Duh...

Impossible to blog daily at the moment as I am back in Canberra with the house in chaos as my lovely builders transform everything. Next week I will post before and afters. I am sitting at my computer with piles of crap all around me; I can't get through to my printer, but the keyboard is clear. I have work alarmingly backed up, so I feel guilty blogging... but I just have to register my utter utter disappointment in David Stratton.

While we were unable to get into the house on the weekend, Best Beloved and I sat in Belconnen Mall and read the papers, then saw a movie. We decided upon Team America: World Police, as we are both big South Park fans. While we were waiting, I read David Stratton's review of it in the Review section of the Weekend Australian (4-5 Dec, p. R22). I have an SBS/ABC watcher's innate and longstanding respect for David and Margaret; I don't take sides with either, preferring (as a Libran) to consider both sides. Until now. Oh, David!

This is what he has to say at the start of his review:

"... A sharp dose of political satire would be rather welcome at the moment, but Parker and Stone have come up with a movie that makes South Park look like an exercise in sophistication and maturity. To start with, there's the questionable decision of featuring string puppets (the strings are plainly visible) rather than animated characters; the puppets are ugly and comparatively clumsy, and decidedly off-putting..."

Oh, David... Der fucking DUH!!!! I can't believe how completely you missed the point. Team America is so obviously a homage to the Thunderbirds in every sense, from the plethora of flying/underwater craft to the dashing square-jawed heros to the hidden base camp in a major American domestic tourist destination. The use of these 'unsophisticated' puppets is a perfect metaphor for American foreign (and internal) affairs. They are, actually, quite sophisticated; the strings may be visible but the faces -- and special effects -- are computer-animated. Wouldn't it be wonderful if strings were always this visible? Then we'd get a clear view at the sort of control multinationals have over political issues. I'm sorry David, but you've lost any skerrick of review credibility for me. From now on, I'm with Margaret.

I don't want to ruin the story for anyone re. Team America, but go in with an open mind and a strong stomach. There is a lot you can do with string marionettes, especially if you stuff them with cat meat. I thoroughly enjoyed this movie, especially the fact that, unlike many other movies bent on selling soundtrack spinoffs, every lyric counts. Highly recommended.

Oh lovely pussy, oh pussy my love...

The wedding was perfect. The weather was superb, the site stunning, my outfit a little bit loose due to a bit of inadvertent weight-loss. Bumblebee said 'The Owl and the Pussycat' without a hitch, Best Beloved said his vows with a glint in his eye, and I had to stop myself from laughing out loud from sheer joy. The food afterwards was just right (mounds of prawns, a fabulous whole blue-eyed cod, marinated beef and lashings of salad). The cake was one of Mum's experiments, one that worked: bottom level was mandarin semolina, the top level chocolate almond. We sat around all afternoon in the shade, looking over to the beach. None of the kids threw up, nor any adults. My lovely old Nana got progressively more pissed, saying odd things every now and again about how wonderful we all were.

At the end of the day we all wandered down to the beach where the rising full moon was a stunning pumpkin-orange in the inky-blue sky, and Best Beloved danced with me on the edge of the sand. This meant more to me than the whole day put together, because he is morally and physically opposed to dancing (not anyone else, just his own body), and I love a good sway/bump/grind/pogo. So when he started to dance me around on the sand it took a moment for me to realise what he was doing, and I held my breath (or breathed very shallowly) until we stopped. Magical! Better than magic.

So a few days later I am sitting in an internet cafe in Bateman's Bay avoiding the heat and waiting to go in to the cinema to see Bridget Adams 2. The cabin we are staying in has a fabulous view of Depot Beach, just across the road. We have been feeding parrots and kangaroos by hand, and eating good food, and rediscovering the joys of cryptic crosswords. Two more days till we go home, and it is flying by far too fast for my liking.

Last Chance to...

...Blog. In a few hours my home office will be filled with brand new appliances and the house full of demolition dust. My computer will be inaccessible.

First thing tomorrow we will be getting up and hitting the road to the south coast to be wed -- Hooray! Bumblebee is at school today, thank goodness, because he's getting very excited and bouncy. Last night I went to a wonderful Hen's Night (thank you, girlhens) which may or may not be related on crazybrave's site today if she has enough braincells to share with us. Much chortling and pizza eating and making over of faces and nails. The obligatory edible undies are now in my bag ready for the wedding night (not just edible! Gummy! Should I have a Brazilian first?!).

One side of the house is almost empty, ready to be gutted and remodelled. Will go around and take shocking 'Before' photos to show people what a change has been wrought on our ex-govie. I used to hate this house. Whoever designed these shoeboxes did so with a meanness of spirit which shall return to them tenfold with any luck. I should explain. I am an Army Brat, and therefore have moved around a lot in my lifetime. When I left home I still had the bug, and spent my first ten years in Canberra moving almost as many times. I have lived in some stunning houses, and some shitboxes. This is the shittiest box of all, but it was bought by my parents years ago as an investment property, and they sold it to Best Beloved and I for only half the retail value, so this will be the last time I complain. It may be crappy, but it is all ours. And it is about to be transformed, so I will hopefully be in love with it in ten days. I'm certainly in love with living with Best Beloved, so how can it go wrong?

And only two sleeps to go.

Wish us luck. We are embarking upon an awfully big adventure. Here be dragons!
I will write again on Saturday week...

Bouquets to...

I'm giving this one to Jean Mulvaney again (sorry, no trackback, scroll down). I went to her funeral a couple of days ago, and got my facts straight about her epic bicycle ride. It was in 1946, with three other girls. They started from Melbourne, and no one gave them a big farewell, because they thought they'd give up within the month. One did; another stopped at Adelaide. Up at 80 Mile Beach in north WA, Jean and her friend had to get off their bikes, leave their gear, carry the bikes to the other end of the beach, then walk back and get their gear. The two young women worked their way around, taking on all sorts of jobs. At one point Jean worked for a couple of weeks as a crocodile shooter. Her friend stopped somewhere in the NT or the top of QLD, having met and fallen in love with someone on a station. Jean wasn't daunted by the lack of company. She kept going, working and riding her way down the East coast alone until she made it back to Victoria. The whole trip took well over a year. Her family and friends know good chunks of the story, but she never thought it interesting enough to write down in great detail, and so the whole adventure dies with her. And that's only one small part of an incredibly rich and purposeful 81 years. Can you see why I'm going to miss her?

Take a big deep breath...

Four (4!) sleeps to go until the wedding of my lifetime (always want to write 'weeding', which I guess is rather apt, as I have weeded out a lot of wrongies from my past). Just as one aspect of organising not just a wedding but also a major renovation (sorry, no backtrack; just scroll down aways) comes under control, another rears its ugly head. Stress comes, stress goes. So many waves of stress that I feel like giving up and giving a faint wave as the tide drifts me away into the deeps.

One source of underlying worry, so to speak, has been (mal)lingering for a number of weeks now. It concerns a missing pair of undies. I have been visiting outlaws and own parents over the last couple of months and at one point I've come home undie-less. Yikes! I wouldn't worry if they were just normal undies, even if they were my oldest middle-of-a-period scungies. But these are not just any undies. They are my apple-green boy-leg Bonds undies with the words 'Sweet Cunt' emblazoned on the front in glitter. Extremely comfy, and ever-so nice to wear underneath the straightest of clothes. Not something I'd buy for myself until now, now that I've experienced the fun of secret undie messages. These were given to me as a trade by the fabulous Fairy Shop at the National Folk Festival in return for downloading the emails from their laptop.

Once I realised they were missing, I had to think back as to where I could have left them. With my mother? She could cope, unlike my dad, who would turn purple at the idea of his daughter wearing the 'c' word (but would never, ever admit to seeing them, like the good ex-Catholic boy he is). No, my mum would have returned them with a giggle. With my soon-to-be Inlaws? They are both open-minded people, but also both Ministers of the Uniting Church. Well, it could account for the slightly pursed lips on Mother Outlaw when she came to Canberra a few weeks ago. But would she have returned them?

These sorts of thoughts have been running through my mind at 2am when I wake and can't get back to sleep. Today comes the anti-climax. I pulled down my backpack to start packing for the coast (yay! 3 sleeps to go until we head down the highway!) and when I looked through it (again... believe me, I looked at other times), I saw a hint of green on one of the side compartments. I have never been so relieved to see a sparkle in my life. So what was the pursed lips thingy about?

The best thing is that I can wear them under my wedding outfit. Huzzar!

Bollywood Bliss

I was just cruising through Blogland reading various accounts of the Sydney Grogblog, when I stumbled upon Agent FareEvader's mention of the Bollywood Marsala International Film Festival 2004 which is hitting Melbourne in a couple of days. Canberra has just hosted this festival, and it is such good fun. I'm kicking myself that we only got to catch 2 of the films, but they were absolute beauties.

Best Beloved has spent a fair bit of time in India, travelling and studying, so is always keen to partake of a bit of Bollywood. Our DVD collection is getting pretty colorful as well. His theory is that it's not Bollywood without a Wet Sari Scene, a theory which held up quite well for the two very different films we saw, Chameli and Main Hoon Na.

Chameli is not classical Bollywood, although it has a lot of the elements. The storyline is almost Pretty Woman; prostitute meets rich man and changes his perceptions about the trade and they fall in love. This is a classier version. It takes place over one night, and the set is used very dramatically, almost like a stage production. It is set in monsoon season, so it is constantly raining, which on one hand provides the curtains for the 'stage' atmosphere, and also allows a manditory wet sari scene. I loved this movie. I highly recommend it.

The other movie we saw in the festival was a classic Bollywood production: Main Hoon Na (2004). Set in gorgeous Darjeeling, it had the baddest (and cheesiest) of baddies, the goodest of goodies, the most beautiful of beauties (and a wet sari scene) and the most fabulous costumes. It had a touch of Grease to it, especially at the end. Lots of humour, excitement, special effects, singin and dancing. The script is written and directed by a woman, Farah Khan, who pays homage to traditional Bollywood, and injects it with very a modern sense of fun and politics. There are a number of Matrix-like effects, including a brilliant spoof involving mucus. If you only get to see one film in this festival, I think it should be this one, although I have to warn you that it is over three hours long (not that I even noticed).

When I say 'we' only saw two movies, I should add that Best Beloved went to a third by himself, which was Ab Tak Chappan, a gritty police-based thriller, which he really enjoyed.

If you are in Melbourne, go along to the festival, and tell me if you can understand a word said by the sponsor of the festival in his pre-film blurb (no peeking at the programme)! If you know anyone in Melbourne, tell them about it. And check if the festival is heading your way, because it's too good to miss.

Sunday brunch

Again, I'm having a break from printing my wedding announcements (last pass through the press! 6 sleeps to go! yay!) and thinking about the day so far. Best Beloved and I just had brunch with a bunch of friends at a certain cafe in Belconnen (I know, a long shot, but stick around...) beside the lake. One couple from the bunch walk to this cafe every Sunday for breakfast, but they are moving next weekend so we decided to all go as a farewell gesture. J mentioned that she'd booked an outside table as we all have babies, dogs etc. we rocked up, and were shown to a table inside. No, no, we said. She'd specifically mentioned outside. Hesitation on the cafe's part until J arrived and insisted that we be seated outside. Room was found outside, but in full sun, which was nice for the first 5 minutes, but was quite painful as time went on. Even the waiter who took our order had tears in his eyes from the glare, which may go partly some of the way as to why our order went askew. When some people in the shade moved on we leapt up and spent a good 5 minutes rearranging the tables and seating so that we were much cooler. We had five kids (including 2 babies) and a dog, and it was almost slapstick for a while, including a number of annoyed waitpersons hovering around us trying to deliver the wrong orders. My order was fairly simple -- I wanted the poached eggs with mushrooms, bacon and spinach on thick toast, which was a standard menu item, and I requested a dob of hollandaise sauce with it. This seemed to confuse them utterly. They probably wondered why I didn't just have the Eggs Benedict. But! I didn't want salmon, I didn't want just ham... was it really so hard? It took them 3 goes to bring me the right combination. At least the eggs were firm, as I requested, although I suspect that was more to do with the to-ing and fro-ing than the cooking time. We did have a good time, apart from these and other minor glitches, like the usual coffee fracas (who is having the decaf latte? No, we ordered a three normal latte). But by the end we all heaved a big sigh, as I'm sure did the staff. Almost a good thing it was the last of the regular sundays!
Back to the press.