crazybrave

Jellyfish and I disagree about some things, like Captain Gaylord Von Trapp.

And I have a very slow dial-up connection, and little patience.

So it’s only today I see the wonder that is her Australia Day post. Read it and weep.

My nextest favourite was from Sheriff.

I got one! Yay! Suprised the hell outta me, I thought TJ was going to coast it in. As it turned out, I just fell over the line.

Thanks to everyone who voted for me. Check out the winners and all the cool blogs nominated.

Thanks to Keks for organising.

PS A few new people are wandering by. Here are some of my favourite posts (if you’re very keen!)

Summernats is completely the bomb and I utterly heart it
… and in the beginning was the word
Byron without romance
Getting personal. And political.
We like our Mike!

Don’t worry, I’ll be over it tomorrow.

Much as I hate to break the heart of a lovely young woman, in this case the delightful Jellyfish, the truth must prevail.

Captain Gaylord von Trapp it is.

This is my thinking face. I’m thinking I’m not the straighty 180 that some might assume.

For further advice on interpreting the sexual orientation of fictional figures, go check out Weezil.

Update: Jellyfish has disputed my impeccable research in the nicest blogspat you will ever see. Try not to have any hot drinks nearby as you may splutter into your computer giggling.

Things I have been deprived of by virtue of my parents’ longstanding commitment to public education:

1. Nuns with guitars

This is a good thing. My sister and I have a standing arrangement that should any nuns with guitars appear at any occasion/ceremony/arcane religious practice that we are attending, we are to both remove ourselves immediately. Our mother is aware of this, and does not approve, because we giggle about it on the very rare occasions we find ourselves in church, and mutter loudly when the nuns in question do sneaky things like wear civvies and play keyboards.

At least I wasn’t brought up a Sydney Anglican. My former boss David Brent was, and his wife played drums in church. When I asked if it was a bit gruesome when she practiced, he told me that wasn’t a problem as she only played on Sunday. Ouch.

2. Screwy ideas about Art

My mum won a scholarship to one of those scary “Brides of Christ” type boarding schools. I’m not sure if they had to put talcum powder in the bath, but there were little vests and pants drawn on all the nudes in the art books. I wonder how the Sister responsible earnt the kind of trust necessary to be let loose on filth with a texta?

3. Liturgical dance

I was just the right age for this, too – my mate Fiasco copped years of it in her suburban parish school. Some of the more graceful students were fitted out in kaftans and improvised interpretive dance in front of the congregtation.

4. An understanding of the true role of incense

Obvious mistake.

5. A welcoming attitude to religious persons making unscheduled home visits

I got religion briefly at the end of primary school, and went about getting confirmed. Mum was pissed off when the priest just dropped ’round because he ate all the Kingston biscuits. Later she helped me pick my confirmation dress, which was red. I think she enjoyed that part.

Keks is running the Australian Blog Awards. You can vote for me! Go on, I did!*

I promise that if I win anything I will reprise my acceptance speech for my 6th class all round terrific student prize** in a manner that has since been popularised by the famous:

* Well, I gave my first preference to the people I had nominated, as I am a love beast of principle. But then it was me, me, me all the way.

** While the citizenship and academic bits were not a real challenge, the sports bit was something of a stretch. Fortunately my primary school was next door to what was then called a “special school”, and most classes had a special kid spend a day a week in the class. In enormous relief at not coming last in the running race at the sports carnival, I cheered on Kelly, from my class, who finished after me. This was considered a sterling display of good sportingness and got me over the line.

Everyone and their dog wants to run as the Labor candidate in Werriwa – there’s a bit of discussion about it here at Troppo Armadillo.

I think what we need is someone feisty, with ideas. Someone with a bit of class. Someone who’s been around for a long time, someone who the people of Werriwa identify with.

Someone like Gough.

What the hell, the American congress has been filled with pedantic geriatrics for years, and they’re ruling the world. Alright, so we won’t let him near the till and he bangs on a ridiculous amount, but who apart from me and Rowen listens to Parliament anyway?

Remember how exciting it was with Latham for a little while there? Thanks for the ride. And where’s fricken’ Back Pages when you need it? Bloody nowhere.

The lovely Nick Crustacean and his Wifely are about to experience their second child, and are having a bit of trouble finding a boy’s name, should that be what emerges. So to speak.

Just in time, the Canberra Times has thoughtfully published their annual babe-fest Babies of 2004: A 36 page lift-out of some of Canberra and the surrounding region’s beautiful and beloved babies – life being what it is, the ugly and resented children have not had large expensive pictures of themself put in the paper.

After years of ignoring rubbish like this, Mallrat has shown me the love in the local throwaway, and I highly recommend this particular example.

Now they have a girl’s name (leftover from the Dude, but she need never know that). This is a real shame, as there is now no point suggesting:

Makayla – two of them, if you will. They are the equivalent of a Tracey, I think, for my generation.
Teah Mercedez Dione – efficency plus. Who needs a porn name? Or a dictionary?
Elodie – I’m guessing like Melody, but unmusical.
Bryannah – my friend Beck has the best test for baby names. You stand on the back step and yell it as loud as you can for half an hour. Then see if you like it. Knocked “Tara” off her list. These parents obviously did not perform the test.
Ashalea – that Big Brother chick, right? The dense one with the teenybopper accessories? Why?

Best of all, someone very silly or lacking contact with popular culture has lumbered a sweet looking little thing with … Ebonnie Rene. Let’s hope vintage Australian TV comedy is a thing of the past when poor Ebonnie Rene grows up.

It is probably a good thing Nic and family are not having a girl – I mean apart from never being able to top Ebonnie Rene – because it seems to involve a lot of ludicrous head gear. Fortunately, there is a wealth of boysie choices:

Denver – what, as in John? that poor child. Bizarrely , O thought this was a cool name. Hope we have a daughter next time.
Taylor Vee – like TV, hunh? Weird.
Tynnen James – This sounds more like a syndrome than a kid’s name.
Brock Jayden – according to my friend Kyles, who knows this stuff, almost every Scott and Jason in the country end up in jail.* I predict that Brocks and Jaydens are the Scotts and Jasons of the future.
Cohen – because every kid needs something to be picked on. Jewboy. **
Bradan John – Brad an John? Or just Brad?

I don’t know what column Jayden Estrella should go in, but rest assured s/he is being “cradled in the depths of our souls” as I write.

There are other predictably naff messages, with much talk of angels, princesses and little men. I’m guessing many of these babies are first children, or there would have been more messages like this one:

“Poos! Poos! Poos! Aaren does Poos! Love your big brother Thomas (7 years)”

Poor Thomas. I bet they’ve stashed away pictures of him holding his dick ready for his twenty first in 2017.

Suggestions for next year’s hoax entries will be entertained in the comments box.

* Except of course for my cousins Scott and Jason. Well, maybe Jason. Sorry, Scotty.

** Oh, I totally heart jews, don’t wig out on me.

If I was flute-tastic, or vice-regal, I would’ve photoshopped this but (a) I don’t have photoshop, (b) I don’t know how to use it and (c) this way encourages your imagination. So go a bit squinty for me:

L-R: K. Rudd (seated), J. Macklin, J. Fitzgibbon, J. Gillard, W. Swan, S. Smith (seated), K. Beazley