23 Jun 2014
If you want to realise how unreasonable we are collectively I would like to present you with
That’s right Bindi Irwin.
Who at the age of fifteen had the audacity to say she wishes children dressed their age and covered up their boobs and blah blah save the whales or whatever it is she does as her day job. And then she’s pictured looking stunning with her boobs covered up.
And THE WHOLE WORLD is like “HOW VERY DARE SHE?” The smug cow. How dare she tell others what to do. Children can dress like they want! And its the shops fault because they only sell clothes for teenagers that make them look like mini-prostitutes – I’d totally dress my child like Bindi if I had options.
Blah blah blah.
She’s fifteen. 15! Of course she’s smug. You know pretty much everything at 15 and the world is completely black and white. Even saying “I like weetbix for breakfast” comes out smug. And censorious, as if people that have toast or cornflakes are somehow inferior.
Trust me, I was an 80s teenager. Where ripped, see through, lacey, bedroom eyes and cleavage were making huge waves in fashion and I can assure you my mother still made sure my boobs were covered, my shorts were long and that I rocked my dorkdom in complete modesty. In fact, she cried once when I wore ripped jeans to a school dance because she could see the slippery slope I was determined to launch myself down.
For the record, it took me so long to convince her to let me wear torn jeans that I was a year too late and spent the whole night feeling even dorkier than normal. Sigh. Where were you then Bindi Irwin? Exactly – not even born – selfish cow.
So why are we being such a judgemental pack of arses? We get cross when Miley suggests we get about in our underwear, we don’t bat an eyelid when Lady Gaga gets about in meat frocks but somebody suggests our teenagers might want to dress modestly and we’re all ARRRRGH, KILL HER, KILL HER NOW THE SMUG COW.
Bindi is perfectly entitled to her opinion. The fact that in ten years time she might decided to wrap herself around poles and wear Cher inspired leotards is perfectly okay. By then she’ll be 25 and we’ll all be collectively screeching ‘WHEN YOU WERE 15 YOU WANTED YOUR BOOBS COVERED UP’.
And hopefully she’ll yell right back us – “I was 15 so how about you judgemental types fuck off”. Because Bindi Irwin dropping an F-bomb in a see through body leotard would be totally awesome.
So Bindi – until you get a little older and change your mind about fashion, saving the world or whether you prefer sugar in your tea, or whatever else tickles your fancy between now and the nursing home – cover those boobs up girl, no matter how much that pisses people off.
You, you, modest thing you.
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18 Jun 2014
Hey! The world cup is on! And it’s Refugee Week. Wouldn’t it be awesome if the truth about our appalling violation of human rights got as much coverage as losing footballers swimming nude?
Anyway – don’t stop reading. Yes I did literally cry yesterday when Labor voted not to oppose off shore processing. I was so very hopeful that finally we’d see some leadership and decency in our government. You’d think I’d learn. But I’m not writing about that! So chill….
And I’m not going to go on about the 1023 #kidslikemine in detention or the fact that generally the world thinks we’re a country of arses for the way we treat asylum seekers and quite frankly – they’re right.
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| Les mayyyyyte |
I’m going to write about FOOTBALL. What my good friend* Les Murray calls ‘the world game’.
And more specifically – I’m going to tell you about ASYLUM SNEAKERS. See what they did there?
Because it’s a brilliant example about how people who genuinely want to welcome refugees, asylum seekers and new immigrants look for ways to make that welcome warm and practical.
So FOOTBALL (which is so hot right now) is a great leveller. Anybody of any gender can play it and it doesn’t seem that hard. And I say that never having played it – but both my younger brothers think that FOOTBALL (or soccer as we like to call it here) is like the best thing in the world. Sometimes I’m not sure whether they rate football or their beautiful wives more highly and I’m definitely not asking the question during World Cup Fever.
Football is about community, about friendship and about being really good at bouncing a ball on your knee. It gives children an opportunity to meet other children, practice their English and share an interest that transcends language, race, religion and people that think Justin Beiber is his own kind of special.
Asylum Sneakers is a program just launched by
Welcome to Australia that basically funds football boots and sports shoes for children in the refugee and asylum seeker families currently living in limbo in Australia. Since we won’t let the parents work and they have to be supported by not for profits – they tend to focus on trivial things like rent, food, clothes and education for their children.
Asylum Sneakers is such a positive initiative and it totally underpins this year’s Refugee Week theme which is Restoring Hope. Such a simple way of making a profound and long lasting difference.
But let my good friend, the refugee, Les Murray tell you more about it here:
And then you can go here to take part:
Or you could just share this blog or the link or the video with everybody you know. Because if we nail this – we’re WORLD CUP winners regardless of what the boys do in Brazil.
Viva la Football.
*I’ve never met Les Murray but I bet we’d be totes BFFs. We’ve got loads in common. Like football. And two daughters. And talking.
** This is not a sponsored post. You know I think Australia’s approach to refugees and asylum seekers is revolting and a national shame. I am supporting this because not everybody is an arse and this is a wonderful way of demonstrating support and being nice.
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17 Jun 2014
I have my two year old home today from childcare with an upset tummy. This actually means that what is coming out of her backside is decidedly unpretty and no amount of positivity about parenting can make the shit smell any sweeter.
What? It’s true. Bodily fluids happen and it’s why children are better than dogs. There will come a time when they are completely capable of cleaning up their own shit. Luckily, she’s young enough that I can put her back in pull ups for 24 hours for those moments today in which she and I don’t move fast enough.
Don’t judge – we just got the carpets cleaned.
There are always some unexpected perks to minding sick children. Sure you don’t get any work done and you have to watch entirely too much kids TV while they sit snuggled in your arms, but there is the main perk just there. A sick child is a snuggly child.
And my girls are growing so fast. They are independent, feisty and in the process of developing very firm opinions about everything (totally their dad’s influence honest). And they don’t always want cuddles, or if they submit to a cuddle they’re gone almost before you’ve had a chance to sniff the top of their stinky little heads.
Cassidy has had her little feet snuggled under my jumper, a blanket across our laps and a steady stream of books read and re-read. I have had quite a few, spontaneous ‘I wuv you Mama moon back’ which is worth the cramp in your lower back from holding the same position way too long.
There has been lots of conversations about what Tully is doing at childcare. Like about every five minutes. She misses her. There has been a conversation about spiders and whether or not they are ticklish. I was asked if I can dance. I was told to stop dancing. We’ve talked about why glue sticks and why princesses sing. Lots of small moments that I wouldn’t have had if she’d gone to childcare as per normal.
I’m typing, she’s watching Dora, and we are still all wrapped around each other.
Shit happens. And today, that’s been an unexpected blessing
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16 Jun 2014
I just finished the last series of How I met your Mother and I’m SERIOUSLY BUMMED about the outcome.
I wanted Ted to find true love and live HAPPILY EVER AFTER with the mystery woman under the yellow umbrella.
And when we met her, I liked her. She was worth the wait despite the fact that she got some dodgy lines. She was what we thought Ted deserved – a bit funky, funny, musical and with the kind of voice that hinted at ‘a past’.
I didn’t want some truncated relationship where he gets the kids he so desperately desired and then she dies so he can get back with ROBYN.
And then my husband tells me that he understands that the ending was filmed at the beginning. That those kids of Ted were hiding this secret all these years. I hope they got a bucket load of money for it AND for breaking my heart. Shallow little buggers. SIX YEARS MOURNING IS NOT ENOUGH FOR TRACY. We waited too long.
This particular TV series is something we kind of fell into a few years ago and then went back to the beginning and had a marathon catch up of the first five seasons, and then we’ve caught up on each season when the DVD comes out or in this case, when they ran a How I met your Mother marathon on some channel and we recorded it.
It’s been a fun ride but if I’m honest, Robyn was always my least favourite of the gang. She was hard work. She didn’t do dress ups, she was emotionally constipated, unwilling to compromise, incapable of saying sorry and was always making promises she didn’t follow through on. She’s THAT friend that we enjoy the company of when we see them but probably don’t keep in touch with over the years, because it’s entirely one sided and that gets a bit boring for everybody.
And this post should completely tell you that I obviously became FAR too involved in this group of people’s made up lives. But that’s the glory of escapism. That’s the glory of story lines that are intentionally fictional, not fictional like ‘reality TV’.
I want more shows where I can have firm opinions that really don’t matter, full of catchphrases and characters that will resonate with a certain age group for years to come and where you hope that the little boy that was Doogie Howser, who grew up to be Barney Stinson, lives happily ever after on Broadway. Oh wait, he is – hooray!
Sigh. I suppose I shall get on with the business of you know, real life and tuning in each week for my fix of Mark, Lewis, Justin and Kane. Because you know, like, ah… to be honest. I like watching House Husbands and so I’m going to do just that.
In the meantime Ted, Barney, Lily, Marshall and Robyn – PLEASE DO NOT DO A REUNION SHOW IN TEN YEARS. Or even five.
It’s been LEGENDwaitforitDARY – thanks for the laughs but now it’s time to go, so in the immortal words of the Von Trapps – so long, farewell, auf weidersehn, goodbye.
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13 Jun 2014
So Friday The Thirteenth is here, there’s a full moon scheduled for this evening and half the Western English speaking world is avoiding black cats.
But I am here to reassure you that only good things happen on Friday the Thirteenth.
I was born on a Friday The Thirteenth.
So basically, it should be revered as a day that brings good luck and much happiness to the world.
The end.
Fine, not convinced?
I did some meandering around the internet and some crappy stuff has happened on Fridays that are matched with the number 13.
The Aztec Empire came to an end, the guy that went on to establish the Ku Klux Klan was born, a huge cyclone wiped out a lot of people in India in 1970 but overall, the fact that nearly every list that tells you bad things happen on Friday The Thirteenth includes the birth of the Olsen twins means that people are really hard pressed to find reasons why people are so superstitious.
Truth is, it was probably a novelist that got us all fired up about it, and most probably in the 1800s. So the superstition is one outcome of teaching people to read that perhaps backfired on society a little.
And I do feel for people that have a genuine fear of the day and date because they’re going to need that learning to explain their condition to people – Friggatriskaidekaphobia. If they have that fear and a fear of long words – Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia – I suggest they don’t read today’s blog.
In the meantime for those of you not partaking in wild celebrations and the building of shrines having learnt that I was born on a Friday The Thirteenth, here’s what to avoid.
1. Black cats crossing your path
2. Walking under ladders
3. Breaking mirrors
4. Leaving fires burning
5. Finding a bat in your home.
Shit. We’re screwed. (Yep, I did just amuse myself)
Enjoy the full moon people. Harooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
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12 Jun 2014
If I have to read ONE MORE FREAKING ARTICLE by white Australians saying that everybody is a little bit racist and that doesn’t mean we’re racist I am going to see my brain explode.
Mark Sawyer, a Fairfax journalist, is the latest with this piece.
Yes, good people can say stupid things and good people can do bad things, not necessarily making them bad people, but it’s like peeing in the pool. Even if you only pee a little, you still PEED IN THE FREAKING POOL.
And saying that it’s okay to be a little bit racist because minorities are racist too is one of those STUPID THINGS PEOPLE SAY.
Racism is racism. If you are making negative assumptions, or judging people on the basis of their skin colour or nationality, you’re being a RACIST.
I don’t give a shit whether you are whiter than white or blacker than black. Racism is DUMB.
Of all the things that we should have learned by now, the fact that we don’t experience serious racism or because we walk past casual racism because sometimes its just too hard, DOESN’T MEAN IT’S RIGHT.
Bloody hell. Just stop moaning moaning about how oppressed we are because we can’t be RACIST ARSES. And while we are stopping things, for the love of Fatty Arbuckle can we PLEASE STOP SAYING THAT WE HAVE EXPERIENCED RACISM because they released a movie saying ‘White boys can’t jump’.
The fact is anybody of any colour judging people on the basis of skin colour or nationality is an IDIOT. And if you say something stupid which on reflection you recognise was the wrong thing to say JUST BLOODY APOLOGISE.
If you say something stupid that is about race or nationality THEN YOU WERE RACIST.
You basically peed in the pool. So just admit it. Own it. And stop it.
Please.
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