ...

Anyway, I think a small hole punch would test even the formidable Mr Liddy, so I doubt many people would instinctively use it as a weapon. This is probably just as well, because the other day one of my colleagues barged into my office in a terrible state and started waving a small hole punch under my boss's nose. Does anyone know anything about hole punches, he enquired fretfully, because his had stopped working.

It turned out one of the punching pins was stuck. My boss tactfully suggested levering it open with a screwdriver and the colleague went away satisfied.

He is a senior scientist in the WA Health Department. However I am unconcerned, because what I saw was so bizarre I can only assume it was genius too great for mortals to comprehend.

As part of my current goal of blogging every day, I would like to claim total success, provided one is prepared to accept "every day" really means "every week day" and "blogging" really means "thinking about blogging, watching TV, thinking about watching TV, or thinking about sex". Huzzah, and thank you one and all.

And while on the subject of thanks, a big shout out to Rob Lomax, one of the regular reader of this here blog. I went to Rob's birthday bash last Friday at Chez Lomax and it was, as always, excellent. For once I didn't drink too much and only made two remarks I severely regretted the next day. I think this was due to quality of the company, the food, and the entertainment, which were all first rate.

Well, you've no doubt heard that 'TomKat' (clever wording. No, really) ie Tom & Katie Holmes, are expecting a child. This will come as a suprprise to many who were under the impression that Mr Holmes was infertile. Let me clear this up once and for all by announcing that *I* am the father.

Of course, Tom and Katie will deny this, but then they would say that. Wouldn't they.

About a year ago I was given a proper chef’s knife. Man, those things are SWEET; with the barest amount of pressure they can slice through anything ... tomatoes, pineapples, human vertebrae, potatoes … anything. Classic example of how you don’t realise what you’ve been missing until you taste the real action.

Well, add electric shavers to the list. For my birthday last Friday week I was given a really nice electric shaver. It shaves almost as close as a blade, is whisper quiet, and it is incredibly smooth – it feels like a Swedish masseuse is firmly yet gently caressing your face. Compare that to my previous shaver, which felt like monkeys clawing at your skin.

It’s also very communicative – it tells you how long your shave took, how many minutes are left before the next recharge is due, when it needs a wash, and when the blades need changing. It’s like a Tamagotchi – kind of annoying, but I forgive it.

So there you have it. Buy a chef’s knife and an expensive electric shaver. You’ll be glad you did, and think of the money you’ll save on monkeys.

Every morning on the way to work I pass a big billboard. At the moment it’s advertising a new Range Rover, which has been photographed to make it look like a rocket, accompanied by a caption which says “buy this and you will ascend to GOD-LIKE STATUS” or somesuch.

Surely with petrol prices the way they are it would be almost as cheap to buy a horse as a four wheel drive. So why not do it? If you’re the sort of person who likes to stand out from the plebs, see above the rest of the traffic, and (in cases of dire emergency) actually go off road once in a while, a horse makes very good sense! Admittedly you’ll get wet when it rains, but the advantages far outweigh this minor inconvenience!

Why, imagine if you saw a fox on the way to work … a fullsome blast on your trumpet to rally the hounds, and you’re off in pursuit of the wily beast! You can’t really do that in a four wheel drive. Nor could you travel to work in a full suit of armour, carrying a sword and shield. Kiss those road-rage hassles goodbye; one mighty swing of Excalibur and yon varlet lies on the ground, cleaved in twain. That will make the rapscallion think twice about stealing your parking spot, forsooth.

I was talking to my friend Trev the other night. Trev is a psychologist, and consequently we spend a fair bit of time discussing abnormal psych cases (as you do). One which came up, one of my all time favourites in fact, is The Guy Who Dressed Up As Batman. Before you jump to any conclusions it’s not the one about the dude who jumped out of his cupboard and knocked himself out on the bedpost, or whatever. That is an URBAN MYTH.

No, this particular dude used to dress up as Batman and drive around the streets of his town in a mocked-up Batmobile. Whenever he espied lawbreakers, (typically litterbugs, graffiti artists etc) he would drive up and, in all seriousness, order them to desist. If they did not, he would immediately drive to the local police station and report them.

I can’t begin to imagine the number of impressionable youngsters who would have been “scared straight” by the imposing authority figure of an old guy dressed as Batman, and nor can I guess at the gratefulness of the overworked police for this assistance in maintaining law and order. I say, why don’t more people dress up as Batman these days, and use their powers for good, instead of stupid things like scaling Buckingham Palace? Gah. I blame society.
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What would you include in your dream home, if you had unlimited funds?

My essential items:

1. Observatory
2. Machine gun nest
3. Batcave
4. One of those rotating bookcases, which may or may not lead to the Batcave
5. Man-made lake with hovercraft. Hovercrafts are so cool.