TRUE LOVE

Well, it had to come to this eventually. Over the past two years I've posted (albeit infrequently) about all manner of things on this blog.. Ranging from paranoid theories about the secret life of the Veronicas, right through to tourism campaigns for the wonderful suburb of Dandenong. Up to this point I seem to have side-stepped posting about anything profound, or at least anything topical.. But I've been doing some thinking lately.


Love is a concept which is thrust upon from the very moment we're born. Generally speaking, the first sight we see when we come down the chute is likely to be an enamoured couple, staring deeply into each others eyes, proclaiming their boundless affection for one another. Well.. One of them would probably be crying from pain and exhaustion, while the other tries in vein to distract her from the large amounts of blood covering the sheets.. But you get the gist. Once all the mess is cleaned up, it's time for an onslaught of love and cuteness that would make you ill if you were old enough to know what was going on.

As you mature, you begin to realize the whole thing spreads much further than the bassinet.. It's on TV, at the movies, on the radio.. Attacking you from every angle, planting seeds in your head about co-dependence and microwave ovens. In essence, by the time you reach the age where you can think for yourself, you've pretty much nutted out that your main goal on this planet is to find yourself a nice girl or boy, and move in for the kill. Or approach them politely.. Depending on your disposition.

The problem with this whole love cabal though, is that once you pass your days of high school romance, you discover it's a lot more complex than the Meg Ryan movies make it out to be. Why did that chick who told you that she loved you run off with your best friend? Why is that guy with the nervous twitch constantly staring at you? What's the deal with this rash? Perhaps these aren't the best examples, but you know what I'm getting at. There aren't any knights in shining armour, people don't travel half-way around the world to find each other, and the soundtrack isn't Leonardo's Bride. True love, in the Hollywood sense at least, is far more elusive than we were first lead to believe.

Fortunately I've had a pretty good run up to this point in time. There have been several meaningful and lasting relationships in my life, the majority of which ended on amicable terms. No unwanted pregnancies, no domestic abuse, not even any adultery.. To my knowledge. This past year, though, has been slightly more interesting.. And on numerous occasions it's kinda left me scratching my head, wondering what the fuck is going on. On a case by case basis, they were mostly quite trivial incidents.. But these things have a way of building up in your mind after a while. So, if you'd care to indulge me (whoever you might be), allow me to fire a few questions in your general direction..

1. Is it reasonable for a girl to make out with you wildly at a party, volunteer to give you her number, insist on meeting up, and then feign an air of vague bemusement when you actually decide to do so?

2. I don't believe in God or anything, but is it some kind of cruel, divine irony that the qualities which initially attract us to someone might be the very qualities which end up driving us away?

3. What's the deal with these people who will madly wave their flag of intent, but as soon as you let one idle comment drop about 'possibilities' they run for the hills ranting about confusion and mixed messages?

4. Why is it that it might take two weeks to get over one person, but the best part of a year leaves your feelings for somebody else virtually unchanged?

I'm well aware that we place way too much emphasis on relationships in our society (see this indignant rant), but even whilst bearing that in mind, I've found myself at the emotional mercy of others more times this year than I'd care to admit. Sometimes the feeling lasts only a day or two, whilst in other cases it never really seems to go away. I know that I have the inclination to over think things a little bit, but even with the brain switched off, it's hard to maintain a positive attitude when over-viewing a series of such perplexing events.

Whether our inclination for romance is a product of our experiences, or something far more innate is anyone's guess.. In reality, it's probably a combination of the two. But at the end of it all, I just can't help but wonder - if we weren't so presupposed to the notion of true love, would we be less surprised when things go ass-up? If there were no heights to aspire to or situations to act out, we'd have no expectations - and there's a good chance we'd all be enjoying slightly more buoyant existences. I realize that nobody grows through being deliriously happy, and it's our less pleasurable experiences that ultimately push us to develop and discover more about ourselves.. But every now and then it's nice to just sit a game out.

And as far as the coming year goes, I'm starting to think that might be just what I need.

Now, I know drawing attention to stupidity in the Herald Sun is like shooting Paris Hilton fans in Supre, but after reading this article I simply couldn't resist.

Essentially, a man by the name of Brett Franklin hit and killed two sisters near Leongatha earlier in the year. Several days before he was charged with the offence, he sold the car through a local trading post, describing it as being "new and in immaculate condition." Apparently he got around $35000 for it, after a local panel beater cleaned up the damage caused by the accident.

The family of the dead sisters said they were sickened that Mr. Franklin had sold the car, and wanted to know if he disclosed it's shocking history. Up to this point, things are still making sense. But then, Trevor, the husband of one of the sisters goes on to say "It makes me feel sick to the stomach to think that someone's driving around out there not knowing this car killed two people."

Right. Obviously there's a third victim in this whole thing that we've overlooked: Young Mr. Franklin. When you find yourself behind the wheel of a death car, you'd better close your eyes and pray to God the gas is about to run out. Otherwise you might as well kiss your sorry ass goodbye.

But hey, let's forget about the car for a second.. If we continue on down this line of reasoning, where does the madness end? The CD he was listening to, the muesli bar he was eating.. I could walk into an op-shop tomorrow and try on a nice pair of pants, completely unaware that I might be about to purchase.. The Death Pants.

And the poor bastard has to live with this for the rest of his life. How the hell are you supposed to entice prospective realtors to take on the 'Death House'? I can see them now, walking newly married couples around the place..

"Now, this is the kitchen.."
"Is this where he ate the death pizza?"
"Uhh.. Yes. Anyway, through to the ensuite.."
"Ooooh! The death shower!"

Etc. So yes, I've probably got sufficient mileage out of this. Pardon the pun. And as far as mediocre journalism goes, it's nothing compared to real issues that are covered in half-assed fashion every week. But you've gotta admit, even by Herald Sun standards, this is some pretty piss-weak stuff.

KAFKA VS. ROB SCHNEIDER

To say that I'm not the biggest fan of Rob Schneider's work is probably an understatement.. There's just something about his humour that I don't get. Until recently, I put this down to the themes he chooses to deal with in his films.. Human metamorphosis has never really piqued my interest, regardless of whether the man involved is turning into an animal, a hot chick, or even a carrot. But then I stumbled across the works of Franz Kafka. In 1915, Kafka wrote one of the classic works of the 20th Century, Metamorphosis. In this short story, a man by the name of Gregor wakes up one morning to discover that he's been transformed into a giant insect.

As the piece progresses, it details his ongoing transformation, and how he learns to adjust to his newfound urges, body and senses. The crux of the story hangs on Gregor's ability (or inability) to deal with how other people now perceive him, and his struggle to adapt in a world where he has become an outcast. Essentially, Kafka uses this surreal concept to muse on the nature of disability, disfigurement, and other misfortunes which may invavriably alienate people from society. You can probably see where I'm going with this, so I'll save you the pain of having to go through a rather tedious segue way..


In the Rob Schneider film The Animal, the central character, Marvin, is injured in a car accident, and in the process of recuperation, his doctor slips him an animal organ or two. I'm not sure how commonplace this procedure is, but let's not get bogged down in details. Schneider's got the dog bladder, and thus the fun begins. Before you know it, he's leaping through the air catching frisbees in his mouth, hangin' large with monkeys at the local zoo, and sniffing a good few crotches along the way. Marvin's transformation is nowhere near as seemingly random as that of Kafka's Gregor, but if you minus the champagne comedy stylings of Schneider, you've basically got the same story.

So.. What's the deal? Is it possible that Schneider is attempting to bring the themes of Kafka's work to a broader audience? The answer would seem to be a resounding no, but then I could be missing something. Rob's films are frequently lumped in with those of Adam Sandler, and if you've ever seen their respective material on Saturday Night Live, you'll agree this is grossly unfair. Still, as good as Schneider's work on airplane peanuts was, I'm not entirely convinced he's got this sort of stuff in him.

Short of rifling through the three different audio commentaries available on The Animal DVD, I'm thinking this might be one of those mysteries best left unsolved. At the very least, it's an interesting example of how two people can pretty much get ahold of the same idea, and whilst one of them uses it to create a timeless work of art, the best the other can manage is a poorly crafted hodgepodge of forgettable one-liners. Though, it was written nearly a century ago, so I should probably cut the guy a little slack.

R.I.P. JOHN HOWARD

What's going on? Is there something in the air? It seems our national icons are dropping like flies at the moment. First Steve Irwin is taken out by a stingray, and then Peter Brock is taken out by a tree. Obviously Brock was driving at a suitable speed and had complete control of the vehicle when the incident occurred, as I'm sure Irwin was behaving in a mature and orderly fashion around the stingray. But I'm not here to wax nostalgic on either of these guys. It's often been said that things come in threes, which leaves me to ponder the rather obvious question: Who's next?

They'd have to be an Australian icon for starters.. They'd have to be male, and most importantly, they'd have to die doing what they love. Now, I don't know if you believe in karmic alignment, omens and the like, or if you're a ruthlessly scientific type. Either way, I think you could agree (both of you) that it would be a tragedy of biblical proportions if the third lightning bolt were to strike the cranium of the most iconically Australian man ever, John Howard. It's far from my place to ask why this would happen, God forbid, but what I am curious about is the situation in which it's likely to occur. In other words, if the third man has to die doing what he loves, and that man was Howard, how would it go down?

It was a struggle to find anything that this man seems to genuinely enjoy, but after much deliberation, I've managed to come up with three basic scenarios.

A) Photo opportunity with George Bush backfires

This seemed to be the most obvious option. Howard's not a man of many smiles, but there's something about being in George's presence that brings out the best in him, especially when the camera lights up. The only snag here is that I have no idea how a photograph could kill a man. Perhaps the flash could trigger a chemical reaction in his retina, which would in turn send a series of high-voltage shocks to his cerebral lobe, slowly short-circuiting his nervous system until his heart gave in under the weight of the trauma. Either that or some kid behind the barricade could throw a rock at his head.

B) Vigorous morning stroll turns deadly

Howard does a lot of walking, and by golly he seems to enjoy it. This is a slightly more realistic scenario than above, as there are a million ways a man can die whilst walking down a footpath. An out-of-control lorry could come careering up the embankment and destroy him on impact, a swarm of flesh-eating locusts could suddenly descend on his quiet, inner-city suburb, devouring the skin of anyone who gets in their way, or he could trip on some uneven paving and crack his skull open. Though the most likely option, I'd hate to be the council responsible for the sidewalk. The law-suites that would ensue would make Steve Vizard seem like a pretty funny guy.

C) Faulty wiring results in dead air

Sorry. Couldn't resist. But, if there's one thing that Howard loves more than Bush photos and constipated morning walks put together, it's talking on breakfast radio. Who knows? Maybe it's the smell of the microphone, the quality of the coffee, or the seemingly endless stream of supportive phone calls.. But old Johnny looks like a clam in chowder when he's behind that microphone. The great thing about this set-up is that he's surrounded by a ridiculous amount of electrical equipment. At any moment one of the devices could malfunction, sending a plethora of lethal currents on a collision course with everything inside the padded booth. And this would be perfect, because there'd be both audio and visual documentation of the precise moment that the PM died. Plus, as noted above, there would be endless possibilities for headlines with bad puns.

Anyway.. As far as things that Howard appears to enjoy, these are the most likely candidates. I could've made some cheap, sarcastic quip about screwing the poor, setting the global perception of our country back fifty years, or reducing the fundamental ideals of the Australian way of life to a smouldering hole in the ground, but that would have just been childish. If you can think of a scenario that I may have overlooked, please feel free to contribute. Don't be shy.. It's not like we're indulging some kind of morbid fantasy here. I think I speak for all of us when I say that no one in the world deserves these misfortunes to befall them, and I certainly wouldn't wish them upon anyone.. No matter who they are.

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE VERONICAS

Dear Veronicas,

First of all, let me get the obligatory gushing fan stuff out of the way. Great, now we can get onto more pressing issues. I understand that every pop act needs to have an image. It's been going on since the fifties, and it's certainly not going to change any time soon. Some artists take to an image like a duck to water.. Westlife, for example; happy-go-lucky fellas just out for a good time. They sold three albums on this premise, and brought joy into the lives of teenage girls all over the world. Unfortunately though, images will invariably run their course.. Making people happy is fairly un-cool at the moment, so the lads had to re-invent themselves. Aware that turning into a hardcore rap group might not be the smoothest of transitions, Westlife chose to abandon their audience of young teenage girls. Their new target: the mothers of the young teenage girls. Nice one.

Other artists seem to have a slightly harder time of it. Take Human Nature. Poor guys. It seems that everywhere they turn, someone else has beaten them to it. First there was the Backstreet Boys idea. Then the 98 Degrees idea. Then the N'Sync idea, complete with video clip where the screen shook when they jumped on the floor. Now they seem to think they're The Temptations. And in between every image adjustment, they always find the time to go on the Today show and sing that Earth Angel song acapella. Yet, as muddled and ever changing as their image is, I can always get my head around it. And I guess this is why I'm writing to you..


Now, I understand the sister thing.. S2S milked that to critical acclaim a couple of years back. And I totally get the whole lesbian thing.. I think Tatu showed us all what a profitable market that was. But to try and pull both of these off at once? I know you, like, haven't kissed or anything like that.. Because that's like, eww.. But you do seem to hold hands a lot, and I think I'm yet to see a photo shoot where yours bodies aren't pressed up against each other, or at least touching in some way. Initially, the idea of an incestuous female couple storming the pop charts kinda left an unsavoury taste in my mouth. But then I tried to put myself inside the head of your average teenage boy. I watched some football, ate some Maccas, started thinking about those twins next door.. Bam. There it is. The ultimate semi-pubescent male fantasy.

In short, I think you're onto a real winner here. And the fact that you've survived for well over a year without any rumours of boyfriends surfacing says a lot about your dedication. I only hope for your sake that this whole thing doesn't fizzle out as quickly as barber-shop did, otherwise a duet with John Farnham is on the cards, and it's all down hill from there.

Best wishes for the future,

Alex.

Well, it had to happen eventually.. I always wondered whether or not I actually had a conscience. Many a time I've found myself saying "Geeze Millwood, I think you should probably feel at least a little guilty about this..", but it doesn't ensue. It's not that I don't have awareness of what is morally acceptable; a healthy upbringing on Seinfeld has seen to that. But, I don't know.. Sometimes situations arise where I think I should feel some remorse for my thoughts or actions, and there's simply nothing there. It seems then, like some sort of cruel poetic justice that I should feel guilty for thoughts I've been having about this man.. This stupid, stupid man.


As many of you may know, Stan Zemanek was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumour a little while back. Despite undergoing a rigorous course of radiation therapy, it's still thought there's a good chance he may not survive. Stan's main claim to fame is a talkback show on AM station 2UE, which we here in Melbourne are fortunate enough not to receive. It's everything that you might expect from someone who describes their profession as "shock jock".. Just like John Laws, but with less embezzlement and more expletives. Stan also had a brief stint as host of the TV show Beauty and the Beast, where he comparatively appeared to be quite balanced. But hey, Tony Abbott would come across as balance personified when sitting next to this woman.

I digress. There is a stigma attached to certain misfortunes like cancer, AIDS, or even rape.. It is dictated that we should never wish these things upon anyone, and if someone should happen to fall victim to them, we should hold nothing but humane thoughts for the person involved.. No matter how inhumane the person might be. To be brutally honest, my initial reaction to hearing about Stan's cancer was "Well, that's just delicious.. Maybe there is a God!" Which upon reflection, may have been a little lacking in compassion. But this is exactly where my crisis of conscience lies, and it started to get me thinking about how honest other peoples' responses to things like this are.

Often our immediate thoughts are quite different from what we finally resolve to think. We are strongly aware of the stance that would be deemed morally acceptable by the broader population.. So we are presented with an afterthought to our initial response; the final stance that we take on an issue can be greatly affected by the knowledge of what the decent thing to think would be. So we either end up reappraising our opinions, or at least finding a resolve between the two governing forces. I'm not saying that reflecting on one's beliefs or opinions isn't healthy, and I'm certainly not saying that I think it'd be a better world if everybody acted on impulse. But abandoning a thought for something we've been taught is more appropriate.. That's a different beast altogether. If somebody said "Oh, poor Stan.. I feel so sorry for him", would they actually mean it? Or would they be belying their thoughts just to sound like a good, compassionate person?

At any rate, I'm stuck.. A huge part of me has no sympathy for this man whatsoever, and if you've ever heard him in action, you'll completely understand why. If you'd called Stan a year ago and told him you had cancer, there's a good chance he'd have told you to get over yourself and have a cry to someone who cares.. You pansy. It's mopers like you that are the problem with this.. Well, you get the idea. And hey, he effectively said the same thing to Chas Licciardello from The Chaser when he called up pretending to be a young man suffering from clinical depression. Of course if you called him now and told him you had cancer he'd become a beacon of compassion, but then if his own son had clinical depression he probably would've done the same for Chas. And the thing that fucks me off more than anything about him is that I know he couldn't possibly be like his persona in real life.. The majority of his career is an act, a poorly formed caricature with very little afterthought. But, this is his draw card.. The majority of his audience probably haven't given a second thought to what sort of a person he might actually be, because it's attitude that they've come to hear, not sensible, considered opinions.

I'd like to think that in lieu of recent events young Stan might take a moment of quiet reflection, and consider some of the choices he's made up to this point. Sorry, that was in poor taste. Anyway, apparently he's already back at work, kicking skulls as though he was never gone. Which pretty much puts me right back where I started.. Sitting in front of a computer trying to muster some nice words for a man who may well die within the year. The closest thing I can think of is "Well, I'm sure he's a nice guy behind the facade.." But for me, that's even worse. If he was legitimately stupid and offensive, I wouldn't give him a second thought. But to consciously perpetuate a character like that.. Kinda puts the kibosh on any inclination I might have towards being nice.