Your Essential Guide to Surviving Baz Luhrmann's `Australia'

From Cinetopia, Jim Schembri, November 28, 2008

You've been hearing about it for over a year. You've read the stories, seen the ads, watched the interviews, downloaded the promos, heard the gossip - but now the moment of truth has arrived. It's finally time for you to join your fellow citizens and dutifully file into the nearest multiplex to bear witness to the epic cinematic masterpiece that is definitely not Baz Luhrmann's Australia.

To help you through the ordeal here is a quick checklist of items to take in with you:

A Handful of No Doz: That first hour can be really tough to get through. These should help perk you up.

Large Oriental Hand Fan: In the camp-fire scene where Hugh Jackman pulls off his shirt to reveal the kind of ripped torso you usually see only in high-end gay porn you're going to need some air circulation quick smart to keep you from swooning.

Small Plastic Beach Bucket: To catch any drool resulting from the same scene.

Keep Reading

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Some people shouldn't stage dive...

...and James Blunt is one of them. Breaking his finger is proof that it was a bad idea.
But really, why on earth would he feel the urge to stage dive? I simply can't imagine how warbling "You're beautifaaa--aalll" would make you want to throw yourself off a stage - everyone knows that swooning teenage girls can't be trusted to catch you. In any case, most people would much rather throw themselves off a cliff than a stage upon hearing that song

Doesn't he have to do a postdoc first?

Talk about being fast-tracked because you're famous! This is crazy. Queen guitarist Brian May spent 33 years faffing with his PhD (not all that uncommon from what I've seen), albeit with some career distractions, and only months after graduating is appointed Chancellor of Liverpool John Moores University in England. What ever happened to climbing the ladder!


I've been slogging at my postdoc work for more than 4 years and I'm not even close to being considered for Chancellor. I'm not even in the ballpark, or even within a 30 km radius of the ballpark. I'm stuck in traffic on the motorway heading in the wrong direction after I took a wrong turn and got lost on the way to the ballpark. And when I eventually reach the right ballpark (after visiting two or three wrong ballparks first), there will be no parking, and when I eventually find parking, I will probably have no change for the meter because I used it in the toll booth back there on the motorway.

Maybe it helps if you can play guitar.

Gossip mag posts correction

At last, a tabloid that's not afraid to admit when it got its facts wrong.

CORRECTION: PEOPLE.com's Nov. 12 report on the London premiere of Beowulf inaccurately stated that Angelina Jolie's pants split on the red carpet. This report was based on photos and newspaper reports showing what appeared to be a split seam. Jolie's stylist says it was a zipper and the pants did not, in fact, split. She wore them home after the premiere. PEOPLE.com regrets the error.

However, much as I enjoy seeing a tabloid grudgingly apologise for making stuff up bending the truth, this revelation has RUINED MY LIFE!

Prior to this correction, I was overjoyed that someone so skinny and lusted over as Angie could split her pants, just like ordinary everyday muffin-topped people. But now I am distraught. I wish they'd just kept quiet and allowed me to continue in the false belief that I things in common with her (and, ergo, that Brad Pitt may one day want to adopt babies with me).

No, but seriously, does anyone else feel that this is the funniest correction in the print media, like ever?

Not much to say

I haven't been blogging much lately, mostly because I've been insanely busy with work, wedding planning and getting ready to move house (the worst is not yet over).

I started writing a post a few weeks ago about how I was giving up fizzy drinks, particularly Diet Coke - due to yet another study revealing links between soft drink consumption (including diet soft drinks) and various manifestations of poor health. I didn't get around to finishing the post for a week or so, and by the time I got around to it I had fallen off the wagon and was back on the bubbly. So needless to say, I didn't bother posting that one.

It's a good thing I don't smoke or do drugs, because I have absolutely no capacity to overcome addiction. Seriously, I'd be just like Lindsay Lohan. I'd be fresh out of a luxury Resort Rehab for the second time in a year, showing off my Diet Coke ankle bracelet. I'd be having a really good time at a party until someone made a snide remark about my ankle accessory, despite the fact I perfectly colour coordinated it with my Jimmy Choos. Provoked into a violent rage I would down a few cans of DC (But officer, I swear it was decaf! Somebody must have spiked it) and argue with this person about the pressures of my life. Then I would follow them out of the party, borrow a SUV and chase them at speed...

Queen star finishes PhD thesis after 30 years

Brian May, the multimillionaire guitarist who founded the rock group Queen, has finally completed the PhD in astrophysics that he abandoned more than 30 years ago, The Times reported today.

Crikey! I bet they were threatening to make him pay full fees and cut off his scholarship! But you've got to admire anyone who can finish what they started, especially after 30 years.!

Congratulations on finding a tasteful greetings card

I spent half an hour in the newsagency this morning looking for a 'Congratulations on your new baby' card that wasn't designed by Anne Geddes. I have nothing against her, but its not to my taste and it certainly isn't to my sister's taste (the intended recipient of the baby card). I find them a little Halloweenish, when babies are dressed up as bees, flowers, pumpkins, etc.

I finally found a card that I thought was appropriate, but not before I stumbled on this:

Why on earth would anyone buy a card picturing Celine Dion with a baby shoved up her dress? Its a bit creepy looking if you ask me. Especially since its not her baby (I'm not aware that she's had any babies recently). Is it just me?

Little things (its what makes this blog tick)

I've had nothing big to post about for a while, just a few items to put on the news bulletin. So here they are.

This past weekend was the Queen's Birthday holiday weekend for most states in Australia (WA celebrates this event in October for some reason). Most people in Melbourne had Monday off work. But not me. Or Bryan. We work for Monash University, and they do not recognize many non-religious public holidays. This is to prevent disruption to classes - if half of the students taking a course have a lab or tutorial cancelled because it falls on a holiday then they are at a disadvantage to those students in the course who have their class later in the week. It makes sense, but it still sucks to have to work on a holiday. Its not all bad though, we get awarded 1 ⅔ days off for every public holiday we work, which we can take over Christmas, giving us almost 2 weeks off at Christmas without taking any annual leave. But the whole system makes little difference to me, because I work on a campus that doesn't actually hold any classes, but we still have to follow the rules. At least Bryan and I are in the same situation- it would really suck if I had to go to work on a holiday, while Bryan stayed at home.

I just spent $100 on postage for wedding invitations, which is more than it cost us to make the invitations (not that you'd know it to look at them, they are clas-sy!). I am a little shocked at spending that much on stamps, but I should have expected it since 90% of the invites were going international.

I had a cold about 6 weeks ago, which was horrible for about 5 days but was bearable after that providing I didn't leave home without putting some tissues in my pocket. Well it hasn't really improved since that blowing-nose-every-5-minutes stage. I still can't go anywhere without tissues. But this morning I felt like it might be regressing back into the sore throat and slightly congested stage. Which sucks.

And while I'm whining about the state of my health, that fun run I did a few weeks back was a big mistake. I've got plantar fasciitis in my right foot and shin splints in my left leg. That means that walking any significant distance is off limits (it's lucky I like cycling).

My sister has been poised to give birth to her first baby for about the last 3 weeks and it still hasn't happened. The edge of my seat is getting worn out from me sitting on it all this time.

If I hear one more word about Paris Hilton and her freaking jail sentence, I may just hurt somebody. Just kidding, I'm loving it! The whole being sent home from jail because of a "life-threatening" skin rash, and then being sent right back kicking and screaming "Mom, its not right" was pure gold! Now she's a changed woman and wants to work for charities, bless her.

My celebrity look alikes

You don't even want to know how much time I've wasted playing with this today

Oh look, that's just going too far!

According to my daily news source, Melbourne's The Age: (April 4th 2007)

Rolling Stones guitarist Keith Richards has acknowledged consuming a raft of illegal substances in his time. And in comments published today, he said he snorted his father's ashes mixed with cocaine.
"The strangest thing I've tried to snort? My father. I snorted my father," Richards was quoted as saying by British music magazine NME.
"He was cremated and I couldn't resist grinding him up with a little bit of blow. My dad wouldn't have cared ... It went down pretty well, and I'm still alive."

Keith, we all knew you were a bit wacky (wacked?), but that's just gross.

Update, 2 hours later
Umm... Is it cannibalism to snort a human being, or part thereof? The floor is open.

Update, April 5th
Disney is not amused. And now Keith and his publicist are going around telling everyone it was just a joke. Mmm Hmm.

Little Orphan Angie

From Melbourne's The Age newspaper, March 31 2007.

Some links added by me - for non-Australian's who don't know what a Daddo is.

The red carpets of Hollywood are crawling with a new stolen generation. Daniel Burt wants in.

AN ORPHAN IS NOT JUST for Christmas. They also make a great Easter gift. Soon, every celebrity will have one and the Third World will disappear, one boutique baby at a time.
If compassion were bird flu, Angelina Jolie would be laying eggs and begging for crackers.
Her latest recruit is a Vietnamese boy named Pax. Officially, he's the luckiest kid on the planet, but just wait until Pax hits his teens. You thought things were emotionally twisted for Oedipus. Having "the talk" with your mum never felt so wrong.
As for me, at the risk of jeopardising my inheritance, if it meant getting adopted by Angelina, I would happily murder my parents.
Hollywood's other do-gooders must be shattered. It's no longer enough to fly to Chad, grab a photo op with a cripple and be home in time for the Botox appointment. Where once celebrities spoke out against child labour, now they are adopting the workers.
Being in such high demand, orphans are getting picky. Many refuse to live with anyone who is not an Oscar nominee. I heard of one Kenyan kid who threw a tantrum when he learned that his new parent had only been up for Best Sound. Another had the indignity of being acquired by the winner of a Golden Globe. Her lawyers are in negotiations.
Celebrities seem to jump straight in the deep end. Why not start with an electronic pet? Like most orphans, they are compact, make funny noises and are made in Asia. Ensure you can tell the difference. One A-lister bought an orphan and spent 25 minutes looking for the "off" switch.
But these children are more than breathing toys. They constitute a new stolen generation, pilfered not by governments but movie stars. To safeguard against accusations of bias, many personalities endeavour to adopt children from every continent. Angelina wants a "Rainbow Tribe", the racial equivalent of collecting the whole set.
Celebrity lounge rooms become mini-United Nations. Parents don't reduce pocket money; they impose economic sanctions. Preventing fights becomes peacekeeping. And as with the UN, when it comes to housework, nothing actually gets done.
These kids go from dirt floor to red carpet. With so much at stake, I wouldn't be surprised if they puffed up their sympathy CV. Believe me, prospective parents, do your homework. What I thought was a diseased Cambodian toddler turned out to be a 33-year-old Adelaide IT worker with gout. The slob drinks straight from the carton.
Everyone knows famous people should get what they want. But competition is fierce and most are too busy to read every sob story. That's why orphans worldwide should be given tickets in a celebrity lottery. If your number comes up, you get to go home with Paris Hilton. Different categories mean B-grade celebrities get B-grade orphans. Booby prize gets a Daddo.
Some people deride celebrities who adopt the disadvantaged. They question motives, sincerity and aptitude. These cynics themselves haven't been altruistic since 1983, and even then it was walking home a drunk girl in the hope she'd ask them inside.
We commoners claim to lack the wherewithal for such charity. But all we need is a more extreme incentive. I suggest changing every African kid's name to iPod. Not only would we spend big, we'd also splurge on accessories.
Prevalence, however, ruins allure. Glossy magazines thrive on quirky cases of infants being plucked from obscurity. The public laps it up and intrusiveness is happily masked as goodwill. In reality, the constant threat of paparazzi is LA's answer to the ebola virus. And our abiding interest fuels its spread.
I wish the best of luck to Hollywood's new offspring. If there's ever an orphan shortage, give me a call. I can make a fall down the stairs look like an accident.

Pachelbel Rant

Yesterday I was mulling over potential wedding music. I have been mulling over this for a while now, because I would rather slit my wrists than walk down the aisle to Wagner's Bridal Chorus (better known as Here Comes the Bride). What are the alternatives? Well I do quite like Pachelbel's Canon in D major (Ever since I first watched Father of the Bride)and would be happy enough to walk down the aisle to that. Except, that not long ago I discovered that my brother-in-law, Simon, thinks Pachelbel is synonymous with tacky weddings. What to do? I can't have Simon going on for years about the tackiest wedding he ever went to being mine. (Well, Simon, I'm not the one who walked down the aisle - albeit accidentally- to the sinking ship song. Actually neither did you, it was my dear sister who had the honour)

Anyway, I haven't made any decision's about wedding music yet, but here's a funny video I found on YouTube today, that made me think of Simon.



And by the way Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, you stole my first dance song, and now I hate you more than ever.

A little more on Steve Irwin

I've found myself getting a bit caught up in the media coverage of Steve Irwin's death. Its not that I was a huge fan and not that I didn't like him either..to be honest I was a bit indifferent towards him. I guess its just sad to see anyone die prematurely like that. Anyway, some of the best coverage I've seen is from Andrew Denton's interviews with Steve, and with both Steve and his wife, Terri. They show another side to the Crocodile Hunters than that that most people would have seen on TV.

That is all.

A sad loss for Australia

I think he was more widely known outside of Australia than he was to Australians, but Steve Irwin, who died today, was an Australian legend nonetheless.

Its all BS to me

Not two weeks ago, Britney Spears was weeping on TV about how the media wouldn't leave her alone.

Now this:


It ain't helping her case, s'all I'm sayin'.
Britney dear, if you're reading this, here's a hint:

If you don't want media attention, stay away from people with cameras. Especially when you forgot to put your bathrobe on!

And for David Blaine's next feat ...

From the Boston Globe, May 10, 2006

By Scot Lehigh, Globe Columnist

DAVID BLAINE was dragged from his aquatic bubble on Monday, after spending a week submerged in saltwater and then capping that mind-boggling feat by attempting, unsuccessfully, to hold his breath for nine minutes.

Once out of the water, a weak and withered Blaine thanked his fans. ''I am humbled so much by the support of everyone from New York City and from all over the world,'' he said.

But behind that brave and gracious front, Blaine was apparently one shattered (and partly pickled) shell of saltwater-soaked showman. After his rescue, he was taken to Roosevelt Hospital, reportedly suffering from dehydration, peeling skin, and, one can't help but suspect, both a severe case of water in the ear and the dismaying condition that George Costanza termed ''shrinkage.''

The adventurer, whose previous deeds of derring-do included lying in a transparent coffin for a week, perching on a small platform atop a 100-foot pole for 35 hours, being encased in a block of ice for 61 hours, and fasting for 44 days while suspended in a plastic box in London, was crying Monday night, CNN quoted the head of his medical team as saying.

''He still feels today that he let people down,'' Dr. Murat Gunel said on Tuesday.

Let people down? Why, he lifted us up, brought us together, gave us all something to cheer about! Not since Fear Factor slipped off NBC's airwaves has America's pulse raced so quickly.

Yes, Blaine has had some detractors. Some nasty Londoners threw eggs at his Plexiglas prison during that ordeal, while one enterprising tormentor used a model helicopter to fly a hamburger by his clear enclosure. And it is true that when his rescue team sprang into action on Monday night, Blaine hadn't even managed to free himself from the chains that had been attached just before his breath-holding finale.

But think of all he had done!

Who among us hadn't longed to know what weight-loss plan he had used to drop 50 pounds in preparation for the stunt? Who hadn't spent the previous seven days wondering how the intrepid adventurer was faring, standing there in warm water, breathing through a tube? Who hadn't leapt from bed at alarm's first beep and hurried to the computer to check for the latest news of our New York City Neptune?

And who can imagine what thoughts went through Blaine's mind as the perilous moments ticked by?

Was he reliving his childhood?

Trying to remember his course schedule from his sophomore year in high school?

Attempting to recall the solution to that vexing riddle about a man lost on a tropical island populated with a tribe of habitual truth-tellers and another of inveterate liars, a man who has only a single question with which to deduce which jungle trail leads to the beach and rescue and which to a bog of quicksand?

Or did Blaine's mind race so during the long minutes - actually, make that days - that there was time aplenty to cram it all in?

We will only know when Blaine finally quits his heart-stopping adventures and pens his memoirs.

Unfortunately for us, that day likely lies some years in the future. For now, thwarted in this particular endeavor, Blaine is already hard at work concocting ever more imaginative spectacles to make it all up to us.

He is said to be mulling several options.

''If all the logistics can be worked out, next year he will sit in front of an oscillating fan for five days, with no protection save for a pair of chinos, a polo shirt, and a thin coating of hair gel,'' one of Blaine's close associates tells me. ''And on the final day, he'll try to stay awake while watching an entire season's worth of back-to-back episodes of 'Joey.'.''

Other possibilities are said to include: standing in a corner with a piece of bubblegum stuck to his nose for three days; wearing a scuba mask with a mosquito trapped inside for 30 minutes, during which time Blaine will attempt to fend off the rapacious insect by frantically flexing his eyebrows; and gargling with Listerine for a full minute.

''If David survives that, he may try to buy a ticket on Amtrak solely by using the automated telephone attendant, without ever once pressing 0 for assistance from a real live person,'' the same source reports.

There have been daredevils before Blaine, certainly.

Charles Blondin walked a tightrope across the Niagara River gorge. Harry Houdini performed several escapes from locks and chains and trunks dropped into icy waters. Evel Knievel tried to pilot a steam-powered rocket across the Snake River Canyon.

But they were brash showoffs all, figures seemingly intent on making us feel small by being larger than life.

None of them captured the spirit of sedentary America by becoming the master of stationary adventure.

And certainly none faced a foe worse than death itself - complete and utter tedium - and bested it in a game of chicken.

So please join me in raising a glass of Diet Coke to David Blaine, an everyday hero for our everyday age.

Pause for thought

When the big disaster hits, its going to be up to K-Fed to repopulate the earth.

Ick!

Tom Cruise you are OUT of control

Ok, he's completely lost the plot now. Not to mention an ego so overinflated its going to burst quite spectacularly very shortly. Look at this:

It's totally redonkulous - like he just saved the world from an asteroid or something. He's played one hero too many and now I think he believes he's a superhero. I really do. I absolutely REFUSE to see the stupid movie. I refuse! However, if someone kidnapped me and forced me to watch it on pain of sticking needles into my eyes, I would agree to watch it. But only if I could jump up and down on my seat during the movie and shout "I love this woman movie!!!!" (Erwin helped me with that joke last night).

Update May 6: Last night Erwin was telling me how he went to see 'The Stupid Movie' (as it shall henceforth be known), but the movie was late starting because a girl was badly injured during the previous showing, and had to be wheeled out on a gurney. We think the girl was jumping up and down in her seat shouting "I love this woman movie!!!!". And bless her heart for doing so, but here's where I think it turned to tragedy - when she jumped up, the movie seat flipped into the upright position, she had nothing to land on, fell down and hit herself on the cupholder... or something like that. When CSI call asking about it, put them in touch with me and I'll tell them my theory.

Pull South Park? Mission possible

Another reason to stick pins in a Tom Cruise effigy. I know there are denials of his interference all around, but I don't believe a word of it. Who the hell does he think he is?

From the Sydney Morning Herald.

Pull South Park? Mission possible. March 18, 2006

Actor Tom Cruise threatened to boycott promotion of his upcoming Paramount Pictures film unless a sister cable TV network pulled a South Park rerun lampooning the Church of Scientology, industry sources said today.

Representatives for Paramount and Cruise, a prominent Scientologist, denied he made any such threats or had anything to do with the Comedy Central network cancelling plans to air a repeat of the South Park episode titled Trapped in the Closet, on Wednesday.

Trey Parker and Matt Stone, creators of the crudely animated cartoon hit, issued a quirky statement, filled with references to Scientology and the science-fiction writings of church founder L. Ron Hubbard, suggesting Scientology was behind the scheduling change.

"So, Scientology, you have won THIS battle, but the million-year war for Earth has just begun," the pair wrote.

"Temporarily anozinizing our episode will NOT stop us from keeping Thetans forever trapped in your pitiful man-bodies. Curses and drat! You have obstructed us for now, but your feeble bid to save humanity will fail! Hail Xenu!!!"

Instead of the Tom Cruise episode, the network aired reruns of two "South Park" episodes featuring the character Chef, voiced by veteran soul singer Isaac Hayes, also a Scientologist, who quit the show earlier this week.

Comedy Central, which like Paramount is owned by Viacom Inc., declined comment on the rerun switch, other than to say: "In light of the events of earlier this week, we wanted to give Chef an appropriate tribute by airing two episodes he is most known for."

Two industry sources familiar with the situation told Reuters Comedy Central pulled the Trapped in the Closet episode from its South Park rerun rotation after Cruise threatened to cease promotion of his upcoming Paramount film, Mission: Impossible III.

Cruise spokesman Paul Bloch said neither the actor nor his representatives "had anything to do" with the scheduling of South Park reruns and that Cruise had never said to anyone he would refuse to promote his film. Paramount spokeswoman Janet Hill denied any knowledge of such a threat.

South Park, heading into its 10th season next week as one of Comedy Central's biggest hits, centres on the antics of four foul-mouthed fourth-graders in a small Colorado town.

Reuters

(in)famous people that share my birthday

My cousin Andrew was talking last night about famous people who share his birthday. He shares a birthday with Fidel Castro, and is waiting with great anticipation for the day that Fidel emails him to discuss the fact that they share a birthday.
This got me to search for people who share my birthday (Feb 20th), which is easily done with Wikipedia. Here are the highlights:

• 1924 - Gloria Vanderbilt, American clothing designer and entrepreneur
• 1925 - Robert Altman, American film director
• 1927 - Sidney Poitier, American actor
• 1937 - Robert Huber, German chemist, Nobel Prize laureate
• 1938 - Richard Beymer, American actor
• 1941 - Buffy Sainte-Marie, Canadian singer
• 1942 - Phil Esposito, Canadian hockey player
• 1949 - Ivana Trump, Czech skier, model and socialite
• 1954 - Patty Hearst, American socialite and kidnapping victim
• 1954 - Jon Brant, American musician (Cheap Trick)
• 1963 - Charles Barkley, American basketball player
• 1963 - Ian Brown, British singer (Stone Roses)
• 1966 - Cindy Crawford, American model
• 1967 - Kurt Cobain, American musician (Nirvana) (d. 1994)
• 1975 - Brian Littrell, American musician (Backstreet Boys)
• 1977 - Stephon Marbury, American basketball player, (New York Knicks)
  
• 1985 - Yulia Volkova, Russian musician (t.A.T.u.)
• 2005 - Cruz Beckham, son of David and Victoria Beckham

P.S.: please excuse extreme infrequency of posts in the next few weeks, since I don't actually own a computer that works at the moment. I wonder if I put google ads on my blog if I could earn enough to buy a new laptop? maybe not.